# a.n: hands, HANds, HANDS!!! *summoning scara/wanderer nation*. we love wanderer’s hands here. no i didn’t stutter. sfw short fic. gn!reader. contains spoilers for his lore.
# w.c: 1.3k
Wanderer’s hands really did carry every version of him, like layers of lacquer on an antique doll. You’d know that if he were to find himself close to you, enough to reveal the shape of his soul to you.
Hands originally carved to be a vessel for divine power, left empty in a quiet pavilion when Ei deemed him too soft. Hands that hammered iron in Tatarasuna, held a dying child’s cold fingers, and tried—and failed—to keep human fragility from slipping through them. Hands that gripped an Electro Gnosis with absolute, arrogant reverence, wielded the lines of fate, and fought Dottore’s grueling, bloody experiments.
And now? Hands that dip feather quills into black ink, scroll through dry Academia papyrus, cut vegetables for students who get too engrossed in their studies to eat, and wield Anemo Vision with precise, effortless grace.
Puppets don’t generate their own body heat the way living things do. His skin is smooth, unblemished, and perpetually cool to the touch like polished marble or chilled glass. When his fingers accidentally graze a human’s wrist or hand while handing over a book, a scroll, or a bowl of food, there’s that micro-second delay. A subtle, instinctual stalling. His mind registers the pulse, the quick jump of blood beneath skin, the radiant, living warmth. If called out on it, he’d snap something sharp about “human inefficiency” or “carelessness.” But the truth is, to a creation that was abandoned for being “too fragile,” he is secretly fascinated by how soft, warm, and resilient human life actually is.
He acts like he despises weakness, but when he considers something fragile—a delicate flower in Sumeru, parchment, an exhausted student—his gentleness is much clearer. He knows his own strength. He knows he was built to hold divine weight. So when he touches something mortal, his knuckles lock into absolute, hyper-controlled carefulness—as if he’s afraid the mere pressure of his mechanical joints might shatter them.
The first time you noticed the contrast between your skins—of porcelain and pulse:
The ink on the margin of the thesis was still wet.
Wanderer moved with a quiet, lethal efficiency that belonged on a battlefield, yet here he was, sliding a fresh stack of references across the wooden desk without making a sound. His fingers—slender, immaculate, unblemished by the scars that should have come with four centuries of violence rested on the edge of the paper.
As you reached to take the document, your knuckles brushed against his. You didn’t pull away immediately, and neither did he.
His skin was cool, smooth as sea-smoothed glass, lacking the soft give of human flesh. But against his fingers, your skin was a sudden, violent contrast—radiating a steady, quiet heat. Beneath your skin, he could feel the faint, rhythmic thrum of a heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump. So fast. So fragile.
For two beats of that fleeting pulse, Wanderer didn’t move. His thumb twitched, a barely perceptible micro-movement, leaning into the warmth just enough to feel it sink into his artificial joints.
Then, like a line cut on a kite, he drew his hand back, pulling it into the deep sleeve of his robes. “You’re distracting yourself,” he muttered, his voice flat, though his indigo-blue eyes remained locked on the spot where your hands had met. He turned his head away, crossing his arms over his chest to trap the fading heat against his skin.
“Finish the third section before the oil in the lamp burns out. I won’t rewrite it for you when you make a mess of the conclusion.”
But that night, you’d noticed that touch. You’d noticed that curiosity and longing in his gaze. Maybe that’s why the second time his hands caught your attention, you held on tight.
—of human fragility and mechanical discomfort:
The brass kettle had a faulty latch, something he’d noted three days ago and meant to fix, if only the student housing maintenance wasn’t so utterly incompetent. A sudden, violent burst of steam sputtered from the spout, followed by a harsh splash of scalded tea water cascading off the lip of the desk.
Before the first drop could hit your skin, he was already there.
His movement wasn’t human, it lacked the slight recoil of panic or shock. His hand shot out, palm flat, cutting through the spray like a blade to block the worst of it from splashing over your face and chest. The near-boiling liquid pooled across the back of his knuckles, dripping onto the floorboards in heavy, dark spots.
“Careless,” Wanderer snapped instantly, his voice sharp, cold, and tight with a sudden, disproportionate tension.
He didn’t even look at his own hand. His indigo eyes were pinned entirely on you, scanning your face, your throat, the front of your collarbones—checking for red marks, for blisters, for the telltale signs of human pain. “You sit there staring at parchment until your mind turns to soup. Did any of it hit you? Answer me.”
”I’m fine,” you breathed, blinking at the sheer speed of him. There was no hiding how startled you were. “Wanderer, I’m fine. It missed me.”
Only when he was entirely satisfied that you weren’t burned did the rigid line of his shoulders drop half an inch. He made a low, irritated sound in his throat and reached for a dry cloth to wipe the desk.
“Look at your hand,” you said, reaching out to catch his wrist before he could pull away.
He froze at the touch. Steam was still rising off his skin. The water had been hot enough to redden a human palm, to cause sharp, agonizing pain. But his hand was... unchanged. Smooth, pale, and entirely unaffected.
“It’s fine,” Wanderer muttered, trying to pull his arm back with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“No, it’s not that,” you said softly, your fingers tightening gently around the cool curve of his wrist. You turned his hand over, tracing the back of his knuckles where the hot tea had pooled. “Your hands... they don’t hold heat. The water was scalding, but you’re still cold.”
The sentence hung in the air, deceptively simple, but it hit the quiet room like glass shattering on stone. Wanderer went dead still. He stared down at where your warm, living fingers were cradling his. To him, the contrast was blinding. You were skin and blood, prone to burning, prone to bruising, carrying a pulse that beat like a trapped bird. And he was a vessel built of synthetic joints and everlasting silver wood—impervious to the sting of hot tea, but forever barred from generating the warmth you gave off so effortlessly.
For a long dangerous second, the sharp comeback died in his throat. He looked at his own hand—the hand that had held a Gnosis, that had drawn blood in the abyss, that had just shielded a mortal from a minor household accident—and felt the quiet, hollow truth of what he was.
“They were made not to feel it,” he said, his voice dropping into a register so quiet, so stripped of his usual venom, that it sounded almost alien. He didn’t pull away this time. Instead, his fingers twitched against your palm, a slow, hesitant curl of his hand—not closing into a fist, but resting heavy and quiet in your grasp, absorbing the heat he couldn’t make on his own.
“It makes no difference,” he added, turning his face toward the window, though his hand remained stubbornly, silently anchored in yours. “So stop fussing over it.”
Wanderer is a weapon made of wood and ancient Khaenri’ahn technology, trying to navigate a world made of flesh, blood, and mortality. Yet, when he felt you lean in, brushing his fingers gently against your cheek, and pressing soft kisses to the knuckles—he thinks maybe he can start loving his puppet-self the way you do.
summary. lohen held your heart in the palm of his hand, but not everyone shared his acceptance for a shattered soul.
— content. 17k words · lohen x f!reader · fluff + lots of angst ! · reader has abyssal powers + hands like skirk's legs · mentions of blood, injuries, torture, brief mention of dismemberment, loss of limbs, eye injury, and death · arson · mentions of severe muscle injuries, burning flesh, and more · loneliness, fighting, suicidal adjacent thoughts · lohen goes on a murder spree · mentions of the other mondstadt chars · canon!lohen but he's soft around reader.
— foreword. i always knew that part two would be lengthy, probably longer than part one, but i did not expect to write sm that i would reach 17k words without getting everything outta my brain, so there will probably be another part oopsie. i was not playing on publishing this already, but it felt too long and i felt stuck in it, so i decided it was time to make her public before i grow to hate it. been feeling a lil self conscious in my writing but i really like this, so i hope you all do too!
to anyone new, please read part one named back when i was starry eyed to understand this ✩
— read on ao3.
— header credit: snow_H41F on twt.
through the large windows of the house beamed the rays of the sun, painting the bedroom in colorful shades of yellow, orange, and red. the vines hanging along the walls were swaying due to the light breeze, which circulated around the bedroom. with the door to the bedroom entirely opened, the cat sleeping in the living room yawned lightly as it rose, padding onto the other room and jumping onto the bed, getting comfortable once more. in the kitchen, there were empty glass bottles lining the counter, labels with neat writing placed by each bottle.
the forest was steadily awakening outside, birds chirping happily and foxes running around. the trees were dancing in the wind, and the skies hid away in favor of letting the sun shine. on the porch of your home sat a few different bowls as always, full of fruits, vegetables, and water for the animals of the forest, supplying them with whatever they needed. as someone who’d resided in this forest for years, the animals had grown fond of you, knowing you’d always leave something for them to indulge in.
inside the lonesome house located deep within the mysterious and dense forest, a certain knight began to awaken ever so lightly from his deep slumber, yawning widely and quietly. last night had been yet another sparring session between himself and the woman currently curled up in his arms, her head resting on his chest as his one arm was wrapped firmly around her waist. the other hand fell to land on her head, fingers softly stroking her head. your face was illuminated by the bright rays, highlighting the soft glow of your skin, making lohen slide his hand down to stroke his thumb over your cheekbone. for every day that he got to wake up next to you, feeling your breath softly blowing against his chest and seeing your lashes touch your cheeks as you slept, he wondered how he’d actually gotten here.
how did a failed ambush lead him here? lying in a bed with a woman as brilliant as you, beautiful and bright, strong and stunning, clever and creative. someone who embraced his very nature, never once passing judgment on his desire to fight or love for strength, but instead indulged in that. someone whose very life had clearly been riddled with dilemmas and problems, having been shunned from society, yet who was equally willing to break free from these traumas all for him. your willingness to trust a stranger, following them back into a city that had failed you, willing to subject yourself to judgment, hatred, and potential alienation once more, all for his sake. your starry hands were pressed against his stomach, sending a welcomed pang of coldness through his skin, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes lock onto the shimmery surface of your otherworldly hands.
the same hands that continuously earned you distrustful looks and snarls of anger lay on him with the softness of a pillow, relaxed and gentle. the same hands that had nursed him back to health, sewn his skin back together, and brushed over his face with such devotion.
“why are you staring at me?” your raspy voice broke lohen from his trance, blinking a few more times as you tilted your head up to gaze at him. your hands had slid up to rest on his chest, chin resting on top as your sleepy eyes gazed into his crimson ones, your nose scrunched up at the sun hitting your face. “lohen?”
“just admiring how delicious you look this morning, bun.”
you rolled your eyes at his words, ignoring the cocky grin sliding into his face as you turned to rest your face on your hands, now staring out of the window. his hand slid back down to rest against the side of your face, fingers stroking across your soft skin and thumb sliding down to rest against your lower lip, as his eyes fell shut again. your warmth was comforting against his skin, as was the soft drumming of your fingers against his skin. salem took the silent hint and jumped further up the bed, plopping down behind your head but on top of lohen’s chest and resting her head against yours, breathing peacefully.
“you say the same thing every morning.”
“my mother taught me to always speak the truth.”
an exasperated sigh coming from you made lohen grin once more, fingers grasping onto your chin to tilt your face back towards him, pleased by the soft smile resting on your lips. your eyes were still halfway closed, sleep lingering in the corners, but you looked so untroubled in this moment, untouched by trauma and pain. your legs tangled even further with his, pushing yourself further up the bed to rest your forehead against his, noses touching, and breaths mingling.
“you also say that every morning.”
and with that, you pushed yourself up from the bed, narrowly managing to avoid his hands attempting to pull you back down again. standing on the wooden floor now, your eyes fell shut once more as you stretched your limbs, ignorant of your shirt riding up and exposing your skin to lohen’s greedy eyes. his hands were reaching out for you, eager to get his fingers trailing patterns on your skin, but as always, he was no match for your speediness as you backed away with a yawn. instead you began your trek to the bathroom, letting your fingers curl into your shirt as you pulled it over your head and dumped it by the bathroom door, having not anticipated what that would do to the man ogling you with eager eyes.
and as weak as the man lohen was, he quickly nudged salem off his chest, making sure the cat landed safely and comfortably onto the bed before rushing after you into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
your life had oddly changed ever since that fateful morning when you were ambushed by lohen. sure, you two still sparred in your front yard at all hours of the day, having steadily grown to indulge in full-fledged fights to improve lohen’s abilities and keep yours alive. but beyond that, the relationship blooming between you two was stronger than ever before, even if nobody around you truly understood the inner workings of it. just like this morning, lohen spent almost every single night wrapped up in your comfortable sheets, holding you in his arms. what had started off as one simple night spent in your home due to his injury became routine for you two, now accustomed to spending almost every night together.
when lohen’s body had healed sufficiently after the gruesome encounter he’d had with the abyssal monsters, the medics at the knights of favonius gave the official approval for him to be discharged. where he would be staying was no contest for anyone, for everyone eventually realized that he’d always find his way back to you and your home. excuses such as ‘extra care’ and ‘monitoring’ had been thrown around, but anyone present was well aware that the two of you merely did not wish to be apart whatsoever. on the contrary, varka had also hoped that you being the one to monitor lohen during his recovery would mean that he didn’t have to fear lohen sneaking out to fight monsters, despite not being entirely recovered. he’d come to realize that lohen feared absolutely no one besides you, even if he did always have a certain glint of exhilaration in his crimson eyes whenever you leveled him with a glare or cut his sentence off halfway through.
you were not as socially unaware as one may assume, however. sure, you didn’t exactly know customs such as courting or how one may behave in certain social situations, but you were adept in identifying whenever someone had ulterior motives or secondary intentions. the words spoken by varka multiple times during your stay by lohen’s side, continuously prompting you to visit the city more and assuring you that you were welcome, may have been a genuine show of goodwill from his side as the grandmaster. yet that wasn’t all there was to it, and you knew that. at its core and at its most important extent, varka was indirectly trying to create a situation in which he also had you, an uncontrollable yet powerful outlier, in his sights and within his span of power.
never did you doubt his well-intended words and genuine smiles, but you also were not gullible enough to believe that the grandmaster and acting grandmaster of mondstadt would merely welcome you back into their city without taking any sort of precaution. nor would they merely accept you back into society and have you be around their people, the ones they had sworn to protect, solely due to your connection with lohen. they may have felt that you did deserve to integrate back into a regular social system and be able to interact with others, not just lohen, yet you understood that they were circumstantially also striving to transform you into a known variable rather than an unknown and, potentially, precarious one.
standing by the counter in your warm kitchen, the breeze drifted through the open door of your home, bringing in a freshness and the peaceful scent of the morning dew. held in your hands was a mug of tea, your eyes focusing on the small clusters of rabbits jumping around in your front yard as you took another sip. salem was already chasing away a fox, which had come a bit too close, in order to allow the rabbits the peace they deserved in your yard. flowers were swaying in the breeze, and so were your herbs, all ready to be delicately plucked and used for potions, foods, and your homemade personal products.
a pair of arms slid around your waist, a firm chest pressing against your back as you let yourself lean back into lohen’s front. his head peeked around your side, eyes drifting out to glance at whatever had captured your attention, letting his fingers drum random rhythms into your torso. without even looking back at him, you could feel that he was freshly dressed in his uniform, most likely about to head out for the day. his wet hair was already starting to dry, yet it caused your skin to prickle as he leaned in to place a small kiss on your cheek before rescinding his grip on you. instead, one hand remained on your waist as he grabbed his usual mug and began preparing a warm cup of coffee, like he did every morning.
lohen, more or less, resided with you here in the forest. he had steadily come to prefer spending his evenings, nights, and free time here with you. his own apartment was left almost entirely abandoned in the city of mondstadt, most of his clothing having been moved from there to here. all around your home were now signs of lohen and his presence, small daggers, trinkets, and papers lining your home. similarly, what had started off as one drawer had eventually led to nearly all of lohen’s wardrobe becoming part of your bedroom, which was, likewise, also steadily becoming his bedroom. on days with longer shifts or additional work, he would opt to stay at his own apartment, not wishing to wake you up by barging in at all hours of the night, but otherwise he spent most of his time here. something he also had to endure hearing, as varka had taken to calling him loverboy, perpetually teasing him about his undefined relationship with you.
“you’re headed into the city?” lohen questioned curiously once he noticed the empty potion bottles on the table, taking a sip from his coffee.
you placed your empty cup in the sink and wiped down the table. “i’m not sure. i have to finish the potions first, and then i will have to decide whether i’ll have enough time to make it. perhaps i will go tomorrow.”
lohen nodded, rapidly drinking the rest of his coffee before he reached for the small sponge, washing all the dishes in your sink. from the past few months of having lohen spend almost every night at your place, spending every morning moving in quiet harmony, you’d come to realize that lohen, in the early mornings, wasn’t anywhere near as exuberant or mischievous as usual; rather, he was quite mellowed out, preferring to wake up slowly and start his day quietly. it was definitely a vast difference for you to see him so relaxed, simply offering you small smiles and even fewer words, but frankly, you didn’t mind. lohen being able to open up about something so minute yet important to how he went about his life was important to you.
“i…” lohen shook his head to himself, leaning back against the counter as you tilted your head in confusion. his crimson eyes found yours, and there was a glint of vulnerability swimming within, his lips pulled into a thin line. “i want to introduce you to adorno.”
internally, your heart had damn near halted in its rhythm, and a sudden rock had appeared in your stomach at his words. you knew who adorno was, or rather, who he’d been. after lohen began recovering from his injuries, he’d find himself opening up ever so slightly one last night beneath the stars, telling you about adorno’s role in his life, how his momentary disappearance was due to the punishment he was facing because of his questionable actions, and working through his own feelings. you didn’t say much that night, for you could tell lohen didn’t need verbal support or some sort of emotional speech, but rather, he seemingly yearned to merely voice his feelings out into the open and not keep them bottled up inside.
“it would be my honor,” you admitted with a small smile, moving forward to let your hands land on lohen’s shoulders, glancing up at his surprised expression.
the past many months had not just worked wonders for lohen, but also for yourself. whereas lohen chose to become more honest with you, never ceasing to speak his mind or divulge the matters of his heart, he also found himself finally having an anchor in life, something to return to. yes, he still enjoyed fighting and continuously pursued his quest in becoming stronger, but he now held a will to live—he had someone to return home to and someone to hold in his arms. he desired to be stronger, but your approval and your safety became a factor in his quest; he knew you could fend for yourself, but he wanted to be able to protect you, too. he wanted to be able to save you as well, just as you’d saved him.
his lasting companionship had also evolved your own personality and how you perceived not only the world around you but also how you essentially engaged with other people. there was no doubt that lohen was a unique man, communicative in a way others weren’t, ignorant of personal boundaries, and always seeking a challenge. he liked to tease you as much as he could in any way possible, always pushed you out of your comfort zone, yet never failed to stop and make sure you were okay—he never once pushed you too far or ventured into dangerous territory. but it was exactly that which had prompted your growth in social interactions once more, silently observing how he communicated with you as opposed to how he’d communicated with others when you were in the city taking care of him. it was his touch on your waist whenever someone had spoken to you that allowed you to do your very best, knowing that the man standing behind you held nothing but support and pride for you.
every now and then, the blonde traveler from before would come knocking on your door, brandishing that same beautiful smile she’d worn when you managed to clean lohen up enough to get him out of the danger zone. whilst you did struggle to communicate with her companion, finding the fairy’s presence quite overwhelming at times, the traveler herself sometimes came across just as socially distant as yourself. she wouldn’t speak much, her tone wouldn't fluctuate like others’, and she didn’t talk for hours on end, but conversation with her was always pleasant and effortless.
lohen grinned down at you, suddenly throwing his arms around your waist as he lifted you into the air, relishing in the startled expression on your face. your grip on his shoulders tightened, even if you knew he’d never drop you. it was a major step for him to ask you to come visit the man whose presence had entirely altered lohen’s life, and for you, it was the biggest honor of all. you didn’t require meaningless titles or abundant gestures of care when lohen was by your side, inviting you into every crevice of his very being.
“meet me at the fountain later,” lohen whispered once he’d put you down again, letting his head sink to your shoulder and his breath flow over your ear. “we can go from there when the sun’s down.”
you were still not sure how to truly behave around lohen, but that no longer scared you, nor did you care to reign in whatever you felt for him. a smiling nod was what he got in return, your hands sliding up the length of his muscular back and tangling into his hair. touch had never been something you lacked, for it was never something you’d been given. the abyss was vile, always weaponizing something so special as human connection. however, with lohen, you never felt weird letting your hands run over him. his own touch, cold yet burning, brought a sense of comfort to you, and as you began experimenting steadily by letting your own hands venture across his skin and over the span of his body, you’d hope he felt the same way about you.
“and wear that black dress, the one with the lace in the back.”
“lohen, can you please behave?”
“what?! i am behaved!”
you pushed back with a disappointed shake of the head, ignoring his predatory grin directed at you as you stepped away. “you cannot ask me to visit someone as prestigious as adorno, then turn and ask me to wear your favorite dress.”
“hm, you’re no fun, bun.”
“and you’re late for work, lohen. please leave before i am once again summoned to grandmaster varka’s office.”
lohen laughed loudly at that, thinking back to just yesterday when you’d been summoned by the grandmaster all because lohen had poisoned yet another knight. varka had come to realize that lohen did not hold any fear for anyone but you, continuously using that against him. the sheer tenderness in lohen’s eyes whenever you were near, the desire to please you but also push you out of your comfort zone, made him unwilling to genuinely displease you. so whenever varka summoned you with concerns about lohen, he did it knowing that lohen’s fierce adoration for you would overrule his desire to annoy varka. and if anyone asked varka, seeing you walk out of the office in mild disapproval and irritation with lohen chasing after you like a scorned puppy was a sight like none other.
“see you later, baby.“ he picked up his daggers from the counter and slid them back into his belt, wrapping an arm around your waist to press a light peck to your cheek before rushing out the door, not forgetting to give salem a cuddle on the way out. you could hear his loud voice roaring a final farewell at you, and you couldn’t help but stand in the doorway, gracing him with a flushed smile as he ran backward, keeping those magnetic eyes on you as he saluted happily before turning around and sprinting off. “don’t miss me too much now!”
he was going to be late for work.
“what a headache,” you murmured to yourself, but the smile on your lips said otherwise even when you closed the door and glanced around to see his forgotten spear standing in the corner of your living room—varka was going to lose his mind. but that wasn’t your problem, so instead you began planning out your day, jotting down all the things you were meant to do for the day.
the semi-finished potion blends in your kitchen were merely waiting for the last few ingredients before they could be poured into glass bottles and sealed. whilst your initial plan had not been to visit the city today, you’d merely decided that you may as well finish these potions and bring them with you when going to meet lohen. the people of mondstadt still did not know you were the one making these potions, besides the grandmaster, the acting grandmaster, and the company captains, and you were determined to keep it that way. for you knew that if the knights came to realize that their potions were made by you, then they’d never come to use them ever again.
lohen’s care for you did not translate into acceptance by all, a fact you were well aware of. whenever you did enter the city, people still stared at you as if you were the bane of all evil, the one who’d bring ruin to their city. despite rumors flooding the streets about you having been one to defend mondstadt in its time of need, people were not so predisposed to changing their minds in no time. your hand still reminded them of their worst enemy, and your heterochromia still struck fear in the hearts of the people, even if you held no ill will towards anyone. for that reason alone, you limited your visits to the city, despite having reoccurring desires to walk through your childhood city with no fear or without feeling like an outsider.
walking outside and through your garden, a pleased laugh escaped you as you were thrust back into the grass by the various animals rushing at you, eager to shower you in love. and maybe you didn’t need everyone to accept you; maybe you didn’t need to feel kind smiles and warm greetings directed at you by a city of strangers when the ones with nothing but reverence and adoration embraced you with all this devotion.
✦
it was yet another warm morning, the sun hiding behind a small cloud but nevertheless spreading its warmth down upon your side of the forest. standing in your kitchen and humming a small tune to yourself, the last of your new serum was poured into a bowl to cool down. it was that day of the month when you’d spend hours remaking all the products you used for your personal care, seeing as you weren’t able to venture into the city to merely purchase them. your family’s long history in creating potions had inevitably also made your bloodline increasingly adept at creating products for your own usage, making you as independent as possible.
“well, i certainly wasn’t expecting this.” alice’s teasing voice reached your ears, leading to you spinning around just to see alice’s head poking in through your open door.
below her, another head poked its way inside, wide eyes staring around at your furnished living room before landing on you. “mom, she’s so pretty!”
“i told you, didn’t i, my dear klee? and mom would never lie to her darling.” alice lovingly ran her hand across her daughter’s head, amused at your puzzled stare directed at the two of them. taking a step inside, she held out a hand and allowed klee to enter your home as well, assuming the open door also meant an open invitation. the bowls and jars lining your counter were nothing new, but even alice could see the newfound glow on your face, the previously empty circles underneath your eyes wholly gone. “and this, klee, is the witch i told you about.”
the little girl came running at you, jumping around in happiness and taking the time to take in everything she could see in your living room before she came to a sudden halt in front of you, beaming up at your perplexed face. “hi, klee is klee! mom told me sooo much about you, miss witch.”
how were you supposed to act around her? your eyes were glued to the small girl beaming up at you, but your heart was beating faster than before, hands nervously tapping the sides of your legs in confusion. you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been around someone as young as her, someone as exuberant and lively as her. but somewhere in the back of your mind, a distant memory came to mind.
so you chose to delicately crouch down, wrapping your arms around your knees and meeting klee at her own height, not wanting to seem intimidating to her. “uhm, hello klee. i’m very honored that your mother has spoken so highly of me.”
“your voice is so nice!” klee gushed with excited eyes, clapping cheerily at you. “mom said miss witch makes all the potions in the city. the ones that make the knights big and strong. klee also wants to try a potion. can she? can i?” she spun around, running to alice whose arms were already wide open to receive her daughter.
your eyebrows knitted together at her words, trying to work out how much she actually knew, but also how she perceived the world. not once had she glanced down at your hands or even seemed terrified of your heterochromia, but instead seemed to notice more normal attributes such as your appearance and your voice. of course, you would expect that someone such as alice would have a daughter as brave as herself, lively and headstrong, but your lack of knowledge regarding children was apparent. your brain was working overtime to observe how alice was lovingly talking to her daughter, letting her daughter jump in place out of wild excitement as she stared at her with pure and unadulterated infatuation.
it reminded you of how your own mother used to gaze at you.
“if miss witch has any potions that would be good for my darling daughter, then i don’t see why not!”
you snapped out of your own thoughts, peering up to see both klee and alice staring at you with a matching set of excited expressions. inwardly going over your inventory of potions, you tried to remember if you had any that would be alright for a child to use. “i think i may have a potion that boosts your jumping abilities for a bit,” you murmured in a whispered tone, mentally wracking your own brain. “and one that will boost elemental energy recovery.”
“mom, mom! if i have that second one, can i play with more fish then?”
“yes! that’s a brilliant idea, klee.”
your head tilted to the side in utter confusion, watching mother and daughter excitedly brainstorm ideas for what klee could do after drinking your potion. their mannerisms were so similar, and at some point, you did begin to wonder exactly how the young girl would be playing with the fish and why she’d need elemental energy for that. but you chose not to question them, instead standing back up and slipping back into your kitchen, sealing a few glass bottles, and placing them gently in your basket.
“anyways, i’ve actually come here for a different reason.” alice caught your attention again, directing you to turn around and face the woman again, who was now likewise standing at full height as she held her daughter’s hand. “i’ve had the most magnificent morning playing with my darling daughter, but alas, the border of teyvat requires my attention, and i must go. i would like for you to bring my klee back to the city and also deliver this letter to varka.”
the bewilderment on your face must’ve been much clearer than you thought, for both alice and klee laughed heartily at you. raising a hand, you pointed back at yourself. “i’m sorry, do you wish for me to escort your daughter back into the city?”
“yes!” alice clapped happily—a move that klee mimicked eagerly, earning a pat on the head. “you’ll be able to get her back safely and also deliver this super important letter to varka.”
“klee thinks miss witch will be perfect for taking klee back home!” the young girl came running back to you, staring up at you with a sweet display of curiosity as she swayed on her feet, both hands clasped behind her back. “mom said you’re super strong!”
and that was how you found yourself walking back towards mondstadt city with klee, her hand clasped in yours as she eagerly chatted the whole way back. every now and then, she would ask you questions and listen intensely as you answered quietly, never divulging too much but not wanting to ignore her either. all of her questions were so light, merely asking your opinion on the trees you saw on the way or asking you about your experience making potions. her questions never came back to your past or came to question your appearance, something you’d become so accustomed to. you’d crack a smile whenever she’d go off on a tangent about the adventures she’d embarked on with her little witch squad or whenever she told you stories about her life as the spark knight.
“miss, can i ask you something?”
you glanced down at klee who was trotting by your side with a jump in her step, her hand curled around your fingers. “of course, klee.”
“my mom said i couldn’t ask about your hands, but klee’s really curious!” she stopped in her tracks, motioning for you to crouch down, which you did. your heart was pounding in your heart, fearful now that she’d asked that one thing you wished she wouldn’t. her smaller hands grabbed onto your hands and held them out, keeping them hovering between the both of you. “can you also make klee’s hands look so pretty? klee wants stars too!”
“…what?”
“i can see the stars,” she exclaimed joyfully, pointing down at your abyssal hands, enthralled by their oscillating surface. “they’re sooo pretty, miss. can you make my hands like that, too? and your eye! can you make my eye have a dodoco in it?”
the wind blew past the two of you, inducing the flowers and plants around to dance freely. klee’s eyes were firmly holding eye contact with yours, her smaller fingers wrapped tightly around yours. there was no fear, no judgment, and no hesitation. the smile that adorned her face was brighter than the sun, warmer than its rays, and carried more emotional weight than you could ever begin to imagine; to her, this was merely a question asked out of curiosity and desire for something beautiful; for you, this was a lifeline thrown at you. they often said that children were the purest of heart, unaffected and scatheless from the harsh realities of life. for a child to so openly embrace you and your most feared feature, for her to ask you for something similar solely because to her, these very features were something captivating, something desirable.
even you hadn’t realized that small tears had built up in your eyes until you felt a tug on your hands, klee wanting you to snap out of your own mind and direct your attention to her. sniffling every so slightly, your lips subconsciously pulled into a small smile, taking even klee by surprise as she’d yet to see you smile so sincerely.
“unfortunately, i cannot make your hands appear as my own, nor can i change your eyes. i don’t think miss alice would be too happy with me, either. i can, however, make a potion that would make your hands shimmer beneath the sunlight if that is something you’re interested in,” you proposed softly, letting your thumbs run across the back of her hands soothingly.
klee seemed to be in deep thought, pursing her lips as she tapped her foot on the ground; she really was alice’s daughter, you thought to yourself. their mannerisms were so similar. “okay! klee wants that, miss witch! can we do that? can we? can we?!”
“i promise you i’ll try my very best to create such a potion for you, klee,” you giggled at her eagerness, pushing yourself to your full height and brushing off your dress before extending your hand to klee again, feeling her fingers wrap around yours. the two of you continued your trek back into the city with the animals running around you, often stopping to playfully nudge at klee, and klee filling the air with all sorts of stories her mother had told her.
alas, this light atmosphere of childish wonder and otherworldly stories would not last much longer. whilst klee failed to notice, too embroiled in energetically explaining to you how she’d once blown up the whole lake, your eyes immediately caught notice of the guards’ hardened eyes watching you. the gates of the city were open as always, with two guards standing outside, and despite having been offered to not stop you from entering the city, they still did not shy away from leveling you with hateful glares and snarling lips. the very second you moved a mere step into the city, several operations came to a halt, people not even hiding their gaping at your figure.
the bustling city was always kept alive by the various people running around, from the lady selling flowers to the area, where one could commission weapons or such. the adventures’ guild stood at the entrance, and along that path, there were various different stores and bars scattered. walking up the path, you resolved to keep your eyes lowered to the ground in an attempt to avoid anyone’s eyes and to merely retreat back into your own sense of self, hoping to get through this area as soon as possible. on those rare occasions you did come to the city, you’d usually make sure to have your cloak covering your entire body and take one of the lesser-used paths, or you’d try to enter in the later when fewer people would be roaming the streets. however, it was an early morning, and the city was lively as ever today.
your eyes dropped to peer at klee, only to see the little girl glancing around in utter confusion, most likely attempting to figure out why the spirited and vibrant atmosphere of her home had suddenly become chilly and unwelcoming. all along the path, people were glaring daggers into you, not bothering to hide their disgust for you. not a single person dared to speak, however. the sun was beaming down on the city in its glory, but not a shred of warmth was to be seen anywhere. you could tell klee was beginning to piece it together, presumably noticing the amount of glares directed at your intertwined hands. people were downright disgusted to see you in their home, which they didn’t particularly bother to hide.
“miss witch, can we hurry up? klee doesn’t like this.” her small voice seemed surprisingly fragile, so riddled with emotion and laced with sadness.
whatever words you would’ve wished to say just wouldn’t leave your throat, a thick clump stuck somewhere between. instead, you merely nodded and gave her hand a small squeeze, picking up the pace significantly as you left behind those outraged and scrutinizing glares. they were still burning into your back, searing into your very soul, as you could feel your mind retreating back into that same pocket of darkness and emptiness.
you never should’ve come here. you don’t belong here.
this was not your home. that one bout of joy you’d felt from klee’s words faded back into that pit of nothingness, hiding somewhere deep inside of you, firmly locked behind a layer of despair. you were a stranger to those people, a danger. it didn’t matter that this very city and its people had failed you and your village; it didn’t matter that nobody remembered the slaughter of your people; it didn’t matter that the abyss had been bold enough to viciously murder a group of people, kidnapping children for the sake of creating weapons of destruction and madness. because as long as they stayed safe, they were content. and you couldn’t fault them for them.
the unknown was terrifying.
but as you walked past the glaring guards at the headquarters of the knights of favonius, as you dragged yourself through the lobby and ignored the firm looks of disgust directed at you, there was that sense of numbness spreading through your veins again. your hands were buzzing, spreading a little seed of sorrow throughout your body, resonating with the feelings growing in your heart. klee could feel the grip on her hand had loosened ever so gradually, and so as she glanced at you, her eyes found your expression had fallen back to that stoic expression, the one with empty eyes and a hollow heart.
“come in!”
your hand gently pushed open the door to varka’s office, and you calmly approached the large desk as varka peered up from his stack of papers, finding two unlikely people standing before him. the woman sitting beside him also glanced up but found that her attention wouldn’t focus on the little girl when the person standing next to her seemed so lifeless. just last night, varka and jean were headed back from the headquarters when they heard a familiar loud laugh echoing throughout the night. peeking around the corner, they were unsurprised to see lohen running around beneath the statue of barbatos, laughing maniacally. they were, however, beyond stunned to see your figure appearing right behind him, chasing him down with a small smile adorning your face. both of you were no longer dressed in your usual attire but in something a bit more formal, more private.
“adorno wouldn’t be happy to see you chasing me around like this, bunny!”
“if everything you have told me about him is true, then i think he’d be very pleased to see someone attempting to correct your deranged behavior.”
“huh?” lohen had paused right in his tracks, catching you off guard, but it seemed that’s exactly what he meant to do. you hadn’t realized that the man had stopped until a beat too late, but before you could even begin to halt in your step, lohen rushed towards you and draped his arms around your waist. a disorienting hiss escaped you, catching both jean and varka off guard, as your arms entangled around lohen’s neck. “oh, he would love you, sweets. but not more than me.”
you rolled your eyes at lohen’s habit of singing the last of his sentence, allowing him to bury his head into your neck and hair like a puppy seeking comfort. dragging your hands up the span of his neck, your long, sharp nails scratched the skin where his hair met his neck, eliciting a small purr of comfort from the young man. varka was absolutely flabbergasted, to say the least. not only because lohen was acting more like a lovesick puppy than usual, but also given that in the few months he had seen you around, he had never seen such a serene smile on your face, such passion flushing into your cheeks at lohen’s words. it seemed you had no intention of saying it back, but perhaps you didn’t need to. the fire burning in lohen’s eyes when he leaned back, staring down at you with an expression full of love, cupping your face in his hands, told both varka and jean enough.
whatever was between the two of you, it was something that just worked.
nevertheless, the woman standing before them now was not the same as the one from last night, or even the same they’d encountered a few weeks ago in the forest. riddled with tenderness, eyes full of liveliness, and hands as delicate as silk, that was the woman they’d seen. the woman standing before them with her hands hidden beneath the long sleeves of her dress, eyes cast downwards towards the floor, and with a body language expressing discomfort and detachment, wasn’t the same one. and as both adults exchanged an expression of confusion, they were further confused by klee’s hands equally hidden beneath your dress as if you both were holding hands, a saddened expression on klee’s face as well; something they weren’t accustomed to seeing.
“i apologize for disturbing you, grandmaster, acting grandmaster. alice asked me to escort little klee back to the city, but also to deliver this letter to you.” you gently let go of klee’s hands, missing her little unspoken protest in letting you go, as you carefully placed your basket on the corner of their table, not wanting to mess with their papers. “there are also a new batch of potions in here. i was able to make the potion you requested, grandmaster. it performed well for lohen, but unfortunately i do not know how it might affect any of the other knights. however, there should not be any likelihood of permanent impairment.”
varka’s eyes wandered past your withdrawn figure and centered in on klee, whose eyes were watching you intensely. there was such a deep feeling of hurt floating across her face, one that varka had never seen before; not when she was put in solitary confinement, not when dodoco was confiscated, and not even when her parents weren’t able to make it back that one time they’d promised they’d be back. despite being a serial bomber of fish, the little girl was far more emotionally intelligent than one would assume—something all the surrounding adults were well aware of. she often picked up on the emotions of those around her faster than others, itching to make everything better. but varka kept his eyes on her, simply observing how her eyes wouldn’t move from you, small tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and her hands dug into the fabric of her own dress in frustration. he had to assume that whatever had happened was severe enough for you to retract back into yourself and for klee to take it to heart.
“again, pardon my intrusion. i will be on my way now. klee, i will do my utmost to create the promised potion for you.” your tone remained hollow and impassive, never even catching their eyes, before pivoting on your heels and dashing out, not sparing anyone a further glance.
the second the door slammed behind you, klee rushed towards varka, just about allowing the man to push back his chair and lean down, catching the young girl in his arms. settling her back down on his one leg, both jean and varka tried their very best to understand the words that left her, but alas. the words were spoken through a river of tears, and only once they’d managed to calm the girl down were they able to discern her words. the hostility in the city upon your arrival, the muttered profanities directed at you, and the animosities lingering in the air behind you. of course, they both were well aware that your presence in the city would always sow discord. however, they would have hoped that people would have become less outwardly judgmental considering you had gone out of your way to protect these very people, without any obligation.
back outside the headquarters, the guards barely noticed the figure speeding past them. running past the various people, leaving everyone stumped about what had just passed them, your legs carried you out through the side gate of the city and toward the forest, itching to get away from here as soon as possible.
after all, you didn’t belong here.
✦
salem was running around outside with some other animals, who often came by your residence at night. the rabbits were jumping around happily, salem chasing them for fun, as the foxes played with some squirrels, knowing better than to deliberately launch an attack at any of the smaller animals. a few wolves were howling merrily, most likely streaking through the dark forest with glee, overjoyed to be left in peace and able to stretch their legs.
despite that, most of the animals would occasionally peer over at the warm house, now carrying a feeling of loneliness like never before. the lights were on and the door was open, yet inside, they knew that your form was lying quietly on your bed. within your chest was a hollow space, one ripped open once the abyss and its emptiness had merged with your very being. anyone lacking knowledge regarding the abyss would never know that even at its most powerful, it would always manifest as one’s own thoughts and creation. outwardly, the abyss would always be tempting, cold but alluring. but at its core, it could be anything you’d want it to be, albeit with that same coldness always present.
that same little pocket of comfort was where your mind had taken you. your eyes may have been shut and your form buried beneath your warm sheets, but inside your mind, you were floating in that vast space of nothing. the space was darker than words could even begin to describe, its surface littered with all sorts of floating stars that shone brighter than anything you’d ever seen before. in that space, your body was weightless; it was untied. there was nothing tethering you to a place that regularly didn’t even feel like your own, to a place whose people disdained you, and a world that held secrets beyond human understanding.
your form was crumpled up on the inhuman and icy ground, the bumps within its stone worm burying into your legs. yet, your mind was floating in and out of consciousness, pain thumping through every thought in your head and every nerve in your body. you could see them. your hands. your rotten, twisted, detached hands lying a few meters away, their form pervertedly gnarled and grotesque.
“poor little surface princess and her hands!” the abyss herald cackled with excitement as he stomped on your severed hands and forearms, clearly relishing in the sheer amount of blood leaking from your extremities. “don’t cry so much now. your hands were destroyed from all that futile struggle, anyway. but now? now you finally get to embrace the power of the abyss! its power, its strength, its versatility! it’s all here, waiting for you, witch.”
your gaze swept down to your hands floating at your sides, blending in with the surrounding space. the fingers wiggled, they balled into fists, they created potions, and they saved lives. but these very hands, formed from the power of the abyss and materialized out of a desperate need, out of force that then became a necessity and a dependence, were in their nature created from something evil—something that aimed to usurp and destroy. but was that truly the reality? had these very hands not been your lifeline? had they not been the very hands, which picked up a weapon of a desire to live and learned to fight, eventually earning your way out of that wretched place? were they not the very same hands that had created potions for masses to use, aiding in battles and extending their lives? was your eye, tainted by an abyssal energy, not the same one granting you vision? had it not separated you from the others and continuously given you an advantage, sensing things others couldn’t and granting you mastery over your abilities like none other?
were you really to blame for accepting part of that wretched power when it had essentially been against your will? were you incorrect to retain these limbs of a starry surface and an eye resembling the very mirror people refused to peer into when their disappearance would leave you wounded and potentially dead? nobody could realistically try to even understand what you had been through and why you bit the forbidden apple, but had no one ever wondered whether your acceptance of that curse was out of a thirst for power or whether it was forced upon you?
your hands had been covering your eye in a desperate attempt to avoid the dagger, yet the blade had seamlessly slid right through your already-mangled hands, the tip buried deep in your eye. the abyss monsters chuckled; they howled in joy, and they relished. falling to her knees was the same girl that had been resisting for so long, screams ripping from her throat as blood slid down her face, the very sight delightful to them. your eyeball was deflated, you could tell, but your brain simply couldn’t fathom it, fingers vigorously reaching to wipe the blood away. screams were a custom within this horrid place, always echoing like some sort of malicious background music, but the screams ripping from that room on that very day would be heard for years on end.
you had barely survived. in fact, sometimes you genuinely wondered if you had actually survived or whether your soul had perished in that place. perhaps you were merely a walking corpse, pretending to be living and breathing, when in actuality you’d already been banished from this world.
yet as your own mind tried to isolate itself from its own existence, a certain sense of self remained. for somewhere in the back of your head, a certain crimson pair of eyes kept making an appearance. even in your own psyche, those calculating eyes captured your every move, gazing at you with so much emotion in them. because somewhere along the line, you had met someone whose contempt for you wasn’t fueled by attributes that they’d already formed prejudice about. it was indisputable that he, in all likelihood, also had many questions about your past, but to him, it didn’t matter. not for reasons like others, where common prejudice formed a pattern of discrimination, or where it was easier to remain distant from the unknown.
lohen had taken the time to get to know you.
whereas everyone assumed you must be some sort of evil and malicious witch hiding away in the forest, lohen had merely seen a person with immense strength. whereas everyone else shied away from your hands, condemning them and believing them to be an indicator of your loyalty to the abyss order, lohen saw them as something fascinating. the same hands that held a weapon against him, threw him to the ground, and hurt him in an attempt to grow his skill were the same ones healing his wounds and tugging him close, running a hand through his hair or down his spine, caressing the mole beneath his eye, or tracing across the scars littered across his back.
outside your home, the animals had been playing in peace until a crowd of footsteps began moving through the forest. they were light, almost inaudible, but the habits of moving in groups had alerted the birds. the same ones who often flew past your home, rested in the trees surrounding your home, and feasted on the food you’d leave for them in the trees. those same birds came soaring over your home, flying in circles above the grounds, filling the air with loud and squeaky calls of danger.
they had already seen what was coming your way.
salem just about managed to run into your home, the other animals scattering to survey the area. this wasn’t just your home, but theirs as well, and if the birds had fled from wherever the danger was, flying back to alert you about the danger… well, then whatever was coming this way would not be something aiming to hurt only the animals, but also the woman living here. but salem barely made it, for just as the black cat jumped into your bed, a group of people broke through the line of trees.
“kill the witch!”, “burn her down”, “rid mondstadt of all evil!”
the space was as vast as ever. your eyes were gradually starting to unfocus even in your own head, rendering you unable to even process anything beyond this peace coursing through you. perhaps you didn’t have to push yourself to seem normal, you thought. perhaps it was okay for you to just be you, to stay out of people’s way, and do your utmost to mind your own business. you didn’t really need to go into mondstadt city, did you? realistically, you could just ask lohen to drop off any potions you had been commissioned for. a pang of hurt shot through your body once lohen’s figure appeared in your mind, for was it really okay for him to be associated with you? wouldn’t the people he was meant to protect lose faith in him if they were to learn that he was involved with the same woman, whose very presence invoked fear and anger?
a scratch on your arm jolted you from that peaceful space, the sheer pain of claws digging into your arm eliciting a gasp to spill from your mouth. blood was already trickling down your arm once your mind readjusted to reality, making you hazily blink down to see salem slumped on your bed. her screams were loud, her paws hitting at you continuously, an inconceivable amount of distress rolling off her small body. your hands immediately scooped her into your arms, trying to hold her close, but alas. it was as if she didn’t want comfort, instead struggling to get out of your arms.
there was a smell building in the air, and as your sight returned to its normal state, the warmth building in your room finally made sense. smoke was piling in from your windows, and flames were spreading across your roof. your heart didn’t even get to drop, nor did the ice settle into your veins, for your body was already working faster than your own mind. your legs and arms hoisted you off the bed, rushing to rip open the door and stumble back at the flames in your living room.
you couldn’t breathe. the smoke was flooding the room, constricting your lungs and causing a burn to build in your eyes. your every limb was quivering, attempting to fight the urge to breathe in all this smoke. your knees were buckling beneath you, begging to cave in, but you knew this wasn’t the time. if not yourself, you had to make sure salem was okay. that all the other animals were okay, even if it meant the worst for yourself. salem’s small form was once again swept into your arms as you ran through the home, narrowly dodging the building flames and ignoring the hateful cheer outside your home. making it out the door, your feet came to a sudden halt. panting heavily, you turned around, unable to even feel the scorch of the fire building into your back. for standing outside your home were citizens of mondstadt, torches of fire in their hands, and hateful cheers chanted at you.
“she’s alive! run before she curses us!”
and truly, in that moment, you ached to crush them. the sight of those slimy eyes on you, their wicked laughs and loathsome words directed at you, was kindling a fire within your heart. because they knew as well as you did that if a fight ensued, they stood no chance against you. but that wasn’t you, nor was it what your heart sincerely wanted. you never wanted to kill another human being again, to have that particular kind of blood on your hands or your consciousness ever again.
wasn’t it enough that you’d been forced to slaughter your own friends? wasn’t it enough that the blood on your hands had sunken so deep into your very soul that you’d never be able to erase its very guilt from your soul?
they ran. all of them. forgotten torches, echoing words, and burning hatred, all left behind.
your legs were bucking beneath you, but that wasn’t the only thing on your mind. the fire had long since made its mark on your back, and as your trembling legs gave out beneath you, sending your burnt body flying down the stairs, somehow managing to shield salem, you wondered if this was how you’d meet your end. burnt to a crisp all alone in the very forest, where you’d watched your parents die all those years alone. the fire was spreading rapidly, engulfing your home in its radiant glow. but your unblinking eyes still couldn’t look away, even as more and more hits struck your body, begging you to get up.
the burning on your body had commenced before you’d even returned to consciousness, having made its marks on your arms and face. it never dawned on you before, the sheer pain of weaving through a room engulfed in fire, its flames licking every inch of your skin. so now you lie here, on the grass, your eyes stuck watching your safe space burning to a crisp. sensing, somewhere far away, that your own skin was searing and sizzling, and your own muscles were sweltering. your hands were desperately reaching out for your home, hopeless tears streaming down your scalding face as you struggled to stay awake. left to die a gruesome death on your own, as you had always been.
perhaps it was destiny. perhaps it was the universe correcting its wrongs. whatever it was, your mind simply couldn’t process it. for with flakes of your skin burnt off your back and spreading fighting catching onto your fallen body, your mind was already reverting to that space.
perhaps your soul would lastly meet its end, as you should’ve all those years ago.
✦
“so is everyone clear on tomorrow, then?” varka questioned into the vast room, illuminated by the yellow lights hanging above the table alongside the many candles scattered across the room.
lohen was casually lounging over at the couch, kaeya next to him, and eula plopped down close by. with a mission like this, a plan to scout the city and its borders for abyssal energy, it was vital to have all the different companies briefed properly. even the master of the winery, diluc, was present at the meeting, as he refused to have knights roaming around on his property. a few of the other captains were also present, alongside mika and amber. frankly, the vice captain just wished for this meeting to finish as soon as possible so he could get right back to you.
the thought of sitting here was annoying. notably, when he knew that instead, he could be lying in bed with you, cuddled into your warmth with your hands running through his hair and your legs coiling around his torso. he could tell you about his day and hear your dulcet voice scold him with so much fondness, maybe hear a small giggle from you, and see your eyes light up with amusement.
ever since lohen had encountered that mysterious horde of abyssal monsters headed towards the city, everyone had been extra alert. there had been no massive attacks headed towards the city, besides the one you’d foiled when lohen was healing from his wounds. since then, it’d only been the typical little waves of monsters headed for the city or attacking people out in the wild—something bothersome and strange, but not something that would cause mass hysteria. however, the grandmaster and acting grandmaster held their titles for a reason, having long suspected that something was about to go awry. whether or not it was today or in a few weeks, they didn’t know, but that was precisely the purpose behind this meeting: to establish routes for the different companies to scout, what to look out for, what to collect from the various locations, and what to do in case of an emergency.
mondstadt had faced its fair share of difficulties and disasters—it was only appropriate that they set countermeasures in place if disaster came to strike once more.
the nods and murmured words all throughout the room seemed to be enough of an answer, varka giving a nod of acceptance as he delegated further. lohen could feel himself zoning out as the details regarding what materials to collect were discussed loudly, his head falling backwards to rest against the sofa in annoyance. in a perfect world, he’d be snuggling into your warm body right about now, relishing in the way you always subtly tangled your legs with his.
“does anyone else hear that?” kaeya interrupted whatever conversation was happening, sounding unfamiliarly serious as he leaned forward in confusion. the conversation dropped instantly, everyone now focusing their attention over to the blue-eyed captain whose eyebrows were furrowed. “it sounds like scratching. i’m not sure.”
by now, lohen’s patience was seriously beginning to run thin. how many more times were these people going to delay this goddamn meeting? his journey back to your place would take him a while, unless he somehow stole one of kaeya’s horses, and he really did not want to spend tonight all alone in his own bed without you by his side. he also was actively beginning to question the professionalism of the other knights, because having a meeting at this hour was downright ridiculous to him. but as lohen’s head slumped and his teeth gritted together in irritation, fingers drumming along the sofa, he missed all that was happening around him.
kaeya’s interruption made varka curious enough to head towards the door, especially when his own ears caught a whispered cry. the others evidently noticed the sound as well, everyone besides lohen whose mind had already ventured back to sparring with you tomorrow morning, and were equally eager to know what that sound may be. but just as varka opened the door, taking a small step back, a small flash of black zoomed through the room, invoking several gasps and confusion-laden whispers.
the sudden drop of something heavy on lohen’s lap drove him out of his mind, profanities already sitting ready on his tongue for whoever was daring to interrupt him. he knew it was probably varka trying to bring him back to the conversation or maybe even kaeya, who had a certain penchant to piss lohen off. but just as lohen’s crimson eyes snapped open, his hand reaching down to throw whatever had landed on his lap off, he heard the small murmurs around him. his brain moved faster than his hands for once, rendering him unable to cause any harm to the trembling cat on his lap. cries of despair and anguish were spilling from her tiny form, nails scratching at him as if she was distraught beyond words, but also frantically needed to get his attention.
every nerve in lohen’s body, every thought in his head, and every single breath he inhaled felt foreign, as did the gesture of his own hand reaching down to pet salem. his eyes were staring down at the familiar cat with pure confusion painted on his face, but the pensiveness growing in his heart was unlike any he’d ever felt. everyone else was staring at him as well, he could tell. yet their stares were full of a different sort of confusion, most likely growing more so annoyed by the interruptions extending their workdays even further.
but lohen knew better.
for salem would never find her way here on her own without reason. she was the sort of cat who’d refuse to leave your side even for a little bit, no matter what. despite sleeping in the living room most of the nights, she somehow always made her way into your bedroom and onto your bed. her small paws always paddled after you, whether it was whilst you were doing chores around your home, taking a walk through the forest, or simply relaxing around your own place. she was spiritually connected with you, something lohen noticed very early on. eventually salem did also grow fond of him, beginning these same patterns with him, but to a lesser degree. whenever he was injured, salem would plop down beside him or on, doing her utmost to provide some sense of comfort.
“lohen?” varka exchanged a quick glance with the others, perplexed by the younger man’s reaction. with a hand running over the distressed cat, it was as if his body was moving on its own. the sheer size of his eyes, however, was something varka had only seen a few select times. “lohen, who’s the cat?”
lohen’s eyes scanned the small cat, feeling a pit form in his stomach as he observed how utterly terrified the small animal seemed. her quest to gain his attention had led her to start nipping at fingers, desperate for him to piece together whatever was happening, rather than zone out. and when it clicked in his mind, he just knew.
you were in trouble.
salem would never be able to find her way here otherwise, nor would you ever let her go. if salem had somehow managed to run all the way from home to here, shaking and trembling, behaving unlike herself as she whined and yowled, then something wasn’t right. lohen’s mind continuously ignored everyone around him, even as the others now began exchanging concerning expressions about how blank lohen’s face had become. there were patches of fur missing from salem’s body, seemingly burned off, and he could see the amount of black stuff clinging to her paws. several of the cat’s claws were broken, dried blood clinging to her paws, as she kept trying to bite his hand.
you’d never let salem go.
salem would never leave you.
lohen’s body accelerated before his mind could even process everything. he didn’t know anything besides the fact that he had to get back. his blood was pumping faster than ever before, and his breaths were coming out choppy, but none of that mattered to him. nor did the yells of confusion and concerns being thrown after him, as lohen coddled salem in his arms and sprinted out of the office, rushing out of the headquarters. he could hear footsteps following him, notably varka’s boots colliding with the floor, but lohen had always been faster than most, something that was coming in handy by now. for as his body escaped the headquarters and his mind had always drifted back to you, he instinctively ran to the stalls behind the building and loosened the reins to a horse, jumping on and taking off before anyone could stop him.
he had one objective only, and that was to find you.
the ride through the lands of mondstadt felt like a fever dream to lohen, who was directing the horse to speed towards your home whilst holding onto a whining and crying salem. whatever had happened to you, it was bad enough to render salem devastated, and the feeling coursing through lohen’s veins was unlike any other. nothing felt real to him, the night sky blurring past him, as his hands kept tightening around the reins. his eyes were dropping in and out of focus, as if his mind was struggling to not retreat into his own space and fabricate false hopes about your safety. the sound of blood pumping was rushing through his ears, and for a second, lohen could feel his entire body trembling.
his own past was one he struggled with often, with his mind wandering back to the darkest period of his life. he would never be able to open up about how being kidnapped affected him in its entirety and how it continued to haunt him. but you didn’t demand explanations or reasons when his body would stiffen and his eyes would become hazy. you didn’t need explanations when he pushed himself behind his own body’s limitations, when he kept going even when his body was begging him to just stop. you never expected him to suddenly tell you everything, nor did you ever make him feel indebted to you. instead, you were just there.
you sparred with him for as long as he needed you to, whether it was an hour or five. you patched him up, and even when you gave him that expression, he knew you were merely not content with his willingness to allow himself to be injured in pursuit of strength; yet you never once tried to make him quit. because you understood that this meant everything to him. that it wasn’t just a hobby he’d picked up for fun, or because he was power-hungry, and thus strived for more power. no, you understood that this was his response to trauma he’d faced early on in his life. you didn’t try to dictate his lifestyle or preach about better methods because you knew that to change his trauma response and his chosen method of dealing with his past would be to deny him the freedom to be himself.
there was something ablaze in the distance, lohen could see as his eyes came back into focus. he knew he was close now, almost at your home—his safe haven. there was a strong scent of smoke in the air, black smoke still billowing through the windy night. lohen had a bad feeling brewing in his stomach, angry grunts escaping his overworked body, as he forced the horse to run faster. he had to get to you as soon as possible. there were following voices behind him, calling out his name or merely calling out orders. varka had taken the initiative to follow him, he assumed, as he narrowly directed his horse through the dense forest. but that wasn’t surprising to lohen, for varka was the type of man who’d never let his knights suffer on their own.
and varka knew how much you meant to lohen.
as the trees’ lining cleared and lohen broke through the timberline, which surrounded your area of the forest, everything within his sight became bleary in his mind—it was as if his brain simply could not process the scene before him, yet his body kept moving forward. the horse halted in its movements, and lohen jumped off, but his eyes never once moved from the scene before him, even as salem’s cries reached his ears once more.
everything was burning. your home, its beautiful garden, the trees. all of it, in flames, high in the sky and brighter beneath the somber horizon. lohen’s eyes were snapping from item to item, place to place, and he could physically feel his chest beginning to constrict, for he could not find you. his eyes were picking up on one too many aspects, but you weren’t one of them. and even when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder in a silent show of support, even when his peripheral vision observed more of his colleagues coming to examine the scene with hushed gasps and poorly-veiled astonishment, lohen’s mind was screaming at him.
he needed to find you. he had to find you. he wanted to find you. he knew you wanted him to find you. he just wanted to see you.
“look there!” albedo's voice broke through the tense silence forming as everyone tried to find any sign of life anywhere, pointing towards a line of trees to the left of your home.
the trees in that little area were not burning, nor did they seem affected by the surrounding happenings. rather, as lohen’s crimson eyes narrowed and his legs moved forward on their own, it seemed as if there was something forming a silent barrier between that area and everything else. everyone else took tentative steps behind lohen, and while they were usually not the type of people to conduct themselves so quietly, one could assume varka had given them enough hints about what was actually happening.
they all knew you and lohen were a pair of your own, something so unique that one could never put a proper label on you, yet so pleased with merely being within each other’s reach.
“fuck!” lohen’s breath got caught in his chest, his legs launching into a full-blown sprint when he inevitably registered what he was staring at. the barrier was thin, but anyone could see the slightly darker bubble formed around the crowd hiding behind the trees. small stars floated around on the surface of the bubble, and as lohen’s body reached the bubble, his knees gave out from beneath him. the air around him was thinning rapidly, a crushing sensation in his chest spreading to the entirety of his body, as his eyes fell into the most horrific and heart-wrenching he’d ever seen.
lying behind the trees was your body, face turned away from him, but unmistakably, it was you. the dress worn by you had burned in certain areas, leaving parts of your skin exposed and displaying the severe burns etched into the otherwise delicate skin. parts of your hair were burned off, but merely shortened, as if the fire had never had the chance to spread to your head. some of your muscles were entirely visible to the naked eye, causing nausea to rise in everyone and anyone whose eyes caught sight of your burned and battered body.
but what truly made everyone turn away for a moment were your arms. the usually vibrant and beautiful arms seemed almost transparent, as if their existence was waning as your body weakened. within that bubble was every animal you’d ever cared for and shown goodwill for, scattered around your body and covering you with trembling statues. they were absolutely terrified but their instinct had still been to offer you protection. to make sure that nothing more happened to you. varka noticed that there were drag marks from the home to where your body was currently sprawled, and as he noticed animals watching them all with hostile eyes, he had to assume that those very animals had dragged you from the fire and to safety.
lohen’s hand reached out towards the bubble, no longer able to register anything else around him. the muttering and conversations behind him faded into a vast space of nothing, as did all the worried glances being thrown between himself and you. that bubble around you, the one that resembled your hand, was one you must’ve erected merely to protect the animals rather than yourself. for lohen knew you; he knew that you’d never award yourself such a protection, but you’d go out of your way to keep the animals near your home safe.
everyone else’s safety always mattered more than your own to you.
despite several murmurs from behind him, words of warning and caution, lohen did whatever felt right to him. his hand phased right through the barrier, and nobody could’ve missed the way all the animals bared their teeth at him, seemingly afraid he’d be another person to harm you. but as they registered the man before them, salem ran through the barrier as well to leap into lohen’s arm. they all rhythmically moved away, revealing your form to him. lohen’s heart was beating louder than ever before, the sound of his blood pumping echoing through his ears. he was certain his hands were trembling violently, and in any other situation, he would be downright embarrassed to be showing so much emotion in public; to be shaking so nervously, to have his breathing so heavy and rapid, to be so damn terrified.
but your presence within his life and before him right now mattered more to him than anything or anyone else, now and forever.
“bunny?” lohen’s hands didn’t hesitate to wrap around your arms, flipping your body ever so gently to have your head land motionless in his lap. there were burns all over your face, blood dried on your lips, and long stretches of dried tears lingering on your face. lohen’s one hand desperately tried to find a pulse, letting out a loud sigh of relief when he found a faint pulse beating in your chest. “baby, can you hear me?” his hand was shakingly tapping your cheeks with force, hoping to have you open your beautiful eyes and blink up at him.
the animals were all screeching in fear, distressed at your lack of strength and your lifeless body. lohen’s own mind was conflicted, screaming at him. he didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to behave, or what to even think. his crimson eyes didn’t know where to focus, panicked at the amount of wounds and burns on your body. your skin was hanging off your limbs, your muscles were exposed, some burned and others so damaged that your bones were almost showing, and your hands… lohen didn’t even know what to do, his hands sliding down to grab at yours, only to find that his fingers were slipping right through.
“lohen?! lohen?” varka was banging his hands against the barrier, eyes widened at the sight of your near-dead body in lohen’s hands. it seemed, however, that the young man’s mind was somehow not processing that you needed medical attention immediately, that you needed to be tended to immediately. instead, they all watched in absolute horror as lohen’s hands kept tracing across your skin gently, his lips muttering gentle and loving pleas for you to awaken. “lohen, you need to bring her out!”
as if his own mind and heart were unable to accept how poor of a state you’d been left in.
your one eye fluttered open ever so slightly, initially staring up at the dark sky before blurring over to find lohen’s blood-tainted eyes staring down at you. his lips were moving, muttering something, but your ears simply couldn’t process it. everything felt numb, as if you weren’t even real anymore. but his touch, the feelings of his touch tracing over your hair with so much love, his tear-filled eyes blinking rapidly down at you, were the only fact you were sure of. as your other eye blinked open, it was as if its very sight snapped lohen out of his stupor of shock. the others couldn’t see why exactly lohen’s back stiffened so harshly, why his lips halted in their reverent blabbering. but the sight of your eye, its usual vividness, similarly faltered into a state of translucency, delivering a final message to lohen’s brain.
“i-i’m sorry.” your voice was nothing more than a whisper, yet it was the loudest sound as everyone and everything came to a halt. amber’s knees gave out from under her, unable to understand what was happening to her. the other knights were either staring in astonishment, anger coursing through their veins, or blinking up at the sky with tears brimming in their eyes, all wondering the same: why would someone do this to you? “l-l’hen,” your spoken words were unraveling as if your mouth wasn’t functioning the way you wanted it to, your vocal cords giving up on you. “i’m s-s-sorry.”
lohen’s arms scooped you right into his chest, pressing yours against his as your head landed in the crook of his neck. his hand was devoutly caressing your burnt hair, the other holding you firmly against his chest as he pressed kisses into your scalp, shaking his head. “don’t say that, bunny. don’t ever say that to me, please. please, baby, please. i-i, no, don’t say that!” his voice was frantic, picking up volume erratically as he kept shaking his head. “no, i said no! bun, stay with me, please. please, please, please!”
the barrier around your maimed form broke as the animals began pounding against its starry surface. in your mind, your command to protect the animals must’ve registered that they wanted to be let free and thus dropped the barrier. but in actuality, those same animals were desperate to get you the help you needed in this moment. salem’s clawing at lohen’s legs must’ve acted as some sort of divine intervention, for as the barrier broke, lohen’s arms secured you against his chest as he stood to his full height. even with his legs trembling beneath him and with silent tears streaming down his face, he kept your face hidden in his neck as he rushed to his horse.
jean shared an expression with varka, both in silent agreement about what to do. kaeya was given a mere glance from the two leaders before he jumped back onto his horse, zipping through the forest and back towards the city to gather the medics to make sure that you would be afforded the full extent of the medical care that you would need. amber was helped onto a horse by eula, who also gave a final nod to the two leaders before heading back into the city. after all, someone needed to organize the search for the culprits of this crime. albedo, however, stayed behind, and so did diluc, all sharing solemn expressions. someone needed to help lead lohen back to the city, but more so, albedo knew better than anyone else what to do in case your abyssal powers flared up. for diluc… well, regardless of stature or position, he did not believe an innocent person deserved this, and thus, he’d made it his personal mission to lend his aid.
lohen didn’t let anyone else near you, somehow managing to climb onto his horse with you held in his arms. words of encouragement and panic kept spilling from his lips, even when he set back off on the horse. varka and jean rode on each side, never speaking a word, but personally escorting the heartbroken man holding his most beloved lover back to the city. diluc rode in front to prevent anyone from interfering, while albedo rode in back to prevent anyone from sneaking up on them.
yet lohen’s attention remained on you and the silent breaths hitting his neck, assuring him that you were still with him. his heart was beating rapidly, almost as if it was doing its very best to beat for both of you. his brain had gone numb, only a slight buzzing present within his mind with one purpose: make sure you survive.
for the people who had done this would pay for their transgressions once you were safe and sound.
✦
the room in which they kept you was always so cold, laced with a lingering sense of doom and death. the bricks were uneven, both the ones forming the walls and the ones supporting one as the floor. your room was barren, holding nothing more than your crumpled form as you hid away in the corner. your legs were pulled all the way up to your chest, head hiding in between as a dull ache spread throughout your body.
this couldn't be your reality.
your head was full of an ache so deep, its vibrancy and potency shaking the very core of your existence. your hands were wrapped around your legs, nails digging into your knees with such force, despite your hands having been long since injured and rendered almost unusable.
lohen’s form never moved from your bed, ever. once you were back in mondstadt, your form was immediately rushed into a separate room with all the medics, barbara taking lead and promising to do her utmost to save you. lohen was inconsolable, pacing outside the room with his eyes glazed over, not responding to any sort of conversation, blockage in his way, or even noticing varka’s hand trying to grab a hold of him. the people of mondstadt had seen the rush into the city, but upon learning what was happening, some had taken to protesting outside the headquarters.
to ensure that lohen didn’t merely embark on a murder spree, taking down every single person in cold blood with a smirk of revenge painted on his face, jean and lisa stayed behind to watch lohen, whilst the others ran down. kaeya, eula, albedo, and even diluc stood behind varka in front of the large entrance to the headquarters, hands folded behind them and eyes examining every single individual present. varka may have been attempting to calm down the crowd, but the remaining four were doing something entirely different; they were singling out anyone who may have been complicit in this crime.
after all, they had to find the culprits before lohen did. for if lohen did not find the actual culprits, there would be no saying what he’d do to any and all whose tongues uttered any venom towards you. but even if lohen did find the culprits, they were all well aware that he did not possess that same convention of not harming people—in fact, he would be sharpening all of his tools, ready to get his vengeance on anyone whose eyes had ever even glared at you.
when he’d left you that very morning, you’d seemed happy, rolling your eyes lovingly at him as you waved at him. your morning started slow with lohen refusing to get out of bed, insisting that the two of you merely sleep a little longer. on any other day, you would’ve refused, reminded him that he had duties, and insisted that he get up. but on this particular morning, to his surprise, you’d merely given him a small nod and cuddled back into his chest. even when making him a cup of coffee, your smile was like no other, sparking a gentle warmth in lohen’s chest as he enjoyed watching you move around with ease.
“if i was a worm, would you still love me?” lohen questioned abruptly, leaning back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. his crimson eyes were stuck on your face, trailing down to appreciate the earthy dress you were wearing before returning to your face.
your eyebrows had furrowed together in confusion, halting your movement as you peered at lohen. “why would you be a worm?”
“it’s a hypothetical question, bunny. i’m curious.”
“uhm…” your head tilted to the side as you genuinely pondered the question, making lohen grin in amusement. you were so serious about everything, never once awarding any of his stupid questions with anything less than your full attention. lohen’s blood pumped louder as he watched you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest as well, eyes still staring up at the ceiling as you tried to come up with an answer. “i think that if you somehow became a worm, some feelings i hold for you would change, but not all. i would still do my utmost to care for you, making sure your worm self was fed, cared for, and able to live safely. but i would no longer have that urge to seek you out; i would presumably not feel that same way about you, but only in a physical sense. i think my affections for you would not falter, but they’d merely adapt to the situation and become more so benevolent rather than affectionate.”
and truly, lohen was speechless. you seemed perplexed at his reaction, his crimson eyes widening significantly at your answer, jaw dropping as he was left breathless. your own eyes widened, perhaps wondering if you’d given the wrong answer and upset him. throughout the many months, lohen knew that you were actively making a change to be more socially conscientious and aware of how your words may affect others; in this situation, he figured that you were most likely wondering if you’d hurt his feelings, delivering an answer that did not match what he wanted to hear. but you weren’t a liar, so as he took in the radiance of your eyes, he could tell your brain was working itself into an impasse.
a small gasp of surprise escaped you when a pair of arms clasped your body, pulling you into lohen’s body as he caged you against his chest. his face was pressing into your neck, those sharp canines grazing against your skin, as he peppered your skin with delicate kisses. you could feel his grin against your skin, but your own arms still hung limp by your sides, bewildered and clearly disoriented.
your answer was absolutely perfect and so utterly and unequivocally you.
they thought that he was too caught up in his own head and grief to notice. they assumed that his pacing outside your room for hours on end, spanning days of no sleep and lack of food, was merely his way of coping with your current situation. and to some extent, they would be correct. however, they should’ve also known better than to assume that lohen wouldn’t begin to piece it all together, especially thinking that he wouldn’t notice their little whispered conversations. continuously scattering into corners, exchanging small amounts of information, and showing names written on papers, they just presumed that lohen’s hazy eyes and silent voice were an indication of a chaotic and distressed mind.
yet when a horde of dead bodies was found outside the city gates one morning, lined up perfectly with extensive burn wounds, missing limbs, and heaps of dried blood beneath them, there was no doubt who’d been at play. the others became complacent in their monitoring of lohen, coming to assume somewhere along the lines that he would merely stay put outside your room if they weren’t there to monitor him.
but lohen had been listening, he had been observing, and he had been planning. every name spoken by any of his comrades, any information exchanged, and any involvement mentioned—all of it had been overheard by lohen whose mind stored that information away with intent to act on it. varka and jean left first, with everyone else subsequently also leaving after, either overtaken by sleep or leaving to plan how to apprehend the culprits.
that left lohen all on his own in a situation where all he could do was sit around and wait for news. the medics had locked all doors and windows, making sure to not let anyone else in, as they worked tirelessly. jean had been inside to deliver food and drinks for the medics, but beyond that, the room had been off-limits to anyone else. lohen wanted to do nothing more than see your beautiful face, but beyond that, he also wanted revenge. he wanted you to awaken from his atrocious nightmare and no longer be threatened by these people, ones willing to burn down your home and your body merely for their own satisfaction.
capturing every single culprit wasn’t exactly difficult, seeing as they were gathered just beyond the city gates, hiding away in fear of being seen or discovered. from what lohen had gathered before he struck, they’d seen the captains and grandmasters rushing back with your limp body and come to understand that you were not as alone as they’d assumed—they couldn’t merely leave you for dead and go unpunished. but as lohen emerged from behind, grinning maliciously to himself with only the lingering memories of your broken eyes gazing up at him with so much pain swirling around, there was no hesitation in throwing the potions at the crowd, rendering them unconscious within seconds, all with the intent of inflicting horrors beyond any upon each and every single one of the culprits present.
all the dead bodies were recovered and buried by the captains, ensuring that no citizen of mondstadt or regular knight would see the gruesome display of revenge, causing more sorrow or division amongst the city. when varka and jean returned to the headquarters, captains in tow, none were particularly surprised to find lohen sitting outside your room, sharpening his dagger. questioning him did absolutely nothing for a man whose vivid smile of blood and hatred never once faltered. but somewhere along the lines, nobody genuinely condemned the man.
not a single person unrelated to this incident had been harmed by his blade. only people whose involvement had been confirmed by his fellow knights and who’d admitted to guilt during a rather intense questioning had been left with wounds mirroring yours and with their lives taken. there were grounds for punishment, and by all means, there should have been real consequences for lohen and his crusade. he should not be able to get away with murdering ten people, scattering their bodies across the grass to be seen and shamed. yet not a single person could shake the expression of horror on lohen’s face upon locating your body, seeing his fingers tracing your wounded body so gently, as if he simply could not conceive your pain and its severity.
after seeing lohen, the grandmaster called everyone in for an unofficial meeting about this incident. kaeya was the first person to simply turn around and walk away; albedo was the second. eula let out a sigh, rubbing her temples in annoyance, but followed the other two captains. diluc had no say in this, no longer part of the knight regiment, and so whatever opinions he may have had, he chose to keep to himself and merely make his exit. only jean and varka remained behind, staring down at lohen with disapproving stares and crossed arms, while the man now pretended to sleep peacefully in a chair outside your room.
the abyssal energy was beginning to course through your veins, its viscosity and taste defiling your mouth as you gagged continuously. your body was slumped to the floor of your cell, black vomit trickling from the corner of your mouth, while your eyes tried to blink sluggishly at the figure sitting in the corner on a chair. years had passed since they’d brought you here, and sometimes you heard screams resounding throughout the area you were in, resembling the voices of those people you once knew. perhaps it was a trick to mess with your mind, or maybe it was truly your former neighbors being exposed to similar horrors.
you would never really know, for in this place, everyone and everything held an agenda. there was a continuous and unrelenting attempt to disintegrate and corrupt the minds of those stuck here. everyone was a liar; everyone was beholding their own motives and purposes, and nobody was to be trusted. you’d been fighting for years. ever since they brought you here, yammering on in long droves about how it was vital that you became acquainted with combat, whilst simultaneously being forced to learn how to incorporate abyssal energy into your natural abilities of witchcraft. if you were not being forced, with a knife pressed to your spine and hordes of monsters ready to maim you, to read books and rolls with ancient wisdom and knowledge about abyssal energy, its usage, and its ability to corrupt and alter anything and everything, you were being forced to fight.
when you first became a captive of this place and were forced to pick up a sword every day, fighting for your life and your own survival, it wasn’t because you wanted to. frankly, at that point after the horrors you’d seen at such a tender age, all you wanted was to merely surrender to the world and cease to exist. however, your parents would never let that happen, and the thought of surrendering to an abomination like this would never sit well with you. so day in and day out, you picked up that sword and fought back. you were beaten to the ground every day, left to bleed, and expected to lick your own wounds, but you never gave up.
day after day, month after month, year after year.
your abilities grew exponentially, but their emergence also dulled the life, which had once been so pertinent to your understanding of the world. you spent all day slaughtering monsters brutally, then being beaten to the ground yourself by a stronger enemy. insults were hurled your way every day, but even you knew that they were ultimately hollow. for nobody else had survived this hell besides you, whose body had long since become accustomed to the oppressive power of the abyss. the smallest amount infiltrating your mind, body, and soul every day became significant enough for you to summon its power, imbuing your rather dull and old sword with baleful and iniquitous power. day after all, you brutally took down monsters of the abyss with nothing more than a blank sheen over your eyes and a silent hand.
until the day the master of this mission grew infuriated with your ability to wield the abyss’ strength without allowing it to corrupt you, to eat away all your humanity, and force you into its submission. that was the day he gave the order: let the abyss corrode any sense of life left in her.
and thus your hands were taken from you, and your once sparkling eyes, once full of curiosity and life, were stripped of their radiance and magnificence, replaced with a void mirror.
✦
you weren't dead.
that was the first thing the healers and medics made sure to communicate one morning, days after the brutal attack on your home. the very potions created by your own hands were instrumental in saving your life, working in tandem with the procedures the medics were performing and the healing magic being bestowed upon you. lohen had never felt so relieved in his life, feeling his eyes flutter closed and a deep sigh flowing through his body, silently letting go of that mountain of anxiety and fear that had been welling up within his body and mind. the others weren't around from the early morning due to their own responsibilities, leaving lohen on his own to receive this news.
"we cannot explain what's happening with her hands, however," barbara explained to the vice-captain as she finally let him into the room, which he'd practically been stationed at ever since he brought you here. "they're still not recovering."
but lohen's brain was not taking in anything said by the deaconess whatsoever, for his entire being was consumed by your figure lying on the bed ahead of him. the blonde healer sighed to herself once she realized that the man standing next to her wasn't listening to a single word she'd said, but as she glanced up at him, she found that her annoyance faded to a smile instead. his crimson eyes were glassy in a manner she'd never seen before, brimming with unshed tears. his one hand had come to cover his trembling chin, and the other was fisted into his trousers, but his shoulders were slumped. the vice-captain was not known to show many emotions, especially regarding other people, but it was clear as daylight that he'd never cared for anyone like he did you. so barbara did what anyone else would do and made a quiet exit, ensuring the boy got all the privacy he needed.
after all, the last time he saw you was when you were on the verge of never returning to his life again.
lohen's feet carried him forward, his grip on his own face tightening significantly, the pain assuring the knight that he wasn't actually dreaming anymore. you were alive. you were right there in front of him, even if your skin was colorless and nearly lifeless underneath the lights of the room. your hair was spread out across the pillow supporting your head, the strands now inconsistent due to the hair that'd burned off, but with no visible burn marks lining your scalp. your eyes were closed, and perhaps in another world, lohen would be pleading with you to just show him those deep and lustrous eyes, but his mind couldn't shake what he'd seen that night. the sight of your hands and eyes being translucent… the others had tried to convince lohen that perhaps they'd begun to lose their vivacity due to the extent of your injuries, but the knight had other theories—because he knew for a fact that your control of the abyssal powers in your body was not so fickle.
your skin had been wiped clean by the people taking care of you, removing all traces of blood, tears, and soot on your face and skin. instead you were pale, your skin dulled out and your lips dried, which made lohen shake his head in bitter amusement; you'd never allow your face to be dry or your lips to be anything less than butter smooth and glossy from your favorite homemade balm. he'd taken a seat on the mattress, pulling your entire arm into his lap as he did his best to not let his thoughts venture back to his own bad memories. he knew that you were the strongest woman he knew, one whose existence had brought life and elation back to his life, but some part of him couldn't help but fear that this was your final breaking point.
he was afraid that you were done fighting.
your breathing was steady, and unbeknownst to even himself, lohen's breathing had instinctively begun to match yours. the lights were turned off by the man whose eyes were relishing in the sight of you, now laying on his side by your side with his head resting in the palm as his crimson eyes greedily wandered across your unconscious body. the torn and bloodied dress you'd been wearing had been replaced by a simple colorless one, lohen's hand pulling the thin sheet further up your body once he noticed the small goosebumps caused by the icy breeze. the natural shimmer in your skin may have faded ever so slightly due to your current condition, but to lohen, you were simply as radiant as ever. his hand glided over your shoulder, grazing across your neck and steadily folding around your cheek, fingers curling around your jaw as his thumb caressed the skin beneath your eye.
even when unconscious and recovering from such extensive injuries, you were just so beautiful in his eyes.
and when varka would enter the room later, having been briefed by barbara, he wouldn't be able to hold back the smile forming on his exhausted face. for laying on the bed was your healing body, calm and still, pale and tired, but with a certain vice-captain wrapped around you with all the love in the world. a leg thrown over yours, an arm curled protectively over your waist, and his head resting on the center of your chest, lohen was finally resting properly for the first time since the ambush on your home. and who could forget the small black cat curled up on your stomach, lohen's other hand resting gently atop her fur.
r speaks. if anyone wants to be tagged when i, eventually and hopefully soon, publish part three, feel free to leave a comment or send an ask ❣︎
you’ve known ajax for as long as you can remember. from the barren winter of your youth to the maze-like woods by morepesok, all of it is inextricably linked back to a hesitant, earnest grin and shining blue eyes.
somewhere in the woods is a crack in the ground. it’s stark against the snow—but rather unremarkable otherwise. he joked about falling in sometimes—“maybe someone took a wrong turn while ice fishing. what do you think?”—but you’d always drag him away before he got any other ideas. after all, ajax had always wanted an adventure for himself, however nervous he may be. (personally, it gave you chills, and not just because it was snezhnaya.)
that all changes when he goes missing at fourteen.
you find him three days later standing over the crack, as if he’d just crawled out. once upon a time, it’d just been a strange landmark, perhaps a start of some story. whenever you think about it now, you’re brought back to fresh, scabbed scars, deadened blue eyes, and a confident, terrible smile.
you suspect ajax died sometime within those three days.
his new thirst for violence frightens his parents. his siblings are too young to know any better, so the night he’s sent away, you make a promise to wait for him.
“you make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. you break a pinkie promise, i throw you on the ice.” his eyes have never been brighter. “the cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend…”
you curl your pinkie around his. “the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again.”
he smiles then, something unfamiliar and unsettling. “oh, when i return, i’ll take you on the greatest adventure there is.” and as you watch him leave, you think the wind howls fiercer than ever.
a few years pass. you hear about him sometimes, about his promotion to harbinger, a few rumors about his battles. (they call him something else now.) you keep your promise for the most part, but decide to visit liyue one summer for something new. it’s nothing like snezhnaya, jade city and sun-drenched land, and above all—it’s golden. it’s a dream.
you’re speaking to a tall consultant when you hear him.
“hey! it’s been a while, comrade!”
when you turn around, you’re met with blue eyes and a smile—all teeth and no hint of that young boy you once knew.
you think childe, tartaglia, is a stranger to you.
as a child, you thought lohen would grow to eat hearts whole.
he stood at your same height, ate the same meals as everyone else, wore the same clothes as your peers. his parents would take him to the cathedral regularly, as many families did. maybe he didn’t talk much, and maybe he was unusually unreactive, yet most adults around you only knew him to be the local bowyer’s son. a perfectly normal boy, by all means.
but you were a child of mondstadt. you had been discovered in the midst of a tempest, and still, even without the memories that age would have afforded you, your blood could recognize a gale from a glance. the kind of creature adults warned you of, wild and untamed and uncaring of humans. callous and rough, but unshakeable.
you once thought lohen would grow to eat hearts whole, and yet, he’s been nothing but gentle with yours despite himself. that must be why your own heart tries to escape its cage now, beating beyond the burning blood and bone keeping it together. to get to him? terrible idea, truthfully.
terrible, how much blood there is, coating your hands and staining the white cots, proof of life and all its fragility.
favonius keep is in a frenzy, support rushing back and forth between knights, but your world narrows down to the one in front of you. lohen’s hair sticks matted to his forehead, damp red at the edges. you’d run your fingers through it just hours before—before the racher of solnari had put a quarter of the favonius forces into critical condition.
(he had been a human once, allegedly. shouldn't he know the fear of losing a love?)
you pile more gauze onto the wound. press, like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. pull as much power out of your vision as possible. your heart is in your throat now, and it jumps when a hand finds yours.
“wow,” lohen marvels weakly, “what’s with the face, hm? not a fan of red?”
“don’t.” there’s too much adrenaline in your system to be incredulous at that. still, you manage to force the next words from your throat. “if you weren’t bleeding out, i—i’d…”
“you’d what? hm?” somehow, even in the worst state you’ve ever seen him, lohen manages to laugh like he’s on top of the world—before groaning at the pain. another sheet of gauze finds itself pressed to the wound. weird how that happens.
but through it all, his hand never leaves yours, thumb resting against your pulse. “you’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice softened with something like awe.
“don’t patronize—”
“i’m not, i promise. c’mon,” he croons, “breathe.” the irony isn’t lost on you, but it works, against what your better instincts say. the bleeding has slowed to something manageable now. “you’re so pretty, it’s kinda stupid, y’know that? or maybe it just makes me stupid. like…like those flowers in dornman…” oh, he’s really out of it now. “i was going to take you there…after this was over.” another laugh, weaker, mostly wheezed, still your lohen all the same.
“you will,” you croak. “you’re going to be fine.”
he reaches up for your face and tilts it to his, eyes dark and human, equal parts fond and faithful—becuase that’s who he is, at the end of it all. a human, his heart beating beneath your fingers. you’ll see him through this.
as you stir the tea leaves, you feel a gust of wind rush in through the window. you had assumed you’d shut it earlier in the day, as the sky faded from violet to deep blue, the stars of sumeru surrounding the moon.
you can’t say you’re surprised.
he’s made a habit of making a home for himself in your house. cottage? it’s a temporary set up in avidya forest while you complete your research. you don’t even know why he’s followed you out here, seeing as his interests don’t exactly align with plant biology.
“wanderer, you might as well come out. I won’t pour the shadows tea.”
gleaming violet eyes follow you through the dark. you glance at him over your shoulder, amused, fond, in a sense. exasperated, too.
“how did you know I was here?”
you know the question he isn’t asking, too: did you always know, all these days?
you don’t answer him directly. but you pour a second cup of tea and set it out beside yours.
“you aren’t always the most subtle.”
replies and reblogs are appreciated, as likes alone don’t often travel far 🍵 thank you for reading!
summary: it was unrequited love at first sight when you met bucky barnes. having a crush on him—your roommate—is hard enough, but hearing him fuck through your shared wall? that almost kills you.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, modern au, lots of plot, fluff, angst, sloooow burn, anxious!reader, kinda insecure!reader, reader works at a bar, cap’s quartet roommates (romanogers !!), swearing, drinking, weed mentions, idiots in love they just don't know it, oblivious!reader (i love her your honour), yearningggg, jealousy, reader crashes tf outttt, miscommunication, one (1) argument, love confessions, pet names (sweetheart, angel, doll, pretty girl), detailed explicit smut, slight dom!bucky, dirty talk, teasingggg, grinding, munch!bucky, oral (f!receiving), fingering, dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, small inspection kink, praise kink, unprotected pnv (don’t do this, friends), missionary, mating press, multiple orgasms, brief sub space, mention of f & m masturbation, happy ending, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, no physical descriptions of reader, reader's pov, kinda dramatic, briefly proofread, this is not your typical roommate!bucky fic !!
word count: 20.6k (apparently i have this condition where i can't write a short fic)
authors note: i am actually the leader of the 'having debilitating crushes on your roommate' club so... thank you to my gorgeous, stunning, one of a kind beta reader @phoenix-in-writing 🫶 yes, i did use some off campus characters as reader's coworkers - there's no subplot with them, they just suited the vibe 😎 likes, reblogs, and comments are very much appreciated (and feed my validation kink)
you are responsible for your own media consumption. don’t like? don’t read
song inspo: crushcrushcrush - paramore & boyfriend - best coast
divider credits: line dividers by @/omi-resources, heart divider by @/strangergraphics
masterlist
Nothing compares to a quiet evening alone
Just the one, two, I was just counting on
That never happens, I guess I'm dreaming again
Let's be more than, more than this
You knew from the moment you stepped into the Brooklyn brownstone that you were royally fucked.
Ruffled, sleep mussed, dark brown hair. Slightly squinted, soft, deep blue eyes. A white sleep shirt that loosely clung to the hard ridges of a muscled body. Grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low and showed the shape of him if you stared longer than was appropriate.
And, god, the low, husky voice that you could feel rumble through your body from metres away. The slender, strong, veiny hands that didn't hesitate to grab the box slipping from yours. The pink lips that stretched into an easy smile, pearly white teeth dazzling and rendering you speechless for a minute.
The heat that crawled up your back was instant—your body reacting to your new roommate before you even knew his name.
Attractive men existed, you knew that. The bar you worked at had handfuls of them come in every night, some that even flashed you a flirty smile with interest in their eyes. But you didn't live with any of them—you didn't see them when they were half-awake, their rough edges softened by sleep and early morning light.
He introduced himself as James Barnes, but he requested you call him Bucky—"only my ma calls me James"—, and mentioned he worked as a physiotherapist at the VA.
He was quick to put the box in your new room, running out to the curb to grab the rest of your belongings from the rental van. You stood near the entrance, frozen in shock. Words failed you, your brain failed you—the only thing you could think about was the shift of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he hauled boxes through the door. It was an intoxicating sight, one you didn't even know would affect you.
You quickly came to learn that the problem was Bucky—everything he did had an intoxicating effect on you.
The smile he flashed you as he handed you your morning coffee, the wink he tossed your way when he took your side in your weekly movie night debate with Sam, his laughs that you could hear through your shared wall when he gamed with his friends.
His laughter was one of the most intoxicating things about him. There were the low, deep huffs when he was tired. The louder, harsher ones when he was caught by surprise. Then your favourite—the long, slightly breathless giggles that crinkled the corner of his eyes and had his nose scrunching. Every time you were blessed with them, you could only think about how cute he looked. It made him even more attractive, and you even more infatuated.
When your friend and roommate said that she was going to move into her partner's apartment once your lease was up, the first thing you felt was dread. You didn't know anyone who was looking for a room, nor did you know anyone who was looking for a roommate. The last thing you wanted was to move in with a stranger—having already lived with complete strangers in the past you could not say it was a pleasant experience. Your friend—an absolute angel—was quick to tell you that a coworker at her law firm was looking for a roommate, and she assured you that Nat would not break into your room and steal your jewellery like your first ever roommate did.
While you weren't exactly ecstatic to move in with four best friends, Nat had quickly won you over when you met for coffee. You sat down feeling like a complete contrast to her—sporting an old sweatshirt over your sweaty work uniform while she was in a creaseless emerald pantsuit. But she made you feel completely at ease—offering up embarrassing college stories about her and the guys, asking you about yourself and actually seeming interested, talking about the brownstone with so much adoration in her voice you couldn't help but love it already.
You felt awkward living with the close knit friends at first—shuffling on your feet as the four of them lounged on the couches, pulling at the loose threads on your sweater as you sat and listened to them bicker.
Fortunately, it didn't take long for you to find your place in the group. Sam played a big part—his teasing and infectious personality making you feel at home within a week. He didn't let you retreat into yourself; he pestered you with a mix of random and personal questions—"what extinct animal do you most identify with" followed by "what was your first heartbreak"—, teased you about your cooking (to which he always stole a mouthful), and was just warm—and yeah, slightly chaotic.
Nat and Steve quickly became one of your favourite couples. They weren't heavy on the PDA—unless red wine was involved—and they balanced each other out perfectly. She was loud, he was quiet. After a few too many on a night out she was ready to start a fight with any asshole who dared to look her way, and he was there to gently steer her away by the shoulders and remind her it wasn't worth ruining her fresh manicure.
Despite having some opposite traits, they were both incredibly kind and comforting people—truly living up to their titles of being the household's mom and dad. Nat was there for you after your gruelling shifts, holding either a glass of wine or mug of hot chocolate. Steve was the one knocking on your door with a bowl of soup and bag of medicine when you had the flu.
And then there was Bucky. He was just as kind, a good middle between Sam's chaotic nature and Steve's quiet one, and he made you feel seen.
Uncomfortably so.
He was the one next to you during social gatherings, gently nudging his shoulder against yours in a silent check in. He was the one suggesting fresh air when your breathing picked up incrementally. He was the one staring at you like he was captivated, sitting forward as you rambled about your niche interests.
Bucky noticed you, paid attention to you, like no one else had in your life.
He remembered what mugs you liked, making sure to use one of them when he made you both coffee—he remembered that too, the way you liked your coffee made. He bought you more body wash when you complained about running out but not having time to go to the shop before your shift. He sat next to you as you rewatched your comfort shows for the fifth time, asking questions like he was genuinely interested—a welcome contrast to Sam's mocking comments.
Each day he was in your life, looking at you like you were worth knowing, was just another day you fell deeper.
And then there were the moments. There weren't many, only a handful, but they were burned into your memory.
The first was when you came back after brunch with old friends, wearing a white sundress that made you feel pretty.
Bucky was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while eating an apple. You smiled in greeting as you walked in, grabbing a glass to fill with water. You sneaked a side glance at him like you always do when he's in the same room as you, catching his eyes already on you—drifting from the bottom of your dress up to your chest. You watched his adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed.
"That's a nice dress, sweetheart."
Goosebumps erupted across your skin at his low drawl, a warmth spreading in your core from the pet name. He had never called you that before.
He pushed off the counter and walked out of the kitchen, acting like those five words hadn't changed your whole day—your whole life.
Where once you thought the dress was pretty, you now saw it as a lifeline—tethering you to the hope that Bucky might just like you back. You found reasons to wear it more often; making an effort to hang out in the common spaces when you came back home wearing it, delaying changing into your comfortable clothes because Bucky wasn't home yet and you wanted him to see it. To see you.
The second moment was when the five of you were at a birthday party for one of Sam's army buddies.
Nat and Steve had left after only being there for half an hour—Nat giggling to you on their way out, telling you and the boys to hold off on coming back home for a couple of hours. Sam was in the lounge with a large crowd hanging on to his every word as he retold his war hero stories— to which Bucky was quick to throw you a look, raising his hands to mimic being strangled, making you laugh and receive dagger eyes from Sam.
The two of you made your way outside towards the game of beer pong being set up. Bucky was quick to accept their offer to join in and that's how you found yourself standing opposite him, a sticky fold out table between you—the ping pong ball in your hand shaking, your breath catching as his lips tilted into a smirk. His eyes were as dark as the sky, the moonlight making them twinkle with their own constellations—staring straight into yours with a silent challenge, daring you to miss your next shot. His tongue sweeping over his bottom lip stole your attention and your hand faltered, the ball almost dropping out of your grip.
"You got this, sweetheart."
Time slowed down as the ball left your hand, your eyes watching it sail through the crisp night air while Bucky watched you. It dropped to the table with a pathetic, dull tock—inches away from any of the red solo cups. Bucky's smile grew even more lopsided, his eyes gleaming with mirth.
"Better luck next time, angel."
What the fuck was with him calling you these stupid, heart stuttering, knee trembling pet names?
Your beer pong partner was quick to brush off your missed shot, chuckling at your flustered expression and offering to help you with your stance. The game continued with you almost missing every shot, your partner guiding you with hands on your hips in the hopes of you sinking a cup. His arms wrapped around your waist when you made your first successful shot, but it wasn't his attention that had your mind clouding—you couldn't even say it was the alcohol flowing through your veins. No, it was the look of pride on Bucky's face that had you freezing, everything else around you fading away until all that remained was shining midnight eyes and curved pink lips.
God, how you wished the arms around your waist were his.
The guys you were playing with retreated inside after the game ended, with your partner telling you to find him before you left, throwing you an easy smile over his shoulder.
Bucky and you lingered in the fresh air, slowly walking towards the backdoor, your bare arm brushing against his denim jacket with every step. Music and laughter trickled out of the open windows, the noise softening in the cool breeze before it reached you. Despite the calm, you felt your body vibrate with a persistent buzz—Bucky's close proximity and the beer you downed making it hard to find the line between your feelings and reality.
"You do realise he was flirting with you, right?" Bucky's voice broke the silence. You turned your head to find him already gazing at you—soft eyes a contradiction to his clenched jaw.
You scoffed, looking at him like he'd grown another head. "What, no he wasn't."
"Uh yeah, he definitely was. The 'let me fix your stance' play is the oldest trick in the book and has a pretty decent success rate." He chuckled softly, shaking his head with an uptick of a smile. "Not with you, though." He paused, giving you a teasing wink. "I'll keep that in mind."
The wink had your body flushing with heat, the words I'll keep that in mind burrowing into your lovesick heart and amplifying the buzzing. Your words stumbled on their way out."Th-there's no way he was flirting with me—he's way out of my league."
Bucky stopped in his tracks, turning to face you fully with a deep crease between his eyebrows. The gentle breeze swept a strand of hair over his face, your hand twitching with the need to brush it behind his ear.
His voice dropped low, the teasing tone subduing. "What are you on about? Tell me you know that's not true, doll."
You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the intimacy of the dark sky. You shivered, not just from the cooling wind caressing your bare arms. You gave a small shrug in response.
Bucky started to take his jacket off, exposing the black t-shirt that hugged his biceps a little too tight for your sanity. "While I don't believe in the whole people being in different leagues thing, I can confidently say you are so far out of his league you're on a whole nother planet."
"…Are you saying I'm an alien?"
"If the shoe fits," Bucky responded, a fraction of his seriousness easing into a cheeky smile. He draped his jacket over your shoulders, his thumbs brushing the sides of your neck as he fixed the collar—another shiver running down your spine from his faint touch. The warm, rich scent of his cologne and him wrapped around you and dragged you under—the scent that you now associated with home.
Bucky's eyes met yours, the starlit blue swirling with something you couldn't quite decipher. His hands moved from the collar of his jacket to the hem, fingers toying with the rough fabric. "No, what I'm trying to say is that you're—" he licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "Any guy would be lucky to have you, but I don't think anyone is deserving of you."
Your brain short-circuited, the haze of rose coloured glasses starting to fall over your eyes—threatening to distort the Bucky in front of you with the one you stayed up late daydreaming about.
You found a smaller version of your voice. "I…I'm not that special, Buck."
He tugged on the hem, the force pulling the jacket tighter around your shoulders. "No? Then why are you the only person—other than Steve—that I let call me Buck?"
You stared at him, unblinking. You didn't realise other people didn't call him Buck—the nickname just slipped from your lips so naturally after the first month of living with him.
"One of these days, I'm going to make you see yourself how I do."
He leaned in, brushing the faintest of kisses on your forehead—the mere ghost of his lips burning your skin, eliciting a cascade of sparks to run down your body. He stepped back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and tilted his head towards the door.
"Let's get back inside before Sam tells everyone about the time he had to save you from a raccoon."
"He had very sinister looking eyes!" You cried indignantly. "And I was really stoned—remind me to never have one of Nat's brownies ever again."
The third moment happened during your bar's weekly quiz night.
The four of them were in their usual booth for the night—the one Sam demanded you reserve for them ever since you mentioned your work had a quiz night on Tuesdays. Nat and Steve were sitting on one side, each nursing a pint of craft beer, with Sam and Bucky sitting opposite them—the latter half hanging out of the booth with his hand raised in a beckoning gesture, shooting you one of those irresistible half smiles that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.
You rolled your eyes at him, knowing exactly what he wanted—but you couldn't stay away from that smile, even if it was starting to get you in trouble at work.
You walked over to them, pocketing your pen and notepad before stopping next to Bucky, your eyebrows raised and arms folded.
"What do you want now?"
"Can I please place an order for the answer to question five?" Bucky held the quiz sheet up to you, pointing at the blank space next to number five like it was a menu. "Oh, and question eight." His smile evolved into a endearing grin, your heart aching traitorously at the sight.
"No."
The smile dropped a fraction, not expecting you to say no to his charm. "C'mon, you're the one here who knows niche pop culture the best—even Sam is stumped. I know you know the answers."
You nodded, looking at the sheet in his hand before his puppy dog eyes made you crumble. "You're right, I do. I'm not giving them to you, though."
"I thought I was your favourite." His voice dropped like he was genuinely upset, but his twitching cheeks gave away the smile he was suppressing. Sam scoffed next to him, Nat and Steve exchanged a knowing look. You ignored them.
Bucky put the sheet on the table, patting it softly like he was about to make a deal. "How 'bout this—I'll make you dinner for a week." He carefully watched your face, trying to find a crack in your resistance. "Two weeks."
You sighed, dropping your arms to your sides. "Bucky, the prize is only a fifty dollar bar tab."
Bucky shook his head. "It's not about the prize, it's about the glory of winning four weeks in a row." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head in the way you knew meant he was thinking—probably something stupid, too. "Wait—is there another prize for that?"
You scoffed, tempted to hit him with your notepad. "Yeah, you get put on the no entry list."
Nat and Steve snickered at Bucky's clearly offended face, and you bit your lip to hold back your smile—he looked too cute, it was tugging at your heart strings.
"Besides," you continued, "you only won them because you cheated."
He raised his hands in mock defence. "Hey, not my fault the pretty waitress was more than willing."
Sam choked on his beer, spluttering a mouthful onto the table. Your eyebrows skyrocketed, heat rushing to your cheeks and ears at his choice of words.
Bucky's cheeks lit up red and he ran a hand through his hair. "No—wait, I didn't—that wasn't what I meant." He nervously chuckled. "What I meant was that you're more than willing to help—help us…" He trailed off, turning and shooting Steve a look.
Some of the tension left your shoulders, along with some of the hope you always carried that Bucky liked you more than a friend. You cleared your throat, your heart rate struggling to slow down after 'pretty waitress'.
"Maybe I've grown a conscience." You looked slightly to your left, your eyes flicking to your manager standing at the end of the bar, narrowing her eyes at you.
Bucky chuckled softly, his confidence back even with his cheeks still glowing. He crossed his arms on the table, leaning towards you. "Are we gettin' you in trouble, sweetheart?"
"There's no we in this, Barnes. It's all you." Nat interjected, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at him. He gave her a dismissive wave, his eyes still looking at you expectantly.
"She said if you win one more time then she's going to put me on the bar for quiz nights—something about testing a theory…" You admitted quietly. You watched his blue eyes soften, his previous amusement dissipating.
"Well, we can't have that happening." He said, serious. "I would stop coming to quiz night."
"Yeah, right." Sam muttered into his beer.
"You'd be on the no entry list anyways, Buck." You said to Bucky, your tone lilting jokingly.
He tilted his head, the right side of his mouth twitching, his eyes looking like a sky full of secrets.
"You wouldn't do that to me, doll. You like me too much."
Your stomach dropped at his low voice, his words piercing right into the chamber of your heart he had unknowingly etched his name on. A breath got stuck in your throat, your usual witty banter getting lost in the sea of thoughts that only screamed his name.
Like an angel pulling you from a seizing riptide, your managers voice called out your name—saving you from saying something stupid, something that exposed how you had gone past the boundary of like six months ago, stepping into a dangerous territory that could tear you apart.
"Duty calls," you laughed out breathlessly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder. You turned on your heels and walked away like you were on fire.
Sam's low mutter made its way to you through the hum of soft pop music and chatter. "Get a room already, for fuck's sake."
Your shoe scuffed on the hardwood floor, your feet almost tripping over each other. You caught your balance—narrowly avoiding falling and making a fool of yourself in front of the guy you're hopelessly in love with.
You reached your manager waiting at the end of the bar, overcome with the desire to kiss her in gratitude.
"I need you to cover the bar while Dean has a smoke. He'll be ten minutes, tops."
You nodded your okay, used to covering the bar for your coworkers breaks. "Unless a pretty girl walks past, then he'll be at least thirty."
Your manager hummed in agreement. "Remind me to dock his pay for pulling that shit on Saturday. Boy gets enough tips from his flirting to make up for it."
You exchanged a small laugh, walking around her to go behind the bar. She touched your forearm as you passed, stopping you with a gentle touch.
"Word of advice?" She started, voice a little quieter. "Don't screw the crew."
You stared at her with furrowed brows, confused. "What? I would never sleep with Dean, that's just—ew, who knows how many untreated diseases he has." You visibly shuddered your disgust at the idea of hooking up with your coworker who was always chasing tail.
She nodded her head in the direction you came from. "They're your roommates, right?" You nodded slowly. "Hon, you look at him like you can't decide whether you want to run in the opposite direction or get on your knees."
Heat rose beneath your skin, your body freezing in mortification. You gaped at her, your mouth opening and closing until you pushed out a forced laugh.
"What—you're—that's ridiculous. You should get your eyes checked because that's, like," you laughed nervously, panic starting to burn through your rib cage, "he's like…a brother to me?" You phrased it like a question, your voice rising uncharacteristically high at the end.
She gave you a deadpan look, not buying a lick of your bullshit. Your shoulders dropped in defeat, your teeth starting to tear at your inner cheek.
"Is it…am I really that obvious?"
She sighed, her hand on your arm giving a reassuring squeeze. "I've worked with you long enough to know when someone is making you uncomfortable, when you're seconds away from exploding at a condescending customer, or when you want to jump over the bar and climb a guy like a tree." She paused for a second, pursuing her lips in thought. "Funnily enough, they all looked like him."
She let go of your arm, nodding towards the bar. "Now, stop thinking about fucking your roommate and get to work. I'm pretty sure table seven just ordered six espresso martini's." She gave your ass a friendly swat, pushing you behind the bar and making you throw your head back with a startled laugh.
You grabbed the docket from the POS printer, seeing an order for five espresso martini's and one spicy mango margarita. You walked down to the cocktail section, hands moving on autopilot as you prepared the margarita first.
Your eyes flicked up out of habit, your attention drawing towards the booth your roommates had practically scratched their names into—finding a pair of piercing blue eyes already gazing at you. The tequila bottle in your hand shook.
Don't screw the crew.
The last moment occurred during a typical movie night, where yours and Sam's raised voices warranted a domestic disturbance call from your neighbours.
"Oh my god, we are not watching Top Gun for the third time this month!" You exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing your head back against the couch with a groan.
Sam scoffed from his spot sprawled on his stupidly large beanbag—the one you're fairly certain is a dog bed for a Great Dane. "Oh, like your suggestions are any better? You made us sit through a fucking Twilight marathon a couple weeks ago! That's precious time I'll never get back."
You glared at him. "That's bullshit, Wilson—I didn't make you do anything. You chose to sit in that exact same spot and watch all five movies." A mocking smile twitched your lips. "And, if I remember correctly, you were the one asking me to pause the movie while you went to get more snacks."
Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, what's bullshit is your taste in movies—I only sat through it so you wouldn't feel bad!"
Nat and Steve were cuddled up on the couch perpendicular to you, their eyes darting back and forth between you and Sam like they were watching a tennis match. Bucky was sitting on the other end of the couch you were on, legs spread wide with a soda in one hand—his eyes shooting daggers at Sam.
You let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, really? So you crying when you thought Carlisle was dead was just you not wanting me to feel bad?"
"Yes!" Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. Then he paused, processing what you just said. "Wait, no—there was no crying! I just acted sad for your benefit."
You opened your mouth to refute his statement when a deep, husky voice rumbled out from next to you.
"Sam," Bucky started, tone low and final, "stop lying, I saw you wiping your eyes." He continued glaring at Sam, his shoulders more tense than they were a minute ago. "Apologise to her so we can move on."
Sam looked at him like he had lost his mind. "Apologise? What the fuck do I have to apologise for?"
Bucky nodded towards you, darkened blue eyes still narrowed at Sam menacingly. "You said her taste in movies was bullshit. Apologise."
You were suddenly speechless—not sure how your usual movie night bickering with Sam led to Bucky being so…commanding. Protective.
You looked over to the other couch, catching Nat's eye—her mouth overtaken by a knowing smile. Your eyes darted to Steve next to her, his cheeks tinted pink and eyes squinted as he looked at his best friend—a sly smile partially hidden by the can he brought to his lips.
Sam shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, grabbing the TV remote off the coffee table.
Bucky reached out a long leg, giving Sam's beanbag a firm kick. "Now."
"Jesus," Sam dragged out, "chill out, man." He turned to you with a sigh, brown eyes glinting as he gave you his best puppy dog expression. "I am truly sorry for calling your movie taste bullshit. I will gladly sit through ten Twilight marathons if that's what you want."
He turned to Bucky with a smug grin. "There, I apologised to your girl. You happy now?"
A breath hitched in your throat, your brain freezing and going offline.
Your girl.
Said so easily, so naturally. Like it was a fact and not a mocking taunt.
Goosebumps prickled across your skin, a pleased shiver running through you at the thought of being Bucky's girl.
Bucky glared at Sam, the apples of his cheeks dusting pink. "Very." He said before leaning forward and snatching the remote out of Sam's hand. He turned to you, cheeks still flushed but eyes considerably softer. "What do you want to watch, doll?"
"…Shrek 2."
Groans erupted from three of your roommates, the fourth keeping his eyes on you while he shook his head with a fond laugh—the one that showed his pearlescent teeth and crinkled his eyes. The one that was your damnation, sentencing you to a life of yearning and false hope.
"It's the soundtrack, right?"
You nodded eagerly, a bright smile making your cheeks ache. "I knew you would get me, Buck."
You faintly heard a fake gagging sound come from the nuisance being swallowed by a beanbag, but you couldn't care less. Not when Bucky was looking at you like you were an astronomical phenomenon.
Condensation beaded glasses stained the wooden tabletop, chewed paper straws slowly disintegrating in melted ice. A half eaten bowl of fries grew stale in the middle of the table—your manager's attempt to get some food in her staff while they abused the (prepaid) leftover function alcohol, yourself included. The disco ball was still spinning, sending a thousand shards of light dancing throughout the empty bar, while an ABBA track murmured softly beneath laughter and gossip.
"I'm telling you," Dean said, spreading his arms over the back of the booth, "the ladies can't get enough of me."
The booth packed full of your coworkers vibrated with long groans, someone to your left loudly booing and your manager threatening to throw her gin and tonic in his face. You shoved his arm off the seat behind you, earning yourself a pinch to your cheek as his arm retreated.
"I'm serious!" Dean continued, pulling his phone out of his jean's pocket. "One of them even left a review about me last week—hold up, I'll get it." He squinted against the glowing light from his screen, bringing up the bar's google page to show everyone.
"Here it is—last Saturday: bartender was cute, would drink here again. Five stars." He leaned back in the booth with a smug smile, barely reacting when your manager ripped his phone out of his hand.
"Did you see who left the review, dingus?" She asked him, her mocking smirk overpowering his. "I don't know about you, but I don't know any ladies who go by the name James." She waved the phone in his face before going back to reading the review.
Dean recovered quickly, holding his hands up with a shrug. "I'm not opposed to having male admirers—they're some of my biggest tips."
You snorted a laugh. "Oh, I bet they are."
The table dissolved into laughter around you, the liquor and line cook's joint lowering everyone's inhibitions.
Your manager looked up from the phone at you, her eyes lighting up. "Weren't you also working on the bar last Saturday?"
You took a sip of your drink, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I think so? Was that the night we had two bachelorette parties come in?"
"Yeah, we ran out of cold brew because of them." Dean said. "I set a new record for how many numbers I could get in one night."
You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore him like everyone else at the table. "Yeah, I was definitely on the bar—my arms are still aching from shaking espresso martini's all night."
Your manager leaned forward, her glassy eyes glinting at you teasingly. "I think this review is about you," she said in a sing-song tone.
You couldn't help but feel a little giddy at someone leaving you a review calling you cute, even if they were most likely stumbling drunk.
Allie—your fellow waitress who was sitting on the other side of Dean—grabbed the phone and read the review herself, scrolling on the screen with her eyes growing wider until a delighted gasp left her.
She looked at you with a beaming smile. "This James guy has been leaving reviews about you for months."
"What?"
She nodded eagerly, a small squeal leaving her. "This is so good, nothing this exciting ever happens here!" She was almost bouncing in her seat as she looked back at the phone, her excitement shaking the booth. "Okay, this one is from Valentines Day: waitress's frown is cute, I still should've bought her flowers." She fell back against the booth seat, clutching the phone to her chest with a dreamy sigh.
Your heart stuttered, the tipsy fog in your head clouding further. "That's—it doesn't say my name…" you trailed off with a nervous laugh. "It could be about any of the waitresses."
Your manager snorted. "We called you sourpuss the whole shift, you wouldn't stop frowning."
Before you could start your rant about how Valentine's Day is just another highly commercialised holiday and people shouldn't need a specific day of the year to celebrate love, Allie started reading out another review.
"This one is from four months ago: come to this bar if you want to see a real-life angel."
Dean groaned, "that's so fucking cheesy." He turned to look at you, "I hope you're not falling for this shit."
"We don't even know if it's about me!"
"I think it's cute," the new waitress piped in from the other end of the booth. "You've got a secret admirer."
"More like a stalker." One of the line cooks mumbled.
"Oh," Allie gasped, "this man has it bad. These are borderline love confessions." She reached past Dean, handing you his phone with the review page still open.
You hesitantly grabbed the phone from her, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There's no way some guy was leaving these reviews about you…right? That just seems insane, like something out of a romcom. Or something that will end with a restraining order and you moving states away.
The phone faintly trembled in your unsteady hands, your eyes narrowing against the screen's bright glare.
James B.
★★★★★ a month ago
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
Oh.
That's maybe the most romantic thing anyone has ever said about you.
You don't know if it's about you.
You exhaled shakily, shrugging nonchalantly as you handed the phone back to Dean. "He could be talking about any of the waitresses." You repeated your earlier statement. And then for good measure—"It's hardly a compliment—wars are started over literally anything."
Allie looked at you with wide eyes, bringing her hands up and shaking them in a strangling motion.
"Do you know anyone called James?" Your manager probed, clearly invested.
"No." You answered, ignoring the dull, tingling sensation at the back of your head. "No one significant."
"Well, even if he does turn out to be a stalker, at least he boosted our ratings."
Over the next few weeks, your coworkers had made it their personal mission to find out the identity of James B. Your manager had the brilliant idea to set up a weekly bar tab giveaway—for people to be in the draw they just needed to put their business card in a jar on the bar. What your customers didn't know was that every Friday after close, Allie and Dean were emptying the jar not to find a lucky winner but to look for any cards with the name James B.
It turned out there were a few more James B.'s than they were expecting, and there were no other parameters to narrow down their search. And much to their chagrin, you didn't recognise any of their names.
"Wait!" Dean exclaimed, holding a finger in the air. "Why don't we just reply to one of his reviews?"
"Oh," Allie said, leaning forward in her chair, "that's actually kind of smart. Maybe we could say we have a thank you gift for our number one fan?"
"Or we could just ask who he is."
Something about that made you uneasy.
After the night you all first discovered the reviews, Allie had drawn up a timeline of them which revealed this James guy had been leaving reviews for a year. And while they never mentioned your name, everyone knew they were about you—but you didn't want to believe that; it felt absolutely insane.
Majority of the reviews were brief and mundane, similar to the first one Dean saw. But a few of them…they read like poetry, like the pages out of someone's journal. They mentioned your smile, how your laugh could cure any ailment, that being in your presence was like witnessing a supernova.
It was beautiful and terrifying.
And every day it was looking more like a stalker than someone you knew—you didn't want to give him attention in fear that it could evolve from something harmless to dangerous.
"Already tried that," your manager sighed next to you. "He didn't reply."
Something in the atmosphere felt off when you shouldered the brownstone's front door open with a heavy sigh. It was well past midnight on a Saturday, and the soft murmuring you would usually hear coming from the lounge—Sam had a habit of passing out in front of the TV on Saturday night's—was nonexistent. You didn't think much of it, your mind single-focused on needing a scolding hot shower to wash away the ten hour bar shift.
Your work uniform was drenched and sticking to you uncomfortably, a crust of sugary cocktails and beer lining your skin. It had been one disaster after another—the beer keg soaking you as you tried to tap it, the cocktail shaker exploding in your hands, the new waitress who failed to call out "behind" and you ended up covered in a customers chili cheese fries.
You welcomed the boiling water, scrubbing your skin until it was red and raw. Visible steam swirled from your body even after you retreated into your room, and only then did some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Your fatigue ran bone deep—it felt like you were dragging your feet through mud as you slowly started your nighttime routine.
A noise cut through the eerily silent night, soft and faint, but an unmistakable echo from the room next to yours. It made you pause, your eyebrows drawing together. Then more noise followed, three breathy high pitched moans that the wall separating your rooms failed to drown out. A hot realisation curdled your stomach, rising through your body until it settled in your chest and throat—a tight, unrelenting fist clenching and making it harder to breathe.
Bucky had company.
Your ears zeroed in on the noises against your wishes. The last thing you wanted was to hear the guy you had a debilitating crush on fuck someone else. And yet, you stood frozen—your towel still wrapped around you, water dripping onto the floor, heart trying to beat out of your chest. Your nervous system had entered fight or flight mode, triggered by the sounds of another woman's pleasure.
Sweat started to line your back, your hands trembling where they were clutching the towel, chest stuttering as your breaths turned sharp and quick.
The moans grew in volume and soft thuds reverberated against the wall—then, a faint low murmuring graced your ears. A deep voice you would recognise anywhere, that you had heard through the wall plenty of times during your one year living there.
You snapped out of your shock, ripping open your work bag to find your headphones. Your phone shook in your hands as you searched for 'calming' playlists, your thumb jabbing violently at the first result. You turned the volume up loud enough to vibrate your eardrums, but the damage was already done.
You paced the length of your room, clenching and unclenching your fists in an effort to calm down—to will your racing heartbeat to slow, to tamp down the spiralling thoughts that made you feel like you were drowning.
You got ready for bed in a blur, trying to stay as quiet as possible with your heart beating wildly in your throat. The exhaustion that had your bones aching after your shift was lingering, but had been overwhelmed by the adrenaline surging through your veins. You laid in your bed, trying to concentrate on your breathing.
Inhale. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two—
It didn't sound like she was faking it.
The breath rushed out of you quickly.
You squeezed your eyes shut tight, clenching your fists and trying to focus on the sensation.
Inhale. One, two, three—
Bucky's bed is pressed up against your shared wall.
You grabbed the pillow next to you and pressed it against your face, something between a pained whimper and frustrated groan leaving your throat.
Did he like to talk? Was he whispering dirty things in her ear, telling her how good she felt, how much he wanted her? Did she get to hear him moan and whimper?
The music in your ears had become irritating, overstimulating you even more. But there was no way in hell you were taking your headphones off—your heart was already broken enough.
Did he call her sweetheart, too?
You slept for two hours, maybe three if you were being generous. The exhaustion won out against the anxiety around two am, only for you to jerk awake two hours later when the same noises echoed through the wall. At some point in the night your headphones had slipped off and you were defenceless against the noises your body had already filed as a threat.
Your nervous system reacted as if you were being hunted down by a lion, not overhearing your roommate-slash-crush have sex. It was a horrible way to wake up—your body pumping full of adrenaline and cortisol before you even took a deep breath.
The headphones went back on a second too late—leaving a scratched record of giggles looping through your head that the music couldn't drown out. One giggle that you knew well, that had you beaming with pride whenever you coaxed it out of him.
A silent tear slid down towards your ear, disappearing into your hairline as you stared at the ceiling.
Hours passed before it felt safe for you take the headphones off, and even then anxiety gripped your chest whenever you thought about leaving your room. Everything that had once felt safe, had once felt like your solace, now felt like a prison.
You knew you were being dramatic, knew that your jealousy and hurt was unreasonable. Bucky wasn't yours, he would never be yours—you knew that, you'd always known that. But that's the thing with crushes—they are irrational, uncontrollable beasts that mistake kindness for attraction, that disguise inevitable heartbreak as fluttering butterflies.
Opening your bedroom door slowly, you saw the flash of a towel dart into Bucky's room—two faint sets of giggles sounding behind the closed door, slicing into your aching heart. Heat burst behind your eyes and you willed the tears to stay at bay—at least until the shower could drown out your sobs.
You sat on the floor of the shower, staring at the wall while hot water rained down on you, each drop feeling like a knife piercing your skin. You sat there, unblinking, as your vision blurred—the water washing away your endless tears. You sat there as the shower stream changed from a burning fire to an icy bite, your body shivering but unmoving.
Nat's banging on the door about rising water prices snapped you out of your dissociative daze.
"Bucky! Oh, fuck—don't stop, please—"
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Yes—god, so much!"
"You feel so good, baby."
Thump, thump, thump.
You had taken your headphones off for half a minute while getting changed. All it took was thirty seconds for tears to swell in your eyes and a silent scream to claw at your throat.
It had been four weeks since you first heard them. Four weeks of knowing your crush was fucking someone else less than three metres from your bed. Four weeks of debilitating anxiety and heartache consuming you until there was nothing left to take.
You knew their routine; she came over every Wednesday and Saturday, always after ten pm. Depending on your roster for the week, sometimes you were home when she came over—subjected to hearing Bucky's low baritone greet her at the door, their footsteps padding down the hall past your room, the soft click of his door closing and the giggles that followed.
You fucking hated giggles.
By the end of the second week, you had put in a request to work the closing shift every Wednesday and Saturday. The tightness in your chest and churning in your stomach never faded, but you took some comfort in knowing you would only be in the same house as her for a few hours. You hadn't met her—you didn't even know her name—but you were envious of a faceless woman, a voice you heard in the dark, because she had the one thing you wanted but could never have.
No one brought her up—there were no casual chats between the boys, no probing questions from Nat. Apart from the first time, she was out of the house by six am—narrowly avoiding Sam and Steve leaving for their morning run. You weren't even sure they knew she existed—not until Nat gave you a sympathetic smile over a glass of wine, confirming that they did in fact know without uttering a word.
The usual nights the five of you spent together continued as normal. Or, at least as normal as you could manage. The space between you and Bucky grew—he stopped trying to charm quiz answers out of you, and you hugged the arm of the couch like it was a life preserver during movie night. The soft conversations over morning coffee ceased to exist, the nights of you two reading together in the lounge just a hazy memory.
The distance made your heart yearn for him while his proximity made your nervous system overload. It was a push and pull that sucked the life out of you, exhausting you until you were a shell of who you used to be.
When Sam asked you what your first heartbreak was you instantly thought of Liam Turner from the sixth grade. He was the classic class clown that both charmed and annoyed all the girls in your grade. He sat next to you during History and English, always pestering you for help and trying to make you his partner in crime. You did what any smitten eleven year old girl would do—you handed him a note. It was simple, you didn't even write your name—just "do you like me" with tick boxes for yes and no. You handed it to him before recess and watched with bated breath as he ran to his group of friends, watched as all of them turned to you and fell into hysterics. You crashed into your mom's arms once you got home from school, sobs wracking your body as you felt like you were going to die from the crushing sensation in your chest.
What you felt that day wasn't even a drop in the agony that consumed you when you walked into the lounge for movie night.
"You're late!" Nat yelled, her voice travelling down the hall as you rushed through the front door.
"I know, I know," you yelled back, heading for your room and changing out of your work clothes in record time. You made your way towards the lounge once in comfy clothes. "The health inspector would not stop asking me questions, no matter how many times I told him I'm not the—"
Your feet and words came to a halt once you reached the doorway to the lounge, your heart dropping to the floor and shattering into a million pieces.
Because there she was—sitting in your usual spot with her feet resting on Bucky's lap, one of his hands engulfing her ankles.
She was beautiful. And the complete opposite to you in every way possible. From the texture and colour of her hair to the shape of her body. From the clothing and jewellery she wore to the colour of her eyes.
The two of you weren't even comparable—you were from completely different planets, different universes.
It hit like a sucker punch. You weren't his type, not even close.
You're a fucking fool.
She smiled brightly at you, the white of her teeth glaring. You faintly heard her great you through the ringing in your ears, offering you her name. You managed a meek hi in response, dragging your wide eyes away from her over to the other couch.
Big mistake.
Nat and Steve were already looking at you with pity in their eyes, a silent "are you okay?" written all over their faces. Nat scooted closer to Steve, tilting her head towards the small open spot next to her on the couch. You knew the second you sat next to them that her comforting presence would wrap around you and tear away the last of your fraying composure. So, you did something you had never done before.
"Move it, bird brain." You muttered to Sam, squatting down next to his beanbag and shoving his shoulder to make room for you.
"You ever tried not being bossy?" He grumbled in reply, shuffling to the right so you could collapse down next to him.
Normally you would respond with something just as snarky. But that required mental energy that you did not possess—energy that was being drained with each passing second she sat behind you.
You settled into the beanbag, the rustling of polystyrene beads filling the quiet room. You tried to take calming breaths as subtly as possible, the blood from your broken heart clogging your throat and lungs.
You hummed, keeping your eyes glued to the TV screen as Steve navigated through the streaming app.
Sam stiffened next to you, turning to you with a peculiar look on his face. "What? You got nothing to say to that?"
You sighed. "Every white guy's number one film on letterboxd. Try being less predictable next time, Rogers." You said in a flat monotone.
A deep, breathy chuckle sounded behind you, and it took all of your diminishing willpower to not turn and get a glimpse of the soft smile that haunted your dreams.
You tried your best to focus on the movie, you really did. You tried to focus on the press of Sam's shoulder against yours, something tangible to keep you grounded. But nothing could distract you from the soft murmuring behind you, the sound of her giggles as Bucky provided commentary throughout the movie. It was something that you normally didn't mind, something you indulged in, even. Not tonight. Thirty minutes into the movie, your eye had developed a constant twitch from suppressing the urge to turn around and tell them to shut the fuck up.
At one point Sam's hand had fallen over both of yours, stopping you from picking at your bleeding hangnails. You didn't even notice the sting from the exposed wounds—too preoccupied with gnawing on the inside of your cheeks.
You walked into your shift the next day with another request.
You clocked into your shift on Tuesday afternoon with a sinking pit in your stomach. A feeling that you had become accustomed to over the last couple months, a feeling that had you walking the scenic route home at night, delaying your arrival. It was the feeling that you had started associating with home, along with the ache in your chest.
You loved quiz night—you loved seeing what stupid team names people came up with, loved judging them when they got such an obvious answer wrong. Once upon a time, you had loved seeing Bucky's handsome face sitting in your section, waving you over with an up to no good smile stretching his lips. Now, it all felt like a taunt.
Nothing was out of the ordinary—the opening shift said it had been quiet as usual, there had been a couple bookings from newcomers for quiz night, and the tabby cat that wandered the block came in to say hi.
And then, she walked in. Strolling in behind Nat and Steve, her arm looped through one of Bucky's, flashing you a kind smile as they made their way to their usual booth. In your section.
You wanted to scream. Cry. Jump into the East River.
The bar had become your safe place—which honestly sounded crazy, you hated half of the customers. But your home hadn't felt like your home since she walked through the door. And now she was in the one place that hadn't been tarnished.
She was nice, you knew she was. But she was a constant reminder that your heart belonged to a man who never looked at you twice.
You rushed over to Allie who was standing at the bar waiting for Dean to finish garnishing cocktails.
"I need you to swap sections with me—please." You said in a frantic breath.
She turned to you, her face already telling you her answer. "Hell no! I've got two tables of big tipper's—I am not giving that away."
Dean leaned his elbows on the bar. "I'll swap with you."
Your head whipped to him at a comical speed, your wide eyes meeting his unbothered grin. "…But you hate working the floor."
He nodded towards one of your tables—one of the newcomer bookings, a booth full of girls in their early twenties. A few of them were already looking over at your trio—more specifically, looking at Dean. You turned back in time to see him flash them a wink.
Your chest deflated with a relieved breath. "This is the only time I am ever going to be grateful for you being such a dog."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't." You and Allie said at the same time, matching deadpan expressions on your faces.
Allie turned to you, squinting suspiciously. "Why do you want to swap?"
You shrugged, looking at her forehead to avoid eye contact. "Just felt like a change."
"You said please—pretty desperately, too. It was kinda hot." Dean piped in.
You glared at him, choosing not to acknowledge his comment. You turned back to Allie looking at you expectantly. "Variety is the spice of life?"
She hummed disbelievingly. "Mhm, sure. We'll talk later."
Working the bar brought you no reprieve; every time you walked to the cocktail station, they were in your direct eyeline. Every time you poured a cosmo, shook a lemon drop, garnished a mojito, you could hear them laughing. You watched how she fit in like the missing puzzle piece, her body slotting perfectly under Bucky's arm—like that's where she belonged. You watched your roommates welcome her in with open arms and crying laughter, the realisation hitting you that she replaced the temporary hole your absence had opened.
Your knees were shaking while you closed up the bar, your hands scrubbing the beer grates with an urgency that was cause for concern.
"Hey, hey, woah that's—" Dean came up next to you, his hands gently clasping your wrists. "That's enough," he said, uncharacteristically gentle, "your hands are bleeding." He brought your hands up, your unfocused eyes seeing spots of red raised on your knuckles.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh. What's up with you today?"
Dean led you away from the bar, grabbing a first aid kit on your way over to where your manager and Allie were sitting, working through the next week's orders. He pushed you into a chair, stepping back with an awkward pat to your head.
"I'm sensing that this is a girl talk so I'm just gonna finish closing the bar."
The two women turned to you with concern painting their faces. Allie glanced down at your hands and opened the first aid kit, pulling out supplies to treat the cuts. Neither of them spoke while she tended to your hands, watching your face closely.
"These aren't too bad, just scrapes." She said softly, packing the kit back up and sitting it out of the way. She clasped your hands lightly, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hands. "What's going on, sweetie?"
You looked up from where you had been staring at the table, seeing her eyes and your manager's shining with worry. A silent tear slipped from your eye, leaving a damp path in it's wake.
"Whose kneecaps are we busting?" Your manager demanded.
That broke you.
Your shoulders started shaking, your throat closing in on itself in the form of a sob. Your heart escaped from your chest cavity, rising up like bile. Your vision was completely blurred, hot tears taking your eyes hostage. You caved in on yourself, wrapping your arms around your body as your frame trembled like a leaf.
You couldn't even feel embarrassed about bawling like a baby in front of your coworkers, the pain you had been sheltering for months overruling any other emotion. Allie wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her warmth and making you cry harder. Your manager placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her thumb rubbing calming patterns as they both whispered words of comfort to you.
You gasped for breath, trying to get some air past the ball in your throat. "I-It's so—" your words broke with a hiccup, "it's so fucking stupid." You rushed out. "We were never—ugh!" You wiped at your cheeks furiously, willing the tears to stop. You gulped down a deep breath, trying to focus on the comforting touches and not the agony vibrating every cell in your body.
"We were never anything. God, I'm sobbing over a guy that—he was only being nice, and I made it into something it wasn't." You garbled out, the brine of tears lining your lips.
You opened up to them, telling them about how deeply you fell for Bucky in between sobs. How you felt like a goddamn fool, your lovesick heart reading into things and mistaking your strictly platonic relationship as something else entirely. You told them how you hate going home most nights, finding it harder to breathe the closer you got to the brownstone. You admitted to them that it's not just jealousy over him with another girl, it's something deeper—the fear that you've been replaced, that he doesn't need you anymore.
"…my sleep is fucked, I'm on high alert every second I'm home—I don't feel safe in my own home. Which—I know, it sounds so fucking dramatic. But it's like she's seeped into every crack, changing the foundations I built over a year ago. Now she's turning up here—on fucking quiz night, my night—and I just can't escape." You finished with a deep breath, feeling drained from your emotional monologue.
Allie, who had kept her arms wrapped around you throughout your rambling, lifted her head and looked at you with a mix of understanding and sympathy. "That's why you wanted to swap sections, because she was here." You nodded meekly.
She sighed and sat back in her chair. "Give me a couple days to clear out my spare room. You need it more than I need a second closet."
Before you could start sobbing over her offer a muscular arm reached in front of you, depositing a vodka cranberry onto the table.
Dean's voice rumbled behind you. "If it makes you feel any better, I've wanted to sleep with you since my first shift."
"Dean," both women next to you hissed. You turned to look at him, catching that easy-going smile of his and you started laughing—the first genuine one in weeks.
Thursday 6:18pm
Nat: Hey, you working late tonight? The boys are getting restless, Sam is threatening to watch Top Gun if you're not home in 10…
You: shit i forgot to tell you i'm working thursday nights now! sam can watch whatever mediocre garbage he wants :-)
Nat: We can change movie night to another night! Maybe Sunday? Whatever works for you x
You: don't worry about it, thursdays work for everyone else!
Nat: Is everything ok? I feel like I hardly see you anymore :(
You: aw i'm sorry natty :-( just been picking more shifts up at work - boss has me training the newbies! promise we'll have a wine night soon xx
"I'm moving out."
It was the Sunday after that fateful quiz night, the sun beating down on your four roommates as they laid out in the backyard. Sam was going on about some barbeque he had been invited to—telling the other three that if they behaved he would let them join him. Nat's head was resting on Steve's chest, half asleep while he massaged her scalp. Bucky was lying with a hand behind his head, shirtless, and reading his well-loved copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.
Allie had sent you a photo of her spare room an hour before, a bottle of Tito's sitting on the floor the only thing in the empty room. You couldn't put off telling your roommates any longer, knowing that once you moved out you would start feeling like a human again. You stood in the doorway, arms tight across your body—fearing for their reactions.
Sam stopped talking abruptly, Nat jolted awake and sat up from Steve's chest, Bucky slowly lowered his book to his chest. Nat was the first to speak.
"What?" She asked softly.
You started to shuffle your feet, looking around the backyard—at the fairy lights that flickered like dying stars, the small veggie patch Steve cared for like it was his child—avoiding eye contact with them. "You remember Allie from the bar? We've gotten really close these past few months and she was looking for a roommate—kinda felt like a no-brainer, y'know?"
You finally looked at them, your heart beat rattling your jaw. Sam looked speechless, his face frozen in confusion. Nat was looking at you with that assessing gaze, her eyes squinting like she knew something else was going on. Steve nodded his head solemnly, his features pulled into a frown that looked out of place on him. Bucky had abandoned his book completely, sitting upright with his pretty lips downturned, his sunglasses hiding whatever emotions swam in his cerulean depths.
"I can sort out getting the room filled—can probably pay double rent if necessary—"
"I'll handle it." Bucky cut you off, his tone gruff and curt.
You wrung your hands together, hating being under the spotlight of your roommate's attention. "Are you sure? It's a bit late notice so it might be hard to—"
That same curtness cut you off again,"I said I'll handle it, didn't I?"
He probably wanted his girlfriend to move in.
Your three other roommates momentarily directed their bewildered stares to him, just as surprised as you at his bluntness. Just like Steve frowning, this was out of character for him. You could feel his eyes glaring holes into you through his sunglasses.
Nat shook her head at his attitude, turning her attention back to you. "I didn't know you wanted to move out."
Okay, time for the lies—just like you practiced in the mirror.
"It's not about wanting to move out," you started softly, "it's just something that naturally unfolded. Her landlord upped her rent last month and she can't afford it on her own anymore." Steve and Sam nodded along, while Nat was looking at you with that unwavering stare. You didn't even want to glance at Bucky. "She jokingly asked me over drinks a couple weeks ago if I was looking and after thinking on it, I think it's the best choice for me. It's closer to work, cheaper than what I currently pay and, as I said, we've become really good friends."
Nat continued squinting her eyes at you, watching as you fidgeted with your fingers—your tell that you would rather be anywhere else.
"Okay," she acquiesced. "When are you moving? We'll throw a little goodbye party."
"Great idea," Sam mumbled.
"Sometime in the next week." Everyone's eyebrows shot up at that. "And that's not necessary—I'd prefer it if you didn't do anything; it's not like I'm leaving the city, I'll only be a few blocks away."
Steve recovered from the brief shock at how soon you were leaving them. "Let us know what day and time, we'll help you move your stuff."
"I appreciate the help, really I do, but my coworkers have already offered—we have Dean to do all the heavy lifting."
That made Bucky stir, standing up with a scoff and arms folded across his chest. "Did you think about us at all? Sounds like you can't wait to get away from here."
You froze, the ice running through your veins equal to the frost in his tone. "That's not—I didn't want to bother you—"
"How can you think you bother us after all this time?" He asked, the frost melting into water—revealing something that trembled close to desperation.
"Bucky," Nat warned.
"I just don't understand," He snapped, shaking his head and walking towards where you were stuck in the doorway. He paused in front of you, his sun slicked chest making your heart gallop. You kept your eyes on his chin—locking on the clef still visible through heavy stubble, resisting the desire to glance at his naked chest, or worse, look into his eyes. "Mind letting me through?" He muttered lowly, his frame now blocking you from the sun. You ducked your head, pressing your back to the doorframe to give him space.
"Buck—"
"Not now, Steve." He bit out, your body absorbing the heat radiating from him as he brushed past you. You stood still, head tilted to the floor until you heard his door slam closed.
"Well, that was…" Steve started, his uneasy chuckle filling the heavy atmosphere.
The shock of his attitude left you dazed. You expected some blow back from Nat—she could read you like her favourite book, knowing the emotions you held within yourself better than you did. You expected—hoped, really—that they might be a little down about your departure, but Bucky acting like this wasn't even in your realm of possibility.
"What was that about?" You muttered to yourself.
Sam stood up with a huff, grabbing a beer from the cooler near the table. "Fucking idiots, the pair of you."
You timed the move for the following Wednesday, not wanting to risk another night of hearing what you had labelled your own personal torture. You had been working nights since Sunday, avoiding any interactions with your roommates. The vibe in the brownstone felt off, the air tasting stale even when you were the only one home. Nat had been texting you for updates, apologising for Bucky's strange behaviour, and assuring you your friendship with her wouldn't slip away after you were gone. Sam continued to send you memes—he had an affinity for the gradient instagram reels—and Steve saved you the best strawberries from his garden, hiding them in the fridge for you.
Bucky was radio silent.
Tuesday 5:36pm
Nat: Just spoke to Allie - apparently you're not working quiz night anymore?? What's going on?
You: we thought the new waitress should work it for a bit! good experience :-)
Nat: You should come join us then! We would be unstoppable with you on our team xx
You: maybe another time? don't want the other teams to think you have an unfair advantage lol
Nat: Fuck what they think. We miss you! Movie night was not the same without you last week :(
A month passed before you saw Bucky again.
You had been texting Nat on and off, feeling an awful reluctance to seeing her. It had nothing to do with Nat and everything to do with you continuing to avoid the problem—your feelings. Because you still thought about him, religiously so. You hated yourself for it—hated your brain conjuring up scenarios of him and her, replaying the happiness that glowed on his face the couple of times you saw them together.
Your sleep had improved, at least. There was no anxiety constricting your chest when you walked home, no fear for what you might hear through the walls. Allie encouraged you to cry it out on the bathroom floor, over tubs of ice cream on the couch. While it was horrible to address and to actually feel the heartbreak instead of intellectualising it, you had to admit you did feel lighter. It was a weight off your chest for someone else to know your secret, to let you speak about the pain and not forcing you to move on.
Your manager was quick to approve your request to work the day shifts—asking if you wanted to get your managers license, to be her dependable day shift manager. You were elated to have something else to focus on, and the pay rise wasn't bad either. Working the days also meant you weren't there in case your old roommate's called in for a drink on their way home from work.
But you knew your luck was going to run out some day soon.
It was on a quintessential late summer evening—the kind where the sun was low enough to shine through the tree canopy, casting the ground in a scene of dancing light and shadows. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you ambled through Prospect Park, listening to the harmony of kids laughter, dogs barking, and a busker playing guitar. Walking through the park lengthened your journey home by twenty minutes, but on a day like this it was hard to resist.
You heard him before you saw him, too lost in appreciating the world around you to notice him strolling towards you on his trek home. He called out your name softly, hesitantly. And you would recognise that husky baritone even if you were locked in a soundproof pool drowning underwater.
Your gaze ripped away from watching a pair of swans glide along the shimmering lake, your heart jumping into your throat as you saw Bucky a few metres in front of you. He was wearing his gym clothes, the black compression top clinging to his chest with light patches of sweat. His hair was tied back in a small bun, a few strands stuck to his dewy forehead and your fingers twitched to brush them back. Soft sapphire eyes roamed the valleys of your face, his shoulders dropping with an almost relieved sigh.
You hated how your body heated under his watchful gaze in an instant—hated that he still had control over you and he didn't even know it.
"Hey," he said quietly, a small smile tugging his lips. He hesitated for a moment, doubt flickering across his face before he shook his head and stepped closer, lifting an arm and placing his hand between your shoulder blades to pull you into his embrace.
A startled gasp escaped you at the contact, blood pulsing in your ears as his warmth enveloped you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, his hand resting on the small of your back to pull you in closer. Your traitorous body relaxed in his hold, the heady scent of sandalwood, spice, and his sweat clouding your mind.
Fuck him for always smelling so irresistible.
"Hi." You murmured, muffled by his shirt. You kept your arms at your sides, knowing that if you felt his body beneath your hands you would backtrack all the progress you had made over the past month. You could already feel yourself slipping—comparing being in his arms again to lying in front of the fireplace while rain pelted the windows and thunder clapped outside. The feeling of being warm and safe despite a raging storm.
He rested his chin on your head, his chest expanding underneath your cheek as he inhaled deeply. The hand between your shoulders flexed, pushing you further into him. His chest rumbled below you and you felt his words more than heard them. "Missed you."
You stepped back quickly, stumbling out of his embrace. His brows pinched together and his lips turned down with a frown. He took a small step back and cleared his throat, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"I—uh—how, how have you been?"
You folded your arms across you chest, focusing on the light freckle on his neck. "I've been okay."
"That's good, great. I—we've missed you." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard and his voice dropped lower, softer . "Place isn't the same without you."
You had to leave before you did something foolish—before you dropped to your knees and pleaded for an ounce of his affection.
You cleared your throat, trying to rid the sudden emotion clogging it. "How have you been? How's the new roommate?"
Bucky's eyes flicked away from you, a hand leaving his pocket to rub the back of his neck. "Fine—they're fine." Splotches of red coloured his cheeks. "They don't compare to you, though."
What the fuck did that mean?
"Um—okay, well, that's good? I should—"
"Listen," Bucky interrupted you before you could flee from the increasingly awkward encounter. He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the gravel lining the earth. "I—I want to apologise for my behaviour, when you told us you were leaving." He looked up at you, remorse and distress bleeding from him so viscerally you could almost grab it. "I was in shock, I think—it doesn't really matter, I'm not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I really am sorry and you didn't deserve that." He closed the distance between you more, hands raising towards you before they dropped to his sides. "I—um, I would hate for that to be the reason you haven't come 'round—if you felt uncomfortable because of me."
It was resting on the tip of your tongue, the truth. It was begging to spill out, to tell Bucky that you were uncomfortable because of him but not for the reason he believed. You could handle a little attitude—what you couldn't handle was hearing the guy you're in love with treat another woman the way you had fantasised about since the day you met him.
Grateful for the fact you had been getting enough sleep to keep a grasp on your filter, you accepted his olive branch instead of starting a confessional. "Thank you, Bucky." You looked into his eyes, trying to express your sincereness. "I appreciate it, really."
Hope flared bright across his face. "So, wanna join us next Thursday? Your pick—I'll tell Sam to keep his comments to himself."
Guilt curdled your gut. "Thank you for the offer, but I can't make it, sorry. I already have plans."
If sitting in front of the TV watching New Girl and doomscrolling on your phone constituted as plans.
And just like that, the flame was extinguished. "Oh."
You interrupted before he could say more. "It was good seeing you, Bucky, but I have to get going." You stepped around him to continue home, giving him a small wave goodbye before focusing forward—walking brisker than the tranquil evening called for, your shoulders too tense for the serene landscape.
"Bye," he murmured, the sound drifting towards you with the light breeze.
You kept your head straight forward the rest of the walk home.
You expected the text from Nat the next day, knowing that Bucky would've told your former roommates that he ran into you. She demanded you meet for brunch at your earliest convenience, and given that it was Saturday and you had no plans you couldn't deny her any longer.
You were sitting on the couch putting on your shoes when Allie burst through the front door, her hands full of bags from the morning market and mouth stuffed with cake from the pâtisserie around the corner.
"Oh my god," you heard her mumble around frosting and sponge. "Guess what I just found out."
"Apparently not what decent manners are. Swallow before you talk."
A mop of floppy blonde hair appeared in your doorway. "That's what he said."
You rolled your eyes as Dean sauntered in with a wolfish grin, closing the door behind him. "What the hell are you doing here?" You shot wide eyes at Allie, wordlessly demanding an explanation.
She took your advice and swallowed before speaking again. "I ran into him at the market—he has an update on James B!"
A mix of anticipation and dread made your morning coffee stir. "I thought he stopped leaving reviews?"
Dean collapsed next to you, eyeing the dress you were wearing with approval. "You dress up for me, angel?"
You shoved his shoulder. "Not in a million years. What's the update, dumbass?"
He pulled his phone out with a sigh. "He left a review last night—don't look at me like that, I set up notifications for this very reason." He tapped on his phone before handing it to you, the screen displaying the latest review.
James B.
★★★★★ 13 hours ago
Quiz night isn't the same without her. Nothing is.
Your heart rate picked up, sweat gathering at the back of your knees.
What the fuck?
"But last night wasn't quiz night?" Was the only thing your dumbfounded mind could vocalise.
"I mean, yeah, but you're missing the point!" Allie interjected, standing behind the couch and leaning her head down to read the review. "Now we know he's a quiz night regular! That narrows the search pool down so much."
"Ooo, what if it's one of the old dockmen?" Dean giddily queried.
"They do normally sit in your section—or, well, what used to be your section." Allie supplied, wandering back to your kitchen to put away whatever trendy new chutney she bought from the market.
Your eyes followed her, catching sight of the clock hanging on the wall. "Shit—I'm going to be late." You jumped off the couch, frantically grabbing your phone and shoulder bag. "We can theorise more later, Nat is going to murder me for being late."
"Bye, honey!" Dean yelled as you ran out the door—stopping for a second to throw him the middle finger.
Nat was sitting at a table towards the back of the cafe, her crimson hair a stark contrast to the soft pastel interior. The atmosphere was buzzing and lively—every table occupied, with laughter and heavenly aromas wafting out the open door. It was the go to brunch spot for Brooklyn natives, it's covered outdoor courtyard an enticing location on a warm summer's morning—you were surprised Nat even managed to score a table.
Her face lit up once she saw you, standing to welcome you with a hug. "One more minute and I would've thought you were ghosting me."
You hugged her just as tight, the smell of her perfume relaxing your shoulders and making your heart clench—you shouldn't have gone this long without seeing her. "God, I know, I'm sorry. Allie came home with gossip before I could make my escape."
You both pulled away and sat down, reading the menu like you hadn't looked at it online on your walk over.
"Gossip? Anything interesting?" Nat asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
You let out a deep sigh. "It's a long story. One that's better told over a bottle of wine."
"Okay, now I am beyond intrigued—you better not leave me hanging for another month." She shot you a small glare, the smile on her face lessening it's sharpness.
The waitress came over and took your orders before the two of you fell into easy conversation. She updated you on what trouble the boys—Sam—had gotten into, and you told her about the time you and Allie were locked out in your pyjamas and tried to scale the fire escape. Neither of you broached the subject of why you moved out, but it was lingering in the air—in the soft way Nat said Bucky's name. Throughout the hour you spent chatting you noticed she didn't mention their new roommate once, and the curiosity was making you restless.
"So, how's the new roommate, really? Bucky didn't say much about them."
An out of place nervous hesitation tightened Nat's face, her eyes darting between yours as she bit her lip. After a tense few seconds her shoulders dropped with a sigh.
"Honey, there is no new roommate."
You reared back, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? But Bucky said yesterday—he said they were fine."
"Of course he did," she muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked at you with a huff. "The room is empty. Bucky…he's been paying for it."
"What?" You nearly exclaimed, your body temperature rising.
"Look, I don't know why he didn't tell you the truth—I honestly don't know what goes on in his mind, he has made some terrible choices the last few months." She placed a gentle hand on top of yours, her tone softening. "Choices that had you leaving us."
"I don't understand." You muttered quietly.
"I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but—Steve and him were drinking after work last week and he admitted he's paying for the room—saving it in case you want to come back."
Shock rendered you speechless—frustration climbing up from your gut, opening the partially healed scars seared into your heart. Confusion, irritation, and heartache swirled together until they formed one emotion—anger.
Your hands balled into fists, your clenched teeth making your jaw ache. "I'm sorry, what?" You bit out.
You barely noticed the smirk twitching her lips, red starting to blur your vision. "Sam and Steve are out fishing today—he's home alone if you want to go bite his head off."
You didn't need to be told twice, the red-hot fury bringing you to your feet quickly. You grabbed your stuff with urgency, your hands already starting to shake.
"Brunch is my shout—go knock some sense into him."
It took you less than ten minutes to reach the brownstone, outrage powering your legs with a speed you didn't know you were capable of. The fresh air did nothing to calm you down—you were too consumed by the memories from the past year, the heartache you endured, your utter confusion at Nat's revelation.
Your fist pounded on the wooden door, not stopping until it swung open to reveal a puzzled Bucky.
His eyes widened at the sight of you, pink lips stretching into a knee trembling smile. Your dress caught his attention, his smile freezing as blue eyes trailed down and back up your body.
He cleared his throat before speaking. "What are you doin' here, doll?"
"Don't fucking call me that," you seethed, pushing him out of your way to storm inside. You barged down the familiar path to your old room, ignoring Bucky as he called out your name behind you.
You opened the door to find the room exactly how you left it—empty. You whipped around to see Bucky standing a few feet behind you, looking down at the ground with a hand rubbing his neck and a fire overtaking his cheeks.
"Why the fuck are you paying for an empty room? No, better yet, why did you lie to me about it?" You loudly demanded, just shy of shouting.
He stumbled over his words, looking up to see you with your eyebrows raised, arms folded across your chest, hip jutted out—the perfect picture of barely contained rage.
"Well, I—you see, it's—" he dragged a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "It's complicated?"
"Yeah, no shit. You were so pissy about me moving—it makes no sense! Just tell me the truth for once, Bucky!" Your voice raised higher, your hands flying around as the confusion and aggravation took hold of you.
Bucky's own frustration started to seep through, the volume of his voice a notch below yours. "I was upset because you were leaving—and you didn't seem to care about us, just running straight to Dean for help!"
He was upset? He had no fucking right to be upset.
Hot, frustrated tears flooded your eyes without your permission. "I left because of you, Bucky! No one else, just you." You stepped toward him, pushing a finger into his ridiculously sturdy chest. "And I didn't run to Dean! He offered to help after he watched me have a fucking breakdown over you."
His glistening eyes stared into yours, his eyebrows drawn upwards in distress. "…What?"
A crack had fractured the dam keeping you contained, your pent up thoughts and feelings crashing through and destroying the concrete barrier.
"Every fucking day I came home feeling like my world—my heart—was being torn apart—" your voice cracked and you turned around, starting to pace the length of your old room. "And I know, I fucking know, it's not your fault—that my delusional mind and hopeless romantic heart are to blame for reading into things that weren't there, for creating a fantasy of you—of us."
You wiped away your flowing tears, sniffling as you tried to catch your breath. "But now, you expect me to, what—feel bad for leaving? I was barely human." You let out a wet, humourless laugh.
"What are you talking about?!" He demanded desperately, his face shining with frustration and something akin to hope.
"I'm talking about the goddamn walls, Bucky! I don't know if you know but they're pretty fucking thin! And every Wednesday and Saturday night I heard you and her—I heard the guy I was obsessed with fucking somebody else and it killed me."
"I only started seeing her to get you out of my head!" Both his hands found their way to his hair, tugging the dark strands in frustration. "And maybe I wanted to make you jealous—which I know is a terrible—"
You closed the distance between you in two quick strides, reaching out to shove his chest. "Jealous? You wanted to make me jealous?!" You seethed out, your fists hitting his chest as your vision blurred. "Are you blind?! Everyone could see how infatuated I was with you." Your hits lost their strength, your cheeks growing even more wet.
"Hey," Bucky whispered softly, his hands gently encircling your wrists and his thumbs rubbing tender patterns on your radial pulse. "Breathe for me."
"No," you stubbornly whispered back, despite your panting breaths slowing to match his. You drew in staggering breaths, finally noticing how hard your heart was beating—your body shaking with every thump. Your fists unfurled, your palms resting flat on his broad chest—the fast pounding of his heart a near match to yours.
He let go of your wrists, his hands cupping your face delicately. He wiped your tears away with such care it made your heart ache. Your vision cleared enough to focus on his face, seeing his eyes shining with their own tears.
"I think we're both a bit blind, sweetheart. Everyone can see how smitten I am with you." He rested his forehead against yours, the space around you two growing charged in the aftermath of your anger. "Sam gives me shit about it every day." His breathy laugh ghosted your lips, leaving tingles in it's wake. His voice dropped low, "I'm so fucking in love with you I was leaving reviews about you like some—like a hopeless sap, hoping you would realise it was me."
His confession of love flew over your head, incredulity controlling your mind. "That was you?!" You gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I thought I had a stalker, you idiot."
The memory of the night you and Allie read all the reviews ran through your head, remembering the disturbingly romantic details written; remembering the reviews you secretly reread like a guilty pleasure, going to sleep with a giddy smile and fluttering butterflies because someone was noticing you.
"That's all you took from that?" He shook his head minutely, one of his hands brushing down your back to cradle your waist. "I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you here."
You stepped out of his embrace, your mind still picking through all the small details. "But—the first review was, like—" you started to pace again, your hands resting atop your head. "It was well over a year ago!" Your voice raised again, recalling how horrible you felt only a month ago—the heartbreak you could've avoided. "Why did you never say anything?!"
"Because I was scared!" His voice raised to meet yours. "I didn't want to ruin things and lose you forever!"
"Yeah, well look at how that turned out!" You gestured wildly to the empty room.
"Why are we shouting again?" Bucky walked towards you, reaching for your hands. You were both breathing heavily, the sound of your pants echoing in the emptiness as your chests heaved up and down.
"Because I'm mad at you." You finally met his eyes, the blue bleeding with regret and sorrow. Your voice dropped lower, timidness starting to creep in. "You…you broke my heart, Buck."
He gripped your hands tighter, raising one to rest on his chest—right above his heart. "I am going to spend every day until I die trying to make it up to you." His remorse polluted the air around you, tears welling in your eyes once again—this time from the pain clouding his. "If you'll let me."
"That's a bit dramatic," you mumbled, sniffling lightly. "Until you're fifty is fine."
He laughed, wet and husky. He let go of your hands to cup your face again, smoothing his thumbs along your cheekbones. Your breath hitched at the touch, the pain in your system being diluted by the drug that is Bucky.
He leaned in closer, his eyes darting between yours and your lips. "I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"
You managed a small nod before his lips were on yours—desperate and aching, stealing the breath from your lungs. One of his hands shifted to the back of your neck, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. Your hands found his chest again, fisting his shirt and causing a groan to sound in the back of his throat. He took control of the kiss with no complaint from you—happily letting him suck your bottom lip before nipping it, opening for him when his tongue grazed your lips.
The first touch of his tongue against yours had fire scorching down your body, the intensity of his kisses settling in your gut and awakening the need you've had for him for over a year.
The annoying human need for air had you pulling away from his lips, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. His stubble scratched your skin as he trailed kisses along your jaw, tilting your head to reach the sensitive spot below your ear. He gave it a soft experimental kiss, his tongue darting out and drawing a small whine from you.
His chest rumbled beneath your hands. "You talk about the walls being thin—trust me, I know." He stepped forward, his fingers dancing down your sides to grasp your hips, backing you into the wall. "I know you like to beg, what pretty sounds you make when you're about to come." He trailed his nose back along your jaw and down the other side of your neck, nestling into the crook and sniffing deeply with a small moan.
"Wh-what? I haven't—I never brought anyone home." You stuttered out, head starting to feel heavy from the lust fogging it.
"No, but you still have needs, don't you?" He let out a small chuckle, trailing feather-light kisses along your collarbone. "You thought you were alone, thought it didn't matter how loud you let yourself be." He pulled back, bringing a hand up to brush his fingers along your cheek, making their way down your neck. Onyx eyes met yours—a shiver racing down your spine at the barely contained hunger in them. "I came home with a migraine and you were so wrapped up in pleasure you didn't even hear me—but I heard you. And shit, doll, the noises you made cured my migraine faster than any pain meds ever have." He dropped his forehead to yours, his breath fanning your lips. "I had to fuck my fist three times that night. I replayed every little whimper, moan, every gasp of please until it drove me insane."
A gasp escaped you at his admission, heat rolling through your body—a mix of embarrassment and hunger swirling in your core.
"And then, like it was the universe's sole purpose to bring me to my knees, you walked in the next day wearing this dress." His fingers drifted to the neckline of your dress, toying with it as your breasts moved rapidly beneath. "Looking like a fucking angel sent here to torture me. Like sin wrapped in white lace. I had to leave before I dropped to my knees and begged for a taste—to let me worship you."
Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, the throbbing in your core escalating with every word he murmured into your lips.
"You kept on wearing it, and I had to pretend like I wasn't replaying those sounds every time I saw you—like my dick wasn't rock hard at just a glimpse of this fucking dress." The hand on your neckline travelled down to the line of lace below your breasts—his thumb stroking along it making your breath stutter and nipples harden. "I had to do something, I felt like I was going insane. I started seeing her to get you out of my head—didn't fucking work now, did it?"
The mention of her cut through the Bucky induced haze, and you hesitated—needing clarification before you could let him consume you.
"Are you still seeing her?" You whispered.
"Fuck no, we were strictly casual. I broke it off the day you left."
Your head reared back an inch, hitting the wall lightly. "You know that doesn't make me feel better, right? That you only wanted to sleep with her because I was in the next room."
Both his hands gripped your waist, squeezing gently. "Okay, that—that wasn't what I was trying to get at." He lifted his head to stare into your eyes. "What I meant was that you leaving really showed how much of an idiot I'd been, wasting my time with her when you were right next door."
"Why didn't you reach out, then?"
He shrugged, his eyes darting away nervously. "I didn't think I had a right to. I wasn't exactly proud of how I acted the last time we spoke."
You saw Bucky almost every day for over a year—you knew he didn't get outwardly nervous often, and you knew when he was being vulnerable and honest. The Bucky in front of you wasn't lying—you could tell he was genuinely worried he'd messed everything up.
You relented with a sigh, lacing your hands around his neck. "I think it's time you start making it up to me."
"Gladly," he said before pulling you into him and kissing you deeply. He pressed his hips against yours, pushing you harder into the wall. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach, your core trembling and aching in anticipation.
The pace of the kiss picked up, Bucky's tongue licking into your mouth with a deep moan. His grip on your hips tightened and he spun you around, walking you backwards towards his room without removing his mouth from yours.
He kicked the door shut behind him, leading you towards his bed with his hands drifting down to squeeze your ass. You broke away with a moan, your lips swollen and chin tender from his stubble.
"Sit down for me, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out. You quickly obliged—your need for him making you ready to do anything he said.
He kneeled on the floor in front of you, slowly taking your shoes off. His hands trailed up your bare legs, stopping when they reached the hem of your dress.
He pressed a soft kiss to your knee. "You gonna let me make you feel good?" He mumbled into your skin.
You nodded rapidly, your hands clenching his sheets in desperation.
He clicked his tongue. "I need words, angel."
"Yes, Bucky—please. Please touch me," you gasped out, the sight of him on his knees robbing your intelligence.
His mouth tilted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming. "There you go with that begging again."
He clasped your knees, spreading your legs open. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on your inner thighs, goosebumps erupting and surging up to your core. He pressed light kisses along one thigh, stopping when he got to your dress and switching to the other.
You could feel slick leaking out of your cunt, your clit pulsing from the lack of attention.
"Buck, stop teasing, please." You whined softly, lifting a hand to push the hair away from his eyes. He nuzzled into your hand, turning to press a kiss into your palm. Your hand vibrated as he hummed low.
He grasped the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly up to your hips. "Lean back f'me."
You leaned back on your elbows, your body trembling with need as his hands scorched paths up your thighs.
He let out a low groan once your dress was up past your hips—revealing your soaked panties to him. His eyes locked onto them, his pupils dilating until only a sliver of blue remained.
"All this from a little kissing?" He brushed a thumb along the wet patch, grazing your clit. Your head fell back with a loud gasp, your hips twitching towards his touch.
"Sensitive," he mumbled. His hand moved, tracing the edge of your panties—you were sure he could feel the heartbeat pulsing in your core. "How long has it been?"
You lifted your head up, looking into his dark eyes—the desire in them reflecting your own. "Since before I—"
You cut yourself off with a soft moan, your body jerking as Bucky pressed his thumb to your clit through your underwear—circling it with a steady pressure.
"What was that?" He asked smugly.
Your chest heaved as you tried to wade through the sensations buzzing through you. "Since before I moved in," you rushed out quickly, another moan escaping you at the feeling of his touch directly on your pussy—his hand slipping underneath the wet fabric.
"Fuck," he breathed out through clenched teeth. He grabbed the waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs quickly. He groaned out looking at your exposed cunt, and you tried to close your legs on instinct.
He gripped your thighs to stop them from closing. "None of that," he growled out lowly. "Let me look at her."
His hands trailed up your thighs until they reached your bare hips, yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You fell onto your back softly, your breath shaking from the impact.
He pulled your lips apart and moaned loudly. "She's fucking dripping, sweetheart."
You clenched at his words, his teasing leaving you aching and squirming. He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss millimetres away from where you needed him most. He breathed you in deeply making your hips buck up with a needy whine.
"Bucky, please."
He dragged a single finger from entrance to clit, pulling it back with a string of your arousal connecting the two of you. You sighed at the small touch, opening your eyes to see Bucky suck the tip of his finger.
He groaned at your taste, hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your legs back and spread you wider.
"Gonna make her feel so good, pretty girl." He slurred out, his lips trailing a path of fire up to your core. "Be a good girl and make those noises for me again."
He dove in, licking the same path as his finger. His groan vibrated through you and your hands flew to his hair, gripping the strands as you gasped.
"Taste so fucking good," he mumbled before latching onto your clit. He sucked gently, circling the nub with his tongue. You rewarded him with a tug to his hair and a shaky moan.
He picked up the pace, moaning as he went from tasting you to devouring. He thrusted his tongue into you, lapping up everything he could. The room filled with the lewd sounds of your slick and his saliva coating your pussy—with your unabashed moans and gasps bouncing off the walls.
He pulled away from you, his chin and beard glistening. "That's it, pretty. Being such a good girl." You whined at the praise, using your hold on his hair to push his face back into you.
Your hips rocked against his face, the flame in your core growing fast. He moved an arm to your hips, holding them down to keep you still. He sucked your clit harshly, your back arching at the pleasure he was unleashing on you. You gasped out his name as your orgasm built rapidly.
"Fuck, Bucky—right there! Please, I'm gonna—" you cut off with a loud moan, your body jolting from him lightly biting your clit. Stars started to dot your vision as he continued to feast on you like a starved man—like you were his first sip of water after wandering the desert.
The knot in your core clenched tight before it unravelled, Bucky's groans vibrating through you pushing you over the edge. You came with a cry, your hands yanking his hair hard. A blissful fire spread throughout you, making your toes curl and head float.
Bucky drank up your release, prolonging your high until you were shaking and trying to push his head away. He relented, moving back to kiss and nip your inner thighs. Your heavy panting filled the room, your pussy twitching as you came down.
You propped yourself up on weak elbows, your droopy eyes meeting his glazed, pussy drunk ones.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered reverently. He moved back in closer, his breath fanning your cunt making you clench around nothing. "Another one."
He slowly licked at your hole, leaving your overstimulated clit throbbing painfully. Your arms gave out, a whimper crawling up your throat. You brought a hand up to your chest, squeezing a breast over your dress—trying to relieve the ache in them.
"Fuck, look at you," Bucky cooed, pulling away from you to stand up. "As much as I love this dress, I think you'll look even more beautiful without it."
You nodded, sitting up slightly so he could pull it over your head. Your eyes were level with his crotch, seeing the large bulge tenting his pants—your mouth salivating already. Once your dress was off you reached a hand out, palming his hard dick over his pants. You gasped at the heavy feel of him, your walls clenching at the thought of him stretching you open.
His head rolled back with a moan, a hand catching your wrist to stop your movements. "Not right now." You let out a displeased whine and his mouth twitched with a smirk. "Later, promise. Lay back down so I can worship you."
He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, leaving you to gape at his insane torso. You had seen it before but you always adverted your eyes quickly, scared of getting caught staring. Now, you could stare and touch all you wanted.
You leaned up to run a hand over his bare chest, his body scorching beneath your skin. You trailed a finger down the hard ridges lining his body, a thrill running through you as his muscles rippled and breath stuttered. Your mouth found his pecks, lathering them in wet kisses while your hand teased the waistband of his pants. He grasped your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. His jaw was tense and eyebrows furrowed, a slight darkness shadowing his face.
He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "What did I just say, sweetheart?" He mumbled, his tone laced with warning.
Before you could reply, his hands grasped your waist and pushed you up the bed until your head met his pillow. He crawled on top of you, kissing your neck.
"Thought you were gonna be a good girl." He mumbled, biting the spot below your ear and making you gasp. He pulled on one of your bra straps, letting it snap back onto your skin. You gasped louder at the small stinging sensation, the slight pain dousing your core in gasoline.
"Please, I am—I will be. M'sorry." You whimpered out, tilting your head back as he continued his assault on your neck.
He hummed in response, sucking on your pulse point before trailing lower—his stubble scraping the top of your breasts. He reached a hand behind your back, unclasping your bra with ease before pulling the straps down your arms slowly.
Your nipples hardened more once exposed to the cool air, begging for Bucky's attention. He lavished your breasts in kisses, covering every inch of skin with his spit. One of your hands clutched onto his bicep while the other wound into his hair again. He continued to avoid your nipples and you squirmed underneath him, trying to move his head to where you wanted him.
He relented, licking a nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You moaned from the relief and the zaps of pleasure racing down your torso. He pinched your abandoned nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger as he bit down on the other one. You arched off the bed with a loud whine, the pain and pleasure morphing into one. He switched nipples, dolling out the same sweet torture with moans lodged in his throat.
Once both your nipples were raw and aching he kissed down your abdomen, hands clutching your hips as his mouth worshipped your stomach. You giggled at his beard tickling your sensitive skin and he lifted his head, his blown out eyes meeting yours with a soft—almost unbelieving—smile.
"You're breathtaking," he whispered. "And you're all mine, yeah?"
"Yes, Buck. Only yours."
He hummed in approval, pressing a light kiss to your hip. "Good. 'Cause I'm yours, angel. I'm sorry it took so long for me to say."
He moved back down to where you were dripping onto his sheets, your body wound tight from your first orgasm and his teasing. He licked into you without hesitation, drawing out loud noises from you as he sucked your sensitive clit.
"You're so wet—wanna live between these thighs, doll."
A hand left your hip to poke at your entrance, one finger sliding in easily before your walls squeezed at the intrusion. He pumped it in and out slowly until you were begging for more. A second slipped in, both of them curling upwards and grazing the spot that had you arching off the bed with a sound you'd never made before.
He lifted his head up, praising you for how good you were being—telling you how pretty you sounded. His mouth descended on your clit again and his fingers picked up their pace.
Your head rolled around on his pillow, the dual stimulation to your pussy making a heat rush through you like you'd never experienced with anyone else. You could feel how he was paying attention to you, altering his movements to gauge what sounds he could pull out of you—getting to know what you liked.
The ball tightened faster than the first time, your body edging on being overstimulated. Both your hands were fisting the sheets, your hips grinding against Bucky's face and fucking his fingers—the obscene squelch of your pussy soaking his hand mixing with your moans and gasps.
"Let me come—please. Been s'good for you, Buck—"
You know you didn't need his permission to come, but begging and submitting to him felt so good. Your own words pulled the coil in your core tighter—his resounding moan shaking through you telling you how much they affected him too.
A third finger joined in and you clenched down hard, the stretch almost throwing you off the cliff. They curled into your spot over and over, his other hand moving to push down on your lower stomach—causing something between a moan and squeal to leave you.
"Course you can come for me, sweetheart. I want nothing more than this sweet pussy drenching me."
With one last curl of his fingers and suck to your clit, your body started to shake, the ball bursting and sending waves crashing through you. Your eyes rolled back and your ears started ringing, deaf to the borderline animalistic noises you were letting out. You clamped down on his fingers hard, your juices gushing out and coating his hand—dripping and staining his sheets.
Your head was up in the clouds, cotton filling the space your brain used to be. You briefly registered his mouth leaving your overstimulated and raw nub, his fingers still moving slowly as you floated through your high. Small, gentle kisses across your cheeks, nose, and eyelids had you giggling breathlessly. Your body felt heavy, your eyelids struggling to open.
"You doin' okay?" Bucky whispered into your temple, peppering more light kisses to your forehead. You hummed softly.
"Need'a minute," you slurred out.
His fingers slowed and then left you, a whine slipping past your lips at the emptiness. You felt a hand rubbing soothing circles onto your scalp, your body turning towards his warmth. You slowly opened your eyes to find him staring at you, electric blue lazily roaming around your face.
"Hi," you whispered, lifting a heavy hand to push hair behind his ear. He grabbed your hand and covered it in soft kisses, his eyes never leaving yours.
"Hi. How you feeling?"
You leaned in, nuzzling your nose against his. "Good—really good," you muttered before kissing him softly. Your hand weaved into his hair, pulling him in as your kiss grew more passionate.
One of his hands cradled your jaw and the other spanned the small of your back, pushing you into his bulge. You bit his lip teasingly, revelling in his body shuddering and drinking down the moan he let free.
You grinded your hips against his—gasping and whimpering at the rough fabric of his pants dragging against your oversensitive pussy. He responded in kind, rutting his bulge into you with a groan.
"Want you inside of me," you mumbled into his lips, throwing a leg over his to roll your hips harder.
"Fuck—okay," he breathed out. He pulled away to reach for his bedside drawer but your hand on his chest stopped him.
"Are you clean?"
His eyes widened and he nodded dumbly. "I got tested the other week—wait, I'll show you." He reached for his phone but you stopped him with a giggle.
"I believe you. I'm clean—obviously. And on birth control."
His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, pupils dilating until they physically couldn't anymore.
"Are you sure?" He gripped your face in his hands, eyes darting between yours. "I only used condoms with her so I understand—"
That fact pleased you absurdly, your hand trailing down his chest to his groin—squeezing his heavy bulge. "I'm sure. Wanna feel you, all of you."
He pulled you into a searing kiss, rolling you onto your back and hovering over you. Your mouth moved against his eagerly, both your hands on his waistband to unbotton and unzip his pants. You reached a hand into his boxers, a gasp leaping out as you wrapped your hand around him—his cock throbbing and big. You briefly worried about the limp you'll have later.
He panted above you, his eyes closing as you stroked him slowly. You could feel his boxers damp with pre-cum, beads of it dripping from his tip. You brushed your thumb over it and he moaned gutturally, eyes opening as you pulled your hand out. You kept eye contact with him as you brought your thumb up to your lips, licking his pre-cum before sucking it into your mouth with a satisfied moan.
He pulled your thumb out, tracing his own along your lip before you sucked on it—twirling your tongue around it.
"You're gonna be the fucking death of me, angel." He groaned out.
He pushed away to pull his pants and boxers off, throwing them behind him carelessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his cock standing proud—your mouth somehow simultaneously drying up and drooling at the sight. He was the biggest you'd ever seen—long and thick, the tip flushed red with his need. Your knees fell apart on instinct, the fire building up just looking at him.
"Wanna take a picture?" He teased.
"Another time," you whispered, surging up to grab his shoulders and pull him back on top of you.
He chuckled into your mouth before it dissolved into a moan, your hips bucking up and smearing his cock with your slick.
He grabbed your hips, pulling them up slightly as he settled between your legs. You both broke off from the kiss with matching gasps, the feel of him sliding along your slit making you both dizzy. His tip bumped into your clit with each glide, whimpers echoing from your chest as you twitched from the stimulation.
"You're so fucking pretty," he mumbled, dropping his head to kiss and nip along your neck.
"Please," you whined, your hips rocking without thought.
He pulled back and looked down between you, groaning at his dick already glistening with you. He wrapped a hand around himself, tapping his head against your clit a few times. You squealed, starting to feel dizzy with desire. He shushed you gently, dragging a thumb along your cheekbone before positioning himself at your entrance.
His eyes met yours as he pushed in slowly, the intensity in them making you choke up. It had never felt like this before—never felt so passionate, adoring. It made everything feel elevated—your nerve endings singing with pleasure wherever he touched you.
You clenched down on him instinctively, your walls stretching around just the tip. Your chest heaved as you tried to relax—you weren't in pain, it just felt so fucking good.
"Be a good girl and let me in," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.
Your legs opened wider for him, your core relaxing to let him push in further. Moans and gasps filled the air around you as he thrust slowly, sinking until he reached the hilt.
The breath knocked out of you, the feeling of him filling you completely making your head rush. He moved slowly at first, small thrusts to get you accommodated before pulling back until just the tip was inside. He sank home with deep moans, his cock pushing against your spot with every thrust.
You wrapped your legs around his waist making him reach deeper inside you. He picked up his pace, his hips meeting yours with soft slaps.
"You feel so good—oh, fuck!" He exclaimed as you clenched down on him.
"Harder, please." You moaned out, scratching your nails down his chest.
"Yeah? My pretty girl—my little angel—likes it rough?"
You nodded deliriously, the tension in your core sizzling with every thrust.
He sat up, bringing your hips with him. He held them up and delivered harsh thrusts—each one expelling a gasp out of you. Your legs tightened around him, his strength pushing you up the bed.
The headboard knocked against the wall, adding to the symphony of moans, whimpers, skin slapping that was already deafening the room. Each sound had you soaring higher, each thrust kissing your cervix sending a shock through you.
Bucky removed your legs from his waist, clutching your thighs to push them towards your chest. Your wide eyes met his with a gasp, the change in position igniting a roaring fire everywhere. He dropped forward slowly, pushing into you so far you swear you could feel him in your throat.
He groaned into your ear. "This is—god, you're made for me."
His thrusts resumed their previous pace, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Sweat beaded along his hairline from the exertion, his hair sticking to his temples—and he looked so beautiful, your eyes started to well with tears.
Everything rushed through you in an overwhelming burst—the heartache you suffered, the months of yearning and uncertainty, how much you loved him. How much he loved you.
Tears fell from your eyes as the sensations built higher and you grasped his face, pulling his forehead to yours. Your gentle kiss to his lips was a stark contrast to his cock drilling into you.
"I love you," you whispered, your words breaking on a sob of pleasure.
His hips stuttered, his eyes squeezing tightly. "You can't say that again or I'll blow my load." You laughed at his clear struggle to hold back, making him groan as you squeezed him tighter.
He continued his thrusts, wiping a thumb under your eye to catch your tears. "This is the only time I'm gonna make you cry from now on, yeah? Only gonna make you sob cause I'm fucking you so good."
You nodded, letting out little "uh-huh"'s as you climbed higher and higher.
"Play with your clit, sweetheart." Bucky rasped out.
Your hand snuck between your bodies to press circles around your clit—your back arching with a whine. Tears continued to track down your temples, wetting the pillow below you.
"Fill me up, please," you managed to get out between whimpers and sobs. Bucky's grip on your thighs tightened, surely leaving marks for you to admire over the next few days.
"Come with me," Bucky moaned, pressing a scorching kiss to your lips as his thrusts grew sloppy. You tensed below him, your body locking up before pure ecstasy barrelled through you. You came with a scream of his name, clenching down on his cock to keep him trapped. Your vision faded to white, your body trembling and pulsing.
Bucky groaned out your name as his orgasm rushed through him, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you as he filled you completely with cum.
He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest heaving against yours. He slowly lowered your legs then wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck.
You laid there for a few minutes, the both of you gradually coming back down to earth. He pulled out of you slowly, the both of you groaning at the feeling. A mix of your releases dripped out of you, coating your ass and staining the sheets.
"Stay right here," Bucky said before giving you a chaste kiss, pulling his boxers on to run to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel, sitting on the bed next to you to clean you up with gentle, reverent touches.
He climbed behind you, pulling you into his strong chest—a satisfied rumble vibrating your back. He kissed the back of your head, trailing towards your ear and giving your lobe a gentle bite.
"I love you too."
"When can we move your stuff back in?"
Bucky and you were still lying on his bed, basking in the warmth of each other as the afternoon sun trickled through his half closed curtains.
You turned in his arms, slinging a leg over his and booping his nose. "I think we should go on a couple dates before I move in with you."
His nose and eyes scrunched with that laugh you first fell in love with. "Oh, is that right?"
"Living together before you've even bought me flowers? Sounds a bit rash to me."
"I'll buy you a whole flower shop," he mumbled, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare hip. "Well, maybe not right away—I am paying for two rooms, y'know. Would be nice to be able to buy groceries next month."
You laughed softly, poking his bare chest. "Yeah, and whose fault is that again?"
He grumbled something unintelligible, hiding his face in your neck to lavish you in more kisses.
Wars were started over smiles less beautiful than hers.
The reminder of his reviews about you flourished in your mind, prompting you to pull his head away from your neck.
"So, you're James B? This whole time?"
His face bloomed red, a huff leaving him before he nervously licked his lips. "Yeah…"
"Why? Why start leaving them in the first place, why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged slightly, lifting a hand to trace the lines of your face. "We were at the bar drinking, and some guy nearby pointed to you and said ratings must be higher with you working there. And—I don't know, I guess I was drunk enough to agree and then…it just happened?"
You furrowed your brows at him. "Why not just write in a journal?"
"Trust me, I was already doing that." He laughed softly, his eyes glowing. "I guess, in a weird way, I was telling you how I felt without actually telling you. Stupid, I know."
Warmth started to spread from your chest. "It took us ages to even notice the reviews—we only realised they were there because Dean assumed one was about him."
Bucky tensed under your hands. "Fucking Dean," he muttered.
"…Are you jealous?"
The blush on his cheeks grew, his eyes avoiding yours. "He was always staring at you, and you laughed with him like—like you did with me. I thought there was something goin' on."
Is it bad that him being jealous is turning you on?
"You have nothing to worry about, Dean is a gross womaniser who I only see as an annoying brother." You pushed at Bucky's chest, making him lie on his back as you straddled his hips. You pressed kisses along his chest, your hips slowly rocking against his. "He did tell me he wanted to sleep with me, though."
Bucky's hands grasped your hips harder, his face turning stormy. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' about another guy when you're on top of me, doll." He muttered low.
You leaned in to kiss him, your hips moving faster and drawing gasps out of the both of you—his dick already half hard under you. "You're so hot when you're jealous."
The sound of the front door opening had you both freezing—your former roommate's laughter drifting down the hall.
"Get dressed, lovebirds!" Sam's voice rang out. "We've got fish to fry!"
a/n: thank you to this pic on pinterest that inspired half the plot (i couldn't get the ho to fit into a moodboard 😔) yes, team, reader should’ve made bucky grovel HOWEVER high emotion tension filled make up sex is hot 🫦 bro is buying her flowers and taking her on dates every day for the rest of their lives 😌
debutant adventurer — lohen x reader, SFW, drabble
summary — lohen convinces you to step out of the library and go on your first adventure with him. he's psyched for some action, but you're getting a little sidetracked...
themes — established relationship, fluff and humor, librarian!reader, adventuring with your boyfriend because he wants ya to learn self-defense, if you squint it could be a tad suggestive, reader is a catalyst-user, this is part of the hit me!/lohen can't communicate chaiverse i suppose
WC: 868
When you told Lohen you wanted to go exploring with him, he was enthralled. A chance to fight whatever monster crossed his path with you at his side sounded like the perfect way to spend his day off—a little bit of fighting, a little bit of flirting, and a whole lot of showing off for you.
He wasn’t exactly expecting you to want to pick up every local specialty, though.
“Can you use your vision on this flower for me?” you asked. “I think it’d be pretty if I pressed it.”
“Uh…sure,” he answered, the corner of his grin twitching. “Are we gonna go after this?”
With a brush of his ice-tipped spear, the burning flower was extinguished. You clapped like it was a magic trick, sending a touch of warmth to his cheeks. As you plucked the flower from the grass, you smiled and said, “We’re not in a rush, are we?”
“No, we’re not, but..” He awkwardly cleared his throat. “We’ve kinda been here for half an hour already. I’m running out of bag space for your flowers, Bun.”
“What? We picked that many?”
“You picked that many,” he said with a snort. “I don’t mind frolicking around with you, but I was kinda hoping I’d get to show you the fun parts of being an adventurer! Like, the killing and stabbing parts.”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” you answered, your gaze falling to your feet. “I didn’t realize I was boring you.”
“Huh? No, no, no.” He took your hands in his, giving them a firm squeeze. When you looked up at him, he gave you a toothy grin. “I’m never bored when I’m with you, Bun. I promise.”
Your face lit up with a smile. Content with the change in your demeanor, Lohen said, “I just think it’d be nice if we went to clean up some hilichurl camps or something! You can even use my dagger, if you want. Oh, or how about the mini-crossbow I made you? I’ve got it in my pack still.”
Your smile turned to a grimace. “I think I’ll leave the hilichurl stabbing to you, Lohen. And don’t tell me that crossbow thing is the reason you’re out of space for my flowers.”
He guiltily averted his gaze. “You gotta learn how to defend yourself somehow. If you won’t use your vision, then use a weapon at least!”
“I prefer a catalyst,” you said, “but even then, I prefer not fighting to begin with. It’s not like I face any danger working in the library.”
“Oh, but what if you did?” He pulled you closer, shaking his head. “Imagine a group of pyro slimes slipping into HQ, and into your precious library! How are you gonna protect your books if you can’t fight?”
“In what world would pyro slimes make it all the way into Mondstadt, past decorated knights, and into the library…?”
“Fuck, Bun—you’re smart, and I love that about you, but you’re too practical. Just imagine it! What would you do?”
“Well…” You blinked up at him. “I’d probably go looking for you.”
Your words made his heart skip a beat. Narrowing his eyes at you, he aggressively whispered, “You’re so fuckin’ cute, I can’t stand it. Come here.”
He pulled you forward, pressing kiss after kiss to your cheek as you laughed before him. His hands rose to your face, squishing your soft cheeks together before he pressed a flurry of kisses to your grinning lips. The way you giggled gave him sweet chills, his heart filled with adoration for you. In the midst of his onslaught of affection, he murmured, “I’m still gonna teach you how to fight.”
“Okay,” you answered with a laugh. “But I want to use my catalyst.”
“Fighting from afar…I like it.” With one more big, wet kiss to your mouth, Lohen let out a drawn out, “Mmmwah.”
You grinned at him. Satisfied, Lohen stroked his thumbs over your cheekbones.
“Here’s what I think,” he said. “We walk up on a hilichurl camp, I go in first, and you support me from the back. Sounds pretty easy, right?”
“I guess it sounds better than me stabbing them.”
“Exactly.” He grinned. “I wanna see you use some magic, pretty girl.”
You snorted. “If you want me to, then I’ll try. No guarantees I’m actually good at it, though.”
“No one’s good at anything on the first try. I’ll be happy just knowing you at least gave it some effort.”
“Hm. Well, then I’ll give it my very best.”
Lohen giggled, pulling your face a touch closer. As he beamed at you, he murmured, “Actually, you’re so cute that I almost wanna just take you back home.”
“Huh?” You blinked rapidly, but your smile remained. “What about adventuring, though?”
“I can show you a different kind of adventure.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly wishy-washy?”
“Oh yeah,” he purred. “You tell me, like, every two hours.”
He dove into your lips for a chaste peck, and with a happy laugh, you leaned back into him for one more. Kissing one another in the grassy outskirts of Mondstadt, Lohen thought to himself that the real treasure at the end of the journey was you.
a/n: teehee, i thought to myself, how can lohen encourage his girlfriend to use her vision? xD he seems like he'd want her to learn some self-defense, so i wrote this drabble~
anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
icymi! chai's last lohen post:
under wraps, lohen suggestive oneshot (500+ notes)
masterlist
⊹ ˖ fellow authors, i do not mind if you are inspired by my works to write something similar, but please credit me if you are. these concepts mean a lot to me, so i would really like to be credited for any of my personal ideas that inspire you.
summary — aether asks lohen some questions about you.
themes — chai's self-indulgent lohen voiceline headcanons, fluff and humor, librarian!reader, mild suggestive themes, many references to my other lohen works
WC: 602
About Bunny, I
“Oh, hey there, Honorary Knight! How can I—? Hm? What’s that? You ran into Bunny, you say? And she told you she wanted to see me? Heh, sounds like her. Well, sorry to cut this conversation short, but I’m gonna get going. I don’t like to keep my princess waiting.”
About Getting Together
“She’s taken. Huh? You’re saying you don’t have any interest in her? You just wanna know how we got together? Eh…I dunno if I believe you.”
About Relationship Length
“Why’re you asking? You’re not trying to make a move on my Bun, are ya? I’ve got some new poisons from my time in Nod-Krai that I’d love to test, so if you keep asking me things like that, you might want to watch your drinks.”
About Future Plans
“My future’s her. That’s all you need to know.”
About His Ring, I
“Asking about my ring, huh? This is a promise ring. Bun’s got the match to it on her left, and I’ve got mine on my right. That way, whenever we hold hands, our rings touch. Not to brag or anything, but it’s kind of an awesome feeling.”
About Differences
“Mm, yeah, I get that all the time. ‘Vice Captain Lohen, you’re so violent and your girlfriend’s so sweet! Did you threaten her into dating you?’ People learned to stop saying the last part after I made up a new special training.”
About Bunny, II
“Hey, Honorary Knight. What’s that? I sound kinda down today? Well, I guess I’m a little bummed. Bun’s obsessed with this fantasy novel, and her favorite author’s doing a book signing in Inazuma. She’s going all that way, just for one signature! And she told me not to request leave, because she wants us to go on vacation this Summer! So I’m stuck here while she’s on her way there, and it’s driving me crazy not knowing if she’s safe or not. (…) Inazuma’s a safe country, you say? Maybe for you and me, but Bun can’t fight, so I’m worried fuckin’ sick. Pardon my French.”
About Fear
“No, she’s not scared of me. Why would she be? (…) Haha! You think I’d ever point a weapon at my girlfriend? I only get rid of the trash that needs cleaning up, and she understands that. Sure, her vision’s basically useless to her, but one good slap from her sets my shit preeetty straight. Man, I sure hope she smacks me around tonight…heh-heh.”
About Sex
“You wanna die, Honorary Knight?"
About His Ring, II
“Why’s it on my pointer finger? Well, that’s ’cause it’s my trigger finger. Whenever I shoot someone, it kinda feels like Bun’s shooting ‘em with me. Haha! It’s super romantic.”
About Pranks
“No, no, no—I don’t poison Bun. I mean, I slip a teensy weensy amount of it into her meals every now and then, just to help her build some tolerance, but I’d never outright poison her. If I’m gonna mess with her, I’ll usually just rage bait her until she starts beating on me. Oh—or I’ll tickle her until she starts crying! She’s so freakin’ cute when she’s in tears like that, heh-heh. (…) Huh? What’s so weird about that?”
About Love
“Yeah, she’s the love of my life. What’s it matter to you, exactly? (…) You…think we’re cute together? Oh, uh…well. Hm. Wasn’t expecting you to say that, honestly. Uh…thanks…I guess? I don’t really, uh…know what to say to that. (...) Huh? Pft—no! No, I’m not embarrassed! No, not at all! A-anyway, I gotta go do paperwork or something, so…! I’ll see you later, Honorary Knight!”
a/n: OH MAN THIS IS SO SELF-INDULGENT, but hopefully you guys will still like it! i get a little embarrassed with stuff like this cause i feel like it's silly, but if you guys like it, i may do more "voiceline" style content in the future! i was interested in doing a "lumine" version of this, because i feel like lohen may answer her a bit differently than he would aether, haha.
anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
im working on a discord server for moots! if you're interested, please check the rules out here! at this point in time, you must be a mutual to join! if you are interested in becoming moots, please check the rules in the post i linked!
icymi! chai's last lohen post:
you've been bad, lohen nsfw oneshot (600+ notes)
masterlist
If one were to truly look into the dull eyes of the vice captain... what would they see?
A monster whose thirst for blood could never be quenched?
A rotten piece of flesh, skin stitched together by dreams of fulfillment, forming the resemblance of a human being?
But perhaps, the vice captain was not the only one who felt that way.
After all...
The bunny he caught had the same eyes as him.
[Chapter 1: Edge of Dawn]
Trigger Warnings: none. Lohen is a menace though, not that we don't know that already...
General tags: Slow burn; Strangers to Friends to Lovers; Hurt/Comfort; Eventual Smut; Fluff and Angst
Wordcount: 8k
Link to Ao3 | Masterlist
Foreword: The following chapter was written before Lohen's official release! Author caught up with his lore and story quest starting chapter two. This work will slowly but surely deal with heavy topics such a depression, loss, self-hate et cetera. Corresponding trigger warnings will be added accordingly to each chapter.
This work is intended for mature audiences [MDNI|18+ only]!
User discretion is advised!
Inside the stony halls of the Headquarters, the footsteps of a certain young captain echoed, the steel caps of his long boots clinking against the prestige floor.
A small piece of paper, a note to be exact, was clutched in his gloved hand, the yellowish paper wrinkling against his grip.
The young captain's destination?
Well... right here in front of him.
With a strong knock against the massive wooden doors of the grand master's office, he didn't wait for permission to enter, but instead, just walzed right in.
"You wanted to speak with me, Grand Master?"
A certain blond head looked up from the piece of paper he was working on, his gaze immedeatly falling onto the young captain.
"Good timing, Lohen."
The grand master, shackled behind his desk by seemingly neverending stacks of grueling paperwork, graced the young captain in front of him with a stern look on his face. A look so rare for one of the main pillars of Mondstadt, that Lohen could count the amount of times he had seen it on one hand.
Forehead scrunched up, mouth in a frown, the corners of his eyes wrinkled... The first time Grand Master Varka made a face like that was when the Dawn Winery had a massive shortage on grapes due to a long period of drought and thus couldn't produce their signature dandelion wine, which was a favourite of his... and the last time Lohen ever saw Varka making a face like that, before the instance happening right now, of course, was during the long expedition in Nod-Krai.
It was during an attack of the Wild Hunt, many of the knights had been injured and rendered unable to fight, which only resulted in Lohen's blood pumping through his veins even faster, his excitement reaching levels... which many liked to call insanity...
So without even thinking twice, he charged forward, leaving his fellow knights behind — not even remotely caring about the injuries he had prior, nor the ones he got in the midst of his high — slashing through the countless enemies.
Though... he had gotten carried away, and had it not been for Varka protecting him from the monster created by the Wild Hunt that somehow escaped his attention, he could have sustained far worse injuries than he already had in that moment.
Or far... far... worse...
The young captain could remember it like it was yesterday... which, to be fair, was not that far off, since it had been around two months since that incident happened and the expedition ended.
Two months since they all had returned to Mondstadt...
"Lohen?"
The sound of his name snapped the young captain out of his reminiscence of — only to him, though — more exciting days.
"Sorry about that, Grand Master, seems like I was just... thinking about some other stuff a tad too much."
He gave the man in front of him his almost signature, charming smile, while shifting from one foot to the other, a clear sign of his growing restlessness. After all, it had been far too long since he'd had a good fight...
The grand master cleared his throat, and stood up from his positon behind his desk, grabbing a few documents that were buried underneath some letters the Grand Master had written, and handed them to the young captain in front of him.
"What are these for?" he asked while reaching into a small satchel that was attached to the back of his hips, taking out a particular piece of candy, quickly popping it into his mouth and chewing, until it became very stretchy.
"Reports of Ruin Guard sightings near Millhaven. A merchant who frequently traveled between Mondstadt and Dornman Port noticed them in the distance, some of our knights stationed in Dornman Port quickly marked out all the spots said merchant described them to be at."
Now, that... that quickly caught Lohen's interest. His hand almost instinctively started twitching at the mere thought of roughing up more "punching bags".
Already back in his seat behind his desk, the lingering doom called paperwork already crawling up his back, Grand Master Varka let out a big sigh.
"With the ongoing preparations for the coming Windblume Festival, many of our division are pretty busy... so I want you to handle this..."
The young captain gave Varka a slight bow after folding the documents and stashing them away safely in his satchel, of course not even caring about hiding the big, albeit slighty disturbing, smile he had on his delicate lips.
"Don't worry, Varka, I'll make quick work of these punching bag— I mean Ruin Guards. But... this is surely not the only reason why you wanted to see me, right? You would never look so grim just because of something as minor as that, hmm?"
The grand master leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his broad chest, eyes closed, yet his uncertainty very much perceivable.
"Well... we also just got some reports in... of civillians claiming to have been attacked by crazed creatures... They all had wounds, which we were able to treat, nothing major in that regard..."
Varka opened his eyes and grabbed the documents that arrived at his desk just that morning, placing them down on his desk for the young captain to see.
"The concerning part is that the descriptions we've gotten until now don't match any animal or monster we know so far... Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be Abyss or the Wild Hunt related... Still..."
The grand master let out another sigh —the young captain had already stopped counting how many times Varka had let these out today — and grabbed his quill, preparing to continue filling his personal mortal enemy called paperwork.
"Anyways... I already filled Jean in regarding the current situation and she wants to handle everything regarding this case... So you only need to focus on the Ruin Guards. And... Lohen... I know I probably don't need to say it... but be careful, okay?"
The young captain turned his back to the blond male, barely able to hide the almost manic smile forming on his face, while the grand master already pressed the tip of his quill onto the paper, carefully signing various reports, requests and everything else the Knights of Favonius had to take care of.
Without needing to face Varka anymore, — after all, his next "playthings" were already in sight — the young captain left his office.
"It'll be my pleasure, Grand Master."
Lohen couldn't help but let out a soft laugh as the last Ruin Guard stumbled broken onto the ground, the heavy impact echoing in the nearby long forgotten remains of old homes. His polearm, dirtied and dulled from not only his mission, but also general lack of care, now lay still in his gloved hands. A few remains of cryo still clung onto its blade.
'Well... not as much fun as I hoped... but the last one at least put up much more of a fight than the rest.'
Lohen could feel a slight sting of pain as he wiped over the cut on his cheek, caused by the now broken "punching bag" in front of him. His eyes, though, wandered back to his gloved thumb, which was now, of course, stained with his blood.
A satisfied look spread across the young captain's soft — albeit a bit dry from lack of water — lips.
The red liquid staining his glove looked... in perhaps a twisted sense, incredibly beautiful to him. Whenever he sustained cuts, bruises and, hell, even broken bones... it made Lohen's heart swell with a feeling of delight, rivaling every other potential pleasure the young captain had ever experienced before.
Every sting of pain in his body, every drop of blood that left his body, every bit of it, made him feel... alive. It was, in essence, his definite proof that he exists... That he is, much like his comrades, a breathing and living being.
Unlike monsters who only felt nothingness.
It was proof he is not one of them.
The young captain took a few steps towards the broken Ruin Guard and kneeled down in front of it, he searched for any salvageable parts — or rather trinkets — he could collect from his playthings, much for his own entertainment, of course.
'Oho... a still intact core, without any scratches or cracks, lucky me!'
It was only then, after finishing his salvage, that he noticed that the sky had already started to darken and dusk was just about to set in.
'I'm currently in the northern region of Brightcrown Canyon... And I'm supposed to head to Dornman Port in a few days anyway to train new cadets... Might as well head there now. I can always sent a messenger to Varka in the morning, anyways. To Dornman Port it is!'
Quickly stashing the core away in his satchel, Lohen started walking along the rough path, eventually making his way through Millhaven and then Dornman Port.
However, much to the young captain's disdain, that walk turned out to be quite uneventful; no Hillichurl Camps, no Abyssal Monster, and not even a small surprise attack by the Fatui!
Though... this was in itself a good thing, just not for the Vice Captain of the fifth Company...
When Lohen reached Dornman Port, the sky had already turned dark, the twinkling stars shining bright above, though the lights of the houses and various other establishments shone brighter in comparison.
It didn't take the young captain long to reach the knights' base stationed in the Port. As it was already late, though, the only other knights he encountered were those that were on patrolling duty for nighttime.
Many of whom gave him a quick salute as Lohen passed them by, not even questioning the current state of the Vice Captain.
Hair and clothes disheveled, dirt and blood on his clothes, various cuts and bruises on his body, these were a very much common sight when it came to Lohen, so unless he looked like he was on the verge of death, his fellow knights swore to not ask him about any of his... "trophies", as he liked to call them.
That the Vice Captain of the fifth Company had... questionable... preferences was not that unknown among the knights, after all...
The few knights — often freshly joined members — that did indeed question him about his "adventures" had earned the unfortunate experience of listening to an at least one hour long speech about each bruise, cut, scar and how much the young captain adored each and every one of them.
His feet immediately carried him along the stone path etched through the city, a path he had walked many, many times.
He quickly passed the training grounds — right next to them lay his destination, after all — in favour of entering one of the few Knights of Favonius bases stationed all over Mondstadt. This one was used mostly by the Ranged Company, a base which Lohen often sought out himself.
Looking over newly acquired recruits of their company, training the currently employed cadets, attending several strategic and logistic meetings, as well as taking in reports from civillians and knights alike...
As the Vice Captain, he truly had many responsibilities.
Of course, if he weren't in such a high position, he would have a lot less on his plate... but that also meant he wouldn't "officially" be allowed to fight on the front lines like he does now...
So it's a price that Lohen is willing to pay.
The young captain walked over to the large wooden table standing in the middle of the building, his steps light and almost unnoticeable, which, ultimately, was not necessary, as he was the only person there at this hour, however, it was a habit he developed over the years he spent not only adventuring, but also during his knightly activities.
After all... the moment you are noticed can be the deciding factor in any hunt.
Lohen took out the documents Grand Master Varka gave him earlier that day, the ones regarding the sightings of the Ruin Guards, and laid them flat across the table. Taking a nearby quill and some ink, he quickly scribbled an "Already did it!" onto the bottom of the page, not forgetting his signature cheeky drawing of himself.
'Maybe I can get Ursula to write that full report for me... in exchange for some extra pay...' he thought out to himself with a smile on his face.
Though, essentially getting rid of the document carefully placing the document to inform his fellow comrades of the fulfilled mission was not the only reason he came here.
The young captain set himself in motion once more, quickly leaving the base. His actual target, after all, lay behind said base, a building which Lohen often used himself, though it did not have an official name — or maybe it did, but the young captain really didn't care enough to remember. Said building functioned as barracks for the knights temporarily staying in Dornman Port, as well as an emergency hospital.
Since Mondstadt and Dornman Port were seperated by a fairly big distance, even with good weather, it took at least a day to travel between both cities — if you were to simply walk that is, if you ran really fast, you could indeed make it sooner.
Knights who came from longer patrols, expeditions, missions and the such, knights who were tired or injured or simply lived in the City of Mondstadt, could use this building to rest and heal up, even staying for a few days if necessary.
As the Ranged Company mainly operated in Dornman Port, the Vice Captain was given his own personal resting room in said inn, which Lohen really enjoyed.
At least one of the few perks of being a captain...
The slighty rusted hinges of the door creaked as Lohen opened it, and the floor boards softly groaned underneath his feet.
Well... nobody said that these rooms were in peak condition...
But... they fulfilled their job and the young captain was not necessarily picky, so he took what he could get.
Closing the wooden door behind him, the male went over to the dresser standing next to his bed. Contained in the drawers of the dresser were not only some spare clothing, but a first aid kit as well.
While the cut on his cheek was not deep or anything, the young captain decided it would still be better to properly dress it, infections could be quite annoying, after all.
Lohen took off his dirtied gloves and ran his finger over the cut, it was still bleeding a bit, but it was faint, his body already started the healing process.
'A simple bandaid should be enough for that...'
After disinfecting the wound with a small cotton ball, the young captain placed a bandaid right over the cut, the coverage almost stretching his entire cheek.
'Looks like I need to refill that kit soon, I'm running low on bandages and disinfectants... hah...'
He left the kit laying open on top of the dresser, no use putting it away properly if it needed to be refilled, he thought.
The young captain sat down on the slighty worn out beddings, the ashy wooden frame creaking under his weight.
Was there so much dust in the air the entire time...?
Well, not like he really cared in the end.
He slowly stripped himself of his knightly attire, after all, it was too heavy to properly rest — much less get comfortable — in it. First, the boots came off his slender legs, because of the steel caps that adorned the tip and the sole being made of the same material, they were indeed a lot heavier than one would assume.
Next, he took off the blue fabric decorating his shoulders, as well as the coat that graced his slim yet fit body, various pieces of armor as well as harnesses and belts following soon.
After stripping everything away that made him a knight, he felt... lighter.
Even different, perhaps.
Was it just a costume to him, another role?
When he lays off his armor, does he do the same with his humanity?
Does he turn back into the adventurer he once was?
Does he return to nothingness?
No use in thinking about that.
After changing his current attire for something more comfortable and suited for sleeping, he lay down in the worn out beddings. The light blue covers were honestly still a little bit too thin for spring, the material was rough too, a bit scratchy, perhaps?
Well, it was not the best... but it did the job.
Good enough for Lohen.
As he lay there, underneath the thin beddings, the silky moonlight — filtered through the simple white curtains decorating the window — illuminated the soft contours of his face, while he thought about how he could train the new cadets the very next day.
They were but hatchlings in the eyes of the vice captain — he who danced with the devil, after all — but even they need to be prepared for the worst.
Maybe he could try out the improved version of his special training on a few of them...
"Don't be shy, shoot already!"
Really... the young captain had way too much fun torturing training the poor, unfortunate souls who happened to be his subordinates, as well as brothers and sisters in arms.
The knights standing behind the wooden tables, acting as seperation for the shooting range, were shaking, the metal pieces of their muskets clinking against each other.
Vice Captain of the fifth company, Lohen, thought it was an amazing idea to try out a new... sort of motivation for the cadets, it was supposed to make the shooting training with the muskets more fun.
To him, at least.
In his gloved hand lay a bright red, ripe apple... and its purpose?
Acting as a shooting target, of course!
What else would you use an apple for?
The calm smile decorating the young captain's lips didn't help in calming the knights' nerves at all, in fact, it only increased the pressure coursing through their entire bodies.
"V-... Vice... Captain...." the title left his mouth through jittering teeth, colour drained from the young knight's face as his light eyes connected with the darker ones of his captain.
"What's the matter, cadet? Scared you'll hit me? If you won't shoot, then I guess you'll have to undergo my special training!" The sinister smile gracing Lohen's lips only made the poor knight's heart drop into his stomach, in his mind, he already started writing his will...
"You need to learn to properly shoot, you know?" he exclaimed while staring the young knights down.
If one wouldn't be careful, one could perhaps drown in the dark eyes of the vice captain.
Deep and dark like the endless, cruel abyss, yet calmer than the deadly silence of the deepest sea itself.
Perhaps... even there was a treasure to be found?
"After all... you need a solid mind and a steadfast hand to protect."
The battlefield is not so kind as to let you hesitate, after all...
Though these thoughts didn't leave the young captain's mind, he already put enough pressure on the new cadets as is.
He only hoped they learned that lesson soon enough without any casualties.
So, in the end... the young captain could sadly not try out his new improved special training... News of the old one must have already made their rounds as eventually the cadets dared to fire, after all... Well, only after the extra pressure, of course.
Though they did not hit their vice captain, nor the apple for that matter, but they fired, so... he wasn't going to "punish" them yet.
Well... there will always be a next time...
Lohen's attention, though, quickly switched to the faint footsteps he could hear approaching from the entrance of Dornman Port.
Someone was running towards the shooting range.
Based on the clinking of metal he could pick up between the chatter of the townsfolk, squealing of playing children, and the footsteps themselves, he deduced that it must be a fellow knight. From the weight of each step, the frequency telling the urge behind every time the sole of the boot connected with the ground, it must have been a male knight, around twenty-three to twenty-six years old, and he was in a hurry.
The young captain did take pride in his hearing, after all.
Now, of course it was not as good as the hearing of folks with animalistic features, like that one hunter from Springvale — Druff was his name? — or even the assistant of Chief Alchemist Albedo, Sucrose.
But it was far better than that of the average knight or, generally speaking, human in that regard.
After all... what would a proper hunt be without the trained senses of the hunter?
Hearing every rustle of your enemy, watching their movements, feeling the vibrations on the ground when they ran.
Sensing where they would hide. Predicting what their next move would be, and even smelling them...
Every single one of these can decide the outcome, whether it will be victory or death.
And while Lohen did indeed love pain, he did not feel like dying... yet, so having sharp senses was a necessity...
So, naturally, the vice captain trained his senses ever since he was just a young lad, it all starting when he joined the Adventurers' Guild.
A memory now long in the past.
"Vice Captain Lohen!!!"
And there he was.
The owner of the distressed voice came to a halt in front of the young captain, his chest heaving with exhaustion. It was indeed as Lohen's ears picked it up, the young man in front of him, clad in the standardized armor of the Knights of Favonius, a letter tightly clutched in his gloved hand.
'One of Varka's messengers... Must have ran all the way here from Mondstadt.'
"Speak, what is it you need of me?"
The young captain's voice must have came out harsher then he intended it to, judging from the way the knight flinched at his tone, sweat rolling down his cheek.
Was it just from exhaution, or...?
Well, no need to ponder that.
"Vice Captain Lohen... Letter from Grand Master Varka!" he held out his shaking hand, the letter slightly crumpled from the tight grip it had to succumb to.
Lohen took the envelope into his own gloved hand, dismissing the young knight with a quick wave. He quickly tore the seal of the Grand Master open, freeing the paper inside the envelope, and in the process slightly ripping the letter itself.
Lohen was not a particularly patient person, after all...
In the Grand Master's letter, he informed the young captain of yet another instance of these crazed creatures, yet having to be identified, attacking civillians, with one person fatally wounded. They were fortunately treated by the church just in time to escape the cruel claws of death.
Though this information was not the main reason for this letter...
'When we have more information regarding these crazed creatures, anything about them, I want you to handle them, Lohen. For now, please remain in Dornman Port and see if you can find out anything about these enemies, anything that can help us in this case, even rumors are fine. With the Windblume festival not far away, we have to get rid of this problem as soon as possible.'
'P.S. I could tell you put some weird medicine in my flask again, Lohen. You really ought to stop doing that just because you are bored, it really clashed with the taste of the dandelion wine.'
'P.P.S. If all of this is over and you are free, we should visit the Angels Share together, it has been a while since we met up just as colleagues, my treat.'
The contents of the letter made the young captain's lips form into a... well, for outsiders, at least... quite disturbing smile.
Lately, Varka has been giving him many missions and requests regarding fighting, and now, he basically gave Lohen free rein... was it his lucky day?
Or perhaps, it was a sort of compensation for not being able to take part in the "Take down one of the five Sinners of Khaenri'ah — namely Rerir — Operation".
Ahh... he would have loved to go against such a powerful foe, indeed...
Regardless, right now, Lohen had a new objective, given to him by the Grand Master himself.
And he intended to use that privilege to its fullest.
Whilst the young captain was busy reading the contents of the letter, the other knights seemed to have taken it upon themselves to decide whether or not they continued with their training.
Some did indeed just that; muskets in their hands, they continued practicing their ranged skills at the training dummies. Some helped with carrying various crates full of weaponry, supplies and other various shipments from the logistics.
And some... well, they just took a simple break, which is in itself nothing weird, however, two particular knights caught Lohen's attention. They were leaning against the stone wall of the weapon repository near the base, muskets propped against the wall, near their feet.
The young captain knew these two knights well, as they belonged to his company, his underlings if one may say so. Not really special by any means these knights, fairly average people, but with an earnest wish to protect Mondstadt. However... they had the ugly tendency to... gossip when they were on break, whether it be about any sort of rumours they heard, about the people in the cities or even about things that happened in the ranks of the knights themselves.
Though the young captain himself didn't share the same sentiment, he could use that to his adventage...
After all, Varka said even rumours are fine...
The young captain quickly strode over to the two gossiping knights, his steps deliberately firm, so his brothers in arms could take notice of him. As their gazes connected with that of their captain, the knights pushed themselves off the wall, back straightening, quickly raising their hands in a salute.
"Vice Captain Lohen, how we may assist you?" asked the light haired knight with an earnestness to his voice, while his friend, who had darker, almost black hair watched the scene in front of him in silence. A quiet promise of not slacking off was quickly added by the light haired knight, a slight hint of nervousness broke through his voice.
Well, this cadet had not been in the fifth company for long now, so it made sense to be nervous in front of your captain, especially if their... reputation, was... complicated. Though his darker haired friend didn't share the same sentiment, he had been longer with the knights than the other.
"Relax, cadet, I'm not here because of you... Well, kinda. I've been wondering if you could help with something."
While the young captain certainly took... pleasure in seeing the fear in the knights' eyes — it was oh so fun to see them squirm with anxienty, after all — he wanted to get information out of them, if they were too scared to answer, then it would be wasted effort.
And most of all, they were his brothers and sisters in arms first and foremost.
His family.
He shouldn't tease them too much...
"I wanted to ask if you heard anything about the recent cases of civillians being attacked by "crazed creatures?". I thought, maybe you know something about it, since you like to gos-- I mean, talk with the other folks around here a lot." he asked with a slight smile gracing his lips.
Unbeknownst to the knights, Lohen's left hand, hidden underneath the blue cloth on his shoulder, twitched with restlessness.
He oh so desperately wanted to storm ahead and fight whatever creatures seemed to plague the townsfolk like this.
He wanted to cut them, rip them apart, kick and tear at their skin or whatever they would have... watch them bleed.
But the young captain not only itched to mutilate the creatures, oh no, he itched to have the same done to him.
The feeling of his own skin tearing apart, warmth seeping out of him as the blood drizzled across his scarred flesh, increasing heartbeat in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his body....
This... exactly this feeling.
It's the feeling of being alive...
The young captain almost drooled at the thought, though he quickly got ahold of himself... not that he particularly cared about how others perceived him. This was Mondstadt, after all, the City of Freedom, and what could be more freeing than embracing who you are, drawing the velvety curtains back and letting the world see its main actor — as the spotlight illuminates them — in their full glory.
"Well, I only heard some stories from some townsfolk, though nothing of that has any definite proof..." the light haired knight shifted from one foot to the other, clearly debating whether or not he should actually share this information with the vice captain.
"That's fine, anything that has do to with it could be valuable."
The light haired knight pondered for a moment before telling the young captain everything he heard so far, most of it, sadly, was just baseless rumours.
Some claimed that the injured people faked it and/or self inflicted these injuries just to get attention.
Nope. These injuries were very real, well, according to the reports at least, not that the young captain saw them personally. However, if Varka himself got involved in the case, then it was absolutely safe to say that it was a serious problem and very much real.
Some claimed it were Abyssal Monsters, Rifthounds or just Hilichurls and their folk — though most of that could already be disproven right away.
In the report Varka gave him regarding the attacks, it was stated that the area had already been scouted out by knights after getting the testimonies in, no Hilichurl Camps in sight.
And for the matter of fact, the wounds the victims suffered did not match with the claws of Rifthounds nor Hilichurls, Abyssal Energy could not be detected either.
And some claimed it could have just been Treasure Hoarders or even the Fatui, who attacked the civillians for whatever reason.
Actually possible... but also nope. Ever since the end of the expedition, Mondstadt has been flourishing with knights again, and the Grand Master above all, so the Treasure Hoarders didn't dare set foot into the region of freedom.
The Fatui... the few that were indeed seen in Mondstadt had been there for diplomatic reasons, so they didn't dare cause any trouble.
Though the Fatui were never ones to be trusted...
The young captain made a mental note of that possibility, which was not much, but it was a lead that could bloom in the future.
"That... was all I know, sorry, Vice Captain..." the light haired knight apologized a bit sheepishly, clearly embarassed at his lack of possible usefullness.
Just as Lohen parted his lips in order to give some reassuring words to the young knight—
"Excuse me, Vice Captain, but I might have something..."
The older, dark haired knight, who had been watching the interaction in silence the entire time, interrupted his vice captain.
Interesting.
The young captain gave the dark haired knight a look that told him to continue.
"Now... please take this with a grain of salt, but... I may have seen a kinda suspicious person lately..."
At these words, Lohen's hand started twitching even more, an itch crawling onto his skin he oh so desperately wanted to scratch.
'It had been too long since he had some fun.'
The young captain only stared unsettlingly into the eyes of the dark haired knight right in front him. While this particular knight had been in this company for longer — compared to his light haired friend, at least — and he already had gotten accustomed to the vice captain's antics...
He always felt a shudder crawl down his spine when his captain had... 'that' look in his eyes...
With an almost, to non-trained eyes, at least, unnoticeable gulp, he continued.
"I was on patrol in Millhaven recently for several days, and always around dawn, in the west, along the path that leads into the cliffsides forest..." His eyes shifted away from the ones of his captain, seemingly unable to withstand the pressure his gaze held.
"For several days, there was always a person, body cloaked, and while it is spring and not that hot... I still found it weird, because it was from head to toe... Anyways, they always entered the forest around the same time... I couldn't really see their face, though, I'm sorry."
The young knights almost jumped, seeing the...smile... that adorned their captain's face.
"That's no problem, thank you for the information, cadets. Have a good one." With a small wave of his hand, the young captain dismissed himself, leaving the knights behind, slightly confused — and probably traumatized.
The young captain raised his dark eyes towards the clear blue skies.
With the midday sun gone, the temperature started to lower as well, not that Lohen particularly minded. Being one of the people who held a cryo vision, he was naturally used to the cold.
When the small icicles and webs made of frost gnawed at his hands and arms, when he went on expeditions into the snowstorms of Dragonspine...
It didn't bother him the slightest.
Not that he was immune to the cold — he was but a human, after all — though he quickly got accustomed to it.
Nevertheless, the sun was just about to set and his target, the 'suspicious person', would soon find their way into the lushes of Millhaven.
The young captain would have to walk a bit faster than usual...
Millhaven was just as beautiful as the day he left for the grand expedition, perhaps its beauty had even grown more. Soft hues of pink, purple and yellow in form of the iconic windrest flowers blooming in the well-tended fields.
The slight breeze that accompanied this fine evening not only caused the flowers' petals to dance, but also the sway of the young captain's own mintgreen, silky strands. With the sun almost setting, most children had already started heading home, parents and workers on the fields soon following suit.
Lohen's footsteps were faint against the rough dirt path leading into the neighboring lush forest, his own blue cape dancing along with his steps.
By themselves, these woods were not that dangerous, if you didn't stray off into the depths of them, that is. While there were no known dangerous animals or Hilichurl Camps inside, there was always the possibility of anomalies, poisonous plants or even insects, if you were unfortunate enough to cross them.
For now, he made sure to hide the dagger gripped in his hand behind the blue cloth adorning his left shoulder.
While the young captain was sure that — whoever that suspicious person was, and however they were trained in the art of combat — he could defeat and in turn apprehend them easily, it never hurt to have a few tricks up your sleeve.
Especially when they would never expect it of a knight.
From the corner of his eye, Lohen could make out faint footsteps along the dirt path which were not his own, size and depth indicating the owner to be very possibly a woman. The earth itself was still a bit moist and if the dirt hadn't been dried by the glaring sun yet, then whoever left these had to be nearby.
By now, the sun had already begun setting, the powerful yellow and red hues adorning the sky above, shadows cast by the trees and bushes nearby grew and grew even longer. The natural sounds of the lushes seemed to grow quiet as well, wind no longer caressing the bright green leaves, even the beautiful soft chirping of the birds quieted down, perhaps they returned to their homes as well.
And then... he heard the faint snap of a twig beneath feet.
The young captain's head immediately snapped towards the small clearing on the northeastern side of the path, where the incriminating sound came from.
His grip on his dagger tightened slightly as the unsettling smile on his lips grew.
'Finally, it's getting fun.'
Lohen instinctively made sure to set the tips of his toes down first, before rolling the rest of his sole on the ground to minimize all possible sounds his footsteps could create, as he made his way over to the clearing.
Navigating through the bushes and trees without making any sounds was honestly nothing new to the young captain.
Whether it be because he went on a monster hunt, tracking down Treasure Hoarders, or a stealth mission to infiltrate a Fatui Camp, Lohen had done this too many times to count, and yet....
It always filled him with joy.
As soon as the young captain got past all the bushes and trees, his dark eyes locked onto them.
His target. The suspicious person, in the flesh, just as the knight described them.
Kneeling on the ground, with their back turned towards the vice captain, busying their hands with... plucking plants and herbs that were unknown to him, growing on a small patch of grass.
They were indeed cloaked from head to toe, body completely hidden underneath the black fabric.
Though Lohen's trained eyes immedeatly spotted the silver shine of a sword hanging by their waist.
'Ohh... This is going to be so much fun!'
However, even though Lohen wanted nothing more than to clash weapons with the unknown person, he was still a knight first and foremost, so he had to follow a certain protocol, which sadly meant to not accuse or threaten people without evidence, and also to not raise a weapon without the intent of self defense and/or protection of others.
So he had to hold himself back... for now.
He made sure to hide his own body as much as he could between the lushes and trees, if he could have the element of surprise on his side, he would take it — no question.
Much to the young captain's disdain, though, he was not even granted the opportunity of thinking of a way on how to approach the suspicious individual in a 'normal way', as the person in question had turned their head over their shoulder.
He had already been noticed. Which did indeed surprise the young captain.
This was not an occurance that happened often.
'The stranger is good... really good.'
With a sigh escaping their lips, they stood up from the ground, only leaving a small dent in the patch of grass behind, a sort of annoyance clear in their voice as they spoke up, back still mostly turned towards him.
"I know you are there... What do you want from me?"
With a few graceful steps fowards, the vice captain left his hiding spot in favour of speaking to the intriguing person in front of him, a breathy laugh escaping his throat as he cocked his head slightly to the left, his intriguingly shaped earring shining in the evening sun.
"Your hearing is really good, I must say. I was giving my best here, being as quiet as a mouse, but you still noticed me."
With a quick glance of his eyes, he noticed the stranger's hand slowly inching towards the handle of their silver sword, something untrained eyes would surely have missed, his own hand hidden beneath his cape tightening its grip on the dagger's handle as well.
"I asked you a question."
Another chuckle escaped Lohen, it had been quite a while since someone talked to him in a... more rude manner like that.
"Allow me to introduce myself. Vice Captain of the Knights of Favonius' fifth Company, Lohen."
As he placed his free hand on his chest, giving the stranger a quick bow along with his name, he could hear them faintly clicking their tongue.
"Are you always dancing around other peoples' questions like that? I didn't ask for your name."
With a quick but deliberate motion, they finally turned around, their fiery gazes interlocking with each other. The harsh light of the setting sun illuminated the stranger's back, causing their shadow to grow, thus making it harder to clearly make out any of their other features.
The scratching sound of metal rubbing against leather reached the young captain's ears. Seems like, by now, the stranger no longer felt the need to hide their silver sword from him, its sharp edge glistening in the red sun as the tip pointed to his chest.
Lohen noticed that, with the stranger's steadily growing irritation, the heel of their foot seemingly unconsciously started thumping on the earth, too.
Just like a frustrated rabbit.
'How cute.'
"What. Do. You. Want."
A growl escaping the stranger's throat caused his gaze to break away from their foot and go back to their eyes.
"Don't you know it's rude, and, above all, dangerous to just point a weapon at someone? Let alone a captain of the Knights of Favonius?" he shot back at them with a sly grin.
"I'm not the one who hid in the bushes and watched me like a creep. Besides, I never saw you here before, for all I know, you could just claim to be a knight. I have more than enough reason to draw my weapon."
The young captain did not respond to the stranger's words any more, only letting them bathe in the grace of his eery silence.
His own curiosity weighed more in that moment than any reasonable action a normal person might have taken.
Good thing he wasn't normal.
Lohen wanted to see just how far this person would actually dare to go.
Were they truly going to attack him? He surely hoped so, the stranger seemed to be very promising entertainment.
Would they only act in self defense, or would they want to rip his flesh apart, bruise his skin, cut his body with that —oh so pretty sword of theirs? He surely hoped so, it had been a while since he'd had a good fight.
And most important of all...
Would they truly be fun?
He surely hoped so.
As the young captain let out another chuckle at the thoughts racing through his mind, the stranger jumped forward with a quick motion, swinging their silver sword down onto the vice captain.
But the silver sword never met flesh.
The clang of silver meeting steel echoed through the woods.
Of course, the young captain would not let himself get hurt that easily. Where would be the fun in that?
So just before their silver sword could actually cut him, Lohen raised his hidden dagger, blue cape flittering in the air as his arm swung out, perfectly blocking the incoming blade.
With a swift kick of his leg, he tried to throw the stranger off balance, though they seemed to have expected this course of action, as they jumped back just in time for his kick to miss.
None of them even bothered trying to communicate with each other anymore, it would have just been wasted breath, they both knew it, so instead, they let their blades talk.
Every time the sharp edges of their weapons kissed, every time the vibrations of metal echoed through the calm of the woods, it spoke louder than any possible words they could have come up with.
The young captain felt himself growing more joyous with every passing second. Small giggles escaped his slighty chapped lips with every small cut the stranger managed to inflict on him.
But the vice captain wasn't the only one to receive cuts, scratches and even small bruises.
Though Lohen made sure to not inflict any fatal wounds on the stranger, after all, he could not yet tell who this person was or whether they were truly dangerous or not.
In a spur of pure ecstasy, the young captain used the power of his cryo vision to summon his polearm into his gloved hand, which led the stranger to falter for just a few seconds.
Seems like they didn't know he was a vision user, and since he carried his vision on his back, they couldn't have seen it, and...
...as he did introduce himself as the Vice Captain of the fifth Company...
They truly did not know who he was.
After all, as vision users are exceptionally rare, especially if they adorn a high rank such as that of a captain in the knights, it was very much commonly know what visions they held.
Despite the fact that the stranger could certainly put up a fight, it immediately became clear to the young captain that they weren't a trained fighter, at least not trained like an assasin or a member of the Fatui.
Their moves where powerful enough to hurt, but the technique itself was sloppy.
Grip on the sword all wrong — they could easily hurt themselves like that if they weren't careful — the balance off, swings too unprecise...
The stranger didn't use the sword often, it seemed.
With a tight grip on his polearm, he stormed foward, catching the stranger off guard, slamming the blunt edge of his polearm into their side, sending them flying onto the earth, their silver blade slipping out of their grasp.
The young captain immediately kicked the blade away with his boot, the sharp edge sliding over the lush grass.
The stranger could no longer reach it, even if they wanted to.
They were indeed good... but Lohen was better.
Before the stranger could even think about getting up, the vice captain pierced the tip of his polearm into the ground right next to their face, scraping the skin of their cheek in the process, a small red droplet quickly growing until it blossomed.
The young captain took the liberty of taking a seat on the stranger's stomach, effectively pushing them even further into the earth, combined with the pain in their side and their lack of weapon, rendering them utterly helpless.
"Crazy... bastard..." they grit out, wincing. Obviously, even uttering these words took a great effort.
But that only made his smile grow wider.
With a strong grip of his left hand — which one wouldn't even expect from someone so thin and rather small looking — the young captain pinned the stranger's wrists down, his own skin almost grazing his polearm as well.
"I'll take that as a compliment. You were rather good, by the way." His own tongue slowly darted out, licking up a bit of blood that ran down his cheek.
The young captain leaned closer to the stranger's face, his own breath slightly ragged.
"It was a lot of fun. But now... I'll be taking that hood of yours off!" A mocking smile painted his lips as he reached out with his free hand towards the stranger's hood.
And even on the ground, they put up such a good fight!
Kicking with their feet against Lohen's back, trying so desperately to wriggle their wrists out of his grasp, trying in any shape or form to turn their head away in order to not let the vice captain reach the fabric.
He even had to use a bit more force in order to retain his grip on them, his hips pressing them further into the cold ground, a small gasp escaping their lips at the sensation.
But in the end, no matter how hard the stranger fought... Ultimately, it was to no avail.
The young captain pulled the dark fabric away from their head, finally fully exposing their head and face for him to see...
And what the young captain saw... right there, at the edge of dawn... in the full glory of reddish and orange hues, amongst the last traces of their beautiful and violent dance, was...
An adorable, grumpy bunny.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
[A/N] – Thank you so much for reading this far! I hope you liked the first chapter to my longfic: Unethical Bunny Hunting [UBH]!
Like said in my introduction/pinned post, I'm new to publishing things on Tumblr but I really tried my best at making it pretty!
The first chapter was generally more focused on Lohen, but don't worry you'll definitely see more of the Reader soon!
If you are interested in a taglist then let me know and I'll make one :3
this is a work by one of my closest fellow bunnies! >w< @captaintucki is very analytical and very passionate about supporting other authors, so i wanted to reblog her work here!!! please consider giving it a read if you’d like! >w< 🩵
summary — what's that, honorary knight? you wanna know why i wear this ring on my pointer finger? well...i guess i don't mind sharing.
themes — fluff and light humor, chai's self-indulgent hc for lohen's ring, various subtle references to my previous works, promise rings, reference to a popular lohen meme, discussions of the intensity of lohen's love, mild violent/graphic talk from lohen, they're in love your honor ♡
WC: 868
You were surprised that Lohen was the one to bring it up first.
“I just want something that shows how much you mean to me,” he had told you, as he held you to his chest in the darkness. “Something that tells other people you’re mine, without you even having to say it.”
Now, you stood before him, your hand outstretched to his. The way his gloved fingers brushed yours sent a delicate frisson through your arm, spurring warmth in your cheeks. You smiled at him, he smirked at you, and then you both turned to look at your joined hands.
“Which finger should I put it on?”
“Whichever feels best,” you answered. “I don’t mind.”
“Hm. I want you to pick, though.”
You let out a soft laugh. “The ring finger’s always a solid choice. Let’s do that one.”
“You had better be sure,” he murmured, “‘cause you’re not ever taking it off.”
The way his red eyes caught yours made your heart lurch into your throat. Beaming at the man you adored, you said, “You pick first, then. I’ll just match you.”
Lohen rolled the silver band between his fingers, looking pensive. He glanced down at your hand, running his thumb across the bumps of your knuckles. Eventually, that thumb of his settled right on your pointer finger.
“I want mine here.”
“Why?” you asked curiously.
The way he grinned sent butterflies into your stomach. He sounded rather excited when he said, “It’s gotta be the trigger finger. Next time I shoot someone, it’ll feel like you’re shooting ‘em with me!”
“Oh.” Your eyes widened, but your smile remained. “That’s, um…that’s nice…?”
“Isn’t it?! It’ll be a permanent reminder that every time I pull the trigger, my cute girlfriend’s at home waiting for me. We’ll be like partners in crime! Ah, but only against the bad guys, of course.”
“Wow,” you stammered. “Wow, I…wow. You, um…you put a lot of thought into that. Pretty quickly, too.”
“Uh-huh. Aren’t you proud of me?”
His toothy grin was one of the sweetest, most innocent things you had ever seen. If you hadn’t known him for as long as you did, you would have never been capable of imagining that a man with a face like his could go on to brutalize his enemies the way that he did. Lohen was fierce in both passion and punishment, and a long time ago, that might have scared you. Now, though, that fact only brought a smile to your face.
“Good job, Lohen,” you said warmly.
He giggled, his cheeks turning red. Without missing a beat, he happily slotted the silver band over your left trigger finger before slipping his own onto the opposite hand. He pressed your palms together before curling his fingers through the gaps of yours, your rings brushing against each other with the motion.
“Are you happy?” he murmured.
Grinning at him, you nodded and gave his hand a squeeze.
“Do you love me?” he asked coyly.
You laughed. “You’re always so silly, Lohen. The promise ring isn’t proof enough?”
“Mm, it is. But I just like hearing you say it.”
“I love you,” you told him fondly. “Do you love me?”
His smile could snap your heart in two.
“I’d take a bullet for you,” he purred. “If you ever stabbed me, Bun, I’d look you in the eye and say thank you.”
“That’s…an interesting way of putting it,” you laughed. “Though I have to admit that I’m not planning on stabbing you any time soon.”
“If you ever did,” he said with a wicked grin, “I’d thrust myself deeper into the blade just to be a few inches closer to ya.”
You smirked. “You love me that much?”
“Uh-huh. If you wanted to, I’d let you wreck my internal organs, Bun. If you ever told me you needed a new heart, I’d carve mine right out of my own chest for you.”
“Okay, okay,” you said with a giggle. “You’re going a bit far there, Lohen.”
“It’s not too far,” he insisted, his smirking lips brushing against yours. “That’s how much I love you, you know?”
You giggled. His mouth pressed to yours in a chaste kiss, his hand still squeezed tightly before you. The way he looked at you with those smoldering red eyes of his, how that smirk played across his sweet pink lips—you knew that he meant every word of what he had said to you. Maybe it was intense, and maybe it wasn’t the most typical romantic confession, but that was Lohen’s love. It was unique and abrasive, but when you allowed it to rub at your skin, it only felt like the softest of blankets. It was the kind of love you craved, and the kind that he was ever so generous to bestow upon you.
You kissed him again. Softly, you said, “You’re the love of my life, Lohen.”
His free hand rose to your cheek, his teeth digging into his grinning lower lip. With a cocky nod, he said, “Yeah, Bun. I know.”
You laughed, he pressed your mouths together, and with your hands still joined, you melted away under the sweet wash of Lohen’s love for you.
a/n: i was not supposed to upload another fic today but OH WELL HERE WE ARE. i spent some time last night writing some "lohen's voicelines about you" type shit cause i was bored, so that's where the summary inspo came from. i might post those... if i can get over my embarrassment about how self-indulgent they are xD oh yeah and if you can spot all the minor references to my other works you get a cookie xD <3
anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
icymi! chai's last lohen post:
lohen still can't communicate, lohen wip (320+ notes)
masterlist
lohen wants u to choke him content | nsfw, fem!reader, pet name used lit once, estab relationship, masochism, short drabble
“c’mon bunny, don’t be shy,” he cooed. “just imagine i’m a big, scary monster.”
lohen hovered on top of you, his face and body inches from yours. with every sigh of mockery he made, you shuddered from the intensity.
“i—i’m not gonna do that,” you rasped quietly. “choking? lohen, you’re—”
you cut yourself off. of course lohen was crazy. you had no right to act shocked.
he chuckled. every sound he made only felt like a shivering taunt. it’d make your heart bristle every single time.
with those fogged, dazed, red eyes, he stared right into you as he said, “are you scared you’ll hurt me? hah, i’m flattered.”
before you can say anything — process anything, he flipped the two of you in a secure yet winding whirl, making you now nestled on his hips, looking down at him where he was flat on his back.
his cold hands slowly, clinically rubbed up and down along your hips. as if you were just a delicate little thing. a delicate little thing that he just asked to choke him.
“do it,” he said, his voice hoarse and expectant.
you took a deep breath. looking into those bumbling, big, red eyes of his, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny any of his requests. especially when you were on top of him, feeling the faint twitching of his cock beneath you.
your hands found his torso, feeling the outline of him as they languidly traced their way to his neck. and then, once your hands gripped him firmly, and you noticed an excited flare in lohen’s eyes;
ack!
the intense, mind-numbing pressure of your fingertips disturbing his larynx caused lohen to make incessant, curdling sputtering sounds. he slightly jolted himself more flush against you, causing your breath to hitch. you softened your grip for a mere moment.
lohen coughed raggedly. “what’s wrong?” he heaved. “don’t worry, i’m enjoying it,” he purred.
you didn’t need him to say it to know that he was enjoying it. as you squeezed the flesh of him once more, you could feel his dick stirring to life in his pants. and his bulge pressed warmly against your dampened underwear.
原神 — the moment they realize they’ve fallen in love ! ft. Lohen, Childe, & Wanderer . . . wc: ~1.4k words each
— Reader drinks wine and champagne and gets drunk lol, Childe is called “Ajax,” reader is lowkey bitchin at hat guy ngl … buts its all g, soft wanderer awwww
Author’s Notes : I was listening to “It Might Be You” by Stephen Bishop and I had this idea hehe
Ი𐑼 – Lohen
It had been a few hours since the captain and vice-captain of the 5th company had been forcefully listening to Varka yap about his days before he became the Grand Master. You opted to drink your wine over and over in an attempt to make time go faster, and also to maybe drown out his voice. It hadn’t caught up to you that it had been your fourth bottle straight, and that a certain vice-captain’s focus shifted onto his captain, wanting to see what a very drunk, very dazed boss would do (and a red-haired bartender was beginning to get concerned, too!).
“Would you even believe that I failed those stupid prep exams!? I should get rid of those. Can I even? Jean might get mad at me, though…” Varka talked and talked, not realizing the captain of the 5th company was a red, hot mess.
You held your head with your hand, trying to keep sitting up straight, barely. “Mmm..? Maybe, I dunno…” you slurred your speech, not at all listening to him at this point. You stood up from your seat, your steps wobbly. “I’m gonna get some fresh air…” You announced to the two. Lohen knew that was code for ‘I feel like I’m gonna puke and I don’t wanna do it in front of my boss.’
Lohen followed your figure as it went outside of Angel’s Share, the door shutting behind you. He couldn’t deny that he was so, so curious to see you in this state. He made up some half-assed excuse to Varka, saying that he was ‘worried’ and that he should ‘check up on you.’
Varka smiled at Lohen’s poor excuse, knowing full well why he wanted to go out to you, even when Lohen wasn’t aware of himself.
Lohen stood up and went out, only to find you leaning back on the wall of the building, your eyes closed while holding onto your stomach, trying very hard to hold it in. Your flushed cheeks were noticeable in the moonlight, as well as your dizzy expression. Lohen found it absolutely adorable, especially the way you were so vulnerable at this moment.
Wait, what?
Lohen shook his head before going over to you, leaning beside you as he peeked at your face.
“Caaaap, don’t you look great?” Lohen teased you, making you open your eyes and meet with his. You sighed as you heard his tease, your head going back against the wall.
“Not right now, Lohen…” You mumbled to him, your hand going through your hair to soothe your headache. “Why’d you leave Varka? He’s gonna complain later..”
“Varka’s a grown man, he can handle being by himself for a few minutes. Besides, I think he’d just find another unlucky knight to listen to his stories,” he said, earning a small smile from you. “And I think a little bartender inside is starting to get worried, you know.”
“Master Diluc?” You uttered under your breath, trying to straighten out your thoughts.
“Mmmhm. He looked like he was five seconds away from snatching your wine,” he told you with lilt in his voice, playful in his nature. “You look like you would’ve defended that bottle with your life, given how bored you were. That’s rude, y’know?”
You were startled that he caught on to your boredom– but then again, this was Lohen you were talking about. It was annoying how perceptive he was. You couldn’t get a moment’s peace with him at all.
“I don’t think Varka noticed… Did he?” You doubted yourself, looking at him. Then, you let out a breath that smelled of wine, your hand combing through your hair. “Ugh, I feel sick…” You complained, your eyebrows furrowed.
"Wouldn't you want to sit down if you’re feeling dizzy, Captain? I must say, you have less survival instinct than me, and that’s saying a lot,” Lohen said, going to see if there was an available chair from one of the tables set up outside the tavern.
“No thanks, I feel better standing…”
“That’s stupid, Cap.”
“Lohen–“ He didn’t listen to you, grabbing your wrist to make you sit on the chair, not noticing how your face grew significantly redder at his boldness.
“Rude…” You said, immediately leaning on the table for support. He sat right beside you, undeniably close, just in case you needed some support. Just in case.
“You’re sooo red,” he said playfully, a smile on his face as he stared at yours, watching your face become flustered. “Are you sure you’re alriiiight?” He knew you were, but he couldn’t help but tease you. It was basically second nature to him.
Although, your reaction was far from his expectations.
In your drunken stupor, you chuckled at his attempt at a joke, leaning back on your chair, a small smile on your face. He watched your expression as you laughed, the same light from the moon that highlighted your flushed face also making you seem so ethereal right now. He couldn’t help but smile too. He didn’t realize his face became red as well.
Your head landed on the corner of his chair, unbearably close to his shoulder. He wondered why you hadn’t just rested your head there. It was much more comfortable, he’d say.
“Should we go back inside?” You said softly, looking up at the sky from your position. “I feel like he’s going to tease us when we go back in, though,” Lohen laughed at your comment, inconspicuously moving closer so your head was on his shoulder.
“Sounds like him. Do you want to go in? I quite like the breeze right now,” he couldn’t be any more obvious that he wanted to stay there, even for a little while longer, with you. He thanked the archons above that you were drunk beyond saving.
“Mmm… No, not yet… I like it here,” you said, slurring your words as you got comfortable on Lohen’s shoulder. If he weren’t flustered already, now he was malfunctioning. Lohen sighed, leaning his head on top of yours with his face buried in your hair, savoring your presence.
“Yeah? You like it riiight here? With me?” He tried to get more out of you, that mischievous smirk back on his face like it was a permanent feature on him.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Lohen,” you said, smacking the back of his head with your free hand, the other resting on the table. He laughed at your action, smoothing over the place where you had hit him.
“Is this how a captain disciplines their officers?” He muttered almost flirtatiously in your hair.
“Don’t phrase it like that!” He laughed at your words, his fingers subconsciously going through your hair. It felt almost relaxing.
“Alright, alright! Calm dooown, won’t you? You’re already drunk out of your mind, do you wanna make it worse?”
“Shut up, Lohen…” Your reprimanding tone earned another chuckle from him, going quiet. He lifted his head from yours, looking down at your face. He didn’t realize he’d been staring for too long, not until you looked up at him and caught his gaze.
“…What?” You asked, confused on why he was staring at you. He looked away just as quickly, his face crimson.
“…Nothing.”
“Liar.”
“I’m serious, cap! Won’t you believe me?”
“Why would I ever?" You both laughed, completely forgetting about the Grand Master inside the tavern, probably chatting up the uninterested bartender. He watched your face, at how you just looked so comfortable with him.
You chatted like that for a while, not noticing the time pass by as the stars in Teyvat’s sky seemed to shine a little bit brighter, your laughter filling up the empty streets as your feeling of sickness started to subside.
He had a feeling then, that he wanted to feel like this every day, and that he wanted to feel it with you.
৻ꪆ – Childe
The Fatui’s gala always included very powerful figures from all over the nation, which would become useful in the Fatui’s future plans.
Childe was dressed to the nines in a suit that was tailored just for this occasion, a charming smile on his face as he entertained the guests on behalf of the Tsaritsa. He was easy to trust. With his charisma, you wouldn’t even guess that he was a harbinger, it didn’t match him at all.
You watched from afar, drinking the champagne that the servers had given you, not wanting to mingle in with the crowd yourself. You merely observed them, seeing façade after façade of the most powerful people of Snezhnaya. It was clear how uninterested you were, almost wanting to sneak out and enjoy your solace instead.
Childe finished his conversation with a duke from another nation, excusing himself as he saw you, looking too good for his own liking. He walked over to where you were, your eyes following his tall figure.
“How are you enjoying this, comrade? Up to your standards?” He asked you, getting a glass of wine from the tray of the server.
“It could be better,” you said, not trying to hide how utterly bored you were. You swirled your champagne around on your glass, looking through the crowd.
“Not liking it much, are you now?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t, but your face tells me all I need to know,” he saw a server holding some pastries he knew you liked, calling them over and getting two. “Eat up, comrade. Or is this not to your liking too?”
You huffed a smile at his words, eating the food in small quantities. “Demanding as always, Childe?” he hummed at your question, eating his own.
“No ‘Ajax’ today? I can never get used to you calling me that, comrade,” he commented on your use of his title, a smile on his face. You set down your glass, looking up at him.
“Official business means official titles. I can’t be caught being unprofessional with the Tsaritsa’s weapon of war now, can I?” You flashed him a smile, mirroring his own.
“You do have a point there, comrade,” he agreed, setting down his food on the plate. He thought for a bit, a hand on his chin. “Then why don’t we get out of here? What do you say?”
You thought about it for a moment, like you were even considering staying here. You nodded after a few seconds, letting Childe drag you into a private part of Zapolyarny palace where guests weren’t allowed. He’d make an exception for you.
The wind from the palace terrace made you feel at ease despite Snezhnaya’s harsh weather, glad to be away from the stifling crowd of masks and elegant gowns and suits. You and Childe leaned against the railing, taking in the scenery from high above.
“So…” Childe started. “Still calling me my title or what?”
You looked at him, his hair blowing in the direction of the wind, messing up its style.
“Do you dislike it that much?”
“Not at all! I’m just not used to hearing it from you, that’s all,” he explained to you, scratching the back of his head. He sighed, admiring the sight of the city… and you. He stared at you for a moment, your outfit perfectly fitting you and matching the theme of the gala. Safe to say, he was absolutely enamored by you.
“Staring is rude, Ajax,” your soft voice snapped him out of his trance, returning to his charming persona. You chuckled at his sudden shift. You said his name with such familiarity and warmth, it made him feel something he shouldn’t. You looked back at the city below.
“Can you blame me when you look radiant this evening, comrade?” Childe had a bad habit of buttering you up every chance he got. Yet, every time, it makes you blush and look away. It was one of the things you could never get used to with him.
“You flatter me.”
“Is it flattery if it’s the truth?” You thought he was joking, almost laughing before you properly looked at him, stopping yourself when you saw how serious he was.
“…Not technically, no,” you said, feeling hot all of the sudden, despite the cold. Since when was he like this?
He noticed your flushed out face, furrowing his eyebrows. “Are you okay? Is it too cold out here?” He asked, pressing the back of his palm to your forehead to check your temperature. You blushed even harder, turning away to avoid his gaze as you nodded.
He shrugged off the coat of his suit, wrapping it around your frame to somehow shield you from the cold.
“Let’s go over there. It’s warmer,” he said, catching your wrist as he pulled you under the shade of the palace. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks, Ajax,” you said, looking up at him. Only then did he see how his coat fit you and how you looked so comfortable in it. Wow, you looked so…
He didn’t continue his thoughts as he shook his head, watching as you let the coat hang off your shoulders.
“What are you thinking of right now?” You saw how he kept on zoning out when he looked at you, thinking deeply— or maybe not thinking at all.
“…That you look beautiful today,” he said suddenly, in such a tender and meek way— unexpected from that of a harbinger— catching the both of you by surprise. His eyes widened as he processed what he just said, smiling to cover up his embarrassment. “Ah, I mean– uhm…” He stumbled on his words, looking away.
“Thank you, Ajax,” You chuckled as he fumbled, seeing him cover his face with his gloved hands. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“You say that like you’re being forced to,” he said, a small pout forming on his lips.
“I’m serious! You look good tonight,” you reassure him, a lighthearted smile on your face. “Not that you haven’t heard that today, anyway,” you added, adjusting his coat on your shoulders.
“I like hearing it from you better than those people. They just want something, most of the time,” he quietly says. You hummed. Being a powerful figure in Snezhnaya yourself, you understood where he was coming from.
“Some of the maidens inside seemed pretty interested, Ajax. You really don’t want to test your chances?”
“However interested they are, comrade, I’m even less interested. Besides, I’m too busy for that,” Childe clarified, his head leaning back on the wall.
Just then, from inside the palace, the music for the cotillion portion of the dance started.
“Are you sure you’re still not interested?” You asked him teasingly, looking at the window that could overlook the hall of the gala. “They look like they’re looking for you,” you said, seeing several damsels look around the hall for a ginger-haired harbinger.
“…Well, maybe I am a little bit interested in dancing with one person,” Childe mumbled, not looking at the window, but rather at you. You saw in the reflection of his gaze, tearing your eyes away from the gala and looking up at him. A sudden realization dawned upon you, but you didn’t comment on it.
“You should ask them to dance, then, no? It’s a waste of a good night,” You said.
“Hmm, okay…” He turned to you, offering his hand. “May I have this dance, then, comrade?” He asked you, his eyes shining in the night, a smile on his face. He looked relaxed and composed, but if you knew him more than the mask he wears, you’d know how nervous he was right now.
But all his thoughts went away when you smiled at him, putting your hand on top of his. “You’re quite the sweetheart, aren’t you, Ajax?” You said it like you expected him to ask you. How could you be so calm right now?
He pulled you closer into a dance, his hand on your waist, while his other supported yours. He started to sway you around, following the beat of the music that leaked from inside. In that moment, he couldn’t deny how enchanted he was by you.
Thirty minutes passed since you started dancing, your head rested on his chest as your steps began to become more minimal. Childe was basically hugging you at this point, his hand on your waist keeping you close. His chin rested on top of your head, the hands that held each other dropped to your sides, yet still enclosed. It all felt too natural for two people who worked with each other.
“Why not dance with people with actual influence, Ajax? I feel like you’d benefit from that better,” you said quietly.
“Influence on what?”
“Y’know, the Fatui… Connections and stuff like that,” you explained, looking up at him. He looked down to see you. He hummed in thought, his hand on your waist moving to tuck your hair behind your ear.
“…Well, what about the one who has an influence on me?” He questioned softly, spinning you around when the music called for it. Just then, you landed close to his face, and you saw him look at your lips, and back to your eyes. Childe sighed then, pulling you closer to hug you, trapping you in his arms as he hides his face— which was currently blushing profusely— into the crook of your neck.
“What’s wrong, Ajax?” You asked gently, hugging him back in an attempt to comfort him.
I think I love you.
He was so, so tempted to just tell you, to risk your companionship, to risk you.
But, he didn’t. As much as he claimed to love you, he couldn’t, in a thousand years, imagine his life with you if he chose to risk it all.
“…Nothing,” he mumbled into your neck, letting himself savor your presence. Yeah. This was fine. This was enough for him.
᯽ – Wanderer
Nahida had assigned him on an important paired assignment a few months back, with his very willing partner— you.
You and Wanderer were complete opposites. He had a permanent scowl on his face and an aura that could scare away scholars from his mere glance. While you were one of the few people that grew to know how caring he was really like.
Recently though, your research paper with him was going downhill faster than the fall of a certain fatui harbinger, previous scholar! (Not that he cares.)
You were stressed to a tee, and it wasn’t helping that your partner had a habit of cramming like a maniac and getting things done right before the deadline. The results of your research didn’t match your hypothesis at all! Nothing also aligned with the papers you’ve already seen with similar topics. Your professor was really going to fail you now…
You were hunched back on the table, books, quills, and parchment paper placed in an organized mess that covered the entire table. Your hands were dirty with ink and papercuts were a common sight to you now. Meanwhile, a certain puppet calmly wrote on a scratch, looking as composed as ever.
While you… How could he even begin to describe you? You looked like you hadn’t slept in days— in this case, was true— and your hair stuck out from all directions because of how much your hand went through it in habit.
“Calm down, won’t you? Before you get permanent wrinkles on your face. You don’t wanna look worse than you already are, do you?” He said to you arrogantly, putting down his quill and turning his attention to your form.
You sighed, fixing your posture, your head in your hands.
“Just ‘cause you’re a puppet doesn’t mean you can say that about humans, y’know,” you commented halfheartedly, not in the mood to argue with him and his annoyingly pretty face.
“I’m just saying it like it is.”
“Maybe try focusing on the paper more than me, huh?”
“How can’t I focus on you when you look like an absolute mess?” He crossed his hands as he leaned back on the chair.
Maybe it was the late hour getting to you, or maybe it was the fact you were months into this and you were nowhere near finishing it, but you just couldn’t deal with him!
“Look, if you’re just gonna stay and bitch around, just leave. I can do more by myself and with you hanging around and doing nothing,” you couldn’t deny that the stress was definitely affecting your words and actions, but you felt unapologetic then, hyper-focused on the project that was due in a month.
Wanderer sighed. He wasn’t a stranger to the moments when you’d lash out on him, knowing it wasn’t really him you were angry with. He knew there was no use trying to get you to calm down when you were upset.
“Fine. But when I come back, you better have cooled off,” he said, standing up and leaving you in the library. Ugh, how annoying could he get?
You continued to work for a while, still stuck on the same thing.
You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Wanderer came back, this time with a cup of your favorite drink and some food from Puspa Café. He returned to your side, placing the food on the table and the coffee in front of you. You glanced at it, putting your quill down.
You stayed silent, suddenly feeling very bad about what you said to him earlier. He didn’t respond, watching as you drank the coffee, then sighing.
“Next time you do that, I’m dropping you as my partner,” he threatened, grabbing the paper you were working on before he arrived. You didn’t think much of his threat, seeing as he’s said several times before and yet, here you were. Still there.
“Sure…”
“I’m serious.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, leaning back on your chair, sighing deeply.
“Stop that,” he said suddenly, reading through what you wrote. He annotated on it, correcting your mistakes and adding his suggestions.
“Stop what?” You looked at him, now eating the food he’d gotten you. It was only now did you realize that you hadn’t eaten anything that day, and it was already late.
“That sighing. You’re so stressed, it’s getting bothersome.”
“It’s not my fault that this paper just can’t seem to cooperate!” You defended yourself, a frown on your lips.
“You’re not going to be able to control what the outcome of this study is. That’s why it’s research, you study it and see why it’s that way. So stop stressing your pretty little head and calm yourself before you break down,” he said.
“…You suck at comforting people, Hat Guy,” you mumbled, covering your face with your hands again, before taking a deep breath.
“I’m just telling it like it is. It’s not like you're going to fail because of that. I won’t let it happen,” you hummed at his words, finally looking at him.
“…Thanks.”
“For what? Not letting you fail? We share a grade, you know. If you fail, I fail,” he explained, crossing his arms.
“For dealing with me. I know I can be too much sometimes,” you admitted, your fingers fidgeting on the paper cup of your coffee.
“Sometimes?” He said mockingly, raising his eyebrow.
“Fine, all the time. Stop interrupting me,” you couldn’t hide the exasperation in your voice, your hand going through your hair once more.
“Continue then, Your Majesty,” little shit.
“Never miiind,” you said, taking back your words of appreciation. Your smile still held a certain weight that you tried to hide from him, that his words and actions still weren’t enough to calm the storm.
You both continued to work on it, yet the pressure was getting to you. You couldn’t solve the issues in your study, and when you did, you would find another problem that was hard to figure out. It was exhausting you, both mentally and physically.
Wanderer saw how the stress was building up again, evident in your frown and your overall state. By now, the library was almost empty, save for the few scholars who were also working on their own research papers.
You were so, so close to breaking down, and Wanderer noticed it before you did.
In your stress, you didn’t realize you had started tearing up, the tears dropping onto the parchment you were writing on, smudging the ink of what you wrote.
“Ugh, shit..” you exclaimed quietly, wiping your eyes. It proved to be useless, seeing as your paper quickly became stained with tears.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong? What’s bringing this on, huh?” Wanderer exclaimed in a surprisingly soft tone, wanting to reach out but not knowing if should. Carefully, he guides you to lean back on your chair, his hand on the back of your chair as he went closer to you, observing the way you avoided his gaze.
“I just… I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong… It’s so annoying…” You said through your tears, desperately trying to cover yourself in embarrassment. Wanderer pulls your hand hide away from your face, wiping your wet cheeks with a spare handkerchief he had.
“It’s okay. Just let it all out,” he says with such an unfamiliar tone, you couldn’t believe you were talking to the same person.
You quickly tried to compose yourself, your deep breaths turning into shaky sighs. Wanderer whispered comforting words to you in the quiet of the night like it was second nature to come to your aid.
“It’ll get better, okay? Don’t let it consume you whole. It’ll be okay, I promise,” he mumbled to you, waiting patiently for you as your tears finally dried, leaving you exhausted.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault,” he said with such kindness. You wouldn’t expect it from the ice-cold scholar from the Vahumana Darshan. No one would.
He talked tender words to you for a few minutes, warmth blossoming in his chest. It was ironic that he could feel that way. But it reminded him of how human it made him.
It surprised himself that he didn’t think twice to comfort you and make you feel better. He knew that he wouldn’t do that for anyone else. No way.
You were the only exception.
As you two spent some minutes in comfortable silence, he realized one thing. He liked making you feel better. He always wanted you to feel good, even at the expense of his own convenience. It wasn’t like him at all.
“Feel better?” He asked you, rubbing your back to sooth you.
You nodded in response, still sniffling. “Yeah, I’m sorry again—“
“Don’t. Don’t say anything. Just feel better,” he realized then, that when the words came out before he could process it, that he felt something different with you.
He wouldn’t feel this warm feeling if comforted anyone else. He was sure of it. He knew he wouldn’t feel the need to ease their worries like he did with you.
He didn’t know what this feeling was. He should consult Nahida with it.
The rain in Sumeru was pouring down heavily that afternoon.
A rhythmic patter-patter drummed against the eaves, bringing a damp chill that seeped into every corner of the room. You sat at your desk, chin resting on your hand as you read, occasionally stealing glances at the person sitting across from you.
Wanderer was upset.
Not just his usual irritability.
This was a cold, sharp-edged silence—the kind where every word he spoke felt like a thorn intended to prick.
"...Have you had dinner yet?" you ventured, breaking the silence.
"Not hungry."
"Should I warm up some soup for you, then?"
"No need."
Short. Terse. Utterly difficult.
You watched him for a long moment before finally letting out a sigh.
He had been like this for days. At first, you thought it was just stress from his work at the Akademiya, but the longer it went on, the more "off" it felt. He avoided your gaze, pulled away from your touch, and even turned his back to you when it was time to sleep.
The most frightening part? He wouldn't say why.
"Are you mad at me?"
Wanderer’s hand, holding his book, stiffened slightly.
"...No."
"You’re lying."
"Believe whatever you want."
You bit your lip. By now, even the most oblivious person would realize something was wrong. You stood up, walked over to him, and leaned down to look directly into those indigo eyes.
"Tell me what’s wrong, please."
Wanderer looked up. The depths of his eyes were dark and stormy.
"Tell you what?"
"Why you’re acting like this."
"...Do you really not know?"
"I don't."
A long, heavy silence stretched between you. Then, Wanderer let out a sharp, mirthless laugh.
"Of course," his voice was ice-cold. "How could someone busy writing love letters to others have the headspace to notice me?"
You froze.
"...Love letters?"
"Stop pretending."
Wanderer stood up abruptly. The wooden chair screeched harshly against the floor.
"I saw it."
From his sleeve, he pulled out a slightly aged envelope. Your heart skipped a beat the moment you saw it.
That letter. The one you had written a long time ago.
"Did you go through my desk drawers?"
"I have no interest in your privacy," Wanderer hissed, narrowing his eyes. "It fell out on its own."
He tossed the letter onto the table.
"I actually thought you were different from the rest of them," his voice dropped, carrying a distorted, suppressed emotion. "Turns out, you’re just the same."
You opened your mouth to speak, but he turned his face away before you could find the words.
"If you want to leave, just say it plainly."
"Wanderer—"
"Or are you just waiting for a better opportunity?"
"Listen to me explain!"
"Explain what?" He scoffed. "Explain why you kept someone else's love letter so carefully hidden in the back of your drawer?"
You stared at him for a few seconds, stunned.
And then... it clicked.
"...Wait a minute."
You picked up the letter and opened it. Your eyes scanned the familiar lines. It was only then that you realized why Wanderer was so furious.
The envelope bore no recipient's name, and the content read exactly like a confession of deep, hidden longing.
You went silent for a few heartbeats.
Then—
"...Did you not finish reading it?"
Wanderer frowned. "I don't make a habit of reading other people's love letters to the end."
"..."
You looked at him, and suddenly, you burst out laughing. Wanderer’s irritation spiked.
"What's so funny?"
You didn't answer. You simply unfolded the paper, turned to the very last page, and held it up in front of his face.
"Read it."
With a cold expression, Wanderer took the paper. His eyes swept down to the final line.
And then, he went deathly still.
[ To the one I love most.
To the one whose eyes are more beautiful than the night sky of Inazuma.
...Wanderer. ]
The room fell into a pin-drop silence.
You crossed your arms, watching him.
"...Do you understand now?"
Wanderer stared at the letter as if his brain had just stopped functioning. A long while later, he spoke in a low, shaky voice.
"...This was for me?"
"Who else would it be for?"
"...I thought..."
"You thought I was cheating on you?"
"..."
His ears turned red. Fast.
You had never seen the Wanderer this speechless. He gripped the letter slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze began to dart everywhere but at you.
"...Why didn't you write the name on the front?"
"I was going to," you sighed. "But you came home early that day, so I panicked and hid it."
"...."
"And then I forgot about it."
Wanderer remained silent. You watched him for a moment longer before you couldn't help it anymore—you started giggling.
"Oh my god..."
"Don't laugh."
"You spent days being mad at me just because you were jealous of yourself."
"I told you, stop laughing."
Wanderer's face was flushed all the way to his neck. You laughed until your shoulders shook, only to be suddenly pulled firmly into his arms.
"Enough."
"But it's actually hilarious—"
"Shut up."
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"...I thought you were going to leave me."
The smile on your lips slowly faded. You reached up and hugged him back.
"Why would I ever do that?"
"Humans always change their minds."
"Am I not your human?"
You tilted your head up to look at him, your voice softening. "I've loved you for so long."
"...."
"Do you really think I could ever fall for anyone else?"
The room was filled only with the sound of the rain. Wanderer looked at you for a long time. The icy edges of his gaze began to melt, piece by piece.
"...Then," he murmured, "do you want to confess all over again?"
You blinked. "Hmm?"
Wanderer looked away. "...The last time didn't count."
"Because you didn't finish the letter?"
"...Yes."
You gave a small laugh. "Alright then."
You took a step back, smoothing your clothes and hair as if preparing for a first meeting. Then, you held your hand out to him.
"Hello."
Wanderer watched you silently.
"My name is [ ]."
"...."
"I'm in love with someone who is very difficult, sharp-tongued, temperamental, and gets grumpy for no reason."
"That sounds like an insult."
"But I love him very, very much."
Wanderer's eyes flickered with emotion. You smiled.
"So, would you like to go out with me?"
Outside the window, the rain had turned into a gentle drizzle. Wanderer stared at your outstretched hand for a long time. Finally, he took it.
"...Fine."
His voice was barely a whisper. But it was so tender, it made your heart ache.
"This time," Wanderer leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, "I won't misunderstand again."
pairing . AdultContentCreator!Scaramouche x OFmodel!Reader
summary . You make premium adult content, profiting off your virgin status, rejecting every disgusting offer in your DMs, waiting for something that feels real. Then, you find that something, Scaramouche. He makes adult content, fucks girls, sends them off, and the cycle repeats. But something about him makes you want to hand him over all your firsts. [MODERN AU]
contains (warnings) . explicit sexual content, being filmed, but obviously consensual, mean scara, dirty talk, degradation, oral, throat fucking, mirror sex, porn WITH plot, overstimulation, too lazy to add more
word count . 14k (i know... i know.)
an . i literally spent ages on making the fake twitter profiles, idk how these ppl in the smau's do it istg. i also had to study, like a maniac, loads of twt corn acc's to make this, so i hope this is good. cross posted onto ao3
₊˚⊹♡ ˚✎𓂃 masterlist | home | ao3 | kofi | discord server
You have a dirty secret.
Well… maybe dirty isn’t the right word.
Lucrative.
Thrilling.
Deeply, and I mean deeply embarrassing if anyone you knew in real life ever found out.
You make premium content.
Sex content.
It started after so many failed job searches; it’s so hard to find work in this day and age as a young adult with zero experience. You also attend college, and you know the moment you do actually get a boring, shitty job as a cashier or some shit, you’d want to shoot yourself in the head due to all the stress that’ll come with it.
You saw other girls on TikTok, flaunting their gaming set-ups from DMing creeps on Discord, going on calls with them, masturbating or pretending to, and they get the biggest paycheck of their life.
You’d do that if you didn’t have to go on call with them and hear their gross, disgusting voice.
So you chose the other option, chose to sell your body online, even though, compared to how girls on Discord make money, they don’t have to sell their nudes, just talk on call, you’d rather just record yourself doing lucrative acts.
I mean, why not? You were already broke, stressed beyond any comprehension, already spending too much money on lingerie that no one ever saw.
Now someone sees it, thousands of someones, actually.
It’s practically a job at this point, your real job if you’re being honest.
You lie to your parents, tell them you work at a cafe near campus, and they’re so proud of you. Their hardworking daughter, juggling school and work and still managing to keep her grades up.
If only they knew.
You don’t just do it for the money, even though that’s how it started. Like, yeah, the money is actually insane, more than you’d ever even expect, so much that you've had to open separate bank accounts just to hide it from your parents. But that's still not why you keep doing it.
You do it because it's fun.
You do it because it feels good.
I mean, why wouldn’t it?
It’s fun dressing up all cute, bringing your aesthetic in your videos because the fans love it. Soft pinks, light pastels, lace, ribbons, and so many bows.
You show your face in your videos.
But you wouldn’t ever get caught. Why? Because you wear wigs, cute ones that actually look good and not shitty party city ones, you do your makeup in a way that people on TikTok and Pinterest would call ‘dollmaxxer,’ eyelashes, glossy lips, aegyo sal shimmer forever and always.
You cosplay sometimes, characters from games and anime that your subscribers request.
That’s the thing that sets you apart from a lot of creators, most of them crop their faces out, wear masks, keep the camera angled just so. You’re lucky you don’t have any distinctive birthmarks, tattoos, or anything tying you to the girl who goes to college and buys coffee from the campus Starbucks.
It didn’t take long before you moved out of your college dorm. Roommates are a liability when your job involves moaning loudly on camera three times a week.
Now you have your own apartment, expensive but worth it, a pink sanctuary where you can film without worrying about anyone walking in.
Your content is... specific.
You goon, that’s the word for it, that’s what people call it on the internet.
You slap your face with dildos, letting them bounce off your cheeks, you grind on pillows and plushies, soaking the fabric while you whimper and moan. Sometimes you even sell the pillows you grind on, subscribers love it all.
You drool excessively, letting spit drip down your chin while you suck on a dildo attached to your wall, your eyes rolled back, your tongue out too far.
You make yourself look stupid, brainless, like a toy that exists only for pleasure.
It's fun.
It feels good.
And the sponsors love it.
Sex toy brands send you free products constantly. Vibrators, dildos, plugs, things you didn't even know existed before you started this job. All you have to do is use them on camera, tag the company, and they keep sending more.
What you hate is your subscribers.
Obviously, your content caters to the male gaze. That's the market. That's where the money is.
But god, the men are disgusting.
The comments they leave, the DMs they send, the way they talk to you like you're not a person, just a thing they can say whatever they want to.
You have some subscribers who are women, followers, and mutuals who found you through the aesthetic side of things. They're the sweetest. They leave nice comments, send supportive messages, and actually treat you like a human being.
The men are the problem.
You also profit off being a virgin.
It’s not a lie, you know, some creators fake it, like Sophie Rain. But you’re genuinely untouched.
Never had a boyfriend. Never had sex, never even been kissed before.
The dildos you use on yourself don't change that. Toys aren't real dicks.
It's your biggest money maker, honestly. The virgin thing. Men lose their minds over it. They DM you constantly, begging to be the one to take it, offering obscene amounts of money to fuck you on camera.
You always deny.
Always.
Because even so, even after everything you've done on camera, you want to wait for the right person. You want it to mean something. You want...
You don't know what you want.
But you know it's not some random subscriber with a dick pic in his DMs.
Tonight, you're exhausted.
You just finished filming a two-hour session, one of those marathon streams where you edge yourself over and over until your thighs are shaking and your brain goes blank. Your subscribers loved it. You made more money in those two hours than most people make in years.
And now all you want to do is lie in bed and doom-scroll until you pass out.
You're on your stomach, still wearing the sheer babydoll lingerie from your stream, lacey underwear clinging to you. You’re on your phone, Twitter open, scrolling mindlessly through your feed.
Your algorithm feeds you content from girls like you, with similar aesthetics, similar content. Some of them are your mutuals, creators you’ve befriended through the weird little community you’ve stumbled into. You leave sweet comments on their posts, the kind of supportive girl-to-girl energy that balances out the gross male comments.
You're not really paying attention, just scrolling.
And then something new comes up.
It's a video, a boy, this time, which is unusual for your feed. The algorithm is probably experimenting, testing your preferences.
The boy is skinny, pale, really pale, like porcelain skin. He’s on a bed with white sheets, his face is cropped out of the frame, but you can see his body, lean and so pretty, looming over a girl who lies beneath him.
He's holding her arms above her head.
And he's fucking into her mouth.
You don't scroll past. You don't mindlessly like and move on. Instead, you tap the video to turn up the volume just a little.
The sounds are obscene.
Wet, throat gagging sounds, the girls' muffled whimpers mixing with his soft grunts of pleasure. He fucks into her mouth, slow, at first, almost lazy, then faster, harder.
The girl taps his thigh. The universal signal for "I need to breathe." You've done it yourself, with the dildos attached to your wall, practicing for videos, it’s basic human instinct, you think.
He laughs.
That laugh.
It's mean and amused and condescending, and something about it makes you clench around absolutely nothing.
He doesn't stop. If anything, he goes faster, ignoring her desperate taps, using her mouth like it belongs to him.
Only at the last second does he pull back. She gasps, choking, saliva dripping down her chin, and before she can recover, he's pushing back in.
Your pussy clenches again.
The video is in Japanese, which was obvious mainly because of the body parts being censored and the words coming from his mouth. You don't understand a single word from it, but something about him, about the way he moves, the way he sounds, the casual cruelty of his body language...
You click on his profile.
scaramouche
His profile picture is a boy's pale, slender hand gripping a girl's face. His bio is in Japanese characters you can't read, so you copy it into a translator.
"i'll fucking digest you, one kiss at a time."
That's it. That's all he has to say about himself.
He’s following zero people, fucking dickhead you think, and he has over 500k followers.
Holy shit…
More than you.
You scroll down, his age is listed, 20. He’s 2 years older than you.
Obviously, as any normal person who's about to stalk a stranger's content, you click on the media tab.
Your heart drops.
He shows his face.
Not everyone does; most people don’t want others to recognize them in real life. You didn’t expect to see his face because in the other video, the camera was angled down.
This guy, this scaramouche, he doesn't seem to care.
He's hot.
No… hot isn’t the right word to describe him, actually. He’s pretty, beautiful, even, in a way that doesn’t even seem real.
Dark indigo hair, which could almost be blue or even purple in certain lighting, eyes the same color.
A face that definitely shouldn’t be used on making porn.
The first video with his face in it is him on a couch with a girl. His house is expensive, the kind of expensive that screams old money or nepo baby or both. The girl's face is blurred, but his isn't. He's looking directly at the camera, completely unbothered.
Nepo baby, you decide. Has to be. Some rich kid who hates his mom and spends her money on whatever he wants, not caring about his image or his future or anything.
He probably gets away with it because he's a man.
The video is in Japanese as figured. You watch it anyway, picking up on body language instead of words. The girl looks nervous, shaking slightly, and he sits close to her, petting her hair, touching her thigh. He leans in but doesn't kiss her. Just hovers there, making her wait.
You get bored and translate the description instead.
He calls her shy. Says she just broke up with her boyfriend, saw his content online, and wanted to be one of the girls in his videos. He talks about how he's going to ruin her. Turn her into a perfect little doll.
You don't feel disgusted by it; you don’t even know what you feel.
You keep scrolling.
Ten minutes later, you've gone through most of his content.
He's always in control, always cruel, always making the girls in his videos fall apart in ways that look almost painful. But he also... takes care of them. In his own way. Kisses them while he fucks them. Leaves hickeys all over their skin. Holds them down but also holds them close.
It's confusing.
Probably more confusing for the girls.
It makes you feel things you don't want to examine.
Somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark, you give up pretending you're just curious.
You grab the vibrator from your nightstand, the one you just used on stream, and press it between your legs.
You cum to the sound of his voice.
His moans, the way he laughs at the girls when they beg, the way he laughs even harder when they start shaking from being overstimulated. The things he says in Japanese that you don't understand but somehow feel in your core anyway.
You cum again.
And again.
You're on your third orgasm, trembling and oversensitive, when your phone buzzes with a notification.
A DM.
From him.
Your heart stops.
You stare at the notification, certain you're hallucinating. You followed him earlier, when you first clicked on his profile. You didn't think anything of it; you follow lots of people.
But he followed you back.
And now he's messaging you.
You tap on the notification with shaking fingers, fully expecting to see a wall of Japanese characters you won't understand.
It's in English.
You stare at the message for a full minute in shock. Your brain is refusing to process this, because what the fuck type of coincidence is this?
He looked at your profile, saw your content, your bio, your everything while you were cumming to his own content.
And in your bio, the first fucking line is:
horny virgin
Fuck.
scaramouche:
hello?
i know youre online
i saw you like one of my videos 3 minutes ago
and twitter also shows when people read your texts
Shit.
You forget how annoying this app is, how it automatically shows ‘seen’, when you click on someone’s DM, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to turn it off.
Twitter needs to fucking change that.
Embarrassing.
you:
um… hi?
scaramouche:
there she is
thought you were gonna leave me on read
you:
sorry
i was just surprised i guess
scaramouche:
surprised that i messaged you?
you:
yeah lol
you kinda dont really seem like the type to just dm ppl
scaramouche:
im not
girls usually come to me
You roll your eyes hard in real life. He sounds so egotistical.
you:
okayyy..
so why r u dming me then?
scaramouche:
bcuz i wanted to
is that a problem
you:
no
i mean… IDK… i guess not?
scaramouche:
relax holy shit
im not gonna bite you unless…
unless you want me to
You read that last message three times at the least. Your face is burning, you're still wet from earlier, still sensitive, and this conversation is not helping. You squirm in your bed, sitting back against a pillow and pulling your sheets over you so that you’re more comfortable.
The vibrator, the toy you used on yourself to his videos stares back at you, the stare feels harder than how it felt when your plushies would look at you while you shot videos.
You turn your body away from it and lie on your side.
you:
how did you even find my account
i know you aren’t just scrolling thru your notifications, looking at any any girls profile that follows u
scaramouche:
algorithm duh
you came up on my feed
some video of you drooling on a dildo
In real life, you shove your face into your pillow, embarrassed, before glancing up, thumbs typing.
you:
oh god
scaramouche:
it was cute
very pathetic mostly but cute
i liked it
you:
i don’t know if that’s a compliment or not
scaramouche:
it is trust me
You don't know what to say. You're typing and deleting, typing and deleting, too shy to keep up this conversation.
Thankfully, he talks first, again.
scaramouche:
you know what actually make me interested in you, though
you:
what?
scaramouche:
your bio
the first thing it says, horny virgin
thats real right?
not some marketing bullshit like the other girls on here
you:
it’s real
scaramouche:
fuck thats hot
You stare at your screen, wide eyed, trying to ignore the feeling of your cunt, aching, clenching around nothing…
Because of him.
you:
…
scaramouche:
i mean it
the virgin thing drives me insane
but you already know that from stalking my account
you:
uh, no i wasn’t
scaramouche:
mhm…
yeah sure
tell that to my inbox
stalker tip: try not to like every single post of mine that you scroll past, even though i always get a shit ton of likes, i can see when a mutual likes my post
You didn’t think about it till now that you’re mutuals with him on here, you followed him, and he followed you.
He continues typing.
scaramouche:
its hot thinking about some cute girl who’s never been touched for real
who only knows what it feels like from toys
and whos been practicing on dildos for years without having the real thing
you:
i haven’t been practicing for years
i’ve only been doing this for like… a year tops
scaramouche:
even better
a year of making content
a year of showing off that pretty little body and nobody gets to actually have it
thats so fucked up dont you think?
you:
i guess when you put it that way
scaramouche:
and then i look at the shit you post
"soft girl with soft moans & a tight grip" "wanna b ur brainless toy" "force me to take it"
you srsly write all that and youre still a virgin?
you:
those r just marketing
it’s what subscribers want to hear
you should know this
scaramouche:
is it though?
because i watched ur videos
and you dont look like youre faking it
you look like you mean every dirty word
You don’t have a response for that, because he is actually right. You do mean it, every filthy caption, every desperate moan, every time you beg the camera to use you, you mean it.
You just never thought you'd actually get to experience it.
scaramouche:
so here what i wanna know
with all the subscribers you have
all the men in your comments, begging, offering to fly you out and fuck you on camera
why are you still untouched
you:
because they’re all disgusting
dont u see half or most of them are like 40 yr olds with wives??
plus i dont want my first time to be with some random guy who just wants content
scaramouche:
what do you want then
you:
i dont know
something real ig
someone who actually gives a shit about me
scaramouche:
thats cute
naive
but cute
you:
whats that supposed to mean
scaramouche:
it means you’re in the wrong industry for romance sweetheart
but i respect it
it’s rare nowadays
You're blushing so hard your cheeks could probably boil an egg.
He called you sweetheart.
Sweetheart.
It shouldn't affect you this much. It's probably something he says to all the girls.
But still.
you:
so why r u messaging me if you’re not trying to fly me out or whatever
scaramouche:
maybe i am
you:
oh
scaramouche:
would that be so bad?
you:
i mean yes? i dont know you
scaramouche:
you know what i do
you know what i look like
you know how i treat the girls in my videos
you also know that im more age appropriate than the creeps in your dm’s
thats more than what most people know about each other before they fuck
you:
thats different
scaramouche:
how
you:
it just is
scaramouche:
youre scared arent you
you:
im not scared
im just cautious
scaramouche:
same thing but whatever
i get it tho
random guy on the internet wants to meet up
thats serial killer energy i know
you:
it is a little bit
scaramouche:
fair but for what it’s worth i dont live in japan
so i wouldn’t have to fly u there if you change your mind
i just go to japan sometimes for vids, i actually live in [insert city/town/wherever you live name]
Your heart stops.
That’s where you live. The same area your apartment is in, the same place where your campus is in.
He’s so much closer than you thought.
you:
wait srsly??
scaramouche:
yeah, why?
r u from there too?
you:
…maybe
scaramouche:
holy shit
small world
or maybe the algorithm knows more than we thought
you:
that’s kinda creepy
scaramouche:
it’s extremely creepy
but also very convenient if you ever wanted to meet up
you:
i don’t know about that
scaramouche:
no pressure
just saying the options here
You've spent the last hour watching his videos, cumming to his voice, imagining yourself as one of the girls he ruins on camera. And now he's in your DMs, telling you he lives in your area, offering to meet up.
This is insane.
And also dangerous.
And also everything you've fantasized about.
scaramouche:
you dont have to decide rn
im not going anywhere
just think ab it
you:
okay ill think about it
scaramouche:
good girl
You’re too fucking easy, because those two small words makes your entire body feel hot, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure
scaramouche:
you liked that
didn’t you
you:
what
scaramouche:
being called a good girl
i can practically feel you squirming through the screen
you:
get over urself
im not squirming
scaramouche:
liar
you:
shut up
scaramouche:
make me
You’re going to die, literally, actually going to combust right here in your bed, and they’ll find your body in the morning, still holding onto your phone, still blushing.
You need to end this conversation before it spirals into you giving in.
you:
i need to go to sleep
scaramouche:
running away already?
you:
im not running away
im just tired
i had a superrr long stream tonight
scaramouche:
yeah i watched a little of it
u looked all cute
all fucked out and desperate
you wish you had someone there to actually take care of you after, don't you?
Oh fuck do you. So bad…
You wish he was that someone.
you:
maybe
scaramouche:
think ab that too while you’re “sleeping”
you:
you’re insufferable
scaramouche:
really now?
and yet…
you haven’t blocked me
you:
goodnight scaramouche
scaramouche:
scara
you:
what?
scaramouche:
call me scara
only people i like get to use the full name
you:
okay
goodnight, scara
scaramouche:
night virgin
dream about me
You close the app before you can say anything else stupid.
Your heart is pounding, head spinning, and you’re still so wet, still needy, and now you have a name, and a face to attach to all of your desperate fantasies.
You're not going to sleep tonight.
You know that already.
You're going to lie here in the dark and think about him. About his voice that you can only imagine in Japanese because that’s all you’ve heard. About his hands… About all the things he does to those girls in his videos and how badly you want him to do them to you.
But you can't.
You won't.
Because if you meet him, if you let him take your virginity, he'll just add you to his collection. Another video, another conquest. Another girl who fell for his pretty face and annoying pretty and cruel hands.
And then he'll move on to the next one.
And you'll be left with nothing but a video and a broken heart.
You want him. You know that now, with painful clarity.
But you want him to stay.
And you don't know if he's capable of that.
Two weeks.
It’s been two weeks since Scara slid into your DMs, and somehow, against all logic and reason, he’s still there.
You expected him to ghost you.
That's what guys like him do, right?
They message a girl, realize she's not going to put out immediately, and move on to someone easier. You were prepared for the silence, had already started bracing yourself for the inevitable.
It never came.
He’d send you videos, porn videos he found on twitter.
scaramouche:
[video attachment]
this is what id do to u btw
just so yk
you:
oh my god scara wtf
u can’t just send me stuff like that at 2pm
scaramouche:
um why the fuck not?
r u at school or something
you:
yes actually
im literally in the middle of a lecture
scaramouche:
boringgggg
watch the video
you:
im not watching porn in class scara
scaramouche:
coward
It wasn’t always porn that you’d both talk about though, he’d send you other things…
scaramouche:
[image attachment]
you:
lol is that build a bear
scaramouche:
it’s a fucking sanrio build a bear
it’s YOUR fault my algorithm is ruined
now i see this dumb shit constantly
you:
aww
that’s so cute though??
scaramouche:
it’s not cute
it’s annoying
i used to get porn content now i get plushies and dumb pastel room tours
you:
sounds like an improvement tbh
scaramouche:
i hate you
He was also still in the subject of wanting to meet with you, in real life.
scaramouche:
[video attachment]
notice how she taps out at the end?
you:
yeah
scaramouche:
i wouldn’t let u tap out
you:
…
scaramouche:
just saying for when we meet
you:
IF we meet
scaramouche:
when
You clicked on his profile one night, just to check. Just to see if he's posted anything new.
He hasn't.
No new videos.
No new photos. Nothing in the same amount of time he’s been chatting with you.
That's... unusual. He used to post constantly. New girls every few days, new content every week. Now there's nothing.
You're not sure what that means.
But then you notice something else.
His following count. The little number that shows how many accounts he follows.
1
Just one.
You tap on it, expecting it to be private, and it is. But you already know.
It's you.
Out of everyone on this app, all the girls in his DMs, all the creators he could be following... he only follows you.
You don't mention it to him.
At some point, you both exchanged numbers.
scaramouche:
hey y/n
we should exchange numbers
you:
why…
scaramouche:
bcuz twitter dms r annoying and i wanna text u without the app crashing every 5 minutes
you:
idk…
scaramouche:
im not asking for nudes
well even though you have it all posted already
i just want ur number so we can talk easier
you:
ughh
okay
fineee [number]
scaramouche:
finally
check ur texts
You check your texts and there's a message from an unknown number.
3058291193: hey virgin
You save his contact with a little purple heart emoji next to his name.
You both start texting more now that you both don't have to open Twitter just to message each other. It's nice, fun... but you also want to know more about him.
So one day, you ask.
you:
we’ve known eachother for like almost 2 weeks now
and i barely know anything about u
tell me something ab u
scara:
uhhh
like what
you:
why do u do this content
i mean… you clearly don’t need the money
scara:
the fuck
how do u know that
you:
your house in the vids
ur clothes
everything about u screams rich
scara:
observant now?
yeah okay
my mom is super loaded
shes some corporate bitch who cares more ab her company than her own son
she barely knows i exist
so i spend her money however i want and she doesn’t gaf
you:
that sounds so lonely
scara:
dont psychoanalyze me
or im blocking u
you:
sorry
scara:
it’s fine
ur not wrong
it’s just annoying when ppl are right about me
After that conversation, he started talking more about himself.
scara:
i have a cat btw
you:
wait… rly?
i didn’t expect that
scara:
black fur, golden eyes
her name is kuroneko
it means black cat in japanese
yes i know thats basic shut up
you:
aww thats so cute
can i see her??
scara:
[image attachment]
you:
OH MY GOD SHES SO PRETTY
scara:
shes a bitch actually
hates everyone but only tolerates me
you:
sounds like someone i know…
scara:
fuck off
You find out more and more about Scara. How he speaks Japanese fluently because his mom sent him to international schools growing up. How he lived in Tokyo for three years before moving back here. How he absolutely hates sweets, can’t stand anything too sugary…
except for you…
Tonight, you’re in your bed after a long day of school, you skip filming to talk with Scara like you normally do.
scara:
yk what i dont get
you:
what…
scara:
why u wont let me meet u
you:
ughhh scara
we’ve been over this
scara:
have we though?
because everytime i bring it up you change the subject
or you say you’re not ready
or you make some shitty excuse
you:
scara…
scara:
im srs two weeks we’ve been talking
i message you everyday
i havent posted shit because im too busy thinking ab u and u still wont tell me why you’re so scared
im not a stranger to u anymore, y/n
You stare at your phone for a long time.
You’ve been making excuses, not wanting to give the real answer everytime he’s too close to it.
But tonight, for some reason, you're tired of pretending.
you:
okay fine
u wanna know why im scared?
scara:
duh
it’s what ive been asking this whole time
you:
because you’re going to leave
scara:
what
you:
after you take my virginity and film the video you’re going to leave
and go back to making content with other girls
and im just going to be another video in your collection, another girl you fucked and moved on from
He doesn’t respond, and you keep going.
you:
and i dont know if i can handle that scara
because i actually like you, and i like talking to you all night
and then that’ll all just be over once we meet up
The typing indicator appears, disappears, appears again.
You wait.
And finally…
scara:
you’re so fucking pathetic
you:
wow
thanks
scara:
no i mean it
thats the most pathetic thing ive read
two weeks of bullshit when you could’ve just said that from the beginning
you:
so what? r u going to make fun of me now?
scara:
no im gonna tell u something and you’re going to listen, okay?
you:
okay
scara:
i havent posted in 2 weeks because everytime i think about filming with some girl whos offering in my DM’s, all i can think about is you
and how it should be you
and how everyone else would just be a waste of time
and im the one who reached out to you first when i normally dont
do u understand what im saying?
you:
i think so
scara:
good bcuz thats all your getting
my pride can only take so much
You read his message, over and over, trying to convince yourself that they're real, trying to convince yourself that he likes you just as much as you like him.
you:
okay
scara:
okay what
you:
okay ill meet u tmr after school
u can come by my place
scara:
are you serious
you:
yes im serious
i want to
i’ve wanted to this whole time i was just scared
scara:
and now?
you:
still scared but more scared of never knowing what this could be
scara:
…send me your address
you:
[address]
scara:
ur fucking kidding me
you’re 5 miles away from me
you:
wow really
scara:
i could’ve been fucking you for 2 weeks
you:
scara
scara:
im kidding
kind of..
ill be there tmrw what time specifically
you:
my last class ends at 3… so maybe 5?
gives me time to get ready
scara:
k
ill bring my camera equipment in case yours is shit
you:
it’s not shit
scara:
we’ll see
goodnight virgin
sleep tight, because tmr you’re going to be ruined
you:
goodnight scara
You don't sleep.
I mean, who would in a situation like this?
You drift in and out, feeling both anxiety and anticipation.
Tomorrow.
It’s happening tomorrow.
After two weeks of texting, flirting, you’re finally going to meet him.
And he's going to take your virginity.
And film it.
And maybe, possibly, hopefully, not disappear afterward.
The next day is absolute torture.
Every class drags on forever.
Every lecture feels like it's being delivered through molasses.
You check your phone constantly, rereading your conversation with Scara, making sure it really happened. Making sure you didn't imagine it.
You didn't.
Your last class ends at 3:07. You're out the door by 3:08, practically running to your apartment.
You do that stupid Cassie routine in Euphoria. Shower, shave, exfoliate everywhere. Everywhere. Moisterize every inch of your body with the expensive lotion that makes your skin feel like silk and look insanely good for the cameras. You do your makeup, lighter than usual, the kind of look that you wear in class, soft and pretty.
Because you asked him over text to blur your face out in the video, that you didn’t want to dress up too much because you dont wanna be in makeup and a wig getting your virginity taken.
He didn’t care, if anything, he loved it, how he gets to see the real you the fans don’t get to see.
You take forever finding the right clothes to wear. You don’t want to wear anything revealing, you dont want to be standing there with your tits out when he walks in. You want… something in between. Cute but not too desperate, sexy but not aggressive.
You settle on a pink bra, lacey, with a little bow between the cups. Matching panties, obviously. A sheer babydoll top over it, soft pink that makes your skin glow.
You look at yourself in the mirror.
And realize something that makes your stomach drop.
Not only have you never been fucked before.
You've never been kissed.
You're getting all your firsts taken tonight.
scara:
omw
And in exactly 20 minutes, you hear a knock at your door.
Your heart is pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. You walk to the door on shaky legs, peering through the peephole.
He's there.
Real, solid. Not just a face on a screen anymore.
He's wearing a dark hoodie, oversized, with baggy black jeans and chunky boots. His hair is messy, falling into his eyes. He looks grunge, maybe? Alternative definitely. Like someone you'd see at a concert, not someone who makes porn for a living.
He’s also short, taller that you, definitely, but not by much. Somehow that makes him less intimidating.
Somehow, that makes him more real.
You open the door.
His eyes scan you immediately. Up and down, taking in your bare feet, your babydoll top, your face without the usual layers of camera-ready makeup.
"You look different," he says.
His voice, god, his voice. You’ve only ever heard him speak Japenese. You honestly expected him to have an accent or something, but he doesn’t have one, just this tone that makes your knees weak.
You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. "Good different or bad different?"
"Good." He tilts his head, looking at the top of yours, before looking back down at your eyes and smiling, almost mocking. "You're much shorter than I thought."
You roll your eyes at him, "Says you."
He snorts, shrugging. "Fair enough."
For a moment, you just stand there, both of you, staring at each other. Two people who've shared every filthy thought in their heads, who've seen each other at their most vulnerable, meeting for the first time.
"Are you going to let me in?" he asks, breaking the silence. "Or are we doing this in the hallway?"
"Oh, right. Sorry. Come in."
You step aside, and he walks past you, and he smells good, expensive cologne probably.
You shut and lock your door as his eyes scan your apartment, moving through it.
He sees the pink walls, the LED strip lights set to white because hot pink looks disgusting to you, he sees the collection of plushies on your couch.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "It's like a Sanrio store exploded in here."
"Shut up."
"I'm not judging. It's very you." He picks up a Hello Kitty plush from your couch, examining it with mock seriousness. "Does she watch while you film?"
"Sometimes."
"Kinky."
You lead him to your bedroom, and he takes it all in with the same amused expression. It’s even worse than the pink shit outside your room. A huge bed with pink sheets and a duvet with brown teddy bears, plushies everywhere on the bed, fluffy rug on the floor, but what he mainly focuses on is the ring light set up in the corner, the camera equipment you use for your streams.
"Your setup isn't shit," he admits, examining your camera. "Better than I expected."
"I told you."
"You did." He sets the camera down and turns to face you. "Okay. Get on the bed."
Your eyebrows knit, glancing at the bed, and back at him. "Already?"
"Relax." He rolls his eyes. "I'm not fucking you yet. We need to talk first."
"Talk?" You tilt your head, confused.
"Yeah. You've seen my videos, right? The ones where I'm just... talking to the girl before anything happens?"
Well yes and no… you have seen them, but they’re all in Japanese. You never understood a single word he was saying.
He doesn’t wait for a response. "That's the pre-talk. I do it with everyone. Go over boundaries, safe words, what they're comfortable with." He sits on the edge of your bed, patting the space next to him. "Come here. Stop looking at me like I'm going to eat you."
"You might."
"Later,” he says with a wink.
You sit down next to him, leaving a careful gap between your bodies. He immediately closes it, shifting until your thighs are touching. You don’t move away.
"Okay," he says. "I’m not recording this one because most of my fans don’t understand english, so you can say whatever you want. First things first. Safe word?"
"Um... pink?"
"Pink." He nods. "Good choice, the one’s that are easy to remember are always the best. If you say it, everything stops. No questions. No arguments. You say pink, I stop. Got it?"
"Got it,” You say with a nod.
"Second thing. What are you okay with?"
"I... I don't know. Everything? I've never done any of this before, so I don't really know what I like."
"That's fine. We'll figure it out." His hand lands on your knee, casual, like it belongs there. You don’t pull away. "What about what you're not okay with?"
"I don't want my face in the video. Blurred, cropped out, whatever. I don't want people to recognize me."
"Done, we already chatted about that earlier, but what else?"
"I... I don't know. That's it, I think."
He's quiet for a moment, studying your face with those intense indigo eyes.
"You're shaking,” he points out, not taking his eyes off you once.
"I'm nervous,” you say with a nervous giggle.
"I can tell." His hand slides higher, resting on your thigh, just above your knee. "You've really never done this before? Any of it?"
"No."
"Not even kissing?"
Your face burns as you look down, shaking your head. "No."
You glance back up and see something change in his expression, a hungry look like you just handed him so much more then you’re already giving.
"Oh? So I'm your first everything."
"Yeah."
"Fuck." He breathes out the word like it's been punched out of him. "That's... that's so fucking hot. You have no idea."
"Scara..."
"No, I'm serious." He turns to face you fully, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. "You've never been touched by anyone. Never been kissed. Never had someone's hands on you like this." His thumb traces your cheekbone. "And I get to be the first."
You don't know what to say. Your whole body is tingling where he's touching you, every nerve ending lighting up.
"Can I kiss you?" he asks.
"You're asking?"
"First time counts. I want you to remember it, all of it."
You nod.
He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away. You don't. His lips brush against yours, soft, tentative, nothing like the brutal way he handles the girls in his videos.
It's gentle.
It's perfect.
His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melt into him. Your eyes flutter shut. Your lips part. He kisses you like he has all the time in the world, like there's nowhere else he'd rather be.
When he finally pulls back, you're breathless.
"Not bad," he murmurs, thumb rubbing at your lip. "For someone who's never kissed before."
You stare at him, blinking slow, fully dazed. Your lips are tingling, actually, your whole body is tingling.
You wonder if he can see that.
"Can you..." You trail off, embarrassed.
"Can I what?"
"Do it again?"
"Yeah," he says quietly, like he was going to anyways. "I can do that."
He kisses you again. Longer this time. So much deeper. His hands tangle in your hair, tilting your head back, and you let him take control because you don't know what else to do.
You just know you never want him to stop.
When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing hard.
"Okay," he says, standing up. "I need to set up the camera."
"Now?" You ask, pouting, wanting him to come back.
"Yeah. Now." He walks over to your ring light, adjusting the angle. "You're going to sit right there, looking all fucked out and pretty, and I'm going to film what happens next."
Your heart is pounding, your lips are all swollen, and your entire body is aching with want.
He's really doing this.
It's really happening.
He positions the camera, checks the lighting, makes sure everything is perfect. Then he turns back to you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch.
"Ready?"
You're not.
But you nod anyway.
The camera light blinks red.
Recording.
Scara stands at the foot of your bed, fingers going around the hem of his hoodie, he pulls it over his head and your breath catches. You’ve seen his body in videos, pale, and lean, and deceptively strong, but it’s so different in person, more real, more… overwhelming.
It’s also the first time a boy’s been shirtless in your bedroom.
"You're staring," he says.
"Sorry."
"Don't be." His fingers move to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease. "That's kind of the point."
He pushes his jeans down, stepping out of them, and now he's just in black boxers. You can see the outline of him through the fabric, already half-hard, and your mouth goes dry.
He gets on the bed.
The mattress dips under his weight, and suddenly he's right there. He sits in front of you, cross-legged, casual, like he does this every day.
He does do this every day.
Just not with you.
"Come here," he says, and it's not a request.
You lean forward, and his hand catches the back of your neck, pulling you the rest of the way. His lips meet yours, and this time it's not gentle. It’s like he’s doing it for the camera. This time it's hungry, demanding, his tongue sliding past your lips before you can even process what's happening.
You make a sound against his mouth. Something embarrassing. Something needy.
He laughs into the kiss.
His hands are everywhere, your shoulders, your waist, your hips, you can feel his hands at the hem of your babydoll top, "This is pretty," he murmurs when he pulls back just a little, fingers in the lace. "But it's in the way."
He pulls it over your head before you can respond, and a kisses you again, his fingers now at your back, unhooking your bra with practiced efficiency that should bother you but doesn’t.
The bra falls away.
He pulls back from the kiss, and his eyes drop to your chest. You resist the urge to cover yourself, to hide, because he's looking at you like you're something precious. Something he wants to devour.
"Pretty," he murmurs.
"Scara..."
"Shh." His hands come up to cup you, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp. "I'm appreciating the view."
Before you can respond, he's moving you. His hands on your hips, spinning you around, pulling you back against his chest. Your back presses into his bare skin, and his so soft, warm, and solid.
"There we go," he murmurs against your ear. "That's so much better."
One hand finds your breast again, squeezing, palm warm against the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers.
His other hand slides lower.
Down your stomach, tracing the edge of your panties, where his fingers trace the edge of the lace without going any further..
"These videos you make," he says, conversational, like he's not currently driving you insane. "I've watched all of them. Every single one."
"You mentioned that."
"Did I mention the one where you sat on that vibrator for forty-five minutes without cumming?" His fingers dip below the waistband, just barely, brushing against the sensitive skin beneath. "You were crying by the end. Begging even. And you still held out."
"That was... a challenge. From a subscriber,” you breathe out, trying not to squirm.
"I know… I read the caption." His fingers slide lower, finding your folds, and you whimper. "I jerked off to that video six times. Kept thinking about how pretty you'd look if it was me making you cry. Me making you beg."
He presses his fingers against your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and your hips jerk involuntarily.
"There it is," he murmurs. "Those pretty little sounds. Just like in the videos. Except now I get to hear them in person."
"Scara..."
"Take these off." He snaps the waistband of your panties. "I want to feel you properly."
Your hands are shaking as you lift your hips, sliding the underwear down your thighs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor. You're completely naked now, pressed against his bare chest, with nothing between his hand and your cunt.
His fingers finds your clit immediately.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're soaked, already. We've barely started and you're dripping all over my hand."
"I can't help it."
"I know you can't, that's what makes it so fun."
He circles your clit slowly, not enough pressure to do anything but tease. Your hips buck, trying to get more friction, but his other hand that was on your breast wraps around your waist, holding you in place.
"Patience," he says. "We have all night."
"Scara, please..." you whimper out, so sweet and so needy.
"Please what?"
"More. I need more…"
He laughs, and it’s that exact laugh from the first video you ever watched of him. The one that made you wet before you even knew his name.
"You want my fingers inside you?"
"Yes." You nod, desperate.
"Such a simple word… You’re going to have to beg prettier than that."
Your face burns, but you're so turned on you don't care about dignity anymore.
"Please, Scara. Please put your fingers inside me. I need to feel you. I've been thinking about it for two weeks, imagining what it would feel like, and I can't... I need..."
"Good enough."
He slides a finger inside, and the sound you make is embarrassing. High, and so desperate and completely involuntary. He's not even doing anything yet, just holding his finger inside you, letting you adjust to the intrusion.
"Tight," he murmurs. "So fucking tight. All those dildos you use and you're still this tight?"
"They're not as big as..."
You cut yourself off, embarrassed.
"As what?" He adds a second finger, stretching you open. "As me? Is that what you were going to say?"
You don't answer. Your brain is going fuzzy, all of your attention is focused on the feeling of his fingers inside you.
"You trained your throat for months," he says, still in that conversational tone, like he's discussing the weather while he finger-fucks you. "I watched you go from barely taking six inches to deepthroating that ten-inch dildo on your wall. Holding it for a full minute without gagging."
His fingers curl, pressing against your front wall, searching.
"Fifty seconds," you manage. "I could only... only do fifty seconds."
"Still impressive." He crooks his fingers, checking your expressions, seeing if he found that spot yet. "But training your throat is one thing. This..." He curls and curls still searching. "This is something else entirely."
He finds the spot.
Your whole body jerks, a broken moan spilling from your lips. He presses harder, rubbing circles against that bundle of nerves, and your vision starts to blur at the edges, your toes curling
"There it is," he says, satisfaction dripping from his voice. "That's the spot, isn't it? That's what makes you fall apart, go fucking blank."
"Oh god. Oh fuck. Scara, I can't..."
"You can." His fingers speed up, pressing harder, faster, and you can’t control the loud moan you let out, hard instictively grabbing at his arm. "You're going to take whatever I give you, and you're going to love it."
His other hand leaves your breast and wraps around your throat instead. Not squeezing hard enough to cut off air, just enough to make you aware of how completely he has you.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Shaking already. Just from my fingers. Imagine what you're going to do when I actually fuck you."
You can't imagine it. You can barely think. All you can do is feel, the pressure building between your legs, the heat of his body behind you, the grip of his hand on your throat.
He adds a third finger.
The stretch makes you gasp, pain and pleasure blurring together. He doesn't slow down. If anything, he goes faster, fucking you with his fingers like he's trying to prove a point.
"You know what my favorite video of yours is?" he asks.
You shake your head, unable to form words.
"The one where you fucked yourself on that machine for two hours straight. Where you came so many times you lost count. Where you were crying and begging and saying you couldn't take anymore, but you didn't stop." His fingers speed up, fucking into you harder, faster. "You came eleven times that stream. I counted."
"You... y-you counted?" You surprisingly manage out.
"I counted everything." His grip on your throat tightens. "Every moan. Every whimper. Every time your eyes rolled back. I have it all memorized."
His fingers find that spot again, pressing hard, and you cry out, the sound echoing off the walls of your bedroom. Your mouth falls open, gasping for air, and that's when he moves.
His hand leaves your throat, and suddenly his fingers are in your mouth instead. Two of them, pressing down on your tongue, and you suck on instinct, moaning around the digits.
"That's it," he breathes. "Fuck, that's it. That's what I want. Suck them just like that."
You suck. You suck his fingers like your life depends on it, tasting yourself on his skin, while his other hand keeps working between your legs. The combination is overwhelming. Too much and not enough all at once.
"Fuck," he groans. "You're so good at that. All that training paid off, huh? You're going to suck my cock just like that. I'm going to fuck your throat until you can't breathe, and you're going to take it, because that's what you've been practicing for."
The words push you closer to the edge.
"You're close," he observes. "I can feel it. The way you're clenching around my fingers, the way you're shaking. You want to cum so bad, don't you?"
You nod desperately, unable to speak with his fingers in your mouth.
"Too bad." He slows down, keeping you right on the edge. "I'm not done with you yet. I want to hear those pretty sounds a little longer."
You whine around his fingers, and he laughs. "God, you're pathetic," he murmurs, and it sounds like a compliment. "Completely pathetic. And I fucking love it."
He keeps you there for what feels like hours. Edging you, backing off every time you get close, until you're crying real tears and begging around his fingers for release.
"Please," you sob when he finally pulls his hand from your mouth. "Please, Scara, I can't... I need..."
"Need what? Say it."
"I need to cum. Please. Please let me cum."
"Okay." His fingers speed up one final time. "Cum."
You shatter.
The orgasm rips through you like nothing you've ever felt before. Your whole body convulses, clenching around his fingers, and the sound you make is somewhere between a scream and a sob. He works you through it, extending the pleasure until you're twitching and oversensitive.
Then he pulls out.
You collapse against him, boneless, breathing hard, shaking. You've made yourself cum hundreds of times on camera, but it's never felt like that.
"Good girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "That was beautiful."
Then he pushes you off.
You land on your back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe. Your whole body is tingling. Your cunt is throbbing. And he's not done.
You hear the rustle of fabric, of something hitting the floor.
You lift your head to look.
He took off his boxers.
And his cock… is big.
You've seen it in videos before, sort of. Japanese censorship laws meant he always had to blur it, pixelate it beyond recognition. Sometimes he got lazy with the editing and you can almost make out the shape. But you've never seen it clearly.
It's bigger than you thought.
You’re almost an expert at dildos, which translates into dicks. You’re able to tell how long they are just by a glance, and you’d estimate his is about 8 inches, at least.
"Fuck," you breathe.
"That's the plan."
Your hand reaches out before you can stop yourself.
You wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the way he throbs in your grip. It's nothing like the dildos you've practiced with. It's warm and alive and so, so real.
You’d never use dildos again if you had the real thing everyday.
"Eager," he says, but he doesn't stop you. Just watches, eyes dark, as you stroke him slowly. "You're supposed to be a virgin."
"I am a virgin." You look up at him, voice almost tired, still recovering.
"Could've fooled me." He lets you touch him for a few more seconds, then grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. "But I didn't come here to get a handjob."
He comes closer, positioning himself between your legs. You spread them automatically, making room for him, and he settles into the space like he belongs there.
"This is going to hurt," he says, rubbing his cock slowly against your folds, almost teasing.
"I know." You say, anxious, but just wanting to get the hard part over with already.
"You might bleed."
"Wait really? I thought that was a myth…" Your brows knit, getting distracted way too quickly.
"You could,” he says, not dwelling on the subject further, “And I'm not going to be gentle."
Your breath catches, you nod slow. "I know."
He grabs one of the cameras he'd set on the bed earlier, angling it down between your bodies. The other cameras are already positioned around the room, capturing everything from multiple angles, but this one will get the close-up.
The money shot.
"Any last words?" he asks, almost mocking.
You shake your head, rolling your eyes despite the whimpers you’re letting out, feeling his cock, warm, heavy, just resting ontop of your cunt. "Just... do it. Before I lose my nerve."
He smiles, cruel and so adoringly beautiful at once.
And then he pushes inside.
Easing in? Not his style at all. He slides all the way to the hilt in one smooth thrust, and the scream that tears from your throat is unlike anything you’ve made before.
It hurts.
It hurts so fucking bad.
You feel like you're being split in two, like he's too big, too much, like your body wasn't made to take this. Tears spill down your cheeks, and you grab at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
He doesn't stop.
He starts to move, slow but not gentle, pulling out halfway before pushing back in. The camera in his hand stays steady, like he’s a pro at this, documenting everything, while his other hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise.
"There it is," he breathes. "Fuck, there it is. That's what a virgin feels like. So fucking tight. So fucking perfect."
"It hurts," you whimper. "Scara, it hurts..."
"I know." He leans down, still moving, still fucking you, and his lips brush against your cheek. "I know it hurts. But you're taking it so well. Such a good girl."
Tears are streaming down your cheeks. He notices, and instead of stopping, he leans down and kisses them. His tongue traces the wet tracks on your skin, collecting your tears, tasting your pain.
"So pretty when you cry," he says against your cheek. "I've always thought so. All those videos where you make yourself cry from overstimulation. But this is better. This is real."
He keeps moving, slow and deep, and gradually the pain starts to fade. It doesn't disappear completely, but it transforms into something else, a burning fullness that makes your toes curl.
"That's it," he says, feeling you relax around him. "There you go. Starting to feel good, isn't it?"
You nod, biting your lip.
"Use your words."
"Yes," you manage. "Yes, oh god, yes..."
He speeds up.
The camera is still in his hand, still recording, but his attention is on you now. On the way your face changes, pain melting into pleasure. On the sounds you're making, those sweet, cute moans that you're not even trying to hold back anymore.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he says, voice rough. "Two weeks of watching your videos, imagining it was me inside you instead of those stupid toys. And now I'm finally here. Finally fucking you for real."
He changes the angle, and suddenly he's hitting his cock deep inside the spot that makes your vision blur. You cry out, back arching, and he does it again. And again. Finding that spot and abusing it mercilessly.
"That's the one," he says, satisfied. "Found it, again. You make the cutest fucking face when I hit it."
"Scara... Scara, I'm gonna..."
"Already?" He laughs, mean and delighted, hitting that spot again, again, again. "We just started. You're really that easy?"
"I can't help it... it feels so good..."
"Then cum." He fucks you harder, faster. "Cum on my cock like the desperate little slut you are. Show the camera how good I make you feel."
You cum so hard you see stars.
Your whole body convulses, walls clenching around him, and you're pretty sure you're screaming but you can't hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears. He fucks you through it, doesn't slow down at all, and when the first orgasm starts to fade, the second one is already building.
"Good girl," he breathes. "That's my good girl. One down, how many more to go?"
He loses count somewhere around the fifth.
"Up."
His voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, and you look up at him, dazed. He's pulled out, leaving you empty and aching, and he's sitting back on your headboard, cock still hard and glistening with your slick.
"What?"
"Come here." He grabs your hips, hauling you up, and suddenly you're straddling him. His cock presses against your entrance, and you whimper. "I want you to ride me."
"I don't... I don't know how..."
"Mhm, don’t worry, I'll teach you." He guides your hips, lifting you up, positioning his cock at your entrance. "Sink down. Slow."
You sink Inch by inch, feeling him fill you up again, until you're fully seated in his lap. The angle is different like this. Deeper. You can feel him in places you didn't know existed.
"Now move." His hands are on your hips, guiding you. "Up and down. Just like that. Find your rhythm."
You start to move. It's awkward at first, clumsy, but then something clicks and suddenly it feels amazing. You're in control, setting the pace, taking what you need.
"That's it," he murmurs, watching you with dark eyes. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me what you've got."
You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, and grind down onto him. He groans, hands tightening on your hips, and you feel a surge of power. You did that. You made him make that sound.
You're so close to him like this, chest to chest, his breath on your lips. It feels intimate in a way you weren't expecting. More like making love than making content.
"Kiss me," you whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate, he kisses you, deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours while you ride him. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer, and for a moment it's just the two of you, the cameras forgotten.
Then, he breaks the kiss, as if remembering what it is you both are supposed to be shooting.
"Faster," he demands.
You go faster.
You bounce on his cock, chasing the pleasure, and he watches with heavy-lidded eyes. One hand slides up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to look at him.
"Pretty," he says. "So fucking pretty. Taking my cock like you were made for it."
"Scara..."
"You know how many girls have been in this position? How many have ridden my cock on camera?" He yanks your hair harder, and you moan. "None of them felt like you. None of them were this tight, this wet, this desperate."
"Please..."
"Please what? Use your words."
You whine, grinding even more desperately. "Please... harder... I need..."
He laughs, and then he flips you.
One second you're on top, the next you're on your back with your legs over his shoulders and he's fucking into you so hard the headboard slams against the wall. The angle is brutal, hitting deep, and you can't do anything but lie there and take it.
"This is what you wanted, right?" His voice is rough, strained. "To be ruined? To be fucked so hard you can't think straight?"
"Yes," you sob. "Yes, yes, yes..."
"Then take it. Take all of it."
He cums inside you.
You feel it, hot and thick, filling you up as he groans and shudders above you. His hips keep moving, fucking his cum deeper, and you cum again just from the feeling of it.
When he finally pulls out, you're a mess. Cum leaking from your cunt, tears drying on your cheeks, whole body trembling with aftershocks.
He looks down at you with something like satisfaction.
"We're not done yet."
Content like this calls for lots of positions being changed, different ways you both fuck, constantly moving, constantly trying different things.
After probably your 14th orgasm of the night, you’re on the bed, propped up on your hand when you suggest, "I want you to fuck my face."
He pauses in the middle of repositioning the camera, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"The first video I saw of you." Your voice is hoarse, wrecked from moaning. "You were fucking that girl's throat. Making her choke. I want... I want you to do that to me."
"I remember that video." He sets the camera aside, turning to look at you with renewed interest. "She tapped out three times and I didn't stop."
"I know."
"And you want me to do that to you."
"Yes."
He smiles slow, and the look he gives you is predatory.
"Lie on your back."
You position yourself how he wants, your head close to your pillows, looking up at him. From this angle, his cock looks even bigger, hard again already, glistening with your combined fluids.
He stands over you, cock in hand, and taps it against your lips.
"Open."
You open your mouth, and he slides in.
You've practiced this. Months of training with dildos, learning to relax your throat, to breathe through your nose, to suppress your gag reflex. But nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. The heat of his cock, the weight. The way he pulses against your tongue.
He slides in slowly at first, letting you adjust to the angle. But then his hips start to move, and slow goes out the window.
He fucks your face.
There's no other word for it. His cock slides down your throat, cutting off your air, and then pulls back just long enough for you to gasp before plunging in again. The sounds are obscene. Wet, gurgling, choking sounds that would embarrass you if you could think about anything besides the cock in your throat.
"Fuck," he groans, falling foward, his head falling down onto one of your pillows. "Your mouth feels amazing. Better than I imagined. You really did train for this, didn't you?"
He keeps going, humping your face with desperate little thrusts, and the sounds he's making are nothing like the controlled, mocking ones from before. These are raw, unfiltered. Almost vulnerable.
You start to choke for real. Your hands come up, slapping against the backs of his thighs, the universal signal for "I need air."
He doesn't stop.
Instead, his knees move, pressing down on your arms, trapping them away from trying to signal for anything. You're pinned now, completely helpless, unable to tap out or push him away.
"There we go," he groans. "That's better… no tapping out, no escaping. You just lie there and let me use your throat like the good little fuckdoll you are."
He picks up the pace, driving into your throat over and over. You can't breathe, can barely think, your vision starting to blur around the edges. Your thighs rub together, desperate for friction, and he laughs.
"Getting wet from choking on my cock? Fuck, you're perfect. Listen to that sound." He thrusts particularly deep, and you gag violently. "That wet, sloppy, choking sound? That's the sound of your throat being trained by something real."
Just when you think you might pass out, he gets up from your pillow and he pulls back. You gasp for air, chest heaving, drool and tears covering your face.
He gives you five seconds.
Then he's back in your mouth, fucking your throat like he's trying to break you.
"Gonna cum down your throat," he grunts. "And you're gonna swallow every drop. That's what good girls do, right? That's what you always say in your videos?"
You try to nod, but you can't move. You just lie there, throat open, accepting whatever he gives you.
He buries himself deep and cums.
You feel it pulsing down your throat, hot and thick, and you swallow on instinct. He holds himself there, grinding against your face, riding out his orgasm, until finally he pulls out.
You gasp for air, coughing, drool and cum running down your chin, your whole body trembling.
He looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The positions blur together after that.
He fucks you from behind, face pressed into the mattress, ass in the air. He fucks you on your side, one leg hooked over his shoulder.
Then, he lifted you off the bed like you weighed nothing at all. Your back hit the wall hard enough to knock the air out from your lungs, and you could already feel his cock pushing inside.
"Wrap your legs around me," he orders, and you obey, ankles locking behind his back, thighs squeezing his waist. The new angle lets him sink even deeper, and you cry out, nails raking down his shoulders.
"Fuck… Good girl." His voice is strained, arms flexed as he holds you up, and you can see the slight muscles in his forearms working.
Every thrust pushes you up the wall, your back scraping against the plaster. It hurts, you can feel the friction burning your skin, but the pain just makes the pleasure more real.
"You know how many times I've thought about this?" He fucks up into you, brutal and deep. "Having you pinned like this. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just taking whatever I give you."
"Scara..." Your head falls back against the wall, eyes rolling. The angle is hitting something inside you that makes your vision blur.
"That's it." He shifts his grip, one hand sliding under your ass to support you better, the other coming up to wrap around your throat. "Look at me. I want to see your face when you fall apart."
You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed, that perfect composure finally cracking. He looks almost as wrecked as you feel.
"You're so fucking tight like this," he groans. "Squeezing me so hard. Like your body doesn't want to let me go."
"It doesn't," you gasp. "I don't. Please don't stop, please..."
"Couldn't stop if I wanted to." His hips snap forward, driving you up the wall, and you swear you see stars. "You feel too good. Took one look at this tight little cunt and knew I was fucked."
The hand on your throat squeezes, cutting off your air just enough to make your head spin. Your legs are shaking, your arms are shaking, everything is shaking, and he just keeps going, fucking you against the wall like he's trying to leave an impression of your body in the plaster.
"Cum for me," he demands. "Right now. Let me feel you pulse around me."
You don't have a choice. Your body obeys him without your permission, clenching around him as the orgasm rips through you. He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, and when you finally go limp in his arms, he's still hard inside you.
"Good," he breathes. "Now let's see how many more we can get out of you before your legs give out completely."
More and more positions blur after that one, and at some point, you’re on your knees, carefully placed on your soft rug of course.
You're grateful for that, the soft rug. You've been down here for what feels like hours, jaw aching, lips swollen, looking up at him while he holds the camera and watches you worship his cock.
"Eyes up here," he says, tilting the camera down to catch your face. "I want them to see those pretty eyes when you choke."
You look up at him through wet lashes, his cock heavy on your tongue. He's not moving, not yet. Just letting you hold him there, drool pooling in your mouth, waiting for permission.
"You look good like this." He traces the outline of your stretched lips with his free hand. "On your knees where you belong. Mouth full of cock. Barely able to breathe." His thumb wipes at the drool running down your chin. "This is what you were made for, isn't it?"
You try to nod, but it's hard with your mouth this full.
"Don't answer that. It was rhetorical." He starts to move, slow shallow thrusts that make wet sounds echo through the room. "I already know the answer. I've seen you practice on those dildos for hours. But they were never enough, were they?"
He pushes deeper, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag around him. The camera catches everything.
"Plastic can't compare to the real thing." He pulls back, lets you breathe for half a second, then pushes back in. "Can't feel you choking. Can't hear the sounds you make. Can't watch the tears fall down your pretty face."
Your eyes are watering. You can feel the mascara running, can feel how messy you must look, but he's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Take it deeper," he instructs. "Show me what you learned."
You relax your throat, let him slide further, until your nose is pressed against his stomach and you can't breathe at all. The camera is right there, capturing the way your throat bulges around him.
"Fuck." His voice cracks, almost breaking from the feeling of your mouth. "Fuck, that's perfect. Hold it. Hold it for me."
You hold, five seconds… ten… fifteen. Your lungs are burning, tears streaming down your face, but you don't pull back. Not until he does it for you.
"Breathe."
You gasp, sucking in air, and he taps his cock against your cheek. Once. Twice. Leaving wet marks on your skin.
"Open."
You open, and he slides back in, and the cycle starts all over again.
You both switched rooms at some point, change of scenery, and you led him to your bathroom.
He'd bent you over it the second you walked in, said something about the lighting being "fucking perfect" and grabbed his camera from the bedroom. Now you're pressed against the marble, watching yourself in the mirror while he fucks you from behind.
"Look at yourself," he orders, one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head up so you can't look away. "Look at what I'm doing to you."
You look.
Your reflection is a mess. Makeup smeared, hair tangled, mouth hanging open as sounds spill out that you don't recognize. Behind you, he's a study in contrast, composed and controlled, watching your face in the mirror while he drives into you.
"You see that?" He pulls your hair harder, forcing your back to arch. "That's what a ruined virgin looks like. That's what I do to girls who think they can resist me."
"I didn't resist," you gasp.
"No." He slams into you, and you watch your own face contort with pleasure. "You didn't. You spread your legs and begged for it. Desperate little thing."
The angle is brutal, every thrust pushes you into the counter, the edge digging into your hips, but you can't look away from the mirror. Can't stop watching the way his cock disappears inside you, the way his face tightens with pleasure, the way your body moves with each impact.
"This is my favorite part," he says, meeting your eyes in the reflection. "Watching you watch yourself get fucked. Seeing the exact moment you realize how pathetic you are."
"I'm not..."
"You are." He reaches around, fingers finding your clit, and you cry out. "You're dripping all over my cock, moaning like a whore, watching yourself get ruined, and you're going to cum just from seeing your own fucked-out face in the mirror."
He's right, way too fucking right. Because watching yourself, watching him, watching the everything being reflected back at you… it’s pushing you toward the edge faster than anything has.
"That's it," he murmurs, rubbing your clit in tight circles while he fucks you. "Watch yourself cum. I want you to remember exactly what you looked like."
You cum with your eyes locked on your own reflection, watching your face go slack with pleasure while he groans and spills inside you.
The mirror fogs up from your breath.
He doesn't pull out.
"Again," he says. "I want to see it again."
At some point, you end up with him sitting against your headboard, your body draped across his lap. His fingers are in your ass, slicked with lube, stretching you open while you whimper into his chest.
"You've never done this before either, have you?" he murmurs, working a second finger inside you. "Never had anything in this tight little hole?"
"No," you gasp. "Never."
"Jesus Christ." He crooks his fingers, finding a spot that makes you see stars. "You really are a virgin everywhere. Completely untouched. And now you're all mine."
"Scara..." You can barely form words. "It's too much..."
"It's not enough." He adds another finger, 3 now, and you cry out. "Not nearly enough. I'm going to ruin every part of you before this night is over."
He keeps you there for what feels like hours, working you open, making you cum over and over until you're crying and begging and promising him anything if he'll just let you rest.
But the position that stands out most is the one where he's fucking you face down into your mattress, deep and slow. His mouth is on your neck, your shoulder, your jaw, kissing and biting and marking you as his.
It feels oddly passionate for sex content.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs against your skin. "Better than anyone I've ever had. Tighter. Warmer. More responsive."
"Scara..."
"I love how you say my name." He bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "Say it again. I want everyone who watches this to know exactly who's ruining you."
"Scara. Scara, please..."
"Please what?"
"I don't know." You're crying again, overwhelmed. "Just... more. I need more."
He gives you more, more thrusts, more of everything, until you're shaking apart beneath him, cumming so hard you see white.
He kisses you.
A lot.
More than he does in his videos. You've watched enough of them to know that he's usually detached, controlled, focused on the camera and the performance. But with you, he keeps leaning in. Pressing his lips to yours, or to your neck, or at your breasts, anywhere he could find.
"Intermission."
He pulls out, leaving you empty and aching, and collapses onto the bed beside you. You're both breathing hard, covered in sweat and other fluids, and you've lost count of how many times you've cum.
"I need a minute," you manage.
"Take five." He rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand, watching you. "You've earned it."
You lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember your own name. Every muscle in your body aches. Your cunt is sore, your throat is raw, and you're pretty sure you have bruises in places that bruises shouldn't be.
You've never been happier.
"Here."
You turn your head, and see him holding out his hoodie, the one he was wearing when he arrived.
"Put this on. I can see you shivering."
You hadn't noticed, but he's right. The sweat is cooling on your skin, making you tremble. You sit up, wincing at the soreness between your legs, and pull the hoodie over your head.
It's a little big on you. Soft and warm, and it smells just like him.
"Better?"
"Yeah." You look down at yourself, almost drowning in his clothes. "I look like a little kid."
"You look like you're mine."
The words hit you somewhere deep. You look up at him, and he's watching you with an expression you can't quite read.
"Lie back," he says.
"What? I thought we were taking a break."
"We are." He pushes you gently onto your back, spreading your legs, and you let him. "But I've been wanting to taste you all night, and I can't wait anymore."
He settles between your thighs, his face inches from your cunt, and looks up at you through his lashes.
"Just relax. Let me take care of you."
His tongue drags through your folds, and you gasp, hands fisting in the sheets. He's not trying to make you cum this time. Not yet. He's just... tasting. Exploring. Licking up the mess he's made of you, cleaning his own cum from your cunt with gentle, thorough strokes.
"You taste like me," he murmurs against your skin. "Like us. Fucking delicious."
He eats you out slowly, lazily, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue circles your clit, dips inside you, traces patterns that make your toes curl. And the whole time, you're lying there in his hoodie, feeling more cared for than you've ever felt in your life.
When he finally makes you cum, it's soft. Gentle. A slow wave of pleasure that washes over you instead of crashing, leaving you warm and boneless and completely content.
He crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead before settling beside you.
"Fiftieth orgasm of the night," he says. "New record?"
"Definitely a new record."
He laughs, it’s not the mean laugh from before, it’s something softer, something real.
When it's finally over, you're barely conscious.
Your body feels like it's been taken apart and reassembled wrong. Every muscle aches. Your throat is raw from screaming. You can still feel him leaking out of you, cum dripping down your thighs.
He tucks you into bed. Actually tucks you in, pulling the covers up to your chin, smoothing your hair back from your face. Then he climbs out, reaching for his jeans.
You watch, dazed, as he pulls his jeans back on. He starts gathering his cameras, carefully placing them in his bag, and something cold settles in your stomach.
This is it. The part you've been dreading. The part where he leaves and goes back to his life and you become just another video in his collection.
"Are you leaving?"
Your voice comes out small, scared. You hate how vulnerable you sound.
He pauses, camera in hand, and looks at you. "Do you want me to?"
The question hangs in the air. You're still wearing his hoodie, still lying in your bed, still feeling his cum leaking out of you. And he's asking if you want him to leave.
"No." you whisper. "I don't want you to leave."
No pretense. No games. Just honest, raw need.
He puts the camera down.
You barely have time to process before he's climbing back into bed, pulling you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he's afraid you'll disappear.
"Good," he murmurs into your hair. "Because I didn't want to leave either."
His hand traces patterns on your back, soothing. After everything he's done to you tonight, the tenderness almost makes you cry again.
You tilt your head up to look at him, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is different from before. No heat, no desperation. Just soft and slow and achingly tender.
He tilts your chin up and kisses you.
When he pulls back, you chase his mouth.
"Needy," he murmurs, letting you kiss him again.
When you finally pull back, letting you both get some air, you can’t help asking, "What are you going to do after this?"
"What do you mean?"
"After this. After tonight." You trace patterns on his chest, avoiding his eyes. "Are you going to post the video and move on? Find another girl to film with? Go back to your life like this never happened?"
He's quiet for a long moment.
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know what to think. That's why I'm asking."
He catches your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes.
"If I don't leave," he says slowly, "if I keep coming back here, keep filming with you, keep... spending time with you outside of filming... this stops being just content. You get that, right?"
"What does it become?"
"Something else." His thumb traces your lower lip. "Something more."
"That sounds like you'd be my boyfriend."
The words hang between you. Your heart is pounding so hard you're sure he can feel it.
"Is that what you want?"
You're quiet for a moment. Not because you don't know the answer, but because you're scared to say it out loud.
"Yes."
The word is barely a whisper, but he hears it.
A real, genuine smile that transforms his whole face, makes him look younger, softer, almost innocent, something just for you.
"Good," he says. "Because I'm pretty sure I've been so far gone on you since that video you posted with that stupid Hello Kitty pillow."
"It's not stupid."
"It's extremely stupid." He kisses you again, soft and sweet. "But so am I, apparently. For falling for a girl I met on the internet."
"You fell for me?"
"Obviously." He rolls his eyes, tone almost sassy, but there's no heat in it. "Why else would I follow only you? Why else would I stop posting? Why else would I spend two weeks texting you instead of finding someone else?"
"I thought..."
"You thought wrong." He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin. "I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."
I don't want you to."
"Then I won't."
You lie there in silence for a moment, processing everything that's happened. The long sex. The confession. The fact that you apparently have a boyfriend now, one who makes porn and took your virginity.
It's perfect.
"Scara?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I might love you."
He's quiet for way too long, and your heart plummets. But then his arms tighten around you, and his voice comes out rough.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I think I might love you too."
You fall asleep in his arms, wearing his hoodie, with his cum still inside you and his heartbeat steady under your ear.
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