"I just saw the latest leaks that Lohen's constellation is a rabbit. So, what if Alice turned him into a rabbit and asked you to take care of him? You have no idea the rabbit is actually Lohen, and the two of you end up eating, bathing, and sleeping together."
OH DEAR, ANOTHER ONE HERE?
Lohen x apprentice!reader: approximately 1.4k words (I genuinely cannot stop writing unless I’m satisfied with the background of the scenarios). Uhh might be ooc Lohen cuz..well..there’s really not much known about him. Use of “you” only. Not proofread bc I had to stop writing 7 times and continued building my mc house instead.
ALICE has always been one for entertaining almost every idea that pops into her or her daughter’s head. Somehow, as her newly appointed apprentice, you’ve been on the receiving end of the results. In fact, when it came to rather..material things, she’d just shove it to your hands like you had no choice! (Which you didn’t, really.) Hence, every time a guest comes over, you’d always hear about how ‘personalized’ your room was—given that there were things decorated that were contrasting, to say the least.
Looking around your room in a humble home in Mondstadt, you’d just have to agree with them, sighing as you recalled a memory of one of her whims.
“I tried experimenting on turning hilichurls into plushies!” She once excitedly exclaimed, holding up a cotton-made, somewhat creepy miniature of a hilichurl. “Isn’t it cute? My, my, I’d say we can even dress it up!” Giggling, she set it down for a moment as she talked (mostly to herself), while you had to stand there in silence. Because, what? What does she mean, she just turned a hilichurl into a damned toy?! Needless to say, that toy now rests in your nightstand with a few other trinkets. ‘Oh goodness, the poor hilichurl..he even has a frilly dress on now..’
If Alice wasn’t enough of a headache for you with all her weird experiments, the Vice Captain just had to come to the picture as well. He’d approached you with a smile once, on your first encounter outside Mondstadt’s gates, when Alice first sent you to the town. He was sent to welcome you in, and you thought he was a rather strange but easy to talk to guy. He was just to show you around, and it was the case for at least a week. Until after, asking if you knew how to fight. Once you responded no, he’d asked if you can make something to fight.
Obviously not! Was he crazy?! You had to smile at him just to not explode.
Since then, you’d tried avoiding him and Alice (which, really, you can only do so much before you get sentenced to #dropout).
Again, it’s not like you can hide from Alice anyway. Because she just showed up in your room. With a bunny.
“What the—!” Your shock was cut short by your mentor’s hand shutting you up as she tutted. “Now, now. I did tell you not to curse, yes?” You almost scoffed. Still, you nodded and she retracted her hand from your mouth to the.. oh, that’s a rabbit. Bunnies, you’ve seen, are definitely smaller. Oh dear, here’s another one of her experiments…
“This young one was–!” It was your turn to cut her off, “–was another unfortunate experiment? Or a just-to-be?” You sighed, taking the rabbit in your hand. It looks normal, even if it had unusually red and some sort of blue colored eyes. Still, you figured she was just about to use it. Hell, maybe she already started. Poor, unfortunate thing. You hugged it, caressing the fur in an attempt to comfort the animal. “Master, please stop torturing these souls!”
She gasped, hand on her heart like she was offended. “I do none of the sort, I’ll have you know! This is all in the name of advancing magic, dear.” As if. You rolled your eyes, “Okay, and how would this cutie have helped?” The rabbit seemed to jump a bit at that, which made you look pensively. “You’ll see! Buh-bye now, take care of him, ‘kay?” Before you could react properly, she was gone. So this is a male?
Clicking your tongue, you turned your attention back to the rabbit at hand. “You hungry, little guy?” Cooing at its affectionate nature—which seemed off, for some reason— you made your way to your kitchen area. You didn’t have much besides a few staple food items like cabbage, so you figured it would do. Not even bothering to cut it, you tore out a piece as you leveled your head the same as the animal, nudging the piece to its direction. “Here, eat.”
You swear the rabbit looked pissed. Shit, maybe it’s the type to explode? How different is this from the one that Outrider had? Better treat it nicely. Laughing awkwardly to yourself, you spoke in a slower, nicer tone. “Um..uh..bunny, eat this so you don’t die of hunger, ‘kay? Do you not like it? Aww.” Taking it into your arms once again, you tried feeding it to the best of your abilities.
After a while, it seemed to relax in its position in your chest. Yes, chest. Well, maybe it was comfy. “You sleepy, little guy? You know, you’re much better company than I thought.” Sighing, you thought of the people around you. It might be strange to be acquainted with an animal, but at least it doesn’t pose a threat. Yet. “Better than a certain mentor of mine or a crazy, battle maniac of a knight, at least.”
The rabbit didn’t seem to like that because you swear it just attempted to kill you with the way it jumped to your face. “Hey—!” What monster is this?! It almost tackled you into the ground!
After a good 10 minutes of arguing (?) with the animal, you were left laying down on the floor, breathless. You had to admit defeat—fortunately it didn’t kill you, but somehow it now opted to rest on your neck. Scary part is it seems ready to use its claws. You take back your earlier statement, this rabbit was nuts! Another scarier part is that it stinks.
“Okay, you maniac, if you don’t kill me first with your claws I’m gonna be killed by your hygiene.” Huffing, you strutted towards your bathroom. “Guess we’ll have to make sure you’re clean.” You had to bathe yourself, anyway. You set it down on the counter, preparing before undressing yourself and getting in the bath.
Until sudden splashes of water poured down your form as the rabbit jumped in with you. For goodness sake’s, isn’t it supposed to be scared of water?! “Ah come on! I was gonna clean you up after me.” Still, it’s not like you had the skill to battle and argue and nag a crazy rabbit in the bath, so you just suck it up, taking it into your arms once again as you grumpily reach for the soap.
You swear the rabbit looked pleased with himself as you held him in all your naked glory. Archons, even animals are perverted now? This is starting to get real strange, but you chose to ignore it for the sake of your sanity and tried your best to not displease the little animal. (Keyword: best, as it somehow had a goal to knock down everything that could be knocked down. It even got a hold of something sharp for some reason..)
By the time you’re getting into bed, you’ve stopped caring about the details. It’s been a real exhausting day. For some reason, this little maniac reminded you of someone who, for some reason, has yet to show himself at your doorstep with a request to make something for him yet again. In a way, it’s like an animal counterpart..
But you couldn’t think straight enough to care. Opting to put on meager clothes, because you’d rather not suffer through the heat of sleeping beside an animal with fur, and embraced it anyway. Even if it might just pounce and kill during your slumber. “Goodnight, little guy. You should..really thank me for.. getting you off of her hands, you know..?” You smiled as best as you could while your mind was fighting with unconsciousness, which won in the end anyway as you drifted off to sleep.
Unfortunately, you might have thought too much about the Vice Captain before you slept.
Because why else would he be in your bed, sleeping beside you, and basically cuddling you if not for you being in some sort of weird dream?!
That thought quickly evaporated as he shifted in his sleep, seemingly. No, this couldn’t be the knight that bothered you with that teasing smile and eyes. He looked too peaceful and innocent. You refuse to accept it.
Maybe you did something to offend the archons as he suddenly stirs awake, eyes taking in your form. “Oh? What a lovely sight to see in the morning. Dare I say, rivaling the one last night.” His lower morning voice echoed through the room, somehow having more audacity to shift closer and nuzzle into your form, as if he wasn’t already holding you with his hand in your waist and his other underneath your head. “You seem uncomfortable, little mage. I thought you found me cute?”
WARNINGS suggestiveness !!!! flins makes innuendos, trigger warning for second hand embarrassment in wanderers ngl, lohen’s a little weird, kay? is he considered a yandere idfk im not well versed enough in that but he is pretty obsessed with reader
NOTES writing before lohens release so take his characterization with a heap of salt. also ignore typos this was written off of a blunt lmao.
fem!reader !!! she/her pronouns are used
VARKA
if you could use one word to describe grandmaster varka it would be irritating.
blowing away and splattering all the food you’re delivering with his vision accidentally while playing around with klee? irritating. getting down on his knees, kissing your hand and swearing on his knighthood he’s sorry in front of everyone in mondstadt’s square? even more irritating. spilling his ginormous cup of beer on your dress when you happen to both be out at the same time—do you even need to say it? it’s irritating.
you appreciate what he does as a grandmaster for the greater people of mondstadt but barbatos does he hinder your life. if anyone asked you, you’d prefer to stray away from wherever he ends up.
he feels contrary to you. he thinks you’re fascinating. gorgeous, pristine, kind-hearted, intelligent, and by the archons does he love your cooking at the good hunter. he’s irrevocably endeared with you. if anyone were to ask him, he’d say he’d like to be (honored to be) in your presence constantly. it really is a shame his motor and social skills run out the window whenever you’re around. i mean the only reason he vision-malfunctioned was because his brain dead-stopped seeing you looking all pretty. he may be the grandmaster and greatest hero of mondstadt but he is a man after all. at least that’s how he sees it.
he’s aware you don’t like hate him, he’s aware his initial attempt at your forgiveness made you more embarrassed and upset than you already were, but if he’s one thing, it’s an alcoholic perseverant. so he will try everything in his power to win you over!
carrying bags? he’ll swing by and take those off your hands…maybe flex his muscles a little bit in front of you too but that’s totally unintentional. worried about creeps on your walk home before leaving the angel’s share? diluc move, varka’ll walk you back! believe me if you barged into the KoF headquarters and asked him to do something, he’d drop all his work in an instant to get it done… just please don’t hate him anymore.
you essentially have him on a leash, at least that’s what diluc tells you while sliding you over a drink.
you hate to admit that he is useful…sometimes.
you’re coming back to mondstadt with a delivery payment when hillichurls corner you halfway back. shit. you’re mulling over what the fuck do do when a slice of air flies past you and the hillichurls dissipate at the hands of two greatswords before you can even process it.
there’s the grand master, broad shoulders, scruffy blond hair and all, standing before you and towering over your frame.
“are you alright, ma’am?” he asks, voice laced with concern. of course he still insists upon calling you ma’am.
you mutter something’s small about being fine, flustered with how his bright blue eyes and annoyingly cute dimples stare down at you.
“well then it seems my job here is done. would you like me to walk you back to the city, ma’am?”
“i-it’s fine—just thank you.” you probably look like an idiot right now, craning your neck to look up at him and a stupid awkward grimace because you’re flustered. curse varka and his endearing smile. curse him especially for what you do next—varka’s fault of course. you shift all your weight to your tippie-toes and lean upwards just in time to kiss him on his cheek, right beneath his most prominent scar. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so flustered.
he tries to say something but mumbled gibberish just comes out. his skin flushes marinara sauce red, his hands tense up and twitch, his stupid smirk transforms into a nervous awestruck half smile like a bee-stung dog.
you turn and walk away, just as flustered as he, muttering a barely coherent, “bye, sir varka.” and he just stands there like an idiot, hands still twitching and wandering randomly like he doesn’t know what to do with them (he’s nervy okay). by the time his hands finally know what to do, one of them drifts up to trace over where you kissed (blessed him essentially) his cheek like he’s not sure if you just did that. you did. he knows this is not very knightly language but holy shit.
no one’s sure why but the grandmaster seems to be in extra good spirits the following week.
FLINS
you swear to the archons flins was put on teyvat specifically to frustrate you.
him and his stupid flirty comments, stupidly handsome face you roll your eyes at, his ‘gentlemanly’ demeanor and his incredibly long eyelashes you’re honestly kinda jealous of. they’re all exceptionally frustrating.
if you hear “m’lady” or “allow me” (typically as he redirects you from a gathering of wild hunt and insists upon protecting you) in that smooth, droning voice again you’ll send his pasty ass back to snezhnaya yourself.
and the insistence upon taking your hand as he leads you back to the nearest area cleared of the wild hunt before returning to his post is absurd.
oh and then there’s the rather suggestive and frankly embarrassing comments.
arguing about how you are able to defend yourself and aren’t his damsel in distress to project his savior complex on— “solving this dilemma will not be hard. i believe i can satisfy your nerves in many, many ways m’lady.”
disgusted by the smell of fire-water on his breath as you both end up at the flagship coincidentally— “my apologies, miss. i did not think i was close enough to you for you to catch a whiff of my breath,” he laughs in a low drawl that upsets you further. “and to think i was mulling over getting closer.” i mean what the hell does that mean ???
him jumping in and saving you from those weird abyssal eyes—“as expected, i’m sure you’re a commodity to all eyes.”
and every single time he chuckles as you fluster and snap your head away, still staring at you with those bright yellow eyes that occasionally drift lower as you look away. that stupid chuckle that makes you feel halfway to hell. and the immediate follow up of “i assure you i do not intend to mock you.” yeah, right.
yeah, the ‘gentleman act’? you’re not buying it. you find the act unbearable, especially when he’s constantly following you around.
patrolling? flins somehow find himself there, claiming he’ll help since it’s his ‘downtime’. isn’t he supposed to be working constantly?
“it’s quite disheartening to see your distain for me. i presumed i’d grow on you but you still drive me away.”
“well i’d like you much better if you stopped following me around everywhere like a lost puppy.”
“i admit i have an affinity for you, i think anybody can assume that much.”
“well your mocking laughter and judgmental stares don’t convey that, sir flins.”
“i can assure you the looks are not judgemental, it’s placed in admiration, m’lady.” he pauses. “and you may call me kyryll, i insist.”
you stutter, flustered from him again. “shut up! go patrol on that side if you’d like to be in my good graces.”
“as you wish, m’lady.”
“stop calling me that!”
you’re still under the assumption he does this purely to annoy you, maybe one day you’ll realize he just wants that cookie so effing bad.
WANDERER
he does NOT care what you think about him… okay maybe he does… just a little bit tho. and he will NEVER admit it.
you’re a fellow student at the akademiya who is honestly fed up with his terribly annoying ego. he acts as if he’s entitled to something—as if he was like an important figure in an important organization at one point… like??
his fuckass hat and his even worse ego drive you especially mad when you’re assigned to peer review each other and he’s so pissy the whole time.
unbeknownst to you he’s not that big of a dick, close to half of it is a little tsundere persona to make you think he’s just playing hard to get. that way, he won’t have to do all the cringy “asking each other out” and, what he calls “ushy mushy romantic” things. ew.
so instead he’s spewing things like, “how in teyvat did you even get through the entrance exam if this is how your work looks?”
“you might aswell start over.”
he knows your work is good, probably better than his, but he’s trying to play hard to get—don’t you get it? unfortunately you don’t and you are sick of it.
“you know, wanderer, maybe if you got rid of that sorry excuse for a haircut you could get women on your dick and stop taking out all your frustrations on my work.” and then you storm out… babe not acquired :/ and wait—is his haircut really that bad? aunty nahida said he looked handsome… :(((
maybe that’s when he realizes he’s being a little too harsh and that his little tsundere act to try and get you to be into him won’t work.
he physically cannot ask anyone else for relationship advice out of embarrassment though so he will suffer in silence (he’s dramatic it’s really not that bad) for a while.
right up until the archons themselves bless him and give you two a group project together (along with other people but they don’t really matter to him). unfortunately, after your last interactions you want utterly nothing to do with him. his extremely blunt and non constructive criticism from before has in fact bit him in the ass.
maybe he needs to swallow his pride and ask for advice—not maybe, he does. but archons this really sucks. so he sends an anonymous letter to yae publishing house, apparently his mom’s girlfriend is pretty good in this whole romance thing so maybe she’ll help.
he gets his advice… it just turns out this influenced yae miko to develop a new short romance gl novel based on this experience. sure, nobody knows the new best seller is based on his (non-existent) romance scene and now turned lesbian but he can’t help but be embarrassed every time he sees it sitting shelved in a stall.
he takes the advice, leaves a corny letter by your apartment door step (in which he bolted away from incase anybody saw him) and said an…APOLOGY. very rare from him so you better not take this for granted. he felt so goddamn embarrassed the next time he saw you on campus—so embarrassed he was actually begging the archons that someone kills him when you greeted him.
you will unfortunately have to be the one to ask him out though—he just gets so nervy!! he ignored that part of the advice from the letter—and the part suggesting he grip your thigh to ‘assert dominance’ ??? what type of things are her and his mom into ?yuck! but he will be so corny the whole time you’re out on your first date. guy is tryna act like a nonchalant cool guy the whole time it’s like actually embarrassing. but it’s even more embarrassing when he gets flustered or asked something he didn’t rehearse in the mirror beforehand.
“so, wanderer, what do you like to do?”
“i don’t like a lot of things.”
“am i one of them?”
“uh..um—y-yeah, sure.” (picture this with a voice crack halfway through i’m dying)
somehow he does manage to bag you—probably only because of his face because archons does this man not know how to smooth talk.
he’d like to thank himself, kinda yae miko and a first date tips book he discretely took and returned to/from the akademiya library.
LOHEN
this vice captain has it BAD for you, his subordinate, and frankly it’s bad for you because of how much he follows you around like an annoying bug. as in an annoying fly that won’t go away and continues to buzz around in your face.
make a suggestion that he really has no business listening to as your superior? you’re immediately getting hit back with a, “yes! what an amazing idea!” running a secret mondstadt holiday gift exchange? he will purposefully pick your name and go way above the suggested mora pricing. on that note i think he’d be so upset if you got another person—worse enough another man that’s TALLER </3. and yes on every single matter he will default to your opinion !
i’d assume everybody else is probably terribly annoyed with his very clear favoritism…including you. he thinks he’s being so romantic and so sweet, meanwhile you’re like “huh?” every time he follows you around like a golden retriever, or more accurately a weird, scruffy little stray husky that you fed crumbs once and keeps coming back to your door step.
makes it so clear he wants you around. he is so damn insistent you’re free to come to his office with any questions whenever—code for: “please please please come to my office oh barbatos if you love me she’ll come to my office and she’ll profess her love to me”
unfortunately for him when you actually do go to his office, it’s to tell him to not be so clear with his favoritism as your colleagues and comrades have started to hate you. aw man :(((
he infact does not stop though because he #wantsthatcookie. and like c’mon can you just do that professing love thing already—does barbatos really not love him :/ he’s already defeated and brought back a ruin guard’s part for you, claiming it was “out of appreciation for his hardest working subordinate”, isn’t that romantic enough ? you stared at him and asked why he thought you would like that. hmm maybe he should try more conventional gifts.
eventually somebody has to sit him down and tell him that showing his very obvious obsession with you in all the ways he does will not get him the girl. okay fine whatever he’ll try “asking you on a date” eyeroll. and “not following you around begging for your attention” ughh. fine.
believe his surprise when you actually like it better when he’s normal about you. he even heard through the grapevine you said he’s looked “better” lately. now you blush and happily accept when he offers to take you out for drinks. was it really that simple from the start? (yes it really was)
that whole night he’s just talking your ear off but it’s honestly kind of… endearing? it’s like if that stray little husky got his coat washed and groomed.
the night ends with a kiss on his cheek and oh my archons he’s over the moon. guys fighting demons to not act all obsessed again—keyword act. this man would let you feed him to wolves of wolvendom and like it.
but he does use his weirdo rizz on you and it does work. not even satirically, surprise to everybody, he does end up with the girl—so fuck you to barbatos and everyone else that doubted him. you are in for a RIDE once you’re together. do not expect to be separated from him at all. and now he actually has an excuse to be completely off his rocker when another person talks to you. his nightmares probably consist of you going on an expedition with another man honestly.
𝒞ospℓαყer!𝐵oყfriend (𝒮cαrαmouche & 𝐿ohen) x AFAB!𝑅eader
꒰ 𝑀ODERN 𝒜U ꒱
🕸️️๋࣭ ⭑ Summary: Your boyfriend looks exactly like Scαrαmouche in real life, and he's built a massive TikTok following from cosplaying him. One day, while he's filming, you see Lohen's burst animation leak and lose every functioning brain cell you have. He notices. So he does what any normal, well-adjusted person would do… fucks you in the Scαrαmouche cosplay until you forget Lohen's name. And when that doesn't fully work? He shows up in a Lohen cosplay you didn't know he ordered, in your bedroom, just to prove he can still be the one you fall apart for.
Warnings (cw) .ᐟ cracking in cosplay ꒰ roleplaying ꒱, blindfolding, degradation, rough sex, near-blackout from choking, creampie ꒰ a lot... ꒱ , oral ꒰ f and m receiving ꒱, mild cnc undertones ꒰ consensual roleplay framing ꒱, established relationship, manhandling, suspended 69 position, aftercare, lohen nation vs scaranation...
Word count .ᐟ 16k+
𖦹.`` ꉂ🕸️ Author's note: This is a concept I had for a fat while (like years, not just months) bcuz of those TikToks of ppl dating a cosplayer and they'd flex about it, and I finally, finally put a cosplayer x reader into writing. Thank you to my wonderful, smart, gorgeous bestest friend @vvalentiqq, who helped me with this, especially with the crazy ass sex positions, so props to her!! And this, as always, is cross-posted onto AO3.
"Ugh, quit blinking, you keep making me mess up, Kuni!" You snap, yanking your boyfriend by the jaw closer to you.
He opens his right eye, the one you already applied eyeliner on, and glares, his eye rolling before closing back again. "I'm not blinking, and I'm staying perfectly still. It's your fault if you mess up, not mine. Don't get mad at me that you're shitty at this."
You take a deep breath, repressing the urge to slap him hard in the face, because you know it's useless. Your boyfriend lives to ragebait the shit out of you. You don't say anything in response; you scoot closer to his standing frame, your feet dangling off the bathroom counter as you continue working on his left eye.
"Do you want the wing straight up or straight out?" You ask, pausing with one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek, with the eyeliner hovering right above his lashline.
Kuni opens both of his eyes this time, stares straight at you, and rolls his eyes at your question like it should be obvious, "Neither? Obviously." He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he adds, "When have you ever seen me with that? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to know that it goes out slanted. Not up, not straight. Slanted."
You narrow your eyes back at him, tightening your grip on his jaw in retaliation, "How am I supposed to know when you're ultra specific about everything and change your answer every time I ask? Two days ago, you told me to make it straight."
He flicks his eyes to the side like he's side-eyeing some invisible camera, and his eyes look annoyingly perfect when he does it. With the base shadow on his lids and the dark smudge along his lower lash line, and the contacts he doesn't need to wear.
His natural eyes are blue, but he insists on wearing indigo colored contacts because it's "more accurate", and you've learned not to argue with him about Scaramouche lore because you will lose. Every single time.
He glances back at you, his tone dry, "I told you that because last time was Xiao, not Scaramouche like today. Obviously. How many times do I need to say it for you to understand?"
You glance at him, copying his dry tone, "Just one more time, and I'll poke this pen through your eyelid. You wouldn't need someone to do your eyeliner by then."
He gives you a challenging smirk in response, "Do it, then. You wouldn't get that far to do any actual damage. I'll sue you and use the settlement money to hire someone who can actually do eyeliner."
You don't dignify that with a response. You tilt his head back with your grip on his jaw, angling it so you can drag the liner across his lash line in one smooth stroke.
You smile involuntarily when it comes out clean and matches the other side perfectly. It always comes out good when he stops being a little bitch about it… which is never, but today sufficed that never.
"The other side matches," you say, leaning back to check your work, watching as his eyes open slowly like he's unsure if you're done or not. "Perfect, like always, because I did it. Not you."
He scoffs, stepping back and moving toward the bathroom mirror, examining just what you're calling 'perfection'. You watch as he tilts his face to the left, then right, and as he leans in, he narrows his eyes.
The eyeliner is actually the last step of a much longer process. This part, the eyeliner, takes ten minutes tops. The puppet joints took an hour.
Every time he cosplays Scaramouche, Kuni sits in front of his vanity mirror with a palette of dark shadow and a thin, angled brush that he uses to paint puppet joints onto his own skin.
Knuckles first, every finger, dark, then his wrists, then his belows. He does his shoulders himself too, twisting in the mirror to get the angle right on the backs of them, and the concentration on his face while he does it is almost scary.
He's already head-to-toe in cosplay, minus the hat. As cringeworthy as it is to say, your boyfriend does look like Scaramouche reborn, and it's not just because of how accurate the clothes look on him, or how invested he is in cosplaying him. He looks exactly like Scaramouche would if he were real and not 3D.
The height… the weight… even his fingers match Scara perfectly. Skinny and long, the puppet joints make him look more biblically accurate.
He hates wigs, absolutely despises them, and as any person who finds their 'celebrity lookalike', or any 'lookalike' in general, he dyed and cut his real hair to match Scaramouches.
His hair is naturally black, and after an abnormally long hair appointment, the hairdresser was able to cut and style Kuni's hair to match Scaramouches without looking like some botched bowlcut.
"It's not a bowlcut," Kunikuzushi told the hairdresser, probably 4 times, just to get his point clear, "It's a mullet, mixed with a hime-cut in the front, and don't you dare forget the lighter colored streak in the back."
You remember being told that day to stick around, not in the waiting room, but in a chair beside the table your boyfriend was getting his hair done at. You had to get up at least 9 times to reassure Kuni that the hairdresser was getting the back right.
And after that day, after every time he put on his cosplay for this character that he's so obsessed with… he didn't look like your boyfriend anymore.
But you don't really complain.
"It's… acceptable," Kuni says to his reflection, the tiniest praise for the war you just went through, while doing his eyeliner.
You hop off the counter, tossing your hair back, while holding eye contact with his gaze in the mirror, "It's perfect, actually. You're welcome." You poke his arm from behind, giggling at the way he makes a disgusted face in response. "I love you too, you ungrateful man."
He doesn't respond to that; he just walks out of the bathroom and into his room.
He's already in the corner when you step in, adjusting his tripod and ring light, and you know the drill by now. Stay out of frame, stay quiet during takes, and entertain yourself until he's done being internet famous.
You grab your phone off his nightstand and settle onto his bed on your stomach, feet up, pulling up Genshin Impact. It feels like a chore to open this game up now, but you have to, for that stupid free constellation event where you have to complete your commissions and spend 120 resin.
You spawn in Nod-Krai, already moving your joystick to run towards the crafting bench, planning to craft your resin into condensed resin, but to your dismay, you already have 5 crafted resin from the previous days you tried this trick.
Domains it is.
You can hear your boyfriend in the background recording the same TikTok, over and over, trying to get the perfect take while you're teleporting to a random domain. It's annoying, and all you can focus on while you wait for people to join your world.
Once people join your world, and you start the domain, you move on autopilot. You don't really pay attention, probably fighting air every now and then, until a notification pops up from the top of your screen.
Even though you're in a co-up domain, your thumb his the notification before you can even finish reading.
The video loads, and it's what seems to be some sort of POV shot. It's like you're some enemy Lohen just knocked flat, because the view is from below, on the ground. His hand reaches down and grabs you, or the camera's face, dragging you to his height, and you spot his other hand raising a weapon, but you aren't even focused on the weapon… you're focused on the face he makes.
A grin with manic eyes, the expression of someone who doesn't just enjoy violence… someone who's aroused by it.
It happens so quickly that you watch it again, on loop. You watch the jaw grab again, the way he yanks whoever it is upward, the way his grin widens before the hit. You screenshot the maniac grin on the 4th loop… then watch it play through again.
Your thighs press together.
You scroll to the comments after the 7th rewatch, needing to see if everyone's losing their minds as hard as you are.
@scaramouchewho okay so we're all in agreement that lohen is what scaramouche COULD have been if hoyo let him be unhinged, right?
@kuniscaraworshiper everyone in the lohen tag better remember who paved the way. Scaramouche is the ORIGINAL unhinged short king… y'all are so disrespectful
@touchinggrassfearsme i just want lohen and scara to kiss… then me at the same time next… then they can kiss each other again after THEN THE SAME THING AGAIN
@mpreglover6769angie GET PREGNANT GET PREGNANT
You laugh seeing this comment, and when you tap on it, you're left with…
(This comment has been deleted.)
@lohennation BREED ME LOHEN. BREED ME. TEASE ME. USE ME. DEGRADE ME. oh and scara can watch ig… (yes i changed my user because of this video)
@wanderermybeIoved, you people don't know one thing about Scaramouche, and I don't want people talking about him when you clearly don't care about his character development or lore. He's more than just a "hot angry guy." Lohen fans (who just became fans of him less than an hour ago, mind you) wouldn't survive 5 minutes of scara's actual story because their reading comprehension is lower than a 4th grader's due to their goon-rotted brains.
@fatuiworshipper the way Lohen is just Scaramouche if he wasn't busy being sad all the time. he's happy to be evil… that's so hot
You scroll back up and watch the burst animation again. Your thighs squeeze together, and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. You've watched this video at least 20 times now, and around the 10th time, your underwear became a wet, sticky mess.
"Hey."
You don't hear him, you don't even flinch.
"… Hello??"
Nothing.
"Did you actually die? Should I call someone or check your pulse first?"
You don't hear your boyfriend because you're still on that Lohen video, grinning at some dumb comment of yet another person leaving scaranation for lohennation.
"You've been ignoring me for like ten minutes," Kuni says from across the room, and you can hear the shift in his tone, the way it goes from casual annoyance to genuine irritation, "what is so interesting about your phone that you can't look up for even a second?"
You look up from your phone before he can accuse you of cheating, which technically, in some tiny way… You kinda were.
He's standing by his setup, ring light off, his phone in his hand with his arms crossed. His expression looks like he's in between choosing to be mean about it, or letting it slide. He looks annoyed enough that he won't let it slide, and 10 minutes is a long time, unless he was just exaggerating.
"…Hi." You say, sweet and innocent, still lying on your stomach, still with the phone in your hand as you glance at it just once, like a random comment, before looking back at him, not fully engaged.
His gaze drops to your phone in your hand, then lifts back up to your face. The corner of his mouth lifts with slow, unbelieving amusement, like your delayed little “hi” is almost too stupid to be real. "Welcome the fuck back. Where did you go?"
"Remember Lohen from that one quest in Mondstadt?" You don't wait for a response, voice breathier than intended because your brain is still stuck on that video, "His burst animation just got leaked…"
You watch as your boyfriend's face changes into reluctant curiosity that fights with the irritation of being ignored. He walks over to his bed and drops down next to you. "Really? Show me."
You sit up, holding your phone out, and he just takes it, angling the screen toward himself. You watch his face as the animation plays, how his jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and his gaze cuts back to you once it's over. "It's okay." He says, tone devoid of any emotion you can pick up on.
"Just… okay? Kuni. Did you see the grab, the way… the way that the angle is like a POV, like that's you, he's grabbing… the way he just, his hand goes like-" You mimic the way Lohen's hand, holding the weapon, goes from behind and towards who he's about to stab.
Kuni glances at your hand, then back at your face, your phone still in his hand. "Mhm. I saw the exact same video as you." His tone feigns nonchalance.
You drop your hand, continuing to yap while not reading the room, "And the grin… Kuni, the grin? It looks like he's about to-"
"I said I saw it." He hands your phone back, using his own to open TikTok, scrolling through his feed with such focused intensity that it doesn't do a good job of hiding how little he cares about this. "People are going to lose it over this."
"They already are, have you seen the comments?" You're already scrolling through them on your phone, looking for one that doesn't say anything about Scaramouche, but it's practically impossible. "Everyone's saying-"
"I know what they're saying, I don't need to see the comments to know." His thumb flicks through posts, and you can see his jaw working, yet again. "Same shit that infected my feed when Lohen was in that quest, and people barely had info on him. 'Scara's done.' 'We're switching.' Like their loyalty has a shelf life of milk."
He keeps scrolling through his TikTok feed, and annoyingly enough, every video that comes up is about Lohen. He's talking, ranting about character depth versus surface-level hype, something about Scara's arc having actual emotional complexity while Lohen is, "just a boy with a violence kink." He is making good points, but you aren't fully paying attention.
You're still scrolling through Twitter, lying back against the pillows, reposting mindlessly on fan art that already exists of Lohen, and trying not to laugh at the posts comparing Lohen to Scaramouche.
He turns his head to you, and he stops talking, because he notices your attention is elsewhere. You don't notice the sudden silence because your brain is so far inside your phone that the real world doesn't exist right now.
His lips touch your neck, a soft, tiny kiss with the warm press of his mouth against the spot below your ear, and he shifts closer. His hand lands on your thigh, his thumb drawing a slow line along the inside where the hem of your sleep shorts sits.
You tilt your head up slightly, giving him access without giving him your attention, as your gaze is still on your phone. Your body just responds to him on autopilot because of months of this exact pattern, him kissing your neck while you doomscroll, except this time you're scrolling through posts and posts of his… replacement.
His tongue touches the skin at your neck, a quick and wet drag followed by his teeth grazing that same area. His fingers itch higher under your shorts, pushing the fabric up your thigh.
"Kuni, not right now, I'm looking at something-"
He cuts you off with a "Mmhmm," not stopping at all because just a second after, he's sucking on your neck. His fingertips graze the edge of your underwear, tracing the elastic back and forth, back and forth. It's light enough that it could be an accident, but what he's doing to you is clearly intentional.
You're still scrolling even as your boyfriend, in cosplay, is practically making love to your neck, and his fingers… they slide down from the hem of your underwear, to where your slit is, through the fabric.
You let out a soft, quiet, "Mm…" moan, still not looking up. The only reply he gets is the little sound you make and the wetness between your legs.
His middle finger traces your clothed slit in a lazy back-and-forth, that's designed for teasing and nothing else. His mouth is still at your neck, and he bites softly at it while that Lohen video coincidentally pops up on your feed again. Involuntarily, your hips shift up against his hand while your eyes are still glued to the screen.
His fingers slide up from your slit, back up to your waistband. You let out the tiniest whine, but that whine turns into your breath catching when his fingers dip beneath your underwear and make direct contact through your folds.
"You're so soaked," he says against your neck. His tone makes your thumb pause just as you're about to click on the comment section. His cadence shifted into something that sounds less like your boyfriend and more like the boy he's currently cosplaying as. "And it's not because of me. It's hard to believe a pixel on a screen could make you this turned on… but I guess anything's possible with someone like you."
You feel his middle finger circling your clit, slow and teasing, not giving you anything that you want while you watch that video on loop, again. The pattern of it doesn't stop, but the desperation and need to have him stroke you properly makes your hips twitch, and your focus shifts from your phone to his hand, and only his hand, at an alarming rate.
"It must be embarrassing," he starts, the same condescending drawl Scaramouche's voice has, and it fits in his mouth uncannily well, "getting this worked up over a character animation. Over something that can never," the same index that was teasing at your clit pushes inside you, knuckle deep, and you clench around it, "touch you."
He's quick to add a second finger, his ring finger, because one isn't ever enough for you. He curls them upward, finding that spot he mapped ages ago. Your phone screen goes dark from inactivity.
He doesn't leave any achy part of your cunt unoccupied, especially if his thumb is currently being useless. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs in circles while his fingers curl inside you. The dual stimulation makes your mouth fall open, and your phone falls out of your hand. Your phone hits the side of your stomach and falls down face-first beside you.
"There it is," he says against your skin, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck. "Phone's finally down. Took you long enough."
He pulls his fingers out, and before you can even whine about it, he shifts on top of you, sliding down between your legs. You look down at him, and the visual of Scaramouche slipping under the covers and pulling at the waistband of your shorts is doing something to you that ten replays of Lohen's burst animation could never replicate. Because this is actually real.
He's sliding your shorts down when you mistakenly whimper out, "Kuni…"
He stops, hands pausing on the fabric at your knees. "Mm… no. That's not my name tonight." He pulls the shorts off completely, tossing them wherever without looking in his room, and his fingers hook into your underwear next.
"It's Scaramouche. That's who you're looking at… That's who's touching you. And, that's the only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth. Not Kuni, and definitely not Lohen. If you even try saying his name, I'm cutting your tongue out." He drags your underwear down your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. "Scaramouche. Understood?"
You nod, too distracted by what he was saying to even realize you're bare from below, and you realize that the moment his mouth is on you.
His tongue drags flat across your clit, and you let out an involuntary, unfiltered moan at the contact. You'd care about his neighbors hearing if his mouth wasn't making you forget that other people exist.
It feels like he's reformatting your brain as he eats you out. Like every lick is deleting thoughts about Lohen and replacing them all with himself. His tongue works on your clit in patterns that make you let out dumb, uncontrollable moans. Two fingers slip inside you without warning, curling against your spot, and you can't help but grab onto his hair, that perfectly styled, dyed Scaramouche hair, and hold on.
Your hips twitch up, grinding into his face while your head tips back. "H-aah… f-fuck… Sca-"
He pulls back from your clit, fingers still working inside you, but at an even faster rhythm, "Louder than that."
You listen, brainless, doing whatever he says, "Scara… Scaramouche, I'm… hah… s-so close…"
He dives back onto your clit, mouth sealed on it, making you cum embarrassingly fast with his fingers curling inside your spongy walls. Your thighs shake around his head, and your grip on his hair tightens as you grind onto his face, clenching around his fingers. He goes slower once the aftershocks are over, and when you finally let go of his hair, completely out of breath, he pulls his mouth off your clit with a wet pop.
He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, the cosplay sleeve dragging across his face from his cosplay. The sight of that is so absurd and so hot that you almost cum again from that visual alone. The puppet joints look slightly faded on the two fingers he was fucking you with, and somehow that makes it worse.
He grabs one of the detached sleeves and slips it off his outfit. You watch him, brain still sluggish from the orgasm, fold it into a thick band, and you furrow your brows, confused. "What are you…"
"Scaramouche wouldn't let you see him lose composure." He slides up from between your legs, wrapping the fabric around your eyes, tying it behind your head before you can even protest. You can't see anything now, just darkness, and the sound of his breathing close to your face. "So you don't get to either."
You feel him move back and settle between your thighs, sliding them apart. You're still so sensitive from your orgasm that feeling his cock suddenly press against you makes an involuntary whimper slip out. He wastes no time slipping in, but he does it slow, stretching you open inch by inch, and you grab fistfuls of his sheets because the fact that you're missing one of your senses is making everything amplified.
"Oh my god…"
"Say my name," he says, and he feels deep enough inside of you that you can't tell how much more of him there is. You only know the stretch, the pressure, and how full you already feel.
A faint moan slips out of you before you manage, breathless, "Scara…"
"Yeah?" He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, he knows you can barely think. "Too full to say it properly?"
Your fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. "Sc… Scaramouche…"
He starts moving, and because of the blindfold, every thrust feels amplified tenfold, so much deeper. His hands are gripping at your hips hard enough to bruise. You feel him closer, by your ear, voice still in character, "You think some new character is going to replace me?" He puncuates the end with a hard thrust, and your mouth hangs open with a gasp.
"Some battle maniac with a grin? Pathetic. I've been your favorite since 1.1," another thrust, and it hits you deep, he grinds into that same spot, "and no amount of leaked animations is going to change that."
"I know… hah… I know-"
He pulls back just enough that you feel the loss of him even though he's still inside. Your hips chase him up, a needy whimper spilling out because you don't feel him moving anymore, and you wonder why. You feel his hand leaving your hip to pull the blindfold off your eyes.
Light hits your pupils, and you squint, disoriented, and the first thing you see isn't him. It's your phone, held inches from your face, bright and open on the password screen. In a flash, your phone's unlocked from just your face, and just as fast as that happens, he turns your phone back to him.
"Wha… what are you doing?" You're still catching up, blinking through your vision that's trying to adjust, even more now that a phone was shoved up in your face. He's swiping through your apps with one hand while the other pins your hip to the mattress. His cock is still inside you, not moving at all, and it almost feels painful with how much you're craving him to.
He pulls up Twitter, looking at your feed first before checking your reposts, because of course, the first thing that comes up is someone reposting that Lohen burst animation for the millionth time, like people haven't seen it already. He scoffs, tapping on your profile picture on the side, and looking through your reposts.
"This one says," he starts, scrolling with his thumb, his tone almost bored as he reads your reposts out loud, while he finally starts grinding into you, but it's slow, painfully slow. "I would let Lohen degrade, breed me, use me, and rearrange my insides until I pass out… You liked that one, reposted it from the same account that has your face on it. How dense can you be?"
You face heats up realizing just how embarrassing that is, only after doing it a while ago, "That's… that was just a joke-"
"Let's go to your replies tab and see if you did anything other than mindlessly repost whatever you saw," you watch as his thumb moves across your phone, he shifts his hips forward in a slow grind that makes your breath hitch, "Oh, so you did comment on something… that's it? Three fire emojis and a fucking… crying emoji? That's your contribution to the discourse? Really? Was your brain rotting that badly that you couldn't even type words?"
You don't even try to come up with a coherent response for that, and he doesn't wait for one. He throws your phone somewhere on his bed and leans down, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your head, and the closeness of him in full cosplay makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You know what's funny to me?" His eyes never leave your face as he rolls his hips, still a slow grind that drags his cock against your walls in such a way that keeps you in between being able to think and not. "You have a cosplayer. An actual, real person who dresses up as your favorite character and fucks you in it. And instead of appreciating that… you're reposting about a character that doesn't even have a release date yet."
A weak protest slips out before you can stop it. "I do appreciate-"
"Do you?" He thrusts hard this time, and it makes your back arch, your hands flying up to grab his shoulders as he continues at the same deep pace, watching your face change with every thrust. "Because I'm literally inside of you in a Scaramouche cosplay right now, and 20 minutes ago you were eye-fucking a burst animation while I was standing 12 feet away."
Your face burns, "That's not…" You swallow, trying to gather a thought that doesn't sound pathetic, "That's not fair, he's just a character, you're-"
"I'm right here." Another deep thrust, his hand slides up to cup the side of your face, tilting it so you're looking directly at him. At the eyeliner you did for him, the contacts, and the hair you even helped style. "And I'm the closest thing to a fictional character you're ever going to get. So maybe," he grinds into your spot, and your eyes roll, "act like it."
Humiliation and want feel like they're tangling so tightly that you can't separate them anymore. You can't even form a proper response for that, only being able to muster out a, "F-fuck… Scara…." as your fingers curl harder into the sheets.
"Mm." He keeps the angle, keeps rolling into that same spot, watching as it makes you go stupider quicker while his thumb traces your cheekbone. "You know what you should repost? A video of this. Me, in cosplay, between your legs. See how many likes that gets compared to a leaked animation."
Your brain decides this is the moment to let something slip. Completely irrational. "A lohen cosplay would probably get more likes because he's… trending." You don't even mean it as a dig; you say it in the normal, supportive tone you always give when he talks about content, while getting dicked down.
And the second those words leave your mouth, everything goes silent. He stops, completely. Cock buried inside you, and his hand on your face tightens. His thumb presses harder into your cheekbone. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do. It's this flat, cold look you can see even with the contacts, and the silence stretches long enough that you realize what you just did.
You scramble to backtrack, "I didn't mean-"
"No, don't backtrack now," he cuts in, voice eerily calm, tilting his head like he's studying any new reaction you'd make, "You sounded very sure of yourself a second ago. I want the same answer you gave before you realize I didn't like it."
You sink back into the pillows, head shaking, "Scara, you know that's not what I meant…" but you stop at the end when you see the look in his eyes darken.
He lets go of your face and pulls almost all the way out to slam back in, both of his hands gripping on the backs of your thighs, pushing them apart. He's fucking into you at a new pace that's faster and rougher than anything before this, every thrust feeling like a point he's making without words.
"He's an animation," he says between trusts, his voice strained, but he's still in character. "He doesn't feel like this…" A thrust so deep it pushes you closer to the headboard. "He doesn't sound like this." Another one, harder, and the sound that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable.
"And he doesn't know that if he hits this angle," he shifts his hips and nails your spot dead-on, and your vision whites out at the edges completely, "you make that exact face."
Your legs are shaking around his grip, your hands grasping at anything, his shoulders, his arm, the sheets, the only thought in your mind is him, the body between your legs trying to prove a point with his entire being.
Then, your phone lights up next to your head. It's a Twitter notification, something about Lohen, and the timing is so cosmically cruel. He sees it, and before you can even squint to see what it's about, he scoots back, letting your head fall off the pillow. You look at him, confused, completely innocent to the change of position that's about to happen.
His hands leave your thighs to grab at your hips, and in one inhuman motion, he lifts you off the bed almost entirely. Your back leaves the mattress, the entire room feels like it's tilting as he hauls your legs over his shoulders, your full weight being suspended against his body. His hands grip the front of your thighs, your arms scrambling for anything, and they end up gripping at the backs of his thighs. Your head is still on the mattress, and your arms, but everything else is up in the air.
He's about to fuck you upside down.
You yell out of panic, "Wha… SCARA-"
"You were about to check your phone." He says, voice unbothered like he isn't holding you in the air with his dick buried inside of you. "While I'm inside of you… While Scaramouche is inside of you." He adjusts his grip, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, and slides his hips back before slamming into you hard, forcing himself so deep that you see white. "Do I not have your full attention?"
Even as full, and thought empty as you are, you still try to defend yourself, "You do… hah… You do, I wasn't-"
"You were reaching for it," another hard slam, and you cry out, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. "Your hand almost moved. Almost. You were going to look at a notification while im fucking you."
He fucks into you, over and over, your legs dangling on his shoulders, the angle hitting something so deep inside of you that your body doesn't know how to process it apart from going completely boneless.
You're limp, even being fucked upside down. Your muscles gave up, and now you're just a body he's holding in the air and fucking into.
Your weight being nothing to him, your pleasure being everything.
"Scara… Scara, oh my god, I can't… f-fuck… I can't-"
"Can't what?" His voice is annoyingly steady, controlled, even though he's holding you up and thrusting into you with a force that should effect both of you, but it seems like you're the only effected one. Moaning sounds that aren't even words anymore, just vowels and air. "Can't think? Good. You shouldn't be thinking. The only thing in your head right now should be my name, and the fact that no pixel on a screen," he thrusts up, sharp, and the sound you make is practically a scream, "has ever made you feel like this."
Even with your mind blank, you can process his words enough to know that he's right. Because he's here, and real, and holding you in the air and fucking the coherence out of your skull. "SCARAMOUCHE- fuck, please… please don't stop-"
His pace only grows faster, his grip on your thighs tightening in such a way that you know it will end in bruises when you wake up tomorrow. You cum with the lower half of your body, suspended in the air. Your body locks up, ankles rolling, feet clenching around his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you in waves so intense that you can't even keep your eyes open, can't even suppress or care for how dumb you sound.
You can do anything except convulse around him while he holds you through it like you weigh nothing.
He cums exactly five seconds after, the way your walls clench around his cock not letting him pull himself back any longer. He buries himself deep with one final thrust up that pins you against his hips. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling you up as his fingers flex on your thighs.
There's so much that your body can't contain it, even in this position, you can feel some of his cum leak around where he's still inside you, dripping down between your ass cheeks.
He holds you there for a moment, catching his breath and you still catching yours, and then he finally sets you down. He moves back, lowering you, and you bounce back on the sheets, still out of breath, gasping, legs shaking, cum pooling more properly between your thighs now that you aren't in the air.
He's already pulling at the cosplay before his breathing even levels out.
"Finally," he mutters, yanking at the chest piece with the urgency of someone escaping a straitjacket, "I can take this stupid fucking thing off."
The outer layer comes off first, and he gets out of bed to toss it onto his desk chair without looking. Then the arm pieces, what's left of them, since one sleeve is still tied in a crumpled blindfold shape somewhere in the sheets. He pulls the one he's wearing off and throws it on top of the outer layers on the chair.
He's left in the sleeveless undershirt, the tight black one that sits flush against his chest and shows the puppet joints he spent way too long on at his shoulders. The shadow has smudged from the sweat, the edges bleeding where the lines used to be clean.
"I was literally cooking alive in that," he says, working at the fabric that sits on his hips next, "do you know how many layers this cosplay has? About four. Four fucking layers in a room with one fan and a broken AC because Ei cares more about being at work all the time than actually caring about a home she's barely at."
You don't respond because you are, at this moment, a puddle of a human being with no functioning brain cells and shaking legs. You're lying exactly where he put you down, staring up at the ceiling, legs still open because closing them feels like an exercise right now.
He glances at you once the majority of the cosplay is off, just the undershirt and shorts, and he gets quieter. He disappears into the bathroom that's connected to his bedroom and comes back with a warm, damp towel.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes your thigh to the side, wiping between your legs without saying anything. His movements are careful, clinical, almost, like the same precision he gives his cosplay goes into this too.
He cleans the cum off your inner thighs, the crease where your thigh meets your hip, folds the towel to the clean side, and gets the rest.
You flinch at the contact, still sensitive, and his other hand presses flat against your lower stomach to keep you still. "Stop squirming."
"But… It's sensitive," you say, finally, voice weak.
"I know it's sensitive. I'm the one who made it sensitive. Stay still."
He tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor when he's done, then goes to his dresser, pulling out a sleep set and underwear that are yours. A cropped top and matching shorts that somehow migrated into his drawer because you're here more than your actual house.
He comes back and slides the underwear up first, lifting your hips with one hand to pull them over your ass. Then, the shorts come next, doing the same motion he did for the underwear. He grabs the top next, and this part requires sitting you up, and you're not cooperative.
You're practically dead weight.
He pulls you up by the arms like a ragdoll, gets the shirt over your head, and guides each of your arms through the sleeves. You keep going limp on purpose, and it's irritating him. "You're not helping," he says, which isn't a helpful remark on his part.
You can't do anything but let out a tired, annoyed sigh, voice moving slowly as you say, "I can't feel my legs, Kuni."
He pauses as he's trying to pull the top down, giving you a sideways look, "That's a you-ca n't-help problem, that's a you-won't-help problem. Your arms should work fine."
You give him a fake, straight smile, shrugging at a languid speed, "They don't, actually. You broke those too when you held me upside down, and I had to hold onto your thighs for dear life."
He scoffs, dropping you back against the pillows, and you sink into them, boneless, dressed, clean, happy that you've trained him well enough to do this much after sex, because it pays off every time.
He pulls the covers out from under you, and this time you actually scoot to give him space to tuck them over your body. He grabs both of your phones and plugs them in, then walks to his closet to take the top off and replace it with a plain black t-shirt, and tugs on a pair of grey sweats. When he's done, he always backs toward the bed to get into the covers beside you, but you stop him.
"Kuni, can you please get me water?" You ask, with a tiny pout.
The exhale he lets out is so deep it could qualify as a controlled breathing exercise. He stands there for a full three seconds, covers still bunched in his hand, staring at you with the expression of a man who wants to only pass out in bed and rot.
"You couldn't have said that before I walked toward the bed?"
You look up, pretending to think, mouth curling up when you glance back at him, "I wasn't thirsty before you walked toward the bed."
He rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to rub his fingers at his temple in annoyance at all of this, "That doesn't even make sense."
You clasp your hands together, pouting, again, putting on a sweet expression just to mess with him further, "Please?"
He drops the covers and leaves the room. You hear his footsteps down the hallway, and they're loud enough that you know he's being loud on purpose.
Because Kuni doesn't make noise when he walks unless he wants you to know he's annoyed.
His house is massive; you spend 99 percent of your time in his room, so you actually get jumpscared every time you leave it. The hallways are long, or probably longer than an apartment floor in general, with marble flooring and clear walls with art on them that his mother picked out and he's never looked at once.
The kitchen is insane. Countertops that stretch for what feels like miles, a center island bigger than your own bed, and appliances that look like they belong in a once luxurious restaurant. Every surface is spotless because the housekeeper comes three times a week, and Kuni is already a clean freak on his own, so the combination creates a kitchen that looks perpetually unlived in.
He opens the cabinet, grabs a glass, fills it from the filtered tap, and when he turns around, his mother is sitting at the island.
She's been there the whole time, apparently.
Ei is on a barstool at the center island, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in her right hand and her phone in her left. Her hair is long and ink-black, pin-straight, falling over one shoulder, and in the dim kitchen light, she looks less like a person and more like a portrait someone painted and forgot to hang.
She looks up from her phone at the sound of the glass filling.
Her eyes move over him, at the messed-up hair, the contacts he forgot to take out, and the faded puppet joints still visible on his knuckles.
And also the fact that he's getting a glass of water at one in the morning in a post-sex haze that he thinks isn't obvious but is extremely obvious.
"You're still awake," she says, her voice carrying that same low, unbothered tone that makes everything she says sound like an observation.
"You're home," he replies, matching her energy beat for beat, turning off the tap without looking at her. "When did your flight land?"
"Three hours ago." She takes a sip of wine. "I didn't want to interrupt."
The silence that follows is loud. He knows what that means, she knows that he knows, and neither of them will say it directly because everyone in this family treats emotional honesty like it's some disease.
"Right." He grabs the glass and turns to leave as fast as possible.
"Kunikuzushi."
He stops, but he doesn't turn around, his grip on the glass tightening.
"Eat something tomorrow. The fridge is stocked." She pauses to take a sip before continuing, "And take your contacts out before you sleep. They'll irritate your eyes."
He stands there for a second, then another, then another, then walks away without responding. And his footsteps down the hallway are quieter this time. Not on purpose.
He gets back to his room and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He walks up towards the bed and reaches over to hand you the glass. You take it, sitting up slightly, drinking half of it in one go while he stands there watching you like you just made him walk a marathon for a cup of water.
"Happy?" He asks, pulling the covers back.
You roll your eyes and hand him back the glass. He sets it on the nightstand and gets into bed, lying flat on his back. You immediately roll onto his chest like a magnet, your cheek pressing against the cotton of his t-shirt, and you can hear his heartbeat, still a little fast, coming down.
His hand finds your hair, starts that absent, repetitive thing he does, threading his fingers through the strands over and over. You press closer to him, tangling your legs with his under the covers, and his arm tightens around your back.
You close your eyes, and his fingers never stop moving through your hair.
He doesn't tell you he loves you; he never does first. But his thumb traces a slow circle against your scalp, and his breathing evens out underneath you, and he doesn't move even when your weight goes fully dead against his chest.
That's how you know.
You're in your room today, not at your boyfriend's house like you usually are. You do like being in his room and hanging out with him constantly, but it's also constantly exhausting. Some days, you'd just prefer to be… alone.
Your room is the complete opposite of Kunikuzushi's aesthetic. Light beige walls so you can hang up cute pink miscellaneous things on your wall without them clashing. A fluffy, soft, pink bed that used to be a canopy until you woke up to a fat spider next to your face, as if it was their bed too. Plushies… lots of them, on your bed, some kept on a large shelf you bought to store the expensive anime figures Kuni always buys you. Long story short, the general vibe of your room makes you seem like someone whose entire personality is soft and sweet.
You're lying on your stomach on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the fallout of the Lohen leak from 3 days ago. The internet has still not calmed down… if anything, it's worse.
@scaranation4LIFE scaranation we STAND. Every character had their tiny moment of fame… our show lasted four years. FOUR. We were even on the news… lohen's gonna last one patch and you're all going to be crawling back
@lohenxscarabeliever i don't want lohen OR scara… i want them BOTH to ruin my life SIMULTANEOUSLY. Why is this so hard to understand
@wanderersfavoritebuttplug scara… I’d never replace you for that sadistic twink (maybe) (we’ll see)
The comments are always talking about the same thing, at least every comment section under a Lohen Twitter post, as the diehard simp, the one who wants Lohen and Scara to fuck each other, the one who wants to cuck Scara in front of Lohen, and the very few actual loyal Scara fans.
… You feel like you're a bit of both.
You're deep in the comments, simultaneously looking at edits of Lohen on TikTok, then taking a Twitter break, then TikTok, when at some strange point, your bedroom door opens.
You don't look up, you assume it's Kuni because your parents aren't home, and you gave him the key ages ago. "Hey, Kuni," you say, still scrolling, legs swinging behind you, "if you're here to yell at me about using your newest Flower Knows palette before you did, it's not that big of a deal-"
You stop because when you look up, what you see is something you'd never, ever expect from a surprise visit from your boyfriend.
Kunikuzushi is standing in your doorway in full-on, perfectly accurate, as always, cosplay. But it's not Scaramouche, or some other male in the game… It's Lohen.
Your phone hits the mattress.
The character you've been losing your mind over for 3 days, the one you've seen on your phone screen a genuinely convincing number of times, is here, in real life, standing in your pink bedroom doorway.
"When did you-" your voice comes out strangled, your mouth feeling dry, and your throat feeling so tight that you cut yourself off. Your eyes scan the cosplay, again and again, confused at why he didn't tell you about this. Especially ordering a unique cosplay of a character that hasn't even fully come out. "When… when did you order this??"
He grins, a toothy, sharp-eyed grin that looks nothing like Scara's smirk. It's so strangely accurate to the expression Lohen would make, and you wonder if he's spent the last 3 days practicing for this.
"I've been tracking you all day," he says, and his voice is different than normal, more confident, louder, less… restrained on what's deemed as good. "You've been hard to pin down."
He crosses the room, and your body does something it doesn't do with Kuni. It tenses out of something close to fear, but closer to not knowing what's coming next. His hand grabs the front of your tank top and yanks you off the bed. You yelp in a way that's higher, more startled, more genuinely caught off guard than anything Scara has gotten out of you in months.
"Nervous?" He questions, his grin widening, and his fists twist in your shirt, pulling you closer, until your chest is against his. He can feel your heartbeat… at least you assume he can, because you can hear it going haywire through your ears to the point that you'd believe it's audible even if he wasn't this close.
You deny because you hate admitting things to him when he's acting smug, even though anything you could say would be utterly pointless, as your face and the way you're barely moving prove his point way too well. "I'm not nervous…" You try a distraction, any, "Are you really wearing a wig, Kun-" but it gets cut off quicker than you can even finish the last word.
"Your heart feels like it's about to explode out of your chest." He leans in, his mouth next to your ear, and his voice drops, but he still keeps the edge of it in character, "What's different? You let Scaramouche do whatever he wants to you. But Lohen shows up and suddenly… You can't even talk?"
You knit your eyebrows, staggering to say anything that sounds like you're not any less dumb, "That's… it's different, you're usually-"
"Usually what? Predictable?" He pulls back to look at you, and you glance up and down at his cosplay once more, and it's even more annoyingly perfect up close. You seriously don't know how he does it; he even looks good in a wig, even though he hates them. "You know every move Scaramouche makes before he makes it. You're comfortable with that, and that's boring." He says it like an insult, and his grin drops suddenly, his eyes not leaving you once as he says, "I'm not comfortable. Are you scared of me?"
You answer a simple, "No." But the way you still haven't moved on your own since he appeared at your door proves without words otherwise.
"Liar." He shoves you, and you fall back before you can catch yourself on the bed, bouncing on the pink sheets, your tank top riding up slightly in the process. "Your voice had the tiniest crack in it."
He's on top of you before you can sit up, his knee between your thighs, his hand going to your jaw… and he does it.
The burst animation.
His fingers close around your jaw as he lifts your face toward his, slow, and the grin is right there, a perfect replica of the video you've watched on your screen more than 100 times.
"There's my favorite prey," he says, holding the pose for three seconds, and instead of reaching his arm back and stabbing you, he leans in to kiss you.
It's violent, that's the only word to describe it. Non ceremonial, just teeth, tongue, and a lot of force by him. His hand is still gripping your jaw, controlling the angle, and also making sure you don't pull away so soon. You make a sound into his mouth that's between a moan and a whimper, that's even more vulnerable than anything you've made during sex when he cosplays as Scaramouche.
He pulls back, unbuckling one of the belts on the cosplay, a strap that's a part of Lohen's design, and he wraps it around your wrists, binding them above your head against the bed.
"Every battle maniac needs a sparring partner," he says, tying the knot with one hand while the other shoves your tank top up above your breasts. "And you looked at me like you volunteered."
He strips your shorts, then your underwear, and he doesn't bother about being sweet with it. He yanks them down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, and then his hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes them up toward your chest.
Mating press, that's what he's doing.
Your knees are at your shoulders, your hips are tilted up, and he's on the bed, kneeling over you. His weight is driving your thighs down, folding you in half. Your wrists are bound above your head; you're just completely open and trapped.
"L.. Lohen…" You whimper out in the voice of both someone in awe, and in the tiniest fear of what's coming next.
"Hmm." He unzips his pants, frees his hard cock from his underwear, which he slides down just enough, and positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes in.
The first thrust is the full length of him burying himself deep inside you in one stroke; the angel of the mating press makes it feel deeper than it should. His cock presses against your cervix, and the sound that leaks out of you is closer to a sob than a moan.
"AH- oh fuck oh fuck oh-"
"Too much?" He asks, and his grin, that fucking grin, is right there, his face inches from yours because the mating press puts him on top of you… over you, covering you entirely.
"N-no, just- hah-" You get cut off with the way he pulls back and slams back in, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, before just fully closing.
"Not convincing." He pulls back, again, slamming into you harder than the last one, like he's powering up his thrusts, and your back tries to arch off the bed, but his weight is pressing you flat, and you have nowhere to go. You feel his hands at your face. "Your eyes are watering."
You open your eyes back up to look at him, head shaking, even though you do feel something hot and wet sliding softly down your cheeks. "You're lying, they're n-not-" You're studdering from the way he's repeditely fucking into you, especially hitting your deeper spots on purpose when you try speaking, but he cuts you off anyway.
"They are." He leans down and licks a tear off your cheekbone. The act is so different from the way he's currently fucking into you, brutally, and you're turning incoherent faster than ever, moans spilling out uncontrollably as the sound of his hips plaping against your ass fills the room.
"You cry for Scaramouche because it feels good. You're crying for me because you don't know what I'm going to do next." Both of his hands leave your face; one goes back onto your thigh, the other finds your throat. "And that scares you… Doesn't it?"
His fingers close around your neck, and he doesn't choke you the same way Kuni does during normal sex. This version is different, new, something you've never felt before. Lohen's choke. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, squeezing the muscles, not your windpipe, but the tissue around it. The difference, the way this feels new, is because it feels like it's designed to hurt, not to just cut off air. The pain is sharp, and you can still breathe, technically, but every inhale aches, and the compression makes the blood rush to your head in a way that amplifies every sensation that a blindfold never could.
You can't move your hands, even as they itch to grab or instinctively hold at his wrists, you're reminded that they're bound together by his belt. Your moans just get more amplified thrust after thrust after squeeze, "Nghh- Lohen… hah…"
"You can barely even say my name." He squeezes harder, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, and the pressure pushes you right to the edge of too much. "Scaramouche gets full sentences out of you… Full moans… Full 'please'. But me?" He thrusts deep, grinding, holding himself inside you while his hand tightens on your throat. "I get syllables… Half-words… or just plain denial over anything I say. You're so nervous you can't even beg for anything properly."
He fucks you into the mating press until your thighs are shaking against his hands, and your voice is hoarse from the sounds he's pulling out of you. His hand stays on your throat. The pressure of his squeeze fluctuates a lot, from him tightening when he thrusts hard, loosening when he grinds slowly, a cycle of both pain and relief that keeps you permanently on the edge of too much without ever crossing into too much.
Because Kuni knows your body, he knows how much it can take. He pushes you close enough to passing out that your vision darkens at the edges, your mouth falls open, your eyes lose focus, and then he loosens his grip and lets the blood rush back.
And the gasp you take is almost an orgasm on its own. "Please- hah… please, I can't… too much-"
"You can handle it, you just don't know it yet." He squeezes your throat and fucks into you hard enough that a plushie falls off the bed. The grin on his face is still, still beautifully intact, and it's the most terrifyingly perfect thing you've ever seen from this close.
"You know what's funny? You were scared when I walked in. Nervous. Couldn't even talk to me." He leans down until his lips brush yours, his hand still on your throat. "But you're not trying to stop me, are you? Your hands are tied, your legs are pinned, and we have a safeword you could've used at any point, and you won't, because you and I both know this is exactly the type of 'too much' that you crave."
You cum with his hand on your throat and his cock buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach. The orgasm hits different in a mating press, so much more intense. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that you feel in your entire pelvic floor, and he fucks you through it, his pace not slowing, his hand not loosening.
And by the time the aftershock fades, you're boneless, twitching, and making sounds that are barely human.
He cums inside you, you feel the heat of it, thick, pulsating, his hips pressing flush against yours and staying there while his cock throbs. His hand finally loosens on your throat, and his forehead drops against yours.
His breathing is ragged, and it's the first time you've ever heard him lose the composure of the character, and for one second, between the last pulse and first exhale, it's just Kuni.
Then the Lohen grin slides back. He stays inside you for a moment more, his cock still twitching with the last of it, before pulling out in one motion that makes your body clench around nothing.
You feel the immediate emptiness, the warmth of his cum already starting to leak, but you don't get to process that because his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you.
Your stomach hits the mattress, your face presses into your pillow, and the shift of his cock inside you during the rotation makes a wet, obscene sound that you both pretend not to hear. Your wrists are still bound with the belt, and they're now pinned beneath you. You feel him reach under you, fingers finding the leather, working the buckle loose with one hand, while the other grips your hip to keep you from sliding forward.
The belt falls away from your wrists, you roll them instinctively, flexing your fingers, and before you can even appreciate the freedom, you feel the belt loop around your neck instead.
He pulls it taut from behind. He doesn't choke you with it just yet; he just lets it sit snug against your throat with his fist gripping the trailing end like it's some sort of handle.
"Ass up," he says, and you barely get your knees under you before he gives up on waiting and pulls your hips back toward him.
He slams in at a rough, fast, punishing pace. The sound of his hips against your ass is echoing off your room in a rhythm that makes your plushies at the edge of the bed vibrate, causing a couple of them to fall.
He uses the belt as a way to anchor his thrusts while he rails into you with a force that has your fingers twisting in your sheets, and your neck being forced to arch back.
"Fu- oh my g-god, Loh-" You can't even finish his name, it just dissolves into a broken moan as he hits your spot from this angle. The deepness of the backshots makes your toes curl against the bedsheets.
He keeps going, his pace not slowing down at all, and you're too far gone that you barely register it when his rhythm stutters for a second, especially when you hear him mutter something under his breath that doesn't sound like Lohen.
"This stupid fucking…"
Your brain is somewhere between your legs; the only sound that's audible and coherent to you is the sound of his hips against your ass, and your endless moans.
He thrusts hard, and you let out a whimper, your fingers flexing on the sheets, and your feet coming up, clenching, then dropping again. But between the next few thrusts, you catch pieces of something that doesn't match the character he's trying to play.
His voice sounds like it's shifting, not into Scara like it's some muscle memory he has, but into Kuni, your boyfriend, sounding genuinely irritated about something that has nothing to do with sex.
"I swear to god, it keeps sliding," he mutters, and his grip on the belt loosens for a second as his other hand does something behind you that you can't see. He does another hard thrust, and your face falls against the pillow now that he isn't yanking on your neck. But he doesn't pull you back, choke you, or do whatever you expect him to do.
He complains.
"This is the last time I'll wear a wig. The last fucking time. I told you I hate these things and you always ignore it and tell me to suck it up when it's a character that isn't him-" a thrust that makes your spine arch, "and now I have gross, synthetic hair scratching at my face, and I'm going to lose my mind."
You're barely processing any of this, still, it all sounds like fragments to you that don't make sense because of the thick haze of being fucked into your mattress.
He grunts, clear frustration, and you hear something that sounds like a clip, or whatever mechanism that's keeping his wig attached to his actual hair, and his pace slows down enough that curiosity overtakes the pleasure for one stupid second.
You turn your head.
And it's Kuni behind you, one hand still on the belt at your neck, and the other holding the Lohen wig that he just pulled off his head. His real hair is back, dark indigo, messy, slightly matted from the wig cap he also tore off. He hasn't noticed you looking yet; he's too busy glaring at the wig with genuine contempt.
He's out of character, fully, completely, for once mid-fuck. He never breaks character, and something comes over you… Maybe it's the absurdity of the visual, maybe it's because you're fucked stupid enough that impulse control is just completely gone.
Maybe it's because the opportunity is just too perfect to pass, and you've seen that TikTok audio one too many times.
You gasp, loud, dramatic, your voice coming out in that exaggerated, scandalized tone that you know he's going to hate, "he's BALD. He's bald, and he's torturing people who have HAIR!"
The silence that follows lasts exactly one and a half seconds.
His eyes snap to you, and you're looking at him over your shoulder, half of your face pressed into the pillow, and you're grinning. That kind of stupid, shit-eating grin that you know is about to have severe consequences.
His expression goes through several stages in rapid succession. Disbelief comes first, processing it comes second, then recognition of the reference, and on the last and final stage, something dark and focused appears that makes your grin falter just slightly.
He throws the wig, and it hits your vanity mirror, sliding off somewhere that you don't care to watch, and his now-free hand shoves your head back down into the pillow. It's not gentle. His palm is flat against the back of your skull, pressing your face into the fabric, and your giggle gets muffled by cotton.
"You think that's funny?" His voice drops back into Lohen's, but it's rougher now, meaner, the edge of genuine irritation soaking through the character because you made a dumb joke while he was inside of you. "You think you're clever?"
You're trying to respond, but your face is pressed into a pillow, and his hand is keeping it there. What comes out next is a muffled, "Mm srrhyy-" that dissolves into a yelp when he slams into you so hard your knees slide forward on the sheets.
"Every prey animal thinks it's funny right before the teeth close." He fucks into you at a pace that's brutal, and way faster than anything before. Each thrust is showing you further into the mattress while his hand keeps your head pinned, and the belt around your neck pulls tight from the motion. "You want to make jokes? I'll give you something to scream about instead."
His other hand leaves the belt to grab at your hip, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the force of being pushed down and pulled back simultaneously has you making sounds into the pillow that are just broken, raw sounds. Your hands claw at the sheets above your head, your back arching down, while your ass stays up, and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hip while the belt drags against your throat.
"Mmph- wait, f-fuck, I'm sorryyy, I was k-kidding-" you manage between thrusts, your words slurring against the pillow, saliva starting to collect at the corner of your mouth because your jaw won't close properly. "Loh-hen, please, 'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-"
"You have a funny way of apologizing," he grinds out, and his hand on the back of your head shifts, his fingers curling into your hair and pulling your face just barely off the pillow, enough that your moans aren't muffled anymore. "Usually, people apologize without laughing. You're still smiling about it, I can hear it in your voice."
He's not wrong. You are still smiling, with tears in your eyes, getting absolutely destroyed because the image of your boyfriend ripping off a wig mid-sex with that look on his face will live in your brain rent-free forever. "Liar… 'M not smiling-"
"You are." A thrust so deep your smile actually drops because your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open around a moan that's more of a wail. "There… fixed it."
His other hand releases your hair and goes to his own head. You can feel the shift in his movements, slightly distracted, one-handed thrusts that are still devastating but less focused as he runs his fingers through his real hair, fixing it through the vanity mirror on the far side of your room.
Because even while he's railing at you, Kunikuzushi will not be caught dead with bad hair.
He's multitasking, fucking you into the mattress with one hand on the belt, and styling his hair with the other… the worst part is, he doesn't even slow down.
He pulls the belt back just enough that you're forced to arch your spine, the pressure on your throat lifting your chest slightly off the mattress, and the angle change makes his cock hit differently, shallower but dragging against your front wall with every stroke, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly close to a squeal.
"Ah ah AH, oh m-my god, oh my god, right there, don't- nghhh don't move from that, please plea-hease..." Your words are tumbling out in a slurred mess, your brain is completely out of your control, and your hips are pushing back against his on their own because the angle is too good.
He cums with a groan, pressing into the back of your shoulder, biting down on your skin through a moan he clearly didn't want to let out. You feel his cock pulse inside you, the heat spreading, and his hips grind forward in small, lazy rolls as he empties everything. His hand goes slack on the belt, and his forehead drops against the space between your shoulder blades.
He stays there for a second, breathing, then he pulls back, letting go completely of the belt, and you fall forward because he was the one pulling your practically limp body against him. Your ass is up in the air, and you feel him slide out, and the gush of cum that follows is immediate. It's thick, warm, spilling out of you and down between your thighs.
He sits back and watches it, you know, because you hear the sheets shift, and you can tell by the way he doesn't move or speak, just watches the mess he made ooze out of you.
His thumb presses against your entrance at the rim, and more cum leaks out around the pressure, sliding down in a slow trail toward your clit. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice back in character for Lohen, in an amused, fascinated tone. "You can't keep any of it in."
His other hand comes up and spreads you open with his thumb and forefinger, holding your folds apart, and you can feel the cool air hit the mess inside you. You feel more of his cum spill out from being exposed. You bury your face deeper into the pillow because the visual you can't even see is somehow still the most embarrassing part of this entire night.
"Lohen, don't just… stare at it-" You mumble into the pillow, voice a bit pitchy as your thighs try to close, but his knee is in between your legs before you can even try to hide.
"Why not?" His thumb traces through the cum leaking down your folds, collecting it, spreading it in a slow circle around your clit, and your hips jerk at the contact because you're so overstimulated. "It's mine, I put it there, and I'll stare at it for as long as I want."
He leans down, and you feel his breath warm against your swollen, sensitive skin. Then you feel his tongue, a single slow lick from your clit up to your folds that collects everything in its path. You let out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a sob, your fingers crushing at the sheets. His mouth seals around your clit and sucks one, hard, before pulling off with a wet pop that's so loud it echoes.
"Ahh- hhah, that's... you c-can't just do that and stop..." You whine, your hips chasing his mouth, but he's already sitting up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"I can do whatever I want." He says, like it's a fact, and his thumb pushes inside you lazily, scooping cum out and watching it drip off his finger before sliding it back in. "And right now I want to watch you try to keep it together while I play with the mess I made."
He does this for longer than is reasonable. Sliding his finger in, pulling it out with cum on it, pressing his thumb against your clit, watching you flinch and twitch and moan into the pillow while your body can't decide if it wants more or if it wants him to stop.
When you finally lift your head enough to look back at him, your vision is blurry, and your cheeks are wet, and your hair… let's not talk about that. But his hair, however…
It's perfect.
His actual hair, styled in Scaramouche's cut, falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look like a character rendered by someone who accidentally released him into the real world. He fixed it while he was fucking you, which means at some point of the most brutal backshots of your life, your boyfriend was simultaneously running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked good.
And it does, it looks like Scaramouche wearing Lohen's clothes, the dark blue and silver of the cosplay framing his face differently than Scara's outfit does, and the combination of his real hair with Lohen's costume is somehow hotter than either one on its own.
"Your hair…" You start, breathless, head tilting, staring at him.
"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and for a second you did forget just where his fingers still are, but then you get instantly reminded when his thumb circles your clit again. His expression is annoyingly smug for someone who was complaining about a wig 4 minutes ago.
He slides back into you without warning, and you gasp, your head dropping back down, because you're still so unbelievably sensitive. Even though he did slurp some of it out, you still have his cum inside of you, and the re-entry just pushed every bit of the leftovers deeper. He does exactly two, slow thrusts from behind, enough to hear the wet sound of it, and enough to feel you clench around him involuntarily, and then he moves.
His hand wraps the belt tighter around your neck and pulls backward toward him. Your upper body lifts off the mattress as the leather digs into your throat. And at the same time, as if he's some pro multitasker, his other hand hooks under your thigh, and hauls you up.
The room tilts as he rearranges your body like you're a doll getting repositioned on a shelf.
He sits back on his heels, then further, his legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and he pulls you down onto his lap with your back against his chest. His cock is still inside you, and the angle of his cock in your folds shifts as gravity does the work of seating you fully onto him. Your weight pushes him impossibly deep.
"Oh my- f-fuck..." Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth open, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. You can feel him everywhere. The depth of this position, your full weight on his lap, is the kind of full that makes your brain actually go blank.
The belt is still around your neck. He grips the loose end in one fist, his other hand settling on your hip, and he snaps his hips up.
It's different from behind, and the mating press, and just any position he's ever tried with you. Every thrust pushes up into you while your own weight pushes down. The collision of both forces means he's hitting your cervix with almost every stroke. The belt pulls at your throat in time with his rhythm, and it's like a constant tug that keeps you slightly alert. He's using it as a leash while he fucks up into you.
"Lohen… Lohen, oh my g-god, that's so… hhh…" Your hands grip his thighs behind you for leverage, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin through the dark fabric of the cosplay pants. Every thrust forces a sound out of you that you didn't choose. The sound ranges from breathy moans to hiccuped whimpers to full, unfiltered whines that bounce off your bedroom walls.
"Mm, good girl… Keep saying my name just like that." He says against the shell of your ear, his grin pressing into your hair, and his hips don't slow down at all while his free hand leaves your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it through your bunched-up tank top.
Then, suddenly, the pace changes. It slows like someone pressing on the brakes. The frantic upward thrusts melt into something grinding, deliberate, circular. His hips roll instead of slamming. His hand on the belt adjusts, and you can feel the leather pulling higher on your throat, the pressure shifting from the side of your neck to the front, directly on your windpipe, cutting your air down. It makes the room tilt and your head go light.
"Lohen is fun. I'll give him that."
Your walls clench around him so hard that you feel his breath catch, a tiny fracture in his composure that he covers immediately. The shift from Lohen's energy to Scara's is like someone swapped an entire soundtrack mid-song, same instruments but a completely different vibe.
"But fun is temporary." His hips roll in that slow, calculated grind that's purely Scaramouche. The one that doesn't just find your spot but sits on it, presses into it, with the exact amount of pressure needed to make your eyes cross. "Chaos without control is just noise."
He thrusts so deep that your vision goes white at the edges and your mouth opens around a shameless sound you can't hold back. "I'm not noise." He pulls the belt tighter, your air growing thinner as your head feels floaty and warm. "I'm the only voice in your head that stays."
"Scara…" It comes out of your mouth before he can ask for it, before he can demand it, your body just defaulting to the name it knows and has moaned out more times than you can count. Just the same as muscle memory.
"There she is." His voice sounds satisfied in a way that Lohen's never was. It's settled, fully sure, like something just got confirmed that he already knew. His thumb traces the edge of the belt for exactly one second.
Then his pace goes feral, the leash yanks tight, and you can feel the grin return against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. The whiplash of Scara's controlled grind slamming into Lohen's chaos makes your entire body jerk against his chest.
Then he goes back to Scara, slow, precise, the belt adjusting to hit your windpipe just like before, and your vision goes soft and dreamy.
Then Lohen, again, fast and reckless, the belt pulling to the sides, sharp and painful. Your vision snaps back, too clear… too much.
Then Scara.
Then Lohen.
The switches accelerate, and you're caught between two different rhythms that you don't even have time to get used to either one before it switches back and forth, and you're left shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering helplessly on either side of his.
"You feel so fucking good-" you can hear Lohen's signature grin in his tone, his hips snapping up hard enough that you bounce on his lap, "You think you can handle more?"
And then, like a light to a switch, Scara's back, his thrusts slowing into a grind that feels torturous. "Of course you can't… You never could. You just pretend."
"Mm… mmnhh, I c-cant, it's too much," you're babbling, the words coming out in disconnected fragments that don't form a single coherent thought, "both of you at the s-same time… I can't… my brain… can't…"
Your body is trying to process two characters and one cock, and one belt on your throat that keeps changing how tight and how rough it's being pulled, and the gravity pinning you down, and his hands on you everywhere. "Please jus- hha, pick one, p-please, I can't think when you keep switching, I-"
"No." It doesn't sound like either character he's playing as he says that, almost himself. "You don't get to pick, you get both."
You cum on the fault line. On the exact millisecond where Lohen's chaos collides with Scara's control. The two rhythms are crashing together inside your body like a wave hitting a wall. The orgasm rips through you so hard that your vision actually blacks out for a second.
Your walls seize around him in rhythmic, violent clenches, your back arching against his chest, the belt pulling taut as your body contorts, and the sound you make is raw, unformed, the kind of noise a person makes when their brain short-circuits.
He cums with you, his groan is buried in the crook of your neck as his teeth bite down on your shoulder. The belt goes slack in his hand, and his hips stutter up as he fills you again. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, and his hands grip your hips hard.
His breathing is ragged against your neck, not in character, just Kuni, just like before, catching a breath he doesn't need to catch because the adrenaline is still making his body do human things.
He lets go of the belt and unloops it from your neck. The leather slides off your skin, leaving a warm, raw line that you'll see in the mirror tomorrow. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, all the urgency gone.
He turns you around, rotating you by your hips without pulling out. Your legs swing around until you're facing him, straddling his hips. When your eyes meet his, it's your boyfriend looking at you, Kuni, with his makeup smudged, his real hair messy and falling into his eyes, wearing another character's clothes with his own face underneath.
He grinds up into you, slow, not thrusting, just rolling his hips with his cock still inside you, his cum still inside, and the wet sound fills the quiet room.
He kisses you, a slow kiss where his hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands find his face, holding his jaw the same way you hold it when you do his eyeliner. Your fingers on his cheekbones, your thumbs at the corners of his mouth… the grip is so familiar that your chest aches with it.
He pulls out, the gush of everything between you spills onto his thighs, and you whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him involuntarily, still kissing him, before settling.
He leans back, lies flat, and looks up at you. "Sit on my face." He instructs, his hands already going for his bottoms, shoving the waistband down with both hands, lifting his hips, and kicking the pants and underwear off in one motion that sends them somewhere on the bed. He settles back onto the mattress with his cock resting against his stomach and the rest of Lohen's cosplay still on his upper half.
You're still on top of him, and you start to move toward his face, swinging your leg over to straddle his chest, and just as you're about to lower yourself down facing the wall, he stops you.
"Other way." His hands catch your hips, holding you in place before you can settle. "Face my cock, not the headboard."
You turn, shifting on your knees so you're facing his legs instead, and the second your thighs are on either side of his face, his hands pull you down. He doesn't ease you into it, his fingers dig into your hips and yank you flat on him. His mouth meets your cunt like he's been starving for it. His tongue is on you immediately, flat and broad, licking through the mess of his cum and yours that's still leaking, and the groan he lets out against your folds vibrates through your entire lower half.
"Ah- oh my god, Loh-" Your hands brace against his stomach, fingers splaying across his chest, your body jerking at the contact because you're still so overstimulated that even his breath against you would be too much, let alone his entire mouth sealed to your cunt like he's trying to milk you dry.
He doesn't let up; his tongue pushes between your folds, lapping at the cum he left inside you, alternating between long drags up your clit, and pointed flicks that make your thighs clamp around his head. His hands keep your hips pinned to his face, and every time you try to lift yourself even slightly because it's too much, he pulls you back down harder.
You look down past his stomach, past his lips, and his cock is right there. Hard again, flushed at the tip, twitching every time you moan. It looks helpless, which is a stupid word to use for a dick, but that's what it looks like.
Just lying there… hard… neglected, pulsing at nothing while his mouth does all the work on you. The visual of that all, combined with the way his tongue just circles your clit makes your mouth water and your body move on its own.
You lean down, lips pressing against the tip, soft, barely any contact, and you feel his hips twitch upward at even that little touch. You open your mouth wider, about to take him in, settling your weight forward onto your forearms on either side of his hips, and then his hands move.
They leave your hips, and you feel them slide down your back, his arms wrapping around your torso, his palms pressing flat against your shoulder blades from behind, and before you can even register the shift in grip, he lifts you.
Your knees leave the mattress, your thighs slide up his shoulders until they're hooked over them, his arms anchored around your back. You aren't straddling his face anymore; you're suspended above him, upside down, your entire lower body held up by his arms, and your upper body hangs between his legs with his cock directly in front of your face.
"KUNI- what the HELL-" Your hands scramble for something to hold, and the only thing available is his back, his sides, your fingers digging into whatever part of him you can reach. "Stop putting me upside down!! How are you even this strong??"
He ignores you, his mouth is still on your cunt like the position change was nothing, like rearranging your entire body didn't interrupt the rhythm of his tongue.
Your thighs are wrapped around his shoulders, your calves pressed against the sides of his head, and his arms are locked around your lower back and hips, creating a cage of muscle that keeps you from falling. Your stomach is pressed against his chest, your breasts squished between your body and his, and your face is hovering directly over his cock with your hair hanging down.
He doesn't pause to let you adjust; his tongue pushes inside you from below, curling, and the moan that rips out of you vibrates against his inner thigh because your mouth is right there, inches from his cock, and you can't even hold back the sound.
You take him in your mouth because his cock is right there, hard, flushed, leaking from the tip, and this is the only logical response you can think of.
Your lips close around the head, and you can hear, feel, his groan vibrate against your clit from below. The sensation travels through you, making your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and you take him deeper in response, your jaw stretching as you slide down his shaft.
His hips start moving, and he's fucking up into your mouth with thrusts that push his cock past your tongue and into the back of your throat. The angle of being upside down makes your gag reflex hit differently, sharper, your throat constricting around him with every push.
"Mmph-" You gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth and running up toward your nose because gravity is working against you, and your eyes water as he pushes in deep enough that your lips press flush against his base.
He pulls your hips down against his face at the same time, grinding your cunt onto his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his cock in your throat creates a never-ending loop.
Every sound you make around him vibrates through his cock and makes his groan against you, and every groan he makes against you vibrates through your clit and makes you moan louder, and the cycle just keeps building on itself until neither of you is making sounds that qualify as human.
Your hands grip the backs of his thighs, nails biting into his skin, your only anchor while the rest of you is suspended in the air, getting destroyed from both ends. His arms tighten around your back whenever your body jerks too hard, keeping you steady, and the strength required to hold you like this while simultaneously eating you out and thrusting into your mouth is something you'll think about later, when you have brain cells to think with.
His tongue circles your clit and then seals over it, sucking hard, and your entire body arches in his grip. Your moan around his cock is muffled and obscene, a wet, gargled sound that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, and the vibration of it makes his hips stutter up so hard you choke.
"Mmngh-" Spit drips down your chin, or up your chin technically because you're upside down, and his cock slides out of your mouth for a second while you cough and gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.
He doesn't give you a break. His mouth doesn't leave your cunt, his tongue pressing harder, faster, relentless, and your mouth finds his cock again through the haze, taking him back in because even choking on him feels better than the alternative of not having him in your mouth.
His hips roll up in longer strokes now, less frantic but deeper, and you can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles tightening under your fingers. His arms squeeze around your back, pulling your hips down harder against his mouth, and his tongue works your clit in tight, focused circles that are designed to break you.
Everything builds at the same time. His cock pulsing heavier against your tongue, your walls clenching against his mouth, the pressure in your core climbing toward something massive, and his breathing getting faster against your cunt, his groans getting louder, less controlled, desperate in a way he only gets when he's close.
You cum first, barely, by maybe a second.
Your walls seize, and your thighs clamp around his shoulders, and the orgasm crashes through you in a wave so intense your jaw locks around his cock. The constriction of your throat, squeezing around him, plus the vibration of your moan, plus the way your entire body shakes in his grip, is what sends him over.
He cums in your mouth with a groan so deep you feel it in your spine. His hips push up one final time, his cock pulsing thick against your tongue, and you swallow around him because there's nothing else to do in this position, the cum sliding down your throat (or up, gravity is still confusing) while his tongue works you through the last aftershocks.
His arms loosen, not all at once, because if he did, you'd drop violently onto the bed. He eases the tension gradually, lowering your hips back toward the mattress, and you let his cock slip from your mouth with a wet sound that you're too brain dead to be embarrassed about.
"Put me down," you mumble against his thigh, your voice wrecked, your arms shaking. "Please, Kuni, put me down before I die in this position, and you have to explain it to my parents."
He lowers you down carefully, his hands guiding your hips and legs until your back is flat on the mattress beside him. Your head is at the foot of the bed, and your feet are near the pillows, but you don't really care because you're horizontal and alive, and that's enough.
He sits up, looks at you sideways on the bed, completely destroyed, and he doesn't say anything. He just moves you, his hands sliding under your back and your knees as he repositions you properly to put your head up against the pillows where it belongs.
He's quiet when he cleans you up this time, zero commentary about you squirming, no dry remarks about sensitivity, just the warm cloth from the bathroom, careful movements between your legs while his other hand stays on your hip to keep you still when you flinch.
He brings new clothes from your dresser, a pair of underwear, which goes on you first, slides up your legs, then shorts, then a top he pulls over your head and feeds through your arms without asking for your cooperation because he's already learned you won't give it.
He doesn't talk the whole time, which is unusual, because Kuni always has something to say, always has a complaint or a remark or a correction. But right now he's just doing it quietly, focused, tucking the hem of your top down with his fingers before standing up and walking toward your closet.
He changes into the pajama pants and black shirt he keeps in your drawer, and he pulls the Lohen cosplay off in pieces as he does it, dropping each part onto the chair by your desk.
"I'm never wearing that thing again," he says, pulling the top layer of Lohen's outfit off his shoulders with a grimace, his tone flat and final. "Whoever designed this character hates the human body. It feels like it's over 6 layers, especially with the long-sleeve, the cape thing… everything." He drops the last piece and kicks it under the chair. "Scara's cosplay isn't even that heavy because Scara was designed by someone with common sense."
You watch him from the bed, half-lidded, sinking into the pillows, your body so heavy that you feel like you're melting into your own mattress.
He walks back and pulls the covers up, sliding in beside you without ceremony. The second he's horizontal, you're already moving toward him, pressing your face into his chest, your hand curling into the front of his shirt, and his arm wraps about your back.
He kisses your forehead, soft, and then the bridge of your nose when you lift your face up enough, then the corner of your mouth. It's small, quiet presses of his lips against your skin that feel nothing like Scaramouche or Lohen. These are Kuni kisses, the ones he gives when no character is being performed.
The ones he probably doesn't even realize he's giving because they come out of him the same way breathing does.
He tips your chin up with his finger, and his eyes are just blue. Not indigo contacts, not the ones he wore for the Lohen cosplay, just his natural, stupid, annoyingly pretty blue that you fell for before you even knew that you cosplayed.
"Who do you want?" He asks, his voice low, and it's the softest you've heard it all night.
You look at him, at the messy hair, at the body who dyes his hair for a fictional character and hates wigs and complains about having to style his hair everyday and who buys you an abmormal amount of primogems, and probably would get you c6 r5 Lohen the minute he drops because he does that for every character, even when he gets jealous when you simp for a character that you don't just ask him to cosplay like any other logical person dating a cosplayer.
"Kuni," you say, and your voice is small and sure. "Just Kuni."
His mouth twitches, and you can see the shape of a smile trying to form before he catches it and pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and pressing his lips to your hair.
"Good answer," he murmurs into your scalp, so quiet that you almost miss it.
You close your eyes, your face against the fabric of his shirt, and you're asleep before you can respond. He stays awake for a minute more, his hand moving through your hair in slow repetitive movements. He stares at the ceiling fan, and he doesn't say anything.
He doesn't need to.
I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)
🐊 featuring: {separate}: 𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐡𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
🐊 tw: yandere themes ⭐︎ non/dubcon ⭐︎ kidnapping ⭐︎ delusions ⭐︎ they’re mean es shii ⭐︎ two faced asl ⭐︎ sadism ⭐︎ masochism ⭐︎ bondage ⭐︎ footjob ⭐︎ spanking ⭐︎ degradation ⭐︎ babytrapping ⭐︎ choking ⭐︎ manhandling ⭐︎ face sitting (m! receiving) ⭐︎ 69 ⭐︎ rimming ⭐︎ feminization ⭐︎ lingerie ⭐︎ collar ⭐︎ humiliation ⭐︎ hair pulling ⭐︎ stockholm syndrome ⭐︎
🐊 an: ah yes, time to feed the twink lovers, wish you luck ♡
🐊 HEIZOU — Knick-knack!
The collar snaps before your eyes finish rolling.
Leather biting sharp into your throat – not tight enough to choke, just cruelly reminding you he already knew you'd try it.
It forces a sharp gasp out of you—one you don't get to finish, because Heizou's already using that strip of leather to drag you right back between his legs.
Knuckles skimming your jaw as he guides your head down, unbothered, like he'd mapped out every move you were going to make before you made them.
One moment you’re glaring.
Next, your mouth is full of him.
His cock slides hot and heavy over your tongue, and the startled glkh!— that bursts out of you only makes his grin sharpen.
"There she is," he says, voice bright and almost clinical. "I gave you three opportunities to stop before it got to this point. You picked this."
You barely manage a sputter before he adjusts the collar again—SNAP!—tightening it to borderline cut off airflow.
His expression doesn't go cold so much as settle — as if he's arrived somewhere he expected to be. You glare up at him on instinct.
Heizou’s eyes lit up like you’d handed him a present.
"Oh, still brave," he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip with idle curiosity, like he's noting it down somewhere. "Predictable, but brave. Don't use your teeth, sweetheart. I already know you're thinking about it."
You don’t get to protest.
Before he slams his hips upward, seating himself deeper in your throat so fast your nose hits his skin. His cock nudges a place you're not ready for, your throat seizing around him as your vision spots.
glk!- glkh- glk
Breath stuttering, lashes fluttering as he watches your throat struggle around him.
"T-there it is," he sighs, pleased in that infuriating, already-knew-it way he has. "Much more honest than whatever smart little comment you… were... hah… about to make. I clocked the exact wording, by the way. Would've been a good one."
You dig your nails into his thighs hard, a silent ‘go fuck yourself.’
The sound you make next — a humiliating, involuntary little choke — made you cringe… and him lose composure entirely.
Making Heizou moaned loudly, head tipping back, a low breathless "Ah–!" slipping out before he could catch it, olive eyes fluttering like your defiance knocked something loose in his chest he hadn't accounted for.
First thing he hadn't accounted for.
He stares back down at you, something flickering in his expression — recalculating. Then that grin returns, slower this time. More interested.
"Hm." His thumb drags your lip down, watching the spit string between skin. "You keep doing things I don't predict. Do you know how rare that is?"
Loosening the collar just enough for you to gasp—wrong move. Your pride flares, and you try to snap back, but all that comes out is a vibration against his cock, a choked mmph! that makes his hips jerk.
"Look at you," he says, catching a tear you didn't realize had fallen, holding it on his thumb like it's a clue. "Still fighting. Still dripping. And you think I can't tell which one you're more embarrassed about."
Then he's guiding your head back down—slow, but not merciful—letting his cock drag over every tender inch of your tongue while he keeps watching.
slrp!—mmph!—glk!
He follows the tremor in your thighs like a bloodhound.
Watches them press together, you pretending it's not happening. He clocked the exact moment your hips gave the smallest, traitorous twitch toward him.
"There it is.." quietly, to himself more than you, "You know~," he continues, tilting his head, "I wasn't planning to use more than one hand today. But you're so full of-” Then something warm slides between your knees. “-surprises.”
His foot.
The arch nudges your thighs apart, slow and so casual — like it's the obvious next logical step — exposing your soaked underwear to the cool air.
“Hm?” he coos, voice all faux-gentle mockery. "You're already this wet, and we're barely into the hypothesis."
His thumb traces idle circles on the leather strap. "Your body keeps contradicting itself. That's going to be a problem for you."
You try to shake your head — trembling, furious denial — but the collar stops the motion dead. His foot presses in, slow and deliberate, rubbing just enough friction against your panties to make your breath stutter out through your nose.
"You look furious," Heizou observes, voice soft with something worse than mockery — genuine fascination. "You should see your own face right now. You're trying so hard."
Foot rubbing in that same terrifying precision he puts into everything — deliberate circles right against your soaked panties. The pressure is perfect — teasing your swollen clit through the thin fabric while his cock stays buried deep in your throat.
"Every single time I discipline you," shaft still buried deep in your throat, foot working you toward something you're desperately trying not to give him, "your body does this. I've noted it. I have a very thorough record."
You try to grumble around him, but it only comes out as a wet, vibrating mmph that makes his length twitch on your tongue.
Heizou chuckles, low and delighted.
“Oh? You like that?” His foot moves faster, rubbing firm strokes up and down your dripping slit, toes curling to press right against your clit. “Look at you… trying so badly to glare at me while your pussy’s grinding against my foot like a desperate little whore.”
The combination is too much.
Your moan vibrates wildly around his length as your orgasm crashes through you — humiliating, what's worse is that he doesn't even look surprised.
"Mhm." He watches you shake apart with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose theory was confirmed exactly on schedule. "Right on time."
Not giving you a second to recover, his hips chase his own high with the same focused efficiency he does everything else, collar keeping you exactly where the evidence requires you to be.
With a low, unraveling moan — the least composed sound he's made all night — Heizou buries himself deep and cums.
He holds you through every pulse, breathing hard, that careful control finally fraying at the edges.
When he finally pulls back, thumb smearing across your swollen lip, he looks down at you with something that isn't quite the grin from earlier.
More like the face he makes when he's solved something that actually took effort.
"Good girl." Soft. Sincere, almost. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead — unhurried, like punctuation. "You know what the most interesting part of all of this is?"
Oh god
He tilts your chin up. "You already know exactly why you keep ending up here. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."
Grinning, eyeing your trembling form. "I'll wait. I'm patient. I already know the answer."
He gives the collar one last gentle tug.
"Knick-knack.~"
🐊 KAZUHA — W.T.F.
“K-KAZUHA WHAT T-THE FUCKKK!—”
Your voice cracks–as he slams into you, deep-deep-deep, the force of it yanking your silk-bound wrists taut against the beam above. The ropes creak as your spine arches.
And Kazuha just watches, amber eyes half-lidded, like he’s admiring the way your body jolts with every thrust.
Fingers cave into your hips, digging past the surface, marking you obsessively. He drives home with a smoothness that shouldn't be this brutal, each roll of his body a new lesson in how much you can endure.
One thrust.
Two.
Counting the hitches in your chest, timing his pace to the exact second your breath fails you.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, voice soft as a lullaby. His hips snap forward—hard—and your gasp catches high in your chest, stuck.
“Is it the bindings?...” His thumb strokes your inner thigh, gently. “Or losing your Vision?”
He says it with a terrifying ease. He’d turned that stolen glass over in his palm earlier, eyes wide and worshiping, before tying you open and filling you.
Your body bounces with every stroke, helpless. “Hahh—!” spills out when he drags you down harder, his grip tightening, fingertips pressing deep enough to leave marks.
The pace picks up—smooth, controlled, relentless—like he’s chasing the sound of your breath shattering.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
The wet smack of skin on skin echoes across the water, obscene.
“Easy…” his breath is a warm ghost against your skin, but his weight is a solid, punishing reality stretching you open. “You keep tightening around me like this—”
A particularly vicious thrust punches the air straight out of your lungs, leaving you hollow. “—I might think you enjoy it.”
“I DON’T—” The words snap out, hot and immediate, but they lose their edge halfway.
Something is failing in the back of your skull. Your thoughts are sluggish, stalling, sinking into a gray fog.
Behind him, the box pulses with a weak, dying rhythm—your Pyro Vision guttering out, its fire turning to ash. You wrench your eyes away because the sight of your own fading ambition is a physical ache.
Kazuha grinds into you, a slow, cruel pressure right where your nerves are rawest, before driving up with a sudden, jarring force.
“Nghh—FUCK—!” It spills out, unbidden. Kazuha just exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek.
You hate the scent of him—cedar and salt air.
Hate the softness of his hair, untouched by the violence of his hips.
Most of all, you hate the memory of the same hand currently bruising your hip, tucking a blanket around your shoulders this morning.
You were something precious then.
Now, you’re just a prize.
The hate is there, but it’s slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the void where your Vision used to be.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a low vibration in your ear as he thrusts deeper. Schlk…schlk…schlk filling you sends a forced heat racing up your spine. “-my songbird is one of a kind~.”
“KAZUHA I SWEAR TO ARCHONS-” But your voice cracks. The fury is a cavernous gap, feeling emptier by the second.
Another brutal snap of his hips makes your back arch, the beam above you groaning under the strain.
“I thought you’d want it like this,” puzzled, a quiet, private observation. He pouts—a look of pure, confused innocence—while his thumb traces a slow, heavy line up your clit. “You said I was always too soft.”
His shaft pulsed a deliberate, agonizing hesitation just to watch you squirm.
“So I figured…” Another thrust, deeper, meaner. “…you’d like it rough.”
You try to muster up the strength to glare holes into him, but you could only whimper in despair at the effects of not having your vision increase.
Kazuha tilts his head slightly, watching the way your wrists strain against the ropes like you’re testing whether the knots might suddenly grow merciful.
“I’m sorry,” voice dropping, quieter. Almost apologetic, “it has to be like this.”
The sorrow in his eyes is real. Genuine.
It changes absolutely nothing about the pace of his hips.
Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving as he adjusts his grip — one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your leg higher, spreading you wider.
You can feel it…the hollowness spreads slowly through your limbs like something being gently, methodically unplugged.
"Kaz..." Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. "Kazuha, you said…hah y-you always said–"
"I know what I said." He says it softly, watching your face with that unbearable attentiveness, like he's memorizing something. "I meant it. Every word."
His hips roll forward, slow and thorough, and the sound that escapes you isn't angry at all. "I still mean it."
"Tch then why–"
"Because–" and here his composure cracks, "you were gunna to leave n' not come back- heh." fingers fondling your nipple, making you arch just perfectly into him as he pumps his thickened inches through every peak.
"And- I found," he continues, breathless now, white hair falling across his face as he drives deeper, "that I believe in your freedom–" thrust "completely–" thrust "except for that."
The boat sways, adding more force to his thrusts.
He chuckles darkly to himself, a tone you've never heard before. He swirls n' swirls his globular tip, the perfect rounded shape to press into your nerves.
And somewhere in the growing heaviness behind your eyes, you're realizing horribly, humiliatingly... that your hips have started moving back to meet him.
Kazuha notices it, his eyes going soft, reaching up to cup your cheek with a gentleness that has absolutely no friggin business being here right now.
"See?" like he's been waiting this whole time to say it. "Isn't this better than leaving?"
You don't answer, you can't tell anymore if the withdrawal is talking or something worse.
He angled slightly – deeper, more deliberate – and your whole body lurches forward with it, the ropes catching you, swinging you right back onto him.
Sloppy sounds fill up the whole cabin until there's no room for anything else. Including your thoughts.
They keep arriving slower now, holding more weight, and you're not sure if you can keep holding onto hate anymore.
Or even remember why you were so upset in the first place.
He feels it immediately – the shift in you. Kazuha has always been terrifyingly good at reading things.
Wind.
Weather...The exact moment you're about to stop denying him.
"Ah-" You gasp- he grinds into your poor, bruised g-spot. "I-i… m’still f-fuckin’ angryy–"
"Of course," kissing up your neck, he inhaled deeply, smiling against you, "You're allowed to be."
"That's not-" A whine punches out of you when he rolls his hips just so. "That's not what I– ngh– t-that's not the point!—"
"Then what is my love?"
And you open your mouth to tell him. You have the answer…you know you do, it was right there a moment ago, something about how wrong this is, something about him taking your vision, something about how this isn't what you wanted.
His shaft drags slowww and thoroughly across that spot inside you, and every single word dissolves.
"Hm~?" Kazuha waits expectantly as the thoughts leave your face, morphing into something that isn't guilt anymore.
"It's alright." He presses a kiss to your temple. "You don't have to say it."
…He's already decided, somewhere in that poetic, completely unwell little heart of his, that this is love. That this is the right thing, that you'll understand eventually.
"Fuhck- ah! Kazu—" hips rolling back to meet him before you even register doing it—He shivers a single tremor moving through that carefully composed body, his breath catching audibly.
His rhythm stutters for just a fraction of a second. And then it happens — the thing he's been holding back since he tied you in the boats for days now.
"Y-you feel—" He stops, then tries again. "You feel so—" he really can't finish it.
Those eyes have gone somewhere glassy and distant — still looking at you, but seeing something past the surface of you, something he's been navigating toward for a very long time-
Both arms wrapping around you, silk ropes and all, folding you into him like something he's been holding in his hands for years and is only now allowing himself to keep.
His cock pulses deep. His breath comes apart completely.
"Don't leave," he moans into your hair, and it’s not a request or a command either. He’s already made up his mind and refuses to be argued with. “Don't leave. Don't leave. Don't—"
Your mouth falls slack, and you bring what little energy you have to bite into your fist as you scream, cumming all over his shaft.
Your walls clenching around him, as a sound slipped out, one you're sure you’ll be embarrassed about later.
Kazuha grunts, a hand jumping to his mouth, trying not to be loud.
Juices connecting you two, losing the careful rhythm entirely, and then he's shuddering against you, spilling deep, face buried in your neck, lips moving against your skin in something that might be your name or might be an unhinged poem or both.
Your vision flickers once behind him…going out.
…
The boat rocks gently in the silence that follows, his arms wrapped around you, holding you softly.
After a long moment, you hear him sigh.
"Im sorry..." A pause. "I just thought this was kinder."
🐊 KINICH — Got his lick back
SMACK!
"AH—!"
The sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room like a hunter’s whip.
Your cry breaks out raw and humiliating, but Kinich doesn’t give you a second to breathe. His hand stays glued to the stinging flesh, squeezing hard enough to feel the heat bloom under his fingers while his other hand slides between your slick thighs.
“Spread.” Flat. Commanding. No room for argument.
You don’t.
So he forces you anyway — two fingers pushing past your dripping folds, stretching you open with that terrifying precision, curling right against the soft, spongy spot that makes your vision spark white.
The second your hips jerk forward to escape, his fist locks into your hair and yanks you right back onto his lap like a leash.
“Already this wet?” A low, almost thoughtful hum leaves him as he pulls his fingers free.
A thick, glossy string of your slick stretches between your hole and his fingertip, catching the low light.
“Running again… but your pussy keeps begging me to stay.”
You try to snap something back — anything — but he’s already lining up. The flared, swollen head of his cock nudges against your entrance once, twice, then pushes in with one merciless slide that steals every word from your throat.
“F-fuck- Kinich-!”
He bottoms out in one smooth glide, stretching you wide around his thick length until you feel him pressing right against the entrance of your womb.
Buried deep, letting your walls flutter and clench desperately around him while his breath ghosts hot against the back of your neck.
“You keep running,” he says quietly, almost thoughtfully, as he pulls back just enough to slam in again. The wet slap of skin on skin is filthy.
“Every time I tell you to stay. Every time you look at me like you’re already gone.”
SMACK!
Your body jerks hard at the next spank, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
Before you can crawl away, his arm hooks around your waist and hauls you right back down onto his cock, pinning you flat to the slick floor. The woven texture bites into your tits and stomach as he forces you to take every brutal inch.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls low, the first real crack in that calm tone.
His hips snap forward harder, cockhead smacking mercilessly into your cunt with every precise thrust. “You’re not leaving Natlan. Not again.”
Smooth, deep rolls of his hips that drag his veiny length along every sensitive ridge inside you. Your voice climbs higher, cracking on whimpers you can’t swallow down.
Drool slips from the corner of your mouth onto the floor while your thighs shake violently.
“Kinich-! puhleaseeee- it’s too much—”
“It’s not.” Another punishing thrust. “You can take it. You will.”
His hand snakes underneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit.
He pinches and rolls merciless little circles that have your walls clamping down around his cock like a vice. Your whole body seizes, pussy gushing slick down his length as he keeps fucking you through it.
“Don’t know why- Ngh-,” he rasps against your neck, voice fraying at the edges now, breath coming shorter. “Y’kept leaving me. Why ya- won’t stay put. ”
"Th-that's not— ah— that's not your problem!-"
"You made it my problem." A thrust that punches the air clean out of you. “So I found a solution. Gonna fill this tight little cunt until you’re swollen with my kid. Then you won’t have a choice.”
The words hit you like lightning. Your mind blanks for a second– “Wai-what—”
His cock swirls deep.
Pushing deeeep, his fingers pick up pace on your clit, dragging you toward something you've been denying this whole time, your walls fluttering desperately, your voice climbing so high it cracks—“No!- t-that’s genuinely insane!”
"It isn’t." He held a small, satisfied smile.
"That’s not a solution, that’s literally—fuckkkk!"
But your body betrays you completely, cutting you off. Your walls flutter wildly around him, milking his cock as a devastating orgasm rips through you.
You came hard, screaming into the floor, tears streaming, thighs clamping shut around his hand while your pussy spasms and gushes.
Kinich groans low, the sound raw and animalistic, the first time that perfect hunter composure truly fractures.
His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt with a sharp snap, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your throat.
“HNGH!—”
Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your womb — pulse after heavy pulse, so much and so warm it spills out around his pulsing cock almost instantly, smearing sticky and obscene between your bodies.
Grinding deep through every wave, slow and deliberate, like he’s determined to push every drop as far inside you as physically possible.
His arm stays locked tight around your middle, tattooed bicep flexing against your stomach, holding you exactly where he wants you.
“…Your body thinks it’s a perfect solution,” he breathes against your sweat-damp neck, voice hoarse but still terrifyingly calm. “Stop fighting it.”
You’re still shaking, still fluttering around his spent cock, when the reality crashes back in.
Tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes as you try to twist away from him, voice cracking with raw upset.
“No,” you choke out, voice hoarse and furious even while your pussy keeps weakly clenching around him like it’s trying to keep every drop he just gave you.
“I’m not getting pregnant. I’m not letting you trap me like this— you can’t just- you can’t-”
He doesn’t pull out.
If anything, Kinich sinks a little deeper, grinding the head of his cock against your overfilled cervix like he’s sealing it. His lips brush the shell of your ear, calm as ever, but the grip on your waist tightens possessively.
“You already are,” he stares, almost fondly. “Or you will be. Soon.”
You pushed him off hard, “Like hell–”
.
.
🐊
A month later, the humid air inside the Scions of Canopys midwife’s hut feels too thick to breathe.
You’re sitting on the low mat, knees drawn tight together like that might somehow undo everything, while the older woman hums softly and presses careful fingers along your lower belly.
Nausea still clings to the back of your throat. Your breasts ache. Certain smells make you want to retch.
You already know what she’s going to say.
Your captor behind you like a silent sentinel — arms loosely crossed, green-gold eyes half-lidded but missing nothing.
The midwife finally sits back on her heels, expression unreadable for a long beat.
“Congratulations! You're expecting,” she says, no question in her voice, your stomach dropping.
“It seems you're a month along, oh! The baby is healthy…you would be due…”
As the midwife drones on and on, pointing at the chart, you craned your head to glare at Kinich meeting his expectant gaze.
His expression, for once, was readable, and it only conveyed one thing:
‘You can deny it all you want, you’re stuck.’
🐊 LOHEN — Denial is a river
“LOHEN LET ME DOWN—YOU DONE LOST YO MIND.”
You thrashed wildly, hanging upside down from the thick rope coiled tight around your ankle.
The world swayed in sickening circles, blood rushing straight to your head while your own heartbeat hammered in your ears.
Dignity? Gone. Long gone.
Meanwhile, Lohen was losing his shit.
Full-body, stomach-clenching laughter poured out of him as he bent over, one hand braced on his knee, as if he might actually collapse from how hilarious you were.
Red eyes squinted with pure delight, tears pricking at the corners while he wheezed.
“HA- holy shit!-” He dragged in a gasping breath, still grinning like a maniac. “You really walked straight into that one. Fuck, you’re adorable.~”
He finally straightened up and stalked closer, head tilted as he studied your flushed, upside-down face.
That manic little smile curled slowly and hungrily across his lips, one that promised nothing good.
“You actually thought you could escape me?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Cute. Real cute.”
You glared hard enough to burn holes through him.
Lohen only stepped even closer, until he was right in front of your swaying body.
Two fingers reached out and squished your cheeks together like you were some grumpy little creature he’d caught.
“Look at that face,~” he sang, eyes sparkling with pure unhinged joy.
You jerked your head and sank your teeth into his thumb — hard.
A low, genuine, filthy sound punched straight out of his chest. His eyes fluttered, lashes kissing his cheeks.
You pulled back, staring at him in pure disgust and disbelief.
He stared right back, looking almost surprised at himself for half a second… before that wild grin crawled back onto his face, twice as wide.
“Fuck I think I just came a bit…Do that again.”
This fucking freak
His hand finds your face again - cradles it, almost, which was somehow more unsettling than if he'd gripped it.
Thumb pressing into your cheek while your head kept spinning, and the rope creaked above you.
“You’re turning such a pretty shade.~” voice soft and sweet like poison. “Wow, are ya really that happy I’m touching you?”
“YOU PSYCHOTIC LITTLE—”
“Mhm,” Lohen cut you off smoothly, not even listening. His eyes dragged over you slowly and warmly, completely shameless. “Most people would’ve seen the rope, y’know,” he said, like you weren’t literally hanging upside down from his trap.
“Well, most people aren’t being fucking hunted-”
“Nope.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, gentle and obsessive all at once.
“Just you… ‘cause iiiii loooove yooouuu.~” He drew the words out in that obnoxious, singsong way that made your skin crawl and your stomach flip at the same time.
You rolled your eyes so hard it made you dizzy.
Lohen hummed, tilting his head as he watched you sway.
That dangerous little smile never left his face while he tapped one finger against his chin like he was thinking.
“Now~” he purred, smirk widening with wicked promise.
“How should we fix that nasty little attitude of yours…?”
Fuck
.
.
🐊
“Cmon what are ya waitingggg forrr?”
You’re straddling him, completely humiliated, his thick cock buried to the hilt inside you while he lounges back like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
Hands tucked lazily behind his head, mint-green hair splayed wild across the grass, that damn beauty mark crinkling as he grins up at you with pure psychotic delight.
You’re not moving.
Not one fucking inch, half out of overstimulation, half out of pure spite.
SMACK!
His palm cracks hard across your ass, the sharp sting making you jerk upward with a broken yelp.
The sudden movement drags your dripping walls along every veiny inch of him, Lohen moaning loud and shameless beneath you, biting his lips like he just tasted heaven.
“There ya gooo~” he coos, voice syrupy sweet with fake innocence. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I fuckin’ hate you—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, low and wheezy, eyes sparkling as he tracks every furious twitch on your face. “You gonna move properly, or do I gotta smack that pretty ass red again?”
You barely move.
Slow. Grudging.
The most resentful little roll of your hips that’s ever existed.
Throwing his head back he bursts into loud, unhinged laughter. “HAHAAH— fuck, look at you! So madddd~ So fucking upset and still creaming all over my cock.”
“Are you deadass right now-? Of course I’m mad-!”
“Faster.”
“What—?”
“Faster,” he repeats helpfully, tilting his head with that manic little grin. “You’re going reeeaaally slow, baby. My dick’s getting bored.”
You’re going to kill him.
Fuck it.
You’re going to cum and then kill him.
But your cunt says otherwise, pussy fluttering and sucking greedily around his thick length, no matter how much you glare at him.
Lohen’s eyes darken with hungry delight. He suddenly sits up, arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands, yanking you down flush against his chest.
Shaft grinding deep, bullying right against that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision spark white.
“F—fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, that primal edge slipping into his voice. “One more, yeah? Just one more f'me, pretty thing.”
“Lohen, you’ve said that,” You batted your eyes, fighting the pleasure, “-for hours, lemme go!”
“Mmm, doesn’t sound like an answer,” he purrs, rolling his hips up in a filthy, precise way that makes your toes curl. “Doesn’t sound like you’re saying no to me.”
He doesn’t even wait for your reply.
His forearms hook under your thighs, spreading you wide open like a ragdoll as he starts rutting up into you harder.
Wet, sloppy sounds fill the air with every thrust — squelch-squelch-squelch — his cockhead kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock right through it.
“Hm? Hah- mmph!, seems like someone agrees with me.~” he laughs breathlessly against your ear, nipping at the shell with sharp teeth. “Your pussy’s the one begging for more. Greedy little thing keeps gulping me down like she never wants me to leave.~”
You try to squirm, try to plant your feet and lift off him even a little, but Lohen just tightens his grip and fucks up into you even meaner, bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
“Hahhh?? Running again~?” he tuts, voice mockingly sweet. “Nahhh, we still got s’much more rounds to go, baby. Five? Or is it six? I lost count already.”
Your mind was blanking out; you've been doing this for so long, you couldn’t even form coherent sentences. “Fuh- no- mgh- I’m d-done!”
"Your pussy's not done~."
“My- p-puhssy–! Don’t getta vote!” You shatter instantly — eyes rolling back, a broken scream ripping out of you as your sixth orgasm crashes through your exhausted body.
Lohen screams loudly while your walls milk him tight, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ohh-Fuck fuck fuck! Here’s ah!- another one, baby!-” Cumming hard with you, filling you up - he keeps thrusting through your high, chasing every last flutter like a man possessed.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your already overstuffed cunt.
“Mmm—hah, there it is,~” he moans happily, beauty mark crinkling as he grins against your sweat-slick neck. Mint-green hair sticks to his forehead, messy and wild. “Good girl. That wasn’t for you, though~ That was all for this pretty pussy of mine.”
You’re sobbing now, chest heaving, body twitching uncontrollably in his lap. But Lohen just keeps bouncing you on his still-hard cock, slow and filthy, like he could do this forever.
“And she’s telling me…” he drawls, voice sing-song dropping into something darker, more dangerous, lips brushing your ear, “that you can handle three more.♡”
You flop forward against his chest, boneless and whimpering, barely able to hold yourself up. “A-asshole… h-hate you…”
Lohen’s manic laughter rings in your ear as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, never once letting his cock slip out of your spasming heat.
“Keep fighting it, baby. Keep telling me how much you hate me.” He leans down, eyes glowing with lovesick affection as he starts pounding you into the grass. “Makes my dick so fucking hard when you lie like that.”
You cry out, nails raking down his back as he folds you nearly in half, knees pressed to your chest.
Every thrust is loud, messy, obscene — the constant squelch of his cum being fucked deeper into you, the slap of skin, your broken sobs mixing with his breathless laughter.
“Look at her,” he coos, glancing down between your bodies where his cock disappears into your puffy, cream-filled pussy. “Still sucking me in so hungrily. Seems like she doesn’t wanna let go, does she?”
“Stop- I can’t-!!”
“You can,” he laughs softly, leaning down to bite your bottom lip. “And you will. ‘Cause every time you say you’re done… this cute cunt just begs for more.”
Picking up speed, pounding you into the grass with relentless, mind-melting strokes. Staring straight into your tear-filled eyes, beauty mark crinkling with that same unhinged grin.
“Three more, f’me baby. Then maybe- maybe I’ll let ya rest.~” His hands push your legs up to your head, angling deeper, making your eyes roll.
“Or maybe I’ll just keep going until you forget how to say the word ‘no’ at all.~”
🐊 LYNEY — Hole dirtier than laundry!
You're so sure you're going to fucking suffocate at this rate.
Lyney’s perched on your face like he weighs nothing, knees planted on either side of your head in the middle of his messy bed, sheets already twisted and half-pulled off the mattress.
That skimpy little lingerie set he’d been hiding under his coat all evening still clinging to his slender frame—purple lace stretched taut over his flushed cock, the thin strap of the thong shoved to the side so his pretty, leaking hole could sit right against your mouth.
The fabric’s soaked through already and so is he.
He’d wanted this for weeks.
The filthy thought had lived rent-free in that pretty head of his ever since the first time you turned your face away from his goodnight kiss.
Then again, when you shoved his hand off your waist.
Then again, when you told him to “fuck off” like it was nothing.
Every denial made it worse.
He got nervous—actually nervous—thinking you’d hate it.
That you’d push him off and call him disgusting for wanting something so selfish, so greedy.
But tonight you’d denied him one too many times, pushed him away with that same cold little glare, and this was the perfect excuse.
Discipline
Clean. Simple.
He could finally do it and blame you for making him snap.
Except he's the one losing his breath — soft, shaky exhales spilling from those painted lips every time your tongue brushes against his rim. That carefully constructed composure dissolves, piece by piece, every time you move beneath him.
“Mmmh—!” He grinds down harder, your hands flailing against his thighs, nails digging into lace and soft skin. “Cat got your tongue, mon amour~?”
His voice is all theatrical breathiness, that signature charm cracking at the edges.
Shifting his weight just enough for you to gasp in a desperate breath, only to sink back down again — ass firmly planted on your face, rolling his hips in slow, filthy circles.
The wet heat of his hole drags over your lips, your tongue, smearing slick and lube everywhere.
The sound Lyney makes when you're forced to lick him is loud enough that the entire wing's probably filing a noise complaint right now.
Ash-blond hair with that tiny braid falls messily around his face, violet eyes fluttering shut, cat-like pupils blown wide.
“F-fuck… just like- that!—ngh!”
His slender fingers fist the sheets above your head, hips twitching every time your tongue pushes inside.
“D-didn’t think you’d be so… eager to clean me up after all those- ah! Nasty words you threw at me this week. You sure you didn’t want this?~”
He laughs breathless, a little unhinged—and the sound melts into another whimper when you suck on his rim trying to get air.
The lingerie thong keeps slipping back into place, and he has to keep tugging it aside with shaky fingers, the lace now completely drenched.
"Haah — look at you. Flailing around.~" Another slow grind, deliberate and mean, his cock twitching hard against the lace as it leaks onto his stomach. "But you're not pushing me off, are you? No… you're licking deeper. Mmph!~."
You thrash hard, punching at his thighs, trying to get this sick man off your face. He either mistakes it for enthusiasm or simply doesn't care — the effect is the same.
His thighs shake harder, athletic muscles flexing as he rides your tongue with more urgency. That guarded side is completely gone.
Replaced by something rawer.
The need to be wanted so badly that it overrides everything else.
"Keep going, mon amour," he pants, voice pitching higher, "because if you stop — hngh — I swear I'll sit here until morning. Until you forget every nasty word you said to me… and only remember this."
His fingers thread into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your face exactly where he wants it.
Not until he’s satisfied. Not until you’re his again—completely.
He can feel it building — hot, coiling, dangerous. And he refuses to finish like this, not when he hasn't taken everything.
With a shaky laugh that doesn't quite hide the edge beneath it, Lyney finally lifts off your face — justttt enough for you to drag in a ragged breath, spit and slick smeared across your lips.
Lungs burning as you try to speak—“Lyney, wait—” and before you can get a single word out-
His cock impales your mouth in one smooth thrust—thick, leaking, stretching your lips wide around the base of his shaft.
You choke instantly, eyes watering, the sudden fullness reducing every word you had to a wet gluck-gluck-gluck.
His thighs lock firmly beside your head. "Mmmph — there we go." He rocks into your throat with shallow, greedy thrusts, voice dropping as his face disappears between your thighs. "That's it. Let me feel how sorry you are."
Leaning down his tongue is immediate and merciless — lapping, sucking, flicking over your clit with a precision that feels almost unfair.
One hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise. The other presses flat against your stomach, pinning you exactly where he wants you.
You push at his hips, a muffled protest vibrating around his length — he just rolls deeper, unhurried, his cock fucks your mouth in the same rhythm.
The room echoes with the wet sounds of him thrusting into your throat, mixed with the slurps of his mouth on your cunt.
"Don't- fight it, mon amour," he groans against your spreaded folds, the words vibrating straight into your core. "You don't get to push me away anymore. Not after all those mean words."
He sucks hard on your clit, hips stuttering as he holds back his own orgasm. "Not after telling me to leave like I'm nothing."
The lace thong is still tangled around his balls, rubbing against the bridge of your nose with every shallow thrust. His tongue curls, teasing your entrance before plunging inside—matching the way his cock bullies the back of your throat.
Your moans of reluctant protest are drowned out by his cock, completely overstimulated by how much of him you're feeling at once.
Every thrust pushes him deeper, every swirl of his tongue makes your legs shake. Whimpering into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you, but the words that slip out between licks are pure silk-wrapped venom.
"If I have to do this every night until you stop denying me—" A sharp suck on your clit. "—then I will."
His cock throbs heavily on your tongue. "I'll keep you right here. Until the only thing you know how to do is stay."
You try to pull off—hands slapping at his hips, a broken sob ripping from your throat around his shaft—but he just angles deeper.
The filthy gluck-gluck-gluck of him fucking your mouth fills your brain, your eyes streaming tears that mix with the spit dripping down your chin.
And he doesn’t stop, tongue lashes harder between your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth with a lewd pop! before flattening it again.
Mean. Possessive. Trying to pull your orgasm out by force.
Your thighs shake around his head, hips jerking up involuntarily as the pressure coils tighter-too much, too fast, too-
You cum with a shattered cry that vibrates straight down his cock.
Creamy slick gushes over his tongue, thighs clamping around his ears, and Lyney moans like he’s the one breaking. Holding himself right there on the edge—cock twitching wildly in your throat—until your walls start fluttering hard.
“F-fuck—ngh, that’s it—give it to me-”
His cock pulses hard on your tongue, swelling thicker, and then he’s cumming too.
Rope after rope shoots straight down your throat, thick and hot, until you’re choking on it, coughing up his seed around the length still buried between your lips.
He doesn’t pull out. Just keeps shallow-thrusting through it, forcing you to swallow every drop while he drinks you down like he’s dying of thirst.
The room spins. Your lungs burn. Tears won’t stop. While Lyney stays there a second longer, chest heaving, hips still twitching with the aftershocks.
Panting, he eased cock from your mouth with a slurp!
Strings of cum and spit connect your swollen lips to his tip. Lyney watches it break with half-lidded violet eyes, his cheek flushed red.
You’re still sobbing softly, chest heaving, when he finally flips around. He curls over you, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling lips, like he didn’t just fuck your face and sit on you for "punishment".
“Shhh… mon amour,” he whispers, voice sweet as sugar, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “See? Wasn’t so bad. You took me so well… my perfect little assistant.”
Lyney's fingers thread back into your hair, holding you there as he nuzzles against your neck.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.” A soft, theatrical little laugh brushes your ear.
“Or tomorrow.”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, tasting himself on you.
“Or ever.”
🐊 XIAO — Bite first. Regret later
BAM!
"I'm leaving- ” The wall meets your back before you finish the sentence. “-Xiao. I mean it this–"
The impact rattled your teeth, your breath was punched clean out of your lungs, he was just across the room, teleporting in a haze of green and black, shoving you against the wall.
Another sharp gasp to follow when Xiao drove into you again, deeper, meaner, like he was trying to carve his place inside you permanently.
This is the problem.
This has always been the problem.
He doesn't talk to you, doesn't tell you he needs you, doesn't acknowledge what this even is, what you are to him — just pulls you close when it gets too heavy and expects that to be enough.
Weeks of silence.
Weeks of watching him look straight through you like you're something precious he refuses to name because naming it would make it real, and real things can be taken away.
You're exhausted.
Your legs stayed locked tight around his narrow waist, thighs trembling violently.
"I—" You push at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Stop. I said I'm leaving—"
The only thing keeping you from sliding down the wall was his iron grip on your ass, fingers imprinting in so deep you knew they’d leave bruises shaped like his hands for days.
Xiao doesn’t respond, no words, or explanation — just eyes burning with determined focus
The tattoo on his arm bleeds green into the dark.
"Let me go." Flat. Furious. You dig your nails in hard. "I- ah! Mean it! I'm n-not doing this anymore, I can't keep– pretending-!"
He looks at you.
Amber eyes completely unguarded for once — staring at you like you've already got one foot out the door and he's watching it happen and he still, still cannot make himself say the words that would fix it. Jaw locked tight, breathing ragged.
Hitting that little spot inside you, your whole argument stutters. "That's not—"
You try to hold onto the thread of it. "That's not good enough, you can't just — this doesn't fix anything—"
He drives deeper. Your back hits the wall harder.
"Xiao!"
Nothing.
Just that devastating eye contact and the brutal, relentless pace of him, he's decided if he can't say it, he'll just make you feel it instead.
Your nails rake down his arms. "Oh-! This is- fuck! Insane. Shit! Your hurtin!- You can't keep doing this and expect me to stay!-" You twist, trying to get leverage.
His hand wraps around your throat, forehead dropping to yours, eyes closing, and he stays there breathing hard while his hips find a slower, deeper angle that makes your vision dissolve at the edges.
The weight of his karmic debt presses down on the room like a physical thing. Ozone and something older, darker, filling your lungs with every breath.
You're furious, shaking, and overwhelmed.
But believe it or not, he was terrified of hurting you.
And yet he couldn’t stop.
"Shit, what do you want from me!?"
Instead of answering, he just bites down on your throat instead. Sharp. Claiming. So suddenly, your whole body arches into him against every intention you had.
A broken sound tears out of you—high and pathetic—and you immediately hate yourself for letting it slip.
Teeth sinking in harder, not enough to break skin but enough to mark, enough to own, and your cunt clenches around him so violently it makes him stutter.
Yanking you up higher, forcing your back to scrape against the wall, making you cry out in pain- as he drives in deeper.
The anger frays at the edges where the pleasure keeps burning straight through—white-hot and unforgiving.
“I h-hate you-” you gasp. Not true. Completely not true, and you both know it.
“You’re so—” Another broken moan cuts you off, raw and humiliating. “Infuriating.”
He makes a sound against your neck. Low. Pained. Even that tiny admission costs him something precious.
Still nothing.
You’re crying now—angry tears spilling hot and fast down your face, your body betraying you completely as he drives you up the wall again and again.
Each thrust shoves you higher toward something you don’t want to give him.
“Please,” you break, hating how small and wrecked it comes out. “Please just say it. Tell me you need me. Tell me I’m—that I’m yours, that this means something, that you’re not just going to let me disappear one day and feel nothing—” His entire body goes rigid.
Exhaling, his hand slides from your throat to cradle the back of your head.
His forehead presses so hard to yours it almost hurts, eyes squeezed shut, hips grinding deep and slow and devastatingly deliberate now.
Every roll of his hips drags his cock against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision spark white.
He still doesn’t say it, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants to hear.
Xiao pulls you in so tight you can’t tell where he ends, and you begin anymore. Your breast presses hard against his chest, breath coming in short gasps from how tight he’s holding you, bruises already beginning to bloom.
Maybe...
“I’m staying,” you whisper, defeated, wrecked, voice cracking on every syllable. “I-i’m yours. I’m not leaving. Just—don’t let go.”
The sound he makes is quiet.
Devastated and relieved in a way that breaks your heart a little. He comes with his face buried in your neck, shaking hard, one arm locked around your waist like even now he doesn’t trust you won’t vanish.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flood you—spurt after spurt—while his teeth stay sunk into your throat, muffling the broken groan that vibrates against your skin.
He keeps rolling through it, slow and possessive, making sure every drop stays deep inside you.
Afterward, the room is just breathing. Heavy. Sticky. Charged. Then, so quiet it barely exists:
“…Again.”
Not another round, you know that.
He wants to hear it again—the words he can’t say himself, confirmed in your voice, real and present and not leaving.
“I’m yours, Xiao.” You press your lips to his temple, voice hoarse and trembling. “I’m staying.”
His grip tightens instantly. Fingers digging back into your ass, cock still buried to the hilt and twitching inside you like it’s trying to root there forever.
Xiao still doesn’t say it back; you already know how he feels.
The dark, suffocating truth that settles in the quiet—in the iron grip of his arms and the door you both know he’d never let you reach—is that staying was never really your choice to make.
It stopped being your choice a long time ago.
…Some sick, exhausted piece of you doesn’t even want the choice anymore.
There’s a charming difference between the ‘insane’ Vice Captain, Lohen, and the laid-back you! ♡
A/N: sorry if anything is ooc! i don’t play genshin anymore so i rely on whatever people post LALALAAAA i highkey did not beta-read my own thing and went #YOLO when writing. my bad gang 😂🙏
You see, when word got out that you two started dating, nobody believed any of you! Well… mostly Lohen, but like, really? You and Lohen? That’s crazy! You two are pretty much polar opposites!
How did he bag you of all people??? How did you end up liking him of all people??? How are you still physically and mentally intact???
You both don’t often indulge in the others’ curiosities since it’s none of their business, but those who have seen the romance unfold in real time before you got with him know how… strange yet cute it was.
Varka introduced you to Lohen when you joined the Knights of Favonious and you simply treated him with respect, given the difference in status. You intrigued him with how chill you are whenever he’d do something that’d throw off the average person. It’s not everyday that he’d get to meet someone who isn’t bothered by him or whatever he does, so he keeps subtly observing and staying close to you… just out of curiosity! How long will it take until you get sick of him and his antics?
…Well, his fantasies of you trying to avoid him never happened, even with the incident of you feeling a littleee funky after drinking or eating things he gives you. He thought you were a bit weird for that. You didn’t care as much as you should’ve, but you literally shrugged it off.
You both end up spending more time together that things led one thing to another… and boom! On a mission that went a little off-the-rails (it went horribly chaotic), he confessed to you as explosions boomed while hilichurls were sent flying. What a story!
The way you two are so different from each other interests people a lot! There are some things to talk about regarding it~
Remember how it was mentioned that he’d observe you? Well, ever since you both got together, he would watch you even more. Lohen takes notes of the big and little details, like how you giggle at silly things that don’t make sense or how you fidget as your brows furrow when there’s something that bothers you in whatever you are reading. He’ll know everything about you, inside-out! There’ll be nothing to hide from him~
Lohen can be really intense, and your relaxed self complements it if you think about it! He’d do some crazy stuff as declarations of love, and you’d just smile and think ‘awww awww awww’ like it’s sweet. It’s the thought that counts, no? Your calming aura gives way for quiet love when the time calls for it. You may not share the same methods with him, but the solace you give him can’t be found anywhere else.
Sometimes, Lohen likes to try and rile you up on purpose. He wants to see you get a little frustrated at him! Not that it ever actually works in the end — you’re too chill and you don’t really have it in you to get angry at almost anything, especially him unless if it is that serious. If it counts, there are times he does catch you off-guard when you both spar sometimes with the… interesting things he tells you, which he takes as a win… but you don’t need to dwell your lovely little head on it! ♡
Moving on, normal tasks can be mundane and a bore to Lohen, but he grows fond of the little things you both do at home and around Mondstadt. It always feels different when doing them with you. Cleaning together doesn’t feel that bad, and seeing you with animals and children makes him think about how cute you are with them! Usually with the latter, he is watching you intensely. What a little freak.
You like to challenge him sometimes, making whatever you are both doing a competition, but you end up not caring about winning that he complains about you not putting the effort to beat him. As much as Lohen loves coming out victorious, there’s not that much fun when the other competitor is being too relaxed.
“Come on…! Can’t you try harder to win next time???”
“Yeah, yeah… My bad…” and you both know that you’re going to let him win anyway.
You’re his comfort person. Whenever he is with you, he feels safer, especially in your arms on quiet nights while you both lay in bed. He’d wake up in the morning, thinking about how comfy it feels cuddling instead of the knife left on his nightstand as a ‘just in case’ thing. Lohen could not describe what he felt when he opened up to you about what happened to him in the past, but you mean a lot to him than he could ever say! You were really kind with your words that he stayed completely quiet when you spoke to him. That being said, he’d be scared to lose you. Take care of yourself and don’t scare him!
The fear of losing him is also something that naturally comes to you too, so he always gives it his all to return back home to you, if ever you’re not on a mission together. You make it worth the effort.
hello aimee!! not sure if your slots filled- as of now i see 1/2👁️ but anyway.. smtn smtn 45 taking reader out and about to shop? think he’d definitely spoil them, especially if it builds good credibility for his character, since he’s more or less the representative of the segments and dottore’s identity🎀 he does it for good ethos but then he finds some enjoyment in being dragged along a little<3
yes.. YES YES I LOVE THIS IDEA..
You knew that each segment was a representation of the saying “time and place”. For example, if you were feeling upset about something, there was no way you would approach twenty-five about your worries. You were certain the younger segment would ridicule you about wasting your time on something that clearly bothered you. Of the various moods you may be in, you carefully picked which segment to approach based on their personality type — which was key to getting along with all of them.
Your favorite segment to go outside with was forty-five. He was more socially present to be around (and more so Zandik would make him go with you).
Going into the shopping district in the nation was one of your favorite downtime activities. You loved to see what each store had to offer — from clothes, to shoes, miscellaneous items that benefit your daily life or things you can put in your room. One thing was for certain, forty-five always got what you wanted.
Saw the cutest music box with a ceramic fairy that reminded you of something from your childhood? It was darling, but did you genuinely need it? Unfortunately you decided to put it back with a sigh of regret, longing for the blue box before walking away. The older segment watched you closely as you wandered off into a different part of the market before picking it up with gloved hands, inspecting the trinket and wondering how something so minuscule could cause a drastic reaction. Nonetheless, he would buy it.
When it comes to clothes, forty-five loves to give feedback. Perhaps that white coat with black fur would look great with the matching white boots. The winter storms were about to kick in and you were in dire need of proper clothing (despite the numerous coats you have stored in your room). Or perhaps you wanted a more sophisticated outfit for Fatui gatherings that complimented you just right — and he would manage to sweet talk you into considering it. Only problem was you felt extremely guilty spending that much mora on something you may wear once, or twice if lucky. Forty-five silences you and tells you to grab what you want, to not mind the price tag that would unfortunately catch your attention. Even if you went back and forth with the man, you could never win. How could you decline something as sweet as that?
He would take note of the amount of bags he would end up holding towards the end of your outing. You felt a small pit in your stomach when you realized that you may have went overboard and offer to hold anything, but even though he was The Doctor, ‘heretic’ they called him, he was still a gentleman and refused your offer. He would say that he was not incompetent to hold a few bags and would take insult to your offer.
Forty-Five definitely appreciates the mundane life or simple activities such as this. Prior to this stage in his life, everything revolved around research, something that always took up his time. He still was Dottore after all and nothing was as important as his studies, but at his age and starting to get older, he felt as if there was nothing wrong with enjoying a few things every now and then, especially if it meant drawing pleasant reactions from you <3
related to my previous post ranting about lohen's characterization.
imagine reader who has a potential one-sided unrequited love with lohen stumbles onto an abyssal anomaly whole patrolling monstadt. and against their better judgement, decide to investigate it themselves, only to end up pulled in to discover a different stream of fate.
a world where lohen was not kidnapped as a child, nor was he traumatized by eroch's actions. a world where lohen was not the vice captain of the fifth company, but instead, a bowmaker living in millhaven.
he's nicer than you thought he'd be. kinder, too. it's off-putting, in a nice way, more than you expected it to be. yet there was still something about the way he gazed at you – with that smile, more familiar than you preferred it to be – that made you unnerved.
maybe it was the way his eyes darkened as he watched you get comfortable in his home. or maybe the way he'd tighten his grip on his bow as lohen watched you chat with a knight, overcome with a dark, vile urge to pierce an arrow straight through his skull. or the way his corners of his lips with would lift up into a thin smile every time you'd so much even mention the idea at going back to your original monstadt. to your original lohen.
you were happier here, weren't you? that lohen didn't love you, he did. he wanted to be your lohen. not that other one. that version of him didn't deserve you. he could treat you so much better. he wanted to keep you here! where you were happier with him! that was what you wanted isn't it?
maybe lohen just needs to convince you harder then! that's okay. he'll just have to convince you to stay.
and if that doesn't work, well, you wouldn't mind if he used a little force, right? that was how you liked him after all.
not in the mood to try being descriptive about it. thinking about writing it, but I'm not sure if I'm good enough at writing yandere. hmm.
[for anyone who's saw this post again, check the tags.]
sypnosis: tasked by Alice to keep watch over Mondstadt in person, you decide to entertain yourself by taking on different roles within the city—changing your occupation as you please. Yet to the citizens of Mondstadt, nothing ever changes. In their minds, you have always been exactly who you are when they see you.
Only Varka seems to notice the inconsistency.
contains: 4.1k wc, female reader, fluff, reader is lowk a troll, varka being silly, varka is also indicated to be taller and bigger than reader (hv you seen his hand vs lohen oml..), kinda slow burn?
Varka was certain he had never been wrong about a person before—until he met you.
The Grandmaster had stopped by the cathedral one afternoon in search of Barbara for some light healing after a morning of training recruits. The injuries on his hands were nothing serious, just the usual wear from constant sparring, but he had learned long ago that ignoring small things often led to larger problems later on. Mondstadt was peaceful, but the knigths were never idle, and neither was he.
What he hadn't expected was to be greeted by an unfamiliar woman.
You were standing among the nuns near the altar, speaking with them as though you were part of the daily rhythm of the cathedral. There was nothing unusual about your posture or your presence, nothing that suggested that you didn't belong, and yet the moment Varka saw you, something in him faltered because he was certain he had never seen you before in his life.
"Oh?" he said, pausing. "I wasn't aware we have someone new in the cathedral."
The conversation around you stopped almost immediately as the nuns turned towards him with polite confusion, as though his question itself was strange.
Grace tilted her head slighlty, "A new face?" she repeated, as if trying to understand what he meant.
"Grandmaster, what are you talking about?" Victoria asked.
Grace's brow furrowed faintly as she looked between Varka and you. "[Name] has been with us for as long as I can remember," she said, her tone carrying absolute certainty. "How could you forget the second deaconess, Grandmaster?"
'Huh..?' The words made something in Varka's mind stall.
He glanced over at you again, then back at the nuns, searching for any sign of uncertainty, any hesitation that might suggest a misunderstanding or a simple prank they decided to play on him.
But there was none.
Grace, Victoria and the others all looked genuinely puzzled by his reaction, as though the question he had asked made no sense at all.
And yet, no matter how long he looked, he could not recall ever meeting you.
Not once.
As far as he knew, Barbara was the only deaconess of the cathedral...
The realisation should have unsettled him more than it did, but what unsettled him even further was the fact that you were smiling at him as though this entire situation was perfectly ordinary. More than that, nothing in him reacted with alarm. Even his instincts, honed through years of battle and command, remained quiet. There was no sense of threat, no warning to step back or prepare for combat.
"You must have had a long day," you finally said, stepping forward slightly. "Training recruits can be rather exhausting, Grandmaster."
Before he could respond, you raised a hand towards his arm, your attention shifting to the shallow cuts he had almost forgotten about. "May I?" you asked, already reaching for him without pressing.
Varka hesitated for only a moment before extending his hand. Something about the way you moved made resistance feel unnecessary, not because he trusted you fully, but because there was an odd sense of inevitability to it, as though this interaction had already been decided long before he arrived.
The moment your fingers made contact with his skin, warmth spread through him.
It felt like sunlight pressing gently against his muscles, easing tension he had not realised he was carrying. The shallow cuts closed almost instantly, the skin knitting itself back together in a way that suggested precision far beyond ordinary healing. Even the lingering soreness from hours of training seemed to dissolve, leaving behind an unfamiliar lightness in his arm.
He exhaled slowly, forcing a light laugh as he rolled his shoulders back, "Hahaha...maybe," he said, scratching the back of his head as if trying to shake off the strange feeling. "That might be a sign I should start taking breaks earlier in the day."
You only smiled at that, and then without lingering any longer, you turned back towards the nuns and continued your work as though nothing unusual had happened at all.
Varka remained for a moment longer, watching you as you moved seamlessly back into the rhythm of the cathedral.
Eventually, he convinced himself that perhaps he had simply misremembered. It was an easy explanation, especially after months away from Mondstadt. Faces blurred together over time, and he had never been particularly good with names outside of battlefields and command structures.
By evening, he had almost managed to let it go.
Almost.
The streets of Mondstadt were lively when he arrived at Angel's Share, the glow of lanterns spilling warm light across the cobblestones. Laughter drifted out from the tavern, mixed with the sound of music and clinking glasses, and Varka allowed himself to relax as he stepped inside.
The relaxation did not last long.
Behind the counter, you were there again.
Varka stopped just inside the entrance without realising, his gaze locked onto you immediately.
There was no mistaking it.
The same face he had seen at the cathedral only hours earlier was now serving drinks behind the bar with practiced ease, speaking with customers as though you had done this job for years.
"...Deaconess?"
Rosaria, seated nearby on the bar, glanced at him over her drink with mild disinterest. "I don't think Barbara works here, Varka." she said flatly, before returning to her glass.
Varka shook his head slightly, still not taking his eyes off you. "No, I'm not talking about Barbara..I meant [Name]."
Rosaria's gaze flicked over to you before it settled back onto him, "[Name] isn't a deaconess, Grandmaster," she added, as though correcting something obvious.
At the sound of your name, you looked up from the drink you were preparing, giving him a small smile as you finished the drink you were working on, sliding it across the counter to Kaeya, who was already watching the exchange with quiet amusement.
Kaeya gave you a small nod of thanks before taking a slow sip, clearly enjoying himself. "She's been working here for quite a while," he said casually, as though confirming something universally known. "One of the best bartenders in Mondstadt, actually. You've had her drinks before, Grandmaster. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
Varka frowned.
"I don't remember ordering from her before.."
Kaeya raised an eyebrow, "Well your memory does get fuzzy when you drink.."
Varka didn't respond immediately. His attention had drifted back to you, watching the way you moved behind the counter, the way customers interacted with you as though there was nothing unusual about your presence at all. Someone even greeted you warmly as they entered, and you responded without hesitation, calling them by name as though you had known them for years.
Everyone else seemed completely certain you had always been here.
Just like the nuns in the cathedral.
"..What are you?" Varka finally asked, lowering himself onto the stool beside Kaeya, his voice quieter now, gaze serious.
The question hung in the air for only a moment.
You blinked from behind the counter, tilting your head slightly, the same small smile still present on your face.
"Just a bartender, Grandmaster," you said gently, as if the question itself was unnecessary. "Perhaps your workload is getting to you."
Varka sighed, running a hand through his hair, "I..maybe."
You poured another drink and slid it towards him without breaking eye contact for long.
"On the house."
Kaeya let out a low whistle, placing his empty glass down. "Lucky," he commented lightly. Then, turning his attention back to the counter, he added, "On another note, what do you put in these? They always taste better than Charles's."
You let out a small laugh, shrugging as you turned back to your work.
"A little magical touch, maybe."
When Alice had told you to stay in Mondstadt for the time being, mentioning that someone should be there to keep tabs on things physically, you had accepted without thinking too much about it.
Mondstadt was...peaceful.
Too peaceful, in fact.
After the Traveller's help in resolving various incidents happening, there was almost nothing left in the city of freedom that required immediate attention. Even the usual disturbances had quieted down.
With the return of the Grandmaster, Mondstadt had never felt safer.
And it wasn't as if you could simply go out and deal with nearby monsters either. Apparently, someone had already been clearing out camps before you could even get to them. (and judging by the aftermath, they seemed to enjoy it far too much.)
Hence there was little else to do.
So what else could you do to entertain yourself but to experience the daily roles the citizens provide?
A librarian one day.
A florist the next.
A bartender after that.
The cycle came easily to you. Your magic allowing you to blend in rather easily, people remembering you exactly as you appeared to them in that very moment, each version of you settling into their minds as something natural.
It has become a routine of yours.
However, Mondstadt, for all its charm, could only offer so many occupations to slip into—after a while, even the novelty of it began to fade.
Until today.
As you cleaned a wine glass at Angel's Share, you could feel the Grandmaster's gaze on you. Despite what he had said earlier, it seemed even he was having difficulty believing his own conclusion.
For the first time in a long while, someone in Mondstadt was not playing along with the version of reality you had quietly arranged.
No wonder the Hexenzirkle spoke so highly of Varka at times. He could clearly break through some barrier of your magic.
A small spark of interest stirred in your chest.
Finally
Something fun again.
"...So you're working at Cat's Tail again?"
Varka leaned against the counter of Cat's Tail, a drink in hand as he watched you move around behind it.
After his first encounter with you, he had started noticing a pattern—or rather, he told himself it was a pattern he was noticing on purpose.
The truth was that his eyes seemed to find you in Mondstadt far more often than coincidence should allow. At first, he had convinced himself it was caution. Your existence was, after all, unusual to him.
Someone who appeared in multiple places, in multiple roles, without anyone questioning it...that warranted attention.
A potential threat, perhaps. One that simply had not revealed itself yet.
But the longer he watched, the harder that explanation became to maintain.
You were harmless.
Not only harmless, but competent in every role you took. Whether behind a bar, in a cathedral, or serving food at Good Hunter, everything you did carried the same ease.
Even children gravitated towards you without hesitation.
Klee had shown up more than once, proudly presenting drawings, and you had responded each time with genuine enthusiasm, as though it was the most important thing in the world.
And if Alice hadn't stopped Klee from hanging around you, then surely you must be safe.
Therefore, you must just be..
A very hardworking person who had taken up multiple jobs in Mondstadt—and somehow, everyone else had agreed to keep up with it.
"Whatever do you mean, Grandmaster?" your voice cut through his thoughts.
Varka blinked, returning to the present. You were looking at him now, head tilted slighlty, expression calm as ever.
"Oh?" he said, letting out a short laugh as he straightened slightly, "You're still keeping that up?"
He took another sip of his drink before settlinng down on the counter.
"I think I've figured you out."
"Really?" you asked, voice light.
"Yep!" Varka nodded, a little too confidently. "It's actually simpler than I thought."
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing something important.
"You're just one hardworking citzen." he grinned. "And everyone just agreed not to mention your other jobs when you're working somewhere else, right? Like, I get it. People don't usually bring up other work in the middle of a shift. It's just..very committed of everyone to keep it consistent."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then you burst into laughter.
Varka blinked, straightening up again, "What? Did I get it wrong?"
You wiped a small tear from the corner of your eye, still smiling as you shook your head slightly.
"Oh, Varka.." You said softly, almost fondly. "Never stop being you."
Before he could respond, you picked up a few boxes from behind the counter and stepped out from your station, brushing past him as you moved towards the back.
"Hey—wait," he called after you, grabbing his drink as he went. "What does that mean?!"
But you didn't answer, only continuing down the corridor, humming a light, almost teasing tune as if the conversation had already ended in your favour.
He met you again when he was out exploring.
It seems this time, you were a knight, now dressed in the classic uniform belonging to the Knights of Favonius.
"Fancy meeting you here," Varka called out as he jogged up beside you, quickly matching your pace. "On patrol duty?" His gaze briefly swept over you, lingering for a moment longer on your face. "I don't think I've ever seen you as a knight before."
"Mhm..." You were only half-listening, eyes scanning the surrounding terrain.
In truth, Alice's message had been brief but clear—there had been an unusual concentration of Abyssal energy in the area, and you had come to investigate.
You hadn't expected Varka to be here as well.
"Are you exploring the area?" You asked, turning your head slightly towards him.
"Ah, yeah." Varka replied easily, hands loosely at his sides as he walked. "Just checking a few things. Got some intel that something might be going on around here."
Intel?
Had Alice alerted him as well?
You exhaled softly, shaking your head. That woman was definitely scheming something. She knew you were more than capable of handling Abyssal disturbances alone—sending Varka as well meant she wasn't concerned about the threat.
She was interested in something else entirely.
"What's wrong?" Varka's voice pulled you back.
"H—Oof-!" your thoughts cut off sharply as you bumped into something solid in front of you.
A hand caught your waist almost immediately, steadying you before you could stumble back.
When did he get infront of you?
"Woah," Varka said, his grip careful, "What's got you so lost in thought?"
You looked up, and only then did you fully register how close he was.
Varka was already looking at you, concern evident in his expression, his attention entirely fixed on you as if the surroundings didn't matter as much anymore. For a brief second, your focus slipped and warmth rose faintly to your face.
"Nothing, nothing." you said quickly, pulling away and letting out a small cough as you turned forward again, picking up your pace.
The attempt at normalcy lasted only a few steps.
The air ahead of you shifted.
It wasn't subtly. The space in front of the path warped unnaturally, as though something had torn through the boundary and before you could fully react, purple vines snapped out from the portal, coiling around your wrists and ankles, yanking you forward with violent force.
The suddenness stole even your voice.
Your body moved on instinct, magic gathering at your fingertips to sever the bindings without hesitation—annoyance flaring sharper than alarm at how easily you had been caught off guard.
But before you could act, something cut through the air beside you with overwhelming force.
Steel cleaved through the vines in a single, decisive motion, and the restraints loosened instantly as the entire construct fractured under the impact. In the same movement, a strong arm hooked around you again, pulling you cleanly out of reach.
This time, the motion carried you fully against his torse.
You blinked once, adjusting to the sudden change in position. Your hands instinctively pressed against his chest for balance, and only then did you register just how solid he actually was—how the impact hadn’t shifted him in the slightest.
Oh.
Varka was…buff buff.
“Are you alright?!” Varka asked immediately, already scanning you for injuries. His grip was steady but careful, his focus entirely on you rather than the fading remains of the trap. “Any injuries anywhere?”
“...” You could only nod, your eyes lingering a second too long on his arm where it flexed as he adjusted his stance.
Maybe you could play as a damsel in distress a little longer.
The portal had long since collapsed behind the two of you, leaving only the unfamiliar stretch of land ahead and the quiet awareness that there was no immediate way back. Whatever had dragged you in had not left a clear exit, which meant the only option now was to move forward and find one.
As you walked through the dim terrain, Varka stayed close—close enough that it was no longer subtle. His presence remained slightly angled between you and the surrounding space, as though he had quietly decided that if anything else tried to appear, it would have to go through him first.
His gaze shifted briefly, taking in your equipment with a faint crease of confusion.
“Where’s your sword?”
“What?”
Varka nodded once, as if it should have been obvious. His eyes flicked down toward your belt again, where a weapon would normally sit if you were truly on duty as a knight. “Your sword,” he repeated, more pointedly this time. “Don’t tell me you were on patrol without it.”
“Oh…” you said slowly, as if searching for an answer that sounded remotely normal. “I… forgot?”
Even you could hear how unconvincing that was.
Varka stopped walking for half a step before continuing again, though his expression had shifted into something more serious. Not angry, but unmistakably disapproving in the way someone in charge of too many reckless recruits eventually becomes.
“[Name],” he said, your name carrying a weight of habit and command, “as a knight, you should always be prepared.”
“You’re lucky I was here,” he continued, tone firm. “Who knows what would have happened if you were alone—without your sword, no less.”
You hummed softly under your breath, falling back into step beside him as your hands rested loosely at your sides.
“…Mm,” you responded, deliberately mild. “That would’ve been unfortunate.”
Varka didn’t look entirely convinced by your lack of concern, but he didn’t push further either. Instead, he simply exhaled through his nose, as though silently accepting that you were one of those knights—reckless in a way that somehow still managed to work out in the end.
You let out a quiet chuckle, following after him as the two of you progressed further into the area. Varka cleared each wave of monsters with practiced efficiency, his claymore moving with the kind of ease that came from years of experience.
At the same time, he made sure to keep you positioned safely behind him.
Not that you weren’t helping.
Just subtly adjusting things here and there, unseen currents of magic bending outcomes ever so slightly in your favor as you watched him work. It was almost entertaining, the way he cleared each wave with such straightforward efficiency, completely unaware that the battlefield itself had already been tilted.
“Huh,” Varka said after the last enemy fell, sheathing his claymore and glancing around with a slight tilt of his head. “That’s strange. I usually clear these fast, but this felt… smoother somehow.”
Before the two of you could progress any further, a faint ringing sound cut through the air.
You both paused.
A small Dodoco-like device sat nearby, vibrating lightly as if waiting to be answered. Varka instinctively stepped forward, but you reached it first, tapping it lightly.
“Hello, hello?” came a bright, unmistakably amused voice.
Alice.
“Oh, wonderful,” she continued without waiting. “It seems my two very reliable friends have cleared the area quite nicely.”
“Ah yeah..we’re just trying to find a way out.” Varka scratched the back of his neck, looking around. “Say, do you know anything about this place Alice?”
“Oho? But I’m sure my fellow member here could have easily teleported you two out,” Alice said lightly, “right, [Name]?”
“Wha—fellow member?” Varka’s head snapped toward you immediately.
You didn’t look surprised at all. If anything, your expression leaned more toward mild resignation, like this was exactly what you expected from Alice.
“I knew you were up to something,” you said, frowning slightly as you poked the Dodoco. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Oops!” Alice chirped. “Well, Barbie and I just thought we’d help our dear Grandmaster a little. After all, who wouldn’t want to play matchmaker with him?” The device bounced slightly, as if delighted with itself.
“Matchmaker?” you repeated, turning your head slowly toward Varka.
He had gone very still.
Then, far too casually, he looked away and gave a small whistle as though suddenly fascinated by absolutely nothing in particular.
“Why yes!” Alice continued happily, entirely unbothered. “After noticing what—or who has been keeping the Grandmaster so distracted, I simply had to try! Well then, I’ll leave you two to it!” The Dodoco gave one last cheerful bounce before disappearing in a soft burst of smoke.
Silence settled.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Varka cleared his throat.
“So…” he said, slower now, finally looking at you again. “You’re a Hexenzirkel witch.”
“Yes,” you admitted.
You paused for a moment, then added with a small sigh, as though genuinely reflecting on something lost, “There goes my entertainment in watching you figure things out.”
“You’re no fun anymore.”
The teasing remark was supposed to be harmless.
Instead, Varka's expression changed almost immediately.
Before he fully thought it through, he stepped forward and reached for your wrist.
The movement wasn't forceful. If anything, it felt strangely instinctive, like he had reacted before his mind had caught up. The moment his fingers closed around your wrist, he seemed to realize what he'd done—and yet he didn’t let go, only loosening his hold.
"Don't say that."
The words came out quieter than expected.
Varka exhaled slowly through his nose, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to you. There was something unguarded in it now, something that hadn’t been there a second ago.
"I'm still me, you know.." he mumbled, a faint crease now between his brows.
"I found out one thing about you. That's all. It doesn't suddenly mean I've got you completely figured out."
His thumb shifted unconsciously against your wrist before stilling when he realised what he was doing.
"If anything, I think I've got more questions now than I did before."
"Oh?"
"Yeah.."
Varka let out a short laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself either.
“I mean, come on! One moment I think you’re a knight who somehow forgot her sword, and the next Alice is telling me you’re with the Hexenzirkel and someone who could’ve teleported us out of here whenever you wanted.”
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he spoke, some of his usual warmth returning. “I’m still trying to process that.”
You glanced away briefly, hiding the amusement that threatened to surface. “Sounds like a skill issue.”
“It probably is.”
The answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard and a chuckle escaped before you could stop it.
Varka's smile widened at the sound, though it faded into something quieter a moment later. His gaze dropped once more to where he still held your wrist.
"Ah but…” He hesitated, suddenly looking far less certain than usual. “If all of this bothers you—the matchmaking thing, I mean…”
His words trailed off.
For the first time since meeting him, he looked genuinely unsure of himself.
"I don't want to come off too strong.." Varka said softly, his free hand moving to rub his neck. "After spending so long watching you and trying to figure you out, I guess I..." He paused, a faint look of self-consciousness crossing his face. "I found myself looking forward to finding out more about you."
The admission hung in the air between you.
A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head.
"Honestly, finding out you're a part of the Hexenzirkel just means I've got even more things left to learn."
His gaze met yours again.
“So don't go deciding I'm boring now."
A familiar grin finally returned, softer than the easy, carefree smiles he usually wore but no less genuine. His fingers slipped from your wrist to lace gently through yours, holding your hand as though it already belonged there. Then he lifted it, his eyes never leaving yours, and brushed a lingering kiss across your knuckles.
"Aftr all, I haven't even had the chance to impress you properly yet, [Name]."
notes: aaaaa i kinda had to rush the ending a little so hopefully it's not too wonky. But yay i finally finished it!! witch x knight is such a fun troupe tbh
edit: rewrote a few things because i wasn't really satisfied with the way the ending was written..🙏
❀ If you're both OG's and came into the villa on episode one, he'd be in a couple with you on d1, and he'd never look at any other woman after that
❀ When the other boys talk about "keeping their options open" and "exploring connections," he looks at them like they're crazy (he definitely thinks the 'exploring' thing just sounds like an excuse to cheat, and he'd never do that)
❀ In his confessionals, at least in every other episode, he's going to yap about the fact that the other men in the villa are "embarrassing the concept of masculinity on a global scale" and that if one more guy says "im just being honest with myself" after kissing someone else's partner, he's going to "be honest with his fist."
Bombshell situation...
❀ He'd ignore her, even if she specifically wanted him and tried to pursue him the minute after she arrived
❀ If she tried again, he'd tell her that he's taken and that he's already in a relationship
❀ It would be comedic in a way if the girl told the camera in the confessionals that she's 'never been rejected before', and he made a similar one right after saying 'he's never been so annoyed by someone so aggressively before.'
❀ Also, his ahh would have the MOST confessionals like let's be frfr ong...
Surprise surprise!! America's shady asf and couples him up with the bombshell
❀ The recoupling happens, and America votes to couple him up with the bombshell to "test the connection." The second her name is read out next to his, his face goes so flat, everyone sitting on the couch is in shock, even Ariana herself.
╰┈┈┈➤ He doesn't say a word to her when you have to scoot over for her to sit next to him. If anything, he's shady enough to scoot over himself, and thankfully, Childe (who scara is best buddies with...) is right next to Scara, and Scara presses up against him in disgust of the bombshell not taking a hint.
❀ You're either single and sleeping alone, or you've been coupled up with some random guy who's way too excited about finally talking to you after scara practically claimed you from day one and shooed away any boy who tried talking to you.
❀ The first night, he has to sleep in bed with the bombshell, but as everyone's getting ready to sleep or is still showering, he goes over to your bed first.
┊ He sits on the edge of your bed, one leg tucked up, facing you. he doesn't say anything dramatic; he just sits there and talks to you like nothing changed. about dinner, about the challenge earlier, just basic conversation,
┊ He kisses you before the lights go out, soft, deliberate, his hand on the side of your face. In front of the bombshell (if there's one on your bed), especially in front of the bombshell he's forced to sleep with across the room.
┊ He doesn't acknowledge that the kiss is a statement because, to him, it isn't. It's just a routine he does before bed
╰┈┈┈➤ Then he tells you goodnight, and he gets up, walks over to the bombshell's bed, lies down at the very far edge with his back to her, and falls asleep within 3 minutes. He doesn't even say goodnight to her; he just treats her like a wall.
❀ The next morning, the bombshell tells the girls in the glam room that sleeping next to him was "like sleeping next to a corpse that hates you." She says it while you're in the room, and you don't say anything, you just grin at the thought that America was wrong and that they can never break your connection.
╰┈┈┈➤ He also brings you breakfast that morning, not the bombshell, and he kisses you after he sets the plate down. Giving the bombshell a nasty side-eye before leaving the room.
❀ His ranting confessionals about this would be so long that they can be their own episode... The producers have to cut out most of what he says and save some juicy parts for Aftersun.
❀ On the second night, he's done. Completely over it. He grabs your hand and a blanket and walks you both to the Soul Ties area, the big couch bed in the villa where couples go to "deepen their connection."
┊ You both sleep there because he's not spending another night next to a woman he doesn't know, while his girlfriend sleeps across the room next to some guy who keeps trying to spoon her
╰┈┈┈➤ He tells the confessional camera the next morning: "I don't care what America voted for. America also voted for... disgusting... things I won't say on camera. I sleep next to my girlfriend, end of story."
The Bed Situation (When You're Both Coupled Up)
❀ He's a light sleeper in the villa, and the communal bedroom doesn't make it any better.
┊Someone's always whispering, shuffling, doing something under the covers that he can hear and doesn't want to hear.
┊He has made passive-aggressive comments to at least two couples about the volume of their nighttime activities.
╰┈┈┈➤ "If I can hear your knee crack from six beds away, you need to rethink your angle."
❀ He sleeps with an arm over your waist every night. Every. Night.
┊He also pulls the covers off you in his sleep because he runs cold, and every morning you wake up with zero blanket and him fully cocooned.
╰┈┈┈➤ He denies this.
Drama and Gossip
❀ He is, without question, the most dramatic person in the villa while simultaneously insisting he "doesn't do drama."
❀ He doesn't start it, but he absolutely fuels it.
┊He'll sit at the kitchen counter, eating cereal, listening to two people argue, and drop one sentence that makes everything 10 times worse.
╰┈┈┈➤ Then he'll leave and tell the confessional camera he "doesn't know why everyone's so emotional."
❀ He gossips exclusively with you and Childe.
┊The three of you on the daybed, whispering, is the most consistent recurring shot in the season.
╰┈┈┈➤ Fans call it "the council" because every major villa decision somehow traces back to one of those daybed conversations.
❀ He ranks everyone in the villa by how much they annoy him, and the ranking updates daily. He tells you the rankings every night before bed like it's a bedtime story.
❀ When someone comes to him for advice, he gives the most brutally honest answer possible and then gets confused when they're upset.
╰┈┈┈➤ "You asked me what I thought. I told you what I thought. Why are you crying? Do you want me to lie? I can lie, but I won't, because I respect you enough to tell you that your partner is actively flirting with someone else, and your response to it is pathetic."
❀ He has made at least one person cry during a villa discussion. Not intentionally. He was just being honest, and their emotional threshold was lower than he anticipated.
❀ He actually loves the drama. He'd never admit it, but the way he leans forward when an argument starts, the way he pulls you closer to whisper commentary in your ear while two people scream at each other by the pool. He's invested. He just performs disinterest because caring would be out of character.
Childe Bro-ship
❀ If Childe is in the villa, they become inseparable within 48 hours. Scara doesn't admit it's because they like each other; he only says that "he's the only one here with a functional brain stem."
❀ Their dynamic in the villa is the same as everywhere else.
╰┈┈┈➤ Childe is loud and charming and befriends everyone, Scara tolerates him specifically, and no one else, and the two of them working out together in the villa gym has become a fan-favorite recurring segment.
❀ Childe spots him on the bench press and makes jokes the entire time. Scara threatens to kill him between sets but doesn't switch gym partners.
❀ They have a bit where Childe tries to get Scara to join the boys' group chats and bro activities (pool volleyball, cooking competitions, the post-recoupling debrief), and Scara refuses every time but always ends up nearby, listening, pretending he's on the phone they gave each islander.
❀ Childe tells the confessional camera, "Scara is my best friend in this villa, and he would stab me if he heard me say that. But he'd visit me in the hospital, and that's how I know he cares."
Breakfast
❀ He makes you breakfast every single morning. This is non-negotiable. The kitchen is his territory from 7:30 to 8:15 AM, and anyone who interrupts his process gets a look that could curdle milk.
❀ Heart-shaped eggs every morning, heart-shaped pancakes when he's in a good mood. Regular pancakes when he's in a neutral mood. No pancakes when he's annoyed.
╰┈┈┈➤ The shape of your breakfast is how the entire villa, and fans, gauge his emotional state for the day.
❀ If any other islander tries to eat the food he made for you (you trying to kindly share with any of your friends), he will actually lose it. "That's her plate. That plate has her name on it. Metaphorically. But the metaphor is binding."
❀ One time, Childe ate one of your eggs as a joke, and Scara didn't speak to him for six hours.
Challenges
❀ He refuses to kiss anyone but you in challenges. Point blank.
╰┈┈┈➤ The challenge says "kiss the islander you find most attractive" and he walks across the entire line of people, past every bombshell, past every single person, and kisses you. Every time. Without hesitation.
❀ When a challenge requires him to kiss someone else, he gives whoever it is the most dead, lifeless, closed-mouth peck that has ever been broadcast on national television. It's so devoid of effort that the editors have to add a sound effect to confirm that lip contact was made.
❀ The contrast between how he kisses other people in challenges (dead, lifeless, clearly suffering) and how he kisses you (full, deliberate, his hand on your face, the kind of kiss that makes the entire villa go "OOOH") is a meme on TikTok that already has thousands of parodies.
The Confessional Camera
❀ His confessionals are the most-watched segments of the season.
❀ He delivers the most devastating one-liners with the flattest expression possible, and the editors don't even have to add music because the silence after his sentences does all the work.
┊"I've been here for three weeks, and I've seen more emotional breakdowns than a therapist sees in a year. These people need medication, not a TV show."
┊"She asked me if I'm open to getting to know her. I said no, and she had the audacity to ask me why. I told her that I already know someone, and knowing two people sounds exhausting."
┊"The boys had a meeting about 'loyalty' today. I didn't attend because I don't need a group discussion to remind me not to cheat on my girlfriend. That's called being a normal person."
╰┈┈┈➤ "America, if you're watching, stop coupling me with people I don't know. I will not perform for you. I will sleep on the couch. Try me."
❀ When asked by producers to describe his feelings for you, he stares at the camera for four seconds and says, "Next question." But the look on his face during those four seconds tells the audience everything they need to know.
I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)
(Lohen x Hexenzirkel apprentice!fem!reader, reader wears makeup, lohen and reader knew each other at childhood, yearning on Lohen's side, lohen pov, indirect kissing, I wanted to experiment with writing a softer lohen so uh here we are, also written at 1 am, please ignore the ooc and any other mistakes)
"So, how has being Vice Captain been so far?"
Lohen looked at you, the various desserts surrounding your cup of tea, and back at you again only to shrug, his own fingers gripping the porcelain cup. He already finished his tea from the cup you gave him, and the two of you had been sitting in a comfortable silence until you finally talked.
See, before Lohen's inevitable encounter with the Doctor, he did surprisingly have a normal childhood. Albeit, he doesn't remember much since he was less than ten at that time, nor does he care to since mourning the past has never really been his thing. However, one of the things from that lost childhood was you, who, if he were to recall with the best of his abilities, he had a mild crush on by only watching from afar.
Now, past crushes were past crushes. He could admit that you were pretty and all, but he was sure that the two of you had moved on from each other. It's been years! He doesn't even know if you knew he existed or not.
That is, right up until you nearly crashed into him while running away from Alice, begging him to hide you so that you wouldn't go along with her crazy whims. And right after that, when the coast was clear, you even invited him to a tea party as an apology for being so rash in your "first" meeting. In any case, it wasn't as if he couldn't, I mean, what normal person gets to mingle with a person associated with the Hexenzirkel no less? Not him, so he'd planned to use the opportunity to find out more about the witches.
That is, until the tea parties continued for a few more months.
You'd randomly leave through a self created portal in the midst of the party sometimes, claiming you need to "save Miss Nicole from killing herself in her wildly unnecessary excursions again". It may take a few weeks, or only a few days, but you'd always come back bearing gifts like a brand of poison that still hadn't appeared in the black market or a dagger with a different alloy used for its blade.
He didn't know when he started to keep them as memoirs instead of just tools for killing in his lodging.
So now, he's at another tea party, bored out of his mind (not really) and scrutinizing your easy smile that left his throat dry and clothes feeling quite too tight for his unusually stiff posture.
"Tell me, is working under Miss Nicole as hectic as you always make it out to be?"
A giggle escaped your throat, jostling the tea you held in your palms and he wished he could commit that sound to memory. "She's an... Adventurous spirit, but that's what I like about her. It is kinda annoying that she gets stuck in Sumeru trying to run away from a tiger at the most inopportune of times, but I respect her as my mentor."
Adventurous spirit eh? He wonders how you'd react if he told you that he was an adventurer once.
A ring erupted from your dodo communication device, and your brows furrowed with perhaps the most irritated of expressions that you could muster up without ruining your makeup. You picked up the phone, mumbled a few disgruntled sounds, put it back and shot him with an apologetic look.
"My apologies, Miss Alice seems like she needs help with something now..."
You stood up, taking your briefcase with you. "Take care, I'll bring something to make up for lost time!"
When the words "no need" began to form on his mouth, you had already left, and he could only sigh into his chair. He looked back at your tea cup, still filled to the brim with steaming hot tea even after the two of you had talked for an hour by now. His eyes narrowed at the brim, and he realized that you had indeed drawn a spell to keep refilling it. Though, the cup was losing some of the heat it retained for a while, it was because it was smudged by-
A lipstick stain.
He blinked at the color of the rouge for a moment. It had become desaturated from mixing with the black pigment of the spell, but he could still tell the color was your signature one that you carried alongside your face like a second mask.
Somehow, without even realizing it, he had already brought the rapidly cooling cup closer to his face. He could swear all he wants that it was just to observe the craftsmanship of the porcelain, but he, Adorno, Theodore, heck, anyone who could spare a single glance at him could tell that he cared naught for such mundane detailing.
He can't deny the perverse feeling coiling in his gut when he pressed his lips against the rouge stained tea cup too.
The color, though splotchy, transfered onto his lips pretty easily like wet paint, and yet, despite it all he still lightly swiped his tongue over his lips to have a taste of your preferences. No matter if the color was just for aesthetics and tasted like absolute shit, he's still observing it like an alchemist with their craftsmanship.
Then, somehow not surprisingly enough, a smile broke out of his face.
Well, kid him, though he couldn't remember much, certainly had good taste when choosing the object of his fancy. After all, infatuation always works a second time around, right?
NOTES. We are not gonna talk about how I wrote for half the number of characters this time around but still ended up with the same word count. We are not talking about that. There will be no mention. Also, you are sort of... mildly threatened in Wrio's part? Not by him, ofc.
Buuut, its fluff all around!! Fem!reader, she/her pronouns used.
Part 1, Part 2 (you're here!)
Al-Haitham
You'd been coming to Al-Haitham's place for research so often that it had stopped feeling like you were imposing. He'd never made you feel like you were, which was the thing about him—he didn't do false hospitality. If he didn't want you there, he'd say so. The fact that he kept making tea and setting out space for your notes suggested he actually didn't mind.
Today you weren't even pretending the visit was strictly academic. You'd finished what you needed to do an hour ago, but you'd both just... stayed. You were sitting at the table while Al-Haitham read something, occasionally looking up to comment on whatever you were saying. It was easy. Comfortable in a way that surprised you, given how sharp he could be.
"That scholar from the other day," you said, thinking out loud. "The one who argued that Dendro propagation follows a seasonal pattern regardless of region?"
"The one who contradicted himself twice?" Al-Haitham asked, not looking up from his page.
"Exactly. He came up to me in the hallway today and doubled down on it. Like he genuinely believed repeating himself would make it more true."
Al-Haitham turned a page. "Some people mistake conviction for evidence."
"Is that what you do when you're wrong?" you asked. "Just state it more firmly?"
He glanced at you then, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile, but close. "I'm rarely wrong."
"That's the conviction talking, not evidence."
"Actually, the evidence is extensive," he said, returning to his reading. "But I appreciate your effort to provoke me."
You'd thrown a pen at him for that, and he'd caught it without looking, set it down beside him, and continued reading like interruptions were just part of his normal day. Which, around you, they apparently were.
That was the thing about Al-Haitham. He didn't waste energy on pretense. He said what he thought, you either agreed or you didn't, and the conversation moved on without any of the exhausting social dance that made time with other people feel like work. Somewhere along the way, you'd stopped making excuses for why you were at his place so often. He'd stopped asking you to justify it. You just showed up, he made tea, and hours would pass without either of you particularly noticing.
You were halfway through explaining why you thought that scholar's methodology was flawed when Kaveh emerged from his room, looking distinctly disheveled and irritated. His eyes immediately landed on the sink full of dishes, and you watched his entire face sour.
"Are you serious right now?" he said, staring at them like they'd personally offended him. "I cleaned this yesterday."
"You did," Al-Haitham said, not looking up from his reading. "That doesn't mean it stays clean indefinitely."
"It's been one day!" Kaveh gestured wildly at the sink. "One day and you've already—you know what, I'm not doing this. I'm not your maid."
"No one asked you to be," Al-Haitham replied, his tone completely level. "I was going to wash them."
"When?" Kaveh demanded. "When you finally take a break from whatever you're doing? I don't understand how anyone tolerates this. How do you even manage spending this much time with him?" He looked directly at you, and his expression softened slightly, almost sympathetic.
You felt Al-Haitham's attention shift slightly, but he didn't look up from his book. "Well," you said, laughing, "he makes good tea. And he's usually right about things, which is annoying but useful for my research."
Kaveh laughed, shaking his head like you'd just confirmed something he'd suspected. "That's fair, I guess. But I really don't know how you managed to get a girlfriend who's smart, funny, and actually willing to put up with him. The last part is honestly the most shocking."
The words landed, and for a moment you couldn't quite process them. A girlfriend. He'd just assumed, in the most casual way, that you were Al-Haitham's girlfriend. Your face went hot immediately. You opened your mouth to correct him, to clarify, to explain that you and Al-Haitham were just—
"Your method is inefficient," Al-Haitham said to Kaveh, turning a page in his book like the comment had never happened. "You rewashed items last week that didn't need rewashing. That's wasteful."
Kaveh's head snapped toward him. "You're seriously lecturing me about dish-washing right now?"
"Someone should," Al-Haitham said. "Your approach suggests you're cleaning reactively rather than systematically. You should establish a schedule."
Kaveh's voice went up. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. This is why I don't understand how anyone—"
"If you'd just listen instead of assuming," Al-Haitham continued, still not looking up, "you'd realize systematic cleaning takes less time overall. Your current method is objectively less efficient."
Kaveh opened his mouth, closed it, then threw his hands up and disappeared back into his room. You heard his door slam, and then there was just silence.
You sat there, staring at your notes without actually seeing them. Al-Haitham had completely ignored what Kaveh had said. He hadn't corrected the assumption about you being his girlfriend. He'd just... moved past it. Addressed something else entirely like the comment was irrelevant.
But it wasn't irrelevant. You could feel it sitting there between the two of you, unacknowledged but present. The fact that he hadn't corrected it meant something. You weren't sure what, but it meant something.
Al-Haitham turned another page. You watched him do it, waiting to see if he'd acknowledge what had just happened. He didn't. He just kept reading like this was a normal afternoon, like your heart wasn't doing something strange in your chest.
An hour later, you said you should probably head back to your dormitory. Al-Haitham stood when you did, and as you were gathering your things, he said, "I'm going that way. I'll walk with you."
It wasn't a question. You grabbed your bag, and the two of you stepped out into the night. The temperature had dropped significantly since you'd arrived at his place. The air was sharp and cold, and you found yourself wrapping your arms around yourself without really thinking about it.
You felt Al-Haitham notice. He didn't say anything for a moment, just kept walking beside you. Then, without any fanfare, he was shrugging off his jacket and draping it around your shoulders.
"Al-Haitham—"
"You're cold," he said simply. Then he was pulling you closer by the sleeve, drawing you against his side. His warmth was immediate, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.
You walked in silence for a moment, unable to focus on anything except the fact that he hadn't corrected Kaveh. That he was walking like this with you now, your arm linked with his, his jacket around you.
"Kaveh thought we were together," you said finally. Some part of you did that to spark conversation, an interesting little tit-bit to talk about. The other, more genuine part brought it up because it had been killing you for hours. It felt like a little animal inside your rib cage that was constantly being killed and brought back to life, a little flicker of hope, a mix of dread. You wanted an answer.
Al-Haitham hummed non-commitally. You could feel the weight of his arm around you, steady and deliberate.
"Did it bother you?" he asked, raising a brow.
The question caught you off guard. You'd expected him to explain himself, to rationalize why he hadn't corrected Kaveh. Instead, he'd flipped it back on you.
"That's not—I was asking why you didn't—"
"I know what you were asking," he said. His tone matter-of-fact. "I'm asking what matters more. Whether I corrected him, or whether the assumption bothered you."
You opened your mouth and closed it. You weren't sure how to answer that honestly.
"It didn't bother me," you said finally, and it was true. It hadn't bothered you. It had confused you, unsettled you, made your pulse race for reasons you didn't want to examine too closely. But bothered wasn't the right word.
"Then we're fine," he said.
"Al-Haitham—"
"Besides," he said, and there was the faintest hint of something that might have been amusement in his voice, "I didn't say he was wrong about the general principle."
Wanderer
You were three pages into your research on Dendro propagation when Wanderer arrived at your study table without asking if he could sit. He didn't ask permission for things like that. He just pulled up a chair and settled in like he'd always been meant to be there.
"That's going to be wrong," he said, not bothering with a greeting.
You didn't look up from your notes. "You haven't even seen what I'm arguing."
"Doesn't matter. Whatever thesis you're building on that foundation is going to collapse." He leaned back in his chair. "The propagation rates in the northern regions don't follow the same pattern as the southern ones."
You did look up then, specifically to narrow your eyes at him. "That's because I'm specifically studying the southern regions. The northern data is irrelevant to my argument."
"It's always relevant," he said. "Ignoring contradictory data doesn't make your conclusion stronger. It makes you look like you didn't do the work."
The comment landed like a jab. You wanted to argue, but he wasn't entirely wrong. You made a note to revisit the northern data, grudgingly accepting that he'd identified a gap in your research. There was something about the way he sat across from you—completely at ease in his certainty—that made you want to prove him wrong just to see if he'd admit it when you did.
"Anything else, or are you done?" you asked, turning back to your work.
"For now," he said. "I need to find that text on Dendro cultivation. Should be in the older section."
He stood and disappeared into the depths of the Archives, and you returned to your notes. You'd lost track of time when you noticed someone settling into the chair he'd vacated. One of the other scholars—someone whose name you could probably remember if you tried, but hadn't bothered to. He was the type who was always hovering around, always trying to insert himself into conversations in ways that made your skin crawl slightly. There was an entitlement to him, the kind of confidence that came from never being told no and deciding that meant he didn't have to listen when someone eventually did.
"So," he said, leaning back in the chair like he owned it, "you're always studying. You should take a break sometime. Come get dinner with me."
It wasn't a question. It was stated like a foregone conclusion, like your agreement was merely a formality. You didn't look up from your work. "I'm pretty busy right now."
"Come on," he said, and there was an edge to his voice that suggested he didn't appreciate being declined so casually. "You can't study all the time. I know this place outside the city. We could go tonight."
"I really can't," you said, keeping your tone polite but firm. You turned a page, hoping the gesture would make it clear you wanted to return to your work.
He was quiet for a moment, and you thought maybe he'd gotten the message. But then he leaned forward, and his tone shifted into something sharper, more frustrated.
"What does he have that I don't?" he asked, and there was real irritation underneath the words now.
You looked up, confused. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Wanderer," he said, his jaw tightening. "You're always with him. Every time I see you, he's here. You two are constantly together, and I don't understand what he has that makes you so willing to waste your time with him but not willing to give me five minutes. So what does he have that I don't?"
Before you could respond, before you could even figure out what you wanted to say, Wanderer appeared. He was just suddenly there, that book in hand, and his expression was the kind of blank that suggested he'd caught enough of the conversation to understand exactly what was happening.
"A brain," he said flatly, and his voice had that particular edge that made people take him seriously. "How about you go and pester someone else?"
The scholar's face flushed immediately. He tried to salvage the situation with some blustering comment about respect, but Wanderer had already turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Humans," he said, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "Can you believe them? Making assumptions about things they don't understand. It's exhausting."
He settled back into his chair like nothing had happened, opening his book with the kind of finality that suggested the conversation was over. He didn't look at you. Didn't acknowledge the scholar's eventual departure. Just sat in silence, reading or pretending to read, and left you sitting there with the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you.
The scholar eventually gathered his things and left, embarrassed and defeated.
You should have left it at that. Should have just gone back to your research and forgotten the whole interaction. It was the kind of thing that happened sometimes—someone misread a situation, made an assumption, got shut down. But as you watched Wanderer settle back into his chair, something stuck with you.
He hadn't corrected the scholar. He'd had the perfect opportunity to clarify—to say "we're not together" or "she's free to see whoever she wants." Instead, he'd simply shut it down with a cutting remark and moved on like the misunderstanding wasn't even worth acknowledging. The fact that he'd called out the assumption about humans making assumptions felt deliberate somehow, like he was pointing out something specific about what had just happened without actually saying it outright.
Hours passed. You continued your research, but your mind kept drifting back to that moment. To the way Wanderer had stepped in without hesitation.
You found yourself noticing things you probably should have paid attention to earlier. The way Wanderer always positioned himself where he could see you in the Archives. How he'd appear exactly when you needed him, like he had some sixth sense for when you were about to run into trouble. The small gestures that suddenly seemed like they might mean something more than friendly concern. How he leaned closer when you were talking, like he didn't want to miss anything you said. The way his attention was always on you, even when he was pretending to focus on something else.
By the time evening rolled around and you were both packing up your things to leave, you were thoroughly unsettled. You couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't make sense of why he'd let the assumption stand. Why he hadn't corrected it.
Wanderer noticed. You could tell by the way he glanced at you, by the particular expression on his face that suggested he'd been watching you think all afternoon.
"You've been quiet," he observed. "Usually you're insufferable by this point in the day."
You didn't bother denying it. "Are you thinking about what happened in the Archives?" he asked, and there was something almost knowing in his tone, like he'd been waiting for you to bring it up.
You hesitated, then decided there was no point in pretending. "Yes. When that scholar made his assumption, you didn't deny it. You just let him think what he wanted."
He was already walking toward the exit, assuming you'd follow. You did follow, because of course you did. You always did.
"Why does it matter?" he asked as you walked through the hallways. "Why do titles matter anyway? People are obsessed with naming things, categorizing them, putting them into boxes so they can feel like they understand something. It's exhausting."
"That's not an answer," you said, frustration creeping into your voice. "You could have just told him the truth."
"I've had too many names and identities to care about what we're called," he said, adjusting his hat to block the evening sun. "But I know what you mean to me."
The admission hung between you, heavy with implication. You felt your pulse pick up, felt something shift fundamentally in the way you were looking at him.
"And what do I mean to you?" you asked, your voice quieter now.
He smirked, and that familiar arrogance slipped back into place. But there was warmth underneath it, something that looked suspiciously like fondness.
"How about you figure it out?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "You know, for someone so intelligent, you're remarkably oblivious."
You stood there for a moment, completely still, watching him disappear around the corner without a backward glance. Your pulse was racing, your chest felt tight with something unfamiliar and terrifying, and you were left standing there in the empty street realizing that you'd completely miscalculated everything about him, about this, about whatever was happening between you. The worst part was that he knew it too.
Wriothesley
The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide had a habit of making you wait. Every time you had an excuse to visit his office, he'd somehow find a way to extend your stay. A question about the documents you'd brought. A piece of tea he wanted your opinion on. A conversation that started about work and drifted into something that had nothing to do with the Fortress at all. Every time, the line between professional and personal blurred when you were with him. And if you were being honest, you didn’t mind that at all.
Today you'd come to deliver some documents. You'd done it a dozen times. But as you walked through the corridors, you found yourself hoping he'd be free. Hoping he'd ask you to stay for a few minutes. Hoping for that particular smile he got when he saw you—the one that suggested you were the most interesting thing that had happened to his day. Which was ridiculous. He was the Duke of the Fortress. He had actual responsibilities. The fact that you'd somehow become part of his routine was probably just coincidence. Or convenience. Certainly not because he enjoyed your company the way you'd started to enjoy his.
His office door was open when you arrived. He was reviewing paperwork, but he looked up the moment you knocked.
"Documents?" he asked, already setting down his pen.
"From the west wing," you confirmed, crossing the room to set them on his desk. "The quarterly inventory."
He gestured to the chair across from him. "Stay. I want to ask you about the discrepancies in the last count."
It was a convenient excuse. You both knew there were no significant discrepancies. All the paperwork you did was perfect, and Wriothesely knew that. But you sat anyway, because you were, apparently, incapable of saying no to him.
The next hour passed in a blur of conversation that had nothing to do with inventory. He asked about your week, mentioned something he'd read that reminded him of you, made you laugh at some observation about one of the other guards. His attention was focused entirely on you, and it was intoxicating in a way you weren't prepared to examine too closely.
At one point, he stood to get something from his filing cabinet, and when he passed your chair, his hand brushed your shoulder. It was such a small gesture, probably meaningless. Except you'd noticed he did it every time he walked past you. A small touch. Like he needed to reassure himself you were still there.
Or maybe you were reading too much into it, and he did that with everyone.
"You're distracted," he observed, settling back into his chair. "Something on your mind?"
"No, I'm fine," you said quickly. "Just thinking about work."
"I have a meeting with the senior guards in a few minutes," he said, glancing at his pocket watch. "Bureaucratic tedium. You're welcome to wait here if you'd like. Shouldn't take more than an hour."
Your pulse did something stupid at the casual offer. Stay in his office. Alone. Surrounded by his things. "Sure," you said, trying to sound unbothered. "I have time."
He stood, straightening his jacket. "There's tea on the side table. Help yourself to anything you need." After he left, you told yourself you'd spend the time reading one of the books on his shelf. Instead, you found yourself noticing small things. The way his desk was organized but not obsessively so. The way he'd left his chair still warm. The faint scent of something cool and expensive that you'd come to associate with him. This was getting out of hand.
You needed to be more careful about how much time you spent in his company, how much you looked forward to it. The Fortress wasn't a place where relationships happened casually. People noticed things. People talked. The city as a whole was a place rife with gossip, and you weren’t exactly sure if this was the kind of gossip that needed to be spread.
You stood and walked to the window, staring out at the courtyard below. The guards were doing their rounds. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings the way you should have been when you decided to stretch your legs in the corridor.
The hand on your arm came from nowhere. You were spun around, slammed against the cold stone wall before you could process what was happening. The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp.
An inmate. One you didn't recognize, eyes wild and desperate.
"You're with him, aren't you?" he hissed, his grip on your arm painfully tight. "The Duke. His partner. You'd know things."
Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Fear flooded through you, crystalline and sharp. This was real. This was actually happening.
"I don't—" you started, but his grip tightened.
"Don't lie to me," he spat. "Where's the emergency exit? Where does he keep the keys?"
You tried to pull away, tried to think of something to say that might defuse this, but panic was making your thoughts scatter.
His other hand came up.
Then he was gone.
Wriothesley stood between you and him, and you'd never seen him look like this. All the charm, all the politeness stripped away. What remained was something colder. He looked every bit likt eh terrifying, infamous warden of Meropide. The kind of man you heard rumors about from people all around Fontaine but were hard pressed to believe them because he was never like that with you. Until now.
"Touch her again," Wriothesley said, his voice dropping, "and you'll find out exactly why I run this place." He didn't raise his voice. The threat was implicit in everything about him. The way he stood, the way his eyes had gone cold, the certainty that he could make good on whatever he was implying.
The inmate scrambled backward, apologizing frantically, and Wriothesley didn't even watch him go. He turned to you immediately.
"Are you hurt?" His voice shifted back to something more familiar, but there was still an edge to it. His hands came up like he wanted to touch you but was restraining himself.
You shook your head, still trembling. Your arm ached where the inmate had grabbed you. "I'm okay. I'm fine."
Wriothesley guided you back to his office without a word, one hand on the small of your back. Steady. Grounding. Once inside, he had you sit while he examined your arm, his touch gentle now, checking for damage.
"He didn't break the skin," he said. "But you'll have bruises."
You nodded, still trying to process what had just happened.
After several minutes of silence, when your heart had stopped racing quite so violently, the other part of what had happened filtered through.
You let out a shaky laugh—the kind that comes from adrenaline finally releasing. "Well. That was terrifying."
Wriothesley watched you, his expression softening slightly now that the immediate danger had passed.
"Maybe I should stop spending so much time with you," you said, trying to inject some levity into your voice. "He thought we were together. If I'm going to get cornered by inmates, at least let it be for something I'm actually guilty of."
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Is that what you're concerned about? Your reputation?"
"Among other things," you said, managing a small smile. "Mostly just the part where I nearly got my arm broken because someone thought I had access to your secrets."
"Fair point," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his expression now. He stood and moved to lean against his desk, close enough that you could see the amusement lingering in his eyes. "Though for what it's worth, that inmate did you a favor. Gave you a decent excuse to stay in my office longer than usual without anyone questioning it."
You stared at him. "That's your takeaway from nearly being cornered?"
"One of several," he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Though I admit the timing was inconvenient. I was just starting to enjoy our conversation."
"You're impossible," you said, but there was no real heat in it.
He tilted his head slightly, considering you. "You could always use it as an excuse to come back more often. For your safety, naturally. Can't have you getting cornered again." His tone was light. "The offer stands. Anytime you need it."
The way he said it made clear he wasn't really talking about the physical space anymore.
Xiao
You'd learned to recognize the patterns of Xiao's presence. The way he appeared on your commissions before you'd even finished the previous one, materializing from nowhere with that particular blend of concern and restraint that he tried so hard to hide. How he'd always position himself where he could see you, even when he pretended he wasn't watching, his attention a constant weight you'd grown accustomed to. The small, almost imperceptible softening in his expression when you looked his way—a shift so brief you'd miss it if you weren't paying attention. But you were always paying attention.
Today's commission had been brutal. Your muscles ached with the kind of deep weariness that came from hours of constant movement, and your clothes were torn in at least two places. You were fairly certain you had a bruise forming on your ribs, tender to the touch. By the time you'd finished and made your way back to the inn, all you could think about was a hot bath and sleep, in that order. You climbed the stairs toward your room, already mentally preparing yourself for the solitude of it, when you remembered you hadn't eaten yet.
You made your way to the balcony overlooking the courtyard instead, needing air before food. And Xiao was there, exactly where he always was, leaning against the railing like he'd been waiting. You'd stopped trying to figure out how he got there before you did—he was an adeptus, after all, and teleportation was hardly the strangest thing about him. One moment the balcony was empty, the next he was there, solid and present, his gaze already on you.
"You're hurt," he said, his eyes sweeping over you with that clinical precision he had, taking in every torn seam and scraped knuckle.
"Just sore," you replied, settling onto the railing a few feet away from him. The evening air was cool against your skin. "Nothing serious."
"You should have called my name," he said, and there was something almost accusatory in his tone. "I would have protected you."
You couldn't resist. "Aw, were you worried?" you asked, tilting your head with a small smile.
He looked away, toward the valley. "I'm always worried about you," he said, his voice quieter than before but no less earnest. There was no deflection in it, no attempt to soften the statement with humor or distance. Just the plain truth, delivered with the kind of sincerity that made your chest tighten.
You didn't tease him further. Just sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and pink. The wind moved through the courtyard below, carrying the scent of evening flowers and distant rain.
The innkeeper appeared on the balcony carrying a tray with soup, bread, and fresh water—the way they always did when you returned from your commissions. They were smiling warmly, clearly pleased with themselves for the thoughtfulness.
"Your partner must be hungry as well after watching you out there all day," they said kindly, setting the tray down on the small table beside you. Partner, you registered with faint amusement.
Their gaze flickered to Xiao, who was standing at the railing, and you could see them putting the pieces together in their mind. The protective stance. The way his attention never wavered from you. The obvious care. "Should I bring something for them as well?"
The words landed, and you felt Xiao go rigid beside you. You had to suppress a smile at the sheer absurdity of it. Partner. Xiao. The adeptus who spent half his time trying to convince you he didn't care about much else besides his ‘karmic duty’, who was allergic to admitting feelings, who acted like wanting someone was the most burdensome thing in the world.
"We're not—" Xiao said curtly, his voice sharp with irritation. He didn't even look at the innkeeper, just stared straight ahead. "I'm not her partner."
The innkeeper flinched slightly at his tone and quickly retreated with an apologetic bow, clearly having misjudged the situation.
And that's when you lost it.
"Oh my god," you said, not even trying to hide your grin as Xiao stood there, clearly agitated, his entire body practically vibrating with embarrassment. "Did you just—did you actually just deny that in front of everyone?"
"Don't," he said flatly, but you could already see the flush creeping up his neck. His ears were turning pink.
"Your ears are completely red right now," you continued, absolutely delighted at this rare display of genuine flustering. "I didn't know you could blush like that. It's actually kind of adorable."
"I wasn't blushing," he said, but his ears somehow got even redder at the mention of it, which rather defeated the entire purpose of his denial and made the situation even funnier.
"You denied it so fast," you said, leaning back in your chair with the kind of satisfaction that comes from genuinely embarrassing an immortal being. "I've never seen you move that quickly. Usually you're all stoic and composed, and then someone says 'partner' and suddenly you're rushing across a room like—"
"That did not occur," he muttered, and you could practically feel the irritation radiating off him in waves. “...no respect for the Adepti,” he mumbled under his breath.
"You were embarrassed," you pressed, enjoying this far too much. "Genuinely flustered. Xiao, what would be so bad about people thinking we were—"
"It's not that," he cut you off, his voice sharp with frustration. He finally looked directly at you, and there was real emotion in his expression—the kind of frustration that comes from not being able to articulate something you're desperately feeling, something that's been building up inside you. "It's just... people don't understand what I am. What being associated with me means. It's—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching hard enough that you could see the muscle work beneath his skin.
You tilted your head, your smile softening slightly as you realized this wasn't just about embarrassment anymore. "What? Being associated with you is what?"
He was quiet for a long moment. The sounds of the inn filled the space between you—the gentle murmur of other diners, the clink of dishes in the kitchen, the wind moving through the open windows. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his face, the way he was fighting to find words for something that clearly didn't have any.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Quieter. Like he was admitting something he'd been trying desperately not to say, something that had been eating at him for longer than either of you probably wanted to acknowledge.
"You're the only thing I've ever wanted to keep. And that scares me more than anything."
Your breath caught. The teasing dropped from your expression entirely. Your pulse picked up in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with exhaustion or adrenaline. It was just him. Just those words, delivered with such raw honesty that you felt them like a physical thing, like they'd reached inside your chest and squeezed.
"Xiao, I—" you started, but the words wouldn't come.
He stood abruptly, like staying still was suddenly unbearable. He simply disappeared—one moment solid and present, the next gone entirely, like he'd never been there at all. You sat alone on the balcony with the untouched tray of food, heat flooding your cheeks, your heart racing so hard you were certain the entire inn could hear it.
You had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.
...i should really stop getting out of control with the word count >:(( but i get too excited writing about them 😭
Arataki Itto is completely ecstatic when you proposed the idea—I mean, he gets to pick up his girlfriend and flex? That's amazing news to him. He would grin at you before picking you up, his invisible tail definitely wagging right now. Pet his head while you're at it and he won't let you down all day.
Varka was busy when you busted the door of his office open, and when you asked him to do the trend with you, he was very glad. He'd be anywhere else than near his paperwork anyway—and it gives him a reason to be with you. He would look at the camera before smugly grinning and picking you up with ease, might even flex his free arm while doing so.
Alhaitham was reading when you sweetly asked him to do the trend with you—he sighed, but accepted anyway because he couldn't bear seeing a pout on your face. Though if you really thought that you had disturbed his reading, you're really wrong. The guy picked you up easily before resuming his book in his free hand. All while you stood on your shoulder flustered and surprised.
When you came in his office with the demand, Wriothesley was smug about it. Smirking as you nervously asked him as you didn't want to bother his work. But your worries flew away when he effortlessly picked you up. Even using you as fitness material as he raised you up and down before carrying you bridal style in his arms.
Childe already knew this trend and couldn't wait to do it with you—before the video you were showing him even ended, you were already tossed over his shoulder. His head was planted on your thigh as he side-eyed the camera with a smirk.
Kaeya would first tease you about wanting to do this trend with him—but would then walk toward you when you would turn around and tell him "Nevermind." He holds you close to his head, thigh against his temple, he would even bring your hand to his lips with his free hand and place a soft kiss on it.
After Diluc finished his shift and came back home, you asked him if he could do it with you—you wanted him to rest but really wanted to know his reaction. He did it with no complaints—he picked you up everytime you asked him anyway. He would graciously pick you up, and place a kiss on your thigh—though expect him to carry you bridal style to the bad because that man is tired and needs his wife to cuddle him.
Summary: His way of courting you (more yandere tendencies).
This kinda popped into my head like two days ago. Wanted to upload it while working on a Lohen specific request :) (Also I may link my socials soon…)
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Lohen’s initial attraction to you was based on your personality. No, you weren’t entirely sure of yourself, but the way you always figured out a solution to your problems strung him on. It was attractive. You were attractive.
“Nice going back there. The Hilichurl Camp.” Your first real conversation started with his compliment the second he saw you alone at Dorman’s Port.
Of course this was right after you were done with what he called, “charity work.” Safe to say that you were surprised. Immediately you greeted him formally, watching as he brushed off your courtesy with ease.
“None of that please. Just pretend you’re talking with a friend.”
He turned his attention to your weapon of choice strapped to your back. He figured out a way that may strike up an appeal of himself to you.
“I can give you tips on that weapon of yours.”
You didn’t exactly want to turn down a personal training session from someone of his caliber and rank, so your agreement was concrete.
“I would appreciate that, thank you.” That smile of yours was just warm enough to set the romance side of his heart completely ablaze for you.
He struggled to proceed in a healthy way of courting you. Lohen gained access to your work schedule, which meant he always knew your location when on the clock. On days you were free, he would study your habits. Where you liked to shop, what you liked to eat and activities you enjoyed. He knew all of it before you two even properly knew each other.
If you were often out and about, he would make sure to deliberately run into you from time to time to instigate a conversation. If you were more reserved to your home, he’d invite you for more private training sessions. Since those were your days off, he’d often propose grabbing dinner with you afterwards to sweeten the deal.
When you two became into friends, Lohen made sure to keep you even closer. He would accompany you everywhere; when he allowed you your space, he was always nearby. He didn’t doubt your strength nor ability to defend yourself, but he’d rather not take a single chance.
He always knew when and if someone else possessed feelings for you and were about to reveal them. A gentle threat, or a few more demanding tasks (for any other knight) was enough to keep the suitors at bay. There was even an incident where he terrorized one of the knights in the middle of a dense forest. Lohen would claim his actions as friendly advice, but you noticed how the knight affected started to steer clear of you.
Sick? He stayed at your residence to take care of you. Injured? He carried you to the nearest med bay.
“You’re overheating.” He was attentive, even noticing the little things as you laid down in an open field with him after an assignment.
Removing his glove, Lohen placed the palm of his hand on your forehead. He used his Cryo Vision to cool you down.
“I’m fine.” You’d deny any abnormalities happening to you, he knew this.
“I can assure you that you are not.” He next pulled at your clothing with a firm grip. “Down to your undershirt please. This is too much fabric right now.”
Once you were down to that particular piece of clothing to keep your decency, an idea popped into his head as you sucked down a spare bottle of water he had chilled to the bone. A perfect opportunity, especially as you sat resting your forehead against a tree.
“Mind if I try something?” He didn’t wait for a response from you before acting.
You shivered violently with a startled sound at the feeling of those ice cold palms against the bare skin of your shoulders. He studied your body language. The movement frightened you, yet you weren’t uncomfortable. He had a chance.
Fueled by his own desire and worry about you falling into heat exhaustion, without another word, he slowly pulled himself closer. His arms moved to hug you around your shoulders completely, resting his chest completely against your back. Again, you didn’t seem uncomfortable with the contact, you seemed rather relaxed. Was it the cold you liked, or his presence?
“Is this okay?” A rare moment of vulnerability, you could hear it in his whisper to your ear.
A part of him wanted to stick to you like glue, yet another part also cared about your comfort. He only felt your hand touching his own gently without a response. A few moments passed, as if you were now the one testing his boundaries. All of a sudden, your hands held onto his arms with a nod.
“Yeah.”
An unwavering yet comfortable silence followed as you practically melted into his cool form. That was how it started. How you officially became his.
#
You two didn’t parade your relationship to the public. Sometimes it even felt like you both were hiding the revelation. This fact was true during the very beginning, a reflection of your concern.
“I’n not sure if this is breaking some sort of rule.” You were pacing around the empty library with Lohen after hours.
He sat in a chair, leaning back with eyes locked on your form. A dark look in his gaze before he straightened up. As you vented the insecurity, he was too busy wondering how long you possessed feelings for him.
“You and I are under different companies. In case you haven’t noticed…I technically have no input over your earnings, schedule, raises—“ He could go on.
He could access all the information he needed, yet all changes went through either Varka or Jean (who would never let Lohen tamper with anything concerning another knight’s due diligence).
“It’s not possible for me to show favoritism towards you. This isn’t breaking any rules.” He further clarified.
You bit your lip, finally facing him as he stood. His eyebrows raised. Wow, you really did look troubled.
“Maybe we should just tell Varka.” Your suggestion was met with his signature grin that ran shivers down your spine.
He came really close, holding you by your arms firmly. He wanted to comfort you, while also teasing you.
“Or…we can let sleeping dogs lie.”
His hands then cupped your face, caressing your cheeks. He leaned closer into you, ready to finally perform what he wanted to for months.
Unfortunately, you spotted something in your peripheral vision coming down the stairs behind him. The sight horrified you. To dodge the kiss you slipped free from Lohen’s grasp quickly. You then made sure to place a respectable distance between you two.
“Grand Master!” The title came out sounding as if you were a child caught with their hands in a cookie jar.
Lohen didn’t even realize you could move that quickly under his nose. Varka meanwhile stared at you both with scrutinizing eyes.
“Hey you two.” Varka spoke slowly, already forming an idea of what was going on in here.
Lohen rolled his eyes before turning his head. He wasn’t angry at Varka, just annoyed that he was unable to land the mind blowing kiss he had planned for months.
Besides, he had always known you two weren’t truly alone. Lohen just didn’t care about any sort of spectators. It was you who turned out to be oblivious.
“Um…it’s getting late I should get going.” You smiled awkwardly and professionally, excusing yourself from the men in the room with a quick “good night.”
They both watched as you left, Lohen now turning to look at Varka with a smile. A mischievous one.
“What kind of gentleman would I be letting that sweet person walk home alone in the dark.” He smirked.
Varka sighed. There’s no way he was present enough to discuss what was happening between you guys. All he wished for right now was beer and chicken.
“Yeah, yeah we’ll talk tomorrow.” He yawned as Lohen opened the door to exit.
“Good night Grand Master.” His final words before shutting it, racing after you.
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Thank you so much for the love for “Monitoring Tendencies!!” <3
˚₊‧꒰ა he has certainly made an impression—possibly the worst one.
⤷ coming into the most prestigious of academies with just a measly scholarship, phainon was well known throughout campus. dressed in thick frame glasses and a hideous sweater, one that combined both shades of yellow and purple, it was only a matter of time that he was stopped by the host club.
⤷ after trying to find a quiet place to study, phainon accidentally wandered into what he thought was an empty room. he was shocked to see the neatly arranged tables and expensive dining sets on each section. luxurious couches were spread throughout the room, shining beneath the expensive chandeliers with a slight cream color. in the chaos of his arrival, he accidentally pumps into an expensive vase—shattering it into pieces.
⤷ the host club was made up of five members. there as the quiet, brooding type: ratio, who focused on the logistics and finance of the club. the beautifully arrogant and rich prince: aventurine, whose identity hinges on gambling and spending money on expensive drinks. the flirtatiously attractive: argenti, a magnet for all things pretty. the overly energetic and eccentric: boothill, a man who entertains with flashy party tricks and sportsmanship.
⤷ but the fifth member was the only one phainon truly cared about: you, an elegant lily in a field of roses. you were softer than any wind. kinder than most. like a peach warmed by the afternoon sun, you glimmered with every smile. as the main attraction to the host club, it puzzled even the smartest of students when you decided to take phainon under your wing.
⤷ he started off clumsy. tripping over his two feet and spilling tea over your new and pristine shirt, you watched as he apologized profusely on his knees. aventurine laughed in his face while you shook your head. with an embroidered handkerchief, you wiped away at a small dribble of tea on phainon’s face, ignoring the way he looked up at you with a puppy-like expression.
⤷ you did your best to teach him the basics. entertaining guests. pouring tea. making small talk with girls. boothill and argenti were genuinely surprised that after only a month of practice, phainon was making great progress. he even had a small fan club for him. however, the new attention meant very little to him. the only eyes he wanted was yours. someone who had seen the potential in him and offered solace to this new environment.
⤷ the two of you would spend more time with each other as the school year progressed. students came to notice the fond look in your eyes every time you talked about phainon. your expensive lunch boxes have even been replaced with smaller ones, usually looking more homemade than ever.
⤷ even your most loyal of patrons came to ask you: who is phainon to you? were you close? these questions danced around the school, causing a worldwide stir. while you were acutely aware of the rumors, phainon’s head was spinning. the last thing he wants to do is worry and put you into a bad position. you had already fronted the price of the vase he broke earlier that year. having to deal with a few ill-mannered rumors would only make things worse. when he tries to bring it up to you, fearful of your quiet stare, the look in your eyes tell him otherwise.
“i’m sorry. i feel like i’ve caused a lot of trouble for you,” phainon admits, feeling nervous in this new position. you had him laying down on the couch, head pressed against the flat of your thighs. your fingers drag through his hair, combing the tangled locks. “if it helps, i can stay away from you.”
the room is empty right now. aventurine and ratio had left to attend a meeting with the school board, specifically regarding funding and overall attendance rates. argenti was in the gardens, tending to his roses. meanwhile, boothill was at the recreation building—practicing his aim for the next sharpshooter competition. in other words, you and phainon were completely alone… together.
your laugh tickles his ear, “nonsense.”
“i could care less about their opinions. host club president or not. i wouldn’t put anyone else’s thoughts over yours.” your weight against his head becomes lighter, and he notices that you had pulled your hand away. he can’t help himself—he’s pouting in your direction, and without much hesitation or thought, you rest your hand against his scalp. “not being around you would pain me more than you think.”
phainon’s lips press tightly against each other. he glances up at you, examining the way your pupils dilate in his presence. a strange warmth washes over him and he boldly wraps his arms around your stomach, pressing his face against the surface of your body.
“do you think i’d be better without you?” your question causes him to ball your clothes in his fist. a fear that had bunched itself up in his stomach finally escapes through a sharp exhale from his nose.
“sometimes.”
“why?”
“unlike everyone else here, i can’t give you much. i’m penniless. the best i can offer you is my smarts but even then, you don’t need it.”
even though he couldn’t see it, you were smiling. “i love having you around. it means more than gold itself. to say you offer me nothing is false lie. you’ve given me more than i could ever hope for.” your fingers droop down from his hair and towards his jawline, dragging across his skin. “life feels less boring. and despite my riches and success, there is something comforting about you. i don’t think money could replace this feeling in my heart.”
your words cause his heart to swell and grow ten times bigger. so much so that it becomes palpable and nearly unstoppable. you didn’t have to say it directly for him to understand the feeling in your chest. it was the same for him anyway.
so he leans up, testing the waters by pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. one that you reciprocate with utmost happiness. your arms wrap themselves around his neck, pulling him closer as the sun’s ray peeks through the thin, lace curtains, carving your shadows into the room.
🃏 Aventurine wears a mask of smug confidence even when staking his very life on the line, but for some reason, he finds it difficult to maintain that grin of his when he sees you being flirted with by another man. A heavy pang of jealousy squeezes his heart when he sees the two of you together. The cheerful mood he sported at the prospect of spending time with you earlier evaporated, replaced by ice-cold despair.
🃏 If you are not in a relationship with Aventurine, then the gambler doesn’t interfere with your meeting. He settles for quietly observing from the sidelines, trying to gauge what your feelings are toward your acquaintance. Since he is not your boyfriend, Aventurine knows he shouldn’t get between you and your acquaintance due to his jealousy. He has no right, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable with his uninvited presence. Still, it pains him to see you laugh and smile at another man, watch you be wooed by someone else the same way Aventurine has subtly tried to all this time. If your acquaintance is the one you prefer, then so be it—Aventurine will respect your choice. He casts one more longing look your way before turning his eyes away from the painful sight, and quietly walking away. Though he is said to be lucky, perhaps that luck doesn’t apply to the field of romance. He has lost the bet for your heart.
🃏 If Aventurine sees you are uncomfortable with your acquaintance’s attention, he casually strides over to you and places an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. With that same smug, confident grin, he introduces himself as your boyfriend and confronts the other man about his intentions toward someone who is taken. Aventurine hopes you'll play along to better sell his boyfriend act and will do his best to discourage your acquaintance from pursuing you.
🃏 Even if your acquaintance grows aggressive at being rejected, Aventurine’s smile doesn’t fade. Instead, he switches tactics and informs the fellow that he’s a high-ranking IPC executive—a member of the Stonehearts, to be exact. His status is well-known enough to scare the average person into compliance because messing with the IPC and a Stoneheart, no less, is practically a death wish. Though Aventurine is not fond of flaunting his status, it does the trick of sending your acquaintance scampering.
🃏 After the fact, Aventurine tries to casually shrug off any of your questions regarding his lie about being your boyfriend. As much as he yearns to be that close to you, he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable with the idea, so he prefers brush it off as no big deal and move on. He checks to make sure you’re alright and tells you to call on him if your acquaintance comes back or you find yourself in a similar situation in the future. It might sound fake, but he means it when he says he’ll help you out. Even if he’s not your boyfriend, he will do his best to be a deserving friend.
🃏 If you are in a relationship with Aventurine, the gambler acts on his jealousy. It’s not immediately obvious that he’s jealous, but the way he saunters up to your duo and pulls you into his side in an almost possessive manner is telling of his inner feelings. Aventurine smoothly inserts himself into your conversation, smiling and chatting up your acquaintance to try and get as much information out of him as possible. The blond wants to know what kind of person your acquaintance is. If he’s someone with nefarious intentions or a sketchy background, Aventurine will take precautions to keep you safe.
🃏 He still introduces himself as your boyfriend to discourage the other man from flirting with you further, but it’s not enough to chase away the jealousy digging its roots into his heart. His chest still feels heavy when you finally part ways with your acquaintance, so Aventurine spontaneously takes you out on a date. He takes you shopping and spoils you with luxurious items and expensive foods, sparing no expense in pampering you. It’s his way of proving himself, showing that he can provide and give you everything you want, so please, stay with him.
🃏 Behind his self-confident veneer, Aventurine lacks self-worth and a sense of belonging. To him, the possibility of you leaving him for someone better feels all too real since he thinks so little of himself, which is why he’s desperate to keep your affection by spoiling you rotten. His confident mask is the same as ever, but you can tell he’s quieter and less playful than usual, and the way he showers you with gifts feels almost like he’s desperately trying to buy your love. Aventurine won’t admit he’s jealous even if you probe him on the reason for this sudden behavior, but it’s obvious that he isn’t feeling his best. Take his hand and spoil him in return, tell Aventurine you love him, and hold him close. Your affection is the only thing that will reassure him that you truly are happy with him, and it will make him feel better.
Argenti
🌹 Argenti is very accepting of the people you surround yourself with. His motto is that your friends are his friends, and he will at the very least try to be friendly with them. However, that male acquaintance of yours makes his heart heavy with an ugly emotion he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Despite Argenti’s amicable disposition, the way that man flirts with you fills the knight with jealousy. Though Argenti also showers you in compliments and praises, the way your acquaintance does it feels bereft of the beauty with which Argenti presents his words. Something about your acquaintance’s flirting distresses him.
🌹 If you and Argenti are not in a relationship, Argenti won’t interfere between you and your acquaintance. Though it hurts him to know your feelings for him are not as deep as his are for you, Argenti tries to put a lid on his jealousy and befriend your acquaintance, hoping that his impression of him may be mistaken. Argenti would rather feel positive feelings towards the man than negative ones formed solely from the heartache he feels at not being the one you love, but he knows he has no right to control who you spend time with. He is not your beloved, so he shouldn’t step out of line and risk upsetting you by acting on that unpleasant jealousy, though it doesn’t go away, much to his chagrin.
🌹 If Argenti sees that your acquaintance’s flirting makes you uncomfortable, he rushes to your rescue. His first instinct is to stand by your side and attempt to peacefully resolve the situation. He informs your acquaintance that he’s making you uncomfortable and should stop doing so. If your acquaintance grows angry and aggressive in response, Argenti doesn’t hesitate to shield you with his body and summon his weapon. He doesn’t want to hurt the man, but he is prepared to fight to protect you. If your acquaintance doesn’t understand things the civil way, perhaps a more physical approach will get through to him.
🌹 After successfully fending off the perpetrator, Argenti apologizes to you for causing a scene, and makes sure you’re alright. He understands such situations can be scary to deal with, but that’s why you have him—a chivalrous knight—to protect you. If you find yourself in trouble in the future, feel free to call on him and he will come to your aid. Even if your heart is not his, Argenti still vows to be a loyal and reliable friend to you.
🌹 If you are in a relationship, Argenti still tries to befriend your acquaintance at first. However, the Knight of Beauty feels neglected each time you choose to spend time with your acquaintance instead of him, and though he knows you’re probably just catching up with an old friend, it still makes his heart heavy. Jealousy is an ugly emotion—the antithesis of beauty—and Argenti hates feeling this way. It makes him feel guilty and selfish for wanting your attention on him and worrying about you growing an interest in someone else. He tries to win your attention back by giving you bouquets of roses and showering you with even more compliments than usual, but it’s not enough to quell the unrest in his chest.
🌹 There comes a point where Argenti is unable to tolerate the feeling any longer, The Knight of Beauty has a private talk with you, laying bare the fact he dislikes seeing you give so much attention to another man. He feels guilty when admitting this weakness of his, but he hopes this confession can help the two of you arrive at a mutual resolution. Argenti doesn’t want to ruin your friendly relationship with your acquaintance, but neither can he bear the weight in his heart when he feels neglected by you.
🌹 It’s best to reassure and comfort Argenti that he’s the only one you love. Give him a kiss, go out on dates, and hold his hand. All he truly wants is some of your attention, so if you give him just that, he’ll be quick to cheer up. Argenti might still feel troubled when someone flirts with you too much, but at least he can find solace in knowing your heart belongs only to him.
Jiaoqiu
🌶️ Jiaoqiu takes pride in his ability to keep cool and diplomatically steer through any difficult situation. This ability of his was coming into great use as he watched you being flirted with by a man he’d never seen before. The healer sported that same fox-like smile of his, remaining polite and cordial, while internally, he felt irritated that someone else was stealing your attention away from him. You were supposed to help him shop for groceries, and Jiaoqiu was supposed to have fun teasing and spending time with you, but now those plans came crashing down because of some man.
🌶️ If you are not in a relationship with Jiaoqiu, then the foxian healer stands by the wayside, pretending to pick out ingredients while keeping a close ear on the conversation between you and your acquaintance. Each time he heard you respond positively to the man’s flirting; his chest felt heavy. Jiaoqiu didn’t think his heart was capable of breaking any more after the war had crushed it into dust, but oh, turns out there was still something left to break. Should you choose your acquaintance as a romantic partner, then Jiaoqiu respects your decision, though it leaves him numb inside. When you next eat with him, the food is spicier than usual, even for Jiaoqiu’s standards. It is practically inedible due to the spice content, but Jiaoqiu just smiles and says the burn makes him feel alive.
🌶️ If your acquaintance makes you uncomfortable with his flirting, Jiaoqiu abandons shopping and comes to stand beside you. He smiles at the man, but there’s something sinister behind that smile, something intimidating and foreboding. Jiaoqiu cuts into the conversation and tries to delicately extract you from the situation by making up an excuse. Something about you needing to finish shopping and make dinner for the Merlin’s Claw, and that you shouldn’t keep her waiting.
🌶️ However, if your acquaintance proves to be an idiot and gets aggressive, Jiaoqiu’s smile falls and he opens his eyes, leveling the fool with a threatening glare. The menacing gleam in Jiaoqiu’s golden eyes promises serious repercussions if your acquaintance dares to push his luck. With a thinly veiled threat directed at the man, Jiaoqiu leads you away with a hand placed on your back. He makes sure you’re okay first before informing you that next time something like this happens, you should call him, Moze, or Feixiao for help. One of them will definitely come to your aid if you’re unable to safely deal with the perp. Later that evening, Jiaoqiu cooks a super special dish infused with a high concentration of spices and laxatives and sends Moze on an errand to deliver it to your acquaintance. You won’t mind if you don’t see your acquaintance for a while due to his indigestion issues, right?
🌶️ If you are in a relationship, then Jiaoqiu is more assertive about keeping you away from your acquaintance. The foxian is very patient when it comes to you. He doesn’t like the idea of someone else flirting with you, but if it’s someone you want to talk to, then Jiaoqiu reluctantly lets it go. After all, he doesn’t want to be controlling since he also wants the same freedom from you. However, if you consistently ignore him in favor of your acquaintance, Jiaoqiu’s jealousy bubbles over and he saunters over to you. He smoothly inserts himself into whatever chat you’re having and introduces himself as your lover to halt your acquaintance from flirting with you more.
🌶️ Jiaoqiu tries to get your attention on him instead of your acquaintance, and he goes about this in a variety of ways. At first, it starts subtly: a discreet brush of his tail against your leg and a graze of his hand against yours. However, if that fails and you continue to ignore Jiaoqiu, the foxian’s irritation grows. His tail twitches and bristles in annoyance, and he has to hold his fan in front of his face to hide the frown pulling at his lips.
🌶️ If drawing your attention to him doesn’t work, then he needs to change tactics. Shooing this annoying man away ought to do the trick. With a sly smile, Jiaoqiu manipulates the conversation in his favor, making jabs and backhanded compliments at your acquaintance all the while keeping his speech polite and cordial to seem oblivious to his wrongdoings, though you quickly catch on that he’s doing it on purpose. Whether your acquaintance leaves of his own free will or you become mortified and bid a quick goodbye before dragging Jiaoqiu away—it doesn’t matter to the healer much. All that matters is that the annoying man is gone, and he has you all to himself again, even if you scold him for his behavior. Truth be told, Jiaoqiu couldn’t care less if he insulted your acquaintance. He doesn’t like him, and if he managed to offend the man, then good. He got his just desserts for flirting with someone who was already taken.
🌶️ However, Jiaoqiu is petty and doesn’t take well to being wronged. Whether intentional or not, you made him jealous and ignored him for longer than he deemed acceptable, and the foxian doesn’t like that one bit. In revenge, he cooks a delicious meal full of foods you dislike. Oh, you don’t like mushrooms and onions? How unfortunate, Jiaoqiu spent so much time and effort making this just for you. You’ll still eat it all for him, won’t you? (Don’t worry, he made sure you wouldn’t feel the texture and flavor of the foods you dislike. It still tastes delicious.)
🌶️ Jiaoqiu can remain petty for quite a while unless you comfort him. Though he doesn’t state it outright and denies if you ask (Him? Jealous? Are you sure you’re not the jealous one?), it’s obvious he’s jealous, judging by the annoyed twitching of his tail and the pointed jabs he throws your way. It’s best if you made it up to him by apologizing for ignoring him and reassuring that you love him with some pampering and praises about his handsome looks and amazing skills. Jiaoqiu might tease you over this incident in the future, but your reassurance makes him feel much lighter inside.
Jing Yuan
🦁 Jing Yuan wanted to skip work and was on his way to loaf around in your company when he spotted you chatting with an acquaintance of yours. The man was obviously flirting with you, and though Jing Yuan’s long life made him jaded to most things, something about that sight in particular made him feel uneasy. After all, even wise leaders like him can still fall victim to strong emotions.
🦁 If you’re not in a relationship, Jing Yuan carefully observes the friendly atmosphere between your pair and how happy you are talking with your acquaintance and concludes that now is not the time to interrupt. He’s mature enough to not allow his emotions to sway his actions, and instead bottles up his jealousy and quietly walks away. As a man, he is reluctant to let things be. He doesn’t like the thought of you being someone else’s other than his, but as your friend, he respects whatever decision you make. As long as you’re happy, then all is well, even if the disappointment gnaws at him from within.
🦁 If he notices your acquaintance is making you uncomfortable, Jing Yuan quickly thinks of an excuse and approaches your pair with a lazy smile and a wave. He calls out to you and says, “Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. There’s something urgent I need to discuss with you.” He acts oblivious to the situation so as to not escalate things and tries to calmly lead you away.
🦁 If your acquaintance is not deterred by Jing Yuan’s attempts to separate you, or if he starts to act aggressively, then Jing Yuan is quick to remind him that he’s the General of the Luofu, and civic misconduct will not be tolerated. You know Jing Yuan means business because his lazy smile is replaced by a serious expression, one that is seldom seen on the usually laid-back General. Should your acquaintance not get the hint and lash out, Jing Yuan subdues him with his martial prowess. He then calls for the Cloud Knights, and they arrest and escort your acquaintance away, leaving Jing Yuan to check if you’re alright. He comforts you in whatever way you need, be it a hug or giving you space to process things, before escorting you safely home.
🦁 If you are in a relationship with him, then Jing Yuan still tries to remain cordial when approaching your duo. Before letting his jealousy control him, he would rather have a friendly chat with your acquaintance and see what kind of person he is. Perhaps the man will back off once he realizes you and Jing Yuan are together, and the General could make a new friend. However, if he suspects something amiss about your acquaintance, he’ll do some investigating.
🦁 Though Jing Yuan puts on a friendly and detached attitude, once you’re home alone, he becomes clingy. He wraps you up in his arms and requests that you pamper him with some head pats and kisses. If you refuse, he teases you until you give in. It’s difficult to tell that he’s jealous because he doesn’t act too differently from usual, but the playful requests for more of your attention are a giveaway of his true feelings.
🦁 However, if you continue to frequently meet up with that acquaintance of yours, Jing Yuan’s jealousy will grow. He still acts lighthearted about it, but when you’re getting ready to head out, he clings to you and playfully begs you not to go or says that it’s been a while since you spent quality time with him, so why not use this opportunity to go on a date instead? It may seem like a lighthearted act, but deep down, Jing Yuan means it. Please don’t leave him, he hates the idea of you being flirted with by that man. If you still leave despite all his signs of jealousy, expect Jing Yuan to seduce you into bed and mark your skin with bite marks. He leaves some in visible places, so everyone who sees them knows you’re taken. Even if you scold him for leaving marks, he won’t feel sorry at all.
🦁 This roundabout display of jealousy can be easily stopped if you give Jing Yuan the time and attention he craves. He always makes time in his busy schedule to see you because he loves you, and he just wants to feel that same love in return. It would be even better if you stopped seeing your acquaintance as often, or at least told him off for flirting with you, but just having the reassurance that he’s the only man you love is a relief.
