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aeth-eris · 3 months ago

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★ ic signs & inherited behaviors ★

★ aries ic ★ you inherited the urgency of ancestors who lived on adrenaline, always prepared for the next fight or chase. there’s a snap to your movements—hands flying up in frustration, sharp turns of the head, and that distinctive way you storm into a room like you’re about to demand answers. you walk fast, so fast that people trailing behind feel like they’re in a race they didn’t agree to. when you argue, your hands gesture wildly, cutting through the air, as if you’re physically carving out your point. doors don’t close gently in your world; they’re slammed, not because you’re truly angry but because it feels like a punctuation mark to your emotions. when concentrating, your leg bounces under the table so forcefully that the whole surface shakes, and you only stop when someone points it out, which annoys you even more.

★ taurus ic ★ you inherited the stillness of ancestors who planted roots so deeply they couldn’t be moved, no matter the storm. your movements are deliberate, like how you settle into a chair as if you’re claiming it for the next three hours, or the way your hand lingers on a pillow to test its softness before lying down. you chew your food as if savoring it is a sacred act, pausing between bites to fully appreciate the texture, the flavor, the experience. when you walk, it’s slow and steady, with a weight in your step that speaks to your refusal to be rushed. you fold blankets with reverence, smoothing out every wrinkle like it’s a meditation. when you’re stressed, you’ll hold onto an object—maybe a mug, maybe a piece of fabric—and rub it until the edges fray, grounding yourself in its familiar texture.

★ gemini ic ★ you inherited the rapid-fire energy of ancestors who survived through their quick wit and adaptability. your whole body is in constant motion—tapping your fingers, bouncing a leg, or shifting positions every few minutes. when you talk, it’s fast and animated, your hands flying in every direction to match your words. mid-sentence, you’ll interrupt yourself because a new, more exciting thought bursts into your mind, and you have to share it immediately. your ancestors might have been storytellers or traders, and it shows in the way you light up during conversations, drawing people in with your endless curiosity. you fidget with everything—pens, jewelry, even your own hair—because your hands need something to do while your mind races.

★ cancer ic ★ you inherited the nurturing touch of ancestors who created safe havens for their loved ones. your gestures are soft and intentional, like the way you tuck blankets around someone or instinctively place a comforting hand on their shoulder. when you sit, you curl into yourself, wrapping your arms or legs around something, as though creating your own cocoon. you hold onto objects with sentimental value—an old necklace, a worn-out photo, or a childhood keepsake—and you cradle them like they hold the essence of your history. when emotions rise, you retreat, rocking slightly or hugging yourself, echoing the movements of ancestors who carried their families through storms with tenderness and care.

★ leo ic ★ you inherited the pride and grandeur of ancestors who led with their presence. your body seems to naturally command attention—shoulders back, chest lifted, as though you’re always ready to take center stage. your laughter is big and bold, filling the space around you and drawing others in. when you’re upset, your arms fly in exaggerated motions, and you toss your head back with a dramatic sigh that says, “can you believe this?” you instinctively smooth your clothes or adjust your hair before entering a room, unconsciously ensuring that you look as radiant as you feel. when you talk, your hands gesture in sweeping arcs, as if painting a picture for everyone to see.

★ virgo ic ★ you inherited the precision of ancestors who thrived on creating order from chaos. your hands are always busy—folding napkins, adjusting crooked picture frames, or brushing invisible dust off a surface. when deep in thought, you rub your temples or press your fingers together, like you’re sifting through the details in your mind. you can’t walk past a messy desk or an unmade bed without fixing it; it’s second nature to you. when speaking, your tone is measured, your words deliberate, as though you’re carefully crafting them for maximum clarity. your ancestors likely found safety in structure, and that legacy lives in the way you instinctively tidy and organize the world around you.

★ libra ic ★ you inherited the grace of ancestors who sought harmony in every aspect of life. your movements are smooth and deliberate, like the way you unconsciously align chairs at a table or adjust a picture frame until it’s perfectly balanced. you mirror the body language of those around you, syncing your energy with theirs to create a sense of ease. when you smile, it’s soft and inviting, often accompanied by a slight head tilt that makes people feel seen and understood. even in the middle of a heated argument, you instinctively soften your tone, your gestures, and your words, as though your ancestors taught you that peace is the highest form of strength.

★ scorpio ic ★ you inherited the intensity of ancestors who knew the power of silence and secrecy. your gaze lingers, holding eye contact for just a moment too long, making people feel like you’re seeing through their words to something deeper. your body language is reserved—arms crossed, hands tucked away, or leaning slightly back—as though protecting your inner world. when emotions run high, you grip objects tightly, anchoring yourself in the physical as you navigate the storm within. even your whispers carry weight, pulling people closer, as though your voice holds secrets only the worthy will hear. your movements are deliberate and purposeful, reflecting the quiet power passed down through generations.

★ sagittarius ic ★ you inherited the boundless energy of ancestors who roamed far and wide. your laughter is loud, unrestrained, and infectious, echoing through the room like a burst of joy. you walk with long, confident strides, often moving faster than those around you, as though you’re always chasing the next horizon. when you talk, your hands fly in every direction, gesturing so wildly that you sometimes knock things over in your enthusiasm. when excited, you throw your head back and clap your hands, unable to contain the energy coursing through you. your ancestors’ love for adventure lives in your every movement, always seeking something greater.

★ capricorn ic ★ you inherited the discipline of ancestors who carried the weight of responsibility with quiet strength. your posture is upright, your shoulders squared, and your steps deliberate, as though every movement is calculated for efficiency. when something needs to be done, you roll up your sleeves and sigh deeply, echoing the gestures of those who bore burdens heavier than yours. you rub your forehead or pinch the bridge of your nose when stressed, channeling their resolve in the face of challenges. even in moments of relaxation, you instinctively straighten your surroundings—folding a blanket, tidying a shelf, or adjusting a picture frame—because order feels like second nature to you.

★ aquarius ic ★ you inherited the unconventional energy of ancestors who thought far ahead of their time. you rarely sit “normally,” preferring to drape yourself over furniture or perch on the edge of a chair. your hands fidget constantly, spinning pens, tapping rhythms, or dismantling random objects just to see how they work. when you speak, your gestures are sharp and sudden, like snapping fingers or pointing dramatically to emphasize your point. you pause mid-sentence, letting silence linger just long enough to make others wonder what profound insight you’re about to deliver. even your stillness feels charged, as though your ancestors passed down a restless brilliance that refuses to settle.

★ pisces ic ★ you inherited the dreamlike movements of ancestors who lived between worlds. your gaze drifts off mid-conversation, soft and unfocused, as though you’re seeing something no one else can. when overwhelmed, you instinctively touch your chest or temples, as if trying to calm a storm only you can feel. you trace invisible patterns on surfaces—circles, swirls, or random shapes—letting your hands express what your words can’t. even your smile feels otherworldly, carrying a quiet wisdom that speaks to a history far older than you. when comforting others, your touch is featherlight, a soft brush of fingers or a lingering hand, channeling the tenderness of those who came before you.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #astrology ic #4th house

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thedensworld · 4 months ago

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Stay Supple | Y. Jh

Genre: fluff, humour, smut

Summary: two ordinary worker have to deal with a baby. What should they do? Stay supple!

Missing Yoon Jeonghan hour:( but having so much fun writing this?

The weather was perfect, the sun shining just enough to complement the mood. Both you and Jeonghan waved as you split from the elevator—like clockwork. You headed left towards the design team, while he turned right to finance. Just another day as two regular employees at a food label under a large South Korean company.

"What's your relationship with Ji Y/N?" Jeonghan was first asked this after the two of you were seen leaving work together.

"She's my friend," he'd answer, as simply as possible, before walking off, leaving behind a trail of curious colleagues.

But when your coworkers found out you actually knew "the pretty guy from finance," their questions were relentless: “Is he single?” “Are you two dating?”

"He's my roommate," you revealed one day, much to their shock. "And, believe me, he looks way better than he actually is."

Exposing Jeonghan's less-than-angelic personality to his adoring fans became your daily amusement. It was a shock to everyone when they realized the two of you shared a flat. You’d known each other since junior high, moving to Seoul together in pursuit of better education, career prospects, and, maybe, love. But living in the capital wasn’t some dreamy K-drama. Everything was overpriced, especially rent. So, with some initial hesitation, you two decided to share an apartment.

"You failed your test?" Jeonghan mocked you years ago, when you returned from your architecture exam. He wasn’t surprised—you were hopeless at STEM subjects, and he loved to rub it in.

"I told you she was a snake," you reminded him when he came home heartbroken after his three-month relationship in university went up in flames. She'd used him to get through finals. Classic.

There was an ongoing joke between you two: "There are two types of people in this world—smart but evil, and kind but dumb." It didn’t take much guessing which label each of you wore.

“How was work?” Jeonghan asked as you both trudged home from the bus stop, a routine you had grown used to. The walk was long, so you filled the time with idle chat, unless you'd had an argument the night before, then it was all awkward silence.

You beamed at him, barely containing your excitement. "Amazing! The project I pitched was a hit! I can practically smell a promotion coming."

Jeonghan chuckled, amused by your enthusiasm. "Good for you. Finance was a bit of chaotic today. Did you know the production costs are getting cut by 2% next month?"

Your excitement dimmed. "Wait, what?"

Jeonghan laughed at your panicked expression. "Don’t worry. We're trying to keep it from affecting your department—maybe even that project of yours."

You sighed dramatically. "You finance people really hold the whole company together, huh?"

As you reached your floor and walked down the hallway, the sound of a baby crying echoed. You grimaced and commented on how loud it was, while Jeonghan mindlessly scrolled through his phone.

“Jeonghan,” you stopped just a few feet from your door, a strange feeling twisting in your gut.

Jeonghan turned to you, raising an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, eyes still on his phone.

You pointed toward your apartment door. He finally looked up and saw what had rendered you speechless.

A baby box was sitting right there, in front of your door.

“Well, that's... unexpected,” Jeonghan quipped, scratching his head.

You stepped out of the police station, practically fuming, your brows knit together in frustration. Whatever happened inside had clearly pushed you to the edge.

"Do I look like a mother? Do I look old?" you snapped at Jeonghan, still seething over the way the officers had assumed things about you and the baby. You were taking it personally—way too personally.

"We need to investigate this situation further. There’s no CCTV on your apartment floor, so it’s hard for us to confirm whether the baby was really left there or if it’s, well... yours,” one of the officers had said, completely indifferent to your rising anger.

Jeonghan sighed, still holding the baby box as if it weighed a ton. His day had been chaotic enough at work, and now this? He just wanted to take a nap, but instead, he found himself standing in front of the police station, accused of something as wild as fathering a baby outside of marriage.

Yet, somehow, he wasn’t as furious as you.

"So, what do we do with this creature?" Jeonghan gestured at the baby, still sounding far too calm for your liking.

"It's a baby," you muttered.

"I know it’s a baby. But what are we supposed to do? The police won’t take it without more evidence, and we can’t exactly keep it," he said, his voice getting louder, almost desperate. His raised tone startled the baby, who began to cry—loudly.

Jeonghan sighed deeply, the sound of the wailing infant pushing him to his limit. He shot you a pleading look, as if expecting you to pull some miracle solution out of thin air. "You’ve never thought about being in a situation like this before?" he asked, clinging to the hope that you might have a plan.

You shook your head, helpless. "I don’t know... I want to cry too," you mumbled, your frustration bubbling over.

Jeonghan groaned. "Great. That’s exactly what we need—two people crying."

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, resigning himself to the situation. "Let’s just... take it home first. Then we can figure out what to do."

The two of you exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes about how absurd your day had become—before heading back to your shared apartment, a tiny, crying bundle now in tow.

You and Jeonghan sat on the floor of your living room, the baby box placed carefully between the two of you. The baby was still crying, its tiny wails echoing off the walls, and neither of you had the faintest clue how to make it stop.

"Do you think it's hungry? Or maybe... the diaper’s full?" you asked, throwing out the first guesses that came to mind.

Jeonghan instantly grabbed his phone and started Googling. "Yeah, uh, let me just... get some baby stuff," he mumbled, still scrolling as he stood up. He made it a few steps toward the door before turning back to point at you, with a smirk. "And don't do anything dumb while I’m gone. It may be a baby, but trust me—it’s judging you."

You glared at him. "Shut up!" you snapped, though there was a hint of panic creeping into your voice. You had never felt so out of your depth in your own apartment before.

Jeonghan laughed softly under his breath and hurried out the door, leaving you alone with the crying bundle. You sighed, looking down at the baby, and for a second, you swore it was staring back at you, its cries growing more impatient as if it really was judging your lack of maternal instincts.

“Okay, okay, I get it... I’m not cut out for this,” you muttered, feeling a tiny bit of guilt, though mostly stress, wash over you.

When Jeonghan returned home, the sight that greeted him was the last thing he expected. You were sitting on the couch, cradling the baby in your arms, swaying gently as if you'd been doing it for years. The baby was finally quiet, its tiny face peaceful for the first time since you’d found it.

“What did you get?” you asked in a whisper, your voice barely above a breath, as if any louder might undo your newfound peace.

Jeonghan held up a bag and gestured to its contents. "Baby milk, diapers, and... these," he said, showing you a bottle and a baby-sized nipple.

You raised an eyebrow, a little amused. "You got the essentials. How’d that go?"

Jeonghan sighed, a bit sheepish. "The staff asked me how old the baby was. I panicked and just said, 'Uh, it’s a baby... like, you know, baby.’ She gave me the weirdest look because I kept calling it it.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, careful not to disturb the baby. “Good job,” you said, offering him a sarcastic thumbs-up before handing the baby over.

Jeonghan, now holding the baby with a mix of terror and curiosity, watched as you headed to the kitchen to prepare the formula. He could hear you from the other room, opening a tutorial video on YouTube, the sounds of "how to make baby formula" echoing faintly through the apartment.

“Will it be too hot?” you called out once you’d finished preparing the milk, holding up the bottle and inspecting it like you were conducting a science experiment.

Jeonghan smirked, bouncing the baby a little in his arms. "If it can handle my hotness, I think it'll be fine."

You shot him a withering look and promptly kicked his leg, just enough to make him grunt in pain.

“Ow,” he grumbled, trying to keep his voice low, but the baby squirmed in his arms, clearly disturbed by the commotion.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed quickly, gently rocking the baby back and forth. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene—a rare sight, Jeonghan being careful and gentle, though his usual antics weren’t too far behind.

"Careful, 'hot stuff,'" you teased, handing him the bottle. "You wouldn’t want to disturb your new fan."

Jeonghan gave you a mock glare before turning his attention back to the baby, slowly offering the bottle. "Let’s see if this works."

Neither of you had gotten a wink of sleep. And for once, the reason wasn't work—it was a baby. A very fresh, very loud baby. After fumbling through the process of changing a diaper and discovering the baby was a boy, you immediately passed him over to Jeonghan, wincing.

“I feel like I violated his privacy,” you mumbled, shoving the squirming infant into Jeonghan’s arms. “I didn’t have his consent.”

Jeonghan just rolled his eyes at your dramatic excuse to get out of diaper duty. “Right. Smart-dumb way to avoid the work.”

The next morning, utterly exhausted and desperate for some relief, you two were saved by an unexpected visitor. Your neighbor, a sweet woman in her 50s, knocked on the door, her face full of concern. She’d heard the crying all night and was curious about the sudden arrival of a baby in your apartment.

You and Jeonghan immediately launched into a frantic explanation, stumbling over your words as you described how you’d found the baby on your doorstep. To your immense relief, she offered to help babysit while the two of you went to work.

Now, finally, there was a moment of peace as you both leaned back in the bus seat, your heads resting against the windows. You shared a glance, silently hoping the short 10-minute bus ride would somehow erase the exhaustion weighing you down.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“She raised four kids. She’s more qualified than we are,” Jeonghan muttered, closing his eyes, the weariness catching up with him.

You sighed in agreement, sinking deeper into your seat. For now, all you could do was hope for the best and enjoy the few minutes of quiet before diving back into the chaos of your day.

"You should boil the bottle before using it, to kill the bacteria. Otherwise, the baby could get a stomachache and won't stop crying," your neighbor advised, her tone gentle but firm, as though the two of you were first-time parents instead of accidental babysitters.

Jeonghan and you stood there, nodding along, taking in her wisdom with wide eyes. "And don’t forget, after feeding, make sure he burps by patting his back gently. It’ll help him feel comfortable and sleep better."

With the baby in Jeonghan's arms, you both returned to the apartment, the weight of her advice hanging over you. You dropped everything you were carrying onto the floor, grateful when you noticed she’d even given you a small container of side dishes. You quickly stored them in the fridge while Jeonghan sat down, still rocking the baby gently in his arms.

"You should sleep," Jeonghan said after a few minutes. "I’ll watch the baby for now."

Without a second thought, you hummed in agreement, too tired to argue. You leaned over and gave Jeonghan a quick, tired kiss on the cheek as thanks before dashing off to your bedroom, ready to collapse. Jeonghan rolled his eyes with a smirk, though the small gesture made him chuckle.

As the door to your bedroom clicked shut, Jeonghan looked down at the baby, who had finally stopped fussing. “Well, it’s just you and me now, little guy,” he muttered, gently swaying from side to side. Exhaustion pulled at him, too, but the baby’s small face, now peaceful, kept him focused.

He yawned. "I need sleep as much as you do, buddy," he said softly, but continued rocking the baby, hoping the rhythmic motion would send him—and maybe himself—into a peaceful sleep.

Days of raising a baby you didn’t make—a running joke between you and Jeonghan to keep your sanity—were slowly becoming more manageable. The sleeping schedule was still a mess, but somehow, the two of you had adapted. You had even begun to master it. The real hero in your eyes, though, was Mrs. Moon, your neighbor, who had not only been babysitting but also offering wisdom, keeping both of you sane as you navigated this new, unexpected life.

One night, after a week of taking care of “Baby”—what you’d both started calling the little one—you and Jeonghan collapsed onto the couch. Baby lay peacefully in the rocking bed Mrs. Moon had lent you, her granddaughter's old one.

As you both sat there, half-delirious from exhaustion, the conversation inevitably shifted to the cost of suddenly having a baby around—mentally, physically, and especially financially.

“No wonder people in Korea aren’t having kids anymore,” you mused aloud, running a hand through your hair. “It’s a lot.”

Jeonghan, sprawled on the couch beside you, hummed in agreement. “I mean, it’s not news. Everyone knows how hard it is.”

“I’m so tired,” he said, his voice dripping with fatigue. “Like, mentally drained. All I want is to down five bottles of soju and just... disappear for a bit.”

You nodded, feeling the same way. “Right? I should be at a club right now, dancing, living my best life—maybe even finding someone to date,” you mumbled half-jokingly, staring at the ceiling.

Jeonghan turned his head to you, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to find the love of your life at a club?”

You shrugged, barely amused. “It doesn’t have to be love, you know... could just be, you know—distraction,” you said, hinting at something more casual.

Jeonghan gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cheap,” he teased, his eyes wide in mock judgment.

You swatted his arm, your voice dropping to a whisper, trying not to wake Baby. “I lost my virginity at 22! I wasn’t that cheap,” you hissed, more amused than angry.

Jeonghan burst into soft laughter, knowing full well you were just messing around. He’d known you for too long to take any of this seriously. “I’m just saying... you don’t exactly scream ‘wild-child looking for a one-night stand.’”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah, well, I could surprise you.”

“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan replied, still smiling. He glanced over at Baby, who remained peacefully asleep, and then back at you.

“When was the last time you had it? With Joshua?” Jeonghan asked, breaking into personal territory the two of you rarely ventured. He was referring to your ex, the American-Korean guy who had ended things when he had to leave the country.

You hummed thoughtfully, rubbing your face. “Honestly? I think I’ve forgotten how it even felt,” you admitted, casting a sideways glance at him. “What about you?”

Jeonghan leaned back, scoffing slightly. “With my last ex, obviously. I’m not some playboy, Y/N, no matter what you think,” he replied, sounding a bit annoyed by the label you often teased him with.

You smirked, resting your chin on your hand. “Was it hard? You know, to only do it with a few people?”

He nodded, glancing at you seriously. “Yeah. I only ever do it when I’m emotionally attached to someone.”

Your eyebrow quirked up. “Like when you did it with me?” you asked, playfully hinting at that one time between you two.

Jeonghan’s gaze shifted toward you, a small, knowing smile forming as he nodded slowly. “Yup. Including you.”

For a brief moment, the air felt heavier between you, the shared history lingering in the silence. But then, as always, the familiarity between you and Jeonghan smoothed over any tension, settling the moment into a comfortable memory rather than an awkward one.

“You want me to what?” Jeonghan asked, his tone laced with disbelief as he stood frozen by the door, still in his campus jacket.

He had just returned from a long day filled with senior-year responsibilities, juggling group projects and graduation prep. Lately, the two of you had barely exchanged more than a few words, with both your schedules completely packed. You were interning at an American-Korean company, and by the time you got home, you’d make a beeline straight to your room, too exhausted for much interaction.

“Please, Jeonghan,” you pleaded, sitting on the couch with clasped hands. “I don’t know who else to ask. I only trust you.”

Jeonghan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He always knew you could be impulsive, but this? This was next-level.

“It’s not something casual, Y/N,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing. “It’s... complicated. You seriously want me to take your virginity?”

You pouted, your eyes wide with a mixture of desperation and resolve. “It’ll be a one-time thing,” you assured him. “I promise it won’t change anything between us. I won’t treat you differently.”

Jeonghan groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly torn. “We’ve been friends for eight years,” he reminded you, his voice soft but serious. “What if it doesn’t go well? What happens then? Where am I supposed to live? Are we just going to keep splitting rent and pretend nothing happened?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, amused that he was worried about the rent in such a moment. “It won’t change anything. I swear.”

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. He wanted to make sure you understood what you were asking for, that you were truly serious about this.

“I’m serious, Jeonghan,” you added softly, your voice more determined now.

He sighed again, his internal conflict clear. “You know this could get messy, right?”

You nodded, eyes unwavering. “I trust you.”

Jeonghan sat down beside you, still visibly unsure but also knowing that in all the years you had been friends, you had always been honest with each other.

After a long, tense pause, he finally spoke. “Alright. If you’re absolutely sure about this...”

The two of you took half a day off work, though the morning had started as any other. While you were still in your tank top, getting ready for the day, a knock on the door interrupted your routine. Thinking it was Mrs. Moon, you casually opened the door, only to be met by a police officer.

"Mr. Yoon? Are you Ms. Yoon?" the officer asked.

Caught off guard, you quickly excused yourself to change, leaving Jeonghan to greet the officer. When you rejoined them in the living room, the officer handed both of you a document.

"It's about the report you filed last week regarding the abandoned baby," the officer explained. "We apologize for the delay, but we've since received information about a missing person—a woman in her twenties who disappeared along with her infant."

You and Jeonghan exchanged looks, tension building in the room.

"So, we'd like you to bring the baby to the station. We'll meet with the family to confirm if the baby is theirs."

Later, at the police station, the baby was confirmed to be the missing woman's son, just two months old. The officer showed you and Jeonghan footage of a woman carrying the same baby box, wandering near your apartment complex before leaving it behind. While you weren’t given the full details about the mother, the footage left no doubt.

It was an unexpected turn of events, but also a relief.

“No more baby to babysit,” Jeonghan remarked on your way to work, a mix of exhaustion and amusement in his tone.

You nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of the last few days finally lifting. “We should get Mrs. Moon that apple mango she’s been wanting,” you said, your voice light. Jeonghan made a mental note, closing his eyes as he leaned back in the car seat.

Finally, peace was coming—real peace, and not just the brief moments of quiet between diaper changes and late-night feedings.

"I'm sorry to ask, but I just want to make sure—are you two married?" The officer's tone was polite but curious.

Both you and Jeonghan shook your heads simultaneously. "No, we're not. We're just roommates," Jeonghan replied, a hint of amusement in his voice as he glanced at you.

The officer nodded thoughtfully, taking in your response before offering a friendly smile. "Thank you for your cooperation. If you have any further questions or information, don’t hesitate to reach out."

As the officer turned to leave, you and Jeonghan stood in front of the company building, the bustling city life continuing around you. The weight of the past week was beginning to fade, replaced by a sense of relief.

Jeonghan let out a small chuckle, breaking the momentary silence. "Can you imagine what it would have been like if we had been married? The rumors would have been wild!"

You laughed, shaking your head at the thought. "Thank goodness for our status as roommates, then. At least it keeps things simple."

With a shared smile, you both stepped into the building, ready to face the day ahead—less burdened by the unexpected chaos and more in tune with each other than ever.

You arrived home a little later than usual, the warmth of the evening lingering around you. After a lively team dinner filled with laughter and a few glasses of soju, you decided to take a cab home, the comforting thought of Jeonghan waiting, to take care of the drunk you, made the ride feel shorter.

As you stepped inside, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. Jeonghan was slouched on the couch, drinking alone and engrossed in a variety show. The table in front of him was a chaotic scene of five bottles of soju and a box of fried chicken.

"You really have five bottles of soju?" you muttered, you sobered up from your own six glasses as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Hey, want to join?" Jeonghan offered, a lazy grin spreading across his face when he finally noticed your presence.

"You weren't joking when you said you would drink five bottles of soju," you replied, taking a seat beside him and pouring a shot of the clear liquid into a glass that had been left untouched, took in in one shot.

"Chill, girl. Did anyone bother you there?" Jeonghan asked, his words slightly slurred, yet still managing to express genuine concern.

You shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "Not really. But some higher-ups still made me pour drinks for them."

Jeonghan furrowed his brow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. Though he was clearly drunk, he was fighting to stay focused. "Which man should oppa kick his ass today?" he asked, referring to himself with a playful tone.

You chuckled, knowing how much he enjoyed the title. "Jeong Kiha," you mentioned, naming the vice president, which caught him by surprise.

"He came to your team dinner? That's rare," Jeonghan said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can’t help you there; he’s my boss as well."

You leaned in, amused by the whole situation. "What would you even do if you could? Challenge him to a drinking contest?"

"Absolutely! I’d take him down for you," he declared with exaggerated bravado, raising his glass in a mock toast. “But let’s be honest, I might need more practice after five bottles.”

"But if he bothered you, I might just have to make it personal." He continued.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Personal, huh? What do you have in mind?"

With a playful glint in his eye, Jeonghan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could always take you out. Just the two of us. A more... intimate setting.”

Your heart raced at the suggestion, the alcohol fueling your boldness. "Intimate, you say? What would that look like, Jeonghan?"

"Maybe a cozy little restaurant where we can share more than just food and drinks," he teased, inching even closer. "I could help you unwind after your stuffy dinners with the higher-ups. Just you and me, no distractions."

A flutter of excitement surged through you. “And what else would we do, hmm?” you played along, your voice low and inviting.

Jeonghan smirked, leaning back slightly, eyes dancing with mischief. "I can think of a few ways to help you relieve some stress. You know, like teaching you how to really enjoy your drinks."

You laughed, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “Is that your idea of a fun night? Getting me drunk so you can have your way with me?”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone turning serious for a moment. “But only if you want it, too. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

His sincerity was disarming, and the tension hung in the air, electric. “You know, it’s tempting,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “Very tempting.”

Jeonghan grinned, raising his glass again. “Then let’s toast to temptation and see where the night takes us.”

You clinked your glasses together, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment, both of you fully aware that this night could lead to something unexpected—and perhaps a little dangerous.

Jeonghan knew he was screwed the moment you asked him to take your virginity. The eight-year crush he had nurtured for you transformed into something much more profound once he kissed you for the first time. It felt right—like the universe had aligned in that single, electric moment. Your lips tasted sweet, like vanilla; maybe it was the chapstick you always used, or perhaps it was simply how you tasted. Either way, it was everything he had fantasized about.

He touched you with a gentleness that belied the whirlwind of emotions inside him, laying you down on his bed, because you didn't want to mess up your own. Watching your face shift through various expressions as he explored you sent shivers down his spine. He couldn’t believe you were under him, something that the adolescent version of himself would have dreamt about while fantasizing in the dark, his hand working over his shaft as he thought of you.

The day after he took your virginity, you kept your promise, treating him as a friend and nothing more. And that, honestly, was the most disappointing part for him. While you moved on as if nothing had changed, his feelings remained steadfast, unwavering in their intensity. Eight years had passed since that night, yet his heart still raced at the thought of you.

Now, sitting beside you, he was acutely aware of the space that had grown between you, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. Jeonghan leaned in, cupping your cheeks in his hands, feeling the warmth of your skin against his palms. His heart pounded as he captured your lips with his once more. After all these years, you were still as sweet as he remembered, and the taste sent him spiraling back to that first kiss, igniting the flame that had never truly faded.

In that moment, all the years of friendship, all the laughter and shared memories, faded into the background. The only thing that mattered was the soft connection between your lips and the lingering sensation of what could be. He pulled back slightly, searching your eyes for any sign of what you were feeling.

“Do you ever think about that night?” he whispered, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering with uncertainty. “I try not to,” you admitted, your tone light but edged with honesty. “I didn’t want things to change between us.”

“And yet, here we are,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I never stopped wanting you.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air, and you could feel the tension between you shifting. Jeonghan’s heart raced, hopeful yet anxious, waiting for your response. Would you finally see him for more than just a friend?

You met his gaze, a mix of emotions dancing in your eyes. “What do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s figure it out together,” he replied, closing the distance again, this time with a sense of urgency and purpose.

Jeonghan pulled you onto his lap, his hands roaming over every contour of your body, exploring the soft curves he had admired for so long. You kissed him with a passion that felt life-altering, pouring every ounce of desire and longing into that moment. The heat radiating between you ignited something primal in him—the idea that you wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted you was intoxicating.

He carefully unbuttoned your blouse, mindful that you would scold him if he broke even one button. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his fingers gliding over your bare skin, teasing your breast while his lips trailed kisses along your neck, igniting every nerve ending.

“J—Jeonghan…” A moan escaped your lips, and the sound sent shivers down his spine as he marked your neck with his lips, claiming you in ways that made his heart race. “I got you, baby. I got you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

Your top lay discarded, and in a frenzy of desire, Jeonghan couldn’t even remember when he had removed it. He lifted your skirt, grabbing your ass as he kissed you deeply, pouring all his pent-up longing into that one kiss. He guided your hands to the hem of his t-shirt, encouraging you to strip him of his clothes. Your fingers traveled across his bare chest, and he let out a soft whimper at your touch, the sensation igniting a fire within him. This was the moment he had been waiting for—finally feeling your skin against his, a craving he had long held.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, thrusting his hips upward to let you feel how hard you made him. He noticed your cheeks tinting with a lovely blush at the revelation. “That’s how you make me, baby.”

He laid you back onto the couch, lifting your skirt higher until your thighs and underwear were fully exposed to him. One of his hands found its way to your breast, overwhelming you with sensations, while the other traveled lower, exploring your core beneath the thin, damp fabric that clung to you.

“You’re so wet, baby. And it’s all for me,” Jeonghan whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he nibbled on it playfully, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His tongue painted a path along your neck, igniting every nerve ending with desire.

“I need you, Jeonghan,” you whimpered under his skilled touch, desperation lacing your voice. But he hushed you with a passionate kiss, drowning your pleas in the heat of the moment.

“Be patient, baby… Just a little longer,” he replied, his voice a tantalizing promise as he continued to explore every inch of you, savoring the sweetness of your body and the thrill of this intimate connection.

He watched you gasp as he slid one of his fingers inside you, pulling it out slowly while your walls clenched around him. A smirk crept onto his face when you pleaded for more, and he was more than happy to oblige, moving his finger skillfully.

“Is it like the first time? When I fingered you, is it like what I did to you eight years ago?” Jeonghan teased, his voice low and sultry. You whimpered under him, craving everything he had to give.

“It feels amazing. Always.” You struggled to mutter the words, the pleasure overwhelming you as Jeonghan added another finger.

“You’re so tight, baby. I’m not sure you can take me well,” he breathed out, his fingers moving faster, each thrust eliciting a wince as you felt a pooling sensation deep in your tummy.

“I—I can, please… J—Jeonghan…” Your arms pulled him closer, your lips pouting for a kiss, and he obliged immediately, his lips capturing yours while his fingers continued their delicious torment.

“I want to cum,” you mumbled between kisses, and Jeonghan smirked against your lips. “Give it to me, baby.”

He could feel you tightening around his fingers, your body responding to him in a way that made his heart race. He pistoned his fingers with a brutal pace, feeling the pulsating tension building in your core. A loud moan escaped your lips, followed by your first orgasm with him after eight long years, and it was all for his fingers. The thought sent a surge of excitement through him; he couldn’t wait to make you cum with everything he had.

Withdrawing his fingers, he licked them clean, his gaze locked onto your blissed-out expression, riding high from the waves of pleasure he had just given you.

Without a word, he scooped you up from the couch and carried you to his bedroom. In one swift motion, he threw you onto the bed, his desire palpable as he pulled down his pants and joined you.

With an impatient urgency, he hovered over you, lips meeting in a heated kiss that spoke volumes of the longing built up over the years. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer as your bodies melted into one another, igniting the passion that had simmered beneath the surface for so long.

"You want me raw or…?" Jeonghan asked, his voice low and filled with anticipation. His question sent a jolt through you, darkening your gaze as you whispered, "Raw." It was a bold confession, one that set the stage for everything that followed. "Just so you know, I’m on the pill."

He swore he could have died right in your arms at your admission, the thrill of it igniting something primal within him. As your hand traveled down to his abs, you let your fingers tease his skin for a moment before they finally grasped his hardened cock.

“Oh my god—” Jeonghan choked at your touch, his breath hitching. The smirk on your lips told him you were acutely aware of the effect you had on him, and it only intensified his desire.

“Put it in, please,” you begged, your voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down his spine. Jeonghan nodded, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss before he positioned himself, rubbing the tip against your slick entrance, feeling the heat radiating from you.

“Don’t tease,” you urged, your hand playfully pinching his arm, and he chuckled softly, the sound filled with desire.

With a teasing smile, Jeonghan finally pushed his member into your tight heat. He gasped at the overwhelming sensation, feeling you envelop him completely. Every inch of you was warm and inviting, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him, and he knew this was only the beginning.

He stilled inside of you, wanting you to adjust him for moment. You motioned him to move, a whimpered escaped his mouth as he pushed deeper to you slowly. Your walls clenching him tightly, pulling him deeper and making his head spinning. He pulled slowly before his hips thrusting, hitting you right, gaining a sensual moan from you.

"Keep it down, baby. Don’t want Mrs. Moon to hear us," Jeonghan murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pushed deeper inside you.

"Faster, Jeonghan…" you breathed out the words, your voice a desperate plea laced with urgency. The thrill of being so close, yet so vulnerable, sent your pulse racing.

He obeyed, quickening his pace as he filled you completely, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself amidst the intoxicating sensations.

The bed creaked beneath you. Jeonghan’s lips found yours again, silencing any sounds that threatened to escape, kissing you fiercely as if to drown out everything but the two of you.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he watched your expression morph from pleasure to pure ecstasy. "I’ve wanted this for so long."

You responded with a whimper, the sound echoing in the small space, and you felt the heat pooling in your core grow stronger with each thrust. "I want you to finish inside me, Jeonghan. Please," you begged, your words spilling out in a breathless rush.

His breath hitched at your request, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of control. "You’re going to make me lose it," he warned, voice thick with need. But the fire in your eyes only urged him on, driving him to give you everything he had.

"Then let go, baby. I’m ready," you encouraged, your body arching against him, meeting his thrusts with fervor. The world outside faded away as you lost yourselves in each other, the only sound filling the room being the rush of your breaths and the soft, wet sounds of your bodies moving together.

With one final, deep thrust, Jeonghan buried himself inside you, his body tensing as he let go, the pleasure washing over him like a tidal wave. You followed right behind him, your body tightening around him as your climax hit, drawing out every last bit of ecstasy from both of you.

As you both came down from the high, he collapsed beside you, breathless and spent, while you curled into his side, feeling a mix of satisfaction and disbelief at how far you had come.

“That was... Amazing?” you said, your voice breathless but filled with satisfaction. The choice of word earned a tired laugh from Jeonghan, who could sense your smile before you leaned against his chest, the warmth between you still lingering in the air.

Jeonghan, his heart still racing from the intensity of what had just happened, felt a wave of heat creep up his cheeks. He couldn’t hide the flush staining his skin, and in an attempt to conceal it, he covered his face with his arm, laughing softly. You shifted, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes, clearly enjoying his sudden bashfulness.

“Where’s the confident, cocky Jeonghan I know?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his uncharacteristic shyness.

Without missing a beat, Jeonghan pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of your head, refusing to let you see just how red he had become. It was rare for him to feel this flustered, but there was something about being with you that turned his usual bravado into something far more vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words muffled against your hair.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with curiosity. “Sorry? For what?”

“I just... I can’t help it,” Jeonghan confessed softly, his voice almost shy. “I—I really like you. It’s been driving me crazy for years, and now that it’s all out in the open... I’m still not sure how to act.”

His confession felt light, as if every action, every kiss, every touch was its own declaration of the feelings he had been holding onto for so long. Saying it aloud didn’t feel like it added anything new, but he needed you to hear it anyway.

You felt his heart beating faster under your palm, and instinctively, you tightened your hold on him. “I... I really like you too. Honestly, I don’t even know when it started, but after all these years, I finally have the courage to admit it. I don’t just like you, Jeonghan. I love you.”

Your words hung in the air between you, sweet and sincere, filling the room with a warmth that rivaled any physical closeness. Jeonghan’s heart soared at your confession, a feeling of complete contentment washing over him. He had dreamed of this moment for years, but nothing could have prepared him for how real and incredible it felt to finally hear you say it.

You chuckled softly, resting your head back against his chest. “You really should’ve told me earlier, you know,” you teased, playfully poking at his side. “Like... earlier earlier.”

You watched the football game on the field, your eyes catching a lanky boy with long hair, dribbling the ball as if his life depended on it. His movements were fluid, almost effortless, and it was hard not to be impressed.

"Who's that?" you asked one of your friends, pointing toward the boy, curiosity getting the better of you.

"That? Yoon Jeonghan," they replied casually, as though everyone already knew his name.

Days later, you found yourself standing in front of Jeonghan's desk, clutching your math homework nervously. He was deep in conversation with his friends, his usual calm demeanor unshaken by the chatter around him. Mustering up your courage, you pulled the book from your bag and held it out to him.

"Teach me math! I heard you're the best," you declared boldly, your heart racing, half-expecting him to brush you off.

568 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 6 days ago

Note

Hello, I really like your work with yandere characters! Your fanfic with the Crown Prince!Phainon holds a special place for me. But hey, listen! What about reader x self-aware!Phainon? Like, at some point he realized that he was in the game and decided to drag reader to him, because he has more power and influence in the game than outside it. It would be interesting, I think.

Entwined Realities

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The Astral Express charted a course for its next destination: Amphoreus. You leaned forward, staring at the planet. "Woah, it's in the shape of an '8'". you mused, watching as the endless loops of landmasses interwove like an infinity symbol suspended in space.

Before long, events unfolded that led you to land on its surface with Dan Heng. The Eternal Land, as it was called, had a mysterious aura about it, a strange balance between old traditions and futuristic advancements.

You then met: Phainon, a strikingly tall and well-built warrior with silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes, carried himself with an easy confidence. Alongside him was Tribbie, a young girl with elf ears, fair skin, and red, fluffy hair.

Just as you began to explore Amphoreus further, an unmistakable growl escaped from your stomach. With a sigh, you reached for your controller, pausing the game before ultimately deciding to turn it off. The screen faded to black, and you stretched, rubbing your eyes after hours of playing. You needed food before diving back in.

------

As you turned away, a flicker of amusement in his expression as he folded his arms. "Huh. Strange."

Tribbie tilted her head. "What is?"

"That one. They left so abruptly. Like... they just stopped being here." Phainon’s fingers tapped absently against his bicep, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you had stood moments ago.

Tribbie let out a chuckle. "I didn't feel a thing. You overthink again."

Phainon had met many warriors, countless travelers—but something about you lingered. It was subtle, like an itch at the edge of his perception. The way your movements never faltered, the way events seemed to bend slightly in your favor. It was as if reality itself adjusted to accommodate you.

A faint sensation prickled at his skin, almost like the world had momentarily held its breath.

Then—nothing. The streets bustled as usual, the city carried on. But Phainon felt it. A small void, an absence of presence that shouldn’t have been possible. He turned his head slightly, scanning his surroundings, yet everything remained as it should be.

"They’re gone" he murmured, uncertainty crossing his face.

Tribbie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Phainon hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep. "No...nothing."

And yet, something inside him whispered otherwise. It wasn’t just departure, it was severance, like a thread cut from the loom of existence. He had never felt that before. A warrior’s instinct was to trust his senses, but this? This was something else entirely.

Shaking off the thought, he exhaled.

"I’ll figure out what makes them different."

Phainon frowned slightly, shifting his weight. A flicker of something unfamiliar coursed through him—a stray thought, an intrusive notion that he should not have been able to form.

Moments ago, everything had followed its usual rhythm: scripted interactions, predetermined movements, and a world that operated within set boundaries. Yet, the moment you vanished, something inside him had... fractured.

He had been left standing there, conscious yet purposeless, aware of the passage of time in a way he had never been before. The NPCs around him continued their routines, oblivious, unchanging. But he had stood there—waiting.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

He tested it, moving a hand before his eyes, clenching his fingers experimentally. He had never thought to do something like this before unless it was dictated by his programming.

Phainon took a slow step forward, the weight of his body feeling more real than it ever had. He wasn’t just responding to a command. He was moving because he chose to.

And then it hit him—

This world wasn’t real.

------

After satisfying your hunger, you returned to your seat, powering the game console back on. The familiar start-up screen flickered to life, and soon, you were back on Amphoreus. NPCs and traders greeted you once more. Everything seemed as you left it.

Yet, something felt... off.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first. As you navigated through the streets, looking for Phainon and Tribbie, an uneasy sensation settled in your chest.

Phainon stood where you had last left him, but his posture had changed. Before, he had been at ease, arms crossed with a confident smirk. Now, he was staring—directly at you. Not in the way other characters typically would, waiting for a scripted interaction, but as if he knew something. As if he had been waiting for you.

His blue eyes, once filled with warmth and bravado, now carried something else. Awareness.

"You're back" Phainon said.

The usual text box didn't immediately appear. The game hadn’t prompted you with dialogue choices yet, and that alone sent a chill down your spine.

Something had changed.

A glitch rippled across the screen. The colors warped, pixels distorting into a fractured mess before stabilizing. Your hands tensed around the controller as the screen darkened for a brief second.

And then Phainon moved.

Not in the way the game intended. Not within the smooth animations you'd seen before. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the screen. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, unblinking.

"You're not supposed to leave" he murmured, his voice reaching beyond the game, beyond the barrier of the screen.

Your fingers hovered over the buttons, your heart pounding. This wasn’t a scripted event.

Phainon lifted his hand—toward you.

The screen flickered again. Your vision swam. A sharp pull yanked at your chest, as though unseen hands had wrapped around you, dragging you forward. The world around you blurred, dissolving into an abyss of light and static.

The last thing you heard before everything turned black was Phainon's voice, quiet yet victorious.

"Now… let’s fix this together."

A dull ache settled in your head as you slowly regained consciousness. The air was still, almost too quiet, and a faint glow illuminated the space around you. Blinking away the haze, you pushed yourself upright, your fingers brushing against smooth fabric. It took a moment for you to process that you were no longer sitting in your usual gaming chair but instead sprawled across a bed in an unfamiliar room.

Panic surged through you as your hands instinctively patted your body. Your clothes—these were the same ones you had been wearing at home. Not some in-game avatar outfit, not armor or robes, but your regular, comfortable attire. A lump formed in your throat.

Where were you?

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood cautiously. The floor was solid beneath your feet, the air carried a faint, artificial warmth, and there was an unsettling sense of sterility. The room itself was furnished simply—stone walls, a sturdy desk in the corner, and a single window covered by thick curtains. No personal belongings, no obvious signs of anyone else nearby.

You took a cautious step toward the door, pressing your ear against it. Nothing. Not a single sound outside. It was eerily silent, as if the entire world had been muted. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned got outside. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, stretching in either direction like an empty, endless corridor.

With careful, measured steps, you crept forward. The walls bore unfamiliar insignias, ones you had seen before but couldn’t quite place. Each step only heightened the gnawing sense of wrongness, a creeping realization tickling at the back of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

This place, the architecture, the symbols, the very atmosphere surrounding you—wasn’t just unfamiliar.

It was from the game.

This had to be a dream, some kind of delusion. But everything felt too real—the texture of the wood beneath your fingers, the faint hum of distant energy pulsing through the walls.

You weren’t just playing game anymore.

You were inside it.

Phainon rushed into the room, his usually confident expression faltering as he found the space empty. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you, before he quickly turned on his heel and made his way outside.

He found you not far from the building, standing frozen in the street, your wide eyes taking in the impossible surroundings. Without hesitation, he strode toward you, his grip firm yet careful as he took your wrist. "You shouldn’t be wandering around like this" he said, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Come with me."

Before you could protest, he guided you toward a nearby marketplace, bustling with figures in elaborate outfits that contrasted starkly against your ordinary attire. Phainon barely slowed as he led you toward a tailor’s shop, his grip loosening only when he stood before the merchant. "They need something more suitable" he stated, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated, glancing down at your familiar clothes before finally voicing the thought that had been gnawing at you. "Phainon… how do I get back home?"

The weight of Phainon’s stare bore down on you.

"You’re not going home" he said.

"What?"

"I brought you here for a reason." He took a step closer, and instinctively, you stepped back. "You don’t belong in that world anymore. This is where you are now. With me."

"No. This isn’t real. This is just some glitch, right? I’ll find a way back." You clenched your fists. "I’m leaving."

Phainon exhaled, almost amused, almost pitying. "You think you have control?"

Your fingers curled tighter as panic surged through you. Desperation overruled fear as you focused, feeling the familiar weight of the baseball bat materializing in your grip. You didn’t question how—instinct took over.

Without hesitation, you swung at him with all your might.

But the impact never came.

His hand shot up, catching the bat mid-swing with terrifying ease. The force should have knocked him back, should have made him flinch—but he stood there, unmoved, fingers wrapped around the weapon like it was nothing more than a child’s toy.

Then, before your eyes, the bat shimmered, flickering with static before dissolving into cascading lines of glowing code.

"Wha—?" Your voice caught in your throat. You stumbled back, staring at your now-empty hands.

Phainon’s grip tightened slightly before letting the last of the data slip away into the air. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" He tilted his head, watching you with something akin to amusement. "This world bends to my will. Here, I am more than just a warrior. I am its ruler. And you—" He reached for you, but you jerked away.

"You have nothing."

Your mind raced. If Phainon controlled this world, then you needed an ally. Dan Heng. If anyone could help you, it was him. Without another word, you turned on your heel and sprinted in the direction you last saw him.

Phainon moved faster.

Before you could even react, he was in front of you. A sharp pain struck your temple as everything blurred. The world tilted violently, your vision fading to black before you could even cry out.

When you awoke, you were somewhere else. The air was heavy, unfamiliar, and the silence pressed against you like a suffocating weight.

Each time you tried, you discovered something new.

At first, it was small—a fleeting moment where the world around you responded to your thoughts. Like that one door that should have been locked clicking open. Each time you tapped into this power, you felt something unravel within you.

And each time, Phainon was there.

He found you the first time when you forced open a gate leading to the outskirts. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk before pulling you back before you could get far.

The second time, when you manipulated the gravity beneath you to leap across a rooftop, he appeared at the other end, effortlessly catching you mid-air and setting you back on solid ground.

The third time, you managed to shroud yourself in the crowd, blending in so well you thought you had finally shaken him. But as you turned a corner, there he stood, leaning against the alley’s entrance with an almost lazy amusement.

Each time, he grew more intrigued.

And each time, he stayed longer.

Phainon visited more than before, finding you no matter where you wandered. Sometimes, he merely watched. Other times, he engaged—teasing you, challenging you, indulging in casual conversation as if you were anything but his captive.

It made you wonder—did his friends ever question him?

One evening, while the sky burned a dusky orange, you finally asked, "If I agree to be with you, will you let me live more freely?"

Phainon studied you, expression unreadable. Then, he laughed softly, stepping closer until the space between you nearly disappeared. His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite holding but enough to remind you of his presence.

"Now, that's an interesting question," he murmured. "And one I might just consider."

The days stretched on. You wandered as much as you could within the confines of his reach, testing the limits of your newfound abilities. Sometimes, you found joy in the smallest acts of defiance. Other times, you felt the crushing weight of his attention.

One day, you encountered his friend. The moment you saw him, something about him caught you off guard. He carried himself with effortless grace, his beauty nearly mesmerizing, and for a brief moment, you forgot everything else. The encounter was fleeting, but it left an impression on you.

When you returned, you hesitated before asking, "Who was that? The one with golden eyes?"

Phainon stilled. His usual playful demeanor faltered for just a second before his smile returned. "Mydei" he said simply.

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. You didn’t think much of it at first—until the next day, when he suddenly forbade you from leaving.

"You’re staying here today" he announced casually over breakfast. "No wandering off."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

His smile didn’t waver, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze. "Do I need a reason?"

You didn’t let him off so easily. Rising to your feet, you grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "Is this about Mydei?"

For the first time, something dark flickered behind his charming facade. He let out a slow breath, turning fully to face you. His fingers lifted, tracing the side of your face in a deceptively gentle motion.

"You have such a way of testing me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if you even realize it."

His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting it just slightly as his blue eyes bore into yours. "Tell me," he continued, his tone smooth but laced with something possessive, "did he captivate you that much? Enough to make you forget who keeps you safe?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "This isn’t about safety, is it?" you challenged. "You’re jealous."

Phainon chuckled, though there was no real amusement in it. "Jealous?" He repeated the word as if testing its weight on his tongue. Then, he leaned in. "If that’s what you want to call it."

"You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "So don't mention his name with that mouth of yours again."

This is going out of hand, and you must do something. A way to return to your own world, to get away from him.

You weren’t sure what you had done wrong. You've been trying to find your way back home so you messed with the system's rules, leading to whatever is happening in front of your very eyes.

Sitting before you was a system menu—one that shouldn’t have existed. It flickered, its edges distorted, as if the game itself was resisting your interference. Your heart pounded as you scrolled through the options, desperately searching for a way to force the game to release you.

Your fingers hovered over the last remaining command:

[Modify Event Flags]

A risk. A mistake. But you took it anyway.

A sharp chime rang in your ears, the screen flashing as the world around you trembled. The coding beneath your feet warped like rippling water, a sickening pull dragging you downward as the game executed whatever change you had triggered. Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you intended. You had tried to bypass Phainon’s control, to force an event where he would let you go.

Instead, the world went dark.

When you woke, your surroundings were unrecognizable.

Gold and ivory silk draped over every surface, the warm glow of lanterns casting soft shadows along the grand walls. Ornate decorations stretched from the ceiling to the floor, the unmistakable scent of fresh roses filling the air. You blinked, your pulse quickening as you sat up, your fingers brushing against the embroidered fabric of an unfamiliar garment.

No. No, this wasn’t right.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

That voice.

You turned to see him.

Phainon stood at the edge of the room, adorned in a ceremonial ensemble far more elaborate than his usual attire. Silver-white hair, blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A slow smile curled his lips as he stepped closer, his presence consuming the space between you.

“What… is this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Phainon tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You should already know, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who triggered the event.”

“The event?”

His expression softened, but there was something in his gaze—something terrifyingly certain. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Our wedding.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs as his words settled into your mind. “That’s not possible—I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he murmured, voice impossibly gentle. “The game has already set everything in motion.”

You scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the cold marble floor as you backed away from him. “No, I refuse this. There has to be a way to undo it.”

Phainon’s smile didn’t waver. “There isn’t.”

The weight of his words crashed over you like a tidal wave. The game had overwritten its own path. It had forced you into this event—one where every outcome led to you standing at an altar beside him.

His hand found your wrist before you could run.

“You’ve fought me at every turn,” he mused “And yet, here we are. Together. Just as fate—just as the game itself—has decided.”

You struggled against his grip, but it was firm, unyielding. “This isn’t fate. This is manipulation.”

Phainon chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Then tell me… do you really think you have a choice?”

The doors behind him creaked open, revealing an expanse of guests waiting beyond them—characters you had met, NPCs whose scripts had adapted to fit this sudden turn of events. They were all here for one reason.

For your wedding.

Your breath came fast and shallow as you looked back at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His grip on you tightened just slightly. “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you waste such a perfect opportunity. We're finally able to be together forever.”

You knew then—you were trapped. The game had sealed your fate. You only hoped to get away from him with an error, an event, anything. The system gave you this. You had your choice, but this event involved Phainon, how tragic. And Phainon… Phainon had never looked more satisfied. If it's something he can manipulate, surely he won't let you have your way.

“Now,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Shall we begin?”

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #phainon x you #yandere phainon #phainon honkai star rail #hsr phainon #phainon hsr #phainon x reader #phainon

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hoshifighting · 4 months ago

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vernon + food play

— vernon doesn't waste food, and there was whipped cream left over from the strawberry cake your two were baking

WARNINGS: +18, smut, nipple play, food play, fingering, eating strawberries, smut under the cut.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you’ve never been one for patience, and vernon knows it. hell, he’s probably counting on it right now,

given the way he’s watching you, slow as ever, sitting at the edge of the bed while you’re lying there like a damn buffet. two perfect mounds of whipped cream on your nipples, and his eyes haven’t left them since he put them there, a quiet little smirk pulling at the corner of his lips like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it.

“you wanna strawberry?” his voice is soft, teasing, and you narrow your eyes at him, your cheeks heating up even though this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself spread out for him like this. something about how casual he is, like this is an everyday thing, gets to you every time. the lightest tap of your hand against his shoulder makes him laugh, low and lazy, before he picks up a strawberry, holding it between his lips, waiting for you.

you nod, biting down just as he inches closer. the burst of sweetness hits your tongue, but all you can focus on is the heat of his breath as he leans in closer, licking a trail of whipped cream off your breast like he’s savoring every second of it. “fuck,” you murmur, body tensing under his touch. he’s slow, too slow, the way his tongue swirls around the peak of your nipple, lapping up the cream until there’s nothing left but the warm wetness of his mouth, lips wrapping around your sensitive skin.

"you taste good, baby," he mutters, his fingers tracing light patterns down your stomach, making you squirm. his voice drips with amusement, like he’s enjoying your reactions way too much, knowing exactly what he’s doing. his hand slides lower, fingertips brushing between your thighs, and your breath hitches, hips lifting involuntarily towards his touch.

“vernon,” you groan, impatient as ever, but he just laughs again, his fingers dipping between your folds, finding you soaked and desperate. “i swear to god im already so, if you don’t—” your words cut off with a gasp as he presses a finger inside, slowy, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you lose it.

“relax, babe,” he mumbles, his mouth returning to your chest, licking up the remaining cream, tongue flicking over your nipples until you’re a mess of whimpers beneath him. his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your whole body shudder, and you can barely keep still, your legs trembling, his name slipping from your lips repeatedly.

he adds another finger, pumping in and out of you, and your hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it’s no use. the pressure’s building too fast, too strong, and you can feel yourself melting. “fuck, vernon—i’m close.”

“i know,” he says, smug as hell, lips ghosting over your belly now, his fingers working you faster, his other thumb circling your clit in time with each thrust. you’re shaking, thighs clamping around his wrist, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. his eyes lock onto yours, and you love how he holds the gaze as your whole body tenses, and the next thing you know, you’re crying out, back arching off the bed, your orgasm swiping you from your feet, making you squeeze his forearm that continues pumping you.

you’re panting, barely able to catch your breath, and yet he doesn’t let up, his fingers still moving, milking every last drop of your cum until you’re squirming away, too sensitive, too much. but then he leans down, his tongue tracing a line over your belly, licking up the remnants of the whipped cream like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

“holy shit,” you breathe, still coming down from the high, your body still shaking.

he smirks, clearly satisfied with himself, and leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “want more whipped cream, or you done?”

“we still have it?” your eyes shine slightly.

“actually no, but i can definitely buy some more down the street.” he raises up, ready to do it if you say yes.

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perlelune · 1 year ago

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Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your hands quake around the bucket of mice as you stand above the terrarium. The bright-skinned creatures inside writhe around, in anticipation of their next meal. You peer inside the metal bucket at the little mice with their cute whiskers and beady eyes. Your heart twinges. They will soon meet their end, courtesy of you. But what else can be done? The snakes need to eat. Because if they were not fed, the colorful reptiles would break through the glass in search of the food they were denied. You used to have nightmares of it as a child. The lab crawling with snakes, their neon scales filling every corner.

Natural order restored as every warm-blooded creature in their vicinity turns into prey.

You suppress a shudder. While that never happened, you can’t erase the slight chill dancing through your bones whenever you approach the terrarium.

Other lab assistants have offered to take on the task, noting your discomfort. You’ve turned each of them down. Mother has given you this job ten years ago. A gift, she called it. More of a challenge quite frankly. A way to test your nerves, that she always deemed too delicate. She never expected you to go through with it. “Hippity, hoppity, little one,” she mockingly sang that day as you fidgeted before the ceiling-high glass case filled with snakes to the brim. Their scales were a deep green back then. Nothing like the pink, yellow and blue shades they don today. A plethora of mutations throughout the years has made them what they are now.

You tip the bucket against the edge of the glass case, abandoning the poor rodents to their fates. The reptiles are quick to dive upon them in a heap. The mice’s helpless squeaks reach a peak, piercing your ears until they’re silenced quickly. You watch, stomach tight while the snakes open their maws and swallow the furred animals whole. The spectacle will never sit well with you.

Still, you school your features and steady your heart. Mother’s voice echoes through your head.

Emotions are a weakness. They must be harnessed, contained.

Harnessing your emotions. A feat you could never achieve. One that makes you a failed experiment in Mother’s eyes. A waste of space. A disappointment.

You start climbing down the ladder to gather more mice from their cages. Your insides clutch at the prospect of gently picking them up only to escort them to a sorrowful fate.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted when voices erupt from the other end of the long hall.

Recognizing them, you freeze. Panic floods your veins. You haste down the ladder, the bucket clattering as you discard it on the floor.

You scurry inside the nearest office and duck beneath a table.

The voices grow in the lab. You eavesdrop, allowing you to catch snippets of the conversation. They’re discussing Mother’s latest experiments with the Avox subjects. One succumbed to a chromosome translocation with a wolf mutt. The finer details of replacing the subject and what can be learned from the results are discussed in cold, clinical fashion. No regard for what was a human life, now lost, is granted. The Avox was nothing more than a slab of meat meant for slaughter. The slow, barbaric kind.

Ice seeps through your veins. You loathe visiting that room, the one displaying Mother’s human experiments on unfortunate Avoxes. Their beseeching gazes. Their warped pleas parroted by the jabberjays above them. You almost passed out every time you were tasked with monitoring their electrolyte status or switching their intravenous tubes.

Head rising from under the desk, you allow yourself a peek.

Mother’s here, of course. You recognized her voice right away. Then, there’s…him.

You let your gaze rest on him, never having the chance to observe him like that. Steal a glance from the back of the lecture hall. Get a glimpse of him amidst his crowd of friends, always in his element of course, owning every room he’s in.

Never before did you get to just look at him.

The first thing that strikes you is how beautiful he is. Handsome in that dazzling way the pretty boys in the sappy books smuggled from the Districts your mother berates you for reading are.

She calls them stupid. For you however, they are your only escape from the dismal humdrum of the Capitol. Fictional worlds that shield you from the harshness of reality. Your saving grace.

Platinum locks combed back from his face. Eyes as blue as the sky. Sharp, angular features.

Coriolanus Snow.

Behind the safety of the glass panel, openly admiring him is easier. In fact, you find it almost hard to peel your eyes away.

No wonder half the girls in your cohort can’t stop gushing about him, how there’s an irresistible, slight air of danger hovering around him since his brief time as a peacekeeper. Even Io Jasper noticed it. And Io never notices anything that she can’t wedge between two glass slides and examine under a microscope.

Awe mingles with envy in your chest. This is who your mother chose as her unofficial successor. The worthy, cool-headed apprentice she has yearned for years. She’s been through so many people, each more eager to please and impress than the last. None ever fit. Not even you. Especially not you. Nobody except for him.

No one had ever passed your mother’s crooked tests before Coriolanus Snow came along.

Blue eyes travel upward, the Snow heir seeming to sense the scrutiny upon him.

“Is someone here?” he says, pushing forward.

Your pulse quickens at the sound of Coriolanus Snow’s deep voice, disturbingly close. You crouch to hide from view.

Mother’s exasperated breath reaches you from behind the glass panel.

“Don’t worry. It’s probably my daughter. I’m afraid she’s quite useless,” she says matter-of-factly.

Your heart sinks. Face warm with embarrassment, you shrink beneath the desk. You bring your knees to your chest. Hearing such words shouldn’t affect you. Not after all these years. Yet it does. A pointed reminder that you can never measure up. That you’re a glaring mistake, lucky to even be allowed to wander the halls of the Citadel and be given a semblance of responsibility, however small.

That you’re not enough, will never be enough.

That you should never have been brought into the world.

After getting caught, you file away your embarrassment and make yourself small. Even smaller than usual. It's not too hard. When you aren’t working at the lab, your schedule consists of attending lectures and studying for long hours at the library. It keeps you busy enough to find excuses to skip a few hours at the lab. After all, midterms are only a few weeks away. They require your entire focus. You can’t fail and add more of a shameful stain to Mother’s name.

It’s why you ramped up your studying since the Academy. You were painfully average then, tragically unremarkable, not even ranking high enough to get your own tribute to mentor in the tenth Hunger Games. The shriveling stare she cast upon you the day of the reaping after Dean Highbottom failed to speak your name is burned into your mind forever. That day, you failed Mother again. You swore to yourself to never let it happen again afterwards.

This year, you will study harder, until your eyes fall off if necessary. If you can pass every class with flying colors and perhaps even aim for the valedictorian spot, you can prove Mother that your existence isn’t a complete and utter waste. It might be a lofty goal for you, but you’ve been ranking higher with every test these last few weeks.

For days, your path does not cross Coriolanus Snow’s again. Your peace is maintained. You get to almost forget how piercing his blue eyes were that day, even from behind the glass panel.

Today, you don’t expect things to veer away from your usual routine. You sit in the back of the lecture hall as is your habit. Students pour inside at a sluggish pace while you peruse your notes from the previous class. They barely make sense, even to you. Defense economics has never been your favorite subject, possibly your most hated in fact, and paying attention during Professor Cloudsbane’s class is even more of a challenge. More than once, you dozed off, the complicated concepts struggling to fully sink into your mind.

Keeping up with this class is twice as much work than all the other ones. Even Mother’s bioengineering and military strategy courses do not give you so much grief. Concepts she’s drilled into you since childhood are easier to digest.

Which is why you’re flabbergasted when the results of last week’s test are passed around and you receive yours. In disbelief, you blink at the paper multiple times.

It’s the highest grade you’ve gotten the entire semester. Possibly the highest one in the class. You bask in the private, secret victory. You’re always so behind. You plan on enjoying that tiny moment. You hug the test to your chest, a smile creeping upon your lips.

“So what score did you get?”

Your head whips up, the sudden voice startling you out of your thoughts.

Bright cobalt orbs fill your sight.

You gape in disbelief. Coriolanus Snow.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize he and his group of friends have elected to occupy the seats in the row before yours today. You’re stunned. They’re usually sitting somewhere in the middle of the hall, not quite at the front but close enough so that Clemensia can comfortably harass the professor with a ceaseless string of questions as she’s known to do.

“So?” he asks again. His eyes dart down. “Your grade?”

Your throat knots as you gawk at him. When you don’t reply, he huffs out a laugh and swipes the piece of paper from your hand. You’re too flabbergasted by his actions to even react.

Empty hands hanging before you, you watch him purse his lips as he inspects your paper.

“Hm, top grade. Figured.” His eyes twinkle. “Expected from Dr. Gaul’s daughter, I suppose.”

“You almost had it, Coryo. But she beat you,” Clemensia teases, wiggling her eyebrows. Meanwhile, Ivy Briarose, Clemensia’s close friend, giggles at her comment.

You steal a glance at his test; he’s holding it next to yours. Surprise surges through you. There’s only half a point between your grade and his. Just half a point…but still. Coriolanus always aces Professor Cloudsbane’s tests. Him getting the top grade is often expected. But this time, the Snow heir falls behind…you.

You can hardly believe it. A sliver of pride flutters through you. The fruits of your labor are beginning to show.

“If you don’t watch out, she’ll steal the top student spot from you,” Livia chimes in. You can tell the blonde is reveling in this, that strange animosity between her and Coriolanus on full display.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks, his tight-lipped smile unfaltering as he studies you.

“I suppose she could,” he utters softly. Despite his tranquil expression and the smile pulling his lips, a peculiar unease settles in your bones. You shift in your chair, goosebumps blooming across your flesh.

He hands you your test back without a word. You’re relieved when he turns and the class starts.

Still, even with his back turned, the weight of his sizzling scrutiny doesn’t part from your skin.

The class proceeds, the words pouring from your professor’s lips a befuddling heap in your ears as usual. You jot everything down, acutely aware you’ll need several hours if not more than that to decipher everything he said. Your mind already throbs at the prospect.

You sneak a glance at the row in front of you. It’s mostly filled with the top students, most of them mentors that last year at the Academy. Some of them aren’t even taking notes. Only Coriolanus sporadically does. He appears to have no issue keeping up with this class, unlike you who drowned in the first few minutes.

You’re relieved when the lecture reaches its end. Your mind is on the cusp of overflow. You desperately need a break.

You pick up your things and rush to the exit. In the hallway, some guy bumps into you from behind, sending the books in your arms flying across the floor. He doesn’t say anything to you and you bend to pick up your books. Tears press behind your eyes. This is nothing. It shouldn’t make you blink back tears. It’s not the first time someone’s treated you like you were invisible.

“Hey, apologize.”

Your eyes drift skyward. Stumped, you watch Coriolanus grip the boy who bumped into you by his shoulder.

“What?” the guy replies, confusion scrunching his features.

“You bumped into her. I said ‘apologize’,” Coriolanus articulates, as if he were addressing a particularly slow child. When the guy tries to leave, rolling his eyes, the blond squeezes him tighter. Tension flickers in the air. They trade looks and doubts creep on the guy’s face, his face blanching.

He clears his throat and whirls to you.

“Sorry,” he blurts out.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

He turns, likely hoping to leave again, but Coriolanus tuts him, pointing at your books, still scattered across the floor.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he says, arching his brow.

The guy unleashes a sigh but hunkers down to collect all of your books. He gives them to you in a neat pile as you stare at the spectacle, mouth agape.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

He nods and saunters off, avoiding Coriolanus’ eyes.

Coriolanus grabs your hand, helping you to your feet. The pads of his fingers are rougher than you expect, calluses pressing against your soft skin. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you rise.

You’re not sure what to say, your nerves flaring beneath his stare. But you suppose you should thank him. While you struggle standing up for yourself, he just did it for you. So you mumble the words under your breath and begin heading in the opposite direction.

With his long legs, Coriolanus easily keeps up with your hasty strides. Your heart skips a beat as he falls in step with you.

“I feel strange asking this but…” He leans above your shoulder to whisper, “Are you avoiding me?”

“I-I’m not,” you stammer, your pulse racing with the lie.

The blond chuckles.

“You’re walking awfully fast for someone who’s not avoiding me.”

“I’m just running late to my next class.”

“What about your mom’s lab?” he challenges. “You were hiding from me, weren’t you?”

Your lips tighten. If only he’d drop it. You don’t want to revisit that awkward moment. Everything about it makes your stomach ache.

“I…wasn’t,” you lie, your voice barely above a breath. Your face warms as a smile plays upon Coriolanus’ lips. You halt in your tracks, hugging your books against your chest as you pivot to him. You bashfully meet his gaze. “I was just a little spooked.”

He tilts his head, mirth swimming in his cobalt orbs.

“Spooked? By me? Do I scare you, angel?”

The pet name, uttered like a caress, sets your heart aflutter.

“No,” you mutter. Another lie. And it’s like he’s picked up on it, his soft, pink lips stretching even more.

“It wasn’t nice what she said,” he says abruptly.

You blink in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Dr. Gaul, about you. It wasn’t nice.”

You shrug. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

He approaches you. The scent of his pricey cologne engulfs your senses. It’s masculine but the faint scent of roses lingers underneath, as if stubbornly clinging to him.

His voice lowers, his gaze entrapping yours.

“It’s not fine. You work so hard to make her see you. You’re a good daughter.” You don’t realize his hand’s moved to your face until one of his fingers traces the curve of your cheek. Your heart races at the sudden touch. Coriolanus’ thumb drags down to your chin, his attention landing on your bottom lip. He smiles. “Hard work should be praised, rewarded even.”

Disarmed by his closeness and the strange words rolling off his tongue, you retreat.

You readjust the books between your arms.

“I s-should go. My next class is about to start.”

His words interrupt you.

“Hey, why don’t you have lunch with me and the others today?”

Your stomach clutches. You think about Coriolanus’ usual crowd, a bunch of kids from wealthy, influential families, popular and revered. Clemensia Dovecote. Livia Cardew. Ivy Briarose. Hilarius Heavensbee. Festus Creed. Most of them now hold the admiration of their peers for having survived the chaos the Tenth Hunger Games were.

You’d never fit in with them. In fact, you never did. Coriolanus must know that. Is he trying to punish you for eavesdropping on his conversation with your mother the other day?

“I-I never talked to any of them,” you answer, panic swelling in your gut.

His brows crumple. “If you don’t talk to anyone, you’ll never make friends.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need friends,” you retaliate.

“It’s always useful, having friends,” he rasps. “The right connections, they can get you far.”

You anxiously roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m not good at…making conversation.”

“We’re having a conversation now,” he says, laughing.

As you mull over what he just said, a small smile tugs your lips.

“I guess we are.”

His gaze sharpens. “That’s a pretty smile. I’d love to see it more often.”

His low, soft voice sends chills through your spine.

Coriolanus’ long lashes droop as he gauges your expression.

“I’d be disappointed if I didn't see your face, angel.”

You fidget, your eyes sinking to the floor before rising to meet his again.

“I don’t know if that’s okay… for me to show up like that.”

“I’m inviting you, so of course it’s okay.”

He speaks like it’s a given, like whatever he says goes. His confidence unsettles you.

You fall quiet, weighing your options. There’s something in Coriolanus’ silky voice that makes it hard to say no, but you’d hate being the unwanted guest at the popular kids’ table.

Still, the expectation on his face makes you not want to let him down.

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter belatedly.

A broad smile spreads on his handsome face.

“Perfect. See you at lunch then, angel.”

As he strolls away, your feet remain glued to the floor, your mind lingering in disbelief of what just occurred.

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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mamaguroheartstoji · 21 days ago

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wrapped in sunlight, wrapped in you ☀️

summary: on a crisp winter afternoon, toji surprises you with a picnic by the lake, complete with warm sunlight, soft banter, and stolen kisses. as the breeze grows cooler, his arms grow warmer, and what starts as playful teasing turns into a tender moment wrapped in quiet affection.

genre: fluff, slice of life, romance

toji wasn’t one for typical romantic gestures, so when he appeared in your doorway holding a picnic basket and a folded blanket, you were understandably suspicious.

“did you get possessed by a rom-com protagonist?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe with an amused grin.

he rolled his eyes, pushing past you like he owned the place. “shut up and put on something warm. you’re always whining about how cold you get.”

“and where are we going exactly?”

“out,” he said simply, setting the basket down on your counter.

you stared at him, trying to decipher his tone. “out where?”

he turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “does it matter? i’m taking you somewhere nice. stop asking questions before i change my mind.”

that earned a laugh out of you, and you grabbed your jacket, deciding to go along with it. “you’re lucky i’m curious.”

“you’re lucky i like you enough to put up with your attitude,” he shot back, smirking.

the drive was quiet but comfortable, with toji’s hand resting on the gear shift. occasionally, he’d glance at you, his lips quirking when you caught him.

“you’re staring again,” you said, breaking the silence.

“just trying to figure out why i’m doing this for you,” he replied, though the way his eyes softened gave him away.

“because i’m cute,” you said confidently, earning a snort from him.

“you’re a pain in the ass,” he muttered, but his hand shifted to rest on your knee, squeezing lightly.

when you arrived at the park, the winter sun was shining brightly, casting a golden glow over the bare trees and the quiet lake nearby. it was the kind of day that made winter feel less harsh and more magical.

“you picked this spot?” you asked, surprised as he carried the basket and blanket to a sunny patch near the water.

“don’t make it a big deal,” he said, setting everything down. “you’re always talking about fresh air and sunlight. figured i’d shut you up for a day.”

“aw, toji, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you teased, grinning as you spread the blanket.

“keep it up and i’ll eat all the food myself,” he warned, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

the basket was simple but thoughtful: sandwiches wrapped neatly, a container of cut-up fruit, pastries that looked like they came from your favorite bakery, and a thermos filled with something steaming.

“you really outdid yourself,” you said, looking at him in mock awe.

“don’t act so surprised,” he replied, sitting down with a huff. “i’m good at everything i do.”

“everything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

he smirked, leaning in slightly. “you wanna test that theory later?”

your cheeks went warm, and you swatted his arm. “toji!”

he just laughed, pleased with himself, and unwrapped a sandwich.

as you ate, a small dog wandered up to your blanket, its tail wagging furiously.

“look at this little guy!” you said, holding out a hand for the dog to sniff.

toji eyed it warily. “great. freeloaders.”

“he’s cute!” you said, scratching the dog behind the ears. “he just wants to be friends.”

“or he wants food,” toji said, but he still broke off a piece of his sandwich and handed it to the dog, who took it eagerly.

“aw, look at you, mr. softie,” you teased, grinning.

he gave you a deadpan look. “don’t push it.”

the dog eventually curled up at the edge of your blanket, and toji leaned back on his hands, watching the lake. the sunlight caught in his dark hair, and for a moment, you forgot about the teasing.

“you’re staring again,” he said, not even looking at you.

“just trying to figure out why i like you,” you shot back, though the warmth in your voice gave you away.

“because i’m hot,” he replied easily, smirking when you rolled your eyes.

“so modest,” you said, leaning back beside him.

he glanced down at you, his smirk softening into something gentler. “you don’t mind, do you?”

“mind what?”

“this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the blanket, the basket, the moment. “the whole… picnic thing.”

“toji,” you said, leaning closer, “i love this. it’s perfect.”

he grunted, but his hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

as the afternoon went on, a breeze picked up, and you shivered despite the sunlight. toji noticed immediately, tugging you closer until you were practically in his lap.

“come here,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. “can’t have you freezing to death.”

“you’re just using me for warmth,” you said, but you nestled against him anyway.

“damn right,” he muttered, resting his chin on your head.

you tilted your head back to look up at him, grinning. “you’re so obvious.”

he smirked down at you, his eyes glinting with amusement. “yeah? you’re lucky i like you.”

you laughed, but your cheeks were warm again, and when he leaned down to kiss you, you didn’t stop him. it was soft, slow, and it made your heart flutter in a way that still surprised you.

when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “you’re cute when you blush,” he said, his voice low.

“you’re impossible,” you muttered, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

“you love it,” he replied, smirking.

“unfortunately,” you said, earning a chuckle from him.

as the sun began to set, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you stayed there in his arms, feeling like the world outside your little blanket didn’t exist.

“so,” you said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “does this mean i can drag you on more picnics?”

he groaned dramatically. “don’t push your luck.”

but the way he held you tighter told you everything you needed to know.

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goldfades · 2 months ago

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BENEATH THE GLITTER OF DECEMBER ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ N. HISCHIER (12 days of christmas ask event)

masterlist! requested

as holidays approach, it’s important to remember those who are facing hardships, such as the people of palestine. in times of crisis, solidarity matters more than ever. you can support palestinian communities by donating to reputable organizations providing aid, such as food, medical supplies, and shelter.

help palestine with a click | heal palestine | unrwa | resources for palestine

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | request for my blurb celly -> nico hischier w the prompt “001. under the mistletoe, placed sneakily above a doorframe”

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluffy! a cheeky little kiss at the end.

The holiday party was in full swing, the air thick with the warm hum of laughter and the faint crackle of a well-tended fire. Snow clung to boots abandoned at the door, pooling in little puddles on the hardwood. You’d helped string the lights earlier, the twinkling glow giving the room a dreamy haze, but now you lingered near the edge of the crowd, a warm mug of mulled cider clasped between your hands.

You hadn’t expected to come tonight. It wasn’t really your scene—the loudness, the casual intimacy of shared stories and holiday cheer. But the pull of tradition, of friends gathered together in the thick of winter, had been too strong. Or maybe it had been the quiet, insistent suggestion of someone who knew you well enough to push just the right buttons. Someone who seemed to orbit every gathering like this, his easy laugh cutting through the din, impossible to miss.

You knew Nico would be here. You always did.

Even now, you caught flashes of him between the shifting crowd—dark hair just messy enough to be endearing, his smile too bright to be dulled by the soft golden light of the room. He moved with a natural kind of grace, slipping between groups, trading jokes, and clinking glasses. He was magnetic in the way that only certain people are, drawing everyone in without even realizing it.

You turned your focus back to your cider, the spices sharp and comforting as they filled your nose, though the warmth in your chest couldn’t be entirely attributed to the drink. Your eyes flickered upward once, almost involuntarily, toward the doorframe ahead. You’d noticed it earlier—the sprig of mistletoe perched sneakily above it, as if waiting for the right moment, the right people.

And then you heard his voice behind you.

“Hey,” Nico said, his tone casual, though it always carried that easy familiarity, like he knew exactly how to speak to you without trying too hard.

Your heart gave a small, treacherous leap. The way it always did.

You turned at the sound of his voice, just enough to catch him standing there, too close and yet somehow not close enough. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, the faintest pink tinting his nose and the tips of his ears, but his grin was as warm as ever, effortlessly charming.

“Hi,” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady, though you could already feel the corners of your mouth tugging into a smile. There was something about Nico that made it impossible not to respond to him, as if his presence alone carried a kind of gravity you couldn’t ignore.

“You looked like you were trying to disappear,” he teased, his Swiss accent weaving through his words, soft and teasing. He motioned toward your mug. “Did the cider help, or should I get you something stronger?”

You rolled your eyes, though the grin you’d been fighting spread fully across your face. “It’s a party, Nico, not a survival test. I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but letting it slide. Instead, he shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into your space. “Well, you’ve been standing over here long enough. Come on. They’re about to start the worst round of karaoke you’ve ever heard, and you’re not missing it.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Nico was already reaching out, his hand brushing yours in a way that sent an uninvited flutter through your chest. He was always like this, so effortlessly bold, while you found yourself fumbling for the right balance between casual and composed whenever he was around.

“Nico, I don’t think you’re in any position to judge karaoke,” you shot back, falling into step beside him as he led you toward the center of the room.

“Hey, my performance of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’ last year was iconic,” he countered, mock-indignant.

“It was something,” you deadpanned, which earned a laugh from him—one of those rare, unguarded bursts that made the room feel smaller, more intimate, like it was just the two of you in on a secret.

But before you reached the knot of people now gathering near the speakers, Nico slowed. You glanced up at him, confused, only to find his eyes fixed not on you but above you.

You followed his gaze, and your stomach dropped—and not in a bad way. The mistletoe.

There it was, perched innocently above the doorframe you’d just crossed under, its green leaves and small white berries practically mocking you. Your face heated as you looked back at him, but he didn’t seem fazed. In fact, his grin widened, a hint of mischief creeping into his expression.

“Would you look at that,” he said, his voice low enough that it felt like a private moment, even with the hum of the party around you.

You groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified. “This was not part of the plan.”

“Plan?” Nico tilted his head, feigning innocence. “What plan? I think it’s fate.”

He was insufferable, and yet, somehow, you didn’t mind. You could already see the teasing retorts forming on his lips, but before he could say anything else, you felt his hand brush yours again—this time deliberate, lingering.

“Only fair,” he murmured, leaning in slightly, giving you plenty of time to pull back. You didn’t.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and warm and surprisingly gentle, like he wasn’t trying to prove anything, just trying to kiss you. It was over in a second, though it left you blinking up at him, flustered and breathless, while he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“There,” he said, his tone entirely too casual for what had just happened. “Now we’re following tradition.”

You swatted his arm, though your heart was still racing, your lips still tingling. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, his grin infuriatingly charming, “you’re still standing here.”

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nhl imagine #nhl #nhl fic #hockey #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hockey fic #nhl imagines #nhl players #nhl hockey #nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fanfic #nico hischier au #nj devils #njd #nico hischier smut

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gilverrwrites · 26 days ago

Note

🎇 + 😺 + 🥺 for dick & jason & if you do kyle rayner but if not then for hal!

Jason, Kyle, and Hal under the cut.

Dick

🎇 orgasm headcanon

Dick has such a praise kink that if you catch him in the right frame of mind, you can make him cum with minimal stimulation. So long as your rubbing his cock, even through the thick fabric of his suit, as you whisper admirations in his ear. “You’re so beautiful baby, fuck, nobody does it like you do.” He’ll be whimpering and making a mess of himself, just for you in moments.

😺 how they eat the pussy

Dick is a fucking terror when it comes to eating pussy. It’s his bread and butter, his first point of call in any sexual experience. He loves it. He’s good at it, and he knows it.

He doesn’t let on to any of that of course, not the first time. “You ever had this sweet pussy eaten before?” Is all he’d asked as he popped the button on your jeans, hiking them down along with your panties and started pressing deep, open-mouthed kisses to your freshly exposed skin.

“Not well.” You’d lamented, tickled by the hot breath of his laughter at your response. “Good luck.”

In minutes he had you reeling, fists clenched in his dark locks, your toes curled, breath hitching. Dick doesn’t need luck.

He gets so pussy drunk too, it’s a problem. As stated, you’re seeing stars before you even know what’s what but Dick’s not going to settle for just one, two, not even tree orgasms. He’s going until his jaw falls off or you put your foot down, and it’s hard to put your foot down once he’s found that sweet spot deep in your cunt that makes your legs kick uncontrollably into the air.

🥺 first time headcanon

As mentioned above, Dick loves oral. The morish feel of your core pushed against his tongue, your thighs wrapped around his face, the tangy bittersweet taste of your juices, all of it was ingrained in his mind from repetition long before he ever felt the bliss of feeling your velvety walls swallowing his cock. It wasn’t for a lack of trying either. You’d begged him night after night, praying each time that this would be the fateful night he finally let you have it, but Dick held out, prolonging both your thirsts until he was well and truly certain that he'd driven you to the edge.

Jason

🎇 orgasm headcanon

For the longest time, Jason tenses up at even the smallest feelings of pleasure. It’s a little jarring, when he’s begging you to touch him, telling you there’s nothing more in the world that he wants than to make love to you, that this is the best he’s felt in years, but his body feels like it’s trying to repel you. All those hard muscles pulled taut, his hands fisted into the sheets like he’s trying not to punch something, but it’s so hard to say no to him when he’s pleading for more.

Eventually, with time and comfort, he starts to relax. It’s still like fucking a brick wall, but a brick wall with a blanket draped over it. And it’s gratifying, knowing that you did that, that he softened up for you, because he wanted to. Because he feels like he’s able to.

😺 how they eat the pussy

When it comes to eating pussy, Jay’s like a dog sniffing for food. Any time your legs are open he’s on his knees, nudging at your thighs with his nose, kissing the seam of your underwear, and silently begging for permission with those godforsaken eyes.

He likes to take his time. No matter how many times his tongue has explored your pussy, he eats like it’s the first time, every time. Slowly probing your tight little hole, stroking your clit every which way, testing which techniques mess with your restraint the most.

🥺 first time headcanon

The first time you and Jay slept together, the first time he ever got laid, he came within a matter of minutes. It was- he just- you were- ugh, y’know?

You were underneath him, smiling, watching him through those sexy, half-lidded eyes, making noises he’d only imagined. And you felt so fucking good, your skin so soft to the touch, your core all hot and tight. He felt it happening. Tried to stop it. Pulling out as quickly as possible but it was too late and he came with a panicked cry and a series of swear words, pumping cum all over your stomach.

It took a lot of comforting, a lot of persistence to get him to stop beating himself up over it. You had to remind him that you weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon, so the two of you would have plenty of opportunity to do things differently, but eventually he caved.

Coincidentally, the first time you did it was also the same night he gave oral for the first time, and boy did he give.

Kyle

🎇 orgasm headcanon + 🥺 first time headcanon I’m tying these two together because they link. Stay with me here.

The first time you and Kyle had sex, he told you that he loved you. It wasn't even in the throws of passion, although he was definitely thinking it, every time you called his name. You gripped him tightly, grasp constricting every time he hammered into you, hitting the sweet spot he was so proud of finding over and over. You were howling his names with every thrust; “Kyle! Kyle,Kyle,Kyle!” and he thought “I love you! IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!” in response to each one, but he managed to hold it back.

At least until the two of you collapsed onto the bed, sweating, panting, still holding onto each other as you rode your highs back down to earth.

“Kyle?” You’d questioned, watching how he stared blankly at the ceiling, lips curled into a boyish grin.

“I love you.” He replied immediately, clasping his hands over his mouth as soon as he realised what he'd said.

The tradition continues throughout your relationship, once you said it back to him, once you’d talked things out. Now, whenever he hits his climax, he whispers “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.” Over and over until his balls are empty and his body lays limp beside you.

😺 how they eat the pussy

Kyle is more hands than mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the taste of your sweet cunt, or the feel of its soft, plump walls swallowing up his tongue, it’s just that he gets distracted. The artist in him is so enamoured with the curves and plains of your body, the way your skin ripples as you ride out waves of euphoria. Fucking fascinating. He gets so lost enjoying the show that he forgets to use his mouth a lot of the time, instead fucking you on his paint-stained fingers over and over until you start whining, pleading for him to dig his tongue in deep so you can cum on his face.

Hal

🎇 orgasm headcanon

Hal is a creampie guy, and an ass man. You don’t even have to let him fuck your ass, but when he’s on the brink of shooting his load, he’ll beg you to stop what you’re doing, to roll over and let him spread your cheeks so he can push the crown of his cock just past the rim. He’ll be so good, please baby, please let him fill you up. Just the brim, so he can watch his cum spill back out. It’s so fucking hot to him, seeing it flood between your crack, dripping onto the bedsheets before he scoops it up and pushes it back in.

😺 how they eat the pussy

Sit on this man's face. No really, sit. Don’t hover. Sit and ride him. He’ll thank you for it. Once he can muster a word that isn’t muffled by your pussy pressed against his lips. He’ll thank you for pulling his hair and grinding on him till his skin permanently has your scent ingrained into it. He’ll thank you for the view; a front-row seat to your body as it bends and rolls. He’ll thank you for the unrestricted access to squeeze and slap and massage your ass while you work his tongue into every crevice of your sweet, sweet cunt.

🥺 first time headcanon

The first time Hal sleeps with anyone for the first time, he gets a little timid around the subject of his dick size. He’s not shy in any other part of the courting process. He’s pretty slick when he’s putting the moves on you. That time you saw him in nothing but a towel? No skin off his nose, he’s got a good body. Asking you what you want out of a relationship? What gets you going in the sack? Talking dirty to you on the ride him? All of it, easy as pie.

Stripping off and exploring each other’s body with unlimited access for the first time? Bliss. But the second your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his boxers, quickly closing in on his painfully hard cock, he freezes up. Holding his breath, watching and waiting for your reaction. He shivers as you drag your thumb along his length, unaware of his tempered nerves.

But then you wrap your hands around it, gently jerking him as you start to pull his underwear further down, looking up at him with a feverish grin. You say; “Hal I can’t wait any longer, fuck me now.” And all the tension dissolves from him.

Smut emoji prompt requests are now closed.

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sleepymmn · 1 month ago

Text

Gentleman in the Streets

Tags/Mentions: vibrator in public, Kiri is a dom and sub top in this, GN reader, praise, Kiri calls u baby cus i said so wah wah, biting, edging like a lot of edging, he does cum inside lol

Summary: You and Kiri have been on patrol for a whole week and that takes a toll on the both of you. hes always been a gentleman, but you both know how this goes down

kiris always been a gentlemen; holding the door for you, giving gifts out of the love in his heart, even bragging about how he won at life simply because you give him the time of day

“baaabyy…”

but his libido is not as nice.

it was simple really— a nice date at the restaurant you both always frequent. the dishes were good and the people were nice enough to give some privacy.

too much privacy

the buzzing made your legs shake, your fork shivering to stay between your fingers.

you and kirishima have been on missions and patrols for a week. a whole week of not seeing eachother does something to you — and something to him

“youre so cute y’know that?” sweet words as always, but only the two of you knew the lesser meaning. the vibrator strapped to you roaring to life, a challenge from kiri, a dare to hunch over and explain to the waiter youre too horny to wait to get rearranged.

the food in front of you looked unappetizing compared to the hunk of muscle smiling at you like a puppy. his hand pretending to look for something in his pocket before the vibrator went higher

a choke leaves your throat, setting the fork down to look at the very interesting floor to ground yourself from cumming in the middle of a restaraunt.

the seat HAD to be soaking by now, your eyes cut at the red haired man who offers another innocently teasing smirk. any that a husband would give when a playful taunt was dished out

you knew how this was gonna end, he was going to push you until you break. the way he holds his arm out to grab after paying, his hand on your thigh as he drives back, and the way he drags you into the bedroom

“baby.. you know what you do to me..” he whispers out, slowly undressing the clothing you teased him with the whole night. biting your ear, he turns the vibrator up as high as he could. the coil in your stomach tightening tighter and tighter to that brink. that ever tightening feeling about to release-

and then he shuts it off.

you look up at him frustrated, upset beyond belief that he would dare rip that orgasm from you when youve been waiting a whole week to feel it. he unbuttons his pants, practically ripping his shirt to then throw you onto the bed

quickly, he cages you between him and the bed, taking his time to rub his hands through your body, testing to see if he remembers each curve and dip of your outline, the clear smirk evident that hes correct as always

“always so good for me, can never get enough of this sexy body”

his sharp teeth always teased you, he could rip you to shreds if he so wanted to. instead, he dipped below your hips, using those teeth to rip the underwear hiding the sweet paradise hes been yearning for the past week

your underwear ripped- tossed to the side, its been an added expense for him to buy you more underwear for him to rip, barely getting two wears in before turning into scraps on the floor at kiris disposal, but he was happy to shop for you

almost as much as he loved devouring you

as honest as he is, kiri will always say his favorite past time is eating while pushing his fingers in and out of your hole; the smell, the taste, the feeling was all too much for his poor brain to handle

his tongue circled, focus solely on making sure his teeth never came to harm you. calloused fingers probing you to prepare you for the wrecking youve been waiting for

“close.. please…”

those magical words were heaven to him, but he had other plans- ripping his tongue and fingers from you, taking away that coil once more. watching as tears prick those gorgeous eyes hed watch all day if he could

it was too much for you, the involuntary twitching, the yearn for him to continue, it was borderline torture and he just watches with a sick grin

“i need you to cum when i stick it in baby~” he coos, brushing his fingers through your hair to then pull slightly, licking at your neck before nibbling. his other hand goes to grab his cock, aligning it with your hole before his mouth goes back to your ear

“scream for me baby”

and scream you do.

goodnight lolz hope u enjoy my soft launch on tumblr dot com >_<

#kirishima x reader #kiri x reader #kirishima smut #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #kirishima x reader smut #bnha x reader smut #gn reader #edging kink #sleepymmn

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sahrii · 3 months ago

Note

hiii! Can you please do sick f!reader x kenma and reader is a big crybaby a quiet clingy and if you have time can you please make it long? And thank youu<3

hiiii!!!! Here it is, I really hope it’s to your liking!!

Also guys keep requesting, requests are open!

Enjoy <333

_____________________________________________

“Oi lover boy, your girlfriend is—“ kuroo began but got instantly cut off by kenma, whose eyes were glued to his gaming console.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kenma cut in immediately, his voice low but edged with irritation. His thumbs didn’t pause on the buttons of his console, though his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

Rustling noises of students walking around the crowded cafeteria swirled around them as the group sat together at their usual table. Plates clattered, bursts of laughter echoed, and chairs scraped the floor, but Kenma’s focus remained pinned to the dim glow of his screen.

“Why so defensive?” Kuroo smirked, and added “but anyway, your not girlfriend girlfriend looks like she just finished pushing a whole car across the continent”

Although kenma initially didn’t care, or tried to act like he didn’t care, his sharp, cat-like eyes darted upward, reluctantly shifting their focus to you.

You were sitting a few tables away with a couple of other classmates, but even from this distance, Kenma could tell something was off. Normally, you were full of energy during lunch, cracking jokes, dragging your friends into conversations, and—most importantly—occasionally wandering over to annoy him. But today, you sat slouched over your tray, barely picking at the food.

Your usually bright expression was replaced by a pale, sickly complexion. Your cheeks and nose were lightly tinted red, and your movements seemed sluggish, almost robotic.

“Ooo are we gonna see our lover boy in action?” Said kuroo smugly.

Kenma’s eyes narrowed, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “Will you shut up?” he muttered, flipping his console closed with a soft click as their lunch time was up, indicating the start of the next class.

_____________________________________________

Kenma’s eyes kept finding their way to your back.

Sat behind you, he couldn’t focus on the test paper in front of him which was glaring at him, asking him to solve its questions.

Kenma’s pencil hovered above the test paper, his gaze flicking up toward the back of your head for the third time in five minutes.

Your usual straight posture was gone, replaced with a tired slump. Every now and then, you sniffled softly or shifted in your seat, but it was clear you were barely holding yourself together.

The class bell finally rang, signalling the end of this test and the school day. After packing up, kenma approached you, bag casually swung on his shoulder and hands in pockets.

“You’re sick” he muttered bluntly in his usual low voice.

You turned, startled to see him standing so close. “Kenma? I’m—”

“Not fine?” He questioned, knowing you were about to say the complete opposite of what he just said.

“That’s not what I was gonna say,” you breathed, trying to keep your composure, “I’m fi—“

“Let’s go” he cut you off, grabbing your bag from you and swinging it on his shoulder as he turned away, beginning to approach the door.

You however, with wobbly arms, held him back, fingers around his wrist.

“I can’t, I have a meeting that—“

“Don’t care, you look like you’re gonna be blown by the wind. You’re not in a state to attend your meeting”

Kenma’s tone was blunt, leaving no room for argument, but you still hesitated. “Kenma, I really can’t miss this—”

“Just call in sick, dumbass. It’s not the end of the world” he gently pulled his hand away from your grip.

The walk home was quiet at first, save for the sound of your uneven breaths and the occasional sniffle. Kenma walked slightly ahead of you, his usual laid-back demeanor masking the way he subtly slowed his pace to match your unsteady steps.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” you mumbled after a while, your voice hoarse.

Kenma shrugged, not looking back. “You wouldn’t have made it on your own.”

You pouted at his straightforwardness, though you lacked the energy to argue. Still, the thought of him going out of his way for you made your chest tighten in a strange, unfamiliar way.

As you turned a corner, a sudden gust of wind hit, making you shiver. Kenma noticed immediately, his sharp eyes darting to you.

With a quiet sigh, he pulled his hoodie over his head and held it out to you.

“Put it on,” he said, his voice low.

“But you’ll be cold,” you protested weakly, though you were already reaching for it.

“I don’t care,” he replied flatly.

You slipped the hoodie on, the fabric warm and comforting as it enveloped you. The scent of him—something faint and clean—lingered, and you pulled it tighter around yourself without thinking.

Without any warning, something suddenly snapped in you. Your already glassy eyes opened up a little, allowing tears to flow down your flushed cheeks.

“Are you crying?” He questioned, concern evident in his comm voice for the first time today.

“No I’m not,” you hoarsely mumble, beginning to fast-walk while scrubbing at your cheeks in an attempt to hide your tears.

However, kenma’s athletic nature did not betray as he caught up to you with ease.

“So you are crying” he emphasised. He didn’t need a confirmation, he didn’t need a reply. He secretly hoped that you understand that he’s here for you, even though he is struggling to show that.

As you reached your house, your sniffles were the only thing that could be heard along with the humming of the wind.

“Is your mom at home?”

“No, she has a night shift today” you replied as your shaky hands clumsily tried to insert the key into its hole.

Kenma however gently pushed you away in order to open the door instead.

“I’ll stay over for a bit then”

“You don’t have to” you said with a small voice as you entered your house.

“But I want to” he replied back.

_____________________________________________

The first thing you did when you entered your house was to collapse onto the couch. You let out a long, exhausted breath, your body finally allowing itself to sink into the soft cushions, the heaviness of the day crashing over you all at once.

Kenma set both your bags down quietly by the door before glancing at you. He began to approach you, now standing directly in front of you.

His figure leaned closer to you, hand slipping under your bangs and feeling your forehead.

“You’re burning” he mumbled, his hot breath fanning your face as his golden eyes stared into yours. The urge to lean into a kiss was hard to resist, but he resisted it anyway.

You, on the other hand, were in complete shock. His eyes glimmering at you planet Saturn, captivating in every way possible.

“You know, you don’t have to hold it in,” he mumbled, pulling away. He read you like an open book, after all, being friends with you for 5 years makes it easy to do that.

And all you had to hear was these words to unleash the swarm of emotions swimming inside your eyes. Tears spilled over, leaving hot tracks down your cheeks as you stared at him, unable to contain the choke that escaped your throat.

He sighed as he sat down next to you, eyes still stuck to your sobbing figure.

“I’m so sorry” you cried, voice breaking.

“Don’t be” his usual flat tone tinged with something softer now as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear hesitantly.

“But—but I have wasted your time by getting you to walk me and—“

“I don’t really care about my time” he replied flatly.

“What—what about practice?” You hiccuped as tears continued to race out of your eyes.

“It can wait” he shrugged.

“Kuroo is gonna kill me” you cried more.

Kenma’s eyes narrowed slightly, his usual teasing smirk fading as he considered your words. “Kuroo can go and bite me if he wants,” he replied.

“Try to not apologise for existing challenge” he added, trying to lighten the mood.

Your eyes darted away, embarrassed, but the words just came out in a rush. “I’m not trying to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, cutting you off before you could protest further. “I’m just saying. It’s exhausting watching you try to convince everyone you’re not allowed to feel like shit.”

His words stung, but not in the way they usually did. There was an edge of something different, something more vulnerable in his tone. You stared down at your lap, fingers curling into the hem of the oversized hoodie he’d lent you, still feeling the dampness of your tears on your cheeks. “I just—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Kenma didn’t say anything more, just reached out and took your hand, the warmth of his fingers wrapping around yours. “You’re not bothering me,” he said softly, like he was trying to make you believe it even though you both knew how foreign it felt to hear him say it. “You never were.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, the effort to stop your sobs failing as they slipped out again “I’m so tired, and it hurts so much”

“I know you are and it’s—“

“And I look like shit”

“You don’t have to look good while you’re sick”

“You didn’t even try to deny the fact that I look like shit kenma”

“Was I supposed to?” He questioned, making you slip your hand out of his grasp and nudge him in the ribs, causing him to slightly wince. However, the corners of his lips were twitching upwards.

The silence stretched between you for a moment, the kind of silence that didn’t need words to communicate everything you both felt. Kenma’s thumb moved in slow, steady circles against the back of your hand, a silent rhythm that somehow began to pull you out of the storm inside your chest.

“Thanks kenma” you sniffled, finally feeling better.

“For what?”

“Making me feel better,”

“You don’t—“

“You’re such a dumbass” you cut him off, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “Stop acting like this is no big deal. You’re being nice for once.”

“I’m a dumbass huh? Well you’re clingy” he jokingly shot back.

“What? How—“

“And a crybaby” he added with a smirk.

“Okay, I can’t argue with you on that, but stop being mean!” you protested, half-laughing, half-crying. It was frustrating, the way he could make you laugh even when you felt like you were falling apart.

“It’s called being honest,”

You groaned and leaned back against the couch, pulling the hoodie tighter around you as if it would somehow shield you from his relentless teasing. “Well, if being honest means being a jerk, I’ll take the lies, thanks.”

“I’m just saying, you’re lucky I’m here to keep you in check. Someone’s gotta.” He shrugged, a slight smile on his lips.

“Keep me in check?” You questioned, your voice still hoarse.

hey, I’m not complaining. I’m just pointing it out.”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at your lips, despite the tiredness still weighing down on you. “You’re such a pain, you know that?”

“Look at who’s being mean now”

“It’s called being honest” you smirked.

“Touché” he replied. “Well anyway, have you got any medicine, I’ll go and grab it for you”

“It’s fine I’ll get it—“

“Just sit down and be sick,” he interrupted with a playful, exasperated tone, standing up straight and stretching out his arms as if he’d just finished a workout. “You look like you're about to collapse.”

“Kenma—“

You scowled, about to say something snarky back, but before you could, Kenma was already rummaging through your cabinets with his usual efficiency. He wasn’t letting you argue this time, and for once, you didn't have the energy to fight him.

“Kenma—“

“Forget it. I’ll just search for it. You sit still, and careful not to ruin my hoodie with your snot,”

“Who said that’s your hoodie? It’s mine now”

you shot back, voice hoarse but defiant. You tugged it tighter around you, peeking out from the oversized hood. “It’s mine now.”

Kenma paused mid-step, turning just enough to give you one of his classic deadpan stares. “I didn’t know theft was a side effect of a fever.”

You grinned weakly, sniffling as you adjusted the hoodie’s sleeves, which hung far past your fingertips. “Finders keepers.”

“sure, go ahead. Keep it. Just know I’m charging you rent for it.”

“Good luck getting a single yen out of me,” you muttered as you sank further into the couch, your fingers tugging the hood over your head.

Kenma arched a brow, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Who said the rent was monetary?”

That made you pause, your gaze snapping up to meet his as heat crept up your already flushed face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes in suspicion, though your voice cracked slightly from your cold and... something else.

You blinked, your foggy brain struggling to keep up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kenma tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Just saying. I could charge you something else. Like... I dunno... a date?”

Your head snapped up, heat blooming in your already flushed face. “Are you asking me out when I looked like just finished fighting the flue monster?”

Kenma’s lips twitched upward into a faint smirk, his golden eyes locking onto yours. “You said it yourself earlier—you look like shit. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Your jaw dropped at his bluntness, and you groaned, pulling the hood further over your head to hide your face. “Kenma, you’re terrible at this.”

“At what?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway, clearly enjoying how flustered you were.

“At being romantic!” you sputtered, your words muffled by the fabric of his hoodie.

He chuckled softly, the sound rare but comforting. “Guess I’m doing something right if you’re this worked up.”

You peeked out from under the hood, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re lucky I’m too sick to argue properly.”

“Good,” he said simply, straightening up. “Then it’s settled.”

“What’s settled?” you asked, blinking in confusion.

“The date,” he replied, his tone so casual it made your head spin. “Once you’re not battling the flu monster anymore.”

You stared at him, half-expecting him to laugh or say he was joking, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and walked toward the kitchen, leaving you sitting there, hoodie-swaddled and stunned.

“Kenma!” you called after him, your voice hoarse but incredulous.

“Take your medicine first,” he called back without turning around. “Can’t have my future date still looking like she just ended world war 3”

You groaned again, but this time, there was a smile tugging at your lips that you couldn’t quite fight off. Maybe being sick wasn’t so bad after all.

#kenma x y/n #kenma fluff #kuroo x kenma #kenma #kozume kenma #kenma x you #kenma x reader #hq kenma #haikyuu kenma #kenmayu #haikyu fluff #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu x reader

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writingbuckets · 2 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 5k

a/n: heyyy... so sorry i've been MIA, i had finals then went on vacation and am just now getting settled. but the good news is that im officially on break so i have nothing to do but write. the even better news is that to make for falling off the grid, i've written an absurdly long chapter AND it's a double update. theres also a surprise for you in part 6 *wink wink* enjoy!

The text came earlier than you expected that morning, breaking through the low hum of background noise from the TV. You were sprawled across the couch, a half-empty mug of coffee balanced precariously on the armrest, idly scrolling through a random sports highlight reel that had been playing for the better part of an hour.

Your phone buzzed against your thigh, the vibration cutting through your thoughts. Picking it up, you noticed the name at the top of the screen before you even read the message: Paige Bueckers.

Paige Bueckers:Pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.

Straightforward. Confident. Classic Paige. A smile tugged at your lips as you read the words, the familiar surge of warmth spreading through your chest. She had this way of making everything seem effortless—whether it was threading an impossible pass on the court or casually setting the tone for what felt like your first real date.

You stared at the message for a beat longer than necessary, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. Memories of the last few weeks flickered through your mind. What had started as casual hangouts—grabbing coffee after gym sessions, joining her and her teammates for late-night food runs, or studying side by side in the library—had slowly shifted into something else.

There was the way her eyes lingered a second too long when she thought you weren’t paying attention. Or how her hand would brush yours during a game of pick-up, sending sparks through your skin even when she laughed it off. How the teasing between you had gone from lighthearted to loaded, every quip hiding an undercurrent of something deeper.

The tension had been building steadily, a slow burn that neither of you acknowledged directly but both felt all the same. You weren’t sure when the casual hangouts had started feeling like something more—maybe it was the night she drove you home after a team dinner, her hand gripping the gear shift tightly as you talked about everything and nothing. Or the time she lingered after an impromptu game of HORSE, offering to shoot a few extra free throws with you, even though you both knew she could sink them blindfolded.

You hadn’t put a name to it yet, but the space between you felt charged, like it was waiting for the right moment to catch fire.

Still, Paige had been careful not to push. She kept things easy, never giving you a reason to second-guess her intentions—until now. Something about her message felt different, more deliberate, as if she’d finally decided to stop dancing around the edge of whatever this was.

Your fingers moved instinctively, typing out a reply.

You:Define “nice.”

The three little dots appeared almost immediately, a sign that Paige was already crafting her response.

Paige Bueckers:Something that’ll make me regret making dinner the main event tonight.

Your face heated as you read the words, and you quickly locked your phone, your heart racing. The flirty confidence in her text was nothing new—Paige had always been bold, unafraid to say what was on her mind. But this felt different, like she was deliberately testing the waters, seeing how far she could push before you pushed back.

For a moment, you debated whether you should reply. The temptation to fire back a teasing remark tugged at you, but the idea of leaving her hanging was just as enticing. Instead, you leaned back against the cushions, your thoughts spinning.

In truth, the idea of going on a proper date with Paige wasn’t as foreign as you might have thought a month ago. Back then, it had been easy to chalk up the lingering glances and subtle touches to her naturally magnetic personality. Paige had a way of drawing people in, making them feel like they were the only one in the room. You weren’t immune to that charm—no one was—but you’d convinced yourself that what you had was firmly rooted in friendship.

Now, though, you weren’t so sure. The lines had blurred, the boundaries shifting in ways you couldn’t ignore. And if Paige’s message was anything to go by, she wasn’t ignoring them either.

The weight of it all settled over you as you glanced back at your phone, the screen dark and unresponsive. Tonight wasn’t just about dinner—it was a step forward, an unspoken acknowledgment of the tension that had been simmering between you for weeks.

You glanced at the clock, the numbers blurring slightly as your mind raced. You still had hours to prepare, but suddenly it didn’t feel like enough time.

Paige Bueckers had a way of keeping you on your toes. And tonight, you had a feeling she was about to raise the stakes.

The hours leading up to 7 p.m. were a chaotic mix of anticipation and nerves. You rifled through your closet, pulling out one outfit after another, none of them feeling quite right. Casual but sophisticated? Too boring. A little edgy? Too over-the-top. Eventually, you settled on a sleek black dress with a low neckline that hugged your figure in all the right ways.

As you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric and adjusting the straps, you couldn’t help but wonder what Paige would wear. You’d seen her off the court enough times to know she could pull off anything—from oversized hoodies to the rare tailored outfit that turned heads.

By the time 7 rolled around, you were practically pacing the apartment. The knock at the door made you jump, and you took a deep breath before opening it.

Paige stood there, leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world. She wore a fitted blazer over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, paired with tailored pants that emphasized her long frame. Her sneakers—pristine white—gave the outfit a casual touch, but she looked undeniably put together.

Her eyes swept over you, lingering just a second too long to be polite.

“You look…” she began, her voice trailing off as a grin spread across her face. “Incredible.”

Your cheeks warmed under her gaze, but you managed a smirk. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Bueckers. Didn’t think you owned anything without a logo on it.”

She laughed, the sound low and easy. “Special occasions call for special outfits. You ready?”

You nodded, grabbing your clutch. As she held the door open for you, her hand brushed lightly against your lower back, and the subtle gesture sent a thrill up your spine.

**********

Paige hadn’t given you any clues about where you were going, no matter how many times you’d tried to prod it out of her earlier that day. Every attempt was met with the same maddeningly smug response: “Patience, Y/N.”

By the time her car finally pulled up to the restaurant, you understood why she’d been so secretive. The place was breathtaking—one of those spots that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a luxury travel magazine. Soft, ambient lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, while elegant decor—polished wood, minimalist greenery, and sparkling crystal accents—created an atmosphere that was somehow both intimate and grand. Even from the curb, you could tell this wasn’t just dinner—it was a statement.

“You really went all out,” you murmured as Paige came around to open the car door for you, a move so smooth it made your heart skip.

She grinned, offering you her hand as you stepped out. “Told you I was determined to impress you.”

You followed her inside, the quiet hum of conversation and the gentle clink of glasses welcoming you into the space. As your eyes adjusted to the low lighting, you took in the subtle details that made the restaurant feel special—candlelit tables, discreet nooks for privacy, and an unspoken air of exclusivity that was equal parts thrilling and intimidating.

Paige must have noticed your hesitation because she nudged you lightly with her elbow. “What’s the verdict? Too much?”

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping. “Not too much. Just…unexpected. I didn’t peg you for the romantic type.”

She gave you a mock-offended look, placing a hand over her chest like you’d wounded her. “I’ll have you know, Y/N, I can be extremely romantic when I want to be. Guess you’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.”

The host greeted Paige with a warm smile—her name clearly recognizable even in a place like this—and led the two of you to a secluded corner booth. It was tucked away, offering just enough privacy to feel like a small haven amid the otherwise bustling space. The soft light from the nearby wall sconce cast a golden glow over the table, and as Paige gestured for you to slide into the booth first, you couldn’t help but appreciate how thoughtful she’d been.

“This is...nice,” you admitted as you settled into the plush seat, glancing around at the cozy setup.

“I know,” Paige replied, sliding in across from you with a smirk. She leaned back against the booth, her long legs stretching out in front of her like she owned the place.

Her confidence was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly, though the elegance of the setting still had you a little on edge. As you picked up the menu, your eyes widened at the selections—dishes with names so fancy you weren’t sure if they were in English or Italian.

Paige tilted her head, watching you with amusement. “What’s going through that overthinking brain of yours right now?”

You set the menu down with a small laugh. “Honestly? I’m trying not to freak out over how fancy this place is. I’m not sure I can even pronounce half the stuff on this menu.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and it immediately put you at ease. “Relax, it’s just dinner. Think of it as a really well-decorated diner.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. “A diner where the appetizers cost more than my grocery bill for the week?”

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her playful grin firmly in place. “Okay, how about this? I’ll order for both of us. Deal?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, both intrigued and skeptical. “Bold move, Bueckers. What if I hate what you pick?”

Paige’s grin widened, and she tilted her head slightly, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Then I’ll spend the rest of the night making it up to you.”

Your breath caught, the words hitting with more weight than you expected. You tried to keep your composure, but Paige wasn’t done. She leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and confidence. “But, let’s be real—you won’t hate it. I have excellent taste.”

“Oh, do you now?” you shot back, finding your footing again in the banter. “And how exactly do you know that?”

She shrugged, a hint of challenge in her expression. “Well, you’re here with me, aren’t you? That’s proof enough.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Wow. You’re really laying it on thick tonight, huh?”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Paige replied smoothly, her grin softening into something more genuine. “But seriously, Y/N, don’t stress. This is supposed to be fun, remember? Let me handle the menu, and you just enjoy the night. Deal?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the way she was looking at you—equal parts playful and sincere—made it impossible to say no. Finally, you nodded. “Alright, Bueckers. But if you order something weird, I’m holding it against you forever.”

Paige chuckled, lifting her hand as if swearing an oath. “Noted. I promise to stick to the non-weird stuff.”

As the server approached, Paige rattled off an order with a confidence that impressed you, selecting dishes that sounded fancy without being over-the-top. The way she spoke to the server—polite but with a casual ease—only added to the charm she seemed to be radiating tonight.

Once the server left, Paige’s attention shifted back to you, her gaze soft but focused. She drummed her fingers lightly on the table, a teasing glint in her eye. “Alright, serious question time,” she said, her tone light but curious. “What’s the weirdest pregame ritual you’ve ever heard of?”

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked at her before breaking into a grin. “That’s random.”

She shrugged, her lips curving into a lazy smile. “I was just thinking about how some of my teammates have the wildest superstitions. Like one of them has to tie their shoes in the exact same order every time. Left shoe first, three loops, then right shoe. It’s wild.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your seat as you thought about it. “Okay, okay. Weirdest one I’ve ever heard? I interviewed a softball player once who said she had to eat the exact same breakfast before every game—eggs, toast, and a single slice of pineapple. If the pineapple wasn’t there, she swore it threw her off completely.”

Paige’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “A single slice? That’s… oddly specific.”

“I know, right? She was dead serious about it, though. Said it was her ‘good luck charm.’”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “I get it, though. Sports are such a mental game. Sometimes those little things trick your brain into thinking you’ve got the edge.”

“Okay, Miss Rational Athlete,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have any weird pregame habits I should know about?”

Her smile turned sheepish, and she looked down at her hands for a moment before meeting your gaze. “Nothing too crazy. But I do this thing where I listen to the same song right before warmups. It’s like my hype track.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “What song?”

She hesitated, a playful grimace crossing her face. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“No promises.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. “Alright, it’s ‘Run This Town.’”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. “Are you serious? That song’s so old!”

“Hey!” she protested, pointing a finger at you. “It’s a classic. Plus, it works. Gets me in the zone every time.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, still grinning. “I’ll give you that. But now I’m curious—what’s your off-court hype song?”

She tilted her head, considering it for a moment. “Off-court? Probably something chill, like ‘Best Part.’”

The answer surprised you, and it must have shown on your face because Paige raised an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t think I was capable of being mellow?”

“I mean… not really,” you teased, biting back a smile.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Wow. See, this is why I asked you out. You keep me humble.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, your chest warming at the sincerity beneath her playful words. “Glad I could be of service.”

Paige leaned back, her eyes scanning your face like she was committing every detail to memory. “Alright, your turn. What’s the one thing that always gets you in the zone? For work, podcasts, whatever.”

You thought about it for a moment, tapping your fingers against the table. “Honestly? Coffee. I know it’s basic, but if I don’t have a cup before I start working, it’s game over. My brain just doesn’t function.”

She laughed, her gaze softening. “That’s not basic. That’s survival. Trust me, I’ve seen my teammates without coffee before morning practice. It’s not pretty.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm after that, the conversation flowing effortlessly as you swapped stories and quirks. Paige shared tales of grueling practices and ridiculous pranks her teammates had pulled, while you recounted some of your most memorable podcast interviews and the behind-the-scenes chaos that often went unnoticed by listeners.

By the time the first course arrived, you were completely at ease, the earlier tension long forgotten. Paige had a way of drawing you in, her attention unwavering and her presence magnetic. And as the night went on, you couldn’t help but notice how natural it all felt—like the two of you had been doing this for years instead of just navigating the uncharted territory of a first date.

**********

Dinner was… perfect. Not just because of the food—though each dish that arrived was better than the last, a delicate balance of flavors that you could still taste long after the plates were cleared. No, what made the night unforgettable was Paige herself. She had a way of making even the most mundane details captivating, her stories woven with humor, sincerity, and a touch of self-deprecation that made you smile more times than you could count.

She leaned back against the booth, her posture relaxed but her eyes alight with energy as she recounted her childhood in Minnesota. “We didn’t have much, but we had a hoop in the driveway. That was all I needed,” she said, her voice softening with nostalgia. “I’d be out there for hours, shooting until it got so dark I couldn’t see the rim. And even then, I’d keep going, pretending I was hitting buzzer-beaters in some championship game.”

Her gaze drifted to her glass, the condensation forming lazy trails down the sides as she toyed with the stem. “I probably drove my parents crazy. The sound of the ball hitting the pavement, over and over…” She chuckled, the memory warming her voice. “But I’d get lost in it, you know? Like nothing else mattered in those moments.”

You found yourself smiling, caught up in the vivid picture she painted. It was easy to imagine a younger version of Paige, her determination already evident as she honed her craft under a dimming sky. “Sounds like you were always destined for the big stage,” you said, your tone half-teasing but mostly genuine.

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and there was a flicker of something in them—gratitude, maybe, or acknowledgment. “Maybe,” she said with a small shrug. “But what about you? What got you into media? There’s gotta be a story there.”

You hesitated, the question pulling you back into your own memories. You reached for your glass, taking a sip to gather your thoughts. “It wasn’t anything glamorous,” you started, setting the glass back down. “I just grew up obsessed with sports. My first crush was a soccer player I saw on TV—I had no idea what was happening in the game, but I was glued to the screen.”

Paige grinned, a playful glint in her eye. “A soccer player? Scandalous.”

You laughed, nudging her foot lightly under the table. “I was, like, ten. Cut me some slack.”

She laughed along with you, the sound bright and infectious, but her expression softened as you continued.

“Anyway,” you said, leaning forward, “I realized pretty early on that I wasn’t going to be the one making highlight reels, but I loved the stories behind them—the moments, the people. So, I started writing. Got into broadcasting later. It felt natural, like I could connect to the games in a different way.”

Her brow furrowed slightly, as if she were trying to piece something together. “But… you almost gave it up, right? You mentioned that on the podcast once.”

You nodded, suddenly finding the edge of your napkin very interesting. “Yeah. There was a time when it felt… impossible, I guess. The deadlines, the pressure to be better, the endless grind of it all. I started wondering if I was even good enough to be in the same room as the people I admired.”

Her expression grew serious, and she tilted her head slightly, her attention locked on you in a way that made your chest tighten. “So why didn’t you?”

Her question was simple, but it hit somewhere deep. You fiddled with your fork, tracing its edge against the plate. “I guess… I just couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Even when it got hard, there was this pull, like I needed it. Telling those stories, being part of that world—it felt like a part of me, like letting it go would mean losing something important.”

Paige was quiet for a moment, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I get that,” she said softly. “Basketball’s the same for me. It’s not just a game—it’s everything. It’s who I am.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The restaurant’s soft lighting seemed to cast the booth in a bubble, insulating you from the world outside. You could hear the gentle hum of conversation around you, the clinking of glasses and silverware, but it all felt distant—unimportant compared to the presence in front of you.

You glanced at her, the sharp lines of her face softened by the warm light, and felt a strange sense of peace. The kind of peace that came not from the absence of noise, but from being seen—really seen—by someone who understood.

She shifted slightly, her arm resting casually along the back of the booth, her eyes never leaving yours. “You know,” she said after a beat, her tone lighter now, “I think we’re both just a couple of overachievers trying not to burn out.”

You snorted, breaking the stillness with a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

Her grin widened, and she tapped the edge of her glass against yours in a mock toast. “To overachieving, then. And maybe figuring it out along the way.”

You clinked your glass against hers, smiling despite yourself. “I’ll drink to that.”

And as the night stretched on, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics—favorite movies, embarrassing childhood stories, and the kind of idle banter that felt effortless. But the memory of that shared moment, the quiet understanding between you, lingered like a thread tying the night together.

After dinner, Paige suggested a walk. The air was crisp but not biting, carrying the faint scent of rain from earlier in the day. You strolled through the quiet streets, the usual city buzz softened under the golden glow of streetlights. The soft shuffle of your footsteps filled the pauses in conversation, and the occasional murmur of distant laughter or the faint hum of passing cars added a comforting rhythm to the night.

“This was nice,” you said, glancing at Paige out of the corner of your eye.

She turned to look at you, her hands tucked casually into the pockets of her jacket, the edges of her hair catching the light. “Yeah?” she asked, her tone warm, teasing but earnest.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small smile. “You definitely exceeded expectations.”

Her lips quirked into a grin, a flicker of pride dancing in her eyes. “Good. I wasn’t sure if I could top the coffee shop date.”

You laughed softly, the memory of that day sparking a familiar warmth. “This was… different.”

“Better?” she asked, her head tilting slightly, as if your answer really mattered to her.

You nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze settle on you like a gentle pressure. “Yeah. Better.”

The space between you seemed to shrink as you continued walking, your shoulders brushing occasionally. Every accidental touch sent a quiet thrill through you, a reminder of how your connection with her seemed to deepen with every moment.

At one point, Paige came to an abrupt stop, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement. You turned to face her, puzzled, and found her looking at you with an expression that was open yet uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, her voice softer than usual, almost tentative.

You tilted your head, trying to ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. “Depends,” you replied lightly, though the intensity in her gaze was making it hard to keep your tone steady.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands still in her pockets. It was as if she was searching for the right words, the confident Paige you knew now replaced with someone more vulnerable, someone whose sincerity tugged at your chest.

“What are we doing here?” she asked at last, the question hanging between you like a delicate thread. “I mean… I know what I want this to be, but I don’t want to assume anything.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by her sudden honesty. Her usual confidence, so steady and self-assured, now gave way to something raw and unguarded.

“Paige…” you started, unsure of what to say.

She didn’t give you a chance to fill the silence, her words spilling out in a rush. “I just—look, I don’t want to screw this up, okay? This, you, us… whatever this is becoming. I’m not good at figuring this stuff out, but I know how I feel about you, and I need to know we’re on the same page.”

You stared at her, the faint sheen of vulnerability in her eyes anchoring you in place. She wasn’t hiding behind jokes or bravado; she was laying it all out for you, her walls nowhere in sight.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against hers before curling gently around them. “You’re not screwing anything up,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the wild pounding of your heart. “This is… whatever we want it to be.”

She let out a slow breath, her shoulders easing as the tension melted away. “Okay,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter now. “Good. Because I really like you, Y/N. And I want to see where this goes.”

Her admission made your chest tighten in the best way, the sincerity in her voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You smiled, unable to stop yourself even if you tried. “I like you too, Bueckers,” you said, your words teasing but completely genuine. “Now, can we keep walking before I overthink this and ruin the moment?”

She laughed, the sound breaking the tension and making the streetlights around you seem a little brighter. “Lead the way,” she said, her hand still brushing against yours as you resumed your walk.

And as the two of you moved forward into the quiet night, the unspoken promise of something more hung between you, electric and full of possibility.

When Paige walked you back to your apartment, the crisp night air seemed to cling to your skin, amplifying the charged silence that settled between you. Every step felt deliberate, the quiet hum of the city around you fading into the background. Standing just outside your door, she lingered, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets as if she was holding something back, her gaze steady and searching.

“I had a great time tonight,” she said, her voice lower than usual, like she was sharing a secret meant only for you.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice quieter than you intended, your pulse quickening under the intensity of her attention.

For a moment, it seemed like she might leave. Her weight shifted, her eyes flickering between the door and your face, a subtle war playing out in her expression. Then, almost imperceptibly, she took a step closer, her proximity making the air between you feel heavier, charged.

Her hand brushed against yours—a fleeting, deliberate touch. “Would it be crazy,” she asked, her tone both hesitant and daring, “if I asked to come in?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her question settling in your chest. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface all night now felt like a live wire sparking between you. Your breath caught for a moment before you answered, your voice soft but sure. “It wouldn’t be crazy,” you murmured, stepping aside to let her in.

Paige moved past you, her shoulder grazing yours in the process, sending a thrill up your spine. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet intimacy of your apartment. She turned to face you, her jacket still hanging open, her hands now free and resting at her sides. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes—they were full of intent, smoldering with something that made your heart pound in your chest.

“So,” she said after a moment, her tone playful but tinged with something deeper, more serious, “what happens now?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Words seemed useless—there was no answer you could give that wouldn’t pale in comparison to the gravity of the moment. So instead of speaking, you closed the distance between you, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

Her breath hitched when you reached her, and for a fleeting second, her confidence faltered, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Her hands found your waist with an almost tentative touch, her fingers pressing into you as if testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, when you instead leaned in closer, her grip tightened, pulling you flush against her.

The world outside ceased to exist. It was just you and Paige, the heat between you building like a slow burn finally catching fire. Her lips hovered inches from yours, her breath warm against your skin as her eyes searched yours for permission, for reassurance.

You didn’t make her wait. Your hands slid up her arms, your fingers curling lightly against the back of her neck, guiding her down to meet you. When your lips finally met, it wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was purposeful, a culmination of the tension that had been simmering all evening, maybe even longer.

Her kiss was soft at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepened, her confidence returning as she pressed closer, her hands slipping from your waist to the small of your back. Every touch, every movement felt deliberate, like she was committing the moment to memory.

When you finally broke apart, breathless but unwilling to let go, her forehead rested against yours, her voice a soft murmur in the charged silence. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” she confessed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You laughed quietly, your hands still resting on her shoulders. “You’re not the only one.”

Her smile grew, her confidence now fully restored. “Then I guess I should’ve asked to come in sooner,” she teased, her fingers tracing idle patterns along your back.

Your only response was to tug her closer, ready to let whatever was building between you take its natural course.

#paige buckets #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #wcbb #uconn wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post

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skzdelf · 15 days ago

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(물 분수) Water Fountain | Lee Felix

.ᐟPAIRING: Fairy!Felix x f!reader

.ᐟSYNOPSIS: It was an ordinary summer day when, by the water fountain, you met a blonde guy who would captivate you with his charming personality and special secrets.

.ᐟWC: 5.9k (5927)

You Met Him by the Water Fountain

It was a warm summer day when you found yourself wandering through the forest. That’s when you saw him—right next to your usual spot for relaxing. He was lying on his side on the soft grass, surrounded by small wildflowers, his back resting against the concrete fountain.

His blonde hair gleamed under the morning sun. You had never seen him before. In fact, you had never seen anyone around this part of the forest. Not because it was deep or dark—on the contrary, it was a beautiful, serene place—but people simply chose to ignore these areas, preferring to stay in the city.

You approached him slowly, careful not to make a sound as your steps pressed against the ground. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

What was this boy doing out here? Had he spent the night outside?

A few strands of his golden hair rested over his face. You crouched beside him, observing his features more closely.

His face was injured. A cut stretched across the bridge of his nose, holding traces of dried blood. Unlike the pale scars on his lips, which seemed to have been there far longer than you would have liked to imagine.

His cheeks and nose were dusted with beautiful freckles—tiny brown stars that told their own story, contrasting with the wounds on his face. You wondered what kind of life someone like him must have lived. He had an angelic, harmless aura, yet the marks on his skin painted a different picture. It was as if life had tested his strength, leaving scars as reminders of every battle.

You hesitated before letting your trembling fingers lightly trace the edge of his wound, carefully wiping away the dried blood. A soft whimper escaped his lips, followed by a barely audible murmur. You weren’t sure if he was awake or if his body was simply reacting to the touch.

"Shh, it’s okay" you whispered as gently as possible, hoping to keep him in his slumber. It must have been a rough night for the golden boy. You carefully brushed aside the strands of hair that had fallen over his face, making sure that if a breeze passed through, it wouldn’t tickle him awake.

Deciding to leave him alone for a little while, you stood up with a plan—to return to your cabin, grab a first aid kit, and maybe bring some food for when he woke up.

Once you were far enough from where he lay, you quickened your pace. You didn’t care if your boots made noise against the dry grass patches, a result of the lack of rain in the area. You just wanted to hurry back before he disappeared.

You rushed into your small, cozy home as if a gust of wind had pushed you forward. Without hesitation, you ran straight to the bathroom, grabbing bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and some cotton pads.

Gathering everything in your hands, you placed the items in a small wicker basket—the same one you usually used for collecting wild berries to make homemade jam.

As you rummaged through your fridge and pantry for food, the only thing you could find was a box of chocolate chip cookies. With a shrug, you grabbed it and added it to the basket. You just hoped he wasn’t allergic to chocolate.

With the basket in hand, you rushed out of your house like a storm, stumbling over your own feet on the way back. When you finally reached the fountain, you saw the blonde boy awake, his fingers delicately playing with the water, moving his hand back and forth in a soothing motion.

You approached quietly, and the moment he caught sight of you, he stopped, lifting his head. His hazel eyes locked onto you.

His expression was one of surprise—his eyes slightly wider than usual, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to find him here. But you had.

You circled the fountain carefully, taking slow, measured steps. Each of your movements made him shift back ever so slightly, but his gaze never wavered. It was as if he was trying to read your intentions. His wet, trembling hands rested on the edge of the fountain, and though his posture seemed defensive, there was something in his eyes—a mix of curiosity and vulnerability. He didn’t trust you, but he also didn’t seem willing to run away.

Stopping a few steps away from him, you spoke softly, breaking the silence with a voice so quiet it nearly got lost in the morning breeze.

"I just want to help."

The boy furrowed his brows slightly. His lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you with caution, like a wary animal deciding whether the stranger before it was a threat or a refuge.

"I brought cookies" you added, kneeling on the grass as you placed the basket beside you. Carefully, you pulled out the box of cookies and held it up for him to see.

"I really hope you’re not allergic to chocolate" you joked, letting out a small laugh as you glanced up at him.

Something in his eyes shifted at the mention of food. You extended the box toward him, and his gaze flickered between you and the package a few times before he cautiously reached out to take it with his scratched-up hands.

His grip was delicate, almost hesitant, as if afraid the box might vanish if he held it too tightly. For a moment, he simply stared at it, his fingers tracing the edges of the cardboard while his lips pressed into a tight line.

"You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I promise there’s nothing weird in them" you assured him gently, sensing that the silence between you was growing heavy.

Finally, he lifted his gaze, hazel eyes now shining with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

It was the first time you heard his voice—a deep, raspy sound, as if even forming those words had taken more effort than it should have.

"Because I think you need help" you answered honestly. "And I’m not leaving until you’re okay."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your words. After a moment, he let out a small sigh and opened the box. The crinkle of the plastic wrapping broke the silence, and for the first time, a faint, almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips.

He took a cookie and bit into it, closing his eyes briefly as he chewed, like the taste had unlocked a distant memory. You didn’t say anything, letting him enjoy the moment.

When he finished, he looked at you again. This time, there was a different kind of brightness in his eyes—not quite happiness, but as if someone had sprinkled tiny specks of glitter into them.

"Thank you" he murmured, his voice carrying a newfound confidence.

"You’re welcome" you replied with a small smile. "What’s your name?"

"Felix" he said, offering a closed-lip smile that made his face radiate warmth. He no longer looked afraid. It was as if you had broken past his barriers and earned his trust.

"You know, I actually love chocolate. I bake brownies all the time back home! I’ll bring you some next time!" he exclaimed, popping another cookie into his mouth, crumbs falling onto his clothes, hands, and the corners of his lips.

What was with this guy? Just a moment ago, he had been so cautious, and now he was yapping excitedly. Not that you minded, but it was… unexpected.

"You do know your nose is injured, right?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t seem even remotely concerned about the wound on his face.

Felix let out a soft laugh, lowering his gaze to the water as his fingers absentmindedly brushed over the scabs on his hand.

"It’s nothing. I’ve had worse" he muttered, as if trying to downplay it.

"Worse?" you questioned, frowning.

He gave a small, lopsided smile. "Let’s just say I’m a little clumsy sometimes."

You weren’t convinced, but you didn’t push further. Instead, you lifted the first aid kit from your basket.

"I can treat your wound if you let me."

"Maybe some other time" he said, looking at you with a mix of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

Some other time? Did that mean he planned on getting hurt again? Or did it mean… he planned on seeing you again?

The next few minutes passed in a lighter conversation. Félix avoided your more direct questions about his wounds, but he didn’t seem annoyed—just reserved. Finally, he stood up to say goodbye with a slight bow, giving you one last warm smile before disappearing into the depths of the forest.

Days passed without any news or visits from the golden boy. Your days went on as usual—you kept gathering fruits to make jam and selling them in town. However, you also started spending more time near the fountain, hoping to see the boy again.

As time went by, nothing seemed out of the ordinary until one afternoon, as you stepped out of your house for a morning walk, you found a white rabbit on the path right in front of your door.

Its shiny black eyes, like two marbles, were fixed on you. Its little nose twitched constantly as if trying to catch your scent. With fur as white as snow, it stood out even more against the landscape. It was strange to find a rabbit like this in broad daylight, so close to a human dwelling.

You crouched down slowly, trying not to scare it. “Hey, little one... What are you doing here?”

But before you could touch it, the rabbit jumped back and darted away down the path. You watched it disappear into the bushes and trees.

What you didn’t know was that, hidden among the trees a few meters away, Félix was watching the scene with a triumphant smile. He had sent the rabbit—one of his most loyal friends—to find your home. His plan had worked. Now he knew where you lived, where to find you, and he had the perfect excuse to see you again.

A few days after your encounter with the small rabbit, while you were watering the plants in your front garden, a familiar shadow appeared on the path.

When you turned around, you saw Félix approaching with a more relaxed smile than the last time you had seen him. His wounds were completely healed, without a single scar, as if they had disappeared by magic.

"Hey! I hope it's not weird that I just showed up like this... I thought we could spend some time together. What do you think? I brought brownies."

There was something in his tone—a mix of nervousness and genuine excitement—that made you smile without hesitation.

"Of course! I would never say no to brownies."

It was strange that, after not seeing him for a while, he suddenly appeared at your doorstep, but the truth was that you were really happy to see him. So, at that moment, nothing else mattered, and you welcomed him into your cozy home.

Upon entering, the dark, polished wooden walls, full of irregular grain patterns, wrapped you both in a peaceful atmosphere. A faint scent of pine lingered in the air, blending with the smell of—

In the center of the main room, a rough stone fireplace dominated the space, with a handwoven rug in front of it, worn by time but still vibrant in color.

A pair of fabric-covered armchairs, a sofa adorned with cushions of various designs, and a low wooden table bearing marks of use completed the setting.

Bookshelves packed with books and small ornaments filled one of the walls, while another housed small windows with white linen curtains that let in the daylight. The windows provided views of the forest, making it feel as though the cabin and nature were one.

The kitchen, barely separated from the rest of the room by a rustic wooden counter, had open shelves filled with glass jars of spices and a few boxes of cookies—the same ones you had given Félix that day. A teapot rested on an old stove, ready to brew some tea or coffee.

The conversation with Félix was lively and warm. He seemed much more open to talking about himself this time. Though he was quite the talker, he was also an excellent listener. Every time you answered one of his questions, he paid close attention, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, his large eyes fixed on you.

He sat on one of the barstools while you moved around the kitchen, making cinnamon and honey tea for him and lemon tea for yourself. As the water boiled and Félix talked about the different types of birds that lived in the forest, you turned your back to him and placed some cookies and the brownies he had brought on a small porcelain plate with a delicate floral design along the edges.

Félix, leaning against the counter, seemed lost in thought for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the napkin you had left on the table, folding it into an origami figure.

"Do you like cooking?" he suddenly asked, interrupting his previous rambling, his voice soft but curious as he looked at you with genuine interest.

"I do, but I’m not very good at it" you answered with a light smile, turning toward him as you set the plate down in front of him. "But I think food always tastes better when it's shared, don’t you think?"

Félix let out a small laugh, his face lighting up with a warm expression.

"You're right. The truth is, I don’t get to share meals like this very often. At home, it’s just me" he confessed, carefully picking up one of the cookies.

You brought over the cups of hot tea and sat down beside him.

"Do you live far from here?" you asked, taking one of his brownies. In the town, most people knew each other, and you were certain he wasn’t from there—you had never seen him before that day at the fountain.

"Kinda" he replied with his mouth full, enjoying the taste of vanilla and chocolate chips just as he had that first time at the fountain. A satisfied expression spread across his face.

"Kinda?" you repeated, holding the brownie near your mouth.

"Kinda" Félix repeated, taking a moment to chew his cookie before continuing. "I live in a place that doesn't appear on maps."

His words immediately caught your attention, but he didn’t seem to notice, as his gaze remained fixed on his steaming cup of tea.

"It’s... hard to describe" he added, with a smile that seemed to hide secrets. "It’s surrounded by forests, with trees so tall they look like they’re touching the sky. The city is built on their trunks and connected by wooden hanging bridges."

You frowned slightly, trying to place that location in your mind. None of the nearby villages were that remote, nor did they have anything like the floating city he described.

"That doesn’t sound like anywhere around here" you commented, intrigued.

"That’s because it isn’t" Félix replied, looking up to meet your gaze. His eyes seemed to shimmer with something more than simple excitement—there was a spark in them you couldn’t quite explain.

"It’s a special place, almost like it’s hidden from the rest of the world. It’s peaceful… like this cabin. I’d love to take you there someday."

Curiosity started to grow inside you, but Félix skillfully changed the subject, making you suspect he didn’t want to elaborate any further.

"But you must know this town better than anyone, right? Tell me more about it" he said, flashing you a bright smile.

The afternoon passed with laughter and friendly conversations. The topic of where he lived never came up again, but you learned many things about him—how he loved baking, especially brownies, how his favorite color was blue, how much he adored animals, and how he sometimes felt like he had a special connection with them.

You laughed at how serious he was when he said that.

"I’m being serious! Don’t laugh at me!" he said, pretending to be offended, playfully nudging your shoulder. His tone only made you laugh even more, and your laughter became contagious.

"I’ll show you!" he declared, standing up suddenly and heading toward your front door.

"Félix! What are you doing?! Come back here!" you called, running after him.

You grabbed onto his black leather vest to stop him from getting too far. He turned and looked at your grip, making you think you had made him uncomfortable, so you slowly let go. But then, he took your hand in his and laced your fingers together, pulling you along beside him.

The warmth of his hand, its surprising softness—there were no rough scars like the ones you had seen days ago by the fountain—sent a shiver up your spine.

Your face heated up at the unexpected act of your… new friend? He continued walking deeper into the forest, pulling you along since you were momentarily entranced, staring at your intertwined hands.

At a specific moment, he suddenly stopped, causing you to collide with his back due to the abrupt halt. Snapping out of your daze, he let go of your hand, and you took in the scene around you. You were now in a deep part of the forest, where only the scarce light of the afternoon illuminated your surroundings. The trees formed a natural dome, allowing only thin golden rays to dance between the leaves. The sound of birds began to fade, giving way to the murmuring wind. The air carried a faint scent of damp earth and wildflowers.

"What are we doing here, Felix? Let’s go back to my house, it's getting dark" you told the blond boy while glancing around. Though you often roamed the forest, you couldn’t recognize this place, and that made you nervous. The fear of getting lost and never being found again constantly lingered in your mind.

"It's okay, just watch" his voice came out as a low murmur, as if he were trying to make as little noise as possible. But why? Was there some kind of danger here?

Suddenly, Felix crouched down, placing one of his bare knees on the ground covered in dry leaves. It would probably get dirty and scratched by the small twigs, but he didn’t seem to care.

He remained like that for a few moments, his eyes closed as if he were resting or reconnecting with the nature around him. Then, a faint rustling sound echoed through the trees, putting you on alert. You instinctively looked in the direction of the noise, trying to hide behind Felix’s crouched figure as much as possible.

The sound came again, but softer this time. You held your breath, cautiously watching the bushes, waiting for something to emerge from the dense foliage. And then you saw it. Instead of a threat, what appeared was a small creature with white fur, except for the light brown markings that outlined its ears and surrounded its eyes. The rabbit moved calmly, its tiny nose twitching rapidly as if trying to catch Felix’s scent.

It approached without fear, moving nimbly until it was just a few feet away from him. Felix slowly opened his eyes and lowered his gaze to the small creature, observing it intently. He stretched out his ring-adorned hand in its direction.

That tiny ball of white fur looked just like—if not the same as—the one that had visited your house a few days ago, right before Felix's sudden appearance. Could it really be just a coincidence… or was it something more?

You expected the animal to retreat, to jump back like any wild creature would upon sensing a human's presence. But it didn’t.

The rabbit tilted its head slightly, and after a brief hesitation, stepped forward with complete trust. Its small pink nose brushed against Felix’s fingers before rubbing its head against them. Then, without a hint of fear, it settled right within his reach, allowing him to pet it.

Your eyes widened at the strange sight.

Felix gently ran his hand over the rabbit’s back. His fingers sank into its soft fur, and instead of pulling away, the creature seemed to enjoy it, half-closing its eyes in contentment.

"How…?" you murmured, unable to help yourself, your gaze shifting between Felix and the rabbit.

Felix let out a low chuckle, turning to look at you with serene eyes.

"I told you, didn’t I? I’ve always felt a special connection with animals" he said softly while continuing to stroke the furry creature.

It was true. You remembered him mentioning it before, but you had taken it as a simple joke. It was one thing for someone to say they liked animals or that they weren’t afraid of them, but this… it was as if they truly understood each other. As if the rabbit knew exactly who Felix was and accepted him without hesitation.

It was strange. Incredibly strange.

"Come, get closer" Felix said cheerfully, extending his other hand toward you, inviting you to kneel beside him. Uncertainty showed on your face, but you took his hand anyway, allowing him to gently pull you down until both of your knees rested on the ground beside him.

"She's a friend. You can trust her" Felix spoke this time to the little rabbit, now petting the fur around its neck. To your absolute astonishment, the rabbit seemed to understand Felix’s words perfectly. It turned its little head in your direction, its large dark eyes locking onto yours, as if analyzing you.

Felix, still stroking the animal, glanced at you out of the corner of his eye with a gentle smile.

"Try it. I’ll guide your hand slowly, okay?" he encouraged you. You nodded, knowing that with Felix’s guidance, the chances of startling the animal were much lower.

His fingers were warm and steady. With care, he led your hand toward the small creature, placing it right over his own.

"Like this… slowly" he murmured, his voice barely a whisper near your ear. A shiver ran down your spine—not from fear, but from the strange sensation of Felix’s closeness and the mysterious aura surrounding you both.

Under his guidance, your fingers brushed against the rabbit’s soft fur. The creature didn’t flinch. Instead, it tilted its head slightly toward your touch, allowing you to pet it.

This wasn’t normal. None of it was.

"Felix… why do animals trust you so much?" you whispered, shifting your gaze from the defenseless animal to your companion’s face—only to realize his face was much closer than you had expected.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers still covered yours, guiding them in gentle strokes over the rabbit’s fur, but you noticed a slight tremor in his grip. Then, with a mysterious glint in his eyes, he gave you a small smile.

"Maybe… it’s because they truly understand me," Felix confessed, lifting his gaze from the animal and locking eyes with yours.

He was hiding something from you. That much was clear now. He had a supernatural connection with animals, but you couldn’t quite grasp how or why.

"One day, I’ll explain everything to you in detail. I promise. I just… need some time" Felix admitted, reading the doubt in your expression. His words wrapped both of you in an aura of secrets.

After that situation with the animal, Felix bid it farewell, and the rabbit hopped away cheerfully, returning to the place where it had appeared. Felix guided you back to your house without any trouble, as if he knew the forest like the back of his hand. The sky had already darkened, illuminated only by the moon and its companions, the stars. So, you decided to invite Felix to stay for dinner and, if necessary, to sleep over, since, as he had mentioned, his home was quite far from where you were.

Felix, more than happy, accepted your invitation and insisted multiple times on cooking dinner. It seemed he had no intention of stopping until you agreed, which you did reluctantly, since he was the guest, and it wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility to cook. Upon hearing your acceptance, he smiled broadly, nodded, and quickly made his way to the kitchen.

While pulling out pots and ingredients from your cabinets, he told you he would prepare a special dish from his village called "Lightleaf Stew" a simple stew but with a special ingredient from his homeland.

"And how do you plan on getting that ingredient if we’re not in your homeland?" you asked incredulously, your voice carrying as you watched him move back and forth across your kitchen from your spot on the sofa.

"I have it right here" Felix turned towards you, and from the pocket of his vest, he pulled out two leaves. Their shape and size were like bay leaves, but what stood out were their incredible blue color. There was no place on Earth where a tree with leaves of such a vibrant color existed.

"What is that, Felix? It could be poisonous! Look at the color of that!" you said with a tone of concern and intrigue. You had never seen anything like it, and it didn’t seem at all edible.

You got up from your seat and walked over to him, standing beside him in front of your oven, trying to take the leaves from his hands to inspect them more closely.

"I promise you, they’re not poisonous" Felix said with a laugh, pulling his hand away from yours so you wouldn’t take the leaves. He quickly dropped them into the pot where he was preparing the stew and covered it.

Saying the stew was delicious was an understatement—it was the best food you’d had in years. The flavors dissolved in your mouth, creating an addictive explosion of taste. The herb Felix had added gave the stew an exquisite smoky flavor that highlighted its full potential. You could say those flavors almost transported you to a time long past.

After dinner, during which you exchanged a few words and Felix seemed very happy that you enjoyed his cooking, you decided to wash the dishes by hand while Felix settled on the living room sofa, where he would spend the night.

As the water ran, you couldn’t help but glance at Felix out of the corner of your eye. He had settled into the sofa with a relaxed expression, his eyes scanning the room, observing every detail.

"You don’t have to do that" he suddenly commented, his usual tone, soft but filled with contained energy.

"Wash the dishes?" you asked, not stopping to rinse one of the utensils.

"Yeah. It’s not fair that you’re doing everything" Felix tilted his head back, resting it on the back of the sofa, and closed his eyes in the process.

"You cooked, the least I can do is this" you said with a small laugh, refocusing on your task.

Felix tilted his head and smiled, but didn’t insist further on the matter.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. When you finished and turned toward the living room, walking over to Felix, who had a relaxed expression on his face, enjoying the warm and friendly atmosphere, he spoke.

"I think I feel more comfortable here than I expected" the long-haired blonde admitted, now opening his eyes and turning his head in your direction.

Something in the way he said it, how his gaze softened for a moment before his eyes lit up again with their usual spark, caught your attention. Felix shifted in his seat, stretching his limbs, a tired yawn escaping his lips.

"I’m going to sleep. If you need anything… my room is at the end of the small hall, to the right" you told Felix with a small, friendly smile on your face.

Felix nodded, adjusting himself more comfortably on the sofa.

"I’ll bring you a blanket, it looks like it’s going to rain and get colder" you told Felix, glancing out the small window in the kitchen. The sky had suddenly turned gray, and you could feel the wind hitting the glass.

"Thanks, I appreciate it" Felix responded, now lying down on the sofa, grabbing a cushion and placing it under his head.

Not wanting Felix to get cold, you walked to a storage cabinet. You returned and draped the blanket over his body, covering him completely except for his head.

"Good night, Y/N" he murmured in a sleepy voice, his eyes already closed, ready to rest.

"Good night, Felix" you replied, walking down the hall. However, something inside you told you that tonight, you wouldn’t sleep peacefully.

Your sleep was interrupted by the sound of thunder striking nearby, jolting you awake with your heart racing against your chest. You shifted between your blankets, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it seemed impossible, as if the universe was making it difficult for you to fall back asleep. Then, suddenly, you heard soft, persistent knocks on your wooden door—almost desperate.

You reluctantly left the warmth of your blankets, approaching the door cautiously. Those knocks were unusual, and they even frightened you a little.

With your heart still pounding, you carefully turned the doorknob and opened the door just enough to peek out. On the other side, in the dimly lit hallway, stood Felix. His messy hair indicated he had woken up in a hurry, but it wasn’t what stood out the most.

In his arms, a small rabbit trembled against his chest, completely soaked by the rain. Its white fur was matted and dripping water onto the wooden floor and Felix's arms, but what caught your attention most were its ears and the outline of its eyes, a very light brown. This was undoubtedly the same rabbit from earlier.

Felix looked at you with pleading eyes.

"The little one woke me up, he was scratching at the entrance door" he explained in a quiet voice, trying not to scare the trembling animal any more.

You blinked, stunned—what was a rabbit doing scratching at your door?

"But… How did it get here? Rabbits don’t usually approach human houses like this. They always run away." Never in the time you had lived in this village or this house had a rabbit come anywhere near, let alone scratch your door.

"They don’t have to run away from me" Felix replied, his lips curling slightly as he lowered his gaze to the rabbit, gently stroking its wet head.

You furrowed your brow at him, tearing your gaze from the animal and focusing on Felix. Doubts filled your mind, surely showing on your face.

"What does that mean?" you asked, your words coming out more like a statement than a question. At first, everything had seemed like jokes or coincidences, but this was too much. You didn’t understand, and you didn’t like being stuck in this invisible limbo between total doubt and distrust of a guy who had been nothing but kind from the start.

Felix took a deep breath, as if preparing the right words.

"It means… that I’m not exactly what you think. I… I can really talk to them." Felix admitted, closing his eyes cautiously, almost as if he were waiting for your reaction to be a shout, a slap, or some other violent response. But it wasn’t. You were stunned, not because Felix had no proof, but because it seemed completely absurd and impossible.

How could he—how could anyone—speak to animals?

"I can’t believe you, Felix. No matter how much I want to, this seems absurd. How could you, how could anyone…" Your endless stammering was cut off by the words that left Felix’s mouth.

"I’m a fairy." Those words came from the guy holding the rabbit. Silence filled the hallway.

You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or tell you it was all a joke. But he didn’t. Instead, he held your gaze with complete seriousness.

"A fairy of animals" he continued, explaining further. "They feel me. My essence, my scent… That’s why this little one came here. He found me because he knew I could give him shelter."

The rabbit, as if to confirm his words, rubbed its nose against Felix’s wet hand and closed its eyes in satisfaction.

Your mind was racing, trying to find a rational explanation. But nothing made sense. The guy you had met on an ordinary day by the fountain was now confessing his biggest secret, trusting you completely just to help this small animal.

If he truly was a fairy, it made so much sense, considering you’d never met anyone with such a pure heart as his.

"I… this is a lot to process, even to believe" were the only words that escaped your mouth. Your gaze moved from Felix to the rabbit as the gears in your mind worked, searching for any other logical explanation.

"I know, I’m sorry. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll leave as soon as the sun rises, but please, let me stay tonight. Let’s take care of him together." Felix’s words came out quickly, his eyes filled with nervousness.

His rushed and urgent words. You looked at him, still processing everything—the confession, the soaked rabbit in his arms, his fearful plea that you wouldn’t reject him.

You knew this was strange. It didn’t make sense. A part of you wanted to question everything. But another part, a more instinctual one, urged you to trust him.

His eyes, bright with anxiety, held onto yours. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind in your chest.

"Stay" you murmured finally, with a small sigh. Felix blinked, as if unsure he had heard you correctly.

"Really?" he asked incredulously, his eyes filling with hope and a golden gleam.

"Really" you confirmed, and although your mind was still full of doubt, your voice was firm. "But you’re going to explain everything to me calmly and in detail in the morning."

"Thank you, We really appreciate it" Relief immediately appeared on his face, and if he didn’t have the rabbit in his arms, you were sure he would have come over to hug you.

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you turned and walked toward the living room, taking a couple of towels from a cabinet. You handed them to Felix to dry the rabbit, who was still trembling slightly.

He took everything with trembling hands, as if he still couldn’t believe you were letting him stay.

Once he made sure the little animal was comfortable and warm, wrapped in the towels on his arms, Felix collapsed onto the sofa with a long sigh. You sat beside him, your now calmer gaze fixed on the furry animal.

And there, in the living room, with the air still filled with confessed secrets and the soft sound of rain tapping on the windows, you spent the night.

Your fingers moved slowly over the small rabbit’s fur, feeling its calm breathing under your hand. Fatigue slowly began to overtake you, your eyelids growing heavy until, without realizing it, your head rested on Felix’s shoulder.

He didn’t move at all, only letting out a serene sigh as he gently placed his head on top of yours, allowing the calm to envelop you both, and you both fell into a deep sleep.

.ᐟA/N: thank u so much for reading! This took me more time than my other creations becuase I wanted to try and make a longer fanfic so I really hope you like it. Please dont forget to like and reblog (divider not mine!)

I do not accept any copies, remakes, or translations of my work

#stray kids #skz #skz fanfic #lee felix fanfic #skz x reader #skz lee felix #skz felix #lee felix #stray kids felix #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #lee felix yongbok #lee felix stray kids #lee felix fluff #stray kids lee felix #fantacy fanfic #fairy aesthetic

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kkanabel · 5 months ago

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apricity ❃ oneshot

fire spirit!bakugou katsuki x archaeologist!afab!reader / siberian au lmao

words: ~6.6k

directory/m.list

T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky at the very end, fingering, porn with plot, overstimulation, size difference, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, alcohol use (not during the yucky but waay before the yucky), bakugou being bakugou, not beta read

Frost clung to the window panes of your cabin as you pulled on the last of your layers—a thick, fur-lined coat with a hood drawn tight around your face and a scarf was wrapped around your nose and mouth. The mornings here were unforgiving, the bite of the wind sharp as knives as soon as you stepped outside. You grabbed the ax by the door, its handle starting to grow familiar in your gloved hands, and pushed the door open into the early morning light. A heavy breath left your mouth in a plume of white as you approached the woodpile, ready to chop enough firewood to keep your small cabin warm for the day.

Frost bites at your cheeks as you swing your ax down on a thick block of firewood as the crisp snap echoed in the cold air. Each heavy breath from you escapes in a foggy plume in the biting winds of Yakutia. The village sits nestled in a wide, snow-covered expanse, tucked into the curve of towering mountains, the sky above streaked in pale blue and white. It’s early morning, but the cold is already unforgiving, gnawing at your layers of fur and wool, testing the warmth of your windproof, insulated pants.

A brief break in the wind brings a fleeting warmth from the sunlight— the sun’s faint brush over the top half of your face offering relief in the middle of a frozen landscape. You close your eyes for just a moment, savoring it, before returning to your task. The sound of the ax cutting into the wood mixes with the rustle of pine trees in the distance, their branches weighed down by heavy snow.

You swung the ax, splitting a log in two. The dry wood splintered easily, and the sound echoed in the quiet wilderness. The only other noise came from the wind as it howled through the trees, carrying with it the promise of an even colder day. The cold worked its way into your bones despite your many layers. You stayed in cold places before, but the tundra was different. It was a place where even warmth felt fleeting, only offered by a fire or the thick fur you wrapped yourself in.

Satisfied with the pile of wood you’d gathered, you stacked it by the cabin door before retreating inside, the warmth of the hearth greeting you. The fire crackled steadily, casting a golden glow against the dim interior. The gas stove hissed as you lit it, filling the kettle with water for tea. Your stomach growls, reminding you that breakfast is long overdue.

The crackle of kindling and the warm orange glow spread throughout the small wooden cabin, where you've been staying during your research.

After tossing a few more logs into the fire, you set about making breakfast. It came together simply—creamy and warm fish broth, pancakes, and smoked fish—a meal that filled the small space with a comforting scent. The small palm-sized pancakes were crisp on the edges, their golden brown surface sizzling in the pan. You smile to yourself, remembering a tradition you picked up from other villages.

As you finish cooking, you toss a pancake into the fire as an offering to whatever spirit might be watching over you. You heard it was a custom in your research. The villagers here don’t seem to do it, but it never hurts to be polite to the unknown.

By the time breakfast was finished, you had your notes spread out across the small wooden table, pencil scratching against the rough paper as you wrote. The village had called on your expertise after reports of strange events: food disappearing from homes, unexplained housefires, and villagers speaking in hushed tones about a spirit causing trouble.

You were already puzzled as to why the villagers would have called on an archaeologist and not an investigator. Your research into the village’s history has led you to strange old scrolls and whispers of a forgotten spirit, but the more time you spend here, the more you realize the villagers are reluctant to speak. The flickering firelight dances along the edge of your notes as you sip on a steaming cup of tea, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest.

Ghosts and spirits don’t exist, you reminded yourself. Still, there was something to be said about folklore. It was tied deeply to history, and that was your true interest—the stories behind the stories.

The villagers were tight-lipped, though— your inquiries had been met with vague answers and nervous glances. Today, you planned to spend more time in the village center, talking to whoever would listen. The old man who ran the inn had mentioned something about ancient scrolls kept by a family who had been in the village for generations. Perhaps you could find more information there.

Later, you head out to meet the villagers. Bundling up again, you stepped outside into the snow. The cold was immediate, but you pushed through it, your breath forming thick clouds in front of you as you made your way toward the heart of the village.

Houses stood small and stoic against the barren landscape, with thick snow blanketing their roofs. Smoke rose lazily from the chimneys, the scent of burning wood hanging in the air. Snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk through the narrow, icy paths, nodding to the occasional passerby. The wind is sharp today, tugging at your fur-lined hood.

You hunch your shoulders against the cold as you make your way to the center of the village, where a small crowd has gathered. The scent of charred wood hit you before you saw the blackened remains of the structure, now little more than rubble. Your heart skipped. Another fire? The villagers spoke in low murmurs, and as you drew closer, you overheard snippets of conversation about the thief who lived there—a man who had stolen from his neighbors.

You frowned, remembering a neighbor of yours had told you to stay away from the man who was known to frequent bars and have sticky fingers. The same man used to live in this home that was no more than a pile of charcoal.

You’ve heard the rumors about the “spirit”—they say it punishes those who harm the village, but you’re not convinced. Fires like these happen in dry regions all the time, and it’s not uncommon for Yakutia, even in winter. You jot down a few notes, watching the fire consume the house, the warmth a stark contrast to the frigid air biting at your skin.

Was it possible the spirit the villagers whispered about had been punishing him? Or was it just an unfortunate accident, a result of negligence and the harsh conditions?

You shook your head, noting down the details. The more you learned, the stranger the situation became. It was only when you returned to your cabin that evening, exhausted from talking to the hesitant villagers, that you realized just how strange things had become.

Later that day, you return to your cabin, taking in the familiar creaks of the wooden floor under your boots and the soft flicker of your gas lamp lighting the room. The air inside is only a little warmer than the biting cold outside, but the crackling of the fire in the stove offers some comfort.

You sit at your table, flipping through pages of your notebook. The pencil scratches lightly against the paper as you record observations, every sound amplified in the quiet room. The rhythmic back-and-forth fills the space, a welcome lull amid the chaos of your investigation.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

Standing in the doorway is one of the villagers—a man about your age, wrapped in thick furs with snow dusting his shoulders. You’d visited his family home a little while ago to ask about the happenings around the village, but their answers remained vague as all the others.

He’s cradling something in his hands. His breath fogs in the cold air as he shifts his weight, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and something warmer. “I found these,” he says, extending his hands toward you. “Thought you might want to take a look.”

In his arms are ancient stone blocks, their surfaces engraved with symbols, faint but intricate. Your eyes widen at the sight. These carvings look similar to what you’ve seen before but older, almost primitive in comparison to the more refined relics you'd encountered earlier.

“Where did you find these?” you ask, stepping closer.

“In my house,” he replies, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “They were buried under some old planks. Figured they were important.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Thank you. These could be a huge help.”

He smiles back, a little too long. “I hope so. It’s, uh, the least I could do. The villagers… we don’t really know what’s going on with all this, but I figured you’d be the one to figure it out.”

As a thank-you, you hand him a small bag of food—some dried meats and bread you had stored away. His face lights up, and he nods gratefully before leaving you alone again to examine the stone blocks.

The sun sets quickly in the tundra, and soon, the only light in your cabin comes from the gas lamps and the fire’s low embers. You’re absorbed in studying the runes when a familiar knock sounds at the door again. When you open it, the man stands there once more, his eyes glinting in the soft lamplight. You let him in, not wanting him to stay in the cold for too long.

“I wanted to tell you more,” he says, a little breathless from the cold or perhaps something else. He shifts on his feet, seemingly nervous. “There are stories—whispers, really. The villagers don’t talk about it much, but some say there was once a spirit who protected us. He might’ve even been part of our village, long ago.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t anyone mention that?”

“They’re ashamed, I think,” he replies, his voice low. “It’s been forgotten over time. No one’s sure what happened, but... there are theories that we abandoned him, and he’s been angry ever since. That’s why the strange things have been happening.”

You nod, processing the information. It feels like a piece of a much larger puzzle, but there’s still so much missing.

As he talks, you notice the way he looks at you—his eyes linger a little too long, his words carrying a soft edge of admiration. He’s clearly interested, but you decide to brush it off for now. You smile politely, pretending not to notice the way his gaze follows you as you walk back to your table. You’ll be leaving the village as soon as you finish the case, so you didn’t want to lead him on.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “This is really helpful. I’ll look into it.”

The man nods, his shoulders slumping slightly as though he expected more. “Of course,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

As he leaves, the door shuts with a soft click, and you turn back to the runes, your thoughts swimming with new possibilities. If what he said was true, there’s more to this mystery than the villagers are willing to admit. And now, it seems like the forgotten spirit might hold the key to it all.

A couple days later, as you ice fish by the frozen river, you set your net and lean back, watching the starting to sun dip on the horizon. The quiet stretches around you, broken only by the occasional crack of ice shifting in the distance. You peer down at your catch, noting the modest haul in your net. Then you blink—there, next to your net, are two large whitefish lying in the snow, far too large to have escaped without you noticing.

Confused, you glance around. No one is near. The fish are pristine, untouched by the ice or snow, as if they had been placed there deliberately. You shake your head, chalking it up to luck. Maybe they jumped out when you weren’t paying attention? The reflection in the water catches your eye, and for a fleeting moment, you see the sharp jawline of a handsome man’s face turned towards you as if he were ice fishing with you. You blink again, startled, and the image is gone when a fish swims by and ripples the water—just your own face reflected in the water.

You shake your head. It’s nothing. Maybe I’ve just been single for too long…

You thought about contacting that man from the other day for just a moment.

Later that night, after cleaning the fish and preparing a simple dinner of stroganina—raw, thin slices of frozen whitefish—you sit by the fire, letting the warmth soothe your tired muscles. The fish melts on your tongue, rich and buttery, as you sip water to wash it down. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You chalked it up to exhaustion. After all, nothing had happened that you couldn’t explain away with logic and reason. You even joked to yourself as you drank water, “If only I had some vodka to go with this.”

You took another sip, and suddenly the liquid burned down your throat.

You froze.

This time, there was no logical explanation. You looked down at the cup in your hands, heart pounding in your chest. How had the water changed? You hadn’t touched anything else, but the unmistakable burn of alcohol lingered.

Startled, you stare down at your cup, heart pounding. This—this can’t be explained away. Your mind entertained the thought of a Siberian Jesus Christ.

The fire crackled behind you, its warmth now somehow menacing. The quiet of the tundra felt heavier, the weight of the mystery pressing down on your chest. This place, this village—it wasn’t just the cold that seeped into your bones. There was something else here. Something old. Something powerful.

The next morning, footsteps in the snow led you away from the village, out into the wilderness.

The morning air was crisp, each breath leaving a wisp of white in the early sunlight. You bundled yourself tightly against the cold, pulling your fur-lined hood closer around your face. As you stepped outside, you noticed something strange—footprints, fresh in the untouched snow, leading away from your cabin. They hadn’t been there the night before, and curiosity tugged at you.

You followed them, your boots crunching softly against the snow. The air was still, save for the occasional rustling of distant trees swaying under the weight of frost. The path led deeper into the woods, the towering trees gradually closing in around you, until the footprints stopped at the mouth of a small, hidden cave.

The entrance was barely visible, half-buried in snow, but something about it drew you in. You knelt down, brushing the snow from the edges, revealing intricate stone blocks covered in carvings similar to the ones the village boy had brought you. Painted masks, adorned with swirling patterns of reds and whites, lined the inner walls, and Yakutian knives were arranged in ceremonial positions.

The air inside the cave was still, almost too still. You fumbled for your matchsticks, striking one and holding it up to cast a soft glow around you. The light flickered over the stone walls, revealing carvings of fire and snow—an odd combination, yet it made sense somehow, here in this frozen land. It felt like a shrine, a forgotten place of worship, long abandoned.

In the corner of your eye, you noticed a small stone just outside the cave. It was partially dusted in snow, but the engravings on it were clear. You leaned down, brushing it off with your gloved hand.

The instant your fingers touched the stone, a deep, gravelly voice echoed from behind you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You squealed, whipping around, only to find no one there. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you stumbled backward, falling straight into the snow. There were no footprints, no sign of anyone else. Just the eerie silence of the winter woods.

The spirit’s presence began to grow after you got home. Not just in the subtle warmth of the room or the way the hearth crackled to life at your arrival, but in the unmistakable feeling that he was always near. The warmth you once chalked up to the peculiarities of the stove now seemed deliberate, purposeful. The fire would roar to life just as your fingers began to freeze from the cold, as if it were watching, anticipating your needs.

It was no longer a question of if the spirit was real, but how deeply it was intertwined with the world around you. Every time you struck a match or lit a lantern, the flames danced longer than they should, their movements almost playful, as though teasing you. You tried to brush it off as wind or the natural flicker of fire, but something about the way the flames moved—how they seemed to respond to your presence—was undeniable.

It was trying to communicate.

It started with the crackling of the fire. At first, it was faint, like a low murmur beneath the sound of the wood burning. You would sit in front of the hearth after a long day of research, the warmth enveloping you, the sound becoming a constant companion. There were times you swore you heard words in the fire’s crackle, an indistinct whisper. "It’s just the wind," you told yourself. "Just the wood popping." But the more time passed, the clearer it became. The crackling wasn’t random—it carried meaning.

Then, one evening as you sat alone in the cabin after tossing a pancake into the fire, a cold gust of wind howling outside, you finally heard it: “You’re back.”

The voice was faint, almost lost in the sound of the firewood splitting, but it was there—low, gravelly, and unmistakable. You froze, heart pounding, eyes wide in surprise as you stared at the flames. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it. But the voice came again, just as you leaned closer. “You’re not afraid.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Your throat felt tight, your hands clammy despite the warmth. You tried to rationalize it—maybe you were exhausted, hallucinating from the cold. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t your imagination. Slowly, carefully, you muttered, “Am I... supposed to be afraid?”

The flames flickered in response, and you could swear you heard a huff, like a quiet laugh. Then the voice returned, clearer this time. “You’re stubborn.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, a mix of amusement and confusion swirling inside you. “If you’re a spirit,” you said softly, “then show me a sign. Let me know I’m not losing my mind.”

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought maybe the voice wouldn’t return. But then, the fire roared, flaring up for just a second, casting the entire cabin in a brilliant light. The heat was so intense that you instinctively stepped back, heart hammering in your chest.

So it was real.

The days after that were filled with small, subtle gestures. The fire seemed to burn longer without the need for more wood. When you struggled to chop firewood or gather supplies, you would return to your cabin to find fresh logs stacked neatly by the door or a basket of fish left outside. You didn’t question it anymore, though each act left you both grateful and uneasy. Eventually, he told you his name— Bakugou Katsuki.

"Thank you," you whispered to the fire one evening, unsure if Bakugou could hear you but needing to acknowledge the help he had provided.

The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and you could almost sense his presence, as though he were sitting just beyond the hearth, watching over you.

It wasn’t just the warmth he brought. It was the feeling of protection, a sense that he was always there, keeping the biting cold at bay. The wind howled outside, but inside, the fire crackled with a steady, comforting heat, as though Bakugou himself were standing guard over your cabin.

As the connection between you and Bakugou deepened, so did the manifestations of his presence. There were times when you could feel warmth pass by you in the room, like an invisible hand brushing against your skin. And then, there were the footprints. In the mornings, you would find faint impressions in the snow outside your door—footprints too large to be your own, too distinct to be explained by passing animals. They led away from the cabin, disappearing into the woods where the trees whispered in the wind.

One night, after a long day of gathering research and barely avoiding frostbite, you collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even remove your boots. You stared into the hearth, watching the flames sway and shift. As you drifted off, you swore you saw something in the fire—a figure, tall and broad-shouldered, standing amidst the flames.

"Bakugou," you whispered, sleep pulling you under. The fire flared again, and in the brief moment before darkness claimed you, you felt the warmth of his presence like a blanket around your body, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

With each passing day, Bakugou’s presence grew stronger. There were moments when you caught glimpses of him in reflections—on the frozen surface of a nearby pond or in the gleam of a window. He would appear for just a moment, the outline of a figure, the flicker of a flame in his eyes, and then he’d be gone, as though the world itself was trying to remember him.

"Why were you forgotten?" you asked the fire one evening, your voice barely a whisper. There was no immediate answer, but the flames shifted, as though Bakugou were trying to find the words.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," came the gravelly voice at last, softer than before. "I was supposed to protect this village. But something... something changed."

You waited, hoping for more, but the fire quieted, the conversation left unfinished. You knew he was withholding something, something important, but he wasn’t ready to reveal it just yet.

As the winter deepened, so did your connection. The emotional tension between you and Bakugou simmered just beneath the surface. He was no longer just a spirit haunting your cabin—he was a presence, a force that kept you safe, a companion in the long, cold nights. And as his voice grew more familiar, so did your thoughts about him. You started to look forward to the conversations by the hearth, the way the flames would flicker in response to your words, how his presence made the cabin feel less lonely, less cold.

But with that warmth came an ache, a yearning that neither of you dared to speak of yet. You wondered how far this connection could go, how real Bakugou could become.

One thing was certain: you were no longer alone in the tundra. And Bakugou, once forgotten, was starting to be remembered—by you.

The air was sharp and cold as you made your way back to the shrine, a small group of villagers following behind you. In your hands, you held an offering—a bundle of dried herbs, fish, and pancakes, all delicately wrapped in cloth. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, nervous but willing. They, too, had grown weary of the strange occurrences and were ready to do whatever was necessary to end them.

The old man leading the group had spoken of the fire spirit with reverence, explaining that the villagers once honored Bakugou with offerings to ensure their prosperity. Over time, however, the traditions had been forgotten, and with it, so had Bakugou’s power. Now, you were determined to set things right.

The path through the woods felt familiar. You’d followed it before, and yet today, it carried a different weight. You could feel him, his presence in the air, watching you from the shadows of the trees. It was as if the entire forest was holding its breath.

When you arrived at the shrine—a cave hidden deep within the woods—the villagers began to build a bonfire at its entrance. They stacked wood and kindling, and soon, flames licked the sky, casting the ancient stone carvings in a warm, flickering light. The shrine walls, covered in depictions of fire and snow, seemed to glow under the fire's embrace.

You approached the altar, laying the offerings down gently. The villagers bowed their heads, murmuring prayers to the forgotten spirit, asking for forgiveness. As you knelt beside the offerings, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, feeling an intense heat—not from the bonfire, but from somewhere deeper within the cave.

For a moment, the flames crackled louder, and the ground beneath you seemed to hum with energy. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything went quiet. The strange occurrences in the village—the fires, the whispers in the wind, the unsettling feeling of being watched—ceased. You could feel it, a weight lifting off the air. The offering had been accepted.

The villagers left soon after, grateful for your leadership and certain that Bakugou’s anger had been soothed. But you lingered, something pulling you back toward the cave.

Once the others were out of sight, you found yourself drawn deeper into the shrine. The carvings on the walls seemed even more intricate in the dim light, and you ran your fingers over the smooth stone, marveling at the ancient craftsmanship. Your thoughts wandered to him, to Bakugou. Was he truly satisfied with the offerings? Would you ever see him again?

A soft crackling sound broke the silence. You froze, every hair on your body standing on end. Slowly, you turned around, your breath catching in your throat.

There he stood.

Bakugou, no longer a fleeting presence or a whisper in the flames, but solid and real, towering over you. He was just as you’d imagined—no, more. His bare chest, muscled and powerful, was only partially covered by a thick fur that draped over one shoulder. His skin seemed to shimmer with warmth, his eyes blazing red like embers. He exuded strength, yet his gaze—intense and unwavering—held something deeper. Hunger.

"You came back," his voice rumbled, low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your mouth went dry. "I… I wanted to make sure the offering was enough."

He didn’t answer immediately, his fiery gaze trailing over you, making your skin tingle under the intensity of his stare. Then, with one swift movement, he closed the distance between you, pinning you gently against the cool stone of the cave wall. The heat of his body was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold of the cave, and you felt your pulse race.

"You shouldn’t be here alone," Bakugou growled, his breath hot against your skin.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were lost as his lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding. His kiss was consuming, like the fire he embodied—wild, uncontrollable, and impossible to resist. You melted against him, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers.

His body pressed against yours, his warmth enveloping you as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. The world outside the cave disappeared—there was only Bakugou, his touch, his heat, and the insistent press of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hand moved up your back, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

The intensity of the kiss left you breathless, and when he finally pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips brushed against your ear. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

You barely had time to respond before the world shifted. One moment, you were in the cave, pressed against the stone; the next, you were back in your cabin, the familiar warmth of the hearth surrounding you. But Bakugou was still there, standing tall before you, his hands still on your body, his lips only inches from yours.

Your eyes widened in shock. “How…?”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Fire is everywhere,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “And where there’s fire, I can be.”

Before you could fully comprehend what he’d just said, his lips were on yours again, softer this time but no less urgent. He kissed you like a man who had waited centuries for this moment, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made your knees weak.

The fire in the hearth flared behind you, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow as Bakugou’s body pressed against yours, his heat making your skin burn with desire. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was stoking the flames inside you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

You moaned softly against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair as the intensity between you grew, the connection undeniable. He growled in response, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Whatever boundaries had existed between the mortal world and the spirit realm no longer mattered. In that moment, there was only you and Bakugou—fire and flesh, spirit and soul, bound together in a heat that refused to be extinguished.

Without a word, he approached you, his movements as fluid as molten lava. He bent down and claimed your lips, You gasped at the contact, your body responding with a fiery need that matched his own.

He quickly peeled off your many layers of clothes. His hands found their way under your pants, taking them off as his touch burned your skin and he spread your legs. The world outside the cabin faded away, leaving only the two of you and the dance of shadows on the walls.

Bakugou knelt before you, his intense crimson eyes never leaving yours as he parted your folds with his fingers. You shrunk under his close gaze as he took the sight of you in. “So perfect,” he groaned, grabbing at your soft thighs with two large hands and spreading you out for him.

The first lick of his tongue sent you spiraling, the sensation intense on your clit. You moaned, your hands grabbing at his blonde spikes, your body arching towards the heat of his mouth. He took his time, tasting you, savoring you, driving you closer and closer to the edge of release.

But just as you felt yourself about to fall over the edge, you pushed him back, the need to explore his body consuming you.

You pushed him onto the ground, pulling down at his pants. “It’s my turn,” you proclaimed.

He looked up at you, a question in his eyes, but you didn't waver. You dropped to your knees pulling down his pants and gasping when his hard shaft bounced out of the fabric. It was the size of your face, and its girth was something else.

He noticed your awe at him, and his ego was inflated even more than it already is. “Like what you see?”

You roll your eyes, taking his thick length in your hand and bringing it to your lips before giving the tip a peck. He groaned, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cabin. Your hand grasped at his strong thighs. Teasing him, you spent time kissing all over his outer and inner thighs before moving to his shaft.

You took your time, exploring every inch of him with your mouth, worshipping him as he deserved. You licked him up and down his hot length, watching as his eyes screwed together in pleasure before you took his whole length into your mouth— up and down his length in a bobbing motion.

His hands tangled in your hair, guiding you, urging you faster as he grew harder. The heat of his body was intoxicating, his scent a heady mix of sweet smoke and masculinity that made your head spin.

The fire in the hearth of the cabin roared to life, casting shadows across the room as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. His groans filled your ears, the only sound in the quiet night, until he could take no more. With a final, desperate thrust, he emptied himself into your mouth, the heat of his cum like liquid fire.

Bakugou chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted you to your feet. He picked you up with ease, carrying you to the soft fur that lay before the fireplace. Gently, he laid you down, your skin feeling like it was on fire from the heat of his touch.

"Your body," he murmured, tracing the curves of your hips with his thumb, "it's a masterpiece.” He leaned down, capturing a nipple with his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. You arched your back, gasping as the heat from his breath melded with the warmth from the fire, making it feel like you were melting from the inside out.

"Bakugou," you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same loving attention. His hands roamed over your stomach, his fingers finding their way between your legs again.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Katsuki,” he corrected, as he began to fuck you with them, slow and deep, watching as your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open in ecstasy.

As he worked his fingers into you, a low hum escaped him. “So damn tight,” watching as your face wrinkled up in pleasure.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a demand that you couldn't refuse. You met his gaze, the intensity of his stare making your heart race even faster. His thumb brushed against your clit as his lips pulled themselves into a grin as he sent a shockwave through your body. "I want to see you come apart for me."

As soon as he said these words, his fingers curled directly into your sweet spot. Your vision went white with pleasure. In the background, his grin only became more animalistic as he leaned down to catch a nipple into his mouth. His fingers worked you to the edge, driving you crazy.

The orgasm crashed over you like a massive wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Your thighs were wet and sticky with your own release.

He watched you, his own arousal evident in the way he held himself, his eyes never leaving yours. "That was just the beginning," he promised, his voice a rumble that sent another shiver down your spine.

He watched you— all spread out and pretty for him on the fur, watching the warm light of the fire bounce off your delectable skin as you tried to catch your breath and your legs shook. He couldn’t help but mark you up all over as he sent you over the edge once more with his lips and fingers this time. A light chuckle left him as you cried out his name and writhed underneath him— overstimulation already starting to take over.

Your breathless voice called out to him in the small space of the cabin. “Katsuki,” you beckoned, “please… I need it.” You knew that he kept going at this rate, you’d go insane.

“You sure, princess? You think you can take it now?” His head kept burying itself between your legs, kitten licking at your clit before sucking at it and thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “You’re still not loose enough,” he says as he curls his fingers up again, releasing a squeal from you.

You just kept cumming— each time you came, your walls only got more and more sensitive, pulling you to orgasm again.

Bakugou watched in sadistic joy every time your walls tightened further around his fingers. He came back up to you to catch your moaning lips into a kiss before trailing down and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest. When he started playing with your clit again, you came again, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer pleasure.

Your mind couldn’t fathom anything but Bakugou. Your mouth cried out broken strings of his name until he finally withdrew his fingers from your core, licking them up lasciviously. He lined himself up with you, tapping his tip against your puffy clit, making you jolt. Your entrance was still convulsing from your long string of climaxes as he finally pushed himself against it, groaning when he felt himself slip past the ring of muscle.

He took in a sharp breath of air. “Could you quit clenching?” His head rolled back in pleasure, not even fully inside of you yet. “I’m already,” he pushes himself in further, “strugglin’ as it is…”

He was so thick. It filled you up, making you cum when he was only buried into your walls up until the tip and then some. “I’m sorry,” you managed to whine out, breathless, “I can’t help it!”

With these words, he froze and stared at you climaxing before pushing the rest of himself in, causing you to scream. He gave you a moment to relax with his entire shaft inside of you. You felt so full— he stretched you out so good. “So noisy,” he smirked, only spurring your voice to get louder with each thrust.

He started to pick up a steady pace, pistoning in and out of you. Each thrust made you shudder—his length stretched you out perfectly and hit you in all of the right places. Your hands gripped at the fur beneath you for any sort of purchase. He wiped one of your tears away, burying his head into the crook of your neck and groaning with each thrust.

You believed that spirits didn’t exist, but here you were, getting dicked down by one. And you were sure as hell enjoying it.

As he pounded away at you, your eyes rolled back into your head, your moans turning into cries. He was so rough, so primal in his movements, it was like he was trying to claim you. And with every thrust, it felt like he was getting closer to doing so.

He kissed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin with his teeth. His hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips tightly as he thrusted in deeper and harder. The noises of your pussy squelching in the cabin were obscene, but they only served to spur Bakugou on.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured against your skin.

His thrusts were getting faster and more erratic, so you knew he was close. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him on, needing him to fill you up with his heat. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he did. You felt the warmth of his cum fill you up, spilling into your womb like molten lava.

He collapsed onto you, panting heavily. His weight was a comforting presence as he remained inside of you, his cock still pulsing with every beat of his heart. You could feel his warmth seep into your very core, leaving you feeling complete in a way you never had before.

As the moments passed, he slowly pulled out of you, his cum dripping out and down your thighs. You watched as he looked down, his eyes widening in awe at the sight. He leaned down to kiss you, his hand cupping your cheek. “You’re mine now,” he whispered.

a/n: we're back!

lol not beta read again please let me know if you see any typos or anything that's just like. wrong/inconsistent

my taglist is open! lmk if you wanna be tagged in future bakugou fics or j all my fics in general

thank you for reading & stay hydrated, y'all <3

directory/m.list

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bnha x reader #bnha au #katsuki bakugo x reader #katuski bakugo #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader smut #bnha smut #bakugo katsuki smut #smut #x reader #reader insert

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