Misunderstanding (newlywed husband x female reader)
The scent of white gardenias from your wedding bouquet still lingered in the master bedroom It had been three weeks. Three weeks of shared toothpaste and morning coffee, of his hand finding the small of your back as you passed, of his lips brushing your temple.
He loved you with a ferocity that sometimes stole your breath. But every night, when the moon painted silver stripes across the duvet and he’d reach for you, you’d freeze. Then, you’d push his hand away, gentle but firm, rolling to face the cold, empty side of the bed.
Tonight was no different. His fingers trailed up your arm, leaving a trail of fire on your skin. You caught his wrist.
“Please. Not tonight.”
A beat of silence. Then, his voice, rough with a need he couldn’t hide: “Is it ever going to be ‘tonight’, my love?”
You swallowed, giving the excuse that had become your shield. “I… I don’t want to get pregnant.”
His eyes, usually the soft grey of a summer twilight, had darkened to the color of a storm. “Pregnant?” he repeated, the word carefully neutral. “We can take precautions. That’s easily solved.”
You just shook your head, mute.
He went very still. The air grew heavy. “Why?” The word was clipped.
You turned, pressing your face into your pillow. He didn’t ask again. He simply rose from the bed and walked to the window, his broad back a tense line against the glittering skyline. He had heard the answer elsewhere.
Just yesterday, in the foyer of their building, a fragment of gossip had drifted from the mailroom where Mrs. Henderson from 4B was holding court: “…heard she wants a baby, just not with him. Shame, he’s such a devoted husband. All that love wasted.”
A quiet seed planted that day, now unfurled dark, thorny vines around his heart. Every time you pushed him away, he saw you preserving yourself for someone else. He started coming home at irregular times, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, expecting to find… what? He’d hold you at night, feeling the beat of your heart, wondering if it raced for another man.
Yet, to confront you directly… the thought was agony. To voice the rumor would be to accuse you. It would shatter the delicate porcelain of your new marriage, and he couldn’t risk you leaving, not when he’d only just made you his.
He became impeccably attentive. Your favorite coffee appeared each morning, the perfect temperature. He’d buy you little gifts, a book by an author you mentioned once, a scarf in your favourite color.
One evening, you were washing dishes, your hands submerged in soapy water. He came up behind you, his body caging you gently against the sink. He nuzzled into the curve of your neck, his breath warm. “You smell like home,” he murmured, but his arms around your waist were like steel bands.
The familiar panic rose. You stiffened, your wet hands gripping the edge of the sink. “Darling, please…”
He stilled. “Still scared?” he whispered into your skin, his voice dangerously soft. “Still… saving yourself?”
You didn’t understand the depth of his meaning. You only heard the hurt. Tears of frustration pricked your eyes. “It’s not like that! You wouldn’t understand!”
“Wouldn’t I?” The words were barely audible, choked with a pain you couldn’t fathom. He released you abruptly, as if letting go cost him physical effort. “Maybe I understand more than you think.”
After that night in the kitchen, the warmth that usually clung to him replaced by a polite chill. He announced his presence with a cleared throat or the deliberate tap of a cup on the counter. The brush of a hand or the kiss on the temple vanished.
The smoke detector’s shriek was a lance through the morning quiet.
You stood frozen at the counter, holding the blackened slice of bread. A trivial mistake, but in the tense silence of the apartment, it felt catastrophic.
He moved behind you. He snatched the toast and tossed it into the sink with a brittle finality. The kettle hit the stove with a slam that made you jump.
“Can’t you do anything right?” His voice was low, rough . He wasn’t looking at you, but at the charred remains as if they were evidence of some deeper flaw.
The words found the crack in your composure. A hot tear escaped, then another. “Just tell me what I did,” you whispered, the plea breaking in your throat. “You’ve been so cold for weeks. Just tell me why.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his shoulders rigid. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing!” The cry was torn from you, weeks of confusion and hurt finally overflowing. “You look at me like I’ve committed some terrible crime. Do you regret this? Do you not want me here anymore?”
The question seemed to shatter something inside him. He turned, and the anger on his face was suddenly a transparent mask, beneath which lay a raw, startling pain. “Not want you?” The laugh was hollow, aching. “God. I ache for you. Every damn day. But you flinch. You pull away. You talk of not wanting a child, and then I…” He faltered, shame flooding his features.
“Then you what?” You took a step closer, your heart hammering against your ribs.
He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I heard them. The neighbors. Mrs. Henderson at the mailboxes, whispering to that friend of hers. She said she overheard you talking to your sister. That you dream of a family… but with someone else. That I was just the… the stable choice.” The words seemed to cost him everything. His broad frame seemed to shrink. “I’ve been going out of my mind.”
Your eyes went wide with horror. “Mrs. Henderson? You listened to that old gossip?” A sob of disbelief shook you. “That’s not it at all. It’s not about not wanting your child. It’s… it’s me.”
The confession tumbled out, fueled by adrenaline and heartbreak. “I’m scared. I have no… experience. None. What if I’m terrible at it? What if I disappoint you? What if you realize you’ve married a clumsy, clueless girl and the fantasy shatters?” You hid your face in your hands, utterly exposed. “Saying I didn’t want to get pregnant… it was just a stupid excuse.”
The silence that followed was absolute, save for your hiccupping breaths.
“You… you pull away from me… because you’re shy?” The concept was so foreign that he could barely process it.
You could only nod, covering your face with your hands, humiliated.
A sound escaped him ,a choked mix of a laugh and a sob. In three strides he was before you, his hands gently prying yours from your face.
“My love,” he breathed, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “You are my everything. Every sigh, every glance, every touch is a symphony to me. Inexperience?” He shook his head, a real, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time in weeks. “There is nothing to be scared of. We have a lifetime to learn each other.”
He kissed your forehead, your eyelids, each touch a benediction. “You think I care about inexperience?” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “I only care about you. Only you.”
In one smooth motion, he lifted you into his arms. You gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you toward the bed you’d been avoiding.
He laid you down amidst the gardenia-scented sheets, following you down, caging you gently with his body. His eyes, now dark with a tender intensity, held yours. “Let me show you,” he whispered, all traces of anger gone, replaced by a devastatingly soft determination. “Let me love you. You don’t have to do a thing. Just lay down for me. Just let me take care of everything.”
When his lips met yours, the kiss was an answer. It was a slow vow, a promise spoken without words. And for the first time in so long, you stopped holding your breath. You kissed him back, your hands pulling him closer, deeper into the promise of the dawn.
P/s I’ll leave the rest to everyone’s imagination :3
Hiiiiiii it's my first time asking, I really love ur genshin works and this may be a very huge request but I've been having a brainrot where Genshin men are in particular manhwa and the reader gets to be the protagonist.
My idea is Xiao as Duke Kedrey from Villainess is a Marionette, cuz he treasure his personal bubble and really is a strong warrior like Raphael.
Maybe Scara as Rezef, it's self explanatory lol
Or Childe as Jeremy Agriche from Roxana. He'll spoil his darling rotten and relationship can be quite toxic but still healthy nonetheless.
Or Kaeya as Heinrey from The Remarried Empress. They're both Casanovas and hot looking❤❤
Or Razor as Nine from Beware of the Villainess.
I know it's too much and you ignore this if you want if it's a bit overwhelming. But if you do, it's okay to not do all of it, I'll be satisfied even just with one. Thank you and have a great day!!!!
disclaimer. if you haven't read any of these manhwas, don't worry, i won't spoil the story that much anyway. this fic will only be based on the manhwa and I'll try to explain it as the best I can do. and the first few bulleted paragraphs are the overview of the manhwa or the character.
note. this is genius level idea. thank you for requesting, i thoroughly enjoyed writing this prompt and reach 10k words lmao. I never got to write for razor 'cuz I still have to continue reading beware of the villainess but I do have an idea for bennett (my sec fav dps) in this prompt. i might do a part 2 with diluc who knows
Not a single soul in the Empire does not know the fierce infatuation you harbor for the young Duke Alatus of Kedrey Dukedom. From his stunning golden eyes and dark green hair, everywhere he goes demands spotlight.
Ever since you caught the sight of him in one of the balls you were attending, you clung onto him like a leech, always closing the proximity, writing letters, and initiating conversation with him in hopes he'll reciprocate your feelings
Every interaction fills you with contentment and confidence. You're the eldest child of the Emperor, dignified, stunning and kind. Who wouldn't want an Imperial Nobility like you?
However, you've gotten way too engrossed for your undying love for him that you swept away the constant threat looming above you and your title as the Imperial Nobel.
The ballroom shimmers with golden lights, and the air buzzes with the sound of laughter and polite conversation with the soft hum of elegant music relaxing the nerves in the background, setting the perfect backdrop for the prestigious event where the whole Royal Family would be making an appearance.
Most notable Royal Family member to present was Y/N L/N, whom the rumors were circulating about of plausible marriage proposal to a certain Duke, unsurprisingly.
"Alatus!" You maneuvered your way to him, seemingly shameless for calling his name without his title before it.
"Your Highness." He greeted in such a desultory tone that anyone can deduce he's anything but ecstatic to see you.
You've known how distant and cold he acts toward everybody, but you were cursed with such a dense mind to comprehend he doesn't treat you any different; his stiff actions like simple greeting and short response equates how much he craves to stay furtive, contorted expressions and averting gazes are him expressing his displeasure in your presence and he definitely ignores your letters.
And yet you hope you can change his views of you by approaching him because of your burgeoning feelings. It didn't cross your mind how much he values his personal space and kept on insisting your infatuation, unbeknownst how much it irritates him.
"I'm glad you are here. Did you read my letters? I was hoping for your reply since last month but you remained unresponsive. I thought you might have been busy so you forgot to reply." You rambled on and on, you're too close for his liking but out of respect to your title as the Imperial Highness, Alatus stays silent.
One of the attendants offered you a chocolate dessert and you ate without regards, even offering one to the Duke. "I'm not a fan of sweets, Your Highness." He refused, eyes twitching.
"Oh? I apologize for that. It seems— *COUGH*"
For once, one expression painted the Duke's face out of all the times he wears his stoic facade. However, you don't know if you should be glad he's looking at you like that, he looks mortified.
"Imperial Highness! Quick! Fetch the doctor!" A Duchess yelled with clear distraught as she watches you slumped over the floor, coughing blood and alarmingly paling each second.
This incident is quite common amongst nobles.
You were poisoned.
Whoever did such thing never got to register in your brain as the poison intensifies and you doubled over from the scorching pain. Black dots danced in your vision, tempting to lure your eyes to close and pain only pushed you to do so
You barely registered the rushing footsteps of the guards or the nobles screaming before darkness greeted you like an old friend.
The Imperial Palace busied themselves for the recovery of the eldest royal, it even for busier when you were comatose. Security has been tight since then, there were more than necessary numbers of guards stationed outside your room.
Duke Alatus seems neutral with everything, rumors spread among the nobels that he never care for their highness, Y/N.
While it is true that he shows nothing but malice towards your incongruous advances, he does appreciate your efforts of getting closer on a microscopic level and deep down, there's a tinge of concern pricking his numb heart.
Still, his hatred and pride overpowers his concern, he never once visited you, not that visitors are allowed in the Imperial Palace anyway.
He does ask his informants regarding of your health condition. No one can gauge what thoughts running in his mind when he does so much as stare at the informant with a straight face.
And then one day, he received the news of your recovery, that you're finally awake.
You've been awakened by a startling nightmare that rattled your mind awake. For a comatose person in a cool air room, your forehead is sedimented with perspiration and all you can think of is how to escape from your wretched room.
Your maid came in only to react in astonishment to see you sitting up. When she asks how are you faring, you responded neither politely nor dismissively, when the doctor checked your vitals, you didn't throw a tantrum like you always do.
Behind your veil is a person desperate to survive the Imperial Palace before another catastrophic event occurs in the near future. You have to change your ways, it is for your benefit anyway.
The maid was suspicious of your every changing behavior as you were known for beautiful and luxurious nobel who throws jaundiced looks on anyone who do so much as to stare at Alatus.
Speaking of the Duke, you only realize he has no intention of reciprocating your feelings through the maids during your comatose state because there are times you lay there immobilized but your sense of hearing never fails you.
It was a bitter reality, you genuinely feel infatuated to the Duke and want nothing more but to know him better.
Unfortunately, your ways of showing affection is not appreciated to a man who values his dignity and protects his people first.
You chuckled at your stupidity, it was all spelled out for you to decipher but you chose to remain ignorant to the truth and now you got the deserving consequences of your actions. You suffer.
If time permits, you'd like to steer clear with Duke Alatus and seek forgiveness for the time you made him feel like an unworthy man who only attracts potential suitors by his looks and reputation.
He's so much more than that, and hopefully he'll find the right person who can show him love beyond on what you can give him.
For now you want to focus on running away from the Imperial Palace until the storm passes.
Weeks flew by and you've been attending more social balls to tell the whole empire that you've survived the assassination attempt, to convey nothing can hold you down. But to also give you enough time to map your escape in the palace.
It's not an easy task to fly away from the palace with the noble title on your head. Therefore, you would need someone to help you get away legally.
"M-Marriage?" Sputtered the Duke Alatus.
So much for asking for his forgiveness.
"I'm aware it sounds a salacious scheme to tie you down with me and I can only offer you my sincere words that I no longer bear any infatuation toward you, Duke. I've accepted the fact you have no room for romance and moved on. I hope you do the same and accept this contract. It's beneficial for both parties."
Sure it sounds like a scam and Alatus doesn't want to end up like his friend, Zhongli, who gets scam from left and right.
What baffles him is you sitting with such poise and authority that he no longer can see the past you who kept chasing him for answers to your confessions. You've matured. Mature enough to handle a crucial negotiation.
And it raises the question.
What happened?
He only knows you as the Royal Noble who follows him with lovesick eyes. He wasn't informed you could be downright. . . sexy.
"Your face is red, Duke. Is everything alright?"
"Yes." A pragmatic answer coming from a man punching himself on his mind for thinking lewd things about you.
"I'm not expecting a direct answer now, Duke. Take as much time as you need, but be reminded that I also have limited time. If you are not able to give me your answer within a month, I'll exterminate our negotiation and never speak it ever again."
Silence reigned supreme, the Duke's face never betrayed any emotion while you held your head high as you sip your tea. "I hope to hear your answer soon, Duke Alat—"
"I accept."
You blinked comically. "I beg your pardon?"
"I accept your offer."
"W-What? Are you certain?"
He leaned back and crossed his arms. "I am a soldier, everything I do is with certainty. I do not rush nor stall."
Your eyes escaped his scrutinizing gaze and slapped yourself at the back of your mind. Who were you kidding, of course Alatus wouldn't waste time and prefer to give direct answer. Times like this make you realize you don't know him at all and yet you claimed that you love him. Embarrassing.
"I understand. Starting tomorrow we are publicly a couple within 6 months, you help me with my escape and I'll help you in your foreign affairs under the Royal family's name."
You stuck your hand out for him to shake. "I'll be in your care."
"As I am."
Headline: "Royal Highness Y/N L/N and Duke Alatus Kedrey relationship has recently caused rumors to suggest their Highness Y/N has eloped with the Duke."
"This is an overkill." A nervous chuckle rumbled from you.
"I think it's justifiable." Countered the Duke.
"I believe so. What worries me is your take in this."
A frown settled deep in his eyebrows. "Worried?"
You mirrored his expression. "This headline would most likely attract journalists to interview you, possibly even dig your background to quench their thirst for answers." You paused and walked ahead of him in the garden.
"Knowing you don't like anyone to probe into your private life, it worries me to think about the plausible frauds you'll experience." You couldn't see his expression as you sighed.
Unbeknownst to you, his face is crunched up, forming an expression of what you can call it. . . confusion? Your words perplexed him to a whole new degree.
Weeks ago you were throwing yourself at him, you could care less of his feelings and only care for him to love you back, you did unimaginable things that he finds pathetic. You were selfsh, self-centered and other synonymous words.
But now. . .
Alatus sighed, massaging his temples. No use of thinking hard about their change, it could be a facade to let my guard down. As if that would ever happen anyway.
"I am not worthy of your concern, Your Highness. Please be rest assured that mere words won't affect this contract."
"Y/N."
"Pardon?"
"Call me Y/N when we're in public. It'd cause a stir if a couple address each other formally. Would it be alright if I call you by your first name?"
Again, you're being unusually solicitous for him. He was too stunned to speak and you took it as a negative sign.
"Do tell me when you're comfortable enough to let me call—"
"Why are you like this?" He bluntly asked.
You blinked owlishly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Why are you pretending to be nice?"
You inwardly sighed. Of course there's no way he'll fall for your 'nice change' if anything, it made him more suspicious of your behavior. But really, you're showing genuine care for his needs and always try your best to assist him.
"I highly doubt you remember our first meeting, for you it might've been the worst day of your life. For me? It was the opposite."
"What?"
"My father is not as loving and caring for most people would think. Oh no, he's far from those, he's cruel and abusive." Alatus' eyes sharpened at the indication of domestic violence.
"He only saw me as a child who'd bring glory to the Empire, he cares for what value I can impart on behalf of his reputation. I have the beauty after all, but not the brains nor brawns. And he couldn't be satisfied with it." A bitter chuckle came from you.
"When I saw you at the ball, I was mesmerized like most men and women at first glance. You're dignified, strong, insightful and top of that you're undeniably gorgeous. I admire you like the rest of the population because you have everything my father wanted from me. I thought all those qualities were unreachable, and yet you exist. You made me feel inferior and I became insecure of myself. I only have my pretty face, without it I'm nothing but a disposable ornament. Do you know who poisoned me that night?"
He says nothing for a little while. He knew the answer right before you even asked. "Your father." There's a bite in his words.
"Perceptive as always, Duke Alatus." He couldn't match your careless words. If he was perceptive he would've figure out you feel threatened at your own home. He— Archons! He's pissed!
And for what reason? He asked himself.
"I pursued you since then, thinking my father would change the way he treats me if I had you with me, a perfect son-in-law— maybe then he'd look the way I expect a loving father would." Fists clenched, you tightly closed your eyes.
"I was a fool, alright. When he realized you're not interested in me, he deemed me worthless, hence why I was poisoned. He wanted to eliminate a thing that has no value anymore. It took me years to realize that he would never love me. No one would."
You've never experienced love, let alone how to show it properly. Only the Duke Alatus ever made you feel like a human worthy of showing basic manners to you without the influence of your title.
Your first meeting with him left a huge impression. It was at your debutant party, nobles attended and gossips were shared. A night that should've your spotlight, but it felt far from it.
For instance, you constantly felt out of place, as if you don't really belong in the social groups of nobility. Which was richly hypocritical, considering you also had an appetite for attention over individuality. The dichotomy left you uncertain on many occasions and you felt obligated to mask yourself behind a much more "proper" exterior. You can't define what's exactly proper, and so you would always second guess everything you do as feeble as greeting a new face and ask yourself if it's at their satisfactory.
At the end of the night, no one even noticed the star of the night had gone missing amidst their debut celebration. All except one.
Perched on the rim of the fountain, your bare feet submerged in the pool of water.
The cold sensation is strangely comforting, add the cool breeze of the night and you feel oddly at peace. Somehow contradictory to what you've read in romance books that people under stress usually crave the warmth of their partner. Perhaps the absence of love made you hunger for whatever's available for comfort, starving people will eat anything after all.
"Reduced to just sitting around. How absurd."
A frightening shriek escaped your lips, you made a hasty turn as the water splashed as you move. But that soon morphed in relief, the man in front of you impose no danger, if anything you'd feel the safest in his presence.
Duke Alatus is revered as the Hero in his Liyue Empire, the strongest fighter and apparently most handsome man to exist. And boy do those rumors did him any justice.
You've seen him from afar and couldn't help but fall for him at first sight, you wanted to get closer but you were always reminded how worthless you are and that someone like him would never bother batting their eyes to you.
And yet, he's here. In the flesh.
"What are you doing here?" You praised yourself for not stuttering in his presence. He merely shrugged before standing a few meet away from where you're sitting.
"I missed the chance to greet the host a blessed birthday, only to know that they've disappeared. Do you have a habit of playing hide and seek among your peers?" The satirical undertone must've flew over your ear and you looked at him, slightly aghast.
"H-How did you know I wasn't there?"
No one paid attention to you. So why would he?
He sighed, "Didn't you hear me? I was going to greet you but you somehow vanished in your party."
"You searched for me?"
He scoffed, "I'm here, aren't I? What kind of host would leave their debutante party behind?"
"You could've gone with your evening without pleasantries. It wouldn't reflect on your reputation, only mine, so why bother go all through this trouble to find me?" He gave you a blank look, but his eyes blinked in slight disbelief at your query.
"It wasn't trouble finding you, really. . . unless you prefer being alone at the moment, I can leave."
"No! I mean — ehem. . . you can stay." You muttered, an underlying embarrassment was present in your voice.
He perched an eyebrow. "You are an odd one as the rumors say."
It was a turning point to you. Being emotionally repressed and touch starved you are, you wanted more after the first sign of attention from him.
He gave you an ounce of your need to be seen, to be acknowledged, to be worthy of someone's time. It was enough for you to take it as a sign to pursue him.
But you realized a little too late that he would never reciprocate your feelings and the so-called "love" you have for him is the result of years being deprived from any compassion. You've mistaken hunger for love.
"Now you know the reason behind my desperation of escape and the need to change in order to succeed. Truthfully, I don't know if I'm doing the right thing of being considerate and all that. I have to apologize for making such attempts without researching." You made a mental note to visit the library later.
"Anyway, I've said many things today. Let's settle — OMPH!"
A gloved hand wrapped around your wrist and you were pulled backwards, only to softly bumped against a firm chest. "H-Huh? What's the matter, Duke?" You dumbly asked as you tilted your head up to glance at him.
His bangs shrouded whatever expression he has on his face. "You have my permission to call me Alatus, be it in public or private."
"Oh, OK." You're quite baffled what his actions are supposed to convey. Isn't he supposed to dislike physical contact?
"I first saw you as an incompetent noble, a typical royalty who's strength is heavily reliant on outward beauty." Damn, you should add straightforwardness in your compliments for him. "I've seen pretty faces everywhere, yours is nothing special."
"I've heard enough!" You tugged away from his grip, stinging tears threaten to fall. To think your only strength has been trampled on just like that feels like your hope vanishing. Your face is your only gateway to freedom and it—
"Tis why I am amazed to see you acquiring new strengths in your arsenal." E/C eyes found themselves clashing with Alatus' golden hues, there's a glint of emotion you couldn't decipher.
"Your Hi — Y/N, I promise to get you out of this hellhole. Our contract can exceed the 6 month rule for all I care." A blooming emotion spreads in you. He cares enough to finally notice you and your pain, and he's here to help you.
Don't get the wrong idea, self. He's helping me as an ally because he has a good heart. But I know I don't deserve someone so kind and he doesn't deserve someone so broken. I understand our fate is only meant for this; my savior and his misfortune.
You sighed as you remind yourself with that set boundaries. "You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you, Alatus."
"There's nothing to be grateful for. I'm happy to help someone in need, it's more than enough."
You smiled. And his heart skipped a beat.
A pretty face with a genuine bright grin.
You're beautiful when you're being you.
No bitterness. No ill-concealed pain. He has to rethink his words about your ''mediocre'' beauty.
It pisses me off when you sell yourself short with degrading thoughts, you're no mere ornament. You deserve to be loved, Y/N. I admire your strength and determination. You're a lot stronger than I was when I needed the strength to fight, you're someone I aimed to be in my darkest time. So, keep going and don't ever hesitate to call my name for help.
Little did they both know, Y/N was falling out of love while Alatus is falling in.
𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐈!𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄 as 𝐑𝐄𝐙𝐄𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 !
Many wise nobles would not dare cross paths with Prince Scaramouche Hill, his temperamental issues and rude behavior garnered him the reputation of a tyrant, but Y/N L/N had never counted themselves among the very wise.
You're the main character in every horror movie that instead of getting away from the first sign of danger, you run towards it because. . . why not? Where's the story if they'd just run away?
Wouldn't you guess it. You accepted his marriage proposal.
Now the question lingers: WHY?!
"Now, now. . . There is no need for such hasty decisions, for if such marriage were to be cancelled, then so too would the beneficial ties between our families. Is this what you truly want? A marriage for political convenience is what is being sought here, not love."
His ingenious words has been embedded in your mind ever since you avidly rejected the marriage proposal from the Empress herself. Making it much more difficult to retire on grounds of a healthy rejection was a rather callous way of dealing with part of the problem when the Prince himself outrightly called you out.
From the get-go, he was a walking red flag blessed with bewitching charms that you have fallen victim to. You've heard the rumors, he's anything but a saint, his looks might say otherwise but you've acquainted with his ugly side to conclude that your life will be full of thorns once you've wed.
This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. What would it be like to get to know this Prince? Can I make this marriage work?
#icanfixhim
The wedding ceremony went smoothly, vows were pronounced and rings were exchanged. Though the two of you never really said it aloud, you both weren't ready for the. . . "marital duties"
For tonight, the servants prepared the room the newlyweds will share with unimaginable extravagance, there were rose petals littered in a heart shaped in your bed, candles on each of the bedside table and two bottles of what it looks like strong liquor across the room, definitely intended.
You entered the shared room gripping your nightwear and promptly chugging down the liquor at your leisure.
Scaramouche is yet to come in this new room, part of you hoped you'll be too drunk to fulfill the marital duties. But as you look at the window, mirroring your inner turmoil, you know it's pointless.
It’s a moonless night, heavy with the weight of regret, shattered dreams and a long road of loveless marriage.
You clutched the remnants of your sanity and drowned yourself in the bitter solace of liquid courage to feel the emotions you’d been avoiding. If you'll lose everything in one night, might as well be under the influence to numb the feelings away.
The bottle was harshly snatched from your hand. "Do you plan to do this while you are drunk? Is this what they have taught you?" Came from your new husband.
The liquor did the best job to give you the courage to speak up to him, something that you lacked when he snagged your confidence at the lowest as you rejected this marriage.
"Someone has to be educated in the bedroom?" There's a sardonic undertone as you sway your head. "Well, pardon me, Prince. You barged in my home, proposed this bullshit and expect me to be knowledgeable in the art of pleasure in one week?"
You drunkenly stood up and mustered your best glare-that-can-put-you-sixfeet-under. "You. . . I gave you a benefit of a doubt and accepted this marriage thinking you're a subject of those biased rumors, but you absolutely pale in comparison."
This is where you're expecting expletives insults from him, his pride has been put to the test and Scaramouche was not known for his leniency.
In your drunken stupor, only the blur outline of his masculinity shadows your figure. Before you could retort anything else, he had lunged himself to you, specifically towards your lips.
Surprised marred your drunken face, what's more surprising was how gentle he moved his lips with yours, you'd expect him to be rough in intimacy which what greatly contributed to your anxiety but his gentle actions made you think otherwise.
Are we really doing this?
A hand cupped your cheek as if guiding you to tilt your head to the side while yours gripped the bed sheets. His lips traversed the corner of your lips down to your jaw, rendering you speechless as breathy moans escaped.
He must have noticed your reaction and promptly detached himself from you and you can finally breathe.
"I'm only marking you," His voice was incredibly soft, it was like another soul possessed his body, "We both don't want this. . . whether by obligation or not and I won't cross it. At least by marking you, it'll make people think we have done it."
Scaramouche raised your chin slightly and lifted your face towards him. Now both your faces were looking at each other. He was staring deep into your eyes, as if he was looking for your permission.
There's a certain way Scaramouche takes in your appearance — a thorough observation that doesn't miss the smallest detail about you.
What he sees are things he's familiar with. An enticing body and face which speaks of power and a strong will. A sharp mind, which makes him feel he's found an equal in intelligence. Someone who he wouldn't have to manipulate or trick into submission. . . because he knows he could get there with affection and a proper hand. And, perhaps above all, the way you look at him. As he does to you. . . there's a burning desire.
Why does he have to make this difficult for me?
His hands slide over your body in a smooth, slow way which makes your mind go numb. His hands cup you and caress the shape of your form. Your eyes close as his hands take their place in your hair. . . holding it like a trophy.
With the way he was raised by the Empress, Raiden Shogun, it shouldn't come as a surprise that Scaramouche views you as a property to own rather than a living human who possessed feelings.
The taste, the feeling of his lips against your neck, his breath against your neck. It's intoxicating. . . and leaves you gasping for more and your stomach fluttering. You feel his lips trail towards your neck, and just when you thought he'd move up to your lips — he sinks his teeth in just enough to leave a mark without hurting you.
"This should be enough."
As quickly as he left the mark so was his presence in the room as he hastily stood up and left without making so much noise.
The morning after your consummation, you thought he might treat you a little better than before but he seemed to have reversed back to his old self once again. Archons!
When nothing goes his way he'll use you as a ventilation, and you took every jabbing words and flying objects thrown. You never once complained, not when you know his soft side.
Pitied looks and whispers of sympathy were your daily highlights, everyone in the castle knows how badly the Prince has been treating you since the first day. But that's not true, he treated you like a human on your consummation night, he was more than a Prince with temper tantrums.
If only you can understand His Highness, though. Try as you might. . . You just didn't get him. It seemed like he was made up of several personalities that were constantly getting in each other's way.
"Fuck." Scaramouche was now slumped on the floor.
It was one of those days he'd use you as his target of frustration, nothing new. Scaramouche has tendency to temper tantrums. But today, his eyes brimmed with tears.
Scaramouche himself probably wasn't aware of his vulnerability, he would immediately leave your room and do god knows what.
"Your Highness?" Your meek voice was barely comprehensible in his ears, he was visibly trembling with his head tucked in his arms.
"Go away!" Despite his harsh refute, there's an underlying tone of a defeated man. It hurts to see him like this, nobody deserves to experience pain no matter the circumstances of their birth — Scaramouche shouldn't be an exception to this.
"But you're in pain." You frowned deeply and kneeled beside his trembling form, far enough to not trigger his fight or flight instinct.
"I'm always in pain!" He was shouting and mumbling to himself, but it didn't slip past your senses that he was almost whining about his situation, similar to a child crying out for his mother.
"You don't have to be if you let people help you."
"Help me. . .?" He reiterated the words as if it's in foreign language.
A sense of dread flood your senses as you silently gulped, but you remained rooted in your spot beside him.
"Yes, I know you're not used to it, you're probably denying it in your head as I speak. I won't force you to seek help, but know that someone would be willing to help you." Lies, he knew your words were baseless reassurance to make him feel better.
"Yeah, and I treat you well." He sputtered those words with condescending ire and finally look up to you with so much loathsome in his purple eyes. "You're no different than the people who have deceived me."
Your eyebrows shot in surprise. So he had people who took him for granted? It's no wonder he was shaped like this — spiteful and vindictive. It was easier for him like this, to let people hate him than take advantage of whatever's left of him.
"I'm not deceiving you, Your Highness. I'm willing to help you."
"Do you take me as an idiot? Words hold no value or truth behind them." He spat bitterly and a firm scowl marred his expression before he sauntered to the exit.
"Willing?" He scoffed and finally stood up, unraveling his height that was only inch taller than yours. "Don't make me laugh, people like you always have ulterior motives to help."
"I'm not like one of those people. I give you my word for that."
"Your words prove me nothing. Get out of my sight!"
"But this is my room. . ."
His eyes twitched. "This is our room."
"Okay! I'll go!" You surrendered and stumbled your way out of the room without looking back.
Scaramouche wasn't aware when it began, he does know the feeling started off as a small simmer from a pot of heated water. He finds himself beginning to notice every small detail of you.
It began with him noticing the small dimples on your cheek when you smile or laugh with your full heart instead of the prim and proper laugh from etiquette lessons.
He noticed your habits depending on your mood — your hands become restless when anxious, your eyes dart anywhere but his eyes when you're uncomfortable, or the way you bit your lip when feeling awkward.
Is this. . .
Love. Scaramouche hated that word for love is always affiliated with trust which both reeked of vulnerability, and the sort of emotion that the Prince couldn't afford to display — not when all it had ever done in the past was cause him torment. The past, he had felt resentful because the Empress had handed over too much baggage unilaterally to him — his Princely upbringing, the sole heir duties, arranged marriage. Damn it all.
Thereafter, he had acquired unnecessary headaches from his supposed spouse. He had wrongly assumed your character, for after showing you early signs of his apparent animosity, it only fed your burning curiosity.
He was quick to chalk it up as your naivety, you did reject the proposal for the sole purpose of finding true love.
Only fools would expect love from a mere paper contract. If he had any sympathy left he would gladly drown you with it.
But his assumptions got stomped when you displayed regal actions against the nobles who badmouthed you about the marriage. It was expected that negative rumors would spread and most people would merely pretend they're deaf. You, on the other hand, confronted them and stood up for yourself.
You're far from naive, it seems. If not naive, then what's driving you to endure his treatment and keep leeching from him? The question blanketed his mind for weeks.
You, who's ever curious about the Prince and the the said Prince befuddled by your actions. Put it together and it creates subtle transition in your relationship.
He starts letting you engage him in conversations, as silly as they were sometimes. His answers were still brimming with condescension and ire, but somehow you couldn't shake the feeling that they somehow lacked the bite. . . the intention to hurt.
Or maybe you were just too numb to register it. Either way, you're liking the subtle changes in your relationship.
"HEY!" You gasped and bolt right up, trickle of perspiration on your temples. "W-What. . .?"
Scaramouche was beside you, his usual glare plastered on his face, but his hands are drawing circles on your back, soothing your labored breaths.
For every shift, there's the touch of his hand, the sound of his smooth voice that promises to protect you. His eyes follow you even in your shaking — the light reflected in them assuring that they won't disappear.
"Relax, reality is more often terrifying than nightmares."
Very reassuring.
Scaramouche's expression is somber as he regards you in the dark. There's a bit of hesitation before he reaches out to you. . . embracing you, like a blanket being your safe haven from the Boogeymen.
"I'm here, there's no need to fear." He whispered quietly as his grasp adjusts to be gentler against the softness of your skin as you trembled.
This is him. This is Scaramouche Hill.
This is what you were curious and hoping to see from him. No pedantical micromanagement, no cruelty born of mistrust and ill experience. Just Scaramouche, passionate, attentive and content. Kind in his own way, sardonic and inquisitive, not as selfish as everyone assumed. It was such a privilege to see it.
𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 as 𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐄 !
They say there's a fine line between sanity and madness — Childe Agriche has a foot on both sides. And as the youngest son in the House of Black Agriches, he's the most 'normal' and 'enthusiastic' being you can meet in the manor.
You were a simple commoner who heard the rumors circulating the Black Agriches, if it taught you anything is that Agriches repay kindness with gold and insults with death. Yeah, a family you won't dare to cross with.
Apparently you don't share the same sentiment as your parents as they were too deep of their dept with the Agriche.
But they were spared and in exchange of their mercy, your parents sold you off with them to work in their house. They didn't even bat an eye and shoved you down to your knees.
You felt every kinds of betrayal that exist and snitched on your parents by exposing them of their illegal deeds and what they did to their money that put them in that situation.
Enraged, the head of the Agriche swiftly beheaded them and took you in the manor. It was a relatively quiet mansion, you thought you were going to die in the next few hours but you found yourself suddenly face to face with gleaming mischievous cerulean eyes that seems to enrapture you.
"Who you might be? A new toy for my siblings?" His jovial tone makes you think he's such a harmless creature, which was proven incorrect when he suddenly revealed of wanting you as his pet.
Did he mean slave? Surely he won't potty train you or tell you to sit and roll in front of strangers like a child(e), would he?
"Stand down, Childe. This is Y/N, a new addition of our workers." His father introduced before lighting a cigarette.
He scoffed, "We already have so many workers. Why don't they just become my pet instead?" You had to hold back the broadening of your eyes at this. What on Earth is wrong with these people?
The head of the Agriche merely shrugged as he waves a dismissive hand. "Do what you want." Your heart dropped at the nonchalant response. It'd be better if you get to work in the mansion, not be someone's slave.
An arm was suddenly draped over your shoulders. "Awesome! My name is Childe Agriche, you're now my new pet. So, let me break it down for you; you obey, reward. You disobey, punishment. Simple."
Did I mention he enjoys toying with his victims and making them his pet? Pet, as in putting a collar and chaining you up in the basement? And what was that again? He's supposed to be the most normal?
You're either stuck in a room where he claims to be your cage or following him in around the manor with the collar still on.
At first, you were scared what he might do to you, but it turns out he really honors his words. You obey him and nothing bad will ever happen to you. It really is that simple as he said.
You've heard how other Agriches tend to torture their pets for doing mistakes or even obeying as they're told. You haven't seen the display of power within the Agriches for Childe insists you stay in your cellar room, but the rumors you've heard guaranteed your every caution in meeting new people in the manor, even a maid.
With Childe, however, it doesn't automatically warrant punishment for a simple mistake. He opts to teach you what's right and wrong.
It's unbelievable how patient he is with you, it's more unbelievable to think he's an Agriche with this kind of attitude.
One day, he entered your cell and announced that you'll be living together with him in his room. The collar will have to remain for the sake of your 'safety' as he claimed. Thus, you found yourself laying on a thin satin silk mattress that left no little discomfort.
It didn't seem like he has many tasks to deal within the household, he'd occasionally be away for a few hours before returning bloody murder with crimson stains on his royal clothes.
Driven by a tinge of concern, you couldn't stop your mouth from asking. "What happened? Are you alright?" It was the first time you had seen him what the rumors would potray about him.
His eyebrows furrow in bafflement. "You're. . . asking me if I'm alright?" He asked, almost in disbelief that such question exists.
"Of course! Look at your clothes. How can you expect me not to worry?" Your courageous episode ended when you realized the mistake, you lowered your head. "I apologize. I didn't mean to come out as impudent—"
Your statement was cut short when a cold hand grasped your chin and tilt your head up. Those cerulean eyes never fails to instill the butterflies in your stomach.
"I didn't realize how cute you are until now." His voice dropped a few octaves low it sent shivers in your spine, "Nobody has ever asked about my health, and then there's you — chained up in my bed, concern for me." He chuckled, the type of chuckle that tells you he enjoys a good prey, that he likes how far you will go for him— he's testing you.
Even being concern can get you in trouble?! What's next? I'm getting punished just by breathing?!
"I don't mean no harm." Your demure voice only made him more elated.
"Oh, dear Y/N. Even if you do, there's no way you can land a hit on me," he paused, swiping his tongue out to wet his lower lip. "But fortunately, I'm a masochist myself. I might allow you to bite me if you behave~"
He really is an Agriche.
"Getting back. Are you really OK?" It took every innermost strength in you to divert the topic.
In response, he flashed you a cheeky smile before his hand slowly descended on the base of your neck. Latching his gloved fingers around until he's holding you in a chokehold.
He hasn't done anything, yet your breath hitched.
"You're so small and vulnerable, I can easily snap your neck like this." Proving his point, he added pressure which now made you choke and clasped your hands on his wrist out of reflex. "And yet, you're asking me if I'm OK?"
The pressure on your neck didn't loosen one bit, it feels like he has no intention of actually hurting you, just setting an example of what he can potentially do to you.
You barely can breath, not only because of his hold on your neck, but also the fact he's unbearably close your breaths are mingling as you exhale. You feel like fainting.
"B-Because I don't like seeing you hurt!"
His expression dropped instantaneously. An undecipherable emotion passed his countenance as his strands casted shadow over his blue eyes.
"T-Tartaglia?" Was his alter ego.
He insisted on you calling him by that name.
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why do you care?"
You ask yourself the same question, any sane person wouldn't think twice to care for a cold hearted killer, but any sinner like him wouldn't treat you with such kindness.
"Is such reason needed? I saw you stained with blood, it's natural for me to fret."
". . ."
". . ."
"Aww~" He cooed, finally loosening the hold on your neck.
What an odd reaction. You took a huge inhale and nearly slide down as your knees weakened, but he has his arm around you to keep your equilibrium in balance.
You felt his gloved hand tilting your chin up, his bright blue eyes swirled with emotions you couldn't deduce.
Everything he's doing alerts your senses to run, but your body just craves for more of his touch. Archons above! I'm losing my mind! The way he looks you like a predator — a hungry and sadistic animal, looking to ravage your soul. He's a dangerous, charismatic and highly intelligent man. A twisted fantasy.
"You know what, you'll be my significant other!"
"WHAT?!"
"And you should call me Ajax from now on, too!"
How many names does he have?!
The next thing you know was Childe's entire personality shifting. He freed you from the chains and treats you like a true royalty. Childe innate possessiveness of you increased tenfold after he was exposed to your gentle side.
Overwhelming was the right word for what you felt after a few days of his behavior.
But your "boyfriend" kept insisting in gift giving, it's his primary love language. You mentioned your favorite food? He'll have it on the dining table. You fancy a clothing? Consider the whole shop yours. Someone being an asshole to you? Expect a dried head by your doorstep.
Make no mistake in kidnapping his S/O — he'll rain down all kinds of hell. Sadly (not really) some people just don't heed warnings and accept death so readily.
The temperature in the room seemed to grow colder in cadence with the ice in Childe's gaze. "You mean to tell me, that you are all incompetent to do a simple task of guarding my room where my S/O was? And now they're gone?"
*SPLAT* *THUMP*
One head rolled over
Nobody breathed.
"For every minute you fail to bring the culprit in my playroom equates for a head. If I happen to find them before any of you — don't expect a one way to ticket to hell. I will guarantee to entertain all of you along with the perpetrators."
Childe Agriche loves to play and this was one of his games. Touche! As if he can expect those vacuous idiots to find Y/N.
The door closed with an ominous boom that echoed throughout what sounded like a massive but empty chamber.
Childe knew anger, he was well acquainted with the said red emotion but he had always try to mask it under the pretense of a funny and boisterous man. This time however, he's been uncharacteristically calm and everyone in the manor feels like walking on a tip of a knife.
They wouldn't understand, none of those imbeciles would know what it feels to be with Y/N. He scoffed as he sharpens his arrowhead before placing it in his quiver. There was no time to waste, he wants you back in his arms.
And he did.
With bloodshed, of course.
"GAHHH!"
Childe moved swiftly and gracefully, so much so they had trouble keeping up with him. He came up behind one of the culprits the one that was holding you captive, and broke his neck rather quickly before slashing at another who was nearby.
He quickly ducked, avoiding the enemy coming up from behind, and grabbed his arm, flipping him over, and pinning him down. Suddenly a loud shrill was heard as a bone cracked, and then he moved on the other.
Blood dripped from his fingers, but before a drop could even hit the floor, he’d already struck dead another one, splattering even more blood. One by one the went down, until they’d all been wiped out, annihilated by their supposed prey. They were outmatched by the youngest Agriche.
And by the glint in Childe’s cerulean eyes, he was clearly enjoying the thrill of the kill. The Agriche barely even broke a sweat, his breathing remaining even despite the number of men he had been fighting against him.
Against the occluded moon, he stalked towards your unconscious form and lifted you bridal style, Childe looked more like a predator than a lover, a hunt ending with the prey pinned and helpless. The smell of death permeated the frigid air. Only corpses lay around him.
Holding the unconscious Y/N in his arms, his expression did not once flinch. It was as if he was only holding a feather. Amidst the night, his figure glided on the ground agile and light, before finally disappearing behind the shadows of the nearby trees. . .
You woke up a little disgruntled and already felt the pain in your head flaring as soon as you forced yourself awake. So much for being Childe's S/O, it comes with a free package of his enemies hunting you down.
"Y/N, you're awake." You heard an unusually soft voice beside you as you felt the bed shifts in weight followed by a bone crushing hug from your-supposed-lover.
Pain flared in your abdomen and you had to bite back a grimace. "I swear you're not leaving my sight ever again." His breath is like the scent of night-blooming jasmine on the breeze: soft and soothing, yet sweet and enticing, effectively distracting you from the pain.
If you only you had witnessed the bloodshed you would think twice than to fall for his honeyed words.
"Y-You have blood on your clothes. . ." The indication of your query made him smirked. "It's my trophy."
You decided not to probe any further. In his language, that meant another massacre to stain his clothes and it only means whoever abducted you reached the other side as such a young age.
"Thank you for saving me. . ."
His eyes softened as he chuckled. "You're thanking the same man who shed blood for you?"
"I'm thanking the man who cares enough about me." You refuted.
You were too absorbed in hugging him back that you failed to notice the eerie smile on his lips. His next words were spoken next to your ear, laced with obvious unhinged obsession over you.
"Right, I'm the only one who would save you in face of danger and care for your well-being. No other people can do as much as I can for you, so stay with me forever, Y/N."
Was it your imagination or did you just see a psychotic grin?
𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 as 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐋𝐎 !
How atrocious can your life get when you learned the news of your husband handpicking a concubine for himself, then the said trash woman actually has the guts to call you her in-law just because you have the same husband.
Now, you pride yourself for being patient, courageous and intelligent. You wouldn't have ruled an empire if it wasn't for your educated upbringing. But even a ruler like you can feel overwhelmed and burned out, and would find a temporary solace to cry your heart out.
The fact your husband picking his concubine is not the issue inconveniencing you the most. It was his and that man-stealer attitude is what suffocated you the most.
Outrageous to see the trash playing the victim card and shedding fat crocodile tears just to earn your husband's favor. Audacious to think of herself as the same level as you when she doesn't even know basic etiquette rules and the difference between a garbage and herself. Humiliating on how he made you a fool on many occasions and sided with his mistress while everyone whispered on how the Emperor favored his concubine over his own S/O.
And he dare say you're not allowed to have an affair?
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
Which lead you in a secluded forest to vent out your feelings and temporarily get away from all that's happening in the palace. You're perched beside a rock while your head is tucked in your crossed arms, burying your head, silently weeping in the depths of the green environment.
*FLAP* *FLAP* *FLAP*
You reluctantly raise your head to investigate the noise, of course you knew it was some type of bird, but you were curious what type of bird it was as you rarely get to visit nature. You'd appreciate a little company even if it's from an avian creature.
Majestic, charming, jaw dropping, and everything synonymous to the word beautiful can be attached to this mystical bird.
What caught your attention the most was its beautiful midnight blue and cerulean ombre feathers, you've never seen such bird in the books you've read let alone see one in real life. Next was its body that's bigger than your head and a wingspan that's almost in par with the length of your arms spread open. And lastly, the note tied to its leg.
"How beautiful. Will you allow me to touch you?" You didn't even notice yourself nearing the bird. A slight hesitance made you flinched when the bird nailed its bright eyes on you. Even the eyes resembled the finest jewel in your kingdom.
You retracted your hand under the assumption you had scared the bird. However, the surprise entered your face when the bird flapped its wings and perched on your suspended hand in the air. It looks like it doesn't sense you as a threat. That's a good start.
Admiring nature's blessing, you caught the note tied to its legs which made you think if this bird is a pet of some noble. "Hmm, are you lost? Based on your looks, you don't look like a wild animal that happened to stumble upon this forest by accident."
You took the note from its feet and read the content;
"I am a guest from abroad who will soon arrive at the new year's ceremony, and I write this note while drunk."
An amused chuckle left your lips as you look back at the bird who's tilting its head in curiosity of your reaction. "I'm sorry, your master sounds like an interesting person and a pain in the back. I feel bad you lost your way here. Hmm. . . should I write back?"
It wasn't even a question, you hastily fish out your pocket pen and wrote a sassy reply at the back of the piece of parchment. Hopefully it doesn't offend the owner of the bird.
You tied the note once again the rubbed its head one last time. "Off you go, little one. Deliver my message to your drunk master and fly your way back home safely."
The bird spreads its wings before taking flight.
You sighed once you lost sight of the avian creature.
Suddenly, you were harshly reminded of your duties and the circumstances you're currently in. As much as possible you don't really want to deal with another mistress-related issues within the palace and have your husband pin the blame on you. Crestfallen, you made your way back to the palace.
What you didn't know was the pair of jewel-like eyes following your movement from one of the tallest trees.
"What an interesting person." A man chuckled as he held up the note that was recently tied to his leg.
It was none other than the blue avian creature that has assumed the image of a man possessing a tanned complexion and navy-blue hair with streaks of lighter blue, accompanied by a waist-length lock of hair that's being held by a low ponytail.
As he reads the content of your message, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by what had occurred prior to you noticing his presence. Why were you crying? Crying doesn't suit a beautiful person like you, especially a sassy one at that.
"Your bird has found its way to me, if it is able to find its way back, I shall be relived, for it means it must be cleverer than its inarticulate drunk master." Sassy yet regal, indeed.
A lopsided grin adorned his lips. "So it seems I must cleverly find my way back to you if I want to see you again, Your Highness. And I must say, I love a good challenge."
Days have become grueling for you to endure, but you persevered through it all. The mistress has become more comfortable in causing ruckus in the palace just to get the Emperor's attention on her.
You don't really care about all the shenanigans she's planning to pull so long as it doesn't interfere in your line of work as a wise ruler.
Then one day, the similar bird you found in the forest came flying at your balcony and kept scratching the glass pane to get your attention.
You gasped once you realized who it was. "It's you again. How are you so good in finding me?" And it seems as though it has a new note attached to its leg.
"I'd like to think I'm a bit more intelligent than a bird. I've now woken up from my drunken stupor."
You giggled at the person's confidence. "Lumine, get me a pen and paper, will you?" You addressed to your attendant standing by the doorway.
"It seems as if you haven't woken up completely. What is the bird's name?"
Lumine, your attendant, commented at the ardor look on your face. "It's fun for you too, isn't it, Your Majesty?"
"A bit. . .?" You coyly replied, this little interaction with the bird and its master is the highlight of your day. Not even the whole mistress thing can be bothered right now.
As if challenging your thoughts, your husband walked in after you just sent away the bird with the letter of yours.
The conversation was tad too accusing, saying you're spreading rumors about the mistress to drag her down. Ha! Even if the rumors were false, it speaks volume.
You left the palace once again, to your safe haven.
It seems as though it's going to be your hobby to seclude yourself when no one's watching and let the nature be a witness of your depressive moments.
*FLAP* *FLAP* *FLAP*
Hearing the familiar flapping, you subconsciously stretched out your arm for the bird to land.
"It's you again!"
And a new note.
"Is such thing needed? You may name it, if you'd like."
"What an indifferent master." You sighed at the response and gaze at the bird. "A kind, intelligent bird like you deserves a name which befits your character. So your name shall be. . ."
"Queen."
Unbeknownst to you, the bird bristled at the name.
"Thank you for coming to see me, Queen. I'm in good spirits now, thanks to you." You embraced the bird and pecked its beak. "I hope you will come visit me again."
The bird flew toward the inky sky. Anyone wouldn't be able to tell the slight blush coating his head.
He landed a few hectares from your and transformed back to his naked human form.
"Archons above. How could they name a man, "Queen"?" He rubbed his dark blue hair. Seemingly sheepish for being mistaken as a girl.
"What was that?" A new voice spoke.
It belonged to the red bird perched on the branches.
"You said you'd go survey the premises. Did you take another detour again?" The miffed tone is impossible to miss. He flew down and morphed to a man with luscious crimson hair that cascades down to his waist and sharp tantalizing red eyes.
"No, of course not. I went to reconnoiter the Imperial Palace."
"Did you really?"
"You don't believe me, brother?"
He gave his brother a sharp glare. "You haven't given me enough reason to. But do remember your position and responsibility, especially in this foreign country."
"I get it. Don't have to nag me, Diluc."
Kaeya Laszlo, first in line to the throne of the Khaenri'ah Kingdom. The center of many rumors, such as those which describe his great cruelty or great beauty.
A few of those say he's a Casanova, and that he associates with dangerous pirates hence why he hasn't met any woman or man of his interest.
And finally, the long awaited New Year's Ceremony came. Noble figures were all invited to celebrate the occasion with your Kingdom as the host.
As for your husband, he's quite busy mingling with his mistress and you were left with your friends.
"Dear god. How shameless is the Emperor to have the face in showing off his. . . unpalatable mistress."
"There is no need for your ire. The law states that the Emperor can take more than one spouse." A tight smile graced your lips.
One of your friends scoffed. "Even it that were the case, a man with a noble heart wouldn't take one more to fulfill his insecurities. You are more than enough and the Emperor does not deserve you."
"Greetings, Your Majesty." An elegant man gracefully interrupted your conversation with your friends.
You turn to look at the man clad in a white-blue knight uniform, specifically more stylish than what you usually on a regular knight at your Kingdom. A Prince, you concluded.
As you shift your apprehensive eyes on him, the little details such accessories and intonation caught your undivided attention.
Silver rings on those long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, silver tongue in that mouth home to all kinds of sins. He was the epitome of being devious; so much so that he could literally walk right off anything by just talking his way out of it.
"I am Kaeya Laszlo, first Prince of the Khaenri'ah Kingdom."
Everyone around you gasped and some almost fainted while you remained level-headed.
"Greetings, Prince Kaeya. I have welcomed you earlier today, but it never crossed my mind to engage a talk to such an esteemed guest of ours."
It's more like I never expected someone like you to approach me. You thought sardonically.
"Do I come off as cold to you, Your Highness? Pardon but that is not my intention, but surely you'll allow me to make worth of your time." He chuckled wistfully, a smirk has overtaken his lips.
Great God. If he endeavoured to make you fall for him as much as possible, then he was doing a splendid job. You just couldn't shake off the feeling that you know this man.
Burst of giggles erupted around you while your eyebrow perched. "Cold? You don't strike me as such, if anything, your bold statement has proven me otherwise."
"Oh, and what would be your answer?"
"I—"
"Of course they agree! Please don't mind us and enjoy your evening together, Prince Kaeya!" One glare against dozens of mischievous eyes is like fighting tooth with nail.
"Shall we?" He offered his hand to guide you in his predestined destination. "I sure hope it is worthwhile, Prince Kaeya." You took his hand and my god was his hand the iceberg.
"Call me Kaeya for starters and I shall call you Y/N."
First name basis already?
"Is that a demand?"
"Does it sound like a demand?"
"It certainly does."
"Well, it is up to you to decide whether to oblige or not." He smiled.
God, it's unfair to have the blessings of charm.
"Where are we going?"
The young man beckoned his head to the exit. "Somewhere your husband won't suspect a thing."
"You really do sound like a Casanova."
"Oh dear, don't tell me you believe those hearsay."
You shrugged. "I do not, but you've been anything as what the rumors have described you thus far."
"You made me curious of you."
"How so?"
Arriving at the garden, he glances at the full moon before turning to stare right at you. "Your eyes are beautiful, yet they also look so empty oftentimes. Your movements and the way you speak are very refined and regal, but they can turn cold, or even rude at times. You're a paradox I'd love to solve, Y/N." Kaeya paused, "But I feel like you're a paradox I could never solve, no matter how hard I try."
This stare off could go on forever, if Kaeya had his way. The tension is obvious, but the air between you both is too tempting — too addicting to resist.
He doesn't look away. . . not one bit and neither do you. His eyes are fixed on yours, his breath steady and his pulse strong. A part of him wants you to make a move. . . to show that you feel as strongly for him as he feels for you.
The other part just wants to steal you away and make you his.
Spoiler alert: he did.
𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐓 as 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐊𝐄 !
It's old news for aristocratic children get engaged before they could debut. But in your case, you're not merely marrying a boy of your family's choice.
You're marrying the infamous Monstrous Crown Prince Bennett; the child who was rumored to have been cursed to bring misfortune to those around him. Thus, he has lived his entire life in the confinements of his four walls.
Fretful thoughts flooded your mind as your carriage neared his mansion. Imperial children usually stays at the Imperial Palace with the King and Queen, however in Prince Bennett's case, he was segregated to live in another mansion built specifically for him to stay out of the spotlight — or as others should say it, for him to not spread the curse of bad luck.
You don't usually treat people based on senseless rumors, but you do heed the rumors as a guide for you to be cautious. Prince Bennett is by far the most unknown factor you have to deal with despite the rumors surrounding him. What is he like? Is he a snob? Does he really bring bad luck?
Those thoughts have kept you all night that you didn't have time to sleep. Somewhere along the way, you fell in a deep slumber, ignoring the occasional jerk of the carriage as it hits a bump on the road.
Constant whimpering reminding you of a kicked puppy was what woke you up from your blissful beauty rest.
For a moment, you have forgotten what happened before you fell asleep. Through your blurried vision, you noticed the walls and ceiling looking dull with the simple light shades of painting, the bed you're resting felt foreign to the touch, the minimalist approach from the interior design and lack of other furnitures made you think you're in someone's room.
"G-Gah! Yo-You're awake. . ." A meek voice said from beside you, it's easy to mistaken it as a woman's voice if it wasn't for the boyish undertone.
You blinked several times before adjusting your sight. There's a hooded boy at the very far right of your bedside, and from the looks of it, he seemed terrified to even close an inch gap.
"Who are you?" Was million dollar question. The boy visibly bristled. It's quite clear for you that he's not used to social interaction.
"I-I. . . am Bennett." He spoke with a low, soothing tone that was laced with a soft accent. Despite his voice being smooth and even, he stared back at you with unbidden curiosity, one that seemed to peer into your very soul.
"Bennett?! Oh Lord, I greet His Majesty the Crown Prince!" You promptly bowed your head as low as it can get.
"W-Wait, no, please don't do that! I don't deserve your respect and besides, we're equals now, feel free to call me Bennett if you like."
He doesn't deserve respect? What a load of bullcrap does that mean? A frown has settled deeply in the creases of your forehead. This boy is anything but what the rumors have described him.
"Your Hig— Bennett, you could be an outcast or a peasant and I'd still treat you with respect. Don't say you don't deserve decent manners." You're almost fuming at this point.
"But I'm a monster. I don't deserve anything, even you."
Something in the purity of his statement triggered you.
"I bring bad luck to everyone. I could hurt you in the future and I don't want that, I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me."
You could feel the last of your residual resentment fading away, getting replaced by a deep sense of compassion — as well as a healthy dose of curiosity. What would this boy, your future husband, truly be like?
"You're no monster, Bennett. No monster would be concerned for my well-being and selflessly label themselves as such to ward me off." He seemed to perk up at your claim.
"Don't ever call yourself as such. I can't stand it."
"I don't understand, you're the first one to say that to me."
A frown has settled on your brows as you came to stand next to him. "You don't need to for now, I'll show you."
Bennett was none of those rumors. You have concluded that ever since you met him, he has been kind and considerate to your well-being. You have never met someone who would ask which side of the table they're more comfortable to eat with — not until Bennett.
The boy was overwhelming with perfervid compassion and the strong urge to give love, it can feel suffocating at times but that's what made you like him.
There's just this nagging feeling in your gut that he's forced to act like a doting husband due to the fact you're engaged. Is it all an obligation? Or he's simply this passionate?
"Are you not upset at this?" You had asked one night.
"Upset about what?"
"About our arranged marriage."
Bennett may appear jubilant around you but you can't help to think he harbors ill will to this arrangement. "I see no reason why I would." He replied, smiling at you as per usual.
"Why is that?"
He tear his gaze from you before briefly interlocking your hands. So warm and full of passion, you promptly responded to the gesture by drawing circles with your thumb.
"You're the best thing to happen in my life. I can't explain this feeling but I do know I can't be happy without you. Thank you for coming in my life, Y/N."
━━ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃. bennett's way too short cuz I ran out of ideas T-T this took wayyyyyy tooooo long, but I'm glad it turned out well. what do you think of this au? I'm planning on making a part 2 for other genshin men, I'm actually starting it already but I still need to finish other prompts.
Summary: He's the Crowned Prince and you're just a commoner. You love each other but you had to keep your relationship a secret. Knowing it was the best to leave him alone and not make his life harder, you avoided him and no longer visited the castle. After years of pining for his first and only love, he is met with the sight of a little boy identical to him.
Warning: Slight Smut nothing intense
Tags: Slight Angst to Fluff, Royalty x Commoner
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
The young prince Ayato wasn't aware that such a cheap flower could bring about such beauty, yet a crown made of those cheap flowers laid on the head of a maiden he found strikingly admirable, he couldn't keep his eyes off you.
You were trying to catch the attention of other people around you, offering them a look of your basket of flowers, perhaps hoping that the flowers would be of interest to some people, and thus buy it off you.
"Sir..." The blue haired prince was shaken out of his trances, realizing that you had made your way over to him. You smiled at him with all the joy in your possibly pure heart. "Would you like to buy a flower? They're really pretty."
You didn't recognize him, probably because of his thick robe, covering the unmistakable blue hue of the hair of the royal family.
"Ahhh- Umm..." Ayato patted himself, looking for some mora to give you, but all his expenses are handled by his retainers, so he doesn't have anything on him. "I-I apologize, I don't seem to have any-"
You held up a flower for him still, "That's okay! I want you to take one for free! My mama said that giving something nice to others brightens up their day, and you can make good friends!"
He took the flowers in his hands, and never has the young prince felt so grateful for something so small.
Nobody knows why King Ayato's favorite flower is a cheap, white petaled flower that can be seen all over the kingdom. Surely someone of his status would love a rare, exotic flower only someone as rich as him could gaze upon.
But the sight of the beautiful flower reminded him of the love he unfortunately couldn't keep in his arms. The love that remained embedded in his being, never letting him forget the face that brought upon color in his world, the hands that cradles his face and caress his cheeks ever so softly, the body that he forever wants to hold close to his own, though he probably could never again.
The crowned king Ayato could only reminisce about the love of his life.
"The young prince is missing again!" Yelled one of his guards, his voice laced with worry, less for the prince and more for himself if he doesn't bring the prince back to the palace immediately.
The panicked guard yelling for help at the other guards drew a little giggle from you, making you cover your mouth to avoid making too much noise. You were hiding behind the tall fence of the local orphanage, Ayato next to you sitting close, trying not to laugh as well.
"Looks like we got some time for ourselves." He whispered, his face awfully close to yours. You smiled brightly, as you usually do, cuddling up to him.
"Your parents might kill you..." You rest your head on his shoulder, prompting him to wrap an arm around you. You sighed in contentment, hearing the fading frantic footsteps of the guards.
"I don't think I mind having this as my final moment before my parents kill me." You playfully slapped him on the chest due to his statement.
Ayato then had a thought, "Maybe... they wouldn't be disapproving of our relationship like we thought." He tightened his hold of you. ''Perhaps, we can finally-"
"It's unheard of, couples like us." You spoke sadly, sighing after. "It's only in those teenage fanfiction books does the commoner get the prince."
Ayato didn't want to admit that you were right, there was a low chance that his parents would allow him to marry a commoner, much less would the royal court.
He chose to end the topic with a joke. "Well then, I hope the writer of this story knows the decorations I want for our wedding." He basked in the smile that your lips formed.
As the king of his kingdom, he was expected to produce an heir to the throne within the first five years of his reign, yet he had not stuck to this expectation, he had not even chosen a bride.
It feels as though his heart is tied to only one, and no other lady could capture him in a loving blanket of eternal bliss in which you caged him in.
And no other could satisfy the hunger that you satiated during your first (and last) night together.
"I still wish to see you after this..." He says in a breathless moan, his hand landing on your hips as you grind yourself closer to him. "Archons, my queen..." He hisses, shutting his eyes at your moves above him sending him to absolute euphoria.
Your fingers poked at his cheek before your palm made contact, caressing it to opt him to open his eyes. You smile softly at him, "You have a duty..."
In the dim light of the moon illuminating from the windows of his room, you looked absolutely radiant, completely naked for him to devour with his eyes. His hips instinctively jerked up at the sight, making you whimper at the sudden sensation.
"I have a duty to the woman I love..." His own hand reach for your face, cupping your cheek. "I fucking love you..."
He had never felt such raw and intense emotions, but being bare and romantic with you within the warmth of his abode, showered by the cascading light of the moon truly made him love you even more.
You lean into his touch, closing your eyes as you start to move on his lap, letting him caress your insides. "I love you, I love you too..." You whispered, letting it mix with the moans that leaves your mouth.
After your intense, romantic, sweet love-making, you left his life with one last kiss to remember him by.
He's never seen you since then.
Sometimes he even thinks that you were just a figment of his imagination, his version of perfection within a girl that he would hopelessly fall in love with for the rest of his life.
But, as he stares at the scene in front of him...
"Flowers! Fresh flowers here! So pretty, it'll make you fall in love!"
...that young boy, selling white flowers in a somewhat familiar, worn-out basket, hair covered with a cloak, but his eyes... that unmistakable tint of purple that only one member of the royal family has.
His heart then drops, as the door of the house behind the little boy opens, revealing... you.
You... 're so beautiful...
A version of perfection within a girl that he would hopelessly fall in love with for the rest of his life.
"Your Majesty, the royal guards are done with their business here, we may go if you would allow us." A guard stood beside him, unbeknownst to the conflicting feeling swirling within the king.
"Yes, go..." Ayato refuses to take his eyes off the scene in front of him.
"And you, your Majest-" The guard could not finish his question before Ayato was walking up to the boy holding the basket.
"Sir with the crown! You want flowers, right?" As their gazes meet, the purple-eyed boy pointed at him and shouted excitedly.
Ayato chuckled, taking out a pouch of mora from his suit and kneeling down to the boys level. "Would this suffice for one lovely flower?"
"Wow! That's for a whole basket!"
"You can have it, I've been thought that giving something nice to others brightens up their day, and you can make good friends."
"My mommy says that!" As the boy exclaims, a figure walks up behind him, opting Ayato to look up.
"I know she does..." Though he is filled with conflicting emotions, he still smiles at you. "My queen says that."
"Is mommy your queen, Mr. Crown?"
Your eyes lock onto his, your gaze softening. "King Ayato... I'm sorry for my child..." His eyes seem to darken as you refer to your son as only yours.
Ayato gently places a hand on the little boys hood, lifting it off a little to reveal the same shade of blue hair as his. "Hmm... a very handsome young prince..."
The boy silently tugs at your skirt. "We're secretly royalty, mommy." He giggles, making his father smile.
"Yes, nobody would go against a king for declaring his beloved as a royal, to be by his side. " Ayato smiles proudly.
For the longest time in his life, he had always wanted to just hold you without worrying about the eyes of the public, and as he shamelessly holds out a hand to cup your cheek, he has fulfilled one of his many wishes.
"You can run from a crowned prince, but not a king, my queen." He pulls you in for a kiss, and despite to nosy eyes of your neighbors, you let him.
And you don't have to run away again.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
The little boy is unnamed, cuz I suck with names, so comment what you would name your little love child with Ayato!
Also, I found this in my drafts, it was like from a year ago and I read it and I can't believe it's so... beautifully written?? (not tutting my own horn, I was just truly impressed that I could come up with this, I mean, you guys read my smuts >:)) Anywayyy, hope you like it!
Imagining jealous or sad Phainon in Titan AU is so funny because all the mortal people can do is beg Mydei to help their dear Worldbearer have a good day.
thats so cute, they love their worldbearer sm akjsbck 😭
Summary:- In Ancient Amphoreus, it is a declaration of love if you throw an apple on one's head. But, how would you feel if you threw an apple on your crush's head by accident?
Cw- Feminine reader, poorly written fluff cuz ur dear author has 'angst' as her middle name, idiots in love, slightly suggestive (one sex joke abt condoms and lube), best girl cipher, older sister aglaea canon cuz i said so.
a fic based on this stupid idea i had
The Marmoreal market was a chorus of haggling voices, the scent of fresh herbs, and the sharp tang of cured meats mingling in the air. Sunlight spilled over rows of worn canvas awnings, painting everything in warm, muted gold, and small collectibles statues of the chrysos heirs on display.
You won't buy one.
You huff and forcefully close your eyes, swearing to yourself that you won't buy a Phainon collectible. Cipher could be anywhere, and she might as well make your life a living hell if she finds out.
You wove your way past spice sellers and cloth merchants, the weight of your coin pouch a constant reminder not to get too distracted. Easier said than done.
The dresses on display look so beautiful though..
A merchant catches your wandering eye and is on you in an instant, voice warm and coaxing.
“Traveler, this color would suit you perfectly,” she says, lifting a gown that was definitely woven by the ever-famousweaver of gold herself, all soft shadows and a subtle gleam. “Special price, only for you ;)”
You manage a polite smile, though your fingers twitch with the urge to touch the fabric. Focus. You need to get the damn food and groceries. You remind yourself of the purpose of this trip, even as your eyes linger a second too long.
“You’re not actually considering that, are you?”
The familiar voice slides into your ear with practiced ease, low and threaded with quiet amusement. You turn your head, already knowing who you’ll see.
"Cipher, I am not making you fish anymore."
Her gaze flicks between you and the dress with a teasing, knowing tilt of his lips.
“Weren’t you shopping for actual necessities?” she says, as though catching you red-handed in some failed robbery.
You fold your arms, feeling annoyed. “I was. Until someone decided to distract me. And, stop spying on me!!”
“Spying? Please. This market is a perfectly public place. I just happen to be better at moving around in it than you are.”
You narrow your eyes, turning back toward the merchant—who is now watching the exchange and has her eyes wide open like the classic gossipmonger pose. “I’m not buying the dress,” you announce, more to yourself than anyone else.
Cipher’s gaze lingers on it a beat too long. “Shame. You’d look good in it.”
"What do you want, Cipher?"
Before you even let her reply, you march past her before she can say anything else.
Luckily for you, you spot a vendor selling fresh fruit, you smile to yourself and quickly marhc towards the stall while ignoring the literal demigod of trickery following your back.
The stall keeper, a broad-shouldered man with a fake-saccharine face, smiles as you approach. “Looking for something sweet, traveler?” His voice is friendly but laced with the tone of a professional vendor.
You are definitely going to buy much more than apples today.
“I’m here for the apples,” you say, trying not to sound like you’ve just been wandering aimlessly for half an hour...which you definitely have.
"Something fresh and sweet, please, suitable for baking."
Cipher leans against the edge of the stall, looking utterly unhelpful. “She’s picky,” she tells the merchant, earning herself a swift and harsh elbow from you.
The merchant chuckles, pulling forward a basket of smaller apples with deep red skin. “Straight from the orchards, sweet, crisp, and good for baking!!”
You glance at Cipher, who’s already inspecting one. She bites into it without asking, crunch echoing loud enough to make the merchant wince. “Mm,” she says, mouth full, “good enough. Get a dozen.” You sigh. “I’ll take them,” you tell the merchant, fishing coins from your pouch. And you glance over at the collectibles stall again on your way out.
Cipher notices, of course, that idiot notices. “Go on,” she says with that infuriating smirk, “buy the Phainon figurine. I dare you.”
"Shut your mouth, otherwise you will be down to 8 lives."
“Don’t worry,” she purrs, already slipping her hand into her pocket, which you can't see. “I’ll buy that collectible for you, dear.”
Before you can even snap at her, she’s already flipped a coin high into the air, the metal catching the sunlight in a quick, sharp gleam before landing neatly back in her palm. With a theatrical swoosh, she turns on her heel and darts toward the stall.
“Cipher—!”
Too late, loser.
The sudden rush of air from her mad dash whips your clothes against your legs, making you spin on your heel in surprise. You stumble, and you fall down on your ass. Your bag lurches in your grip, and the apples spill free, some bouncing on the street, rolling away/towards you, and one was up in the air, which was definitely about to hit someone on the head.
The stall owner next to you jumps back, barely saving a stack of pottery from toppling, and looks down at you in worry, asking about your well-being.
You quickly get on your knees and start collecting the apples, internally cursing yourself and mourning your apples, ignoring the crowds' "woooos" and smirking faces. ughh why is everyone so mean?
Cipher owes you a lot. And, speaking of Cipher, she noticed your mishap and quickly came towards you at lightning speed with a small paper bag containing that collectible you wanted, and then she unexpectedly picked you up along with your bags.
Anddddd...you are back home with all your bags and a small sticky note of a cat saying "you owe me, sweetie :3".
You groan out in annoyance, but you atleast got the Phainon collectible you wanted..
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Phainon was wandering aimlessly in the market, looking for a small yet simple trinket that you would like. His hands tucked behind his back, a faint, absentminded hum escaping him.
Silvers gleamed under the sun, rings, pendants, hairpins, but none felt quite right. He passed over delicate glass beads, ignored the polished stones wrapped in copper wire, and paused only briefly to inspect a wooden carving before shaking his head.
And then, something meets his eyes. A small silver necklace of a sword with a tiny pink gemstone embedded in the middle of the blade.
He reached out, letting the cool metal rest in his palm. The weight was light, but not fragile. Exactly the kind of thing he could picture you wearing without it ever feeling too much.
“How much?” he asked the vendor, with a widest smile on his face, everyone could practically see his tail and ears wagging left to right, with hearts floating around his head.
And before the vendor could even let the words out of his mouth,
WACK !!
The sharp thud made Phainon jolt, his ears (if they were visible) practically twitching straight up.
“Ow—what the—?!” He whirled around, one hand clutching the necklace protectively to his chest as the other rubbed the sore spot on his head.
At his feet lay the culprit: a slightly bruised red apple, rolling lazily in a small arc before coming to rest against his boot.
He followed the trajectory upward, just in time to see you, a few stalls away, scrambling to gather a mess of apples spilling from your basket. You were muttering under your breath, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.
You looked so cute!!
Ancient Amphoreus tradition suddenly striked his mind like lightning as he remembered.
An apple to the head meant a confession of love. A symbolic gesture dating back hundreds of years, and it was a pretty common occurrence. Once it had been done, the local vendors and people who had witnessed it would give gifts for the people who confessed to each other, if they had accepted each other of course..
And you… you had just done it.
He froze, necklace still clutched to his chest, mouth parting just slightly as his brain seemed to short-circuit.
…You loved him?!
A warmth spread through his chest, crawling up his neck until it settled in his ears
You, meanwhile, were kneeling on the street, gathering apples as fast as you could, entirely unaware that you had just, in Phainon’s mind, confessed your affection to him.
He took a step toward you, eyes sparkling, and the biggest goofy smile on his face. But.. suddenly a swift gust of wind came, slightly shaking Phainon's large form and...you were gone?
Phainon blinked multiple times to make sure he wasn't going downright insane from happiness.
The spot where you had been, basket, apples, flushed cheeks, and all, was now nothing.
His shoulders slumped, the necklace still dangling in his hand.
“…Wait. Where is—?”
He craned his neck, scanning above heads, peering down the rows of stalls, but you were nowhere. The warm buzz in his chest sputtered.
The crowd had noticed.
A ripple of “ooooh~” spread like a wave. Some people leaned on their stalls just to smirk at him; others outright waggled their brows
“Ohhh, young love~” an elderly spice seller sing-songed, grinding cinnamon with entirely too much enthusiasm.
“She hit you with an apple?” a baker’s apprentice chimed in from across the aisle, grinning like an idiot. “Hah! Classic! That’s practically a proposal, you know.”
“I know,” Phainon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I know what it means! But—”
A fishmonger cut him off with a delighted gasp. “Ah, you missed her?” He leaned conspiratorially over his counter, eyes glinting. “I saw it. Just before the wind picked up, a cat lady went up to her. Tall, and had a small paper bag with her. She said something, then, poof! Gone with her.”
Phainon’s stomach dropped. “Cat… lady?”
Several nearby vendors nodded in unison, and Phainon screamed internally, figuring out who she was.
Cipherrrr cmon whyy D:
“Mhm. Took your sweetheart right out from under your nose,” one woman said, barely containing her laugh. “But don’t worry, big guy. If she threw the apple, you’ve already won her heart !!”
Before he could respond, someone shoved a wrapped bundle into his hands.
“For you,” the merchant said with a wink. “Tradition, the apple was the confession, but gifts are for the couple. Don’t let her slip away next time.”
And then another shoved a small bag of candied nuts into his other hand. Then came a ribbon. Then a pouch of dried herbs. And then a bag of...Lubricant and Protection. “—for good fortune in love ;)”
By the time Phainon stumbled away from the market square, entirely flustered and processing what the hell just happened, his arms were full of goods, the necklace somehow still clutched in his grip. He looked like a husband buying goods for his wife.
"Aww...(Name) Where are you?!" He whined under his breath quietly.
Light spilled into your kitchen in a soft, honey-colored haze, painting the walls gold. The smell of dew and faint traces of yesterday’s fruit salad lingered through the open window. You’d been awake for a while now, sleeves rolled up, a knife tapping rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as you sliced vegetables for a stew.
Your mind wandered between the list of chores for the day and the small paper bag sitting smugly on your counter. The Phainon collectible Cipher had bought for you. You refused to admit it aloud, but it made you grin and giggle every time you looked at it.
You were just sliding a neat pile of carrots aside when you heard a knock against your wooden door. You put down the knife and walk towards the door to open it.
Your eyes widenedd after seeing the presence of your crush infront of you. at your damn house.
Phainon stood on your front step, broad frame haloed in morning light, silver hair a little mussed from the breeze, his face was a little red and sweaty, and his chest was heaving up and down in a concerningly fast rate as if he had run to your house at full speed. In his hand, gleaming in the sunlight, was the small silver sword necklace.
Before you could even open your mouth, he stepped forward and, without asking, lifted it toward your neck.
“Hold still,” he murmured, voice unusually soft. The cool touch of the chain brushed against your skin, and the faint metallic clink echoed in the quiet. His fingers, warm, steady, lingered just a little longer at the clasp than necessary before he let the pendant fall against your collarbone.
You blinked at him, words half-formed. “...Phainon, what—”
He beamed. “Perfect. I knew it would suit you.”
Your brows furrowed. Your cheeks were burning up!!, He's so charming and adorable!, You had to stop yourself from kissing this man senseless and—
"I'll cook for you! :D" he said, stepping past you like he lived in your house. “Move overrr~”
You turned, still processing the whiplash of his arrival, as he rolled up his sleeves and set down what appeared to be a pile of goods, candied nuts, herbs, even a suspiciously small bag with the label hastily folded over onto your counter.
He started washing his hands, humming under his breath in that absentminded way he did when he was in a good mood. A very good mood.
You narrowed your eyes, leaning against the doorway. “You’re… being weirdly domestic this morning.”
“Am I?” he asked innocently, glancing over his shoulder at you with that boyish grin which made you thank god for letting you be born in this era to witness this god of a man. “I just thought you could use a good meal.”
The scent of fresh herbs began to fill the room as he worked. His movements were fluid, chopping onions with ease, dropping them into the pot with a satisfying hiss as they hit the oil. Every now and then, his gaze would flick to you, like he was admiring you (he was)
You shifted uncomfortably under the attention. “...You’ve never just shown up to cook for me before.”
“Guess I was overdue,” he said lightly, but there was something behind his tone, warmth that clung to every word.
When you moved to help, reaching for the cutting board, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path entirely. “Sit, I’ve got it!”
You raised a brow. “Phainon, I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Sit,” he repeated, this time softer but with that stubborn lilt that told you he wouldn’t budge.
So you did, And you had come to a conclusion that Mydei had defintiely taught this man to cook.
Your heart fluttered, and your mind was pacing around in confusion. But you were too much in bliss to really care.
The stew bubbled quietly, the scent growing richer with each passing minute—savory, warm, and extremely comforting. Phainon moved around your kitchen like a malewife, sleeves rolled high, hair sticking against his sweaty forehead as he leaned over to stir. His broad shoulders shifted with the motion, and you could hear the faint hum of some tune under his breath, the same way people hum when they’re completely at ease.
Except… Phainon wasn’t usually this at ease.
He sprinkled in a pinch of dried herbs, sniffed the steam rising from the pot, and gave a satisfied nod before reaching for the candied nuts and setting them aside in a small dish. His grin only widened when he caught you watching him.
“You’re staringgg :D!" he teased, tilting his head slightly.
You blinked, quickly looking away. “I’m just… surprised you can cook.”
“Oh?” He ladled a generous spoonful into a bowl, the steam curling up toward your face as he set it in front of you. “What, you thought I’d burn water?”
"You definitely would, Phainon!"
He only grinned wider, but didn’t explain. “Try it.”
You hesitated for a moment, then scooped up a bite. The moment the flavor hit your tongue, your eyes widened. It was perfect. The broth was rich but balanced, the vegetables tender without being mushy, every bite layered with warmth.
You swallowed, looking at him in disbelief. “This is—wow. Phainon, this is actually good.”
He chuckled, leaning a hip against the counter, clearly pleased with himself. “Glad you like it.”
You narrowed your eyes, suspicion creeping in. “...Mydei taught you how to cook this, didn’t he?”
For the briefest moment, his smug mask slipped. He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Yeah.”
The way he said it so softly and shyly made you squeal internally.
You tilted your head. “When? Because you sure didn’t have this kind of skill last week.”
“…Yesterday.”
You blinked. “Yesterday?!”
Phainon nodded, his grin returning but with a faint, almost sheepish warmth behind it. “Begged him, actually. Told him it was important. He stayed up half the night drilling me on it.”
You stared at him, spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Why would you go through all that trouble?”
His gaze softened in a way that made your stomach twist pleasantly. “Because you deserve good food.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your ears were heating. “You’re being weirdly nice today.”
Phainon’s grin turned almost mischievous at your flustered reaction. Without a word, he dipped the ladle back into the pot, scooping up another perfect portion. Then, he grabbed a clean spoon, blew on it a few times to cool it, and turned toward you.
“Alright,” he said in the most cheerful, singsong tone, “open up.”
You blinked. “…Excuse me?”
“Open. Your. Mouth,” he repeated, leaning closer and holding the spoon right in front of your lips. His silver eyes sparkled like this was the most normal thing in the world, like he wasn’t currently short-circuiting your brain.
“Phainon, I can feed myself—”
“Ah-ah-ah!” He wiggled the spoon closer. “You already said it was good, so I know you want more. Come on, be good for me.”
You froze. Be good for me?!
And before you knew it, you were leaning forward, lips parting just enough to let him slide the warm bite past them. The savory broth hit your tongue again, and despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help the soft hum of appreciation that slipped out.
You swallowed quickly, trying to focus on the food instead of the fact that your crush had just hand-fed you like it was the most casual thing in the world. “You’re… unbelievable.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said cheerily, already scooping another spoonful. “One more?”
You wanted to protest. You really did. But your mouth opened anyway. And Phainon looked way too happy for you to say 'no' to.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
After that kitchen incident, Phainon seemed to decide he’d found a new favorite hobby, and that was, spoiling you rotten.
It started small, the next morning, you found a neatly wrapped paper packet on your desk. Inside was a little pouch of lemon candies from a street vendor you’d mentioned liking once in passing. No note. Just a terrible doodle of a smiling sword.
And then came the handholding (p≧w≦q)
At first, you thought it was a one-off thing—he grabbed your hand while leading you through a crowded street, all bright smiles and endless chatter. But he didn’t let go when the street emptied. In fact, he squeezed gently and swung your joined hands. And when you glanced at him, his eyes were already on you, warm enough to make your chest ache.
The gifts got a little… excessive after that. Trinkets from the market. Your favorite snacks. A tiny glass bottle with preserved pink flower petals that matched the gem on the necklace he’d given you.
Whenever you tried to protest—"Phainon, you don’t have to keep buying me things!" he’d tilt his head with that puppy-like smile and say, “But i want toooo :(”
And then, one afternoon, he appeared at your door, grinning like a madman unironically.
“Come with me, (Name)!!”
“Phainon? Where?”
“You’ll see :D" He offered his hand, and took yours in his.
And then, you ended up at the training grounds. The air smelled faintly of metal and dust. Mydei was already stretching in the center of the sparring ring, looking up as the two of you approached.
"Hello, (Name)." Mydei said with that stern gaze of his before looking at Phainon and immeditely murmuring a "hks" under his breath which you and Phainon could clearly hear.
The two of them stepped into the ring, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. Mydei’s golden, claw-like gauntlets gleamed under the sun. Phainon hefted his claymore with that casual yet determined aura. (-9999 aura sorry)
A faint wind kicked up dust as they circled each other.
Mydei moved first with no warning, lunging in with a slash aimed at Phainon’s ribs. The claws cut the air with a sound like ripping silk. Phainon parried with the flat of his claymore, the force of the clash ringing out sharp and clear.
“You trying to impress my cousin?” Mydei gritted out, twisting for another strike more aggressive than he usually is.
Phainon’s laugh was amused. “Maybe. Is it working?”
He didn’t even glance away from the fight, but you could feel it—he knew exactly where you were standing. The next few exchanges turned almost theatrical: a wide, sweeping strike that sent sparks flying when Mydei blocked; a sudden pivot where Phainon caught his opponent’s claws inches from his face, smirking but lowkey in a pathetic way.
You crossed your arms, trying to hide your grin. He was absolutely showing off.
Mydei, however, wasn’t impressed. With a sharp feint to the left, he closed the distance in a blur, claws flashing toward Phainon’s shoulder. Phainon twisted, blocking with the claymore’s guard, then shoved forward hard enough to make Mydei stagger back a step.
“You’re slow today,” Phainon teased, rolling his neck.
“Or you’re just reckless,” Mydei shot back, eyes narrowing.
And jsut to piss off Mydei even more, Phainon ignores Mydei's words and gazed at you like a puppy waiting for their owner to praise them.
"Go Phainon!!" You gave in and chuckled to see the absolute happiness on his face and the dread on your cousin's.
By the end, Mydei was frowning, sweat beading along his jaw, while Phainon was grinning like he’d just won the match—even though it was pretty clear the match had been a draw at best.
“Show-off,” Mydei muttered, stepping out of the ring without another word.
Phainon flopped down on the bench just outside the sparring ring, chest still rising and falling from exertion. A bead of sweat slid down his temple, catching the light. You were about to comment on how dramatic he’d been when your hands moved before your brain caught up, grabbing a folded cloth from your bag and stepping toward him.
He blinked up at you as you leaned down, pressing the fabric gently to his forehead. “You’re… wiping my face?” he said, voice oddly soft, almost curious.
“You’re dripping sweat everywhere,” you replied quickly, focusing on dabbing at his temple, the bridge of his nose, the stubborn streak of damp hair clinging to his cheek. But it was impossible not to notice how warm his skin felt under your touch, or the faint hitch in his breathing that had nothing to do with the sparring.
The world felt strangely quiet. You could hear your own pulse in your ears.
When you stepped back to pull away, his hand moved—fast but unthinking and closed gently around your wrist.
Your breath caught, and you jsut freeze up accepting your fate.
He tugged you forward, not enough to throw you off balance, but enough to close the space between you until you were standing over him, his head tilted back to meet your gaze. His eyes were bright, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your throat tighten.
Then, almost at the same time, you both let out an awkward little laugh, breaking the tension like snapping a fragile thread. You stepped back quickly, and he let go just as fast, though his smile lingered, softer now.
“Thanks for the… uh, towel service,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair.
“You’re welcome,” you muttered, as you quickly took your bags and told Phainon how you were heading back home.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
You slipped into your home with that same warm, fluttery feeling still lodged stubbornly in your chest.
The first thing you did was toss your bag aside and head straight for the bath. Warm water washed away the dust from the training grounds, but not the memory of Phainon’s bright grin… or the way his hand had lingered on your wrist. You caught yourself replaying it over and over, cheeks heating as though the steam wasn’t enough to blame.
By the time you finished, you changed into your favorite fluffy pajamas—the ones dotted with little strawberries that Aglaea made for you as a birthday present. Hair damp, skin still faintly warm from the bath, you flopped face-first onto your bed. The soft covers welcomed you, but your brain refused to settle.
Instead, you rolled over and stared at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot.
You could still see the look he gave you—half smug, AAA he looked so handsome !!. And the way he fought in the ring? It wasn’t just sparring. He’d been showing off for you. For you.
You kicked your feet under the blanket like a lovesick teenager.
Titans, you were acting like a lovesick teenager.
Your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you didn’t stop. You buried your face in your pillow, muffling the little giggle that escaped. You thought about all the little things—how he always found some excuse to hold your hand, how he somehow knew exactly what kind of gifts you’d like, how he looked at you sometimes like you were the only person in the world.
You exhaled into your pillow, heart doing that dangerous, reckless thing.
Yeah. You were gone. Completely gone for him.
You let yourself sink deeper into your bed, still smiling like a fool, drifting toward sleep with one last thought,
Yeah, I'll confess to him tomorrow <3
The next morning, you shot out of bed like someone had placed a thousand snakes on your bed.
You speed-ran your morning routine: face wash, toner, moisturizer, a touch of cherry-flavoured lip-gloss. You even reached for that one perfume you only ever wore on special occasions, light, fresh, just a hint of sweetness that made you feel like you were walking in a field of flowers.
You absolutely checked the mirror at least five times to make sure you didn’t look too obvious while still looking dangerously good.
The final touch sat waiting on your table: a small bouquet you’d put together yourself
This was it, No backing out now.
You reached for your teleslate, thumbs hovering over the screen before typing with shaky fingers:
You ♥: Hi Phainon!! Meet me at the Garden of Life in 10 mins :)
You stared at the message for all of half a second before pressing send.
Your heart started beating like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. You placed the teleslate face-down, clutching the bouquet in both hands and jumping around in nervousness.
The Garden of Life wasn’t far, but on the walk there every step felt both way too long and way too short. The thought of him standing there, maybe curious, maybe smiling, made your stomach twist with giddiness.
The morning air was soft and refreshing, the weather was cloudy and not too cold, it was the perfect weather. The garden was quiet at this hour, dew still clinging to petals, the gentle trickle of the fountain echoing. You picked a spot just off the main path, where the blossoms framed you.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Phainon had been halfway walking around with the chimeras when his teleslate pinged.
He almost ignored it—until he saw your name
My lovely <33: Hi Phainon!! Meet me at the Garden of Life in 10 mins :)
For a moment, he just… stared. Then grinned. Then grinned wider. Then flopped backwards in his chair with the loudest, most crazed laugh that he had let out.
“Oh,” he whispered to himself, voice pitching up, “oh. Ohhh, this is happening—”
Without another thought, he leapt to his feet, almost knocking over his chair, and bolted down the hall in a blur of white and gold.
“Aglaea!”
The Demigod of romance herself looked up from her tea table, serene as ever, as she stirred sugar into her cup. Her expression didn’t change even when Phainon came skidding to a stop in front of her, looking like someone had set his heart on fire in the best possible way.
“Phainon,” she greeted smoothly like the silk she weaves, "What happened?"
He grinned so wide it made his cheeks hurt. “She asked me to meet her. Garden of Life. Ten minutes. TEN MINUTES, Aglaea. What do I wear? What do I smell like? What if my hair—”
“Breathe,” she said calmly, setting down her cup gently and looking up at him with the aura that would ease anyone down. “First, stand still before you run yourself into the ground.”
Aglaea quickly laid the outfit out with care, smoothing each crease before turning back to him. “Wash your face. Comb your hair. And use the sandalwood and rose fragrance—lightly.” Her gaze softened just a touch. “You want her to notice when she’s close enough… and you do want her close, don’t you?”
He nearly choked with an infuriating blush on his face. “Aglaea—!”
Her only response was the faintest smirk. “Shoes polished. No crumbs on your outfit. And… stand tall. You’re meeting your love, are you not? Let her see the true you and not a facade."
“And what’s that?” he asked, still grinning like an idiot.
Her smile gentled, all teasing melting into something fond. “A young man who’s very much in love.”
Phainon froze for a heartbeat—then laughed, giddy and light. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”
By the time he was dressed, and a hint of perfume clinging to his collar, he was already halfway to the Garden in his head.
And if he was giggling under his breath the whole way there like some love-struck fool? Well. Aglaea didn’t say a word. But she did watch him go with the faintest, most knowing smile.
"May Mnestia bless you, Phainon."
Phainon came into view like he’d just run a marathon and somehow still looked like he belonged on thecover of a divine fashion catalog. His hair was just slightly mussed from running, cheeks flushed, that white-and-gold outfit crisp and perfect save for the way it swayed with every fast step.
“(Name)!” he called, breathless and bright, as though the world had narrowed down to you alone. “I—sorry—I came as fast as I—”
You didn’t let him finish.
You took one step forward, shoved the flowers into his hands, and blurted out, “I love you.”
Silence.
The birds kept singing. The wind still carried the scent of roses. Somewhere, a bee buzzed lazily past.
Phainon just stared at you. And stared. And stared. Like his brain had been replaced with static.
You fidgeted under his gaze. “…Phainon?”
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “…wait. Wait—what?”
You tilted your head, suddenly unsure. “I… said I love you?”
“Yes, yes, I heard that part,” he said quickly, clutching the flowers like they were now some kind of holy relic. “But-” His brows furrowed, his voice dropping into genuine bafflement. “Why are you saying it like it’s a confession?”
“…Because it is?” you offered slowly.
Phainon just stared. Then he tilted his head so far it was a miracle it didn’t snap off. “…You mean to tell me… you thought we weren’t already dating?”
Your jaw dropped. “We—what?!”
“Oh titans.” He slapped his forehead, groaning dramatically, pacing in a little circle. “All this time—walking you home, buying you gifts, holding your hand, inviting you to sparring matches, calling you my lovely, spending every waking moment with you—what did you think that was?!”
“I— I dunno! I thought you were just… really affectionate?”
Phainon stopped dead in his tracks, looked at you for three long seconds, and then let out the most exasperated laugh you’d ever heard. “You—! You adorable, oblivious—!” He dropped the flowers onto a bench, stepped forward, and cupped your face with both hands.
“You’re my girl,” he said firmly, almost like he was reestablishing divine law. “You’ve been mine and i’ve been yours ♥ The whole realm probably knows but you!”
You just blinked at him, stunned and blushing furiously, while his expression softened into that lovesick smile he always got when he looked at you. “But fine,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “if you want a proper start, then… I love you too. Officially. Again.”
His thumbs were still resting on your cheeks, the warmth of his palms cradling your face, when his grin widened into something boyish and almost too bright to look at.
“Okay but-” he leaned in slightly, eyes darting between your gaze and your lips like he was physically restraining himself, “-can I kiss you? Like… properly? Right now?”
The way he asked wasn’t smooth or calculated in the slightest—it was genuine, eager, like he's bouncing-on-his-heels excited.
You couldn’t even answer before he started rambling. “Because if you say yes, I swear I’m going to do it right here, right now, and probably never stop. I’ve been wanting to for so long and I thought I was already kissing you in all but name—oh Titans, I’m so kissing you if you—”
“Phainon.”
He stopped, blinking, tail wagging in an almost visible way despite him not having one. “…Yeah?”
You smiled. “Yes.”
He lit up like you’d just given him the sun itself. “Yes?!”
“Yes.”
“Oh Titans, yes—” He swooped in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was somehow both clumsy and perfect, like he didn’t know whether to hold you close or bounce in excitement. His hands slid from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he laughed into the kiss, breathless and giddy.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go, resting his forehead against yours with the happiest grin you’d ever seen. “I’m never letting you live this down, you know. My girlfriend thought she wasn’t my girlfriend—oh, the teasing rights I have now.”
“Phainon—”
“Shhh.” He kissed your nose. “Just let me have this. You said you love me.” Another kiss to your cheek. "You're my girl now :D"
@noisy-seelie, @usagiarchive, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @santaluna
i spent 6 hours on this
sillyquzes' work on Tumblr only, do not feed my work into AI and copy my work, please credit if you do use ideas original to me, and likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3
as the apprentice of none other than the founder of the hexenzirkel, alice, you are all too familiar with expecting the wildly unusual to be the norm. explosions which can destroy an entire city? you can handle. appearing on the other side of teyvat within a blink for some sight-seeing? you can handle. getting ganged up on by old hags and the anemo archon for your non-existent love life with a man you just met? um... what?
CONTAINS : fem!reader (no gender pronouns are used, but honestly just being a part of the hexenzirkel is indication enough when they are all. well. a faction of female witches.), 2k wc, fluff, love at first sight (varka), once again on my puppy/loser in love varka agenda, venti gets a kick out of it, the witches get a kick out of it, you are not getting a kick out of it
A/N : i swear on my life this was actually supposed to be two paragraphs long. like the concept of a fic. but now it is a fic. i hate it here. (also i'm so punny for that title i know hahaha.)
Your mentor informs you there will be a meeting soon with Barbatos and the current Grand Master of Mondstadt's Knights of Favonius. You don't think much of it — why would you when this clearly seems like some important business to be taken care of? Not to mention the fact you're positive such diplomacy has nothing to do with you. In fact, you've already planned how you'll be spending your newfound free time in your head!
At least, that was until you're faced with your ever so chipper mentor beaming at you with the watt of a thousand suns, her words, “Now, won't you be a dear and fetch our guests for us?” being the first and last thing you hear before your surroundings are warped.
Next thing you know, through bleary eyes and a disgruntled mind, you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. There's smoke in your lungs from Alice's questionable choice of a theatrical entrance, tickling the back of your throat and forcing a slew of coughs to be released. Really, you ought to have a word with your mentor about springing something as disorienting as teleportation on you with barely a word of warning. Not everything has to be flashy and come as a surprise—
“Oh? I didn't think you would be the one to come meet us!” Barbatos' familiar voice breaks your thoughts, and you're forced to realise that no, you're not alone, and yes, you did have an audience watching your embarrassing flounder. An audience of two, that is.
You recognise Barbatos, of course, and greet him with a nod. You've met him a handful of occasions, courtesy of Alice stringing you along for occasional meet-ups. Though you're willing to bet she just wanted an excuse to show you off in the new outfits she'd made for you on those occasions to someone other than the few available Hexenzirkel members. Regardless, he’s not all that bad of choice company during the times he strums his lyre and hums a song for you, melting away the stress which tends to build up when dealing with your eccentric mentor. (His love for alcohol is something you can handle in comparison.)
The second person isn’t someone you’re entirely familiar with, though you can deduce he must be the renowned Grand Master bold enough to seek an audience with the Hexenzirkel. Messy blond hair feathering across his forehead and falling atop his shoulders, eyes which rival the clearest of skies, and a build expected for someone of his calibre, you can say with full confidence he definitely is younger than you were expecting, what with the stories you’ve heard of his feats and his accomplishments. (Maybe all the teasing looks and pronounced smile Alice always wore when bringing him up to you was just her hinting he was closer to your age than you’d guessed?)
You offer him an acknowledging nod; he merely stares at you, gaping. Tilting your head to the side, you observe with a raised brow as he continues to stare at you, unmoving. Actually, has he even blinked? Turning to the Archon, you deadpan at his mischievous expression mirroring that of your mentor. At least he seems to be getting a kick out of the situation.
Well, whatever. All three of you have somewhere to be, and you are more than ready to leave post-haste.
With that in mind, you step towards them. An incantation is spilled from your lips with familiarity, glowing triangular patterns emerging beneath the three of you as the spell reaches its completion. Then, within a blink, your bodies are transported out of the office and into a meeting room where the present Hexenzirkel await.
Before making your way to the side (because for some reason Alice insists on you being present, the other witches also more willing for your presence than you’d like), you give a swift bow to the two you’ve teleported. Even with your back turned as you walk, the sensation akin to a pair of eyes following you remains. By the time you find a suitable spot away from the meeting of some all-too powerful people, you lean back against one of the pillars and wait for the meeting to be over.
You have to give it him, that Varka. He certainly has a way with words, even managing to charm the witches with his easy-going personality and boisterous laugh. You wouldn’t have thought it from you initial meeting, what with how still and awkward he appeared, though maybe your sudden appearance just shocked him to the point of being rendered speechless?
Regardless, you can see why he is such an important figurehead. His conditions are made clear, points thorough yet straight to the point, and he can easily navigate negotiations which juggle multiple demands. Most importantly, you can tell he cares deeply for Mondstadt and its people, to the point of setting up this Tripartite Conference to ensure Mondstadt’s safety in their time of need. Fortunately for him, such displays of love for humanity is something Alice is a total sucker for, and his fair terms and conditions seem more than enough for Nicole and Barbeloth’s thoughts.
The conclusion comes as you expected the moment he spoke his first words: the Hexenzirkel agree to help Mondstadt in their time of need. Really, someone who has such a way with words to the point of swaying even the most stubborn of witches you know is a feat in and of itself. He could probably talk his way out of the most perilous of fights with just a meagre wag of his tongue! Actually, how many incidents has he already talked his way out of by now?
You don’t get to dwell on the matter for much longer when Alice suddenly calls you over. Despite your foreboding skepticism at her twinkling eyes and eager mannerisms, you merely sigh before making your way to her side. They’ve already stood up from their seats, gathered together in a loose group as they (read: Alice, Barbatos, and Varka) chat amongst themselves.
“I’m sure you have already met from earlier, but this is my darling apprentice!”
Hands settled atop your shoulders, you’re thrust forward into Varka’s direct line of sight. You barely have time to form something close to a proper sentence, let alone think. So here you are, sputtering as words refuse to cooperate under the sudden attention. It certainly doesn’t help when Alice is giggling behind you, all-too pleased with whatever it is you’re supposed to be a part of, nor the fact Nicole and Barbeloth appear to be rather invested in you making a fool of yourself in front of them. Barbatos himself seems a little too smug for your liking, noting how his eyes crinkled with mirth shift between you, Alice, and the Grand Master he accompanied.
Speaking of the man, for all his earlier bravado when negotiating with the scariest people you know, you would think him to be a completely different person. Much like when you first appeared in that office, Varka just stares at you — wide-eyed and gaping. It’s almost comical the way someone of his stature appears so unassuming; almost. If not for the situation at hand, perhaps you would have found amusement at the blatant contrast.
But no, being the subject of close attention where eyes of varying levels of intrigue watch you be out of your element doesn’t give you room to feel that amusement, let alone gather your bearings.
Alice gives a warm squeeze of your shoulders, and you can practically hear the teasing smile seep through her voice. “Why don’t you introduce yourself, my dear? You know our new freind’s name, but he doesn’t know yours. I’m sure he would love to know your name, fufu.”
Gosh, you feel like a little kid being forced to make friends with the kid of your mother’s friend; not an adult who can make your own decisions.
Well, whatever. May as well get your introduction over with.
“My name is [Name], an apprentice witch under Alice.” If not for your mentor’s sparkling stare burning into the back of your head, or the two other witches’ very apparent interest in the situation, you would have stopped there. Unfortunately, you know you won’t be able to get away. So with another sigh, you begrudgingly continue, trying to focus anywhere but his starstruck expression. “It’s nice to meet the Grand Master who has made such a name for himself. I’m sure you must have worked hard to get to this point, and—”
Without warning, he drops to his knees. Eyes oozing nothing but earnest compassion, he speaks to you for the first time, voice warm as it carries the heavy weight of his sincerity.
“Yes, I am single. Yes, I will happily spend the rest of my life with you.”
Even the drop of a pin could shatter this new-found silence. Perhaps not quite a pin, but a tinkling explosion shatters it instead. Clouds of white smoke instantly fill the vicinity and drown out your vision. You still have enough wits about you to sense the presence of the Hexenzirkel witches, which also means you can’t detect the two visitors’ presence.
In other words: your hasty teleportation succeeded.
And sure, it’s not your best work, but conjuring a teleportation spell without any time to recite the appropriate incantations was the best you could do in that situation. Out of sight, out of mind as they say!
(You can only hope they end up back in his office. Actually? Scratch that. You hope they end up somewhere like Starfell Lake. Or a random location in Liyue. Or Natlan. Or Snezhnaya.)
When the clouds of smoke settle, the quiet beginning to creep in, something akin to dread stabbing your gut tells you this… incident, so to speak, is only just the beginning of a rather tiresome matter. That instinct solidifies the moment you’re suddenly the object of interest for these old witches, their teasing smiles and far too amused expressions already making you want to run away and hide in a corner. Even then you doubt you would be able to hide from them for long, so you exhale a resigned sigh of defeat as you feel your vitality wither away at their enthusiastic theory-crafting.
As you’re caught in the middle of these meddlesome hags trying to have a say in your very much non-existent love life, Varka remains stock-still in the middle of his office — very much dazed and lost in thoughts with a thoroughly amused Archon-slash-bard staring at him all smug. Much like his position prior to the abrupt cloud of smoke and slightly disgruntling sensation of being teleported (which he barely registered the full effects of amid his stupor), the Grand Master remains kneeled. In the middle of his office. No thoughts running through his mind other than the shocked expression you bestowed him before it quickly morphed into something akin to morbid (-ly adorable, in his perspective) embarrassment, only to be obscured by curls of smoke.
“Barbatos,” Varka eventually says, features taking on a serious tone. Venti merely widens his grin, already knowing where this conversation is headed just from the unfamiliar expression residing on the ever so laid-back Grand Master.
“Yes, Varka?”
Turning with a look so scarily serious, one none the wiser to the situation would think there to be some dire strategic talks occurring. Venti merely stifles a giggle, only to burst out into full-blown laughter as Varka’s following words are delivered with utmost solemnity.
“I think I may be in love. Horrendously so.”
(And if you suddenly find yourself appearing in a puff of smoke for the umpteenth time in front of an all-too eager to please Grand Master you’re increasingly beginning to get sick of seeing by the day with pesky witches and a nosy drunkard of an Archon on your tail? Well, that’s a story for another day. Probably.)
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
hello!!! i rlly like ur writing!! can i request jing yuan and mydei with a fem!reader who they’re arranged to get married too who’s distrustful of everyone but slowly falls in love with them? like maybe jing yuan/mydei learn abt the reader’s interests like her fav jewelry and what kind of clothes she likes or her food preferences which she isnt used to being the one receiving affection and is skeptical at first but ends up trusting and falling for them? im a sucker for arranged marriage to lovers ahaha anyway tyy for feeding us so much hsr content im always fed by ur posts
To Be Chosen, Not Commanded
Tags: Mydei x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Female!Reader Arranged Marriage to Lovers, Slow Burn Romance, Reader is Distrustful/Emotionally Guarded, Soft Romance/Emotional Intimacy, Gentle Affection, Mutual Respect, Subtle Flirting, Soft Angst with Comfort, Learning Each Other’s Love Language, Reader Finds Safety in Love, Fluff with Depth.
Warnings: Emotional Guardedness/Trust Issues, Mentions of War/Political Alliances, Implied Past Trauma/Betrayal, Mentions of Death (comrades, past losses), Power Dynamics (though handled with mutual respect and consent), Cultural Displacement/Reader Feeling Like an Outsider, Mild Themes of Isolation.
A/N: God, I love these types of tropes 🙏🙏
The Kremnoan banner never flew at your wedding. That had been your one condition.
You didn't trust Mydei—Mydeimos, as the ancient texts named him. The Last Prince. Guardian of Amphoreus. A legend wrapped in golden armor and red war paint. He was a man burdened by prophecy and war, not fit to share a quiet future with someone like you, let alone a throne.
Yet the alliance between your city and the remnants of Castrum Kremnos depended on this union. So, reluctantly, you said yes.
The first weeks were civil. He never overstepped. He never touched you unless you offered a hand, and even then, his fingers hovered like you were made of ash and might vanish in the wind.
But then you noticed the little things.
At the banquet in Okhema, your favorite drink—appeared quietly beside your plate. Mydei said nothing. But when you looked up, he was already sipping a strange mixture of pomegranate juice with goat’s milk and grated cheese, a flicker of amusement in his golden eyes.
Days later, a gift awaited you in your quarters: a pendant, etched with subtle flame motifs, not gaudy like the Kremnoan jewels you'd always hated, but elegant—crafted in the style of your mother's homeland. A note attached read: "Not all flames burn. Some simply warm."
You found him outside, sparring shirtless beneath the twin moons, tribal markings alive beneath the sweat of combat. His gaze flicked to you, but he didn’t speak.
You approached. “How did you know about the drink? Or the necklace?”
“I listen,” he said, tone matter-of-fact. “You never speak your trust. So I learned to read the silences.”
That night, when he knelt beside your bed to wrap a protective ward before your journey to Okhema, you touched his shoulder. Just for a moment. A simple press of your palm to armor-worn skin.
“You’re still a stranger,” you whispered.
He nodded, voice low. “Then let me remain one—until you decide to name me something more.”
And you did, slowly.
In firelit war camps, where he combed blood from your hair with patient fingers. In quiet hours when he taught you the names of fallen stars. In the way he never claimed your hand in public, only offering it—every time—with a look that asked, "May I?"
You trusted no one.
Until Mydei proved he was worth trusting—not because of a title, but because he asked for nothing you weren’t willing to give.
And when the black tide finally surged, when all of Amphoreus burned behind you, you rode beside him—not as a reluctant bride, but as a queen who had chosen her lion.
When the match was proposed, you thought it a trap.
Marrying the Divine Foresight? The man whose very title suggested he saw everything—including your vulnerabilities?
You arrived on the Xianzhou Luofu with guarded eyes and a frozen heart. Jing Yuan greeted you with a polite bow, all silver hair and golden eyes too serene to trust.
He didn’t touch you. Didn’t press. He just smiled—the kind of smile that could be a weapon or a kindness, and you couldn't tell which.
He let you keep your own residence. He never summoned you to dinners or ceremonies without a personal message asking for your preference. You hated that.
You were used to men demanding. Kings. Lords. Even supposed suitors. Jing Yuan didn’t demand.
He simply waited.
Until one day, a Cloud Knight appeared at your door with a delicate, custom-embroidered robe. Not in Luofu colors, but stitched with your favorite shade(s) and edged with subtle patterns from your homeland’s flora.
You confronted him.
“Why would you give me this? I never asked for it.”
He was feeding Snowmoon, the rumored lion who immediately curled around your legs, purring.
“I observed you admiring a merchant’s fabric three weeks ago. You ran your fingers over the silk, but didn’t buy it. I asked Tailor Zhen to recreate it.”
You faltered. “Why?”
He didn’t look at you. “You seemed… tired of being unnoticed.”
He was right. And you hated that.
But then it continued.
He stopped your meals from including ginger—you hated ginger, and you hadn’t said a word. He gifted you a hairpin crafted like a quill when he discovered you journaled. He started sending poetry, not romantic, but clever, often teasing, sometimes wistful.
And one night, when you wandered the Luofu gardens and found him asleep against a tree, scrolls scattered and a blade by his side, you sat beside him.
“Why are you so patient with me?”
Jing Yuan opened one eye. “Because I am in no rush to win you—I am only waiting for you to realize you were never alone.”
That night, you stayed. Not out of obligation. Not for the alliance.
But because for the first time, you weren’t being pursued—you were being understood.
And slowly, steadily, you began to fall.
The "Dozing General" never forced you to love him. He simply built a world where you felt safe enough to try.
₍^. .^₎⟆ synposis: soulmate!AU. nanami begins to find things that don't belong to him in his apartment. lipgloss. a single sock. a hair dryer. and in the middle of it all, a fluffy turtle keychain he wishes to give back to his unknown but destined lover.
word count: 2.5k
it starts with a plush keychain.
nothing too loud or flashy, just a fluffy yellow turtle with a metal clip on.
gojo nearly falls out of his chair when he spots it tucked between nanami's array of books and reading glasses. it's clearly out of place, cute and plush against the pristine cleanliness and monochromatic chic of nanami's apartment, and nanami doesn't harbor any secret children (that gojo knows of).
"and whoooooose is this? or more likely, which lady's is this?" gojo sing songs, dangling the keychain from his pinky finger. nanami sighs, his back turned to gojo as his coffee finishes brewing, the clipped comment dying in his mouth when he spots what the silver haired man is holding.
nanami has a near photographic memory of everything in his apartment. he's damn near curated every inch of his living space. at first he thinks it's a joke.
"where'd you even get that, gojo." he grumbles, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.
"it was right here on your bedside table." gojo scoffs at the accusation.
the black coffee burns nanami's throat on the way down.
"if this is some kind of a prank, i'm afraid it's not that funny."
gojo actually pouts at that, like a little child that's been told off, before crossing his arms.
"I'm being serious, nanami! It was laying right here in between your books!" he pauses, before breaking into a big smile. "So you're either hiding a girl-"
"i'm not seeing anyone."
"or this is... the sign."
nanami pretends not to know, in an effort to calm his racing heartbeat.
"what sign?"
gojo's eyes widen.
"what sign? are you hearing yourself? this is your soulmate's lost item! this is so exciting! we have to celebrate! I have to text everyone we know, arrange flowers, there's this amazing restaurant downtown that does the most incredible s-"
whilst his friend rattles on, nanami's eyes remain fixated on the little turtle now sitting on his kitchen table, warmth blooming across his chest. he'd heard the stories of course. soulmates' lost possessions ending up in each other's homes. but he hadn't gotten his hopes up. not everyone in the world would have a soulmate. nor would it be so easy to say with certainty that finding strange items in your house would be attributable to a soulmate. but this...
his hands moved on their own accord, left hand brushing up against the toy. the keychain was soft in his hands, yellow fur and black stitched smile.
"and- hello? are you even listening to me?!"
nanami hums, if only to placate gojo, whose short attention span has now been diverted by a new text from geto. when gojo rushes out the apartment door, stealing a pack of mochi from the kitchen counter whilst rushing out goodbyes, nanami doesn't even bother to look up from where he's standing.
leaning up against the marble countertops of his kitchen, twisting and examining the soft plush from all angles. his heart flutters at the realization that he's holding something that belongs to... his one and only.
patting the small head of the toy turtle, he tucks it into his coat pocket, vowing to reunite it with its owner in the future.
a week later, on a lazy Sunday morning, he finds lipgloss where his extra toothpaste should be.
but not just a tube of lipgloss.
an array of different lipglosses of all shades - dark burgundy, cherry red, barbie pink, soft pink, sparkly peach. it makes nanami's head spin, pulling down one tube of lipgloss after another that have magically appeared in his bathroom mirror cabinet.
examining each one with surgical precision, he notices that one of the shades are clearly more used up than another. barbie pink. he makes a mental note of this, carefully placing away the lipglosses in a spare toiletry bag he keeps under the sink.
over the course of a month, that bag becomes filled with little remnants of his soulmate. nearly empty perfume bottles. a single sock with a print of a golden retriever. multi colored hair ties. a small travel sized shampoo and body wash set. these items appear randomly and suddenly without warning, often when he's having a bad day.
a late 1am return from work, his head pounding from exhaustion and dehydration? he nearly steps on the perfume bottle laying on the floor near his bedroom door. it's clearly well loved, with only a third or so left, and smells distinctively of vanilla and lavender.
a 7am rush as the city wakes up behind him, the streets of tokyo buzzing with energy as he clips on his shoes? he finds a multi pack of hair ties sitting neatly in between the gaps of his shoes in the cupboard.
nanami even almost misses the single sock - navy blue with a golden retriever print on it - hanging from his closet when he's cleaning, because of how natural it looks. when he takes it off from the rack, he turns it over in his hand and smiles: imagining how nice it would be to have her cardigan draped over his couch and pairs of socks tucked into his closet.
now whenever nanami can't sleep, he imagines what his soulmate looks like. is she tall? short? shy? extroverted? a coffee person or a tea person? the type to laugh loudly with her whole chest and heart, or giggle silently to herself in an effort to hide her laugh?
his hands inevitably find the soft turtle keychain sitting by his bed, stroking its fur and imagining what it would be like to hold her hand instead, as his mind starts to drift off to sleep.
he wonders if she'd have some things of his as well. nanami isn't a forgetful or clumsy type of person, but he is human. he can't really name the last thing he's lost - maybe a bookmark or a reusable straw - but he sometimes wonders if he should purposefully forget something so it would end up at her place.
he's not even sure if that's how these things work.
autumn fades into winter, the cold nights bearable only with the surprise of what he might find in his apartment today. he's actually disappointed when he returns to an 'empty' house, everything in place and just as he remembered. he starts to think the universe is playing a cruel joke on him (or that she's gotten good at keeping track of her things) when a full month goes by with no lost items appearing in his place.
then, he spots a portable charger that's not compatible with his phone lying on his bed, and he knows he has her back.
and when he finds three missing items in the span of one week during a particularly rough December - a fraying picnic blanket with square patterns, a pair of fluffy thigh high boots, and an expensive looking hair dryer - he wonders if she's losing these things on purpose.
all in all, his apartment is no longer looking like a one bed bachelor suite belonging to a single salary man. but more of a couple's living space with his and hers items adorning every shelf and table.
it's gotten to the point that having people over - even for a few minutes - is difficult, without being subject to many eyebrow raises and accusations of dating behind his friends' backs.
as the months now stretch into spring, the frostbite of winter melting away into gentle spring breezes and early sunrises, nanami finds himself getting impatient. when will he meet her?
he knows it's foolish, to even think that it'll happen. the fact that he's even been given a soulmate is something to be grateful for. but there's an ache that nibbles on the side of his ribs, a buzzing anticipation that never leaves his mind when he stands in the middle of a crowded place.
in every train station. public crossing. jam packed bar filled with cigarette smoke. he looks for her, one hand always in his coat pocket, stroking the soft pet turtle that started it all. he imagines it'll be like the movies, he'll come across a stranger and he'll just know.
his stomach will flutter, his vision will blur, and his heart will instantly make the connection.
but it never happens, much to his disappointment.
it's now April, a few months to summer. the cherry blossoms are finally out and nanami needs a morning run to clear his mind. a quick shot of espresso and light stretches in his living room are all he needs before his shoes are hitting the pavement, dodging cyclists and pedestrians enjoying their gentle 7am walk.
a few laps in the park later, he's back in his apartment just in time to fold his running clothes for the washing machine and take a long shower.
a man of routine, he combs his hair and applies his meticulous skincare routine, counting downards from ten. whilst adjusting his tie, he inspects his suit for any faults and finishes by spraying himself with the same vanilla and lavender perfume of his soulmate's.
lastly, out of habit, he makes sure that the turtle keychain is kept safe and secured in his coat pocket.
clipping on his watch on his wrist, nanami doesn't look onto the street as he exits the elevator. he collides with a body, the stranger letting out a surprised yelp and the sound of iced coffee splashing the pavement.
"I am so very sorry." nanami immediately says, lowering his glasses to look at you right in your eyes. you thankfully don't seem mad, just a bit sheepish, as you accept his left hand to stand back up on your wobbly feet.
"no worries. i should've been walking so fast." you try and laugh it off, your brain going haywire at just how good looking this guy is. he's blonde, tall, clearly athletic - from how the tight fitting suit is hugging his body - with a jawline that could kill.
he even smells like your favorite perfume, vanilla and lavender.
"not at all, i was preocuppied with my thoughts and didn't look onto the street before stepping out." nanami quips, eyes falling onto the spilled coffee. "could i buy you a new coffee as an apology?"
"oh, i don't want to bother you-" you start, though internally you want nothing more but to keep talking to this handsome stranger.
"please, you wouldn't be." he assures you, heart fluttering at how wide and genuine your smile seems to be when you accept. when you bend over to pick up the split coffee cup, his eyes land on your socks and his throat dries up.
mismatched socks. one plain black sock. and the other, a navy blue sock with a very familiar golden retriever print.
'stay calm, nanami.' he scolds himself as you walk alongside him on the way to the cafe, quiet conversation filling the air about what you both do for work. 'this could mean anything. it could just be a popular sock brand.'
the conversation is easy. you're witty, kind, you hold his bicep to stop him from walking into traffic when he doesn't realize the light has suddenly turned red. then, you get all embarassed, apologizing for grabbing onto his arm without asking.
it makes his heart so warm.
and when you arrive at the cafe, casually slinging your bag over to the other shoulder whilst ordering, he notices the array of keychains hanging from your bag.
his heart skips another beat.
"you like my keychains?" you ask with a quiet laugh, noticing how intensely he's staring at your bag. "i'm a bit of a collector with these things. i just think they make my bags look more... unique and cute."
"do they each tell a story?" he quips, lips curling at the end. god, he finds you so cute, especially when your eyes light up whilst delving into detail about each keychain.
"..but my favorite one I lost sometime last year." you say, thanking the barista as you accept the drinks. your fingers brush against his when you pass him his black americano.
walking side by side on the pavement, nanami's heart beats irregularly at that declaration, but you're none the wiser. only innocently tilting your head sideways and asking if his coffee is good.
"it's great." he lies, as if the bitter coffee isn't burning his throat from the anticipation bubbling in his stomach.
fuck it.
"what was it?" he blurts out, unable to keep it in.
"what was?" you ask, confused.
"the keychain you lost."
"a turtle." you say with a small laugh, licking away the foam of coffee on your lips. "silly, i know but my cousin got it for me."
he stops breathing for a second.
"... was it a yellow turtle by any chance?"
nanami stops in his tracks. you two are back in front of the apartment where he bumped into you. his blood is rushing so loud in his ears that he's worried you can hear it, as your eyes widen in surprise.
"h-how'd you..."
"a fluffy yellow turtle with white fins and a black stitched smile?" he finishes, smile so fond and wide that it blinds you.
you're at a complete loss for words, the gravity of the situation beginning to settle in, when he suddenly takes out (from his coat pocket) the very keychain you had lost and sorely missed.
"i've got it. and every other thing you've misplaced for the past year."
you stare at his open palm in disbelief, eyes carefully examining the object as you take the keychain from his hands and feel its fur against your fingertips. your heart is thundering in your chest, your soulmate smiling at you so brightly.
"i'm nanami, by the way. nanami kento." he introduces himself, ever so the gentleman.
"(y/n). (y/n) (l/n)."
there's an uniterrupted beat of silence, with nanami staring at you so intensely with burning adoration and you suddenly feeling the rush of embarrassment of how much you've lost in the past year.
"oh god, did you really keep everything i've lost?" you groan, nearly whining.
he only chuckles.
"yes i did. neatly categorized and filed in my apartment." he pauses, surveying your reaction. "would you like to come up and see?"
"yes." you say too quickly, before you're shaking your head sideways in an effort to calm yourself. "i mean, yes, uh, that'd be nice."
he turns to let you in, before he turns back around abruptly, stopping you in your tracks. you stare up at him, confused.
he only smiles, soft and gentle.
"hold on." nanami says, stepping closer to you. you're overwhelmed by his scent, mix of aftershave and vanilla lavender perfume, and how gentle his hands are when he takes the turtle keychain from your left hand.
he clips it onto your bag, giving it a gentle tug to ensure it's secure.
"there. don't lose it again." he says lowly, but there's a hint of teasing to his tone.
"and if i do?" you ask quietly, teasing him back, letting him drag you through the doors of his apartment.
nanami takes your hand, but this time, he doesn't let it go.
"you can come back to me."
a/n: ahhhh my first ever fic! i'm absolutely obsessed with nanami at the moment so i wanted to write something sweet for him. i remember reading a marvel fic with this soulmate AU idea a few years ago (soulmates find each other's lost possession in their apartment) so i wanted to give it a spin.
ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★
you do very well in building up the emotions, i love it. i like how the fondness grew onto nanami in the span of months from all those lost items. Also liked the concept!
ft,yuushii totsumoto X sub!fem reader from lady k and the sick man (a hentai😋)
Note: OKAY I DINDT READ THIS MANGA BUT GOODNESS HE IS SO HOT WTF
Cw: breeding kink,praise,size kink,belly bulge
You were just so cute. Always giving him affection after work, being there when he needed. All innocent.
You were just the biggest Cinnamon roll he know. And he always tought that he was so lucky to have you as his pretty little wife.
You were just too cute.
He just wanted to bend you over and pound your little pussy so hard, pumping you full of his babies.
Everytime you welcome him, jumping in his arms and Hugging him so tighly, pressing your breasts against him, pampering him with kiss and sweets you baked when he was at work.
He coulndt bear it.
Oh.
Why would he?
・*:..｡o○☼*ﾟ・*:..｡o○☼*ﾟ・*:..｡o○☼*ﾟ
"Fuck thats my girl..your pussy is Hugging me so tighly god..you suck me in.."
His pounds were so hard, his fat cock making a pretty bulge on your little tummy. Your moan so sweet and melodic.
"y-yuushi! Ngh!"
"Shh..relax baby..youre doing so good..i love you..you just have to take my babies mkay?"
He just wanted to fill you up to the brim, till these pretty legs of yours shake for a entire week. He just wanted to make you a mommy, his pretty little wife and the mom of his kid. Tits Swollen with sweet milk and round tummy with all his babies.
"Fuck yeah- you will be soo pretty with your pretty tits leaking with milk, right? Wanna have my babies? Wanna have my cum? Wanna make me a daddy?"
"Y-yes! Yes pl-please yuu! Need your cum so bad! please!"
"Thats my girl.."
and with that, his thrust quicken pace, heavy balls slapping against your pussy and ass, his tip hitting against your womb with every thrust.
He will not stop till he is sure that youre pregnant with his babies.
