⋆୨୧˚ ✦ SUMMARY In which Gojo is stupidly and utterly obsessed with you.
CREDS. gojo art - thatsallitchief, pics found on Pinterest, divider by @/strangergraphics
CONTENT. FLUFF Gojo being a hazard to himself and society, not rlly proofread. WC. 0.6k
A/N. You missed me sooooo badddd ahahaha you wanted me back sooooo badddd hahahahah......
You and Satoru had an interesting relationship.
Formed through a combination of Gojo's nagging and complete inability to respect others' boundaries, you were dragged into what could only be described as a one-sided romantic (non)friendship—against your will of course.
The moment you walked into Jujutsu High, you already felt it.
felt him.
That unmistakable presence that made the hairs on your neck stand and your eye twitch in pure annoyance.
Because Satoru gojo was standing in the hallways like a six-foot-three LED billboard on the Vegas strip, waving at you with both of his lanky arms like a toddler lacking self awareness.
"Y/N!!!" he shouted as if you were across a football field and not a mere 10 feet away.
you sigh, and blink once. "Why are you yelling."
"Wanted to make sure you saw me," he shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall.
He brings a hand up to push off his blindfold, revealing his terrifyingly blue eyes.
They sparkled. Literally. Like someone installed RGB lighting in his head.
"put the blindfold back on please," you said. "you look like a glowstick."
Gojo gasps, clutching his chest and stumbling back. "You wound me. These eyes are a national treasure. Wait no- global."
"no they're a safety hazard."
"you're so hot when you're mean to me," he sighs, trailing behind you while you ran around the teachers lounge moving papers and files.
"don't you have a job to do, Gojo?" You finally turn to him.
"Yeah. Admiring you," he winks at you.
"Do you have something in your eyes?"
"Just blinded by your beauty," he smiles.
Eventually, after threatening to report him to HR, he ran off to go harrass another innocent person while you got to working on planning your next lesson for the first years.
for a little while at least, the halls were quiet. calm, even. Until they werent.
Gojo teleported to your side, leaning down so close you could feel his hair tickle the side of your face.
"Hi," he whispered. "miss me?"
"no," you instantly replied.
he froze before grinning. "Liar."
you didnt look up from your paperwork. "What do you want?"
"you." he sat in the chair beside you, kicking his up onto the table and right by your head. you glared at him.
"soooo," he began, "when are we going on that date you havent agreed to yet?"
"we're not."
"Great! I'll pick you up at seven."
"Gojo-"
he vanished before you could finish.
then reappeared. "seven thirty?"
"NO."
“Eight?”
“Stop.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, hands up in defense. “We’ll compromise.”
You cap your pen before setting it down. “On what.”
He smiled, eyes growing wide in excitement behind his blindfold.
“You pick the time. I’ll pick the place.”
You gave him a blank stare, although you for some reason couldn't help but find his persistence charming.
“I hate you.”
"yeah you hate me now, but you'll love me eventually," he says, tugging gently at a strand of your hair.
"when is eventually?" you ask.
"when we're married with 3 kids and a dog and a fish and a house on the lakeside," he explains.
"right..."
you turn your head, looking at the indents in his blindfold where his eyes are. you saw the way his hair stuck up in every which way, the white strands reflecting the dull overhead lights.
you always noticed the way his shoulders untensed when he was around you, and how his infinity always faltered.
The way he looked at you like he'd already made up his mind about you years ago, when you first made your way through the threshold of Jujutsu High.
That was the problem.
I mean, you said he was annoying, but you never said he was ugly. it's not that he wasn't the typical guy you would go for—because he was very much your type—you were just scared to be in a relationship with the life you live.
You didn't want to lose someone you cared so deeply about, and unfortunately for you, you dont think Gojo is going to let you go anytime soon.
Zayne tries to run every morning. Even when you are cozy in bed, warm in your cocoon of blankets. Zayne will rise out of bed and go on a run. This morning you woke up early though. Usually, you’re still in bed when he comes back, but today you’ve migrated your bundle of blankets to the couch.
The sofa that gives you a perfect view of the front door. The very same one Zayne walks into, taking off his shoes. Your eyes glaze over his body. Tight-fitted black shirt, hair tousled with sweat, and his shorts that end right above the knee.
“You run every morning looking like that?” You smile from the couch, leaning over the arm rest. Zayne tugs out his earphone,
“What?”
“You run. Every morning, looking like that.” You point at him, raising and lowering your finger.
“Do I look bad?” He asks, sliding his earphones into his pocket before treading towards you on the couch. Up close, you can see the sweat dripping down his neck and the way his shirt outlines his chest just right.
You’re salivating.
“Worse. You look amazing.” He stands in front of you as you sit on your knees. Your hands rest on his chest, smoothing over his lean arms and shoulders.
“You’re staring.” Zayne chides, but there’s no malice in his voice. He likes your praise, your attention. Sometimes you catch him making himself prettier for you. You massage his shoulders softly, leaning in to smell him. Zayne stiffens under you, "What are you—"
"You smell nice too." You smile against his skin. Zayne's hands stabilize your waist, rubbing circles into your skin. "You smell like me." Your chest swirls with pride, scraping his scalp softly with your nails. Zayne hums in reply, his eyes softly closing. He dips his head into your neck, pressing a kiss against your exposed skin.
"I should leave a mark on you." You mutter, running a finger up and down his chest. Zayne lets you touch up on him, running your hands along his abdomen and chest. He watches your hands, the way your face twinkles. He hums once again, raising a brow. "Anyone passing should know you're taken." Zayne chuckles, looping his arms around you. You pull him on top of you, a drop of his sweat dripping onto your collarbone.
"The ring on my finger isn't enough?" He's amused, pride swirling in his chest over you. You shake your head, arms curled around his neck.
"That doesn't stop anyone." You plainly reply, running your knees between his legs. Zayne breathes into you, lips pressed against yours before softly pulling away. You chase him, forcing him back to you with a hand against his nape. "They have to know…" You speak between kisses. "You're taken. That you're mine."
"Yes. Perhaps you should…" Zayne murmurs against your lips, softly biting your bottom lip. You part your lips, letting his tongue slide against yours. Zayne rises, his hands sliding against the trim of his shirt. You stop him, pulling his hands under your shirt instead.
and while i’m at it, you ppl need to LAY THE FUCK OFF THE DAMN AI AND EITHER START READING OR WRITING FANFIC LIKE REAL, INTELLIGENT PEOPLE DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Reader always falling asleep next to Bucky, yes. BUT. Hear me out okay, Bucky always falling asleep next to reader. Pre-relationship. All reader has to do is be in the same room as Bucky and he's out like a light. It becomes comical because the team tries to figure out who it is and stay w Bucky alone to see if he falls asleep, but it's not until he's sitting alone with reader that he passes out within the minute. The team thinks it's funny, Bucky is embarrassed, but reader thinks it's cute and gets him to start sleeping in her room so he can sleep properly 😋😋
It truly was an acccident.
You’re in the common room late one night, curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket tucked around your legs and a file open on your tablet. The compound is quiet in that rare, fragile way it only ever is past midnight. You hear the soft, familiar whir of servos before you see him.
“Can’t sleep?” you ask without looking up.
Bucky grunts something noncommittal and drops onto the opposite end of the couch. He’s fresh from a shower, hair damp and pushed back, wearing gray sweats and a black Henley that stretches across his shoulders. He smells like clean soap and something warm and distinctly him.
You hum in acknowledgment, keep scrolling.
It’s less than three minutes before you glance over and realize his head has tipped back against the cushions, mouth parted slightly, breathing slow and even.
You blink.
“Barnes?”
No response.
You lean closer. He’s out cold.
You stare at him for a second, then snort quietly to yourself. He had been tense when he walked in, shoulders tight like piano wire. Now he looks… soft. Younger. Peaceful in a way you don’t get to see often.
You slide the blanket off your legs and drape it over him instead.
The next night it happens again.
And the next.
It becomes a pattern so quickly it’s almost ridiculous. You’re in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he nurses a cup of tea? He’s asleep at the table before it cools. You’re on the training mats stretching after a workout? He sits down “just for a minute” and is snoring softly within five. You’re on the Quinjet, shoulder brushing his, and he’s gone before takeoff.
The first time Sam notices, he nearly chokes on his drink.
“Man,” he says slowly, eyes bouncing between you and the unconscious super soldier slumped in his chair, “I have never seen him do that.”
“What?” you ask innocently.
“Sleep. Like that.”
You glance at Bucky. He’s folded in on himself in one of the common room armchairs, chin tucked to his chest, looking so deeply asleep it borders on absurd.
“Maybe he’s tired,” you shrug.
“Uh-huh,” Sam says, squinting.
Natasha catches on next.
She tests it.
One evening, she corners Bucky in the kitchen while you’re still in the gym. She talks to him about mission reports, about old Hydra intel, about nothing at all. She even sits him down on the couch and lowers her voice to that smooth, soothing cadence she uses on frightened witnesses.
He doesn’t so much as yawn.
You walk in ten minutes later, towel around your neck, cheeks flushed from sparring.
“Hey,” you say, smiling when you see them.
Bucky looks up at the sound of your voice.
And promptly passes out mid-sentence.
Natasha stares at him.
Then at you.
“Oh,” she breathes.
Within a week it’s a full-blown investigation.
Clint tries keeping Bucky company in the rec room. Steve insists on staying up with him one night to “see what’s going on.” Sam even suggests it might be some weird delayed serum side effect.
Nothing.
Bucky stays stubbornly, frustratingly awake with everyone else.
But the second you’re alone with him?
Lights out.
The breaking point comes during movie night.
The whole team is sprawled across the couches. Bucky is sitting ramrod straight on one end, clearly determined to prove a point. He even says as much.
“I’m not tired,” he mutters, jaw tight.
You bite your lip to keep from smiling and sit beside him anyway. Not touching. Just close enough that your knees almost brush.
The movie starts.
Thirty seconds later, his head tips sideways.
And lands squarely on your shoulder.
The room erupts.
Sam howls. Clint actually applauds. Natasha hides her smirk behind her hand. Even Steve’s lips twitch.
Bucky jerks upright, horrified. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—”
“You were snoring,” Sam informs him gleefully.
“I was not!”
“You absolutely were,” Clint says. “Like a tiny chainsaw.”
You’re laughing now, warmth blooming in your chest as Bucky’s ears turn pink.
“It’s not funny,” he grumbles, refusing to look at you.
It is funny.
But it’s also… something else.
Because you’ve started to notice the details. The way his breathing evens out almost immediately when you’re near. The way his shoulders drop. The way the constant, subtle vigilance that hums beneath his skin finally goes quiet.
It hits you one evening when it’s just the two of you in your room.
He hadn’t meant to come in. He was pacing the hall after a nightmare, trying not to wake anyone. You’d opened your door at the sound of his footsteps.
“You okay?” you’d asked softly.
He hesitated.
Then nodded, once.
“C’mere,” you’d said, stepping aside.
He perches on the edge of your bed like he’s afraid it might bite him. You sit cross-legged across from him, close but not touching.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says roughly.
“I know.”
You talk about nothing. About the new recruits. About a recipe Sam ruined. About the weather.
His eyelids start to droop.
You watch it happen in real time.
“Buck,” you murmur gently.
He blinks at you, trying to fight it.
“You’re safe,” you tell him, because you think maybe that’s the key. “You can sleep.”
It’s like someone flips a switch.
He sways once.
Then slumps forward, forehead pressing lightly against your shoulder as he goes completely limp.
You freeze for a second.
Then slowly, carefully, you ease him down against your pillows and pull the comforter over him.
He doesn’t stir.
The next morning, the team finds him there.
In your bed.
Still asleep.
Sam leans against the doorway, grinning. “Well. Mystery solved.”
Bucky groans and buries his face in your pillow. “Kill me.”
You just smile, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.
“Or,” you say sweetly, “you could just start sleeping in here.”
His eyes flick up to yours, wary but hopeful.
“You serious?”
“Seems like you only sleep when I’m around,” you shrug. “Might as well get a full night out of it.”
There’s a beat.
Then, slowly, shyly, he nods.
The team never lets him live it down.
But that night—and every night after—Bucky falls asleep within minutes of you climbing into bed beside him.
With the expedition team finally back home, some feelings are going to be addressed.
content: fluff + fem!reader + varka is a shy flustered mess in front of you + more fluff + kissing
hope you enjoy hehe!!
—
”I’m in love with you.”
His face is flushed with heat, his blue eyes flickering all over the place but on you. He’s fiddling with his hands, clearly nervous. A man of his size, of his grand position is shy and nervous. His hair falls in front of his face, he goes to brush it aside but you beat him to it.
Varka is visibly surprised by your action, but he can’t deny how good it felt to momentarily feel your touch on him. But you still haven’t given a reply to his confession.
Varka is made in a shy mess in your proximity. Longing touches that’s lasting for a second too long and yearning glances filled with nothing but love and the need to be with you. His heart beats for you and inhales the air you breathe. Dandelion wine might best every beverage out there, but you’re the one thing he will never stop having a fill of.
“Crap, this confession must have made it so weird right? I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.” He mumbles the last part, which doesn’t get missed by you.
Varka was about to say something and you as well, before someone from the knights called for his attention. Varka tells them he will be there shortly.
Just as he was about to apologize and excuse himself, you grasp onto his hand and you stop in your actions. It was a spur of the moment thing. A confession has never been spoken to you, you have no idea what to say or how to react. But to make such a good man like Varka, unbeknownst to him, return your feelings so instead of feeling pure ecstasy you’re just made into a surprised speechless mess.
Varka’s hand is warm and large in your grasp, you can feel the callouses on his skin and you softly brush your thumb on the inside of his palm before taking it to your cheek and lean into it.
Surprise is an understatement to what Varka feels right now. He steps in closer to you, heart beating way faster than it usually does.
“Does this mean your feelings are the same?” The nod to his question sends waves of joy through his big body and he puts his other hand around your midsection and softly pulls you in.
“I thought your silence was a rejection.” He breathes out, relieved and happy.
“I’m sorry, it was just hard to know how to react. This is all new to me.” You look at Varka, feeling embarrassed.
“What is new, sweetheart?” Oh damn him, he just had to say that and send you into even more of an internal mess.
“Confessions, relationships—“ you begin and then avoid his piercing eyes on you. “—love.” You mumble and then you feel yourself getting further pressed up against Varka’s body. He’s warm and sturdy, you put your hands on his chest.
“We shall take it slow, if you desire it. I’ve liked you for years now, I can do it for eternities more.” His words make your eyes widen in surprise before letting out a giggle. Unbeknownst to you, the same pair of blue eyes you adore is now longingly looking at your mouth.
“I think I’d like that, yeah.”
—
Then the worst day ever happened.
The expedition has been a talk for days now, but now it’s put into motion and you can’t help the waves of feelings in you. Varka is the one leading the expedition, of course he is, he’s the Grandmaster. He’s doing this for the safety of Monstadt. And Teyvat perhaps.
You watch him amongst the crowd as he greets his bye’s to everyone, giving them big smiles and thanking for their prayers of safety to Barbatos.
You think back to moments before this.
You had been rushed inside his office by Varka and he locked the door. You grew a little worried until you see a little trinket in his hand and he hands it to you in his palm.
“I can’t say how long this expedition will go on, but should it go on for years, I want you to have this.” He motions you to take the trinket and you do.
“Varka, whats going on?”
“I want to say, no, if your feelings stay the same and your heart beats for mine like mine does for you—“ Varka breathes out, he looks nervous. “—give this trinket back to me. It’s something Boreas had given me years back.” Your eyes widens at his words.
“Varka, I—“
“Shall your heart beat for an another in the time I’m gone, you can give this trinket back to Jean.“
You both look at each other for Barbatos knows how long. You feel the slight weight of the trinket in your hand and Varka’s more heavier look on you. This man wears his heart on his sleeves for you. You can’t see anything but warmth and affection in his eyes. Despite telling you to give the trinket back to Jean should you like someone else, it’s as if his love for you grows every second without hesitation.
“Okay.”
Such a short word, but it reassures Varka. You know it cause his tense shoulders are relaxed now.
Back to current situation, Varka is approaching you. He gently holds your face in his bigger palms and looks at you, taking in the image of the one he loves, the touch and warmth of your skin before craning down and pressing a soft lingering kiss on your forehead. You lean into him as he does that, gripping onto the sides of his body.
This was your first act of kissing. Varka was true to his words like he is to his oath as a knight and Grandmaster. He did take it at your pace in your relationship, never did anything to cause you discomfort. He voiced clearly he will never do something without your consent. Your pace is his pace.
Varka steps away then and takes his bag before stepping out of Monstadt soil. But he could feel in the wind, telling him to turn around and he did. And you leaped into his arms. Varka drops his bag and embraces you.
Your feelings is getting out like crashing waves, you bury your face in Varka’s neck and hold onto him so tight you wish were glue and to be at his side at all times.
Varka nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. Taking in the feeling of your arms around his neck and your thighs squeezing his waist. Then you pull your head away, your face stricken with tears and something aches in Varka at the sight of you in tears.
“Give me a proper kiss when you come back.”
—
It went on for longer than you thought. Years.
You hold onto the trinket in your hand, looking at the details. Such a precious thing is in your hands, which shows the amount of trust Varka has in you. You put away the trinket before you felt your feelings come crashing down on you again. You miss Varka.
That’s when you heard the bells and the shouting from outside your home. You look out the window and see the familiar banners of the Knight of Favonius. You immediately run outside and join the ecstatic crowd.
But you can’t find the man you’re looking for until you hear a booming laughter, a sound you could only imagine in your head and listen to in your dreams.
His back was to you, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back as he laughs in the endearing way he does. And as if he could feel you looking at him, he turns around and immediately finds you amongst the crowd.
His eyes zero in on you so fast, you jumped back a little in surprise and you see how he was about to walk towards you when someone else gets his attention, he looks at you and the knight before turning around, his back facing you again.
And all day, you haven’t had a moment alone with Varka. Even during the party at the tavern could make you be able to talk to him properly. Or at the event near the Favonius Headquarters. You could only manage to greet him and he gets swooped away by someone else.
You can’t fault him for that. Being away for so long, work has been piled up, people want to know of his adventures throughout Teyvat, especially the one in Nod-Krai and meeting a trilune goddess.
The scenery on the cliff near the Cathedral never fails to stun you into awe. As you fiddle with the trinket in your hand, you jump back in surprise when you hear a familiar voice. You almost drop the trinket, and Varka sees the trinket in your hand and he can’t help the happiness he feels. There’s hope.
“Varka!” You lightly squeak out his name before covering your mouth, embarrassed at the sound you gave out. Varka laughs a little before taking one step closer to you.
“I figured you would be here, it seems your taste in scenery hasn’t changed in years.” You chuckle at his words, nodding your head as you look at the view before looking at Varka again.
And he looks at you. The exact same way he did the day he confessed, the days leading up the expedition and before he left. Your palms grow sweaty at his gaze and proximity. Your heart flutters at finally being alone with the man you’ve missed for years. And still love.
“We finally have a chance to be alone.” Varka lets out a chuckle and you nod, smiling. Your words lost on you and Varka rubs his hand on his other arm before pointing at the trinket.
“The trinket is still with you it seems.” You nod again at his words, looking at the trinket.
“Have you been doing well?” You look at Varka, he says a yes before throwing the question back to you, to which you nod your head at.
“Got into alchemy a little bit, with the help of Sucrose and Albedo.” Varka nods his head, eyes widening a little in surprise.
“You’ve voiced before how you wanted to try it out, do you still do it?” You smile, especially at the fact he remembers even though it’s been years since you last saw him.
“It’s a little intimidating, but it’s fun. I like it.” You say, still with a smile on your face. You look at Varka and your heart is even more of a mess when you see how his blue eyes flickers down to your mouth. And you see how he slightly licks his lips before gulping down on nothing. You remember what you’ve told him before he left. And you remember what he told you the same day.
“I’ve missed you. A lot.” You voice out and Varka breathes out, in relief.
“I’ve thought about you everyday.” Varka says as he steps in a little closer.
You grip onto the trinket, gathering courage.
“You told me to give the trinket back to Jean should my heart beat for another.” You start off, Varka feels his shoulder tense at your words and he grows nervous.
“But it’s been years and my heart still beats for you, Varka.” And you immediately feel yourself get engulfed in a pair of arms you’ve wished to be in for Barbatos knows how long. To be with the man who made you feel nothing but safe and loved.
“My heart was with you the moment I left Monstadt soil.” You feel your eyes brimming with tears and you bury your face into Varka’s chest, wrapping your arms around him. The trinket in your fist as you hold onto Varka.
“I’ve thought of you everyday and loved you even when I was gone. I had Albedo paint me a picture of you, you know.” You giggle amidst your soft crying.
“Why would you do that? Poor Albedo.” Varka laughs as he grasps onto your head and takes a good look at you. He gently wipes your tears off your cheeks, his gaze soft on you.
“I was going crazy thinking I forgot the face of the woman I love.” His blue eyes are all over your face, his hand on your head is as gentle as ever.
“And I think you might have forgotten something else.” Your words make him ponder until he catches you briefly look at his lips and he figures it out.
“I thought it was a spur of the moment thing, what you said.” Varka’s hands slightly trails down your neck.
“You gave me a kiss on the forehead, it’s only right you give me a proper kiss—“ you stop yourself, feeling embarrassed and nervous at your sudden act of confidence. “—somewhere else than my forehead.” You mumble.
It was quiet for a moment between you two. The wind was softly blowing, and cause of Varka’s body warmth the wind doesn’t send a chill down your body. Then you feel it.
His right hand slips down, wrapping his arm around your midsection and the left is still gently holding your neck, his fingers touching your hair. And you feel yourself get lifted, your feet dangling in the air.
A small sound of surprise lefts your lips, your arms around his neck while your legs are wrapped around his midsection and you feel Varka’s mouth on your cheek.
“Like this?” He asks and you look at him, heart beating too fast for your own good. But you like it. Pressed up against his chest, you can feel how Varka’s own heart is beating in tune with yours. You nod your head.
Another kiss on your other cheek, one each on each eyelid down to your temple before he lifts your head with his left hand. With his thumb on your chin, he presses a kiss on your jaw, close to your pulse point.
A soft press to the corner of your mouth and as if it took as long as the expedition, finally his lips are on yours and you feel like you could finally breathe. You feel how Varka’s own body relaxes against you.
It was a soft press of your lips for a moment, Varka breathes through his nose and then his lips starts to softly move.
Butterflies and tingling sensations is all over your body at his kisses. He kisses like you’re a dandelion flower, careful to not let you fall apart. He kisses like he drinks, with happiness and delight. He kisses like this is not a dream, it’s reality. He kisses like there’s no ending to his love for you.
“This is nothing like how I imagined.” Soft mutters against your mouth, heart beating faster and waves of feelings surging through your bodies.
The kiss gets softly broken apart, tender kisses down your jaw to your neck before he settles there. One last chaste kiss on your neck and he breathes in the scent of you. His right arm is tightly yet gently gripped around you, as to not hurt you.
You tighten your own arms around his neck, you see the trinket, still in your hand and you smile to yourself. Varka’s home, he’s in your arms and your love growing stronger every minute. You nuzzle into his hair as you grip onto the trinket he put in your safekeeping.
—
This is not how it happened in canon I knowwwwww I wrote it before it came out but I forgot I had this in my drafts 😔 but I hoped you enjoyed this nevertheless <3
Hello! If I may, could I request Quifrey and Olruggio x reader (separate ofc) where reader calls them “Mine” for the first time, just as if it’s a fact already. I want my boys as flustered and loved as possible!
Mine
Olruggio x fem reader and Qifrey x fem reader (separate)
Summary: you call them “mine” in front of them for the first time
Warnings: drinking (in Olruggio’s… are we shocked?), Qifrey being sick, fluff
A/N: when I got this request I screamed “fuck yes” to this, so easy to say I had so much fun writing this
Olruggio:
You and Olruggio have been dating for a couple months and to celebrate that and him finishing one of his longest commissions, you two decide to go out to a bar of his choosing.
“Sweetheart you have to trust me, this place has the best wine in all of Kahln.”
You stare at the little building that looks like it can only hold maybe seven people. It looks a bit run down and the smell of alcohol is clear as day as you stand outside. Wouldn’t have been your first choice, but seeing how happy Olruggio is, you can’t say no.
“Didn’t know one of your favorite places was so tiny,” you tease him.
“Any place is good when they have good wine.”
You shake your head while chuckling to yourself. He snickers before grabbing your hand and leads you into the tiny building.
You’re instantly aware that there are more than seven people in this cramped building. You don’t even know how all these people fit in here.
Olruggio pushes his way through the crowd, making sure you’re still beside him every couple of seconds. He gets you two to open barstools and has you sit down first before sitting beside you.
He waves down the bartender, “Two of your strongest wine please.”
“Right away Mister Olruggio.” The young bartender goes off and gets the order.
“Mister Olruggio?” You raise an eyebrow.
He rubs the back of his head, “Come here quite often… if you can’t tell.”
You can’t hold your laugh in anymore. You burst into a deep fit of laughter which has Olruggio mesmerized. Your laugh is something he wishes he could replay over and over again so he can hear it whenever he wants.
As the night goes on you two drink more and more. You try to pace yourself a bit better than Olruggio so you both would be able to make back to the atelier in one piece. But that doesn’t stop him from knocking drinks back quickly.
He stares at you with flushes cheeks and a massive grin, “So beautiful, you come here often?”
You can tell he’s joking around but you decide to follow his lead. “I’m afraid not.” You lean your chin on your palm and look him up and down, “Guess I need a regular to show me the ropes.”
He leans forward all confidently, “Well good news for you, I’m quite the regular here.”
“Oh is that true?”
“Owner gives me a discount.”
You take your chin off your palm and fan yourself, “Wow sir, you really know how to get the ladies.”
“I do have to keep the beautiful one in front of me entertained.”
“You don’t even know my name…”
He holds out his hand, “Olruggio the witch. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
You shake his hand holding back your smile. You introduce yourself and he repeats your name as if he is saying it for the first time ever. His grip is tight and if he doesn’t want to let go of you.
His grip tightens, “Thinking about my thick hands?”
You roll your eyes and let go of his hand, “Now you ruined it.”
He bursts out with a deep laughter that makes his fold in half, “Sorry forgot I can’t just make sexual jokes after meeting someone for the first time.” You shove his shoulder and laugh along with him.
You adjust your position and feel a sudden urge to use the restroom. You stand up and he sits up looking at you confused. You lean into his ear, “Sorry I really have to use the restroom. Be right back.”
“I’ll be right here,” he nods.
“Um where are the restrooms?”
“Oh right!” He spins you so you look to your right, “Down the hallway to your left.”
“Thank you!” You press a kiss to his cheek and walk off in the direction he told you.
The line for the bathroom was a bit long but not as bad if you two would have went to a bigger bar. You wait patiently even after letting someone cut you because she was going to throw up on the floor. You didn’t want to get that on you or have the poor employee have to clean it up. So you make Olruggio wait a bit longer for you.
You quickly use the restroom once you get a stall so you don’t hold anyone up. You wash your hands when you’re finished and push through the sea of people to get back to your boyfriend.
When you finally see him you also see a girl standing in front of him. He’s barely giving her attention and is clearly annoyed but she won’t give up. Maybe it’s the alcohol in your system but this is making you angrier than before.
You stomp over there and shove her out of the way.
“Hey! What is your problem?” The girl snaps.
“He’s my boyfriend. He is MINE. So back off.” You snap right back at her.
You pull some money out of your waist bag and slap it down on the table. You grab Olruggio’s hand and tell him, “We are leaving.” You then drag him out of the bar and down the street.
Olruggio happily lets you pull him along because his heart is racing after your declaration. The only thing he can hear in his mind right now is how you said mine. It was so possessive but you didn’t say it as if he was your property but you said it with so much love. He can’t get over it.
You let go of his hand once you reach the edge of Kahln. You throw your hands up in frustration and start to pace.
“Who did that girl think she was? How dare she talk to you like you want her? How dare she not leave you alone?”
Instead of saying anything Olruggio crosses the distance and kisses you deeply. You stumble back due to the force he is kissing you with so you clutch onto the front of his shirt to steady yourself.
Between kisses he whispers, “I’m yours.” Over and over again as if he is confirming it for you and agreeing with what you said earlier.
You smile into the kiss and happily let him repeat those words over and over again because it makes your heart soar.
Safe to say from now on if another girl talks to him when you’re not there, he looks for you to point and say “I’m hers.”
Qifrey:
Qifrey hasn’t been feeling the best recently so he ended up falling asleep on the couch. So the girls begged you to help them make something to help him get better soon. Agott and Coco work on making “the perfect” tea while you help Richeh and Tetia prep the chicken noodle soup.
“Master, this will make him better right?” Coco asks.
“It won’t cure him right away but it will help him get better soon.”
She hangs her head, “I feel bad. I’m the one that got him sick.”
“Coco, look at me.” She looks up and you can see the sadness written all over her face. Your heart breaks at the sight because she is always hard on herself. “Qifrey would help any of you girls when one of you gets sick. He knows the consequences but he doesn’t care for them. All he wants is to make sure you all are healthy.”
Tetia wraps an arm around Coco’s neck pulling her close, “That is why we are going to help him too!”
“You’re right!” Coco psyches herself up and goes back to helping Agott with the tea.
You finish the cutting the chicken and put it into the magic pot along with the other ingredients the Richeh and Tetia have been preparing.
The girls are extra focused but once everything is cooking and steeping, they sit at the counter and ask you about their master.
“You’re dating Master Qifrey right?” Tetia confirms.
“Yes I am. Have been for a couple of years.”
Tetia kicks her feet, “I can’t wait to fall in love!”
You chuckle at her eagerness, “It’s great if you have a good person. You want someone that cares deeply about you and always shows they love you.”
“What does that look like?” Richeh speaks up.
“Well, it’s someone that will always stand beside you no matter what. When you’re the happiest but also when you’re at your lowest. It doesn’t always have to be words either. It can be through physical actions. Them helping you with things as small as dishes or hugging you after a bad day. But it’s also vet important to find someone who is loyal to you.”
The girls tilt their head in confusion so you explain. “You want someone who is only romantically with you. You don’t want someone who tries to see multiple people while being committed to you.”
“Oh so not dating anyone else besides your partner!” Tetia points out.
“Yes Tetia,” Agott answers for you.
“Take Qifrey and I for example. He is my boyfriend. Mine and only mine. Then I am Qifrey’s girlfriend. His and only his.”
The girls smile happily at you admitting that. “You two are the best!” Coco cheers.
Qifrey woke up about ten minutes ago but he didn’t want to have you all know. He enjoyed listening to your conversation but now he feels his face getting even warmer than it already is. You’ve never said “mine” in all the years of you two dating or well at least not where he has heard.
He then sees a head poke around the couch, “Master he is up.” Agott tells you.
Damn busted.
“Okay girls, get everything ready to show him!”
Agott heads back over to help Coco with the tea and carry it over because she doesn’t want her to drop it. Then Richeh carries the soup for the same reason of not wanting Tetia to drop it.
You grab a try so he’s be able to eat comfortably without burning himself at all. You place it in his lap after making sure he can sit up comfortably. The girls surprise him and tell him all about what they did to help him get better.
“Thank you girls. It’s very kind of you, I appreciate it very much.”
“Of course!” They tell him without any hesitation.
Instead of watching eat the entire time they tell you to sit with him so they can clean the dishes.
“What sweet girls they are.”
“I’m lucky they wanted to study at my atelier.”
You brush the back of your hand against his forehead, “You’re still burning up.”
He clears his throat, “That may be because of you saying I’m yours.”
“You were awake!?” You feel a deep blush cover your cheeks.
“Yes,” he laughs before coughing. You grab his tea and hand it to him. He takes a sip before thanking you.
You watch him closely and see that he is okay before going back to the previous conversation.
“I mean it is true. I’m yours and you’re mine.”
He leans back against the couch, “I love hearing that out loud. I’ll never tire of that.” He looks over at you, “Never stop speaking that sentence.”
A couple days later you had to explain to the girls that they can’t go around telling other people that don’t know you and Qifrey, that you are his and he is yours. While the idea is cute a lot of adults think how they say it is weird and you’re each other’s property. So you just tell them to say you two are together to save the awkward conversations for another time.
psychiatrist!geto is better to fantasize about than your selfish boyfriend | 18+
cw: mdni, porn with plot, mentions of masturbation, sly suguru, bro is NOT a good psychiatrist lmfao, shy reader at first, office sex, unprotected sex, cheating oops, 3.1k words, art by chuucho95 on x <3
Doctor Geto Suguru is the same age as you.
Yet the wall behind him is mounted with accolades that rivals veterans in his field.
The rain blurs the lights of the city into watercolor smears against the windows of the doctor's office. Inside, the room is silent, scented with sandalwood and the crisp smell of old books.
Psychiatrist visits inspire thoughts of padded rooms and grippy socks but you're not here due to a sickness of the mind and rather one of the body. One you're certain is going to migrate to your mind if it's not handled now.
See, you can't come. It's been an issue for a while now that's bothered you and you're tired of faking them with your boyfriend. You've decided to come here and see if it's owing to stress.
You lay on the leather chaise, the cool material grounding you as you recounted another week of feeling like a ghost in your own relationship. Another week of your boyfriend’s heavy, selfish touch that left you feeling used rather than wanted.
Dr. Geto sits in his chair, a notebook resting on his thigh, slender fingers curled around his fountain pen as he hums, scribbling down notes with intent nods as you speak.
His long, raven hair gathered loosely at the nape of his neck, trailing over the shoulder of his charcoal suit. He's a man of serpentine beauty—fluid, graceful, and deceptively large, his muscular frame filling the tailored fabric in a way that feels both protective and overwhelming. A few strands frame a face that is unnervingly kind.
“The guilt you feel regarding your own body, it’s a symptom of the neglect you’ve endured,” he says, his voice a low, soothing baritone. “You deserve to reclaim your pleasure.”
While his words aren't inherently lewd or explicit, you still squirm in your seat, unaccustomed to discussing such intimate topics with a man let alone a stranger. However, you're trying to get to the bottom of your rocky relationship with sex and how to resolve the unease you feel so this will have to do.
“How do I do that?”
“You have to touch yourself.”
Rearing back, you swear the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement at your appalled reaction. “I beg your pardon? Doctor, I can't do that. It's inappropriate.”
“Not here, Miss,” he clarifies and your face warms from jumping to conclusions. “Just from how you're reacting, I can deduce that you haven't indulged in self pleasure before. You don't know what you enjoy and have no autonomy over your body. Hence, you need to experiment and try out new things to figure out what pleases you and what does not.”
Nodding slowly, your hands twist the hem of your skirt as you absorb his words. The idea of masturbation feels shameful. You're not particularly religious but after growing up in a household where it was seen as a sin to be lustful, you still harbor such thoughts in your subconscious.
Lifting your shy gaze, you're stripped bare by his amethyst eyes scanning over your face, mentally jotting down every microexpression of discomfort that flickers across it.
Setting his notebook aside, the gentle smile he graces you with has your stomach flipping. It's startling how just that gesture has you relaxing, his presence easy to melt into, loosening your tongue.
“As your doctor, I want what's best for you,” he utters your name in that rich, mellow voice of his akin to a wife calling her husband and you perk up. “Please tell me if I'm overstepping your boundaries. I do not mean to be anything other than strictly professional.”
“Oh, no, no. You're fine. I was just taken aback is all,” you assure him with a shake of your head and an earnest smile.
Relief loosens the tension in his shoulders, his eyes softening. “Good, now shall we begin?”
“Yes, please,” that polite word has his irises swirling but you chalk it up to a trick of the light.
“Alright. Are you okay with following my instructions? There's this genre of audio erotica called guided masturbation which I recommend you look into but for professional purposes, I just want to ease you into it so you're not lost when you try it out, okay?”
Swallowing, you nod, shifting to get comfortable as you're laying on the plush couch. “Okay.”
“I want you to close your eyes and imagine your boyfriend touching you. You're in control, he's listening to you and eager to know what pleases you. Tell him how to touch you.”
Brows twitching, you want to tell him that this seems like an exercise for fitting for sex therapy but he'd already told you in your last session that he creates these activities based on the specific needs of his patients according to his observations and what he deems necessary.
“Where would you like him to start?” he asks in a quiet voice that wavers like you're suspended in a body of water, waves lapping at your bobbing body. “Your lips? Your neck? Your chest?”
Hand rising, you brush your fingers over your lips, eyes fluttering shut as they tingle. “My lips.”
“How do they feel against his ones?”
“Soft like petals.”
“How do you want him to kiss you?”
Tongue peeking out, you tentatively lick the pad of your finger, tasting salt. “With…tongue. I've never done that before. He's always refused.”
And perhaps that is why your brain cannot conjure the image of him kissing you. You've always had a vivid imagination but now his silhouette is distorted like the still surface of water disturbed by pebbles dropped into it.
“Does it feel good?”
“This is hard,” you admit, embarrassed.
“How so?”
“I can't picture him doing this.”
The psychiatrist goes silent for a few moments, the faint sound of traffic and the ticking of the clock on the wall all that fills your ears, amplified by your lack of sight.
“No worries, you can picture someone else. A teenage crush, maybe a celebrity you like. Many people fancy imagining their favourite characters too,” he offers simply.
Lips thinning, the daydream you're in darkens, slowly seeping away and your disappointment creeps in. “I can't. Maybe we should try another time—”
“If it’s too difficult to focus on him, imagine me.”
Scandalised by the suggestion, your eyes fly open, head whipping to the side to look at him, your imagination shattering like stained glass hit by a brick.
“Excuse me? That's hardly appropriate.”
“Am I a worse candidate than your boyfriend?” he questions and your eyes widen at the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Um, no. I just find it odd. Don't you?”
A smirk curls at the corner of his mouth. “I can assure you that I've had patients who've tried much worse than just picturing me in their fantasies, Miss.”
Heat licks at your cheeks. “Ah, okay.”
“You have my consent. Ready to continue?” he cocks his head and asks, sleek hair cascading down his shoulder like spilled ink.
Assuming your position again, you sigh, eyes sliding shut. “Yes.”
“Imagine my hands. Where do you want them while we're kissing?”
With your eyes closed, you followed his forbidden directive. Your hands slid over your ribs, trembling.
“Here,” you murmur, squeezing at your plush waist and skating palms up to the curve of your breasts that tighten. “And here.”
“Okay, let's start slow. We want to build up the tension, drag it out. There's no finish line to race to. Just feel.”
Obliging, you run your hands up and down your sides from your hips to your waist, groping and caressing. They're not your delicate fingers but his thick, long ones digging into your flesh over your clothes, grabbing greedy handfuls of you.
“Does that feel good? My hands gripping at you, feeling you up in fistfuls?”
The question trickles into your ears, your pulse melting into hot syrup that pools in your stomach and dips between your legs. An airy, needy sigh passes your lips.
“Great,” you breathe a dreamy sound, thighs rubbing together, skirt bunching up and you can feel the phantom of his deft fingers hooking into the hem to hike it up.
“Very good,” he praises, voice light and sweet like he's proud of you for being an active participant in this exercise. “Now on to your neck. My lips are grazing your skin there, what do you want from me?”
“Bite it,” you blurt instantly, brows knotting as your neck warms with the ghost of his teeth sinking into it, your pulse racing against the enamel as he sucks a flowering hickey into the blank canvas of your skin, hot, needling desire swirls in the pit of your stomach and sizzles against your clit.
The dream morphs into something lucid, him hovering over you, caging you with those bulky limbs, mouth latched onto your neck as your nails drag down the cotton of his shirt that's taut against his meaty pecs, the muscles flexing beneath your palms. The zwip, zwip, zwip of your clawing against the fabric, laddering it with how desperately you're scratching.
His gentle scent of lilies and something woodsy, the tan terrain of his skin, the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, sweat beading his skin, a devouring hunger in his eyes that scares you and arouses you at the same time because it's so visceral and yet he's holding himself back, willing to kneel at your feet and worship you.
You don't see your boyfriend’s indifferent face; you see Geto's broad shoulders and his dark, predatory gaze softened by that clinical smile as he tells you how good you're doing for him, kissing down your neck and unbuttoning your blouse, calling out your name as you moan in response.
“Miss [Name].”
No, that's actually him talking to you right now. A big, warm hand clasps your wrist and tugs, your eyes blinking open, vision blurred and slowly clearing as you look at him.
Tie askew, his hair is not as neat as it was before you shut your eyes and his cheeks are slightly red as he peers at you.
“Sorry for touching you without your permission but you were getting carried away there,” he apologises, glancing down at your chest and away.
Glancing down, you gasp as he lets go of your wrist as you see the lace of your bra on display. You'd been undoing the buttons of your blouse, skirt ridden up so far that one move would have your panties flashing him too.
Mortified, you spring up and he hands you the blanket beside him which you gratefully accept and cover yourself with. “I am so sorry. I didn't realise—”
“It's okay, just tell me that your imagination will work perfectly when you're exploring it yourself somewhere private,” he interjects with a reassuring smile, clearing his throat.
Clapping, he stands. “Well then, this session is over. We made good progress, I think. Get home safe,” he greets you with a nod, exiting to room to give you privacy to gather yourself.
The fantasy was a revelation. It makes the drive back to your apartment bearable; it makes the shower sessions a sanctuary where you’d slip your hand between your thighs and whisper your psychiatrist's name into the steam.
After all, there's no harm in practicing. It's make believe, it's not like you're cheating on your boyfriend. Everything is alright.
It's liberating, really. The realisation that you're not a broken woman. That you're not undesirable. Touching yourself becomes a self love ritual.
The shame that usually curdles in your stomach evaporates, replaced by a searing, liquid heat.
Weeks pass. Your boyfriend is the last thing on your mind. When he fucks you, his movements are still clumsy and selfish, but you simply close your eyes and summon Dr. Geto, hand slipping between your thighs to rub your clit and make yourself come.
You're glowing, revitalized, and Geto watches it all from behind his mahogany desk, taking meticulous notes on your psyche—and your scent.
For months, he had been the architect of your recovery. After your boyfriend had spent years treating your body like an inconvenient vessel for his own release, Geto had taught you that your pleasure was a sovereign right.
During your final session, the air in the room changed—charged, heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the sudden, sharp intent in his eyes.
“I’ve been observing your progress,” Geto muses, standing up. He moves with the grace of a panther on the prowl, stopping beside the chaise. “You’re smiling more. You’re distancing yourself from the man who doesn't deserve you. But there is a final stage to this therapy—one that addresses the psychosomatic tension you’re still carrying.”
The man reaches down, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek. The touch is electric. “Sit up.”
You obey, heart hammering against your ribs.
He clears the papers from his heavy mahogany desk with a single, slow sweep of his arm. “Your boyfriend treats sex as a conquest. I treat it as a necessity. Bend over, please.”
Fantasy is about to become reality.
Moments later, you're gripping the edge of the polished mahogany, the grain cool against your palms, as Geto comes up behind you. He takes his time as he lifts your skirt, his fingers tracing the line of your spine with agonizing slowness.
“This is the session I've been waiting for,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath hot.
Skirt rolled up to your waist, he bares your ass to him and peels away your soaked panties, picking them up and inhaling your musky sweet scent deeply. It's dizzying, so addictive. He balls up the flimsy cloth and stuffs it into his pocket.
When he eases in, it isn't the clumsy, impatient shove you are used to. It's a slow, deliberate push. He's massive, a solid weight that filled the void your boyfriend had left behind. You let out a shattered cry, your forehead pressing into the desk.
“That's it, you're doing so well,” he growls, his hands catching your hips, his thumbs digging into your hipbones to hold you steady. One hand slides to your belly, pressing down on the bulge there as you whimper. “Feel me here? Feel how perfectly you fit against me."
The drag of his cock inside you is all-consuming. Every time he drives forward, his heavy weight presses you down into the desk, the glossy wood and the heat of his body creating a sensory overload. Each vein and ridge rubs back and forth inside you, tickling all those sweet spots inside you that have your head swimming, drool dribbling from your parted lips and moans spilling from you that you barely recognize.
"Your body isn't a burden," he whispers, his voice thickening as the friction built toward a fever pitch. "It is a temple, and I am its most dedicated servant. Tell me... does your boyfriend ever make you feel this seen?"
"No," you breathe sharply, vision dimming with heat. You're jelly, your senses dissolving into the scent of his cologne and soap.
"Then let him go," he grits, his grip tightening until his knuckles were white. "Forget his name."
Who?
He leans down, biting the sensitive skin where your shoulder meet your neck, his long hair falling like a curtain around you both. As he hits your deepest point, over and over, you feel the last remnants of your old life shatter.
"This is the only medicine you need," he hums, his voice breaking. "And I'll be sure to provide it whenever you want it."
You could feel the power in his thighs, the strength of his chest against your back as he presses his lips into the softness of your neck, cock sinking into you deeper and deeper with each smooth roll of his hips, the desperate drag of his body against yours nearly molding you two together as his cock carves a home for itself in your snug cunt.
“Fuck, do you know how good you feel? Sucking me in so greedily, fitting me like a glove. Your boyfriend barely left a mark,” he seethes, biting down on your shoulder as his lazy, savoring thrusts descend into something feral and harsh, grunts thrumming though your skin as the desk creaks and whines with you.
“Ah, Geto—”
“Suguru, baby. I'm your Suguru,” he mumbles in a drunken slur against the side of your face, lips smushed to your wet cheek, licking up the tears of pure bliss and relief that streak down your face.
“Suguru,” you gasp out and a long, drawn-out groan rumbles out of him, his abdomen bunching against your lower back as his hips smack against your plush ass, the flesh rippling.
“I’ve spent months learning every fracture in your psyche,” he rasps, his pace quickening, the sound of sweat-slick skin slapping skin echoing in the quiet office. “I know exactly where you’re broken. And I know exactly how to fill those spaces.”
He reaches around, his large fingers finding your aching clit, circling with a clinical precision that sends sparks crackling through your vision. You are far gone, your mind turning to white noise as he buries himself to the hilt, over and over.
Cupping your jaw, he turns your face so he can get a good look at you, half-lidded eyes dark and glistening with elation as he takes in your messy hair, smudged eyeliner, tears dotting your lashes and parted lips.
Ducking down, he licks a hot, wet stripe up your chin, slurping the drool there, tongue delving into your mouth and kissing you sloppy like you had fantasized about for months, hip thrusts stuttering from how sweet and buttery you taste.
“You’ve never looked better," he moans into your mouth, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied pride as he feels your pussy clench around him in a violent, weeping orgasm, drinking down your whimpers. “This is the only medicine you need from now on. I'll give it to you every time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you mewl, incapable of saying anymore as you struggle to kiss him, legs quivering and cunt convulsing, drawing his orgasm forward, thick, creamy cum splattering inside your squelching walls.
You lay slump against the mahogany, breathless and gold-spun with afterglow. Suguru doesn't pull away immediately, buried deep within you, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you together.
"Much better," he sighs, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder, his kind smile returning to his face even as his eyes remained dark with a predatory satisfaction. "I think we’ve made excellent progress today."
Smiling deliriously, you're spent and shimmering, a patient finally cured by the most radical of treatments.
note: i doubt i did that blurb justice huhu but i wanted to write suguru
Thought this little thing up when I saw mewnbuns post about accepting a blorbo’s silliest proposal after they’d proposed a few times in the past.
Varka x reader (sfw)
word count: 2164
cw: none that I can think of. mentions of alcohol because well…it’s Varka. Reader has some reservations about marriage.
((Be gentle with me, I’m not used to writing him;; divider here))
Varka doesn’t get blackout drunk often. Sure, he’ll get pretty tipsy, but the events of last night are a little more than just blurry.
Thankfully, you’re an angel. Water’s been placed on the bedside table for him and a pack of pills that will soothe the throbbing in his temples sits beside it. His hand pats at the table, feeling for the pills as he groans, briefly overshadowing the humming coming from the kitchen.
It’s a song from the Angel’s Share during last night’s entertainment; he can clearly manage to remember that at least. Memories bubble up slow and thick like mud, but in his hunt for the medicine, he catches streaks of black on his palm. Flipping his hand over with the pill pack finally acquired, he sits up and reads a single word.
Yes.
Yes?
Yes.
‘Yes’ what, exactly?
He looks at his other hand just in case the other says No in bold letters, as if it could’ve been some sort of weird drinking game he’d played last night. There’s no sign of any other words though, and all he can glean is that you must’ve written it given the fact that it’s on his right hand.
His nose catches the scent of food as he perks up. Sausage, and maybe bacon too by the sizzling pops he hears. Eggs, and gods above, he hopes coffee is in the mix too, his body in desperate need for caffeine.
The summer sun beams through the window over his bed, leaving him to believe it’s much later than a Grand Master should be rising, but although a few windows are open, he doesn’t hear knocking or the stern calls of his name and title from anyone outside his small house tucked in a corner of Mondstadt.
Soft footsteps pad on softer wood, aged for years and lived on for more time than even he’s been alive. You peek in from the doorway of the bedroom, your eyes meeting his own as he finishes downing his medicine.
“Morning, Dove,” he grins, the pun making you snort as you walk in to sit on the bed, your boyfriend curling his body around yours as an arm wraps around your middle, thicker than a whopperflower vine and needier too.
“Dove is a new one. Is that a me only thing, or do you go around calling just anyone sweet bird names?” you ask wryly, watching his face light up. The laugh from him dies as quickly as it comes, more of a bark than anything. He taps his chin in thought, dramatic even this early in the day.
His voice is softens now, flirty as he nudges himself somehow closer. You can smell the sweet scent of Windrest flowers lingering on him from the bedsheets, something new, you note before your attention goes to him again as he speaks. “Only you. Unless you hate it, in which case I’ll toss it in the old junk drawer in my head and find a better one,” Varka drawls, looking up at you for a breath. “Mind tellin’ me what the deal is with my hand though?”
“Oh no, I think I’ll let you figure it out yourself. Maybe breakfast will help jog that memory of yours,” you say, a hand to your chin as if lost in thought, “If you don’t remember by lunch I’ll send word to Jean that your ‘terrible illness’ has miraculously disappeared, and that you’re raring to go back to the stack of paperwork you only half finished last night,” you muse, cocking a brow at him.
“C’mon! Not even a hint?” He pouts, though it’s not as charming as he thinks it is. Or maybe it is, and you just won’t let it show. Hungover, still maybe a quarter asleep Varka isn’t as good at reading you as he usually is. Still, you’re merciless in his eyes as you shake your head while pulling his green comforter up on his hip, just high enough to make him decent. You’d dragged him home in the early hours of the morning, both of you giggling like teenagers as you stumbled into the house and he promptly stripped, a trail of clothes having made it from the living room, down the hallway, and eventually all the way up to the bed which still has a stray sock hanging on the bedpost.
“Oh c’mon you old wolf, I know you got it in ya,” you tease, watching his expression and anticipating the perfect moment where his ocean blue eyes will register the remembrance of events that led to such a simple word marked on him. “Well, it’ll come to you. Eventually. Now unhand me before the eggs burn,” you chide, your hands prying his arm off, and of course the only reason he lets you go without complaint is because of the kiss you give him after you hop off the bed.
Once you’re out of the room, you look at your own hand with Varka’s messy scrawl. A simple ‘I do’ makes you both smile and stirs a small pot of frustration in your chest.
Meanwhile, Varka’s sat up in bed, staring at the word ‘yes’ like it’s an adversary. Surely bards won’t be able to write prose about the great Knight of Boreas getting so drunk he forgot playing what he assumes was a word game. Barbatos might though, just to tease him.
He retraces his steps so to speak, from the beginning. You’d met him at the bar early in the evening - check. He tried asking Diluc for the second time this week if he’d be interested in working with the knights and got rejected again - also check. He was letting you slip him a tankard full of water while that new bard was playing, even though you’d told him it was dandelion wine and he pretended to believe you, as goes the ritual for a night out together. That’s where he starts pushing through the haze until it clicks like pieces of a puzzle he’d scattered himself.
A few hours prior
“Aren’t you a sight? I’d look at you all night ‘n day if I could,” Varka had slurred, his head laying on the bar table. Your thumb brushes his bangs back, letting you see the crinkly lines near his eyes that his smile causes, little temporary veins of happiness you definitely have kissed before.
“Oh really? I think you might already do that,” you’d said, amused at how completely smitten he looks when he gets like this. Sure, sober Varka is equally lovestruck the moment you enter the room, but he melts like a puddle when he drinks with you much to his embarrassment, especially on the occasion that he does something too bold trying to impress you.
“Yeah, but I wanna look more. Will you marry me this time? I can look at you at home every day if you’d just move in with me. You liked my bed the other night,” he adds, sulking and trying to continue those thoughts as if he’s a lawyer building a case, all while his finger inches across the table to tap at your own.
Your left ring finger is empty, though if given the choice, he would’ve had the ring in his jacket pocket taking up that space in a heartbeat. “If ya marry me, I’ll carry ya every day just like you ask me to sometimes, and- and! I’ll quit drinking!” He scrambles, leaning on his chair almost too close your way as he tries to give a most serious expression, all while hiccuping softly.
You can’t help but laugh at the last part, because as insistent as he seems about it, you’d never ask him to do that. It’s part of him in the way that his job is, and truly he isn’t so bad at self control that you’d need him to stop either. You can see he’s torn, because making you laugh is one of his favorite things, but also you haven’t given him an answer, and he may be starting to rethink the ‘no drinking’ thing.
He’d proposed a few times in the past, the first time scaring you, though not because it wasn’t a good proposal. It was perfect in execution, you could tell he’d planned it extensively, and you did love him almost too much at times. The nagging fear from that same love caused you to take a step back the moment he’d asked, and the tears and apology that followed from you still make his chest ache when he remembers it. Something in your mind screams caution at giving yourself away like that, even though you know you’d be even happier than you are currently if you could be with him all the time.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t know if I’d like to get married right now,” you’d sniffled, and of course he understood. It prompted a discussion afterward, and the consensus was that it wasn't a complete rejection. You also told him you wouldn’t mind him trying again, as long as he didn’t mind you turning him down again if you still had reservations.
He’d then asked in a handful of other ways. Once while you were mid battle, the high of it making him blurt it out in the moment. You’d have said yes if it weren’t for you taking a hit after being distracted from the sheer bluntness of the moment. One bloody nose and sprained wrist later and he’d sworn he’d never propose during a fight again.
The rest of the proposals ranged from overly romantic to tender and sometimes silly, and after each one you deliberated on marriage and all its parts. Of course, that was after you’d followed every ‘not right now’ with a slew of ‘I love you’s and kisses on his cheeks as if to soften the blow. For Varka, it worked like a charm, and each proposal somehow whittled down that fear inside you, chipping it away after all the times he’d accepted that ‘no’ without question and bounced back, continuing to love you through it.
This time, not in the heat of the moment, but in the silence between you in an otherwise clamoring bar, you’d decide it’s time to stop running from it.
“Varka, I-,” Before you could say yes though, you notice he’s dozing, his eyes still watching you as if you’re the most interesting thing in the world even when you’re stuck in your own head.
You sigh before asking Diluc for a marker and write your answer on his palm, hoping he’ll remember this conversation in the morning.
And now he does in fact remember. He also remembers your breath on his ear as you said it to him despite how far off in outer space he’d been. “Yes Varka, I will marry you,” you’d whispered, and he’d stirred from his dozing just long enough to scribble down ‘I do’ on your hand as if it were binding even without the ring and ceremony.
You’re plating the food now as you hear a hard thump and the smacking of bare feet making their way down the hall. It takes great pains for Varka to catch himself before he smacks face first into the door, though he leans oh so casually against the wall once he’s righted himself.
“So…that was a yes?” he asks, holding his hand up. He’s almost desperate. Okay he is kind of desperate. He’s hoping this ink on his skin is proof of your agreement that you can in fact live the rest of your lives together, even if that’s what he’d intended to do with you if you hadn’t wanted to marry officially.
He’s thinking about you both old and wrinkled and arguing over how much meat he puts on the grocery list, or even before that, adding an extra room in the house for Razor to stay over in when he feels like it. Weddings, and maybe babies, and anniversaries, and him getting to call you mine all over again proudly and loudly to people just because he can…all those things rush through his head as he looks at you like you’re his purpose as much as knighthood is. He’ll be known for his title as grandmaster only half the time if he can help it. The other half will be him as your husband, plain and simple and loving you.
“Yes. Very much yes, and I do,” you say, lifting your own hand to show him the words he wrote, and although there’s still dwindling nerves on the matter, you think it might be more anticipation than dread as you hand him the green velvet ring box from his jacket pocket. His hands have never been so shaky as they are when he’s slipping the ring on your finger, though once it’s on, snug and perfect, it very rarely comes off.
Varka x Reader | Words: 663 | Summary: Varka confesses his love to you | Based on one of Varka's voicelines when opening treasure chests.
“If you want it, it’s yours. It’s always been yours.”
Your heart skipped a beat as his words registered. This wasn’t a joking, half drunk confession. This was Varka, staring at you with his big blue eyes, confessing to you, in a corner of Angel’s Share.
You practically choked on your wine. You frantically wiped at your mouth after a bit of spluttering. Varka only continued to hold your gaze, his brows raised at your reaction.
“Var -- Varka,” you dropped your voice to a whisper, leaning forward. He matched your movement, ducking his head towards yours as his smile grew. “What are you saying?”
“My heart,” he whispered, almost conspiratorily. Your heads were so close together you could smell the ale on his breath, and the musk of his sweat from the day’s training sessions with the knights. “If you want it, it’s yours,” he repeated, nodding as he sat back up and took a long swig of his drink.
Confessing his love? You gaped at the man you had known for years. The man you had jokingly flirted back and forth with since you were teenagers. The man who had disappeared on an expedition for five years and had just returned to Mondstadt.
“I … I … Varka,” you stuttered, shaking your head. You were too drunk for this. Too drunk to be confessing long held feelings for each other over drinks. You steeled yourself, still unbelieving. “Varka, you’re drunk.”
He laughed, heartily, his gaze not leaving yours. “I don’t have to be drunk to know how much I love you.” He held your gaze, setting aside his drink and turning to you fully. He squared his shoulders, dropped the cocky grin you knew all too well, and leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands clasped in front of him.
You had short circuited. Your thoughts were flying a mile a minute. It felt as if the air in the room had been sucked out through the open window.
He reached over and placed a hand over yours on the table, gently saying your name. “You don’t -” he started, swallowing thickly as his sure gaze faltered for a moment. “You don’t have to say it back.”
You shook your head and scoffed, wanting to slap him across his handsome cheek. “You don’t know how long I have wanted to hear those words from your mouth,” you started, leaning forward.
Varka straightened a bit, his smile growing as you pushed onto your elbows on the table. “Oh?”
“Do you know how hard it was watching you leave for that expedition, knowing you would probably die out there? Knowing I’d most likely never see you again?” Your voice was rising, but still hushed enough that the patrons across the bar didn’t hear. “I’ve loved you for years, and … and …”
His smile was wide as he stared at you. The blush had crept into your cheeks, darkening your complexion. Tears threatened to spill over your lashes, although the smile you wore was growing.
You tossed your hands up, slumping back in your seat and looking around the room. “You’re an idiot, Varka. And I love you so much.”
His chuckle filled the space between you, his smile widening. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He stood, and held a hand out to you. “Let me walk you home?”
You stood, and briefly shot a glance over his shoulder at the other patrons. You grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him down. For years you had wondered what kissing him would be like. He hesitated briefly, but relaxed into the chaste kiss, hands finding your waist.
Pulling back, you looked up at his flushed face. You nodded, composing yourself as you took a half step back. “Let’s get out of here,” you repeated his words, brushing your sweaty palms on your skirts.
He chuckled, thumb running along his lower lip as he turned to follow you out of the bar.
tbh I didn't really have that much of an idea on part 2 so I'm sorry if this is kinda trash ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ...
Part 1
────୨ৎ─────୨ৎ─────୨ৎ─────୨ৎ────୨ৎ──
It has been 5 years.
5 years since you left Mondstadt.
5 years since you left him.
You settled in a small home in Fontaine. Not too far yet not too close— just alright.
Fontaine was… different. Fontaine moved at its own pace—calmer, quieter in a way that didn’t demand anything from you. You found a small home tucked away from the noise. Not too far from the city, not too close either. Just enough distance to breathe.
You bult a simple routine here.
In the morning, you'll either go to the market or fish at the river. Then in the afternoon, you'll take your packed food and canvas to go somewhere— a nice scenery to paint, then you'll go back home before the sun sets to avoid danger.
You wondered sometimes. Not often. Just small thoughts that slipped through when you weren’t paying attention. If he changed. If he still laughed the same way. If he was still around her.
If he was still thinking about you.
Have he noticed you left Mondstadt? Maybe. Or maybe he just didn't care any. Well, there's no point in dwelling about it now.
You didn’t write. Didn’t visit. Didn’t ask. And neither did he.
You were out— finding a perfect spot to paint as usual. You settled on a coast, far enough from the water that the waves won't splash you.
You set down your canvas and tools, taking a moment to gaze at the landscape, letting the wind brush over you.
You failed to notice the time passing as you immersed yourself in filling your canvas and once you finished, only did you then notice how late and dark it already is.
You gathered your things in a haste, knowing it's too dangerous to stay any longer.
You were running down the path when something made you paused.
Hilichurls. Not one— Multiple.
They were blocking your path, slowly closing in on you.
You cursed under your breath, dropping your things as you steadied yourself. You weren’t helpless. Varka used to teach you basic swordsmanship in the past but you rarely have to use it in real life situations.
Summoning your sword, you prepare to defend yourself. You strike. You dodged another strike, barely avoiding it as you moved back.
You were running out of stamina and this wasn't going favorable for you.
You have no time to catch a breath when another hilichurl lunged at you when suddenly—
A sharp sound cut through the air.
You froze, chest rising and falling unevenly as you tried to process what just happened.
Footsteps approached. Heavy. Familiar.
Too familiar.
You slowly looked up and you wished to Celestia you shouldn't haved.
Because standing the one Infront of you is no other than the Knight of Boreas.
Varka.
Your childhood friend. The one you used to love.
Standing there like he’d stepped straight out of a memory you tried so hard to forget.Sword still in hand. Expression tense and eyes looking straight at you.
He looked tired. His hair a little longer but more wild and messy and dark bags under his eyes like he hasn't slept for days.
“…You really haven’t changed,” He spoke then he looked down.
You glanced down. Your arm stung where the creature had grabbed you. Nothing serious.
"You’re hurt,” he noted, immediately going to his knees to asses the injury when you flinched and step back.
You ignored the pain that flashed through his eyes.
"I'm fine," you stated
“You’re not.”
“I said I am.”
"Please..." he whispered, "at least let me help you."
You bit your lip, hating how your too weak for him. Knowing it's futile to argue— you let him hold your arm.
Your breat hitched at the familiarity of his touch. You missed it so much.
“I looked for you.”
That made your chest tighten. You didn’t respond.
"When I heard you left— I... I was— Archons..." His hand was trembling, you noticed.
".... I'm sorry."
For a moment, all you could hear was your own breathing—uneven, too loud in the silence that followed.
“…Don’t,” you finally said, blinking your eyes to stop the tears threatening to fall. “Don’t apologize like that,” you muttered, looking away. “You did nothing wrong— It was me who thought things wrong."
"No! You could never be wrong— God no, it was me. I... I thought we were fine. I didn't notice the distance growing between us.. if I knew..." He swallowed before looking back at you.
“You could’ve told me,” he said.
You shook your head. “And say what? That I was watching you fall for someone else?” Your voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened just enough. “That I was standing there like an idiot while you—”
You stopped yourself. Too late.
He froze.
“…What?”
"Forget it." You tried to yank your arm back but Varka didn't let you.
“No,” Varka said and stood up. “Don’t do that. Don’t say half of it and walk away.”
You laughed under your breath.
“You were happy,” you said again, like it explained everything. “With her.”
“…Nicole?”
You didn’t answer. You didn't need to.
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.
You have done it. You mentally slapped yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you. You continued to look at the ground, avoiding his stare.
But then you felt a glove hand gently cupping your jaw to make you look at him.
You didn't even realize you were already crying until he wiped your tears with his thumb.
"It wasn’t like that.”
You stared at him.
“You spent all your time with her.”
“She was helping with the knights—”
“You looked at her like she mattered.”
“She did matter,” he said. “As a person. As an ally. But that’s not—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “That’s not what you think it was.”
“…Then what was it?” you asked. Your voice was quieter now.
"Nothing," He said firmly. "There was nothing between us."
"Because all that mattered was you."
"But I was too late to see it," He whispered.
“You stopped writing,” he continued. “You stopped showing up. You were there, but you weren’t… there anymore.”
He closed his eyes. "I know, I didn't mean to— things got busy, messy and I didn't realized. I'm sorry. I— I know I don't deserve it but please, let me make things write. Let me fix this between us." he gripped your hand like he couldn't let go.
You stared at him. At the same boy who once ran to you without hesitation. At the man now standing in front of you—strong, respected, feared— and somehow still looking at you like he might lose everything.
Your fingers twitched in his hold. "Isn't it too late for that?"
"Is it?"
You stayed silent. Because you know no matter how long— it wasn't. And he knew that too.
The wind brushed past you both, carrying the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. The world felt too quiet for a moment like this.
“I left, but I didn’t stop caring. I didn’t stop loving you. I just—” your voice cracked slightly, “—I just didn’t know how to stay and watch you choose someone else.”
“I didn’t choose her," he said almost immediately.
“I was stupid. I didn’t see what was right in front of me.” He brushed his thumb along your knuckles.
You laughed weakly.
“Yeah. You were.”
A small, broken smile tugged at his lips.
“I still am.”
Silence settled again. But this time— it felt different.
Warnings: Angst, Slightly Varka x Nicole Childhood friends to strangers, Drifting Apart, Unrequited love?
Part 2
.✦ ݁˖ ⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅ .✦ ݁˖
Since you were kids, you and Varka have always been inseparable. Both of you are practically joined together by the hips.
Where he went, you followed.
Where you went, he followed.
The elders at Mondstadt always talk about how you two will probably end up marrying each other once you both grew up.
And you believed that.
How foolish.
But who could blame you when literally everyone was talking about it like they were sure it's gonna happen? Who could and you when he, your friend, with blonde messy hair and bright smile like the sun— that makes anyone blind just by seeing it— who treats you so well and seemingly couldn't stay without you even for a second?
No one could blame you but yourself.
𝜗ৎ
You remember the times you both used to play under the big tree— just outside the city. Climbing, racing, sitting side by side while staring at the sky. now— it just all feels like a dream.
You remember the day you congratulated him when he was successfully appointed as a knight. The way he practically ran to you before hugging you tightly like he couldn't bear to let you go.
"You're going to crush me!" you glared before slapping his arm playfully
And he just let out that beautiful yet infuriating grin paired with that cheerful laugh of his. "Oh please, you know you love my hugs."
You remember the time where you both sat together alone in the night, lost in each others eyes and a lot of unspoken confession's.
You wonder if anything would have changed if you confessed earlier.
You remember the timed you and him used to exchange letters when he was out on an expedition. You could only shake your head with a fond smile everytime he writes a joke with those silly mistakes of his when writing a letter— you also couldn't help but turn red whenever you read some of his cheesy yet romantic lines.
“I trid cooking for the knighs knights today. Good news is that no one died :D. Bad news is that they’re reqesting I stick to leadig battles instaed instead. ToT"
"It was my first time seeing a flamebusd today. It's a beautiful flower native to Natlan and it reminded me of you. smthing that thrives in heat and chaos, yet still blooms bright and steady. I'm dfinetly not talkingaboutyourtemper."
You kept every single one of them
You remember when you'll always be the first one at the gate to greet him.
Everything was perfect.
But you remembered the day when everything started to feel wrong.
𝜗ৎ
When he became the Grandmaster you clapped, cheered, and ran to his arms like it was a normal thing. And he'll wrap his arm tightly around you, caging you in that familiar sturdy and comfortable hold of his.
You wished this feeling would stay forever.
You know being a Grandmaster of the nation has it's pros and cons. Being the Grandmaster gives you one of the highest respect from the people. A lot looking up and aspires to be like him. And you felt happy for him— very happy.
But you know all good things has to come to andend.
You remember the day when he started to become more and more busy. Spending less time together— heck, you could even rarely get a letter back from him.
“I’ll come by later,” he’d say.
"I'm busy, maybe later?"
"I'm sorry, something came up."
"I'll make it up to you, I promise."
And you’d wait.
But later never came.
“I’ll write when I can.”
The letters got shorter— until it stopped.
You told yourself it was fine, he had responsibilities he had to fulfill more than before.
Whenever you both passed each other, it felt different.
“…Hey,” he’d say, like he didn’t know what else to add.
“Hey.”
Silence would follow.
Where there used to be so much noise.
He wasn’t just your Varka anymore.
He was everyone’s.
𝜗ৎ
The distance grew.
You no longer talk and see each other even when you were in the same city.
And it hurts— everytime you see him, his back turned just a few steps ahead, your chest throbs.
But you couldn't bring yourself to talk to him.
You told yourself that it was fine. He's an important figure. Don't be a bother to him.
𝜗ৎ
Until you saw him.
Laughing with someone.
It's not just once— you saw them a lot in the city.
A tall woman with beautiful pale blonde hair that seems to glow whenever the light shines upon it and a fair skin paired with those uniquely beautiful pale blue eyes. She looks just like a fairy.
You learned her name by the drunkards on the tavern. Nicole. Even her name is beautiful.
People noticed, of course. They saw how the Grandmaster Varka spends his time more with her. How he laughs cheerfully. How he gaze at her eyes like she hung the moon.
How everything he used to do with you.
They could only give you pitying and sad looks, offering cheerful advice and little gifts even if they all know nothing would change.
You can't blame him. Why would you? you're just simple. Normal. Boring.
You're just you.
You remember how you changed. You became quieter— distant.
You no longer write letters for him nor be the one to first greet him whenever he comes back from a mission.
He's happier now— happier without you.
𝜗ৎ
One evening, you found yourself back at the tree. The same one you both used to play under it. Nothing had changed about it. Still tall. Still steady. Still there.
Unlike everything else.
You sat on the same branch and looked up at the same sky. A gentle wind brushed through you as you wondered—
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