Crocus

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[frknsteins]

i. heavyweight world champion ⸻ ENJIN

SYN. ordinary day, right? baker meets bruised man but it’s more then just a coincidence. everything happens for a reason or so they say, anyways.

CW. fem!reader. she/her. boxer!enjin. baker!reader. modern au. slight suggestive hints of enjin sleeping with a reporter. slight pov shift. slow start. minors dni. pet names: little dove. WC. 3.1k. slightly proofread.

NOTE. i apologize for the delay. i had it written to be a longer first chapter but decided to have that the second chapter intro. please send an ask or comment to added to taglist. must have age indicator in bio <3. first chapter is a bit slow but i promise it takes off after this 🫣😛.

please checkout full masterlist warnings here.

The rain always made the days at the bakery slow, no matter what time it was. It was like clockwork when the news alerted the city of rain. You didn’t mind it—it was more comforting to be in the bakery by yourself for once.

You had your regulars come in before the storm rolled in and a few stragglers after the crazy breakfast frenzy. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon was in all corners of the warm bakery.

The television playing where customers sat replayed highlights of a sporting event that happened last night. You briefly glance at the replay of two men in a boxing ring throwing jabs before returning to your work. It was all background noise. That’s all it was. Whoever came in there last had changed it to the sports channel and didn’t bother changing it to something else.

The noise around you didn’t bother you, it was something you blocked out from time to time especially on slow days.

But you were so caught up kneading the dough on the granite countertop, you didn’t even catch the noise of someone greeting you. Much less the ring from the entrance door to alert you of a customer.

“Excuse me?”

You furrow your brows in concentration as you separate the sourdough into sections for the custom order of loaves someone had requested.

“Excuse me?” The voice said a little louder this time, clearing their throat and ringing the service bell on the glass display case. They even went as far as squeaking the rubber duck that sat next to the bell.

“Yeah!” You say in a startled response, body jolting forward, your legs hitting the bottom cabinets.

You immediately sidestep to the sink, washing your hands and drying them quickly. You flatten out your apron and turn around. “I’m sorry. I was lost in concentration.”

The man stood across the counter, worse for wear. You try your best not to look at the way his left eye was slightly swollen, with a good bandage above his brow. You quickly avert your gaze, your fingers tapping against the ordering counter.

The blond-haired man grins, the cut on his lip reopening again. “It’s fine. I’m just needing to order two cups of coffee and two croissants.” He studies you, starting with the way your hair is parted all the way down to the way your lips twitch upward into a small half smile.

“Just black or cream and sugar?” You start to go through the motion that has become muscle memory for you.

He watches you with a small smile, leaning against the counter careful not to wince at the swelling pain coming from his ribs. “One with cream and two sugars. As for the other one, just regular,” he slips a hand into his jacket, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill. “So, has this place always been here?”

The question made your head spin. The bakery was passed down from generation to generation. You had won awards for your decorations in the baking community along with the insane amount of customers that were loyal to your craft. Everyone within a 30-mile radius has heard of your bakery.

“It’s a generational bakery. We’ve always been here,” You replied with a smile, putting lids on the coffee cups. “Are you local?”

You don’t bother watching him and his cocky smirk quirks up. If he were local you definitely hadn’t seen him around. You didn’t just sell bread but you knew not everyone had a taste for sweets. You prep his two croissants and watch him.

“I’m as local as they come. I actually attend the boxing club—“

“Oh! Corvus’s joint? I think every kid growing up around here used to sign up for lessons. Maybe we took classes together when we were kids.” You cut him excitedly, wrapping the freshly warm bread into a nice package for him.

He chuckles, taking the coffee. “I would have remembered you unless you were in the older kids division.”

You shake your head, taking the money he placed on the counter and getting the correct change to give him. “No.”

The male nods, taking the tightly packaged croissants into his big hand. You take notice of the tattoos that played peek-a-boo with you, but you didn’t miss the chance to catch a glimpse of the nasty bruised, and busted knuckles. The man must’ve had a match and by the looks of it, your brain is telling you to ask him if the other guy is still living.

You knew Corvus was a retired boxing champion himself, retiring early due to an injury and opening up a club just two doors down. It was made for the kids around the block, to come hang out, practice, do homework, or just to be away from home. And if you were really serious about joining boxing you’d get a discount starting rate and it always worked in Corvus’s favor.

Sometimes you miss the days when you’d spend your time at the club but on other days you knew it wasn’t where you belonged. You were thankful for the opportunities and still have some of the techniques in case you ever need them.

“Late bloomer?” He jokes, laughing at his own joke as he cracks yet another smile. You notice the dimples on his cheeks. He has to be the biggest flirt known to man but you weren’t that easy.

There was no denying he was cute. Easy on the eyes and his smile made a tiny piece of your heart swell. Even with the bruises on his face, he seemed like a genuine guy and it was hard to come across someone like him from time to time.

“Not going to say, stranger,” you hand him his change, fingers brushing against his warm skin. “I hope you enjoy your order. If you see Corvus tell him I said hi!” You turn off to the side, cleaning up any crumbs in your sight with the rag that was on your shoulder.

“He’s the one who sent me here. He has always talked about the girl with the big bakery but I didn’t think it was within walking distance.” He said loud enough for you to hear as he walked to the exit. He makes sure to spare a double take over at you and your figure, and the small smile that adorned your face in response to his comment.

————

Enjin entered the boxing club with a sloppy grin, coffee in his hands and the croissants perfectly balanced on the cup lids. He maneuvered through the large crowd of reporters and photographers with their large bulky cameras. To many, it was an ordinary day but to him, it felt like Christmas—a Christmas where he always got what he wanted no matter what.

He sat behind the table, the prop of his picture that showcased his winnings along with the five belts to his name as the backdrop.

Corvus swipes the coffee and the two croissants before Enjin could talk about the baker he had just recently met.

The reporters were nearly ready to interview the winner of last night's fight. Enjin was mentally preparing himself for the string of questions that would piss off his haters but he always made sure to make eye contact with the cameras—his female fans went crazy for it. He enjoyed the interviews, the press, but he didn’t enjoy answering questions with double meanings.

And so he sat there, sipping his coffee with cream and sugar, waiting for the press conference to start. Enjin was ready to relax before he went over what he had to work on with Corvus. It was a cycle he got down but still took his off days seriously.

Flashing cameras and having tapes rolling at every different angle to capture shots. Enjin really wished he had grabbed his sunglasses to avoid the flashing but he thanked the lovely baker in his head for the coffee to settle his hangover instead. His subtle nods to everything Corvus replied to were doing him a great deal. He didn’t want to talk, much less give them the attention they deserved.

The press was restless with questions. He knew there was always someone with a wicked tongue within the bunch, ready to wield their sword with sharp words.

And by the looks of it, the female who sat so patiently and quietly with her tiny notepad stuck out like a sore thumb. She was waiting for the right time to strike.

“Enjin, would you possibly do a rematch with your opponent? Rumor has it that you and he have bad blood because you slept with his girlfriend. Is this true?”

There it was. The million-dollar question. Everyone in the room froze. Cameras clicked and shuttered as he chuckled under his breath. He rolled his tongue over his teeth. His eyes landing on the reporter, her red coated nails hitting record on her device.

His manager, his team, and even Corvus sent glares in his direction. Many of them were telling him silently to ‘shut the fuck up.’

But it was Enjin, she cast the line and bait and he was dumb enough to take it.

He sat up in the chair, lowering the microphone to make sure everyone heard him address the situation. Taking a long tatted finger down his bruised nose in thought as he smiles, humming into the mic. “I did not have any sexual relations with that woman. How about we get to the real reason why you are all here today? I’m heavyweight world champion in today’s boxing society, ask me some good stuff.”

Everyone in front of him quickly scribbled his response down. Many nod and collectively roll over what next to say as the woman, who had addressed him, stared at him with a fiery look in her eyes. Enjin blew her a kiss and gave her a subtle but flirty wink before moving onto the next set of reporters.

————

Corvus stood outside of the private dressing room. Pacing back and forth as he sent away anyone that came in his direction. He knew Enjin had a tendency of getting with any woman he desired but he wasn’t thinking the man would fuck the reporter that nearly ruined his career today.

Before Corvus could knock on the door for what seemed like the hundredth time, it came swinging open. The tall brunette came out in a hazy manner, her cheeks tinted a peachy tint, as the traces of her heavy makeup was now patchy.

She strolls past him, quickly adjusting her skirt and smoothing out any possible wrinkles for anyone to notice.

“Seriously?”

Enjin glances over his shoulder, fixing the belt of his pants, the shirt he had on earlier draped over his bare shoulder. “She wanted a private interview.”

Corvus didn’t even step inside the room, one glance is all it took for him to puzzle the pieces that Enjin used every fucking surface he could get his hands on. “Did she at least sign the NDA?”

Enjin nods, pointing at the paper stack that was on the floor. If it had eyes it would be glancing over at Corvus in a silent plea to save it. Without a word, he put on his last article of clothing. A tired sigh leaves his lips as he bends down to grab the stack of papers.

“Don’t lecture me on women, Corvus.” Enjin mumbles, handing the man the stack before he walks away.

Corvus watches him take the short cut out of the gym, sighing to himself. He knew something was troubling Enjin but it wasn’t going to be easy for him to confess.

Enjin found himself crossing the streets, a freshly lit cigarette hanging low from his mouth as the cool breeze of the night made its way across the city. The city was quiet tonight, not a soul in sight, but he didn’t mind it. Sure, his face was well known but they didn’t know him. They only knew the history of how he became and where he used to spend his time.

He craved normalcy but normalcy wasn’t something easy for him to receive. A small price to pay for the privilege he has been able to afford.

So, why not find normalcy in the comfort of someone else. He knew sleeping with women would get him in trouble. A few pregnancy scares here and there. A few pep talks with Corvus and his team for him to keep it in his pants. One thing Enjin hasn’t craved in a long time is a conversation.

A simple mundane conversation with someone that didn’t know who he was and what he did in front of thousands of people watching.

He looks up at the sign hanging above the glass doors of the bakery he had stepped foot in hours ago. The lights inside were still on and he could hear music blasting past the large windows. He wasn’t sure why his feet led him back to this place.

Perhaps it was a sign for him to get to know the girl that ran the bakery. The girl that knew Corvus but didn’t know Enjin officially. He knew in the back of his mind that’s not what intrigued him. It was the way she was doing mundane things. She didn’t have a camera following her or people throwing themselves at her. She was just herself.

So Enjin did what he did best. He walked inside the bakery with a goofy smile on his face.

You peek your head out from behind the wall that separated the kitchen and display cases. Eyes narrowing in on the tall stranger that stood awkwardly at the entrance. The same tall stranger you easily recognized from this morning. Surely, he didn’t need anything, you were currently baking the largest order before fall started.

“No smoking.” You shake your head, blinking at the dying out cigarette hanging from his lips.

You watch the man panic, scrambling to put out the cigarette by hanging halfway out of the building, taking one of his boots to stomp out the cherry.

Sorry about that,” he recollects himself with a sigh, stepping inside of the bakery finally. He takes a glance over at you and the way you were covered in flour from head to toe. The bakery smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon this time. It made his heart swell with warmth. “So…do you mind if I chill here for a second?”

You look at the clock hanging above your kitchen door entrance. “Just for a few unless you want to help me.”

He raised a brow. “H-help you?”

“Yeah. It’s past my opening hours. You're here willingly. You either sit and twiddle your thumbs or help me. It’s simple and I pay in treats.” You explained, placing a hand on your apron covered hip.

Enjin couldn’t help but smirk. Thinking about the consequences but he also didn’t know you—you didn’t know him. He was practically another man in your eyes. He takes off his jacket, setting it down on a barstool. “Where do you want me?”

You nearly froze at the sight of him. The tattoos and how well they were intricately inked along his skin. You let out a shaky sigh, averting your gaze and grabbing the rolling equipment from off of the counter. “Follow me.”

He ducks his head, making sure not to hit the beam of the kitchen entrance. The smell of cinnamon was even stronger, the music louder, and he didn’t have time to skim the large kitchen when he was suddenly surrounded by older women.

Two older women came prancing over, wide eyed and smiling. “Oh! Our lovely dove brought us some help!” One of them squealed, grabbing Enjin by his thick bicep.

You snorted, letting out a little sigh of satisfaction. Placing the kitchenware on your marble counter top, you turn back around to watch the women crowd him. All of them talking at once, many of them were old enough to be his grandmother but that doesn’t stop them from being flirty.

“The little dove not only brought us help but she also brought us eye candy.”

You snickered, covering your mouth to hold in the laughter. You make brief eye contact with him, giving him a shrug before grabbing the order you were working on.

Enjin chuckles nervously, watching you for a second before turning his attention to the older women around him. They were handsy but he didn’t mind, they complimented his tattoos and grew worried about the bruises that were visible on his face. For a second, he forgot that he was helping the baker he had met this morning—not being cornered by a group of curious seniors.

“And what’s your name, young man? You have to be the same age as my great grandson!”

Enjin’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Looking at the woman who had spoken to him, she was next to the baker, helping you prep a large amount of dough. The rest of the women pat his chest before making their way back to their stations. He watches them with a small smile of content. “Please call me Enjin.”

You look over your shoulder, “Like the car engine?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking off of the side as he shrugged. “Yeah and what’s yours?”

You study him, your hair parted down out from the braid you had in, causing parts of your hair to frame your hair perfectly. You adjust some of your hair with your shoulder, looking at him through your lashes. You tell him your name softly, a small shy smile following afterwards.

He walks over to where you stood, finally free from the curiosity that surrounded him. He lets you instruct him on washing his hands, not missing the way your eyes land on the small cuts over his knuckles. “They’re fresh. Will that be an issue?”

“We have gloves for you. You’ll just be scooping flour out for us. Some of the ladies can’t do it and I have to finish this order before tomorrow,” You toss him a pair of gloves, your free hand carefully draping an apron over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Enjin.” You watch him tie the apron around his waist, your eyes scanning his body before meeting his eyes.

“Yes?”

Your body sends a shiver down your spine, his voice making you nearly sway closer towards him. “You have lipstick on your neck.” You giggle, taking two of your own fingers and placing it on your own neck, mimicking the spot on his.

His hands flew to his neck, closing his eyes as he sighs through his nose. “Shit.”

[frknsteins]

taglist: @windywooshes @hanmastattoos @spidermanluvr444

[apiaoi1]

Mornings

CW: established relationship, enjin

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟

Mornings with Enjin were always loud in some way, even if he was still half-asleep. He’d stumble into the room with his hair sticking up everywhere, rubbing his eyes and yawning like he hadn’t slept at all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled when he caught you smiling. Then, with a crooked grin: “What? You fallin’ in love all over again ‘cause I look this good first thing in the morning?”

Breakfast wasn’t much better. He’d shove something random onto your plate with a straight face, like it was a grand gesture. “Eat it. It’s gourmet, trust me.” If you raised a brow at the mess of food, he’d laugh and steal a bite of yours instead. “See? Mine’s better anyway.”

He liked to tease, constantly. If you tripped, he was the first to laugh. “Careful, gonna have to start holdin’ your hand everywhere.” If you zoned out, he’d lean close, snap his fingers in front of your face and smirk. “Earth to you—don’t tell me I’m that boring.”

But he wasn’t mean about it. He always waited for your comeback, thrived on the way you pushed back. And when you did, when you caught him off guard with a sharp remark of your own, he’d tilt his head and grin like you’d just made his whole day.

Afternoons were full of little moments. Sometimes he’d walk with you, hands tucked behind his head, telling dumb stories that might’ve been true or might’ve been completely made up. Other times, he’d find excuses to lean against you, an arm slung over your shoulder, a bump of his hip into yours, its always casual, always brushed off with a smirk.

“You’re too easy to mess with,” he said once, after sneaking up behind you and making you jump. He was still laughing when you smacked his arm. “Relax, I’m just keepin’ you on your toes.”

Evenings, though, that’s when he got softer. He’d stretch out beside you, staring up at the sky, quiet for once. Then, just when you thought he’d fallen asleep, he’d mutter something out of nowhere.

“You ever think about how weird it is? Us. Here.” He glanced at you, lips twitching into a crooked smile. “Don’t answer that. I’ll just assume you think it’s fate or somethin’.”

When the night got colder, he’d tug his jacket off and toss it into your lap without looking. “Don’t argue. Just take it. You’ll thank me when you’re not shivering.” And when you thanked him anyway, he’d snort. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

But you saw it, the way his gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary, the way his teasing always softened around the edges when it was just you.

And when you laughed, he’d laugh too, shaking his head like you were ridiculous. “You’re trouble, y’know that? The good kind.”

That was Enjin with you; cocky, silly, full of teasing remarks. But under all of it, softer than he’d ever admit.

Taking advantge of having fun writing before Iget writers block 🫩

[dhazefawn]

˚୨୧⋆.˚ “DISINFECTANT” FT. ‘ENJIN’ ! ─── 0.8k wc, mentions of blood, bodily harm 𖬺𖬺 injuries, canon-compliant 𖬺𖬺 spoiler free, tooth rotting fluff, denial of feelings, proximity, mutual pining, hurt/comfort.

notes from fawn ୭ৎ i’ve been binge watching gachiakuta today and i fell in love with this man. his constant love ’n care for others. he needs some time to rest and feel loved ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡ a bit different from what i usually post, but i wanted to switch it up! edit: here’s part one of your bday gift @yuunarii-arii (⁠･ั⁠ω⁠･ั⁠)

The smell of disinfectant felt too heavy—biting your sense of smell as you tried to focus on the man in front of you.

Enjin sat on the edge of your bed, his usual composed posture slightly slouched from exhaustion. His eyes tracked your every movement as you gathered supplies from your desk drawer.

You’re sat next to him now, only a small space between the two of you. He seems eager to close it, inching towards you minute by minute—his knee brushing yours, fingers drumming restlessly against the mattress. You pretend it doesn’t affect you—hands slightly shaking, cheeks warm, something akin to butterflies in your stomach—focus.

You can’t figure out why he’d sneak into your room during the early morning hours. You opened the door, searching for a moment of rest and there he was—dried blood on his face, a gash on his arm and hair as perfectly messy as it always is—curse him.

It’s not like you were asleep, walking aimlessly through the headquarters hallways, waiting for something—someone. A few cleaners met your eyes with strange, almost knowing looks, as if they understood something you didn’t.

You asked Semiu when Enjin would be back from his mission, and all she did was smirk and tell you ‘soon,’ before turning the tables on you and questioning why you were so interested in Enjin’s whereabouts.

That damn smirk didn’t leave her face. It got even worse when you said something ridiculous about being worried about him. Then she smiled, as if she was expecting it.

(You cared about him, of course.

Idiot got himself hurt on a mission.

That’s all.)

When did he even get into your room? Why did he choose your room? You’re not even a healer like Eishia—and surely you don’t have the delicate touch he seeks from others.

(You wish he did seek you out.)

“Look at you,” you tut, still not looking him in the eye, “sneaking into my room looking like a kicked puppy.”

In your defense, he did look like a kicked puppy. His eyes met yours as soon as you walked in and only after a second of silence he opened up his mouth and started to talk your ear off—rambling about the mission, about how it wasn’t as bad as it looked, about how he knew you’d still be awake.

Enjin laughs, as if it’s funny. As if the gashes on his arm are hilarious. His free hand reaches up to touch the dried blood on his cheek, smearing it slightly. You push the cloth wet with disinfectant a bit harder into his skin than necessary.

A small whine leaves his lips and you can feel the pout he’s giving you right now without even looking.

(Bastard, seeking out your forgiveness.

He wants you soft and warm in his hands.)

“Okay, okay! Go a little easy on me.” His voice carries that familiar teasing lilt, but there's something underneath it—you’re afraid of what it might be.

“After this stunt you pulled? I don’t think so.” You finally meet his gaze, and immediately regret it. Those eyes are too knowing, too gentle for someone who just stumbled in bleeding.

His hand covers yours, stilling your movements. “Hey.” His voice drops lower, more serious. “I’m okay.”

The sincerity in his tone makes your chest tight. You want to pull away, to maintain some distance, but his thumb traces over your knuckles and you’re rooted to the spot.

“You could have gone to Eishia,” you murmur, focusing on cleaning the cut rather than the way he’s looking at you. “She actually knows what she’s doing.”

“Maybe.” He shifts closer, and now his shoulder is pressed against yours. “But I wanted to come here.”

Your breath catches. “Why?”

Enjin is quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to where your hands are still connected. When he speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper. “Because you’re the only one who waits up for me.”

The admission hangs in the air between you. You feel your cheeks burn, and you know he notices—he always notices everything about you.

“That’s not—I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His other hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your heated skin. “And I’m glad you were.”

Before you can protest or deflect, he leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. Close enough that you can see the exhaustion in his eyes, the relief at being back, the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious.

(Seeing him relaxed is so rare, so precious.

He never gives himself the moment to just slow down.

It’s a sight you wish you could bottle up and keep it with you and him forever.)

“Let me finish patching you up,” you whisper, but you don’t pull away from his touch.

“In a minute,” he murmurs back, and his eyes flutter closed. “Just let me stay like this for a minute.”

So you do. You let him hold you in the quiet of your room, disinfectant and all, while the early morning light creeps through your window. And when he finally lets you tend to his wounds properly, his hand never leaves your knee—a reminder that he chose to come to you.

۶ৎ [ dhazefawn ಇ. ] + don’t repost, copy or use my work for ai.

[frknsteins]

cigarettes, lace, and headlines ⸻ ENJIN

synopsis. you’re just a baker in a well known community two doors down from the biggest boxing club. you’re not made to be next to someone who is made for the spotlight. you enjoy your quiet little life but you enjoy it more when you’re with him—the undefeated boxing champion

content warnings. fem!reader. baker!reader. she/her. reader has a personality. boxer!enjin. age gap (reader is early twenties and enjin is early thirties). long fic series. angst. drug use implied. alcoholism. dark content. modern au. pov switches. nsfw mentioned. cheating. slight descriptions of boxing matches. toxicity. minors dni. more TBA.

pairings. baker!reader. boxer!enjin. worldwide known x modern.

word count. …..

taglist. OPEN

authors note. boxing has always been a favorite sport of mine to watch growing up. after the canelo vs crawford fight i decided to outline and start to work on a boxer!enjin inspired long series. this is a dark content series that includes heavy topics. i ask that your age is visible in your bio/tags/navi etc. 18+ only. slow updates. each chapter will be long. yes, there will be plot. there will be build up.

CHAPTER TITLES TBA.

[augustinewrites]

in the years that you've known navia, you've come to know her as an extremely capable detective. not one stone goes unturned in her search for clues or answers— which she always gets.

this particular skill set makes her an extremely terrifying gossip.

so normally you'd be thrilled to meet her for your weekly tea, during which she shares the surprising secrets and hidden motives she's unearthed around fontaine.

until it's your turn under her magnifying glass.

"so how long have you been secretly bedding duke wriothesley?"

"archons, navia." you whisper harshly, glancing around the cafe to make sure no one heard. "you can't just say things like that!"

"what? it's just an innocent question!" she defends, though that spark in her eyes is anything but.

"do you have to ask when half of fontaine is within earshot?"

"better clear the air while they're all listening then," she teases, tapping her ear. "because i heard it from clorinde, who heard it from the traveler, who heard it from sigewinne, who said she heard the two of you—"

just when you're starting to feel like you need a lawyer present, the barista calls next, granting you a much needed path of escape.

"hi," you start, ignoring navia's protests. "i'll have—"

"vanilla latte," a familiar voice finishes next to you. you can practically hear the smirk on wriothesley's lips.

"yes," you confirm. "and an—"

"almond croissant," he finishes proudly, lik he's aced some sort of test. "the order's on me."

"oh no," you argue, defiance jumping as he pulls out his wallet. "i have my own money."

he nudges your hand aside. "i'm sure you do, but i want to use mine."

you push back, resisting the urge to roll your eyes when he interlocks his pinky with yours. "well i don't want you to."

"stubborn," he tuts, dipping his head down and angling his broad, sturdy frame toward you. "do you want me to beg? i know you love it when i'm down on my knees in front of you."

your face is suddenly hot. at the memory of the last time he'd been on his knees, and with embarassment when navia makes an amused noise behind you.

"fine," you huff, hoping you don't look as flustered as you feel as you pull your hand away. you don't want to draw anymore attention than you already have, and having the fortress of meriopide's warden on his knees in front of you is something you're sure you'll never recover from. "then i'll take one of every pastry you have today, please."

the barista looks at wriothesley, who's beaming as if he's just won a round in the ring. "fine with me."

once you have the absurd amount of pastries boxed up in your arms — you can already hear the children's squeals when you return to the house of the hearth — you step away with wriothesley, who looks extremely pleased with himself.

"you didn't order anything for yourself." you state, confused.

he simply shrugs, nonchalant as he tells you, "oh, i didn't want anything. i just came to see you."

---

a few days later finds you throwing wriothesley's bedroom door open, this week's copy of the steambird in your clenched fist.

"wriothesley!"

"un instant, mademoiselle!" he calls, voice muffled through the bathroom door.

so you direct your glare down at the picture of the two of you splashed across the front page in the meantime. this wasn't how everyone was supposed to find out about this thing that wasn't really a thing yet.

"we're in the paper!" you tell him, pacing the floor of his bedroom. "there are pictures of us under the headline 'duke wriothesley: finally tamed?' navia is even listed here as a source! she gets her information from clorinde who gets it from the traveler who gets it from sigewinne--"

"headline's not wrong."

wriothesley is leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but a towel that's hanging dangerously low on his hips. the whole bulk of him practically fills the space and it's making your head spin.

"what, are you done already?" he asks. "can't ogle me and yell at the same time?"

your mouth snaps shut as you jerk your head to the side. not so much out of embarrassment for being caught staring, but more out of reckless panic. "can you put some clothes on please?"

he makes no move to do so, looking extremely pleased with himself. "you wanted to talk, right? so let's talk."

he takes a step toward you, and you fight the instinct to take one back, wanting to stand your ground. "stop it! you're trying to distract me! we're trying to keep this a secret, you can't just show up at the cafe and--"

"i didn't just show up," he defends. "i fully own that i followed you there. i just wanted to see you and pay for your coffee."

"why?"

"because that's what good boyfriends do."

you shake your head. "you're not my boyfriend."

"really? because i sure felt like your boyfriend when you were making out with me in my office the other night..."

"wriothesley!" you're horrified that he's said that out loud. the corner of his mouth quirks, a look you recognize as satisfied.

no matter where you are in the fortress, the duke always finds a way to intercept you, tucking the two of you into places out of sight. there aren't many, with inmates and guards covering almost every inch of the place. last night you'd had your hands all over each other before the door of his office could even swing shut.

a hand comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. when had he gotten so close?

"hey, i'm sorry," he murmurs, lips brushing your forehead. "until you're ready, we don't have to be seen together in public anymore. i'll work my contacts at the steambird, get this article pulled."

"thank you," you sigh, leaning into him. "wriothesley, you're not my dirty secret and i never want you to think that. i just...i like what we are right now. and if father finds out..."

"and i'm happy to wait."

in the soft candlelight of his room, the world around you falls away. here, you're not worried what everyone thinks of you. all you can focus on are his eyes are fixed on yours, the corner of his mouth curving upward, and his hand smoothing over the small of your back as he pulls you in.

his towel falls before his lips can touch yours.

you look down, not entirely hating what you see as the duke watches your reaction, smug satisfaction written all over his face.

"stuff of fantasies, huh?"

[strwberri-milk]

Crashed on Shore

AO3 || Rafayel x Reader || Nightmare Comfort || 1, 552 words

a/n: this is totally based off of fragrant dream tender moments audio but instead you guys are acc dating [early relationship] so rafayel can shower you in kisses and share a bed w you romantically not platonically ty

It was just a bottle of perfume - there's no reason it should be stirring up all these emotions in you.

Rafayel is anxious.

He knows that you’re busy, that sometimes, you can’t reply to his messages as quickly as he hopes you could or that you’ve got other things on your mind. The two of you are still figuring out what it means to be with each other and how to communicate your needs and wants. Rafayel knows he’s told you time and time again that he hates waiting, pouting and whining whenever you take too long to give him his long-awaited attention.

He knows you got his package because you opened his message and sent him a picture of you with the bottle of perfume, thanking him for the gift and telling him you were tired and needed to go to bed. He let you go with a goodnight message of his own.

You typically awake before him, texting him good morning or sending him a picture of your breakfast. Something would prove you were still alive and his erratic heartbeat would calm once again. He tries instead to distract himself with his work, ignoring how many times he has to stop his mind from wandering over to you and what you could have been doing.

He ignores the fact that right now, he’s haphazardly looking through his things to find that spare key you gave him under the pretense that it’d help soothe his separation anxiety (that he swears he doesn’t have) and grabbing his keys to dive over to your place. It’s been a day and a half now and you didn’t tell him that you had a mission and you normally would have picked up one of his calls by now. He pats himself on the back for driving safe despite how worried he is for you, knowing that he can use it to lord over your head if you scold him for getting to your place so quickly when he confronts you for driving him up a wall with worry.

Pretending to be calm, he rings the bell to your apartment. He’s going to be patient, crossing his arms and fiddling w the keys in his hand. He’s thinking up ways to scold you, how he’s going to get you now for not listening to him but when all that meets him is a deafening silence his demeanour really drops. He practically forces his way in, unlocking your door and seeing your shoes still just sat by the door unmoved.

Quickly, he makes his way to your bedroom and heaves a sigh of relief when he sees you’re asleep. The rise and fall of your chest as you’re curled around a pillow is slightly less noticeable. When he brushes back your bangs to look at your face, he’s glad to see nothing’s wrong.

“Stupid. Got me all worked up for nothing,” he scolds you quietly, intending to lean over to give your forehead a kiss right as your brows furrow.

He expects to see the lines smooth out but when you start to mutter something under your breath that he can’t make out he feels a wave of anxiety begin to crash down on him. You begin to look more and more distressed. You already tend not to sleep easily from how busy your days are and he can barely manage to put you down to rest so he’s conflicted about waking you up but when he sees tears slipping down your cheeks as you start to thrash, he decides he doesn’t have a choice.

You don’t notice any of this is happening. Your mind spins as you try to make sense of all the “memories” fragmenting in your mind. You can feel Rafayel’s arms around your body, the way he’s trying to reassure that it’s okay but you can’t think straight as you watch him disappear. You reach out desperately to grab him, hand tightly squeezing around a quickly dissipating arm and shout for him, not expecting to grab something solid. You’re relieved – maybe he won’t disappear now – but suddenly you feel your arms being pinned to your sides.

“Rafayel?” you ask hoarsely, unsure why he looks so flush and why your throat hurts so much.

Your eyes struggle to adjust to the light in your room, slowly coming to your senses as you realise you had been just having a horrible dream. The fight leaves your body as you slump into your bed a little more. It takes you a second to catch your breath and you wait to see if Rafayel will say anything to you.

“You’re a lot stronger than I thought you’d be asleep. You hit me so hard I thought I’d black out. I guess that’s why you’re a hunter, huh?” he says casually.

If you didn’t know him better you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes keep roaming over your body. His grip holds your wrists securely and he lets go of one hand to gently brush a knuckle against your cheek.

“You’re crying. What happened?” he asks softly after a minute, cupping your face in his palm. Your hand comes up to validate his observation, laughing shakily.

“I had a nightmare. I guess it just shook me up more than I thought.”

You’re about to tell him about it when it hits you. Rafayel basically died in your dream, leaving you all alone after trying to reverse whatever it was that happened to the you in your dream. He gave himself up for your life. Your breathing begins to pick up again and your tears begin to shed anew, making him panic again.

“I’m sorry – I’ll never ask about your dreams again. It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here,” he tries to soothe, not knowing what to do since he’s never seen you cry before.

He sits you up, pulling you into his lap easily and hugging you tightly to his chest. Your face buries itself in his neck, arms wrapping around his shoulder and as you cry harder. You can feel the reassuring warmth of his palm against your back, his voice trying to calm you down and ground you. Your nails dig into his skin almost painfully, Rafayel holding back his tongue. He can tell you need this and he’s glad you’re being this vulnerable around him, rocking back and forth gently until you slowly start to calm yourself.

“How’d you know to come?”

“You didn’t reply to any of my messages. Surely that’s more than enough reason to come and make sure you’re alright.”

The words that would normally have a bit of his good-natured bite seem softer than usual, you hiccupping a little in response from how hard you were crying. You try to wipe away your tears but he stops you again, wiping them away for you and laying the two of you back on your bed.

“Do you want to give it another shot? Try to tell me what happened.”

You try again to explain to him what happened, choking a little on the end that put you in distress in the first place. He listens attentively, body stiffening as he processes why you were so upset. Before you can start to cry again, he simply holds you tighter, shaking his head as you take a deep breath of him.

“I’m flattered you care about me that much but next time don’t try to break my arms in an attempt to rescue me. I think you’d end up doing more harm than good.”

You feel yourself growing a little embarrassed, covering your face with your hands. The two of you haven’t been official for long and you’re flustered. To admit in such a dramatic way that he’s already become such an integral part of your being that the thought of losing him makes you this frantic is humbling to say the least and you sigh.

“Honestly, it felt so real. I was so afraid I lost you and the dread that I felt was just…”

Rafayel places a feather light kiss on your cheek, breaking you out of your stupor. You feel him press more and more, stopping when your eyes finally meet his. A hand on your waist squeezes you gently.

“Did you feel that?” he asks you, smiling softly when you nod.

“It was just a bad dream. I’d never leave you like that,” he mutters against your lips, stealing your breath in such an affectionate kiss that it makes your mind melt.

“You couldn’t have slept well like that and you still look tired. You can go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up, I promise.”

Your grip on his body tightens and you look at him hopefully, Rafayel laughing as he finally manages to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, I’ll stay despite my incredibly busy schedule. You’re the only one who can ask such things of me.”

You hum happily, nuzzling your face in the space between his neck and shoulder. You can feel sleep coming back to claim you, Rafayel’s hold on your body continuing to ground you. He continues to press kisses to your face affectionately, thumb rubbing circles on your skin as he waits for you to fall asleep.

If you listen closely, you could hear him humming a familiar tune, lulling you back to sleep with promises of forever.  

[augustinewrites]

“you’re an idiot.”

“really, doc? you’re gonna insult me after i came all this way to see you?”

you pause what you’re doing to stare down at wriothesley with a wholly unimpressed look. “you were wheeled in on a stretcher.”

(he’d even come in shirtless, one hand resting behind his head all laid out like a fontanian model in a clothing campaign.)

he dismisses the fact with a wave of his good hand, tsking. “only because sigewinne threatened to tranq me if i didn’t get on!”

you know for a fact that the head nurse is still stationed outside the infirmary in case his grace tries to leave without staying for overnight observation.

“she should have done it anyway,” you hum, taking his wrist and using it to carefully position his arm at his side. you nod at the nurse across from you holding the band to keep him steady. “deep breath now, your grace.”

wriothesley draws a breath and releases it quickly, grinning up at you. “so, what are you— fuck!”

“get him a sling,” you instruct, stifling a laugh as you let go of his arm and step back. “i’ll get him an ice pack.”

the two of you move around the infirmary, quickly gathering supplies as the duke lets loose a string of expletives that would make sigewinne faint.

it’s quite entertaining to see the duke pout, holding a heart-patterned ice pack to his shoulder. “i think i deserve a kiss for that.”

“a kiss is going to help with shoulder pain?”

“duh.”

this time, you don’t stifle your laughter as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips.

you pull a sticker from your pocket, pressing it to his waiting lips. “you were a very brave boy.”

his pucker turns into a pout as he uses his good hand to take the sticker off, sticking it to his discarded gauntlets. he looks more like a puppy than a wolf in this state.

with the worst of it out of the way, you begin tending to any scrapes or bruises.

it should be simple, but wriothesley doesn’t make it easy. he flexes playfully whenever your fingertips brush his biceps. insists on holding your hand when the antiseptic touches his wounds.

“okay, you’re all done,” you tell him, peeling off your gloves and tossing them into the bin. “but you will have to stay overnight so we can monitor you for any concussion symptoms.”

his brows raise as he clicks his tongue, smirking. “oh? are you asking me on a date?”

“no,” you say, tucking your clipboard under your arm. “i’m doing my due diligence as your physician.”

“but it’ll just be me and you and this very romantic lighting…”

“it’s dim light because someone keeps forgetting to put in the order for new ones.”

“they’re dim? hm, i didn’t notice. how could i when your smile lights up the room?”

you roll your eyes when he winks, but can’t help the heat you feel spreading across your face. “if you keep this up, i’ll have sigewinne and her tranquilizer gun stay overnight with you instead.”

“if i stop and you stay, will you at least have tea with me?” he asks, a hopeful glimmer in his eye.

“fine, i’ll stay. but only if i get to pick the tea,” you tell him, pulling a chair to the side of his bed and shedding your lab coat to get comfortable. “you’re especially insufferable when you’re injured, aren’t you?”

he reaches out and pulls the chair closer, so you’re sitting between his knees. “and yet, you’re finally succumbing to the temptation of my rock hard abs and winning personality.”

“no,” you deny, but you’d be lying if you said being this close to his spectacularly toned torso wasn’t doing…things to you. “it’s because you have liyue imported tea.”

“yeah,” he says, flashing you a charming, sinful smile that makes the fine hairs on the back of your neck raise, threatening to shatter your resolve. “if you say so.”

[windywooshes]

Kaveh x Reader

Trigger and content warning: mention of metaphorical death; burn out and hints of depression

It's a bit self-indulgent and a downer, so I apologise if it’s not that fun to read. I still want to write a more cute Ayato fic which is carrying dust in my folder. Gender neutral pronouns are used.

„I died.“

„I am long dead.“

Was the first thing that ringed through that tired individual in front of him. Their eyes empty, eyebags heavy, shoulders slumped.

As if the world was carried on them. As if breathing without purpose, standing without stable grounding. Choking on water while on plain road, bubbles rising and plopping one after the other to create a shower of despair one could only drown in.

His lover died; quiet recently much in contrast to what they believed in. Kaveh saw it with his own rubellite gems, orbs dimming with each new return home, with each new arrival into their shared chambers. His beloved hollow, much like him. Yet he was still hanging in, he was still holding up while his loved one snapped from the rope which was securing their wobbling feet on the trapeze of life. Falling. Swallowed. Whole.

They have died that day when the burden was too much of the talent which they were gifted with, which brought them misery over the years. Constant disappointment and fighting for survival. The passion which once rung through them and lighted their path, deminished with the flick of the first words of their professor. The hopes and dreams slowly pulled apart once the feet started to stray from a concrete path to take, no idea where to go, what to do with that love they once held for the hobby they polished so tenderly at their budding time as a flower.

This flower did not survive long. Destroyed by the harsh winter of critique and self doubt. Burried under the snow of helplessness. Lost in the white storm called life and adulthood. The competition leaving it freezing to a breaking point.

Kaveh saw them die recently as they broke down one evening, not able to explain; not needing to explain. But he caught them as they had caught him before at his lowest. At his days when he was dying out of thirst in the savana of life. In the dunes which scorched his heart to crisp by loneliness. The harsh sumeran summer which almost devoured him whole when everything he had left was stripped from him.

Their cold hands already reaching out to cool his head full of hatred for himself, to swell the burning in his heart. Balancing. Tending. Cooling.

So it was. So it will. Kaveh was the summer to their winter. And as he was saved and resurrected a phoenix by their hands, he was now as well tending back the liege of ice back onto their feet so they could dance around the campfire once more as in the fairytales described.

They have started a new life; quiet recently in fact.

And he would do anything to cling onto it this time, with them. Both healing. It was a painful time to see your passion diminish before you but it was not a lonely one. Both, rising back to glory and humble life as they were reborn once more to walk their new life together with entwined fates and hands.

[generalsmemories]

Look at me

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: i just wanted to make him jealous.

✧ content: established relationship, fluff, humor, jealousy, most certainly a bit ooc, mentions of other characters

✧ a/n: there's just something about generally calm characters losing their absoute shit that i find endearing. this is the only reason why i put ooc because he is not calm - there's no: let's talk it like adults cause i wanted to go the opposite route.

Jing Yuan doesn’t see himself as a jealous person. He wholeheartedly believes that he doesn’t have time to be jealous. Between daily sparring sessions with Yanqing, meetings with the various commissions that reside within the Luofu and other matters he’s rather appreciative over the fact that you still stay with him, given how little time you two spend together after all.

Jing Yuan is not a jealous person.

But he’s oh so curious why you’ve suddenly decided to adorn a neck scarf on the day that the automatic weather has decided would be a rather hot day abroad the Luofu today. When he first saw it on your neck when you walked out of the bathroom that morning, you had merely waved him off with the mere explanation of: “A change in everyday attire wouldn’t hurt anyone, would it?” but still scurried away when he wanted to adjust it.

Jing Yuan wants to remind everyone that he is not a jealous person.

But his eyes narrow a tiny bit when he spots you having a chat with the traveling merchant Luocha at one of the many cafés present at the Exalting Sanctum. The two of you were sitting by a small corner with a parasol shielding you from the sun beaming down at you. Your shoulders are sunken in a relaxed state and there’s a smile grazing your lips. Jing Yuan decides to situate himself at a floor above the two of you, hidden away in plain sight but still able to observe the two of you.

He would like to reiterate that he has had his eyes on Luocha for quite a while too, so this was most certainly just because he wanted to see events that would unfold and hopefully see more sides of this secretive merchant.

He was not spying.

But his fingers stop tapping away on the table in front of him when he sees Luocha reach over the table with a handkerchief and wipe some sweat away close to your neck. You have made no move to pull away when the material made contact with your skin, merely giving a close eyed smile in thanks. 

And yet you didn’t even allow him to come close to your neck this morning.

The general hums, propping his right elbow on the railing and resting his cheek on the same hand, shamefully glancing down to where the two of you are sitting to make his presence known. Feeling the eyes boring into his skull, Luocha glances back to make eye contact with the general, quickly looking back at you and muttering a few words. Upon hearing that, you merely heave a sigh and stand up from your chair, bidding Luocha goodbye.

But you didn’t spare your own lover a glance of acknowledgement even. How harsh.

“Not jealous, not jealous,” Jing Yuan finds himself muttering as he walks down the corridor of the Realm keeping commission. When he had inquired Qingzu about your whereabouts, she said that you mentioned taking a trip into the archives for unknown reasons.

When he spots an open door, he glances inside to see your back facing him. Upon glancing over the sign hanging over the door,, he realizes that this is one of the few archives only accessible to a few people, you and him being one of them. It seems you were engrossed in the books content, not having noticed him even stepping foot inside the room.

Jing Yuan thought that upon being in your space again the gnawing feeling inside his chest would disappear. Yet he finds his mood growing worse when he sees you brush your hand behind your neck and he catches a glimpse of the same neck scarf you had previously tied on this morning.

He cannot believe that the ugly feeling in his chest was caused by a scarf.

Trying to calm himself proved to be futile, because he realized that you weren’t scanning over text, rather looking over an old album you had stored away here. Jing Yuan realizes immediately what you’re looking at, or rather who you’re looking at.

And maybe it’s how you have barely paid attention to him today.

Or maybe it’s the way you’ve spent more time with Luocha than him today.

Maybe it’s because of that stupid neck scarf on a hot summer day and the fact he knows you’re hiding something that caused him to behave like this.

But Jing Yuan finds himself taking two large steps towards you before he can stop himself, his left arm worming itself around your waist while he swings his right arm over your front, fingers grasping the knot you had tied at the front and pulling off the scarf you had tied this morning. 

His sudden appearance makes you yelp in shock, the book dropping from your hands and the few pictures that you had pulled out of their film paper dropping down to the floor. Jing Yuan glances down at the photo taken, noticing a particular person that has long since disappeared from your life staring back at him with a small smile, “... Me."

“... Look only at me,” he ends up whispering in a muffled tone, having buried his face into the back of your head in growing shame from this childish behaviour of his.

Your eyebrows furrow, turning your head to look at him in confusion, which in turn exposes your neck to Jing Yuan’s eyes. His visible eye widening in shock upon seeing the dark marks littered over your neck and all rationality seems to leave his mind as he spins you around before pinning you to the bookshelf. His thumb and pointer finger squish your cheek together before forcing you to look directly into his own eyes, “Why do you have those marks on your neck?”

He sees clear confusion in your eyes, but before you can try to form any words Jing Yuan is already leaning in to press his lips against your neck. You’re still pretty shocked, and don’t register what’s happening before you feel a sharp pain in your neck, “You idiot- That hurts!” you groan, shoving him away from you while grasping your neck. Jing Yuan doesn’t stumble far back, swiping his tongue over his lips to get rid of the little bit of blood on them.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you ask, covering the wound with a hand to prevent the blood from leaking down to your clothing and Jing Yuan shrugs, “Oh I don’t know dear, you can’t possibly punish me when seeing my own lover covered with hickeys like this on their neck and acting all suspicious the entire day?” 

You blink. Once, twice before letting out a disbelieved laugh.

“You.” you press your index finger down hard on his chest numerous times, “Made these.” and then you point at your neck.

It’s Jing Yuan’s turn to be dumbfounded. 

“I-” you start with a laugh, “Cannot believe you don’t remember a damn thing from yesterday, were you that drunk?”

Jing Yuan vaguely remembers drinking that night out of boredom. And then flashes of your sweaty body flash through his brain and he blinks at the discovery of what his half drunken self had done the previous night.

“But you didn’t even let me look at-” 

“Because usually, you would want to make more of them the moment you first see them after such an evening?” you point out before he can even finish his question, “Your meeting with Luocha-”

“I told you the same day this happened that I would be meeting him to discuss some matters.”

“Oh.”

You sigh, taking a step towards him to wrap your arms around his neck, Jing Yuan turning his head away from you in shame when you grin up at him, “Not that I find the thought that even after hundreds of years I can still make you jealous hot. But it has also been hundreds of years, surely you can stop acting like when we first started dating and ask me directly? Instead of lurking around me all day like a kicked cat or make yourself look a lot creepier to merchants.” 

Jing Yuan only grumbles, arms snaking around your waist and dipping his head down to rest on your shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re taking care of the chores for the rest of the week.”

[generalsmemories]

[ Request ] It's a rainy day out.. what do Jing yuan & the reader usually do in this weather?

This could be HCs or a drabble ( Please make it the fluff genre )

Thank you! :) ( LOVE YOUR JING YUAN LAYOUT BTW )

the pitter patter of the rain

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: under the gentle sound of rain there's only you and jing yuan... along with mimi of course.

✧ content: established relationship & fluff

✧ a/n: guess who absolutely lost it upon hearing this man speak in the special program for 1.2? yes. it was me. so here we are. i bring forth a gentle fluffy piece today. and EEE THANK YOU! THE HEADER ONLY TOOK ME LIKE 20 MINUTES BUT IM GLAD IT'S TO YOUR LIKING ANON !!!

Jing Yuan loved when the weather in Xianzhou were set to become rainy throughout the entire day. It would mean a certain set of events were more than certainly bound to happen.

He would be able to avoid being at the Divine of Foresight and doing paperwork with easy accesibility for everyone else to come and find him, because no one likes to travel back and forth in the rain.

He could stay home when he negotiaties the terms with both Qingzu and the other commissioners on a set amount of papers he has to look through to further advance the Xianzhou.

He would have your undivided attention (if he manages to shoo both Yanqing and Mimi away) because you too, liked to stay inside when it rained.

And as he expected, the first and second point came to pass without any trouble, but as he slid the door open announcing that he was home, he was met with silence. He was sure that the rain wouldn't stop Yanqing from traveling to the training grounds and continuing to swing his sword, to which was proven true when he noticed that Yanqings' shoes were missing from the entryway. As Jing Yuan ventured further inside the house, he was able to hear the gentle breeze rustle through the curtains, the wind chimes loudly ringing from the added wind from the pouring rain.

And outside laying on the wooden floor of the veranda while gazing out towards the koi pond in the garden were you. You were just out of reach from the splattering raindrops to hit you, but close enough to hear the rain hit the rocks, roof and pond. You were also clearly awake, Jing Yuan could tell by the hand that is threading through Mimi's mane whose head was resting on top of your stomach, while the upper body was covering your lower half like a blanket.

Truly a serene view, but his third point had yet come to pass because you hadn't even greeted him home.

Which meant that your attention was solely on Mimi and the splattering of rain hitting the ground or pond in front of you. But not him.

So with a small chuckle he made his way over to you, "It's quite saddening to be met with silence when I announce my early return home, you know?" Jing Yuan tells you when he's within earshot, you merely turn your gaze away from the pond to stare at him, eyes crinkling as you give him a smile, "Welcome home, Jing Yuan," you say with a grin, "Although I knew you would come home early."

He knew you were already aware of the fact he would return early, so Jing Yuan doesn't comment any further besides setting down the scrolls he took home to read through beside your head. And as if on instinct, you crane your head up from the ground so Jing Yuan's legs can settle on the spot instead. The general merely places a hand beneath your head to ease the strain on your neck while he finds a comfortable position on the ground before he gently places your head back on his thigh. You hum in affirmation, shuffling a tiny bit to get comfortable.

Mimi lets out a growl at your sudden movements, and you stop moving around while letting out a laugh, ruffling her mane quickly before squishing the cheeks together and making the lion look at you, "Sorry Mimi ~ Did I disturb your nap?" you coo softly, Jing Yuan letting out a snort at the use of baby voice. He uses one hand to open up the scrolls besides him while his other hand is busy twirling your bunched up hair by his thigh through various loops around his fingers, "Mimi may have gotten her nap interrupted, but Jing Yuan is lonely," he coos absentmindely, attention still on the scrolls which makes you let out a laugh.

Letting Mimi's head fall back down onto your stomach, you direct your attention back up at the general, who looks away from the contents of the scroll beside him to cock his head to the side, his usual grin still painting his lips. Your arm reaches up to him, to which Jing Yuan is quick to bend his head so that you can pat his head and thread your fingers through his hair, brushing away the bangs that cover his other eye to get a proper look at him.

"Why is our general acting so cute today, hmm?" you wonder out loud, Jing Yuan freeing his fingers from your hair to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your skin softly, you merely turn your head a bit to kiss the inside of his palm, "Because the general hasn't gotten his words of affirmation for his hard work today," he jokes back.

And as Jing Yuan watches your body shake with constrained laughter, his gaze softens. Breathing in the humid air from the rain that's starting to pour down hard - such serene moments with you could truly only be obtainable by the amount of work he has done over the years to keep Xianzhou peaceful.

As mundane as it is, he's somewhat glad that he's put himself in such a mundane routine for the sakes of moments like these.

"There, there, our cute general has done so well today," you praise, ruffling his hair, "What does he want for a reward for his good work, hmm?" you joke, to which Jing Yuan playfully rolls his eyes, only moving his thigh a bit as a signal to make you arch your neck up so he can lean down further and connect your lips.

He truly loved the rainy days onboard the Xianzhou.

[generalsmemories]

Admiral, the general is touch-deprived.

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ based on the ask: "Please do one if you haven’t where Jing Yuan is severely down bad for reader and makes it known to everyone and they are just done with him"

✧ content: established relationship, fluff, make-out scene, humor, mentions of other characters

✧ a/n: where did almost 100 of you come- bless this ask for making me write needy jing yuan i love you. not beta-read again anyway buckle up this is another one of unfiltered shame for my love for one mere general with a silly thunder lord that he nicknamed shin-kun in the jp dub because the official title was way too long for this old man.

this was written in a google doc on the phone since I'm on vacation so I apologize if the formatting is messier than the first post 🫡

There's tension in the air.

"... As for Stargazer Navidia, there seems to be another onslaught of mara-struck cloud knights making their way within the area in the next few days. I'll appoint Lieutenant Yanqing to lead a few troops there by the next hour, but be sure to send a messenger cycrane if the situation gets too out of hand or you need to divide the troops up to cover more ground."

You hear a loud "Yes!" as you flip over to the next page, quickly scanning through the documents contents, purposefully ignoring the tension in the air, muttering the details lowly to yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

It's the sort of tension you wish everyone just ignored, even though it's more difficult than it sounds.

Perhaps being fed up with your avoidance of ignoring the elephant in the room, one of the captains of the Knights loudly cough into the air before meekly addressing you, "Admiral [Name]?"

"Yes?" you look up with a smile, cocking your head to the side. A small gesture to ensure the captain that they have your full attention which makes the knight before you quickly glance to the side and away from you, although that didn't help the pair of eyes boring a hole into the side of his head, "The general…" he starts, coughing once again while glancing back and forth at you and the weapons displayed at the seat of Divine Foresight, "... Would very much like your attention, it seems."

As if on cue, the arms that were wrapped around your waist squeeze a bit tighter than normal. The sudden pressure makes you let out a grunt of surprise while Qingzu lets out another exhausted sigh. Meanwhile you glance down to lock eyes with Jing Yuan, who very much is staring at you with a small pout evident on his lips, "Oh so my darling has finally acknowledged my existence?" he jokes with a grin, meanwhile you merely stare down back at him with a neutral expression before resting your left arm carrying the paperwork on his gray head. The general uses the opportunity to nuzzle his face into your waist, playfully biting into an exposed part of your skin from where his hand had wormed itself underneath your shirt, making you squirm away from him, to which he immediately grabs your back into his hold.

"If you haven't noticed dear, you're practically leeching onto me to the point I can't even stand at my usual side, that is to per say in front of the desk and not literally quite next to you and within your arms." You whisper to him gently. Flicking his forehead before whipping your head around to address the Cloud Knights before your husband can say anything in his defense.

You ignore the looks of disbelief on some of the soldiers' faces.

"I apologize for the awkwardness this position may cause, I can only hope for your understanding being that I've been away from the Luofu for a few months helping Marshal Fua with some matters at her fleet. I've only recently come back." you explain, gesturing Qingzu over to hand over the paperwork to her before waving your hand with a guilty smile, "You're all dismissed, please be safe out there."

"Lady Fu Xuan, how may I be of assis-"

"Are you two arguing or something?" Fu Xuan interrupts before you can even finish your sentence which leaves you staring wide eyed at her with your mouth agape, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure who you're referring to-"

"The general. I'm referring to general Jing Yuan, who else would I be referring to? He sits around the seat of Divine Foresight like a kicked puppy. Which makes it even harder to get any information in OR to him because he's not even mentally present! Can you fix him? Wonderful! Let's make haste to the seat."

You're not even allowed to finish your cup of tea or give an answer before the divination commissioner grabs you by the forearms and drags you out of the teahouse.

"Jing-" you haven't even taken one step into the seat of Divine Foresight before you're surrounded by the familiar scent of your husband. A gentle hand placed by your head while an arm is tightly wound around your waist. You can practically feel the smile of utter glee on Jing Yuan's lips as he buries his face into your hair.

"Darling, I thought you had the day off today?" he mutters into your hair, sounding a bit too happy to have you in his arms again to the point he's ignoring the death glares from Fu Xuan besides you, the divination commissioner just wanting to do her part of keeping the Luofu afloat.

"I was having my day off, before Lady Fu Xuan here dragged me out because someone didn't-" you struggle free to nag at him, but your husband merely smiles softly at you before lifting your chin to give you a quick kiss, "Now that you're here I feel more energized than ever, let me finish the paperwork for today and I'll join you, we can even play a round of starchess." he suggests.

You can practically sense Fu Xuan roll her eyes in disgust, able to hear her mutter about a "lovesick fool" before walking past the two of you, Jing Yuan merely grabbing your hand to lead you towards the seat.

So much for a day off.

You can't breathe.

"Jing-" another press of his lips onto yours as you find yourself pressed on the wall beside the door, "Yanqing-" you manage to breathe out when finally able to pull a tiny bit away from him. Pressing your hand over whatever surface of his face you can reach to try to shove him away, your other hand occupied with bracing itself against the wall.

Your husband ignores your literal hand on his face, somehow having more strength to still slant his lips across your own despite your efforts, the hand he has behind your head pushing you further against him while he shoves a leg between your own to keep you still, "Train-"

There's a rather loud set of knocks on your bedroom door followed by an exasperated sigh coming from behind it, which makes you freeze but Jing Yuan ignores it, sliding his tongue over your teeth while you resign yourself to slam your fist repeatedly on his back to get him to back off.

"General! I know you missed [Name] a lot during the months they were away from the Luofu, but you know that today is supposed to be a training day!" Yanqing shouts from behind the door, and you feel sorry over the realization he's aware of what's happening beyond it.

Feeling sorry enough for Yanqing whose probably already waited 15 minutes before knocking at the door, you muster whatever little strength you have left against your husband's addictive lips to grab his ponytail and yank him off and away from you.

Jing Yuan merely grunts in irritation, looking at you with a glare and swollen lips, but you ignore him. Opening the door before Jing Yuan can grab you again and giving Yanqing an apologetic look, "I tried-"

"It's better than last time, at least." He points out to which you merely sigh before opening the door wider, "I'll give you more pocket money this month, how's that for compensation?" You suggest, shoving your husband out the door before he do anything else, Yanqing smiling in triumph at your generosity.

"You're the best! Give me extra if I manage to land a few hits on the general?"

"5 more than usual and I'll give you an extra thousand." You settle, tapping Jing Yuan on the shoulder. Your husband turns around to face you with a hum, and you lean in to peck him on the cheek, gliding your lips over to his ear, "If you're a bit nicer to him today you'll also get a reward."

Needless to say, there were two very happy boys onboard the Luofu at the end of the day.

[meaningofaeons]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ mr. cold feet

⊹ character(s) - sampo koski ⊹ word count - 1.8k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, spoilers for belobog museum event (opportunity makes the thief p4), reader is NOT trailblazer!!!, but they ARE part of the silvermane guards!, reader and sampo are implied to be in a ... complicated relationship, suggestive? making out ig counts as suggestive but obviously still sfw within reason /ᐠﹷ ‸ ﹷ ᐟ\ﾉ

I am once again here 2 apologize for no majesty update... I just finished the event as soon as I was well enough to get up and I... had to. I love hate love to hate and love sampo (=^-ω-^=) enjoy! also sorry this got more suggestive than I expected it to.... (=♡ ᆺ ♡=)

"Oh... I mean, oh! Oh, haha! If it isn't my favorite Silvermane Guard in the entire world, my dear Y/N~"

"Cut the chitchat, Sampo." You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Really? I thought you mentioned a 'new lease on life' after the whole saving Belobog thing. You're still running cons?"

"Come, now, no need for that! I daresay it was fate that brought us—"

Sampo trailed off weakly at the sight of you bringing out a pair of cuffs, sweat visibly dripping down his temple.

"—...together... again..."

He chuckled warily, opting for a wisecrack.

"Well, I'm certainly open to hearing you out on your bedroom preferences—after all, Sampo Koski is nothing if not flexible, if you catch my drift—but don't ya think this is a little sudden, sweetheart? I mean—"

You advanced on him, scowling, and he visibly leapt back, arms up.

"W-Woah, woah, cool the jets! I know you've got your duty to do, all of that, hehe, and believe you me I know how dedicated you are! 'S one of the things I love about you—"

"I'm not being bought this time, Sampo Koski. Arms behind your back."

"Come on, just hear me out! Please, Y/N? For old time's sake?"

"What old times?" However hostile your tone, Sampo noticed the way you slowed just a bit, giving him a chance to speak. Then, in fake-contemplation, you placed a finger thoughtfully to your chin.

"Oh, you mean the time you snuck ten crates of Geomarrow out from under my platoon's noses, and got us all in deep shit with Captain Landau. Or, no. Perhaps you were thinking of the time you forced me to go on a 'date' with you, only to trick me into meeting your cronies at a handoff point for your stolen goods? Oh, or maybe—"

Sampo shrunk in on himself with each story, grin growing more and more sheepish and catlike with every word.

A small correction, he realized: You hadn't slowed to allow him to defend himself, but rather, to rag on every inch of his schemes and stoke what little remained of his guilty conscience.

He only acknowledged that you were finished with your story time when you began tapping your foot, brow raised. Sampo reached for you, taking a seat at the small table to move ever-so-subtly closer to your touch.

"Honey? Darling..." Your lip curled at his puppy-dog eyes, yanking your hand away. Despite the malice he could hide in those emerald irises, he was damn good at making himself appear vulnerable, too.

"Don't call me that! Especially not in public!"

"We're in a hotel room..." he pouted, tapping his fingers together. "Listen. I've got an idea that could be beneficial to us both...? I get away, and you say you lost me, and you get a little something-something? Eh?"

You were about to say no. As you should've, as you usually did, but those eyes...

"Ugh!" you slammed the handcuffs onto the table, causing Sampo to start. Even with all his wiles and exit routes, he couldn't quite escape the mild fear he had of you.

Or maybe what he feared was more so upsetting you than anything else.

"Spill! What lame deal have you cooked up in that dumb, pretty little head of yours?"

"You think I'm pretty?" The blue-haired man batted his eyelashes, but toned down the theatrics only at your frosty glare. "Um, so, hear me out. I made quite the pretty penny off of this deal, and I can offer you a whole third of what I made! In exchange, you... let me go? Scot-free? No strings attached? ...Please?"

You sighed heavily. Why did you even bother sometimes...

"Sampo, I told you, I can't be bought. I don't want stolen money, and besides, I make plenty."

You placed a free hand on your head, sliding your cuffs back into your belt. "And what's the miraculous secondary offer Sampo Koski has concocted today?"

You seemed to open slightly, and that gave the man all the push he needed.

As though flipping a switch, Sampo's contrite expression morphed into a wicked smirk, fingers dancing across the table until they reached your hand. This time, you did not pull away, much to your own chagrin and the conman's delight.

"Well... if there's one thing Sampo Koski is, it's reasonable."

"You just said the one thing you are is flexible."

Sampo chuckled, taking advantage of the absence of venom in your tone as he rose from his seat, allowing his gloved hand to run up your arm. You tilted your head away, refusing to look him in the eye.

"I can be both," You couldn't stand the look on his face. Cocky, like the cat that ate the canary.

"You know," he murmured, voice suddenly low and breathy—and, of course, right beside your ear. "If you wanted a 'lil love from your dear Sampo, all you had to do was say so."

Before you could cut off his husky words with an indignant shout, he was swift in taking your chin in his hand, pushing his lips onto yours with a self-satisfied smirk.

Your legs felt reminiscent of jelly as you clutched onto his arms, but you did not fight off the kiss he deepened with each passing second—though they felt more like hours.

Sampo Koski is flexible, indeed. He can also be reasonable, though you'd argue more against that than for it.

But above all, Sampo Koski is annoyingly, infuriatingly, irritatingly astute. Especially when it comes to you.

Your brow relaxed as you felt his tongue slip against your mouth, your grip on his sleeve loosening as he practically manhandled you. His prying hands were quick to move down your arms, your sides, and you only gained enough clarity in the single moment he brushed your rear to give his wandering hand a smack.

He only rumbled a low chuckle again, sending shivers down your spine as he settled on your hips. Sampo pressed on further, nibbling your lower lip before invading your mouth with his tongue, eager to taste every inch of you.

That was another word for him, you thought. Eager. He could never take two seconds to stop and think about anything, as always, especially not when it came to you.

But while Sampo Koski was quite prone to causing (unpleasant) surprises to those around him, so wily was he that he never quite expected them to happen to him.

As a Silvermane Guard, you were by no means weak, and certainly not weaker than even the shockingly well-built conman.

You snatched his wrists from their place atop your hips, pulling back just enough to relish the shock in his eyes as you slammed him against the wall opposite, shoving your lips back onto his before he could make even a sound.

That didn't stifle his noise afterwards, a soft groan humming into your mouth as you kissed him with new fervor.

If he wanted to play dirty, you'd dish it back out twofold.

You shifted his wrists, clasping one hand around his two arms while your other began to roam, dipping beneath his hip windows and sliding along his side. This elicited more small whimpers from the Sampo Koski, his squirming picking up.

Even though he never expected them, you knew how much the man just adored surprises—especially yours.

Your tongue swiped over his lip, and you slowly pulled back, giving him no reprieve as you latched onto his neck. The blue-haired man groaned again, making no moves or effort to fight back against you as he angled his neck to give you better access. You had to fight the urge to release his wrists and slap a hand over his mouth from how loudly he was beginning to whine for you.

"Y/N..." he keened.

Just as you were about to nudge your knee between his thighs and give him a nice, vibrant mark on his pretty pale skin, footsteps echoed loudly in the hall.

Pela.

"Y/N hasn't been answering their phone. Prepare to search each room. If Mr. Cold Feet got to them—"

Shit!

You pulled back at once, Sampo being too dazed to even really listen to what the voices just outside were saying. He chased you immediately, face flushed and eyes teary.

"Aw, c'mon, Y/N... Feels good, keep going? Yeah? Please? I like it when you—"

"Sampo, those are the guards!" you hissed under your breath, emphasizing each word carefully, watching the slow snap to reality that dawned on the man's face. He paused inquisitively, as though waiting for you to call your comrades in to arrest him, but you only placed a hand to your forehead.

"Go."

You had to barely restrain your yell of annoyance as Sampo grinned wildly, planting a big, sloppy kiss on your lips before vanishing out of the hotel window. His whisper-shout was the last thing you heard from him.

"I'll pay ya back big time for this one, honey!"

The remaining seconds you had were spent trying to fix your clothing and rub at your lips, trying to scrub away any hint of puffiness. Before long, Pela entered the room herself, raising a hand for the other guards to stand by.

"Y/N, are you okay?!"

"Fine," you tried to answer as coolly as possible. Luckily, your friend didn't seem to notice, poking about the room.

"And Mr. Cold Feet—"

"Gone before I got here. Left the room a mess, and the window open."

She raised a brow. "You weren't answering my texts."

"Sorry. I got caught up in investigating, trying to find leads... He couldn't have gone far."

"Right... Well, let's get back. We got the film, so... no harm, no foul. We can try again."

"Right. Let's go."

You tried to ignore the subtle stare of one of the guards, trying to let the mortification of your state swallow you whole.

Were you that obvious?

Still, you grumbled about it to yourself all the way back to the museum, trying to rid yourself of the floaty feeling in your chest and your mind.

This was the last time, you swore to yourself. The last time Sampo Koski gets away with his cons! The last time he goads you into an impromptu make-out session!

You knew that was a lie, and so did Sampo, who gleefully watched you from the shadows, a museum volunteer application perched in his hands.

After all, you two would have all the time in the world together if you were coworkers...

...that is, more specifically, after hours at the museum.

He couldn't wait for you to finish what you started.

[orlissa]

Hi,

It’s your friendly neighbor fanfic author here. In the light of this apparent new trend of people feeding unfinished fics to AI to get an “ending,” and some people even talking about “blanket permissions,” let me just say this:

I EXPLICITLY FORBID ANYONE TO FEED MY FICS TO AI. DUDE, THAT IS ABOUT THE LEAST RESPECTFUL THING YOU CAN DO. IF YOU DO IT, SHALL YOU BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM YOUR FANDOM AND WALK ON LEGOS BAREFOOT TILL THE END OF DAYS.

That is my anti-permission.

Thank you for your attention.

[daftpatience]

i see a convo w a character ai and i keep scrolling

[daftpatience]

listen im seeing tags about people agreeing that ai bots can be really inaccurate and i want to point out that this is NOT about that. the ai bot can be as accurate as you want it to be i still get mad at em.

its not about how good they do at emulating a character, its about that they aren’t a person making creative choices and i hate that. i want to enjoy my characters with other people. hold my hand and tell me all about why you think your blorbo is autistic or likes your favourite shitty band. i love you. if a bot randomly shuffles those opinions out idc if theyre even the same ones im exploding it with my mind.

[chickenparm]

Proof of Concept (Kaveh/gn!Reader)

So, I read his story leaks, had a legitimate weep over this stupid, beatiful man, then set everything to the side for a moment to crank this out. Originally it was meant to be "ha ha silly dramatics" and then it very quickly evolved into "let's explore kaveh's deep-seated abandonment issues and his skewed perception of his self-worth".

anyway, enjoy, expect more kaveh.

AO3 Link

Kaveh/gn!Reader 3,847 Words - SFW Hurt/Comfort, spiraling internal monologues about self-worth in a relationship, slight codependency, resolved angst, Kaveh cries but never in front of anyone and you can't change my mind.

Kaveh owes more to you than Dori ever could have conjured up as a debt to keep him in shackles. Yet you don’t hold him down, you don’t demand constant recompense. In fact, you never make mention at all that the betterment of his life and mental health stems from you and you alone. 

When he moved out of Alhaitham’s home and into yours, Alhaitham had a rare show of concern that to any other onlooker might have been mistaken for cruelty or unnecessary jabs. But Kaveh is well aware of Alhaitham’s thought processes, loathe as he is to admit it, and understands that Alhaitham’s question isn’t posed out of malice, but of a subtle concern for someone that had once been his friend, and now exists in a nebulous in-between. 

Are you sure it’s wise to place so much stock in them? Your trust has been misplaced before, don’t put it in the wrong place again.

Perhaps on another day, Kaveh might’ve nearly spit in Alhaitham’s face for questioning both his and your integrity. But there’s something bittersweet about standing in the doorway of this home with the knowledge that it might be his last time here as a resident. Quietly, he shuts the door rather than leaves, and asks, “It must look pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“Unbelievably so, but I figured you wouldn’t welcome such an observation.”

“But you still feel the need to make it.” Kaveh’s back thuds against the door as he leans on it, the last bag of his belongings falling to the tiled floor. “I’ve always done what I think is right. Even at the detriment to myself. So tell me, Alhaitham, what would you have me do?”

“That’s not for me to decide. You and I both know that our ways of thinking are very different.” Alhaitham could have been more roundabout in calling Kaveh an idiot, but the blond appreciates Alhaitham’s candor tonight, nonetheless. “I’m just saying, don’t be blinded by your feelings to the point of tripping into yet another difficult situation. I’m under no obligation to help you again.”

No obligation, but he probably would anyway.

“Well, I won’t haunt your humble doorstep again, in that case.”

Kaveh wouldn’t dream of asking outright, he’d simply be sitting at the breakfast table one morning with red-rimmed eyes and a despondency that Alhaitham would pointedly ignore. They’d fall into the usual routine, and Alhaitham would call back into the house to remind Kaveh of the rent that’s been overdue since the first month Kaveh moved in. 

Yes, Kaveh knows his attachment is pathetic. But a lifetime of transient relationships from the most mundane scholar down to his own parents - one more permanent than the other - leaves him with an emptiness in his chest that he’s relished and nurtured up until the very moment you came along and filled it so easily. 

Your home is empty when he returns to it later that night. If you’d been here and asked, he’d have told you the trust that he took the long way home to clear his head. And then you’d ask if he spoke with Alhaitham before leaving. Kaveh would say yes, and you’d ask no more questions because if anyone understood the weird, hot-and-cold friendship of antagonism he shares with the Scribe, it would be you. 

But you aren’t home, and these questions aren’t exchanged, because he’d been adamant he finish bringing over the last few bits of his belongings while you were still out working. I don’t want to trouble you, Kaveh all but whined when you offered to call out of work for the day, for something that would only take an hour or so at most. 

Though, his little detour cost him the majority of that hour, but it’s fine. You weren’t home, you don’t notice the pinched expression on his face as he places the last of his tools in the spare bedroom you offered him to use as his office space. Much more roomy than the corner Alhaitham had afforded him, with a spacious desk you let him pick out himself, because this was his space, in the home you now share. 

If requested, he’d drop to his knees before the Dendro Archon herself and profess his love for you. Thoughts of grand exclamations of his affections danced through his mind between memorized ratios for concrete and recollected dimensions of a particular building he’s been commissioned to renovate. 

None of those had come to fruition. One morning, when he stayed over at this very house, in the very bed across the hall, you’d rolled over and cracked your eyes open before murmuring your love for him at the time of day when honesty at its most raw. And he’d taken you into his arms all over again, clutching you to his chest and stubbornly refusing to let you go lest you see the tears welling in his eyes. 

Kaveh doesn’t cry in front of you, nor anyone else. Bottling it up is just easier. Then he can unpack things later, and truly feel the crushing weight of everything when he’s the only one that will suffer the consequences. He’s the only one that deserves to suffer through them.

It had been a long time since someone claimed any sort of affection for him, platonic or otherwise. At least in any way that felt clear and true. Sure, his mother sends letters from Fontaine, and she closes them with an obligatory sentence about how she loves her son, tucked between sentences about her new husband and how she’s found happiness again. 

Why couldn’t it have been in a place I could be, too? He wonders later at night, but then he feels you shift in his arms in the darkness of the room and doesn’t mind so much anymore. If he’d followed her to Fontaine, he never would’ve made friends with Tighnari, who never would have introduced him to you, who never would have allowed him to love with all he has. 

Kaveh’s heart had to learn to beat in new ways, to accommodate the affection you provide him, and the room he’s been given to exercise such muscles. 

One by one, he places tools on his desk and aligns them carefully according to his muscle memory. In the midst of a bout of inspiration, little time can be wasted on lifting his eyes to find the right pencil, the right scale, the right template. It’s in the midst of a focus similar to that he doesn’t hear the front door open, or quiet steps down the short hallway. 

But the corner of his eyes catch you standing in the doorway, watching him quietly with an unreadable expression. When Kaveh gives you his full attention, your mouth blooms into a familiar smile as you step into the room. “Everything go okay? Sorry I couldn’t be around to help.”

“There wasn’t much to help with.” Kaveh waves a hand, swatting away your apologies that are unwarranted. “Besides, I don’t want to-”

“-be trouble, I know.” An exasperated look crosses your face, just for a second. Kaveh’s heart clenches - he’s not fond of seeing anything on your face that isn’t happiness. He’s yet to reach the end of your patience, but everyone has a limit. It takes only one single brick for a load bearing wall to crumble. Tonight especially, he’s come to realize that the structure of his wellbeing has been carefully crafted around you as its foundation. 

Kaveh is snapped out of his thoughts as you take his hand in your own. Like surfacing from a still pool of water he hadn’t realized he’d been drowning in, Kaveh takes a sharp breath and looks at you with a smooth mix of astonishment and gratitude. The exasperation is gone, and in its place is worry. “Are you alright? Are you having second thoughts?”

“Never.” Kaveh says a little too forcefully, a little too vehement. It’s not himself he needs to convince of his adamancy for this being a good decision; he could never regret sharing a home with you and building it further. It’s you, who is suddenly looking concerned. Kaveh takes your other hand as well, his fingers lacing with yours until they’re pressed palm-to-palm. “Just silly thoughts in my head that have been plaguing me all day. Nothing for you to worry about, dear, I just need to shake them off.”

“If you’re sure…” You’re not convinced. But you don’t push, and he won’t reveal a thing until he’s ready. He only hopes that his hand won’t be forced in the form of begging you to put up with him a little longer rather than cast him to the side. Swallowing hard, he pushes those thoughts away with vicious force. You’re not leaving him, he’s done nothing wrong, the two of you are in love-

Again, he’s drawn from his head by your fingers squeezing his own comfortingly. “Then, I’ll believe you. I’m gonna make dinner, anything you want in particular? Sounds like you’ve had a hard day.”

“I’m fine with whatever’s easy for you. I’m going to be in here a little longer getting things set up, if you don’t need help.”

A shrug, a quiet agreement, and your lips pressed to his cheek saying more words than you’ve let free verbally. All he needs to do is call your name, and you’d turn right back around and listen to what’s laying heavily on his mind. But how does it go about telling you that what sits on his shoulders with the most weight is the prospect of you growing tired of him, of you realizing that there might be another out there that offers more for you than he could ever hope to?

So, Kaveh lets you go and turns back to his drafting table. Muscle memory or not, he’s realized he’s placed his tools in the wrong order anyway.

---

Kaveh expected things to feel different. 

He’s not disappointed - no, he’s actually rather happy about it all. Living with you had been something he fretted over for months before you were the one to bring it up. To be in your presence constantly was a gift for him, and you expressed the same sentiment, but there’s always a part of him gnawing away at his resolve. 

Perhaps you’re just being nice, or you don’t feel the need to tell him outright that maybe he’s a little too loud at night while working on scale models. Maybe you don’t find it necessary to reveal your annoyances when Kaveh forgets to wash his coffee cup before leaving in the morning, or when he wakes up before you and rams his shin on the edge of the bed because he doesn’t want to turn any lights on to disturb you. 

You’re disturbed anyway, but your smile is nothing but sweet and sympathetic as he stands on one leg and clutches his shin and tries to bite back his swears of both pain and frustration at himself. Honestly, it’s been weeks, he should be used to the layout even before moving in, when he stayed here often enough that it seemed the natural next step. 

When he brings up his apologies for all those made-up grievances - his loud tendencies, his infrequent scatterbrained memory in times of hurry, the growing bruise on his shin - you’re purely confused at it all. 

“I’m sorry for being so loud the other night.”

“Were you loud? Ah, Alhaitham mentioned something like that. He gave me these little squishy things to put in my ears so I can still sleep, see?”

And that’s one worry that slips away from him with only a few words from you. You’d never been upset in the first place. 

“I’ll try to remember to do my dishes before I leave.”

“Oh, your cup? I make myself breakfast and have to do my own dishes anyway. It’s okay if you leave it, I’ll get it for you.”

He still feels a little guilty when he sets the mug next to the sink, and decides on a happy medium where he rinses it out at least. There, now they both can be satisfied with the outcome, he tells himself as he stomps down the doubt beginning to creep in once more. 

As you sit with him in the bathroom after his incident with the side of the bed and his shin, you make him sit on the counter so you can observe the growing bruise. Your fingers poke and prod, and while he hisses in discomfort a few times, you’re satisfied that it at least isn’t broken in any way. “You’ll make a full recovery, my good patient.”

“So no amputations? Thank goodness, what a relief.” Kaveh’s head rolls back to really emphasize his appreciation for keeping all his limbs, and also to hide the way his cheeks flush pink and his nerves creep to the surface. You’re not normally awake at this hour, yet here you are kneeling in front of him as you return from the kitchen with an ice pack. 

The chill of it pressing to his skin makes him inhale sharply, and your laughter fills the bathroom as you look far too mischievous for that to have been a mistake. “Guess you didn’t hear my warning. Whoops!”

Kaveh knows damn well you hadn’t said a word. Lost in thoughts or not, he’s got enough presence of mind to keep an iota of attention on you - Kaveh is always watching, always on the lookout for your moods, always worried that this next minor slip-up will be the one to make you realize it’s easier to disentangle yourself from him. 

Almost everyone else does.

But things fall into a rhythm as he settles into the home you now share with him. Kaveh forgets his keys once, and the next time he finds a spare key tucked into the eaves of the house without a word of admonishment on your part. You come home late from work one evening and he’s made your favorite dinner and washed up the dishes. 

And a new project is breaking ground and requiring him to be out later than usual, more often than not. By the time he gets home, you’re fast asleep, leftovers in the fridge for him if he’s hungry. Even if he isn’t, he eats them anyway, if only because you put the effort into thinking of him. Kaveh only hopes you hadn’t been waiting up for him. 

Tentatively, he closes the bedroom door and leans on it. You’re curled around his pillow, your face buried in the fabric as you fell asleep while inhaling his scent. His heart clenches, panic creeping in at the thought of you going to bed alone and pining for him while he was miles away working. 

Kaveh should have been here. He should have been firm that he wasn’t going to stay late at the site, so he could return home to his partner and ensure that they’re happy, and laughing, and not lonely in the slightest. Precedence should’ve been given to you, because you’ve always given it to him. He’s been unbelievably selfish and self-centered, and only realized it when it was just a little too-

“Kaveh…?” Your voice breaks through, mired with your leftover sleep as you break from a dream and look at him through cracked eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Everything, he wants to say, and it’s my fault.

The light catches on his jaw as he chews his cheek, and your eyes zero in from across the room. A nervous tick, something he does when he’s stalling for time and thinking of an answer that he thinks is going to be the most diplomatic. Yet he’s never needed to be that way with you, he’s supposed, and under your scrutiny he quietly cracks. 

The bed dips under him as he disrobes and climbs beneath the sheets. Rather than push you out of his space meant for him to sleep in, he simply winds himself into the empty spaces left amongst your limbs until his chest is pressed to your back in a perfect curve. Nowhere ever feels as right as when he’s pressed against you. The only time his heart feels as if it’s beating at a proper tempo is when it’s perfectly matching yours. 

And the thought of losing this, of having ruined things with thoughtless actions makes his lungs feel too shallow to pull in a full breath of air. They shudder with the effort, stinging just as much as his eyes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck and hopes to every Archon listening that you don’t feel the dampness on your skin from his overwhelming feelings. 

Kaveh flinches as your hand comes to rest on his forearm winding around your waist. The tips of your fingers trace along his skin, along silvery scars you’ve memorized from that accident so long ago that had been so detrimental to him mentally, rather than physically. Beneath the pads of your fingers, they’re less obtrusive, even after years of smoothing via the passage of time. 

Biting his tongue, Kaveh holds his breath to avoid the quake of his body as it attempts to breathe in and then let it all out in a harsh sob. You don’t need this, you don’t need to know why he’s desolate, even if it’s because of you. Desperately, he wants to keep you close, to show that he can do better if you’ll only give him another chance, and another, and another…

“Kaveh, darling, why are you crying?” Your voice has more clarity now; you hadn’t gone back to sleep after he took you into his arms. Kaveh should’ve figured that, and he self-admonishes that it would be awfully difficult to remain asleep if your lover was clinging to you and wetting your skin with their tears. 

How does he begin to tell you what he’s feeling? Of all the seminars and lectures he’d been to during his time in the Akademiya, a fair few of them began with a question for the audience. It’s as good a tactic as any, and he pulls away to wet his lips and grimace at the salt gathered there from his tears. Quietly, he poses the question, “Are you going to leave me?”

Anyone else would have responded with an outburst. A demand to explain what he’s talking about, how he’s come to that conclusion, why they’re being accused of that. But a quiet sigh leaves you as your fingers continue their trail along the skin of his arms. It’s not a denial, not at first, and his breath starts to pick up before you adeptly calm him with only a few words. 

“I knew something was going on in that pretty head of yours.” You don’t turn to look at him, affording him a bit of privacy when you could’ve easily looked him in the eye and put him on the spot. Kaveh leans heavily against you, burying his face in your neck once more to take in whatever comfort he can glean from you before you let him down. It would only be your right, of course. 

Your hand stops, instead wrapping around his wrist, to pull it from your body. When his hand is freed, you lace your fingers together and squeeze hard. The sharp sting makes him inhale, clears his thoughts for just a moment so he can fully listen as you say, “I’ll never leave you, Kaveh. But I need you to tell me what brought this one on.”

The wording is precise; this isn’t the first time. It can be attributed to a myriad of things, but they all can be boiled down to their base level of definition. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Says who? You?” It’s a bit biting, but that’s what he needs right now, he knows. Softness lets him slip away, lets him dig deep into his woes and wrap them tightly to the point of strangulation. Only a firm hand is enough to keep him grounded in the moment, to keep him listening to what you have to say. “Kaveh, there’s only one person who gets to decide who deserves me, and that’s me. And there’s no one else that I’d rather love than you. I’m not going to leave you, even if you want me to. You’re stuck with me.”

Stuck. As if you were the burden, not the one in this relationship that shoulders the majority of burdens. Kaveh lets out a quivering sigh, one that breezes across your skin amongst the wetness left there, chilling to the point of goosebumps. “I love you. I just feel like I don’t give you everything that you need, or deserve. The entire world is just out of my grasp.”

“I feel rather fulfilled without the whole world, thank you.” Sass seeps through, your fingers tightening around his own briefly before you shift back further against him. The gesture emphasizes your adamancy as you say rather plainly, “Excess is just that. I don’t need anything more than what you’re already giving me - your love, and companionship. Seeing you happy is all I want, Kaveh. Are you happy with me?”

“Unbelievably so, that’s why I’m terrified that you’re not. It would be so easy for you to just… cut loose and count your losses-”

“Easy for whom? Certainly not for me, because losing you would be something I’d never fully recover from.” The hand not holding his reaches up to tangle in his hair for a moment, fingers pushing hair behind his ear in a blind, clumsy movement that he leans into on instinct. Your voice is lower and even as you remind him of a simple fact that he often overlooks in his moments of weakness. “I love you. You mean everything to me.”

The tension in his shoulders eases, the tightness of his jaw loosens so he can feel the ache of his teeth from the pressure. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound until you deftly untangle him with so little effort. The tremble of his voice is unmistakable as a fresh wave of tears come, this time in relief. “I love you, too. So much that it hurts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Probably the same as me, which is ‘be a disaster’. We’re better together, Kaveh. There’s nothing you could do that would make me love you any less.” 

A sharp whoosh of air leaves you as his arms suddenly wind tight, abandoning your hand in favor of simply clinging to you with all the strength he can muster. 

Kaveh expected things to feel different. And they do, bit by bit. It’s a work in progress, a first draft, a proof of concept as the two of you build toward something safe and wonderful. In the morning, he’ll drink his coffee and hold your words close enough that the heat and pressure will burn them into the fibers of his beating heart, meant only for you. 

[il-yuu]

warnings : heavy implications of kaveh’s backstory (proceed with caution!)

home. the meaning of the word is lost on him.

home - in those years - meant silence. a soft, soothing one in which he shared within the presence of his parents. home meant art - intricate structures stroked on paper, a life itself of aesthetics and beauty. home meant wallowing in warmth.

home meant home. it was all so simple, it was all so… nice in and of itself. simply nice, yes.

and yet, it sifted through his fingers like sand. had he not said something, had he held his lips, that life - that home - then perhaps he’d see himself in the solace, assurance, of the definition of the word standing still, smiling, with all the love that lives within them. (for each other, and much more, for him.)

such a reality, an if, sits somewhere on the shelves of his consciousness to collect dust. yet time does little for it to fade. if anything, only to yearn and rue. and overtime, guilt, the one constant in time, held a home in him - in his husk of a heart that felt weightless and heavy all the same.

“hey, kaveh. hey.” you snap your fingers right in front of his eyes. once, twice - he blinks.

(said heart skipped a beat.)

at your words, your voice, the world starts to form around him. spots and dots of sunlight trickle through the leaves aloft, peppering him in a familiar (unfamiliar) flit of warmth. he sat on the roots of a tree, one of many, as a bit of shade keeps him cool.

and all with you. (he felt as though he himself witness a dream, yet, this time, one so close and within his reach.)

“there you are,” with that said, your hand slowly settles to your side - in other words, his, locking your fingers with his. it took him all but a second to see that so did he. “you blanked out on me.”

he felt himself heat up (and he doubts it’s because of the sun.)

“hmph, well, can you blame me? i’m only working on a few hours of sleep.” he shakes his head a bit, as if to shove the thoughts into the shelves once again. (the dust starts anew, feathered from yet another walk on memory lane.) “and just to put it out there, i didn’t exactly mean to.”

“i’m fully aware.”

“now you’re just being sarcastic.”

“i would never,” you said, with a smile.

“see? look, you’re doing it again,” he says, also with a small smile. he tries to stifle it, turning his head slightly to the side.

and that act only invites a laugh from you, as liquid, as clear as the day itself.

a sound of pure, simple happiness. with him. because of him. eyes with adoration, love for him. everything about you, from the smallest of acts, says more than what could be said into the air to him.

(the home in his heart will truly never leave him; the sense of a weight will only take him down along with it. whenever you’re around, though, is he able to breathe a bit lighter - the husk a bit airy.)

home. the meaning of the word was lost on him.

and as he held your hand a bit tighter, the warmth of your skin against his, he feels as though the meaning might’ve been in the palm of your hand all this time.

[chickenparm]

Kaveh rainy day cuddles

drabble reqs for <500 words open

here ya go sweaty my beloved - cuddles but maybe inadvertent?

---

A call of your name gets your attention - the awning over the nearest storefront houses a familiar figure, his arms tucked around him and his normally-flowy clothing a little dampened by the rain falling from the sky. You’d barely heard Kaveh over the pattering of drops against the material of your umbrella.

With one hand, he waves you over frantically, and when you’re within range that he can speak without yelling, he really pulls out all the stops. “You wouldn’t be willing to share your umbrella, would you? I’ll talk you home and then bring it back tomorrow, I swear it.”

As if it were expensive, some commodity that was priceless and sentimental. In reality, it was something you’d picked up for a bargain. One true problem looms, however, and you make it known with a skeptical stare. “It’s… not really big enough for two, Kaveh. You can just take it, I don’t mind the rain-”

“Absolutely not.” Kaveh looks incensed at your suggestion that he impose that much on you. With a scrutinizing stare, he takes stock of the small coverage before he shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly. “If we squeeze together, we’ll both fit.”

Immediately you warm at the suggestion, but Kaveh seems so unbothered by it all that you feign that same lackadaisical approach to huddling so close that it borders on inappropriate. Clearing your throat, you nod around your nerves and he nearly tackles you with enthusiasm to finally make his way home from where he’d been stranded.

“Just a little more.” Kaveh grumbles as he looks at his shoulder, the white material beginning to grow sheer from where it sticks out just a little beneath the umbrella. Steeling yourself, you bite the bullet and wind your arm around his torso to press your ribs against his own. There, everyone fits, beyond the massive inflation of your anxiety.

Pointedly, you stare forward as you begin to walk, hoping that the shadow of the umbrella hides the way the dampness on your forehead is from anxiety and not the presently damp weather. Why does he smell so nice? Combined with the earthy smell that lingers around Sumeru City’s foliage during the rainy season, your mind feels foggy and your thoughts wander. 

Though, they don’t wander far, because his arm wraps around you in turn and his hand wraps around yours on the umbrella’s handle, and you know he feels the way your hand shakes.