#al haitham x reader

[danijaci]

cuteness aggression w/ alhaitham

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[romopiod]

TOGETHER?!

SYNOPSIS. Someone assumes the two of you are together, when you’re not (yet), how does he react?

FEATURING. Al-Haitham, Wanderer, Wriothesley, Xiao

WORD COUNT. 5.5k

NOTES. We are not gonna talk about how I wrote for half the number of characters this time around but still ended up with the same word count. We are not talking about that. There will be no mention. Also, you are sort of... mildly threatened in Wrio's part? Not by him, ofc.

Buuut, its fluff all around!! Fem!reader, she/her pronouns used.

Part 1, Part 2 (you're here!)

Al-Haitham

You'd been coming to Al-Haitham's place for research so often that it had stopped feeling like you were imposing. He'd never made you feel like you were, which was the thing about him—he didn't do false hospitality. If he didn't want you there, he'd say so. The fact that he kept making tea and setting out space for your notes suggested he actually didn't mind.

Today you weren't even pretending the visit was strictly academic. You'd finished what you needed to do an hour ago, but you'd both just... stayed. You were sitting at the table while Al-Haitham read something, occasionally looking up to comment on whatever you were saying. It was easy. Comfortable in a way that surprised you, given how sharp he could be.

"That scholar from the other day," you said, thinking out loud. "The one who argued that Dendro propagation follows a seasonal pattern regardless of region?"

"The one who contradicted himself twice?" Al-Haitham asked, not looking up from his page.

"Exactly. He came up to me in the hallway today and doubled down on it. Like he genuinely believed repeating himself would make it more true."

Al-Haitham turned a page. "Some people mistake conviction for evidence."

"Is that what you do when you're wrong?" you asked. "Just state it more firmly?"

He glanced at you then, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Not quite a smile, but close. "I'm rarely wrong."

"That's the conviction talking, not evidence."

"Actually, the evidence is extensive," he said, returning to his reading. "But I appreciate your effort to provoke me."

You'd thrown a pen at him for that, and he'd caught it without looking, set it down beside him, and continued reading like interruptions were just part of his normal day. Which, around you, they apparently were.

That was the thing about Al-Haitham. He didn't waste energy on pretense. He said what he thought, you either agreed or you didn't, and the conversation moved on without any of the exhausting social dance that made time with other people feel like work. Somewhere along the way, you'd stopped making excuses for why you were at his place so often. He'd stopped asking you to justify it. You just showed up, he made tea, and hours would pass without either of you particularly noticing.

You were halfway through explaining why you thought that scholar's methodology was flawed when Kaveh emerged from his room, looking distinctly disheveled and irritated. His eyes immediately landed on the sink full of dishes, and you watched his entire face sour.

"Are you serious right now?" he said, staring at them like they'd personally offended him. "I cleaned this yesterday."

"You did," Al-Haitham said, not looking up from his reading. "That doesn't mean it stays clean indefinitely."

"It's been one day!" Kaveh gestured wildly at the sink. "One day and you've already—you know what, I'm not doing this. I'm not your maid."

"No one asked you to be," Al-Haitham replied, his tone completely level. "I was going to wash them."

"When?" Kaveh demanded. "When you finally take a break from whatever you're doing? I don't understand how anyone tolerates this. How do you even manage spending this much time with him?" He looked directly at you, and his expression softened slightly, almost sympathetic.

You felt Al-Haitham's attention shift slightly, but he didn't look up from his book. "Well," you said, laughing, "he makes good tea. And he's usually right about things, which is annoying but useful for my research."

Kaveh laughed, shaking his head like you'd just confirmed something he'd suspected. "That's fair, I guess. But I really don't know how you managed to get a girlfriend who's smart, funny, and actually willing to put up with him. The last part is honestly the most shocking."

The words landed, and for a moment you couldn't quite process them. A girlfriend. He'd just assumed, in the most casual way, that you were Al-Haitham's girlfriend. Your face went hot immediately. You opened your mouth to correct him, to clarify, to explain that you and Al-Haitham were just—

"Your method is inefficient," Al-Haitham said to Kaveh, turning a page in his book like the comment had never happened. "You rewashed items last week that didn't need rewashing. That's wasteful."

Kaveh's head snapped toward him. "You're seriously lecturing me about dish-washing right now?"

"Someone should," Al-Haitham said. "Your approach suggests you're cleaning reactively rather than systematically. You should establish a schedule."

Kaveh's voice went up. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. This is why I don't understand how anyone—"

"If you'd just listen instead of assuming," Al-Haitham continued, still not looking up, "you'd realize systematic cleaning takes less time overall. Your current method is objectively less efficient."

Kaveh opened his mouth, closed it, then threw his hands up and disappeared back into his room. You heard his door slam, and then there was just silence.

You sat there, staring at your notes without actually seeing them. Al-Haitham had completely ignored what Kaveh had said. He hadn't corrected the assumption about you being his girlfriend. He'd just... moved past it. Addressed something else entirely like the comment was irrelevant.

But it wasn't irrelevant. You could feel it sitting there between the two of you, unacknowledged but present. The fact that he hadn't corrected it meant something. You weren't sure what, but it meant something.

Al-Haitham turned another page. You watched him do it, waiting to see if he'd acknowledge what had just happened. He didn't. He just kept reading like this was a normal afternoon, like your heart wasn't doing something strange in your chest.

An hour later, you said you should probably head back to your dormitory. Al-Haitham stood when you did, and as you were gathering your things, he said, "I'm going that way. I'll walk with you."

It wasn't a question. You grabbed your bag, and the two of you stepped out into the night. The temperature had dropped significantly since you'd arrived at his place. The air was sharp and cold, and you found yourself wrapping your arms around yourself without really thinking about it.

You felt Al-Haitham notice. He didn't say anything for a moment, just kept walking beside you. Then, without any fanfare, he was shrugging off his jacket and draping it around your shoulders.

"Al-Haitham—"

"You're cold," he said simply. Then he was pulling you closer by the sleeve, drawing you against his side. His warmth was immediate, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You walked in silence for a moment, unable to focus on anything except the fact that he hadn't corrected Kaveh. That he was walking like this with you now, your arm linked with his, his jacket around you.

"Kaveh thought we were together," you said finally. Some part of you did that to spark conversation, an interesting little tit-bit to talk about. The other, more genuine part brought it up because it had been killing you for hours. It felt like a little animal inside your rib cage that was constantly being killed and brought back to life, a little flicker of hope, a mix of dread. You wanted an answer. 

Al-Haitham hummed non-commitally. You could feel the weight of his arm around you, steady and deliberate.

"Did it bother you?" he asked, raising a brow.

The question caught you off guard. You'd expected him to explain himself, to rationalize why he hadn't corrected Kaveh. Instead, he'd flipped it back on you.

"That's not—I was asking why you didn't—"

"I know what you were asking," he said. His tone matter-of-fact. "I'm asking what matters more. Whether I corrected him, or whether the assumption bothered you."

You opened your mouth and closed it. You weren't sure how to answer that honestly.

"It didn't bother me," you said finally, and it was true. It hadn't bothered you. It had confused you, unsettled you, made your pulse race for reasons you didn't want to examine too closely. But bothered wasn't the right word.

"Then we're fine," he said.

"Al-Haitham—"

"Besides," he said, and there was the faintest hint of something that might have been amusement in his voice, "I didn't say he was wrong about the general principle."

Wanderer

You were three pages into your research on Dendro propagation when Wanderer arrived at your study table without asking if he could sit. He didn't ask permission for things like that. He just pulled up a chair and settled in like he'd always been meant to be there.

"That's going to be wrong," he said, not bothering with a greeting.

You didn't look up from your notes. "You haven't even seen what I'm arguing."

"Doesn't matter. Whatever thesis you're building on that foundation is going to collapse." He leaned back in his chair. "The propagation rates in the northern regions don't follow the same pattern as the southern ones."

You did look up then, specifically to narrow your eyes at him. "That's because I'm specifically studying the southern regions. The northern data is irrelevant to my argument."

"It's always relevant," he said. "Ignoring contradictory data doesn't make your conclusion stronger. It makes you look like you didn't do the work."

The comment landed like a jab. You wanted to argue, but he wasn't entirely wrong. You made a note to revisit the northern data, grudgingly accepting that he'd identified a gap in your research. There was something about the way he sat across from you—completely at ease in his certainty—that made you want to prove him wrong just to see if he'd admit it when you did.

"Anything else, or are you done?" you asked, turning back to your work.

"For now," he said. "I need to find that text on Dendro cultivation. Should be in the older section."

He stood and disappeared into the depths of the Archives, and you returned to your notes. You'd lost track of time when you noticed someone settling into the chair he'd vacated. One of the other scholars—someone whose name you could probably remember if you tried, but hadn't bothered to. He was the type who was always hovering around, always trying to insert himself into conversations in ways that made your skin crawl slightly. There was an entitlement to him, the kind of confidence that came from never being told no and deciding that meant he didn't have to listen when someone eventually did.

"So," he said, leaning back in the chair like he owned it, "you're always studying. You should take a break sometime. Come get dinner with me."

It wasn't a question. It was stated like a foregone conclusion, like your agreement was merely a formality. You didn't look up from your work. "I'm pretty busy right now."

"Come on," he said, and there was an edge to his voice that suggested he didn't appreciate being declined so casually. "You can't study all the time. I know this place outside the city. We could go tonight."

"I really can't," you said, keeping your tone polite but firm. You turned a page, hoping the gesture would make it clear you wanted to return to your work.

He was quiet for a moment, and you thought maybe he'd gotten the message. But then he leaned forward, and his tone shifted into something sharper, more frustrated.

"What does he have that I don't?" he asked, and there was real irritation underneath the words now.

You looked up, confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Wanderer," he said, his jaw tightening. "You're always with him. Every time I see you, he's here. You two are constantly together, and I don't understand what he has that makes you so willing to waste your time with him but not willing to give me five minutes. So what does he have that I don't?"

Before you could respond, before you could even figure out what you wanted to say, Wanderer appeared. He was just suddenly there, that book in hand, and his expression was the kind of blank that suggested he'd caught enough of the conversation to understand exactly what was happening.

"A brain," he said flatly, and his voice had that particular edge that made people take him seriously. "How about you go and pester someone else?"

The scholar's face flushed immediately. He tried to salvage the situation with some blustering comment about respect, but Wanderer had already turned away with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Humans," he said, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "Can you believe them? Making assumptions about things they don't understand. It's exhausting." 

He settled back into his chair like nothing had happened, opening his book with the kind of finality that suggested the conversation was over. He didn't look at you. Didn't acknowledge the scholar's eventual departure. Just sat in silence, reading or pretending to read, and left you sitting there with the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you.

The scholar eventually gathered his things and left, embarrassed and defeated.

You should have left it at that. Should have just gone back to your research and forgotten the whole interaction. It was the kind of thing that happened sometimes—someone misread a situation, made an assumption, got shut down. But as you watched Wanderer settle back into his chair, something stuck with you.

He hadn't corrected the scholar. He'd had the perfect opportunity to clarify—to say "we're not together" or "she's free to see whoever she wants." Instead, he'd simply shut it down with a cutting remark and moved on like the misunderstanding wasn't even worth acknowledging. The fact that he'd called out the assumption about humans making assumptions felt deliberate somehow, like he was pointing out something specific about what had just happened without actually saying it outright.

Hours passed. You continued your research, but your mind kept drifting back to that moment. To the way Wanderer had stepped in without hesitation. 

You found yourself noticing things you probably should have paid attention to earlier. The way Wanderer always positioned himself where he could see you in the Archives. How he'd appear exactly when you needed him, like he had some sixth sense for when you were about to run into trouble. The small gestures that suddenly seemed like they might mean something more than friendly concern. How he leaned closer when you were talking, like he didn't want to miss anything you said. The way his attention was always on you, even when he was pretending to focus on something else.

By the time evening rolled around and you were both packing up your things to leave, you were thoroughly unsettled. You couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't make sense of why he'd let the assumption stand. Why he hadn't corrected it.

Wanderer noticed. You could tell by the way he glanced at you, by the particular expression on his face that suggested he'd been watching you think all afternoon.

"You've been quiet," he observed. "Usually you're insufferable by this point in the day."

You didn't bother denying it. "Are you thinking about what happened in the Archives?" he asked, and there was something almost knowing in his tone, like he'd been waiting for you to bring it up.

You hesitated, then decided there was no point in pretending. "Yes. When that scholar made his assumption, you didn't deny it. You just let him think what he wanted."

He was already walking toward the exit, assuming you'd follow. You did follow, because of course you did. You always did.

"Why does it matter?" he asked as you walked through the hallways. "Why do titles matter anyway?  People are obsessed with naming things, categorizing them, putting them into boxes so they can feel like they understand something. It's exhausting."

"That's not an answer," you said, frustration creeping into your voice. "You could have just told him the truth."

"I've had too many names and identities to care about what we're called," he said, adjusting his hat to block the evening sun. "But I know what you mean to me."

The admission hung between you, heavy with implication. You felt your pulse pick up, felt something shift fundamentally in the way you were looking at him.

"And what do I mean to you?" you asked, your voice quieter now.

He smirked, and that familiar arrogance slipped back into place. But there was warmth underneath it, something that looked suspiciously like fondness.

"How about you figure it out?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "You know, for someone so intelligent, you're remarkably oblivious."

You stood there for a moment, completely still, watching him disappear around the corner without a backward glance. Your pulse was racing, your chest felt tight with something unfamiliar and terrifying, and you were left standing there in the empty street realizing that you'd completely miscalculated everything about him, about this, about whatever was happening between you. The worst part was that he knew it too.

Wriothesley

The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide had a habit of making you wait. Every time you had an excuse to visit his office, he'd somehow find a way to extend your stay. A question about the documents you'd brought. A piece of tea he wanted your opinion on. A conversation that started about work and drifted into something that had nothing to do with the Fortress at all. Every time, the line between professional and personal blurred when you were with him. And if you were being honest, you didn’t mind that at all. 

Today you'd come to deliver some documents. You'd done it a dozen times. But as you walked through the corridors, you found yourself hoping he'd be free. Hoping he'd ask you to stay for a few minutes. Hoping for that particular smile he got when he saw you—the one that suggested you were the most interesting thing that had happened to his day. Which was ridiculous. He was the Duke of the Fortress. He had actual responsibilities. The fact that you'd somehow become part of his routine was probably just coincidence. Or convenience. Certainly not because he enjoyed your company the way you'd started to enjoy his.

His office door was open when you arrived. He was reviewing paperwork, but he looked up the moment you knocked.

"Documents?" he asked, already setting down his pen.

"From the west wing," you confirmed, crossing the room to set them on his desk. "The quarterly inventory."

He gestured to the chair across from him. "Stay. I want to ask you about the discrepancies in the last count."

It was a convenient excuse. You both knew there were no significant discrepancies. All the paperwork you did was perfect, and Wriothesely knew that. But you sat anyway, because you were, apparently, incapable of saying no to him.

The next hour passed in a blur of conversation that had nothing to do with inventory. He asked about your week, mentioned something he'd read that reminded him of you, made you laugh at some observation about one of the other guards. His attention was focused entirely on you, and it was intoxicating in a way you weren't prepared to examine too closely.

At one point, he stood to get something from his filing cabinet, and when he passed your chair, his hand brushed your shoulder. It was such a small gesture, probably meaningless. Except you'd noticed he did it every time he walked past you. A small touch. Like he needed to reassure himself you were still there.

Or maybe you were reading too much into it, and he did that with everyone.

"You're distracted," he observed, settling back into his chair. "Something on your mind?"

"No, I'm fine," you said quickly. "Just thinking about work."

"I have a meeting with the senior guards in a few minutes," he said, glancing at his pocket watch. "Bureaucratic tedium. You're welcome to wait here if you'd like. Shouldn't take more than an hour."

Your pulse did something stupid at the casual offer. Stay in his office. Alone. Surrounded by his things. "Sure," you said, trying to sound unbothered. "I have time."

He stood, straightening his jacket. "There's tea on the side table. Help yourself to anything you need." After he left, you told yourself you'd spend the time reading one of the books on his shelf. Instead, you found yourself noticing small things. The way his desk was organized but not obsessively so. The way he'd left his chair still warm. The faint scent of something cool and expensive that you'd come to associate with him. This was getting out of hand. 

You needed to be more careful about how much time you spent in his company, how much you looked forward to it. The Fortress wasn't a place where relationships happened casually. People noticed things. People talked. The city as a whole was a place rife with gossip, and you weren’t exactly sure if this was the kind of gossip that needed to be spread. 

You stood and walked to the window, staring out at the courtyard below. The guards were doing their rounds. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings the way you should have been when you decided to stretch your legs in the corridor.

The hand on your arm came from nowhere. You were spun around, slammed against the cold stone wall before you could process what was happening. The air left your lungs in a sharp gasp.

An inmate. One you didn't recognize, eyes wild and desperate.

"You're with him, aren't you?" he hissed, his grip on your arm painfully tight. "The Duke. His partner. You'd know things."

Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst. Fear flooded through you, crystalline and sharp. This was real. This was actually happening.

"I don't—" you started, but his grip tightened.

"Don't lie to me," he spat. "Where's the emergency exit? Where does he keep the keys?"

You tried to pull away, tried to think of something to say that might defuse this, but panic was making your thoughts scatter.

His other hand came up.

Then he was gone.

Wriothesley stood between you and him, and you'd never seen him look like this. All the charm, all the politeness stripped away. What remained was something colder. He looked every bit likt eh terrifying, infamous warden of Meropide. The kind of man you heard rumors about from people all around Fontaine but were hard pressed to believe them because he was never like that with you. Until now.

"Touch her again," Wriothesley said, his voice dropping, "and you'll find out exactly why I run this place." He didn't raise his voice. The threat was implicit in everything about him. The way he stood, the way his eyes had gone cold, the certainty that he could make good on whatever he was implying.

The inmate scrambled backward, apologizing frantically, and Wriothesley didn't even watch him go. He turned to you immediately.

"Are you hurt?" His voice shifted back to something more familiar, but there was still an edge to it. His hands came up like he wanted to touch you but was restraining himself.

You shook your head, still trembling. Your arm ached where the inmate had grabbed you. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

Wriothesley guided you back to his office without a word, one hand on the small of your back. Steady. Grounding. Once inside, he had you sit while he examined your arm, his touch gentle now, checking for damage.

"He didn't break the skin," he said. "But you'll have bruises."

You nodded, still trying to process what had just happened.

After several minutes of silence, when your heart had stopped racing quite so violently, the other part of what had happened filtered through.

You let out a shaky laugh—the kind that comes from adrenaline finally releasing. "Well. That was terrifying."

Wriothesley watched you, his expression softening slightly now that the immediate danger had passed.

"Maybe I should stop spending so much time with you," you said, trying to inject some levity into your voice. "He thought we were together. If I'm going to get cornered by inmates, at least let it be for something I'm actually guilty of."

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Is that what you're concerned about? Your reputation?"

"Among other things," you said, managing a small smile. "Mostly just the part where I nearly got my arm broken because someone thought I had access to your secrets."

"Fair point," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his expression now. He stood and moved to lean against his desk, close enough that you could see the amusement lingering in his eyes. "Though for what it's worth, that inmate did you a favor. Gave you a decent excuse to stay in my office longer than usual without anyone questioning it."

You stared at him. "That's your takeaway from nearly being cornered?"

"One of several," he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Though I admit the timing was inconvenient. I was just starting to enjoy our conversation."

"You're impossible," you said, but there was no real heat in it.

He tilted his head slightly, considering you. "You could always use it as an excuse to come back more often. For your safety, naturally. Can't have you getting cornered again." His tone was light. "The offer stands. Anytime you need it."

The way he said it made clear he wasn't really talking about the physical space anymore.

Xiao

You'd learned to recognize the patterns of Xiao's presence. The way he appeared on your commissions before you'd even finished the previous one, materializing from nowhere with that particular blend of concern and restraint that he tried so hard to hide. How he'd always position himself where he could see you, even when he pretended he wasn't watching, his attention a constant weight you'd grown accustomed to. The small, almost imperceptible softening in his expression when you looked his way—a shift so brief you'd miss it if you weren't paying attention. But you were always paying attention.

Today's commission had been brutal. Your muscles ached with the kind of deep weariness that came from hours of constant movement, and your clothes were torn in at least two places. You were fairly certain you had a bruise forming on your ribs, tender to the touch. By the time you'd finished and made your way back to the inn, all you could think about was a hot bath and sleep, in that order. You climbed the stairs toward your room, already mentally preparing yourself for the solitude of it, when you remembered you hadn't eaten yet.

You made your way to the balcony overlooking the courtyard instead, needing air before food. And Xiao was there, exactly where he always was, leaning against the railing like he'd been waiting. You'd stopped trying to figure out how he got there before you did—he was an adeptus, after all, and teleportation was hardly the strangest thing about him. One moment the balcony was empty, the next he was there, solid and present, his gaze already on you.

"You're hurt," he said, his eyes sweeping over you with that clinical precision he had, taking in every torn seam and scraped knuckle.

"Just sore," you replied, settling onto the railing a few feet away from him. The evening air was cool against your skin. "Nothing serious."

"You should have called my name," he said, and there was something almost accusatory in his tone. "I would have protected you."

You couldn't resist. "Aw, were you worried?" you asked, tilting your head with a small smile.

He looked away, toward the valley. "I'm always worried about you," he said, his voice quieter than before but no less earnest. There was no deflection in it, no attempt to soften the statement with humor or distance. Just the plain truth, delivered with the kind of sincerity that made your chest tighten.

You didn't tease him further. Just sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and pink. The wind moved through the courtyard below, carrying the scent of evening flowers and distant rain.

The innkeeper appeared on the balcony carrying a tray with soup, bread, and fresh water—the way they always did when you returned from your commissions. They were smiling warmly, clearly pleased with themselves for the thoughtfulness.

"Your partner must be hungry as well after watching you out there all day," they said kindly, setting the tray down on the small table beside you. Partner, you registered with faint amusement.

Their gaze flickered to Xiao, who was standing at the railing, and you could see them putting the pieces together in their mind. The protective stance. The way his attention never wavered from you. The obvious care. "Should I bring something for them as well?"

The words landed, and you felt Xiao go rigid beside you. You had to suppress a smile at the sheer absurdity of it. Partner. Xiao. The adeptus who spent half his time trying to convince you he didn't care about much else besides his ‘karmic duty’, who was allergic to admitting feelings, who acted like wanting someone was the most burdensome thing in the world.

"We're not—" Xiao said curtly, his voice sharp with irritation. He didn't even look at the innkeeper, just stared straight ahead. "I'm not her partner."

The innkeeper flinched slightly at his tone and quickly retreated with an apologetic bow, clearly having misjudged the situation.

And that's when you lost it.

"Oh my god," you said, not even trying to hide your grin as Xiao stood there, clearly agitated, his entire body practically vibrating with embarrassment. "Did you just—did you actually just deny that in front of everyone?"

"Don't," he said flatly, but you could already see the flush creeping up his neck. His ears were turning pink.

"Your ears are completely red right now," you continued, absolutely delighted at this rare display of genuine flustering. "I didn't know you could blush like that. It's actually kind of adorable."

"I wasn't blushing," he said, but his ears somehow got even redder at the mention of it, which rather defeated the entire purpose of his denial and made the situation even funnier.

"You denied it so fast," you said, leaning back in your chair with the kind of satisfaction that comes from genuinely embarrassing an immortal being. "I've never seen you move that quickly. Usually you're all stoic and composed, and then someone says 'partner' and suddenly you're rushing across a room like—"

"That did not occur," he muttered, and you could practically feel the irritation radiating off him in waves. “...no respect for the Adepti,” he mumbled under his breath.

"You were embarrassed," you pressed, enjoying this far too much. "Genuinely flustered. Xiao, what would be so bad about people thinking we were—"

"It's not that," he cut you off, his voice sharp with frustration. He finally looked directly at you, and there was real emotion in his expression—the kind of frustration that comes from not being able to articulate something you're desperately feeling, something that's been building up inside you. "It's just... people don't understand what I am. What being associated with me means. It's—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching hard enough that you could see the muscle work beneath his skin.

You tilted your head, your smile softening slightly as you realized this wasn't just about embarrassment anymore. "What? Being associated with you is what?"

He was quiet for a long moment. The sounds of the inn filled the space between you—the gentle murmur of other diners, the clink of dishes in the kitchen, the wind moving through the open windows. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his face, the way he was fighting to find words for something that clearly didn't have any.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Quieter. Like he was admitting something he'd been trying desperately not to say, something that had been eating at him for longer than either of you probably wanted to acknowledge.

"You're the only thing I've ever wanted to keep. And that scares me more than anything."

Your breath caught. The teasing dropped from your expression entirely. Your pulse picked up in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with exhaustion or adrenaline. It was just him. Just those words, delivered with such raw honesty that you felt them like a physical thing, like they'd reached inside your chest and squeezed.

"Xiao, I—" you started, but the words wouldn't come.

He stood abruptly, like staying still was suddenly unbearable. He simply disappeared—one moment solid and present, the next gone entirely, like he'd never been there at all. You sat alone on the balcony with the untouched tray of food, heat flooding your cheeks, your heart racing so hard you were certain the entire inn could hear it.

You had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.

...i should really stop getting out of control with the word count >:(( but i get too excited writing about them 😭

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

[flwrxiao]

literally a dream to have a pretty man between your legs, lapping at your sweet cunt like his life depends on it. he doesn't care if his jaw gets tired, just hearing a cute little moan slip from your lips energizes him all over again. pleasing you is his pleasure, he's on his knees for you, more than happy to eat you out to your heart's content. you lie back while he kneels between your thighs, legs spread wide apart and resting on his shoulders.

and if you've had enough of his tongue inside you, he'll suck on your clit while he works a finger inside you. he's got you slick and wet enough to easily slip two fingers in, curling and rubbing at your insides. you're whimpering; overstimulated but still desperately needing more. you can grab a handful of his hair and push his face back down to your pussy, and he'd happily oblige. because you know he'd do anything for you...

— zhongli, itto, kinich, gorou, ayato, xiao, heizou, ororon, haitham + your favourites ✩

© 2025 flwrxiao → don't copy, translate or repost dividers: @/cafekitsune

masterlist

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies: when they finally meet each other

you have seven sugar daddies: one for each day of the week. and although it can get overwhelming at times, you’ve done well to keep each and every relationship relatively separate, no matter how demanding of your attention they are. well, that all goes to shit when they’re all attending the same fucking party.  

tw: nsfw, dark content

you’re fucked. 

“is something wrong, dear?” ayato inquires. you do your best to put on your prettiest smile, smooth down your dress like nothing’s wrong, and squeeze his hand to reassure him that everything is a-okay.

“i’m fine. feeling a bit under the weather, is all.” 

everything is not a-okay. underneath your jewel-encrusted gown you are trembling. kaeya shouldn’t even be here, you think. but there he is, chatting up some local politician that ayato had introduced you to earlier. it takes everything in you not to suggest leaving the gala when you had just arrived an hour ago.

ayato smiles, pressing a chaste kiss between your brows. “alright.”

home. just a couple weeks ago, ayato has begun to change his vocabulary. he says ‘ours’ instead of ‘my’ and ‘we’ instead of ‘me.’ every time you take off your new diamond-encrusted ring, he gives you a look you can’t stomach and glides it back onto your finger whenever he gets the chance. he’ll kiss you sweetly like nothing’s wrong but from the way his hand lingers on your ring finger says otherwise. 

“i wish i could take you home right now,” ayato laments, taking your hand in his and slowly caressing the back of your knuckles like a lover would. “but you know how things are. publicity is half of the job.”

that’s why we entered this kind of relationship in the first place. you purse your lips. it was supposed to be contractual, nothing more.

ayato’s whispers of sweet-nothings into your ear contrasts your thoughts. he tells you how beautiful you look, how your cerulean gown matches his suit, about how he’ll take it off when you get back, all the while he’s navigating you through the crowds of people. his hand rests gently on the small of your back, as if it was his way of soothing you. 

you’re fine, you tell yourself. there’s too many people here. kaeya won’t see you. you dread the idea of locking eyes with him, the dark scowl that’d spread on his lips, if you had the misfortune of seeing him again tonight. he might’ve known that you had other clients, but if he met them in person, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it. 

“are you sure you’re fine?” ayato asks softly. he brushes a stray strand of hair away form your face. he presses his lips to your cheek like it belongs there.

a frank ‘no,’ dances on the tip of your tongue. your survival instincts are screaming at you, begging you to call off this entire thing. you want to go home. you want to tell him no, you’re not fine. but if you do, ayato would most likely take you home. not your home. but home. and as much as you wanted to escape, you knew being in a room alone with this man who stared at you as if you were is one and only was even worse. 

so you don’t. you do what you practiced. you stare into this man’s eyes and smile like you mean it. you kiss him on the lips, to which he reciprocates eagerly, and tell him, “i told you, i’m okay.” 

the way ayato smiles is devious. he smoothly hooks his hand around your waist and guides you to the center of the ballroom. try as you might, you can feel the envious gazes burning into your skin. towards you or ayato, you’re not sure, but you don’t want to think about it further.

ayato, it seems, doesn’t mind. his hold on you becomes all the more tighter, confident.  

the two of you are once again talking to one of ayato’s associates. you’ve seen this man at other social events here and there, but you’ve never talked to him personally. 

you shudder at the way he eyes you up. 

“oh, you must be the rumored miss ayato seemingly can’t stop talking about,” the man surmises. he stares into his glass of wine before taking a greedy gulp. “ayato has never talked about a woman so fondly, so i figured you must’ve been really special. now that i’ve finally been introduced to you, i can see i was right.”

you open your mouth to retort, but ayato beats you to it. 

his nails are practically digging into your bodice. “yes, this is my fiance,” he hisses. you don’t appreciate how much emphasis he puts into his words. you almost want to correct him, but you don’t, because this is what you’re paid for: to ward off potential marriage proposals. so sure, you’ll let this one slide, as long as he says nothing about it in private.

the man, seemingly oblivious to ayato’s rising anger, smiles. “ah, so you’ve finally put a ring on it? what a pity.” 

“i can hardly say it’s a pity,” ayato mutters. “we’ve been together for a very long time, it was only a matter of time. if anything, it seems as if you’re trying to make a pass.” 

ayato’s associate jumps at his tone. “oh,  no, that wasn’t my intention...”

his words start to melt into the background noise, the music, the meaningless chatter. you smile awkwardly, knowing that if you tried to handle things yourself ayato would only take over for you. so instead, you stand there and look pretty, trying to not draw any more attention than you should. 

instead, you opt to observe the room. between the crowds of mingling elites, you’re desperate to find out where kaeya had gone. was he close? was he far? did he leave? did he see you? 

your stomach flips at the mere thought. at the very beginning, kaeya was fun. casual. he was friendly but not invasive. he’d flirt with you and mean it, but you knew his attraction to you didn’t extend beyond the bedroom. at least, that’s what you thought. before you knew it, kaeya had grown so attached to you it were as if you were his second heart, as if he wanted to meld you into his skin and whisper all of his thoughts and praises. 

if he discovered you here with someone else, you don’t know what would happen. 

in the midst of your discreet search, you catch a familiar glimpse of someone else in the crowd. you usually see him in his work attire when it’s designated day, but today he’s donned on an emerald suit, decorated with gold embellishments.

your heart drops to the pit of your stomach when alhaitham’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, as if he’s looking for something too. to his right, tighnari matches his pace. they seem to be in some sort of conversation, mumbling to each other over glasses of champagne as the crowd moves forward.  they live on the opposite side of the city. what are they doing here? you were so sure that this event would only be attend by those with business in the inazuma district. what went wrong? 

you’re just about to look away when it happens. 

alhaitham looks back.

it’s like a bucket of ice has been poured over you. 

his stare goes from surprise, to confusion, to realization, to absolute anger.

you don’t forget how ayato’s hand rests comfortably on your waist. alhaitham’s eyes seemed to be pinned there, like he’s undressing you with his eyes, burning holes into every pore of ayato’s hand. 

you’re caught like a deer in headlights. tightnari’s trying to talk to him, but alhaitham ignores him entirely. his entire focus, his entire being, is locked onto you. you don’t know what to do at this point.

ayato’s tight grip loosens. without even realizing it you’re being guided away from the conversation. 

“i’m so sorry about that,” ayato murmurs as he wraps both hands around your waist. he presses into you, his nose finding its way inbetween your neck and your shoulder. 

you’re entire body freezes as alhaitham’s gaze drags up your hips to your neck. for a second, his eyes catch yours and he gives you this look as if to say, i’m going to kill him. 

“ayato, we’re in public,” you say as you gently press onto his shoulders. you hope that he can’t feel the way your fingers tremble.

“let them see,” he replies with a breathy exhale. “that way, no one ever tries anything with you again. besides, is it wrong for two lovers to express their love in public? especially so soon after being engaged.”

this is wrong. the ayato you knew when you first met didn’t like drawing attention to himself. he’d rather sit in the shadows and people watch rather than become the spectacle himself. and of all things, at the worst time. 

you feel as if ayato is unknowingly digging your grave. every time ayato moves so much as a milimeter closer to you, you can see alhaitham’s jaw clench just a little tighter. 

at this point, tighnari has caught on to what alhaitham has been so distracted by. tighnari doesn’t hesitate to size you up. the both of you. for a moment, his ears pull back. he’s threatened. 

“my dear?”

you’re attention whips back to ayato. his gaze is almost intense as alhaitham’s and tighnari’s. it’s full of love, adoration, and obsession. he looks at you like you’re the one for him. that he had just discovered you two were soulmates. but you’re not. 

you smile, even though you feel like turning your stomach inside out. you have to pretend that you’re fine. and you’re good at that, right? you’re good at pretending to be what these men want, which is convenient, emotionally available, and loving. even though you’re entire world, everything you’ve worked so hard to maintain, is falling apart right this moment, you will smile. because that’s your job, isn’t it? you’re good at giving what your customers need. you’re good at your job.

so you keep your voice nice and light, even though you’re words are anything but what ayato wants to hear. “but we aren’t engaged, though.” 

he hums, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “but we are, aren’t we? my ring is on your finger.” his fingers thrum against your hips. “did you know? my name’s engraved on the inside.”

as much as ayato’s words alarm you, your entire focus is locked onto alhaitham and tighnari, who look livid. their mouths are moving. the two of them are speaking to each other, and it kills you not to know what they’re saying. 

just before you can get away from ayato, they make their way towards you. 

their pace is slow, but intentional. their gazes don’t dare pry away from you.  

and just like that, it all becomes too much. 

“i have to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out. with some kind of newfound adrenaline, you manage to push ayato off of you. he gives you a look of hurt, confusion, anger, and absolute shock. “i’ll be right back.”

ayato’s clearly confused, but as he attempts to reach out to you, you blend yourself within the throng of people. without looking back, you disappear into the crowd, leaving ayato all by his lonesome. 

you’re quick to push through the crowds, but careful to avoid the other ticking time bombs in the room. you feel as if you’re being chased. and in reality, you are. you zigzag through different conversations, hoping to miraculously become invisible. and yet, despite your absolute care, you somehow step on your own minefield. 

you hear the sound of your name first.

you see him second. 

childe’s standing there, in a suit you’ve never seen him wear before. 

is everyone at this party? 

“i thought it was you, looking so pretty. are you all dressed for me?” 

you both know what the answer is, and yet you don’t say anything. 

childe chuckles. “why do you look so scared? you look like you’ve just been caught cheating.” 

he slowly slides his hand down your arm, almost sensually. his fingers interlock with yours before he’s swinging it playfully, but you know his mood is anything but. he’s staring at your interlocking hands so intently. you look down to realize that he’s staring at the ring ayato put on your finger. 

shit. 

childe doesn’t say anything. he simply kisses your hand all prince-like, his gaze meeting yours. he’s so calm it’s disturbing. 

“whoever got this for you has bad taste. i bet he just chose whatever ring had the biggest jewel, right?” he plays with your fingers dismissively, gentlely drawing patterns around your ring finger. “you always told me i couldn’t buy you a ring, and yet this fucker can. what’s so different? i bet he just thinks whatever is biggest is the prettiest. but truth is, it’ll never be pretty. it’ll never be my special kind of pretty, isn’t that right, girlie?” 

you’re tempted to curl into yourself, but you hold your ground. 

“let go, childe.”

“and let you run away from me to some other man who doesn’t know you as well as i do? hmm? he uses his hold on your hand as leverage to pull you closer to him. his other hand wraps itself around your torso, pressing you into him. you struggle to escape, but you can’t. to anyone else, you two would’ve looked to be in a lover’s embrace. he caresses your cheek, as if appraising you. “maybe i should leave my own mark on you. maybe that’ll show everyone who you really belong to.”

you wriggle in his grasp. “childe, i’m serious. stop—”

“hmm, at least your next is exposed. yes… i think a hickey here would be nice—”

“childe! what are you up to this time?” 

childe immediately pulls away to reveal a man smiling amicably at the two of you. a pair of silver frames rest on his nose.

“ah, pantalone.” childe replies. “it’s nothing.”

you don’t hesitate to use this opportunity to escape. the moment you can, you whisk yourself away. you don’t care for niceties at this point. instead, you find refuge in the ladies’ restroom. 

you lock yourself in one of the stalls, grateful that no one else is in there. with no one around to stare, observe, or judge you, you close the toilet seat and plop onto it unceremoniously with your head in your hands. 

at this point, everything is spinning. your heart is thumping at thousands of miles per minute, and you’re trying to get a grip on reality. you think about the bills you need to pay, your overwhelming debt, and the life that rests on your hands. you think about all the things you need to do, and all the things you can’t do, not by yourself.

you need money to survive. 

once you’ve properly calmed down, you take a deep breath and open the door. you look at yourself in the mirror, taking note of all the little details in your makeup and your outfit, all of which were made by ayato, for ayato. all dressed in light blues, you look like you belong to the kamisato clan. 

you look like ayato’s wife.

“you look wonderful in blue.”

you don’t have the time to turn before he’s on you. 

if you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought that kaeya had returned to his old self. he’s kissing you like he hates the space between you. his mouth is hot and tastes of alcohol. his hands find their place on your hips like it’s natural. 

you can’t breathe, with the way he kisses you. 

underneath his heated movements, there’s a underlying desperation. like kaeya somehow needs to overdose on your every breath to survive. his hands are all over you, rumpling the dress you tried so hard to smooth out. 

he pushes the two of you into one of the open stalls, smoothly locking it behind him. you’re pressed against the bathroom door, a hardness pressing into your abdomen.

“kaeya—” 

your words are immediately swallowed up by his mouth. he can’t be bothered to speak to you. you can feel how angry he his with his fingers dig into your skin. he just wants to kiss you senseless, is that so wrong?

his tongue runs over yours. he’s exploring your mouth like it’s a treasure trove. as if this his first time ever kissing you and he wants to learn what makes you tick. 

but really, you can’t breathe. 

“kaeya—”

he pulls away from you like it’s the most painful thing he’s done. and it’s then you meet his eyes for the first time that night. his gaze is vulnerable. it’s obsessive, and needy, and desperate, and too, too much. too emotional. it’s not what you signed up for, and it’s not what he promised you. 

but he doesn’t care about that right now. he nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent like it’s his drug. 

“i saw you. with him.” 

“who?” comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. 

“i saw you the moment you got here,” kaeya replies, ignoring your question. “do you know how hurt i felt? how much i wanted to just strangle him? i could do it, you know. i could stage it like it was an accident. or make it look like he was a danger to the people. no one would know.”

you knew kaeya was a ticking time bomb, but you’ve never seen him like this. 

he wraps himself around you and pulls you close, resting your head on his chest. you can hear how fast his heart is pounding. “you’d still love me, if i did that, right? you know everything about me, everything no one else knows. only you could love me.”

there’s a crazed look to him. he’s so out of it, you’re hesitant to touch him. his embrace steals the breathe out of your lungs, quite literally. he holds onto you like if he let up for just a second you’d disappear into thin air. 

“kaeya—”

he kisses you again, a small moan leaving his lips. “say my name again, please. say it like it’s yours. i’m all yours.”

you run your hand through his hair and pull, but he only groans in response. you can feel his hard-on grinding into you. a whimper escapes you as he brushes against your clit through the dress.

if it’s not his name, kaeya’s bent on not letting you speak. his kisses keep getting more insistent, more greedy. 

you run your hand through his hair and give it a hard tug.

“aagh—just like that.”

you’re out of options at this point. kaeya won’t pull away, so eager to breathe you in. 

kaeya’s too lost in you to notice your hand blindly grabbing at the bathroom’s lock. when the door opens, it creates enough momentum to seperate the two of you. kaeya’s taken off guard, so you take the chance to bolt it out of there and escape back into the crowd.

you just want to run away from everything. from these disastrous men. from these claustrophobic parties. from this entire situation. from all your problems. your debt. from small, tiny hospital rooms and endless nights praying for a miracle—

you don’t care what you look like at this point. you don’t care that your dress is in disarray, that tears are probably streaking down your face, or that you’re so out of breath you’re gulping down air like it’s water. 

fuck this. 

fuck that.

fuck everything.

you’re so focused on escaping you bump shoulders with a stranger. quite roughly, at that. 

diluc looks surprised. he appraises you concerningly, but you can’t stomach it. his gaze is so full of love and adoration and possessiveness you think you’re going to hurl. 

you don’t even say anything. when you see kaeya chasing after you, you book it. you don’t even text ayato you’re leaving. you just…disappear.

the hospital room’s quiet. it always is. save for the occasional nurse, no one else is here, save for the patient. 

in a way, this room is your escape.

you’re still in ayato’s dress. it’s a bit dirty from tonight’s events, a bit ruffled. you look like a victim in those crime TV shows with a shock blanket. 

right now, you’re curled up on the sofa, staring into nothingness. you don’t want to think of anything right now. there’s no point in saying anything. you know she won’t say anything back. 

what would she say if she were here right now? 

she’d scold you, for sure. she’d nag you for how messy your apartment was. how you dropped out of college when you promised her you’d pursue your dream. how you haven’t once visited your parents’ grave. how you sold your mind, body, and soul just for some few bucks. 

you crumble at the thought. oh, how much money it took to keep her alive. to hide the both of you away from them. to keep sniffing dogs off your trail. you could always move away, hop from place to place. but if you did, what would you do about her? 

your sister was like a second mother to you. how could you abandon her like that? 

the door opens so abruptly, you practically jump out of your skin. 

“kazu?”

“i knew you’d be here.”

somewhere down the line, you heard that kazuha had descended from a long line of honorable samurais. seeing him like this, appearing out of thin air as if he was there all along, you thought it could be true.

kazuha enters the room like a soft gentle breeze, like it’s a suggestion. 

you’re speechless. 

he sits next to you on the couch and presses the side of your head to lean onto his shoulder. the two of you look at your comatosed sister together, as if if you stared hard enough, she’d finally wake up. 

“it’s going to be okay,” kazuha whispers.

“how did you know i was here?”

“what do you mean?” he turns to kiss the crown of your head so tenderly. “i’ll always be there for you, don’t you know that?”

your blood runs cold. you pull away to look at him. “kazuha, i never told you where i was. no one knows about this hospital.”

he looks at you earnestly, as if you don’t know any better and he adores it.

“but i do,” he says. 

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 9 — HE'S A VIRGIN

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — diluc, capitano, xiao, alhaitham

— warnings. — fem! reader, virgin genshin men, inexperienced af, pussy drunk, established relationship, they're kinda whiny

⚝ — DILUC

diluc's desire to feel you for the first time became a confession, touched by a form of surrender— you see, he wasn't simply aroused— no, he was devastated by wanting, exiled from himself by the unbearable mercy of being allowed to want at all and now, wow, as you laid on top of him with his dick tightly pressed between your soaked folds, his dreams of losing his virginity to you may finally come true.

"c-can i touch you there?" but he's nervous, very much so, and slightly embarrassed too, he asks it like a man asking for absolution, his voice a faltering ruin, each word shuddering out of him as if it were a sin to be spoken aloud, "here?" you coo back as you silently wiggle your hips against his erection while slanting down so your tits would squeeze against his exposed, glistening chest.

"y-yeah, fuuck— right there," his breath staggers in his chest, a rhythm broken and uneven, the shame of his own desire rolling through him like a sickness, and yet he wants, archons, he wants.

not with the wildness of instinct, but with the slow, torturous need of someone who has denied himself for too long— someone who thinks he might disintegrate if he were to feel your sopping cunt for the first time tonight, how you'd clench around him might make him lose his mind or if you were to tighten up and trap him in a torturous, yet equally delirious milking compression until you've sucked him dry of all he had.

you willfully grant diluc's wish as you let his tip in for the first time, to test the waters, yes, to see how he'd react the moment your wet heat would finally engulf his head in endless lust and love.

he’s never been touched like that before, not like this, not skin to skin, not soul to soul.

and now, he's got his dick halfway in like a temptation draped in warmth, the presence of your walls melting around him unbearable in its mercy as the nearness of your slippery warmth feels obscene, or, somewhat, divine.

perhaps even both.

you guide his hand to your hips as you move up and down up and down, your pussy squelching as he gasps out in realization— quiet, strangled— and when he finally makes contact with your sweet spots deep inside, something in him fractures.

not the lust that was exploding within him, something older, something buried, yet his eyes squeeze shut at last as his lips part with a sound that might be relief, or might be agony due to the fact that in all honesty— if it wasn't for his immense self control, he would've already emptied his seed into the deepest depths of your cunt.

you begin to ride him crueler, obscene sounds of wetness accentuating the room as diluc's face exposes the truth— and fuck, his angel face and thick dick made it impossible for you not to become simply flustered while looking at his slacked jaw— it’s a battlefield between restraint and longing, a map of a man quietly coming undone.

and it's your fault, your doing.

his lips were parted, soft and wet from breathing too hard as his throat works visibly when you ride him harder, greedier, grinding your pussy back and forth his pretty dick as your hands comfort his face, allowing him to melt into your touch.

he's slowly adjusting and becoming better at this, stealing a couple thrusts from you as he fucks into you like a madman, his brows drawing tight in a furrow of helplessness when he couldn't stop his hips from pounding into your pussy over and over— being entranced by how good you felt, how warm and wet and soft your pussy felt and fuck, please make this never stop, okay? you must promise diluc for it to never stop.

⚝ — CAPITANO

capitano wasn't a wordy man, nor was he showy man either— but the weight of him was unbearable, his memories and his past— and in the way he touches you, it's like he's memorizing ruin, "tell me if this is too much for you," you tease him while adjusting his cock head with your hole.

he towers above you wide and manly, with his breathing barely cutting through the air— it's low, raw, "you better tell me," and capitano responds with this not because he doubts your inability to tell him if he'd accidentally hurt you, rather because he does not trust himself.

not with the way you feel under him already, not with how tightly he's gripping the sheets beneath his gloves like they’re the only things keeping him from sinning even more. your legs are wrapped around his waist as you urge him to make him move inside with the heels of your feet digging into his back.

but the harbinger doesn't move, he hasn’t even touched you yet— not even your pretty tits which were so deliciously splayed out for him to play with, maybe fondle and even suckle on.

not yet, at least.

because you see, capitano waits, suffers, he sits in silence, body thrumming with a thousand restrained urges, every muscle in him coiling like a beast biting down on its own tongue as for the first time, his mask was off in front of another human— for once, it's off— and his face was a furnace with sweat trailing down his temples, sliding into the strong line of his jaw, vanishing into the shadows of his throat.

his lips were parted, breathing shallow, chest rising too fast when he finally moves himself inside, his eyes closed at the pleasure surging through his body, the tightness of your cunt squeezing him and fuck— you see it now, all of it in his eyes, and how they do not flicker, they devour.

he eats your soul and frame with his manliness— like you feel so good he can’t believe you’re actually real and that your pussy feels so soft and warm around his girthy cock and how easy it was for him to slip himself into your leaky hole, pushing through the tight constriction and even worse?

he’s allowed to look, touch and kiss you, fuck you the entire night, because you just trust him like that.

when his hips roll forward, just once, the low sounds he made were nearly silent— but you feel it, vibrating in your own chest as his hands twitched where they lied useless, heavy on the bed when he took your wrists to press his palms into your skin.

capitano clutches to you as he fucks you harder, his touch being impossibly gentle in clear contrast with his cock being undeniably ruthless on your cunt, moving his hips in a fast rhythm with yours as his chest grinds against your erected nipples. 

he lowers his head and presses his forehead to your sternum, his breathing hot and shaking— and when he finally speaks to you while being balls deep inside, it wasn't a plea, no, instead it was a confession carved out of his own ribs.

"i’ve dreamt of this," he admits bluntly, voice hoarse, almost ruined, "but not even my mind was cruel enough to make it feel like this." he groans out when you squeeze him tight and kiss his lips soft—and you feel his mouth against you fully now, lips trembling, as if even kissing you here was more than he deserved.

⚝ — XIAO

xiao wasn't comfortable with showing his need, more so was he terrified of softness between him and another person, no matter how long you two have been dating already— so when he lets himself feel it for the first time— when he asks, of course— it felt corrupting.

and still, he wanted it.

you could feel the tremble in him, in not just his limbs, but in the whole frame of his as the man was coming apart under the weight of your gentleness.

he touches your hips first, then slowly slides over your chest to cradle your tits like he doesn’t believe he’s actually allowed to do all of this— and by the way he worships you, it's like xiao believed your skin might vanish if he didn't fondle you enough.

"are you sure about this xiao?" the question wasn't bold nor pleading, you didn't want to overstep any of his boundaries or make him uncomfortable with anything which was going on tonight.

he retorts back almost immediately, "are you sure?" and it slips from his mouth barely formed, half-crushed under the weight of shame— was he taking it too fast now? why was he suddenly so excited about it, even more than before.

truth was— sometimes when you weren't looking, he would imagine it, you know, whether he wanted to touch you, or to be touched by you, or simply to be allowed between your legs with his face squeezed beyond oblivion, all of it, maybe, all at once.

xiao's face was feverish with color— high, unnatural blotches of red across his pale skin, as though desire itself offended him, as though it’s a sickness he’s been taught to fear and when you lower your hand to palm his tip, his lips immediately part— wet with shallow breathing and a fine sheen of sweat collected at his temples, sliding in fragile lines down the slope of his throat.

you reach for his length as he flinches— not away, but inward, like the gesture hurts, like the touch was too intimate to survive, and still, he lets you guide him with your hand slowly stroking his cock while his tip hovers over your pussy and leaks of pre, smearing the white slick over your glossy hole.

he breathes your name, once, twice— once more, like it’s a sin and a salvation, yet his eyes remain closed, brows drawn in quiet agony and when his hips involuntarily move against your hole— just barely— his body jerks into you, overcome by the intimacy, by the unbearable knowledge that this was real.

that you are real, beneath him, within reach.

his jaw clenches and he looks at you inexperienced and dewy-eyed— shame and hunger woven together as you kiss along his jaw, telling him to please not stop and fuck, he doesn’t want to stop either, doesn't want this to end but he's so scared of hurting you that it was slowly occupying his mind and soul.

but with you, it was different because you gave him reassurance, with you this wasn't just touch— this was permission, and it's undoing him as he slides himself in, his thick erection being swallowed by your needy hole as the proximity of your pussy engulfs around his dick when he pushes himself in entirely.

"don't…" he whispers nervously as he hides his face in the nook of your neck, eyes still shut tight, voice almost voiceless, "i don’t know what to do with this," he admits and you feel his fingers tighten in your hair, "it's okay xiao aah—" you whine and caress his back;

"i trust you," and archons, he needs you so bad, fuck, he doesn’t even give a damn about how embarrassing he might look or sound right now but this— oh, baby, you shouldn't have said this because now, a lewd mewl rumbles from deep inside his chest when he completely rocks into you with a rough roll of his hips— turning your walls sticky with cum, your slick sticking on his pubes and the movements of his hips which practically screamed insatiable desire.

⚝ — ALHAITHAM

everything alhaitham did was calculated— except this.

"i should be… studying this instead," the words leave him before he could even breath properly— he's a little sharp-edged, half-ironic, mostly desperate, yeah, he's right under you too, propped on his elbows, shirt open at the throat, that brilliant, infuriating mind of his faltering under the weight of your body above his— and yet he tries to keep it, in control, that last thread of composure, fraying faster than he can pretend to hold it.

his eyes— usually so piercing, clinical— are glassy now, narrowed not in skepticism but in helpless focus, fixed somewhere between your lips and the movement of your hips above him, not to mention your pussy slobbering all over his desperately hard dick. he's never felt something like this before and fuck, the moment he did, he's greedy and high on your cunt, more so from sheer overstimulation of what you've been doing to him.

or maybe from thinking too much, too fast, about all the things he's never let himself want.

a bead of sweat trails from his temple down into his hairline, absorbed by already-damp strands as his hand lifts to feel up your beautiful body— hesitant, not because he doesn't know what he’s doing, but because you’re not an equation, you're not a text he can analyze and understand.

you're unpredictable, yes and archons, it terrifies him.

you feel his hands guide you up and down, forcing his dick deeper than before and pretending like he knows what he's doing as his breath stutters almost imperceptible— almost, as small rolls of hips rock into your cunt which were precise first, yes— clinical, also yes, as if trying to learn you by feel, you know? by pressure and reaction.

yet his precision collapses quickly when you watch his mouth fall open just slightly as you squeeze him agonizingly hard, watch the corner of his lips twitch like he's suppressing a groan, smirk deviously when his brows knit as the sensation of your sticky walls began to override his understanding.

"i don't know what this is doing to me, fuck," he mutters— not to you, not even to himself to be honest, just aloud.

his voice began to turn strained due to excessive groaning, foreign in his throat as his fingers dig into the bouncy flesh of your ass— just a bit harder now, helping you bounce up and down his large erection as he studies you like he's drowning in you.

and when you shift your weight down, just enough for him to feel the heat of you flush and align, you see it, the unraveling, the moment alhaitham's intellect gave out and something primal began to move behind his eyes.

he's so pretty, ugh, it's unfair! and his dick being pressed into you so fucking deliciously was a feeling you got addicted to now— one that had saliva dribble through the sides of your lips, one that had your eyes glazed over in love and clit aching in need to be played with too.

everything was written across his face now, the sweat shining in the hollow of his throat, the part of his lips, the way he looks at you as you ride him hard, the smell in the air potent with the scent of his musk and sweat and cum— yet ah, alhaitham looked at you like you were the experiment and the thesis and the collapse of meaning altogether.

and at last, he abandons the hypothesis entirely.

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[virq-qgo]

Your boyfriend that doesn’t say “I love you” will..

Softly moan when his fingers dig into your plush hips. Digging so hard into your soft skin, it leaves marks. But you don’t care, you don’t feel it.

“Tell me this is real.” He softly curses as he watches your breast jiggle with each thrust. A single hand moves from your hips to your breast, squeezing the flesh in between his hands. Watching how they spill out so nicely.

His mouth hangs open as his hips snap into yours at a brutal pace. Soft curses fall from his lips as he returns his hand back onto your hip. Forcing your hips to slam down on his cock whenever he wanted.

“Oh god, I love you.”

Your poor lover just missed you so much, he couldn’t handle the mere thought of you leaving him. The feeling that left him to crumbles was when he watched you get hurt, an injury that could’ve killed you. But Survived.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He chanted as if he were never gonna get to say it again. His hips stutter as he moaned not caring if he’s acting not like himself. He just loves you and your pussy.

After he cums and makes sure you’re absolutely winded, that’s when he’ll give you a small lecture. But his voice would be soft and hold you like a porcelain doll. Making sure you got his point of not ever scaring him like that again.

LEVI ACKERMAN + ur fav characters

ALHAITHAM, DILUC, CYNO, XIAO + ur fav characters

BLADE, SUNDAY, DR RATIO + ur fav characters

[angelfishe]

"𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍"

>> Genshin man x reader

<< characters : diluc, kaeya, ayato, alhaitham, zhongli, neuvillete, wriotsheley, childe, capitano, dottore, pantalone >>

Warnings : MDNI, contain sexual content

⚠️MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE ⚠️

DILUC, very flustered unable to form a sentence after the climax, exhausted to the point you have to serve the customer instead. he's unable to form a sentence, sweat is around his body, his clothes are a mess as well him breathing heavily as if he just went thru a marathon, some Patreon would ask what's wrong with him, and you just replied in his place saying his just tired.

KAEYA, smirking with his clothes disheveled as well as his hair as if someone has been pulling on it, jean asked him what's wrong and he said he just had the best lunch of his life with a satisfied smile and in his office paper are scattered and crinkle as if someone has been sitting on his desk. Jean doesn't question it but the knights that were guarding his office stand with a flustered look as if witnessing and hearing somethings.

AYATO, appears as in his normal self, not a single disheveled or messy hair always appears with a smile and a satisfied look, very dignified the stress on his face disappear after you went into the office bringing him tea and snacks when his working his documents, him leaving the office with a very disheveled you going inside the bedroom, and sometimes during a meeting or a party you and him would leave and go for a "walk".

ALHAITHAM, with a straight face focus on his book as if he didn't spend the last few hours ago having fun with you, the only difference is pink blush that is on his ear, plus in this state he's very emotional in this state, smirking a few times when you were limping next to him, him supporting your entire body. And would order your favorite drink after it. Kaveh would stay with cyno or tighnari if the noise gets too loud.

ZHONGLI, very demure, very mindful. Pink blush appears on his face as well giving you a smile and the eyes full of love. He very much appears as his proper self but more loving. His coat on your shoulder and you guys holding each other's hands together swinging around. His clothes are still in their proper state but his hair is not very messy as if he just let it lose. During his rut you and him would leave going to a mountain to enjoy each other's company.

NEUVILLETE, pretty much blushing the entire time he knows this is an improper way as a judge of Fontaine but he can't hold it in, during trials he looks disheveled and breathing heavily as if he's fantasizing over something, he would send you some looks during trial as if he wants to continue on what's going between you. Once a month he would take a week off of work and the reason for it is by far still a mystery.

WRIOSTHELEY, smirking and winking at you, his shirt button has gone down a few levels revealing his abs with sweat sticking on it, his pants are by far crinkle as if it is on the floor for so long, would whisper on your ear leaving you very much flustered and covering your face with your hands, I'm pretty much sure the entire fortress of meriopede knows you guys business together in his office.

CHILDE, pretty much his happy go looking self with you, smirking, whispering in your ear and sending you the look. Pretty disheveled as if he just won a big battle. Would be very cocky and bragging around, his division would leave his office alone in his request for alone time with you. As well some important documents would have some stains of its weird substance on it.

CAPITANO, appears as if nothing happens to everyone in the fatui in his normal self but very much in a good mood the entire time, his coat is with you sleeping in his tent exhausted after what happened. He will continue on his duties as if normal and nothing happens but plus words of appreciation towards his underlings.

DOTTORE, giggling and smirking the entire time like a school girl, his hair is pulled back by his sweat. Would give you words of admiration and affection towards you and praising you for your accomplishments and would be a little nicer than his usual Impatient self. In this state his much nicer with his experiments and his much older segments are pretty much jealous and wanting to spend time with you.

PANTALONE, sips wine in his very much expensive bath robe while your laying on his bed exhausted, going thru paper works after finishing the equivalent of the meme "he's just nutting inside of me and now he's doing paperwork" would spoil you rotten after it, would go shopping with you and buy you many luxurious gifts, dresses and some expensive lingerie plus new accessories for the next time you guys have a meeting.

[mimi-sunny]

FAKE DATING AS CELEBRITIES ─ genshin impact

characters ─  xiao, al haitham, scaramouche, varka, kaedehara kazuha, kyryll chudomirovich flins x f!reader

content ─ fluff, modern au, xiao's one was written like 2 or 3 years ago, not proofread, everyone is stupid here, projecting my girlfailureness onto reader, mention of blood in varka's part, a slight hint of angst if you squint enough. the prompts aren't mine!! i got them from different posts here years ago but i can't find them anymore. if you recognize any, please let me know so i can properly credit them !! hope you guys enjoy <3

genshin m.list ♡ each part is about 800-950 words long

𝖷𝖨𝖠𝖮 - 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 :𝟢 | 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

until this day, you still had barely any clue on how you found yourself in a fake relationship with the famous drummer of the 6REEZE band. 

a famous rockstar and a worldwide known actress. 

the simple idea was ridiculous, you thought. your worlds had nearly nothing to do with each other. 

his was a whirlwind of ear-deafening concerts, endless band practices and makeup so dark it made the amber shades of his eyes seem a little too hypnotizing for your heart to handle. on the other hand, yours was a soft and gentle lifestyle that included playing in heartwarming rom-coms and comforting yet soul shattering movies that left the deepest impressions in the viewers’ hearts. 

the shock that nearly broke the internet on a global scale at the news of your relationship was nothing compared to the way you had nearly screamed while jumping out of your seat when your manager informed you of the next step in your career. 

a break you had taken in the middle of your peak had awakened baseless rumors and provoked a decrease in your fame. and the solution was to date one of the most loved celebrities in liyue. and you still haven’t decided whether you hated your manager or not, yet. 

not that you had the time. 

between interviews, trying to get to know each other as fast as possible with xiao and luring the paparazzis into your supposedly “private” dates to keep appearances, you couldn’t help but catch a tiny teeny amount of feelings for the rockstar. 

xiao was a bit too good at his role. 

the arms around your waist, the hand at the small of your back and the occasional kisses you’d receive on your cheek or forehead to please your fans – sometimes enraging some. it all felt like a bunch of arrows being shot one at a time in your direction, piercing your chest open and urging you to hand your heart over to your fake boyfriend. 

and this whole act was definitely getting to you. 

after attending one of his concerts in the vip section, cheering for him and sending each other smiles, flying kisses and other cheesy displays of affection to one another to keep your fans entertained, you found yourself visiting him backstage. 

the members of his band didn’t know that your relationship was a play. so, seeing you arrive, it was only natural for heizou to prompt everyone else to exit the makeup room, leaving you and xiao alone. 

“you did amazing,” you told him with a soft smile, sitting beside him on the couch. 

you handed him the cold bottle of water in your hands. stupidly enough, your heart clearly didn’t seem to manage getting used to the little touches or affectionate gestures. it hammered against your chest when his fingers brushed yours. nearly leaped out of your ribcage at the grateful smile he gave you, the sharp edges of his face softening and the paleness of his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. 

you sat there in silence, enjoying each other’s company. 

unconsciously, your head ended up resting on his shoulder. but none of you dared to make a move, scared that the slightest twitch would have the other pull away. 

even after you had realized what you were doing. you didn’t budge. his head rested on top of yours and your heart did a little somersault in its cage, jumping all the way to your throat and resting on the tip of your tongue. 

so close to make you spill all the unspoken feelings you couldn’t contain within yourself to him. 

“i have to go back on stage,” xiao whispered gently. 

you masked your disappointment, lifting your head from his shoulder and watching him as he stood up. 

your eyes raked over his back, admiring how the deep v-cut of his shirt revealed a large portion of the skin beneath. 

smooth. pale. slender and toned. and you couldn’t look away when you noticed the way his muscles moved as he arranged his hair and in-ears. how could you, really. 

when xiao turned back towards you, he handed you back the bottle of water, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on your forehead. his lips slowly wandered all the way down your lips, leaving a trail of shivers and heat behind them. your brain didn’t process what was happening fast enough. at least, not before xiao had stormed out of the makeup room, realization befalling him. 

you sat on the couch. speechless. unmoving. paralyzed in your seat as reality dawned on you. 

did the play you were entertaining your audience with get to him to the point he kissed you out of habit? 

but he never kissed your lips before! 

did xiao hold some sort of affection for you that went beyond the limits set by the contract? 

you shook your head frantically, not allowing yourself to go any further with that dumb, delusional, silly reasoning of yours. 

and while you tried to compose yourself before going back to the concert, xiao was leaning against the other side of the door, a hand pressed to his mouth while his face glowed a bright red. 

“what the hell,” xiao mumbled to himself, crouching on the floor. 

𝖠𝖫 𝖧𝖠𝖨𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖬 - 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 !! | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗅

haitham was a rational man. he knew it. you knew it. and so did the entirety of sumeru. 

he’s never acted on impulse a day in his life, never made any decision that would ever impact his career in a negative way. he kept a respectful distance between him and his co-stars, easily evaded intrusive questions regarding his romantic life and just did everything possible to avoid scandals. 

it was never enough, seemingly. 

he’d like to blame it all on kaveh, but really, it was mostly your fault. 

after another tiring, early shoot, he caught his friend chatting away with an unfamiliar person. and although he didn’t really care about socializing, he could hardly escape the both of you when you signaled him to approach. so, with a sigh, he made his way towards and you both introduced yourselves. 

“i got coffee,” you told the two men, watching them perk up. 

it only took your manager tapping on your shoulder for you to startle and spill the scalding hot liquid all over haitham’s shirt. after much insistence, and seeing how apologetic you looked, he handed you over the dirty clothing while you promised to bring it back in a pristine condition.

you never imagined such a small incident would impact your modelling career on a large scale. 

truth be told, you were a bit to blame for the lack of precaution you took, despite being so painfully aware of paparazzis following the both of you. sure, you visited him in the middle of the night to hand him back his clothes. and sure, you may have overstayed your welcome, slipping inside his apartment after he’d offered you a glass of water. and maybe you shouldn’t have stayed there for a few more hours, not noticing the time slip by as you both chatted away. 

you surprisingly got along pretty well, despite the terrible first impression he had of you. 

the next day, you were the talk of the nation. several tabloids and social media posts showing pictures of you going into his residence, scandalous captions discussing how you hadn’t come out for several hours. 

so, of course, the only way to appease the morbid curiosity of both your fans was to confirm the dating rumors. 

at least, according to your managers. they didn’t give you much of a choice, posting announcements and leaving you both staring at each other blankly.

it was a simple arrangement. fake date for a few months and break up because your schedules go too busy. 

haitham knew it couldn’t be too hard. his whole career revolved around acting, he could easily fool everyone that you two were madly in love with each other without it affecting his personal life.

and haitham was a rational man. he knew that. 

he had absolutely no valid reason as to why he was glaring from the other side of the room, nose scrunching in disgust as your coworker’s hand slid down your arm and wrapped around your waist. you followed the photographer’s instructions, the both of you executing pose and after pose under his loud praise and encouragement. 

as the perfect boyfriend he was (fake, of course), haitham had come to visit you with a well deserved ice cold drink. the thought of having to reign himself in and avoid making the cup explode in his hand never crossed his mind while he was in line at the coffee shop earlier. 

he was the perfect picture of control, leaning against a wall while his eyes never left you, a few staff  members gawking at him. thankfully for him, none of them seemed to notice the murderous intentions behind his eyes and the way he glared at the man leaning way too close to your face. 

the very sight made him want to puke his guts on the floor. 

and while nothing slipped through his permanently stoic facade, you had no trouble reading through him. you pecked his cheek as you grabbed the drink he brought you, a small huff of laughter escaping you as he just wouldn’t relax his face. 

gently, you traced the slope of his nose, caressing the little wrinkles forming between his furrowed brows. “you look upset,” you remarked calmly.

haitham scoffed. “he looked stupid next to you.” 

his words made you snort. so much emotions for someone claiming that this was purely contractual. in the months you’d pretended to be a loving couple, he’d always kept a distance between the both of you in private. yet the walls he’d built around himself were beginning to crack and crumble. 

not that you didn’t like it. it was simply amusing to watch him try and fail to rationalize the current situation. 

“oh, i’m sure you’d make a better fit,” you giggled, leaning on the wall beside him. 

you pretended to not notice his insistent gaze above you, ignored the little sparks of hope burning away in your mind. when your coworker waved at you from the other side of the room, haitham placed himself in front of you before you could smile back. 

your eyebrows shot up, a playful smile pulling at your lips. “are you jealous, or something?” 

you noted the way he frowned again, confusion morphing his face, his mouth opening and closing a few times. haitham sighed, resigned.

“as if.”

his curt response made you laugh aloud, drawing attention from the busy staff around you. none of them stopped him when he gripped your wrist and dragged you away, your laughter muffled by the door he closed behind him and his lips crashing against yours. 

𝖲𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖬𝖮𝖴𝖢𝖧𝖤 - “𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋” “𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗌” >:( | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

scaramouche stared at his manager like he grew a second head.

“hell no.” 

“hell yes,” heizou insisted. 

there was no way his star actor would refuse such an offer. yet no arguments seemed to make him budge, looking at the red-head with nothing but disgust plastered on his face. the fact that he already convinced him to play in a romance was a miracle to begin with. but heizou really needed a second one right now, if scaramouche would just be merciful enough. 

while he was known on a global scale, no thanks to his incredible talent and his mother’s connections, you had only gotten into the acting scene a few years ago. 

and a dating scandal between two leads of a romance movie was bound to not only attract a bigger audience, but also get you under the limelight. 

unfortunately for scaramouche, it was working before anyone made it official. stupid tabloids about how lovely and oddly attentive he seemed to be with you behind the scenes were already emerging. clips of him wrapping his jacket around your shoulders during late shoots circulated quickly on the internet. the way he peered at you in concern when you sneezed far too many times in a row having people questioning his relationship to you.

and those dumb edits with even dumber songs. can a man not worry about his coworker anymore? 

“you never worry about coworkers,” heizou deadpanned at his complaint. 

and so, scaramouche surrendered to his fate.

the announcement dropped like a bomb above everyone’s heads, your socials exploding with a sudden overflow in followers, comments and intrusive questions filling up your private messages. although you trusted your manager’s plans, you never imagined it’d work in such a short time. part of you was afraid that your fake relationship would only attract negative attention and an overwhelming amount of scaramouche’s – sort of obsessive – fans banging at your door with pitchforks and murderous intents. 

instead, they thought it was hilarious. 

and maybe you agreed a little. you had to suppress a laugh at the almost robotic way in which he approached you, extending his arm for you to take to walk down the red carpet. the premiere was taking place today and it was only customary for the lead actors to be present today. 

you could already picture thousands of comments mentioning how stiff scaramouche looked beside you, standing before hundreds of flashing lights. his hand was hovering over your waist, his spine so straight and his smile so forced. it was a bit ridiculous, given the fact that you two kissed at least a dozen times before your director was satisfied with the result. 

it seemed like scaramouche’s professionalism didn’t follow him outside the set. 

you turned sideways, peering at him. “you look awkward, y’know,” you muttered through a smile.

his head whipped towards you and you could see him fighting back the urge to frown. 

“yeah, it’s because this is awkward," he retorted, his lips quirking downwards. 

you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. he was oddly endearing for someone so known for being bossy and rude. your hands went up to his collar, carefully adjusting the slightly crooked fabric. you didn’t think he could get any stiffer than this and yet. as your fingers brushed the skin of his neck, you noted how he’d gone completely still, the apples of his cheeks turning redder by the second. 

scaramouche could barely look at you, the slight contact of your skin against his making embarrassment crawl down his spine, so painfully aware of the public setting you were in. and the photographs immortalizing the, possibly, most mortifying moment of his acting career. he couldn’t bring himself to look at you, eyes fixated on the large crowd of paparazzis in front of him. 

you hummed, guiding his hand to rest properly on the curve of your waist. his throat bobbed, nerves eating at him. your laughter reaching his ears sounded like a death sentence to him. 

“you’re not a very good actor,” you giggled. 

that seemed to offend him more than anything else today. more than heizou, who was standing behind the crowd of paparazzis, capturing the moment on his phone like a proud mother, ever did. 

scaramouche turned towards you, a pout pulling at his lips. “i have four oscars,” he protested, almost petulant. 

the sight made you bring a hand up to your mouth, hardly stifling your giggles. scaramouche frowned, his face turning into an even darker shade of red. you didn’t have the brain cells to even wonder how he even managed that, unable to contain your laughter any longer. 

his hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, pulling you along with him and away from the blinding flashes. and you followed straight behind, grinning and waving at the paparazzis.

𝖵𝖠𝖱𝖪𝖠 - 𝖼𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗍 <//𝟥 | 𝖻𝗈𝗑𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗅

you never expected your peaceful days of modelling and travelling around the globe to be so rudely disrupted by a man, of all things. then again, you should have seen that coming. 

no amount of softening your speech and keeping your feelings inside was going to save your doomed relationship. and although it’s been months since your messy breakup happened, dozens of headlines still followed you around, claiming and lying about your mental state. 

“he tried to ruin my career!” you whined to no one in particular, throwing your phone across the room. “why would i miss him!?” 

and maybe you were paranoid but you were almost sure he was the very reason behind why paparazzis and interviewers still bothered to ask you about him. with him being the rich heir of the most influential company in mondstat, it wouldn’t be surprising for you to discover his bribing. 

while you didn’t have the power to turn the tables on him, you sure did have enough pettiness in you  to hit where it hurts. 

and yeah, sure, getting with your ex’s favorite athlete might be a bad look. and maybe dating his favorite boxer made it seem like you were the bitter one. but it wasn’t like you had the time to care, really, far too busy entertaining the media and your fans with more lies than you could count. 

you didn’t know why varka even agreed to fake a relationship with you, and you didn’t care to know. all that mattered was your private messages blowing up with your ex’s rage. 

strong hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a sturdy chest. “looks like it worked,” varka said behind you. 

the corners of your lips curled up as you turned to look at him, avoiding the blinding flashes capturing this tender moment. 

“told you it would,” you chuckled. 

with his match starting soon, and feeling the attention on the both of you, you turned to face him fully, arms wrapping around his neck. you didn’t let your eyes linger too long on his, ignoring the little somersaults your heart did at his insistent gaze and the lack of his usual cheerfulness. your fingers raked through his unruly hair, fixing up golden strands that refused to stay in place. 

it was a temporary arrangement. there was no need for you to search for a deeper meaning behind the longing swimming in his bright pools. or the quiet desperation in the way his lips pressed against yours. 

and there was certainly no reason for you to feel your heart sink at the sight of his bloodied face and the fire burning in the blue of his eyes. despite trying to remind yourself that he was an exceptional boxer, nothing could stop the tears gathering at your waterline when he was crowned, yet again, victor, bruises and cuts all over his proud expression.

you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him as he drove you home. varka didn’t say a word either, teeth pulling at his split lip. he didn’t think you’d care this much about the injuries he’d sustain in his matches when you first presented him with the setup. and he always tried his best to not overwhelm you with feelings that went beyond the limits set by the contract. 

yet varka, in the past few months, has discovered that he never had the strength to refuse you anything. so he didn’t protest when you pulled him into your apartment and sat him down on the edge of your bathtub. nor when you pressed a little too harshly on his cuts and when you didn’t bother being gentle while applying ointment to his bruises. he didn’t have it in him to crack a joke when you threw towels at him and practically slammed the door behind you. 

he’d also realized that it took so little for you to melt into his large hands. so when you walked past him, his fingers gently grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a warm embrace. 

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, lips pressing against your forehead. 

stubborn, you didn’t ease your frown, burying your face into the crook of his neck. you burrowed yourself in his lap, his arms wrapping around your form, rocking the both of you forward. 

“shut up.”

a small smile played on his lips, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. despite the harshness of your words, you refused to let go of him, any attempt of his at moving rendered useless when you dug your nails into his forearms. with a laugh, varka guessed that it wouldn’t hurt to spend the night on your couch, with you clinging to him. 

when the first rays of the sun pulled you out of your slumber, none of you addressed what had occurred. 

𝖪𝖠𝖹𝖴𝖧𝖠 - 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾 !! | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

it was necessary, you tried reasoning with yourself. 

obviously, it wouldn’t make sense that two renowned actors, who were dating nonetheless, would appear so stiff while kissing on camera. it would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? 

maybe not as ridiculous as your current predicament. as if sensing some hesitation from your side, kazuha tilted your chin so you’d look at him. 

“we don’t have to,” he told you, his tone far too sweet for you to handle. 

he wasn’t completely wrong. the arrangement your managers had put you in was fairly recent. if anything, it would only endear the crew to see the both of you shy away from such displays of affection. 

you’d barely registered the reason why yoimiya was so adamant on making you fake a relationship with kazuha. the only thing you’d processed was his name and the fact that he was going to pretend to be your boyfriend for a few months. 

the very actor you’d set your eyes on since the beginning of your career – and even before then. the same one you’d admired for years and years. the one you were filming a show with, playing as each other’s love interests while the wide public was hit with the news of your supposed relationship. 

you hardly believed the situation you somehow ended up in until today. you wondered if he had to go through the same mental gymnastics you did before showing up at your doorstep. you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, him revealing the reason behind his presence as wanting to practice your lines together was but an excuse. 

after all, you were under no obligation to play pretend behind closed doors. yet his attempt at easing your nerves only alarmed you. 

“no, it’s fine!” you blurted out. 

when kazuha chuckled at your eagerness, you slapped a hand over your mouth, deflating like a balloon. you felt a bit stupid, so easily baring your feelings to him unprompted. sure, it wasn’t a direct confession. but kazuha wasn’t dumb enough to miss the meaning behind enthusiasm. you hid behind your hands, the AC not helping the state of your burning cheeks. 

you felt the mattress dip beside you, gentle fingers wrapping around your wrist and prying your hands off of your face. “don’t hide,” kazuha whispered. 

he was so insistent on your eyes meeting his, peering and searching for your gaze until you relented. the softness of his smile felt like a dozen arrows were shot straight through your heart. just as gentle, his fingers trailed up your arm, leaving sparks in their wake, tracing the column of your neck, cupping your jaw. 

kazuha inched closer to you until you felt his leg press against yours. “i’ll kiss you now, okay?”

your eyes were screwed shut, your entire being nearly vibrating with nerves and anticipation, fists clenching on your lap. maybe it was a good idea to practice before your shoot tomorrow, given your predicament. 

kazuha didn’t close the distance immediately, a fond smile drawn on his features at the sight of you. you looked just so nervous that a little, cruel part of him wanted to toy with your current state. his hand rested on one of your fists, thumb caressing soothing circles on your skin until you allowed his fingers to interlink with yours. 

a beat passed. a quiet moment in which your ears couldn’t perceive anything beside the erratic beating of your heart. 

hot puffs of air fanned over your lips. before you could stop yourself, you flinched away from the sensation, wide eyed. a moment passed by as you simmered in your own mortification before you muttered a quiet apology, looking down at your lap. you couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated at yourself. 

“it’s okay”, kazuha chuckled, his knuckle caressing the burning skin of your face. “relax for me, yeah?” 

you didn’t bother complaining about how his presence was anything but relaxing. it felt like every hair on your body was standing straight just from the proximity. any and every contact of his skin against yours lit a fire within the pit of your stomach, flames growing and licking at the little frustration you felt. 

when kazuha leaned in again, he didn’t linger too long on the cute look on your face. 

his lips were as sweet as he was, you thought, sitting straight and unmoving for a few seconds. when he moved them against yours, you felt like putty in his hands, pliant and so quick to follow the pace he set. your fingers gripped at the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his shoulders when his tongue traced your bottom lip. 

your mouth parted instantly, the small noise of surprise you made quickly swallowed by kazuha. his hand slipped to your nape, angling your head in a way that let him lick into your mouth. you pulled away for a second, your mind spiraling at the suddenness of his actions. 

“don’t do that,” kazuha tutted playfully. 

you felt your mouth dry up when your eyes met his half-lidded ones, the ruby shade of them barely visible through his dilated pupils. you wouldn’t be too shocked if they suddenly turned into hearts. 

and he was so mean, pushing his lips against yours and swallowing your protests and shy mutters, claiming that you could do so much better for him. you didn’t have it in you to deny him or disprove his words, growing dizzier and dizzier with every lungful of air he stole from you. 

so light-headed that you’d forgotten the reason behind his hunger. 

𝖥𝖫𝖨𝖭𝖲 - 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 <//𝟥 | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

you collapsed onto your hotel bed. every muscle of your body was screeching in pain, sore and exhausted with all the running and fighting you’d done today. the steaming, hot shower you’d taken did nothing to soothe the ache, nor did any of the stretches you quickly looked up. 

with a sigh, you surrendered to your fate, burying yourself in the covers of your bed. 

your loving manager, nefer, had deemed that you’ve done enough romance shows and movies for a lifetime. and of course, what better way to change the trajectory of your acting career than by having you play in an apocalyptic show. really, she could have had you participate in a survival reality show and you wouldn’t have noticed the difference. 

the only thing that helped you pull through was flins playing a role alongside you. despite the contractual nature of your relationship, there was no helping your traitorous heart and its inability to not fall even deeper for him. the arrangement was set purely to draw attention to the show. yet, with every day that passed and with its end nearing, you couldn’t help but hope that, perhaps, flins wouldn’t want this to be over.

you rolled around in your bed, trying and failing to ignore the restless state of your mind. 

but there was no logical explanation behind his endless flirtations and tender attentions. you hoped that there was a meaning behind the hands around your waist when no one was present to witness them. that you didn’t imagine the small flickers of affection in the depths of his hypnotizing eyes. there had to be a reason as to why he was so adamant on kissing your knuckles as a greeting, right? 

the sky roared, making you sit straight on the mattress. 

you could nearly feel the building shake with the intensity of the thunder, raindrops close to breaking the windows. 

just your luck. 

for a split moment, you stared into the darkness of your room, refusing to look at the bright flashes of light slipping through the glass. you contemplated staying up and falling asleep until the storm passed. maybe watch a show to take your mind off of it until your exhaustion would get the best of you. 

another deep, rolling rumble made you scramble towards your bedside table, turning on the dim light. 

you felt a bit stupid, getting so spooked by something so normal. but you were so wide awake at the moment, arms crushing your poor stuffed bunny. and you were so hyperaware of every little noise, all the alarms in your brain going haywire when you heard a rattle from your door. 

you stared at the wooden surface for a long moment, hoping that whoever was behind it would just leave you alone. better yet, that you simply imagined the sound. 

all those thoughts flew out of your mind when a familiar voice called out your name. “it’s just me,” flins added, raising his hand to knock again. 

before he could do so, you opened the door, looking at him through a small crack. your lips jutted out into a pout as flins smiled down at you, taking in the messy state of your hair and the plushie glued to your chest. 

“thought you’d be scared,” he told you. 

something in your chest melted into a pathetic puddle at his words. of course he would think so. despite all his teasing and playfulness, flins was so terribly attentive it made you want to pull out your hair. instead, you opened the door wider, letting him slip inside. you noticed how he’d braided his hair and the near translucent paleness of his skin. his eye bags looked even more pronounced, you thought, guilt twisting your guts. 

he probably sacrificed his well-deserved rest just to check on you.

“i couldn’t sleep either.”

you blinked at him, any remorse you’d felt evaporating instantly. “you’re not good at lying,” you deadpanned, locking the door behind you. 

flins only laughed at your words. he took a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes crinkling, small sparks of joy animating his gaze. you looked away, feeling your heart take on a faster pace. yet when his hand urged you closer, you followed through almost immediately, wishing that he wouldn’t feel the erratic pace of your heart as his thumb caressed the skin above your pulse. 

“do you want me to stay?” flins asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

his lips traced the inside of your wrist, awaiting an answer you couldn’t provide. when you only gave him a nod, he nipped at the sensitive skin, eliciting a hiss from you. “hm?” he pressed. 

your eyebrows furrowed, frustration painting your features. 

“i do,” you muttered, looking down at the way you shifted on your feet. 

a small huff of laughter tumbled out of flins’s lips. you never looked sweeter to him, he thought, pulling on your wrist and into his embrace. you burrowed yourself into his chest, the both of you buried into the covers. you were deaf to the distant rumbles, ear pressed against his wildly beating heart, eyes widening in disbelief. 

you didn’t dare say anything that would disturb the peacefulness of this moment. when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you tried your best to succumb to the fatigue you felt earlier. 

and so, the both of you laid there sleeplessly, praying you’d find a way to extend the contract. at least, until either of you found the courage to put a word on your feelings. or three. 

© mimi-sunny ─ all rights reserved. do not translate, plagiarize or feed into ai.

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