fictional crushes change like the British weather

Yukimiya Kenyu has the patience of a saint. he’s sweet — kind, caring, the synonyms go as long as a grocery shopping list. and oh, not to mention his respect for women. it’s truly endearing how he’s not afraid to express that to you — how he’s not afraid to make sure that you know that you’re his first and last love. by carrying your groceries, giving his jacket when it’s cold out, he truly never fails to show how much he loves you.

now, he’s also not one to eavesdrop. he finds it truly disrespectful and meaningless. he’s sure to keep his ears and mind to himself whenever a phone call or conversation is happening around him — friend or not, even if it’s just a word he had heard — he doesn’t enjoy eavesdropping, no matter who it is talking.

but now, even if he hates to admit it, he’s slightly thankful that he eavesdropped a small bit on your conversation with a friend on the other line. even if the guilt is gnawing at him — eating him alive for even thinking on invading your privacy and for him to feel somewhat glad he did, another part of him wants to make your wishes come true.

“I dunno. it’s not that he doesn’t satisfy me — hell, he’s more than enough. I just want to know what he’s like if he’s a little rough, y’know what I mean?”

oh, he knows what you mean. he’s not shaming you for it — your wishes are completely valid and understandable. he has always been rather gentle and soft during intimacy — hands interlocked as he whispers praises into your ear, thrusts slow but deep — deep enough to hit that gummy spot inside of you and have your toes curling.

he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries, or do something you don’t like. the two of you have been in love for as long as he can remember, from where he was an unknown football player to a rising star of bastard münchen. he’d honestly rather lose his career than to lose you, because what would he ever do if his other half was missing?

chained by the worry of accidentally hurting you, he’s been keeping himself on his best behavior during intimacy, holding back the urge to start ravaging you and show you what he’s been wanting to do for so long. why else do you think he laces his fingers with yours gently, caressing your body affectionately while kissing every inch of your skin? even through the temptation he gets, from the talks in the locker rooms and the videos he’s watched — he has to hold himself and his thoughts together, trying to ignore the way his dick springs up at the thought of your eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails scratching his back to leave pretty marks as he fucks the life out of you.

after all, your pleasure and comfort was his top priority, he doesn’t blame you for wanting a change of pace. but as your boyfriend, it’s his duty to make your wishes come true — right?

“k-kenyu -! what’s — mmph, gotten i-into you..!”

oh, you sound and look so pretty. lips parted in ecstasy with your brows furrowed, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes as you whine and writhe — if he knew this was what you wanted all along, he would’ve done this sooner, much much sooner. his grip on your legs grow tighter, making sure they don’t fall off his shoulders as he meanly drills his cock inside of your gummy walls.

“hm? thought this was what you wanted, sweetheart.” his tone was sickeningly sweet, as if he was comforting you on a bad day — as if his length wasn’t abusing your poor, sopping cunt. his glasses were folded neatly on the bedside table, as if he’s been planning on doing this for so long, as if he’s planned this from the very, very beginning.

what a silly question — he thinks. he could practically see the gears working in your head, as you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to make out what he was trying to imply behind that sweet and soothing tone of his — even through the way he was molding your pretty pussy into the precise shape of his cock, to its tip down to its veins, through the way that he was slowly engraving his name on your brain.

“h-haah ? — what do y-you mean, Ken—”

“I overheard your conversation.”

he wastes little to no time on cutting you off of your words. he lifts your hips a little higher, angling his own to hit even deeper inside of you. to him, him overhearing your conversation was nothing more than a silly excuse to fuck you a little rougher than he usually would. he would never intentionally eavesdrop on any phone call you were having. he couldn’t bite back the chuckle bubbling in his chest as you still looked up at him, dazed and confused — trying to focus on him and his words.

“about you wanting me to go rough.”

he almost wants to laugh at the way your eyes widen, lips parting to say something to defend yourself — but once more, he cuts you off, this time — with a sharp thrust of his hips against yours, watching in amusement and pleasure as your words abruptly turn into a choked moan.

“ ‘m not mad, love.” he reassures gently, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your forehead, one hand leaving your thighs to move to cup your cheeks, his hold gentle yet firm, a huge contrast to the way the sound of skin slapping quickly filled the room. a sleazy grin tugs the corners of his lips, as he lets out a soft, shaky exhale.

“haah — though I did wish you could’ve told me sooner,” he breathed out gently, slowly finding himself lost in the feeling of your walls wrapped so snugly around him — pulling him in deeper like a drug.

“you d-don’t know how — ugh, long I’ve been wanting to do this.” his eyes take in the pretty sight below him, how your chest heaves and breasts bounce with each harsh thrust. his hand trails down from your chin to your left boob, squeezing it gently.

he snickers at the way your head was tilting to the side slowly, as if you were completely fucked out already — your vision blurry with tears.

“look at me when I’m talking to you, sweetheart.” his hand gently slaps your cheek not once, but twice — gentle but firm enough to get your full attention. “makes me wonder. do you like it when I manhandle you, then?” tilting his head to the side slightly, his slender fingers trail down once more — wrapping around your pretty neck just enough to keep your head in place, pushing it against pillows gently.

“o-oh, yes — Kenyu, right there-!”

his cock hits that gummy spot inside of you which makes you loll your head back, the heel of your feet digging into his back as wanton moans escape your throat.

His brows knit together, soft grunts escaping his throat as he could feel you clench around him. it’s like his first time with you all over again. his hips moved at an inhuman speed — a speed he normally conserved for when he was on the field, whereas his goal would be to score the winning shot, but this time? his goal was to score his load into you as deep as he fucking could.

if his memory was bound to be erased, leaving him with only one choice on which memory he would like to keep, he would definitely choose this one.

shit. he could feel his dick twitching inside of you the more he took in the sight of his fingers wrapped around your throat, tears now streaming down your cheeks as the sound of skin slapping bounces off the walls — his balls hitting against your hole so perfectly. and he’s trying not to shoot his load just yet, because God does he want this moment to last, but with the way your eyes are rolled to the back of your head? it’s proving to be much more difficult then he had originally thought.

it’s almost unfair how pretty you look. a light sheen of sweat coating your body, a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead due to said sweat. how can you expect him to last? this was so much better than his imagination, so so much better than the thoughts his mind would visualize out during those nights where he’d fist his cock tightly to the thoughts of you.

“I-I’m sorry,, Kenyu — d-didn’t mean it that way, I swear —“ you say in between thrusts, struggling to keep your voice loud enough for him to hear properly. you could make out the chuckle escaping his lips, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“now, what’s there to be sorry about, love?” he coos gently,

“If anything, jus’ gives me more of a reason to have your eyes rolling further to the back of your skull.”

— a/n ! : ts lowkey ass but it’ll have to do for now woopsies, hope you guys liked this !!

I do not give consent to plagiarize, copy, or translate in any form whatsoever — thank you!

˓ — ISAGI YOICHI

the type who loves to cum inside your warm cunt more than anything, but he supposes he can settle on your thighs just this once — and plus, he doesn’t mind licking the mess off of you like the good boyfriend he is!

“you’re not on the pill?”

he’s trying so hard to sound mad, to look irritated and annoyed on how you didn’t buy a new bottle after you ran out, especially since you know that this was going to happen — but the way your walls were clinging onto his pale shaft was making it so hard, harder than he had initially thought.

his eyebrows furrow together, lips parted in ecstasy as his hips stutter slightly. his grip on your hips grew tighter, tight enough to leave burning red marks which surely will make itself comfortable as claiming your hips as home for the next few days.

“fuck. y-you should’ve — ah , told me —” he grunts, and he’s finding it hard to put his hips to a halt from plummeting inside of you from the back.

He looks mad, with the furrowed brows and darkened eyes, but the shakiness in his voice and the tremble of his bottom lip as he throws his head back with a groan that came straight out of a pornographic movie is telling you that he actually couldn’t bring himself to be mad.

not with the way you were pressed up against him, that is.

“c-can’t you just — unh, pull out and slip a condom on or sumthin—?”

and he almost laughed, laughed at your words if it wasn’t the way you looked up at him so sweetly through your shoulder, eyes glossy and wide — arching your back oh so deliciously for him with that stupidly innocent look on your face.

you fucking minx.

“hah — easier said than done, baby.”

how could he pull out when you were gripping onto his twitching cock so tightly, warming it good enough to send shudders throughout his entire body.

saliva coated lips make contact with your shoulder, canines sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. His pupils dilate, the scent of your shampoo and lotion and the light taste of sweat on your body making him moan, moan — his dick twitching inside of you. you were a fucking sex pollen to him and you knew it.

He can’t find it in himself to stop pounding into you, the thought of him cumming inside of you and possibly getting you pregnant making his hips move faster — meaner. You were too addicting, you had a chokehold on him and the sweet whimpers and moans escaping your throat only adds more fuel to the already large, suffocating fire.

“y-you know,” he grunts, chest heaving with each needed breath he takes, his mean hips finally coming to a stop as he speaks, leaning your cunt needy and pulsating, “I’m startin’ to think that you actually want me to cum inside.”

the whine that bubbles from your chest makes a wolffish grin tug the corners of his lips, watching the way your half lidded eyes focus slowly on his dark blue ones.

“w-what? ichi — th-that’s not wh.. hngh!”

he cuts off your words, burying himself as deep as he could inside of you — slender fingers pressing down on the bulge of his needy cock on your stomach, watching the way your eyes rolled back and back arched further, ass hitting against his pelvis.

“c’mooon. really?” he drawls out, tilting his head to the side slightly, “I’ve reminded y’to buy a new bottle already. and I know damn well you wouldn’t have forgotten — unless you really wanted to be filled with my babies, ha? all swollen and full.”

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, picking the pace back up — relishing in the way the tears stream down your cheeks as you body jolts forwards from the impact, a loud moan ripping out of your throat.

Surely, he’s got to have some personality disorder. The once sweet, innocent yoichi was now a mean, unforgiving one — toying with you as he flips you onto your back now, his ears picking up on the way you squeak at the sudden change of position.

And he swears he could feel your gummy walls clench tighter around him at the thought of you full with his children, making him grunt softly — fingers digging deeper into your hips.

“oh? so I’m right, aren’t I?” he mused, the already large shit eating grin on his face growing larger, if that was even possible.

“s-shut up— I’m c-cumming,” your fingers move onto his biceps, nails digging into them as a desperate attempt to ground yourself. meanwhile his hands find solace onto your soft thighs, pinning them down against the navy silk sheets of his bed.

“yeah? a-are you now?” his eyes narrowed slightly, teeth gritting together and brows furrowing as he himself is desperately trying to restrain himself from doing anything he’d regret, which would obviously busting his load into you suddenly and, perhaps, getting you pregnant with his kids.

“fuck — cum with me then,” soft pants escape his parted lips, his body chasing yours.

he could see the way you panic in your eyes. the way you desperately try to muster up your voice to tell him to stop despite knowing all attempts to tell him off would be futile, to hold his load or to pull out, and the way you were so drowned in the pleasure he was giving you that he had rendered you into a speechless little thing.

“f-fuck ! yoichi, don’t —” you gasp out, head pressing back against the soft pillows propped up behind your head, jaw hanging open from the immense euphoria.

as soon as the creamy white liquid gushes out of your sensitive ring of muscle, you could feel him swiftly pull out — and with a few jerks of his hand, he coats your thighs with his own sticky mess, head thrown back as the number one striker lets out a uncharacteristically pathetic moan.

the room washes over with silence, the sound of your and his soft pants filling the rather quiet room until you break the silence, eyes peering down at the wet spot on the sheets beneath your thighs and the sticky feeling of cum kissing your thighs.

“shit. gonna be such a mess to clean up,” you breath out, chest still heaving gently from the workout he had just made you do.

he simply grins, licking his lips.

“who says I’m not gonna help you clean up?”

and with that, he sinks down onto his knees, hands finding home onto your thighs once more.

˓ — RIN ITOSHI

the type who lets you get the consequences of not telling him — leaving you needy and on edge! after all, it’s not his fault that you forgot to tell him …

“what did you just say?”

slender digits come up to grab a fistful of your hair, hips coming to a stop as he forces your head to tilt back to look at him — chilly teal eyes lean down to peer straight at yours, his nails digging into your scalp. his grip was tight enough for it to almost be considered painful.

almost.

was he annoyed? yes. was he horny, needy, and needed desperately to cum? also yes.

“I-I’m ah — n-not on birth control ..” you managed to squeak out, shrinking under his gaze — your fingers clenching around the silk sheets of his bed, the material curling and wrinkling beneath the grip of your fingers.

you could see the way his brows furrow slightly, clicking his tongue once more in slight annoyance. he’s been edging himself and you for what, an hour now — constantly forcing your back into a deep arch so he could hit deeper and deeper into you, hitting places you never knew wlere even inside of you — listening to your pretty sounds and such pitiful begging for him to let you cum, just for you to tell him that at the very end, he won’t have the chance to cum inside of his favorite place to do so?

such bullshit, he thinks.

That doesn’t mean he can’t have any fun, though. After all, you have some compensation to make for him.

His brows soon relax slowly, and he was slight thankful he dumbed you down just enough for you to miss the small, yet sly smirk tugging the corners of his lips as he leans down, lips gently grazing your neck — moving closer and closer until his teeth reached close enough to tug your earlobe right between his teeth, warm breath tickling the skins on your hair.

“It’s okay, baby.”

His voice was condescendingly sweet, a hidden meaning laying deep down beneath his words — but gosh, how could you ever focus on his words when the cock drilling deep into you and rearranging your guts was stealing all of your focus instead?

“I’ll just hafta pull out, hm?” He bites the inside of his cheek, finding humor in the way you seem to relax at his words — forgetting that he wasn’t a man to forgive and forget so easily. His fingers leave the soft locks of your hair gently, instead, moving to the back of your head to have a firm hold of the back of your head — pushing your head against the soft pillows on his bed, muffling your whines and pretty little moans of his name as his hips slowly start to resume its steady rhythm against your ass.

You choke on your own sounds, feeling the way he pounds faster — meaner, deeper. And it was weird, because the youngest Itoshi has never went this rough on you. Drool seeps out of their corners of your lips, jaw hanging open — a wet patch of your drool forming on the Itoshi’s pillow covers.

If only you had knew, that behind the mean, pounds of his hips, would be a sinister intent to leave you needy and on edge — desperate enough for you to get down on your knees and beg.

“R-rin, cummin’, please — ” his ears perk up at your words. And as if to prove your point, he could feel the way your thighs quivered and tightened, struggling to hold yourself up properly. And amidst the lewd sounds of skin slapping mixed with the sounds of your moans, he could hear his sheets crinkling underneath your tight grip against them — nails digging into the soft mattress, your words coming up as hardly audible hiccups and whines.

“Shit, that so?” His breath hitches softly, feeling the way your walls clamp up around him. His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp at the feeling — because you know what’s about to happen, or — what you expected to happen, at least.

“Such a needy little thing. Go on, then.”

Before you could say anything else, he pulls out, edging you once more this night, relishing the way you grunt softly in complaint as you squirm, moving your hips back to press against his pelvis, silently begging for him to put himself back in.

But instead of being met with him aligning his tip right back in, you’re met with a soft shake of his head, his left arm wrapping around your waist as he leans down, lips grazing your earlobe once more.

“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart, but I think you’re right. Think’ we should keep it just the two of us for now, hm?”

He leans back slowly after pressing a gentle kiss onto your cheek. Fuck, he could feel his blood rushing south once more at the way you pout at him — eyes watery and teary, before they eventually flutter shut from exhaustion.

Guess he’ll have to find another way to relieve himself ..

˓ — BACHIRA MEGURU

the type who’s pull out game is, weirdly.. good? Either way, he doesn’t mind settling on cumming on other parts of your body — after all, all of you is perfect in his eyes ! .. and, well — maybe also because he wants to take a few pics of you covered in his cum .. but you don’t have to know that!

“And? I really don’t see the problem here ..”

A childlike pout starts to form on his lips, tilting his head gently to the side slightly like a kid stuck on a math question written on the board — his fingers reaching up to intertwine with your own, which were pushing against his chest, trying uselessly to push him off of you — a poor attempt on trying to make distance between your cunt and his mushroom tip nudging your entrance.

“I-im not on the pill-! That’s the problem,” you huff out, your fingers squeezing his gently — blood rushing to your cheeks at the amount of personal space he has taken away from you. But he merely shrugs, a cheeky smile tugging the corners of his lips as soon as the realization hit him.

“Ah — that’s what all this was about? no biggie, trust me. I can jus’pull out!”

He seemed oddly casual about the situation, to your surprise. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to shine even brighter than the soft, silver light of the moon slipping quietly through the white curtains of your room — even brighter than whenever he would score a goal during a match. Maybe it was because this situation was no different, you’ll never know.

“I’ll take good care of ya, I promise.”

And you should’ve known better from the earlier signs of him being waay to casual for a situation like this, considering how he’d use to pout whenever you’d tell him to slip on a condom — that he had a secret intent behind the unusually sweet and understanding talk of his.

Click, click click!

His phone in his right hand, while his other hand held firmly onto your waist, holding you down against the soft bed to prevent your from squirming too much. After all, he couldn’t let you ruin his piece of art!

A satisfied grin tugs the corners of his lips, giggling at the way you use the back of your hand to cover the lower half of your face. Cute, he thinks. How you think that would stop him from taking any more pictures of you painted with his cum — cheeks flushed with your skin glistening slightly from the light sheen of sweat on your body, the creamy white liquid trailing down from your chest to your stomach makes him let out a soft groan.

“Cmon, don’t — hah, don’t get shy on me now,” he breathed out softly, continuing to gently pump in and out of you, trying to coax out another orgasm out of you to coat your already sticky thighs. His hand leaves your waist, fingers trailing up your arm, then to your wrist, and finally laces your fingers together, gently pulling your hand away from your face. A seemingly innocent smile tugs the corners of his lips, leaning down to coo intoxicatingly sweet in your ear.

“Just one more, one more. yeah baby?” His warm breath fans over the bare skin of your neck, sending a low shudder running throughout your spine.

He bottoms out slowly, before thrusting back in as deep as he could — relishing the way your back arches off the bed, head lolling back against the soft cushions of the pillows beneath your head.

Setting his phone down on the bed, he diverts his entire focus to you, and how your hands tensed, trying to ground yourself by squeezing his own hand like he was your lifeline. He grunts softly at the sharp sting of your nails digging into the outer layer of his hand, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip — a rather strange contrast to how rough we was with plummeting inside of your hole, stretching and molding the walls accordingly — marking you as his.

“B-but — hng, ‘guru - came twice already-”

He could only grunt the way you look at him so pleadingly, so lovingly - eyes glassy with tears and saliva prodding at the corners of your wet, kiss bitten lips.

“That so? Ah, well - y’know what they say,” he manages a breathy chuckle, his fingers digging a little deeper into your hip as he bottoms out, again, leaving you feeling empty and craving for it despite being oh so overstimulated already - your body shaking slightly from just how overwhelming the pleasure really is.

“Third time’s the charm.” He grins, before slamming right back into you - just like how he previously did minutes ago.

“T-thats not even how it works in this contex- mmfh!” He cuts you off simply, pressing his lips onto yours gently to swallow and muffle all of your noises. After all, he’s received a noise complaint once from the grumpy neighbor next door - probably just jealous that he can’t ever get someone as good as you, he thinks - but he’d rather not get another one even though he really does want him, or the whole apartment complex for that matter, to hear who’s making you feel good.

He licks your bottom lip, his smile growing wider at the gasp you let out, easily taking it as the opportunity to slip his tongue right in. He presses his tongue against yours, and your head is all fuzzy and dizzy - unsure on if it was his dick inside of you that was making you cum again, or if it was the way his tongue seemed to press and prod against yours that was making you on the edge of cumming again.

Actually - you don’t think you’ve even realized that the heat was already building and pooling inside of you again until now.

“Now, now-” he pulls away softly, feeling the way your thighs seemed to tremble and how your breathing got just a little more labored as your walls dragged across his milky shaft.

“Y’might hafta quiet down, sweets.’ He smiled against your neck, and he knows - knows just how close you were.

Slowly, he reaches for his phone once more - hand leaving your hip as he opens the camera, angling it just right without looking, like he’s been training for this moment his entire life.

“Can’t have the neighbors complaining again, no?”

And with that, the shutter clicks as soon as the knot in your stomach snaps.

˓ — CHIGIRI HYOMA

the type who’s a little upset about not being able to flex his speed his speed inside of you this time, but doesn’t mind too much, he’ll just have to make you flex this time, right?

“Fuck - I don’t know if I’m still upset about you forgetting to take your pills, or if I’m ah - happy at the new sight in front of me,”

His chest was heaving from a mix of exhaustion from his recent football training just now and of arousal from how pretty you looked desperately grinding on his bare thigh like a dog in heat.

Truthfully, his mind was a dizzying mess during his training, you constantly came into his mind, whether when he was stretching, talking to his teammates - it drove him crazy, especially with the way his teammates would point out how he’d suddenly doze off with cheeks flushed out of no where. He’s been dying to feel you around him and fill you up since morning, morning - thats just how desperate he was.

And it seemed like that same, needy desperate urge was now bubbling inside of you like how it did to him earlier today. Perhaps it was you facing the consequences of your own actions, having have forgotten to buy a new bottle of pills, but he can’t find it in himself to complain.

Not when he has such a pretty sight in front of him.

Instead, the corners of his lips tug upwards into a lazy grin, opting to lean back against the couch with his arms hanging and rested behind them, refusing to help you.

“I-I’m sorry, Hyo-” you whined out breathlessly, your hands rest on the rough muscle that your needy cunt has been desperately trying to get the right amount of friction out of. Through the dizzying texture of his skin against your folds that was keeping you teetering on edge, you could vaguely remember just how eager he’d been when he stepped through the front door of your shared apartment - like he’d been a man who’s been walking through a dessert for days and is in dire need of water.

It made you feel guilty, it really did - when you broke the news to him sheepishly and watched the way he paused slightly, like if he was deciding whether he was disappointed or if he could live on without craving into his urge and desires today.

“why are you apologizing, hm? there’s ha - nothin’ to apologize for.”

He’s certain he couldn’t even comprehend your apology with the way you looked so desperate on his thigh, the muscles tensing beneath your puffy folds. A light sheen of sweat on your forehead, trembling fingers supporting yourself up against his thigh, nails piercing the skin lightly.

“In fact, think I just found myself a new obsession,” his grin grows a little wider - a little more dangerous, one that screamed he wasn’t letting you get out of this one so easily. The grin he gets when he reaches in range to shoot his goal.

He bounces his knee gently, watching the way you crumble - fingers digging deeper into his skin, almost deep enough to draw blood - and your back arching, like you were desperately seeking for his touch that he wasn’t going to give.

Not yet, at least.

“Hyo, please ..” you plead so prettily, all breathless and seemingly so out of it. It was nearly enough for all of his self restraint to snap with only the filthy, squelching noises of your wet cunt rubbing against his thigh - leaving a mess that he can’t take his eyes off of.

But he’s not that mean. He suppose he can cave - just a little.

That’s what he wants you to think, at least.

His right hand lifts, sliding from your thigh to your hips - giving it a gentle squeeze, thumb moving to caress your hips gently, close but not close enough to where you need him the most.

“use your words, pretty girl. I don’t have clairvoyant powers.”

He bites back the breathless chuckle at the way you huff and pout, struggling to find the right words.

“need your help,” you choke out so prettily, all quiet and struggling. Hair falling over your face as your head tips forward, biting down on your bottom lip.

“on what?” He leans back, enjoying the view - watching the way you mewl and whine at the game he’s playing. At the way he’s pretending not to notice how your entire thighs tremble atop of his from effort of desperately trying to get yourself off.

“n-need to come —“ you finally manage through gritted teeth, peering up at him through your lashes, wet with unshed tears of frustration.

“yeah?” He hums, fingers digging deeper into your hips, leaving red angry marks.

He bounces his knee slowly, biting back a moan at the way your breath hiccups from the sudden friction.

“can’t do anything yourself, huh?” He snickers almost mockingly, dragging your hips over the hard muscle of his thigh. He enjoys the way your lips part into a silent scream, fingers trembling and clawing at his thigh.

He clicks his tongue, grinding you faster on his thigh. He wants to draw this out as long as he can, but with the way your eyes are slowly starting to roll, eyelashes fluttering to try and keep your eyes on him, he really ‘can’t’ resist.

“Come, sweetheart,” he leans down, breath fanning over the skin of your neck, smiling against the skin at the way your body shudders and trembles when you feel the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

A hand shifts to your back, running his palm over the small of your back in soothing circles, pushing you to lean against his chest.

The way you whine when his other hand stops your hips, just mere seconds before you were about to let go, digging his blunt nails to leave faint crescent marks against soft skin.

“poor baby,” he coo’s softly, did you really think he’d let you come so quick?

“‘m sorry. I don’t think you deserve to come just yet.” he watches the way you claw at his shoulders instead, whines and whimpers muffled into his shoulder.

“but maybe..” he trails off, slowly guiding your hips against his now wet thigh once more. The hand on your back trails up, carefully pushing a strand behind your ear, lips tugging wider into a smile when you look up at him all teary.

“maybe if you prove it to me, I can let you come.”

A N . I initially wanted to include nagi n reo but maybe if this does well enough for a p2 🥹.. but as usual, reblogs very much appreciated!

itoshi rin

rin doesn’t even want to do this. when you ask, he deadpans, “why would i waste my time teaching you? you’re just going to quit halfway.” but when you keep pestering, he finally agrees, though you can practically hear the annoyance dripping off him. 

he’s super serious about it, too. like, he’s explaining mechanics like he’s talking to a pro team. “angle your body. no, not like that. lower. your swing is unbalanced. stop laughing, i’m serious.” 

you try to focus, but the way he’s criticizing every little thing makes your brain static. finally, you just swing and pray. 

bad move. because instead of the ball flying toward the net, it rockets forward at light speed and smashes him right in the crotch. 

rin goes dead silent. he doesn’t even fall immediately, just freezes, his entire body twitching once like he got electrocuted. then he slowly squats down, elbows on his knees, head hanging low, bangs covering his face. 

you rush over, panicking, but he puts a hand out, palm up, like: don’t. talk. to me. 

when he finally speaks, it’s in the softest, most pained whisper: “never again.” 

for the rest of the day, he avoids eye contact with you. that night, though, when he’s lying awake, he groans into his pillow because the memory replays in 4K. he’ll never admit it, but he flinches every time you so much as look at a soccer ball again. 

itoshi sae

sae doesn’t think you’ll be able to do anything, but he’s cocky enough to let you try. “fine. watch carefully. it’s all about precision.” his movements are smooth, controlled, calculated – he makes placing the ball into the corner of the net look effortless. 

then it’s your turn. he crosses his arms, standing a few steps away, bored expression already on his face. “don’t overthink it. just hit the ball straight.” 

you actually try hard, wanting to impress him, and… you do hit it straight. just not toward the goal. 

the ball slams into his crotch with sniper precision. no bounce. no mercy. just a clean, soul-crushing impact. 

sae freezes mid-breath. he doesn’t fall dramatically – oh no, he just bends forward slightly, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. he looks like he’s trying to process a war crime. 

“wow,” he mutters after a long pause, voice flat, but strained. “you really aimed for me?” 

you’re freaking out, apologizing profusely, but he shakes his head, still bent over, eyes glassy. “don’t. just don’t. i’ve had worse.” (he has not). 

later on, he’ll bring it up with that smug little smirk of his. “maybe next time, you’ll aim for the net instead of me. or was that on purpose?” 

nagi seishiro

nagi honestly didn’t even want to get up for this. “ehhh, teaching you sounds like a hassle,” but when you beg, he sighs, scratching his head. “fine. but only once.” 

his instructions are the laziest things ever. he’s slouched against the goalpost, yawning. “just swing your leg. like this. not too complicated.” he gives one half-hearted demonstration and then waves at you. “your turn. don’t mess it up, okay?” 

you actually put your all into it, focusing on the ball, lining it up just right. and then– BAM. the ball launches straight into nagi’s groin. 

the sound he makes is pitiful, like a dying cat. he crumples instantly, rolling onto the grass and clutching himself, groaning. “ugh… so lame… why’d… you… do that…” 

you’re horrified, apologizing, but he just keeps lying there, mumbling like his will to live has been destroyed. “don’t wanna play anymore. i’m done. this game sucks.” 

it takes snacks, head scratches, and you practically begging before he forgives you. even then, he’ll milk it for days. every time you ask him to do something, he sighs: “my injuries still hurt from when you kicked me…” 

mikage reo

reo is so hyped for this. he’s already bouncing on his feet, clapping his hands together like a coach. “alright, babe, let’s go! we’ll start with a simple kick. i set up cones for you!” 

he hypes you up constantly, grinning ear-to-ear. “you got this, babe! just keep your eye on the ball, swing with confidence! woo! i’m your biggest fan!” 

the second you kick, though… yeah. poor reo. the ball sails perfectly… straight into his jewels. 

the noise he makes is a mix between a squeak and a dying whale. he doubles over instantly, staggering like he’s been shot. one hand on his knee, the other clutching his crotch, face scrunched in agony. 

“babe… why… why would you assassinate me like this…” he groans, dropping to the ground. he’s dramatic about it, rolling in circles like he’s in a shakespeare play. 

when you try to help him up, he wheezes through his pain: “good power, though… you’ll be scoring goals in no time… 😭” 

of course, he doesn’t actually let it go. days later, he’ll nudge you with a grin and whisper, “remember when you almost ended my bloodline? good times.” 

bachira meguru

bachira is so excited. the second you ask him to teach you, he’s already bouncing on his toes like a little kid. “yesss! let’s play, let’s play! i’ll show you all my favorite tricks!” 

his teaching style is pure chaos. no formality, no “plant your foot here” nonsense. instead, he’s running around the field, dribbling in circles around you like a maniac, yelling, “kick it like you’re angry at it!” 

when it’s your turn, he’s crouched down, clapping like a proud dad, grinning ear-to-ear. “c’mon, baby! show me your monster!” 

you swing your foot with all your strength… and the ball rockets into his groin with sniper precision. 

the noise he makes is insane. it’s half a squeak, half a cartoonish “oof,” and then he just collapses backwards onto the grass, legs spread, laughing through the pain. “AHAHAHA– OWWWWWWW– oh my– h-hurts– HAHAHA–” 

he rolls around clutching himself, but he’s still giggling like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened. “you… you just found a new weapon, babe. imagine if you did that to rin. he’d die on the spot.” 

when he finally sits up, eyes watery, he grins at you: “okay, now do it again, but aim for the net this time!” 

shidou ryusei

shidou’s teaching you is pure chaos. no warm-up, no instructions, he just yells: “JUST KICK THAT SHIT AS HARD AS YOU CAN, BABY!” 

he stands behind you, hands on his hips, grinning like a maniac. “yeahhh, put some muscle into it! kill that frickin’ ball!” 

you actually swing hard, adrenaline rushing from his hype, and the ball nails him dead center in the crotch like a guided missile. 

the scream he lets out is unholy. like, neighbors three blocks away probably thought someone was being murdered. “FUUUUUCKKKKKK!” he screeches, dropping like a sack of bricks, rolling on the ground with both hands clamped over his poor jewels. 

he’s thrashing around, teeth gritted, swearing like he’s been stabbed. “SON OF A– HNGHHH– MY BALLS, BABE, MY FUCKIN’ BALLS–” 

when you rush over apologizing, he actually laughs through the agony, wild grin splitting his face. “damn, that was a beautiful shot. you’ve got a killer instinct, doll. wanna try again? maybe i’ll dodge next time.” 

he milks it for hours afterward, groaning dramatically in bed like: “ugh… can’t move… my kids are gone… guess we’ll just have to adopt.” 

karasu tabito

karasu agrees to teach you because he thinks it’ll be funny. he’s smirking already, leaning lazily on the ball while giving you tips like he’s on some variety show. “alright, princess, just swing. don’t overthink it. aim for the net, not me.” 

he shows off with a cheeky demo shot, of course. makes it look stupidly easy, then winks at you. “yer turn. don’t embarrass yerself.” 

you kick with all your might – straight into his crotch. 

he drops instantly, but not without a sound effect – he lets out this strangled squawk, like a dying bird, before toppling over. “ohhh shit– ohhh my gosh, my future–” 

curled up in the grass, rocking side to side, he glares at you through watery eyes. “ya seriously aimed for me? are you in cahoots with rin? is this revenge?” 

when you panic and apologize, he just groans louder, milking it. “nah, it’s fine, i didn’t need kids anyway. guess it’s just ya and me forever, huh?” 

he teases you about it later, smirking with a hand over his stomach. “deadliest shot i’ve ever seen, babe. ya’d be perfect on defense. just stand in front of the net and aim for the nuts. nobody’s scoring past ya.” 

kaiser michael

kaiser acts like he’s too cool to teach you. “hmm, you? learn soccer? i doubt you’ll get it.” but of course, when you insist, he smirks and agrees. “fine. i’ll make you a prodigy.” 

his teaching style is very casual, hands in his pockets, explaining things in that slow, smug tone. “keep your eye on the ball. steady your posture. relax. it’s not that hard.” 

you nod, trying to follow his advice. you swing, the ball flies – directly into his crotch. 

kaiser does not scream. he doesn’t even fall over right away. he just… stops. his jaw tightens, his posture stiffens, and he inhales sharply through his nose. 

then slowly, he bends forward a little, one hand on his thigh, the other… elsewhere. his eyes are glazed over like he just saw the afterlife. 

“… bravo,” he mutters hoarsely. “incredible… precision.” 

you’re freaking out, but he just waves you off, voice strained but calm. “don’t apologize. this pain… is temporary. your potential, however… limitless.” 😭 

later, though, he will bring it up with that smug smirk of his. “you really tried to assassinate me, huh? be careful – next time, i won’t go easy on you.” (as if he wasn’t dying inside). 

ness alexis

ness is so thrilled when you ask him. he’s bouncing like a puppy, eyes sparkling. “really?! you want me to teach you?! ohhh, this is gonna be fun!” 

he’s very sweet about it, holding your hand to guide your stance, gently nudging your foot into position. “there! perfect! you’re already amazing!” 

he steps back, clapping. “okay! go for it! i believe in you, darling!” 

you kick the ball with determination… and it rockets into his groin. hard. 

poor ness lets out the saddest, squeakiest little noise, like a balloon deflating. “hiiiihhhhhh–!” and then he crumples onto his knees, eyes wide, mouth open in silent agony. 

he tips over dramatically, rolling onto his side with tears in his eyes. “love… why… i was just trying to help…” he whimpers, holding himself like his entire world just crumbled. 

you’re panicking, but even through the pain he tries to reassure you. “n-no, it’s okay… i-it means you have great aim…! 😭” 

later, though, he’s sulking like a kicked puppy, whining every time he moves. “ow… it still hurts… babe, you’re so mean…” you have to cuddle him endlessly until he forgives you. 

bunny iglesias

bunny is way too hyped about teaching you soccer. he’s bouncing on his toes, grinning, already tossing the ball around like he’s warming up for a match. “you’re about to learn from the best, princesa. by the end of today, you’ll be unstoppable!” 

his coaching style is flashy, like, he’s doing unnecessary tricks and showing off. rainbow flick, around-the-world, juggling the ball while winking at you. “see that? easy. now your turn!” 

he insists on standing in front of you to “get a good angle” of your form, arms crossed, nodding dramatically like a real coach. “sí, sí, bend your knee more. good, good! now… kick!” 

you put all your focus into it, swing your leg with determination, and the ball shoots straight forward like a bullet, landing directly in his groin. 

bunny screams. not a normal scream– no, it’s high-pitched, echoing across the field like a banshee. “¡AYYYYYYYYYYYY DIOS MÍO– MI FUTURO–!” he collapses instantly, falling backward in the grass, hands between his legs, rolling like he’s been fatally wounded. 

he’s over the top about it, kicking his legs in the air like a cartoon character, groaning dramatically. “that was an assassination attempt, princesa! you nearly ended bunny junior!” 

you’re horrified, apologizing, but he grabs your hand from the ground with watery eyes. “no… no, don’t say sorry. that was… a beautiful strike. precision. power. olé.” 

five minutes later, though, he’s still lying there, dramatically fanning himself with his jersey like he’s on the verge of death. “i need ice. and cuddles. mostly cuddles.” 

and you can bet he will never let you live it down. every time you so much as look at a soccer ball, he flinches and yelps, “¡not again!” before laughing his ass off. 

itoshi rin

the way you look at his thighs is borderline criminal. like, you’re not even subtle about it anymore. 

rin will be minding his business, scrolling on his phone, and your gaze is glued to the way his sweatpants cling to his quads. 

“eyes up.” he says without even looking up. 

“can’t. too hypnotizing.” 

rin sighs, but deep down? he likes the power trip. those thighs have you feral. when he’s stretching, you literally have to look away before you embarrass yourself. 

you made the mistake of sitting on his lap once, just once, and you felt how solid his thighs were. you stared at him like you saw god. 

now you always “accidentally” find excuses to sit there again. 

he’ll act annoyed, “stop using me as a chair,” but his hand always rests on your hip anyway. 

you once told him, “if thighs could kill, you’d be on the most wanted list.” he deadpanned. “good.” 

man doesn’t get flustered, but you mentioning how unfair it is that his legs jiggle more than yours had him hiding his face behind his phone for five minutes straight. 

itoshi sae

you have a thigh problem, and he has a you noticing his thigh problem. 

every time he sits, he spreads his legs like a menace. you swear he’s doing it on purpose because he knows you’re staring. 

“like what you see?” he murmurs, sipping his drink casually. 

and you just stare harder because HOW are his thighs that solid. HOW. 

the one time you dared to say, “your thighs are thicker than mine, that’s unfair,” sae just smirked and went, “want to compare?” 

he 100% flexes them when you’re sitting near him, like some smug cat showing off. 

pecs-wise, he doesn’t even need to say anything – his shirts do all the talking. he wears loose ones, but they still cling in the right spots. 

once, he caught you mid-stare and leaned close to whisper, “you’re making it obvious.” 

and of course, you respond, “you’re making it hard not to.” 

his smirk was criminal. you could hear the pride radiating off him for the rest of the day. 

nagi seishiro

this man is a walking marshmallow and yet… somehow has the most sculpted pecs when he lifts his shirt to scratch his stomach. 

you’ve literally gasped out loud before. like audibly. he looked confused. 

“huh? what’s wrong?” 

“why do you have better boobs than me.” 

“… boobs?” 

now he lifts his shirt just to tease you, lazy smile and all. 

“these? they’re natural, you know.” 

you nearly throw your phone at him. 

he doesn’t even work out that much, but his thighs??? pillows. literal premium-grade thigh pillows. 

every time you lay on his lap he acts sleepy, but you catch that tiny satisfied smile. 

once, you poked his thigh and said, “soft, but strong. like mochi with muscles.” 

nagi now refers to them as his “mochi muscles.” 

“you like my mochi thighs, huh?” he says half-asleep and you’re like, “shut up, seishiro, i’m trying to die peacefully here.” 

mikage reo

you’ve never known pain like seeing reo in gym clothes. the pecs, the thighs, the arms – you don’t know where to look. 

man walks around like a walking temptation in compression shorts and smiles innocently when you choke on air. 

“what? this? it’s comfortable.” no it’s not, reo. you’re a menace. 

he knows you’re obsessed, and he loves to play into it. 

you complimented his pecs once and now he flexes them whenever you look bored. 

“entertainment,” he grins. 

thighs? dangerous territory. reo sits with his legs open and you swear your soul leaves your body every time. 

“my eyes are up here,” he teases, and you’re like, “your thighs are down there and that’s where i’m staying.” 

you even joked once, “why do you have more tits than me, rich boy?” 

he just laughed, “wanna share?” 

now he actually lets you squish his pecs and thighs whenever you’re bored. he’ll just grin and go, “better than stress balls, right?” 

you hate how correct he is. 

bachira meguru

bachira catches you staring all the time. and the worst part? he loves it. 

“what’re you looking at~?” he teases, leaning in closer until you can see every line of his chest through that annoyingly tight shirt. 

and you’re like, “why do your pecs look like that. that’s not normal. that’s witchcraft.” 

he giggles and flexes them once. once. and your entire life flashes before your eyes. 

“you like ‘em? wanna touch?” 

you smacked him out of pure self-defense. 

thighs? oh he’s a show-off. sits cross-legged just to make his shorts ride up. 

“oops. didn’t mean to,” he says while fully meaning to. 

sometimes he’ll rest his head on your lap and whine, “you never appreciate me,” and you’ll mumble “yes i do, you’re literally built like an anime himbo,” and he’ll grin so wide. 

he’s definitely caught you mid-thigh-stare and just winked like, “don’t worry, they’re all yours.” 

you’re one more wink away from committing crimes. 

shidou ryusei

shidou doesn’t even let you hide your obsession. he will catch you staring once and bring it up every single day for the rest of eternity. 

“caught you lookin’ again, baby. can’t blame you tho, these pecs are legendary.” 

he’ll flex in the mirror like he’s on a photoshoot and go, “you should thank the gym gods for creating this.” 

“you literally have more chest than me, you menace.” 

“guess you can borrow some.” 

his thighs? absolutely criminal. he’ll throw one leg over the couch like he’s auditioning for a romance novel cover and then smirk when your brain short circuits. 

“oh? eyes down again? you like my legs that much, huh?” 

yes, shidou. unfortunately yes

he starts wearing tighter pants because of your reactions. pure chaos energy. 

once you muttered “he’s built like a sin,” and he leaned over and said, “then come commit one.” 

you threw a pillow at him, but missed because his pecs distracted you mid-throw. 

karasu tabito

karasu is the worst kind of tease because he knows exactly how good he looks and he uses it to ruin your peace. 

you’ll be scrolling through your phone, and he’ll walk by shirtless like it’s no big deal. 

it’s a big deal. 

you look up and choke on nothing. 

“ya good?” he says, smirking. “eyes are glued, sweetheart.” 

you once said “your chest looks better than half the influencer girls i follow” and he laughed so hard. 

“so what yer saying is… i’m prettier?” 

thighs? oh you’re finished. those compression shorts when he trains? criminal activity. 

“why are they so thick,” you complain. 

“genetics. wanna test their strength?” he grins, spreading his knees slightly wider on purpose. 

“tabi, please.” 

“that’s what they all say.” 

you now refuse to sit across from him when he’s in shorts because you’ll just… stare. 

and he knows. every time, he bites back a smile and says, “stop undressing me with yer eyes. at least buy me dinner first.” 

kaiser michael

god help you. man’s built like arrogance and marble. 

the pecs. you don’t even have to see them, just the outline under his jersey has you spiraling. 

one day you joked, “why do you have tiddies, mihya,” and he just smirked. 

“because i was chosen.” 

now every time you look even slightly in his direction, he flexes on purpose. full chest pop. full eye contact. 

“they bounce,” you mumble once. 

“they do,” he says, with zero shame. 

thighs? please. his thighs could crush a watermelon and your will to live. you said that once out loud and he laughed. 

“so poetic. want me to prove it?” 

you threatened to leave and he just went, “don’t lie. you’d stay.” 

he knows he’s distracting and fully weaponizes it. sits with his legs open, smirks every time you look flustered. 

“what’s wrong, liebling? jealous of my assets?” 

“assets” he says while looking like a greek god. it’s unfair. 

you tell him, “you’re built like the reason gym memberships exist,” and he bows like you complimented his crown. 

ness alexis

the sweetest menace of all. he doesn’t even realize how bad your obsession has gotten until one day he catches you zoning out mid-sentence, eyes locked on his thighs. 

“uh… are you okay?” 

“no. because why are your thighs so perfect.” 

blushes immediately. bright red. looks like a strawberry. 

he’s so embarrassed he covers his legs with a pillow. 

but after that, he starts noticing your reactions and… maybe gets a little bold. 

“you like them?” he asks shyly one day, rolling up his sweatpants just a little. and when you nod way too quickly, he almost combusts. 

pecs-wise, he’s more toned than bulky, but you still go, “nessie, your chest is unfairly cute. it’s like sculpted softness.” 

he laughs so nervously that you feel bad and tell him you’re serious. then he hides his face and whispers, “you’re too much…” 

but later? he’ll wear fitted shirts around you. and when you stare again, he smiles to himself, cheeks pink. 

“you’re staring again.” 

“and you’re letting me. so who’s really winning here?” 

he giggles, hiding behind his hands. he’s doomed. you’ve turned this boy into mush. 

kunigami rensuke

the human embodiment of a protein shake. man’s chest should come with a warning label. 

you’ve seen him shirtless once and it completely altered your brain chemistry. you just stood there, eyes wide, soul gone. 

“ren. why do you have–” gestures vaguely at his pecs “–those?” 

he blinks. “muscles?” 

“no. tits. those are tits.” 

he almost dies choking on air. his face goes scarlet. 

he tries to brush it off, but now you can’t stop staring. like every time he crosses his arms, they press together. 

you once tripped during training because he was jogging shirtless and you were too busy following the jiggle physics. 

thighs? you’ve literally described them as “built to ruin jeans.” you’ve also accidentally said “those thighs are thicker than my will to live” and he looked both horrified and flattered. 

when you rest your head on his chest, you fall asleep in seconds. he’s warm, solid, and it feels like lying on the safest pillow known to man. 

you whispered once, “they’re huge,” thinking he couldn’t hear you – he did. 

he turned so red you thought he’d overheat. “stop saying stuff like that…” 

but if you compliment him again, his pecs will bounce a little. unintentionally. he’s cursed by his own power. 

barou shoei

barou acts like he doesn’t care that you’re obsessed, but you know he’s aware. 

because he’ll purposely walk around shirtless for no reason. he’s like, “it’s hot.” 

it’s winter, barou. stop lying. 

his pecs are sculpted like they were handcrafted by the gods of intimidation. one flex and you swear the room shakes. 

once, you said, “you have bigger boobs than me,” and he glared at you like you committed treason. 

“don’t call them that.” 

“then stop having them.” 

he grumbles every time you mention it, but when you stop? he notices. he’ll literally be like, “you’re quiet today,” while pretending he’s not fishing for attention. 

thighs?? no one should be built like that. they look like they were made to crush kingdoms. 

you sit near him during leg day just to admire the chaos, and he side-eyes you the whole time. “stop staring.” 

“then stop existing like that.” 

he’ll huff, wipe sweat off his face, and mutter, “tch, whatever,” but his ears are pink. 

you once muttered, “sho’s thighs could end civilizations,” and he overheard. 

now he struts around with an even wider stance. he’ll never admit it, but your praise went straight to his ego. 

tsurugi zantetsu

zantetsu is… an experience. man looks calm, composed, mysterious – until he opens his mouth. 

and you’re like “oh. oh, there it goes.” 

but listen. his body? insane. he’s ripped, pecs that could double as dinner plates, thighs that could crush steel. 

you’ve been caught staring a few times, and he just tilts his head, thinking deeply. 

“are my pecs… pleasing to the eye?” 

“yes, zantetsu. they’re beautiful.” 

nods solemnly “ah. like two mountains… filled with milk?” 

“… what.” 

“that’s not the phrase?” 

you almost pass out from laughter. he’s so calm about it, though. like he genuinely believes he’s being poetic. 

another time, you tell him his thighs look great and he replies, “yes. the fruit doesn’t fall far from the… gym.” 

he’s trying his best, okay. 

you call his pecs “the eighth wonder of the world,” and he blushes, scratching his neck. 

“that’s too much praise. they’re just… chest globes.” chest globes. 

he sits cross-legged and his thighs literally bulge through his pants, and you can’t look away. he notices and gives you this small, knowing smile. 

“your gaze… is heavy.” 

“your thighs are heavier.” 

“mm. poetic.” 

he nods, completely serious, like you’ve just shared profound wisdom. 

you can’t tell if he’s a himbo or a philosopher at this point, but either way, you’re gone for him. 

aiku oliver

you weren’t ready. like at all. one day he shows up post-practice, shirt clinging to his chest, sweat glistening – pecs out like a lifestyle choice. 

your brain just blue-screened. 

“you okay there, sweetheart?” he asks, smirking, voice all low and knowing. 

no. no you are not. 

those pecs look sculpted by a higher being. you blink once and realize you’re staring, but it’s too late – he noticed. 

“don’t look at me like that unless you mean it,” he says, leaning on the wall with that lazy grin. 

you’re like, “oliver, why do you have more boob than i do,” and he just chuckles. 

“genetics. and hard work. wanna feel?” SIR. 

you’ve never walked away faster in your life, but he lives for it. starts wearing even tighter shirts just to mess with you. 

thighs? god help you. those thighs are national monuments. 

he sits manspreading like it’s his divine right, patting his leg like, “c’mon, take a seat.” 

“your thighs look like they could break bones.” 

“that’s the goal, sweetheart.” 

he 100% uses his pecs as a flirting tool. will literally bounce them just to make you blush and then smirk like the devil himself. 

“you keep staring, and i’ll start charging an entrance fee.” 

he caught you mumbling “he’s built like temptation,” once and never let it go. 

“temptation looks good on me, doesn’t it?” 

oliver aiku is aware, shameless, and fully weaponized – his thighs and pecs are tools of destruction, and you are his favorite casualty.

itoshi rin

(you already know each other, and rin's crush is so painfully obvious to everyone except him.) 

rin agrees to ride the disco pang pang under protest. after all, he takes one look at it and immediately decides it's stupid. 

"people pay money for this?" 

"people pay money to watch you kick a ball for over an hour." 

"that's different." 

he spends the first few minutes sitting with his arms crossed while everyone else is having fun. 

then the ride starts speeding up. 

maintaining his mysterious aura becomes significantly harder when he's being thrown around like loose change in a washing machine. he's already annoyed. 

then you accidentally fall into his lap! 

now he's experiencing a brand new emotion: pure, concentrated panic. 

you’d be surprised since rin can handle world-class defenders. he can handle media pressure. he can handle thousands of screaming fans. he can handle more than the average person basically. but apparently he cannot handle you sitting on his lap for 3 seconds. 

he’s just frozen while you're trying to get up. the ride refuses to let you. every time you attempt to move away, another sharp turn sends you right back into him. 

"sorry." 

"..." 

"rin?" 

"..." 

"did you die?" 

the worst part is that his face remains completely blank. from the outside, he looks calm. inside, however, his thoughts have become the audio equivalent of somebody screaming into a microphone. 

at one point, you grab his shoulder to stop yourself from sliding away. rin nearly ascends. 

he spends the rest of the ride staring straight ahead like he's witnessing classified government information. 

afterward, he walks away without saying a word. 

"wow," bachira says. "he looks traumatized." 

"i'm not." 

"your ears are red." 

rin leaves. 

itoshi sae 

(complete strangers.) 

sae gets on the ride because he's curious. that's it. there’s really no deeper reason. 

so he certainly doesn't expect his entire afternoon to get derailed by a random pretty stranger. 

then the ride starts. 

you seem to be having the time of your life. unfortunately though, your balance is terrible. sae notices this almost immediately. mostly because every sharp turn sends you sliding halfway across the platform to the empty space next to him. 

"you okay?" 

"absolutely not." 

he actually laughs. which is already shocking. 

then comes the turn that changes everything. the operator hits the controls with the enthusiasm of a man purposefully trying to launch passengers into orbit. you lose the battle against physics horribly. 

and end up falling directly into sae's lap. 

the silence afterward is deafening. now you're horrified. and sae is just staring, like his brain is wondering how did this become my problem? 

"i'm so sorry." 

"it's fine." 

the ride is not done humiliating you tho. every attempt to move away immediately fails. one turn sends you right back. another sends you into his shoulder. a third nearly throws both of you sideways. 

at this point, you're laughing from embarrassment. sae finds himself laughing, too. that should be the most shocking event of the day. 

when the ride finally ends, you stand up and brush yourself off. "well, thanks for letting me use you as a human seatbelt." 

"you didn't exactly ask." 

you grin. sae thinks that might be his problem. 

then you wave goodbye and start walking away. for about 5 seconds, sae lets it happen. then he gets up and follows you. because unlike certain people he knows, he's not letting an opportunity walk away. 

"hey." 

you turn around. 

sae pulls down his mask and lifts his cap a little. "look, i wasn't planning on introducing myself today." 

"oh wow. clearly." 

"but it'd be kind of stupid if i let you leave without getting your number." 

for the first time since meeting him, you're the one who freezes. and sae has to hide a smile when you take the phone from his hand. 

nagi seishiro

(mutual crushes, neither of you has done anything about it because that would require effort.) 

nagi doesn't want to ride the disco pang pang. he doesn't want to stand in line. he doesn't want to walk to the ride. he doesn't want to leave the house. in fact, if given the option, he'd prefer to become one with his mattress permanently. reo drags him there anyway. 

then you show up. only NOW nagi becomes significantly more cooperative and curious. very curious, actually. 

the ride starts moving. within 2 minutes, nagi discovers an incredible pattern: every time the ride throws everyone sideways, you somehow end up next to him. 

what a beautiful coincidence. what a miraculous event. surely, fate itself is at work (reo thinks he's delusional). 

then the biggest turn of the ride happens. you practically get launched into his lap. nagi catches you automatically. and then makes absolutely no effort to let go. 

"sei." 

"hm?" 

"you can release me." 

"why?" 

"because i'm sitting on you…?” 

"doesn't bother me." 

reo has never considered jumping off the ride more. 

the funniest part is that nagi isn't even flustered. no, he's thriving. if anything, you are the one overheating. every time you try to scoot away, another turn throws you right back. 

eventually, nagi gives up pretending. "you should probably stay here." 

"why?" 

"safer." 

unbelievable liar. 

reo spends the entire ride watching this train wreck unfold. 

once you’re all back on ground again, he immediately tells you both to either start dating or stop making everyone else (him) suffer. 

mikage reo

(he has the biggest crush imaginable and everybody knows except you.) 

reo is excited for the ride. he's excited for the carnival. he's excited for breathing. that's just how reo operates. 

unfortunately, being excited becomes a problem when the person you like suddenly falls into your lap. now he's experiencing approximately 18 emotions at once. 

the ride starts normally enough – you're sitting nearby, reo is already trying to act cool. emphasis on the word trying. 

then the operator spots you both and senses weakness. i don’t know, carnival employees can smell crushes from a mile away... 

the ride suddenly speeds up. you lose your balance. and next thing you know, you're landing directly on reo. 

"OH.” that's all he says. it’s all he can say because his soul temporarily disconnected from his body. 

"sorry!" 

"NO, IT'S FINE!" 

why is he shouting? nobody knows, not even reo himself. 

he becomes increasingly flustered every time the ride throws you back toward him. at one point, you accidentally grab his arm. reo nearly gives away a million yen on the spot. 

his body enters fight-or-flight mode. except neither fighting nor fleeing are options. 

then comes the true nightmare. the operator notices. and decides to ruin his life. 

"LOOK AT THESE TWO!" 

the entire ride turns. people start cheering. 

reo immediately covers his face. "i'm moving countries." 

"reo, relax." 

"i can't." 

"it's not that serious." 

"for you maybe 😭” 

by the end of the ride, everyone is laughing at him. including you– no, especially you. 

somehow that's the exact moment reo realizes he's never recovering from this crush. ever. 

bachira meguru

(you already know each other + he's had a crush on you for so long that everyone around him is exhausted.) 

taking bachira to a disco pang pang ride is like handing a toddler a monster energy drink and hoping for the best. 

before the ride even starts, he's already standing on the platform, waving his arms around, challenging random strangers, and acting like he's about to enter the world championships of getting thrown around by carnival equipment. 

"meguru, sit down." 

"why?" 

"because that's how rides work?” 

"but that's boooring." 

he only listens because you physically grab his sleeve and pull him down next to you. 

but that turns out to be your first mistake. how come? bachira spends the next 3 minutes sitting way too close. 

every time the ride jerks, his shoulder somehow ends up touching yours. 

every time you move away, he somehow ends up next to you again. you're starting to suspect he's cheating. 

then the operator decides everybody's having too much fun. the ride suddenly swings sideways with enough force to make half the passengers scream. 

and before you can react, you're sliding directly toward bachira. hard. you basically crash into his lap. 

for one glorious moment, bachira's entire personality disappears. there’s no jokes. no teasing. no laughing. complete system failure. 

yes, he's imagined this before. frequently, actually. but usually those thoughts happened at 3 in the morning when he couldn't sleep. not in broad daylight with 20+ witnesses. 

"OH MY GOSH, I'M SORRY!" 

girl. bachira is staring at you like somebody just handed him a winning lottery ticket. 

"this is crazy." 

"meguru." 

"this is actually crazy." 

"MEGURU." 

then the ride throws you back into him again. and this time he starts laughing. not a normal laugh tho. i mean the kind of laugh where he physically cannot stop. tears are forming. people are staring. but who cares? he's having the best day of his life. 

"why are you so happy?" 

"because every time you leave, the ride gives you back." 

"and?"

"it’s a sign!” 

by the end of the ride, he's completely unbearable. he spends weeks mentioning it at every opportunity. you'll be discussing groceries. somehow he'll bring it up. you'll be talking about soccer. somehow he'll bring it up. eventually, isagi threatens to throw him into traffic if he mentions it one more time. 

bachira still brings it up. 

shidou ryusei

(you already know each other + the universe made a catastrophic mistake by letting this happen.) 

the moment shidou sees the disco pang pang ride, his eyes light up. finally, a chance to become a public nuisance. 

"this looks dangerous." 

"that's exactly why you shouldn't be allowed on it." 

"too late." 

from the second the ride starts, he's causing problems. he's laughing at strangers. he's intentionally letting himself slide around. he's somehow making friends and enemies simultaneously. 

then karma finally catches him. but except instead of punishing him, karma rewards him. how? the sharpest turn of the ride sends you directly into his lap. 

"OH WOWIE." 

that's all he says at first. then a grin slowly appears. and your stomach drops. you know exactly what's coming. 

"well, this is definitely the best carnival i've ever been to." 

"don't." 

"don't what, hm?" 

"whatever you're thinking." 

"i wasn't thinking anything." he absolutely was. 

the ride keeps moving. every attempt to get off him fails. every turn sends you right back. every single time, shidou becomes more entertained. 

"you keep choosing me." 

"I'M NOT DELIBERATELY CHOOSING YOU." 

"that's not what the universe says." 

the worst part is that people nearby start noticing. and once shidou realizes he has an audience? it's shidover. he starts waving, posing, acting like he just won the world cup. you're debating whether prison would be worth it. 

then the operator notices. and loudly shouts: "AWW, LOOK AT THEM!" 

shidou sees god. "SEE? HE GETS IT." 

"I'M GOING TO PUSH YOU OFF." 

"that's basically flirting." 

the ride only lasts 5 minutes. somehow it feels like 5 years. 

afterward, shidou spends the rest of the day introducing you as "the love of his life." 

you spend the rest of the day threatening him. 

karasu tabito

(strangers + immediate chemistry through mutual annoyance.) 

karasu notices you before the ride even starts. not exactly because he's interested, but because you're arguing with the employee running the ride. 

"there's no seatbelt?" 

"no, ma’am." 

"that feels unsafe." 

"i promise that you'll be fine." 

"that wasn't very reassuring." 

karasu laughs. 

you hear him and turn around. "what's so funny?" 

"nothing." 

"you were laughing." 

"that's unrelated." 

from that moment onward, the two of you are already annoying each other. 

then the ride begins. and somehow your ongoing argument continues… right up until the platform suddenly jerks sideways. you completely lose your balance and end up landing directly in karasu's lap. 

the silence lasts approximately one second. i say one second because karasu starts smirking immediately. 

"damn." 

"don't start." 

"buying me dinner first would've been polite." 

"i regret surviving that turn." 

that only makes him laugh harder. 

every time you attempt to leave, the ride sends you right back. every single time. without fail. 

at one point, you're literally halfway across the platform. then one sharp turn later you're sitting on him again. neither of you can stop laughing. 

"this thing has favorites." 

"don't flatter yourself." 

"too late." 

the funniest part is that karasu doesn't even seem flustered. he's way too comfortable, like this is just another monday and the two of you aren’t spending the entire ride exchanging sarcastic comments, making each other laugh, and accidentally learning way too much about each other. 

by the time it ends, you're both smiling. then karasu stands up, looks at you, and says: "well, since you've already sat in my lap, i feel like we're past introductions." 

somehow that line works. and he never lets you forget it. 

kaiser michael 

(strangers + unfortunately for you, he's having the greatest day of his life.) 

kaiser gets on the disco pang pang ride with the confidence of a man who believes the universe personally revolves around him and him only. and well, after 5 minutes of watching him, you're not entirely convinced he doesn't. 

while everyone else is nervously gripping the railings and preparing for disaster, kaiser looks like he's posing for a photoshoot. his hair still looks perfect. his posture is straighter than a ruler. he's treating a carnival ride like a runway. it's irritating. 

then the ride starts moving. 

at first, it's manageable. people slide around a little. a few screams. nothing too big of a deal. 

then the operator decides peace was a mistake. the platform suddenly swings so hard that half the passengers lose whatever dignity they had left. you are one of them. 

one second, you're trying to stay upright. the next second, you're sliding directly across the platform directly into kaiser's lap. the impact nearly knocks the breath out of you. 

kaiser looks down at you. then up at the sky. then back at you. and starts laughing with his head tilted back. like this is the funniest thing that's ever happened to me. 

"mein gott, seriously?" 

"I'M SORRY." 

"why are you apologizing?" 

"because i just crashed into a complete stranger." 

"but he’s okay with it because you’re a very pretty stranger, apparently." 

you immediately wish the ride would launch you into the sun. he says it so casually like he's commenting on the weather and not like he didn't just make your brain short-circuit. 

unfortunately, things only get worse. every time you manage to move away, another turn immediately sends you right back. 

after the third time, kaiser is openly amused. after the fourth time, he's resting his chin against his hand like he's watching his favorite show. after the fifth time, he's convinced fate is personally doing him a favor today. 

"you know," he says, "most people usually introduce themselves first." 

"most people don't get launched across a moving platform." 

"fair point." 

then the ride throws you into him again. and this time, even you're laughing. because at this point, what else can you do? 

every single attempt to escape fails. every single turn ends exactly the same way. the two of you have become the ride's favorite joke. 

you eventually find out that kaiser is ridiculously easy to talk to. like you expected him to be arrogant, and he is, but he's also annoyingly funny. the kind of funny that catches you off guard. you're both sitting there laughing while everyone else is still fighting for survival. 

"this is embarrassing." 

"for you maybe." 

"what's that supposed to mean?" 

kaiser glances at you and smiles. "i'm having a fantastic time." 

"of course you are." 

"a beautiful girl keeps falling into my lap." 

"you are impossible." 

"so i’ve been told." 

by the time the ride starts slowing down, neither of you wants the conversation to end, which is ridiculous considering you've known him for approximately 9 minutes. 

then the ride finally stops. people start standing. everyone begins filing toward the exit. 

you brush yourself off, still laughing from the absolute disaster of the last few minutes. "well," you say, "sorry again for repeatedly falling on you." 

kaiser stands up completely unbothered like he didn't just spend the last 9 minutes enjoying himself far more than he should have. 

"don't be." 

"don't be sorry?" 

"if anything, i should thank the ride." 

"the ride?" 

"i got your attention, didn't i?" 

you stare at him. this man cannot be serious right now. but he’s grinning. and that grin gets even worse when he realizes he's making you laugh. 

then he pulls out his phone and holds it out with the confidence of a man who has already decided how this conversation ends. 

"go ahead." 

"what?" 

"put your number in." 

"that's awfully bold." 

"i know." 

"what if i say no?" 

kaiser shrugs. "then i'll be forced to spend the rest of my life wondering about the girl who got launched into my lap 6 separate times." 

that might be the most honest thing he's said all day. 

and judging by the smile on his face when you take the phone from his hand, kaiser knows he's already won. 

ness alexis

(strangers + somebody please save him.) 

ness boards the ride completely normal. he leaves the ride a changed man. cuz unlike kaiser, who immediately thrives under these circumstances, ness completely falls apart. 

everything is going great at first, right? he's balanced, calm, collected. 

then the ride suddenly jerks sideways. you land directly in his lap. the poor guy nearly experiences a factory reset. 

"OH MY GOODNESS, I'M SORRY." 

"I'M SORRY, TOO." 

"WHY ARE YOU APOLOGIZING?" 

"I DON'T KNOW." 

he really doesn’t know. the poor boy’s brain has stopped working because of one reason and one reason only: you're pretty. ridiculously pretty. 

and now you're close enough that he can notice little details – your perfume, your eyes, the way you're trying not to laugh at his panicking. 

every time the ride throws you back toward him, ness loses another piece of his ability to function. 

eventually, he's struggling to maintain eye contact. struggling to form sentences. struggling to remember his own name. struggling to remember the ABCs. 

"you okay?" 

"yes." he's lying terribly. 

then the ride hits another sharp turn. this time, he's the one who almost falls. you instinctively grab his arm as a result. ness shuts down. now you are helping him. that's even worse. 

by the time the ride ends, he's already accepted that he'll never see you again. tragic. heartbreaking. devastating. he's mentally composing a eulogy for the relationship that never happened. 

then as you're about to leave, you smile and ask for his number. 

ness stops. he doesn’t do anything for a solid 30 seconds. doesn’t breathe, blink, talk. 

then he immediately fumbles his phone so hard that it bounces off the floor. you have to help him pick it up. the whole interaction somehow flusters him even more. but now he has your contact info and a crack in his screen protector! 

later that night, kaiser is forced to listen to the entire story 6 separate times. and every single retelling starts with: “okay, but you don't understand how pretty she was." 

chigiri hyoma

(you already know each other + he has a crush that he manages to hide surprisingly well... until today.) 

chigiri actually thought this ride would be fun. after all, he saw people laughing and sliding around. it looked like harmless chaos. 

then he got on it and immediately realized he'd made a mistake. 

"this thing is trying to kill me." 

"you're an athlete.” 

"exactly. i value my knees." 

unlike certain idiots around him, chigiri is actually trying to stay balanced. he's doing a pretty good job, too… right up until you lose yours. 

one particularly aggressive turn sends you sliding across the platform directly into his lap. 

and chigiri discovers that there are, in fact, things more dangerous than the ride. namely you. because you're currently sitting on him. and you're way too close. 

"help i'm so sorry." 

"it's okay." 

his voice sounds normal. but internally? internally he's fighting for HIS LIFE. 

every time you try to get up, another turn immediately sends you back. 

eventually you give up and just grab his shoulders. this is worse. now you're laughing directly in front of him. close enough that he can see every detail of your face and be suddenly very aware of where his hands are on your hips. 

"this ride hates me." 

"i don't know." he smiles. "i think it likes me." 

for the first time all day, you're the one who gets flustered. 

afterward, bachira swears he caught chigiri smiling to himself. 

chigiri denies everything. 

barou shoei

(you already know each other + absolutely nobody is prepared for how possessive this man becomes.) 

barou already hates the ride before it starts. well, he hates everything. he hates the noise. he hates the crowds. he hates the fact that random strangers keep bumping into him. honestly, he probably hates gravity, too. 

"why am i here?" 

"because you agreed to come." 

"clearly i wasn't thinking." 

the ride starts moving. barou immediately plants himself in one spot like a king defending his throne. it works at first. everybody else is getting tossed around. barou barely moves. 

then you get launched directly into him. and the immovable object meets the unstoppable force. 

you land squarely in his lap. barou stills. for about half a second. then his hands automatically move to steady you before you can fall. 

"watch it." 

"I'M TRYING." 

(un)fortunately, the ride keeps deciding otherwise. every attempt to leave immediately fails. every turn sends you right back. 

and while you grow increasingly embarrassed, barou starts looking increasingly pleased. not that he'd ever admit it. 

"this is humiliating." 

"for you maybe." 

"what does that mean?" 

"nothing." liar. 

the worst part is that anybody who looks over immediately assumes you're together. mostly because barou looks like he's daring people to say something. 

one guy accidentally stares too long. barou stares back. the guy immediately looks away (out of fear). 

afterward, when you apologize again, barou rolls his eyes. "you've apologized like 20 times." 

"because i spent 5 minutes sitting on you." 

"and?" 

if that response isn’t more dangerous than the ride itself, then i don’t know what is. 

yukimiya kenyu

(strangers + this man turns every interaction into a romance drama.) 

yukimiya notices you before the ride starts, mostly because you're standing nearby taking selfies with your friends. and also because you're gorgeous. he's only human. 

then he gets on the ride. then you get on the ride. and fate decides to start acting suspicious. why? within 3 minutes, you're sitting in his lap. 

"oh my gosh." 

"well." 

"WELL?" 

"this is one way to introduce yourself." 

he says it with such a warm smile that you immediately start laughing. yukimiya has the unfair ability to make everything sound charming. 

every time the ride throws you back against him, he somehow manages to make you feel less embarrassed. it shouldn't be possible. 

"i promise i'm not doing this intentionally." 

"that's a shame." 

"wait what?" 

"nothing." 

he's smiling. you're smiling. everybody nearby is rolling their eyes. the chemistry is becoming obnoxiously obvious. 

by the end of the ride, it feels less like two strangers awkwardly sharing a seat and more like the opening scene of a romance film. 

afterward, yukimiya asks for your number with the confidence of a man who already knows the answer. it works. 

otoya eita

(strangers + professional flirt meets unfortunate victim.) 

otoya notices you immediately. i mean of course he does, noticing pretty girls is basically his only hobby besides soccer 💔  

the problem is that he wasn't planning on talking to you. 

then the ride starts. and you accidentally get launched into his lap. and that makes talking to you very easy. wayyy too easy. 

"wow." 

"i'm sorry." 

"don't be." 

"don't be?" 

"i've definitely had worse people fall into my lap." 

"that's… not reassuring." 

otoya laughs. flustering you is already becoming fun. 

every turn sends you bouncing right back toward him. every turn gives him another opportunity to flirt. and unfortunately, he's very good at flirting. 

"you know, most people usually ask for my number first." 

"can you shut up?" 

"make me?" 

despite your best efforts, he's actually funny, so by the end of the ride, you're laughing more than you're panicking. 

afterward, otoya offers his phone. "go ahead." 

"what?" 

"put your number in." 

"you're awfully confident." 

"wouldn't be offering if i wasn't." 

annoyingly enough, that confidence works. 

aiku oliver

(strangers + this is basically his dream scenario.) 

aiku spends the entire wait in line chatting with random people, making jokes, making friends, somehow learning everybody's life story. 

then he notices you… and immediately decides you're pretty. that's it. simple. 

eventually, the ride starts. within minutes, you're accidentally thrown into his lap. 

aiku doesn't even look surprised. if anything, he looks delighted. 

"well, hello." 

"i hate this ride." 

"personally, i'm starting to love it." 

"of course you are." 

every attempt to move away ends exactly the same way. another turn. another collision. another amused smile from aiku. 

he's making conversation like this is the most normal situation in the world. asking questions. making jokes. getting you to laugh. turning an embarrassing accident into an actually fun conversation. 

at one point, you're laughing so hard that you accidentally grab his shoulder. he notices. and oh boy, the smug smile afterward tells you everything. 

"having fun?" 

"i hate to admit it, but yeah." 

"that's all i needed to hear." 

by the end of the ride, the two of you are talking like you've known each other for hours instead of minutes. 

when the ride fully stops, aiku stands up. stretches. and immediately hands you his phone. "here." 

"what's this?" 

"’m saving us both time." 

"you're ridiculous." 

"yet you haven't said no. so?" 

he's lucky he's handsome. 

hiori yo

(you already know each other + he has a crush that absolutely nobody notices because hiori is physically incapable of being dramatic about anything.) 

hiori agrees to ride the disco pang pang because you asked. that's literally the only reason. 

if anybody else had invited him, he would've politely declined and found a quiet place to sit while playing games on his phone. but you wanted to try it. so now he's here. 

unfortunately, hiori quickly discovers that the ride is basically controlled chaos. people are screaming. people are sliding everywhere. somebody nearly falls over within the first 3 seconds. 

hiori watches all of this happen with the same expression he uses when his game glitches – mild disappointment. 

"this seems unsafe." 

"you're still here." 

"because ya are." 

the answer slips out so casually that it takes both of you a second to process it. 

hiori immediately looks away. you pretend not to hear it. everybody survives (barely). 

then the ride suddenly jerks sideways. hiori manages to stay balanced. you do not. one second, you're sitting across from him. the next, you're landing directly in his lap. 

the funniest part is that hiori actually catches you completely on instinct. one arm quickly wrapping around your waist before you can slide right off the platform. 

for a moment, neither of you move. but that means now you're both painfully aware of how close you are. and hiori is suddenly very aware that you're sitting in his lap. 

"sorry." 

"it's okay." 

"i'm crushing you." 

"yer really not." 

sadly (or not), every attempt to move immediately fails. every time you scoot away, another turn sends you right back. eventually you just give up. hiori does, too. 

it feels more dangerous because now you're sitting there talking, laughing. hiori is left looking at you with that soft little smile he gets whenever he's genuinely enjoying himself. a smile that's incredibly rare. 

"you know," you say, "you're taking this surprisingly well." 

"i play online games." 

"what does that have to do with this?" 

"nothin’ that happens here can hurt me anymore." 

you laugh so hard you nearly fall over again. hiori catches you a second time. 

for the rest of the ride, his hand never really leaves your waist. purely for safety reasons, obviously. but absolutely nobody believes him. 

nanase nijiro

(you already know each other + he's had a crush on you for ages and is the worst person imaginable for this situation let’s be so fr.) 

nanase is already nervous before the ride even starts. yes, he's scared of the ride. but also you are sitting next to him. 

he's been crushing on you for months. maybe longer. and despite his best efforts, he becomes a complete disaster whenever you're involved. 

"you okay?" 

"yeah!" he's not. his voice just cracked. 

the ride starts moving. nanase gets even more nervous. every turn keeps bringing you closer. every bump keeps making your shoulders brush. every accidental touch adds another 10 years to his lifespan. 

then comes the worst turn imaginable. the ride swings sideways. you lose your balance. and oh! you're sitting directly in his lap. 

nanase completely stops functioning. genuinely. he looks like somebody unplugged him. 

"nijiro?" 

"..." 

"hello?" 

"..." 

"did i kill him…?” 

"I'M ALIVE." he practically shouts it. now everybody nearby is looking. 

nanase is red. ears. face. neck. all of it. 

every time the ride sends you back into him, he apologizes. nobody knows why, not even him. 

soon enough, you're laughing so hard that tears start forming. meanwhile nanase is experiencing the most intense emotional event of his life. 

afterward, he spends the entire day replaying it in his head. 

when somebody asks why he's smiling at nothing? he walks directly into a wall and gives himself a concussion. 

iglesias bunny

(strangers + he thinks he's smooth until you accidentally ruin his composure.) 

bunny gets on the ride completely confident and relaxed. he’s charming so he’s convinced he's going to have a fun afternoon. 

then he notices you. and all of a sudden, the ride isn't the most interesting thing there anymore. 

you're gorgeous. annoyingly gorgeous. the kind of gorgeous that makes even him look twice. 

still, he's got this. he's bunny iglesias. talking to pretty people is practically second nature. 

then the ride starts. you accidentally get launched directly into his lap within the first 5 seconds. and he does not got this anymore. at all. 

why? the one thing bunny wasn't prepared for was having the prettiest person he's seen all week practically fall out of the sky and land on him. 

"oh geez, i'm so sorry." 

"wow." 

"pardon?" 

"nothing." 

"why did you say wow?" 

"because this is probably the best thing that's happened to me today." 

"you don’t even know me???" 

"i'd like to fix that." 

he says it so naturally that you start laughing. and that's when bunny realizes he's in deep trouble. your laugh might actually be his favorite sound. 

every failed attempt to move away becomes another conversation. another joke. another excuse to keep talking. by the halfway point of the ride, you've gone from strangers to teasing each other like you've known each other forever. 

"be honest." 

"about what?" 

"did you secretly pay the operator?" 

"to throw me into your lap?" 

bunny grins. he’s enjoying every single insult and conspiracy. 

by the end of the ride, getting your number feels less like a possibility and more like a requirement. 

for once, he's not being cocky. he just genuinely doesn't want the conversation to end. 

hugo vivian

(strangers + one unfortunate ride becomes the start of a very expensive crush.) 

hugo originally comes to the carnival because he's curious. that's it. there’s really no other reason. 

he sees a crowd gathered around the disco pang pang ride and decides to see what all the fuss is about. 

then he notices you. and immediately forgets why he came. standing a few meters away is quite possibly the prettiest person he's ever seen. 

how unfortunate. he's supposed to be minding his own business. guess fate decided subtlety is overrated. 

the ride starts. a few minutes pass. his eyes remain on you almost the entire time… so he watches in full focus you flying directly toward him. 

despite being a pro soccer player, hugo barely has time to react before you land in his lap. the impact nearly knocks the breath out of both of you. 

then comes the silence. you're horrified. and hugo is staring. he’s not being rude or annoyed at all, no. his brain has temporarily stopped processing information. all it sees is: “error! error!” bzzt zzzt. 

"i'm so sorry." 

"don't apologize." 

"i literally fell on you." 

"i survived." 

that makes you laugh. 

now hugo immediately becomes obsessed with making you laugh again. 

every time the ride throws you back together, he finds another joke. another comment. another reason to keep you smiling. 

he quickly realizes that talking to you is ridiculously easier than it should be and easier than talking to most people. 

by the end of the ride, he's genuinely disappointed when it starts slowing down. it means the conversation is ending. 

then the ride stops completely. people start standing up. 

you thank him for putting up with the accidental lap invasion and begin walking away. 

hugo lets you get about 3 steps. then immediately follows you. there is absolutely no universe where he's allowing the most interesting person he's met all year to disappear. 

"hey." 

you turn around. "yeah?" 

"i think we've reached the point where i need your number." 

you raise a brow. "need?" 

"need." 

"that's a strong word." 

"i sat through 10 minutes of emotional turmoil." 

"emotional turmoil?" 

"you fell into my lap and then laughed at all my jokes." 

"that was turmoil?" 

"for me, yes." 

by the time you're entering your number into his phone, hugo is already planning how he's going to convince you to go out with him. 

knowing hugo? he's probably already picked the first date location, too. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

-> from: tevyat university

"congratulations student, you have been assigned with: lohen. thank you for signing up with the pen pal project! happy writing!"

"...you have got to be fucking kidding me."

the name 'lohen' stares back at you from your phone. you double and triple check the email, refreshing to see if it would change at all. however, when the name remains unchanged even after five refreshes, the reality of the situation starts to sink in on you.

seven years. seven years since he left a sixteen-year-old you waiting in the fields in your hometown, seven years since you lost all form of contact with him, and three years since you've stopped seeing him in your dreams.

exactly two years since you ran into him on campus while exiting the library, and two years you've spent actively avoiding him.

and now, in your last year of university, the school system has decided to pair you up with him.

you deny it at first, thinking of it as some kind of scarily specific prank by some hacker who has a vengeance against you. but the email address is legit, the number pasted at the bottom is a real one and this is definitely an event you regret joining.

according to the website, you and your pen pal will be matched according to your answers given on the questionnaire provided when you first sign up. based on your personality, interests and hobbies, the perfect partner will be found for you. (the website's words, not yours.)

once you are matched, an email will be sent to each of you, containing the other person's name and phone number. then, over the course of one school year, you'll exchange letters and get to know each other better. obviously, the main goal of the project is for willing participants to make friends and connect with other students on campus.

by that logic, it meant the system believed you and lohen would get along with each other and were highly compatible.

the algorithm they're using must be outdated, you believe, if they put you with lohen of all people.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

lohen.

the name leaves a bittersweet taste on your tongue, reminding you of the childhood you once had with him until everything fell apart.

the both of you used to play in the fields behind his house when it was dark, catching fireflies and gazing at the stars. you'd stay there until dawn and then sneak back into your house through the window, with lohen waving you goodbye as he rushed back home as well.

a younger you would always look forward to when lohen knocked on the door, politely asking your parents for permission to play with you before throwing all decorum out of the way and dragging you out by the arm when they agreed. as he got older, he stopped asking and just waited by your bedroom window with his arms held out, telling you to jump down and he'd catch you.

"that boy is as unpredictable as can be." your mother would sigh. yet she never once forbade you from hanging out with him.

perhaps it was bound to happen, a given even with how much time you were spending with lohen, but you fell for him at the age of fourteen. from there, not only was he your best friend, lohen became your first love.

the fairytales you used to read as a child, where a knight would fall in love with a princess, suddenly meant so much more to you, your young, naive, foolish mind imagining that you were the princess and lohen was your knight.

you'd dream of a precious romance, one untainted by the struggles of reality and adulthood, one where you and lohen would skip off into the sunset together and live out a happily ever after together.

yes, it was childish for a girl your age back then, but it was your whole world. that's how much lohen meant to you. it's why you spent another two years pining after him before you finally decided to confess in the fields both of you so dearly loved.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

you waited.

you waited and waited and waited.

you waited until the sun set, until the sky turned dark and the stars made their appearance, until the fireflies came out.

you waited until your parents found you in the middle of those fields, crying your heart out.

lohen never came.

it wasn't until the next morning that you found out he had moved without telling you. no note, no words, nothing.

he just...left.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

*ding!*

2 messages from: unknown

unknown: hey

unknown: your my pen pal right?

great, as if you didn't have enough to worry about already.

you aren't lost on who this is. since they're claiming to be your pen pal, this is can only be lohen who's texting you.

you don't know why your heart is pounding so fast. you aren't the one who ditched someone and left without a word seven years ago. if anything, he should be the one who's nervous.

you: lohen.

unknown is typing...

unknown: straight to the point huh? i like it.

unknown: its been a while (name)

you scoff. he's acting like only a year has passed and not seven.

you: more than a while you mean

you: ykw i dont have to do this im blocking you

you: bye

your thumb hovers over the 'block' button when another influx of messages comes in.

unknown: wiat

unknown: u want an answer i know

unknown: meet me outside main hall

unknown: youll get one

the green dot beside the empty profile disappears. lohen's gone offline.

you're not going. you're blocking his number and you're not going. why should you? you didn't get an answer seven years ago, and you certainly don't need one now.

you can just ignore this conversation and pretend it never happened and carry on with your lohen-less life. you've managed to survive for this long.

...

you're going to regret this.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

it isn't hard to spot lohen amidst the sea of students, leaning casually against a pillar and scrolling on his phone. you spent more than half your life with him after all. you don't approach him immediately, opting to stand a distance away to observe.

visually, he hasn't changed much. still the same murky green hair, bored expression, the singular mole underneath his right eye. the only difference is that the baby fat around his cheeks has slimmed down and he's gotten taller, along with the dagger piercing on his left ear.

you curse your heart for picking up speed when lohen finally notices you.

he smiles at you, all smug and a hint of something you don't dare name as fondness. you shuffle over to him.

"hey."

"hi."

you shoot him a confused glance as lohen opens his arms, as if expecting you to do something.

"what are you doing?"

he tilts his head at you innocently.

"aren't you gonna hug me?"

"no? why would i do that?"

"you used to greet me with a hug when we were kids. you don't remember?"

the audacity of this guy. does he still think the both of you are on good terms to ask for a hug from you? how shameless can he get?

"we're not kids anymore. i'm not hugging you."

lohen only shrugs and crosses his arms in response. a minute of silence passes before you clear your throat and speak up.

"you said you had an explanation."

you watch as he nods and digs around in his bag, pulling out an envelope that has definitely seen better days. lohen offers it to you as you stare in disbelief.

the edges are torn, the envelope itself is crumpled beyond repair and there's even a red-brownish stain that you hope isn't dried blood on a corner.

"...what is this?"

"your explanation. anyways, i have a class to get to. don't be a stranger alright?"

with that, lohen brushes past you, leaving you stunned to process the whole interaction.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

you only open the letter after a long day of classes. it seems that apart from his appearance, lohen's penmanship is also another thing that hasn't changed after all this time.

it took you some time to decipher his messy scrawls, but you manage to get through the letter.

my dear to (name),

ignore that tiny mistake. anyways! i will be sending my schedule to you soon. it has all my classes, electives, my club activities, you name it.

i understand that this isn't what you want and i frankly don't care. but since the both of us are pen pals now, i thought why not make use of this opportunity? fun right?

if you want an answer from me, you'll have to write to me and ask for it.

you know my schedule, you know where to find me.

hope to hear from you soon!

sincerely,

lohen

as if on cue, your phone goes off with a message from lohen. he's sent you a document of everything he mentioned in the letter.

what a bastard.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

"lohen! a girl asked me to pass this letter on to you."

lohen takes the envelope from varka, the latter slinging an arm around his shoulder, a wolfish grin on his face.

"when did you get yourself a girlfriend huh? didn't even bother to tell the rest of your club buddies?

a yelp is heard from varka as lohen shoves him off lightly.

"she's not my girlfriend. yet."

with thinly veiled excitement, lohen opens the letter which reads:

to lohen,

i hate you.

sincerely,

(name)

truly, he couldn't be happier.

○●○●○●○●○●♡♡●○●○●○●○●

He had noticed the first time your hands trembled during a mission. You waved it off, muttering about a “migraine” as though that explained the pallor draining from your face. He had wanted to let it go — caring wasn’t his way, and the Stellaron Hunters were hardly the place for weakness. But when you nearly collapsed during a fight with mara-stricken foes, he caught you mid-fall, his eyes narrowing.

Later, in the quiet of a derelict ship, he cornered you.

“What is it?” His voice was sharp, but his grip on your arm was not. “You don’t falter like that unless something’s eating you alive.”

You hesitated, but Blade’s gaze didn’t waver. Eventually, you explained — the dangerously low blood sugar, the way you sometimes forgot to eat until it was too late. The blackouts. The blurred vision.

For once, Blade had no immediate words. Not because he didn’t understand, but because the thought of your body failing you out of negligence — out of fragility — stirred something restless in him. He had lived too long cursed with a body that refused to die, while yours teetered on the brink simply for lack of care. The contrast grated him raw.

From that moment, he took it upon himself.

Blade was relentless. If he noticed you hadn’t eaten, he’d drag a ration pack and shove it into your hands, muttering, “Eat.” Sometimes it was an order, other times almost an entreaty — as though his voice alone could anchor you. When you complained about not being hungry, he’d fix you with that sharp, red gaze.

“You don’t have to be hungry. You just have to stay alive.”

You learned quickly not to argue.

The migraines were harder. He’d sit beside you during the worst of them, silent but steady, his hand brushing yours — grounding, present. Once, when you blacked out in the middle of a station market, Blade’s arms were suddenly under you, lifting you with an ease that made heads turn. His glare scattered onlookers before they could ask questions. He didn’t care about appearances; he cared about the fact that your pulse was fluttering against his wrist like a fragile bird.

“You’ll eat,” he muttered once you woke in the safe dimness of the ship. “You’ll eat when I say. No more of this ‘forgetting.’”

“But Blade—”

“No.” His voice cracked with something more than command — something raw, almost desperate. “Don’t make me watch you fall apart when I can stop it.”

It was rare, hearing his voice tremble, and it stilled you more effectively than any order. You realized then — for a man cursed to endure eternity, the thought of you slipping away was unbearable.

Sometimes you teased him about it, calling him overprotective. He never smiled, but there was a softening in his gaze, a flicker of something unspoken. Blade never said the words outright, but his actions screamed them: the steady hand on your shoulder, the ration packs always within reach, the way he’d fight your battles of neglect even when he couldn’t fight his own.

You might black out, stumble, or forget — but Blade never did. He remembered for you. He carried the weight of your survival with the same ruthless focus he carried his sword. Because in his fractured eternity, you were the one fragile thing he couldn’t stand to see shattered.

“Darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mite pale.”

Boothill’s voice drawled from the doorway, his cowboy hat tilted low, red scarf trailing behind him as he leaned against the frame. You were sitting at the table of the Galaxy Rangers’ safehouse, staring blankly at a datapad while the world swam hazily before your eyes.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, though the words lacked conviction.

Boothill didn’t buy it for a second. He sauntered over, spurs clicking, and plopped himself down across from you. His sharp black eyes caught yours, the faint aim symbols within them glowing like a target lock. “Fine, huh? That why ya look like you just seen a ghost an’ forgot how to breathe?”

You sighed, caught. “Low blood sugar. Again.”

Boothill clicked his tongue, sharp teeth flashing. “Again. An’ lemme guess — you forgot to eat.”

You winced. He had you pegged.

The gunslinger leaned back, tipping his hat. “Well, sugarplum, I ain’t much of a chef, but I reckon I can remind ya better’n that empty stomach of yours can.” He dug into his coat, pulling out a small wrapped candy. He tossed it onto the table with a grin. “First step: emergency sugar stash. Ain’t just fer kids.”

You blinked, then laughed softly. “You carry candy around?”

“Now I do.” He smirked. “Picked it up special fer you. Figured if you keeled over durin’ a raid, I’d be mighty inconvenienced draggin’ your body outta a firefight.”

His words were flippant, but the gleam in his eye wasn’t.

From that day, Boothill made it his mission. Every time you skipped a meal, he’d make a big show out of it. “Now hold on, partner, ain’t no ranger ridin’ out on an empty tank. You’re sittin’ your hide down an’ eatin’, or I’ll hogtie ya to this here chair till ya do.” He wasn’t kidding, either — you caught him once fiddling with actual rope while you pushed a meal aside.

When the migraines hit, he adapted. He’d darken the room, shoo away the others, and sit at your side, whistling low cowboy tunes to distract you from the pounding pain. If you fainted, Boothill’s arms were already there, cradling you like you weighed nothing. He’d brush your hair back with surprising gentleness for a man built of metal and vengeance.

“Scarin’ me half to death, darlin’,” he’d mutter, voice quieter than usual. “Ain’t fair, y’know. I done lost too many folks. Don’t you go addin’ yourself to that graveyard.”

You squeezed his hand once, whispering, “I’ll try.”

“Try harder.” His grin returned, though it was tight. “Or I’ll be feedin’ you spoonfuls like a stubborn baby calf.”

He made you laugh even in the worst of it, and that was his magic. Boothill refused to let your condition weigh you down with sorrow. He’d spin it into banter, into warmth, into something manageable. You weren’t just surviving — you were living, and Boothill made damn sure of it.

And though he never said it outright, you knew the truth: for a man who lost everything to the IPC, protecting you wasn’t just duty. It was redemption.

Phainon had always been vigilant. It was in his nature, born of loss and carved into his very Coreflame. He carried the weight of others with ease, but when it came to you, his vigilance deepened into something fiercer — something gentler.

He noticed the signs immediately: the way your eyes sometimes unfocused, the slight tremor in your hands, the way your body swayed when you thought no one was watching. At first you brushed it off, claiming it was “just fatigue.” But Phainon’s eyes — bright as the horizon — were not so easily deceived.

One evening, after a grueling spar, you slumped against the wall, vision swimming. Phainon crouched before you, concern written plain on his face. “Tell me the truth.” His voice was calm, steady — the kind of tone that invited confession.

You did. You explained the blood sugar drops, the blackouts, the forgetting-to-eat.

Rather than chastise you, Phainon reached into his coat and produced a small pouch of dried fruits and nuts. He pressed it into your hands. “Then we’ll remember together.”

From that day forward, he did. Phainon integrated reminders seamlessly into your life. A soft nudge of a ration bar during travels, a gentle, “Eat first, then we’ll continue.” He never made it feel like a burden, never treated you as fragile. Instead, he wove care into companionship, as natural as the dawn.

When migraines struck, he’d dim the lanterns, kneel beside you, and hum softly — old songs from Aedes Elysiae, fragments of a home long gone. His warmth radiated not just from his Coreflame, but from the patience in his presence.

The first time you fainted in front of him, Phainon caught you before you hit the ground, gathering you into his arms as though you were the most precious relic. His choker shifted, revealing briefly the sun-mark of Worldbearing, glowing faintly as though responding to his fear.

When you woke, he was there, hand entwined with yours. His smile was faint but steady. “The world asks much of us, but I ask only this — that you care for yourself as I care for you. For even legends stumble when they fight on an empty heart.”

You whispered an apology, but Phainon shook his head.

“No apologies. Only promises.”

And so you promised — not because you felt guilty, but because his belief in you made you want to keep it.

Phainon never let you feel alone in your struggle. He framed it as part of your shared story — another trial to overcome together. His optimism carried you when your own hope faltered. His laughter, his quiet jokes, even the way he’d pretend to steal bites from your plate just to ensure you ate — all of it was flame and light intertwined.

To the world, Phainon was a living legend, the nameless hero who defied destiny. To you, he was the gentle reminder that survival could be more than a fight — it could be a shared dawn.

And as he once told you, with his hand brushing your cheek, voice soft as a vow:

“If you fall, I will rise with you. Always. For no flame burns alone.”

Phainon had this uncanny sixth sense — maybe it came with being a “Deliverer,” or maybe it was the result of years in battlefields where a single misplaced breath could end a life. Either way, sneaking up on him was an exercise in futility.

You’d tried everything.

Tiptoeing across the courtyard while he read scrolls under the apricot tree? He’d greet you before you reached him.

Leaping from behind a pillar when he trained at dawn? He’d sidestep you, smile, and hand you a towel before you could even yelp “Boo.”

Once, you even tried disguising your steps with the rhythm of the wind chime. That time, he turned, caught you mid-pounce, and said, “You should teach the breeze that trick. It’s losing its timing.”

Phainon wasn’t teasing to mock — he was too gentle for that. He just… sparkled with that infuriating mix of kindness and awareness that made your efforts feel like play to him. And you didn’t mind. Seeing that small, amused smile tug at the corners of his lips was reward enough.

Until the day you actually succeeded.

You’d been waiting for the right moment — late afternoon, when he returned from patrols. The setting sun cast his silhouette long and golden across the steps. He removed his armguard, the glow of his Coreflame pulsing faintly through the leather choker at his throat. For once, he seemed lost in thought — not warrior nor myth, just a man watching the horizon.

Perfect.

You crept closer, holding your breath. Your foot avoided every creaking tile, every stray leaf. He didn’t turn. You grinned.

And then—

“Boo!”

His body spun on reflex — a blur of movement honed by years of combat. His arm lashed out in an instinctive strike meant for an ambusher, not a friend. Your world spun; the air rushed out of your lungs as his forearm clipped your shoulder. You stumbled backward, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then—

“Oh, Kephale—!”

Phainon was already on his knees beside you, the sunmark on his throat flaring in distress. His hand brushed your cheek, checking for blood, injury, anything. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— You shouldn’t have— Are you hurt?”

You blinked up at him, still dazed. “I— think I startled you for once.”

The look he gave you could’ve melted the armor off a Titan.

He exhaled shakily, eyes softening. “You did. And the world nearly died for it.”

You laughed weakly. “Guess I won the game.”

His hand hovered at your shoulder, gentle but firm. “No victory is worth a bruise on you.”

You smiled despite yourself. “You’re too dramatic.”

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, gaze shifting toward the horizon again, “but when you fight to protect, you learn that instinct doesn’t think. It only remembers.”

He helped you sit up, his touch steady, careful. For a while you both sat there, the last light painting the sky in streaks of fire.

Finally, he chuckled — that soft, honeyed sound you always loved. “You really startled me. That hasn’t happened since… the war.”

You tilted your head. “Then I’m honored.”

He grinned, faintly sheepish. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you countered.

He raised a brow. “Oh?”

You grinned. “Next time, I’ll go for left side. You always turn right.”

Phainon laughed, head thrown back, voice warm as a hearth. “Next time,” he said, “I’ll try to be surprised for real.”

Mydei was impossible to startle.

Not because he lacked humor — though his stoicism could make statues blush — but because his awareness was ironclad. A prince raised in exile and a soldier forged in war didn’t do surprise. Even when he pretended to play along with your little ambushes, you knew it was pity, not actual shock.

Once, you tried creeping up behind him during sword drills. Before your fingers even touched his shoulder, he murmured, “Three more steps, and you’d be impaled by my shadow.”

You jumped back so fast he actually cracked a smile. “Relax,” he’d added, “it’s only half a warning.”

But today… today you caught him off-guard.

He was sitting by the fire pit, polishing his blade — the crimson runes along the metal glinting like embers. The flicker of flames danced across his eyes. He looked tired, but peaceful, for once.

You inched closer. One step. Two. The crackle of fire covered your approach perfectly. You crouched behind the log beside him, suppressing laughter.

Then, with a sudden leap, you shouted, “Gotcha!”

Mydei reacted instantly. His arm swept backward in a blur; the flat of his palm connected sharply with your arm. Pain stung, and you yelped as you toppled backward into the dirt.

He froze.

“[Name]—!”

The blade clattered to the ground as he spun around, eyes wide with horror. He knelt beside you, grip trembling slightly as he cupped your shoulder. “Did I—hurt you?”

You winced, rubbing your arm. “No, I’m fine. Just surprised.”

His voice dropped to a low, remorseful murmur. “That was reckless.”

You snorted. “You? Or me?”

He blinked, then exhaled, lips tugging faintly upward. “Both.”

You sat up, noticing how his fingers still hovered near your arm, hesitant to touch. The fire crackled softly between you.

“I keep forgetting,” you said lightly, “that your instincts are… sharp.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They were sharpened by necessity. Reflex, not choice.”

For a long moment, he stared into the fire, its light flickering in his eyes. “I’ve spent years surviving things that don’t announce themselves. It’s… difficult to turn that off.”

You tilted your head. “Guess I should stop trying to sneak up on a demigod.”

That earned you an amused huff. “If you insist on it,” he said dryly, “at least wear armor next time.”

“Deal,” you grinned.

Mydei actually laughed — low and genuine, rare as starlight. The sound made the whole incident worth it.

Later, as he packed away his blade, he said quietly, “You startled me.”

You blinked. “Really?”

He met your gaze, a small, unreadable smile forming. “Yes. And I’m grateful for it.”

“Grateful?”

“It reminded me that even the most guarded walls can still let laughter through.”

You’d made it your unofficial mission: wake the “Dozing General” with a good scare.

Of course, Jing Yuan wasn’t really asleep half the time — he was meditating, or listening, or pretending. You never could tell. But that didn’t stop you from trying.

The Cloud Knights adored it. Every failed attempt became a running joke. “General will see through any ambush,” they’d say. “You could drop from the rafters and he’d catch you midair.”

Challenge accepted.

One quiet afternoon, you found him leaning against a railing overlooking the courtyard, sunlight painting his white hair gold. His lion companion was nowhere in sight — the perfect opportunity.

You tiptoed closer. Jing Yuan’s back was turned, his posture loose, the very image of serene unawareness.

Now or never.

You lunged forward with your loudest “Boo!”

In a flash, Jing Yuan pivoted, hand snapping up — the flat of his palm striking your shoulder before he even registered who it was. You stumbled back, eyes wide, the sting spreading through your arm.

Then everything happened at once — his hand dropped, his expression broke, and he was crouching beside you, worry etched deep into his face.

“Ah—[Name], I—!” His voice faltered for once, that calm composure cracking. “Are you all right? Did I—”

You blinked, still dazed. “I guess that’s a no on startling the General, huh?”

For a second, silence. Then Jing Yuan exhaled — long, heavy, almost laugh-like. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“You hit me,” you deadpanned.

“Reflex,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been ambushed too many times to risk a repeat.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “So I actually startled you?”

He chuckled, helping you to your feet with surprising gentleness. “You did. Mark it in your record — the first and last victory.”

“Last?” you challenged.

“I’m retiring undefeated,” he said with mock pride. “Though… I suppose I owe you a drink as apology.”

You laughed. “Make it two.”

He smiled — that soft, amused curve of his lips that warmed more than the sunlight. “Done.”

Later, as you both leaned against the railing, the moment behind you, Jing Yuan said quietly, “It’s good, you know.”

“What is?”

“That you try to startle me. Reminds me I’m still human enough to flinch.”

You glanced up. “And here I thought I was just annoying you.”

“Annoying?” He laughed softly. “Perhaps. But it’s a kind of joy, too — knowing someone cares enough to interrupt my peace.”

You nudged him. “Next time, I’ll bring confetti.”

“Next time,” he said, eyes glinting with mirth, “I’ll let you win.”

With Blade, it wasn’t just hard — it was suicidal.

The man lived on the knife’s edge between awareness and violence. His instincts were weapons sharper than his sword. The Stellaron Hunters warned you. Kafka warned you. Heck, even Silver Wolf placed bets on how many seconds you’d last before regretting it.

Still, you couldn’t resist.

You’d gotten used to his quiet habits: sitting on the edge of rooftops, sword resting beside him, the wind playing with his hair as he stared at nothing. Always distant, always somewhere else. He rarely spoke, but you’d come to understand his silences. They weren’t cold — just… tired.

So, one night, under the cold glow of the stars, you decided to try. Just once. For fun.

He didn’t even seem aware of your approach — his breathing slow, steady. The broken sword gleamed faintly beside him. You tiptoed behind, hands ready.

“Boo!”

In less than a heartbeat, his body twisted. Steel flashed. The air screamed. The sword’s flat side caught your ribs before he halted mid-swing — horror flashing across his crimson eyes.

You gasped, stumbling backward, clutching your side.

“[Name]—” His voice cracked, low and harsh, as if dragged from his throat. The sword clattered aside as he grabbed your shoulders, pulling you down carefully. “Did I—did I hurt you?”

“I—ow—maybe just a little,” you wheezed, half laughing despite the pain.

His hands trembled. Trembled. Blade, the immortal weapon, the man who bled and healed without pause — looked terrified.

“I didn’t know it was you.” His tone was rough, like broken glass. “I—shouldn’t—”

You managed a pained grin. “Guess I startled you.”

He stared at you, disbelief flickering. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — something between relief and amusement. “You… did.”

You nudged him weakly. “See? Even the unflinching can flinch.”

His expression softened, the red in his eyes dimming to something almost human. “Don’t do that again.”

“Scared you’d hurt me?”

“Scared I wouldn’t stop next time.”

The honesty in his voice was like a blade itself — cutting, but clean.

You nodded quietly, letting him help you sit. The night wind brushed past, carrying the faint hum of city lights below.

“Hey,” you said after a while. “I didn’t mean to—”

He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You smirked faintly. “Except scare an immortal man.”

That earned a breath of a laugh from him — rare and fleeting. “Congratulations,” he murmured. “You’ve done what even time couldn’t.”

You grinned. “I’ll frame that.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and said quietly, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me I still react.”

✦ Tone guide:

🌧 Angst | 🩹 Hurt/Comfort | 🔥 Intimacy | 🔞 18+

(Most works lean Fluff right now.)

☀️= current personal favorite

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

First Kiss (Fluff) (Wc: 239)

🔥Second Kiss (Fluff. Playful Phainon. Suggestiveness. Heated Kissing) (Wc: 599)

☀️🔥 Kiss Him Senseless (Flustered Phainon. Pinning Him Against the Wall, Kissing Him Senseless. Fluff (and Heat)) (Wc: 1119)

☀️🔥 Hold Still, Dawnlight (Soft Dom!Phainon. He Pins You Down. Makeout. Flustered Reader) (Wc: 1290)

Getting Along With Phainon (Wc: 282)

🔥How Phainon Shows His Love (Fluff) (Wc: 619)

🩹Until You're Steady (Hurt/Comfort) (Wc: 467)

The Thief, The Chase And The Look On Your Face (Fluff. Playfulness. Phainon Being Cheeky. Teasing. Kiss) (Wc: 901)

🩹To Be Seen (Soft Romance. Hurt/Comfort. Vulnerability. Feeling Invisible. Phainon Sees You. Insecurities) (Wc: 1071)

Canvas Confessions (Phainon. Jing Yuan. Aventurine. Separate) (Artist!Reader. Fluff. Playfulness and Flirting) (Wc: 2230, about 700 per guy)

🔥Drawn to You (Phainon. Jing Yuan. Aventurine. Separate) (Reverse Drawing Scenario. Fluff. Humor. Affectionate Teasing. Light Banter. Soft Yearning. Physical Affection. Established Relationship. Suggestiveness. Making Out) (Wc: 4301, about 1400 per guy)

☀️🔞 Worship in Warm Water (Smut. MDNI. Female Reader / AFAB Reader. Soft Dom Phainon. Oral Sex (Reader Receiving). Semi-Public Setting (Pool Sex). Praise Kink. Phainon Being Vocal. Multiple Orgasms. Body Worship. Aftercare) (Wc: 1919)

Modern AU University (Phainon. Mydei. Anaxa. Separate) (Wc: 2100, about 700 per guy)

Light Among Ruin (Fluff. Marriage Proposal) (Wc: 960)

Wedding Day Aftermath (Fluff) (Wc: 434)

☀️Morning Walks (Phainon. Jing Yuan. Separate) (Fluff. Introverted Reader. Established Relationship. Morning Walks. Soft Moments. Playful Banter (Phainon). Serene Romance (Jing Yuan). Flirting. Hand Holding. Kissing. Public Affection) (Wc: 3887 in total. Phainon: 2352, Jing Yuan: 1535)

Direct Sunlight (Fluff. Direct Confession. Mutual Pining (Resolved). Modern AU (Lightly)) (Wc: 572)

🩹Fever Blur (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. Separate) (Fluff. Hurt/Comfort. Sick!Reader. Fever dream. Auditory hallucinations. Established relationship. Caretaking) (Wc: 2457 in total, about 800 per guy)

☀️Tiptoe Kisses (Tooth-Rotting Fluff. Public Display of Affection. Height Difference. Kisses. Hair Ruffling. Flustered Phainon. He Flusters You Back) (Wc: 1709)

🩹The Weight of Stories (Phainon. Dan Heng. Aventurine. x Reader. Separate) (Hurt/Comfort. Warm Hugs. Vulnerable Reader. Reader Crying. Soft Physical Affection. Gentle Intimacy. Modern-ish Setting. Canon Divergent. Tenderness. Protective Behavior) (Wc: 1397 (about 460 per guy)

🩹A Day That‘s Yours (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. Separate) (Fluff. Established Relationship. Birthday Celebration. Reader Never Properly Celebrated Before. Hurt/Comfort. Secret Planning. His Love Language) (Wc: 3659 in total)

🩹Until the World Quiets (Hurt/Comfort. Fear of Loss/Future Events. Cuddling. Emotional vulnerability. Reassurance) (Wc: 941)

🌧🩹 In for Four (Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Panic Attack (Phainon). Reader Helps Him Through It. Emotional Breakdown. Grief-Driven Anger. Grounding Techniques. Guilt. Self-Doubt. Vulnerability. Hopeful Ending) (Wc: 1995)

🩹One Hundred Kisses (Hurt/Comfort. Healing Kisses. He Helps With a Headache) (Wc: 358)

Teddy Bear Advisor (Family Fluff. Female Reader. Dad Phainon. Domestic Vibes. Group Hugs. Softness) (Wc: 745)

🔥Clingy, Kissy Chaos (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. Separate) (Fluff. Established Relationship. Clingy Reader. Surprise Kisses. Teasing. Slight Suggestiveness) (Wc: 853, about 280 per guy)

🔥Early Morning Softness (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. x Reader. Separate.) (Fluff. Established Relationship. Morning Routines. Domestic Bliss. Cuddling. Kisses.) (Wc: 1430, about 470 per guy)

Cold Nose, Warm Lips (Fluff. Modern AU. First Date. Snowfall. Winter Walk. Mutual Pining. Playful Banter. Snow Angels. Sledding. Kissing. Phainon Is Down Bad. Getting Together) (Wc: 1563)

🩹Bruised Knuckles and Tender Promises (Modern AU/College AU. Hurt/Comfort. Protective Phainon. Childhood Friends (Pre-Relationship). Bullying Mention (non-graphic). Phainon Gets Angry On Your Behalf. Hugs. Forehead Kiss. Love Confession (sort of)) (Wc: 2147)

The Festival of Beautiful Voices (Tooth-Rotting Fluff. Phainon Is Down Bad. Flirting. Playfulness. Mutual Pining. First Kiss. Public Love Confession/Public Display of Affection. Getting Together. Tenderness) (Wc: 2157)

🩹Learning Affection (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. Jing Yuan. Dan Heng. Separate) (Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Soft Affection. Emotional Vulnerability. Touch-Starved. Pre-Relationship → Getting Together. Reader Is Affectionate) (Wc: 4687 in total)

☀️🔥Lullabies (Female Reader. Domestic Fluff. Dad Phainon. Established Relationship. Married Bliss. Made-Up Lullabies. Tender Kisses. Cuddling. Playful Banter. Gentle Intimacy) (Wc: 2315)

What It Means to Be Chosen (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. Separate) (Marriage Proposal. Vulnerability. Self-Doubt. He Thinks He’s Unworthy. Hurt/Comfort (Soft). Emotional Intimacy. Established Feelings) (Wc: 1287 (about 400 per guy)

Pole Position (Phainon. Mydei. Separate) (Formula 1 AU. Fluff. Romantic Tension. Teasing (Phainon). Intimacy (Mydei) (Wc: 1059 (about 500 per guy)

Pre-Race (Phainon. Mydei. Separate) (Formula 1 AU. Fluff. Romantic Tension. Slightly Suggestive) (Wc: 696 (about 350 per guy)

🔥Dawnlight, Please (Fluff. Established Relationship. Suggestive. Needy Phainon. Public Affection. Tension. Teasing. Kisses. Making Out) (Wc: 621)

☀️🔥Good with My Mouth (Modern AU. Jealous Phainon. Yearning Phainon. Friends to Lovers. Light Humor. Mutual Pining. Phainon Is A Disaster In Love. Suggestive. Nudity (Premise). First Kiss) (Wc: 1588)

🔥For Appraisal Purposes Only (Fluff. Early Relationship. Teasing. Playful Phainon. Suggestive. Subtle Seduction. Flustered Moments. Intimacy. Romantic Vibes) (Wc: 496)

🔥First Touch (Fluff. Early Relationship. Yearning Phainon. Touch-Starved Phainon. Repressed Emotions. Tension. First Touch. First Kiss. Heated Make Out) (Wc: 1608)

Dad Mode: Activated (Phainon. Anaxa. Mydei. Separate) (Female Reader. Domestic Fluff. Modern AU. Dad Phainon. Dad Anaxa. Dad Mydei. Parenthood. Family Vibes) (Wc: 758 (about 250 per guy)

🔥Strategic Planning (Modern AU. Female Reader. Fluff. Suggestive Themes. Implied Smut. Established Relationship. Doting Phainon. He Did The Research. Trying For A Baby) (Wc: 1426)

☀️Temporal Displacement (Fluff. Comfort. Sick Phainon. Clingy Phainon. Phainon Is Dramatic Even With a Fever. Caretaking) (Wc: 861)

🩹Measured in Honey and Warmth (Fluff. Hurt/Comfort. Sick Reader. Soft Phainon. Established Relationship. Domestic Vibes. Cuddling. Acts of Care. Phainon Takes Care of You) (Wc: 915)

Rituals of Care (Fluff. Comfort. Domestic. Soft Moments. Established Relationship. Skincare Routine. Gentle Touches. Relaxation) (Wc: 1409 (about 470 per guy)

🔥No Rush (Fluff. Soft Intimacy. Established Relationship. Needy Phainon. Playful Teasing. Cuddling. Caresses. Kissing. Sensuality. Light Suggestiveness. Affection. Self-Indulgent) (Wc: 659)

It isn't an event per-say, well not one for the general dormitory populace, but one meant for the members themselves and a plus-one. Plus, this was an event you didn't have to plan, just attend.

Of course, when you discussed it during dinner with Nithya, she had offhandedly said she'd bring one of her friends from her course. The thought of third-wheeling a pair of law students didn't particularly sound… appealing. But at a loss, you weren't sure who else you could really bring other than—

"Bingo? That sounds fun," Phainon hums, throwing the bundle of laundry into the machine as you fiddle with the settings of your own.

"You don't have to come if you can't, I know you have a big assessment coming up."

"One night away can't affect my grade that much."

"Its next week Thursday." A low rumbling joins the rest of the basically vibrating laundry room, and as you turn around, your eyes lower to his still half-full laundry drum as you continue, "6pm to 8pm if I remember correctly."

He turns around, and in an instant, a gentle smile appears on his lips as the corners of his eyes crinkle together. "I'll be free, don't worry."

In the days leading up to the event, to say you didn't worry would be a filthy, filthy lie. Never before have you ever thought being a business student is easy, but when you caught glimpses of the dense, almost Mycenean Linear B-esque text on his notes, your head all but fogged up and you think that maybe, just maybe, working with the most insufferable people for a group assignment is better than whatever that is. And to think that this is only a second-level course.

Still, time doesn't care about whether a hypothetical university student passes their exams or not, and staring at the weather app on your phone, an uneasy feeling settles in your chest. Winter over here generally means rain, and while that wouldn't be a problem back home, it seemed like this part of the country never really learned proper water drainage. Beyond that, the weather here seemed less like actual natural phenomenon and more like the whims of a bored god, so even if it says 7pm rain, you don't actually believe it.

Does that stop you from wearing impractical heels and thin tights? Of course not, temperamental weather is temporary, fashion is forever. You even put on a new handmade pin in your hair, and as you admire the little blue floret in the mirror, you pretend that you aren't dreading the ten million transfers you'll have to make to get to the restaurant.

Checking over every outlet for the ten millionth time and groping your bag for your wallet and umbrella, you leave your room and stand outside that door. Your hand raises, knuckles ghosting against the wood as your heart starts to pound in your chest again. Its not like this is a date, so why are you so nervous? This isn't a date, dates aren't with ten million other people at bingo, right? But you've never even had a date with this guy and you're going to be real honest right not, never even had a date period, so what do you know?

The tip of your knuckle bone taps a little too hard in your moment of hesitation, allowing a little knock to finally emit. In that very instant, an almost inaudible squeak leaves your lips as your eyes widen. Knowing your boyfriend's freakish senses— and the sudden increase inactivity coming from inside, he definitely heard you.

You're not ready, you're not ready, you're not ready, you're not ready, you're not ready. You're not ready! You needed to psych yourself up first!

Just as you're about to fall to your knees and cry, the door opens and you're greeted with a glorious sight. Gone are the interesting colour combinations and patterns, instead Phainon must have had a revelation in the hours you have not seen each other. The dark knit turtleneck that has you embarrassingly (mentally, you have dignity thank you very much) drooling over, the unbuttoned white button-up and pants, the long purple coat, even the bits of gold jewellery on his person makes you want to fall to your knees for a different reason that isn't despair.

He blinks, eyes scanning you up and down. A soft flush tinges the apples of his cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he smiles, "You ready to go?"

It hasn't even been that long since you've seen him! So why do you feel like a teenage girl brushing shoulders with her hallway crush right now?!

Forcing yourself to act normal, you smile back, very much ignoring how warm your cheeks must be right now. "Yeah, let's."

In the the bus ride to the subway station, you already felt like exploding the moment you felt his shoulder next to yours but now? Now in the crowded subway where there's only one seat and the only other spot available right now is the hand rail right in front of you?

In a weirdly ventilated subway car, surrounded by ten million strangers and yet when you look up, it like its only the two of you here. When his gaze falls on you, the very way his eyes dilate, so wide until there's but a ring of azure blue, you wish the weirdly patterned seat would just swallow you whole. You thought you made progress, you thought you could make eye contact with your boyfriend without that damned rooster doing something about it.

But sweet heavens above, he looks so good right now, you just want to take his head into your hands and gnaw on him a little.

A normal thought that clearly belongs to a normal person.

When the two of you finally get to the restaurant, after a bus transfer that felt like it was never going to come, you're led to a private room with a bunch of—

"Oh."

"I wasn't expecting this many…"

Looking around the room, with some already seated and some surrounding a mysterious table, you suddenly realise that this event might not have been the most well-coordinated. Or well-advertised.

"… middle-aged women."

Its amazing actually, you've never this many in one place outside of parent teacher meetings, the market and the occasional tour group that passes campus.

As the two of you squeeze past the entrance and every other seated person, you find two empty seats with paper bags in front of them. As you shrug off your coat, you settle into your seat and dig into the bag, pulling out four pieces of paper. Here's another fun fact, it might be weird to say this as a part of a society whose whole job is to encourage reading, but you haven't read a book that wasn't a textbook in…. three years?

Okay that's a lie, but you sure haven't kept up with the current book trends.

Is it normal that all of these sound the same to you? They all have the pattern of 'A [insert item] of [insert noun] and [insert noun]' or some fancy mishmash word. This has to be a trend, right? You're half certain that if someone yells out any of these names right now for bingo, your ears would just do the audio version of when you stare into television static for too long.

"I'm going to be honest right now, I do not recognise a single name on this bingo sheet." Your lips pull back into a grimace, ears already straining from the chaos.

"Neither do I," A slight waver tinges Phainon's voice, but the mirth in his eyes is obvious. Or maybe its competitiveness, you honestly wouldn't put it past him to get worked up over bingo. "I guess we'll just have to smile and nod, huh?"

"You should send a photo to Castorice, maybe she'll know."

He thinks about it for a moment, lips pursing together before he digs out his phone to take a photo. There's a mischievous smile on his face now, features all scrunched together as he snickers, "Maybe."

After informing the society group chat of your arrival, you learn that Anya and her friends are now stuck in public transport while Nithya and her law friend are seated all the way on the opposite end of the room, leaving you separated by distance and thirty three million people.

You want to cry, only a little. Maybe if you had some good food right now, you can reduce that to not wanting to cry at all.

So you pick out the menu and oh sweet heavens, why is the pasta thirty five dollars.

Instinctively, your lips pull back into a grimace as you continue to scan this forsaken sheet for someone below thirty bucks. Which doesn't seem to exist by the way, unless you include the kids' menu. And you wish you could order from that, unfortunately you're starving.

Phainon seemingly notices your dilemma and gently pries the menu out of your hand, placing it back in the middle of the table. "Hey, why don't we just get some drinks and find something to eat later?"

"Post clubbing meal but instead of clubbing we went to bingo." There's a wry smile on your lips, brain already racing with all the possible places that could still be open when you leave. A breathy humour escapes your lips as the corners of your eyes crinkle, "What riveting lives we lead."

"Bingo can get pretty intense you know!" He quickly protests.

That grimace returns. "Really?"

"Going neck to neck, with one last square left and its between you and Filippa from down the street, you don't know what she needs and you don't know what's next, all you know is that with every draw that isn't either of what you need, your breathing gets heavier. And when they pull out that last deciding ball, now that's thrilling."

At a loss, all you can do is blink, staring at him, now definitely work up over bingo. There's literal sparkles in those big eyes of his, the stupid tuft of hair is even pin-straight in his enthusiasm.

"How much bingo are you playing to be so specific?"

Before he can answer, everyone suddenly quiets down as a woman starts to talk. She instructs everyone to pull out paper 1 and the bingo pen before your bingo-shaped fugue begins.

If you can be honest, you don't remember what just happened. In a room of 40+ people and exactly one person straining to be heard over everyone, all you know is if you made a drinking game out of how many times you pulled a face and went 'huh', you'd have permanent liver damage. On the other hand, Phainon is ridiculously good at bingo.

How good, you—dear observer— may be asking?

There were four games, he won two of them and got into that weird stalemate he just described the other two games. And then he had the audacity to do that stupid hand on the back of his neck and awkward smile when someone's mum glared at him!

You never get to quite meet up with the rest of the society in the restaurant, for reasons known as too many people, too little space. Plus, hunger quickly caught up with everyone and plans were swiftly made to drop by a nearby H***** J**** for dinner.

The problem now was how to get out since guess what, rain at 7pm never came. Instead the weather decided that it wanted to be fashionably late, and at the ripe time of 9pm, it is now raining so hard that the parking lot outside is vaguely flooded.

Staring out into the pitch darkness, you mentally shake your fist at the sky and at the government. You can't do another wet shoes induced fever! Not again!

Nithya taps on her phone before squinting off into the distance. "There's a bus stop nearby, we just need to walk 2 kilometres."

The rest of you follow her lead, blindly staring off into the horizon as if a beam of heavenly light will illuminate the way to the stop. You pop open your umbrella, a few others following suite while the rest tug up their hoods. Phainon doesn't open his.

"Okay, yep let's just…"

"Yeah…."

The images of your violent headaches, clogged nose and full-body aches flash across your mind, the tip of your shoe dips into the deep water before you stop. Through the rush of rain and splashing puddles, you can only watch as everyone walks off one by one.

Just as you're about to throw all caution to the wind, Phainon's voice comes from besides you, "I'm going to do something, promise me you won't scream?"

"What—"

Your voice dies in your throat as you're suddenly, and all too swiftly, brought into a carry. Out of panic and instinct, you throw an arm around his neck while you grip your umbrella so hard you can feel your nails dig into your palm.

"Your shoes don't have a lot of grip and as much as I love caring for you, I don't think you want to get sick again," He murmurs, an almost shy waver in the middle of his words. "So…."

All you can let out is a stilted 'ah', your eyes glued to his face as you feel your own grows warmer and warmer. It hits you, you're experiencing the same unrealistic bullshit those women were probably reading, you're being bridal carried in the rain. His chest is so big, and you're just resting against them, like a common whore. You didn't even he was built like this beneath all those clothes!

He starts walking, rain thudding against the umbrella as he holds onto you closer. Your tiny portable umbrella is just enough to cover the both of you, with only the tips of your heels getting wet. The rainy-winter chill doesn't come to pass when you're pressed up so close, your boyfriend radiating enough heat to cook an egg.

Finally, your throat decides to listen to you and you manage to squeak out a weak, "Be careful, I… would rather you not eat shit and we both fall downhill."

He laughs, the sound sweet. "Don't worry, I won't."

Passing beneath a lone street light, you catch sight of the tail end of the group, a bright blue umbrella in the distance and a few dark ones indicating your steady pace. For someone carrying a person and their (your) heavy as all hell bag, he doesn't show any signs of exhaustion or slowing down.

Through the heavy rain, he quietly admits, "You look really pretty today."

Your attention snaps to him, eyes widening as another noise catches in your throat. His lips are curled in a nervous smile, those beautiful eyes that seem to bear the sky glance down to you before he averts his gaze, the tips of his ears instantly glow with a warm flush. He feels warmer now, you're certain he can feel your press yourself against him.

"I wanted to tell you but I just couldn't, when I opened the door, I just couldn't get them out."

"Then in the subway, I noticed the flowers in your hair. "

"They're cute," He smiles, then as if to correct himself, he shifts, "You're really cute."

Its… been a while since someone's told you that. Well, a while since someone's been so earnest about it. Within your chest, for once that damn rooster has merely done nothing but curl at your heart, preening at the praise. A smile, one you can't quite control pulls at your lips.

"You look really handsome too," You murmur, resting your head against his chest.

His pace falters, for just a brief moment. During this pause, you can feel him straighten up, his hands hold onto you tighter as if he can't believe what he's hearing.

"I've never seen you dressed this put together and I—"

Your words catch, but you force them out anyways, swallowing down your embarrassment, "You looked really cute in bingo too."

"Which is so ridiculous to say but you really did look so cute beating someone's grandmother."

A puff of laughter escapes from him, the image of that poor announcer watching in horror as he raises his sheet again flashing across both of your minds.

"Maybe we should do a bingo event next semester and then I'll make you sign up so you can win the prize for us."

"You should, and make the prize a voucher for that frozen yoghurt place."

"Maybe then we can have a date that isn't with some woman who has a grudge against you for being good at bingo."

"Promise?"

★ SMUT TAGS; lots of teasing, oral (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, aftercare, dom diluc

If someone told you that every day is a festival in Mondstadt City, you’d believe them in a heartbeat. From bards serenading passers-by in every street to the taverns welcoming patrons left and right – you had infinite choices on how to spend your Friday night. 

But as fate might have it…you’re stuck tending to a game booth in an actual, official Favonius-mandated festival instead.

You have nothing against celebrating Ludi Harpastum. It’s your favorite time of the year! It’s everyone’s favorite time of the year! But this week’s set of commissions from the Adventurer’s Guild have become more ridiculous than the last – how the hell were you assigned to escort transport balloons five days in a row?! – and honestly? You want nothing more than to go to town with your buddies for a drink or two. 

Plus, wreaking havoc at Angel’s Share with Kaeya and Rosaria was practically routine now. Having to forego the sacred tradition in favor of covering for one of your colleagues at the Guild was more of a drag than you initially expected. 

After said colleague injured his leg on a field job, he practically begged for you to take this special commission from his hands. It’s from a big-shot client, he said. He’ll nuke the Adventurer’s Guild if we turn him down, he said. Overdramatized explanation aside, you took it without that much of a fuss. 

The commission sounds simple enough on paper – the main reason why you accepted in the first place. It said all you had to do was watch over the ring toss booth near the city gates, and you’ll get seventy percent of the revenue as compensation. You’ve heard enough hearsay about how much these booths actually earn during festivals, so you agreed to watch over it for a week, tops. Maybe you could squeeze a bit more cash to splurge at the bar once everything’s said and done.

On your third night on the job though, you finally start asking yourself if this was all worth it.

“Rough day?”

You startle to see Kaeya approaching as you begrudgingly close up your booth – shooting him a puzzled stare as the cavalry captain simply grins. Like he knows you’re having more than just a ‘rough day’. 

“Didn’t I tell you how I hate taking commissions that require me to deal with people?” you grumble before tossing a sheet of cloth over the ring toss pedestal, hiding it from view. 

Kaeya chuckles. “For someone who loves buying rounds for the entire tavern once the alcohol finally sets, you’re terrible at public relations. When it comes to your job, at least.”

“Drinking and having to run around doing everyone’s weird errands are two completely different things,” you argue.

“If it’s so terrible, why don’t you just quit?”

…Damn it.  

“Anyway,” you emphasize, eye twitching with annoyance. “Where are you headed? Usually, you’d be terrorizing the people at Angel’s Share by now. And by people, I meant Diluc.”

“You flatter me!” The captain laughs again. “Well, I figured I’d flutter off to Cat’s Tail since Master Diluc’s flock of admirers tonight is a bit…stifling.”

Once you’re done securing the booth to make sure no burglars try anything funny, you flash Kaeya an unconvinced look. “Oh? Finding a group of ladies stifling instead of smooth-talking them into admiring you instead?”

“Hehe, though that’s my usual modus operandi on any other evening, what kind of fiend steals the thunder from the birthday boy?” 

That makes you pause. 

“It’s Diluc’s birthday?” 

He nods. “While he may appear holier than thou – a god amongst men – Diluc actually has a birthday! Shocking, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you huff. “I’ve been drinking with you guys for years, but he’s never celebrated it. Not even once!”

“Well, that’s probably because he’s always out there saving the world even on his special day, no?” Kaeya shakes his head with a smile. “We’re lucky enough to have him in our midst this year, but I’m afraid his suitors know that very well, too. Just when I thought I could talk him into mixing me that limited edition Dead After Noon…”

You find it a bit funny, picturing the owner of Angel’s Share dealing with a bunch of customers-slash-admirers that just want to greet him a happy birthday. If you aren’t fond of human interaction on the job, Diluc is most definitely allergic to it. But with how exhausted you are, you can’t bring yourself to give an outward reaction.

“I take it you’re not in the mood to drink until dawn at the moment?” Kaeya follows up, brows raised. “I was actually patrolling the perimeter earlier today. Children can be quite…competitive when it comes to carnival games, if I do say so myself.” 

Oh. He must’ve seen those stubborn kids who wanted to keep playing despite having no mora left to fork over. Too bad for them – you haven’t been in the most stellar of moods today, much less a generous one.

“Katheryne told me that jobs like these require the patience of a saint,” you say. “Sister Rosaria would argue that I wouldn’t gain any of that even in my next life.”

“I second that,” Kaeya hums along. “Speaking of Sister Rosaria, I believe she’s waiting for me with a mugful of ale. If you change your mind, come over to Margaret's, will you?” 

You hesitate for a moment. Spending time with these odd vision-wielders took off the day's stress better than simply sleeping it off – you know that pretty well. But you're just so sick of these tedious commissions, that you kind of want to have some time for yourself. Gods, the things you'd do just to snag a job that requires you to venture off somewhere faraway instead of where you are now...

Giving Kaeya one last apologetic look, you say: 

“Maybe next time.”

Are you really a Mondstadter if you don’t like Ludi Harpastum?

The question has been plaguing your head since your first day on the job. It’s the same question you ask yourself as you pass by the taverns and restaurants still bustling with business even this late into the evening. As the jovial noise flits through your ears, instead of being filled with the festive spirit, all you feel is annoyed. 

Things weren’t always this way, though. You wonder if you’re just frustrated about being stuck in the city for longer than usual. You’re an adventurer, for archon’s sake. Sure, accepting boring commissions was part of the job, but anyone would lose their mind if they had to keep repeating the same routine. 

Instead of heading home like you originally planned, you decide to make a quick detour.

The docks just outside the north-east gates are always empty come nightfall. More so now, with the festival in full swing. Usually, you amble by the lakeshore to clear your mind when you don’t want to rely on alcohol to do the job for you. There’s just something so…calming about the sound of water running beneath your feet, and the evening breeze blowing past your face. If you couldn’t go on riveting adventures, at least you can imagine the wind taking you somewhere else, right?

“Hm? It’s you.”

That familiar voice is enough to snap you out of your temporary haze of relaxation – blinking at your present company with a scowl.

Up ahead, you spot Diluc seated at the edge of the dock, the sleeves of his dress shirt folded up to his elbows. His fiery hair shines even under the flimsy light of the street lamp, and it takes you a moment to process that he’s actually there – a pile of stones resting on top of the folded coat right next to him. 

Was he…skipping them across the water?

“Master Diluc,” you greet him with a lopsided smile – making sure your face doesn’t betray your curiosity too much. “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replies, taking one of the stones before making it skip four, five times across the lake’s surface. “I thought Kaeya and Rosaria would’ve dragged you off to drink elsewhere, yet here you are.”

You shrug. “They did, but I wasn’t really in the mood.” 

“I see.”

The silence settles over the both of you once more, and you dare to stride closer. With each step, the wooden platform groans beneath your weight. You train your eyes on Diluc as you take a seat next to him – half-wondering if he minds the intrusion. From the way the man quietly resumes his past time of skipping stones, though, you think you’re in the clear.

Your legs dangle over the edge along with his. You don’t really expect him to speak. Whether it’s about today being his birthday or the so-called admirers he’s garnered at the tavern, it’s all the same. Diluc Ragnvindr isn’t one for small talk. You didn’t have to be acquainted for years to know that.

“You’re running a booth this year, aren’t you?”

…Or not.

“I didn’t think the news would reach you,” you say, not bothering to mask your surprise. “I am – against my own will, but that’s besides the point.”

He breathes a sound that suspiciously sounds like a laugh. “Still can’t say no to jobs you don’t want to take. Didn’t Rosaria already talk you out of that habit of yours?” 

“Hey, I’m not some hero-in-disguise who has the freedom to choose who I’m gonna save for the day.” You scoff. If Diluc notices the direct jab at his alter-ego, he doesn’t show it. “Work is work, whether I like it or not. Gods, I wish they would assign me on an expedition soon, though…”

He stares at you passively, weighing a stone on his gloved hand.

“What about your booth then?” 

“It’s just some stupid ring toss booth.” you explain. “Maybe if you train enough out here, you can snag the grand prize in one go.”

Diluc simpers. “Bold of you to assume I’d actually spend my mora on a rigged game.”

“Excuse you.” You’re too late to stifle the gasp that you breathe in, a semi-offended grimace framing your lips despite the fact that you hated your job. “The wooden pegs are just painted for an added…optical illusion! It’s to increase the difficulty.”

“So you admit it’s rigged?”

You click your tongue. “It’s not my fault that customers think the pegs are closer because of the aesthetic! If they really want to win a lifetime supply of sunsettias, they shouldn’t let measly handicaps like that get in the way.”

Diluc tosses another stone into the lake – this one only skips twice before sinking to the bottom.

“A lifetime supply of sunsettias,” he repeats. “That’s your grand prize?”

“Hey, if you don’t like it, then don’t play.”

Again, silence – albeit more comfortable.

Sure, you didn’t get to drink and sing along to a bard’s tunes with Kaeya and Rosaria like usual, but Diluc makes for a good substitute. Even if he practically accused you of being a fraud. When you met him years prior, you never would’ve thought you’d be able to hold a casual conversation with Mondstadt’s wine tycoon like you are now. 

As you sneak a glance from the corner of your eye, you realize that Diluc looks more disheveled than usual. Dress shirt rumpled. Red tufts coming loose from his hair tie. You can’t miss his oddly unguarded demeanor as he sits next to you even if you try, which is a surprise in and of itself, since he’s so uptight even inside his own tavern.

“...A little bird told me you had a bunch of suitors hounding you back at Angel’s Share.”

Diluc pauses for a while before casting you a perplexed stare. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re no fun.” You pout. “I’m talking about all those birthday guests trying to woo you, who else? Don’t tell me you turned them all down without giving at least one of them a chance.”

He takes on an unreadable look – one that tells you he’s ruminating about how you found out about both his birthday and those pushy patrons. In the end, Diluc decides not to ask since the answer is as clear as day anyways.

“You shouldn’t believe everything Kaeya tells you,” he tells you gruffly. “All that ever comes out of his mouth is a melodramatic version of the truth.”

“So there’s still some truth to what he said then?”

He looks like he’s trying very hard not to say something unbecoming of a gentleman to your face. “I held no such event to commemorate anything. The daughters of some shifty business partners just wanted to secure their livelihood by currying my favor is all.”

“Harsh as always,” you sigh. “What if those ladies genuinely liked you? How could you dismiss a person’s feelings as nothing but a ploy instigated by their rich fathers?”

“I personally don’t understand why everyone is more concerned about the state of my love life than I am.” He shakes his head, and – oh. He does get context clues about romance after all. “I don’t concern myself with the…attention of my patrons, because first and foremost they’re my patrons. Second, I don’t have time for trivial things like that.”

Now, that’s just sad. The man sitting right next to you has a face worth a million mora, yet he chooses to live a maidenless life. 

“Look, I know you want to focus on protecting everyone from the shadows, but you should enjoy yourself from time to time, too,” you say, feeling a bit hypocritical given the fact that you were internally bitching about the festival before you ran into him. “It’s a miracle you’re even here, and not – I don’t know. Burning some Fatui bastards on a spit-roast or something?” 

“Who ever said I’m not enjoying myself?”

You scowl at him again, already pitying him at this point, but you know Diluc won’t have any of it anyway. “Diluc. Master Diluc. Famous wine tycoon. Most renowned bachelor in all of Mondstadt – are you seriously committing yourself to being celibate for the rest of your life in the name of justice?”

He laughs almost mockingly. “If I am?”

“Well,” you start, swallowing thickly. “You’re too cool for that.”

“...I’m too cool to be celibate?”

“Yeah! Maybe if you just tried talking to one of those admirers of yours, you’ll finally get some action,” you elaborate without a shred of shame. “Clearly, there are already those who are interested – all lined up outside Angel’s Share, I bet.” 

Diluc soaks up the silence once more before letting out a real laugh – one that catches you off guard, but is a welcome surprise no less.

“You and your insinuations,” he quips, sounding more amused than vexed. “Now who’s the one who told you I’m not getting any action?”

That makes you whistle. “Oh? He who doesn’t love anything else but Mondstadt is actually getting some? Now that’s something Kaeya, Rosaria, and I are going to have a field day talking about.”

“And why is that?”

Taking a stone from his little pile, skipping it across the water like he did minutes earlier. You even burn through his whole collection until you have nothing more to throw. Diluc’s eyes don’t stray too far as he waits for your response – making you flash him a patronizing smile. 

Others would’ve probably talked smack about you teasing someone as famous and powerful as Diluc, but he’s always let you off the hook every time. That’s enough grounds to assume you’re at least a bit special, isn’t it?

“I just can’t picture you holding someone else’s hand, much more taking someone to bed,” you admit, but there’s no animosity in your voice. The words weren’t meant to tease, they’re just what you’ve generally observed about him. And you know goddamn well that a hundred other people would agree with you, too.

You wonder if Diluc is going to take that as the last straw and finally give you a piece of his mind. Sure, he’s comfortable to let you talk so boldly, but at the end of the day you’re just a regular customer at best. Maybe you shouldn’t try to emulate the way Kaeya treats him too much, just because you’re all buddy-buddy.

“Would you like to test it out then?”

The silence of the evening rings in your ears once again – the water flowing, the breeze sighing. But no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that you must’ve heard wrong, you don’t have enough alcohol in your system to make a convincing argument.

“What?” you ask dryly instead, subtly giving Diluc some leeway to change the topic.

“Hold my hand,” he tells you, and it sounds more imperative than anything else. “Don’t you want to see for yourself if I’m actually incapable of human contact?”

“Now it just sounds like you’re messing with me,” you grumble.

His mouth twitches into an amused smile for half a second before that resting bitch face settles back into place. “Are you going to do it or not?”

Now, you’ve held a great number of hands in your lifetime. Your parents’, your friends’, Master Cyrus from the Guild’s during your first promotion, and even Kaeya’s whenever the occasion calls for a drunken dance at the bar. Needless to say, you’re well-versed in the art of hand-holding.

But right now, with your fingers intertwined with Diluc’s, you feel as if someone pushed you inside Good Hunter’s outdoor stove with how hot your face feels. 

Out of all the reactions you could’ve gotten, biting the bullet is the last thing you imagined Diluc would do. He’s usually the type who just lets every bit of slander thrown at him slide – always choosing to be the bigger person without really meaning to. The man just doesn’t give a damn about what other people have to say. 

So why the hell is he holding your hand just to prove a point?

It doesn’t help that his fingers – though protected by the coarse material of his gloves – are unexpectedly warm. You have no idea why you didn’t anticipate that from a pyro user, but –

“See?” Diluc says coolly, red eyes staring out into the lake. “I can hold someone else’s hand.” 

“That wasn’t the point I was trying to make.”

He turns to you with a miffed look. “What, do you want to test if I know how to hug, too?” 

You could’ve used that chance to make the situation slip back into familiar territory. Diluc wasn’t much of a talker, so most of the conversations you had with him in the past consisted of you ranting about anything under the sun while he quietly listened to your plight. All you had to do was downplay…whatever this was and go back to talking nonsense like usual. 

And yet… 

“Fine.”

This time, you’re the one who initiates the contact – shifting your weight across the dock before pulling him into a wordless embrace. You feel Diluc stiffen, obviously unused to this degree of affection. But his strong arms eventually coil around your shoulders, and you feel your heart pick up the pace.

Two unsuspecting adults hugging by the shore of Cider Lake. Nothing is weird about this at all.

You half-expected him to pull away once he’s proved that he was most definitely not the emotionless excuse of a man everyone thinks he is. But you remain locked in Diluc’s embrace for more than two minutes, and you’re starting to become more and more aware of a lot of things. 

First is his hair. It feels somewhat…fluffy from where the skin of your arms comes into contact with it. Then comes the scent of his clothes. You catch the faintest scent of booze on the fabric, and it’s probably from all the hours he’s spent behind the bar. 

Last is…how firmly he’s holding on to you.

You would’ve boasted about how you got to hug Kaeya’s brother when the captain can’t even get in close proximity without getting an earful from Diluc. Affection has never been the staple between the two of them, it seems. All this time, you thought it was because Diluc is the kind of man who can’t freely give that out to just anyone. But when he heaves a deep, deep sigh and buries his face in the crook of your neck, you wonder how he managed to conceal this side of him for so long.

Is he actually harboring some problems deep down? He’s so mysterious and reserved that hardly anyone can tell if Diluc’s in a good mood or not. Still, despite not being entirely sure, you pat his back in soothing motions – hoping to give him some respite.

He probably needs this hug more than he let on.

It feels like lifetimes later, but the two of you manage to pull away eventually. When you do, though, Diluc is still too close for comfort. Close enough that you can clearly make out the curve of his lips – slightly parted as he sucks in a deep breath. 

You’ve always been aware of how handsome this man actually is, despite the fact that he shoots down every single person who tries to hit him up. But getting up close and personal like this gives you an even deeper understanding of why people are vying for Diluc’s attention in the first place.

“Do you want to test out one more thing?” you whisper, not quite sure where your courage is even coming from.

The moment the words leave your lips, you worry that the message won’t translate well. Would he even get what you’re trying to insinuate? If he does, would Diluc even agree to it? You’re a pretty laid-back person, but you don’t think your pride can take it if he flat out rejects you right then and there.

Though it seems like the gods are on your side when Diluc leans forward without uttering a single word – capturing your lips in a chaste kiss.

Your mind is blank for the entirety of it, given that it’s a bit difficult to process the fact that you’re kissing one of the most untouchable men in the city. There’s nothing special about the way Diluc kisses you right now. He just meshes your mouths together firmly together – no teeth, no tongue. But the feel of Diluc pressing you against him alone is enough to drive your body into a fever pitch.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, shoulders heaving with bated breath.

“How was that?” he asks breathlessly.

At that point you don’t even think anymore. You lace your arms behind his head before diving in for another kiss – prying his lips apart with your tongue before threading your fingers through his hair. An animalistic noise rumbles low in his chest, making a full shiver skid across the length of your spine. Diluc holds your face with one hand, while his free arm coils around your waist in a near-possessive fashion. Once a shuddering moan slips past your lips, his grip tightens even more. 

You only disengage when you feel like your lungs are about to burst – so lightheaded that you’re momentarily entranced by the red of his eyes. A trail of saliva even connects your lips, and Diluc stares at you with such a heated look that  you hide your face in embarrassment.

That is not how people with no game kiss at all!

“Sorry,” he rasps, yet he sounds anything but apologetic. “I got carried away –”

“You think?” you laugh, palms gripping his shoulders as you muster the courage to look him in the eye again. “Remind me to never cross you like that again?”

To your surprise, Diluc doesn’t miss a beat. “Very well. Only if you let me do one more thing.”

“...What’s that?”

You barely stifle the yelp that escapes you as Diluc maneuvers you onto his lap – a continuous mantra of what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck ringing inside your head. He stares at you with a semi-amused look, and even if the kisses you shared made you all hot and bothered, you still have the decency to feel embarrassed.

“If you drop me, I’m not going to talk to you for a month,” you hiss.

Diluc breathes in a soft laugh, and you tense up as you feel him massaging the curve of your thighs through your skirt. You know you should probably stand up and just walk the hell away, but when he nuzzles your neck with his nose, you’re too weak to refuse him.

How did things end up like this? One moment, you were teasing him like usual, and now Diluc is having his way with you. His mouth slots so perfectly against yours – swallowing each sound that climbs up your throat before groping your ass. Even through his gloves, you can feel the heat of his fingers, making you unintentionally roll your hips as Diluc devours your lips.

You’re fully aware that, even if everyone else is celebrating Ludi Harpastum to its fullest, you can’t let him whisk your consciousness away. Some poor Favonius guard might spot you sprawled across the lap of none other than Diluc Ragnvindr himself, and both your reputations could be done for. But still, you find solace in the fact that some of the crates stacked nearby are enough to conceal this unlikely tryst from prying eyes.

Kaeya wouldn’t believe it if you told him. Rosaria would bet that you simply had a fever dream. But when Diluc trails his mouth across the cut of your jaw – teeth grazing your skin until he finds your skittering pulse – you surrender yourself to the reality that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

He hasn’t even done anything yet, yet you’re already aching. Diluc leaves bright red marks along the column of your throat, and despite your constant heed for appearances, you let him do as he pleases. 

Something hot and hard prods your middle as you shift your weight. He takes a sharp breath, blood red eyes shining with lust and impatience alike. When you realize that you just got the most coveted man in Mondstadt to pop a boner, you can’t help the hint of smugness that paints your features.

However, your triumph is fleeting. Because even if both of you have long descended into a haze of debauchery, you’re still high-strung. The moment you hear a loud crash somewhere nearby, you violently jerk away from Diluc – failing to realize that there’s nothing behind you but a body of water. 

Despite himself, Diluc is taken by surprise by your knee-jerk reaction, too, and he can only watch in befuddlement as gravity hooks you in with a backward force. 

You’ve always wondered what swimming in Cider Lake feels like. A lot of kids dived into the nearer shores during summer, but the temperature tonight is absolutely not fit for a late night dip. Once you break through the surface, you gasp out loud – completely soaked as the wind mocks you with a soft but chilly breeze.

This is fine. You know how to swim. You’re just going to ignore a certain redheaded liquor tycoon for not being quick enough to catch you, but it’s all good.

Diluc doesn’t exactly feel the same way, though.

Faster than you can voice out your complaints, he kicks off his boots and dives into the lake – splashing water all over your already damp face.

Is this how the people he saves feel about his unsolicited help? Archons, the Dark Knight Hero can be so goddamn unaware –

“Are you alright?”

Diluc wraps his arms around your shoulders swimming closer to the shore until you find your footing again. Amidst his breathlessness, you find traces of concern in his voice. When you dare to look at him again, Diluc’s brows are creased together as he fusses over you, and you can hardly believe the two of you were just making out in the open two minutes ago.

He frowns when you let out the ugliest laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“I just feel like this is the culmination of my shitty week,” you admit with a sheepish smile, wringing out your hair as the heat he’d aroused from your body dissipates with the cold air. “But hey, at least I got to know you in...ways better than anyone else. How about we head back before one of the guards spots us, yeah?”

You thought Diluc was going to be reasonable and agree. It’s not like the two of you can just bring back the atmosphere you unintentionally shattered. Best case scenario, you’ll both walk away like nothing happened, and take this secret to the grave. 

But when you realize that his eyes are transfixed on your chest – blouse suddenly see-through from the splash – your face heats up several degrees higher. 

Gods, who needs dignity anyway?

Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist when you grab him by the collar of his equally wet dress shirt, meeting him in another sloppy kiss. It’s like nothing ever occurred to interrupt the both of you. Diluc snakes a strong arm around your frame, pressing you against his rigid body. When his gloved hand finds its way to your cheek, you nearly whimper. 

You’d be an idiot to let a chance like this slip away, right?

“On second thought…” you whisper against his lips – trembling with anticipation under his ravenous gaze.

“You’ve got a spare room back at Angel’s Share, don’t you?”

Slipping past the knights stationed at the north-east gate is a bit difficult when you and Diluc are soaked from head to toe. Even if his coat is draped across your shoulders, it’s not enough to hide the fact that you both definitely took a swim one way or another. It’s a good thing that younger ones who know about Diluc’s history with the Knights are smart enough to pretend they didn’t see as the two of you make your way back to the tavern. 

You have to admit, though, Diluc is very…impatient.

The man can’t last ten seconds without trying to feel you up – groping your tits, leaving small hickeys on your neck, and even sneaking a kiss or two. You would’ve laughed at how desperate he’s being with you right now, if only you weren’t as horny and pent-up as he is.

“Down, boy,” you breathe. “We’re almost there.”

Angel’s Share is already closed by the time you finally arrive, which must be at the birthday boy’s behest. Speaking of which, Diluc rummages around the pockets of his coat – the one you’re still wearing – cussing under his breath when he doesn’t immediately find the keys to the back. But when he manages to grant both of you entry, Diluc pulls you inside, shuts the door and slams you against the solid surface.

It shouldn’t feel so fucking good, how rough he’s being with you. Diluc tosses his coat to the side, practically ripping off the buttons of your blouse as he reclaims your lips. With the newfound privacy, you allow yourself to be a bit bolder – inching your thighs apart to accommodate the man in front of you. 

“For someone so celibate, you’re pretty pent-up, aren’t you?” 

He hums at your words, making you throw your head back with a moan as he massages your breasts. When Diluc laughs, you feel your chest flutter at the sound of it.

“You have no idea.”

The trip to the second floor takes longer than you’d otherwise like. Things would’ve progressed more swiftly if Diluc didn’t keep pressing you against every piece of furniture in the bar – leaving you with less and less clothing as you drew closer to the spare room. By the time you’re standing in front of it, you’re left with nothing but a flimsy bra and your soaked panties – something that Diluc obviously enjoys seeing. 

In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s tried to ravage other women like this in the past. Did he strew their clothes around his own tavern, too? Did he exhibit the same, raw desire that he has for you now? 

You decide that it doesn’t matter in the end. After all, today is Diluc’s birthday. 

What kind of friend would you be if you didn’t give him a present he won’t forget?

When the bedroom door clicks shut, you’re quick to sink to your knees – taking Diluc by surprise as you fumble around with his belt. The erection straining against his wet trousers makes your mouth water, and despite his protests, you haul out his cock without a word. The length is impressive enough to have you squirming, and just imagining how his thick girth will spread you open makes you even more impatient.

But before that, you’d like to do a little something for him first.

“What are you – nghh!” 

Diluc tilts his head back when you take him into your mouth, lathering his length with saliva as you stare up at him the whole time. His face is flushed as he struggles to peel off his gloves, attempting to pull you off his cock, though the effort is weak.

Oh, what a sight to see: Diluc Ragnvindr’s stoic façade, torn asunder by a blowjob.

Though that’s as far as your teasing goes.

The moment you pry your lips off him for a breather, Diluc leans down to hoist you into his arms – an unnecessary display of strength, but one that sends a rush of heat straight to your cunt. He’s pissed. You can tell from the stiff set of his jaw, and how little heed he has for your comfort as he tosses you onto the bed.

You shoot him a scowl as he strips the rest of his clothing. “Hey, I wasn’t –”

“You’re starting to become more and more cocky, aren’t you?” Diluc shakes his head, freeing his damp hair from that flimsy tie as the red tresses fall across his shoulders. “I let you do as you please for a while, and suddenly you think you’re the one who’s calling the shots? Hmph.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this before – like some master chastising a disobedient pet. It doesn’t help that you’re given a generous view of his toned chest, marred with scars you’ll probably never know the stories behind. You want nothing more than to reach out and kiss every single one, but when you try to move, Diluc quickly pins your wrists against the bed – restricting your movement in more ways than one.

You’re stunned into silence as Diluc continues lecturing you. The words, however, are lost in the haze of your own arousal – nerves set alight as he trails his lips down your thigh. He teases you with these fleeting sensations until he’s up close and personal with your clothed cunt, red eyes boring deeply into yours.

“You need to stop provoking me if you don’t want to get burned.”

He allows you a moment of reprieve when he drags the fabric of your underwear off your legs – tossing it somewhere behind him as he marvels at the sight of your bare pussy. You’re wet and waiting for him, just like he wanted.

Diluc doesn’t waste any time, doing a few experimental licks across your slit as he quietly observes you. It fills him with a sick sense of pride when you have adorably sharp reactions each time his tongue makes a pass over your clit – fingers threading through his hair as you bite down a moan. 

He laps up your essence like a man starved before easing a finger into the tight ring of your cunt, and you sandwich his head between your thighs as he loosens you up. It’s hard to think about anything else apart from the skillful licks of Diluc’s tongue. When he teases your weeping entrance with the tip of his appendage, you let out an embarrassingly lewd sound.

You hear him chuckle. “See? Isn’t this better?”

When he manages to slide two fingers inside you, he curls the digits just so, making you keen his name as your toes curl with pleasure. Diluc is relentless; not giving you any space to breathe as he eats you out. He’s loosening you up real good, and you can only imagine what’s yet to come when he frays your overstimulated nerves.

That coil in your gut is wound up so tight, you fear like you’ll explode. As your heavy pants fill the room, you give your lover a few telltale signs that you’re close. The grip you have on his hair is more fervent, and you even roll your hips to meet his tongue. You feel like such a vixen, defiling Diluc’s face like this, but from the way he vigorously responds to your desperation, you’re fairly certain he just wants to get you off as much as you do.

Diluc teases the beginnings of your g-spot with each curl of his fingers, and every time he does, your eyes roll to the back of your head. How the fuck did he learn to eat pussy like that?!

But when you’re finally tethered across the edge of climax, he stops.

“Why…?” you half-sob, bemoaning the loss of his heat as Diluc untangles himself from your thighs. He smirks, lips still slick with your juices.

“Open,” he orders before leaning forward, prodding your lips with the fingers he’d buried inside your pussy not five seconds earlier. To his delight, you’re all-too willing to comply, tasting yourself on his skin as you lather your tongue around his thick digits. Diluc meets your wanton reaction with an amused sigh. He’s gotten quite lucky tonight.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and you feel your cunt throb at the praise.

He sinks into the mattress with you when he takes those fingers out of your mouth – replacing them with his lips as he meets you in another fervent kiss. A strong hand rests on the curve of your waist, possessively tugging you close to leave no inch of space between you. Despite the tangy aftertaste on his lips, you welcome him all the same.

When he slides his hard length between your thighs, you don’t even flinch – letting Diluc tease your folds with the head of his cock. With that little edging stint he pulled, you’re very much aching and desperate to have your pussy stuffed to the brim.

“Diluc,” you mewl, sighing against his lips. “Want you…inside.”

He growls, reaching behind you to finally unclasp your bra – the last piece of clothing you had. Diluc practically nuzzles his face into your breasts as he angles his hips, biting down hard once his cock breaches your entrance. A broken moan slips past your lips as you take every inch of him, and you nearly sob once he finally bottoms out.

His forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath, and you nearly lose it from the feel of his dick pulsating inside you. Everything feels so hot, it’s like you’ll melt from his touch alone.

“Not so celibate now, are we?” he says, and you would’ve laughed, if he wasn’t stretching your pussy so goddamn good. 

Diluc snaps his hips sharply, catching you off-guard before setting a steadier pace. His dick rubs against the velvet walls of your cunt as he leaves even more marks along the curve of your tits. He even presses one of your legs against your chest to introduce a better angle, and tears quite literally dot your lashes when the head of his cock brushes your cervix. 

He’s so big inside you, prying your pussy open with each drag of his length. Even if you want nothing more than to wrap your legs around his waist to bring him closer, Diluc is adamant about keeping you in place – both thighs pressed against your breasts as he pounds you into the mattress.

You’ve never had sex that felt as mind-shattering as Diluc’s. You didn’t even know it was possible to be this wet for someone. The lewd squelch of flesh ringing in your ears is a testament to that. Archons, if you knew Diluc could dick you down this good, you would’ve jumped him ages ago.

“Turn around. Hands and knees.”

It’s so pathetic, how you blindly follow him as if you’ve traded in your autonomy to be his cocksleeve. You whimper when you feel Diluc take out his dick, but silently comply with his orders – getting down on all fours on the bed as you stare at him in anticipation.

He breathes out a long-winded sigh, large, warm hands smoothing across the swell of your ass before hiking up your waist, making you shiver with delight. 

“Who would’ve known this body can take my dick so well?” Diluc chuckles, and you feel the head of his cock gliding along your slit once more. Obviously, the question is rhetorical, because before you can even slip in some underhanded remark, he’s already slipping himself back into your aching pussy – hitting you in places that have you struggling to prop yourself up.

“D-Diluc, I –” Your words are cut off by a moan as he forces you back down on the mattress – chest pressed against the bed as he continues to mount your ass. 

“So good for me,” he praises, fingers wound around the nape of your neck. “You’ve got such a lewd cunt. Did you always want me to claim you like this?” 

Of all the discoveries you’ve made tonight, the fact that Diluc is actually capable of talking so filthily might’ve made it on the top of your list. He whispered the words in your ear in such a tantalizing manner, you unintentionally clamp around his length – making him groan as each pass he makes in your cunt suddenly became tighter. 

“Yes,” you gasp when he makes a particularly deep thrust. “Yes, yes, please. Diluc, I-I want it.”

Diluc leans closer, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth as he relentlessly moves his hips in time with yours. “What an honest girl. You deserve a little reward, don’t you think?”

Faster than you can blink, Diluc flips you onto your back once again – not giving you any time to breathe as he fills you up again. He wastes no time easing you into a mating press, and you can barely utter out the syllables of his name as he drives his length into you over, and over again. The heat in the pit of your stomach threatens to boil over, along with the goosebumps that erupt across your flesh. Closer, closer – you can almost taste it.

You end up coming with starbursts exploding behind your eyelids, and Diluc muffles the high-pitched keen of his name with a kiss. He rides out your orgasm – despite your spasming walls doing little in helping him keep it together. But when his own climax finally crests, he pulls out just in time, painting your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs with his white-hot release.

He marvels at the sight of you – blissed out with his cum staining your tits. Will the gods ever forgive him if this’ll be the same picture he thinks of during the lonelier nights he has out there?

Unless…

It takes you a while to anchor yourself back to reality and regain the feeling in your legs. You could’ve sworn you’d passed out for a moment, but the feeling of something soft being dabbed across your skin rouses your consciousness even just a bit.

That’s when you realize Diluc is wiping his own emission off your body.

“Can’t have you sleeping all gross like that,” he grumbles as he disposes of the cotton towel he got from gods-know-where in a basket sitting in the corner. “Unless you want me to prepare a bath for you?”

You smile at him sleepily, grabbing his face to give him a long, sweet kiss.

“Happy birthday,” you giggle. “I wouldn’t mind doing this again at all.”

Diluc tenses for a fraction of a second, but it completely goes over your head – still buzzed from the intensity of the orgasm he just gave you. As you tug him under the sheets, he figures that you might be too tired for a bath, and admittedly, he’s a bit drained too.

You get the feeling that Diluc is skirting around a question he wants to ask – red eyes darting with uncharacteristic uncertainty before shying away when you try to meet his gaze. You’re no body language expert, but you know a curious man when you see it.

“Got anything else to say to me?” you ask.

He swallows thickly, a slight redness dusting the high of his cheekbones. Yet another first for you – seeing Diluc Ragnvindr blush like a preteen.

“You were talking about wanting to go on expeditions instead of tending to boring commissions, weren’t you?” he starts, wrapping a muscular arm around your waist. You nod. “How about you come with me? I’m headed to Sumeru in a few days because there’s someone I need to track down.”

Now that definitely wakes you up. 

Seeing Diluc become a beast in the bedroom is one thing, but hearing him invite you to travel with him is another story. Sex and companionship are two very different things. You can have sex without completely trusting the person you’re with, but…constant companionship for his travels? He could’ve proposed to you and it would’ve meant the same thing!

That, or you just have such a skewed view of romance that you might be reading his offer wrong. 

“I-I’ll think about it,” you tell him instead – not wanting to make the situation awkward because of your own assumptions. “If I’m going with you, then I might have to file a pretty long vacation leave.”

He simpers. “Who said it’s for vacation? I’m commissioning you for your expertise as an adventurer, you know? Don’t sell yourself short.”

Well, now you’re not very sure if you should feel flattered or offended.

“Hey, wise guy, I can so go on adventures without the incentive of a reward.” You scowl. “You think I’m only in the Adventurer’s Guild for the money?” 

Diluc nods. “A week ago, you drunkenly proclaimed to the whole bar how much you loved the Guild because of the good pay. Even if your jobs are such a chore, you’ll let them exploit you as they please.”

…Note to self: stop spouting off nonsense when Diluc is there to remember every word.

“So you’re going to exploit me next?” you deflect with your pride all chinked up. It’s just so hard to get the last word with this guy!

“Well –”

Your quarreling is interrupted by the sound of the bedroom door groaning on its hinges. To your horror, the intruder comes in the form of two people. One is Kaeya, who’s drunk out of his wits as he shifts his weight onto his poor companion. Said companion just happens to be Rosaria, who gapes at the sight of you and Diluc both conspicuously naked under the sheets.

Oh, fuck.

Rosaria soundlessly moves her lips for a moment, like she can’t quite find the words until Kaeya mumbles something under his breath and leans against the doorframe. 

“Hey, how about you go sleep at my place tonight, big guy?” She pats his shoulder, keen eyes shying away from the spectacle in front of her. “Master Diluc might just castrate you if he finds out you’re crashing in his spare room again.”

Kaeya gives her a sleepy smile. “Oh? Trying to make a move on me, are you?”

“You know I’m allergic to penises, asshole. Come on.”

When she successfully hauls the oblivious cavalry captain out of the room, Rosaria flashes you a knowing smirk – mouthing the words: you owe me one before shutting the door behind her.

Then, the silence.

You don’t know if it’s proper to laugh, when two of your closest friends quite literally walked in on you in the midst of your pillow-talk (pillow-argument?) with Diluc. Even if only one of them was remotely aware of what was going on, that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

Diluc sighs, carding his fingers through his hair before padding over to the door to put the lock in place. When he returns to your side, he pulls you in a tight embrace that you can’t help but return.

“If you come with me, I promise…” he begins – and the husky undertone his voice takes on makes you shiver, “that the next time I get you mounted on my cock, it’s somewhere we won’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

When he peppers your neck with a trail of fiery kisses, you realize that Diluc Ragnvindr is playing with such unfair stakes. How the hell can you say no to that?

When the vigor in the both of you finally wanes, you doze off next to him in the afterglow. It feels comfortable, resting in the middle of Diluc’s strong embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest is enough to lull you into slumber, and you find it somewhat amusing to know that this all started because of a harmless conversation at the docks.

Ludi Harpastum really is your favorite time of the year, after all.

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

For a moment, the world seems to tilt again. Though this time it has nothing to do with losing your balance.

His face shifts into one of disbelief first, it’s raw and momentary, before it disappears and an uncertain smile forms on his lips,

“Hi?” Is the only thing that leaves his mouth, soft and tentative. Despite his smile, he sounds in much disbelief himself. 

A sharp sting of pain on your temple is the first thing that greets you, sudden and rooted. Then it slowly moves to the back of your eyes, making you blink a few times. 

He looks a lot older than you remember. His voice is deeper now, his shoulders broader, his jaw sharper. He definitely didn't tower over you either. If you’d only gotten a glance while passing by, you think, you might’ve not even recognized him. Maybe six years just does that to people—stretches them into versions you don’t recognize at first glance. 

“How are you even-” you swallow the heat bubbling in your mouth, “What are you doing here?” 

The hostility in your voice doesn’t escape him and yet he tries—poorly—to ease the tension. “Well,” he blinks, “that doesn’t sound like a warm welcome.” 

“You’re back?” you ask, memories already sneaking their way into your bones. Biting and clawing at every corner.

The sound of children's laughter echoes in your ears first, sweet and ripe, bubbling in the air like something untouched by worry. Like they haven’t seen a day of unease. You would laugh at the absurdity of it.

Then you get hit with a strong, sugary smell. Something fresh out of the oven, waiting for those tiny, careful steps sneaking into the kitchen in the dead of night. A kid dragging a chair across the floor with all his might, making a sour face at the loud scratch. Another scrambling up after it as she tries to steady herself. You can’t quite recall the flavour, only the small, charming victory of finally stealing a bite of that glazed pie.

But it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Yes, it’s only been, what, a week now?” he tilts his head in confusion, his voice bright and clear, “But I think I’m already getting used to things here–”

“You can’t.”

“What?” his face drops, and you hear the genuine hurt coming from him, but you continue, “You can’t just come back, and–and–” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. 

You are shaking now. You want to believe it is from the low temperatures, or out of fear for failing your class—since the papers are beyond salvaging. But the truth lingers clear in the air. The snow, it seems, isn’t capable of covering that. 

“I know how this seems, but give me a chance to–” he trails off for a short second, raises a hand, maybe to you, maybe to hold onto anything else. But it doesn’t quite reach anywhere. Then he takes in a sharp breath, and continues, “To explain, at the very least.”

To explain. To explain? 

The absurdity of it is enough in itself to make you laugh.

You believe you are slow to anger. Patient and measured. However, Phainon, it seems, is very capable of pushing you to the limit. He’s been back in your life for all of fifteen minutes—after six years of silence, not so much as a phone call, and somehow he’s already worn through the last of your patience.

You bend down to gather your mush of an assignment, a tsk slipping past your teeth involuntarily. The smudged ink slides downwards in thin rivers as you lift up the sheets, the now soft and fragile corners of the paper dissolving against your fingers.

“Did you think at all before coming here, Phainon?” The name doesn’t slip out as easily this time, now that you’ve come to your senses. Instead, it is accompanied with a shaky breath. You internally wince at the foreignness of it.

“Trust me-”

“Trust you.”

“I have thought about it. I have thought about everything.” He's speaking quickly now. You’re not sure if it’s because his pulse is hammering just as strongly as yours, or because he is scared you’ll cut him off again. 

“If we could just sit down and talk—that's all I’m asking for.”

A long beat of silence passes after that. You stare into his eyes for a good ten seconds. He stares back with raw hope and the kind of intensity that only a certain shade of blue can carry. The steady rhythm of water dripping from your hands pulls a weary sigh out of you, “I’m going to fail this class, you know.”

He blinks at that. Guilt settling in his features, sharp and immediate.

“You’re not,” he says quickly. His gaze drops to the ruined papers in your hands, jaw tightening as water continues to drip between your fingers.

Another beat. Then, more carefully—

“I don’t… actually have a submission myself, yet.” He lets out a breath, almost sheepish. “I transferred in late. I was supposed to ask someone about partnering up.”

He can’t be serious.

“You can’t be serious–”

“So. Be my partner.”

“Oh my god.”