A Little Something For Our Pretty Birthday Boy!

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: closed bedroom

☾ warnings: f!reader, mildly suggestive

☾ word count: 3k

Keep reading

petrichor.

# — pairing: kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, kazuha

# — warnings: brief description of making out

# — tags: fluff, modern au, reader's got it bad for kazuha, yes this is self-indulgent, tiny angst drop

# — notes: i'll go stand in the naughty corner now. it's almost 4 am and i'm still stuck on masked kazuha. i was supposed to sleep. i'll stop now, promise. as always, reblogs and reactions are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoy!

wanna join the tag list?

✧ — 🍁 — ✧

"can i...?"

you tentatively reach towards his mask, your fingers hovering over the material in question. the man before you reaches up and closes his hand around your wrist gently. "what are you asking for?" he asks in return.

you swallow thickly, your mouth suddenly too dry for you to form the right words. you wish you could see his eyes better so you could have a clue as to what he's thinking. you only ever know that he's looking at you from the way the hairs on your body stand on end. right now, your entire body is on alert, prickling at the feeling of being watched. "i..." you reply dumbly. "i don't know."

"you're lying." he tugs you closer by your wrist, so that your nose is practically touching that of the mask. if his face was uncovered, you would be sharing a breath. "tell me the truth." his voice, though muffled by the mask, cuts straight through your senses. outside, rain begins to fall, the battering of raindrops on your windows filling the silences left between his words. "what do you want?"

it amazes you, it really does, how you've come to this point with him. three months ago, you were afraid that this man would turn his katana on you for having seen him carrying out his missions. you were, and still are, a liability, one that he should have taken care of long, long ago. yet here you sit, across from the man whose true name you don't even know, shuffling in place as you hesitate to ask to kiss him.

your feelings for this man, who introduced himself as 'momiji' for the sake of anonymity, came as no shock to you. call it cliché, but it was impossible not to fall for this masked stranger. he's the reason why you walked away from your first encounter with your life; he's the reason why your first aid stock has tripled in size over the past few weeks; he's the reason why your friends have had to shake you out of a daze at least once everyday.

and though he carries a lethal weapon on his person at all times, and though you've seen him in action, drawing blood from the throats of many a man, he's carved out a space for himself in a corner of your heart and securely tucked himself away.

the man's grip tightens on your wrist. "are you not going to answer me?"

you blink yourself back into reality. this is why your friends tease you these days. "no, that's not it." you hurry your response. you had a plan to answer him but got so lost in your thoughts that you forgot it. now that you've remembered where you are and what it is that you want from him, you find yourself back at square one.

you trust this man with your life and from the way he acts around you, you assume he trusts you with his. he wouldn't let you tend to his wounds so often if he didn't, you remind yourself. you have to tell yourself that you trust him, you do, and you respect his decision to keep his identity a secret, but no longer can you dampen your curiosity. that, coupled with your feelings for him, have led you here.

you let your fingers brush the side of his mask. it's made of a firm plastic, you note, and it covers the entirety of his face. you can't even see the corners of his eyes like this. "you know... that i trust you, right?" you whisper.

the masked man breathes a soft chuckle. you wonder what his smile looks like. "haven't i told you that that's a bad idea already?"

he has. many times. "then why do you keep giving me reasons to?" you retort. you admit that you sound a bit childish, but in your defense, he didn't have to make good on his promise to ensure your safety during the nighttime. after your fourth meeting, he promised to watch over you whenever you headed home from work. from that day onward, you hadn't had any run-ins with muggers or shady figures. it was always only him, if and when you came across him. how could you not trust him?

"touché," he agrees, letting go of your hand. he's letting his guard down. "i've been too nice to you."

"still, i wanted to thank you," your words come out rushed and airy, and you pull yourself back a few inches for your sanity, "for keeping me safe... and alive, i guess."

there's a snicker from beneath the mask. "you guess?" he releases your wrist. "i won't reject your gratitude," he folds his arms over his chest, "but you first need to tell me why you were reaching for my mask."

you suddenly feel the confidence bleeding out of you. "i, um.. it's tied to my, uh.. gift. for you." you hate that you spent days working up the courage to be so bold with someone like him, and now all of your hard work was crumbling by the second.

but for someone with quick reflexes, he sure is slow to catch on. he tilts his head silently, encouraging you to continue. you try to drown out your apprehension with the sound of the rain pouring outside. you move closer to the man, trying to rebuild the foundations of your confidence.

"i won't ask you to take off your mask." you lean back in to where you were before, your eyes scanning the mask. you wish you had x-ray vision right about now. you can practically feel the way the man examines you up close. you wish you could see the way he's focusing on you and you alone. "not completely."

he sits up straighter. "you want to see a part of my face?" he's quiet as he seemingly thinks it over. "i don't think i can--"

"i want to kiss you." you finally blurt. your face begins to burn. "if... if you'll allow me to. if not, that's okay. i just think this would be... an adequate reward for saving my life." when he says nothing for more than thirty seconds, any and all conviction you may have had vanishes. "alright then."

but just as you start to move away, he takes your wrist in hand again, and you freeze. "where... do you plan on kissing me?"

you gawk at him, too stunned to speak. instead of replying verbally, you just tap at your own lips. was he agreeing, then? you screw up your face a bit before you chuckle, the peculiarity of his question finally settling. "where else would i kiss you?"

"fair point." he places your hand on his mask then, and nods slightly. "not my whole face." his words are a warning. you'd be remiss if you didn't pick up on that.

your throat closes up, choking you. you nod in return, not trusting your voice. you hook your fingers on the underside of the mask and your knuckles brush his chin. already, your heart is fluttering in your chest; you think it stupid, considering how you've already seen him half-undressed by this point. slowly (and without breathing), you push the mask up, revealing his lips.

the lips of another person shouldn't be so astonishing to you. everyone has them, and it's not like you were expecting him to not have any, but you most certainly weren't expecting them to be so... pretty, for lack of a better word. entranced by him, you trace his cupid's bow with your thumb, your eyes widening at how soft his lips feel against your fingertip.

his lips start to curl into what you assume is a smile. pretty, you think -- it's all you can think. pretty, pretty, pretty.

"is this how you kiss people nowadays?" his smile only grows, revealing the prettiest set of white teeth.

your brain switches on at his taunt. "you're pretty." you tell him matter-of-factly. "this is all i'll ever get to see of you, so i'm taking my time."

that shuts him up immediately. his mouth opens and closes a few times before he gives up with a sigh. "i see."

you lean closer, close enough that your lips are almost brushing his. "are you sure about this?" you ask him one final time. maybe it's just you, but you feel a sobering sense of finality. the last thing you want is for this to be the last you see of this man.

rather than answer you, he takes your face in one hand and closes what little distance there was between you two. plush lips press against your own and you gasp, obviously not expecting this. you move your lips hesitantly and he does the same, taking your breath away. the sound of your lips connecting does wonders for your heart, each one burying itself deep into your memory. you savor every bit of him that he gives you, not letting a single second pass you by.

then, he pleasantly surprises you with more. he pauses the kiss for a bit to whisper something special.

"kazuha." his voice is on the deeper side and his lips are still hovering over yours. before you can ask what that's supposed to mean, he slots his mouth over yours again. it isn't until his tongue brushes your bottom lip that you realize he just told you his name.

kazuha. kazuha, kazuha, kazuha. it plays like a broken record in your head and you whisper it like a prayer when you let him deepen the kiss. it gives your feelings -- your love -- some more meaning. he takes your every iteration and swallows it down as he licks into your mouth, returning the favor with some mutters of your name as well.

outside, the rain continues to pour, bathing you two in the moment.

✦ i... i have no words. but i realize that i have revealed that i wanna make out with kazuha, and that i have a thing for kazuha with a mask and saying his name over and over. just.. kazuha. that's it.

‘you look pretty today :)’ you glanced up from the screen in your hands to lock gaze with the pretty fair haired boy sat opposite you on the bed. “thanks, i try.” you muttered light heartedly, gentle warmth ghosting up to the tips of your ears.

inumaki began to type once more as three dots indicating a reply appeared on your own screen. ‘that’s okay, just wanted to tell you’

you smiled at the text in grey under the first once he sent. “you don’t have to tell me that every time you see me you know.” you spoke gently, eyes soft looking upon your boyfriend who had his own phone held in his hand. ‘yeah i know, i just wanna make sure you know though,, texts aren’t the best way to communicate :( ’

before you could reply, the soft tapping sounds of typing were heard once again as inumaki typed out another text. ‘i hope you believe everything i type in these because i do mean it.’ your heart fluttered slightly at this message. while his speaking issue wasn’t ideal, inumaki always made sure to do his best to tell you how much he loved and cherished you, even if he verbally couldn’t affirm you.

“you know,” you spoke softly, slowing crawling over to his side on your bed. making home in his arms, you inhaled the familiar scent of fresh laundry as you rested your head on his shoulder. “you could always show me that you mean these things.”

you had only intended for you comment to be perceived as light hearted with no pressure attached to it, but your boyfriend’s heart jumped ever so slightly at the sudden close contact between the two of you and your suggestive comment certainly didn’t help.

you had a point though, speech was one restriction, but as the common preaching had always been taught “actions speak louder than words” inumaki gently took your hand into his own before looking tenderly into your pretty eyes.

placing your hand gently above his heart, the warm palm of your hand blanketed over the soft, but excited heart rate that indicated the love he held for you. with the sudden pick up in pace you knew this was his way of saying ‘this is how much i love you’ without having to verbally voice it. delicate butterflies fluttered inside of you as inumaki held eye contact only further instigating his silent but meaningful proclamation of love for you.

speech was definitely off the table when it came to telling you how he felt, but inumaki would never let a day go by without telling you how he felt in his own love language tailored specifically for you to understand. your boyfriend loved you and it was the ringing of his heart that told you everyday.

a touch of lips 

Genre: spicy fluff (lots of kissing, touching, teasing, slight biting mention (kaeya, scara), slight possessive theme (scara), etc) - love drunk reader

Character x GN reader | Anthology

Includes: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Itto

request: you know that scenario you did of Thoma and love drunk reader, could you do a series of love drunk reader

Keep reading

My dear friend @luxielle asked me (months ago) to write about the scene between fleeing Magenta and arriving at the cabin, and—at last—here it is!

even the oceans come back to the sand

GE Saeran X Reader | Words: 2002

In the beginning, you run.

It feels strange to move fast after sitting still for so many days; your leg muscles scream as the freshly-tilled dirt of the garden turns into hard, sun-warmed pavement. There is nothing here but ground and sky, and your breath comes hard and fast as you follow the empty road around a bend and over the crest of a hill.

As you climb, you think dizzily of your arrival (ten days ago; forever ago). It is strange to finally see the road that brought you here, when you were blindfolded and silent as the grave. You want to say something about it, but you don’t have the breath.

Even if you did, you aren’t sure what you would say.

You squint into the setting sun so you can see his face: he stares straight ahead, his brilliant eyes fixed on the horizon. You wonder how long it’s been since the last time he left this place. You wonder if he’s ever left at all.

The road curves sharply ahead, and you follow just a pace behind him. His cheeks are flushed, and you worry (for a moment) that he doesn’t have the stamina to keep this up—but he doesn’t waver.

His determination, you think, shines brighter than the sun in your eyes.

You clench your sweaty hands and try for one last burst of energy. He glances over his shoulder and then reaches for your hand.

“Saeran?” Your voice comes out like a breathless squeak; gently, he steers you off the road and into a clump of tall trees.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, slowing his pace to a brisk walk. “Trust me.”

Keep reading

what did they say about longing? about the yearning that grips your ribcage when you stretch your arms out in bed only for your fingers to brush against the cold pillow next to you? i miss you is the one thing that echoes like a broken harp in your head, the words plastered around every corner of your brain until you see them in the walls of your home and the insides of your wrist.

oh, my dear kazuha, am i missing from you in the same sense that you are missing from me? you glance at your study desk in the corner of your bedroom, the deep mahogany wood propping up piles and piles of messily written, unsent letters. they’re addressed to the same person—the only person you’d ever bother writing a letter to—but with no destination written on the front. it’s not as though the mail man would understand where exactly to send this letter to if all you wrote on the envelope was, ‘to the wandering samurai’.

but it wasn’t kazuha’s fault for needing to answer the call of the winds, just as it wasn’t yours for needing to know how fast your heart could race with your lips on his. you initiated the love affair fully aware that your arms could never anchor him to you and though you claimed to be ready to accept whatever consequences came with it, you didn’t think the longing would be this excruciating.

Keep reading

Yeah sex is cool, but…

Akaashi starts accidentally doodling you when assisting with character designs for his creators. It started out innocently at first. Your hair just happened to be a perfect reference for what they were working towards, but soon, drawing you becomes a pass time. 

Now each time he draws you he notices something new. A new freckle he’s missed, a scar you’ve never told him about, an expression he’s never seen before. Drawing you becomes an exploration, an adventure as his pencil etches away at all the things that make you up in his quest to commit every curve of your being to memory.

In time, he learns that your mouth is best drawn on rainy days, when just the shading he marks out under your lip can make him smile. Your eyes, are best drawn with ink, to capture the depth that is hidden behind them and your hands, well, your hands look best when he scribbles a small silver band around your ring finger on the left.

Akaashi discovers something new every single time he draws you and he won’t stop until he knows it all.

just a bite.

modern!au vampire!scaramouche x reader

summary: being roommates with a vampire who craves you carnally just as much as he does for sustenance? awk.

word count: 4.6k 

tw/cw: 18+ only, afab reader, drinking, unintentional roommates with a vampire (he kind of just invites himself in. and never leaves), mutual masturbation, sex in exchange for blood, frottage, rutting, bodily fluids, bloodplay, blood drinking, scaramouche isn’t really so much bitter, angry scaramouche or calmer wanderer but more a blend of both? (he’s really just a stray cat who latches onto you), lots of banter, brief reference to suicidal behavior (scaramouche)

–author’s note: happy late bday scaramouche <3

“You’re leaving?” 

While two months ago, you wouldn’t think twice about stepping out to grab drinks with a friend, now things are different. Two months ago, after all, you did not have a half-starved vampire passed out on your doorstep, after trying to deny himself of his one source of sustenance.

Two months ago, after all, you didn’t invite said vampire into your apartment unknowingly, only to find yourself pinned to your doormat, his crazed, crimson-tinged gaze focused intently on your neck. 

Two months ago, after all, you did not have said vampire now lingering in your house as an unofficial guest after said unsuccessful attempt to drain you dry. 

(“You were the only one stupid enough to let me in,” he said drily, kicking his feet up onto your coffee table the day after, when you had awoken after his frenzy. Surprised you’re still alive, he’d said nonchalantly. As if he was not a stranger in your house. As if he hadn’t tried to suck the life out of you like some kind of vertically-challenged tick. He ignored your attempts to swat his feet off, instead crossing his arms and tossing his head to the side. 

Keep reading

Burning for You

a/n | BASED ON GENSHIN 3.0 LEAKS!⚠️ …okay, so i have a confession. two things… one, i believe in love at first sight. and two, i am hopelessly in love with tighnari. <3 wrote this in a few hours high off of my new fav dendro main so i hope it’s okay! (art credits: u/murasakisumire on reddit)

warnings | character leaks, slight profanity, probably ooc tighnari but i’m having fun with it anyway :)

genre | fluff, smug tighnari likes to tease you

word count | 1.1k

pairing | tighnari x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

In the humid wilderness of Sumeru’s lush rainforests, there was no room for error as a forest ranger. It was a matter of life or death—eat or be eaten.

The vast majority of the rainforest was relatively untouched by civilization and teeming with vibrant creatures of all shapes, sizes, and abilities. As a ranger, you were expected to be an expert in animal and vegetation identification, and able to sense danger through disturbances in the surrounding ecosystem.

You had been reminded of this requirement on numerous occasions by your superior, yet somehow you defied all natural laws with how you constantly attracted trouble. Sometimes it’s a simple, easily avoidable mistake on your part, but other times it turned into a horde of enemies charging in your direction with no obvious escape in sight.

As a result, you were assigned under the direct supervision of the Lead Forest Ranger, Tighnari, for special training. But it wasn’t your fault you magically invited danger everywhere you went. At first, you were quite intimidated by the long-eared ranger. You knew he was the best of the best, so the stakes were high. If you messed this up, maybe you really were hopeless.

Expeditions were extremely silent and awkward with your new companion. After a while of suffering from solitude, you had tried to get to know him more, but it proved to be difficult.

“Hey, ‘Nari,” you would inquire softly as he was focused on referencing an encyclopedia from his pack.

An ear would twitch accompanied by a nearly indiscernible hum, eyes not breaking from his work once. “Yes, (Y/N)?”

“Um, do you ever take a break?” you sheepishly asked, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. He raised a brow, promptly closing his book, and touched his chin in thought. Worried you had offended him, you continued, “L-like do you do anything for fun?”

“This is fun, is it not?” Tighnari replied nonchalantly. “I love my work.”

It was true. All Tighnari would ever discuss with you was about Dawson Rainforest. Such was the extent of any line of questioning you could think of. You could rarely ever get a reaction out of him, not that you wanted to tease him—well, maybe you wouldn’t mind to see the quiet and clever Tighnari devolve into a stuttering, blushing mess at least once.

But that is beside the point. You felt ignored and lonely. Breaking the ice was useless. You were going to have to be a lot more forward if you wanted to get Tighnari’s attention.

Which ultimately led you to this moment months later, as you snap out of your thoughts staring at the burning embers rising from the campfire. You like to think your relationship had improved or you understood each other better since then. At the very least, your skills were improving and working with him in a team wasn’t as bad as it used to be.

You both had set up camp together less than an hour ago after completing your duties since you were too far from the main base to lodge for the night. Tighnari had just set his ranger journal aside, pale green eyes locked onto you.

A strange rush of heat spread across your cheeks in embarrassment. You prayed to the Archons it wasn’t noticeable. Had he said something and you completely missed it? Why is he looking at you like that?

You cleared your throat, unsure of what to say since he still scarcely gives you the time of day, “What?”

Perfect. You were such a great conversationalist, you reprimanded yourself silently.

“You were lost in thought,” he observed, lips pursing slightly in disappointment. “I… apologize if I have come across as rude in the past.”

“No!” you insisted, shaking your head frantically and laughing it off. “That’s not why at all. Don’t worry about it. Just feeling bored I guess?”

“You must always remain vigilant. As you can tell, none of the wildlife here seem bored in all their clamoring even in the darkness of night,” Tighnari notes out of habit, but he pauses for a second before shaking his head too and scooting next to you. “But we aren’t on a mission so I suppose I may entertain your antics this time.”

Did the flame of the fire suddenly grow hotter? Your cheeks flushed with another intense wave of heat when Tighnari grew near, surely it wasn’t your Pyro vision acting up. Then again, every time the lead ranger draws close, you swear you can feel the fiery pulse of your vision on your chest. Or was that your heart leaping?

His bright jade eyes flickered knowingly from your vision to meet your skeptical gaze, a playful, smug smile threatening to tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you enjoy this, ‘Nari? Making me—!” you accused in shock, words abruptly trailing off as you find yourself nearly admitting your embarrassment. “Argh. This is what you actually do for fun, isn’t it?”

“Me? I could never partake in such fruitless endeavors,” he responded with an innocent wave of his bushy raven tail, rotten mischief dripping from each word on his tongue.

“Oh, but the excitement is just radiating from you, go ahead. I’m ready to hear the great Tighnari speak to me finally,” you retorted sarcastically in a huff.

“I would be more inclined to say it’s written all over you, (Y/N),” his voice lowers as he leans in ever so slightly, tall ears towering over you in an almost intimidating manner. “I’m… not as oblivious as you may think.”

Fuck, the fennec fox never cared to talk to you and the minute he opens his mouth it was your downfall. Your breath hitched subconsciously, the only confirmation Tighnari needed, a sharp-toothed smirk adorning his smug expression. You hated it.

You had quickly learned long ago he had a penchant for teasing and trickery, and you always walked right into his traps. After all this time pushing you away and reeling you back in at will with his wit, he knew he had you wrapped around his finger. You were utterly touch-starved and Tighnari reveled in it, lightly grazing the back of his fingers against your hot cheek.

His pearlescent irises glimmered and marveled at you—a predator helplessly enamored with his prey.

“This isn’t fair, ‘Nari,” you whispered, lidded eyes watching with longing as he slowly inches further toward you. The instinct to pull away crosses your mind, just to deny him the victory, but how could you when the promise of his lips was so imminent?

He brushed his nose against yours gently in a loving nuzzle, whispering onto your lips, “Neither is this burning in my heart for you now, is it?”

Tighnari could hardly restrain himself any longer, drinking in your scent like this so intimately, inevitably succumbing to your sweet lips in a passionate display of desire. When he held your cheek or trailed his hand down to your waist, you felt that familiar burst of your Pyro vision glowing alongside his Dendro one—his touch consuming you with an aching need for more.

You almost considered caressing his long ears when he nibbled at your bottom lip, until he broke the kiss with a soft smile and couldn’t resist indulging in your addicting taste once more.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist.

Bitter Eclipse # i. toge

↳ Inumaki would've offered you a sip of his coffee ages ago if he knew what came next.

pairing: inumaki toge x gn!reader

genre: fluff, non-jujutsu!au.

warning(s): obnoxious prose.

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: edited this in between study sessions lol but hello inumaki nation!! i hope he's doin okay... wherever he is...

Inumaki knows the question poised at the tip of everyone’s tongue when he first meets them. Rarely are they ever upfront about it in the beginning, but by the third or fourth encounter, the words slip past their lips and fester in the dust moted air with a life of its own.

“So, what’s the deal with the mask?”

Their shoulders always slacken, chests falling, as if their curiosity had swelled so ponderously that just uttering these words bring them reprieve.

But they are never satiated by his answer—his lack of one, because Inumaki has no justification.

“Is it a hygiene thing?”

He was reared to uphold a minimum standard of cleanliness in the Inumaki household—not that there were any stringent rules regarding the practice, more a sitting down and scolding to when he wore shoes inside or forgot to store his toys away—but he isn’t particularly scrupulous about sanitation.

“Is it a self-esteem thing?”

Sure, he’d been riddled with insecurities as a teen—what teen wasn’t? But he’s in his twenties now, and though he’s still plagued with a few doubts, Inumaki isn’t so beleaguered by them he’d shroud half his face in fabric.

“So, what is it?”

All he always offers in response is a non-committal toss of his shoulders.

Then, their question sprouts fangs, grows talons, cultivates a blood-lust tailored for an ‘acceptable’ answer because a shrug isn’t one. But—reluctantly—irrespective of all these phylogenies, their interest retreats into whatever dingy fissure it came from and lies in wait for another time. Momentarily, at least.

They nod and say ‘Ah’ as if in understanding, but he knows they want a better explanation. Maybe they think that if they wait long enough, their patience will be rewarded. That maybe Inumaki will reveal the deep, dark secret behind his mask if they become good enough friends. This never happens.

Inumaki has no grim ailment behind his decision. He wears masks because he likes them.

He’s not upset by the intrigue; it’s reasonable. So because he knows people inevitably cave in to their curiosity, he’s made a game out of it. He’s no hedonist, but thrills are scarce. Who would he be to reject them?

The game: How many meetings will it take until the fabled question arises?

Current record: 37.

Current record holder: you.

No, scratch that. The current record is 38, including right now.

“So, what did you think of the movie?” you ask, swaddled in a puffer jacket and scarf, breath pluming in cold wisps before you.

Inumaki shrugs and leans back into the decaying wooden bench, running his nail along his paper cup of coffee, the sides ridged with crests and troughs.

You tip your head back, eyelashes glimmering with moonlight. “It was boring, huh?”

A hum of agreement resonates from the well of his throat, and you smile. You take no offense to his reticence. Most people do, and he doesn’t blame their frustration, which makes patience—from his friends, from you—all the more appreciated.

“At least the desserts were okay, right?”

He nods and takes a sip of his coffee. A cat café hadn’t been a part of the itinerary, but with tongues waxed by cheap popcorn and bitter disappointment, the tabbies and persians lounging by the window were impossible to resist.

Inumaki hadn’t minded, especially since you’d asked for a taste of his strawberry tart and leaned forward, mouth open, instead of plucking the fork from his fingers. When he’d fed you, heat simmered in his abdomen. You’d haloed with a smile and hummed at the sour tang, the indulgent cream cheese, pleased. It was cute. You were cute.

If someone had been watching, would they have mistaken you two as a couple? He wasn’t opposed to the idea.

Now, he tips his coffee towards you in silent invitation.

“I can have some?” you ask, eyes flickering from him to his drink.

Inumaki realised months ago that you like sharing your food. He’s not the type to—he knows his own penchants well enough that he’s never tempted to try someone else’s order—but he likes the way you beam when he offers.

You take the cup, fingers grazing his. The sensation is something he finds himself yearning for recently.

He tugs his mask back over his face as you cautiously take a sip. It’s a gradual shift; you lower the cup, throat bobbing as you swallow, eyebrows pinched in the way Inumaki knows they do when you’re deliberating. Then, the corner of your lips are quirking, the apples of your cheeks raising, eyes crinkling, glinting as you grin at him.

“It’s really good!” you say, handing it back. “Not too bitter.”

He’s gone out one-on-one with you eighteen times now. They’re not dates, he’ll remind himself,  but he still frets over which outfit to wear and whether he’s worn it before every time. They’re not dates, but heat still pools in his cheeks when your hands brush together walking side-by-side, crescents carved into his palms as he digs his nails into them to curb the intensity of his emotions. They’re not dates, but he wishes they were.

Inumaki doesn’t know what possesses him. Maybe it’s the lucence of your smile, so sweet, so delighted, or the vestiges of warmth from the phantom touch of your fingertips, or the way moonlight limns you pearlescent, like you’re forged of it, spun from its finely woven threads, seeping luminescence into him, to embrace every inch of Inumaki down to the very bone.

Or maybe its the coffee foam rimming your cupid’s bow.

Whatever it is, he reaches forward—eyes trained to your lips, to how they’re parted, the carnation pink of your tongue peeking from behind gleaming teeth—and swipes the foam away, his other fingers cupping your jaw with a ghost’s touch. Your lips are plush beneath the pad of his thumb, and Inumaki has to physically rend himself from staring at the pliant give of them, from imagining how they would feel against his own.

He flashes the foam dotting his finger towards you as reasoning for his actions. You stare at it, at him, and he retracts, wiping the residue on his pants. Your index and middle finger hover over where he’d touched you, as if he’d left something behind: a mark, a burn, a crater.

Shit. He messed up. Inumaki messed up. He’d crossed an unspoken boundary and now the repercussions were going to sink its teeth into and devour him whole. He should apologise—

But before the words can manifest, your lips are pressed against his.

Everything, every sensation, every sound, smell, sight, engulfs him all at once. The cant of your head, the weight of your palm resting on his thigh, the redolence of your perfume, the rustle of your jacket as you angle your body towards his.

Insistent, soft, delicate, even through the material of his mask he can feel the velvet heat of your lips eclipsing his own; moonlight ephemeral, an iridescent fever, opaline and benevolent and intoxicating.

Then it’s gone, as quick as it came; a fleeting whisper, a promise.

You kissed him. You’d just kissed him. Through his mask.

“Thanks,” you whisper, breathless, as if you’d done it with fervour, as if he’d kissed you the way he’d been dying to, the way he’d been dreaming of for weeks.

The pressure of your hand against his thigh begins dissipating as you pry yourself away, intent on leaving him with nothing more than a sliver of what could be, what he’s craved for who knows how long.

Inumaki’s familiar with his tastes. He always knows what he wants. And right now is no different.

So he envelopes your wrist with his fingers, fixing your hand in place, feeling the thrum of your pulse as he yanks his mask down and leans closer.

Inumaki’s a man of very few words because he is of the philosophy that each one should matter, that they should mean something. And he’s never meant anything more in his life than when he whispers, “Again.”

Cold nips at his bare lips, the tip of his nose. It doesn’t matter. He can feel the heat suffusing from you, and he knows that it’ll be more than enough.

Inumaki is drawn to you like the tides, in umbra from the force with which he yearns for your opalescence, for you. He can taste it: the unbridled heat of your lips, the coffee melted on your tongue, the whipped cream from your dessert, the ardour of mingling breaths.

“Do it again,” he whispers, barely even that, but you’re so close now that it’s impossible you hadn’t heard, that you don’t feel the weight of it blanketing the two of you.

And when you do kiss him again, Inumaki himself wonders what he likes so much about masks.