The universe has a twisted sense of humor when your blind date happens to be your ex-husband, Hiromi Higuruma.
mdni. ragebaiting each other to filth / unprotected / multiple orgs!!
Hiromi Higuruma is a pretty damn good lawyer. Having topped first in the bar exam, everyone knew he had already been set for greatness in the world of law.
He sees every case as a riddle waiting to be solved. Every problem a puzzle, provided you’re patient enough to find the missing piece. He has brought justice to those who need it. Ironically, the only thing he can’t fix is his own marriage.
Hiromi has worked himself into the ground, head down, buried in case files and court wins, and somewhere along the way, he neglected you.
He’s been functioning on autopilot ever since you laid the divorce papers on his table on a random Tuesday morning. It got worse when the divorce was finalized not even a month ago. No appeals, no extensions. Just a clean, almost amicable severance.
A colleague once told him: “It’s a simple case of trial and error, Higuruma. All marriages are like that.”
Hiromi’s forehead creases whenever he remembers it. To him, it was never supposed to be trial and error, especially not with you.
Against his better judgment, Yaga somehow convinces him to agree to a blind date. Says it helped him cope with his own divorce. Hiromi knows better. The man simply doesn’t accept no without exhausting every argument first.
Now, he is seated at a small round table with an unreadable expression and with nothing but Yaga’s voice replaying in his head: 'Doesn’t hurt to try.'
But the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
Because seated across the table is you, staring back at him with the same frozen disbelief written across your face.
Both of you look away almost immediately. Hiromi adjusts his collar. You, on the other hand, casually lift your champagne flute and take a slow sip to steady your nerves.
For a fleeting moment, you consider excusing yourself to the bathroom and never coming back. But after the agonizing length of the divorce, the paperwork, the signatures, and the finality, you decide against running and just give him some grace.
Hiromi clears his throat and reaches for a single red card from the deck sitting in the middle of the table. His eyes skim the question before he exhales quietly.
“Care to tell me something about yourself?” His voice cuts through your thoughts. “Any hobbies? Interests?”
“As if you don’t already know,” you reply flatly while idly sliding a finger along the rim of your glass.
He exhales through his nostrils. He tells himself to be controlled and measured. “Just answer the question.”
You tap your fingers against the table with gaze wandering around the room. “I used to be a pianist before I became a wife.”
“You have a grand piano that only ever collected dust,” he says with something tight flickering behind his eyes. “It was your choice to quit playing.”
“After you said I didn’t have to play a million shows back to back,” you shoot back. You lean forward, elbows on the table. “How about you? Anything new you’re up to?”
“Not much has changed in my routine,” he answers plainly.
You let out a bitter chuckle. “Must be nice. At least your focus is solely on work now.”
Hiromi presses his lips together. After a beat, he draws another card from the deck. The moment he reads it, he stops himself from rolling his eyes.
“What are your deal breakers when dating?”
You sarcastically laugh at his question. “Are you kidding me?”
He looks at you blankly. “Well? The question isn’t answering itself.”
“I don’t like men who treat every disagreement like legal case." You deadpan at him. “I hate men who catalogue every mistake, see my emotions as something to cross examine, and– get this– refuse to admit their fault.”
Hiromi smirks. “I thought you liked highly opinionated men. What changed?”
You inhale sharply. “I don’t like it when they get unreasonable.”
His brow lifts with amusement. “Unreasonable in what sense?”
“In the sense that they don’t back down during small arguments,” you snap, “like we’re fighting in court instead of having a conversation.”
Hiromi leans back, arms crossing, smirk deepening. “Isn’t that how communication works?”
Heat creeps up your cheeks that you glance away. “Yeah, but—”
“But what?” he cuts, and his posture straightens instinctively. “You want compromise without concession. That’s not how problems are resolved.”
“Oh my god,” you scoff. “Listen to yourself. We’re on a blind date, not in a court room! Hold a fucking conversation, will you?”
“A conversation requires structure,” he counters. “You can’t keep spitting out bullshit and expect me not to question them.”
“And that’s exactly the problem!” Your voice rises. “Every time I tried to tell you how I felt, you treated it like I was exaggerating.”
“Because you never explained yourself clearly.”
"I do. You just want me to lay them out like evidence just to be heard,” you snap. “I wasn’t some client in a case, I was your wife.”
His jaw tightens. “And yet you walked away just like that.”
You laugh sardonically. “Oh. Like I never begged you to come home before midnight? On our anniversaries?”
Hiromi frowns at this. “You know how my job is.”
“I was losing you,” you say quietly. “And you didn’t care enough to notice.”
Silence looms over briefly. Then, he coldly says, “Resorting to divorce was unnecessary.”
"Wow. Just Wow. You–"
From the neighboring table, a silver-haired man wearing a name tag that reads 'Satoru' slams his hand down.
“Jesus Christ,” he yells, “just fuck it out!”
Your eyes widen in horror now that everyone's heads are now on your table. When you look back at Hiromi, something languid has entered his gaze. It is dark, slow, and very familiar.
“Should we head home?” he asks softly.
It’s absurd, really.
After the divorce is finalized and a stupid blind date, your ex-husband's face is buried between your legs, greedily lapping at your cunt while three fingers stretch you open.
The thing is, no matter how many times you finger fuck yourself or put the rose on blast, you’ll never finish the way Hiromi makes you do.
“Oh my god—” You clutch his hair. “—Hiro.”
You squirm, but he grips your hips and pulls you closer, groaning into you as he devours every sound you make.
Your body is a shaking, and you've now turned into a moaning mess beneath his touch. Hiromi's fingers pump perfectly while his tongue abuses your clit, circling until your vision whites out.
“Fuck— gonna cum again.”
His eyes burn with lust as you buck your hips. He pulls back just enough to speak. “Yeah. That’s right.”
There were no intelligent words that came to mind, all you could let out are whimpers and sobs of pleasure as another orgasm took over your body.
Hiromi lets out a dark chuckle as he licks the corners of his mouth hungrily while wiping the bottom of his chin with the back of his veiny hand.
You know him like the back of your hand. Sure as hell know that he's far from over. So it was no surprise when he suddenly carries your limp, overstimulated body on top of him.
“Hiro,” you murmur weakly. “I’m too tired to ride you.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Holding your hip to lift you, Hiromi aligns his cock at your entrance. Then, he sinks you down onto his cock. “I’ll do the work.”
You gasp when his fat cock fills you to a hilt. “You’re– too big for me.”
“No, you just–” he grunts. “You’re tighter.”
He wraps his arms around your waist, and pounds in and out of you in deep, deliberate strokes, making you shriek against his neck. It doesn't help that he keeps whispering low, gutteral grunts against your ear.
“Hiro– fuck!”
You whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears as his swollen cock pistons even deeper with deliberate, hard strokes. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, and your walls clench hard at how much his cock brushed on your sweet spot over and over.
“Cum again for me.”
“I dont–” you chok the words out as best you can, “–don’t think I can.”
Hiromi grips your ass with both hands, pushing it down further at his length so he can fuck you even deeper than he already did. “You can. We've done this before.”
With tears of pleasure pooling at the corner of your eyes, you mutter, “Hiro, I can’t.”
“I said,” But he slaps your ass, leaving a red mark across the skin. “Do.” he slammed his hips harder at each word for emphasis, “It.”
And you do.
You hiss against his neck as he quickens the pace, hips snapping harder, deeper. The overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body makes your toes curl, and with your eyes squeezed shut, you let the orgasm crash over you, leaving you shaking in his arms.
He keeps fucking you through it. Deep, rough, and unrelenting, until you’re both chasing the edge together, riding each other out in the same breathless moment.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder endearingly, but all you could respond is a tired hum.
"Hiromi."
"Hm?"
“Nice fuck,” you whisper. "I'm starting to think," you pant in between your sentence, "the divorce was a mistake."
Hiromi scoffs out a wry chuckle.
"Never should've happened in the first place, by the way." He looks down at you lovingly, and plants a soft kiss on your temple, "We can can re-marry any time next week if you'd like."
You smile to yourself and mumble, "I would love that."
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✿ for the longest time, varka’s dreams have always been just that—dreams. he returns to mondstadt and faces the possibility that maybe they can be more
꒰ word count ꒱ ✿ 5.5k words — me when this was supposed to be a drabble </3
꒰ before you read ꒱ ✿ female reader ; mutual pining for years ; friends to lovers ; written pre varka release — contains spoilers of his lore from his animated short “another prologue” ; made up mondstadt folklore by me lol ; drunk varka + mentions of alcohol and drinking ; varka returns to mondstadt!! ; slight angst BUT it’s happy in the end okay?? ; getting together ; making out by the statue of barbatos rip barbatos pls forgive this behavior ; not proof read oops
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✿ good luck to varka wanters!! i will not be joining you but may you all be varka havers
Varka has dreams. Vivid, merciless things that visit him in the quiet hours of the night.
He dreams of a dragon tearing across Mondstadt’s sky—of twin greatwords in his hands and wind at his back as he faces such a beast. He dreams of victory. Of returning home triumphant. He sees the city gates thrown open, hears the thunder of clapping hands and cheering voices, and the unmistakable relief on the faces of his knights as their grand master comes back to them at last. He dreams of a statue carved in his likeness. Of his glass never empty, always filled with his favorite dandelion wine, poured in honor of a hero.
He dreams of what-ifs. Of could-have-beens. Of a distant past that could have been his to look back on fondly.
But he has long since folded those dreams away and set them aside. He has made peace with the life he chose instead—with becoming a hero in quieter ways, in a foreign land as he leads an expedition that keeps calamity far from Mondstadt’s borders.
He does not regret it. Not really. Some things are just the way they are.
And yet, Varka has never stopped dreaming of you. He doesn’t think he ever will.
Whether in sleep or in waking, you find him all the same. His mind renders you with cruel, unforgiving precision: the exact curve of your smile, the softness in your eyes, the way your lips press together when you’re trying not to laugh. He remembers it all. He remembers you in ways that feel less like memory and more like an aching sense of longing.
Some dreams fade with time. You never seem to give him that luxury.
—
“Did you know people believe that during ancient times, when wine was brewed from dandelions, it had a symbolic meaning?” You hum, tracing a finger over Varka’s nose. His head rests comfortably on your lap, enjoying the gentle breeze of Windrise while he has the opportunity.
Varka rarely has a day off—being the grand master of an order of knights makes for free days to be a difficult thing to come by. The work schedule of someone like him just does not allow such luxuries. But Deputy Master Jean is a good friend of yours, and she’s a kind friend above all. She takes matters into her own hands without being asked—insists that headquarters and the whole of Mondstadt will stay orderly for an entire day without Varka there to see over things.
Reluctantly, your boyfriend agrees. You are not ignorant of his dilemma—his mind tells him that abandoning work is not the sort of thing someone with his duties should do, but his heart is just the same as every man who yearns. His heart aches for the sort of freedom that grants him one day with you. Just a day filled with you and nothing else.
And so, his heart wins. After all, this is Mondstadt. The nation of freedom.
“Oh yeah?” He chuckles fondly, cracking an eye open to look at you, “Well, there’s something you don’t hear every day. And just what did it symbolize?”
“Well,” you murmur, brushing hair from his forehead. He catches your wrist, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss against your palm as you speak, “There are many theories. It’s all folklore, after all. Who’s to say what’s truly the accurate version?”
“And what’s your version?”
“Well,” you start, “dandelion seeds drift through the wind, you see. They travel across many places and see many things before they settle down to grow. There’s an old story about them—perhaps you’ve heard it.”
“Never,” he murmurs.
You give him an unimpressed look, and he shoots you an innocent grin. “Oh, is that so? I’m sure such an important figure in our nation would know one of our most popular tales, would he not?”
“Hah,” he chuckles, gruff and heartily from his chest in that way you can’t help but be endeared by. “If I told you I snoozed through history classes, would you be surprised?”
“Hardly,” you snort.
“Then tell a poor, history-challenged man this famous tale you speak of,” he brings your fingertips to his lips, nibbling at them as you giggle, pulling away from his grasp.
“Varka,” you huff, “you’re a fool, did you know?”
“Not on the battlefield, my fair lady,” he quips back. “That, I can promise.”
“Well,” you roll your eyes, “fine. But only because you asked so sweetly.”
Varka grins up at you, settling even deeper into the pillow of your lap, looking more relaxed than you’ve seen him in a good long time. His hand runs lazily along your thigh while he waits, eyes half-lidded as he admires you.
“There’s an old folktale,” you begin softly, “about a single dandelion seed that rode on the wind for far longer than any of the others. They say this little seed drifted all across Mondstadt.”
“Hope the journey was kind to the little guy.”
“Don’t interrupt,” you scold, giving him an exaggerated scowl.
He shoots you a faux apologetic look, squeezing your thigh as he obediently says, “Yes, ma’am.”
“It flew through Starsnatch Cliff and watched the cecelias overcome the harsh winds as they grew, and it passed through Whispering Woods and listened to travelers’ and their secrets. This seed saw many things as it passed through while being carried by the wind,” you whisper, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “It watched people as they lived and made memories filled with joy and laughter. Eventually, so much time had passed that the wind had whispered it was time for the seed to settle in a single place and make its own memories, too. But the little seed kept going, it held onto the hopes of witnessing more and carrying as many memories from the people it would see for just a bit longer.”
“What a hardworking little thing,” Varka murmurs teasingly. Then, he winks—cheeky and playful. “Reminds you of someone, huh?”
You flick his forehead. “Certainly not you. All you work hard at is drinking more than everyone around you.”
He laughs, deep and warm. “Well…can’t say that’s completely false. Though it’s not the only thing I work on.”
“Anyway,” you continue, “after a long, long journey, the wind had finally convinced the little seed to settle down on a tiny patch of grass near Windrise. Nothing special—just a small, humble patch of land beneath a big tree.”
“Right where we are now,” he notes, glancing at the roots beside you.
You nod. “And there, after all that traveling, it finally grew. People say the dandelion that sprouted from that seed was different. It was taller and brighter than most dandelions—perhaps because it was touched by all the spirits of all the people it had seen during its journeys. Because it was touched by their hopes to make more cherished memories with the ones they love.”
“And then?” he asks quietly.
“Well,” you say, smoothing the collar of his shirt, “they say the first batch of dandelion wine was brewed with that particular dandelion, and the people loved it so much, it became a significant part of Mondstadt’s culture. So…it’s thought that perhaps dandelion wine became a symbol of all the love that the dandelion carried in its little seed form, and all the love it passed on by becoming a drink that people shared on happy occasions.”
As though Barbatos himself were pleased by your words, the wind stirs around you, kissing your skin as it passes through. Varka reaches up and cups your cheek with a large, warm hand, and grins. “Am I safe to assume you brought dandelion wine for me then, because being with me is a happy, joyous occasion?”
You lean down to press your forehead to his, giving him an especially sweet smile. Too sweet, even. “No. I merely told you an old tale that I heard, that’s all.”
He lets out a low, dramatic sigh. “And here I thought you brought all this up just to tell me how much I mean to you.”
“I brought all this up, you see,” you roll your eyes, and he watches as you pull away ever so gently to get a better look at his face. The scar that litters his cheek, the necklace that hangs against his chest, and those thick brows that frame those bright, sparkling eyes. You stare at him, at Varka. Your Varka. You get a good long look before you say, “Because the people of Mondstadt have been drinking dandelion wine more than they ever have these days. And a certain hero has made that so.”
He hums, lips curling into a small, smug grin. “A hero, you say?”
“Yes,” you chuckle, cupping his cheeks, “one who has defeated a dragon and saved us all. We drink dandelion wine in honor of his triumph.”
You lean down and press your lips to his, and he hums, a deep, satisfied rumble that comes from his chest. His hands find the side of your face, holding you steady as a callused thumb traces your cheek. Then, after a moment, he slowly sits up from your lap, taking all his warmth with him. You’re about to protest until he reaches over, picking a small dandelion from the patch of grass beside your picnic blanket before turning and tucking it against your ear.
“There,” he murmurs, “this dandelion has seen how much you mean to me. So, I guess we can say the wind carried it to the right place, huh?”
Your breath hitches for a moment before you slowly break into a bright beam, tugging him closer and pressing a soft, delicate kiss to his lips for a brief moment.
“Yes,” you whisper. “I suppose the wind has carried it exactly where it belongs.”
—
He wakes up with a start, fingers lifting to feel at his lips. The roughness of his fingertips wipe away the lingering phantom of your touch. He groans, rubbing a hand over his face before turning and curling deeper into the blankets that litter the floor of his tent.
“Same dream as always,” he grunts to himself shaking his head, “I think I’m beginning to lose it.”
────────────────────────
When Varka returns, Mondstadt gives him a warm welcome. At least, those who remember him, anyway.
Most people tend to forget that Acting Grand Master Jean is only acting in his place temporarily. He does not blame them for it. It has been years since Varka last set foot in his homeland, and much has changed in his absence. Another hero has risen to save his people—a hero to whom he is endlessly indebted, of course. A hero who, alongside the acting grand master and Barbatos himself, has kept his people safe when he could not.
Varka is grateful. Happy, even. Relieved.
But he is also human—and a human who once held a dream. An ambitious dream that had once unfolded vividly before his very eyes, so close it felt tangible, as if he could reach out and grasp it. And yet, fate had cruelly yanked it away from his fingertips just as he thought it might finally be his.
He does not fight fate. Instead, he thanks it. He thanks it for allowing someone else to fulfill his dream in his stead while he battled a crisis in a distant land, ensuring his home remained safe.
But Varka is human, and all humans feel melancholy when their dreams remain only dreams, and nothing more.
“So,” you murmur, sliding into the chair beside him in Angel’s Share and propping your head against your hand, “you come all this way home from a place I can only dream of visiting, and you don’t even bring me back a souvenir? I must say, Grand Master, I’m quite disappointed.”
Varka recognizes your voice. Of course he does. How could he not? It is the same voice that haunted his dreams time and time again while he was away. He has found that on nights when you appear in them, he wakes with an especially sharp ache of homesickness. He longs for the wind of Mondstadt against his face more fiercely than ever, for the distant scent of sweet madames cooking at Good Hunter. He yearns for the familiar sight of his knights and their bright, loyal smiles as he salutes them in passing.
He yearns to see you.
He has not dared to seek you out since his return—fear is a strange, fickle thing. He does not fear dragons, nor monsters of the abyss, nor the countless dangers he has faced without hesitation. But the thought of standing before the woman he has loved silently for years fills him with a quiet, dreadful terror.
So he does not go to you. Instead, you come to him—while he is drunk and alone.
Fantastic.
Slowly, he turns his head.
You sit beside him as though it is the most natural thing in the world. As though he did not vanish for years. As though he had not returned and deliberately avoided the very streets he knew you walked.
As though he had not already lost you.
His throat tightens. He swallows it down with another mouthful of dandelion wine.
“…I…traveled light,” he says at last, voice slurred by his…(what number cup of wine was this? He’s lost count.)
Your mouth curves into a tight smile. There’s something searching in your eyes as you look at him. Something that sees through him too easily. “That so?” you hum. “Not even something small? I’m hurt.”
He huffs quietly, looking down into his glass. In another life, he had seen this moment differently. He had seen his return as something grander, something worth being prouder of. Not something quite like this. In that life, he had returned a hero.
Sometimes, though he doesn’t regret the path he chose, he mourns what he had seen in the scryglass—the dragon falling beneath his blade, Mondstadt safe beneath his watch, the city singing his name with pride. He had seen the statue. The celebrations. He had seen you, too. You had been smiling at him like he was something worth waiting for.
He breaks out of his thoughts when your voice cuts in. “You shouldn’t be here,” you say gently.
He blinks, dragged from the memory. “…Hm?”
You gesture faintly to his glass. “You’ve had enough to drink, Varka. You shouldn’t be sitting here any longer—you should get home.”
Home. The word lands strangely. He barely recognizes it, even when it was all he had thought of while he was away. It doesn’t feel right being there, sometimes—not when he’s gotten used to hard soil under his back as he sleeps in a tent.
“One more round,” he says, “jus’ another glass.”
“You didn’t come see me,” you say quietly.
He flinches.
“You came back,” you continue. “Everyone knows you’re back. The knights know. The city knows. But you didn’t come see me. You didn’t even see me before you left to say goodbye.”
He can’t look at you. Because the truth is as simple as it is pathetic.
“I…couldn’t,” he says. “…Couldn’t.”
You frown. “Couldn’t?”
“Th’ scryglass,” he murmurs. “It…it showed me somethin’.”
You frown in confusion—of course you don’t know what he’s talking about. It’s all a bunch of nonsense to you coming from a drunk man. But his mouth can’t stop now that it’s begun.
“Showed me Mondstadt. A dragon. I fought it, y’know—won, too.” His jaw tightens faintly. “Then I was a hero.” The hero he did not get a chance to actually become. “It showed me what would happen if I stayed,” he continues, words slower now. Less steady. “An’… it showed me what would happen if I didn’t. There was…somethin’ in Nod-Krai. Would reach Mondstadt. Eventually.” He swallows. “I saw what I had t’ do—what I had t’ give up.”
Silence stretches between you. You don’t know what to say, how to make sense of what he’s telling you. But he continues before you get a chance to figure anything out.
“If I had seen you before I left…” His voice falters, just for a moment. Just enough to betray him. “I…I don’t think I would’ve gone.” The admission hangs there, fragile and terrible. He laughs roughly after, but there is no humor in it. “Pathetic, isn’t it? Grand Master o’ the Knights o’ Favonius…brought low by somethin’ as simple as a goodbye.”
Your expression softens just a fraction, but it only makes his chest ache more. And then, you whisper, “You should get home, Varka. I’m being serious—you’ve had a lot to drink.”
With that, you slowly stand, getting ready to leave. He watches you turn, and something inside him breaks. Because this is it—this is the life he chose. The one where everything he wants is not his, and everything he dreams of is just a sick, distantly wishful dream.
His hand moves before he can think. He catches your wrist again, and you turn back, startled.
“…Go out w’ me,” he says, “on a date. You ‘n me.” The words come out rough. Unsteady.
Your eyes widen in shock. “…What?” You search his face. “You’re too drunk, Varka. You’re saying nonsense.”
He would rather leave for Nod Krai again than see that doubt in your eyes. Doubt that he would want you—what a ridiculous thought, he thinks. To doubt that you are not all he’s ever wanted. He can’t blame you, of course, but the absurdity of the idea is too bitter to swallow.
“…Please…?” he says. So quiet, you can barely hear him. “S’all I wanted, y’know? Before I left, an’ stuff—thought maybe ‘t was too late when I got back.”
You stare at him for a long moment. Long enough that he feels every second like a blade. And then—
“…Okay,” you say. And then, after a moment of sitting with your decision, you smile. It’s a carefree little thing—stripped of all that doubt and underlying hurt. “Okay. I’ll go out with you. But first you need to get home. C’mon.”
────────────────────────
Sitting here, under a large tree at Windrise, the wind is gentler than he remembers. Or perhaps it has simply been far too long for him to remember correctly. Varka has stood in this place countless times before—for training, for duties, in passing, in leisure, in haste. But never like this. Never with you.
He shifts his weight slightly on the blanket, one knee drawn up while the other leg stretches out into the grass. His armor is gone, replaced with something simpler.
“This was a good suggestion,” you murmur, smiling at the view. “I don’t believe I’ve ever thought of having a picnic here.”
He hums, giving you a crooked grin. “Of course, this was a good suggestion,” he chuckles, “it was my suggestion, of course.”
He’s not sure why he suggested it. Perhaps it was a pathetic attempt to recreate the silly images he’s seen in his sleep—small, hopeful dreams dreamt in the reclusiveness of his own mind, where he is allowed to be what he wants: yours, a hero, a cherished citizen of Mondstadt who gets to stay home. These are all things Varka has always wanted to be. Things he has given up. And yet he clings to them, despite it all. The suggestion to come here tumbles past his lips before he can stop himself, before he can remember that dreams are not meant to be lived in.
You snort softly from beside him, adjusting the basket at your side. “Of course, Grand Master. How could I doubt your wisdom?”
He groans. “Don’t call me that, please. I hear that enough already everywhere else.”
“But you are that,” you counter.
“Not today,” he says easily, giving you a wink. “Today, I’m just a lucky man who was fortunate enough to convince a very lovely woman to accompany him.”
He says it lightly. Playfully. But he does not look at you when he does—or he’d have seen the way you flustered at being called a lovely woman. Instead, he fiddles with blades of grass between his fingers. Varka has missed the feeling of grass from his homeland—even something as common and mundane as grass is not the same in other lands.
You watch his fingers carelessly grab at a dandelion, feeling up its stem before pulling away. “…Did you know,” you begin softly, “people believe that during ancient times, when wine was first brewed from dandelions, it had a symbolic meaning?”
His breath catches. Not visibly. Not enough that anyone other than himself would notice.
Because he has heard these words before. Distant, echoed words that haunted him in his sleep, teased him with versions of his life he always thought were simply too out of touch for him.
He turns his head toward you slowly, brows lifting. “Oh?” he hums, forcing his voice to stay steady. “This sounds like the start of a history lecture.” You give him a look. He raises both hands in surrender, smiling. “I’m listening,” he promises.
But something in his chest has already begun to tighten. He remembers this—he remembers warmth. He remembers the wind. He remembers your voice, softer than anything else he’s ever heard, telling him a story about something small and stubborn and endlessly wandering. He remembers your touch and your fond, delicate eyes staring back at him.
And he remembers waking up alone every time.
You smile in satisfaction at his willingness before continuing. “There are many theories,” you say. “It is folklore, after all. Who’s to say which version is true?”
He leans back against the tree behind him, stretching his legs out further into the grass.
This is different than his dreams. In his dreams, he had been lying down. His head had been in your lap. He had belonged there without question. Now, he sits beside you instead. You’re not as fond of him now as you were then, and you aren’t as intimate with him either.
But you could be. The thought makes his head spin a little. You came here with him—agreed in a heartbeat when he asked for your time to spend with him, to do something romantic and not just as two friends who are simply catching up. And you are recreating his dreams, little by little—the same, but different all at once.
“Which version do you believe?” he asks quietly.
Your gaze drifts upward, toward the small, drifting seeds carried through the wind. “Dandelions travel far,” you murmur. “The wind carries them across countless places. They see many things—people, their lives, their memories.”
His fingers press faintly into the soil beneath the grass. The words are not exact. But they are close enough that his chest aches with recognition.
“There’s an old story,” you continue, “about a single dandelion seed that drifted in the winds longer than all the others. It passed through every corner of Mondstadt. It saw all of the people’s joys and sorrows.”
He smiles faintly. He knows this story—has heard it in your voice several times. He’d been under the impression that it ended somewhere far from here.
“Sounds like it lived a full life.”
You glance at him. “Don’t interrupt.”
He swallows thickly, wondering what’s real and what isn’t. Is this still reality? Will he wake up in his bed and get ready to bring you here in a little bit? Are his dreams taunting him yet again, even after he’s journeyed all the way home?
He doesn’t dwell too long. Instead, he presses a hand to his chest and says, “My apologies, madame—I won’t do it again.”
You continue with a roll of your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “After many, many days of journeying and watching all of the people of Mondstadt, the wind eventually urged the seed to settle. To grow somewhere and stop wandering. But it didn’t. Not at first. It wanted to keep going. To see more. To carry more memories with it.”
He exhales quietly through his nose. “…Stubborn thing,” he murmurs.
You look at him again. “Yes,” you chuckle.
The wind stirs. A dandelion seed catches briefly against his shoulder before drifting away again. In Nod Krai, he had not questioned it. He had accepted the taunting visions of what could have been his life without wondering if he’d made a mistake. Without wondering if they were still a possibility. Now, he is sitting beside you, close enough to hear your breathing and close enough to reach out and touch you—and he thinks maybe he has not given up all of his dreams. Not yet.
Maybe Varka has not lost that future. Maybe he has simply not reached it yet.
“Eventually,” you say, “it did settle. Right here, near Windrise. And when it finally grew, it was said to be taller and brighter than all the other dandelions. Perhaps because it carried all of Mondstadt and its people’s spirits. They say the first batch of dandelion wine was brewed from that same dandelion, and that it carried all the memories it had gathered, all the love it had witnessed. So, it’s believed that dandelion wine was made to enjoy during happy occasions worth remembering.”
This was always the part of his dream that had ached the most. The part where he had allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that he had stayed. That he had chosen differently. That he had not turned his back on the path that had everything he’d always wanted. The part that stung the most when he’d realize it was nothing but a dream when he’d crack his eyes open and only a tent was there to greet him in a distant, foreign land.
But you are here now. Real. Close enough that he can see the way the light catches in your eyes. Close enough that he understands, with a clarity that leaves him almost breathless, that you are not something he lost. You are not something he gave up. You are something he still has time to earn.
He clears his throat, stretching his arms behind his head to rest against them as he says, in what he hopes sounds teasing, “Did you bring dandelion wine, then? To celebrate the joy of going on a date with this legendary knight?”
You laugh softly. “I did.” You reach into the basket and pull out a bottle.
His eyes widen slightly, delighted. “Well,” he says, “how fortunate I am.”
You hesitate for just a moment before adding, “I’m sure people have offered you wine everywhere since you’ve returned, but still…it seemed appropriate.”
He watches you as you pour. The careful way you hold the bottle. The way the sun kisses your skin and warms it up. This moment had lived in his mind before it ever existed. Not exactly like this. But close enough that it feels less like a coincidence and more like mercy. Fate has had mercy on Varka, and he has never been one to argue with fate.
When you offer him the glass, your fingers brush his. He stills.
(It is difficult not to dwell on it for a moment—how easy and simple it was in his dream, just to touch you. He had reached for you without hesitation. Now, he is so careful. So grateful for accidental touches and so wishful that they would last a little longer. If only for a moment.)
You don’t pull away immediately. Neither does he. Finally, you release the glass and move to pour your own.
But it never happens.
Because Varka cannot endure this any longer.
His restraint snaps suddenly—so suddenly, that he almost doesn’t recognize it for what it is. Every chivalrous, righteous virtue he lives by as a knight to be a good, respectable man gets carried away by the wind, and leaves him stripped with nothing else but instinct. Instinct, and perhaps an aching longing that has been sharpened by years of absence, and then sharpened even further still by the unbearable reality of you being right here, within reach, and not his. The sharpness is too painful now—it slices him in ways he can no longer tolerate and move on from.
His hand moves before he can stop it. He catches your wrist—not rough, never rough—but with a firmness that startles you. You barely have time to react before he pulls you toward him, and then you are no longer sitting beside him. You are on his lap, your breath catching as the world tilts, as his arm comes around your waist to steady you, as warm and hard muscle shaped by years of battle and discipline wrap around you.
For a moment, he only looks at you.
His eyes search your face like a starved man. Like a lost man, even. He takes you in as though he is committing you to memory all over again, as though this, too, might become something he will only be allowed to revisit in dreams.
He should stop. He knows he should stop.
But he has spent years stopping himself, hasn’t he? Years choosing duty. Years choosing others and not himself. Years choosing to live with the quiet, gnawing absence of you, knowing what he could have had and yet, still choosing to walk away from it. He has spent years choosing to give up the future he has dreamed of for the sake of the future of his nation and his people.
He cannot do it any longer. Not when you are real instead of some figment of his imagination, and not when you are here, with him.
Varka has had many, many dreams of you—not all of them have taunted him with the images of your affection. Some have taunted him with the images of you moving on, looking elsewhere, finding someone else. Maybe that is why he did not find you when he returned. Why he waited for you to find him. Maybe that is why, all along, he has been scared to face you—too scared to learn that perhaps he has given up a life that you both could have shared and sent you on a path to a life that no longer has room for him.
But it does. You still have room for him, and he is done with no longer allowing himself the space to be there.
His hand rises to your face, and a calloused thumb brushes your cheek. “Forgive me,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t really sound too sound sorry at all.
And then he kisses you. Hard.
It’s everything he has denied himself, poured into a single, desperate press of his lips. His mouth finds yours with a force that is unbearably hungry. Hunger that has grown painful over years of restraint. He pulls you closer against him, his hand firm at your waist, anchoring you there as though he’s afraid you might vanish if he loosens his grip.
Your lips are softer than he remembers in his dreams. Warmer. Alive beneath his. There is life to them, not some ghostly mimic meant to haunt him cruelly.
For a fleeting, terrifying moment, he thinks you might pull away. But you prove him wrong. You don’t. And when you finally gather yourself enough to respond, you lean into him instead of away. You kiss him back just as hard—just as desperate. And something deep in his chest aches more than it ever has.
His hand slides to the back of your neck. To keep you there, in place—right there against him, where you belong. To convince himself this is real, that he is not asleep in a tent, envisioning Windrise and you and your warmth. To convince himself that he will not wake up and feel the aftershocks of shame and bitterness and insufferably agonozing yearning.
He has kissed you in dreams before. Those had been gentle things. Easy and familiar and almost part of a routine. It had been so simple to just kiss you as he pleased in his mind, that it had made him feel helpless. He had walked away from what he’s always wanted most.
This is not gentle. He doesn’t have the luxury to take his time and be cautious with you when this could end in an instant. This is not part of his routine, and it may never be. So he takes advantage of it, as ashamed as he is to admit it. He pulls back only slightly, just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven in a way no battle has ever managed to cause.
He searches your face again, as though waiting for you to change your mind. To regret this and regret him.
You don’t.
Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, kissing him just as hard. As if…(dare he believe such a bold idea) as if you have dreamt of this moment for years and years, as well.
“Forgive me,” he says again, his voice a rough, deep rumble as his lips press to yours again. Again and again and again and again. Hot, searing kisses are pressed to your lips as he whispers, “Forgive me,” between them.
“There is nothing to forgive,” you manage to whisper in between, somewhere along the way. And you kiss him, too. Again and again and again and again.
And after so long, Varka is home. His dreams are no longer just dreams.
What do u think about the perks of having a hunk boyfriend? But it's phainon and/or varka
Perks of having a hunk boyfriend!
Content: headcanons for both hunk Varka and Phainon, sfw and nsfw headcanons but mostly sfw! I tried not to use any pronouns!
Thank you so much for your sweet words anon! I hope I haven't disappointed you and that this is at least close to what you wanted<33
Hunk boyfriend Phainon who…
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who always walks half a step slower when he notices you falling behind but never points it out or makes it obvious, just quietly matches your pace as best as he could! Like it never crossed his mind to leave you trailing after him. Because it didn't, this would rather die then do something like that l.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who is built like he could lift three people with one arm…but still asks, very softly “Is this okay?” before pulling you closer when you sit beside him, his arm hovering for a second over your shoulders because he genuinely doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who automatically becomes your personal heater! You don’t even have to say you’re cold, you just sit closer and he notices your body shivering from the cold immediately, and take it up on himself to make sure you'll never feel cold around him!
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who carries heavy things without making a big deal out of it, and only later when your hands brush and you feel how warm and sore his palms are, do you realize how much he actually did for you without saying a single word.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who pretends he doesn’t know you stare at his arms when he rolls his sleeves up but absolutely knows, because the moment he notices your eyes drifting, his ears go red and he suddenly becomes very interested in adjusting his gloves or fixing something that absolutely does not need fixing even though he does it intentionally most of the time just to see you fascinated by his body and maybe get some compliments from you!
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who lets you lean your full weight against him when you’re tired, even if you’re both standing in a narrow hallway and it makes things awkward for everyone else passing by, this guy would be okay staying in the most uncomfortable position ever if it's means your comfortable and happy
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who kneels down without a second thought when your shoe comes loose, tying it for you quietly while you stand there blinking like you weren’t expecting him to do that at all, and when you say, “You really didn’t have to” he just shrugs and says, very simply, “I wanted to” or “But I love taking care of you”
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who always ends up holding your bag, your jacket, your drink, and somehow still has one free hand for you, even though you never asked him to carry anything and he never makes it sound like a favor. Because come on! Carrying suff like this is easy for guy with those arms!
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who gets nervous when you’re sick, in that very soft, useless way where he keeps checking your temperature and asking if you’re okay every ten minutes, but also never leaves your side, sitting quietly on the edge of the bed with one big hand resting lightly over yours so you know he’s still there even when you fall asleep.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who listens to your long, messy stories without cutting you off, even when you go in circles and forget what you were saying halfway through and somehow always remembers the tiny details later, like the name of the person you mentioned once, or the small thing that annoyed you that day!
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who is strong enough to protect you from almost anything…but still looks at you like you’re the one grounding him, like standing next to you makes the whole world easier to carry..
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who automatically places one big hand at the small of your back when you’re walking through crowded halls, putting enough pressure so you always know exactly where he is.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who pretends he doesn’t get embarrassed when you wrap both arms around one of his biceps and use it like a pillow but the shy little giggle that that slips from his lips gives him away every time.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who lifts you onto higher surfaces so you can see better like walls, railings, steps and then stays right there between your knees so you don’t wobble, one hand ready to catch you even though you’re perfectly fine.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who gets very quietly protective when someone interrupts you mid-sentence, and waits until you finish talking before speaking himself, eyes soft but steady on the person like a gentle reminder.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who lets you warm your hands inside his sleeves when it’s cold, standing there patiently while you wiggle your fingers against his wrists and laugh about how unfair it is that he’s always warm.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who looks completely serious and composed while listening to you ramble about something small and unimportant…but later brings it up out of nowhere like it mattered the whole time, maybe because to him every little thing you say is.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who bends down slightly when you’re tired just so you can rest your forehead against his chest for a second before moving again.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's always the first to notice when you're feeling off, his warm blue eyes scanning your face with that gentle concern that makes your heart flutter. He pulls you into his lean, massively muscled arms without a second thought, his white hair brushing your cheek as he murmurs soft reassurances, completely ignoring his own exhaustion from a long day of putting everyone else's needs first.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who is absolutely useless when you suddenly hug him from behind, freezing in place like his brain needs a full restart before he carefully reaches back and holds your wrists, quietly smiling to himself.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who pretends he’s calm about holding your hand in front of everyone… but still rubs his thumb over your knuckles the entire time, grounding himself with the smallest movement.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who lets you trace the veins on his hands when you’re both sitting close and there’s nothing to do, staying perfectly still even when it tickles a little
Hunk boyfriend Varka who…
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who picks you up without warning when you complain about your legs hurting but immediately freezes when you yelp in surprise and asks, a little panicked “Sorry—too much?” while you’re already laughing with your arms wrapped around his neck.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who lifts you onto his shoulders without warning just so you can see something better, and then immediately starts apologizing when you wobble because he forgot how high up you actually are.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who always places himself slightly in front of you when things get crowded, so that you don’t get bumped or shoved, and only steps aside when he feels your hand lightly tug at his sleeve.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who absolutely melts when you touch his scars! He just adores watching your fingers tracing over every one of them and placing kisses on them.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who laughs loud and easy most of the time but goes very soft with you when you’re tired, lowering his voice without realizing it, sitting closer than usual, letting the room shrink down to just the two of you.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who carries you over puddles, broken paths, or uneven ground without even thinking about it, and then gets shy when you thank him like it was something special! (it is to him)
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who always gives you the bigger portion of food and pretends he’s just not that hungry, even though you both know that’s a lie and when you try to push your plate toward him, he just shakes his head and says, “Eat,I’m fine really.” (I've always felt that one of his lovs languages is food, specially sharing food)
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who lets you nap on him whenever you want, even if it means his arm goes numb, even if he’s stuck in a weird position for way too long, because the small, steady feeling of your breathing against his chest is more important than comfort.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who lifts you off the ground just to spin you once when he’s in a really good mood, laughs halfway through like he surprised himself and immediately sets you down all gentle after, hands still hovering at your waist for a second longer than needed, just in case you wobble.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who is strong enough to lift you with one arm… but always uses both hands when he holds your face, gentle and careful, thumbs warm against your cheeks, like you’re something that deserves to be handled slowly (because you are duh)
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who never makes you feel small next to him, even though he’s huge, even though his presence fills the room, because the way he looks at you always makes it feel like you belong exactly where you are, right there, tucked safely into his space.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who rests his chin on the top of your head whenever you’re both standing still, like waiting in line or listening to someone talk and only realizes he’s doing it when you laugh quietly under him.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who always reaches for you first when something funny happens, instinctively turning to see your reaction before anyone else’s.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who carries you when you’re half asleep without waking you properly, careful with every step, whispering little comments to himself so he doesn’t trip.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who gets openly sulky if you’re too busy to sit with him during breaks, but never says it directly, he just waits nearby, pretending to do something else, clearly hoping you’ll notice.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who lets you trace shapes on his arm when you’re bored, completely still, pretending it doesn’t tickle even though his mouth keeps twitching because he’s fighting a smile.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who stands behind you while you’re cooking or working on something small, arms loosely around your waist, mostly just watching and humming quietly to himself.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who laughs loudly at everyone else’s jokes… but laughs the hardest at yours, even when they’re bad.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who always offers you the seat with the better view, the softer cushion, the warmer light and looks genuinely confused when you point out that he never keeps the good spot for himself.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who puts his jacket over your shoulders and then immediately regrets it because now he’s cold, but refuses to take it back, He doesn't mind getting sick if it means you won't.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who claps for you when you succeed at something small, not caring at all if it’s embarrassing, eyes bright like he’s more proud than anyone else in the room. (he is)
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who lifts you easily like it’s nothing… but still lowers you slowly every single time, hands careful at your waist since you’re the most precious person in his life.
Nsfw headcanons:
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who loves spoiling you with lazy mornings in bed, his huge frame curled protectively around you as sunlight filters through the curtains. His hands, calloused from all the heavy lifting he does for friends and family, trace lazy patterns on your skin, dipping lower until his fingers slide between your thighs, teasing your entrance with slow, deliberate strokes that have you gasping before he's even fully awake.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's so friendly and approachable that even strangers light up around him but saves his most intimate smiles just for you. After a party where he's been the life of it, charming everyone with his easy kindness, he comes home drained but still eager to please, dropping to his knees the moment the door closes to bury his face between your legs, his tongue lapping/sucking hungrily at your clit/dick while his strong hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he devours you like he's starved for your taste.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who exhausts himself running errands for everyone but always makes time to worship your body! He'll scoop you up effortlessly with those bulging biceps, carrying you to the bedroom where he lays you down and strips slowly, revealing every ridge of his chiseled abs and the thick bulge straining against his boxers. His cock springs free, long and veined, throbbing as he positions himself between your legs, rubbing the head against your entrance before pushing in inch by inch, stretching you wide with a groan that vibrates through his chest.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's got that soft, gentle expression that melts away any stress, especially when he senses you need release. He'll guide your hand to his massive erection, letting you feel how hard you make him, his warm blue eyes locked on yours as you stroke him but he always flips the script, pinning you beneath his weight and thrusts deep into your with rhythmic power, his hips snapping forward as he fills you completely, whispering how perfect you feel clenching around him.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who puts your pleasure above his own, even when he's bone-tired from helping out at work or fixing things for neighbors. He spreads your legs wide on the couch, his white hair falling into his eyes as he leans down to suck on your nipples, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks through you. Then he slides his cock inside, slow at first to let you adjust to his girth, building to a steady pace where each plunge hits that spot deep within, his balls slapping against you as he grinds, determined to make you cum before he even thinks about his own release.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's incredibly approachable, always greeting you with a hug that lingers, his muscular chest pressing against you in a way that hints at the strength he holds back. In private, that kindness turns filthy! He'll bend you over the kitchen counter after dinner, yanking your clothes aside to expose your ass, spanking it lightly before spreading your cheeks and licking a stripe from your pussy/dick to your hole, his tongue probing eagerly while his fingers fuck into you, curling to hit your g-spot until you're dripping down his chin.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who exhausts himself for others but recharges by burying himself in you, his lean yet hugely built body glistening with sweat as he fucks you missionary style, forearms braced on either side of your head. His warm blue eyes bore into yours, full of affection, as he drives his thick cock deeper, the veins pulsing against your walls with every thrust. He kisses you messily, tongues tangling, while his pace quickens, hips pistoning until he floods your hole with hot cum, collapsing only after ensuring you've shattered around him first.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's so kind-hearted that he volunteers for every community event, coming home with that easy smile but shoulders slumped from fatigue. You reward him by straddling his lap, grinding against the hard ridge of his cock through his pants until he growls softly and flips you onto your back. He strips you bare, then himself, his massive frame looming as he teases your entrance with his tip, sliding in with one smooth motion that has you arching. He fucks you hard and deep, his abs flexing with each roll of his hips.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who makes you feel safe and desired with his friendly demeanor, always quick to lend an ear or a hand But in the bedroom, his gentle nature fuels intense sessions where he ties your wrists loosely with his belt not too tight or anything, he want to hurt you! Just enough to thrill and eats you out from behind, his tongue flicking your clit while two thick fingers pump your pussy, scissoring to stretch you for when he replaces them with his cock, pounding relentlessly until your thighs quake and you squirt over his hand.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's got that white hair you love tugging during sex! His warm blue eyes darkening with lust as he watches you unravel. Despite tiring himself out for everyone, he insists on aftercare that's as thorough as his fucking, after railing you against the shower wall, water cascading over his rippling muscles, his cock slamming into you with wet slaps, he wraps you in a towel, carries you to bed, and spoons you close, his still-hard dick nestled against your ass as a promise for round two.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who approaches intimacy with the same selflessness he shows the world, always ensuring you're soaked and ready before he takes you. He'll finger you open on the living room floor, his huge hand working three digits inside your tight heat, thumb circling your entrance until you're begging. Then he mounts you, his lean and he thrusts his cock in long, deliberate strokes, bottoming out each time and grinding against your cervix, his breath hot on your neck as he praises how good you take him.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who's friendly to a fault, chatting up Waitress and old ladies alike but reserves his dirtiest talk for your ears only. Exhausted from a day of favors, he'll still pin you to the mattress, spreading your legs over his broad shoulders to fold you in half, his cock spearing into you with forceful drives that make the bed creak. He watches his length disappear inside you, groaning at the sight, then speeds up, fucking you through your orgasm until his own hits, pumping ropes of cum deep as he bites your shoulder lightly.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! whose kind eyes and easy approach make him the perfect partner for exploring kinks, always checking in with a soft“'you okay?” mid-thrust. After a long day of self-sacrifice, he ties you up playfully, then fucks your mouth slow and deep, his cock hitting the back of your throat as tears prick your eyes from the stretch. He pulls out to cum on your tongue, then flips you over to eat your ass while fingering you, building you up again until you're cumming on his face.
Hunk boyfriend Phainon! who exhausts his body for everyone but uses that stamina to fuck you for hours, switching positions seamlessly from doggy where he grips your waist and plows deep, his balls smacking your clit, to spooning where he reaches around to rub your nub while shallow-thrusting. His warm blue eyes stay on you, full of love, as he finally cums inside, filling you to the brim and plugging it with his softening cock, whispering how much he adores being yours.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose towering height and broad shoulders make him impossible to miss in a crowd! He's always blunt about his feelings with you, grabbing you by the waist with a jovial grin and eyes sparkling as he pulls you close, his blond hair tousled from a day of rowdy adventures, whispering roughly how he's been thinking about bending you over since morning...
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who's fearless in every charge, whether it's a brawl or claiming you in the heat of the moment, his assertive presence filling the room as he backs you against the wall. With a dependable chuckle, he hikes up your skirt, his calloused fingers shoving your panties aside to plunge two thick digits into your pussy, pumping hard and fast while his thumb grinds your clit, his breath hot against your ear as he demands you tell him how much you want his cock.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose nature turns the bedroom into a playground of fun! His broad frame pinning you down with gentlemanly restraint even as he strips you bare. He spreads your thighs wide, diving in to lap at your folds with broad strokes of his tongue, sucking your clit/dick between his lips until you're writhing, then flips you onto all fours to slap your ass before slamming his massive cock inside, stretching your walls with each powerful thrust that echoes his laugh.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who's deeply respected for his unyielding dependability, always the first to step up in a crisis but saves his most primal side for you! After a long day of leading with that prominent presence, he comes home and tosses you onto the bed , his eyes locked on yours as he frees his throbbing erection, veined and heavy, rubbing it along your slit before driving in deep, his hips snapping forward in relentless rhythm, grunting praises about how tight you grip him.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose occasionally reckless streak leads to spontaneous romps anywhere, his charismatic smile flashing as he corners you in the garage. He's blunt about that he needs to fuck you now, yanking your jeans down and bending you over in the training ground. His strong hands grip your hips as he thrusts his cock into your soaking hole from behind, pounding with forceful strokes that make your body jolt, his balls slapping against you while he reaches around to pinch your nipples.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who's a true gentleman in public, offering his arm with a j wink, but behind closed doors, his assertive personality takes over. He lays you out on the dining table after dinner, his battle-scarred chest heaving as he eats you out voraciously, tongue fucking your hole while his fingers spread you open. Then he stands, aligning his thick shaft and burying it to the hilt in one go, fucking you with deep, grinding rolls that hit every sensitive spot until you're screaming (obviously you're his favorite dearest)
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose blond hair you love gripping when he goes down on you, his clear blue eyes gazing up with that fearless intensity. Despite his rowdy reputation, he's dependable in making sure you cum first, fingering you with rough curls while sucking hard on your clit/dick, building you up until you shatter. Only then does he rise, flipping you over and railing your ass with his cock, lubed and slick, stretching you wide as he spanks and thrusts in equal measure.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who's occasionally reckless with his own safety but always protects you, his dependable nature shining through even in passion. He ties you to the headboard with his belt, gentlemanly knots, of course! then teases your entrance with his tongue, lapping and probing until you're dripping. Mounting you, he fucks into you with long, deliberate strokes, his hips pistoning faster as his clear blue eyes watch you arch, cumming hard inside you with a triumphant roar.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose laughter fills the air during foreplay but turns to gravelly commands when he takes you. After a night out where his prominent personality lit up the room, he drags you to the balcony, bending you over the railing for all to potentially see, though he shields you. His cock spears into you from behind, thick and unyielding, pounding you, one hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as he fills you with his release.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who likes exploring your limits! His battle-worn hands gentle yet firm as he positions you on your knees. He feeds you his cock inch by inch, letting you suck and swirl your tongue around the head before thrusting shallowly into your throat. Pulling out, he lays you back and drives into you, his broad shoulders blocking out the world as he fucks you deep and steady, whispering blunt compliments on how you take him so well.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose assertive presence makes every touch electric, especially when he spoons you from behind in bed. His arm wraps around, fingers dipping between your legs to rub your clit in firm circles while his cock nudges your entrance. He pushes in slowly at first, then ramps up to hard thrusts that rock your body, his breath ragged in your ear as he bites your neck lightly, ensuring you cum clenching around him before he spills hot inside.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who's a gentleman who holds doors and pulls out chairs, but in intimacy, his rowdy side emerges with playful dominance. He challenges you to a "wrestle" that ends with you pinned beneath his tall frame, his hair falling forward as he grinds his erection against you. Victorious, he spreads your legs and fucks you with abandon, cock slamming in and out of you, veins dragging along your walls until you're both sweating and spent.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose eyes always hold a depth of respect for you, even as he takes you roughly after a reckless escapade. Home from a brawl unscathed, he scoops you up and carries you to the couch, stripping hastily to reveal his hardened cock. He sits you on his lap facing away, guiding you down onto him reverse, hands on your waist as you bounce, his thrusts meeting yours from below, slapping skin on skin until he floods your depths with cum.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! who's dependable in aftercare, he hum soothing as he cleans you up post-fuck but don't think that's the end this guy's stamina is endless! After pounding you doggy-style on the floor, his cock withdrawing only to tease your ass with his fingers, he rolls you over and enters you again, slower this time, building to a crescendo where he rubs you entrance in tandem, making you squirt/cum hard around him as he groans his release.
Hunk boyfriend Varka! whose charismatic bluntness means he tells you exactly what he wants, like when he wakes you with his mouth on your pussy, tongue delving deep and flicking relentlessly while arms hold your thighs apart as you buck against his face, then he climbs up, aligning his thick cock and thrusting in with one forceful push. He fucks you awake with steady, powerful strokes, his broad chest pressing down as he kisses you, tasting yourself on his lips.
If it wasn't clear, I was trying to make the headcanons for all female, male, and non-binary readers but I don't know if I did a good job with that 💔
I'd also been thinking for a long time about writing something for Varka and Enjin, so this request really made me excited when I saw it :D
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
origamiaround
titsay
discoholicmusic
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
germansingergirl
