#night owl tings

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If Bailey has your number and loves you, just know you will wake up to text essays because she does her best thinking/worrying at night.

[catopoliscat]

next time / kento nanami/fem!reader.

who would have thought that kento nanami was a virgin? not you. not after this long. perhaps he was saving himself for someone. perhaps he was waiting for you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab reader. penetrative sex. alcohol. dry humping. virgin!nanami. mutual pining. friends to lovers. creampie (wrap it kids). unprotected sex. touch-starved!nanami. canon!verse. you've known nanami since school. tinges of angst. nanami wanted you bad lmao. it's love babey. reader has experience. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever. wc: 7.7k. a/n: i kind of fear nanami's a little ooc here lmao, but i've spent too long on this so fuck it we ball he deserves this

also how mad would you be if i said this was set a week before shibuya arc be honest

mdni.

You’re a bottle and half of zinfandel deep when Nanami tells you. 

Although you’re both a little warm, tipsy perhaps, you didn’t think either of you were quite drunk enough for this conversation just yet. It was a regular occurrence for the two of you to share a drink on a Friday, or a bottle in more pressing times. 

There were more bottles than glasses, lately. 

It was just two old friends, catching up. Talking. Complaining--usually about Satoru. Often you’d reminisce on easier times. Warm summers in the Jujutsu High courtyard, the cold tin of a soda in your hands, a bottle of water in his. Quiet talks of dreams and eventualities. Ignoring the gaping absence of a third at between you. 

Tonight though, you’re not sure when the topic had changed. Somewhere between the last dregs of the first bottle and the beginning of the second, the conversation had grown more sombre than usual. Talk of love and relationships always seemed to make the air heavier around the two of you, for different reasons. A stark air of loneliness that not even the most tart of white wine could overpower.

You had offhandedly mentioned turning down one of the windows you had met on your last mission. He had been younger than you, still full of life where the holes in yourself had long since emptied it out. You had shaken your head, flattered, but tired. There were better options for a man like him, still full of hope and vitality, a whole life ahead of him… when you knew any day yours could be cut deftly short. 

You had told yourself it had little to do with the fact that the man’s bright smile had reminded you of another, so many years ago.  

In the quiet of Nanami’s living room, swirling the last drops of your wine in your glass, you had mentioned that you had no real desire for relationships anymore. Other than sex, of course, but only sexual. A temporary release, one of the few you had left. Nameless faces and hurried touches. Sometimes clinical, sometimes primal. Always quick, and never the same person twice. 

You know?

To which Nanami had replied, “No.” 

Misunderstanding the gravity of what he was saying, you had raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at your lips. “Not one for one-night stands?” 

It occurs to you distantly that you don’t know a lot about Nanami’s romantic life. Close as you two were, or so you liked to believe, he had never really mentioned it. And you had never asked. 

Nanami had shook his head in response to your question, and you had nodded. It aligned with his character, you thought. As cold and stoic as he liked to act, you couldn’t imagine a world where he would use and discard someone. He felt too much, cared too much. He would love too much too, if given the chance. If he gave himself the chance. 

In your musings, you had almost missed what he had murmured next. 

“I’ve never had sex at all.” 

Kento Nanami. A virgin.

The confession has your lips parting, your eyes blinking. Once, then twice, akin to an owl. You glance down at your wine glass for a moment, as if it had been the slightly smeared glass that had been speaking to you instead, and not the esteemed stoic sorcerer you had known for the better part of ten years. 

You look over at Nanami on the couch, but he’s staring at the carpet, his expression contemplative, almost pensive. His brows are drawn taut, a small knit on his forehead. His lips are drawn into a thin line, a slight crease in his chin. There was a specific emotion dancing in his eyes. You almost dared to use the word vulnerable.

It seems… ridiculous. Nanami? Attractive as he was? Kind, considerate, hard-working, to a degree. A woman’s dream. In another life, perhaps your dream too.

Had it not been for Nanami’s serious demeanour, and the fact that ‘joke’ and ‘Nanami’ rarely went together in the same sentence, you might have thought he was pulling your leg. A joke between friends. 

But he wasn’t. He very clearly wasn’t. 

“That’s… fine,” you finally say after a small moment, fearing you had let the silence linger too long. “There’s no rush for these things.” 

Nanami’s hum is short and clipped. Gruff, almost. He still refuses to meet your eye for now, and you make no move to change that. You get the distinct feeling that this newfound vulnerability doesn’t stem from him never having sex, but rather, the reason why he’s denied himself - because you know for a fact it has little to do with opportunity. 

You had lost track of how many women you had watched Nanami turn down, clipped and short, yet always polite. 

The silence is heavy between you. In the other room, you can hear the hum of his refrigerator, the buzz of the bulbs in the lights. Nanami’s apartment has always been quiet, but this silence feels suffocating. Paired with the wine, your head feels thick, your tongue thicker. 

A few moments pass, and as the revelation of his virginity settles into your stomach like seltzer water, you realise… it makes sense. Nanami wasn’t the type to use someone for sex, even if eager. He’d only have sex with someone he was in love with. Someone he trusted at the very least. 

And Nanami, as he had told you and a few others before, refused to entertain the thought of love whilst he was a sorcerer. No one with two working brain cells needed to ask why. He wasn’t alone in that choice, either. 

You toy with the stem of your wineglass whilst you toy with a reoccurring thought in your mind, one that you entertained often, but had yet to voice aloud. 

“You shouldn’t keep depriving yourself, Kento,” you say quietly. The use of his first name, rarely used in your adulthood, garners you a glance from him. It’s a small sign that you’re taking this seriously. 

“I’m not deprived of anything.” 

You scoff at that, small and quiet. “You deprive yourself of a lot, apart from pain,” you drawl, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. Like always, the wine and Nanami’s masochistic tendencies have your tongue loosening more than it should. “I understand not wanting to have sex with anyone you’re not in a committed relationship with. It’s kind of… admirable, and definitely you.” You fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a stare that he still refuses to meet head-on. “But why deny yourself the chance of love?” 

In the back of your mind somewhere is a voice chanting ‘hypocrite’, but you ignore it. Nanami, however, does not. 

He finally turns his head to face you, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly heavier in the dim light of his apartment. An eyebrow arches. “And meaningless sex is different?”

You scoff again, louder this time. “It’s not meaningless just because I don’t love my partner.” 

“Or even know their name?” 

You raise a sharp eyebrow, your own lips now pressing into a thin line. A part of you wants to retort, to snap, but you remember the vulnerability in his face from a few moments ago, and you just about hold your tongue.

With an exhale, you grab the half-empty wine bottle off of the coffee table instead and gesture for Nanami to hold out his glass. He does, and the glug of the wine fills the space between you.

“You ever thought about it?” You ask, filling up your own glass. In your peripheral, you see him sit quietly for a moment before he nods his head. 

“I’m only human.” 

You hum. “You should experience it,” you add. You swirl the wine in your glass once before bringing it up to your lips. “Even once. Even if it means nothing.”  

With one glance, you can tell immediately that the idea doesn’t sit right with him. It was easy to forget sometimes how rigid and traditional he could be. Formalities that few seemed to care about these days. Always on the things you least expected. 

“I couldn’t,” Nanami replies, shaking his head. 

Oddly, you feel the desire to insist. Days of a sorcerer were short, and getting shorter every year. Younger than yourself and Nanami had already died long before they would ever have the opportunity to touch another, kiss another; to feel the warmth of a body against your own. They would never know what that distinct pleasure was like, even if they desperately wanted to. Time was infinite to the young, until it wasn’t.  

It occurs to you quickly that you’re thinking of Haibara, and everything you and Nanami had experienced that he never would. 

Something must show in your expression because Nanami raises an eyebrow at you. You swallow, before setting your glass back down on the coffee table with a dull clink. You look at him, your face surprisingly collected and casual for what you’re about to ask. 

“What about me?” 

Nanami’s questioning look only deepens for a moment, before something passes by his eyes. His lips part, his version of a falter. You know he knows what you’re implying, but still, he asks, “…what about you?” 

“What if we had sex?” You say without hesitation. “You know me. You trust me.” 

Nanami falters further. He straightens in his seat, his glass resting on his thigh, the thick muscle straining against his slacks. His whole body is thick with a tension you usually only see before a fight with a particularly highly graded curse. A vein protrudes from his neck.

His eyes flick between your face and your own glass, clearly wondering if it is time to call this night done, but you rise from your seat before he can, taking a small step toward the couch he’s sitting on. 

You sit down next to him, a little closer than you usually might. He doesn’t move away. Your thigh brushes against his, and this close, you can hear his breath hitch in response. 

“I’m not going to push this any further, Kento,” you say quietly, “but I’m letting you know it’s an option.” 

Although you and Kento were hardly affectionate with one another like most friends, you decided to take a chance tonight. You had already taken several, what was one more?

Reaching out, you take his glass from his hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table. Hesitating only a moment, you place your hand on top of his, your fingers curling around until your fingertips touch his palm.

His hand is stiff and warm underneath your own. The bones and knuckles press against your skin.

Something in the back of your mind is wondering why you’re pushing this at all. Would it matter if Nanami died without experiencing the pleasures of the body, really? Would the world stop turning for either of you? You know if Nanami really wanted to, if he felt the want, the desire - then he could leave this apartment right now and find someone willing, someone other than you. He could have done so years ago, during those few years he had masqueraded as a normal human being with a nine-to-five. 

You were risking a friendship over… what? The implied hopes and dreams of a dead fifteen-year-old? Haibara was dead. It didn’t matter to him whether Nanami experienced the things he never could. 

Nanami’s gaze flickers between your eyes for a moment, and this close, you can see the faint traces of the wine staining his lips. Your gaze must linger for a touch too long because his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. The pink skin glistens with the faint glimmer of his saliva.

When you look up, you see his eyes trained on your own lips, before they quickly flick back up to meet your eyes. 

“We’re friends,” he murmurs, his voice low, slightly thick. 

“And we always will be,” you reply.

He glances down at your hands. Somewhere between your own thoughts and Nanami’s reiteration of your friendship, your hands had interlocked, fingers intertwined like vines. He was gripping your hand a little too tightly to be comfortable, but you didn’t flinch. 

You���re not sure whether it had been your subconscious doing, or his. 

“I… can’t,” Nanami mutters finally, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not like this. Not… now.” 

Something clenches in your heart at his rejection, although you had expected it. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s denying you, or himself. 

You smile softly nonetheless and nod. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” you say quietly, going to pull your hand from his grip and give him some space. 

Only he doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly. 

Your eyes flick between his hand and his eyes, still trained on your face. You raise an eyebrow, your lips parting to speak, but he beats you to it. 

“But I’d like to kiss you.” 

Something resembling a very quiet ‘uh’ pushes past your lips in a long exhale.

You’re not sure why the idea of kissing him felt more… intimate than the fact that you had offered your body to him only seconds prior. You’re not sure why there’s a prickle of heat at the back of your neck or your lips burn with a sudden need.

“Nanam-“

As if remembering himself, he shakes his head slightly, blinking away whatever stupor had just possessed him. He looks away, his grip on your hand loosening, but not quite pulling away. 

“I… don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles. “You should go-“

Your free hand is already gripping his chin, turning his face toward yours a little too sharply. A subtle grunt leaves his throat as he looks at you, his gaze foggier than usual. From the wine, you, or the whole situation? Who knows. 

Fingers against his neck, feeling the quickened thrum of his pulse, your thumb brushes against his chin, pulling the skin until his lips naturally part. You feel Nanami’s shaky exhale against your lips as you lean forward, warmth breath mingling with yours, the scent of wine heavy on the air. 

You close the distance slowly, giving him time to stop this, to pull or push away. To draw an end to this nonsense before it went any further. 

Instead of pulling back or pushing you away, he closes the gap so quickly your noses almost bump together. 

The first press of his lips against you feels hurried and unsure. It’s off-center slightly, barely hitting the corner of your mouth, but Nanami is quick to correct it. He slots his lips against yours more firmly the second time, his lips parting to capture yours fully. You feel a rush of air against your cheek as he exhales through his nose. 

The kiss is unhurried, curious almost, yet there’s a subtle urgency in it that surprises you. Your free hand moves from his chin to his jaw, fingertips softly caressing the sharp curve of it. The sound and feel of his sigh against your lips makes you shiver, and you become enamoured with it. 

Enamoured with him.

You part your lips further, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip, finally tasting the remnants of the wine that you had spotted earlier. An odd sound builds at the back of his throat before his mouth parts too, his tongue brushing against yours. 

Something changes quickly then. His hand, larger than you ever really noticed, cups the back of your neck, his calloused thumb pressing against your jaw, drawing you closer. Your other hands, still intertwined, seem to tighten around one another like a snake's coils. The wet smacks of your lips grow louder in the quiet of his apartment, just about overriding the sound of increasingly ragged breaths, borderline panting. 

Your head feels thick. Dizzy. The kiss is indulgent, almost sloppy now. Nanami’s tongue is in your mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting you with an eagerness you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Every time you brush your tongue against his, your taste buds wetly sliding against his own, a small sound rumbles in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and grumble. 

After a moment that feels like an eternity too short, you pull back slightly, just enough to see his eyes as you open yours. Nanami denies you this, however, because when you open your eyes, his are still closed, almost scrunched. A faint frown tugs at his brow. 

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. The heat of his skin against yours feels searing, your noses softly brushing against one another’s. He sighs deeply, as if pulled from the back of his chest. It almost sounds like defeat. 

“Kento-“

“I want you,” he breathes out, and your voice almost hitches as you feel rather than hear his voice. It’s a deep, husky sound, more rumble than syllable. But there’s a crack in his tone belying a raw vulnerability that you weren’t familiar with. Not from him.

His eyes finally open, looking up at you from underneath his brow. His hazel eyes are almost black, you realise, the familiar colour you’ve always admired swallowed up by a sea of coal. You wonder if yours are the same. 

He’s trembling too. You can feel his fingertips shake where they press against the nape of your neck. 

“I thought you didn’t want… this,” you murmur. ‘Sex’ suddenly feels too…

“I changed my mind,” he replies, a touch too quickly for you to believe that he was thinking clearly. 

But God, did you want him too. You want him so fucking bad it almost makes you ache. Your feelings toward Nanami had always been friendly, respectful. He had been your closest friend, your ally, your confidant. You had been through so much together. You liked him, every part. 

And somewhere along the way, between the four years apart as he pursued a different life and the first time you had hugged him when he finally returned, Gojo grinning over his shoulder… you think, that like had changed to love.

It quickly occurs to you that you weren’t pushing Nanami to experience sex for fear of him missing out. That was you. You were scared of missing out on him.

It’s that revelation that makes you pull back slightly, and Nanami’s eyes widen a little, some of the hazy fog clearing. His hand slides from the back of your neck, falling limply against the couch next to your thigh. 

“I… I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” you mutter, glancing away, staring at the two wine glasses on the coffee table before looking back at him. “It’s your choice. Your first time should be on your terms, not because I think you’re missing out or depriving yourself.”

You go to remove your hand from his, but once again, his grip tightens, but there’s a tenderness to it this time. A gentle squeeze, almost begging you not to go. Not yet. 

He looks serious now, staring at you squarely, as if about to deliver a mission report, and its the first familiar expression you’ve seen on his face thus far. He swallows thickly, the only thing belying his hesitation. 

“I said I couldn’t have a one-night stand.” 

You frown. “And th-“

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.” 

Some of the breath flees your lungs as you look at him. His lips are still pink and slightly swollen from kissing, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and your touch. You become distinctly aware of the scent of his cologne, faded but warm from his skin. It’s soft, smoky almost. You have the urge to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and breathe.

You know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. You know what he wants because you want it too. You realise you’ve wanted it for a long damn time. 

Words fail you. They feel… inadequate to describe what you’re feeling, what you desire, what you’ve always desired buried down underneath the guilt and trauma. 

But you still can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not here. Not yet. 

And neither can he.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, all you know is that your lips are pressed against his and he moans into your mouth as if something had finally let go. It’s like a cork had finally been released, a lifetime of pent-up feelings pouring out in one gush. 

His hand is back at the nape of your neck, holding you tightly this time, unwilling to let go. His lips part more readily with every press, his tongue seeking yours with a pinpoint determination. You skip his jaw this time altogether, aiming straight for his hair that you’ve been dying to touch since… you don’t know when. 

The hand that had been holding yours hostage finally releases, only so his fingers can brush against your waist. His fingers brush against your ribs through your clothes, tugging you closer until you’re rising up onto your knees on the couch just to oblige. He’s tilting back, his broad shoulders bumping against the couch cushions behind him - and it’s only distantly you register it’s because you’re pushing him back against it. 

Something shouts at you in the back of your mind to take your time, to savour this, to savour him. You may want each other badly, but this is Nanami’s first time. It should be done carefully, respectfully, the way he would treat you if this position had been reversed. 

But then Nanami’s hand has moved from your waist to your thigh, blindly grabbing it as he pulls it over his lap. Before you know it, you’re straddling his hips with a huff against his lips, and something like a sharp, pained groan leaves his lips. 

You pull away from his lips with a ragged breath, concern knitting your brow until you realise what the cause of his groan was. 

Straddling him, you can feel the pulse of his desire underneath you, the hard ridge of the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core through your own clothes. One hand is grabbing your hip tightly, almost too tight, as his forehead rests against your shoulder. The other hand is on your thigh, his thumb digging into the plush flesh there. 

His breathing is ragged, extremely so. Hot puffs fall against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair softly, and you watch with reverence as a strong shudder rolls down his spine in response.

“We can stop, if you’d like,” you murmur against his ear, going to rise up on your knees to give him a little breathing room.

“Don’t,” he grunts, the grip on your hip and thigh quickly stopping you. He exhales again, a shaky sound as he keeps his forehead stamped against your shoulder. His voice emerges again, barely audible, slightly pained. “...I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your grip in his hair tightens in response. In a flood, memories of him rush through your mind. A thousand different glances, subtle touches, small clues. Even in school, the way he would linger, a touch closer every time Suguru or Satoru would appear. The hand at the bottom of your back in a restaurant. The way he would lean in to hear you in a crowded place. 

The way his arms had tightened around you when he had returned after four years away. I missed you too, almost inaudible against your ear. 

Nanami didn’t want a one-night stand. What was the point of sex at all, if it wasn’t with you? 

The thought has you rolling your hips down against his before you can stop yourself, feeling the firm length of his cock grind against your core. A moan leaves your lips, and something guttural leaves his. 

The hand on your thigh moves up to your other hip, pulling you down tighter against him as if he could slide inside you right now. “Don’t tease,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against your neck. He leaves a searing, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point. “Not now, not after this long.” 

“You think you’re the only one who waited?” You pant as you grind again, firmer this time. His hips buck against yours in response, a muffled groan leaving his lips, imprinted against your neck. You can feel his cock throb against you, twitching against the fabric that separates you. 

“…you wanted this too?” He breathes out after a moment. 

You nod, though you doubt he can see it from the way his face is buried against the crook of your neck. “Since you came back. Since you hugged me back and said you missed me.” 

His hands move from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for a single slither of space to be left between you two. His hips jut up against you once again, a ragged breath leaving his lips. It seems the idea of you wanting him for so long the same as he had the same effect on him as it had on you. If not more. 

He holds you a little tighter, running the sharp point of his nose along your throat as he tilts his head up. Finally, finally, he breaks free of your neck to look up at you, lips parted, eyes almost desperate. 

With a thick swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, he goes to say something but falters, and murmurs your name instead. His dark eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. His cock twitches underneath you. 

“Please,” is all he can croak out, and the moan that almost leaves your lips would have been primal. 

You nod your head, giving his shoulders a small squeeze, pushing him back slightly. He seems reluctant to let go, but finally relents after a little insistence, reclining back against the couch. His arms unwind and his hands drop to your hips. He looks up at you, clearly waiting for your lead. 

You sit back slightly on his parted thighs, the muscles firm and supportive underneath you. Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you drag your fingertips slowly down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his wrinkled shirt. As your fingers skate over his abdomen, you feel the muscles flex and roll. Nanami looks at you readily. 

“We should do this properly,” you murmur, your eyes trained on the lower buttons of his shirt, near the waistband of his slacks. “In a bed.” 

Nanami, to your surprise, shakes his head quickly, giving your hips a small squeeze. “We’ve waited long enough.” 

You raise an eyebrow but don’t disagree. Despite the need, the ache, the pulse of your own core, you can’t help but think of if the positions were reversed. The image of candles, roses and soft music fills your mind, Nanami’s guiding hands and murmured praises. It would be slow and romantic. Perfect. 

“Nanami,” you breathe out, almost chastising. With the way his cock is pressing against you, you have no doubt he’s not thinking clearly right now; the thought of having what he had wanted for so long within his grasp clouding rational thought. 

He shakes his head again, a lock of his mussed hair tickling his brow. “Next time.” He shifts, sliding down the couch a little more and spreading his thighs - and in turn, spreading yours. He grips your hips tighter, pulling you a little closer until you’re seated right on top of him. “Next time,” he repeats in a groan. “We’ll go slow. I’ll explore every inch of you, taste you. Now, I just want…” He exhales an unsteady breath, sounding like your name. “I just want you.” 

Your fingers linger near his shirt's lower button, and one of Nanami’s hands unclasps itself from your hip to gently grasp your wrist. He guides your fingertips to the belt buckle, the metal cool against your hot fingers. 

You meet his eyes once more, and his gaze is a paradox of firmness and vulnerability. He’s nervous, you think, but ready. Almost desperately so. 

Without another word, your other hand reaches down to join your other one, and your fingers are surprisingly deft as you slide the leather through the metal. Nanami watches your hands with rapt attention until the belt is loose. Your fingers slide over the metal button of his slacks, and you don’t check in this time. You pop it open before sliding his zipper down, the crackle of the metal teeth as loud as a gunshot between you.

A small sigh of what you think is relief leaves his lips as the fabric parts, giving you a small glimpse of the dark boxers underneath, straining over his cock. A small wet patch blooms at the top, wear his tip would be, and a shudder runs through you. 

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his underwear, lingering for a moment. You look up at him at the same time he looks up at you. Without a sound, Nanami lifts his hips and you rise up to your knees. 

With a few firm tugs, you manage to inch his slacks and boxers down enough to free him. A small huff leaves his lips as the cooler air of the apartment hits his overheated flesh, and you watch in rapt attention as his cock twitches, the flushed tip glistening already.

It’s longer than you expected. Thicker too. Uncut. A prominent vein runs up the underside of it, and you have the sudden urge to follow it with your finger, or your tongue. 

Nanami shifts underneath you, and you realise you’ve been staring a touch too long.

You pull your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have quickened. Anticipation is making him stiff, almost antsy, a rare sight on a man you’ve rarely ever seen anything of other than composed. 

It’s endearing. 

Reaching down, you satisfy your own urge and run your fingertip up his shaft, following the vein, feeling it pulse steadily to the rhythm of his heart. Nanami’s hips twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Dark eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

When you curl your fingers around him, gripping him firmly at the base, his eyes shoot open, snapping to the sight of him in your palm. You give him one pull upwards, and a bead of pre-cum wells in the divot of his slit. 

“Fuck,” comes out in a very quiet, gruff choke. Your eyebrows rise in surprise, a small smile on your lips. Nanami didn’t always curse, and especially not like that. 

“Language, Nanami,” you tease, and his eyes flick up to you, something indignant and impatient in his eyes. You usually weren’t one to tease, and he wasn’t one to be teased. 

You continue to stroke him slowly for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip. You fingers quickly become tacky, the glide of your hand more fluid, until the lewd wet noise starts to rise to the same level as Nanami’s breathing. He grunts with every upward stroke, his hips twitching underneath you. Had it not been for your weight on top of him, you get the distinct feeling he’d be bucking up into your palm a little more eagerly. His head falls back against the couch, lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he relaxes more into the sensation. 

It occurs to you that you’ve seldom seen Nanami this relaxed. 

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” you ask, “with me on top?” 

He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His hands run up from your hips to your waist, a soft caress. “It’ll be… easier for me- hah-“ Another choked groan leaves his lips as you give the head of his cock a small squeeze, and Nanami’s hand flies to your wrist in a blink, stopping you from making another move. 

You feel his cock throbbing in your grasp, and Nanami’s straight-up panting now, his eyes slightly wild as he tilts his head up to look at you. It’s an arousing reality to know that you had just pushed Nanami dangerously close to the edge without even meaning to. 

“I won’t last,” he murmurs, looking up at you, his eyes shining.

 You realise quickly that he’s actually asking a question. Are you sure? 

“This time,” you reply with a small smile. With his hand still around your wrist, you give his cock another squeeze, and he grits his teeth, that vein in his neck protruding once more. You can see the taut muscles in his abdomen flexing from where his shirt has bunched up. 

As much as the idea of making Nanami cum, right here, right now, appeals to you, you relent for now. You’d love nothing more than to watch him spill into your palm, to see the euphoria and bliss play out on his face… but that was for another time. The next time, perhaps. 

You release his cock, letting it fall back against his lower stomach with a dull smack, making him hiss through his teeth. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his throat, nipping at the skin softly. 

You guide his hands to the waistband of your own bottoms, and he wastes little time in following your unspoken order. The press of your lips against his throat clearly distracts him, but he manages to pull down your clothes enough to leave you in your underwear. You kick them off the sofa haphazardly, not leaving his neck for a single moment. 

He catches you off guard when his hand immediately dives for your sex, cupping your heat through the dampened fabric. You stutter against his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support in response. 

Your eyelids close, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel just how wet you are. “Nanami,” you gasp.

“Kento,” he whispers quickly. Once, then twice, he rubs his palm along your clothed pussy, something guttural building in the back of his throat as you buck down into his touch. “You’re… so wet.” 

The wet spot on the fabric clings tightly to your folds, doing very little to dampen the sensation of his touch. His fingers are exploratory, a tentativeness that belies his lack of experience with this, but his touch, the fact it’s him, here and now, makes up for it all. 

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a touch such as this. Not like this. 

Despite toying with Nanami’s cock until he almost burst, hypocritical impatience gets the better of you, and you remove your hand from his shoulders to tug down your own underwear, kicking it off to join the growing pile on the floor. Bare from the waist down, Nanami’s eyes roam over the exposed skin almost hungrily. 

Both calloused hands run up your thighs, pressing into the soft flesh slightly. You see his hand move for your pussy once more, but your fingers are curling back around his cock again before he can distract you. 

Next time, keep parroting in your mind. Next time you can both endure hours of foreplay; touching, kissing, tasting, the whole nine yards. You promise to make him cry out before he even sinks inside you, to run your tongue along every inch of his skin until you’re sick of the taste of him. You’d know he’d do the same. 

But you two had waited long enough. 

Gripping the base of his cock again, you brush it up against your heat, your own slick smearing across him. Nanami’s eyes almost roll back into his head, but he closes his lids before you witness it. You’re faring little better, the mere sensation of having him against you like this, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your clit sending you dizzy. You angle your hips, and just feeling the thick head press against the tight, slick ring of muscle is enough for a moan to already tumble past your lips. 

Something flickers in Nanami’s gaze as he opens his eyes again, honing in on the sight of you braced above him like this. He grips your hips, his touch light, merely supporting you for now. You look back once into his eyes, and go to check in just once more, but he leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s little more than teeth and raw need. 

His lips pressed against yours, you sink down, the wider head of his cock slipping inside you. Your lips part in a soundless gasp against his mouth, swallowing the ragged groan that leaves his throat. The stretch is slightly more than you’re prepared for. Distantly, you think, skipping foreplay wasn’t the wisest idea, but desperation, need, pushes you forward regardless. 

So you sink down further, inch by inch, and as he slides deeper and deeper, his grip on your hips grows tighter and tighter, until the force of his fingers dulls the ache of his cock kissing your cervix. 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you finally bottom out, hips sitting on top of his. You realise you’re breathless, and that cowgirl might not have been the best position for taking someone of his size. Certainly not in one go, like you just had. 

Nanami is fairing no better. His mouth is agape, his biceps trembling where he clings to you. He seems dazed, winded, panting into your mouth as his arms wind against you. He pulls you forward, and you both moan as his cock seems to slide just that little bit deeper. 

You’re dizzy, strained, stretched out far more than you can ever remember being before. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your forehead knocking against his. Everything feels distant and muffled. It takes you a moment to realise Nanami’s muttering something repeatedly in fragmented gasps.

When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you almost panicked, his eyebrows knitted upward. His teeth are bared, gritted - and it’s now you notice that you’re clenching around him so tight that you’re not sure if you’re causing him more discomfort than pleasure.

You swallow thickly, trying to catch your breath. You’re flushed, prickly heat blooming across your chest and neck. You shift a little, and something pained rumbles from the back of Nanami’s chest in response.  

“Do you want me to stop or-“

“Don’t,” he grunts, his fingers shaking against your back. “Don’t move.” 

The throb of his cock inside you is insistent, and it takes everything in you not to clench tighter around him in response. You know he’s close, dangerously close, and as much as you want to rise up on your knees and slam yourself down on his cock until he’s begging you to stop, you clench your jaw and relax. 

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly; small pecks and affectionate touches. He shivers, and his cock still pulses, but slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxes too, ragged pants dissolving into hot, muted breaths. His arms around you loosen, holding now, not gripping. 

“Tell me when you want me to move,” you whisper against his ear, pressing a small kiss to the lobe. 

He nods, brushing his cheek against yours with a soft sigh. His hand moves from your back upward, until he cups the back of your head, drawing your lips back to his. It’s a soft kiss, loving; slow and sensual slides of wet skin mingling with gentle exhales. Before you know it, and before he says, you’re rolling your hips greedily, just grinding against him for now. 

A guttural sound leaves his lips. His forehead feels hot and sticky pressed against yours like this, a strand of his hair tickling your cheek. 

You feel his thighs shift, widening as far as the slacks still around his thighs can allow, feet planted more firmly into the carpet. The first roll of his hips is disjointed, off rhythm with your own, but the slight drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning brokenly. The second roll, a little more confident, has you pressing your hips down to meet it, and your back arches like a cat.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, your voice thick and throaty. You moan his name, wait for the third shallow thrust, and meet it. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He looks up at you like you hung the stars, his eyes widening at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips like a fractured halo. He loses his rhythm, but you soon pick it back up for him, starting to use your thighs to slide more eagerly down his cock. It’s still shallow, Nanami’s arms around your waist preventing you from really going for it, but you’re unwilling to part from the closeness for now. 

You bounce a few inches at a time, the dull clap of your hips and the lewd squelch of your hot cunt wrapped tight around him filling the air of the apartment. With each bounce, a grunt pushes out from his chest, hot breath fanning across your face. 

Nanami, though inexperienced, starts to let his body guide him. His hips buck up to meet you more confidently, and the growing force of his movements has you keening, fingernails biting into his shoulders. 

You look square into his hooded eyes, breath mingling, and see the flush across his skin, his lips glistening with saliva. You moan again, higher pitched this time, and Nanami’s next thrust has you jolting up a little, nose bumping against his. You clench around him again, and his brow knits together. 

“S-Shit,” he pants, his hips starting to jolt more readily, pushing a little too forcefully into you, quickly losing his rhythm. “I’m not… I’m not going to last…” His movements quicken, grow more erratic, and you’re not even sure he realises. “… you’re so fucking… tight.” 

The last part is little more than a throaty whisper, his voice cracking. You stop meeting his thrusts and instead, widen your stance, tighten your core, and let him take what he needs. The movement, though small, isn’t lost on him, and he looks up at you, emotion swimming heavily in his dark gaze. 

He thrusts up grow more erratic, sloppier, something like a grunt leaving his mouth with every dull thwap of his hips against your ass. His arms tighten around you, fingertips pressing into your skin. A groan, a hiss, and a swallow. The couch creaks and strains. 

“N-Next time - hah - next time… I want t-to feel you cum around me,” he pants, his arms starting to shake. “I’ll give you everything, anything, fuck, I-I’ll keep going until… until… God-“ 

He’s barely pulling out now, a mere inch is all he’s moving, the head of his cock bullying against the soft spot right next to your cervix. Choked, high-pitch moans are the only sounds you can make, and you distantly note you’ve never sounded like before. Not ever. 

You’re getting there, you realise. Not quite close, and definitely not as close as him, but the way his cock fits inside you, the slap of his hips against you, the way he’s looking at you… it’s pushing you there fast. 

But it’s not quite enough. 

“I’m close,” he gasps. “I… where…” 

“Inside,” you reply without hesitation. Something passes by his eyes, a small flicker of concern, perhaps, swimming in the sea of lust and arousal. You try to find your bearings enough to tell him it’s okay, you wouldn’t have taken him inside if you weren’t protected-

-but then his cock is twitching inside you, and Nanami is shaking, shaking underneath you, his thighs jolting, nearly bucking you off his lap altogether. 

With one last slam of his hips against you, buried as deep as he could possibly ago, a long, primal groan leaves him. It’s deep, visceral, easily mistaken for something pained - and it might be the most divine fucking sound you’ve ever heard in your life. 

He buries his face against your throat as his hips buck involuntarily a few times, and you shiver as you feel that familiar warmth bloom inside you. He’s giving you everything, or what feels like it. Your pussy flutters around him, and his fingertips press into you so tight you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises. 

His heart is hammering against your chest, the thump pounding even in your own chest. Ragged pants and a heavy quiet settles over the living room. His cock continues to twitch inside you, growing weaker with every thud of his heart. 

Nanami doesn’t pull his head from your throat for a long while, his nose pressing into your skin as he pants against you. 

After a moment, he finally swallows. “… I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I… I should have made you-“ 

“Shut up,” you murmur against his warm hair, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and his shampoo. He seems to get the picture, of what you were trying to say. He always did. “Next time,” you add anyway, just to be sure. 

He lifts his head from your skin, looking up at you blearily. You smile fondly as you see his face again, the harsh lines on his brow and his eyes smoother now, no longer creased as they always seemed to be. He looks… so much younger, you think, like this. Relaxed. Sated. 

You brush some of his sweaty hair out of his face, and his eyelids flutter at the brief contact. He seems exhausted, you think.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. “I don’t want this to…” His palm moves against your back, sliding down your spine. “I want you. Properly. I always have.” He swallows. “Always.” 

Your eyes soften. He looks at you expectantly, almost vulnerably. 

“You have me,” you murmur in reply, finally. “Properly.” 

A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s warmer than you’ve ever seen before. Genuine. Light. It’s as if a decade of weight lifts from his broad shoulders, if only briefly. 

He pulls you close once more, his lips pressing against yours softly, lovingly, and the world seems to fade away. 

For now, of course. 

masterlist.

[wondeurwall]

Idk if u've seen rafayel's new oracle story BUT IT HAS BEEN PLAGUING MY MIND

"What if i make it up to you like this yeah?"

MAKE UP SEX WITH RAFAYEL.

TELL ME DO YOU THINK THEY'LL HAVE IT OFTEN?? But ones in a more playful sort of way not really full on arguments if you get what i mean 😩💗💗

oh my god please, nonnie, rafayel's oracle story is literally the only thing on my mind. i've been so unwell

i went in with one dream and spent everything i had because my luck is abysmal. and, the worst part?? I CAN'T EVEN BE UPSET ABOUT IT 😭🫵🏻 it wasn't what i expected. it's kind of funny ASKDDJKD!! i thought it'd be myth related. instead, i was blessed with rafayel.... kisses... 🥰

itty bitty nsfw 🔞 mdni.

rafayel would 100% down for playful makeup sex 😵‍💫💕 honestly, he'd pull any kind of excuse just to get you undressed and fucked out in bliss. he loves how pretty you look when you cum 💕 even more when he and you can get a good laugh in between because he'd appreciate lightheartedness in intimacy. after all, he wouldn't have sex with anyone else! he needs trust to do those sweet, silly things too, and he can only ever do that with you.

because i think he'd find a lot of fun with it, he'd do it often, but the sex doesn't necessarily need to be absolutely mind-blowing once initiated. banter is fun, even better when it leads to sex, but he just loves being close like that: naked and a tangled mess of limbs with the warmth coming from your body to his.

he's a night owl, so he's unintentionally ignoring your texts. maybe, even misses a few phone calls or immediately ends an incoming one, thinking it's an alarm he set up before. part of the day goes by and you're coming into his home to make sure he's doing alright. there's no use in pretending that you aren't upset. because you are upset! you didn't hear from him 💔 but, you find that he's just now out of bed after finishing a new piece of art.

"were you asleep this whole time?" you ask.

he rambles on about a sudden inspiration he had and that, "it'd be wrong to rest when the idea was too good."

you listen, nod, but truthfully some of his words go in and out the other ear. you frown at him. and, when he asks why you have that look on your face, you're quick to say, "i'm sure you can figure out why."

he knows. of course, he knows. he reads you well, just like you do him. then, his shoulders are a little hunched over, and he's laughing!

"i've really spoiled you," he says softly. his hands are on your hips the next second, pulling you close. "mm, why not let me make it up to you? i'm awake now, and we have the rest of the day to ourselves."

he lifts you and lays you on the couch. kisses you while he thinks about how many times he can get you gushing on his fingers and tongue before his cock.

OR, if you're the one making it up to him 🥹

accidentally spilling paint on a good shirt of his? you're panicking as soon as it happens. your hands move faster than your mouth, and you're halfway with unbuttoning his shirt before telling him he needs to take it off.

his laughter is what stops you. it dawns on you! but, to be fair, your thoughts don't have anything else besides: the shirt must be washed before it really stains.

"someone's being bold," he chuckles as your eyes meet. "did you plan this?"

"what?" and, the fabric drops from between your fingers. rafayel doesn't miss the way your gaze falls briefly, catching the sight of his bare chest, last 2 or 3 buttons barely laying over his abdomen. "me, ruining a piece of clothing that's probably over three times my budget? i don't think that's planning. it's called being clumsy."

your face feels warm. you take a deep breath, reach out to him, "c'mon. i'll wash it. take it off before the paint makes it unsalvageable."

rafayel clasps your wrist with his hand, steps into your space, voice deepening with a tinge of playfulness, "no, i can think of a better idea. how about me and you have matching clothes?"

he embraces you, gets you wearing blotches of paint too, and you want to argue. but, you can't find the energy to when one hand is guiding your head back and the other is tugging on your neckline. rafayel's lips move to your throat first. then, trails open-mouthed kisses along the rest of your neck, jaw, the base of your shoulder, before whispering, "it's a good idea, yeah?"

since you're the one to make a mess of his shirt first, he wants you riding him as compensation. to make him feel good? yes, sure, he loves that. though, the reason for it, most of all: he wants you using his cock like you own it. wants you aching and desperate for him. cum all over him, feel good because of him. nothing gets him going more than watching you bounce on top and moan his name so sweetly 🥰

© 2024 wondeurwall ☆ all rights reserved. please don't repost as your own, modify or translate on here or on other platforms. reblogs & likes are appreciated! ♡

[writingforstraykids]

What are your thoughts on Jilix as fwb? Please, anything 🙏🏻

Hii dear, thank you for the request🖤 As I already had some thoughts on Jilix kissing platonically I decided to take that as a starter. I was working on a fic based on Miu's audio sooo I thought why not combine those?🤭 hope you like it🖤🖤

Pairing: Jilix

Word Count: 3082

Summary: Jisung and Felix have slowly grown closer and became each other's safe haven. Fleeting touches turn into cuddles, cuddles turn into kisses, kisses one day turn into more.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, smut, kissing, oral (ji receiving), whiny!bottom!ji, soft!lix, fwb

The dim glow of Jisung's lamp cast a warm light over the room as Jisung and Felix settled in for the night. They had just finished another exhausting day, performing for thousands of fans and basking in the high energy of the stage. Now, as the adrenaline faded, they found themselves in the quiet solitude of Jisung's room.

It had become a routine for them, these nights spent together. Initially, it was out of convenience and comfort; sharing a room meant they had someone familiar to unwind with after the chaos of the day. But over time, their interactions had evolved into something more intimate, yet undefined.

Jisung was sprawled out on the bed, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Felix, ever the night owl, was still puttering around, brushing his teeth and organizing his things. The two had grown used to each other's habits and quirks, finding a rhythm that worked for them.

"Hey, you coming to bed or what?" Jisung called out, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, yeah, just a sec," Felix replied, his voice tinged with amusement. He quickly finished up and turned off the bathroom light, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness, save for the lamp.

Felix climbed into bed beside Jisung, their proximity close but still respectful of personal space. It was a boundary they had naturally established, though it was becoming increasingly porous.

Jisung shifted slightly, turning to face Felix. "You did great tonight," he said softly. "The fans loved your solo."

Felix smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thanks, Ji. You were amazing too. Your rap was fire."

They lay there for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken words. It was Felix who broke it, leaning over to place a fleeting kiss on Jisung's hair. It was innocent, almost brotherly, but it sent a ripple of warmth through Jisung. He felt a flutter in his chest, a sensation that was becoming all too familiar.

"Night, Ji," Felix murmured, settling back down.

"Night, Lix," Jisung replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The next night, the atmosphere was much the same. They returned to their room after another busy day, exhausted but exhilarated. As they settled in, Jisung felt a strange but familiar pull toward Felix. It started with a casual brush of hands, a lingering touch that neither pulled away from. Then, a kiss on the temple, followed by one on the forehead.

It was innocent, tender, and filled with an unspoken need. They were both touch-starved, craving the simple comfort of being held and loved in a way that transcended words. As they cuddled up, Jisung felt a sense of peace wash over him. Felix's presence was grounding, a reminder that amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a constant they could rely on.

One night, as they lay in bed, Felix grew a little bolder. He had always been the more adventurous one, willing to push boundaries just to see where they led. As he nestled closer to Jisung, he planted the softest kiss on his neck, testing the waters.

Jisung's breath hitched, and he would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel special. There was a vulnerability in Felix's actions, a silent plea for connection that Jisung couldn't ignore. He found himself leaning into it, encouraging Felix in subtle ways—a gentle touch, a soft sigh, a quiet "yes" in the darkness.

As they lay there, bodies entwined, Jisung's fingers found their way into Felix's hair, running through the soft strands. Felix responded by kissing Jisung's neck sleepily, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Without thinking, Jisung pulled Felix up, meeting his lips in a kiss that was both surprising and inevitable. It was a culmination of all the unspoken emotions and desires that had been slowly simmering between them. They kissed with a tenderness that spoke volumes, their need for each other laid bare in that intimate moment.

From that night on, their dynamic shifted. What had started as innocent gestures of affection grew into something more profound. They became each other's solace, their safe haven in a world that often demanded too much of them.

Whenever one of them was hurt, the other was there to kiss away the bruises, offering comfort and healing in the form of soft touches and whispered reassurances. When one of them was upset, the other was there to kiss away the tears, holding them close when they felt like falling apart.

Whatever room they shared became a sanctuary, a place where they could be themselves without the weight of expectations. They would spend hours holding onto each other, their lips meeting in a dance of affection that left them feeling seen and appreciated.

One night, after a particularly grueling day, they found themselves in bed, wrapped in each other's arms. Jisung was tracing lazy patterns on Felix's back, the repetitive motion soothing them both.

"Ji," Felix murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion and something deeper. "Do you ever think about... us? Like, what this means?"

Jisung's hand stilled for a moment before he resumed the gentle strokes. "Yeah, I do," he admitted. "But I try not to overthink it. What we have... it's special. And I don't want to ruin it by putting labels on it."

Felix nodded, understanding but still needing reassurance. "I just... I care about you, Ji. A lot."

"I care about you too, Lix," Jisung replied softly. "More than anything."

They fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of their words hanging in the air. There was a sense of contentment in knowing that they had each other, no matter what.

As the tour continued, their bond only grew stronger. They navigated the challenges and triumphs together, finding strength in their connection. Every night, they would return to their now shared hotel room, eager to seek solace in each other's arms.

One evening, after a particularly emotional performance, Felix found himself feeling unusually vulnerable. The cheers of the crowd had been overwhelming, and the pressure to be perfect weighed heavily on him.

Jisung noticed the tension in Felix's frame as they entered their room. Without a word, he pulled Felix into a tight embrace, holding him close. Felix melted into the hug, his defenses crumbling as he buried his face in Jisung's shoulder.

"It's okay, Lix," Jisung murmured, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "You're amazing, and you don't have to be perfect. Just be yourself."

Felix let out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of Jisung's words seep into his soul. He pulled back slightly, looking into Jisung's eyes. "Thank you, Ji," he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jisung smiled, his heart swelling with affection. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm not going anywhere."

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, a promise of support and love that transcended words. They held each other close, finding comfort in the simple act of being together.

As the months passed, their nights became a ritual of intimacy and connection. They would talk about their dreams and fears, sharing parts of themselves that they kept hidden from the world. In those moments, they were not just idols but two people who needed each other in ways that went beyond friendship. Until one day, another so far established boundary was bent…

The hotel room was dimly lit, casting long shadows on the walls as Jisung and Felix entered, both exhausted from the night's performance. The thrill of the concert still buzzed faintly in their veins, but fatigue was quickly catching up. They had become used to this pattern: the high of the show, the quiet descent into their shared sanctuary, the solace they found in each other's presence.

Jisung flopped onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with a groan. "I'm beat," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Felix chuckled softly, closing the door behind him. "I know the feeling," he replied, setting down his bag and stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, revealing a sliver of toned stomach, and Jisung's eyes were momentarily drawn to the sight.

They had grown closer over the past months, their bond deepening in ways they hadn't anticipated. What started as simple gestures of affection had evolved into a physical intimacy that neither of them had the words to fully describe. They had found comfort in each other's touch, a way to feel grounded amidst the chaos of their lives.

Felix opened the window, the distant sound of traffic floating into the room. Felix approached the bed and sat down beside Jisung, his hand coming to rest on Jisung's back. "Come on, Ji. Get up. You need to change out of those clothes."

Jisung rolled onto his back, looking up at Felix with a tired smile. "You're such a nag, you know that?"

Felix grinned, leaning down to plant a kiss on Jisung's forehead. "Someone has to take care of you," he teased. "Now, come on."

With a groan, Jisung sat up, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. Felix watched him with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, his gaze lingering on the way Jisung's muscles moved under his skin. There was a tension in the air, a current of unspoken desire that seemed to crackle between them.

As Jisung reached for his pajama top, Felix's hand caught his wrist, stopping him. Jisung looked up, surprised, and saw the intensity in Felix's eyes.

"Lix?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

Felix didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his breath warm against Jisung's skin as he placed a soft kiss on Jisung's collarbone. Jisung's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Felix..." he murmured, but there was no protest in his tone. If anything, there was an unspoken invitation, a desire for more.

Felix's kisses trailed up Jisung's neck, each one sending shivers down his spine. When he reached Jisung's jaw, he paused, their faces inches apart. Jisung's eyes fluttered closed, anticipation coiling tight in his stomach.

"Ji," Felix whispered, his voice husky. "Is this okay?"

Jisung's eyes opened, meeting Felix's gaze. There was a vulnerability in Felix's expression, a need for reassurance. Jisung answered by cupping Felix's face in his hands, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but innocent.

The kiss deepened quickly, a hunger that had been building for weeks finally finding release. Felix's hands roamed over Jisung's bare chest, his touch both gentle and insistent. Jisung responded in kind, his fingers tangling in Felix's hair, pulling him closer.

They broke apart only when the need for air became too great, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Jisung's eyes were dark with desire, his lips swollen from their kiss. Felix's pupils were dilated, his skin flushed.

"God, Ji," Felix murmured, his voice shaky. "I want you."

Jisung's heart skipped a beat at the raw honesty in Felix's words. He leaned in, capturing Felix's lips in another searing kiss. "I want you too, Lix," he whispered against Felix's mouth. "So much."

They moved together in a tangle of limbs and desire, shedding clothes and inhibitions. The feel of Felix's skin against his own was electrifying, each touch sparking a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

Felix's hands were everywhere, exploring Jisung's body with a reverence that made Jisung's heart ache. When Felix's mouth found his nipple, teasing it with gentle flicks of his tongue, Jisung moaned, arching into the touch.

"Felix, please," Jisung gasped, his fingers digging into Felix's shoulders. "I need you."

Felix's eyes met his, dark and intense. "I've got you," he promised, his voice low and fervent. "Just let me take care of you."

Jisung nodded, surrendering himself to Felix's touch. Felix's kisses trailed lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake. When he reached Jisung's waistband, he paused, looking up for permission.

Jisung's answer was to lift his hips, helping Felix remove the last barrier between them. Felix's breath hitched at the sight of Jisung laid bare before him, vulnerable and trusting.

"You're beautiful," Felix whispered, his voice filled with awe. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the hollow of Jisung's hip. "So beautiful."

Jisung's response was a shuddering breath, his fingers threading through Felix's hair. Felix's mouth moved lower, his kisses becoming more fervent, more insistent. When he finally took Jisung in his mouth, the sensation was overwhelming.

"Felix!" Jisung gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily. The pleasure was almost too much, a white-hot intensity that made his mind spin. Felix's hands held him steady, guiding him through the waves of sensation.

Felix's mouth worked with a skill that left Jisung breathless, each movement pushing him closer to the edge. When Jisung felt himself teetering on the brink, he tugged at Felix's hair, pulling him up for a kiss that was desperate and needy.

"I need you inside me," Jisung whispered against Felix's lips. "Please, Lix. I need you."

Felix's eyes darkened with desire, and he nodded, his breath coming in harsh pants. "Okay, Ji. Okay."

"Relax, Ji," Felix whispered, his voice soothing as he squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. "I don't want to hurt you."

Jisung nodded, his trust in Felix absolute. He spread his legs, opening himself up to Felix's touch. Felix's fingers were careful and deliberate as they prepared Jisung, each movement slow and controlled to ensure Jisung's comfort. The initial intrusion was met with a sharp intake of breath from Jisung, but he quickly adjusted, his body relaxing under Felix's ministrations.

Felix's free hand stroked Jisung's thigh, his touch a grounding presence. "You're doing great, Ji," he murmured, his eyes locked onto Jisung's face, watching for any sign of discomfort.

Felix moved with a deliberate slowness, the careful preparation intensifying the anticipation between them. His fingers worked gently but insistently, each touch drawing soft whimpers from Jisung. The sounds of his need filled the room, a symphony of whines and gasps that only fueled Felix’s determination to drive him wild.

“Felix, please," Jisung whimpered, his hips moving restlessly. "I can't wait anymore."

"Patience, Ji," Felix murmured, though his own voice was strained with desire. "I want you to be ready."

Jisung's response was a high-pitched whine, his back arching off the bed. "I'm ready, Lix. I need you now.”

When Felix deemed Jisung ready, he withdrew his fingers, reaching for the condom. Jisung watched him with half-lidded eyes, his anticipation building with every passing second. Felix rolled the condom on with practiced ease, applying more lube before positioning himself at Jisung's entrance.

"Ready?" Felix asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jisung nodded, his eyes full of trust and desire. "Yes, Lix. I'm ready.".

He locked eyes with Jisung, searching for any last sign of hesitation. Seeing only desperate need reflected back at him, he pressed forward, slowly entering Jisung. The initial stretch drew a sharp cry from Jisung, his fingers clutching at Felix's shoulders, nails digging in as he adjusted to the intrusion.

The sensation was overwhelming—a perfect blend of pleasure and pain that made Jisung’s head spin. His breath hitched, his chest heaving as he struggled to accommodate Felix's size. But the discomfort was quickly overshadowed by a growing wave of pleasure, each inch driving him closer to the edge.

"Move, Lix," Jisung pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please, I need more."

Felix began to move, his thrusts slow and measured at first, giving Jisung time to adjust. But the pace quickly grew more urgent, the need to be closer, to feel more, overtaking them both. Jisung’s legs wrapped around Felix's waist, pulling him deeper, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Felix," Jisung moaned, his voice high and needy. "Oh god, you feel so good. So good."

Felix groaned in response, his movements becoming more forceful. "You're perfect. So perfect."

They moved together in a frantic rhythm, their bodies seeking an intimacy that went beyond the physical. Each thrust, each touch, was a reaffirmation of their connection, a silent promise that they were in this together. Jisung's hands roamed over Felix's back, his nails leaving red trails in their wake. Every movement, every sound, drove them both higher, their need for each other consuming them.

Jisung's whimpers turned to cries of pleasure, his body trembling with each powerful thrust. The pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, every nerve ending alive with sensation. "Lix," he gasped, his voice breaking with need. "I'm so close. Please, don't stop."

Felix’s response was a growl of determination. "I've got you, Ji. I'm not stopping."

With a final, powerful thrust, Felix drove them both over the edge. Jisung's cry of release was loud and desperate, his body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over him. Felix followed moments later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried his face in Jisung's neck, their bodies trembling together in the aftermath.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftershocks of their release. Felix remained inside Jisung, their breaths mingling as they held each other close, the intimacy of the moment grounding them both.

Jisung’s fingers threaded through Felix’s hair, his touch gentle, soothing. "That was..." he began, but words failed him.

"Incredible," Felix finished for him, his voice filled with awe and contentment.

They lay there in the quiet aftermath, their bodies still entangled. Jisung felt a profound sense of peace settle over him, his heart swelling with affection for the boy in his arms. Felix had become more than just a friend, more than just a comfort. He was Jisung’s anchor, his safe haven.

As their breathing slowly returned to normal, Felix pressed a soft kiss to Jisung’s forehead. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Jisung nodded, a contented smile on his lips. "More than okay," he replied. "That was... perfect."

Felix smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, pulling Jisung closer. "I'm glad we have each other, Ji."

"Me too, Lix," Jisung said softly, his heart full. "Me too."

They lay there in the afterglow, their bodies entwined and their hearts full. In the quiet of their hotel room, they had found something precious: a connection that went beyond words, a bond that made them feel whole.

As they drifted off to sleep, Jisung felt a sense of peace settle over him. No matter what the future held, he knew they would face it together. And that was enough.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @dis-trict9 @queer-possum @james-is-here @slutforchanlix

And also those who loved the jilix thoughts: @antisocial-socialbutterfly @sleeplessstupidfinch @babybearcubbs @stayp1ece143

[yandereanonymous]

Ok so how about this. A farmer who learns about the resident cryptid and starts bringing stuff as a sort of offering so it won’t kill him or his animals. The cryptid thinks the farmer is trying to court him and wants to mate with him. Both the farmer and cryptid are male.

Thank you for writing this if you choose it!

Yandere Cryptid x farmer reader (M/M) ♡♤Romantic♤♡

TW/CW: Animal death, kids... fantasy of little cryptid children. Oh, also the use of snares and bear traps.

Summary: You live in a small town and your animals are dying. You find a feather after unsuccessfully trying to kill/deter the creature. After struggling a little to find an answer, you learn through a friend about this rumour about a cryptid who eats live stock. You attempt to please it, but it assumes you are attempting to court it.

You were a simple man in a simple town. Your life was mostly made up of scourching sun, harsh winters, and a lot of work taking care of your animals. You made little money, but had just enough to get by and incredibly kind neighbours.

Then, your sheep began to be torn to shreds in the night. Your goats were sucked dry of blood. Your cattle seemed to he able to take the damage fine enough, but boy, did they suffer...

You bought bear traps, snares, sprays, whatever it took to keep this predator away from your live stock. You found the bear traps dismantled, your snares broken, and the sprays simply ineffective. But you did find... a feather.

You took it to someone you knew who owned birds, and she said you were stupid to think she'd know what this was. So, you took it to your friend who was into zoology and worked at an animal sanctuary. She said it was oddly coloured and didn't seem to be from local wildlife. In other words, you were at a dead end.

That was until she made a joke about a local "bird monster" that has been terrorising the nearby town lately. When you asked, she laughed and said it was just a fishermen's tale about an avian creature who was 11 feet tall and had an almost 400 centimetre wingspan. It had mostly jet-black feathers with snow white ones on its face and blue feathers tinged its wings. Its eyes were a black void and it was overall owl-like. It walked on two legs and was humanoid with large talons.

It hunted live stock.

It hunted live stock.

You quickly thanked her and rushed home to do some research. It didn't take long before you were giving up a little bit of meat to the thing to it would stop killing your animals. However, your bad luck did not end with the death of your animals.

The cryptid saw your gifts and did not realise what you were really asking. It made sense now...

The fresh meat, the little nest you had in your room, and even your shrill, high-pitched cry when you first found the animals dead. That was your mating call. An odd mating call for sure, but a mating call nonetheless. It felt... flattered.

It had never been considered for this kind of stuff before, mostly wallowing in loneliness and rejection, but now... now it has someone... offering to be its mate.

It can not let out down. It will not let you down! Those animals outside your home— you wanted it to kill them, didn't you? To prove its skill as a hunter. To see if it could provide for you. Well, it can. It can do that and so much more.

Though you are both male, the creature plays with images of adopting abandoned nestlings and raising them as your own. It would love to hear the sounds of cheeping in the night, after it has brought back fresh meat.

It wanted a mate, now it has one. Now, the only thing left to do... is to show you that it accepts your proposal.

[mavrintarou]

[4:38 PM] Oikawa Toru [3]

Thank you for your patience <3

Warning: angst, healing and future complication

Second part Fourth part

.

After ensuring Mateo’s fever had subsided, Y/n kicked Toru to get some sleep. She saw his hesitation; did he not trust her with his son?

Y/n responded with a deadpan expression, her tone tinged with sarcasm. “Oh, don’t worry. I promise I won’t just take off with him,” she said, her words laced with irony.

Toru shook his head, his expression filled with disbelief. “No, no, that’s… I trust you,” he muttered, looking visibly exhausted. “I just… I can’t wrap my head around this. Why would you care about us?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, surprised by his response. “you were the one who came to my unit,” she reminded him.

Recalling their initial encounter, Toru nodded slowly. “Yeah… you’re right,” he acknowledged.

“I have a weird sleep schedule anyways, so I’m used to being a night owl.” Y/n turned her attention back to Mateo, who suckled his pacifier in her arms. “I’ll watch his fever, so go rest.”

He inhaled like he had more things to say but nodded, “all right, but wake me up at any time, got it?” She saluted him, and he smiled before turning his heels towards his bedroom. He left the door cracked ajar so that Y/n did not feel uncomfortable entering his room if needed.

Y/n and Mateo sat together, swaying and waltzing to the melody of her old concerto videos playing on YouTube. The city night of Tokyo glowed below them as they gazed out from the window. The soothing music and gentle rhythm lulled Mateo into a peaceful slumber, his head finding a comfortable spot against Y/n’s chest.

Y/n’s gaze shifted toward the TV as the familiar sound of a solo violinist filled the room, and her heart began to race with anticipation.

Kim Woojin.

As the video continued to play, Y/n realized with nostalgia and sadness that it was their concerto performance from four years ago.

It had been a while since she had last spoken to Woojin, particularly after he had proposed to her.

Despite their history, she had made the difficult decision to reject his proposal.

.

Y/n sat across from Toru in awkward silence at his kitchen table.

She woke up to the smell of delicious food and immediately was hungry. The thought of food was pushed aside as her mind focused on getting Mateo’s fever down.

Toru set a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruits before her. He pushed a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice toward her while sipping on some tea.

“Thank you,” she muttered, still feeling dazed.

Mateo was in Toru’s arms, being fed with a bottle.

I need to go, she thought, chowing down her food.

“I won’t kick you out, so you don’t need to inhale your food,” Toru said softly, setting the bottle on the table and shifting Mateo upward to pat his back.

Y/n narrowed her eyes at him for reading her mind. “I appreciate the breakfast, but I have other things to do today,” she lied; she had nothing to do now that she was taking a break from the piano world.

“Mateo and I can’t thank you enough for whatever you did to eliminate his fever.”

Y/n nodded, finishing the last of her strawberries. She stood up and began picking up her plate to take to the sink when Toru stopped her. “Your hands are full; this is the least I can do.”

She ended up washing the dishes before she said goodbye.

“I’ll be away the next couple of days. I used your TV to search for some of my old videos on YouTube last night, and it seemed to have put Mateo to sleep.” She sighs, “hopefully, it’ll work.”

Toru smiled, “thank you, Y/n. Truly.”

. .

Y/n returned four days later.

Traveling across multiple time zones took a toll on Y/n’s body, making it difficult for her to adjust. Exhausted, she managed to take a quick shower before collapsing into bed. She fell into a deep sleep, unaware of the passing hours until evening.

Glancing at the clock on her phone, Y/n groaned in frustration. She despised the disoriented feeling that often accompanied traveling, as it disrupted her entire day.

Opening her fridge, she was greeted with empty shelves.

Sighing, she returned to her room to change her clothes to go out.

She returned an hour later, complete and with some groceries. She exited the elevator and looked at the opposite door for a second before entering her unit.

. .

[Aoba Josei High School]

Y/n couldn’t stop smiling like a fool.

She and Toru have plans to stop by the bookstore after school to pick up the latest manga volume to In Your Heart. A series that he took an interest in after he found her reading it.

Toru also wanted to treat her to ice cream.

Y/n has yet to tell Toru that she couldn’t resist and read beyond the chapters online and find out what happened next.

The main character, Lina, is a well-known pianist who returns home after being abroad for many years. She runs into her first crush from high school, Nikko, and they reconnect, falling in love with each other once again. But Lina has a secret…

Y/n has been giddy, wanting to blurt about the spoiler she discovered; Toru will be so shocked!

She placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, which seemed to flutter whenever she thought about Toru. Unable to ignore it any longer, she realized she was just like the many other girls easily charmed by his captivating personality.

A persistent voice in the depths of her mind constantly urged caution, reminding her to be careful. However, her heart was experiencing emotions she had never felt before, and it was impossible for her not to desire more.

.

Y/n followed behind three unknown girls as they led her outside the school building. She was annotating her notes when three girls approached her desk.

“We have something to say to you; follow us.”

They turned the corner behind the gymnasium, and Y/n hesitated until one of the girls stepped out, “come.”

Finally, when they were out of earshot, the girl Y/n perceived as the leader stepped closer and swiftly retrieved something from her pocket. She forcefully brought it to Y/n’s face, making her flinch in surprise.

“Watch this.”

The video began playing, starting shaky and at a weird angle toward four boys.

She immediately recognizes Toru and the other three boys he is often around with, Hajime, Takahiro, and Issei.

“How is it going with Y/n?” Issei inquired, kicking his feet onto his desk.

Toru shrugged his shoulder. “I think it’s going good; she’s warmed up to me.”

“Yeah, we can tell; I’ve never heard her talk to so much before.” Issei laughed mockingly. “What did you do? Woo her?”

Toru snorted, “my charm was enough for her to open up to me. How much more do you need for me to win the bet?”

A hand slapped the back of Toru’s head; Iwaizumi Hajime growled, “you made a bet? That’s the bet you guys were talking about?”

“Toru said he could get any girl to fall at his feet; Y/n is totally at his feet.” Takahiro laughed, digging into the inside of his pocket before slapping a few bills in front of Toru. “It’s just a bet; it’s not like Toru said he would get her to fall in love with him. He just needed to open her up; no harm done.”

“But still, you made a bet on her.” Hajime pointed, “that’s still a shitty thing to do, Shitty-Kawa.”

“Chill, Iwa-chan,” Toru rolled his eyes, “I only said I’ll get her to fall for my charms, which she did. I didn’t say anything about dating her and dumping her. If anything, I helped her open up to a man, a future man for herself, so she should be thankful I helped her up for her.”

Issei leaned forward before Toru, “do you like her?”

Toru shook his head, “no, she’s cute, but I don’t like her. Her stuttering is cute, but personally, it’s a turn-off.”

Hajime swore, “you’re an asshole. Did you pretty much use the girl to help your grades?”

“Yep!” the two other guys answered. “That’s why he had the top scores in the class, and now Oikawa has the grades to apply to colleges.”

The video ended.

Words were sealed, and Y/n could only look pitiful.

“We thought you should know the truth.” The girl stuffs her phone back in her pocket. “Whatever you decide to do is up to you.” They turned to walk away.

“W – wa – ait,” Y/n whispered; they turned to look over their shoulders. “Th – thank y – ou.”

.

Toru found himself glancing back at Y/n’s empty seat.

It has been day three of her absence, and their teacher has not said anything about her absence like she would with other students.

She also hasn’t responded to any of his messages after her last message to him canceling their plans to go to the bookstore and grab ice cream afterward.

“Class, I have an announcement to make.” The teacher tapped her pen against the chalkboard to get everyone’s attention. “One of our classmates, Y/n…” she paused to inhale sharply. “She will no longer be in this class as of today. Can I ask a volunteer to clear Y/n’s locker and deliver her possession?”

Toru stood up immediately, “I volunteer.”

After school was out, when Naomi approached him, Toru rushed to gather his items to leave.

She looked seriously before asking quietly, “can I talk to you for a bit?”

Toru nodded before following her. She stepped off to the side, away from the crowd rushing to leave.

He noticed Naomi eyeing the bag of Y/n’s items, mainly a pencil pouch, a few notebooks, and small stationary items. “I can take those to Y/n.”

Toru frowned; his grip tightened around the handle of the bag. “It’s okay. Utada-sensei asked me to drop it off, and it’s on my way home, too, so I can swing by.” He paused, watching Naomi before asking, “did something…happen to Y/n?”

Her eyes turned cold, “shouldn’t you know best? Since you made that bet on her?” She wanted to laugh in his face when his eyes widened. She held her hand out, but Toru made no move to hand over the bag. “Face it, you’ve been outed, Oikawa; I hope you won a good chunk of money.”

Naomi took a step forward, she was tall for a girl, but she wasn’t as tall as Toru, but her stance was taller than him. “If I had not promised Y/n, I would have punched you.” She reached to snatch the bag out of his hand, leaving him behind stunned.

.

The end of the school year came in a blink of an eye, and before Toru knew it, he was only two days away from graduation.

Everyone has congratulated him for getting scouted and accepted to join Club Atletico San Juan, a professional team in the Argentina Volleyball Federation. It is beyond his hopes and imagination, and he is still processing it.

He would immediately leave for Argentina right after graduation.

He knows he’s happy and proud of himself.

But there was something heavy on his heart.

Toru has been sitting on the bench at one of the local parks near his home, waiting for Y/n.

If she does come.

He had texted her earlier; you probably don’t want to see me anymore, but I would like to explain myself. Can we meet at the park by our house in 30 minutes?

His knee has been shaking nervously. Doubts plagued his mind: What if he couldn’t effectively convey his message? What if he stumbled over his words? The fear of choking on his words weighed heavily on him.

His head snapped up the moment he felt the spot beside him shift. “Y/n…” She doesn’t spare him a glance, staring straight ahead. “All I can say is… I’m sorry.” There is no emotion on her face. “I got accepted to play for a club in Argentina, and I’ll be leaving soon, but I couldn’t leave without saying I’m truly sorry. I own up to all my mistakes, my actions of hurting you… I don’t even know how to make up for hurting you.”

Tears pricked his eyes, but he berated himself for even considering crying. How dare he shed tears after showing no remorse when agreeing to the bet? Deep down, he knew the situation was complex, but he believed it was better not to make this worse any further. “I’m truly sorry,” he managed to say, his voice filled with regret.

Y/n stood up, and Toru’s eyes followed as she turned her heels to stand before him. She exhaled softly and then smiled.

Toru blinked, eagerly awaiting her response, hoping for any words to escape her lips. He braced himself for the possibility of her expressing hatred or refusal to forgive him. However, she remained silent, to his surprise, not uttering a single word.

She just stared at Toru for a second longer before she dropped her head and turned her heels, walking away.

. .

[Present day]

Y/n woke up feeling drowsy; she couldn’t tell if the sun was rising or ready to set.

Closing her eyes, she found herself once again immersed in memories of her high school days. Since the day she reconnected with Toru, her dreams seemed to be plagued by images of the past. It reminded her of the pain he had caused her, urging her to be cautious about getting involved with him again. However, part of her wonders if these dreams were a form of closure she needed, a way to finally put the past behind her.

The last encounter Y/n had with Toru occurred just before he departed overseas. Discovering that she had been nothing more than a bet to him left her reeling, and she needed space to process her emotions. Over time, she managed to move on and let go of the hurt caused by the bet.

In hindsight, she realized she should have trusted her instincts and knew it was too good for someone like Toru to genuinely want to be her friend.

However, his hurtful comment about her stuttering pierced her heart the deepest. That remark cut deep, lingering her thoughts and intensifying the pain caused by the ordeal.

For the longest time, she had accepted her speech impediment as a flaw, and her parents had encouraged her to seek professional help. However, she was always too nervous and shy to take that step. It was easier for her to remain silent; she had grown accustomed to that.

Reflecting on her past, Y/n realized that Toru’s presence in her life had sparked a newfound confidence in her speech. She developed a strong desire to communicate with him, which motivated her to study diligently and practice speaking sentences slowly to overcome her stuttering.

“M – mom… and d – ad…,” Y/n inhales sharply, interrupting the silence at dinner. “I… I want to go to – to O – Osaka School o – of Speech….”

The specialty school didn’t operate like public schools. After much consideration and approval from the principal of Aoba Josei, they allowed Y/n to graduate early so she could immediately start her classes at the specialty school.

Y/n decided to temporarily set aside her passion for piano to focus entirely on improving her speech. With dedicated effort and determination, she witnessed a remarkable process in a short amount of time. Her speech had improved tremendously, surprising her expectations.

For the first time in her life, Y/n experienced an unparalleled excitement about engaging in conversations. Her new confidence had been uplifted, inspiring her to discuss all the topics she had been too afraid to broach in the past.

Even years later, her stuttering only resurfaced in rare instances when she found herself overwhelmingly nervous. With her progress and confidence, her speech impediment became a distant memory, only appearing in the most intense moments of anxiety.

And recently, since she ran into Toru again.

Y/n lifted her head at the sound of her door chime. Grabbing her phone, she sees the notification that someone is at her door.

Toru and Mateo.

She exited the bed and ran her fingers through her hair before shouting, “coming!”

“Hey,” Toru greeted as soon as she opened the door, “we wanted to see if you would like to join us for dinner at our place. Mateo and I would like to treat you to dinner for being so kind to us.”

Her gaze met Mateo’s, and for a brief moment, he seemed taken aback before recognizing her. A look of excitement spread across his face, and he energetically pumped his chubby arms. She smiled sweetly at him before answering, “sure, give me ten minutes to change, and I’ll be over.”

.

Toru left the door ajar, allowing Y/n to enter without hesitation. She scanned the room, searching for the baby, and Toru directed her attention to the living room.

As she stepped inside, her eyes fell upon the adorable sight of Mateo sitting amidst a scattering of toys. When he saw her, his chubby arms started flapping excitedly, causing him to lose his balance and fall backward.

Y/n couldn’t contain her laughter as she hurried over to him.

“Don’t mind him; he’s in the phase of wanting to be held all the time. Don’t fall for it.” Toru’s voice echoed from the kitchen. Despite the warning, Y/n couldn’t resist the adorable charm of Mateo’s longing gaze.

“Hi, Mateo!” she cooed, clapping her hands to get his attention. Mateo’s face immediately lit up with excitement, clearly indicating his desire to be picked up. Y/n gently maneuvered him into a sitting position, but as soon as she did, he clung to her with a surprisingly firm grip, refusing to let go. “All right, all right, I’ll pick you up,” she chuckled, giving into his pout. Mateo nestled comfortably against her chest, his eyes gazing at her with awe.

She leaned in to kiss his chubby cheek, “so glad you’re feeling better.” She reached to comb his mop of dark brown hair and brushed it behind his ears, “your hair is getting long.” Her thumb rubbed his earlobe, and he let out a yawn. “Are you tired?”

She stood up and cuddled him against her chest, rocking him gently.

“Don’t cave in, Y/n… or else you’ll make it hard for me.” Toru groaned from the kitchen.

Despite Toru’s comment, the genuine smile on his face betrayed his words. Deep down, he harbored a secret appreciation for any interaction between the two.

Toru knows he can only do so much to fill the vacancy of a mother figure for Mateo, and he often wonders how it would be if Mateo had a mother figure in his life. Though he was still too young to understand it now, eventually, he would question why he didn’t have a mother like other kids his age.

Until that day arrives, Toru will assume the roles of both mother and father and will do his best to explain the situation when Mateo is old enough to understand. He won’t hide anything, but he will do his damn best to protect his son from anything and everything.

Being thrust into the role of a single parent, Toru found himself starting from square one with no prior knowledge or experience in caring for babies. The prospect of raising a child was entirely foreign to him, leaving him feeling utterly clueless and uncertain about where to begin.

As Mateo’s due date approached, Toru’s anxiety consumed him, and self-doubt crept into his thoughts. The weight of being the impending responsibility began to overwhelm him. Questions raced through his mind. Could he genuinely handle caring for a baby on his own? What would this mean for his volleyball career, which demanded so much time and dedication? Amid his uncertainty, the idea of putting the baby up for adoption crossed his mind as a potential solution. These distressing thoughts clouded his judgment and added to his growing panic.

As soon as Mateo was placed in Toru’s arms in the quiet sanctuary of a separate room at the hospital, a profound shift occurred within him. In that tender moment, as he gazed into his baby’s eyes, Toru realized he couldn’t abandon this innocent life. This was his baby, his flesh and blood, and he felt an overwhelming surge of love and responsibility inside him.

He no longer wished to beg Lucia to reconsider or plead for her to stay for the sake of their child. He wanted her to leave, to have no part in their lives. It was clear to Toru that he and Mateo were meant to face the world together, forming an unbreakable bond as father and son.

“Your noo – noodles will overcook at this point….”

Toru blinked, seeing that he completely ignored the pot of overly boiling ramen. “Oh shoot!” He quickly turned off the stove and glanced at Y/n, holding Mateo in her arms as they looked at him with the same confused look.

“You might be right; it’s a little overcooked.”

Y/n shrugged her shoulder and turned her attention to Mateo. Smiling, she told the baby, “it’s okay; I like soft ramen.” As if Mateo knew what she meant, he smiled widely at her.

Toru smiled too, his heart soft like his ramen at the sight of his son and Y/n smiling.

.

Y/n leaned back against her seat, groaning. “I’m so full.”

She thought he was only making home-cooked food; it turns out he ordered other food, which was delivered. Toru’s family-size kitchen table was filled with different dishes.

“Why did you get so much food?” She complained that she was full but continued adding to her plate.

Toru held a sleeping Mateo in his arms and ate with one hand, “well, I didn’t know what you like, so I got a variety of things.”

“Toru, if you knew me – you would know I’ll never say no to any food.” She bit into a piece of batter squid and sighed, “this is so delicious too.”

“I would like to know more about you.”

Y/n blinks, allowing those words to sink in. It was a simple yet significant statement that carried the weight of curiosity and a genuine desire to understand her better. 

Toru observed the rapid whirl of thoughts in Y/n’s mind, realizing the gravity of his words. “I mean as in a friend,” he clarified, his voice filled with sincerity. “I want to be your friend again if you allow it.” His heart raced as she set her chopsticks down, causing his anxiety to spike. “Please, I’m sorry if I made this uncomfortable. I didn’t intend for it to be – “

Y/n’s words carried a sense of maturity and willingness to let go of the past. She assured him, “whatever happened between us years ago, it’s in the past. I don’t hate you.” Taking a moment to compose herself, she dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I’m glad you’re bringing this up because… I didn’t know how to address it.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “I won’t ask why I was a bet, but I want to know if you ever regretted it.” Her question hung in the air, reflecting curiosity and the need for closure.

“Yes,” he admitted, his response soft, almost a whisper, as he nodded. “Every day.”

Toru’s gaze bore into Y/n’s, his eyes reflecting guilt. It was a look she had noticed ever since reconnecting with him. 

“I forgive you.” Y/n said in a heartbeat. Her words carry the power of absolution. A soft smile graced her lips as she continued, “so, let that burden go.” Though her words were simple, they meant everything.

She offered him her forgiveness and the opportunity to release the weight of his remorse and find solace.

With a profound sense of relief, it felt like the heavy burden on Toru’s shoulders had finally lifted.

His head dropped as he took a deep breath, mixed emotions washing over him. Setting his chopsticks down, he wiped the tears from his eyes. His voice barely above a whisper, “thank you.”

For so long, Toru had carried the weight of his past actions, believing that he deserved any punishment or consequences that came his way. He had run away, thinking it to be an act of cowardice, choosing to pursue his career in another country. But the burden became heavier with each passing day, month, and year.

He quietly carried it, not making a fuss, as he believed it was the price he had to pay for his foolish behavior.

Through time, Toru recognized the impact Y/n had made on his life, despite the relatively short period they had known each other. Her kindness had touched his heart, a realization that slowly dawned on him. That was all she had ever offered him throughout their encounters: genuine compassion.

Even after all this time, her influence lingered within him, a constant reminder of the goodness he had encountered in her presence. It was a testament to the power of small acts of kindness and the lasting impact they could have on a person’s life long after the moments have passed.

“Toru,” he looked up, “forgive yourself so you can be better and do better.” Her eyes drop to the deeply asleep baby in his arm, “do it for Mateo.”

And you, he said to himself.

“Okay,” he nodded, “please continue to eat; I didn’t mean to ruin the atmosphere.”

“I’m going to gain so much weight, thanks to you.” She teased, “but I’m really full; I can’t even eat even if I want to.” She stares at him for a split second, “thank you for dinner; everything was delicious.”

“Thank you for joining us,” Toru smiles at his son, “even if this guy is rude and sleeps during dinner.”

He met her gaze, reading the curiosity in her eyes, and something within him shifted.

For the first time, Toru felt a sense of pride in sharing his and Mateo’s story. It was no longer a source of shame or regret but evidence of their resilience and the love they built together.

“Are you wondering where his mother is at?”

Y/n looked at Toru with a gentle and understanding expression. She wanted him to know that he had a safe space to share his story, but she also respected his boundaries and understood that some things might be challenging to discuss. With a soft smile, she reassured him, “only if you feel safe and comfortable sharing.”

Her words were warm and sincere, letting Toru know he had someone who genuinely cared about him and his experience. Toru felt a wave of gratitude wash over him, realizing he had found someone who could truly understand and accept him, flaws and all.

“Of course,” He adjusted Mateo in his arm, “I was in a long-term relationship with his mother, her name is Lucia, and she is a pretty well-known model in San Juan. We both agreed and understood that our main priority was our careers.” He glanced down and rubbed the cheek of his son. “Mateo was not in either of our plans, and it scared the shit out of me when Lucia told me she was pregnant. I had no time to think about it and had to decide either my career or my child quickly.”

Toru’s mind had been consumed by the thoughts of his future, torn between his passion for volleyball and the responsibility of becoming a father. He had spent countless nights wrestling with his desires and aspirations, questioning if he was still finding fulfillment in the sport that had once been his everything.

He prayed for a sign that indicated what path he should take. During this time of deep contemplation, he learned about the life growing inside of Lucia, and Toru couldn’t help but see it as a sign that he had been desperately seeking. In an instance, his priorities shifted, and he knew deep down that his child would always come first.

The thought of being a father and having a little person who would look up to and rely on him filled him with a sense of purpose and determination he had never experienced before.

He realized his love for volleyball would always be a part of him, but being a loving and dedicated father was the most important role he could ever play.

“I was ready to retire or take a long break from my career, but Lucia wasn’t on board; she was unequivocal that she didn’t want the pregnancy, and I convinced her not to terminate the pregnancy and that I’ll take full responsibility of him.”

He gazed up at Y/n, marveling at how her soft eyes still held the same affectionate gaze for him. He had grown accustomed to seeing the disappointment in people’s eyes so much that he had forgotten the warmth and comfort she brought into his life. Despite the disapproval from his closest friends and family, who believe it would be more convenient for both of them to end the pregnancy and avoid any commitments, he finds himself questioning their perspective.

But Toru was firm on his decision.

“For the entire pregnancy, she remained out of public eyes and out of work,” he opted out of disclosing how he had paid a hefty amount of money to support her lavish life during the nine months. Thankfully, Toru continued his career for another season and signed another contract with brand-name sponsorships. “I checked in with her daily to ensure the pregnancy was going well.” There were times Lucia wouldn’t respond to him, annoyed he was always bothering her when there was nothing new. “Mateo was born two weeks earlier but was the size of most newborns.”

Y/n asked, “Lucia didn’t want anything to do with you two?”

Toru shook his head, no longer sad when asked that question. “No, she didn’t want him from the beginning, and as soon as she could, she demanded a cesarean section to get him out of her.” He winced as he observed the heartbreak etched across her face. “Please don’t be sad,” he murmurs, trying to offer reassurance. Deep down, he believes this unexpected turn of events might be a disguised blessing. Though she chose not to be in the same room as Mateo after his birth, Toru felt a surge of determination as he cradled their child in his arms, making a silent vow that they would find a way to make things right.

“I’m proud of you, Toru.” Y/n quietly said with a heartfelt smile.

.

“Thank you for dinner and,” she lifted the bag in her hand, “sharing some of the leftovers.”

After their heart-to-heart talk, they realized it was close to 11 PM. Y/n began cleaning up as Toru went to set Mateo down for the night.

Toru rubs the back of his neck, “no, thank you for joining us,” and for everything.

Silence hung in the air to the unspoken words that lingered between them.

Her eyes locked onto his, filled with relief. “I want you to know that talking tonight has brought me so much comfort,” she confessed. As she moved to open the door, ready to leave, he called out her name, causing her to pause in her tracks.

Glancing back over her shoulders, she met his gaze and patiently awaited his words. Toru hesitated momentarily, holding his breath before he mustered a barely audible whisper, “can I… hug you?”

A flicker of surprise sparkled in her eyes, quickly replaced by a warm smile that reached her lips. Setting her bag down, she stepped forward, guided by an unspoken understanding. She nestled herself into his open embrace, her arms enveloping his waist tightly.

It lasted mere seconds, yet within that brief hug, it felt like they had encapsulated a lifetime of emotions, comfort, and understanding.

It was a simple act, but it held immense significance for two wounded souls searching for peace – a much-needed embrace for two broken people.

Y/n pulled away; her cheeks tinted pink as she rushed to grab her food and slip her shoes on. “I’ll s – see you around. Have a good night.” As she turned the doorknob to his unit, her movement abruptly stopped. Surprise ran through her veins as she looked at the towering figure standing before her unit, his gaze fixated directly on her. “Woojin?”

“What are you doing over there?” Woojin stepped forward and froze, narrowing his eyes.

“Do you know him?” Y/n looked over her shoulders, seeing Toru staring straight at Woojin.

The atmosphere is tense, and to add to that, she hears Mateo’s cry at a distance. “Go – I know him. He’s… a friend.”

Toru looks down at Y/n, “you sure?”

“Of course.” Swiftly, she placed a hand firmly against his chest, using her strength to push him back into his unit. With determination, she closed the door, creating a barrier between them. Turning her attention to Woojin, she gestures with a subtle nod, silently conveying her invitation for him to follow her into her unit. 

. . .

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @rukia-uchiha-98 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @anejuuuuoy @tooruchiiscribs @mommyourcall420 @haikyuubiggestsimp @lilguycoded @random-734 @ghostlyneckoaftoad @abdce12345

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 5, MDNI

Although tonight isn't your turn to take the first watch of the night, you volunteer. You are not tired, having spent half the day napping. Simon, however, is visibly exhausted. As he sits next to you, his weariness is palpable. You can tell by his drooping eyelids that are fighting a losing battle to stay open. His replies to your comments are sluggish. Most of the time after you say something, he just murmurs 'what', forcing you to repeat yourself since he didn't hear what you have said.

As you coax him into the bedroom, his gaze bores into you. A stern look fills his eyes, brimming with a concern that's hard to miss. "Just... just don't do anything stupid," he implores. His voice is weary yet laced with an unmistakable tinge of worry.

"You always tell me that," you roll your eyes and lean against the doorway. You watch as he unlaces his boots and places them under the bed.

Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, he turns to look at you. His gaze is steady and unwavering, despite his indisputable fatigue.

"I simply want you to be careful," he says, his words a mere soft murmur.

You find yourself utterly captivated by the depths of his brown eyes. They possess an alluring, almost dreamy quality as he blinks slowly, trying to fight off a sleep that's threatening to claim him. You see, as his gaze drifts downwards, drawn to your lips, and lingers there. This causes your mind to wander back to the kiss-that-almost-happened-but-didn't. Neither of you dare to bring up the incident. As the days continue to pass, you both keep acting as if it's a figment of your shared imagination.

After he diverts his attention, a shaky breath eludes you. Only then do you notice the tightness in your chest and the tension you feel in every muscle of your body.

"I promise, I won't do anything stupid, and I'll be incredibly careful," you reassure him and smile. He responds with a nod and lays down. Before leaving, you click your teeth in a playful manner, tilting your head to the side. A few loose hair strands fall in your eyes but brush them away with a swift flick of your fingers. "But... can I get one cigarette?"

"Take it. They're in my duffel bag," he says, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "But leave half of it for me. There's only one left, and I'll want to smoke it in the morning."

Despite your initial reservations about smoking, you found yourself gradually drawn towards it. It brings a certain novelty to your otherwise monotonous routine. Every time you and Simon ventured out to scavenge for supplies and food, you would occasionally stumble upon forgotten a pack of cigarettes. These rare treasures were akin to finding precious gems in a coal mine, providing a brief, fleeting taste of luxury amidst the stark reality. After your last expedition, Simon found a full pack. But, with the two of you sharing, the cigarettes were depleting at a rapid pace.

As you sit in the kitchen, now and then cautiously peeking through the slats of closed blinds, the night stretches out before you like a vast sea of black ink. It feels as if dawn is an eternity away. Each minute ticks by at an agonisingly slow pace. Occasionally, to break the monotony of your vigil, you wander around the dark house. Clutching the knife in your hand, you scrutinise each room. Tiptoeing from one corner to another. Ensuring that no uninvited guests have sneaked inside.

You even muster the courage to glance through the peephole in the front door. Yet, aside from a stray dog that seems to have taken to circling the house in an anxious pattern, while a few loose biters skulk around the deserted, moonlit street, there isn't much to hold your attention. The world outside is still. The silence is broken only by the distant hoot of an owl or the rustling of leaves in the wind, adding to the eerie calm of the seemingly endless night.

You saunter back into the kitchen and sit on the sturdy wooden table that is placed near the window. Placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull out an old pack of matches. As you ignite the end of the stick, for some time, the nicotine distracts you from the quiet solitude. But then something outside captures your gaze. At first, you dismiss it as a mere illusion - a cruel trick conjured by your weary eyes. You've been awake for too long, you reason, which is why you should wake Simon before you unwillingly succumb to sleep.

But, after the third time, your eyes catch a flicker of something in the distance, you grow certain that you've indeed spotted a light. The unexpected sight of it amid the encompassing darkness startles you. As the pattern repeats, you identify the silhouette of someone meandering down the street. Squinting into the darkness, you discern two figures. One of whom keeps switching on and off the flashlight.

As they edge closer, the details become more distinct. You notice the presence of a dog dutifully trailing by their side. It's the same dog that you've seen before, the one that had taken a peculiar interest in your front yard, sniffing around with an intensity that suggested it was on the hunt for something. The sight of them approaching your house sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

In a sudden burst of adrenaline, you leap to your feet. As you do so, the half-smoked cigarette clutched in your trembling fingers slips from your grasp. It tumbles down, leaving a searing trail of pain on your exposed skin as the lit end grazes you. You hiss in response to the unexpected sting, but your attention is yanked back to the window.

A wave of anxiety sweeps over you as you question whether it could be your mother. Or could it possibly be your brother? You're uncertain, but what you do know is that you need to find out. You need to get out of the house and figure out who those two enigmatic figures lurking in the shadows are.

Before you can make a move towards the door, a firm hand seizes you from behind. This sudden intrusion freezes you in place, like a deer caught in the headlights. The same hand then moves to cover your mouth, stifling any potential screams. A tide of panic crashes over you, chilling your blood and causing your heart to pound against your rib cage. In a desperate, feral attempt to break free, you bite down hard on the fingers that are clutching your face. But despite your efforts, the person behind you remains as unyielding as a stone wall. They respond by squeezing you even harder. Their fingers dig into your skin like iron claws.

"Stop. I told you not to do anything stupid." Simon's voice is low, a commanding growl that sends vibrations echoing into your ear. His breath, warm and steady, tickles the back of your neck, causing each hair to stand on end as prickles of goosebumps race like wildfire across your body.

Gradually, you relax. The tension drains from your muscles, like water seeping out from a squeezed sponge. You realise it's Simon holding you. He only releases you once he's certain you won't panic or raise your voice. Then he pushes you aside and blocks the front door with his broad shoulders. You are confused, unable to comprehend why he is behaving this way. But you don't have time to question it or explain what you saw. You make a desperate attempt to shove him away, but he remains resolute, refusing to budge an inch.

"You aren't going anywhere!" He hisses, shaking his head and glaring at you. His paranoid gaze scans the hallway and the darkness behind you.

This is the first time you've seen him act like this. You notice the sharp knife tucked behind his belt. In his right hand, he grasps a gun. You knew he owned a pistol, but he had never shown it to you before.

"I am going," you argue, desperation palpable in your voice. "What if it's my brother? My mo—"

Before you can finish, Simon abruptly interrupts, "It's not." He spins around to scrutinise the peephole once more.

"You don't know that. Move!"

Your anger intensifies, mirroring the increasing volume of your voice, now at a fevered pitch. Simon's eyes widen as he turns to face you. His hand flies to your mouth, effectively silencing you. He pulls you into his arms, trapping you in a vice-like grip that leaves no room for escape. He refuses to let go again, almost as if he is afraid of losing you. His behaviour perplexes you. You resume your struggle, kicking and squirming in a futile attempt to free yourself, but to no avail. His hold on you gets tighter, a stark reminder of his superior strength. A sinking feeling washes over you as you realise the slim chances of winning this fight.

"Whoever it is that you saw walking down the street, they are neither your mother nor your brother. They're on the lookout for me," Simon whispers into your ear, while dragging you away from the front door and into the living room. "If you keep screaming and making noise, they'll hear us. When they come, if... If you let them find us, I promise you, it won't end well for either of us."

Your mind is a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, struggling to understand what Simon is talking about. None of this makes any sense to your bewildered head. Yet, there’s something in the tone of his voice, a certain urgency, a hint of fear, that commands your attention and makes you stay silent.

"I'm going to let you go now," he says, his breath ghosting over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His tight grasp on your waist lessens, and he takes a step back, leaving you to curl up on the couch.

Simon moves towards the window. His fingers pull back the curtain enough for him to peek outside. "If you want to stay alive, if you want to have any chance of continuing to look for your family, you will keep your mouth shut."

TAG LIST: @randointhecloset If you want to be added, let me know!

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Harpy/Female Reader SFW Wordcount: 2,918 Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

You catch a cute and bashful harpy in the book shop one day. Later, at a book signing for your favourite author, you realise they’re one and the same.

In the softly lit maze of the bookshop, you meandered between the shelves, your fingertips grazing the spines of countless books. The smell of paper and binding glue filled the air. This was your retreat, the place you went to when the world got too much.

As you approached the fantasy section, your excitement grew; today was the release of a novel you'd eagerly awaited. Just as you reached out to grab the last copy from the shelf, another hand got there simultaneously, lightly brushing against yours.

"Oops, sorry about that," came a light-hearted apology from beside you.

You looked up to see a harpy, all dark auburn feathers and curly red hair. He was beautiful—sharp features softened by gentle brown eyes, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

"No worries," you responded, your initial embarrassment giving way to curiosity. "Looks like we have the same taste."

His smile widened. "I guess we do. I’m Antal," he said, holding out the book to you. "You take the last copy, I was only looking.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Please?”

His hand extended, offering you the book. A bright orange cover stared back up at you, a phoenix with her wings spread wide.

“Please, take it,” he insisted, claws gently curled over the cover.

You hesitated, the politeness ingrained in you bubbling to the surface. “Are you sure? I mean, we both spotted it at the same time.”

Antal’s smile didn’t waver as he pushed the book a little closer to you. “Absolutely. I hope you enjoy it,” he added, and you swore his cheeks tinged pink beneath the feathers.

Accepting the book, you couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, then. I appreciate it.”

As he watched you slide the book into your bag, a thoughtful look crossed his face. “Any other books you’re hunting for today?” he asked, a curious tilt to his head. His dark eyes were enormous, with big pupils that made him look a little owlish.

Was he an owl?

Shaking your head, you said, “well, I’ve been trying to get through all the works of Kristoff Varga,” you replied, holding up the new book. It was the latest in a series of four, but there were dozens of other books written by him. “He’s my favourite at the moment, I just can’t get enough.”

Antal’s eyes lit up, cheeks reddening even more. Dammit, it was too cute. “You like his other books?”

“I like them all so far.”

“Which one’s your favorite?” Antal inquired. He didn’t seem to realise that he was leaning in, closer and closer.

You thought for a moment, trying to ignore how close he was. You could taste the coffee on his breath, feel his feathers tickling your shoulder. It made it very difficult to think.

After a moment you said, “I love Silver Skies. You know, the one about the dragon and the orc princess.”

“I love that one too!”

As you and Antal meandered through the aisles, he began to point out other authors whose works he said were similar to Kristoff Varga. You happily ambled alongside him, listening to his smooth, deep voice.

"If you enjoy Varga, you might also like Helena Rook. Her trilogy about the war between night creatures and humans has that same worldbuilding," he suggested, pulling a book with a dark, moody cover from the shelf.

You took the book, flipping it over to read the blurb on the back. Antal's recommendations sparked a new interest, and you added it to the growing pile.

He pointed out a few more, and you ended up needing a basket to hold all of the books. The entire time he chatted away happily, talking about this author and the next, and you found yourself inching unconsciously closer to his side.

As you approached a display of new releases, Antal casually asked, "So, do you have any plans for the weekend? Other than reading all of these books, I suppose."

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might be leading up to asking you out.

The hopeful part of your mind spun scenarios of continuing these delightful conversations over coffee or at a quiet park.

Except, you were busy.

"Actually, I’m going to Varga’s book signing on Saturday," you answered, watching his reaction closely, trying to gauge his interest. "You should come along; it’s rare to see him in public."

Antal’s face flickered with an unreadable expression before settling into a polite smile. "I’d love to, but I’m already tied up that day," he replied with a small shrug.

You felt a twinge of disappointment. "That’s too bad," you said. "It would have been great to have you there, especially since you appreciate his work so much."

Antal nodded, his smile tinged with a hint of something you couldn't quite place—was it regret? “You’ll have to tell me about it. Maybe I could give you my number?”

“I’d love that.”

The question filled you with a pleasant anticipation. You entered his number carefully, excited hands a little too fast for your own good.

He smiled as you both stored your phones away. “I have to go, I was only going to pop in for a minute. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime soon?”

You shivered at the softness, the gentleness, in his voice. “Yeah, that would be great.”

As you moved to the checkout, you felt a sense of contentment. Antal stood beside you as you paid for your books, almost close enough to touch. It wouldn’t have taken much for you to close the gap, and kiss him.

As you thanked the desk clerk, you sighed. Kissing him! What a silly thought.

With your books bagged and receipt in hand, you both walked towards the exit. Antal held the door open for you. As you stepped outside, the sunlight turned his auburn feathers a gorgeous golden shade.

There was an undeniable grace about him—a fluidity in his movements that, under the sunshine, made him almost ethereal. His shoulders were broad, tapering into narrower hips, covered in a layer of fluffy feathers beneath his low cut top.

You paused outside the bookstore, smiling gently. “See you around?” you asked hopefully.

“Absolutely.”

You didn’t want to say goodbye, but you had to eventually. With a sigh, you offered him a smile before turning to the car park across the street.

You felt his eyes on you as you walked away. A quick glance back confirmed it, and he offered you a parting wave with claw-tipped hands, a gesture that you returned. As he turned to vanish around the corner, you paused for a moment to watch him.

Antal disappeared quickly; he was tall, with gorgeously long legs. Even from a distance, there was something about the way he moved that captivated you—maybe it was the otherness of him, since harpies were so rare in Oceanhall. Maybe it was his sweet personality, his flushed cheeks and shy smile.

Either way, he left an impression that lingered in your thoughts as you unlocked your car and settled inside.

You started the engine, but your mind was still back in the bookstore, replaying your conversation, his laughter, and the ease with which you had opened up to each other.

You really wanted to see him again.

***

You arrived at the bookstore on Saturday, the buzz of excitement obvious as soon as you stepped inside. The queue for Kristoff Varga's book signing snaked through the aisles—a fact that hadn't fully dawned on you until now. Each person in line clutched their copy of his latest novel, their animated conversations filling the air with anticipatory chatter.

Trying to catch a glimpse of Varga at the signing booth proved futile; the crowd was simply too dense, a wall of eager fans blocking any view of the author himself. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, you decided to escape to the relative calm of the bookstore’s café.

As you approached the counter, the barista greeted you with a friendly smile. “What can I get for you today? Something to help with the wait?” he asked, his tone light.

“A flat white, please,” you replied, appreciating the warmth in his greeting. “It’s quite a turnout, isn’t it? I didn’t realise Varga was this popular.”

“Yeah, it’s been non-stop since we opened,” the barista said as he started on your order. “It’s good for business, but I’m running out of hands!” He laughed, handing you your coffee with a flourish.

“Thank you,” you said, taking a sip of the hot beverage, and digging out your card to pay. “I suppose it’s not every day you get a celebrity author here.”

“That’s true. He’s a bit of a recluse, isn’t he? Makes these events all the more special.” The barista wiped down the counter, casting a glance towards the queue. “You might be here for a while. At least it’s a good crowd, all book lovers together.”

You nodded, agreeing, your thoughts drifting to Antal. Throughout the week, you had exchanged messages. He had mentioned being busy today, but a part of you had still hoped he might surprise you and turn up.

With your coffee in hand, you found a table near the window, a spot that offered a view of both the café and the bookstore entrance. Each time the door opened, your gaze lifted, a reflex action fuelled by the hope of seeing Antal walk in. However, as the minutes turned into an hour, the reality set in that he truly wasn't coming.

You took out your phone, typing a quick message to him: it’s packed here! Wish you could’ve seen it. How’s your day going?

Even as you hit send, you felt disappointment and understanding mingle.

As you waited for his response, you sipped your coffee, watching the crowd and wondering about the man behind the author's desk. What would Varga be like? Would he live up to the mental image you had of him?

As the line began to shorten, you decided it was time to join the queue, balancing your coffee carefully as you edged closer to the excited throng of fans. The energy around you was infectious, with snippets of conversation floating over the buzz of the crowd.

"Can you believe we're actually going to meet Kristoff Varga?" exclaimed a young woman ahead of you, her voice pitched high with excitement.

"I know, right? I heard he's a harpy, which is why he hardly ever makes public appearances," her friend replied, the idea clearly adding an extra layer of allure to the event.

You perked up at this, the coincidence striking you as odd. Two harpies in one week? It was rare enough to meet one, given their usual reclusiveness. The thought lingered in your mind as you inched forward, the line’s pace steady but slow.

"He must be quite something to look at, then," someone else chimed in, "All those feathers. And the talons!"

"Yeah, and it’s not just any harpy. They say his feathers change shades with the seasons—how cool is that?" another added, the group nodding in agreement.

As you finally neared the front, you craned your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive author. There, at the signing booth, you saw him—a figure with striking auburn feathers, his face partly concealed by a black cap. The feathers were glossy under the lights, and strikingly familiar.

No, he couldn’t have been…

"Amazing, isn't it?" the person behind you whispered, almost as if they could read your thoughts. "I've never seen him up close before.”

You nodded, lost in thought as the line moved forward. Each step brought you closer to Varga, and you craned your neck to try and see his face.

Finally, you were second in line, and your heartbeat thumped against your ribs. Your fingers tightened around the cup of coffee you still held, and you fumbled slightly as you pulled the book from your bag. You smoothed down the cover, trying to calm your nerves, your mind still reeling.

When it was your turn, you stepped up to the booth, and he looked up. Your breath caught in your throat.

Antal.

His auburn feathers seemed more pronounced here, under the softer lights of the signing table, and when his eyes met yours, there was a moment of mutual recognition that ground everything to a halt.

Antal's expression softened. He cleared his throat, his voice softer, more tentative than before. "Hello, nice to see you again.”

You were momentarily at a loss for words, the surprise pinning you in place. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice a whisper of confusion and curiosity. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"

He hesitated, his glance flickering away before meeting yours again. "Because I wanted you to like me for myself, not as Varga," he admitted with a shrug. "It's easy to like someone for their success or their fame... but you were so excited to meet Kristoff Varga… I wanted to hold off the inevitable."

His honesty struck a chord. A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head slightly, the absurdity and the sweetness of his concern mingling together. "That's so silly," you said fondly. "I like you, Antal, and I like Varga. They're both you, aren't they?"

Antal's expression lightened, a relieved smile breaking through his initial reserve. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, his eyes brightening.

As an impatient murmur from the person behind you grew louder, Antal’s laughter broke the brief tension, his demeanor relaxing as he took your book to sign it. As he handed the book back, his fingers lingered just a bit too long.

“Are you busy later?” he asked.

“No, I’m free,” you replied, the excitement bubbling up inside you, making your heart race with anticipation.

A shy smile spread across his face, his usual confidence tempered with a vulnerability that made him even more endearing. “Would you like to meet up after the signing?” he ventured, his gaze steady on yours.

“I’d love to,” you said, stepping back to allow him to greet the next fan.

As you moved away from the booth, you heard snippets of conversation and whispers from those around who had caught bits of your exchange with Antal. There was a hint of jealousy in their tones, their eyes following you.

You moved to a quieter part of the bookstore, your heart still fluttering. You sat, waving hello to the barista from earlier, and waited.

As the hours trickled by, you lost yourself in the pages of Antal’s new book, glancing up every so often to see the queue dwindle. Around you, the bookstore began to quiet down, the last few patrons lingering as the event wound to a close.

Noticing the time, the barista approached your table with a gentle smile. “We’ll be closing up soon,” he mentioned, his eyes sweeping over the mostly empty café.

“I’m just waiting for Varga,” you explained, hoping it wouldn’t be an inconvenience.

The barista’s eyebrows rose in surprise, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he nodded understandingly. “Of course, we don’t close for another thirty minutes,” he said, and with a final tidy of the table, he left you to wait.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you saw Antal making his way towards you. The sight of him, free of the signing table and the throngs of fans, reignited the excitement from earlier. You stood up, and as he approached, something in his smile made it impossible to hold back.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him, burying into his feathers. He was so soft and warm, and his closeness sparked something in you. Without really knowing what you were doing, you stood on your toes for a kiss.

The kiss was gentle at first, exploratory, even careful. As you grew more confident, the kiss deepened; you clung to him, hands around his waist to pull him closer.

Antal tasted faintly of sugary coffee and strawberries, a hint of sweetness lingering on his lips. You could feel the slight brush of his feathers, his talons carefully touching your back.

As you stepped back from the kiss, breathless and heart racing, the excitement thrumming through you made your heart stutter. Your lips met his again as you practically crushed yourself against him.

Antal's laugh, light and genuinely happy, mingled with the air between you.

Pulling away a second time, Antal glanced down at the book open on the table. "How are you finding the book?" he asked, his tone playful.

"It's fantastic," you replied, your eyes still locked on his. "I love the romance in it—but I have to say, the real thing is even better."

Antal’s response was to pull you close once again, his arms wrapping around you in a hug that lifted you slightly off your feet. The warmth of his body and the strength in his hold were exhilarating.

As he set you back down, your laughter joined his, the sound echoing lightly in the near-empty café. You glanced over his shoulder and saw the barista watching, a knowing smile on his face. The sight might have embarrassed you at another time, but right now, it didn’t matter. You were too caught up to care about an audience.

Smiling, you pecked Antal on the cheek and said, “let them watch. They’re just jealous I’ve got you all to myself.”

[bruh-changbin]

pamplemousse

pairing: yang jeongin x afab reader

genre: smut + fluff (minors dni)

warnings: mentions of food (grapefruit lawl), oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), kissy, that's it

word count: 1.5k

a/n: SHORT I KNOW but i'm busy and lowkey wasn't feeling this while i was writing it but was also too stubborn to scrap it and also havent posted for skz in like eons so here also first jeongin fic yay enjoy and lmk thoughts

you’ve always been impartial to mornings.

they’re so boring. 

and desolate.

and……. ugh.

who would rather be up at the ass crack of dawn being productive instead of getting a couple of extra z’s in? your boyfriend would, much to your dismay.

being a vehement night owl has been an integral part of your persona since highschool, when papers and essays that in hindsight were not all that important kept you up late into the night. the ink splotched sky dotted with milky white stars a solace from the glaring blue light of your laptop that dried your eyes and gave you a headache.

in post-secondary you never strayed from your nocturnal ways, often times only crawling under your covers to get some rest when the sun had started making its way up the horizon. whenever asked your greatest weakness the first word that always comes to mind is procrastination.

still, there’s something so hauntingly beautiful about being awake and alone in the late hours of the night. you’re able to gaze upon the moon and the pale glow she casts upon your surroundings. you’re able to take in the sounds of the world when people are removed from the equation. you’re able to ponder, allow your thoughts to swim around in your brain without interruption. all of which is washed away when tinges of orange, yellow and pale blue begin to streak the sky in the morning. 

ergo, you were somewhat disappointed upon the discovery that your lover does not feel the same way; quite the opposite actually. 

to be completely fair jeongin’s schedule is to blame for his early rising, but it makes no difference to you. most mornings you wake to an empty bed, hands feeling around before your eyes are open to search for a warm, 5’10” body and instead being met with cold sheets. 

of course it’s not the worst thing in the world but still, it’d be nice to bathe in the warmth of the late morning sun while wrapped in jeongin’s buff arms - morning sex is also a plus, should the opportunity arise (which it almost never does due to you usually waking up alone). 

this morning you wake up to an empty bed, as per usual. the screen of your phone lights up when you tap it and tells you that it’s nearing 11:00; you spend a few minutes scrolling through your socials before forcing yourself to get up. 

you laze your way through your morning routine, making sure to wash your face and make your bed and throw on some clothing with more coverage before making your way downstairs. upon entering your kitchen you spot a plate that’s been placed on the middle of your counter with a spherical object of some sort on top of it - a grapefruit. half of a grapefruit, to be precise.

it looks refreshing, with the flesh a pretty pink, the veins white and spongy, the rind a pale yellow that’s waxy to the touch. crystalline specks of sugar are melted into the juice, the sweetness a contrast to the bitterness of the fruit.

you indulge yourself by digging in with a silver spoon, scooping out coral coloured chunks of fruit and placing them in your mouth, leaving a tart coating on your tongue and the back of your throat. syrup slips past the corners of your lips and you lick it away, not wishing for a drop of the fresh juice to go to waste.

despite there being no note or whatsoever you know this was jeongin’s doing; and you know that he had the other half before he left this morning so in a way the two of you still had breakfast together (not really). of the small things he does for you in your relationship this is easily your favourite - knowing that your brain is barely operating when you first get up and head downstairs so he makes it easy for you to nourish yourself before starting the rest of your day. 

looking after you is second nature for jeongin, who tends to act as if you’re a precious baby bird who fell out of its nest and needs help getting back on its feet. you don’t mind it of course, and he knows where the line between pampering and coddling lies and rarely crosses it (you’re not actually that reliant on him, and he knows that). being the youngest in stray kids means he’s constantly being taken care of, and he just likes to do the same for someone else - that someone else being you. 

he’ll massage your back when it hurts, run to the convenience store when you’re craving something specific, dry your tears when you cry over a sappy rom com that you forced him to watch with you.  

he lets you play with his hair and help him choose his outfits. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist and kiss his way down your neck when you’re doing the dishes. he’ll fuck you in the middle of the night when you wake him from his slumber, claiming that you’re too turned on to fall asleep and his body is the only thing that can satiate you. 

the devotion he has to you is constant, and you can feel it in the way he talks to you, takes care of you, touches you. through this you’ve learned his quirks and nuances, how to tell what he needs and when he needs it.

much like tonight, when, after coming home from a devitalizing day of practice, you can tell that all he wants is to feel your warmth and you his. the pads of his fingers are rough as they slip under the hem of your shirt and smooth against your sides and your back, his pouty lips coming in contact with your jaw before pressing against your own. with movements that have an undertone of urgency jeongin guides you towards your shared couch in your shared apartment, his arms bracing your frame as he all but pushes you up against the cushions. 

with his chest flush against yours you inhale his scent, dragging your fingers through his hair and whining when his teeth pinch your bottom lip. the grip he has on your restless hips is strong, and when he glides his tongue against yours and you swear you can taste the faintest hint of grapefruit juice in his mouth. 

the warmth you lose when jeongin pushes himself off of your body is only worsened when he pushes the fabric of your shirt up to expose your tummy, his curious fingers dipping into the waistband of both your pants and panties, both of which are stripped from you when jeongin drags the fabric down and off of your legs. 

you instinctively clamp your legs shut, yet you allow jeongin to pry them open with his firm grasp and position himself in between your limbs. his pupils swallow up the rest of his eyes as his gaze falls upon your bare cunt, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he kisses and nips his way down the flesh of your inner thighs. 

your pussy is sticky and wet with sweet nectar that jeongin laps up and swallows down like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. his tongue pokes and prods at your flesh, your cunt clenching around nothing when he teases your clit by flicking it with the tip of his tongue. 

“baby~ don’t tease,” you huff in annoyance as jeongin refuses to focus on one place for more than a few seconds. his right hand moves from where it was perched on your hip to allow his index and middle fingers to toy with your now dripping hole, only slipping inside once you’ve whined and complained enough. 

he continues to suck on your clit as his fingers dip in and out of your pussy, causing your stomach to churn and your heart to flip in your chest as you writhe in pleasure. your breath hitches in your throat each and every time the silver rings at the base of jeongins fingers graze your hot wet cunt, his digits now surely coated in your arousal. 

his fingers keep thrusting and his tongue keeps teasing and soon enough you’re cumming all over him, moaning aloud into the open space of your living room as your orgasm slowly ebbs away.

the sight of jeongin making his way up your body after tongue and finger fucking you is one to behold, with his pout swollen and pink and coated in your juices and his hair a mess from the way you were tugging on it. his cheeks are flushed a subtle shade of rosy pink, much like the colour of the grapefruit you shared this morning. you pull his body against yours and kiss away the sweetness on his lips. 

[blitzosicedcoffee]

Ficlet: Staying or Going?

Timeline: flashback then present after Apology tour

Blitz wakes up with a start, looking at his phone on the side table of the prince's bedroom. Fuck, I'm gonna be late for work... He stayed the night. Again. He needs to stop doing that. If there was one thing he didn't wanna do to this bird, it's give him the impression that this would be an all-the-time thing.

"Good morning, cutie pie", Stolas's soft voice pulls him away from his phone and he gives a small sleepy smile, "Hey".

The prince's fingers trail up his back and through his spikes, making him shiver.

"You stayed...", he coos. Fuck... Blitz thinks.

No, no I can't stay. Staying gets people hurt.

He turns away from Stolas abruptly and slides off the bed, "Yeah well, gotta go to work-so", he says casually but before he can bend down to pick up his clothes, Stolas grips the tip of his tail lightly, making him jump and look back, "What gives?!"

Stolas chuckles and puts the tip in his mouth, licking it lightly. Blitz blushes and pulls his tail from him, "Very cheeky you", he points to Stolas who wraps himself in the blanket and suddenly a bird burrito is staring up at him. Why the fuck is he so damn cute??

"Stay, please? At least for breakfast?" Stolas asks, trying his best to do a puppy dog face with all four red glowing eyes.

Blitz laughs and pushes the burrito away, putting on his pants, "No chance. Some of us have to work ya know".

Stolas is silent for a moment, "I'll pay you. To..stay for breakfast".

Blitz looks up at him and blinks, "Why would you do that?" Stolas starts but then shrugs. Blitz chuckles and shakes his head, finishing getting dressed.

"It was fun feathers. The book?" He asks, and Stolas takes it from his night stand and reluctantly gives it to him, he takes it gently and turns around towards the balcony.

"Text ya", he says, waving behind him.

----------

Stolas groans and holds his head. What time is it? Where is he?

He wakes up next to...fuck. It's that guy he kissed last night. Laying on top of his chest, pink skin resting on his grey feathers. He levitates his phone over and blinks away the crusts in his eyes, rubbing them. Then swipes to Blitz. He remembers only a little from the party. But he remembers Blitz was there. What'd he want?

He stares at the memes that were left on read and groans then swipes to the bottom where there's a new message:

Sry 4 te shitty tings I sayd.

His eyes widen. That's...unlike him. To apologize.

I can sorry everyone, everyone but you. Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you.

His fingers hover over the keyboard when the attractive succubus stirs on his chest and he drops the phone next to him.

"Well good morning, handsome", the succubus smiles and trails his fingers around circles in his chest feathers. Which admittedly is getting overstimulating for the owl.

"Uh, good morning. I don't really remember last night", he admits and the succubus nuzzles against his neck, "That's alright, me either. Sure it was fun though".

He's feeling very uncomfortable now. He coughs, "Right, uhm", he practically peels the succubus off of him and scooches to the side of the bed, swinging his legs off to the side so he can look for his clothes.

"Are you alright?" The man asks, his wings twitching and rubbing his arm. Stolas's hands shake and he gives an anxious chuckle, "Haha, not really. I don't um, do this sort of thing".

"One night stands?" He asks. Stolas freezes, clenching the bedsheets and only thinking of the many nights that Blitz left early. Thinking that could be his escape.

"Uhm...yes", he says and the succubus goes to touch him but he swats his hand. "Sorry", the man says. Stolas doesn't even want to know his name. He feels nauseous. He levitates over his blouse, pants, and cape, putting them on swiftly and stands up, steadying himself.

"You sure you don't want to go out for coffee before we part?" The succubus asks and Stolas winces, looking at his phone.

"No-no, I have...work", he bites his beak. Feeling remorse for doing this to Blitz. But what even are they anymore, if they ever were anything? He stares down at the text. Sorry...

And opens a portal, stepping through and waving to the succubus behind him.

[heartseungs-archive]

[01.20]

At this time of night, the studio falls silent. Only the sound of dripping water and soft thuds as you shape the clay are there to accompany, along with the dimly flickering LED bulb on your work desk. The mannequins behind take on a ghostly appearance, shrouded by shadows and yet stark white. It may seem spooky, foolish even, to hang about in such an isolated place. After all, this is what makes up ghost stories, isn’t it?

Yet, solitude seems to have provided a perfect space for you to continue your art, undisturbed by the constant frenzied buzz that makes up the classroom. Away from your classmates’ laughter and jokes, there is just you and your art. While entertaining, they have also proved a distraction, leaving you to remain awake at odd hours to have any chance of finishing your final work.

The stress that came with being in Seoul’s top-performing arts university was unpleasant, but not unfamiliar. You had always sought approval from figures of authority, whether it had been your homeroom teacher, or now your lecturer. Just the other day, she stated that your art “lacked feeling and passion”, which you would have to somehow find within six months. Though there wasn’t much passion that could come from expensive coffee runs and hour-long presentations on art history.

Taking a step back from your sculpture, your eyes scan over it. The faceless mould of a woman stares back, and you’re not sure how to feel. In a way, it feels like a mirror: surrounded by an endless sea of talent, you’ve become nothing but another student-artist wannabe. A sigh escapes before you know it, and you rub your eyes. Maybe it’ll be a good idea to take a break, and ‘view some scenery for inspiration’ as Ms Kim suggested.

Just then, footsteps ring down the hall. A tinge of fear rises at the thought that it might be some sort of revengeful spirit before you quash it. Stupid. Ghosts don't exist.

It gets closer and closer, and your breath stops. Before you can blink, the doors slide open, a body follows through, and instead of a ghost with long hair and a white gown, it is Renjun. Huang Renjun, to be specific. Scholarship winner and acclaimed artist since childhood, if the stories are to be believed. Maybe you would know better if he spoke in class. However, Renjun stays shut off, preferring to sit in his corner and work on his paintings, with the rest of the class too intimidated or too unnerved to truly strike a conversation. It's definitely not that he’s incapable of socializing - you’ve seen him around with Jaemin and Haechan from the theatre department, and Chenle from Med.

Renjun looks equally surprised to see you, and it causes you to smile slightly. It seems the both of you are night owls. The smile might come out more as a cringe though, and you’re sure it's not the most flattering look with clay-stained overalls and messy hair. To your surprise, he smiles back. What shocks you even more, however, is the question that he asks.

“Long night?” Renjun’s voice is much clearer than you expected, likely due to the silence of the art studio. It’s pleasant and calming, different from the loud voices of most students in this class.

“Yeah. Ms Kim’s been hounding me about the progress on my work, so…” you gesture half-heartedly to the structure.

“I’ve seen your sketches. They look great. Also Ms Kim just likes to nitpick, but it’s for students she likes. So it’s a good sign.” The praise from him fills you with much more joy than it should, but it’s nice after the cloud of anxiety that’s been hanging over you this entire week.

“I hope so. You’re definitely her star student though. Mind letting me see your paintings? I’m thinking of practicing my brush techniques for the sculpture eventually, and from what I’ve heard…you’re good. More than good actually.” Renjun looks down at that, and you can tell he’s hesitating to say something. Did you cross the line, perhaps? Maybe he was just trying to be polite to someone who he would have to share the space with.

“Actually-” Both of you say it at the same time and immediately halt, staring momentarily. You huff out a laugh, and gesture for him to first.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to collaborate with me for the exhibition. Of course, you don’t have to, but we both have vastly different areas of expertise and I think it’d make a good competition piece.”

Renjun’s request was most definitely not expected. You’re sure you’re fully awake now, and yet fear this might be some sort of half-awake dream that you’ve hallucinated. In the span of five minutes, Huang Renjun, painter extraordinaire, has complimented your work and asked you to collaborate with him. You’d be a fool not to accept, even if you have to work extra hard to make up for the sheer difference in skill.

Nodding, you gesture for him to take a seat opposite your workspace. Perhaps it would be better to bounce out ideas first, to show that you’re committed to this so he doesn’t regret his choice. You’re too busy in your own thoughts, that you don’t realise the look of relief that Renjun has at your agreement, obvious even in the poor lighting. Unable to decide, you return to your sculpture, while Renjun pulls out his sketchbook and gouache paints. He seems to be scribbling down ideas, so you place your faith in him and leave him be. After all, both of you have the entire night, and probably many others ahead if this partnership goes through. But at least now, there’s a renewed sense of hope, an excitement that you thought you had lost a while ago. Eventually, you’ll have to thank Renjun. For whichever lucky stars had aligned, converging your paths together for the next few months.

Occasionally, your eyes drift over to where he’s sitting, quietly muttering to himself before writing things down. The acceleration of your heartbeat is something foreign, and you’re sure you’re wide awake now.

You find that you no longer care much for solitude, not when Renjun is by your side with his sketchbook.

[howlyourmelancholy]

Can I Call You Tonight?

summary: in which james is a little drunk and calls you after midnight for some attention

warnings: bit of smut. little bit of fluff. a friends-with-benefits situation. mutual masturbation. phone sex. nsfw.

word count: 1.1k

a/n: just a little something that's been living in my head rent free.

It had taken days for James to figure out how these muggle devices worked—mobile phones, as Marleen called them. Once he figured it out, the boy texted you every night for a month. The messages started casually, with the two of you checking on each other and seeing how each other’s day went. It was nice to be able to talk with your friends during the holidays without the need for owls, because honestly, sometimes the birds took forever to deliver the letters.

The muggles had the right idea; text messages were quick and instant, and you felt closer to your friends than ever before. And then James had figured out how phone calls worked, and you’d spent multiple nights talking. You enjoyed listening to him talk while you wound down for the evening, brushing your hair, and washing your face. The sound of his voice was soothing and would lull you to an almost catatonic state before you both finally said a sleepy goodbye.

And that was what happened again tonight. You would never have imagined he’d call again or that his voice would become anything except soothing. The bell rang softly in the room, rousing you from your slumber. You groaned as you rolled over.

Really, you both should have been sleeping, but you assumed that James was a little bit drunk after one too many beers with Sirius. Either way, you answered.

"Hey," he said, his words tinged with a lazy charm.

"Everything alright there, Jamie?" You asked as you sat up, reaching up to rub the sleep from your eyes as you glanced at the clock on your bedside table. 12:47 am. You should have been upset. You shouldn’t have even answered the phone. But the muffled groan he made from the other end of the phone had you rubbing your thighs together.

"Yeah," he answered in a low voice. "I just needed to hear your voice, love."

His explanation sent a blush creeping up your neck and into your face, and you felt a pang of arousal between your legs. Your mouth was suddenly very dry, and your nipples were hardening beneath the thin material of your pyjama top. You licked your lips while gazing at the closed door of your bedroom. The house was quiet, and you knew that your parents would be sleeping.

"My voice?" You asked softly and seductively. "Or my voice?"

James knew exactly what you were implying. Ever since the first time you’d come undone beneath him, your legs trembling with the fury of your orgasm, he'd made it his mission to hear every little gasp and moan you could make.

Your relationship with him, the friends-with-benefits type, had started as a one-time deal. You’d told yourself it wouldn’t turn into more because you knew how much he liked Lily and how much she liked him. So when the two of you had been sitting around laughing and making fun of each other, and then your legs were around his waist as he held you to the wall, his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy while you moaned into his ear, you’d sworn that was it.

One and done. No more.

And James had made a liar out of you because it kept happening. Not every day, but now and then when one of you was lonely. You were ashamed to admit that you fell asleep most nights thinking about him. The memories of him had been burned into your brain: the delicious stretch of his cock as he buried every inch of himself into your pussy, the way he’d cradle your face in a hand as he kissed you deeply, how he’d bite and groan into your shoulder when he came, his seed filling you.

Even now, you imagined he would be naked in bed, palming himself through the covers until he was hard, his cock aching, and standing proud against his stomach. You couldn't stop the whimper of arousal that tumbled past your lips or the way your own fingers pushed into the band of your pyjama bottoms.

"Your voice, baby," he replied, sounding almost breathless, and you knew with absolute certainty that his hand was now beneath the covers, fingers fisting his hard length and stroking from hilt to tip. You moaned purposefully as your own fingers pushed between your folds, which were already wet at the idea of him touching himself while thinking about you.

James sighed, and you could hear the smile. "You sound so pretty, baby girl. Are you wet for me?"

You replied with a pleading whimper as you pushed a finger into your tight entrance. "S’wet for you," you agreed as you pushed a second finger in. You imagine it was his cock instead of your own fingers—the way he stretched your snug walls and the delicious feeling of fullness having him inside you invoked. You imagined the way he could thrust so deeply that it felt like he was touching the back of your throat, the way his spongy head would crash into that one spot that made you see stars.

"It feels so good," you said, your voice thick with lust. You wanted him in the worst way. James made this sound of desperate need that sent arousal scuttling up your spine and moisture splashing through your core. You moaned in response, your head lulling back as you got comfortable, letting memories of his hands on your body guide you.

You snuggled down beneath your duvet, imagining the weight of it was James shadowing over you, letting him guide the movements of your fingers through your folds. You rubbed your thumb against your clit, which was starting to get sensitive with the familiar warmth of orgasm.

"That’s right, baby girl," he encouraged when you moaned into the receiver, your fingers pushing deep into the heat of your pussy. "Such a good girl, touching yourself for me. You wanna cum?" He was fisitng himself faster and with more enthusiasm, hearing your pretty little moans and imagining how you were fingering yourself, playing with your clit, and how your thighs would be trembling for him.

"Yes!" You gasped out, hips bucking, as you found that spot that made your blood run hot and dots decorate your vision.

James groaned, his own orgasm rapidly approaching. "Cum for me," he demanded, his voice hoarse as he chased his own release. You came together, his name falling from your lips, his deep groans in your ear drawing out your climax until your toes were curling.

And you knew—you just knew—that this was going to be how you got to sleep from now on.

[v1x1n1ty]

Dsmp fic request: An AU where Technoblade choose to take in Fundy after Wilbur died due to guilt over Philiza having to kill his own son.

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙴𝙻𝚈 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊!!

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜! 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝙵𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝟾-𝟷𝟸... 𝚒𝚍𝚔 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚢𝚒.

𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Honestly, I don't know if this is such a good idea," Philza murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the shadowy figure that hovered behind him. The moon cast a silvery glow over the quiet landscape, the only sound the distant hoot of an owl piercing the stillness of the night.

Technoblade nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. "It's the least I can do," he said, his voice firm. "You had to… to do that to Wilbur. It's not your fault… but I now how hard it would be with… with Fundy."

The silence stretched out between them, thick with the weight of the unspoken words. Finally, Philza sighed and turned to face Technoblade fully. "You know, I never wanted this for him. For any of you. I never wanted to be the one to take a life, even if it was to save others."

Technoblade nodded slowly, silent among his thoughts.

"But sometimes, we don't get to choose our battles," he said after a moment. "And when we do, we fight for what we believe in."

The two of them stood there, the gravity of their decision weighing heavily on their shoulders. Technoblade's eyes searched Philza's, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. He found none.

"Alright," Philza said, his voice stronger now. "You can take him. But we need to set some ground rules."

Technoblade raised an eyebrow. "Ground rules for a child?"

Philza nodded, his expression serious. "For his safety, and for everyone else's. He's been through a lot, and he's going to need guidance. Structure."

Technoblade considered this, the gravity of the situation settling in. "I understand," he said finally. "What do you propose?"

Philza outlined his conditions clearly and firmly: no contact with Wilbur's old life and strict adherence to a routine that would help Fundy adjust to his new reality. He also emphasized the importance of patience and understanding, knowing that the child would struggle with his emotions and identity.

Technoblade listened intently, nodding in agreement as he processed each rule. "I'll do my best," he promised, his gaze sincere. "I want to help him, Phil. I really do. But… kids aren't really my specialty."

Philza offered a small, sad smile. "None of us are perfect, Techno. But we all have something to offer. You're strong, you're smart, and you care. That's what matters." He paused, then added, "And you have a good heart. Besides, if I could raise four boys by myself, you can raise one."

Technoblade returned the smile, though it was tinged with a hint of nervousness. "I'll do my best," he said again, more to himself than to Philza.

With a heavy heart, Technoblade reached out to shake Philza's hand, sealing the pact between them. The warmth of the older man's grip was a comfort, a reminder that he wasn't taking this monumental step alone. As they parted ways, the weight of his newfound responsibility settled on his shoulders, a burden he was willing to bear for the sake of a child who had lost so much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Technoblade led Fundy through the dimly lit corridors of his home, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the cold stone walls. The child was quiet, his eyes wide and questioning as he took in his new surroundings. The place was stark and utilitarian, a stark contrast to the warmth and clutter of the house he'd known with Philza and Wilbur.

Fundy's small hand trembled slightly in Technoblade's firm grip, and the tall man with long, pink hair gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're… safe here," he assured him, his voice a soft rumble in the quiet. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

The child looked up at him, the glow of the torches casting an orange light across his tear-stained cheeks. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice small and shaky. "You didn't have to."

Technoblade's expression softened, and he crouched down to meet Fundy's gaze. "Because your dad is a good man… was a good man…" he said gently. "And because you deserve a chance to live a good life, free from all the… complications of the past."

Fundy searched Technoblade's eyes, looking for the truth in his words. After a moment, he nodded, though his eyes remained glassy with unshed tears. "Okay," he whispered.

Technoblade stood up and continued walking, leading Fundy to a small, sparse room. It contained a bed, a desk, and a chair. The walls were bare, but there was a window that let in the moon's soft light. "This will be your room," he said, his voice gentle. "Make it your own. We'll get you some new clothes and toys tomorrow."

Fundy stared at the ground sadly, and Technoblade watched as his lip began to quiver. "What's wrong?" He asked and stared at the boy. Fundy looked up at him with glassy eyes.

"But... what about Bear?" He asked hoarsely due to the lump forming in his throat. "Huh?" Technoblade asked, confused.

Fundy looked up, his eyes shimmering with tears. "Bear," he whispered. "The teddy bear that Wilbur gave me. I had to leave it behind. I-I can't sleep without him. Wilbur told me that he'd Bear would always protect me and keep me safe. I can't leave him…"

Technoblade's heart clenched at the mention of Wilbur. He knew the bear was more than just a toy; it was a symbol of the love and protection that Fundy had lost. "I-I," He started to say, unsure of how to respond, when an idea struck him. "You know what?" He said, forcing a smile. "We'll make a new Bear. A Bear that's just for you and this new life."

Fundy's eyes lit up slightly at the prospect, and Technoblade felt a glimmer of hope. "Really?" He asked, his voice a little less shaky.

Technoblade nodded. "Yeah, really," he said, ruffling the child's hair. "We'll get some supplies and make him together, and-"

Before Technoblade could finish his sentence, Fundy embraced him in a cuddly hug. He looked up and smiled at him, a smile Technoblade had not seen in a long time from him. He smiled back.

"We'll start tomorrow, but tonight, you need to get some rest. How about I tell you a story? One about a God named Apollo."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[hippolotamus]

Hi sweetheart 🫶

Please tell me/ snippet me about Mirrorball, Weather and Time, You're where I wanna go, and Bridgerton AU? (I'm being so restrained by not asking for them all)

James, my darling, my love. I know this is from an older ask game but I will never miss an opportunity to yell about this WIP. It is quite possibly the love of my life as far as creations are concerned. Thank you for asking about it. Some words for you. This is Buck's POV about the train ride to Chicago. The amount of time for the trip is a total guess on my part but the tears shed while I wrote this little bit were very authentic (all previous snippets here)

After three days on the train, Buck is ready to be almost anywhere else. Even if that place has a temperature that’s barely above freezing. He’ll accept that in exchange for being able to stretch his legs, to breathe crisp air that bites when he inhales and isn’t tinged with thick, black smoke from a steam engine.  The ride itself wasn’t awful. By all modern standards, especially compared to the coach passengers, it was smooth and comfortable. He and Lucy had access to any amenity possible. A private sleeping area, their choice of plush, cushioned chairs, and a private dining table.  Buck’s two favorite features were access to the observation car and the ability to talk to the conductor any time they wanted. He had a seemingly endless stream of questions about the train and its parts, fascinated by the enormous wheels, gears, and pistons and what made them run.  At night, when the crew was scarce and Buck couldn’t sleep, he found himself drawn to the grand glass panes that afforded a spectacular view for miles in every direction while it was still light. While that was noteworthy, he preferred the safety of darkness. An inability to distinguish small nameless towns from rolling fields of wheat and grass. At most he could see countless stars dotting the inky expanse as they sparkled and shone alongside the moon, appearing as a silvery sliver that might be plucked from the sky if only he tried hard enough. To anyone else, the view was practically worthless. But to him it was the reprieve he so desperately craved, as much there as any other setting. Because in the absence of light and detail, of giddy chatter from another pair of newlyweds that are sickeningly in love, there weren’t cabins and houses that might have been home. No bright mornings spent chasing until he was inevitably caught and rolled in the dirt, being rewarded with laughter and kisses. No afternoons in the shade of the giant oak, or on the porch if it was raining, listening to the soothing cadence of devastatingly pretty words from a book of poems. No evenings watching the sun set before falling into bed himself, wrapped in the kind of love only found in fairytales.

Also, I couldn’t say if I’ve ever shared the teeny tiny playlist I’ve started for this one but here it is 💞

I can’t remember who was or might be into this so I’m gonna take a guess at some lovelies and hope I got it right 😘 @daffi-990 @shortsighted-owl @bidisasterevankinard @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening

@tizniz @bi-buckrights @hoodie-buck @ladydorian05 @slightlyobsessedwitheverything

@the-likesofus @thekristen999 @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @wildlife4life

@loveyouanyway @diazheartsbuckley @dangerpronebuddie @theotherbuckley @stereopticons

@spotsandsocks @your-catfish-friend @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings

@giddyupbuck @kitteneddiediaz @jesuisici33 @watchyourbuck @shipperqueen6

@saybiwithme

[kaikla]

dwindling fire in the winter.

character: ...diluc x gn!reader (ft. dottore)

warnings: angst! hurt/comfort, arguments, coercion, few scenes of fighting, mention of character death

sypnosis: You've partnered up with a mysterious Mondstadt figure, diluc, in spying information about the Fatui. After 3 years in Snezhnaya, you ask him when he's going back.

word count: 3.8k

art credit: kuu_320 (ig)

Diluc. Despite the 3 years you’ve known him, he was still a mysterious figure. Sure, you know his name and that he came from Mondstadt, but that was it. He avoided talking about himself, and you respected him well enough to not pester him about it. All men have their secrets, his was not yours to find out. But you can’t really help the curiosity that arouses when he had this somber look to him the first time you asked about his past. Ever since then, there’s a tinge of melancholy around him whenever your gaze falls on his presence.

Like right now, he sits down on a wooden chair outside, staring at the campfire he, himself, had ignited using the gift given to him by the celestial gods, his pyro vision. Its glow slowly diminishes and Diluc averts his eyes to watch the white scenery of the snowy woods of Snezhnaya. Slowly, you creep behind him, a small box wrapped in ribbons hidden behind your back.

“Looks like I made the birthday boy wait too much for his present.” You giggle when Diluc gives you a look of annoyance in return. “Very amusing. I’m 21 now, mind you. Don’t call me a birthday boy.”

“Oh please, you act like a teenage boy going through a rebellious phase. Stubborn against any warnings for your safety, sneaks out during the night.” You gently elbow his side, but he simply sighs as you tease him. He takes notice of how your other hand was stiffly behind your back. It doesn’t take a few deductions to guess that this was the present you were talking about.

“You actually got me something?” He looks at you. Although confused, the look of fondness in his eyes tells you he’s touched. He hasn’t even seen what was inside! You show him the box and he takes it with both hands.

“You don’t need to thank me. Think of it as a souvenir to take home.” You say. Diluc tugs at the ribbons and opens up the box. He takes out what was inside. A wood carving of an owl surrounded in flames, it fits just right in his hand. Then he smiles, and your heart skips a beat.

“I… appreciate it.” He struggles to utter those words but nevertheless, he does it. He had the aura of someone who had experienced a long time with no love, or had been stripped away from it. So even when he looks away in embarrassment, hiding his smile in his hand, you know he’s sincere. He always has been.

You take a seat right next to him, the fire warming you up nicely. There’s a moment of silence as both of you stare at the flames dance with the blow of the wind. Seeing your fascination, Diluc raises his gloved hands, fire shooting out of his palms and making the flames expand for a few moments. He never liked using his powers, he said. But he always uses it when it’s convenient. That little show he just did seems to fulfill no purpose other than to just entertain you though. But still, it was a weirdly beautiful sight to see something so warm in a nation known for everlasting winter.

“It’s been 3 years since you’ve been here. Are you ever going to go back?” You ask. You’ve taken him in on the first day he got here. The man walked up straight into the Zapolyarny Palace, snooping into places he shouldn’t even be in. As an attendant for Your Majesty, the Tsaritsa and the Fatui Harbingers, you caught him while tending to your duties. Grabbed him by the collar, tossed him outside and interrogated him. It was clear that he had hatred for the Fatui and was in search for a truth, even when he refused to say a word.

“The Palace is too dangerous for you to investigate, stubborn gentleman. I’m a spy too, you see. But I work as an attendant. Leave the Palace to me or we’ll both be in trouble.” And that was the start of your 3 year old partnership.

“I’m not leaving until I find out what the Fatui is up to.” Diluc replies.

“Just tell me why exactly you’re so eager to investigate them and perhaps I’ll know exactly what to look for.” You’ve asked this multiple times already. The answer was always the same.

“No. It’s too dangerous even for you.” Diluc answers immediately, no hint of hesitation, not even a thought of considering it. You think that by now, he would trust you enough to tell more about himself, to let you work fully with him.

“I work as a spy too, you know. An informant, to be specific. I know way more than you do.” You retort, tone coming out a bit too sharply than intended, maybe even condescending. You stand up, towering over him to prove a point.

“Then tell me the info so I can go up to the Palace myself. You don’t need to be more involved than that if it’s as dangerous as you say.” Diluc stands up too, he’s not one to back down, not with his stubborn attitude. The owl carving you gave him falls to the snow but neither of you pay it any mind, much more concerned with the stare down that’s currently happening.

Frankly, Diluc was starting to get irritated. Why can’t you just understand the point he’s trying to make? It’s dangerous like you’ve said to him the first time you met. So why not just let him do it?

“I’m in the same position as you, I can handle myself.” You spat. You know Diluc never looked down on you. I mean, he trusted you enough to work with him. He’s a man who prefers doing things his own way. Even when the two of you lived together, he was uncomfortable being in debt to you, trying his best to make things equal and just doing things himself when he could. But you’re desperate and grasping at straws here. You accuse, “Are you underestimating me, then?”

And he snaps.

“It’s because I already lost someone else to them!” The campfire flares in response to his anger. But wrath never showed itself. As quickly as it came, his anger plummets into a hurt expression. His eyes never leave yours, hoping, praying that his slight reveal of himself was enough to convince you. His irises shake slightly, it was the most vulnerable state you’ve seen him. He looks fragile like this.  “I lost my father to them. I don’t want to lose you too.”

You might’ve mirrored his expression then. A single look of worry was enough to make Diluc believe that he persuaded you. Before you can even reply, he grabs his cloak and hurries past you. The sound of crunching snow against his boots slowly fades and you’re left standing, speechless.

Your steps echo throughout the stone halls of the Zapolyarny Palace. A fast steady rhythm of one and two. You turn the corner, and then the next, the moonlight being your guide as it illuminates the path. The cold tonight was harsh, a snowstorm was occurring outside. Even from the inside, you can still feel the chill. Ice creeps into the gaps of stone bricks and the long halls had a breeze that carried the snow. It’s not at all unusual when the Palace belongs to a god who possesses the power of the cryo element. But for you, it seems more like a sign of something horrible coming.

Nights in Snezhnaya aren't always active. When you live in a nation where there is winter throughout, you’d be more concerned about staying inside and trying not to freeze from the cold. Especially in a storm like this? Going outside would be a death wish. Yet, here you were, outside of your home, only because Diluc was most likely inside the Palace. When you got in, the storm started. Now, you’re stuck inside, looking for any indication of where your red headed partner might’ve gone.

You march with urgency into the next corner, not even caring to slow down. You bump into someone. The man offers you a hand once he sees you on the floor. You graciously take it and you only realize now who you’re face-to-face with. Il Dottore, ranked 2nd of the Fatui Harbingers. Just the sight of him sends shivers down your spine. You’ve heard stories of this man, countless of them. A notable one was that a few years ago, he treated children like test subjects to experiment on archon residue, leftover power of dead gods. You never knew what he did exactly but sometimes, you passed by his lab in Haeresys and heard the screams of children. He was the subject of your investigations a while back.

He still holds your hand in his, looking you up and down like a prey who just walked right into his trap. His eyes were blocked by a mask but it was obvious in the way his lips twists into a sinister smile.

“What business does a lovely person like you have that keeps you occupied tonight?” He asks. Slowly, to not offend him, you take back my hand from his open palm. You gulp, thinking of any excuse you can make.

“I’m sorry for bumping into you, My Lord. I’ve been told that a harbinger needed some assistance tonight. I was looking for my supervisor to ask for more details.” You explain. you almost let out a sigh of relief when he nods in satisfaction. But it was too soon to be relieved.

“Great. I was the one who requested help. You’ll be more than enough. Come with me to my lab.” Shit, you’re screwed.

The Doctor walks on ahead to lead the way, he doesn’t stop when he hears the sound of your footsteps follow after him in obedience. A few flights of stairs down to the basement, both of you reach a double door entrance of Haeresys, the harbinger’s personal lab. You mentally prepare yourself for the worst as he turns the knob and swings both doors open.

You don’t know what you expected but you certainly didn’t expect a body floating and encased inside a big glass tube. Whether it was a corpse or a sleeping body didn’t matter. What disturbed you more was that the body looked exactly like the Lord Harbinger standing right next to me. A twin? An imposter? A trick of the light! Yes, that must be it.

You try not to show any fear. You’re here for work, this is useful info. You just need to tough this out, hope for the best and find Diluc some other time. You have to survive here. When the Doctor notices you staring at the tube, he turns in your direction.

“Oh, don’t mind him. That’s just me. A clone.” he says but it doesn’t really explain anything. You follow him inside the laboratory. There were glowing fluids everywhere, enclosed in tubes and stacked neatly on shelves. Your eyes wander to the blood splatters on the ground and lab bed. The Doctor instructs you to clean it, and you obey him, wiping up the red from the stone surface.

“Say, what do you think about the concept of using the power of deceased gods?” The Doctor asks. You can feel his stare boring into the back of my head. You didn’t need to look back nor see his eyes to know how intensely he was looking at you. But you answer him with confidence. You can’t afford to show any weakness, not here, not ever.

“If I’m allowed to voice my opinion, my Lord, I’d say that such a power can pose a risk to its users. It would be useless if the risk outweighs the benefits.” The Doctor lets out a pleased hum at your response.

“I like your bold answers. You could be a scholar with that attitude.” He walks towards me and you don’t dare look back. There’s an implication in his statement that you don’t quite like. You knew that the 2nd harbinger used to be a scholar himself before being shunned by the Academia because of his unethical research. So… was he mocking you right now? You can’t tell but you accept the compliment nonetheless.

“Do you trust that I won’t hurt you right now?” He asks. His shadow casts down on you, his figure towering over you. Your heart races when you feel the heat of his body so close. This was a moment of life or death.

“No.” You answer honestly. The Doctor laughs in amusement and backs off. You finally turn to face him, confused at what’s so funny? His laughter dies down and he takes off his mask. In the dim lighting of the laboratory, his red eyes glow, like a predator in the shadows.

“You’re smart. But I’m aware that you know more than you let on. I’m not stupid, I can tell that you’re an informant.” 

Of course he knew, you should’ve expected this. He’s 2nd of the harbingers and was once a scholar. Any kind of deception or mind game would be useless against him, no matter how skilled at manipulation you were. “What do you plan to do?”

“Have you ever been blessed by the gods?” The question caughts you off guard. You know for certain that he’s referring to visions. Visions are treasures gifted to those who were seen worthy by the gods of Celestia. The intention behind them is unclear but it was seen as a blessing because of its ability to give its bearers a way to control one of the 7 elements: anemo, geo, electro, dendro, hydro, pyro and cryo; and there was also the possibility of the bearers ascending to heaven to become a god after death. You shook your head no.

“How would you like a blessing? I have confidence that you’ll know how to use this without dying. The benefits must outweigh the risks, correct?” He takes out something from his coat. In his palm, there was a glowing orb that looked just like a vision. Your head lets out all sorts of warning signs as you look at the crystal pulsate. There was dark matter surrounding that thing, who knows what it was made of.

You recognize it now. It was a delusion. It glows in light blue and has the icon of a snowflake on the glass surface. It was a fake vision produced and given to Fatui members. Anyone who uses it seems to lose a bit of their sanity over time as a consequence for getting their power. Any wrong move while using it can drain all the life force in you.

“Just obey my word and I’ll tell you all I know. But of course, death is certain once you open your mouth to anyone else. I have my sources, I can find you wherever you go.” The Doctor takes your hand and places the delusion on it. He smiles when you stay silent.

“This is mine now, right?” You grasp it tightly. Frost starts to spread from where you stand and the Doctor watches.

“I’ll take it but I’ll have to pass on your deal.” Before the Doctor could react, ice spread in front of him, pushing him back into his desk. You take the moment to run outside, sealing the door with cryo. You dash up the stairs and don’t look back when you hear him break down the door.

Your legs demand for a break but you can’t, not when the Doctor follows closely behind you. You hear him get closer and you take a moment to look back, perhaps hit him again with an icicle to his face. But he catches your wrist before you could hurl another one his way, the delusion falls out of your hand and descends further back the stairs where you came from.

“You’re an unexpected one but I know how to make rebellious subjects submit.”

“Don’t touch me!” You try to wiggle out of his grasp but it was fruitless. Terror starts rising in your mind and you sincerely wish adrenalin can just magically give you super strength to punch this man in the face. But you’re weak against the harbinger, was there any point in fighting further?

“Get down!” A familiar voice yells in your rear. In the reflection of the Doctor’s eyes, you see fire approaching fast behind. You lower your head and duck. The Doctor, caught by surprise, is launched down the stairs by the blast. You flip your head and see him, you recognize that red hair tied into a ponytail anywhere.

Diluc stands a few steps above, holding a claymore in one of his hands. His eyes glow red with fury and a flash of familiarity strikes him when he sees the Doctor.

“We’ve met before.” The Doctor says.

“Il Dottore, you were in Mondstadt during the time of my father’s death.” Diluc tightens his grip on the big sword, preparing himself in a fighting stance. The Doctor laughs, it echoes in the staircase, to the empty halls outside.

“I can see you’ve become stronger. But you should be smart enough to know you can’t kill me. Didn’t your informant tell you that?” The Doctor sends me a look. As much as Diluc wanted to ask questions, a quick scan of the scene tells him all he needs to know. A look at you, the harbinger and the cryo delusion long forgotten paints a scene of what might’ve happened.

“You’re not killing anyone else with that thing.” Diluc draws back his claymore over his shoulders, flames forming behind him. An image of a phoenix emerges from within the flames and for a moment, you thought Diluc had grown wings of fire. The Doctor opens his arms wide, “Give me all you’ve got!”

Diluc swings the broadsword, a giant phoenix flies into the harbinger’s directions and it carries him all the way down the stairs. You hear a thud echo from below.

“Come, let’s get out of here!” Your partner lifts you up by the arms and drags you out. You look back, there was a trail of melted ice along the path where the phoenix had flown, water dripping from the ceiling like a light shower. It should be over for now.

Diluc winces in pain. You mutter an apology as you lightly dab a cotton ball on the burns on his arms. The sun was starting to rise in the horizon, you were surprised no Fatui agents have ambushed your home by now after the events of last night. You were sure that Dottore probably ordered some subordinates to get your heads on a platter but surprisingly, all seem calm for the time being. But you know you can’t stay here anymore. This home was no longer a home.

“The delusion…” Diluc starts, unsure. There were too many things he wanted to ask but all of them seemed too heavy. He wants to take in this short moment of peace longer, this serene scene of you taking care of his wounds. “The Doctor didn’t hurt you, right?”

“Just a threat, here and there. I experienced a lot of it in my work.” It was the most you can say to not make him worry. He doesn’t press further. 

“You asked me when I was leaving yesterday.” Diluc says. Your hands freeze.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. I learned an awful lot about the Fatui enough to satisfy my curiosity by now. It’s not safe anymore, like you said.” The thought of him leaving tomorrow makes your heart drop to your stomach. Are you really ready to let him go? After those 3 years of partnership? There were still a lot of things you didn’t know about him, things you wanted to say to him.

“But-”

“Don’t give me that look.” He interrupts, taking notice of the tears welling up in your eyes. Tenderly, he takes the bloodied cotton out of your hands and sets it down elsewhere, replacing it with his own hands instead. He looks down on it, embarrassed. He can’t look you in the eye, he just can’t.

“My father used a delusion trying to save me. I don’t want you ending up the same. And I know that you’ll say that you won’t end up like that but I just can’t risk it.” His hold on you tightens. “I can’t risk losing you the same way.” He shuts his eyes when he sees the scars on your hands.

And when he opens them again, he finally breaks down. Walls that have built up for years crumbling down for the first time. The sight was painful to see and all you could do was embrace him in your arms. The irony of his strong body shaking as he tries to muffle the sobs that leave him. Droplets of tears falling onto your shoulder.

“I thought I lost all love in my life when I lost him and my brother that day. But I felt it with you. As much as I tried to stop myself from caring, I couldn’t stop myself from loving you. I can’t lose anyone else.” He grips you, unyielding, as if afraid that if he lets go now, he’ll lose you forever.

“Diluc, listen to me.” You pull away. He finally looks up and you wipe away the tears staining his cheeks. You brush the strands of his hair along with it and you caress his face. He was beautiful. You savor the warmth of his body and relish in the sight of him, trying to imprint it in your memory. It’s unbelievable that this will be the last time you’ll see his face. It was now or never.

With worship and passion, you place your lips on his. Diluc doesn’t pull away, he pulls you closer instead, deepening the kiss like it’s his last. Possibly because it is. So he pours out all his devotion, all his adoration into this simple gesture. And it takes your breath away. No matter how stoic of a man he was, Diluc was passionate in everything he did. He had his heart in the right place. And now he offers his heart to you.

You pull away, breathless.

“I stayed with you because I wanted to! I could’ve left anytime I want and yet I choose to help you out. You may be leaving tomorrow but you can’t get rid of me easily.” He smiles at the implication.

“You won’t lose me forever, Diluc.” You slip the owl carving into his fingertips. “I’ll always be with you wherever you are. And when the time comes, I’ll see you in Mondstadt.”

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

Sc𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 {𝘓𝘰𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘑. 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺}

A/N: in desperate need of requests I am running out of inspiration fr because I literally took a piece of my new book and made it a Louis ff just to upload something

Trigger warnings: mentions of death,

Pairings: Louis x f!reader

"I don't understand why we have to do this." Louis rolled his eyes and looked at you.

"John wrote this as a present for our wedding, my love. It would be a shame not to read it, don't you think?"

You and Louis had gotten married last week and even though you had decided not to receive any presents from guests, John had been a sweetheart and given you a small book he had written about you and Louis.

At first Louis had been quite dismissive about the whole thing, John was Sherlock's friend after all and it was common knowledge he didn't trust Sherlock. But the small book looked so inviting and after giving it a lot of thought it would be a huge shame if he didn't read it to you.

So after you two made yourselves comfortable in front of the lit fireplace, cups filled with the tea Louis had made, your husband began reading.

She was quiet during the entire walk to Louis's estate and the young man knew exactly why. Whoever had heard the commotion outside was now staring at them. The curious and hungry stares of the remaining residents of the village followed them all the way to the cemetery. But Louis was too happy to care, his chest puffed out and filled with pride and joy. 

  (Y/n)’s hold on his upper arm grew stronger the moment they entered the cemetery and after stealing a glance to make sure she was alright, Louis caught her removing her black glove and placing it over her nose. 

  There was a chilling sense of solitude that followed them. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old bones. The only sounds that echoed through the night were the occasional rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant hoot of an owl. (Y/n)'s grip on Louis's arm tightened, as though she was afraid to let go in case she lost him. But despite the eerie atmosphere, there was an underlying sense of romance between them. The moonlight danced off the headstones, casting a silvery hue over their faces.

  (Y/n)’s gaze was fixed on the path ahead as though she was fearful of what might be lurking in the darkness. They used to play in the cemetery when they were children but as time passed and they grew up, the fear of death took over them. (Y/n) stole a glance at Louis. She saw the determination in his eyes. He was determined to protect her from any harm and she felt a wave of warmth spread through her chest.

  As they delved deeper into the cemetery, the chill in the air grew heavier as the rain ceased. (Y/n) closed her umbrella and took around and saw that they had entered the mausoleums area. It was as if the dead were watching them, waiting for them to make a wrong turn and get lost in the maze of tombstones and headstones. But Louis led them safely through the desolate landscape.    

  The cemetery had never been this full before. But with the disease…

  They suddenly heard the sound of soft sobbing. As if it was by instinct, Louis took hold of (Y/n)’s hand. The moment they turned left, following the path the mausoleums made, they saw a woman kneeling, her back towards them, at a grave in between two mausoleums. The sound of her weeping echoed through the cemetery, making the air feel heavy and thick. (Y/n) felt a lump form in her throat at the sight of the woman grieving over her husband's grave. She turned to Louis, her heart pounding in her chest. But before she could say anything, he put a finger to his lips, signalling her to be quiet. They stood there in silence, listening to the woman's sobs.

  But it seemed as if the moment they approached her, the woman’s weeping only grew louder and got more intense. At the thought of that woman being her kneeling over Louis’s grave, she felt a tinge of fear growing inside her. But when Louis’s hand found hers again and gave it a gentle squeeze, she felt her fear subside. 

  Sensing that someone was watching her, the woman's sobbing stopped and she spoke in a low, raspy voice. “What are you two doing here?” She turned to face them, her eyes were red and puffy with tears. She was dressed in tattered clothes and her hair was dishevelled.  "This is not a place for the living. You must leave now.”

  (Y/n) took a small step back, trembling slightly. Louis placed a protective hand on her shoulder, but his dark blue eyes never left the woman. “We're just passing through, ma'am. We didn't mean to cause any disturbance.” 

  The woman scowled at them, “Passing through? This place is not for passing through. It's for the dead. You have no business here.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “We didn’t mean to disturb you.” (Y/n) pushed herself to smile kindly at the woman. “We are terribly sorry for your loss.” But the woman didn’t speak. She just turned around and continued sobbing, rocking her body back and forth. The grip on (Y/n)’s shoulder tightened as Louis pulled her closer to him and began walking again.

  The woman’s sobs and occasional screams followed them all the way to the exit of the cemetery and the young couple continued to hear her even when they reached the water fountain. The sculpture of four women dancing in a circle stood in the middle of the fountain.  

"Why did you stop?" You tilted your head and took a sip from your tea.

"I would never stop in front of a weeping woman at a cemetery, especially when having you with me. She could be dangerous."

"It's a fictional scary story Louis." You rolled your eyes.

"Don't care..."

A/n: it's short and ugly and I am more than sorry