[a-writing-cloud]

Fic Masterpost

Hi. Will mostly be miniseries, strive to update every couple of days. Each part will have a link to its previous and next parts.

Check my Ao3 for longer works (takes more time to update).

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⋆｡°✩ Love & Deepspace ⏾⋆.˚ Main tags: loveanddeepspace, love and deepspace, lads <li name>

Zayne is Your Secret Fan - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 Sub tags: no sparks allowed, zayne is your secret fan

To Kill a Sylus - wip, stay tuned Sub tags: no sparks allowed

[spacekittiesmeow]

zayne fucking you raw for the first time

"having human saliva inside you is a direct invitation for various infections," his brows furrow as if you should know better. you just scoff.

"if you truly desire something inside you, we can use lube as an alternative," he suggests gently. your brows thin into a line, uninterested.

"it's cold," you counter.

"we could warm it." you consider for a moment before shaking your head erratically.

"we're married, zayne. and you haven't finished in me once!" you grip his chin. "it's either your spit or your cum," you deadpan.

zayne sighs defeated at your adamance. he's teetering between a rock and a hard place. "then I'll have to choose the lesser evil,"

he lays a few conditions of his own before you dive into anything. he chooses the day according to your cycle and a precautionary visit to the OB/GYN the following day. you agree to it all.

in return, you take precautions of your own. you have his wrists loosely tied behind his back with a silk tie as his cock slips between your folds. the both of you watch as his mushroom tip dribbles out pre to mix with your own mess.

--

his hands are fisted tight behind his back. he's never felt your velvety pussy lips skin on skin before.

"you realize," he says carefully, "that I may not last very long." how can he once he feels your warm walls cling to him?

you line him up at that. zayne feels the way your hole pulses around his head before any of it is even inside.

he has to hold his breath when you finally sink on him, pussy greedily clamping around every inch of his hefty dick. "ohfuuck," your mouth hangs open.

"i-i'm hnggh—" he can't stop it. a broken whimper rips from his throat and his eyes roll to the back of his skull as your cunt molds around every ridge and vein of his cock.

he twitches hard inside you, balls finally releasing the thick load that your pussy pumps into itself. you gasp sharply at the sudden spurts of warmth in your gooey walls.

when he looks back up at you, embarrassment and surprise tint his cheeks. "im sorry—" you lift yourself and slam back down, taking him to the hilt—shutting him up entirely.

tears prick at your waterline as you feel the weight of him in your stomach. he bites back his sounds, even as you fuck yourself on his oversensitive dick.

you grind against him, letting his cum stained tip massage your sweet spot. your clit rubs against his lower abs and ohhh you're so close already.

somewhere in the haze of it all, you release his hands. he immediately latches onto your hips, guiding you to ride him into oblivion.

"one more, zay," you whisper, drunk on his cum. his brows furrow and you witness him kick all of his inhibitions out the door. his arm curls around your waist as he pulls out of you and rams back in. you squeal, clutching his shoulders.

you chase his cock. "fuck-fuck, m'so close..." your eyes squeeze shut, only focusing on the way his cock spreads your insides and drags along your white painted walls. his thumb pressed to your clit has you shattering, pulling him across with you. he empties inside you with a long groan. "mnghh give it to me, zayne,"

you hum in content once it's all over. seeing that victorious, fucked out grin on your face, he immediately knows this won't be a one time thing.

he’ll ask about scheduling a vasectomy tomorrow.

find all my drabbles here | masterlist

intellectual property of © spacekittiesmeow 2026

[spacekittiesmeow]

zayne hates being cockwarmed

zayne—the epitome of discipline, folds like pressed laundry the second your warm pussy wraps around his aching cock. all his composure goes out the window when he's got your honey-soaked walls dragging over every vein on his dick.

"are you truly going to remain still?" he looks up from your neck, eyes glassy and patience visibly fraying.

his fingers claw into the sheets to hold himself from rutting deeper into your pliant hole.

"yes zayne." you mutter. "that's the point of cockwarming."

"i fail to see a sensible point," he exhales sharply.

all he can think about is the way your walls spread for him each time he pumps his leaky dick into you, kissing the end of you that has you sobbing into the pillow.

it's cute seeing him unravel for once. desperate, shaky and downright restless.

you pull him into a kiss, rocking down on him slowly. he melts into your mouth, a low hum escaping him. his own hips jerk once until you freeze atop him. but before he can protest, your fingers find your clit, tracing slow circles on it.

it makes your syrupy walls pulsate around him, stealing his breath entirely.

he chokes on a moan, as your lips crash onto his once again. you grind once. twice. thri—

"y-you—mmhh—!" he's cumming just from that, shooting sudden jets of hot cum deep into where he's buried.

he flushes hard when he realises what he's done. You raise a brow at him. he averts his gaze, blinking rapidly.

"...i didnt say it was entirely unpleasant."

find all my drabbles here | masterlist

intellectual property of © spacekittiesmeow 2026

[xiayuriz]

Zayne tries to run every morning. Even when you are cozy in bed, warm in your cocoon of blankets. Zayne will rise out of bed and go on a run. This morning you woke up early though. Usually, you’re still in bed when he comes back, but today you’ve migrated your bundle of blankets to the couch.

The sofa that gives you a perfect view of the front door. The very same one Zayne walks into, taking off his shoes. Your eyes glaze over his body. Tight-fitted black shirt, hair tousled with sweat, and his shorts that end right above the knee.

“You run every morning looking like that?” You smile from the couch, leaning over the arm rest. Zayne tugs out his earphone,

“What?”

“You run. Every morning, looking like that.” You point at him, raising and lowering your finger.

“Do I look bad?” He asks, sliding his earphones into his pocket before treading towards you on the couch. Up close, you can see the sweat dripping down his neck and the way his shirt outlines his chest just right.

You’re salivating.

“Worse. You look amazing.” He stands in front of you as you sit on your knees. Your hands rest on his chest, smoothing over his lean arms and shoulders.

“You’re staring.” Zayne chides, but there’s no malice in his voice. He likes your praise, your attention. Sometimes you catch him making himself prettier for you. You massage his shoulders softly, leaning in to smell him. Zayne stiffens under you, "What are you—"

"You smell nice too." You smile against his skin. Zayne's hands stabilize your waist, rubbing circles into your skin. "You smell like me." Your chest swirls with pride, scraping his scalp softly with your nails. Zayne hums in reply, his eyes softly closing. He dips his head into your neck, pressing a kiss against your exposed skin.

"I should leave a mark on you." You mutter, running a finger up and down his chest. Zayne lets you touch up on him, running your hands along his abdomen and chest. He watches your hands, the way your face twinkles. He hums once again, raising a brow. "Anyone passing should know you're taken." Zayne chuckles, looping his arms around you. You pull him on top of you, a drop of his sweat dripping onto your collarbone.

"The ring on my finger isn't enough?" He's amused, pride swirling in his chest over you. You shake your head, arms curled around his neck.

"That doesn't stop anyone." You plainly reply, running your knees between his legs. Zayne breathes into you, lips pressed against yours before softly pulling away. You chase him, forcing him back to you with a hand against his nape. "They have to know…" You speak between kisses. "You're taken. That you're mine."

"Yes. Perhaps you should…" Zayne murmurs against your lips, softly biting your bottom lip. You part your lips, letting his tongue slide against yours. Zayne rises, his hands sliding against the trim of his shirt. You stop him, pulling his hands under your shirt instead.

"Keep it on."

[lvl1l1]

Sylus has always been a patient man.

But nothing tests that patience quite like you.

The first time you leaned in and kissed him, he felt like the entire world could burn down around him and he wouldn’t care. Since then, making out with you has become his favorite addiction. The way you melt into him, the little sounds you make when he licks into your mouth, how you grip his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear,he can’t get enough.

Tonight is no different.

You’re straddling his lap on the couch in his private lounge, hands tangled in his silver hair while he kisses you deep and slow. His hands slide up your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulls you closer. A low groan rumbles in his chest when you rock against him, unconsciously grinding down on the growing bulge in his pants.

“Fuck, kitten…” he murmurs against your lips, voice already rough. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You whimper softly, kissing him harder, and for a moment it feels like you might finally be ready. His hands slip under your shirt, palms warm against your bare waist, thumbs stroking just beneath your ribs. He’s so hard it’s aching, straining painfully against his zipper, but he doesn’t rush you. He just keeps kissing you like he could do this forever.

Then you pull back suddenly, breathing heavily, eyes a little wide.

“Sylus… wait. I’m sorry, I-” You bite your lip, looking guilty.

He stills immediately.

His hands slide out from under your shirt and settle respectfully on your hips instead. Even though his cock is throbbing angrily between you, begging for friction, his expression softens.

“Hey,” he says gently, voice low and calm. “Don’t apologise. You never have to be sorry for that.”

You look down, cheeks flushed. “But you’re… I can feel how hard you are. I keep getting you worked up and then stopping-“

Sylus cuts you off by tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes. That usual smugness is gone, replaced by something warmer and tender.

“I don’t care if I stay hard for the rest of the night,” he says simply. “Or all week. Or all month. We go at your pace. Always.”

He leans in and presses a slow, sweet kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, much softer this time.

“You letting me kiss you like this already feels like winning the lottery, sweetie,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I can wait. As long as you need.”

Even as he says it, his cock twitches hard between your thighs, still painfully trapped and aching. He ignores it completely, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest instead.

You bury your face in his neck, relaxing into him. “You’re too good to me.”

Sylus lets out a quiet chuckle, though it sounds a little strained.

“Trust me, I’m not a saint. Right now I’m thinking about a lot of very filthy things I want to do to you,” he admits, voice dropping into a purr. “But I’d rather have you comfortable and happy than rush anything. This-” He squeezes your waist gently. “-is more than enough.”

You stay like that for a long time, you curled up on his lap, his arms securely around you while he presses occasional kisses to your hair and temple.

Later, after you’ve fallen asleep against his chest, Sylus finally lets out a slow, controlled breath.

He’s painfully hard, balls aching, cock leaking into his boxers… but he just holds you tighter, a small, satisfied smile on his lips.

Because even if it means blue balling himself every single time you make out, you’re worth every second of it.

His kitten is safe, comfortable, and slowly opening up to him

[a-writing-cloud]

there are 2 wolves within. one wants to write nonsensical dialogue. the other wants to write undecipherable scenery. both are too busy arguing. nothing gets written.

[a-writing-cloud]

Zayne is Your Secret Fan (5)

<Part 4>

You kept your apartment as tidy as possible, but somehow Zayne's presence amplified every single imperfection that you'd previously deemed "ignorable". The cup that's been in your sink for days seemed to wilt a little as you got some water for your guest.

He had brought you food from your favorite restaurant. All you could do was splutter thanks as you thought about how the last time you'd had it, you were fantasizing about experiencing its culinary delights with him. And then you realized,

"How did you know I liked this?"

The soft smile had never left Zayne's lips. He put a piece of food into your bowl. "Tara told me."

Of course she did.

You thought this impromptu visit would be awkward, but it actually felt like he'd lived here for months - years, even. The hours whiled away as the conversation drifted from childhood memories and moments, to present-day achievements and dreams.

You two ended up on the sofa. You weren't close enough to touch, but you were hyperaware of how the air moved when he did, and how much you wanted to lean on him. Maybe you could convince yourself to do it with the reasoning that you used to be close all the time when you were kids-

His hand hovered over your injured leg.

Your eyes flicked to his, and he was staring right back at you, waiting. You nodded slowly.

He traced the cast, knocking on it slightly. Maybe he was assessing it? Some sort of doctorly movement that you couldn't comprehend, nor did you need to. You were so focused on how he looked while he concentrated that you almost didn't hear his question. "Do you have anywhere you'd like to go after the cast comes off?"

A place immediately came to mind and you gestured excitedly. "There's a new bakery that's opening soon! Next week, I think it was?"

"I know which one you're talking about. I heard their opening day will be themed around Endless Nights."

"Oh really?! That's so cool! Tara never told me that!"

Your brain then caught up to the words that were spoken, and neither of you moved for a solid minute.

You slowly turned to look at him. "...We haven't released the name of our new album yet...?"

He met your eyes for half a second before clearing his throat and looking away. "Tara told me."

He never grew out of his habit of fidgeting whenever he's lying and/or uncomfortable. It was cute then, and it was still cute now, but you had bigger fish to fry now. Your curiosity about how he obtained this forbidden knowledge grew, but so did your dread. The only clues for the name of the new album were hidden puzzles that would've taken a psychopath to put together, and to your knowledge no one had even found the pieces yet. Your options were to ask and find out for certain, or shut up and keep the fast-dimming chance alive.

"No she didn't." The curiosity would eat you alive if you didn't conquer it first. You tried to smile, tried to put the playfulness back into your voice, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. "Are you a fan, Zayne?"

"No." The answer was immediate. You felt his gaze on you. He was gauging your reaction, and all you could feel was an uneasy relief. This suspense was killing you. Maybe you should just ask him out before you learned anything. The first step's always the hardest, after all. Tara would help cover up anything afterwards. Yes, yes.

When you looked back at him, he held his hand out. Raising an eyebrow, you placed your hand in his. They were large and warm, and you melted into his touch, like you belonged there.

"I know you can't be in a relationship with fans." His eyes were locked onto yours. "I'm not a fan."

It seemed like he'd had the same thought as you. You burst into nervous laughter at the absurdity of the coincidence. Of all of this, really. He smiled, too, but his was one of confusion.

He waited for you to calm down before speaking. "After years of being apart, I thought I would be satisfied with being friends again." His hold on your hand tightened ever so slightly. "But I want to stay by your side this time. Will you give me that chance?"

You weren't sure what expression you were wearing but it didn't matter as you practically threw yourself at him. You might've been crying, actually. His arms were open and warm and smelled good and so very comfortable, as if they were made to hold you. You buried your face into the embrace, nodding, and you felt his hand gently stroke the back of your head.

"Don't let anyone else find out you're a fan, though." Your voice was muffled by his body. "Not yet, at least."

"Was I that obvious?"

"Ha! ...Yes."

<PART 5 ENDS HERE>

"update every couple days" they said, "i can keep it up" they said,, sorry for ooc. there were also some bits that i couldn't figure out how to word properly, so enjoy the word soup

<Some conversation snippets that I think happened, are fun, and I couldn't fit it into the main text due to brain constraints>

"Did you actually find all the clues for the album name?" "...It's not difficult once you consider the history of your band." "The history?! How long have you been following us?!"

...

"Okay but for real, how long were you standing outside my apartment for?" "An hour?" "AN HOUR?!"

...

"I also found the clues for the album's title track and cover." "What? No, we only released puzzles for the album name." "Here, I can show you..." (shows you) "...How did you find this, but more importantly, why didn't marketing tell me?!"

[a-writing-cloud]

Zayne is Your Secret Fan (4)

<Part 3>

It was getting more difficult to ignore your rediscovered crush on your resident doctor. Especially after receiving Tara's (un)official blessing.

The way his hands brushed across your skin while he performed your check-up made your face heat up and your heart start pounding in your ears.

Unfortunately it was also pounding in his ears. He put away his stethoscope and made a note. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"N-no!" You glanced away. "Just... anxious. About how my recovery is going. Everyone else is putting in so much practice for the next performance, and all I can really do is help with production..."

He studied you with an impassive face. "You still have a tendency to avoid eye contact whenever you're lying. If you're feeling ill, I need to know."

"I-I'm fine! Really."

He sent you some videos and recommended some exercises for your mobility. And you didn't say anything else.

And for the next few months this was how it progressed, with Tara's eager presence awaiting either the day her favorite ship sails, or your cast comes off and the band can be one again.

You couldn't help but overthink every little interaction with your doctor, but it was impossible to determine whether your crush was reciprocated. Daily texting wasn't that unusual, right? (Um. In this economy?) The security guards at the lobby recognizing him on sight was of course, due to their job (being security) and not because he brought sweets every time he got off work early. The head of company sending a site-wide reminder to everyone about the relationship policy was just that - a reminder.

A reminder that hung heavy over your head and added to the overthinking.

And the overthinking made you slip up.

I cant take it anymoRE can I come overr :(

?

Of course. Let me know if you're feeling unwell. Have you eaten yet?

You stared at the reply, your gaze slowly moving to the profile picture of a snowman, then to the contact name of "Dr. Zayne".

Calmly, slowly, you switched off your phone and rolled over in bed.

A few minutes passed, and you realized that not only would it be incredibly rude to leave Zayne on read while he expected you to show up (at his house??), it was also an incredible opportunity.

You rolled over groggily and turned on your phone.

Five missed calls from Tara, about an hour ago.

You closed your eyes and sighed. Of course you'd fallen asleep. You opened your eyes again in a panic, fearful of slipping into dreams again.

One text from Zayne. I'll make some food. Also about an hour ago.

You felt terrible. You took a quick minute to feel sorry for yourself, then bolted out of bed to change into outing clothes and grabbing your essentials, phoning Zayne as you jiggled your keys into your door's lock and hobbling down the stairs as quickly as possible.

"Hello?"

"I'm so sorry, I fell asleep and didn't realize, and I know I didn't reply but I- I was thinking maybe- were you- huh-?"

You skidded to a halt by the road. Parked outside your apartment was an unfamiliar car, and leaning against its door was a familiar figure. Zayne met your gaze with a gentle calm as he hung up.

"W-what are you doing here?"

"I thought something had happened, so I came to check on you." His eyes swept over your body, and his frown lessened as he assessed that you were alright.

"I'm really sorry, I just fell asleep. I hope I didn't cause too much trouble." Your face was burning as you stood closer to him, and you realized the engine of the car wasn't running. "Have you been waiting long?"

"It was no trouble at all. I just arrived."

The two of you stood there in the dark, illuminated by streetlights. A moth flew past. Both of you were waiting for something, and he's always had more patience than you.

"Would you like to... come inside?"

His demeanor was as cold as ever, but you swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips. Almost like a cat who's finally managed to wait for its prey to re-emerge from its hiding spot. You looked away quickly. You wouldn't be caught dead staring at his lips.

He took a few containers from his car - "Dinner, in case you hadn't eaten yet." - and followed you back to your apartment.

<PART 4 ENDS HERE>

<Part 5>

maybe 6 parts

sorry for ooc

[a-writing-cloud]

Zayne is Your Secret Fan (3)

Part 2

"Can you be a friend for a moment," you whispered, hobbling over to where Tara was sat.

She sat up so quick, shoving away the paperwork she was filing for the band immediately. She's always been your bestie first, and manager second. "I'm always ready for tea." She sounded even more serious than when she was doing... well, serious work.

"It's less tea and more... a question?" You made a face and pulled out your phone. "Doctor's been texting me a lot. Is that normal?"

Tara pulled out two drinks out of nowhere, setting one in front of you while she sipped on the other thoughtfully. "Define... 'a lot'."

"Like every day." You showed her the text messages. "Mostly checking up on me. But shouldn't I be getting official hospital messages for that anyway?"

"Girl, he's flirting with you."

You stared blankly at her, then read your messages again, thinking she had seen something you hadn't.

Nope, the messages were still the same. Remember to rest well. Don't stay up too late. Good morning. Good night.

"...No?" You looked back at Tara, puzzled.

There was an excited sparkle in her eyes that you couldn't quite pin down. She also sounded like she hadn't heard you at all. "Now as your manager I'll pretend I didn't see this. But, as a friend, I remember how much you used to yap about him..."

And you suddenly remembered she was the number one supporter of this ship.

You sipped your drink quietly.

"You think I have a chance?"

"Of course there's a chance! Quite a big one. There's a loophole, actually." Tara wiggled her finger at you. "As long as he's not a fan of the band, it's fine. Go get him, tiger!"

You remembered he recognized the music in the cafe. Surely that didn't count as "being a fan".

Your phone buzzed at that moment, and you looked down to see an official hospital message arranging for a check-up the next week, followed by a text from Zayne: If your leg is in pain, take medication for it. Don't overwork yourself.

Tara had teleported behind you and was reading the text, too. She nudged your shoulder. "You should meet up with him more. Y'know, since you're recovering, and you have more time on your hands."

You bit your lip in thought. Finally, you texted back, I will, thanks~ I'll see you at the check-up.

Would you like to go somewhere afterwards-

I'm having some trouble adjusting to the reduced mobility. Any tips? (Tara had a little bit of influence with this text.)

The reply was almost instant. I will send you some guidance later. I'll prepare some material for the check-up as well.

i was thinking about updating this and then BOOM i never got around to it waaagh! thank you for your support <3 once again sorry for ooc. hoping to wrap this up in 5 parts maybe

<PART 3 ENDS HERE>

<Part 4>

[a-writing-cloud]

Zayne is Your Secret Fan (2)

Part 1

There was little that was unchanged about the cafe. The menu, the decor; even the two people sitting opposite each other are different from the children so many years ago.

But some things remained the same. His favorite foods, his eating habits, the way he would pay attention to you.

For half an hour, you could pretend this was a normal catchup between friends. Until one of your band's songs came on, and he seemed to recognize it.

You took a sip of water and laughed nervously. "Good song, huh?" If you didn't know what he thought about the band, then you could pretend he didn't know. But if you got the answer...

"It's a catchy tune." He was unreadable. A brief silence, where it seemed like he was listening to the music, which lifted your hopes.

Swiftly dashed by a, "You and your band are very talented."

Your expression must've soured, because it made him pause, and his eyes darted to the table. You huffed good-naturedly at his alarm, shifting your leg with its cast. "It's fine. I'll heal. How did you know about... the band?"

"It was on your admission records."

The answer revealed nothing, which both relieved and stressed you even more. However, in your agony, a saving grace appeared by means of a dessert being placed in front of you. Your favorite.

You looked at the departing waiter in confusion, then at Zayne. He had his own dessert, and was preparing to dig in when he saw you.

"I ordered dessert," he stated.

"When...?" You stared at your food, a smile spreading on your face and warmth blossoming in your chest. He still remembered your favorite dessert. With a sigh, you said, "Your girlfriend must be very lucky."

You didn't know what possessed you to say that. You just knew you were very, very afraid of the answer.

He raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. I don't have a girlfriend."

In for a penny, in for a pound... "A wife, then?"

He shook his head. He was smiling a little, but his eyes seemed... sad. "How about yourself?"

The relief that seeped through your veins was addictive, and you didn't pay much mind to your words as you dug into your dessert with enthusiasm. "No. The company isn't that restrictive with just one policy, but with our schedule and social circles it's difficult to find someone who isn't a fan. Which - that's the policy. No romantic relationships with fans."

Zayne nodded, and you both finished your food in comfortable silence. Well, slightly less than comfortable as the cafe's air conditioner grew colder over time, but no big deal. You just put on your jacket and continued chatting.

<PART 2 ENDS HERE>

<PART 3>

Sorry for any ooc. Reader does know about Zayne's Evol but I just think like in that moment they had better things to be thinking about. Like his wifelessness.

[a-writing-cloud]

Zayne is Your Secret Fan (1)

You're an idol with a fragile heart who ended their first concert by falling off the stage.

He's your childhood friend whom you haven't seen in years, and also the doctor in charge of your treatment.

"It was a difficult journey to get here. Good job."

"I wouldn't say so. It's not that difficult to fall off a stage."

His smile was the same as you remembered, on a face that was a lot more handsome than you remembered. And you suddenly hoped he didn't listen to your songs, because your band had a rule of not dating fans. You were scared to ask, so you didn't.

Zayne and his team dropped by regularly to check up on you, although never at the same time, and little by little you got to know him again. He never talked at length about himself, keeping his achievements humble and preferring to ask about you, and you didn't mind since his gossiping coworkers filled you in on all the details anyway.

How well he handled the patients in the children's ward. How scary he could be on their report deadlines. How busy he was every day, and how they worried for his health sometimes.

So you took it upon yourself to check up on him every time he came by.

"Have you eaten yet?" "When was the last time you slept?" "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Yes, thank you." "It doesn't matter." "No, but you're getting discharged this Saturday. Would you like to go somewhere?"

The last answer surprised you. "You don't have to work this Saturday?"

He smiled slightly, but otherwise didn't give much away. "It's one of my rest days."

I wouldn't want you wasting a precious rest day on me, is what you would've said if you were a better person, but you were not, and you wanted to get close to him again. Being friends is better than not being in his life at all.

So instead you said, "Sure! The cafe we used to go to is still open. We can catch up!"

You could've sworn he said it's a date, then.

<PART 1 ENDS HERE>

<Part 2>

Hello! Going to start writing on Tumblr and see how I feel about it. I think it has the potential to hold my short stories. And then my long form stories can go onto ao3. Yes very good hehehehehehe

I did not know how tags worked four? years ago I do not know how they work now

[dustofthedailylife]

"General, This Ain't A Cat"

-> Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Jing Yuan x (gn!) Reader

Summary: One day you find a cute white lion cub scratching on your front door, little did you know that the actual owner of it was Jing Yuan, the General of the Xianzhou Luofu himself. And he might have the wrong idea about the little thing, too...

Tags: Fluff, Crack, Jing Yuan's Lion loves you, inspired by the General's Diary you can find in HSR, flustered Jing Yuan

A/N: I love him a very normal amount, your honor! The fact he is a cat dad too is just too cute! And also that he got scammed trying to buy a cat and instead unknowingly managed to buy a lion makes it so much funnier. I can only recommend reading his diary ingame lmao

A distinct scratching sound on the front door of your home made you perk up in your seat. You waited for the sound to reappear a couple of times before deciding to check what was causing it.

You slowly opened the door and looked outside. But both to the right and to the left you spotted nothing that could’ve caused the sound. It was also relatively windstill on the Luofu today so that also couldn’t have been it.

Just as you were about to close the door again you spotted the culprit behind the flower pot right next to your door. It was a small, snow-white lion cub, not older than a couple of months at best, and it looked at you pleadingly with its azure-colored eyes.

Did it want to come in?

You knelt down on your doorstep and stretched your hand out towards it, prompting it to come over to you. It hesitantly tiptoed in your direction from behind the flower pot, carefully smelling on your fingers first before bumping its head into your hand. You began scratching its head and not too long after a loud purr could be heard.

It was such a cute little thing you were almost tempted to snatch it and keep it. But a beautiful animal like that had to belong to someone, right?

You picked the soft bundle of fur up and walked towards the main road to look around. Maybe it ran away and the owner was still around looking for it? They had to be since you never heard of any instances of strays on the Luofu.

A little bit further down the street, you spotted two Cloud Knights with a bag of treats in their hand. They were eagerly shaking them to make rattling sounds and simultaneously scanned the ground for something. Looks like they are the people the little cutie belonged to.

"Hey," you called out to them. "Are you looking for this snow lion perhaps?"

"Oh, thank the Heavens!" One of the guards exclaimed. "We've been looking for it the entire day already.”

One of the guards stretched out their arms to take the little lion cub into his arms but it made no fuss to go anywhere. In fact, it was clinging to you and started purring loudly, bumping its head into your chest.

“Hey, you little cutie. You have to get back home. I’m sure you’re hungry by now, aren’t you? Enough adventure for one day.” You said in a higher-pitched voice. Its eyes almost looked sad and it let out a squeak the moment you handed it back to the soldiers and waved them goodbye.

As soon as you were back home you couldn’t help but think about the little lion again. It was the first time you had ever seen one with such a majestic fur and eye color. Whoever it belonged to could surely count themself lucky. 

A couple of days passed and you went about your days as normal until you heard the familiar scratching at your front door again. 

Unlike the first time you immediately knew it must be the same lion from a few days prior. You went to open the door again and the white bundle of fur immediately zoomed inside of your home.

Alerted, you immediately began chasing it around your living room. As much as you wanted to actually keep it as well, you absolutely couldn’t. Someone was waiting for it and probably worried about its disappearance once again. You for sure would turn the Luofu upside down if it was your missing pet.

Snatching the little complaining bundle of fur up again proved difficult as it was clinging and clawing at your carpet for dear life, but you eventually managed.

Carrying it outside once again you looked for Cloud Knights you could return it to again but this time a blonde teen boy, dressed in blue and no older than maybe fourteen was walking down the street with treats this time. And for some reason, he seemed oddly familiar.

“Mimi? Miiiii-Miiiii. Come get your treats!!” The blonde boy shouted and shook the treat box in his hands like a rattle.

The little lion cub, apparently named Mimi, perked its ears up in your arms and began trying to wriggle out of your grasp. You let it jump down and watched it zoom in the direction of the boy, sitting down and looking up at him with hungry and expectant eyes.

“There you are, you little troublemaker!” He says furrowing his brows and throwing Mimi a handful of treats.

Going off of the way the lion reacted to his voice you assumed it was probably his pet lion.

He picked it up and started petting it, eliciting it to close its eyes, start purring and relax in his arms. The boy smiled at it fondly and slightly shook his head in disbelief over the little rascal before looking down the street to where you were standing.

“Hey, you!” He shouted and started trotting in your direction. “Were you the one who found Mimi?”

You nodded in response before wondering how he could’ve figured that out considering he didn’t see you with Mimi at all.

“Wait how did you-?” You inquired with furrowed brows.

He just pointed at your chest, or more specifically, at your shirt in reply. Following the direction of his finger with your gaze you soon realized that you were entirely covered in white fluff from when you were holding Mimi.

“Ah. Well of course. That makes sense,” you chuckled. “Does it run away a lot?” You asked pointing at the still happily purring snow lion in the blonde boy’s arms.

He simply rolled his eyes and smiled in reply. “All the time.”

“Well, it seems to be fond of my front door as of late. I live just a bit further down the street. So chances are if it runs away again, it might be near my house again.”

“Good to know. Certainly makes things easier,” he nodded. “I’m Yanqing, by the way!”

That’s why he seemed so familiar. He is the lieutenant of the Luofu Cloud Knights and you had seen him here and there in an official capacity but you generally didn’t pay too much attention to those so you couldn’t quite put your finger on it earlier.

It certainly explained the beautiful and special-looking animal in his arms.

You grabbed the hand he held out to you and introduced yourself as well before bidding him farewell for now not too long after. Looking after him as he walked back home you smiled to yourself and hoped for him that he would be able to keep his little lion cub in check from now on.

A couple more days passed once more after that encounter until someone rang your doorbell. You weren’t expecting any visitors, especially not this late in the evening so you wondered who would possibly come over at this time of day.

Out of every possible person on the ship, however, you certainly didn’t expect the General of the Luofu in the flesh to be your late-night visitor. He was standing in front of your door with hands folded behind his back and staring down the street, waiting for your to open the door.

“Good evening, General… Can I help you with something?” You carefully inquired with some hesitancy in your voice. 

You suddenly felt very small, and that was not only because he was a tall, handsome, and quite muscular man but also because you were more than just a bit intimidated.

Nothing to worry about, right? It was only the most important man on the entire ship standing in front of your house. 

Naturally, your mind immediately came to the conclusion that you must’ve done something wrong.

“Uhm-,” he began, scratching the back of his neck. “Do you happen to know where my cat is?

Out of every possible thing he could’ve said, this was the last thing you expected.

“Your… cat?” You asked in disbelief. He simply nodded and looked around your front yard once more.

“It’s white with bright blue eyes. Yanqing has informed me that Mimi is quite fond of you and keeps escaping to your house.”

So it was his pet. But wait, didn’t he just say…

“Cat?”

“Yes. A small grimalkin, up to no good, constantly runs away. My cat.” He elaborated.

At that point, you couldn’t help but burst into laughter. He seemed very taken aback and confused by your outburst and you were almost inclined to say that it made him, this big hunk of a man, look like a huge, gentle teddy bear.

“Care to explain what is so funny?” He asked crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Forgive me, General,” you wiped a tear out of the corner of your eyes. “I do not wish to burst your bubble here but your cat may not be what you think it is.”

“What are you implying?”

“It’s a lion, General. I can assure you, it’s most certainly not a cat.”

You observed how his eyes widened in surprise and a hint of pink began to dust his cheeks behind his long bangs. You had to bite your lip in order to not start laughing again. He really didn’t know. And the fact you made him aware of it seemed to be quite embarrassing to him.

“Oh. Uhm… well, I actually had my suspicions already.” He stated, once again scratching the back of his neck. You couldn’t help but wonder how a man like him could manage to look this cute when flustered. And to think this was the first face-to-face contact you had ever had with him made it all the better.

Without a doubt, he was an attractive man, and that was something everyone aboard the Luofu would agree to. However, after witnessing him in this flustered, and quite frankly, adorable state tonight, your desire to get to know him on a more personal level increased.

“What would it take for you to not tell anyone about this?” He suddenly inquired. But before you could answer, he made an offer himself. One you couldn’t possibly refuse after everything that transpired tonight.

“How does a dinner sound? My treat of course.”

“Hmm, very well. Or you could let your cat stay with me more often?”

“Well, that can also be arranged,” he chuckled with a playful smile. “But we come as a pair.”

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[sparrowsarus]

If y'all could read this fic in my brain you would be so impressed.

[a-writing-cloud]

No idea what this is. I just like badass reader. Expect more of those in the future, I guess.

When you had first applied as a medic for Overwatch, you never expected to bounce into such a position.

You’d been handed over to Blackwatch within the first week of your employment, with the reason being such talent shouldn’t go to waste. Also, we’ve already got a few medics.

You had been put under Moira’s supervision. Which neither of you were happy about.

“I have to… babysit her?”

“I don’t need babysitting! I’m a fucking doctor!”

“So am I.”

“No, you’re a geneticist.”

“That’s also a doctor.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Reyes had said. He’d looked ready to punt both of you to the moon. “I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.” Then he left.

That was how you ended up in this position. It was a lot less exciting than you’d originally thought. You were a warrior as well as a doctor, and had hoped to wield a weapon and engage the enemy as well.

Guess what? Reyes didn’t really give you a chance. Because you were a medic.

You couldn’t refute his orders, and besides, there were still a lot of chances to go onto the battlefield and remind the agents of Blackwatch just how fucking stupid they were.

Like now.

“Move your goddamn ass!” You hissed furiously.

The Commander glared at you, but you had no time to care about proper manners. He’d been shot multiple times in the upper body, and to hell with enhancements or that Shitty Effects Program, nobody was going to survive with that much blood loss.

“I’m here to heal, you’re here to fight. Can’t fight if you’re dead.” Finally, he grunted and with your help, managed to crawl to a nearby “safer” space.

You managed to staunch most of the bleeding, using a large portion of your currently available bandages. Sighing, you said, “Normally I’d recommend a week of rest, but I guess you’ll have to make do with a few minutes.”

“What?!” Reyes protested. “There’s a battle out there!” A few shots rang out to emphasize his point.

“Which is why I said a few minutes,” you rolled your eyes. “At least give your body some time to rest and recover. Doctor’s orders,” you warned when he made to get up. A slight push and he was lying on his back again with a soft hiss of pain.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you said gently, dropping the tough demeanor. “Trust your team to take care of themselves. At least, until you’re ready to get back on your feet.”

A gunshot. Loud. You whipped around. Someone had found you.

Reyes noticed the attacker too. He moved to get up, but you shifted so you were crouching in front of his body, shielding him from the line of fire. “Hand me your gun, Commander.”

“What? No!”

You reached down and grabbed a shotgun anyway. There was an audible click as you loaded the shot. Concentrating, you heard rapid footsteps coming from the opposite direction. The attacker didn’t realize you’d noticed them, and was probably hoping to use the previous gunshot you’d heard as a distraction.

But you were ready. Turning around and propping the gun on Reyes’ body - to which he made several complaints about - you fired the instant the attacker showed his ugly face.

Dead instantly. Didn’t have a chance.

You tossed the shotgun back to Reyes, who was gaping at the body on the floor. “I thought you were a doctor?”

You walked over to the body and picked up the gun he was using. “I am. But didn’t I tell you to trust your team? As far as I’m aware of, that includes me.”

You went back over to him and checked his wounds again. “You should be good… for now. Try not to get shot again.”

“Easier said than done,” he grumbled, getting back to his feet. He steadied himself for a few moments, before glancing back at you.

“Y'know, Moira’s in the battle too.”

You grinned and glanced at him while inspecting the gun you’d collected. “Is that an invitation, Commander?”

He looked away, already heading towards the heat of the battle. “I’m not going to say it twice.”

You gave a soft celebratory whoop. “Yessir.” Time to show the boys (and Moira, who is Not A Doctor) a good time.

[a-writing-cloud]

Hello!

New Overwatch (Hanzo x Reader) out on AO3!

Title: Ghost

Summary:

An accident during a mission has left you without a sweetheart and without a voice. Unable to take the pain, you transferred into Overwatch, thinking you'd be safe. Oh, how wrong you were.

Your sweetheart's ghost lived among the base, in the form of Hanzo Shimada.

[inkskinned]

my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them. 

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of… sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband  “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings. 

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks to be sure i spoke to only him and no one more, for fear a man might snatch me. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spent so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

A Face

You can’t tell if it’s a face that you’re seeing or not. It creeps around your blurry, peripheral vision, bobbing above the edge of the kitchen table and then scurrying to the sliver of a nearly closed door whenever you chase it with your eyes. It must be a face. Sometimes it’s tan (kind of, though the undertones are always wrong, too grey and pallid) and most times you can almost make out two dark patches where orbital sockets might go.

You wouldn’t have noticed it except for the color theory class you’re taking. In it, you learned that the brain often “groups” colors together in an effort to handle the amount of information the eyes take in. Red and blue spun around quickly make purple. Your professor asked you to be more conscious of the light and color around you everyday in an effort to actively process color rather than subliminally recording it.

“Look,” she pleaded, “Don’t just see.” Her eyes had darted to the empty space between window and wall for a moment. When she looked back, you thought she seemed too desperate, too intense.

You wonder if this is why she’d been so desperate for you to look.

The tan patch of color at the corner of your eye undulates. If you weren’t looking, it’d register as the shadow of leaves from the tree outside waving against your brown couch. But you are looking and that’s why you know it’s the wrong shade of grey to  be shadow. You sip your tea, staring straight ahead and trying not to flinch as the grey shivers, gains a few shades of an unpleasant beige and then ducks behind the couch, out of sight.

It must be a face, you think, hands wrapped white-knuckled around your tea cup.

The couch jolts without sound and then stills. You hear the whine of cicadas outside and try not to throw up when the curtains–nearly all the way out of your peripherals–billow. The windows aren’t open.

It must be a face, you think again, desperately. Your vision is getting particularly good these days. Practice makes perfect. You can see more and more around you without turning your head. It’s getting harder and harder to deny that it’s not just that one patch of wrong color anymore. There’s more, arcing all the way back from the face–it has to be a face–, shivering and writhing back into the hallways of your home.

If it’s a face you know, it must have a body you know. It must be a–a ghost or a fairy. Maybe one of those cryptids you read about online, a nice cryptid that will go to sleep when the Cicadas do. It must be something other than what your mind is starting to trick you into believing. 

if it has a face, it doesn’t have long, serpentine tentacles that creep and burrow under your rugs, your furniture, your discarded clothes. If it has a face, it only has one mouth, one set of glistening yellow teeth that catch the sun’s last rays.

If it has a face, then you are imagining the other colors you’ve begin to see in the corners of your home. Colors that can’t be described, indescribable shades and textures that lurk along the ceilings, behind doors and under your bed. They make you think of crevasses and gaping maws and blackholes. Yes, it must be a face because a face is finite and that is what your brain is willing to handle.

It’s a face, you tell yourself so convincingly that your shoulders lose their tension. Only a face. If anyone else could see it, surely they would say the same.

Yes, if someone else would do more than see. If only they would look.