#z.writes

Lee Know:

Changbin:

Hyunjin:

An earthy aroma wafts throughout the room, a quiet sipping breaking the silence. The mug makes a light clink against the table's surface, and he gives the young man sitting opposite a level stare.

How they sat reflected the other's personality more than their own. He himself was known to be uptight, yet he leaned back against the cushions. On the other hand, the usually upbeat one sat upright with his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

Neither had spoken above a whisper since they arranged their seating. While he preferred it this way, his counterpart would surely be of a different opinion. His younger self was always eager for a new adventure, that he recalls. 

Besides, they were here for a reason. If that man won't initiate, then he'll simply do it instead.

"Will we be spending the rest of our time like this?" he speaks up. "We have something urgent to address, no?"

Charlie jumps. There's an impatience underlying Charles' calm that he picks up on. He knows better than to test it.

"Ah, right… sorry about that." Charlie says, rubbing the back of his neck. He clears his throat.

"So. Valentine's Day is tomorrow. What should we give Nonny?"

'Hm?'

Once again, the room goes quiet. Charles' eyes suddenly snap to the calendar on the farthest wall. He reads the small, blurry lettering. February 13.

'It's that close? Was it not the 10th today…?' he thinks to himself. No wonder his other self was so worried—they only had today to do something.

When he directs his stare back ahead of him, he notices the rather strained smile the other man has. 

'Was he relying on me to be prepared?' Letting out a huff, his ruby eyes narrow at him. Neither of them had a clue what to do, that much was glaringly obvious now.

"I know she wouldn't mind chocolates, but it feels too plain!" Charlie groans, putting his head in his hands. "What are we gonna do? I don't wanna disappoint her…"

Charles was stumped. The question "Why are you overcomplicating this?" doesn't leave his lips. He knew he felt the same way as his counterpart. It wouldn't do to give her something so common, no, it wasn't befitting of her. They didn't have any particular talent in baking either—hell, the most they knew was how to bake bread or perhaps mini cupcakes—so there weren't many options open to them. 

He tugs at his mind for an answer, desperate to find anything, when a vague memory appears at the forefront. A long hallway of stairs leading upwards, armoured boots thumping against every other step. He can barely make out the voice that echoes throughout the spacious area. Were they talking to him?

"Are you ____? __ ___ want _ _____ roll cake?"

Not a second longer can he dwell on the memory before it fades away. He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the rising frustration. 

'What was that? Did that happen on SE.RA.PH?' 

The more Charles concentrates, the clearer that voice becomes. It sounded feminine and extremely familiar, as if he's well-acquainted with them. Could it have been Hakunon? 

An idea hits him. Even he's grasping at straws, this was better than nothing.

"How about… making a cake roll for her?" he suggests, his voice lacking its confidence. "We could ask one of the chefs for help."

Charlie puts a hand to his chin and silently thinks it over. Then, his face lights up.

"That's it!" he grins. "We only have a few hours left, so let's get started on it now!"

Valentine's Day finally arrives. Both versions of Charlemagne spent the day before in Chaldea's kitchens, redoing any failed attempt at baking a roll cake with Martha's help. They could only hope their former Master would be satisfied with how their last two turned out. 

Spotting her entering the cafeteria, Charlie cheerfully calls out her name.

"Nonny! Over here!"

She perks up and makes her way to where he and Charles are standing, evading the people excitedly rushing to the Fujimaru siblings. Once she reaches them, they each hold out a mesh bag in their colours to her; a light blue with silver highlights for Charlie, and a maroon with golden highlights for Charles.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Haku." Charles says. "We didn't know what flavour you liked the most, but hopefully you enjoy it all the same."

Inside the bags, she could see the slices of roll cake were different. What Charlie had was presumably chocolate, while Charles' had vanilla. With surprise decorating her features, she takes the bags into one of her hands.

"Thank you. I actually had something for you two, but you beat me to the punch." she smiles, her free hand reaching into her jacket. She pulls out a small tin box wrapped with a tidy brown bow.

The two men glance at each other before Charles accepts it and opens the lid. Their eyes widen at the sight of biscuits, shaped like Joyeuse with two variations in frosting designs for their respective swords, filling the tin to the brim.

"Wha—there's so much! How long did this take you?!" Charlie exclaims.

Her response is a simple finger to her lips, her grin growing smug.

"It's a secret."

And so the day goes off without a hitch. There wasn't anything they had to worry about; she would have accepted any gift from them. But from how she seemed to savour every crumb, it's clear she treasured this specific gift.

Something’s different and yet everything’s the same. You smile softly at him, an old shirt of his drapes prettily along your dewy skin. Your hair is pulled back and a book rests in the crook of your legs. He’s not sure what it is; the scent of your shampoo wafting through his nose, the smile you give him when he steps closer, the stars, the moon, the rain that has his senses overflowing with nothing but you, you, you. 

“Hi, handsome,” you greet, “I already ate, your leftovers are in the oven for you.”

Chan hums noncommittally, takes note of the surprise on your face when he breaks routine. He’s careful to mark your spot in the book, pulls your legs apart so he can nestle between them. The warmth of you is so strong it nearly overwhelms him; welcomes it instead by nestling his face into your soft stomach, nearly mewling when your fingers card through his hair. 

“Bad day?” You ask softly, love silently. 

He shrugs his shoulders in response. Not a terrible day, not a good day. Just— A Day. He doesn’t speak, but you know him well enough to read between the lines. What little he gives you yet so much you take. Pull the words from the quirk of brows and the way his lashes flutter. 

“Missed you.” He mutters into the fabric of his stolen shirt, he shuffles about before pulling it up so he can rest against your bare skin. 

“Missed you more, handsome,” you keen, “any particular reason you’re extra cuddly today? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Sounds like complaining to me,” he teases. 

You scoff at him, pinch at his side and you feel his grin grow from the way he’s pressed against you. 

His cock twitches when you hum a familiar tune, and the domesticity of it all makes him queasy. Arousal flows so violently through his veins he nearly grinds himself into the couch.

Chan almost feels bad for ruining the soft moment between the two of you, but when his lips ghost over the hem of your panties and he feels the way your breath hitches,  he can’t find it in himself to care. 

“Oh I see,” he’s certain a smirk is plastered on his face as you speak, “you missed me.” 

Tease as you may, Chan knows you want him just as bad. He can tell from the way your hips twitch ever so slightly in an attempt to bring him closer. His tongue laves at your hip before his teeth sink softly into your side. You grab at his head despite the fabric that separates the two of you, attempting to grab at his hair between the layers. 

“I’m gonna make you cum.”

It’s more a statement than a question; but with the way Chan knows you, reads your tells, he doesn’t need to ask. He can’t see you, but he feels the way your body shakes as you nod frantically, maneuvering yourself into a more comfortable position for the two of you. 

He doesn’t bother pulling your underwear down yet, he knows you like it better this way. When his tongue runs across the slick fabric; the rough drag of cotton against your clit when he presses as close to your heat as he can. 

You cry out his name at the first drag of his tongue, legs falling open easily so he can pull you closer. Your legs curl over his shoulders, heels digging into the muscles of his back while he has his way with you. 

Chan groans into you when your taste finally seeps through the spit soaked fabric; grinds his hips into the couch when you finally pull your shirt up to watch the way he eats you. 

He does this for what feels like hours; laps greedily at your clit, pushes his tongue against the fabric teasingly against your hole. A promise of what’s to come. 

“Please,” you whine, “give it to me, baby.”

There’s no need for you to beg, Chan will give it to you. You’ll never truly need anything when he’s around; something he’s proved to you time and time again. He can’t deny the way his cock twitches when you pout down at him though. Pretty lips swollen from you gnawing at them while he pleasures you. 

Normally he’d take the time to pull your panties down. He’d kiss at the sole of your foot before nipping at your ankle; throw your legs over his shoulders before he fucks you open with his tongue. 

But he’s feeling a little desperate; hands pulling your underwear to the side before putting as much of his mouth onto you that he can. Your legs attempt to snap close around his head, but he welcomes the suffocating feeling. His tongue fucks as much of your cum from you as it can; head bobbing ever so slightly so his nose can catch against your swollen clit. 

“Don’t stop, Channie,” you cry out. 

As if he would. 

Tender hands massage at your thighs, holding you open so he can spit onto the mess you’d created together. You always get so sloppy when he eats you like this; slick slipping down beneath the couch as your hole clenches in desperation to be stuffed full. 

You’re close. Chan can tell from the way your hands frantically reach to ground yourself with something before settling in his hair. You yank harshly, but he welcomes the sting. Groans loudly into your heat as your hips buck to meet with the thrusts of his tongue. 

He wants to tell you it’s okay, to let go and cum on his tongue; but he dare not pull away. Not when you’re this close; when your cunt tastes so good and your hands tug at his hair and—

“Cumming!” You cry out, “You— you’re gonna make me cum.”

It’s intense like it always is with him; almost annoying how well he can unravel you so quickly, just to be the one to wind you back up again. 

Slick gushes from your hole and Chan greedily laps at it, tongue plunging into you as you whine and cry that it’s too much. 

He finally slows when the aftershocks of pleasure wash over you; reprieve granted as he kisses at the fat of your thighs. 

He doesn’t move far from his position, merely rests his head against the kiss bitten flesh. Heavy breaths fall from your lips as you smile shyly down at him. 

“Hi,” you murmur. So softly, so sweetly Chan feels his aching cock twitch again. 

“Hi,” he replies, fingers tracing patterns into your sweat slicked skin. 

A car passes by, your A/C hums to life,  Chan's leftovers sit in the oven forgotten; and he feels his heart grow. 

Felix:

Seungmin:

IN:

He frowns at this, an anxious feeling building creeping in his belly at how you brush him off. Just as he goes to type what was probably (definitely) a message a tad too desperate; his phone pings again. 

— put your earbuds in

— attachment: one voice memo

Jisung chuckles, shaking off his earlier insecurities. He loves how well you know him; that he’d rather hear your voice telling him about your day than read your messages. He gets up from the bed, grabbing his earbuds before settling into the mattress. It’s softer than the one you share; but somehow still not as comfortable without you resting next to him. He presses play, a smile already on his face.

“Hi, baby.”

He stiffens at the tone, breath hitches as he listens to you shuffle around.

“I miss you so much, you know,” you sigh into the microphone, “it’s just not the same without you here.”

His cock stiffens at the sultry sound of your voice, mind racing. 

“I want you to do what I say, okay, baby?” 

His head falls back into the pillows, a low groan leaving his lips. He nods despite the fact that you can’t see him. Fist clenching as his cock twitches in anticipation. 

“I bet you’re hard already, aren’t you?” You tease, “You’re so easy, baby. I love that about you. Love knowing you can get off just from my voice.” 

There’s more shuffling on the other side before he hears a familiar sound; a whine followed by the slick sound of your cunt. 

“Take your cock out,” you instruct.

Jisung quickly yanks his towel open, squeezing at the base of his cock.

“Spit on it, baby. Just like I would.”

A loud moan falls from his lips, precum leaking steadily out of his reddened tip before he follows your instruction. Stroking himself slowly to lubricate himself. 

“Want you to tease the tip, can you do that? I know how much you like when I do that, handsome. When I put my lips around it to taste you.”

Jisung nods, large hand palming over his cock. His hips buck up into the touch; pleasure searing through his veins so harshly he’s not sure if he’ll last. He thinks about you looking up at him; the way you smile as you trace the tip of his cock with your tongue before sliding him into your mouth. 

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” he moans, whines slipping steadily past parted lips, “fuck— so good.”

“I miss you so much,” you whine, and— fuck, Jisung can hear the way your fingers pick up their pace. The wet sounds of you fucking yourself open while you whimper. 

“Miss everything about you,” your voice is breathy now; an air of desperation slipping off your tongue, “miss feeling your fingers inside me. The way they— oh! The way they fuck me open.”

All restraint is lost on Jisung at this, fist fucking quickly onto his cock as he hears the way you’re falling apart for him. Lust boiling in his belly over the fact that he has you like this; even miles apart.

“Miss your tongue,” you must’ve adjusted the phone closer to your cunt; because the wet sounds of your fingers take over the speakers. 

He pictures you on the bed you share, head thrown back as you desperately rut into your too small fingers. Jisung thinks about coming home to you; your legs over his shoulders while he licks the mess between your thighs. The way your hands grip his hair when his nose presses against your clit while he fucks you with his tongue. 

“But, Jisung.”

Fuck; you’re not playing fair. The sound of his name falling from your lips has him calling your own out loudly; hips bucking up to meet the thrusts of his hand as he imagines you on top of him. The way your tits bounce in his face. How whiny you get when he takes your nipple into his mouth. The coy look you give him when your legs are too tired, how your pretty eyes roll back when he tucks his legs up to pound up into you. 

“Jisung!” You cry out, “Miss your cock the most. The way you stuff me full; when you make me take it over and over until I’m— fuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m—

Jisung falls apart with you; moaning unabashedly as rope after rope of cum falls onto his heaving abdomen. He whines your name; picturing your smile; your laugh; your—

“Jisung ,” you sigh; satiated, “wish I was there to lick the cum off of your stomach.” 

His cock twitches where it rests on his abdomen; and he huffs out a laugh at the pout in your voice.

“I love you,” you sigh, “come home soon.”

“I love you too,” he whispers into the silence of the room.

 He picks his phone up from where he’d tossed it to the side earlier, gripping his cock once more before taking a picture. Laughing to himself when your contact photo comes up as you call.

“Hi, princess.”

“You saw me two hours ago, spent all day with me. Need I remind you,” your fingers twist absentmindedly at the band holding his hair up, setting it to the side so you can comb out the knots. 

“Don’t care,” he mumbles into your stomach petulantly, “would have rather been here doing this.”

You roll your eyes at his words, caressing his cheek. 

“Don’t say that,” you chide, “you know you love Felix and Jeongin.”

“You’re always so soft on them.”

You laugh at his words, though he says you’re terrible for it, you love to tease him most when he’s like this. 

“Have you seen them? How could I not. Especially Felix, he's an angel.”

As expected he pouts at your words, biting at your side in retaliation. 

“Take it back.”

“Fine,” you relent (easily, as you always do with him), “I take it back.”

Baby fat still clings to his cheeks despite the way the rest of him toned out; harsh edges and rippled muscle. It used to bother him until you told him how much you’d loved it (how much it reminded him of when you were both young; snot nosed kids digging into the dirt, screams of joy falling from your lips when you’d chase him with worms to make him squeal). 

“Let me taste you.” 

You huff at his words, putting up a front though you’ll know he’ll get his way. He always does, always has. You used to make fun of him when you were young about how spoilt he was, despite it all you couldn’t deny your enabling. How could you not when his plush lips pouted down at you?

“I have work in the morning, Hwang Hyunjin.”

He pulls away from your warmth with a whine, and you do little to stop him when he maneuvers you the way he likes. 

“The sky’s  blue, the leaves are green, and I want to make you cum.”

“Hyunjin.”

“Sorry, are we done listing obvious things?”

You laugh loudly at his words, and pride soars throughout his body. 

“Technically the sky is black right now. It’s nearly one in the morning.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes at you, huffing at your difficulty before your panties are shucked across the room. 

“Trying to play coy when your pussy is dripping for me right now,” he says with a smirk as he spreads your legs, “naughty thing.”

You open your mouth to quip back at him, but it gets caught in your throat when his tongue runs up your heat from root to stem, sucking your clit in his mouth before pulling off with lewd pop. 

“You’re my girl aren’t you?”

You nod quickly at his words, hands grasping at his hair as he descends on you again. 

“Say it,” he demands, “say you’re my girl.”

“I’m your girl, Hyunjin.”

“Then let me make you cum for me.”

You know Hyunjin’s obsession with eating you out is more for him than you, always waiting to get his fill before he focuses and makes you cum the way you like. 

Hyunjin groans into your heat when your thighs snap closed against his face, his hands moving to paw at your chest. Practiced movements having you crying out for him, hips bucking into his touch when his tongue fucks into your dripping heat. 

It never takes long when he has you like this. Soft, pliant. Wrapped in his shirt with the smell of him encasing you; his mark littered across you in every way he can imagine. 

“Don’t hold back, angel,” he pinches at your nipples, grinding himself into the bed below, “cum for me, let me have it.”

Hyunjin loves everything about you; from the way you add hearts to your i’s to the scrunch of your face when you’re angry. But the sound of his name falling from your lips when you fall apart for him has to be one of his favorites. You gasp and whine and plead (though there’s no need really, he’d give you the world and more if only you’d ask). 

A cry of his name and you’re cumming on his tongue; hips bucking wildly to chase the friction. 

He laps at your release until he’s had his fill, dopey eyes staring up at you from where he rests between your thighs. 

Your chest heaves with labored breaths, hands covering your eyes as you return to him. 

“You’re insane.”

“I am,” he agrees easily, “but that’s what you love about me, right?”

He already knows your answer, but you appease him nonetheless. 

“Yeah, it is.”

There was a fact Charlemagne knew well; out of all the Servants Hakunon had formed a contract with, he was the one to spend the least amount of time with her. From the memories made in SE.RA.PH, he could recall stories from the others talking about their adventures with the brunette—adventures that were long-lasting and brought them closer to her, unlike his.

He didn't mind it much. The old man wielded too much power for Charlie, whose Saint Graph was extremely flawed at the time, to take on by himself. Strategy meetings were crucial and many Servants joined their ranks, thus Hakunon had to divide up her time efficiently between them all. There was barely any room for interaction with her, but he cherished what few moments they had to themselves. Whether she was supporting him out in the field or relaxing with him in My Room, each second spent was dear to him.

Perhaps it was when they said their farewells to each other that his opinions shifted. Or maybe their reunion in Chaldea? In any case, something started nagging at him from then on. It started off small that he could shrug it off without a problem, until it festered and forced him to acknowledge it. He wanted to be closer to Hakunon—to become someone important to her like the others are.

He attempted not to indulge in those desires. Whenever he was free and noticed she had nothing important to take care of (no, even when she had a mission to do for Chaldea), he would seize the chance to hang out with her. His usual demeanour led to his requests rarely being rejected and had them spending hours together, yet he knew when to wrap it up. He didn't want to suffocate her and take up all her precious time, that was wrong and unlike himself. But those desires would not leave him alone, and he refused to say anything about it.

The young man now finds himself sitting in a field of flowers as per her request. His former Master had sought him out at the break of day and told him to use the simulator.

"I have something to give you there." she said with her familiar small smile. He could never tell the intent behind it; it was her default for politeness, mischief, and calculating.

Charlie takes a deep breath among the sea of vivid reds and yellows in his wait for her. A light, almost subtle weight on his head has him looking behind to find Hakunon leaning over him. He reaches a hand of his own up to feel what it is, the soft sensation of petals meeting his fingertips. She put a flower crown on him?

"It's not just Christmas, you know?" she chuckles. "This day marks another special event—one you would know well. The colour of the flowers might help you recollect."

Huh? He hurriedly takes off the crown to inspect it despite being surrounded by the same flora. Red and yellow… the 25th of December… What the hell could she be alluding to?

Just then it hits him. A flower crown. Today was when he—

Before he could realise it, tears begin to gather at the corner of his eyes and blur his vision. She remembered that? Why? He never bothered to say anything about it, an important event in his life, so why is she bringing it up?

His body worked faster than his own mind. There was a reason she did this, and it soothed those negative thoughts he'd been harbouring for a long time.