The first time you met Bakugou Katsuki, your husband to be, it was in a local Japanese BBQ, old little place, mostly housing salary men, spending their weekend on cheap meat and liquor.
It felt odd, a little over dressed even to be smushed between your mother and really enthusiastic mother in law to be.
"Hopefully you don't mind this place too much." Mitsuki grinned, her knee nudging yours, despite her authoritative personality, she seemed sweet, noticing the slight uneasiness in the way you shuffled, "Katsuki had impromptu mission and we wouldn't have been able to make it to the restaurant."
"It's alright, she came late from the hospital too." Your mother quipped, steady hands holding onto a plate of raw meat, slowly grilling it over the small grill in front of you, "She isn't picky about food, to be honest."
Mitsuki hummed in response, conversation continuing between them effortlessly, somewhere close by you could hear the chatter between your dad and Masaru.
A part of you knew this was an opportunity curated by your family to interact with him, Bakugou Katsuki, seated opposite to you, occasionally you felt his eyes on you, waiting for you to look up, but your focus was elsewhere, well it was everywhere.
From the aroma of meat grilling to the plethora of seasonings in front of you filled your nostrils, the constant chatter of the people and clatter of the cutlery, every scrap of chopsticks against the glass bowls gyrated against your nerves.
Even the dress your mother had chosen for you felt ill-fitting, every seam rubbing against your skin wrong, the ribbons digging in your back, it was only matter of time before you made a fool out of yourself by screaming like a toddler.
Breathing few times, you leaned closer to your mother, whispering in her ear, something about needing air before abruptly standing up and walking out, despite the bustling crowd, you could feel the silence at the table at your departure.
"It got a bit hot in here for her," You mother grimaced, defending you, already standing her from her seat, "I'll go check on—"
"I'll go." Bakugou finally spoke, hand held out as he signalled for you mother to settling down, before anyone could protest, he was already stood up and left.
It's awfully cold outside the restaurant, each breath surrounding you like a fog before disappearing, you preferred it, over the stuffy environment inside preferred shivering outside, at least until you felt the door behind you open.
Bakugou quietly stepped beside you, hands in his pocket as he glanced at you before staring straight ahead, "Ran out of cigs?" He questioned, holding his hand out, index and middle fingers parted gesturing for the said cigarette.
You stare at him in confusion, brows furrowed as you looked around it make sure he was talking to you, "I—I don't smoke." You blurt out, a little surprised by your own voice, "It was just loud in there."
He nodded his head, digging into his coat pocket, before holding out his hand to you, small heat pack tucked in his palm, "It'll only get colder, take it while you are still out." He waits for you to take it, withdrawing his hand away once you do.
The silence that follows afterward, isn't uncomfortable, but the urge to say something lingers.
"Thank you." You mumbled, shuffling a little closer to him, fiddling with the hand warmer, "I am not usually this...well this weird."
He huffed, tucking his lower so he could hear you clearly, "Nothing weird about needing space." Eyes staring at your frame, "You always avoid eye contact or am I special?" He teased, finally meeting your eyes when you do look at him.
"I don't—it's just takes a while for me to get comfortable," You make sure to keep looking at him, cheeks warming up partly from the cold partly from his gaze, "It happens with everyone I meet."
"You could have just said I am not special."
"That's not what I—"
"I am kidding." He chuckled, looking over his shoulder before turning back to you, noticing your much relaxed demeanor, loose shoulders accompanied by soft smile. "You wanted this too, right?"
His question caused confusion to rise within you, nose scrunching as you looked at him for clarification, "Wanted what?"
Clearing his throat, he started, "This," he waved his hand between your bodies, "marriage, you can tell me if you don't want to." He leaned back, giving you space, "No point in sufferin—"
"I want to marry you." You stepped closer, strangely firm with your decision despite only him through his mother, "I was just nervous and slightly scared today." You continued, almost tempted to pull away your eyes from his, "But, that is normal, I am sure you were nervous too."
Bakugou looked a little surprised, your declaration of wanting to marry him, a lot sweeter than he imagined, "Yeah, and I little scared too." He smiled as you chuckled, feeling a buzz in his pocket, "Think you are ready to go back in?"
You nodded your head, stepping back towards the main entrance, letting him take the lead, following him inside, biting your lips to stop yourself from smiling too wide, maybe this wouldn't be scary afterall.
I WANNA KNOW! WHAT IS LOVE? — VARKA X F!READER — INDEX
Who would’ve thought that your dog would be the one to find the love of your life?
CONTENT.⠀modern AU, single dad Varka, fluff, super corny cliché and cheesy, love at first sight, hinted age gap, Razor and Rosaria are Varka's adopted children in this, idk what else to say it's just pure fluff no angst here
STATUS.⠀COMPLETE
A/N.⠀my friend @/hiperacid2 planted firefighter Varka in my brain and the worms did the rest...
READ ON AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3 (FINAL)
This fic is only posted on AO3 as rabbitescape and Tumblr as toudan. Please do not repost, copy, modify, translate my fics elsewhere or feed them to AI. Thank you!
Medieval au. I tried lol. I hope you like it. Masterlist
Golden chandeliers cast a warm, ethereal glow from above, their crystal facets refracting light like stardust across the grand ballroom. The high, vaulted ceiling was a masterpiece in itself, painted with celestial portraits of the night—galaxies, constellations, and glowing moons in delicate hues of indigo and silver. The air shimmered with the soft hum of string instruments and the laughter of nobles who danced and schemed beneath the candlelight.
The floor teemed with a kaleidoscope of silks, velvets, and jewels. Nobles paraded their wealth in hopes of catching the eye of Bishop Septem, who would soon name the four chosen to stand beside Emperor Unum as royal consorts. Others traded veiled words and wine-soaked promises, hoping to forge power in the form of strategic alliances.
To Sir Nulla, the decorated knight of the empire, it was all meaningless noise.
He slipped away from the celebration, retreating to a balcony that overlooked the palace gardens. The cool air of the night caressed his face, far more genuine than the false warmth offered by the sycophants inside. The stars above seemed infinitely more honest than any noble he had spoken to that evening.
He rested his hands on the marble railing, gaze lost among the constellations.
Emptiness. Nonsense. Nothingness.
The feelings coiled tight inside his chest, familiar and bitter.
“I am nothing,” he whispered to the night. “Nothing but a walking corpse in polished armor.”
He had seen too much, done too much. The blood on his hands would never be fully washed away by victory parades or medals.
Just then, a voice—soft and almost melodic—broke through his thoughts.
“Oh? I thought I spotted someone who felt the same way I did.”
He turned quickly, his eyes narrowing out of reflex, ready to scold whoever had dared disturb him.
But then he saw you.
You stood at the threshold of the balcony, bathed in moonlight like a vision from a dream. Your attrite, a radiant shade of yellow, shimmered as though woven from sunrise itself. Delicate floral embroidery bloomed along its hem, catching the breeze as if alive. Your eyes held a curious warmth, something unafraid, something real.
His irritation evaporated in an instant. His jaw slackened, and a faint blush touched his tan cheeks. For a moment, all words failed him.
“May I join you, sir?” you asked, stepping onto the balcony with a small smile.
“N-Nulla!” he blurted, flustered. He coughed to recover his dignity, then straightened his posture and extended his hand. “Pardon me… My name is Nulla. And yours, if I may be so bold?”
“(Y/n), Sir Nulla,” you replied, placing your hand delicately in his.
He took it as though it were made of glass, brushing his lips to your knuckles in a gesture so tender it startled even him. Your eyes widened, surprised by the gesture, but you didn’t pull away.
A small, rare smile played across his lips. “Just Nulla is fine, mi flor.”
His voice was low and reverent, as if he were addressing something sacred. And perhaps, to him, you were. For the first time in years, the darkness within him stirred—not in anger, but in longing.
And somewhere between the candlelit chaos behind him and the stars above, the man who had thought himself a corpse felt his heart beat again.
Your fingers lingered lightly in his, neither of you in any rush to pull away. The distant music from the ballroom filtered out onto the balcony, but here in the cool night air, it felt like another world entirely—one you both didn’t quite belong to.
“See, Nulla… you speak with such melancholy,” you said, your voice soft, like a lullaby carried on the breeze. You stepped to his side, gazing down at the palace gardens, their hedges and roses glowing faintly under the moonlight. “I can’t help but wonder what pain you carry. If I can aid one of the emperor’s most loyal knights, even a little…”
His smile wavered, that ever-present sorrow flickering in his eyes like a dying candle. He didn’t respond right away, instead letting silence bloom between you as he looked up toward the stars.
“Mi vida,” he finally said, his voice quiet but rich with emotion, “I carry a great weight. Regret, sacrifice… things that can never be returned. It is the price I pay.”
You frowned, your expression softening with concern. Your eyes searched his face—he was handsome, yes, but the true beauty came from something buried beneath that stoic surface, a haunted nobility shaped by wounds you couldn’t yet name.
He seemed to notice your sadness and reached forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, gentle. “But I would pay that price a thousand times over… if it means protecting people like you from ever knowing that same pain.”
“Foolish knight,” you muttered, looking away with a small pout as heat crept into your cheeks. You hadn’t meant to be swept up in this—your father had practically dragged you to the gala, hoping you'd charm some noble into a political marriage. And yet here you were… captured by a knight with tired eyes and a warrior’s heart.
Nulla chuckled, low and deep, and leaned closer to steal a glance at your expression. “I think you’re the foolish one.”
You arched a brow. “Oh? How so?”
He turned his attention back to the ballroom, his gaze settling on the emperor, who sat high in his gilded chair, his three wives gathered around him like stars orbiting a sun. Servants and nobles danced to win favor. “You aren’t like the others. You’re not trying to catch the emperor’s eye. Don’t you find all this… exhausting? The politics, the performance?”
You tilted your head, considering his words. “Hmm… I don’t find him annoying, but he doesn’t catch my attention either.”
Nulla blinked, then looked at you sidelong. “Then what does?”
You smiled, just enough to tease. “Someone like you, I guess.”
His breath caught, and he looked away quickly, color rising to his cheeks. “Idiot…” he murmured, but the word held no real bite—only flustered warmth.
He stiffened subtly as he caught sight of movement near the ballroom doors. Bishop Septem stood there, watching them. For a moment, their gazes locked. The bishop's expression was unreadable, but there was something calculating in his eyes before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Nulla’s jaw tensed, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.
“Something wrong?” you asked, voice quiet.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he offered you a strained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The stars shine brightest before they burn out… Sometimes, I wonder if I’m already fading.”
You reached for his hand again. “Then I will make sure you don’t.”
And for the first time in many years, the knight who believed he had no heart… felt it stir again. As if it fears something precise that needs to be let go.
Nulla looked at your hand in his, his grip loose at first before he tightly his grip. He wants nothing more for you to stay by his side.
Forever.
He didn’t speak as you led him, hand in hand, back toward the gilded doors of the ballroom. But something inside him shifted—something ancient and aching, now ignited with dangerous warmth. The weight of his armor felt suddenly lighter with your touch, though his mind grew heavier with thoughts he couldn’t quite silence.
As you stepped onto the marble floor, music curling through the air like golden thread, you turned to face him, your smile soft and trusting. Too trusting.
Nulla held your hand with a quiet reverence, bowing low before pulling you into a graceful waltz. But behind his composed expression, something darker flickered beneath the surface.
Mine.
The word echoed like a vow inside his chest, a silent oath wrapping around his soul like chains forged of longing. He watched the way your eyes sparkled in the candlelight, how your laugh rang clear and untouched by the rot of court life.
He would protect that light. At any cost.
“You fit here,” he murmured as he spun you, your dress twirling like sunlight across the polished floor. “Too brightly. It makes me wonder if this place even deserves you.”
“And yet,” you whispered back, meeting his gaze, “here you are, dancing with me anyway.”
A muscle in his jaw tensed, but his voice remained low and tender. “Only because I can’t bear the thought of anyone else doing it.”
The orchestra swelled, but the world around him faded. There was only you. Only the fragile warmth you offered his cold, guarded soul. He knew then—whatever hollow had lived inside him was gone. In its place, something dangerous had bloomed.
Devotion. Possession. Love.
And as you smiled up at him, unaware of the storm quietly blooming behind his eyes, Nulla thought only one thing:
Even if I must burn with you in the end… so be it.
It wasn’t long before the grand hall began to quiet, anticipation hanging in the air like perfume. The main event was about to begin—the long-awaited announcement of Emperor Unum’s fourth and final spouse.
The orchestra fell silent. A hush rippled through the crowd as Bishop Septem stepped onto the dais, his crimson robes billowing like blood in water. Nobles and hopefuls gathered at the center of the ballroom, their jeweled eyes glinting with ambition, desperation, and dreams spun of gold.
You remained off to the side, tucked under the arching shadows of a marble pillar. Nulla stood beside you, arms crossed as he leaned against the cold stone, his dark armor gleaming faintly in the candlelight. Yet his attention wasn’t on the ceremony—it was on you.
His gaze lingered on the way your eyes lit with curiosity, the way your lips parted in wonder. The crowd could have erupted in flames, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
He leaned closer, voice low. “Let them scramble over each other like peacocks on parade.”
You chuckled, patting his arm. “It’s starting. Who do you think it’ll be?”
He exhaled through his nose with a scoff. “Probably some snouty rich prince or a simpering noble who bathes in perfume and gold. The type who’s never seen a battlefield, only ballrooms.”
He paused. His jaw tightened slightly.
“…As long as it isn’t you.”
You turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Did you say something?”
Nulla blinked, his expression smoothing over like silk. “Nothing, mi vida,” he said with a soft smile, though a storm brewed quietly in his heart.
He couldn’t lose you—not to the Emperor. Not to anyone.
As Bishop Septem began to speak, his voice rang with rehearsed grace, echoing off the marble walls of the grand ballroom. He listed titles, virtues, and praises with ceremonial flourish, yet all Nulla could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
The chandeliers above glowed like stars caught in a gilded cage. The scent of sweet wine, expensive perfumes, and candle smoke drifted through the air, mingling with the tension that clung to every guest like a second skin.
Beside you, Nulla stood stiff, shoulders tense beneath the polished armor that now felt like a coffin. His hand hovered beside yours, the back of his fingers barely grazing your knuckles. A touch that meant everything and nothing.
Please… he begged in silence, eyes closed for a breath. If any god walks among us, if fate has ears—listen to me now. Let them be mine. Let me have just this one thing in my cursed life. I ask for nothing else… just them.
But silence was the answer the stars gave him.
Bishop Septem’s cold, empty smile widened as he held a pristine white scroll between gloved fingers. “It is with great honor that I present to you… the fourth and final royal consort of Emperor Unum.”
The parchment unfolded with an elegant flick.
The name was read aloud.
“(Y/n) (L/N) of the Kingdom of Sol. Please step forward.”
Nulla’s world split open.
You froze. Time halted. Every pair of eyes turned to you, and the grand ballroom grew still, as if holding its breath. Even the music had died.
“No…” Nulla whispered, but his voice was too soft to reach anyone but the void.
You could feel your chest tighten. You weren’t a fool—you knew what refusal meant. You had seen what happened to those who said “no” to the empire. Death, disgrace, or the disappearance of your entire bloodline.
Your legs moved before your heart did, numb and mechanical. The crowd parted for you like waves parting for a sacrificial offering. The golden carpet underfoot suddenly felt more like a path to the gallows than a place of honor.
Emperor Unum stood waiting, tall and regal in silver-embroidered robes that glimmered like moonlight on a blade. His expression was serene, beautiful even, but utterly devoid of true warmth.
“Shall we dance?” he asked, his hand extended in a gesture practiced thousands of times before. As if you were just another name on a scroll. Another jewel in the crown.
Behind it all, hidden in the archway between ballroom and balcony, Nulla stood frozen, his fingers curled into trembling fists at his sides. His nails bit into his palm until they drew blood.
Not my vida… not like this.
His scream stayed inside him—silent, trapped in a chest that suddenly felt too tight to breathe.
No one noticed the way he slipped into the shadows.
No one except Bishop Septem.
The bishop’s eyes followed him as he vanished through the side halls, quiet and purposeful, like a shadow returning to the night. His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
Out beneath the moonlight, where only the wind bore witness, Nulla collapsed to his knees in the gardens. Silent tears streaked his face, each one born from the ache of a heart long thought dead.
They took you from me.
And from that hollow ache, something darker bloomed. Not sorrow—resolve.
It had been years since you married the emperor.
A vow formed beneath his breath, low and final:
“If I cannot have you, I will tear this empire apart to take you back.”
It wasn’t terrible—not in the way stories speak of tyrants and loveless beds—but it was hollow. A quiet ache nestled beneath every gilded moment, every courtly smile. You stood now on the palace balcony, eyes cast over the sprawling kingdom bathed in golden sunlight, yet your heart wandered far from its throne.
You missed him. Nulla.
That one night lived in your memory like a dream etched in gold, burning brighter with each passing year. He had vanished afterward, as if swallowed by the wind, and despite the life built around you, your heart still reached for his.
You sighed, letting the sun warm your face… just as the peace shattered like glass.
Smoke billowed into the sky—thick, black, violent—blotting out the blue in cruel strokes. Your breath caught. High above the palace, the emperor’s crest—a phoenix rising from flame—was engulfed in fire. It crackled mockingly before crumbling into ash.
Screams followed.
They echoed across the marble halls like a chorus of ghosts. From your high perch, you saw guards rushing to action, swords drawn, shields raised. Noblewomen fled in panicked clusters, their gowns trailing behind them like broken wings. Flames danced through drapes and banners. The heat licked at your skin even from afar as your white-knuckled grip clenched the balcony rail.
What is happening?
But deep down… you already knew.
That familiar emptiness in your chest—where longing had quietly nested all these years—twitched like a string pulled taut. And then, above the chaos, a name reached your ears. Whispered in terrified reverence by a fleeing servant:
“The Black Knight… he’s returned.”
Your heart stopped.
Nulla?
You stumbled back from the balcony, breath shallow, chest heaving. The guards outside your chambers were gone, called away by the turmoil. Alone, you crossed the room to the mirror, where a stranger stared back: adorned in jewels and imperial silk, but still—so unmistakably hollow.
With trembling hands, you tore the shawl from your shoulders, casting it aside.
Then the doors crashed open.
The sound thundered through your bones.
And there he stood.
Nulla.
But not the man you remembered.
Gone was the noble polish of a loyal knight. Blackened steel clung to his form like a second skin, jagged and unforgiving. A crimson mantle trailed behind him, soaked in smoke and blood. A cracked mask dangled from his belt. His eyes—once warm and filled with wonder—were colder now, sharper. Deadly.
But when they met yours… they softened.
Just for a moment.
“(Y/N),” he breathed, your name a sacred prayer. His voice was lower now, roughened by time and war. “You’re alive... you’re safe.”
You stepped forward, trembling. “Nulla… you’re here…”
He crossed the room in a heartbeat, as if distance itself bent to his will. His gloved hand cupped your cheek, metal brushing your skin—cold, but his touch still sent warmth flooding through your veins.
“I’ve waited,” he whispered. “I’ve burned for you, mi vida. And now…” He turned his head, gaze sweeping the distant chaos beyond your chamber walls. “Now I will burn this empire to the ground if it means I never have to be apart from you again.”
You stared at him—your heart’s only home, standing like a storm at the threshold of your royal life. The man you were told to forget had returned not as a memory, but as reckoning.
He searched your face, desperation cracking through his calm. “Will you come with me?” he asked, voice raw. “Will you leave this gilded cage… and run away with me?”
The world stilled.
Your heart answered before your lips could.
Tears welled in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks in quiet surrender. You nodded, voice breaking with emotion. “Yes, Nulla. Please.”
A rare, aching smile broke across his face—and then his lips were on yours.
The kiss wasn’t the stuff of fairytales. It wasn’t gentle or chaste. It was fierce. It was hungry. It was real. Years of yearning, of grief, of love never extinguished—collided in that one breathless moment.
He exhaled against your mouth like he’d been holding his breath since the day fate tore you apart.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmured, his forehead pressed to yours. “I thought they stole you from me… forever.”
You shook your head, hands fisting the blood-red cloth on his chest. “I never stopped waiting. Every day, I prayed you’d come back.”
Another explosion rocked the palace—deeper, louder this time. The golden sky was gone now, replaced by fire-red and smoke-black. The end of a dynasty painted across the heavens.
Nulla pulled back, urgency blazing in his eyes. “We don’t have long. The emperor’s elite will regroup any moment. I have to get you out—now.”
He took your hand—and you didn’t hesitate.
You kicked off your jeweled slippers, the cold marble sharp beneath your feet, but it grounded you in your choice. No more crowns. No more cages.
Only him.
You ran through the palace halls beside him—his cape trailing like shadow, his sword gleaming with menace. With every step, the life you once knew crumbled behind you.
I WANNA KNOW! WHAT IS LOVE? — VARKA X F!READER — CHAPTER TWO
Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, Varka had become an integral part of your routine.
CONTENT.⠀fast burn. like FAST. Razor being cute. very fluffy chapter. Miss Valberry is somehow both self-aware and dense at the same time pls bear with her she's doing her best. | ~8,3k words
A/N.⠀thank you for the kind reception!!! I really wanted to keep this at around 5k but things got out of hand, so.... ehe >wo)
available on AO3 | previous chapter | index (tumblr) | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
Varka brought with him a comforting sense of familiarity that always put you at ease.
He greeted you the same way every morning: with a grin as bright as summer and a fond gaze that gave you butterflies. His hair would be damp and his skin glistened with sweat, which he dabbed away with the towel hanging around his neck. He’d wait for you at the entrance of the park and let out a laugh when Wolfhook tried to tackle him, eagerly licking his face in excitement while nearly making him lose his balance. You’d wrap your arms around Wolfhook and pull him back with the slightest bit of struggle, apologising to Varka, though you stopped doing it at some point.
He didn’t seem to mind. It looked like he genuinely enjoyed it, so you just accepted that this would be how Wolfhook greeted him every morning.
The walks were always pleasant. Sometimes there was an engaging conversation, sometimes there was small talk, and sometimes there was a comfortable silence. You had become more used to his presence and less timid or nervous talking to him. While he still made your heart race without trying, at least you could keep your composure. You weren’t sure you could handle embarrassing yourself in front of him.
Although you considered them to be normal pleasantries — your coworkers did the same — it felt nice when he asked if you had slept well or eaten something. If you said no, he’d offer to treat you to breakfast, and you’d have to bicker over whether or not you’d allow him to do so. You didn’t. He was persistent, but you were stubborn, so he’d drop the matter for the time being.
After a lap around the park, you’d separate to get ready at home. Your morning routine passed by fairly quickly. Like he knew exactly when you were going to finish, his car would already be waiting out front when you left the house. Getting into the car was also the same every time. He’d leave to open the door for you, make sure you were seated before he returned to his. Razor would greet you with a good morning, Miss Valberry and a small wave, wolf doll held close to his chest and his backpack sitting beside him.
Varka seemed have an unending social metre, always having something to talk about. He’d tell you about his day or an article he read recently, his workouts, and most frequently, Razor and Rosaria. According to Razor, she was ‘colder’ than he was but still a kind person and the best big sister in the world. You hadn’t had the chance to meet her yet as she was on a trip, but apparently Varka spoke of you often.
Only good things, I promise! he said. Not that there’s anything bad to say about you.
If only he knew his words, casual as they were, went straight to your heart.
Everyone in Mondstadt seemed to know Varka, even vendors and street cleaners. You were relatively new to Mondstadt, so you weren’t aware of just how well-liked he was. The more time you spent with him, the more you could see why. People always had something nice to say about him, humorous or wholesome. Varka himself also seemed to know everyone, always stopping by to say hello to anyone he recognised. At the park, joggers would greet him. You’d stand by him awkwardly as you fretted over whether to greet them back or if they were addressing you too in the first place.
It reminded you of your first day at the school. Venti had been the one showing you around at the time. He stopped by for a chat with every friend he encountered while you tried to make yourself less known. But it was also thanks to Venti that you had gotten so close with the other teachers. You were essentially prepared to be an outlier considering they all knew each other, but they had never made you feel excluded. Not even once.
Vaguely, you could remember them mentioning things that might have been related to Varka. Connecting the dots, you realised he was Venti’s drinking partner and the constant thorn in Jean’s side — a label said with fondness. The person who stole all the horses’ affection away from Kaeya in riding school was him. You also heard that he had lost to Natlan’s top motorcycle racer in a drinking challenge when he was there. It only made him more endearing to you, but to spare his pride, you chose not to mention what you learnt.
It was often Varka doing most of the talking, but sometimes, Razor would also chime in whenever something outside caught his attention.
Miss Valberry, look, birds.
Miss Valberry, I saw a big butterfly!
He was slowly breaking out of his shell and feeling more confident in his speech thanks to your constant encouragement. Varka seemed very proud of this outcome and would join you in chatting with Razor, asking about school and fun facts he learnt recently. He was becoming more social and less shy, which was also thanks to Bennett and his classmates who always made sure to include him. Not long ago, Alice had praised you for helping him assimilate with his environment. It had made your day — you were overflowing with pride.
On certain evenings, Varka would invite you over for dinner. A part of you was hesitant. You were certain you were being very unprofessional, being this close to him, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You tried to tell him that you didn’t want to take advantage of him like you already were, but unsurprisingly, he refused.
He declined every time you tried to pay him, and he would always tell you that he was inviting you for a reason. It didn’t take long for dinner together to become a regular thing. You’d switch between his place or yours at your insistence, because you refused his refusal, and were going to pay him back whether he liked it or not.
“You don’t have to do this for me,” he had said, leaning against the door frame as he watched you cook. “I’m doing this because I want to.”
“So am I,” you answered plainly. Then, more playfully: “Now get out of my kitchen, Mister Varka.”
You’d eat and chat, talk some more while watching a movie together. If it was his turn hosting dinner, you’d help put Razor to sleep before Varka drove you home. You had tried telling him that you could just walk home yourself, but he dismissed it without hesitation. His care for your safety was more than reassuring.
“Chief’s orders,” he chided jokingly. “I can’t let you do that.”
If it was yours, you’d see them out at the front door and say goodbye. Regardless, it always ended with a sleeping Razor being carried in Varka’s arms, and telling each other see you tomorrow in hushed tones. Wolfhook would let out a sad, quiet growl the moment he saw them putting on their shoes, but he wouldn’t leap at them, much to your relief.
Initially, you were worried about introducing him to Razor considering how he had acted when you first met Varka, but the two got along great. Razor liked giving him hugs, and he liked staying close to him. Every time the door bell rang, Wolfhook would first spin in circles before clawing at the door in excitement. It would take all of your strength to hold him back so he didn’t tackle the poor child to the floor. It had also taken a great amount of effort gently chiding Razor about feeding him because he’d look up at you with the most pleading gaze, but you’d stand firm.
As best as you could, anyway.
“You can’t give Wolfhook your vegetables, Razor,” you had told him in the same tone you used talking to the kids — gentle, caring. “He has his own food.”
He pouted. “But I don’t like vegetables…”
You and Varka shared a look. Softly smiling at Razor, you tried again. “Do you want to grow big and strong like papa?”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
“Then you have to eat your vegetables.”
His pout didn’t waver.
“You’d make me and Miss Lisa very proud if you do,” you said in a lilt.
That did the trick.
Varka looked mildly offended. “What about me?”
“Papa doesn’t eat vegetables,” he said, chewing. “Bad example.”
“Well, there you have it, Mister Varka,” you commented in amusement, eyeing the untouched broccoli on his plate. “I’m afraid Miss Lisa and I win this round.”
He huffed out a laugh. “You’re going to be quite the problem, aren’t you?”
Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it, Varka had become an integral part of your routine. You didn’t want to get too confident about your place in his or Razor’s life, but the rhythm felt so natural that it felt like you were a part of the family. You knew it was wrong to feel that way — you were just friends, nothing more — but you found yourself deep in yearning.
Getting to spend time with him and Varka just felt right. It felt like home, and you liked this routine. You liked the back and forth. You liked how real it felt. Though you weren’t confident, it was hard to miss that Varka might feel the same way. Every night, he’d call you and talk with you for hours until you fell asleep. He texted you first thing in the morning, and he always waited for you in the same spot, sporting the same grin he had whenever he saw you.
And just like every other time he did that, your heart fluttered, but you had to be realistic. This was only a childish crush, you thought, and it would pass.
The morning had started just like any other. Varka dropped you off at school, not driving away until he saw you and Razor step inside with his own eyes. The young boy had picked up a new habit: he’d wait for you to leave your side of the car so you could hold hands while you walked. You didn’t think much of it since it was flattering that they saw you as a comforting, parental figure. Eventually, you didn’t need to be asked to do it. Like second nature, you’d hold his smaller hand in your own and let him stay close. It was harmless, and it wasn’t like you weren’t close to your students anyway.
Razor liked bringing his wolf doll, which he referred to as his Lupical, with him every day. It had been with him since he was a baby. He treated it like his friend and would hold on to it whenever he got anxious or when he was thinking. Since it wasn’t a disturbance to the class — unlike Fischl’s pet bird that she had snuck in one time — you didn’t mind if he carried it around. It wasn’t different from the plush key chain you had on your bag, which you could also hang around freely.
Lunch, however, was a bit more eventful.
“So… What’s it like being with Varka?” Kaeya had asked out of the blue, straightforward and teasing. He sipped his coffee casually, eyeing you over the rim of his cup. “It’s not like you to keep secrets from us, Miss Valberry.”
You nearly dropped your spoon. “Nothing! We’re not together!”
“Nothing?” he repeated, smirking. “He drives you to work and picks you up every day, you have dinner together, his son loves you… but it’s nothing.”
“We’re not seeing each other,” you argued, avoiding his gaze. “We live in the same area and I’m Razor’s homeroom teacher. It’s my job to look after him. He’s just being nice, that’s all. ”
By now, Venti had stopped working on his poem, attentively listening to the current conversation instead. Lisa giggled behind her hand. You wilted, adjusting your sleeves and shifting in your seat. You were close enough to be considered friends so this was normal and expected, but you never knew what to do when Varka became the topic.
Sure, you liked him, but you were just friends. And you weren’t quite ready to address the elephant in the room, not when there were so many things to be worried about.
“I think he’s a great match for you, little berry,” Lisa chimed in.
“Not you too, Lisa…” you whined and slumped against your desk, kicking your feet petulantly. Your cheeks felt like they were in flames. “It’s not like that.”
“Well, he always talks to us about you,” she said with mirth. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. He’d do anything for you.”
“He doesn’t see me like that,” you mumbled in defeat. “Can we talk about something else?”
The door opened. Jean stepped inside. The moment she entered, everyone returned to their desks and went back to work, and the conversation thankfully ended there.
It had taken another half an hour before you were able to get yourself together. Classes went by without a hitch. Busying yourself with teaching and sending the students off distracted you from the thoughts their teasing had provoked. Now that the school day was over, you sat on a bench with your bag placed over your lap. Razor was beside you, swinging his legs back and forth as he quietly hummed a catchy tune he must have heard from the radio.
One by one, the teachers went home, and eventually, it was just you and him sitting outside, waiting.
Varka was late. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary — every now and then he’d be later by ten or twenty minutes, but he always came. However, this time felt different, and you couldn’t shake off the worry that weighed heavy upon your shoulders. Razor turned to look up at you with furrowed brows, bottom lip jutted into a pout. He was getting more restless by the minute.
“Just hang on,” you murmured, though you weren’t holding up that well yourself. “I’m sure your papa will be here soon.”
As if on cue, your phone rang. You picked it up right away, holding it next to your ear.
“There’s an emergency at work,” he said, hurried and frantic. “Do you mind looking after Razor until I get back? It might take a couple hours.”
Having your worries confirmed felt like the wind was knocked out of you. You bit the inside of your cheek anxiously, drumming your fingertips against the surface of the bench. You were sure it wasn’t his intention to alarm you — not to mention, it was a given that his job was dangerous — but you couldn’t help the nerves going haywire.
Not wanting to worry him, you willed yourself to calm down and replied, “Yeah, I can do that. Will you be okay?”
“I will. I promise.” You could hear clamour behind him. “Alright, I gotta go. Be safe.”
It should be me telling you to be safe, you thought with a hint of exasperation.
“Your papa just called me to say that he’s going to be late,” you spoke up, placing a hand on the top of Razor’s head. “You’ll have to stay with me for a while, okay?”
“Okay,” he mumbled. “Can I play with Wolfie?”
You offered him a warm smile. “Of course.”
Without Varka, Razor didn’t speak much on the ride home. You tried prompting some conversation from him, but he only answered with yes or no. He only seemed to be more lucid when he stepped inside your house and saw Wolfhook whose tail was wagging at full speed. Patting his head as you walked past, you unloaded for the day and turned on a nature documentary on the television for him to watch.
Since he was likely going to be here for a few hours, you decided to make him a quick dinner. Afterwards, Razor had returned to the living room where he laid asleep on the floor, arm draped over Wolfhook’s body. His chest rose and fell with relaxed breaths. For a moment, you felt guilty about having to break his serene state, but you were concerned about his comfort. You padded over to where he was and gently shook him awake, watching him blearily open his eyes in response.
“Come sleep on the couch,” you whispered. “It’s cold on the ground.”
He let out a dejected noise but took your hand regardless, letting you lead him to the couch. His eyes were closed and his feet dragged against the floor. With the slightest bit of struggle, he climbed and laid down across its length, falling back into slumber. Then, he spoke in a drowsy mumble that was almost unintelligible — but to your ears, the words were clear as day.
“Will you be my mama?”
You froze. You knew that question was going to come up sooner or later, but you weren’t prepared for it. With how much time you had been spending with him and Varka, there was bound to be a change in your relationship. To you, you could pretend it’s nothing and that it’s just a normal thing friends do. It hadn’t quite occurred to you how differently it must feel for Razor. Having not expected to be put on the spot, you searched through your brain for a proper response.
In the end, you couldn’t find it.
“You should sleep, Razor,” you stammered. “I’ll wake you up when your papa is here.”
“Your papa and I are also friends.” Trying to act unaffected, you delicately brushed his hair away from his face and spoke in the gentlest tone possible. “And I’m your teacher. That’s all.”
He pouted for a brief moment, but eventually eased up as sleep took over. His eyelids slowly closed and he curled into himself, nestling deeper into the blanket when you draped it over him. There was a sense of longing inside you that you didn’t know what to do with. It happened every time you were taking care of Razor or the kids. You truly cared about them, even if they’d only be with you for one academic year.
With a quiet sigh, you turned off the television and went back to work.
The sound of typing and clicking filled the silence along with soft snoring and the whir of the fan. The longer the silence went, the more worried you got. You knew Varka was great at his job. The scars on him and his experience proved that. Still, you were worried for his safety. His job involved danger and life-or-death situations, and the fact that you didn’t know anything was only exacerbating the issue.
It was nearing nine when the door bell rang, though Razor was in such deep slumber that it didn’t wake him. When you opened the door, you found Varka standing outside, damp with sweat and water. Ash and dust clung to his clothes. There was a strong urge to run into his arms, but you stood still, as painful as it was.
“Did everything turn out okay?” you asked quietly, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” he said. “We put it out before it could spread.”
You toyed with the edge of your sleeve, eyes downcast. “That’s good.”
The ‘I was worried about you’ was unsaid, but you were sure he could hear it from the way something in his expression seemed to shift. He softened and his hand moved up to the your cheek but it stopped, like he was holding himself back. It hanged loosely by his side.
“Hey,” he uttered, all calm and reassuring. “I promised you I’d be fine.”
You looked up at him, brows furrowed but the sight of his smile melted your anxiety away. There was a moment where both of you just looked at each other without saying anything, almost like you were having a telepathic conversation. He cleared his throat awkwardly and broke the contact, turning his attention to Razor instead. He slid his arms under Razor’s back and his legs and smoothly lifted him up without a sound. The boy instinctively curled closer to him, small hands loosely grabbing the front of his shirt.
“I want to stay with mama,” Razor mumbled sleepily, and it felt like time had stopped moving.
You stared at Varka with wide eyes to confirm that you weren’t hearing things. He stared back, briefly stuttering before he turned away, chuckling nervously. You tucked your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight from one foot to another. There was a tension in the air that you couldn’t name as you let the weight of Razor’s words sink in.
“He sleep talks sometimes,” he offered lamely. “Sorry. He probably didn’t mean that.”
Razor was honest. He most definitely meant that, but you weren’t sure you could handle that information. Flustered, you turned Varka and pushed against his back. He made a confused noise but didn’t stop you as you ushered him to the door, eyes fixated on the floor. It was such a minuscule action that felt so critical that you didn’t think you could look at him.
You weren’t going to think of how firm he felt under your hands. You weren’t going to think about how he just went along with what you were doing, either.
You weren’t.
“Goodnight, Varka,” you said hastily, shoving him out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait—”
You closed the door. A deep breath left your lips as you slouched over, heart pounding against your rib cage. You knew the kids viewed you as an extension of their family, but with your feelings for Varka and Razor being such a huge part of the equation, you couldn’t withstand it. A mixture of emotions flowed through you — joy, embarrassment, and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to scream or coo over it.
Wolfhook huffed through his nose as he glanced at you out the corners of his eyes. You felt like he had been more judgemental lately. Maybe he was. Maybe he was sick of you dancing around Varka like this, drowning in fear and denial.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you muttered, turning the lock. “Come on. It’s time to go to bed.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
If you were to be fully rational, it wasn’t a big deal, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all night.
You loved the kids. They always made your chest tighten up a little, making your heart warm with a sense of yearning and care. You liked being someone they could trust to protect and nurture them. Their laughter never failed to make your day, and seeing how happy they were to see you every day was more than fulfilling. These feelings already existed, long since before you were even a teacher, but they seemed to intensify when it came to Razor.
Admittedly, with your longing for Varka, you did see yourself as a parental figure for him. He was small like a little wolf pup, so young and innocent that you ached to shield him from whatever the world had to throw his way. And Razor wasn’t a clingy child by any means — his sister was away, as was Varka albeit slightly less — but he liked staying close to you. The gifts he’d bring you, whether they’d be a pretty flower or a leaf he found at the park, felt like blessings. You’d imagine yourself as an important pillar of his life, someone he could be close to, and the maternal feelings would only grow stronger every time you saw him.
Will you be my mama?
His words only reaffirmed your innermost hopes, and at the same time, you couldn’t handle it. Observant as Razor was, there was no way he could tell that something was blooming between you and Varka. It was even likely that he wasn’t saying what you thought he was trying to say. Surely he meant that he saw you as a person he could trust, not that he thought you were a good fit for his father. It also wasn’t out of the norm for him to comment on what he noticed about people.
Miss Valberry, you look happy.
Miss Valberry, are you sad?
Miss Valberry, Papa wants to see you.
You had screamed into your pillow at the last echoed memory. All the signs were pointing in one direction but you couldn’t believe it. Just thinking about Varka possibly reciprocating was enough of an attack on your poor self. You knew you had to stay on the ground. You didn’t want to get your hopes up for nothing. You were getting lost in your daydreams and longing — you needed to come back down. But thinking about him not feeling the same way left your throat feeling like it had closed up. It stung more than it should.
With another silent scream, you shoved the thought into the back of your mind, fully intent on keeping it locked away there. What you needed to do was let it be, continue on with your life and stop mulling over it so much.
Varka was waiting at the usual spot when you arrived at the park with Wolfhook in tow. He was stretching and cooling down after the laps he’d taken. The moment he spotted you, it was like he lit up with joy. He greeted you with a grin, lips parted to speak but then Wolfhook ran forward, dragging you behind him. The sudden movement nearly made you fall over, and the leash was growing taut from the distance between you and Wolfhook as you struggled to catch up.
Before you could call out for him to slow down, the tip of your foot got caught on a stone embedded in the ground. Your stomach lurched as you toppled forward. With your eyes squeezed shut, you braced yourself for impact against the uneven, but it never came.
Instead, you fell into a hard chest. Strong arms wrapped themselves around you and held you close. A pathetic, high-pitched noise that sounded both like a wheeze and a sigh left your lips. You felt as if you had jolted out of your body in that moment. Alarms blared in your head and your inner voices talked over one another. You were beyond aware of the current situation. It had sunken in immediately the moment you made contact with him.
You fell. He caught you. It felt comforting being held by him. It was also embarrassing to be caught in such a clumsy moment. You were too scared to open your eyes, afraid that you’d see pity or amusement. You could hear Wolfhook’s unimpressed sigh, which was fine and a regular occurrence, but you didn’t think you could take the same thing if it came from Varka.
Your hands had instinctively come up to grab the fabric of his shirt, bunching it in your fists. His heartbeat raced steadily beneath your ear. Slowly, your eyelids fluttered open. He gently helped you stand upright, holding on to your arms as he searched your face for any signs of pain.
He was so dangerously close that you couldn’t take it. Even if any other person would have done the same thing, the fact that his first instinct was to protect you made you weak in the knees. You gulped hard and avoided his watchful gaze. Warmth was rushing to your face at full speed. You couldn’t look at him, not when he was so genuinely worried about you.
“You okay?”
You weren’t able to look at him yet. “Yes. I’m sorry about that.”
He reluctantly let go once he was sure that you were fine. Clearing your throat, you acted like you didn’t mourn the loss of his touch and picked up Wolfhook’s leash again. You couldn’t afford to fall apart in front of him.
For a moment, there was silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt dangerously vulnerable. You could feel his eyes on you, staring like he was trying to search for traces of deceit. Wolfhook, who had gotten tired of your current state, sighed and sat down, shooting you an unimpressed look.
“Well, I’m here now,” you spoke up, forcefully brushing off your fluster. “Let’s walk.”
And so, you walked together side by side. Talked like nothing awkward happened. Spent time with each other under the coming sunrise. Things were… normal. He didn’t bring up your haste in getting him out of your house as fast as possible. He didn’t act like anything was wrong, either. You were starting to think that you were overthinking it. Maybe it really wasn’t as big of a deal as you made it out to be.
His hand brushed against yours. It felt like a static shock had coursed through your body. You opened your mouth to apologise, but then hesitantly, like he was testing the waters, he laced your fingers together, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.
Surprised, you stared at him with wide eyes. He didn’t look at you, eyes pointedly focusing on the path in front of him, but you could see his ears turning pink. You glanced down at your joined hands. His hand was big and calloused, but it fit perfectly with your own. It felt warm and safe. Smiling to yourself, you idly caressed the back of his hand with your thumb, memorising the feeling of him.
You didn’t know how long you stayed together like that. You didn’t want to let go and he didn’t, either. It was only when his alarm rang that you let go, unable to meet each other’s eyes like two timid teenagers. When you glanced at him, you could see him smiling, and the sight was so endearing that it made your heart ache the hardest it had ever ached.
As usual, he drove you home. The way it was so routinely made a dozen inexplicable emotions rise in your chest, all so positive and welcoming it almost scared you. Despite your reservations about your situation, you weren’t so stiff being close to him anymore.
Everything was fine, and everything was good.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Although it was weekend, time had gone by in the blink of an eye.
You had a productive first half of the day, doing chores and grading homework. Wolfhook was especially needy. He whined, the noise low in his throat as he vigilantly guarded the front door. You tried telling him that he’d be seeing Varka and Razor this evening, but it did nothing to alleviate his restlessness. The only thing that fixed it was the chew stick that you had been saving for next week. Satisfied, he sat comfortably in his little corner and hadn’t made a sound since.
For the later part of the afternoon, you busied yourself in the kitchen. You finally got around to reading the Natlanese recipes you had bookmarked online. Since both Varka and Razor liked meat, you decided on a non-spicy blazed meat stew and a forest of colour salad for additional nutrition. Archons knew they needed it.
It wasn’t the first time you prepared something for them, but the occasion felt more special than usual. You were still walking on air from the moment you had with Varka earlier today, spirits high and heart thumping like it was ready to burst. The television droned on and on in the background as you immersed yourself into the anticipation stirring at the pit of your stomach. It truly felt different, like the meal was going to be more than just a regular dinner.
You were eager to see him again in a way that you couldn’t quite put into words. Even as the meat and vegetables sizzled in the pot, all you could think about was how he’d react when he saw you tonight. Did the skin contact mean something to him, or was he naturally physically affectionate with his friends? Did he enjoy it when you cooked for him the same way you did when he cooked for you? Was this comforting for Razor? Questions continuously popped into your mind, nearly distracting you from what you were doing.
The knife sliced through the vegetables with ease, dicing them into small pieces. The crunch and the blade hitting the cutting board created a steady rhythm that soothed you. Before long, the kitchen was alive and vividly smelled like an amalgamation of spices, herbs and vegetables. Basil, cumin, garlic, tomatoes and meat broth swirled in the air, its composition making your stomach rumble in appreciative impatience. Its fragrance enveloped the house like a warm blanket.
You felt a sense of fulfilment as you placed the bowl on to the centre of the table. It was set neatly, familiar and comfortable. There was a pitcher of fresh valberry juice waiting on the side, ready to serve just like its companions. You could picture how it would come together — the soft clink of utensils, the conversations, the pleased smiles and eager bites. Satisfied, you went back and quickly changed into something presentable. A comfortable but pretty outfit, some perfume, light makeup and hair brushed. You found yourself smiling in the mirror, giddy with excitement.
The sound of Wolfhook barking at the front door, paws scratching at its surface signalled that Varka was pulling into the drive way. A squeal escaped your throat as you anxiously waited for the door bell to ring. You knew he could already see you through the window, but you didn’t want to scare him by looking too eager. You smoothed down your dress, double-checking your appearance when it finally rang. You slowly opened the door to find that he was standing there with Razor. Just like last time, and the time before that, they were waiting expectantly for you.
Varka had also apparently chosen to dress up as well. He wore a button-down shirt that was fitted to his body, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a pair of slacks. Razor wore a tee with the Boreas franchise’s logo printed in the centre. Before you could greet them, Wolfhook shoved you out of the way with his body and leapt into Varka, making him let out a belly laugh.
Amused, you watched him try to push the dog away with one hand. He was relentless, insistent on smothering Varka’s face with kisses. You quietly laughed to yourself as Razor sadly hunched over at Wolfhook ignoring him, kicking a stray pebble out of the way. You were about to help him when you noticed a bouquet in his other hand, big and beautiful and in full bloom. Your heart skipped a beat, but you remained calm as he struggled to get Wolfhook off of him. You couldn’t get ahead of yourself. He could just be being polite.
In the end, he managed to calm Wolfhook down. He inspected the bouquet carefully, presumably inspecting it for bruising or damage. Once he was satisfied that it was unharmed, he awkwardly handed it to you, seeming uncharacteristically nervous.
You swallowed. “Is that for me?”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “It is.”
You gingerly took it. It was a bouquet of pink carnations, wrapped in paper and tied with a bow of a deeper colour. They looked fresh like they were freshly gathered. There was a small note tucked in the ribbon, but as you were about to take it out to have a look, Varka stopped you. He looked almost frantic.
“You can look at that later,” he said hastily, cheeks dusted with pink. “Razor has something to give you.”
You eyed him with suspicion but let it go, turning your attention to Razor instead. He was looking up at you with his wide, sparkling red eyes, small smile resting on his face. Then, he gave you a card. It was clearly handmade, coloured with pencils and decorated with stickers. On it, Happy Mother’s Day was scrawled. There were three stick figures drawn in the centre of the card — one that was you, one that was him, and another that was Varka. They were surrounded by little hearts.
All the yearning you previously felt came rushing back in full force, and you nearly melted right then and there.
It confirmed that Razor saw you as a part of his family, and in the back of your mind, you wondered if he always had. You felt an intense urge to protect him from all harm and support him in every way that you could. Like his mother. The back of your nose was starting to sting as tears threatened to well in the corners of your eyes, but you held it back and let out a soft huff instead. You crouched down to his height and ruffled his hair, heart soaring when he let out a quiet giggle.
“Thank you, Razor,” you said. “I’m honoured you thought of me for Mother’s Day. Did you make this yourself just for me?”
He nodded proudly. “Papa helped me. It was—”
Varka swiftly covered the boy’s mouth with his hand. He stumbled over syllables for a moment, but managed to speak in the end. “It was his idea.”
You tilted your head to the side curiously. You swore he was about to say that it was Varka’s idea. The thought gave you butterflies, but you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself. Still, the notion that Varka was the one who suggested that Razor celebrate you for Mother’s Day was enough to make you want to burst into giggles. You had the urge to tease Varka for it, but you weren’t exactly sure where you stood with him. Instead, you mussed up Razor’s hair again and smiled down at him.
“Well, thank you for making me feel special,” you murmured. “I’ll treasure this forever.”
You stepped aside to let them in. Varka subtly sniffed the air, glancing around your home in search for its source. You put the bouquet on the coffee table to return to later then came back, ushering them to the dining area where a full spread of dinner was waiting. The excitement came flowing back in — you couldn’t wait for them to taste all the love and effort you poured into this meal.
“I made rice and Natlanese meat stew,” you said, suddenly timid. You wondered if you overdid it. “And of course, forest of colour salad.”
Razor pouted. “But I don’t want vegetables.”
The pleading look he gave you nearly made you waver. He looked like a sad puppy, giving you the same teary eyes that Wolfhook did whenever you said no to giving him more snacks. As much as it pained you to decline, you were determined.
“Well, they’re there,” you quipped. “You and your papa will have to eat them.”
“Me?” Varka echoed, snapped out of his trance. “I don’t really need to, do I?”
“Do you remember when Razor said you were a bad example, Mister Varka?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. “Someone has to make sure you’re both eating healthy.”
“Can’t you make an exception?” He offered a sheepish grin. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Friends still hold each other accountable.”
“But this is about vegetables!”
“Papa listen,” Razor said, climbing up the chair with a determined look on his face. “Miss Valberry said no.”
You smugly eyed him. “You heard him.”
“I never thought I’d see the day when I stopped being my son’s favourite person,” he muttered, feigning heartbreak with a hand over his chest. He said your name in a wistful sigh. “You’re dangerous.”
You were smiling to yourself as you ate with them. Even if you already did this regularly, the thought of doing this every day was pleasant. Being with them, sharing a home-cooked meal by either you and Varka, talking about everything. Being a family. You felt slightly guilty for fantasising about him like this, but there wasn’t any harm, you thought. You were, in a way, already a major part in their lives. You were content with just getting to be around him and Razor, even if your heart cracked at the possibility that a fantasy would be all this was.
Both of them finished the food in no time. Pride surged through you at the sight of empty plates and bowls, granting you a sense of fulfilment. After urging Razor to go play with Wolfhook in the living room, you began to tidy up, stacking the dishes on top of another. But before you could go to the kitchen, Varka took them from your hands and was making his way there. You gaped at him for a moment but snapped out of it, scurrying after him.
This man tested your every nerve in every way possible.
The plates were fragile, so it wasn’t as if you could snatch them back from him. So, you resorted to lightly swatting him with urgency, frowning deeply.
“Varka, put those down,” you hissed. “This is my job.”
He gently placed them in the sink, stretching his neck and grabbing the sponge like he owned it. “No.”
Ignoring you, he started to clean them. You couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous predicament you had found yourself in. Grabbing his arm, you pulled as hard as you could to get him away, but he didn’t budge.
“Varka!” you repeated. “I can take care of this! Go sit with Razor!”
You wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled in hopes that it would pry him off easier. Your feet were sliding against the wooden floor with the effort you were exerting, but he remained steadfast. You could hear the sponge squeaking as he continued to do the dishes like you weren’t actively trying to tackle him. And, as if he was mocking you, he put another clean dish on the rack while whistling a cheery tune, ignoring your futile attempts.
You swatted him again. “This is my house.”
He was entirely unfazed.
“I’m helping you.”
Still laughing, you tried wedging yourself between him and the sink.
“I can do it myself!”
He grinned down at you. “So can I, so let me do it. Chief’s orders.”
“Varka!” you groaned, half-exasperated. “You’re a guest! I can’t have you doing my chores—”
“Papa and Miss Valberry are fighting?”
A broken voice joined in, making you fall silent. Razor stood at the doorway, his hands quivering by his sides and looking like he was close to tears. The sight made your chest feel tight and heavy. It wasn’t often that you got to see him so upset. He hugged his doll tighter and hesitantly padded forward, peering up at you with glossy eyes. Suddenly aware of the proximity, you stepped away, missing the way his hands tried to follow you in chase.
“No, sweetie,” you responded softly. The nickname slipped out before you realised it. “Your papa and I are just playing.”
He brightened up, now reinvigorated with wonder. “Can I play?”
“Yes, you can. We’re telling your papa what to do,” you spoke up before Varka could. “Get him to sit on the couch and watch TV with you.” Mischief flickered over your eyes when you glanced at him and feigned sadness, crossing your arms and hanging your head low. “He’s trying to stop me from cleaning up.”
“Papa, come watch TV,” Razor said, taking his hand in his much smaller one.
That caught him off guard. “Tell Miss Valberry I’m trying to help her.”
The boy frowned like he couldn’t believe his ears.
“Miss Valberry doesn’t want your help.”
Varka let out a dramatic sigh and raised his hands up in surrender.
“Alright, you’ve got me cornered,” he said, chuckling and giving you a lopsided smile that made your heart stutter. You just shrugged playfully and shooed him away, turning towards the sink. Razor tugged at Varka’s hand until he gave in, allowing himself to be pulled towards the living room.
The smile never left your face as you finished what he started. Your hands dipped into the soapy water. Cutlery and porcelain clattered against one another, mixed in with the hum of the television and muffled conversations between the two. Eventually, you were lost in the monotony of it all, and by the time you came to, everything was spotless.
You quickly dried your hands and turned the corner into the living room. They were sitting together on the couch. Razor was on Varka’s lap, a large blanket wrapped around both their frames like a cocoon. Coincidentally, like it knew Razor was there, the television was playing a documentary on wolves. His eyes were practically glued to the screen, wide with wonder and curiosity as he held on tightly to his doll.
Briefly, you could see this scene as a photo in an album, collected with other fond memories of childhood. Varka’s tendency to take pictures of him was so frequent that Razor wasn’t as camera-shy anymore. You had seen most of them when you spent evenings over at his place with him showing you every thing he’d ever documented.
In the back of your mind, you wanted to be part of it all.
“Miss Valberry,” Razor called out. He was pointing at the wolf on the screen. “That’s you.”
You blinked. “Me?”
“That’s papa.” The corners of his lips twitched upwards. “And that’s me. My Lupical.”
“Lupical…?” You looked to Varka curiously. “What does he mean by that?”
He cleared his throat behind his fist, staring ahead like he couldn’t make eye contact with you. It was dim inside, but you swore you saw the tips of his ears burning red. “He’s saying we’re his family.”
“Aw, Razor,” you cooed, smoothing down his hair again. He nuzzled into your touch and wrinkled his nose, smiling shyly. “Thank you for thinking that way.” This time, you couldn’t resist. Coyly, you asked him, “And do you agree with that, Mister Varka?”
He hesitated for a moment. “The note,” he said, voice cracking in between.
You glanced at the folded note tucked between the flowers. “You want me to look at it now?”
He didn’t reply, seemingly getting more nervous. A part of you was concerned, but another part was brimming with hope as you picked it up. It was a short letter written in a scrawl, legible just enough. You’d seen worse from your students.
You opened it.
To our beloved Miss Valberry,
I’m not great with words, but this is what I want to say: you’ve become a very special part of my life. Razor loves you and so do I. I just can’t say it to your face.
You make everything better. I’m lucky to have you by my side. I would be more than honoured if you’d officially be mine.
Happy Mother’s Day.
— Your Varka
P.S. One day I’ll have the courage to say it out loud.
P.P.S. I’d like to take you out some time. Just the two of us. Maybe on Starsnatch Cliff. Or Windrise, if that’s what you like.
You could practically hear the blood rushing in your ears as you began to burn from the neck up. Your heart pounded against your rib cage, threatening to burst right out. Then, you smiled, no longer able to hold it back. Seeing your hopes be confirmed felt like flying. It was like a dream. Tearing your gaze away from the piece of paper, you looked up at him. He was sitting still, jaw clenched and fingers drumming against his thigh as he stared straight ahead.
“Varka…” you whispered, awestruck. “Do you really mean it?”
His throat bobbed with a hard gulp. “Yes. I do.”
Cautiously, you shifted closer until your thigh brushed against his. He opened the blanket, wrapping it around you before he put his arm around your shoulders. You rested your head on him, slowly reaching out to hold his hand. Your fingers were gently intertwined; like it was pure instinct, he had already taken hold of them, warmth seeping against your skin through his palm. No words were shared — just a silent agreement between two people who loved each other.
“You’re also very special to me,” you murmured. “Both you and Razor.”
He took in a deep breath. “Really?”
You hummed. “Really.”
By now, Razor had already fallen asleep, and the television had long faded into background noise. It was like the world around you had stilled, leaving just you and Varka under the spotlight. You felt sated and fulfilled, you felt seen. You were more than aware of how close you were together, and the domesticity of it all only made you feel an overwhelming sense of love.
You could get used to this, you thought. Having a home-cooked dinner, breathing in the same air and sharing the same space. A heart ready to burst with joy and a smile that could hardly be contained. Your cheeks were warm, and you could slightly see under the lights that so were his. You giggled at his dazed state and how his gaze kept flickering to your lips, longing visible deep in pools of cerulean.
He softened in relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”
But then like a needle popping a balloon, the moment was broken by Wolfhook letting out a low growl. He was already sitting at your feet with his teeth bared, paw batting at Varka’s hand like he wanted him to let go. You gently hushed him, but he continued to glare at Varka, posture stiff and ready to attack.
“I guess you’ll need his approval again too,” you laughed out softly.
He sighed, though it wasn’t one of exasperation or anger — just one of disbelief and amusement at the very dog who just broke him out of his enamoured state.
Who would’ve thought that your dog would be the one to find the love of your life?
PAIRING.⠀Varka x Reader
CONTENT.⠀female reader | modern AU, single dad Varka, fluff, super corny cliché and cheesy, love at first sight, hinted age gap, Razor and Rosaria are Varka's adopted children in this, idk what else to say it's just pure fluff no angst here
STATUS.⠀ongoing
A/N.⠀my friend @/hiperacid2 planted firefighter Varka in my brain and the worms did the rest...
READ ON AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
CHAPTER 1
more tba
This fic is only posted on AO3 as rabbitescape and Tumblr as toudan. Please do not repost, copy, modify, translate my fics elsewhere or feed them to AI. Thank you!
summary: they meet someone who they think is pretty. pairings: ifa, ororon, flins, varka, gorou, itto, kaveh, alhaitham x non binary reader.
a/n: level: mischaracterisation. boss: me. c5 flins haver: also me.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
𓈒⟡₊⋆ IFA
the streets of natlan are alive, sunlight catching on shiny trinkets and banners that sway high above the bustling marketplace. children dart down the roads, laughter echoing between stalls as some cute saurians lounge lazily along the sidelines.
ifa’s out running errands again, busy as always, restocking on saurian medicine and a few other supplies which his clinic needs, when cacucu suddenly lets out a loud chirp and decides to zip away instead of staying perched on his shoulder. “later, bro!”
“what— hey! dude, you get back here!”
the tiny red qucuaurus flies between natlan’s market stalls, his little wings fluttering as he weaves through the crowd like the mischievous little creature he is. ifa follows in quick pursuit, muttering apologies as he brushes past startled vendors and random people.
and then, he cringes.
whump!
cacucu crashes headfirst into some unaware persons forehead, letting out a startled squawk as his wings flap in a frantic blur. the little dino tumbles backward midair, clearly dazed from the sudden impact.
“cacucu!” ifa shouts, worried for his little buddy and guilty to the poor victim of his clumsiness. his breath catching in his throat as he pushes through the last few steps, only to stop dead in his tracks.
you’re standing there in the middle of the street, brushing tiny red feathers from your clothing. the faintest smile ghosts across your face, confused but unbothered despite the growing red mark in between your eyebrows.
yet when you lift your head, and the sunlight hits just right. your eyes catch the gold of the afternoon, gleaming warm and soft, and for a heartbeat ifa seems to forget everything around him, his errands, the crowd, even the mess his companion had just caused.
“uh— oh no, i’m— uh— sorry about him.” ifa stammers, hand flying to the back of his neck as he tries to laugh it off. his ears are pink, and his words are tripping over themselves.
“bro! no way, bro! pretty person, bro!”
ifa’s flush somehow seems to darken even further. “cacucu—”
but the little qucuaurus isn’t done. he spins mid air, wings flashing in the light as he belts out another line, louder and far too gleeful for ifa’s liking. “so pretty, bro! you’re doomed!”
you laugh softly, a sound that feels light and genuine in his ears, and ifa swears something in his chest just short circuits. it’s a feeling that not even an experienced veterinarian like himself could comprehend.
he clears his throat, trying to reel himself back in, his cheeks dusted pink. “he, uh… tends to say things he really shouldn’t.”
“he’s honest,” you reply. “but it’s quite alright.”
cacucu lets out a triumphant squawk, wings fluttering like he’s won the battle that he himself had started. “ifa bro, they talked back!”
ifa groans under his breath, tugging the brim of his hat down to hide his face. “i’m so sorry about this guy,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “just, um… don’t listen to him.”
cacucu only cackles in reply, circling around the both of you.
you laugh again, softer this time, and crouch slightly to meet cacucu’s gaze. “i think he’s sweet.” you say, reaching out to let him perch on your hand. he chirps proudly, puffing up his chest.
ifa blinks, caught somewhere between awe and awkwardness. “ah… ya’ think so?”
you glance up at him, eyes warm. “mhm. he’s just looking out for you.”
cacucu tilts his head toward ifa, then back to you. “bro! they like you, bro!”
ifa sputters, nearly choking on air. “cacucu!”
but you’re already smiling, that smile that instantly makes one appear on his face, as you hand the little creature back. “see you around?”
you walk off, sunlight tracing your silhouette, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring like a fool. cacucu lands back on his place on the vet’s shoulder, wings flapping smugly.
“told you, bro,” he parrots, voice lilting with pride. “you’re doomed.”
ifa laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “yeah,” he murmurs, watching you disappear into the crowd. “guess i am.”
𓈒⟡₊⋆ ORORON
ororon doesn’t do nervous.
he once fought an out of control qucusaur with nothing but a hoe and a half empty bag of seeds. he’s stared down hilichurls while casually watering his cabbages. nothing shakes him.
but stepping into citlali’s home, arms full of freshly picked vegetables, only to see you sitting there, smiling, relaxed and sipping something that smells faintly of fruit and liquor, yeah. that just about does him in.
“oh, ororon!” citlali exclaims, her voice warm and slurred, cheeks rosy from her drink. “my favorite grandson! c’mere, c’mere!”
he barely manages a grunt in reply, already wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole as you glance over, eyes meeting his for just a heartbeat too long.
he steps forward, boots heavy against the wooden floor, trying his hardest not to look at you for too long. but you… stars above, you look so out of place here, in the best way. clean and polished, dressed in soft colours and finer fabric than he’s ever owned. even the way you tilt your head when he walks in feels too graceful.
suddenly, he’s all too aware of himself, the dirt under his nails, the sweat clinging to his neck, the frayed edges of his old cape. he clears his throat, his voice low.
“uh, hi, granny,” he mutters, setting the basket down gently by his feet. “ifa was busy with his clinic, so… i’m bringing these instead.”
citlali lets out a laugh, one that sounds bright and unrestrained, a far cry from her usual grumbling when sober. “oh, aren’t you sweet!” she beams, swaying slightly as she gestures between you both. “see, [name], i told you he’s a gentleman! look at him, he even grows spinach! what a catch, huh?”
ororon nearly chokes on air, ears burning as he stares hard at the basket, praying you don’t notice the way his hands fidget at his sides.
you blink, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth as you set your cup down with a soft clink. “you grow spinach?”
“and turnips,” he blurts before his brain can catch up. his voice cracks slightly and he winces. “uh, and… beans.”
you smile, quiet laughter slipping through. “beans are my favorite.”
his ears go pink instantly.
citlali notices, because of course she does. her eyes narrow with mischievous, and before ororon can so much as shift his weight, she’s grabbed his wrist in her intoxicatedly strong grip.
“you two should talk!” she declares, dragging him toward the couch despite his clear reluctance. “maybe share bean recipes! or— or sow a garden together!”
he stumbles, nearly dropping his gloves as he’s unceremoniously shoved down beside you. his shoulders go rigid, eyes fixed firmly on the wall ahead.
citlali hums proudly to herself and takes another sip of her drink. meanwhile, ororon’s trying very hard not to combust, especially when your knee brushes lightly against his.
“granny—” he starts, voice strangled somewhere between a plea and a protest.
“stay seated, boy!” she barks, slamming her cup down with authority before promptly letting out a small burp. “don’t make me call ifa and tell him you’re scared of an attractive face!”
you try to save his embarrassment, you really do, but the laugh slips out anyway. it bubbles past your lips before you can bite it back, and ororon swears his heart just about leaps clear out of his chest. you lean in slightly, eyes still shining with amusement, and whisper, “hey, don’t listen to her. she’s a terrible wingman.”
he blinks, stunned into silence, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. he glances down at his hands, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. his voice comes out low, barely above a mumble. “yeah… but she’s not wrong.”
citlali’s already half asleep in her chair, humming some old tune to herself, cup still dangling loosely from her hand.
and there he is, sitting beside you, awkward and flushed, shoulders tense but a smile tugging at his lips anyway. it’s small and shy, the kind of smile that sneaks up on him before he can stop it.
suddenly, the room feels warmer somehow, much quieter too, and when you glance over, you find him looking at you like he still can’t believe you’re a real person.
“um, so…” he starts, adjusting his wrist links. “…beans?”
𓈒⟡₊⋆ FLINS
it’s late. the fog drapes low over the island, thick enough to swallow even the faintest sound. the old tombstones creak and groan as the wind brushes past, and flins moves between them with his lantern held steady in his hand. the purple flame inside flickers weakly, fighting the cold that seeps into everything around him.
he’s walked this path more times than he can count, yet tonight feels different. the air is too still and the silence is too loud. even the usual whisper of the lingering spirits seems to have faded.
but when a faint motion catches at the edge of his vision, he stops. his breath clouds faintly in the air. someone’s there, half hidden between the stones, a silhouette shifting just out of reach.
flins lifts his lantern, his posture straight and voice calm but gentle enough as to not disturb the peace. “who’s there?” he calls, the light spilling across worn marble and just barely catching a glimpse of a figure.
“it’s all right,” he adds quietly when they make no further movement. “don’t hide”
when you step out from the fog, hesitant and clutching the small bouquet in your hands, nervous because now there’s someone else here with you in the dark on some spooky little island, flins exhales softly, the tightness in his shoulders easing just enough for him to lift a hand and swat at the air.
“…please return to your side of the world,” he says after a small second, his tone low as the purple lanternlight brushes against the soft lines of his face. “you do not belong here anymore.”
you blink at him startled, the grip on your flowers wilting slightly . “…what?”
for a long moment, neither of you moves, and the fog coils between you and whispers through the multiple gravestones. flins blinks too, the initial authority in his eyes faltering as he studies you properly. your face, the warmth of your breath in the cold air, the faint tremble of the flowers in your grasp.
his expression softens and the light catches in his eyes, illuminating them at the edges.
“oh.” he mutters after a small, quite awkward beat, lowering the lantern a little, the glow slipping from his face. “you are… not a spirit?” he asks uncertainly.
you stare flatly. “yeah… didn’t think i was.”
flins clears his throat, shifting his weight, one gloved hand rubbing the back of his neck. “right. yes. of course, and that is my apologies. it’s just—” his gaze flicks up again carefully, studying you like he’s afraid he’ll blink and you’ll vanish into thin air. “—you look… ethereal, and they tend to slip through from time to time.”
you raise an eyebrow, your lips twitching despite yourself. “flattering.”
a quiet sigh escapes him, his shoulders loosening as the flame between you wavers in the fog. “…it was not intended to be.” he says softly, almost under his breath, yet you hear it anyways. and it lingers, because somehow it kind of was.
for a moment, neither of you speak. the wind drifts tighter around the ground and mutes the world until it feels like there’s only the two of you on teyvet.
flins glances up again, unable to help himself. the light paints you in blues and violet, the kind of glow that doesn’t belong to the living or the dead because it’s something softer. it catches on your lashes, your skin, the curve of your mouth when you shift your weight slightly.
he’s quiet, but his eyes linger and trace details like he’s trying to commit them to his memory. when he finally speaks, his voice is much quieter than before that you nearly miss it had he not stepped closer. “forgive me,” he says, “it’s simply that you look as though the light itself might favor you.”
it’s a compliment that is both delicate and unintentional, but undeniable true. he looks away a moment later, clearing his throat as if that might undo what he’s said. obviously it does not.
you allow a small smile to form on your lips. “is that a part of your job? keeping the light… and then giving it away?”
he huffs out a soft laugh through his nose, glancing down at the lantern as its flames tremble faintly in its cage. “perhaps,” he admits quietly, “…but it seems that tonight, it has already chosen where to shine.”
𓈒⟡₊⋆ VARKA
varka truly was built like a storm. his loud laugh and heavy steps made him the kind of man whose presence seeped into every corner of the half empty angel’s share bar. even diluted by drink after drink, he was unmistakably him, the grand master, knight of boreas, and the man the entire city looked up to.
but tonight, mondstadt’s pride looked a little less like a hero and more like a man who was voluntarily drowning in some good alcohol and loud music.
he’d been chatting poor charles ear off for hours now, stories of frostbite on his toes, hunts and victories, sometimes the odd misadventure where he was stuck fighting beasts with nothing but his shoe, until finally charles shift had ended and he was able to slip away with a tired, yet relieved smile.
and that’s when you stepped in.
a quiet exchange of nods as you took his place behind the counter, towel over your shoulder, sleeves rolled to your elbows. the tavern’s golden light glowing against your skin, and before he knew it, the chatter in the corners somehow dimmed just enough that even someone as intoxicated as him were able to take notice of.
“hah… well, would you look at that,” he murmured, voice dropping low, gravelly in that way only men who’ve spent years shouting over battlefields could sound. his eyes crinkled, and a lopsided grin slowly began forming on his face. “now there’s a sight worth sobering up for.”
you glanced up, unfazed by his behaviour because you’ve seen countless people like him in your job, as your fingers were already moving over the countertop to wipe down a spill he must have made during one of his tales. “hi there. i assume you want another round?”
if possible, his grin widened at the sound of your voice. “mhm… if it means you’ll keep lookin’ at me like that, then yeah. another.”
you pour his booze, and his gaze not once managed to leave your face. his grin is dopey and warm, and the light flush on his cheeks was evident in the calm lights.
“you’re far too pretty to be workin’ here,” he says, lifting his empty mug slightly, voice loose but very much sincere. “someone ought to paint you instead. or, ah—” he pauses, gesturing vaguely with one of his massive hands as the words elude him, leaving him fumbling for a thought, “…put you on one of those, you know… fancy cathedral windows. saints and angels and all that.”
you huff a quiet laugh, sliding a refilled mug toward him. “flattery won’t get you a discount.”
he taps the counter once as a soft wordless thank you, before taking a long sip. the sound of his sigh blends with the low hum of the tavern. but when he sets the mug down again, he leans forward on his elbows, his eyes glinting as he tries to get a better view despite his blurring vision.
“not lookin’ for one,” he says. “just tellin’ the truth. knights swear oaths to honesty, might i add.”
you arch a brow. “…and to drinking?”
“…that too,” he chuckles. “but tonight, i’ll drink to you, bartender.” he raises his mug like a toast despite being the only one drinking. “may whoever you belong to know how lucky they are.”
you look at him, his cheeks flushed, grin boyish, sincerity unfiltered by rank or pride, and for the briefest moment, you understand why they call him the heart of mondstadt.
𓈒⟡₊⋆ GOROU
gorou was doing fine.
really.
the meeting had started off well enough, those long routine discussions he’d learned to navigate after years of serving under kokomi’s command. logistics, patrol rotations, supply routes, coordination between squads… nothing he couldn’t handle.
he’d even practiced the night before, pacing his tent back and forth until every word of his report was committed to his memory. he’d timed his speech, adjusted his tone, even practiced not letting his tail wag too much when kokomi praised his work.
and it had been working. kokomi was pleased, her calm voice guiding the meeting smoothly. the soldiers sat in rows, their eyes on her, their notes neat and orderly. gorou had been relaxed. alert, yes, but composed because everything was running exactly as it should have been.
until kokomi said his name.
“general gorou, please present your summary on the shoreline defense.”
“yes, ma’am.” he replied courtly, standing from his place and stepping forward, his report in hand.
…but then he finally saw you.
you were seated off to the side, not even part of the formal council if he could recall, just observing, chin propped gently in your hand, a quiet smile resting on your lips. the soft light filtering through the tent’s entrance caught the creases of your eyes, and for some reason, the world just… tilted.
you weren’t doing anything. not even a single thing. you were just sitting there, watching. yet it was enough to completely derail him.
his ears shot straight up, tail freezing mid wag.
oh no.
oh no, oh no, oh no.
his throat went dry, the neat lines of his speech dissolving into nothing.
“t-the shoreline defense is, uh—!” his voice cracked much to his horror and some of the troops amusement, who chuckled in the backline. “i-it’s, um, doing very— very fine!”
kokomi blinked, her quill pausing mid letter. “…fine?”
gorou swallowed so hard it almost hurt. “yes! i mean— not just fine, it’s— uh, stellar! the troops are, um, exceptionally… defensive?”
there was a beat of silence. a few soldiers shifted awkwardly in their seats. someone coughed.
gorou’s hands fumbled with the stack of papers he’d been holding, the edges trembling ever so slightly. he could feel your gaze now, more curious than anything yet completely unassuming, and somehow that only made it worse. his ears twitched uncontrollably, and his tail… oh archons, his tail. it twitched once. then again. and before he could stop it, it curled tight between his legs like it was trying to hide. like a puppy in trouble.
kokomi tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in that soft, knowing way of hers. “general, are you feeling alright?”
her words only made him laugh weakly. “y-yes, perfectly! i just— uh, the heat got to me a little— haha—”
it was a terrible attempt at recovery, one he failed. he could feel his face burning, the fur on his ears probably as red as the crimson banners outside the tent. one of the soldiers near the back tried to suppress a snicker, disguising it as a cough. another averted their eyes entirely, shoulders shaking.
kokomi who always stayed composed, simply regarded him with patient confusion.
and then you smiled.
just a tiny one, the corner of your lips tugging up in slight amusement, but to gorou, it might as well have been the sunrise itself. his breath hitched, and that’s when it happened.
his tail shot up, wagging furiously, a blur of movement that betrayed every ounce of composure he’d fought to maintain.
kokomi blinked with her quill still hovering midair. “…general gorou,” she said, voice calm but growing weary. “your tail.”
he froze completely. the color drained from his face. all motion ceased, ears, tail, even breathing. for a single suspended heartbeat, he looked like a statue.
and then, in the smallest, most mortified voice imaginable, he whispered.
“…i-it has a mind of its own.”
there was a beat of silence before one of the soldiers failed to stifle a laugh. kokomi’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but dangerously close, and you were smiling fully now, warmth in your eyes that made his heart stutter all over again. gorou wanted to dig a hole right there in the sand and bury himself in it until the tides turned.
but when he dared to glance your way again, you were still watching him, and somehow that made the humiliation just a little too much to bear.
his tail however, clearly disagreed, as it gave one final, very eager wag before he ducked for cover behind the chalkboard.
𓈒⟡₊⋆ ITTO
“alright! who’s next?!”
the oni’s booming voice shook the courtyard, echoing through every corner of inazuma city. itto stood proudly in the center of the gathered crowd, hands on his hips as his laughter rumbled from his chest. beside his foot, his prized beetle, the unbreakable crimson crusher, puffed up its tiny carapace, practically preening after its latest victory against some wild bug that was probably just plucked from it’s tree minutes prior.
a ring of kids surrounded him, cheering, whining, and groaning all at once. some were his devoted little fans, shouting his name like he was some kind of beetle battle celebrity, while others sulked over their defeated bugs. a few adults looked on from the street, muttering something about “that oni again” and “why is he picking fights with children.”
itto who was oblivious as always, threw his head back and laughed. “ha! did you see that? crushed it! my little crimson crusher’s unstoppable! you kids better train harder if you wanna stand a chance against the one and oni arataki itto!”
he flexed his muscles and beamed, soaking up every bit of attention that was being thrown at him. life was good. he was unbeatable, totally glorious, perfectly balanced—
until you stepped forward.
you crouched down at the edge of the ring, quietly calm and your expression unreadable. but the moment sunlight hit you, itto forgot how to breathe. you weren’t just anyone, you were breathtaking. skin kissed by the afternoon glaze, eyes soft and posture elegant even while crouched in the dust as you put your little beetle forward.
itto blinked owlishly, then promptly forgot every single beetle battle rule he’d ever learned and made.
“uh—” his voice cracked halfway up his word, “n-not bad, uh, newbie! brave of ya to step up, yeah! but, uh, just so you know, you’re kinda… goin’ up against the best there is around here.” he puffed out his chest, flexing subtly (or not subtly at all). “no big deal or anything. y’know. champion stuff. all that jazz.”
you smiled at him politely, and itto’s grin faltered. his tail almost wagged, which was absurd because he didn’t have a tail at all. but if he did, it’d be wagging like crazy. his brain scrambled to say something cool, anything at all, but all that came out was, “I-I mean, I could, uh… go easy on ya? y’know, since you’re new. and, uh, your beetle’s kinda cute.”
he paused, and his entire face went red.
“just like you…—! wait, no! not like you, i mean yes— uh— forget I said that!”
the kids around him lost it. laughter broke out in the small crowd. one pointed at him, cackling. another whispered loudly, “big bro’s blushing!!”
“h-hey! quiet down!” he barked, trying to regain dignity he’d never really had to begin with. “this is a serious battle! serious!”
he crouched beside his beetle, whispering furiously, “buddy, you hear me? no distractions. eyes on the prize, alright?”
his beetle clicked its pinchers one, and then just… didn’t move. itto frowned. “huh? what’s the holdup—”
then he realised. his beetle was staring at yours, utterly entranced.
“…traitor,” itto muttered, mortified. “you too?”
you giggled softly, and it was enough to make him forget what embarrassment even felt like. he quickly stood up, clearing his throat a little too loudly, hands on his hips again as if sheer posture could save him. “a-ahem! alright! get ready, ‘cause you’re about to face the undefeated, unstoppable, unbelievably handsome arataki itto! the one and oni!”
he pointed dramatically, his voice booming again. the crowd cheered, your beetles clicked, and his confidence flickered back to life, at least until he risked another glance at you.
you were smiling again, sunlight glistening on your skin, fingers gently nudging your beetle forward. and just like that, itto’s heart skipped. his chest tightened, his grin softened, and he muttered under his breath, almost sheepishly.
“…man. i am so doomed.”
𓈒⟡₊⋆ KAVEH
kaveh had worked with hundreds of clients before.
arrogant scholars who thought they knew more about architecture than he did, the one with the architecture degree. self absorbed nobles who equated aesthetic with ‘cover every surface in gold until it reflects the sun like a mirror and blinds passerbys’.
and then there was those money hungry merchants who never once looked up from their ledgers and instead cut corners at every turn and asking if he could ‘make it cheaper but still look expensive’.
he’d smiled through all of it, the pomp, the greed, the endless corrections, because that was what he did. he built beauty out of ugliness, dignity out of ego, yet somehow was only barely managing to keep his reputation afloat.
but this client? you?
you were something else entirely.
from the moment you met him, you’d been… calm. your words were soft and free of the snobbery he’d grown used to over the years. you didn’t interrupt when he spoke about light and space, about the direction of shadows or the way open air could make a room breathe. you listened, literally, really listened with the ears you were given, and it threw him completely off balance.
because for once, someone wasn’t treating him like a craftsman to order around. you were treating him like an artist.
and archons, he melted a little every time you did.
now, he sat across from you in your living room. or, as he privately thought of it, your soon to be masterpiece. scrolls and sketches spread in a half organized clump across the coffee table. sunlight slanted through the tall windows, spilling gold across the blueprints and tracing along his sleeve as he pointed at the paper with the smudged pencil mark.
his voice was animated because he was excited, the kind of tone he only used when he forgot to guard himself. “so, here,” he said, tapping the design for the eastern wing, “i was thinking of adding a study, something that faces the garden. you’d have morning light, but not so much that it overheats the space. it’d be perfect for reading, working, or just… thinking, because everyone needs to do that once in a while.
you leaned closer to get a better look. a faint scent of jasmine trailed with you, and kaveh’s heart did a strange little flip. you smiled, eyes focused on the sketch. “that sounds lovely. a quiet space would be nice.”
and that’s when his mouth betrayed him.
“yeah, exactly!” he said, sitting up straighter, eagerness spilling out before his brain could catch up. “it’d be perfect for you. and when we get married, i’ll need one too, so—”
the words hung in the air for a few seconds, giving his chest enough time to close in on itself. his breath caught. his pencil froze mid gesture, and his soul briefly left his body.
oh no. oh no, oh no.
his entire face flushed, from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, crimson blooming quickly on his skin. “w-wait! i mean— hypothetically! like— not us! just, you know, a married couple in general! a client, maybe uh, just— someone!”
his hands started flailing, as if he could physically push the words back into the air and rearrange them into something less humiliating. one nearly sent a cup of tea flying, and he caught it at the last second with a strangled little gasp.
“hah— see? i just worded it wrong! that happens sometimes when, uh— when you’re talking fast, and, ah— oh, by the seven, please stop looking at me like that…”
because you were looking at him, your lips curved into that faint, amused smile that could undo a man more effectively than any argument.
you tilted your head, eyes bright with a noticeable teasing glint in the orbs. “when we get married, hm?”
he groaned softly into his hands, muttering under his breath, “i’m never living this down.”
but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, curving helplessly upward. when he finally dared to peek through his fingers, your smile hadn’t faded, if anything, it had softened, warm enough to rival the afternoon sun.
and for all the mortification twisting in his chest, kaveh realized something startling.
if embarrassing himself like this made you smile like that… maybe it was worth every second.
𓈒⟡₊⋆ ALHAITHAM
the library was silent, just the occasional soft turning of his pages, the faint hum of candlelight beside his herbal tea, and alhaitham’s own breathing. his attention was deep in a text on comparative linguistics when a somewhat disturbing crash echoed through the marble halls.
he didn’t even look up at first. perhaps a stack had toppled. perhaps one of the junior scholars had dozed off again and fell out of their seat. but then came another sound, a clatter of books, a low thud, and then finally, a small and pained “ow.”
he exhaled slowly, closing the book with care. of course.
it was late. most of the akademiya had emptied hours ago. and yet somehow, chaos still managed to find him. marking his place in his book with a small slip of paper, he stood and made his way toward the noise. he could have walked faster, sure. but whatever the reason for the noise probably wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
because turning the corner, he found the culprit.
you.
half buried in a heap of fallen tomes, pages tousled and expression dazed, the picture of complete disaster amid the polished order of the library.
for a long moment, he said nothing, instead choosing to simply assess. no visible concussion. no broken limbs. just embarrassment, and from the looks of it, several paper cuts.
“…are you quite alright?” he asked finally, as if he were confirming an equation rather than showing concern to someone who clearly needed some assistance.
you blinked up at him, eyes lidded. “um— yes. i think so. just… a little started, i think...”
his gaze flicked toward the collapsed shelf, then back to you. “startled,” he repeated flatly. “right. i suppose gravity is startling the first few times one encounters it.”
you gawked. “i didn’t… it wasn’t my fault. i just leaned—”
“—against an unsecured shelf?” he finished for you, cutting you off and crossing his arms. “a bold decision, considering the laws of physics remain undefeated to this day.”
you opened your mouth to protest, then shut it, realizing how ridiculous it sounded to argue with logic itself. or perhaps with this man in particular.
he crouched down, brushed aside a particularly heavy novel that had been resting on your shoulder, and straightened up again.
“stand up.” he said simply. you hesitated, then reached for his outstretched hand. his grip was firm to where it made you feel weightless for a second as he hauled you up, even if his expression didn’t soften in the slightest.
once you were upright, he glanced at your hands, his eyes catching on the thin red lines across your skin.
“…you’ve managed to injure yourself with literature,” he murmured, brows lowering just slightly. “that’s impressive.”
a laugh spilled from your lips, only to soon be followed by a small wince as you made the poor decision to wipe your palms on your thighs. “i… i guess i have a talent for it.”
he tilted his head, faint amusement ghosting across his porcelain face. “if so, it’s a useless one. try cultivating something more practical next time.”
you smiled, and to his mild surprise, he didn’t find it all that irritating. instead he sighed, and stepped a little closer. and for someone who wanted nothing more than personal space, this was a feat. “sit.”
you blinked. “what?”
“your hands,” he said, his tone clipped yet not entirely unkind, in fact, he was already retrieving a silk cloth from his pocket. “they’re bleeding. small cuts or not, it’s unsanitary.”
you sank into the nearest seat, still a bit stunned. “you carry a cloth for, what, emergencies?”
“no,” he replied, kneeling beside you to gently dab at your bleeding fingertips. “i carry it because books are often older than the people who read them. they deserve careful handling, and because some people, evidently do not.”
you bit back another laugh. “are you saying i don’t deserve careful handling?”
he glanced up, sharp eyes catching yours, a faint glimmer of dry humor in their depths. “i’m saying you must require supervision.”
his touch was a clear sign that he was no medic, yet was still somehow careful. his hands moved slowly as if he were tending to something far more delicate than mere paper cuts.
when he finally sat back, he murmured quietly, following the general number one rule of a library. “there. try not to bleed on the manuscripts. some of them are rare copies.”
“…thank you.” you said quietly.
he nodded. “…sure. just see that it doesn’t happen again.”
he turns to leave, and falls back into his quiet space. yet when he returned to his desk, the words on the pages seemed to blur, his focus waning for the first time in hours. every few minutes, his gaze drifted back towards where you now sat, clean fingers tracing the spine of a book, head tilted slightly as you read.
he told himself it was just vigilance, that he was only ensuring you didn’t destroy another shelf in the one place he cared about most.
but when you smiled faintly to yourself, the corner of his mouth almost, almost, curved upwards too.
fitness influencer!varka x baker!reader? his followers think he's bulking but he's actually just been eating every single thing you make because he is the taste tester. the only way they realized he wasn't actually bulking & is eating more sweets is when you bring him to film a video & you call him into the camera to try your creation.
Who would’ve thought that your dog would be the one to find the love of your life?
PAIRING.⠀Varka x Reader
CONTENT.⠀female reader | modern AU, single dad Varka, fluff, super corny cliché and cheesy, love at first sight, hinted age gap, Razor and Rosaria are Varka's adopted children in this, idk what else to say it's just pure fluff no angst here | ~5,5k words
A/N.⠀hello tumblr................. I know I said I wanted to write more Dottore but this man grabbed me by the scruff and now I'm in shambles so I'm making it everyone's problem
available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!
If there was one thing you would always be bitter about, it was the fact that people who preached exercise were right when they said that it works.
It improves your mood!
It did. You hadn’t had a mood drop in days.
It makes you feel refreshed!
You were en forme every day. You had all the energy in the world to deal with the rowdy students at school. Anger was not felt in a very long time, not even the slightest bit of annoyance or irritation. You were in significantly high spirits lately, and what would normally bring you down instead didn’t affect you at all.
It keeps you in shape!
Walking to work was easier and less tiring. Opening the map application and seeing the distance it would take felt less daunting and more motivating. It felt rewarding to reach the very end of that distance, making you more energised and ready for tomorrow’s journey.
Exercise was never your strong suit. Aside from your unexpected agility on the monkey bars, you weren’t an athletic child by any means. Football wasn’t fun, basketball was boring, volleyball as exhausting and swimming was too tiring. You preferred to stay still, studying and doing homework, playing a game for hours or having a sugary monstrosity for lunch. You still did. Even as an adult, the only exercise you really did was walking from place to place and stretching before bed. You were a busy person, you didn’t like being sweaty, and you didn’t like being fatigued.
Excuses, excuses.
Going for daily walks at the park had been on your mind for a while now, but it was only with your therapist’s encouragement did you finally decide to do it. You wanted to get better, after all, even if it came with having to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Plus, Wolfhook enjoyed the time outdoors, so the both of you got enrichment in one go.
The weather had been nice lately. The sun wasn’t too harsh or blinding; it was just right, keeping the day clear and warm. The breeze was light and comforting, and seeing the park be occupied by people made you feel less isolated. Every now and then, joggers stopped by to greet Wolfhook. He loved the attention; you, not so much. Still, you let it occur without much protest. Socialisation did do you good, too. Years of involuntary solitude had led to you becoming a lonely person — like just another cog in the machine — but it was being seen that made you feel like your presence was worth something.
It was early. The skies were still painted in hues of orange and blue, but there were already a handful of people out on their morning run. Not being one to particularly enjoy physical exertion, you had been strolling and occasionally chasing after Wolfhook when he got his hyperactive bursts. He was tired out from his previous sprint — he had been very adamant on trying to catch a bee, which he failed to do, thankfully. He walked beside you with gentle footfalls, tongue out and tail wagging side to side. The bell on his collar rang with every step he took, creating a steady rhythm amidst the morning tranquility.
Initially, you regretted not bringing your earphones — you needed a booster before work, after all — but the longer you were here, the more you appreciated nature’s music. The leaves rustling in the wind and birds chirping in the background created a symphony over the crunches of steps against the dirt path. People passed by with friendly smiles to you and your canine friend. Some gave out compliments and wished you a good morning, lifting your spirits and your daze.
This was nice, you thought. Humans formed a community wherever they went, and they were happy to let new people be part of it. It was a stark difference to your university days when you spent the lunch break on your own. You mentally made a quick note to engage in small talk with your coworkers later today. Some people found it unpleasant, but you found that it made you feel closer to them.
Aside from the kids, your coworkers were what you looked forward to when you came into work. Lisa always had a story to tell, Jean always had food to share, and Kaeya always had a compliment to brighten your day. Venti always found you during social events to make sure you weren’t awkwardly standing by yourself. For the first time in your life, you didn’t feel so alone. The memory of them made your lips curl into a small smile. Despite how scary planning for the future had felt in your teens, you felt very lucky to have found a job that you enjoyed. Days off meant for relaxing ended up feeling dull, but you took them wholeheartedly, lest you get chided for overworking yourself.
A loud, aggressive bark immediately snapped you out of the serene state you were in. Wolfhook growled ferociously, body stiff and hackles raised, straining against the leash and collar. The man he was barking at seemed surprised at the agitation but swiftly got over it, putting his hands up in surrender and letting out a hearty laugh. It took tremendous effort to hold Wolfhook back, considering his size for a nine-month-old dog. He bared his fangs at the man, drool hanging off the sides of his mouth. Guilt and worry crept into your system as fast as water could seep into fabric.
“I’m sorry!” you squeaked out. “He doesn’t usually do this!”
He waved in playful dismissal. “It’s fine! I get it. I’m big and scary.”
“No! You look great—!” You stopped your speech abruptly, awkwardly staring at him with wide eyes for a moment. The grin on his face only served to fluster you further. Pushing the feelings down, you tried again. “I mean, you look like a great person! I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
He crouched down and offer his hand, fondly smiling at the canine as he sniffs sit cautiously. “Not gonna do anything to you, buddy. See?”
Wolfhook nudged his hand with his snout before his tail started wagging again and he broke into what looks like a huge grin. Excited, he spun around and eagerly clawed at the man, panting in joy instead of hostility. You blinked, confused at the sudden switch but let go of the death grip you had on the leash anyway, letting him do as he pleased. Now, it was like he was never feeling endangered at all.
“That’s better,” you sighed. “I’m sorry about him. I can’t really predict when he’ll bark at someone. I promise he doesn’t always do that. Maybe he just got spooked by you suddenly approaching? N-Not that it’s your fault, of course! He’s just a bit jumpy sometimes.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” he chuckled. “It happens.”
Although a part of you had been intimidated by him at first glance, hearing him speak alleviated your concerns. He sounded friendly and outgoing, which was a stark contrast to what you had expected him to be like. You thought it was the scar on his jaw that made you worried. He was handsome, tall and blond, dressed in a compression shirt and shorts with leggings underneath. His hair was slightly damp from sweat, and his cheeks were flushed from his run.
Realising you were boring holes into his face, heat rose in your skin from embarrassment, and you cleared your throat to feign nonchalance.
“So… I guess he just wanted to say hello,” you stammered sheepishly. You weren’t exactly prepared for a spontaneous conversation — hell, you didn’t even know if he wanted one — but the words slipped out of you anyway, flowing like they always did when you got nervous. “I’m sorry if that scared you. He’s never like this. You are…?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, chuckling softly. “I’m Varka. I’m the chief at the fire station. You come here a lot?”
“I just started coming here last week,” you explained after giving him your name. “I don’t get a lot of physical activity in, so I thought I’d change that… I’m still getting used to this addition in my routine, but Wolfhook is happy about it, so I guess I am too.”
“So his name is Wolfhook,” Varka mused, patting him on the head. “Hey, buddy. Don’t worry your mom like that again, alright?”
He let out a boof. Whether it was of agreement or acknowledgement, you weren’t quite sure.
Varka was warm, familial. You slightly felt bad for judging him so preemptively. As he gave the dog belly scratches, your mind started to wander. He looked too young to be a fire chief; he seemed to be in his mid-thirties or early forties at most. Maybe you were just used to every authority figure in Teyvat being past a certain age. The mining tycoon from Liyue was middle-aged, as was the director of the Snezhnayan Bureau of Investigation. Still, the current heir of the Dawn Winery was still in his twenties and Alice, the principal of the school you taught at, wasn’t too old herself.
Things could change, you supposed.
“Do you come here regularly?” you asked hesitantly, not sure if you were overstepping, but there was a deep-seated want to continue the conversation. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“Yup. Every day,” he answered. “I actually live around here with my kids.”
You hummed in response. “That’s nice. I live around here too, but… I haven’t really had the chance to speak to my neighbours.”
It wasn’t that you hadn’t had the chance. It was more so the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Talking to children was one thing — they were innocent and harmless, but talking to fellow adults, and strangers at that? You’d dare say it was as scary as getting called by the professor to speak alone after class.
He got up, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Like he just had an epiphany, his expression brightened up. “You wanna join me?”
“I don’t like running,” you blurted out. “I’d hate to slow you down.”
“We can just walk and chat. I like talking to you.”
The ease with which he said it nearly made you choke on your own spit. Wolfhook sat dutifully at your feet, head tilted to the side as he watched him curiously. You nibbled on your bottom lip timidly, shifting your weight from one foot to another. It felt like your cheeks burst into flames.
“What about your workout?” You couldn’t quite meet his gaze, opting to look at Wolfhook instead. There was something about the way he focused on you that just had you forgetting how to function. Your heart was positively racing and if you could blush, you were certain you would be bright red. “I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“Hey, I’m inviting you for a reason.”
Wolfhook let out another bark.
He huffed, pleased. “See? He thinks we should walk together.”
Just say yes, there’s nothing embarrassing stopping you!
“Okay,” you said meekly.
He shot you another grin. “Shall we?”
He made you nervous. Why did he make you nervous? It was just a conversation. There was no reason for you to be flustered, but you were. Venti was arguably much friendlier, but you didn’t feel nervous or shy around him by any means. It must be the way Varka treated you as if you were already his friend that threw you off your game. You interacted with a lot of men in your life, but something about him was different. It was genuine and magnetic. Your heart palpitations weren’t calming down at all, which just made you burn even hotter.
You could feel Wolfhook gently pawing at you for your attention, but you also just knew he was judgmentally regarding you out the corners of his eyes.
“Are you sure your spouse won’t mind us being together?” you reluctantly asked, fidgeting with the leash in your hand. You didn’t want to be put in a confrontation with anyone, especially after your life had calmed down significantly since high school. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” Did you strike a nerve? “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said reassuringly. “I just haven’t met the right one.”
“I hope you’ll find them soon.”
“Thanks. Do you have anyone I should be worried about?”
You blinked, puzzled for a moment. You didn’t know why he had to be worried about someone when it came to you. Shaking it off, you told him, “No. I don’t have one either.”
“Great!”
Great?
Deciding not to think too much about it, you joined him.
He talked about his kids and how he adopted them after rescuing them from a fire that made them lose everything. His daughter was a volunteer at the Favonius Cathedral and it was nearly impossible trying to get his son to eat his vegetables. He was doing his best at being a good parent and it was clear from the way he spoke that he loved them. They were the main subject of your conversation, with him adding new remarks every time he remembered something. He said they didn’t like the vacation to Nod-Krai that he took them on last year, but he himself found Hiisi Island to be one of the most beautiful places he ever visited.
He asked you a lot of questions, always making sure you were involved in the conversation. In turn, you told him about yourself. You told him about how you weren’t a native Mondstadter but rather someone from regions away. Though you didn’t have any children of your own, you brought up Wolfhook and spoke of him like he was one. Varka seemed to smile brighter when you told him you rescued him after finding him abandoned, bloodied and starving on the street. Wolfhook wasn’t hostile anymore, circling around Varka and even letting him hold the leash while you cleaned up after him.
Without realising it, you started talking more than you usually would. There was a palpable chemistry between the two of you that you were exceedingly aware of, but you decided to keep your hopes low. Maybe you were being overconfident. Maybe it was just normal friendliness, getting along well with someone and nothing more than that.
As embarrassing as it was to be developing a crush at this age — on someone you just met, no less — you liked it.
You liked him.
He was fun to talk and listen to. He seemed to have lived a very fulfilling life and had unlimited stories to tell, and he always included you. While it wasn’t your first time talking to someone so attentive, there was something about him that made you feel special. It felt like you were starring in someone’s cheesy rom-com with how your heart kept fluttering.
The little dream bubble you were in popped when his alarm rang, its pitched jingle bringing you back to the present.
“My son’s going to wake up soon. I should go.” He pocketed his phone then looked at you expectantly. “Wanna do this again tomorrow?”
“You… want me to join you?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s fun talking to you.”
“Okay,” you breathed, acting like you weren’t just about to explode from the way he said it. “I normally arrive here at six.”
“Plenty of time for me.” He shot you a grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You awkwardly waved goodbye and he jogged off, leaving you standing there watching him longingly. Meanwhile, Wolfhook pawed at you and beamed, claws gently scratching against the fabric of your pants. His tail was still wagging, a result of overjoy from making a new friend. He tended to be indifferent towards most people, but he had taken a liking to Varka despite the initial hostility.
You pressed your lips together. “He is not going to be your new dad, Hook. We just met! And it’s not like that!”
He snorted and sighed loudly, eyeing you in vague annoyance.
“I am not doing this with you right now,” you hissed, gently tugging his leash. “Come on. I need to get ready for work.”
The gymnasium was teeming with people, ranging from teachers, students, and the invited guests for career day. Your students had been excited about this since last week. Not a single day was spent with a sulking child. They were in high spirits, bombarding you with all sorts of questions like whether they’d meet princesses or witches. You had arrived early to help set up the event, busying yourself with making sure each booth was properly organised.
Jean had mentioned this morning about how most of the faculty members were familiar with the guests that would be joining today. Kaeya was close to the chemist named Albedo as well as the pilot Amber and the detective Eula. Venti mentioned that he was eager to see his drinking buddy again, having not seen him in quite a while because of their busy schedules.
For someone so heavily involved in preparing the event, you were also rather out of the loop. You didn’t know who else would be arriving aside from Kaeya’s friends, but you had heard that some well-known figures from Liyue, Fontaine and Sumeru would be arriving as well. From what you knew, there would be a researcher, a judge, a doctor, a forest ranger and an architect among other jobs. Mondstadt Elementary had close ties with other elementary schools in other nations due to their founders being in the same group of friends. Thinking about the scale of the event initially filled you with dread, but seeing the kids so enthusiastic had an effect on you too.
They weren’t disobedient by any means, but it was a challenge trying to keep their focus on you. Every time they saw a faculty member walking past the classroom, they’d immediately start chatting among themselves about what that person could possibly be doing. Classes had gone by smoothly and everyone separated for their lunch break, mood lifted and ready to fulfil their cravings. You stayed in the break room with Venti and Lisa while Kaeya and Jean went out for lunch with the guests they knew. You also mentally braced yourself for the amount of socialisation you’d have to be doing — you had a busy day ahead of you, and you were prepared for it.
When it was nearing the end of lunch break, you made your move to leave the break room. Your students were already waiting outside when you opened the door, eyes glimmering and grins bright. You nearly dropped your water bottle in shock. For a split second, it was like your heart had stopped beating entirely. You let out a sigh once you calmed down and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the door frame.
“I guess you’re all ready, then?” you said, impressed and exasperated at the same time. “Well, let’s go.”
They trailed behind you like ducklings as you led them to the gymnasium. One of them, a boy named Razor, had his hand in yours as he clutched his wolf doll next to him. He was a new student, but he had taken to you fairly quickly. He wasn’t much of a talker, being shy and still adapting to his surroundings, but he stayed close to you as much as he could. Alice had mentioned to you how he grew up in isolation, so social integration was going to be somewhat difficult for him. Out of concern and empathy, you made sure to be as available to him as possible.
There were different booths and miniature models across the gym floor. Sucrose had gone all out in designing each booth and decorating them, splashing the place with colour. A handful of parents were also in attendance, ready to take pictures of their children wearing little uniforms and doing activities related to the career they chose. You could sense your students’ eyes on your back, eagerly awaiting for your signal, and you found it so endearing that you found yourself laughing softly at their behaviour.
“Can we go now?” Bennett pleaded, bouncing on his feet in front of you. “I wanna see my uncle!”
“Alright,” you said. “You can go to whichever booth you want, but I want you all to come back to me when it’s four. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Miss Valberry!”
“Don’t run!” you yelled over the noise as they scurried off, though it only fell on deaf ears. “Be careful!”
Razor gently tugged on your hand, catching your attention. He was looking up at you with pleading eyes, bottom lip turning up into a pout. “Nervous,” he said. “Too many people.”
You crouched down to his height and gently placed a hand on his head, offering him a warm smile. “You can stick with me. Does that sound okay?”
He nodded sombrely. “Okay.”
You weren’t sure what Razor wanted to be when he grew up. All you knew was that he loved nature — he liked bringing you leaves and flowers he found at the park. He liked meat and berries, and he liked being outdoors. He knew a lot about wolves, always carried a wolf doll with him and had a plush key chain of it on his bag.
“Do you want to go see the forest ranger?” you asked, squinting to see if the booth was occupied. “You like nature, don’t you?”
He pointed at the other direction. “Bennett and Papa are there.”
“Then let’s go see them, yeah?” You smiled at the young boy, blooming with warmth. “Maybe that will make you feel bet—whoa!”
Without waiting for you to finish, Razor pulled you with him with surprising strength, nearly making you trip over your own feet. Whatever signs of anxiety he was displaying was completely gone. He had a mission, and he wanted you to be a part of it. Before you could warn him to slow down, your gaze locked with the person manning the booth he was taking you to.
It was Varka.
Your eyes widened. He beamed as soon as he saw you, calling out your name with delight. Bennett turned and excitedly called out Miss Valberry! before taking your other hand and pulling you closer. There was a reprimand resting at the tip of your tongue, but his smile was so brought that you couldn’t find it in yourself to be irritated. Hand in hand with the boys, you awkwardly stood in front of Varka, not sure what to say.
“Papa,” Razor said. “Miss Valberry.”
“Oh, so you’re the Miss Valberry I’ve been hearing so much about.” His eyes twinkled with mirth. The grey-haired boy had already let go of your hand in favour of leaping into his father’s arms. “Razor and Bennett always talk about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” you responded, timidly wrapping the cardigan tighter around your frame.
While you didn’t think Bennett nor Razor were ones to be mean, kids were brutally honest. Although you knew you hadn’t wronged them in any way, the small anxious voice in the back of your mind made you rewind through your memories and try to find it. You watched as Varka scooped Bennett up with his other arm, now carrying two infants like they were as light as a feather. You supposed it wasn’t surprising that he was so strong. His job as a firefighter required him to be at top form. Still, seeing how easy he made it look had your pulse jumping in the slightest.
“Of course. Thank you for taking care of my son,” he said warmly. “And my little trouble-making nephew.”
“He’s not a troublemaker!” you insisted, genuinely offended on Bennett’s behalf. “He is a joy to have in class!”
He laughed. “I’m kidding. I know he’s a good kid.”
You gave him a weak, playful glare. “They may be your family, Mister Varka, but don’t you dare talk about my students that way again.”
“Mister?” he parroted light-heartedly. “I thought we bonded.”
“I—” you stammered. “I’m working!”
“Relax,” he laughed out. “I just wanted to mess with you.”
You huffed. “Work, Mister Varka.”
“Razor never told me Miss Valberry was so strict.”
You scowled at him.
He raised his hands up in surrender, grinning to himself. “Alright, I’ll start.”
Just like earlier this morning, he was captivating as he spoke. The students looked up at him and eagerly raised their hands to ask questions, both on and off topic. He answered them all with equal enthusiasm, and you couldn’t help but watch fondly. You wouldn’t have thought he was working a job as dangerous as fire safety with how his demeanour was. At the same time, you thought it suited him completely.
“Who wants to hear about my favourite mission?!”
“Me!” the kids all cheered, making him let out a hearty laugh.
And so, he continued to speak. Admittedly, you weren’t really listening to what he was saying. It wasn’t anything you didn’t already know, anyway. Whether you were subtle was at the very back of your mind as you watched him interact with the kids, the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed. The smile also suited him — it just felt right.
It wasn’t like you to be so infatuated with someone so quickly. You weren’t in middle school anymore. Trying to keep yourself together, you told yourself that he would do something that would turn you off completely soon enough. You only just met. He had many chances to let you down, and just like every other person you ever found yourself enamoured by, he would do it. There was no reason for you to be thinking this much.
Before you knew it, the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Since Varka was already there, you let Razor stay with him. While the other teachers helped tidy up inside according to the previously agreed plan, you made sure every student met their parents safely. When you were done, you returned to help. You were carrying a stack of chairs to the storage room when Jean stopped you, placing a delicate hand on your shoulder.
“I’ll take care of the rest from here,” she affirmed. “You should go. Someone’s waiting for you outside.”
Though confused since you hadn’t even called for a taxi yet, you bid her farewell with a thank you and gathered your things. Tote bag hanging on your shoulder, you were opening up the ride sharing app when Varka called out your name. You blinked and looked up at him, seeing him visibly brighten up when he met your gaze.
“You’re still here,” you commented, dumbfounded.
He chuckled, almost as if he was nervous. “I was waiting for you.”
“For me?” You blinked owlishly. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
“No, I just… wanted to drive you home.” He cleared his throat. “As a thank you for taking care of Razor.”
“You don’t have to! It’s not a big deal, really,” you said, waving your hands almost frantically. “I’m just doing my job and I like taking care of the kids, so…”
“Please. I insist.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Well, if that’s the case… I hope you don’t mind.”
He opened the car door for you without hesitation. You met Razor’s gaze in the rear view mirror and softly smiled at him. He was hugging his doll close to his chest, idly swinging his legs back and forth while Varka moved around to enter his side of the car.
“Did you have a nice day today, Razor?” you asked. “Did papa make it better?”
“I liked today,” he answered. “Bennett. Papa. You.”
“Me?”
“Miss Valberry is nice.” He looked serene. “Like mama.”
Before you could say you were flattered, Varka suddenly coughed, banging his fist on his chest. You glanced at him with vague worry but made yourself comfortable anyway, fastening the seat belt over your body. Feigning nonchalance, he handed you his phone, the map app’s search bar already open for you to fill. Quickly, you typed your address and handed it back to him. His brows shot up in surprise upon looking at it.
“Huh. We live in the same neighbourhood,” he pointed out thoughtfully. “Hey, I can drive you to work and home. We probably leave around the same time, don’t we?”
“I can’t possibly ask you to do that,” you replied sheepishly. “I can call for a taxi just fine.”
“Miss Valberry say yes. Papa likes you,” Razor chimed in. “Talked about you. Wants to know you.”
“Razor!”
Amused, you couldn’t help the way the corners of your lips curved upwards. “Does he now?”
“Sorry. He’s very, ah, honest.” He cleared his throat again, cheeks tinted pink. “But the offer still stands.”
“If you insist,” you said. “I’ll take you up on that offer, Varka. Thank you.”
“Great! So, Razor…” He turned back briefly. “Wanna tell me about your day?”
You watched the young boy in the mirror with endearment, attentively listening to him doing his best to speak. It was perhaps the most you ever heard from him. You supposed this was what it was like when he was fully comfortable. A part of you hoped that he would let his guard down more with you, but these things took time.
Briefly, you thought about how you’d miss him when it was time for him to leave. The kids always made your day, but Razor was special. You had an affinity for him the moment Alice had brought him to your classroom. He was hiding behind her leg, hand tightly clutching his wolf doll as she gently urged him forward. His gaze seemed to fill with wonder when he saw you, making you feel warm and your heart squeeze on itself.
You snapped yourself out of it. He was only six; if Varka was apparently back here for good, he’d be a student at Mondstadt Elementary until he was eleven. There was no use dwelling in something that was so far away, but it was hard trying to stop yourself from falling into that rabbit hole once you found it.
Varka hummed. “So how’d you become Miss Valberry?”
“I was wearing pink on Razor’s first day at school,” you responded, warmth blossoming all over your chest again. “He said I looked like a valberry, so he called me Miss Valberry. And I suppose the other kids liked it too.”
“It suits you.” His fingers silently tapped against the steering wheel in a self-soothing rhythm. It was oddly adorable. “I’m guessing you know Jean and Venti?”
“Do you?”
“We’re friends,” he said. “I met them at the cathedral. Her sister is a priestess there. Venti… well, he’s a free spirit. We drink together sometimes.”
“Venti was my first friend when I came here for the first time.” You looked out the window fondly, watching the scenery pass by and turn into the familiar proximity of home. “He makes all my worries go away.”
“He has that effect on people,” he agreed.
He continued to talk even while you were all stuck in traffic, taking your mind off the impending anxiety of not being home past the usual time. Razor had already fallen asleep by now, head lolled to the side as soft snores left his mouth. Being in crowds with strangers often wore him out. He was still in the process of becoming friends with the rest of his classmates. The only people around his age that he knew at school were Bennett and Alice’s daughter Klee, who he liked hanging out at the playground with.
The sky was starting to get dark when the car stopped at your house. Varka walked around to open the door for you, offering you his hand. Instinctively, you took it. As you adjusted the bag strap on your shoulder, you heard a quiet whine from Razor who had just woken up from his nap. His brows were furrowed and he was blearily blinking his eyes open, the sleep slowly crawling out of his system.
“I don’t want Miss Valberry to go,” Razor murmured, hands curling into fists on the small window sill. “I want her to stay.”
“Miss Valberry has to go home,” Varka explained, gentle and fatherly. “You’ll see her at school, buddy.”
Unhappy with the situation, he pouted and relented. “Okay…”
After thanking Varka and bidding goodbye, you walked towards the front door with your keys in hand. When you didn’t hear the sound of wheels against the road, you curiously turned around and there he was, standing by his car, looking hesitant but eyes full of hope.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he spoke up, smiling in a way that looked almost bashful.
You softly returned the gesture. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll… see you,” Varka repeated with an awkward chuckle, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Goodnight, Miss Valberry.”
“You don’t have to call me that. You can just say my name,” you said, cheeks heating up from how intimate it felt. “We’re not at school anymore.”
He quietly uttered your name, making your pulse jump. With one last smile, you said goodnight and stepped inside. The door closed with a quiet click, shutting out the world behind you, but the butterflies in your stomach followed.
as the apprentice of none other than the founder of the hexenzirkel, alice, you are all too familiar with expecting the wildly unusual to be the norm. explosions which can destroy an entire city? you can handle. appearing on the other side of teyvat within a blink for some sight-seeing? you can handle. getting ganged up on by old hags and the anemo archon for your non-existent love life with a man you just met? um... what?
CONTAINS : fem!reader (no gender pronouns are used, but honestly just being a part of the hexenzirkel is indication enough when they are all. well. a faction of female witches.), 2k wc, fluff, love at first sight (varka), once again on my puppy/loser in love varka agenda, venti gets a kick out of it, the witches get a kick out of it, you are not getting a kick out of it
A/N : i swear on my life this was actually supposed to be two paragraphs long. like the concept of a fic. but now it is a fic. i hate it here. (also i'm so punny for that title i know hahaha.)
Your mentor informs you there will be a meeting soon with Barbatos and the current Grand Master of Mondstadt's Knights of Favonius. You don't think much of it — why would you when this clearly seems like some important business to be taken care of? Not to mention the fact you're positive such diplomacy has nothing to do with you. In fact, you've already planned how you'll be spending your newfound free time in your head!
At least, that was until you're faced with your ever so chipper mentor beaming at you with the watt of a thousand suns, her words, “Now, won't you be a dear and fetch our guests for us?” being the first and last thing you hear before your surroundings are warped.
Next thing you know, through bleary eyes and a disgruntled mind, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. There's smoke in your lungs from Alice's questionable choice of a theatrical entrance, tickling the back of your throat and forcing a slew of coughs to be released. Really, you ought to have a word with your mentor about springing something as disorienting as teleportation on you with barely a word of warning. Not everything has to be flashy and come as a surprise—
“Oh? I didn't think you would be the one to come meet us!” Barbatos' familiar voice breaks your thoughts, and you're forced to realise that no, you're not alone, and yes, you did have an audience watching your embarrassing flounder. An audience of two, that is.
You recognise Barbatos, of course, and greet him with a nod. You've met him a handful of occasions, courtesy of Alice stringing you along for occasional meet-ups. Though you're willing to bet she just wanted an excuse to show you off in the new outfits she'd made for you on those occasions to someone other than the few available Hexenzirkel members. Regardless, he’s not all that bad of choice company during the times he strums his lyre and hums a song for you, melting away the stress which tends to build up when dealing with your eccentric mentor. (His love for alcohol is something you can handle in comparison.)
The second person isn’t someone you’re entirely familiar with, though you can deduce he must be the renowned Grand Master bold enough to seek an audience with the Hexenzirkel. Messy blond hair feathering across his forehead and falling atop his shoulders, eyes which rival the clearest of skies, and a build expected for someone of his calibre, you can say with full confidence he definitely is younger than you were expecting, what with the stories you’ve heard of his feats and his accomplishments. (Maybe all the teasing looks and pronounced smile Alice always wore when bringing him up to you was just her hinting he was closer to your age than you’d guessed?)
You offer him an acknowledging nod; he merely stares at you, gaping. Tilting your head to the side, you observe with a raised brow as he continues to stare at you, unmoving. Actually, has he even blinked? Turning to the Archon, you deadpan at his mischievous expression mirroring that of your mentor. At least he seems to be getting a kick out of the situation.
Well, whatever. All three of you have somewhere to be, and you are more than ready to leave post-haste.
With that in mind, you step towards them. An incantation is spilled from your lips with familiarity, glowing triangular patterns emerging beneath the three of you as the spell reaches its completion. Then, within a blink, your bodies are transported out of the office and into a meeting room where the present Hexenzirkel await.
Before making your way to the side (because for some reason Alice insists on you being present, the other witches also more willing for your presence than you’d like), you give a swift bow to the two you’ve teleported. Even with your back turned as you walk, the sensation akin to a pair of eyes following you remains. By the time you find a suitable spot away from the meeting of some all-too powerful people, you lean back against one of the pillars and wait for the meeting to be over.
You have to give it him, that Varka. He certainly has a way with words, even managing to charm the witches with his easy-going personality and boisterous laugh. You wouldn’t have thought it from you initial meeting, what with how still and awkward he appeared, though maybe your sudden appearance just shocked him to the point of being rendered speechless?
Regardless, you can see why he is such an important figurehead. His conditions are made clear, points thorough yet straight to the point, and he can easily navigate negotiations which juggle multiple demands. Most importantly, you can tell he cares deeply for Mondstadt and its people, to the point of setting up this Tripartite Conference to ensure Mondstadt’s safety in their time of need. Fortunately for him, such displays of love for humanity is something Alice is a total sucker for, and his fair terms and conditions seem more than enough for Nicole and Barbeloth’s thoughts.
The conclusion comes as you expected the moment he spoke his first words: the Hexenzirkel agree to help Mondstadt in their time of need. Really, someone who has such a way with words to the point of swaying even the most stubborn of witches you know is a feat in and of itself. He could probably talk his way out of the most perilous of fights with just a meagre wag of his tongue! Actually, how many incidents has he already talked his way out of by now?
You don’t get to dwell on the matter for much longer when Alice suddenly calls you over. Despite your foreboding skepticism at her twinkling eyes and eager mannerisms, you merely sigh before making your way to her side. They’ve already stood up from their seats, gathered together in a loose group as they (read: Alice, Barbatos, and Varka) chat amongst themselves.
“I’m sure you have already met from earlier, but this is my darling apprentice!”
Hands settled atop your shoulders, you’re thrust forward into Varka’s direct line of sight. You barely have time to form something close to a proper sentence, let alone think. So here you are, sputtering as words refuse to cooperate under the sudden attention. It certainly doesn’t help when Alice is giggling behind you, all-too pleased with whatever it is you’re supposed to be a part of, nor the fact Nicole and Barbeloth appear to be rather invested in you making a fool of yourself in front of them. Barbatos himself seems a little too smug for your liking, noting how his eyes crinkled with mirth shift between you, Alice, and the Grand Master he accompanied.
Speaking of the man, for all his earlier bravado when negotiating with the scariest people you know, you would think him to be a completely different person. Much like when you first appeared in that office, Varka just stares at you — wide-eyed and gaping. It’s almost comical the way someone of his stature appears so unassuming; almost. If not for the situation at hand, perhaps you would have found amusement at the blatant contrast.
But no, being the subject of close attention where eyes of varying levels of intrigue watch you be out of your element doesn’t give you room to feel that amusement, let alone gather your bearings.
Alice gives a warm squeeze of your shoulders, and you can practically hear the teasing smile seep through her voice. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, my dear? You know our new freind’s name, but he doesn’t know yours. I’m sure he would love to know your name, fufu.”
Gosh, you feel like a little kid being forced to make friends with the kid of your mother’s friend; not an adult who can make your own decisions.
Well, whatever. May as well get your introduction over with.
“My name is [Name], an apprentice witch under Alice.” If not for your mentor’s sparkling stare burning into the back of your head, or the two other witches’ very apparent interest in the situation, you would have stopped there. Unfortunately, you know you won’t be able to get away. So with another sigh, you begrudgingly continue, trying to focus anywhere but his starstruck expression. “It’s nice to meet the Grand Master who has made such a name for himself. I’m sure you must have worked hard to get to this point, and—”
Without warning, he drops to his knees. Eyes oozing nothing but earnest compassion, he speaks to you for the first time, voice warm as it carries the heavy weight of his sincerity.
“Yes, I am single. Yes, I will happily spend the rest of my life with you.”
Even the drop of a pin could shatter this new-found silence. Perhaps not quite a pin, but a tinkling explosion shatters it instead. Clouds of white smoke instantly fill the vicinity and drown out your vision. You still have enough wits about you to sense the presence of the Hexenzirkel witches, which also means you can’t detect the two visitors’ presence.
In other words: your hasty teleportation succeeded.
And sure, it’s not your best work, but conjuring a teleportation spell without any time to recite the appropriate incantations was the best you could do in that situation. Out of sight, out of mind as they say!
(You can only hope they end up back in his office. Actually? Scratch that. You hope they end up somewhere like Starfell Lake. Or a random location in Liyue. Or Natlan. Or Snezhnaya.)
When the clouds of smoke settle, the quiet beginning to creep in, something akin to dread stabbing your gut tells you this… incident, so to speak, is only just the beginning of a rather tiresome matter. That instinct solidifies the moment you’re suddenly the object of interest for these old witches, their teasing smiles and far too amused expressions already making you want to run away and hide in a corner. Even then you doubt you would be able to hide from them for long, so you exhale a resigned sigh of defeat as you feel your vitality wither away at their enthusiastic theory-crafting.
As you’re caught in the middle of these meddlesome hags trying to have a say in your very much non-existent love life, Varka remains stock-still in the middle of his office — very much dazed and lost in thoughts with a thoroughly amused Archon-slash-bard staring at him all smug. Much like his position prior to the abrupt cloud of smoke and slightly disgruntling sensation of being teleported (which he barely registered the full effects of amid his stupor), the Grand Master remains kneeled. In the middle of his office. No thoughts running through his mind other than the shocked expression you bestowed him before it quickly morphed into something akin to morbid (-ly adorable, in his perspective) embarrassment, only to be obscured by curls of smoke.
“Barbatos,” Varka eventually says, features taking on a serious tone. Venti merely widens his grin, already knowing where this conversation is headed just from the unfamiliar expression residing on the ever so laid-back Grand Master.
“Yes, Varka?”
Turning with a look so scarily serious, one none the wiser to the situation would think there to be some dire strategic talks occurring. Venti merely stifles a giggle, only to burst out into full-blown laughter as Varka’s following words are delivered with utmost solemnity.
“I think I may be in love. Horrendously so.”
(And if you suddenly find yourself appearing in a puff of smoke for the umpteenth time in front of an all-too eager to please Grand Master you’re increasingly beginning to get sick of seeing by the day with pesky witches and a nosy drunkard of an Archon on your tail? Well, that’s a story for another day. Probably.)
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
in which your daily routine consists of waking up, setting up your stall to sell fruit, conversing with the locals, packing up the stall, and heading back home. oh. and entertaining that incorrigible grand master.
CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.6k wc, fluff, yearning, reader runs a fruit stall and tries to not let Feelings™ show (and fails horribly), varka is kinda reminiscent to a puppy, written PRE release but based off of scattered lore we have on him so let's see how off the mark this characterisation is later ;w;
A/N : AFTER 5 LONG YEARS HE IS FINALLY REAL AND OFC HE MAKES ME WRITE MY FIRST GENSHIN FIC IN YEARS WOWEE
Being the owner of a fruit stall in Mondstadt City, selling your fresh produce every day from morning to evening, isn’t as lacklustre as one might think. It's a stable business, something which stems from just how close-knit the community is (how small it is compared to other cities, rather). And you like it that way; the familiarity of it all.
You see the same shop owners who greet you with a chipper “Good morning!” and its counterpart when it's time to pack up and head home.
You see the same old regulars who greet you with familiar warmth, perusing your newly stocked goods to take back for breakfast or midday snacking.
You see the same knights who go on their usual patrols, oftentimes striking up conversation and selling your goods to satiate their hunger.
You see the same children running around with their carefree laughter and twinkling eyes, which somehow shine even brighter when they spot newly imported fruits from other regions amongst your lineup.
And, of course, you see him. The bane of your existence. The reason you wake up grimacing at the prospect of getting out of bed and starting your day. The reason you can never start nor end the day in a moment of peace.
Well, you hear him first before you see him.
“Good morning, my ever so diligent fruit seller!” His voice is something far too spirited in the quiet, early morning. You already know then and there peace is no longer an option. So you close your eyes, take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the whirlwind about to make a stop at your stall, and exhale.
A shadow hovers over you, the subtle warmth of the early sun dissipating along with it. Flitting your eyes open, you're met with eyes which encompass the blues of a clear sky and the man who is the sun incarnate.
“Good morning to you as well.”
Varka beams — in that ridiculously bright curl of his lips which has you squinting — as though you haven't responded in the same monotone manner each and every time. But he acts as happy as he did the first time you so much as acknowledged his greeting all those years ago.
(Before he was the Grand Master. Before he became something akin to a legend. Before he carried the hopes and wishes of the people into every battle, every act he took to protect his home. Back when he was a bright-eyed knight ready to take on the world while you listened to his rambles, wondering how someone could be so bright.)
A nagging feeling tells you that won't be changing any time soon, and you curse your traitorous heart yearning for it not to.
A crisp crunch! dissolves your thoughts. Blinking, you're unsurprised to see a bright red apple — one of your bright red apples, you note with narrowed eyes — in his mouth. Eyes closed, he contentedly chews the bitten off piece of fruit.
“Ooh, the apples are particularly sweet today,” Varka hums, savouring the taste lingering in his taste buds. It isn't long before his attention swivels back to you, eyes crinkling in mirth. “Not as sweet as you, of course! Haha!”
His mouth really never does stop flapping.
“Flattery won't make me forget about you paying, Grand Master,” comes your deadpan response, demeanour far too used to his sweeping presence. Unfortunately.
With a melodramatic flair only he can pull off, Varka gasps, half-eaten apple in one hand while the other lies solemn atop his heart. “Grand Master? Oh, you wound me! I thought we were at least on first name basis.”
He still hands you the 200 mora amidst his theatrics, fingers brushing gently against your open palm. They linger for a brief moment, that ever familiar warmth curling into your now clenched hand, before it slips back to his side.
You roll your eyes, huffing yet not entirely surprised. “Whatever. Anyway, don't you have duties you should be attending to? You know, as the Grand Master?”
“I'll have you know I am carrying out my duties.” A cheeky grin appears on his visage upon seeing your dubious expression, and you mentally brace yourself for whatever is bound to spill from that insufferable mouth of his. He takes another bite of the apple, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “Checking in on the beloved citizens of Mondstadt is a part of my duties, actually. So naturally I'll be checking up on you every chance I get.”
“Uh-huh. And that entails any time ranging from setting up my stall first thing in the morning, like now, to when I'm about to head home?”
“Of course!” He beams, chipper as ever. “What kind of Grand Master would I be to leave my most beloved citizen bored and lonely without my presence?”
“A better, more competent one,” you drawl, arms crossed and expression undoubtedly unimpressed. “Speaking of, I hope you aren't leaving poor Jean to pick up your slack.”
Another crunch! fills the space. He's polished off the apple, leaving nothing but the pips and the stem. Your nose scrunches; he gives another lopsided grin.
“Jean has it covered. It’s essentially a part of her job description, anyhow. Besides, I’m almost positive that little workaholic enjoys taking on my work and keeping herself busy.”
You sigh, entirely unimpressed yet not surprised in the slightest. Again. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Yet you still entertain me,” he says, grin dwindling into something softer, eyes glittering a little brighter. Within a blink, his relaxed posture straightens. “Oh! Right, this is for you.”
Swept up in his presence, you didn’t realise the cecilia so obviously tucked protectively in his pocket up until now. You shouldn’t be so surprised. More often than not, he will bring you a little trinket — sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evenings. Yet seeing him carefully holding the stem, calloused fingers cautious so as to avoid crumpling the leaves or petals, has your skin warming more than the rising sun above you should.
(And so what if Flora gives you that all-knowing grin from within her own stall? So what if you're already mentally preparing for her to idle her way across to your stall during that quiet hour when the streets are less busy to tease you, again, about the Grand Master's blatant favouritism?)
“You sure seem to have a lot of spare time,” you mutter, gently taking the flower from his outstretched hand. It remains in your own for a brief moment, slowly twirling between your pinched fingers before setting it down on the wooden counter.
“Only for you,” he responds just as softly, as though speaking any louder would disrupt the peace settling over you. It’s almost embarrassing how easily the words spill from his lips, how readily he is able to drown you in this saccharine side of him none would expect from a man who birthed legends with his own name and skills.
And so you just grumble, pointedly doing your best to block out the thunderous beats of your wretched heart. “Shouldn’t you get going? Something about the thrill of adventure and action calling your name?”
“So you do remember what I say!”
“Only because you never stop talking. Even forcefully blocking you out doesn’t work.”
Still, he laughs, like you just landed the funniest joke known to man. His hulking frame of muscle and battle-worn scars shake at the boisterous action. That ever so familiar boyish sound which makes you feel both at ease but also forget just how strong he can be when necessary.
Eventually he composes himself, leaning back with his hands perched on his hips. “Save me some fruit for my return!” are his last words to you as he takes a slow step away from your stall; reluctant, almost. His waving is obnoxious, large, swooping movements which could probably render a mitachurl out of commission from the sheer velocity, his cheery grin akin to that of the shining sun.
You merely roll your eyes and give him a half-hearted wave of your own.
It's only when he disappears beyond the towering cobble walls do you allow yourself to turn away. Shining with gentle radiance in the early morning glow sits the cecilia he left for you, its pristine visage a grating contrast to the worn wood of the stall. The petals are soft to the touch, the pads of your thumb and forefinger gently running along its smooth texture.
Chatter slowly floods the city as life blooms amongst the populace, and you swiftly tuck its stem securely in your apron's breast pocket. The regulars come out for their daily peruse and purchase. The guards greet you and stop for idle chats. The children amble towards you eager to hear what new fruits you have in stock this time.
Even as the day goes on and your stock dwindles, you make sure to set aside the freshest fruit you have for when a certain man returns late into the day.
(And when he appears, roughed up from spending the day out in the wilderness yet shining as bright as ever, you act as though the ripe apple and berries were just mere leftovers — produce which never sold. If he notices the still pristine cecilia tucked into your pocket, he doesn't comment on it. He never does. Varka only beams in that manner which always gets your hands clammy, happily holding your empty crates while chattering about today's wilderness expedition, waiting as you finish packing up so he can walk you back home.)
(Like routine; like always.)
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
premise. A misplaced book in the Akademiya library draws you into Alhaitham’s private annotations, in which you find dry critiques, philosophical musings…and mentions of you. Instead of returning it in silence, you write in the empty spaces. The conversation that unfolds changes more than just the margins.
word count. 2.3k
Footnotes in the Margins ¹𝄒 ²𝄒 ³
The library was unusually quiet today. Not that it was ever particularly rowdy, but even the usual rustling of pages and soft footsteps seemed to have melted into stillness. You appreciated it. The silence gave you space to breathe, to think…and to procrastinate on your own research by aimlessly browsing the back shelves.
That was when you found it. Tucked between two thick volumes on pre-Celestial syntax theory, halfway down a shelf no one touched unless they were actively trying to disprove ancient grammar, there it sat. It looked unremarkable at first glance: well-bound, neatly shelved, and oppressively academic, like any other book from the House of Daena. You might’ve passed it by if you had still been a starry-eyed newcomer who still believed research came from passion, not from studying. But you, who had combed through thousands of library books during your time at the Akademiya, noticed two things immediately. There was no classification number on the spine, and it bore the telltale kind of wear that came from being read and reread, not skimmed for citations but thoroughly studied.
You pulled it out. The title was something dry: Epistemic Constructs in Rational Thought. It hadn’t even been shelved correctly, you noted before you opened the cover and caught the unmistakable offense. Annotations, dozens of them cleanly written in the margins and between lines, sometimes replacing whole arguments with alternative ones. Entire paragraphs scrawled in the margins in meticulous, slanted handwriting. You frowned. No scholar would dare mark up a library book like this. Then again, this didn’t appear to be a library book.
The realization arrived quickly. The handwriting was familiar—not by sheer coincidence, but because you’d seen it before. Briefly, on shared reports, with sharp, efficient strokes. On the occasional joint paper. In the corner of a board scrawled with citations and deadlines. It was unmistakable.
Alhaitham.
The Acting Grand Sage had a distinct way of annotating, bordering on clinical precision. His notes weren’t chaotic; they were surgical, detached, but oddly revealing. They questioned premises and tore apart analogies.
False equivalence.
Lazy metaphor.
Surprisingly insightful. See page 116.
You’d seen him with personal copies of texts like this before—making quiet observations in the corners, dissecting arguments, crossing out entire sections with a single dismissive line—but the commentary within this book was different. It wasn’t just theory or academic musings or counterarguments. No, you realized as you kept reading, it was personal.
Irrational attachment as a flaw. Even the most rigorous minds are susceptible.
The experiment fails: removing emotional variables does not simplify the human condition. It reduces it to fiction.
You paused, fingers hovering over a line heavily underlined in graphite.
She lingers. Not as an anomaly, but as a constant. A variable I did not account for.
You blinked. Your heart skipped as you turned the page.
Why does her laughter replay in idle moments? A useless loop. It interrupts my reading.
Distraction. Intrusion. Yet I do not mind.
It wasn’t a confession, not explicitly; he hadn’t written your name. But everything pointed to you: your habits, your voice, that one argument you’d had with him last week in the lecture hall—the one he claimed was ‘logically inconsistent’ and you insisted was ‘emotionally necessary.’ In frustration, you’d invoked an analogy about symbolic walks beneath moonlit trees, a reference you were still mortified to have made. Yet here it was, inked in his hand. He had written about it.
She argued from feeling. I wanted to dismiss it, but part of me listened. Why?
You should’ve closed the book, placed it back, and pretended you never saw it. But your fingers kept turning the pages, kept uncovering pieces of him he would never show so easily: quiet sarcasm tucked between philosophical theories, flashes of wit that softened the sharpness of his logic.
Affection as a liability. Possible sign of weakness?
The book felt heavy in your hands. You’d always assumed Alhaitham thought of you as a minor annoyance, an occasionally tolerable colleague, perhaps. But this…this was something else. A mind unraveling in silence. A heart he wasn’t even sure he had, quietly finding its shape in your shadow. You turned one last page, and tucked near the end, almost as an afterthought:
If she ever finds this, then perhaps she was meant to.
The pen stroke faltered at the end of the sentence, as if he hadn’t been sure whether to finish it. You glanced up instinctively, half-expecting to see him watching nearby, but the library was quiet. Earlier, you had seen him, just briefly, as you passed the main aisle. He’d been skimming titles near the central atrium, his expression unreadable as always. You hadn’t said anything, and neither had he. It hadn’t seemed strange at the time.
But now you wondered if he’d been looking for something.
You closed the book slowly, fingertips lingering on the margin where his thoughts had trailed off. The next move, you realized, might no longer be his to make.
____________
¹ Margins of Response
You didn’t return the book; you took it home instead. It wasn’t out of carelessness, nor was it simple curiosity. It was something quieter—a kind of reverence. You handled it the way one would a fragile secret: gently, almost afraid it might change if you looked at it for too long. His notes replayed in your mind without resolution.
You should’ve said something right away, should’ve brought the book back to him and asked, Why did you write about me like that? But you couldn’t; not yet. Not when the words were still sinking in, threading themselves into your understanding of him like ink into parchment. Instead, you reached for a pen.
Your handwriting was different than his: softer, rounder, and less sure. But you found a space at the bottom of one of his entries—a sliver of margin he’d left untouched—and you wrote.
You call it irrational. I call it human.
Another page:
You listened. That mattered more than you know.
You left your thoughts like that, scattered in quiet response to his own. It was a conversation held in ink rather than air, a thread running parallel to his own, neither correcting nor contradicting but merely coexisting.
Finally, on the back page, just beneath his last uncertain line, you responded,
Then perhaps I was.
The next day, you returned the book to its shelf, placing it exactly where you had found it: same position, same angle. You waited.
It didn’t take long; he came looking for it that same afternoon. You weren’t surprised. You watched from the upper floor of the library, heart in your throat, as Alhaitham pulled the book from its place and turned it over in his hands. His expression didn’t change much—he was always hard to read—but there was a slight pause, a subtle stillness in his fingers as he opened to one of the pages you’d touched. He read your words slowly. He lingered. Then, deliberately, he closed the book and looked up past the balcony right at you.
The silence stretched between you. Neither of you moved. The distance between the floors, the books, and the postulates you’d both tried so hard to keep private all narrowed in that one moment. And then he did something you’d never seen him do before: he smiled. Barely, but it was real.
____________
² In Quiet Spaces
You didn’t expect him to follow you, but when the day wound down and the House of Daena began to empty, you caught a glimpse of muted green and silver trailing your footsteps. You stepped into the records alcove. The walls were lined with silent tomes, and the low golden lamps cast shadows too soft for confrontation. Still, you knew he was there and waited without turning around. He didn’t speak for a while, but when he did, it was quieter than usual, almost careful.
“I was aware my copy of Epistemic Constructs in Rational Thought was missing,” he said. “I wasn’t aware it had been read.”
You turned, arms folded; it wasn’t a defensive gesture, just a way to anchor yourself. “You left it in the Akademiya library. That doesn’t exactly scream classified information.”
“That would be a fair argument,” he nodded once, eyes flicking down, “but there’s a discrepancy in the situation. I never brought it to the House of Daena. An assistant must have mistaken it for my reference texts and returned it with the others. It wasn’t meant for anyone else’s eyes. Not intentionally.”
You tilted your head. “Not even mine?”
His gaze held yours. “Especially not yours.”
Silence again.
“I wasn’t sure what to say,” you murmured finally. “So I wrote back.”
He exhaled faintly, as if suppressing a laugh. “Yes. I read your notes. You were more gracious than I deserved.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Gracious? I called you out.”
“You did,” he agreed. “But you did it with…understanding. That’s rarer than you think.”
There was something new in his tone. Vulnerability wasn’t quite the word for it, but perhaps sincerity was, and his was unfiltered, for once, not sifted through theory or logic.
“I thought I could out-reason the feeling,” he admitted, “dissect it until it disappeared. But it didn’t. It just evolved.”
You stepped a little closer. “Do you really think it makes you weaker?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then, with a strange, almost wry curve of his lips, he admitted, “I think it makes me uncomfortable. But perhaps that’s not the same thing.”
You smiled. “It isn’t.”
The moment stretched between you, still delicate and undefined, but something had shifted. A line had been crossed. It wasn’t a confession, not quite, but it was an acknowledgment. Alhaitham looked at you then, more fully than before. Not as if you were a variable to analyze—just as you.
“I don’t want this to stay in the margins,” he said, voice steady.
You blinked.
He looked faintly amused by your expression, if only barely. “If you’re willing,” he added, “I’d prefer we discuss it elsewhere. More directly.”
You managed a half-smile. “Someplace quiet, not performative.”
His eyes softened. “Agreed. No symbolic walks beneath moonlit trees.”
“No symbolic walks beneath moonlit trees,” you echoed solemnly.
A pause. Then—to your surprise—he laughed. It was just a breath of it, low and short, but undeniably real. It caught you off guard and warmed something in your chest.
“Tea,” he suggested after a moment. “In my study. Less metaphor, more clarity.”
____________
³ Between the Lines
His study was exactly how you imagined it: tidy, quiet, with lamplight filtering through half-shut windows. Books lined the walls, orderly, color-coded, each spine carefully bent and memorized. A single chair faced his desk. Another, which had been previously tucked to the side, had been pulled forward for you.
He gestured for you to sit, then poured tea—one of those delicate, floral kinds from Port Ormos that no one expected him to keep stocked. You didn’t ask why because the scent alone softened the expectant silence. Finally, he sat opposite you, elbows resting lightly on the desk. For once, there were no books between you. No inked margins to hide behind.
“I reread what I wrote,” he said after a moment. “With your annotations in mind.”
You watched steam curl from your cup. “And?”
“It was a flawed method of processing,” he said simply. “Too detached. I tried to contain something that didn’t want to be dissected.”
You glanced at him. “Affection?”
He met your eyes. “You.”
The air hung still between you.
“I told myself it was temporary,” he continued, his voice low and even, “that proximity would pass. I believed you’d fade into the background like most things do eventually, but the opposite happened. The more I noticed you, the more I wanted to.”
“And now?” you asked, your voice quiet.
He hesitated. “I don’t have a hypothesis for this,” he said finally. “But I don’t think I want one.”
You smiled, just a little. “That’s surprisingly unscientific of you.”
“Terrifying, really,” he deadpanned. His voice softened. “But not unwelcome.”
He looked at you then and it wasn’t an answer so much as an invitation. You reached for your cup, fingers brushing the porcelain. The tea had cooled slightly, but the warmth lingered.
“I liked reading your thoughts,” you said softly. “Even the over-analyzed ones.”
He tilted his head. “Even the one where I compared you to a disruptive variable?”
You chuckle. “Especially that one.”
Another silence followed, but this time, it felt earned. When you finally stood to leave, he walked you to the door. You paused there—half in shadow, half in lamp-glow—not looking back.
“I’m not expecting anything,” you said. “Just…don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Behind you, Alhaitham stood still for a moment. Then, calmly, he replied, “I wouldn’t have invited you here if I planned to ignore it.”
You turned to face him. He wasn’t smiling—he rarely did—but something in his posture had softened. He wasn’t guarding the space between you anymore. He wasn’t calculating how much of himself he could afford to show.
“I don’t know what this becomes,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it needs a name yet.”
You nodded. “No. Just…don’t overthink it.”
“That may be difficult.”
You huffed a laugh. “I know.”
You reached for the door and pushed it open, then hesitated.
“I’m not just a margin note,” you added softly.
“I know.” His voice was steady. Quiet. Certain.
You smiled and stepped into the hallway. Next time, there wouldn’t be footnotes. The book, the annotations, the unsaid thoughts—they were behind you both now. Ahead lay something unmarked, unwritten, and entirely yours.
imagine if you got transmigrated into the star rail world, with all your memories intact. you realize that now that you're here, you will not let anyone suffer anymore deaths in all the worlds yet unexplored and with all the information you have now.
"Next stop, Jarilo VI !"
pompom announced as you seated yourself. march, dan heng and stelle, the new member rescued from herta space station with your very thorough help is now travelling with you all.
you understood that they were kind of... wary of you considering how you knew what will happen the next moment. its just that you remembered each and every moment by your heart since honkai: star rail had been your favourite game.
threat of stellaron handled easily with your precise guidance. your team never met any threat along the way. rivet town anomalies all cleared out. and you made sure that cocolia lives !
"I can't thank you enough for the help the nameless provided to belobog...i was sure my mother would..."
march chirped in "oh come on! its because of [name] right here that we were able to realise what cocolia was up to!"
you heave a sigh of relief after returning to the express car, your mind going a thousand miles about xianzhou because there is phantiliya! a lord ravager. its one thing fighting her with your characters and another physically...
and you stood corrected. your body all beat up as you fought phantiliya as if your life was on the line, making sure she had a wound that would last her centuries.
with rage seeping through your eyes as you clutched your weapon while kneeling on the ground "Our fight is not over lord ravager of hunt! i will find you again!"
as your days in xianzhou went by, the story as you remembered progressed, meeting the zhuming, fei xiao didn't lose her sanity, hoolay defeated and jiao qiu had his eyes. and the best part is that tingyun lived, just that her body went into a state of deep slumber. and dan heng embraced his vidyadhara status after his...'meeting' with old friends...you couldn't and wouldn't have been able to help with that no matter what.
the whole of xianzhou was eternally grateful. jing yuan and fei xiao agreed to provide you assistance no matter when and where. he nameless became a legend and your feats were heard all across the cosmos. 'the fortune teller' and the 'the seer' is what they would hail you as.
during the dinner meeting with the express after your returned...
"you know all our trailblazing expeditions have been even more fruitful with the least loss of companions. before you, we would have many unfortunate incidents" himeko propped her chin on her hand "we couldn't be more grateful for you exceptional abilities [name]"
welt fixed his glasses and crossed his arms "you have relieved a lot of stress for us. we know that in all future expeditions it would continue like so" he gave you a gentle smile
"there's nothing to be worried about when we have our 'lucky charm' with us! hehe" march swung an arm around you beaming brightly
you on the other hand grew more worried with each passing trailblaze, growing unsure of the fact that you will be able to live up to their expectations. it was just by narrow luck that you managed to not have anyone die at your last stop.
"the Family from penacony sent us a letter to attend their charmony festival... you all will be willing to go right?" like fate had ordained, or more specifically the devs had ordained, you all went into penacony.
fast forward, sunday left penacony to become a nameless, after saying a proper farewell to robin. no one got to know about his idealistic 'all day should be sunday' endeavor because of you.
"[name] i'm forever...no the whole oak family and me are grateful for you ensuring that me and brother could meet one last time before he leaves to find what he wants the most. thank you"
in the express car, you were slumped on your cushiony bed, contemplating Amphoreus...an extrapolation similar to a knock off simulated universe which was the cradle of iron-tomb. and also the place where one or basically most of your favourite characters live...
Phainon...
This time, you will not see your friends waste away...
you make a silent promise to whoever is watching over you, be it fuli or nanook, hell it can even be aha for all you care.
"so for our next stop we have a few options like Lushaka, Ampho-"
"...Amphoreus...lets go there"
The whole crew, even pompom was bewildered. you've never suggested places before. Himeko stuttered before replying "We can do that but...any reason as to why?" you hesitate before remembering black swans reason for sending you all, the one she told the crew before speaking privately with the trailblazer. "the express doesn't have enough fuel to stay in one place for too long and Amphoreus is a place where even Akivili had not trailblazed so it can be a new start into the history of the nameless...!" wow your memory came in clutch!
good thing you remembered about the spear falling from the sky so you were able to save both dan heng and stelle before they suffered any serious injuries. however, unfortunately march was unconscious and frozen even here.
you three trek your way into...Januspolis, the first ever place where the setting started. and like it was before, furiae praetors swarm your group, and then comes a flash of gold streaked ocean blue eyes and hair like that of snow, smirking at you as he passed by you in a flash, taking stelle's bat from her and swinging it with a dramatic pose.
ah...there he is...
"Khaslana..."
you let your voice carry into the depths of the abyss...
something that came to me twice when I was taking number 2 and in my dreams. lmk if you guys want a part 2! in that one I'll make sure to include beating lygus's ahh up—
“Muah,” you beam, pressing a soft peck into Sylus’s cheek. “Muah!”
Another. And another. And another scattered little kiss along the skin of his face as he sits with you situated comfortably on his lap, hands tracing up and down your hips. It’s late—somewhere close to the sun’s routine time to rise, and somewhere close to Sylus’s routine time to fall asleep. He’s a lot easier to bend to your whims like this, when he’s tired and limp under you and lets you have your way.
He hums, curling his lips into an sleepy smile as he murmurs, “you missed a spot.”
“You don’t get to get picky when you get free affection,” you say instantly.
His smile drops. Something of a grouchy scowl (that’s more like a pout, if you’re being honest) drapes along his lips and forces them into that downward curl. Your lips do the exact opposite, curling up at the sight of his dissatisfaction.
“Well, sweetie,” he drawls, “who knew you could be so stingy?”
“I’m not being stingy,” you grin, purposely missing his lips as you press your next kiss, landing it right over his Cupid’s bow and watching as his eyes flash impatiently. “I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.”
“Which is?”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
“Funny,” Sylus quirks a brow, that awful, terrible, nightmarish and dangerous smug look returning to his features as his eyes narrow, “because I always get what I want. It’s as simple as taking it.
The room is spinning and shifting and tilting on its axis as you feel everything move in a blur—one second you’re on top of him, sat on his lap, and the next second he’s hovering over you, melting your body into the mattress like it could swallow you whole under his weight.
“Sylus!” You screech, earning a low chuckle from him, “get off of me you brute!”
“Not until you give me what I want.”
“No!”
“Then I’m not moving.”
And true to his word, he settles himself on top of you, promptly pressing all his body weight over yours as his drapes his figure on top of you. He’s heavy—in a pleasant sort of way. He feels like comfort and home and warmth pressing into you and crushing your bones with nothing more than body mass and willpower. You like it. And as if on cue, your hand instinctively finds the back of his head to smooth through his hair.
Sometimes your body just does that. Admits he’s what you want and what you need against its will. Admits it likes him there and welcomes him like your souls are two halves of a whole—one involuntary muscle responding to him at a time.
“You’re heavy,” you whine.
“This could all be solved rather simply if you’d just give me a proper kiss, sweetheart. But you insist on hissing like a stray kitten in an alleyway.”
“And it’s just too easy to ruffle your feathers,” you giggle, rubbing a hand along the nape of his neck and feeling him shiver under your touch, “who knew a kiss could have you so worked up?”
“I’m not worked up,” he grumbles quietly. You smile wider. He pinches your hips in warning without even looking at you.
“Spoiled,” you murmur, “that’s what you are.”
“Spoiled is what you are with how you swipe my card,” he retorts, earning a glare from you. His eyes are half lidded—heavy, and tired, and slowly closing shut against his will as he stifles a yawn, giving you a poor attempt at a smirk.
“No kisses for you forever.”
“I think that’ll cause you more distress than me in the long run.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of talking?” You huff exhaustedly.
“I’ll stop talking long enough for a quick nap if you give me a proper kiss,” he negotiates. Like the proper, opportunistic business man that he is. So good at playing his cards right and getting the deal he wants so badly, just enough that he always walks away with the better end of the stick.
Sly, you’d call it.
Persuasive, he’d correct.
And you’re convinced. Persuaded and swayed into his trap because all he has to do is give you those sweet, tired little blinks of his eyes and that hopeful little look as he stares at your lips before you cave and fold like a piece of paper into his awaiting palms.
“You’ll finally sleep and leave me alone if I give you a kiss?” You pretend to bargain.
He nods earnestly, “oh yes, sweetie. I’ll be out like a light faster than you can call Mephisto over to be witness of our deal.”
“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “One kiss.”
“So stingy,” he chuckles.
“I’m not—”
He kisses you. Props his head up, still blanketing you with all his weight as he kisses you softly. Like he means it. Lips carving out lips like he’s mean to mold your flesh to fit the shape of his. You gasp, and he lets out a soft sigh into your mouth, closing his eyes and pressing into you as much as he can.
When your hands twist into his hair, he lets out a soft groan, slumping more weight into you (if that’s even possible) before his breathing gets shallower.
When he finally pulls away, his head tucks itself back into your neck as he mumbles, “told you I’d get what I want.”
It comes out like a soft slur. Your eyes widen instantly.
“Sylus, no—I have to get up for the day so don’t even think about—”
He’s asleep. Heavy, limp, and comfortably on top of you. You try a sad, futile attempt to shove him off, but he’s stuck. Glued to you like his life depends on it. (Sometimes it does, you think. Sometimes it feels like he lives only for you. Only knows how to breathe when he’s sure you’re there to listen to his soft breaths.)
“You asshole,” you mutter, “you spoiled, obnoxious asshole.”
He always gets what he wants—the feeling of your delicate body under his, and the nails that trace his scalp softly in defeat are good enough proof of that.
Early bday drabble. Long fic to come. Stay tuned. This is a sylus only blog. I don’t even like mydei even a little bit. What else? I think I’ve covered all my bases
contents: fluff. established relationship. you always sleep better when you're with him. 600 wc.
It’s been long since darkness cloaked the firmament and Sylus is absorbed in the tranquil silence of his studies overlooking documents and official records. A common routine given his atypical profession in dealing with illegal weaponry and other business practices that caught his interest. His fingers idly tapping against the armrest come to a halt when faint footsteps reach his ears. The sound draws nearer and closer with each pace and the corner of his mouth tugs upward into a smirk while he waits in anticipation.
“Kitten, shouldn’t you be in bed where I had left you?” Sylus meets your heavy-lidded gaze and registers your appearance as a cashmere blanket wraps around your shoulders and your hair tousled from what seems to be troubled sleep. Despite his question, he beckons you with a gesture and you settle across his lap, your body turning in towards him to nuzzle your face into his neck with your arms coiling around him. He gently shifts your weight closer to him for a more secure hold and lays a sweet kiss on your head once your movement stills.
“You’re more comfy… way more comfy. I prefer this much more.” You hum and return his kiss by brushing your lips against his skin. He can feel you ease into him as he studies your adorable sleepy face and his heart swells with so much love and tenderness for you. He loves it when you seek him out even when you've spent the entire day together and still can't get enough of him.
“Is that so? I suppose I’m more comfortable than a bed, huh?” He strokes your hair, lulling you deeper into your drowsiness and you can only muster a noise of contentment. He wonders if he can emulate the same sense of comfort you provide him when he’s resting his head on your lap. The sweet and intimate sensation of your fingers caressing through his silver locks with the lingering scent of your perfume makes everything seem right in the world even if just brieftly. “You know I can’t work when you’re in my lap like this. I have too many distractions that way. You and the cute way you snore.”
You grunt softly. “I do not snore… do you really want me to leave?” You slowly unravel yourself from him with a small pout on your lower lip, and he softens with the realization that maybe he shouldn’t have teased you when you’re laced with sleep. You feel something warm against your forehead through your bleary eyes, and he can’t have his darling feeling unloved and unwanted by mistake and he intends to remedy that. His hand reaches up and moves your head back where it was moments ago and you are pliant under his touch.
“Now, I didn’t say you had to go anywhere. Stay here with me. I promise you won’t get in the way.” Sylus cooes you gently, his hand smooths along your back and he rests his cheek against your hair as he savors the feeling of having you in his arms. “I love you, sweet kitten. Sleep now. I’ll hold you until you do.” You murmur you love him back and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but silence and the steady rhythm of your breathing as your consciousness begins to drift.
Sylus gazes down at you with a fond and affectionate expression, whispering quiet reassurances that he hopes will reach you in your dreams. He resumes skimming through the paperwork he was doing before, his actions slower and deliberate so as not to wake you. Although his focus has shifted, he enjoys having you here with him like this and he could certainly get used to it.
zayne li x fem!reader, boyfriend!sylus qin x fem!reader
summary: 1.0k
But, then, before he has a chance to open his mouth, a head of white hair filters past his field of vision and sidles up next to you. He sticks his hand in your back pocket, and tugs you against his hip, and Zayne feels that fluttering feeling take flame until there’s only the ashes of butterfly wings in his gut.
or the one where zayne is surprised to see a man he's never met picking you up from the hospital after a routine checkup.
content: jealousy, unrequited love
masterlist | beat you to it masterlist
It’d been a year or so since you’d re-inserted yourself into Zayne’s life. It’s a wonder, really, how he’d managed to make it through this long without you. That he’d let you slip through his fingers way back when. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do it, now, given the circumstances. Not with the tight grip you held over his heart.
Being your primary care physician had been easy enough when you’d started seeing him. He’d managed to explain the brunt of his lingering butterflies to the crush he’d held for you as a child and get on with his days, but that’d been before he started seeing you outside of the hospital. In cafes and bakeries and his own home, at times. Now, he’s starting to come to terms with the fact that that crush had morphed into something bigger. Something lingering.
You’d grown more comfortable with him, and him, in turn, with you. You texted him about new macaroons you wanted to try the next time you met up with him on his lunch break, you brought him a cupcake on his birthday with a single candle when he’d neglected to buy one for himself, you wormed your way into his life and his mind and he wasn’t fond of any idea that removed you from it.
Still, Zayne doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to touching you. Even in this context, with his hands covered in latex under the harsh luminescence, he has to focus especially hard to keep his hands from quivering. It’s gotten better, at least, from when he was a child. He remembers placing bandaids cockeyed over your shredded knees one summer because he couldn’t keep the tremor at bay. No, at least now, he can conduct his checkups with a semblance of professionalism.
“Everything looks like it should,” Zayne says, his eyes flickering up to yours as he looks through your chart. He misses when it was all still paper and folders. It gave him something tangible to hold, something that felt finite. Real. Something to fiddle with while he avoided your stare.
“Good. That’s good, right?” you ask, looking up at him with an overwhelming amount of trust clouding your gaze. It pinches at his chest, before dissipating into the fluttery feeling he’d grown accustomed to.
“You’ll still need to monitor your heart and your fatigue levels with your increasing workload,” he says.
“I can do that,” you say softly. You’d always been good at listening to him, even if you were a bit stubborn about it at times.
“Other than that,” Zayne nods, clearing his throat and turning the tablet off and setting it on the counter. “It’s very good.”
“Great! Does that make me free to go then, doctor?” you ask. He hates the way his face heats up at the honorific. Thankfully, it’d been a couple of weeks since his last haircut, and the tips of his ears were shielded from your eyes. You’d been calling him that since you were children. Each time he’d patched up a bump or a bruise, you smiled up at him with rosy cheeks and called him doc.
“One last thing.” He fishes through his pocket to grab a mint, holding it out for you in an open palm. “Yvonne will help you reschedule for your next appointment in eight weeks.”
“Thanks, Dr. Zayne,” you chirp, offering him the toothy grin he remembers from his younger years. He opens the door to the examination room for you, following you out and watching you as you walk to the front desk to reschedule. He briefly considers stopping you, considers asking you to dinner when his shift ends, considers doing anything more than watching you leave with his tongue held tight between his teeth.
But, then, before he has a chance to open his mouth, a head of white hair filters past his field of vision and sidles up next to you. He sticks his hand in your back pocket, and tugs you against his hip, and Zayne feels that fluttering feeling take flame until there’s only the ashes of butterfly wings in his gut.
You hadn’t mentioned that you were seeing anyone, not that he’d needed that information to conduct this round of checkups, but, still, this had to have been new. Fresh. Stinging. An open wound with blood still pearling at the seams.
From this distance, Zayne can faintly hear you say, “I told you you didn’t have to come inside. I would have found the bike.”
“And we can find it together just as easily when we leave, sweetie.” The man shrugs, kissing the crown of your skull. Zayne’s feet feel frozen to the ground. He should go. He has other patients to take care of, things to attend to in his office and with the attendees, but he can’t move. He’s stuck staring, tongue heavy in his mouth. His chest aches with a feeling he’d long forgotten.
“You are all set,” he hears Yvonne say and then, as fast as you’d come, you’re leaving. It’s the smallest of mercies to see you wave at him, his own hand coming up tentatively to reciprocate the gesture with his thumb clutching something small against it. Once you’re out the sliding glass door, he watches the man pull you into a lingering kiss. He hates how easy it is for you to lean into him, how eagerly you pursue his lips. He hates how much it makes his stomach churn and his eyes feel wet with something akin to embarrassment. The back of his tongue reeks of bitterness as he recalls all the opportunities he’d had and all the times he’d pushed them aside in favor of claiming that he’d have all the time in the world to tell you how he felt. Of course he’d waited too long. He’d always waited when it came to you, stalling for time until the ice finally thawed around his heart so that it was warm enough to house you there.
Zayne swallows, finally managing to avert his gaze. He lowers his hand. There’s another mint in his fist.
