huh?

Flora steps closer, and blinks at Diluc behind you.

“Did Mister Diluc help you?” she inquires.

You glance back at him. His expression is not easily read now, but you still smile.

“He did! He if anything, saved me today. I almost made a mess.”

Flora beams, and skips over to Diluc to hand him a sweet flower. He takes it in surprise, seeing his cheekbones run a soft pink, and you giggle quietly into the back of your hand.

“That was very kind of you, Mister Diluc.” she says.

“It was nothing. Have a good day.” he nods at you and the child politely, holding the flower to be twirled in his gloved fingers. The yellow sweet flower is vibrant, but he can’t get the brilliance of your thankful smile endlessly given to him.

And now, a long while later even after love confessions, you’re perched in his lap. Straddled thighs clinging around his hips comfortably in the Angels Share, feeling a little silly from your wine and nuzzling your face against his jaw. The tavern is closed, clean, and locked up. Your shoes are discarded somewhere behind the bar as your lover finishes up some quick numbers before likely carrying you home.

“You’re so warm Lulu, I could fall asleep here.” you hum. Diluc warms at the cute nickname, something you call him when it’s only you two, and he turns his face to kiss your nose.

“You’ve fallen asleep on me before, my love. It certainly wont be the last. Please rest, I’ll get us home shortly.” he promises, smelling of cinnamon and clove and a soapy aftershave that you love.

You wiggle in his lap, kissing his jaw.

“I never said I was tired.” you murmur against the skin.

Dilucs pen stops, and you shift again on him — a dangerous rock of your hips and a flirty glint of your lips while he exhales slowly. You sit up in his hold, blinking slowly at your red headed lover to cup his face in your palms as he keeps his arm around your waist, his pen clatters atop the desk as his fingers gently pinch your chin.

“Are you feeling like being a little troublemaker? Is that what you’re implying?” Diluc muses, pulling you to him for a kiss — a gentle, teasing warning you’re familiar with.

It makes you wet. You giggle, not from the wine, but from Diluc, whose eyes go half - lidded as he kisses you again while your hips buck sharply, feeling him growing hard between your legs. He grunts into your mouth, a slow roll of his own hips coming up to meet your clothed pussy under your skirt. A flicker of a flame, the candles in the corners of the tavern are playful to illuminate the scene while you rub your clit, the soaked fabric of your underwear stuck to it, against the fat head of his cock straining through his pants. The length of him is evident, an outline that you drag your folds against while Diluc kisses you harder and your manicured nails sink into the hair on his scalp.

“Don’t stop, Diluc.” you gasp, his hands coming to the globes of your ass, your dress lewdly hiked up over your hips. He squeezes them in time with a low, salacious groan, dragging you and rocking you against him. Your face is flushed with pleasure, dizzy and drunk on his intentional and intense movements that keep your pussy pressed tight against his hard and twitching bulge. He’s going to cum and make a mess of his pants.

“My beautiful girl, so naughty. But I often give you want you want, yes?” Diluc huffs, long strands of hair falling in his face and eyes smoldering as you whimper.

“Yes! I want to…want to cum.” you gasp, warbled and clipped as the petals of your pussy are split even through your sodden panties against his clothed cock.

“Spoiled little thing, sweet thing. Archons, you’re so precious.” he says through a clenched jaw, watching with sharp owl eyes at the bow of your body as you ride and bounce on him with a shaky squeeze of your thighs around his waist. His vision starts growing faded at the edges — your sweet, soaked bliss rocking against his straining bulge bringing him hurtling towards the edge.

He moans brokenly against your shoulder, feeling you shake in his arms. Your quivering thighs and jerky movements slow as you climax with your head thrown back and your hands still in his hair. It’s hot and wet, a cloying feeling of all sticky need and love made manifest in the quiet tavern. Diluc’s heart hammers in his chest when you look at him with swollen lips and a dreamy chuckle. You wetly kiss him, all soft and wanting.

“Diluc….” You breathe, still hot to the touch as your lashes flutter closed and you rest against him once again, “what do you want for your birthday?”

Diluc laughs softly, kissing your dewy temple. He thinks about how he wants to get you home, to make love to you properly. And then a bath for you both.

“All I want is you, dearest.”

You blow an anxious, dramatic puff of air from your nostrils, glancing at all of the magical, unique wares of Marjorie’s store. She’s always getting new things in, and for the last week or so you’ve been coming in daily, searching for something to get Diluc for his upcoming birthday.

You know not to make a spectacle — your dearest Diluc not particularly one for dazzle, but he also has a certain flair to him whether he admits to it or not. His reputation that goes beyond Mondstadt and to the different corners of Teyvat. He’s got a gentlemanly charm to him: exceedingly handsome and wanted by the ladies of Mondstadt (even with you very, very clearly being his significant other.) Carries himself with pride that both instills confidence in some and intimidation in others — as well as a strong imposing presence that lets everyone know Diluc Ragnvindr is there.

He is not one to go unnoticed, unless he’s patrolling at night, of course.

So, for his birthday, which is now one of several that you’ve celebrated with him, you’re confident in what he does like. But the problem is, Diluc is a man of vast wealth and thoughtfulness. He’s truly not one to really meddle with baubles and such , besides some sentimental pieces from family members, (and from you, of course.)

You leave the store empty handed with a small frown on your face. You go over the possibilities of what to get him, of how you selfishly wish you could get him anything that his kind and brave heart desires. You’d do anything, pay any price, just for Diluc to be reminded of your love and devotion. How happy you are to be his, and for it to be a gift to celebrate his dearness to you.

Later in the evening while you rummage around, and finishing getting ready for bed, Diluc appears with his arms crossed and leaning against the doorway. You know his softened footsteps, much quieter than what you would expect from his boots. You smile at him over your shoulder.

“So, you’ve been to Marjorie’s every day this week. Something you’re on the lookout for?” he muses.

“Okay, creepy Master Ragnvindr, have you been watching me that much?” you quip back playfully.

Diluc snorts.

“I tend to keep tabs on my favorite person, perhaps you could fault me for that.” he returns, walking up behind you and encircling your waist with his arms and a kiss to your cheek.

“You’ll have to forgive me for merely being curious.”

You hum, a smile growing on your face as your head leans back to rest on his shoulder. He presses kisses down the side of your throat.

“Well if you must know, I’m still thinking about what I’d like to get you for your birthday.” you lament slightly, turning to Diluc.

He sighs in endearment, placing his hands on your shoulders with a slow squeeze, “Darling, I have told you, really there’s nothing I could want for my birthday this year.”

You make a noise akin to a childish whine, your body flouncing in exasperation.

“But Diluc!” you frown. Diluc laughs, shaking his head and kissing your forehead.

“Really, silly girl. All I desire is to be with you if you’ll have me.”

“I just. I want you to feel special.” you reply petulantly. Your bottom lip folds out in an exaggerated pout, which Diluc kisses right off your face.

“Being yours is special.” he leans in closely, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you blush. He hums in quiet satisfaction as you blank for a moment. Then he wraps his arms around you and carries you to bed, your feet happily kicking up behind you as he chuckles against your temple.

You curl up next to him a bit later, after he’s thoroughly kissed you and had his head up your nightgown — his calloused fingers now tracing your spine. You feel ridiculous for your earlier tantrum, about wanting to spoil him with things. He’s very patient and gracious with you. You rest your chin on his chest and look up at him.

“Do you ever wish I was more like you? Quieter and less…excitable? Not so much of a ridiculous woman?” you whisper.

Diluc frowns, “Never. That would be boring. I love you. I fell in love with who you are. You’re never ridiculous. Except perhaps ridiculously charming, or kind, or thoughtful, or ridiculously cute.” Diluc says with a rub of the tip of his nose against yours.

Your eyes flash something of a sparkle in the low light of the bedroom, feeling him kiss your mouth again as he settles you in his arms before you drift off to sleep.

Soon enough, despite your overthinking, the day of his birthday arrives. Another year in the books of getting to celebrate with Diluc, another year of reminding him of how far he has come, how loved he is, how good of a man he truly is, and how so many find him to be an important and beloved figure in their lives.

You kiss him awake, watching him stretch like a great cat as the sun shines through the curtains. You giggle at his sleepy yawn, crawling over him whilst pushing his hair from his face, and then giggling when he suddenly grabs you at the waist in his burly arms, and pulls you close beneath the sheets.

“It’s your birthday, Diluc.” you whisper, grinning at him exhaling a laugh through his nostrils.

“I suppose it is, hm?” he smiles back, pulling you close for a kiss and a hum.

“I do hope that you didn’t run yourself ragged about getting me a present.” he adds.

You smile, with a slight shake of your head.

“I suppose you will have to find out!” you muse, kissing the bridge of his nose before hopping out of bed like a mischievous little rabbit.

Your lover is curious, and perceptive, but you know that you got him exactly what he wanted this year.

The evening comes and the Dawn Winery is modestly (or as modest as such a beautiful home could be) decorated with floral arrangements and a few strung lights, a stunning cake topped with dried fruits and candied flowers. Diluc, is as always, trying to hide his genuine smile — heartstrings tugged fully when Addie cups his face in her wrinkling hands, when Elzer pats him on the back, and even when Kaeya wraps an arm around Dilucs shoulders and wishes him a happy birthday. It’s nothing over the top, but Diluc feels loved. You can tell he feels grateful, even if he still sometimes grapples with whether or not he deserves such love.

Kaeya leaves towards the end of the evening after talking and swiping extra frosting from the cake all night with a bottle of dandelion wine.

“Isn’t it supposed to be my birthday? While here you are leaving with a gift.” Diluc quips, making Kaeya throw his head back with a hearty chuckle and a wink sent your way as he turns on his heel. Diluc throws a seemingly unnoticed smile towards his brother before closing the door, but you see it from the corner of your eye as you wave goodbye.

The fireplace is lit, as in April it still does get a bit chilly at nighttime. You and Diluc are sitting together on a few blankets gathered in front of the fire. Soft furs and heavy quilts lay in enticing piles for you to rub your bare feet upon and to watch the flames dance in Diluc eyes as he sips his favorite grape juice, his hair undone from his usual ponytail. All of the staff retired to their quarters, and now it’s just the pair of you in the quiet, save for your low laughter and Dilucs recounting of certain fond, childhood memories that you hold dear to hear from his very lips.

The fire crackles, your lips purse thoughtfully, “Diluc, would you like anymore dessert?”

Diluc looks as if he’s mulling things over, reaching over to take your hand and rub his fingers across your delicate knuckles.

“You know, I’m not sure there’s anything I could have that’s as sweet as you.” he smirks lightly. Your heart pounds at such flirtation from a man such as himself, even if you’re used to his occasional quips that leave you breathless and giggling all silly like. You remove your hand from his touch and he watches as you stand on the blankets.

“Funny you should say that.” you laugh softly, your cheeks growing ruddy as your fingers move to the buttons on your dress.

Your dress is your favorite color, because according to Diluc Ragnvindr, when you wear your favorite color, that’s his favorite too. You could cry at how he can be such a softie, if your heartbeat wasn’t currently in your ears. You slowly unbutton and untie, opening the garment and allowing it to fall to the floor as Diluc looks up at you with adoration.

Upon your figure sits a lingerie set, a brilliant red color that’s as vivid as it is soft and silky clinging against your body. Sweet tied ribbons set as bows go across each breast as well as another one on the backside of your underwear, framing your ass. Your dearest Diluc has seen you in lingerie, in lacy and fussy things that he grasps and touches and kisses over, and every time he’s stunned by them. By you.

You stand up a little straighter, pushing your tits out while chuckling softly down at your lover who can only stare for a moment before his hand wraps around your ankle, bringing his lips to kiss the front of your shin.

“Oh darling, you’re beautiful. Come here…” he breathes, stroking your ankle bone sweetly as you kneel down and his hand slides to your hip.

“You said you wanted me for your birthday, did you not?” you say softly, breath puffing shakily against his face. Diluc’s eyes are aglow with his ever ignited passion for you.

“I did, and how lucky I am to have you.” he says in return before capturing your mouth in a soft kiss.

His hand pulls at your waist, coaxing you to lay down on the blankets as he continues to kiss you. Your eyes flutter shut as he lays kisses down your throat and across your décolleté, open mouthed and wet and growing more ravenous for you as he goes. He holds himself up on an elbow, just far enough from you that his hair is down and flowing behind his shoulder and you can feel his breath on your cheek as his free hand glides across the bows on your chest. The globes of your tits are visible under the ribbons, your ribcage alight with butterflies as his fingers tug at the material.

“Unwrap me, birthday boy.” you laugh giddily, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as he does so, pulling the silky bow apart easily and exposing one of your nipples. It’s pert and achy, only growing more puffy when his hand moves to squeeze your tit and his thumb grazes roughly across it. Diluc groans deeply before he leans over you and sucks your tit into his mouth, and immediately laves over the nipple with the flat of his tongue. You keen, mouth dropping in delight as he sucks hard and releases it with a hefty pop, before nosing over to your other breast like an animal, nipping at the fatty part of your tit and goes ahead to untie that ribbon as well. He fully pushes himself over you, kissing and lapping and sucking sloppily onto your tits, your chest wet and swollen and arched every time he pinches a nipple or moans with one in his mouth.

Your thighs have been endlessly rubbing together, but now, with Dilucs wide frame settled between them, your hips seek out the hardness in his pants, erect against your inner thigh. Your hands scramble to undo his belt, Diluc suddenly aware of your fingers and the clink of his buckle. He helps instead, sitting back on his haunches and swiftly pulls his shirt from his form, bared to you all of his rugged scars and deep worn muscle, and a thatch of deep auburn down his belly. Diluc pulls the belt from their loops, watching you wiggle restlessly. Your eyes stay on the bulge of his crotch as he unbuttons his slacks and pushes his underwear down enough to fall under his ass and for his cock to fall out. It hangs between his muscular thighs from the hard and heavy weight — fat, taught balls hanging. You could scream with how badly you want him to fuck you.

Not forgetting about the sweet bow that decorates your ass, you roll yourself to your belly, your doll like lashes blinking at him over your shoulder with a playful wobble of your hips. Diluc groans your name, hunching himself over to kiss and bite at your shoulder blade. His cock grinds against your ass while his hand finds the ribbon and pulls it open, the underwear otherwise only made of that except for the amount of material to cover your mons. Your butt pushes up a little, bowing your back and your pussy puffy with want, drooling slick from Diluc’s kisses and attention to your tits. Even just seeing his freed cock made you flutter and leak. Although a gentleman, he nearly rips the underwear off your body. He then cups your cunt, middle finger prodding at your slit while you keen.

“My beautiful girl, all of this is for me, hm?” he rasps, pushing his finger all the way in to his last knuckle. He pushes and pulls it inside you before retracting his hand to use your dribbling slick to lube up his aching shaft.

“It’s no wonder I said I wanted you for my birthday.” he muses with a chuckle.

You believe him about to enter you, a soft piteous whimper as you lift your hips. But instead Diluc pulls at your waist, rolling onto your back once again. Your knees automatically fall open, butterflying out for your pussy to spread and drool, clit under its hood throbbing rapidly. Diluc crawls over you to crash his mouth against yours again, and how even in those short moments you have missed him so, missed his lips moving wildly and entrancingly until your tongue and his are nearly tangled from such vivacious kisses. Whilst kissing, he presses against your pitiful hole, yearning to suck him in. The more his tip rocks forward, the more the petals of your pussy flower open and stretch for him.

Diluc presses his forehead to yours, hips angled forward as he sinks in, every vein and ridge of his girth raking against your insides.

“My love, fuck, you were made for me. Do you hear me?”

Unused to Diluc using such filthy language, you choke on his words and the way he splits you deliciously, nodding and babbling his name as he starts a thudding rhythm of his cock punching at your insides. Diluc cradles you in his arms, kissing and swallowing in your whines and cries like you’re the most delectable of drinks that he dare not let even a drop escape — your knees drawn up and squeezing high around his waist, joined bodies a heap on the floor before the fire. Sweat dapples your bare skin as you push Diluc’s hair out of his face and cup his cheeks while his panting grows more and more frantic, hips punching upwards to feel his hefty cock at your most spongey and sensitive spot within your walls.

You know you’re going to cum — watching Diluc, who keeps his heavy gaze on you even as he licks his thumb to bring down between your legs to swipe at your clit with hard and messy strokes, fucking you as you shriek and startle at the way your orgasm crashes over you. He watches with his sweaty hair stuck to his neck, moisture dotting his hairline, as you lock up beneath him beautifully, and cum.

Your pussy clenches so hard around him that he winces — the hug of your sodden cunt keeping him from moving as wildly as he selfishly wants to, balls slapping your ass as his thrusts fade into slower, deeper ones. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you’re creaming around his cock, and when Diluc glances down to see the frothing ring around the base of him, sticky gossamer threads of your essence clinging to his pubic hair and your clit puffy, pussy split — he crumbles into your arms with a husky moan. His broad, muscular figure presses you into the blankets as his mouth groans low and ragged into your ear, his cheek pressed to yours as his hips buck sharply once, twice, three times and then his hips are so aligned with yours that you feel his cock kick over and over inside you, and the warmth of him filling you.

You’re lost beneath him, breathing heavily and muscles twitching, still feeling the dull thud of your climax between your legs. His hair flows all around you like a curtain as he shakily holds himself up so he can see your face, teary eyes and a sheepish giggle from such bliss as you pull him back for a greedy little kiss. Diluc smiles against your mouth, slowly pulling himself out of you with a moan as you whine, truly from such a loss that is his fat cock. His thick seed pools under your ass, and Diluc gazes in near awe at the gape of your pussy.

“It is your birthday you know.” you croon, blinking up at him with doe eyes that are anything but innocent, “And I am your present.”

Diluc hums in good humor, want still clawing at his chest as it always does for you, and nods his head in agreement. His cock throbs, and soaked with your combined release. A large hand comes to your hip to roll you over, and suddenly your ass is in the air, your face pressed into the blankets. You giggle in delight when you feel him hover over your back, and he whispers your name across your skin ‘till it goosebumps.

Awhile later when you’re both covered in sweat, depleted of what feels like all fluids as you shakily kiss Diluc and he strokes at your bare thigh, you grin up at him, all sleepy and full of love but still mischievous —

“So, what shall I get you for Christmas?”

Diluc laughs, undeniably and always charmed by you, his gift. He kisses your forehead as he pulls you closer,

“I think I have an idea, actually.”

"Ugh, quit blinking, you keep making me mess up, Kuni!" You snap, yanking your boyfriend by the jaw closer to you.

He opens his right eye, the one you already applied eyeliner on, and glares, his eye rolling before closing back again. "I'm not blinking, and I'm staying perfectly still. It's your fault if you mess up, not mine. Don't get mad at me that you're shitty at this."

You take a deep breath, repressing the urge to slap him hard in the face, because you know it's useless. Your boyfriend lives to ragebait the shit out of you. You don't say anything in response; you scoot closer to his standing frame, your feet dangling off the bathroom counter as you continue working on his left eye.

"Do you want the wing straight up or straight out?" You ask, pausing with one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek, with the eyeliner hovering right above his lashline.

Kuni opens both of his eyes this time, stares straight at you, and rolls his eyes at your question like it should be obvious, "Neither? Obviously." He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he adds, "When have you ever seen me with that? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to know that it goes out slanted. Not up, not straight. Slanted."

You narrow your eyes back at him, tightening your grip on his jaw in retaliation, "How am I supposed to know when you're ultra specific about everything and change your answer every time I ask? Two days ago, you told me to make it straight."

He flicks his eyes to the side like he's side-eyeing some invisible camera, and his eyes look annoyingly perfect when he does it. With the base shadow on his lids and the dark smudge along his lower lash line, and the contacts he doesn't need to wear.

His natural eyes are blue, but he insists on wearing indigo colored contacts because it's "more accurate", and you've learned not to argue with him about Scaramouche lore because you will lose. Every single time.

He glances back at you, his tone dry, "I told you that because last time was Xiao, not Scaramouche like today. Obviously. How many times do I need to say it for you to understand?"

You glance at him, copying his dry tone, "Just one more time, and I'll poke this pen through your eyelid. You wouldn't need someone to do your eyeliner by then."

He gives you a challenging smirk in response, "Do it, then. You wouldn't get that far to do any actual damage. I'll sue you and use the settlement money to hire someone who can actually do eyeliner."

You don't dignify that with a response. You tilt his head back with your grip on his jaw, angling it so you can drag the liner across his lash line in one smooth stroke.

You smile involuntarily when it comes out clean and matches the other side perfectly. It always comes out good when he stops being a little bitch about it… which is never, but today sufficed that never.

"The other side matches," you say, leaning back to check your work, watching as his eyes open slowly like he's unsure if you're done or not. "Perfect, like always, because I did it. Not you."

He scoffs, stepping back and moving toward the bathroom mirror, examining just what you're calling 'perfection'. You watch as he tilts his face to the left, then right, and as he leans in, he narrows his eyes.

The eyeliner is actually the last step of a much longer process. This part, the eyeliner, takes ten minutes tops. The puppet joints took an hour.

Every time he cosplays Scaramouche, Kuni sits in front of his vanity mirror with a palette of dark shadow and a thin, angled brush that he uses to paint puppet joints onto his own skin.

Knuckles first, every finger, dark, then his wrists, then his belows. He does his shoulders himself too, twisting in the mirror to get the angle right on the backs of them, and the concentration on his face while he does it is almost scary.

He's already head-to-toe in cosplay, minus the hat. As cringeworthy as it is to say, your boyfriend does look like Scaramouche reborn, and it's not just because of how accurate the clothes look on him, or how invested he is in cosplaying him. He looks exactly like Scaramouche would if he were real and not 3D.

The height… the weight… even his fingers match Scara perfectly. Skinny and long, the puppet joints make him look more biblically accurate.

He hates wigs, absolutely despises them, and as any person who finds their 'celebrity lookalike', or any 'lookalike' in general, he dyed and cut his real hair to match Scaramouches.

His hair is naturally black, and after an abnormally long hair appointment, the hairdresser was able to cut and style Kuni's hair to match Scaramouches without looking like some botched bowlcut.

"It's not a bowlcut," Kunikuzushi told the hairdresser, probably 4 times, just to get his point clear, "It's a mullet, mixed with a hime-cut in the front, and don't you dare forget the lighter colored streak in the back."

You remember being told that day to stick around, not in the waiting room, but in a chair beside the table your boyfriend was getting his hair done at. You had to get up at least 9 times to reassure Kuni that the hairdresser was getting the back right.

And after that day, after every time he put on his cosplay for this character that he's so obsessed with… he didn't look like your boyfriend anymore.

But you don't really complain.

"It's… acceptable," Kuni says to his reflection, the tiniest praise for the war you just went through, while doing his eyeliner.

You hop off the counter, tossing your hair back, while holding eye contact with his gaze in the mirror, "It's perfect, actually. You're welcome." You poke his arm from behind, giggling at the way he makes a disgusted face in response. "I love you too, you ungrateful man."

He doesn't respond to that; he just walks out of the bathroom and into his room.

He's already in the corner when you step in, adjusting his tripod and ring light, and you know the drill by now. Stay out of frame, stay quiet during takes, and entertain yourself until he's done being internet famous.

You grab your phone off his nightstand and settle onto his bed on your stomach, feet up, pulling up Genshin Impact. It feels like a chore to open this game up now, but you have to, for that stupid free constellation event where you have to complete your commissions and spend 120 resin.

You spawn in Nod-Krai, already moving your joystick to run towards the crafting bench, planning to craft your resin into condensed resin, but to your dismay, you already have 5 crafted resin from the previous days you tried this trick.

Domains it is.

You can hear your boyfriend in the background recording the same TikTok, over and over, trying to get the perfect take while you're teleporting to a random domain. It's annoying, and all you can focus on while you wait for people to join your world.

Once people join your world, and you start the domain, you move on autopilot. You don't really pay attention, probably fighting air every now and then, until a notification pops up from the top of your screen.

Even though you're in a co-up domain, your thumb his the notification before you can even finish reading.

The video loads, and it's what seems to be some sort of POV shot. It's like you're some enemy Lohen just knocked flat, because the view is from below, on the ground. His hand reaches down and grabs you, or the camera's face, dragging you to his height, and you spot his other hand raising a weapon, but you aren't even focused on the weapon… you're focused on the face he makes.

A grin with manic eyes, the expression of someone who doesn't just enjoy violence… someone who's aroused by it.

It happens so quickly that you watch it again, on loop. You watch the jaw grab again, the way he yanks whoever it is upward, the way his grin widens before the hit. You screenshot the maniac grin on the 4th loop… then watch it play through again.

Your thighs press together.

You scroll to the comments after the 7th rewatch, needing to see if everyone's losing their minds as hard as you are.

@scaramouchewho okay so we're all in agreement that lohen is what scaramouche COULD have been if hoyo let him be unhinged, right?

@kuniscaraworshiper everyone in the lohen tag better remember who paved the way. Scaramouche is the ORIGINAL unhinged short king… y'all are so disrespectful

@touchinggrassfearsme i just want lohen and scara to kiss… then me at the same time next… then they can kiss each other again after THEN THE SAME THING AGAIN

@mpreglover6769angie GET PREGNANT GET PREGNANT

You laugh seeing this comment, and when you tap on it, you're left with…

(This comment has been deleted.)

@lohennation BREED ME LOHEN. BREED ME. TEASE ME. USE ME. DEGRADE ME. oh and scara can watch ig… (yes i changed my user because of this video)

@wanderermybeIoved, you people don't know one thing about Scaramouche, and I don't want people talking about him when you clearly don't care about his character development or lore. He's more than just a "hot angry guy." Lohen fans (who just became fans of him less than an hour ago, mind you) wouldn't survive 5 minutes of scara's actual story because their reading comprehension is lower than a 4th grader's due to their goon-rotted brains.

@fatuiworshipper the way Lohen is just Scaramouche if he wasn't busy being sad all the time. he's happy to be evil… that's so hot

You scroll back up and watch the burst animation again. Your thighs squeeze together, and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. You've watched this video at least 20 times now, and around the 10th time, your underwear became a wet, sticky mess.

"Hey."

You don't hear him, you don't even flinch.

"… Hello??"

Nothing.

"Did you actually die? Should I call someone or check your pulse first?"

You don't hear your boyfriend because you're still on that Lohen video, grinning at some dumb comment of yet another person leaving scaranation for lohennation.

"You've been ignoring me for like ten minutes," Kuni says from across the room, and you can hear the shift in his tone, the way it goes from casual annoyance to genuine irritation, "what is so interesting about your phone that you can't look up for even a second?"

You look up from your phone before he can accuse you of cheating, which technically, in some tiny way… You kinda were.

He's standing by his setup, ring light off, his phone in his hand with his arms crossed. His expression looks like he's in between choosing to be mean about it, or letting it slide. He looks annoyed enough that he won't let it slide, and 10 minutes is a long time, unless he was just exaggerating.

"…Hi." You say, sweet and innocent, still lying on your stomach, still with the phone in your hand as you glance at it just once, like a random comment, before looking back at him, not fully engaged.

His gaze drops to your phone in your hand, then lifts back up to your face. The corner of his mouth lifts with slow, unbelieving amusement, like your delayed little “hi” is almost too stupid to be real. "Welcome the fuck back. Where did you go?"

"Remember Lohen from that one quest in Mondstadt?" You don't wait for a response, voice breathier than intended because your brain is still stuck on that video, "His burst animation just got leaked…"

You watch as your boyfriend's face changes into reluctant curiosity that fights with the irritation of being ignored. He walks over to his bed and drops down next to you. "Really? Show me."

You sit up, holding your phone out, and he just takes it, angling the screen toward himself. You watch his face as the animation plays, how his jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and his gaze cuts back to you once it's over. "It's okay." He says, tone devoid of any emotion you can pick up on.

"Just… okay? Kuni. Did you see the grab, the way… the way that the angle is like a POV, like that's you, he's grabbing… the way he just, his hand goes like-" You mimic the way Lohen's hand, holding the weapon, goes from behind and towards who he's about to stab.

Kuni glances at your hand, then back at your face, your phone still in his hand. "Mhm. I saw the exact same video as you." His tone feigns nonchalance.

You drop your hand, continuing to yap while not reading the room, "And the grin… Kuni, the grin? It looks like he's about to-"

"I said I saw it." He hands your phone back, using his own to open TikTok, scrolling through his feed with such focused intensity that it doesn't do a good job of hiding how little he cares about this. "People are going to lose it over this."

"They already are, have you seen the comments?" You're already scrolling through them on your phone, looking for one that doesn't say anything about Scaramouche, but it's practically impossible. "Everyone's saying-"

"I know what they're saying, I don't need to see the comments to know." His thumb flicks through posts, and you can see his jaw working, yet again. "Same shit that infected my feed when Lohen was in that quest, and people barely had info on him. 'Scara's done.' 'We're switching.' Like their loyalty has a shelf life of milk."

He keeps scrolling through his TikTok feed, and annoyingly enough, every video that comes up is about Lohen. He's talking, ranting about character depth versus surface-level hype, something about Scara's arc having actual emotional complexity while Lohen is, "just a boy with a violence kink." He is making good points, but you aren't fully paying attention.

You're still scrolling through Twitter, lying back against the pillows, reposting mindlessly on fan art that already exists of Lohen, and trying not to laugh at the posts comparing Lohen to Scaramouche.

He turns his head to you, and he stops talking, because he notices your attention is elsewhere. You don't notice the sudden silence because your brain is so far inside your phone that the real world doesn't exist right now.

His lips touch your neck, a soft, tiny kiss with the warm press of his mouth against the spot below your ear, and he shifts closer. His hand lands on your thigh, his thumb drawing a slow line along the inside where the hem of your sleep shorts sits.

You tilt your head up slightly, giving him access without giving him your attention, as your gaze is still on your phone. Your body just responds to him on autopilot because of months of this exact pattern, him kissing your neck while you doomscroll, except this time you're scrolling through posts and posts of his… replacement.

His tongue touches the skin at your neck, a quick and wet drag followed by his teeth grazing that same area. His fingers itch higher under your shorts, pushing the fabric up your thigh.

"Kuni, not right now, I'm looking at something-"

He cuts you off with a "Mmhmm," not stopping at all because just a second after, he's sucking on your neck. His fingertips graze the edge of your underwear, tracing the elastic back and forth, back and forth. It's light enough that it could be an accident, but what he's doing to you is clearly intentional.

You're still scrolling even as your boyfriend, in cosplay, is practically making love to your neck, and his fingers… they slide down from the hem of your underwear, to where your slit is, through the fabric.

You let out a soft, quiet, "Mm…" moan, still not looking up. The only reply he gets is the little sound you make and the wetness between your legs.

His middle finger traces your clothed slit in a lazy back-and-forth, that's designed for teasing and nothing else. His mouth is still at your neck, and he bites softly at it while that Lohen video coincidentally pops up on your feed again. Involuntarily, your hips shift up against his hand while your eyes are still glued to the screen.

His fingers slide up from your slit, back up to your waistband. You let out the tiniest whine, but that whine turns into your breath catching when his fingers dip beneath your underwear and make direct contact through your folds.

"You're so soaked," he says against your neck. His tone makes your thumb pause just as you're about to click on the comment section. His cadence shifted into something that sounds less like your boyfriend and more like the boy he's currently cosplaying as. "And it's not because of me. It's hard to believe a pixel on a screen could make you this turned on… but I guess anything's possible with someone like you."

You feel his middle finger circling your clit, slow and teasing, not giving you anything that you want while you watch that video on loop, again. The pattern of it doesn't stop, but the desperation and need to have him stroke you properly makes your hips twitch, and your focus shifts from your phone to his hand, and only his hand, at an alarming rate.

"It must be embarrassing," he starts, the same condescending drawl Scaramouche's voice has, and it fits in his mouth uncannily well, "getting this worked up over a character animation. Over something that can never," the same index that was teasing at your clit pushes inside you, knuckle deep, and you clench around it, "touch you."

He's quick to add a second finger, his ring finger, because one isn't ever enough for you. He curls them upward, finding that spot he mapped ages ago. Your phone screen goes dark from inactivity.

He doesn't leave any achy part of your cunt unoccupied, especially if his thumb is currently being useless. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs in circles while his fingers curl inside you. The dual stimulation makes your mouth fall open, and your phone falls out of your hand. Your phone hits the side of your stomach and falls down face-first beside you.

"There it is," he says against your skin, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck. "Phone's finally down. Took you long enough."

He pulls his fingers out, and before you can even whine about it, he shifts on top of you, sliding down between your legs. You look down at him, and the visual of Scaramouche slipping under the covers and pulling at the waistband of your shorts is doing something to you that ten replays of Lohen's burst animation could never replicate. Because this is actually real.

He's sliding your shorts down when you mistakenly whimper out, "Kuni…"

He stops, hands pausing on the fabric at your knees. "Mm… no. That's not my name tonight." He pulls the shorts off completely, tossing them wherever without looking in his room, and his fingers hook into your underwear next.

"It's Scaramouche. That's who you're looking at… That's who's touching you. And, that's the only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth. Not Kuni, and definitely not Lohen. If you even try saying his name, I'm cutting your tongue out." He drags your underwear down your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. "Scaramouche. Understood?"

You nod, too distracted by what he was saying to even realize you're bare from below, and you realize that the moment his mouth is on you.

His tongue drags flat across your clit, and you let out an involuntary, unfiltered moan at the contact. You'd care about his neighbors hearing if his mouth wasn't making you forget that other people exist.

It feels like he's reformatting your brain as he eats you out. Like every lick is deleting thoughts about Lohen and replacing them all with himself. His tongue works on your clit in patterns that make you let out dumb, uncontrollable moans. Two fingers slip inside you without warning, curling against your spot, and you can't help but grab onto his hair, that perfectly styled, dyed Scaramouche hair, and hold on.

Your hips twitch up, grinding into his face while your head tips back. "H-aah… f-fuck… Sca-"

He pulls back from your clit, fingers still working inside you, but at an even faster rhythm, "Louder than that."

You listen, brainless, doing whatever he says, "Scara… Scaramouche, I'm… hah… s-so close…"

He dives back onto your clit, mouth sealed on it, making you cum embarrassingly fast with his fingers curling inside your spongy walls. Your thighs shake around his head, and your grip on his hair tightens as you grind onto his face, clenching around his fingers. He goes slower once the aftershocks are over, and when you finally let go of his hair, completely out of breath, he pulls his mouth off your clit with a wet pop.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, the cosplay sleeve dragging across his face from his cosplay. The sight of that is so absurd and so hot that you almost cum again from that visual alone. The puppet joints look slightly faded on the two fingers he was fucking you with, and somehow that makes it worse.

He grabs one of the detached sleeves and slips it off his outfit. You watch him, brain still sluggish from the orgasm, fold it into a thick band, and you furrow your brows, confused. "What are you…"

"Scaramouche wouldn't let you see him lose composure." He slides up from between your legs, wrapping the fabric around your eyes, tying it behind your head before you can even protest. You can't see anything now, just darkness, and the sound of his breathing close to your face. "So you don't get to either."

You feel him move back and settle between your thighs, sliding them apart. You're still so sensitive from your orgasm that feeling his cock suddenly press against you makes an involuntary whimper slip out. He wastes no time slipping in, but he does it slow, stretching you open inch by inch, and you grab fistfuls of his sheets because the fact that you're missing one of your senses is making everything amplified.

"Oh my god…"

"Say my name," he says, and he feels deep enough inside of you that you can't tell how much more of him there is. You only know the stretch, the pressure, and how full you already feel.

A faint moan slips out of you before you manage, breathless, "Scara…"

"Yeah?" He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, he knows you can barely think. "Too full to say it properly?"

Your fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. "Sc… Scaramouche…"

He starts moving, and because of the blindfold, every thrust feels amplified tenfold, so much deeper. His hands are gripping at your hips hard enough to bruise. You feel him closer, by your ear, voice still in character, "You think some new character is going to replace me?" He puncuates the end with a hard thrust, and your mouth hangs open with a gasp.

"Some battle maniac with a grin? Pathetic. I've been your favorite since 1.1," another thrust, and it hits you deep, he grinds into that same spot, "and no amount of leaked animations is going to change that."

"I know… hah… I know-"

He pulls back just enough that you feel the loss of him even though he's still inside. Your hips chase him up, a needy whimper spilling out because you don't feel him moving anymore, and you wonder why. You feel his hand leaving your hip to pull the blindfold off your eyes.

Light hits your pupils, and you squint, disoriented, and the first thing you see isn't him. It's your phone, held inches from your face, bright and open on the password screen. In a flash, your phone's unlocked from just your face, and just as fast as that happens, he turns your phone back to him.

"Wha… what are you doing?" You're still catching up, blinking through your vision that's trying to adjust, even more now that a phone was shoved up in your face. He's swiping through your apps with one hand while the other pins your hip to the mattress. His cock is still inside you, not moving at all, and it almost feels painful with how much you're craving him to.

He pulls up Twitter, looking at your feed first before checking your reposts, because of course, the first thing that comes up is someone reposting that Lohen burst animation for the millionth time, like people haven't seen it already. He scoffs, tapping on your profile picture on the side, and looking through your reposts.

"This one says," he starts, scrolling with his thumb, his tone almost bored as he reads your reposts out loud, while he finally starts grinding into you, but it's slow, painfully slow. "I would let Lohen degrade, breed me, use me, and rearrange my insides until I pass out… You liked that one, reposted it from the same account that has your face on it. How dense can you be?"

You face heats up realizing just how embarrassing that is, only after doing it a while ago, "That's… that was just a joke-"

"Let's go to your replies tab and see if you did anything other than mindlessly repost whatever you saw," you watch as his thumb moves across your phone, he shifts his hips forward in a slow grind that makes your breath hitch, "Oh, so you did comment on something… that's it? Three fire emojis and a fucking… crying emoji? That's your contribution to the discourse? Really? Was your brain rotting that badly that you couldn't even type words?"

You don't even try to come up with a coherent response for that, and he doesn't wait for one. He throws your phone somewhere on his bed and leans down, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your head, and the closeness of him in full cosplay makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You know what's funny to me?" His eyes never leave your face as he rolls his hips, still a slow grind that drags his cock against your walls in such a way that keeps you in between being able to think and not. "You have a cosplayer. An actual, real person who dresses up as your favorite character and fucks you in it. And instead of appreciating that… you're reposting about a character that doesn't even have a release date yet."

A weak protest slips out before you can stop it. "I do appreciate-"

"Do you?" He thrusts hard this time, and it makes your back arch, your hands flying up to grab his shoulders as he continues at the same deep pace, watching your face change with every thrust. "Because I'm literally inside of you in a Scaramouche cosplay right now, and 20 minutes ago you were eye-fucking a burst animation while I was standing 12 feet away."

Your face burns, "That's not…" You swallow, trying to gather a thought that doesn't sound pathetic, "That's not fair, he's just a character, you're-"

"I'm right here." Another deep thrust, his hand slides up to cup the side of your face, tilting it so you're looking directly at him. At the eyeliner you did for him, the contacts, and the hair you even helped style. "And I'm the closest thing to a fictional character you're ever going to get. So maybe," he grinds into your spot, and your eyes roll, "act like it."

Humiliation and want feel like they're tangling so tightly that you can't separate them anymore. You can't even form a proper response for that, only being able to muster out a, "F-fuck… Scara…." as your fingers curl harder into the sheets.

"Mm." He keeps the angle, keeps rolling into that same spot, watching as it makes you go stupider quicker while his thumb traces your cheekbone. "You know what you should repost? A video of this. Me, in cosplay, between your legs. See how many likes that gets compared to a leaked animation."

Your brain decides this is the moment to let something slip. Completely irrational. "A lohen cosplay would probably get more likes because he's… trending." You don't even mean it as a dig; you say it in the normal, supportive tone you always give when he talks about content, while getting dicked down.

And the second those words leave your mouth, everything goes silent. He stops, completely. Cock buried inside you, and his hand on your face tightens. His thumb presses harder into your cheekbone. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do. It's this flat, cold look you can see even with the contacts, and the silence stretches long enough that you realize what you just did.

You scramble to backtrack, "I didn't mean-"

"No, don't backtrack now," he cuts in, voice eerily calm, tilting his head like he's studying any new reaction you'd make, "You sounded very sure of yourself a second ago. I want the same answer you gave before you realize I didn't like it."

You sink back into the pillows, head shaking, "Scara, you know that's not what I meant…" but you stop at the end when you see the look in his eyes darken.

He lets go of your face and pulls almost all the way out to slam back in, both of his hands gripping on the backs of your thighs, pushing them apart. He's fucking into you at a new pace that's faster and rougher than anything before this, every thrust feeling like a point he's making without words.

"He's an animation," he says between trusts, his voice strained, but he's still in character. "He doesn't feel like this…" A thrust so deep it pushes you closer to the headboard. "He doesn't sound like this." Another one, harder, and the sound that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable.

"And he doesn't know that if he hits this angle," he shifts his hips and nails your spot dead-on, and your vision whites out at the edges completely, "you make that exact face."

Your legs are shaking around his grip, your hands grasping at anything, his shoulders, his arm, the sheets, the only thought in your mind is him, the body between your legs trying to prove a point with his entire being.

Then, your phone lights up next to your head. It's a Twitter notification, something about Lohen, and the timing is so cosmically cruel. He sees it, and before you can even squint to see what it's about, he scoots back, letting your head fall off the pillow. You look at him, confused, completely innocent to the change of position that's about to happen.

His hands leave your thighs to grab at your hips, and in one inhuman motion, he lifts you off the bed almost entirely. Your back leaves the mattress, the entire room feels like it's tilting as he hauls your legs over his shoulders, your full weight being suspended against his body. His hands grip the front of your thighs, your arms scrambling for anything, and they end up gripping at the backs of his thighs. Your head is still on the mattress, and your arms, but everything else is up in the air.

He's about to fuck you upside down.

You yell out of panic, "Wha… SCARA-"

"You were about to check your phone." He says, voice unbothered like he isn't holding you in the air with his dick buried inside of you. "While I'm inside of you… While Scaramouche is inside of you." He adjusts his grip, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, and slides his hips back before slamming into you hard, forcing himself so deep that you see white. "Do I not have your full attention?"

Even as full, and thought empty as you are, you still try to defend yourself, "You do… hah… You do, I wasn't-"

"You were reaching for it," another hard slam, and you cry out, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. "Your hand almost moved. Almost. You were going to look at a notification while im fucking you."

He fucks into you, over and over, your legs dangling on his shoulders, the angle hitting something so deep inside of you that your body doesn't know how to process it apart from going completely boneless.

You're limp, even being fucked upside down. Your muscles gave up, and now you're just a body he's holding in the air and fucking into.

Your weight being nothing to him, your pleasure being everything.

"Scara… Scara, oh my god, I can't… f-fuck… I can't-"

"Can't what?" His voice is annoyingly steady, controlled, even though he's holding you up and thrusting into you with a force that should effect both of you, but it seems like you're the only effected one. Moaning sounds that aren't even words anymore, just vowels and air. "Can't think? Good. You shouldn't be thinking. The only thing in your head right now should be my name, and the fact that no pixel on a screen," he thrusts up, sharp, and the sound you make is practically a scream, "has ever made you feel like this."

Even with your mind blank, you can process his words enough to know that he's right. Because he's here, and real, and holding you in the air and fucking the coherence out of your skull. "SCARAMOUCHE- fuck, please… please don't stop-"

His pace only grows faster, his grip on your thighs tightening in such a way that you know it will end in bruises when you wake up tomorrow. You cum with the lower half of your body, suspended in the air. Your body locks up, ankles rolling, feet clenching around his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you in waves so intense that you can't even keep your eyes open, can't even suppress or care for how dumb you sound.

You can do anything except convulse around him while he holds you through it like you weigh nothing.

He cums exactly five seconds after, the way your walls clench around his cock not letting him pull himself back any longer. He buries himself deep with one final thrust up that pins you against his hips. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling you up as his fingers flex on your thighs.

There's so much that your body can't contain it, even in this position, you can feel some of his cum leak around where he's still inside you, dripping down between your ass cheeks.

He holds you there for a moment, catching his breath and you still catching yours, and then he finally sets you down. He moves back, lowering you, and you bounce back on the sheets, still out of breath, gasping, legs shaking, cum pooling more properly between your thighs now that you aren't in the air.

He's already pulling at the cosplay before his breathing even levels out.

"Finally," he mutters, yanking at the chest piece with the urgency of someone escaping a straitjacket, "I can take this stupid fucking thing off."

The outer layer comes off first, and he gets out of bed to toss it onto his desk chair without looking. Then the arm pieces, what's left of them, since one sleeve is still tied in a crumpled blindfold shape somewhere in the sheets. He pulls the one he's wearing off and throws it on top of the outer layers on the chair.

He's left in the sleeveless undershirt, the tight black one that sits flush against his chest and shows the puppet joints he spent way too long on at his shoulders. The shadow has smudged from the sweat, the edges bleeding where the lines used to be clean.

"I was literally cooking alive in that," he says, working at the fabric that sits on his hips next, "do you know how many layers this cosplay has? About four. Four fucking layers in a room with one fan and a broken AC because Ei cares more about being at work all the time than actually caring about a home she's barely at."

You don't respond because you are, at this moment, a puddle of a human being with no functioning brain cells and shaking legs. You're lying exactly where he put you down, staring up at the ceiling, legs still open because closing them feels like an exercise right now.

He glances at you once the majority of the cosplay is off, just the undershirt and shorts, and he gets quieter. He disappears into the bathroom that's connected to his bedroom and comes back with a warm, damp towel.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes your thigh to the side, wiping between your legs without saying anything. His movements are careful, clinical, almost, like the same precision he gives his cosplay goes into this too.

He cleans the cum off your inner thighs, the crease where your thigh meets your hip, folds the towel to the clean side, and gets the rest.

You flinch at the contact, still sensitive, and his other hand presses flat against your lower stomach to keep you still. "Stop squirming."

"But… It's sensitive," you say, finally, voice weak.

"I know it's sensitive. I'm the one who made it sensitive. Stay still."

He tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor when he's done, then goes to his dresser, pulling out a sleep set and underwear that are yours. A cropped top and matching shorts that somehow migrated into his drawer because you're here more than your actual house.

He comes back and slides the underwear up first, lifting your hips with one hand to pull them over your ass. Then, the shorts come next, doing the same motion he did for the underwear. He grabs the top next, and this part requires sitting you up, and you're not cooperative.

You're practically dead weight.

He pulls you up by the arms like a ragdoll, gets the shirt over your head, and guides each of your arms through the sleeves. You keep going limp on purpose, and it's irritating him. "You're not helping," he says, which isn't a helpful remark on his part.

You can't do anything but let out a tired, annoyed sigh, voice moving slowly as you say, "I can't feel my legs, Kuni."

He pauses as he's trying to pull the top down, giving you a sideways look, "That's a you-ca n't-help problem, that's a you-won't-help problem. Your arms should work fine."

You give him a fake, straight smile, shrugging at a languid speed, "They don't, actually. You broke those too when you held me upside down, and I had to hold onto your thighs for dear life."

He scoffs, dropping you back against the pillows, and you sink into them, boneless, dressed, clean, happy that you've trained him well enough to do this much after sex, because it pays off every time.

He pulls the covers out from under you, and this time you actually scoot to give him space to tuck them over your body. He grabs both of your phones and plugs them in, then walks to his closet to take the top off and replace it with a plain black t-shirt, and tugs on a pair of grey sweats. When he's done, he always backs toward the bed to get into the covers beside you, but you stop him.

"Kuni, can you please get me water?" You ask, with a tiny pout.

The exhale he lets out is so deep it could qualify as a controlled breathing exercise. He stands there for a full three seconds, covers still bunched in his hand, staring at you with the expression of a man who wants to only pass out in bed and rot.

"You couldn't have said that before I walked toward the bed?"

You look up, pretending to think, mouth curling up when you glance back at him, "I wasn't thirsty before you walked toward the bed."

He rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to rub his fingers at his temple in annoyance at all of this, "That doesn't even make sense."

You clasp your hands together, pouting, again, putting on a sweet expression just to mess with him further, "Please?"

He drops the covers and leaves the room. You hear his footsteps down the hallway, and they're loud enough that you know he's being loud on purpose.

Because Kuni doesn't make noise when he walks unless he wants you to know he's annoyed.

His house is massive; you spend 99 percent of your time in his room, so you actually get jumpscared every time you leave it. The hallways are long, or probably longer than an apartment floor in general, with marble flooring and clear walls with art on them that his mother picked out and he's never looked at once.

The kitchen is insane. Countertops that stretch for what feels like miles, a center island bigger than your own bed, and appliances that look like they belong in a once luxurious restaurant. Every surface is spotless because the housekeeper comes three times a week, and Kuni is already a clean freak on his own, so the combination creates a kitchen that looks perpetually unlived in.

He opens the cabinet, grabs a glass, fills it from the filtered tap, and when he turns around, his mother is sitting at the island.

She's been there the whole time, apparently.

Ei is on a barstool at the center island, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in her right hand and her phone in her left. Her hair is long and ink-black, pin-straight, falling over one shoulder, and in the dim kitchen light, she looks less like a person and more like a portrait someone painted and forgot to hang.

She looks up from her phone at the sound of the glass filling.

Her eyes move over him, at the messed-up hair, the contacts he forgot to take out, and the faded puppet joints still visible on his knuckles.

And also the fact that he's getting a glass of water at one in the morning in a post-sex haze that he thinks isn't obvious but is extremely obvious.

"You're still awake," she says, her voice carrying that same low, unbothered tone that makes everything she says sound like an observation.

"You're home," he replies, matching her energy beat for beat, turning off the tap without looking at her. "When did your flight land?"

"Three hours ago." She takes a sip of wine. "I didn't want to interrupt."

The silence that follows is loud. He knows what that means, she knows that he knows, and neither of them will say it directly because everyone in this family treats emotional honesty like it's some disease.

"Right." He grabs the glass and turns to leave as fast as possible.

"Kunikuzushi."

He stops, but he doesn't turn around, his grip on the glass tightening.

"Eat something tomorrow. The fridge is stocked." She pauses to take a sip before continuing, "And take your contacts out before you sleep. They'll irritate your eyes."

He stands there for a second, then another, then another, then walks away without responding. And his footsteps down the hallway are quieter this time. Not on purpose.

He gets back to his room and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He walks up towards the bed and reaches over to hand you the glass. You take it, sitting up slightly, drinking half of it in one go while he stands there watching you like you just made him walk a marathon for a cup of water.

"Happy?" He asks, pulling the covers back.

You roll your eyes and hand him back the glass. He sets it on the nightstand and gets into bed, lying flat on his back. You immediately roll onto his chest like a magnet, your cheek pressing against the cotton of his t-shirt, and you can hear his heartbeat, still a little fast, coming down.

His hand finds your hair, starts that absent, repetitive thing he does, threading his fingers through the strands over and over. You press closer to him, tangling your legs with his under the covers, and his arm tightens around your back.

You close your eyes, and his fingers never stop moving through your hair.

He doesn't tell you he loves you; he never does first. But his thumb traces a slow circle against your scalp, and his breathing evens out underneath you, and he doesn't move even when your weight goes fully dead against his chest.

That's how you know.

You're in your room today, not at your boyfriend's house like you usually are. You do like being in his room and hanging out with him constantly, but it's also constantly exhausting. Some days, you'd just prefer to be… alone.

Your room is the complete opposite of Kunikuzushi's aesthetic. Light beige walls so you can hang up cute pink miscellaneous things on your wall without them clashing. A fluffy, soft, pink bed that used to be a canopy until you woke up to a fat spider next to your face, as if it was their bed too. Plushies… lots of them, on your bed, some kept on a large shelf you bought to store the expensive anime figures Kuni always buys you. Long story short, the general vibe of your room makes you seem like someone whose entire personality is soft and sweet.

You're lying on your stomach on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the fallout of the Lohen leak from 3 days ago. The internet has still not calmed down… if anything, it's worse.

@scaranation4LIFE scaranation we STAND. Every character had their tiny moment of fame… our show lasted four years. FOUR. We were even on the news… lohen's gonna last one patch and you're all going to be crawling back

@lohenxscarabeliever i don't want lohen OR scara… i want them BOTH to ruin my life SIMULTANEOUSLY. Why is this so hard to understand

@wanderersfavoritebuttplug scara… I’d never replace you for that sadistic twink (maybe) (we’ll see)

The comments are always talking about the same thing, at least every comment section under a Lohen Twitter post, as the diehard simp, the one who wants Lohen and Scara to fuck each other, the one who wants to cuck Scara in front of Lohen, and the very few actual loyal Scara fans.

… You feel like you're a bit of both.

You're deep in the comments, simultaneously looking at edits of Lohen on TikTok, then taking a Twitter break, then TikTok, when at some strange point, your bedroom door opens.

You don't look up, you assume it's Kuni because your parents aren't home, and you gave him the key ages ago. "Hey, Kuni," you say, still scrolling, legs swinging behind you, "if you're here to yell at me about using your newest Flower Knows palette before you did, it's not that big of a deal-"

You stop because when you look up, what you see is something you'd never, ever expect from a surprise visit from your boyfriend.

Kunikuzushi is standing in your doorway in full-on, perfectly accurate, as always, cosplay. But it's not Scaramouche, or some other male in the game… It's Lohen.

Your phone hits the mattress.

The character you've been losing your mind over for 3 days, the one you've seen on your phone screen a genuinely convincing number of times, is here, in real life, standing in your pink bedroom doorway.

"When did you-" your voice comes out strangled, your mouth feeling dry, and your throat feeling so tight that you cut yourself off. Your eyes scan the cosplay, again and again, confused at why he didn't tell you about this. Especially ordering a unique cosplay of a character that hasn't even fully come out. "When… when did you order this??"

He grins, a toothy, sharp-eyed grin that looks nothing like Scara's smirk. It's so strangely accurate to the expression Lohen would make, and you wonder if he's spent the last 3 days practicing for this.

"I've been tracking you all day," he says, and his voice is different than normal, more confident, louder, less… restrained on what's deemed as good. "You've been hard to pin down."

He crosses the room, and your body does something it doesn't do with Kuni. It tenses out of something close to fear, but closer to not knowing what's coming next. His hand grabs the front of your tank top and yanks you off the bed. You yelp in a way that's higher, more startled, more genuinely caught off guard than anything Scara has gotten out of you in months.

"Nervous?" He questions, his grin widening, and his fists twist in your shirt, pulling you closer, until your chest is against his. He can feel your heartbeat… at least you assume he can, because you can hear it going haywire through your ears to the point that you'd believe it's audible even if he wasn't this close.

You deny because you hate admitting things to him when he's acting smug, even though anything you could say would be utterly pointless, as your face and the way you're barely moving prove his point way too well. "I'm not nervous…" You try a distraction, any, "Are you really wearing a wig, Kun-" but it gets cut off quicker than you can even finish the last word.

"Your heart feels like it's about to explode out of your chest." He leans in, his mouth next to your ear, and his voice drops, but he still keeps the edge of it in character, "What's different? You let Scaramouche do whatever he wants to you. But Lohen shows up and suddenly… You can't even talk?"

You knit your eyebrows, staggering to say anything that sounds like you're not any less dumb, "That's… it's different, you're usually-"

"Usually what? Predictable?" He pulls back to look at you, and you glance up and down at his cosplay once more, and it's even more annoyingly perfect up close. You seriously don't know how he does it; he even looks good in a wig, even though he hates them. "You know every move Scaramouche makes before he makes it. You're comfortable with that, and that's boring." He says it like an insult, and his grin drops suddenly, his eyes not leaving you once as he says, "I'm not comfortable. Are you scared of me?"

You answer a simple, "No." But the way you still haven't moved on your own since he appeared at your door proves without words otherwise.

"Liar." He shoves you, and you fall back before you can catch yourself on the bed, bouncing on the pink sheets, your tank top riding up slightly in the process. "Your voice had the tiniest crack in it."

He's on top of you before you can sit up, his knee between your thighs, his hand going to your jaw… and he does it.

The burst animation.

His fingers close around your jaw as he lifts your face toward his, slow, and the grin is right there, a perfect replica of the video you've watched on your screen more than 100 times.

"There's my favorite prey," he says, holding the pose for three seconds, and instead of reaching his arm back and stabbing you, he leans in to kiss you.

It's violent, that's the only word to describe it. Non ceremonial, just teeth, tongue, and a lot of force by him. His hand is still gripping your jaw, controlling the angle, and also making sure you don't pull away so soon. You make a sound into his mouth that's between a moan and a whimper, that's even more vulnerable than anything you've made during sex when he cosplays as Scaramouche.

He pulls back, unbuckling one of the belts on the cosplay, a strap that's a part of Lohen's design, and he wraps it around your wrists, binding them above your head against the bed.

"Every battle maniac needs a sparring partner," he says, tying the knot with one hand while the other shoves your tank top up above your breasts. "And you looked at me like you volunteered."

He strips your shorts, then your underwear, and he doesn't bother about being sweet with it. He yanks them down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, and then his hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes them up toward your chest.

Mating press, that's what he's doing.

Your knees are at your shoulders, your hips are tilted up, and he's on the bed, kneeling over you. His weight is driving your thighs down, folding you in half. Your wrists are bound above your head; you're just completely open and trapped.

"L.. Lohen…" You whimper out in the voice of both someone in awe, and in the tiniest fear of what's coming next.

"Hmm." He unzips his pants, frees his hard cock from his underwear, which he slides down just enough, and positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes in.

The first thrust is the full length of him burying himself deep inside you in one stroke; the angel of the mating press makes it feel deeper than it should. His cock presses against your cervix, and the sound that leaks out of you is closer to a sob than a moan.

"AH- oh fuck oh fuck oh-"

"Too much?" He asks, and his grin, that fucking grin, is right there, his face inches from yours because the mating press puts him on top of you… over you, covering you entirely.

"N-no, just- hah-" You get cut off with the way he pulls back and slams back in, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, before just fully closing.

"Not convincing." He pulls back, again, slamming into you harder than the last one, like he's powering up his thrusts, and your back tries to arch off the bed, but his weight is pressing you flat, and you have nowhere to go. You feel his hands at your face. "Your eyes are watering."

You open your eyes back up to look at him, head shaking, even though you do feel something hot and wet sliding softly down your cheeks. "You're lying, they're n-not-" You're studdering from the way he's repeditely fucking into you, especially hitting your deeper spots on purpose when you try speaking, but he cuts you off anyway.

"They are." He leans down and licks a tear off your cheekbone. The act is so different from the way he's currently fucking into you, brutally, and you're turning incoherent faster than ever, moans spilling out uncontrollably as the sound of his hips plaping against your ass fills the room.

"You cry for Scaramouche because it feels good. You're crying for me because you don't know what I'm going to do next." Both of his hands leave your face; one goes back onto your thigh, the other finds your throat. "And that scares you… Doesn't it?"

His fingers close around your neck, and he doesn't choke you the same way Kuni does during normal sex. This version is different, new, something you've never felt before. Lohen's choke. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, squeezing the muscles, not your windpipe, but the tissue around it. The difference, the way this feels new, is because it feels like it's designed to hurt, not to just cut off air. The pain is sharp, and you can still breathe, technically, but every inhale aches, and the compression makes the blood rush to your head in a way that amplifies every sensation that a blindfold never could.

You can't move your hands, even as they itch to grab or instinctively hold at his wrists, you're reminded that they're bound together by his belt. Your moans just get more amplified thrust after thrust after squeeze, "Nghh- Lohen… hah…"

"You can barely even say my name." He squeezes harder, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, and the pressure pushes you right to the edge of too much. "Scaramouche gets full sentences out of you… Full moans… Full 'please'. But me?" He thrusts deep, grinding, holding himself inside you while his hand tightens on your throat. "I get syllables… Half-words… or just plain denial over anything I say. You're so nervous you can't even beg for anything properly."

He fucks you into the mating press until your thighs are shaking against his hands, and your voice is hoarse from the sounds he's pulling out of you. His hand stays on your throat. The pressure of his squeeze fluctuates a lot, from him tightening when he thrusts hard, loosening when he grinds slowly, a cycle of both pain and relief that keeps you permanently on the edge of too much without ever crossing into too much.

Because Kuni knows your body, he knows how much it can take. He pushes you close enough to passing out that your vision darkens at the edges, your mouth falls open, your eyes lose focus, and then he loosens his grip and lets the blood rush back.

And the gasp you take is almost an orgasm on its own. "Please- hah… please, I can't… too much-"

"You can handle it, you just don't know it yet." He squeezes your throat and fucks into you hard enough that a plushie falls off the bed. The grin on his face is still, still beautifully intact, and it's the most terrifyingly perfect thing you've ever seen from this close.

"You know what's funny? You were scared when I walked in. Nervous. Couldn't even talk to me." He leans down until his lips brush yours, his hand still on your throat. "But you're not trying to stop me, are you? Your hands are tied, your legs are pinned, and we have a safeword you could've used at any point, and you won't, because you and I both know this is exactly the type of 'too much' that you crave."

You cum with his hand on your throat and his cock buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach. The orgasm hits different in a mating press, so much more intense. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that you feel in your entire pelvic floor, and he fucks you through it, his pace not slowing, his hand not loosening.

And by the time the aftershock fades, you're boneless, twitching, and making sounds that are barely human.

He cums inside you, you feel the heat of it, thick, pulsating, his hips pressing flush against yours and staying there while his cock throbs. His hand finally loosens on your throat, and his forehead drops against yours.

His breathing is ragged, and it's the first time you've ever heard him lose the composure of the character, and for one second, between the last pulse and first exhale, it's just Kuni.

Then the Lohen grin slides back. He stays inside you for a moment more, his cock still twitching with the last of it, before pulling out in one motion that makes your body clench around nothing.

You feel the immediate emptiness, the warmth of his cum already starting to leak, but you don't get to process that because his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you.

Your stomach hits the mattress, your face presses into your pillow, and the shift of his cock inside you during the rotation makes a wet, obscene sound that you both pretend not to hear. Your wrists are still bound with the belt, and they're now pinned beneath you. You feel him reach under you, fingers finding the leather, working the buckle loose with one hand, while the other grips your hip to keep you from sliding forward.

The belt falls away from your wrists, you roll them instinctively, flexing your fingers, and before you can even appreciate the freedom, you feel the belt loop around your neck instead.

He pulls it taut from behind. He doesn't choke you with it just yet; he just lets it sit snug against your throat with his fist gripping the trailing end like it's some sort of handle.

"Ass up," he says, and you barely get your knees under you before he gives up on waiting and pulls your hips back toward him.

He slams in at a rough, fast, punishing pace. The sound of his hips against your ass is echoing off your room in a rhythm that makes your plushies at the edge of the bed vibrate, causing a couple of them to fall.

He uses the belt as a way to anchor his thrusts while he rails into you with a force that has your fingers twisting in your sheets, and your neck being forced to arch back.

"Fu- oh my g-god, Loh-" You can't even finish his name, it just dissolves into a broken moan as he hits your spot from this angle. The deepness of the backshots makes your toes curl against the bedsheets.

He keeps going, his pace not slowing down at all, and you're too far gone that you barely register it when his rhythm stutters for a second, especially when you hear him mutter something under his breath that doesn't sound like Lohen.

"This stupid fucking…"

Your brain is somewhere between your legs; the only sound that's audible and coherent to you is the sound of his hips against your ass, and your endless moans.

He thrusts hard, and you let out a whimper, your fingers flexing on the sheets, and your feet coming up, clenching, then dropping again. But between the next few thrusts, you catch pieces of something that doesn't match the character he's trying to play.

His voice sounds like it's shifting, not into Scara like it's some muscle memory he has, but into Kuni, your boyfriend, sounding genuinely irritated about something that has nothing to do with sex.

"I swear to god, it keeps sliding," he mutters, and his grip on the belt loosens for a second as his other hand does something behind you that you can't see. He does another hard thrust, and your face falls against the pillow now that he isn't yanking on your neck. But he doesn't pull you back, choke you, or do whatever you expect him to do.

He complains.

"This is the last time I'll wear a wig. The last fucking time. I told you I hate these things and you always ignore it and tell me to suck it up when it's a character that isn't him-" a thrust that makes your spine arch, "and now I have gross, synthetic hair scratching at my face, and I'm going to lose my mind."

You're barely processing any of this, still, it all sounds like fragments to you that don't make sense because of the thick haze of being fucked into your mattress.

He grunts, clear frustration, and you hear something that sounds like a clip, or whatever mechanism that's keeping his wig attached to his actual hair, and his pace slows down enough that curiosity overtakes the pleasure for one stupid second.

You turn your head.

And it's Kuni behind you, one hand still on the belt at your neck, and the other holding the Lohen wig that he just pulled off his head. His real hair is back, dark indigo, messy, slightly matted from the wig cap he also tore off. He hasn't noticed you looking yet; he's too busy glaring at the wig with genuine contempt.

He's out of character, fully, completely, for once mid-fuck. He never breaks character, and something comes over you… Maybe it's the absurdity of the visual, maybe it's because you're fucked stupid enough that impulse control is just completely gone.

Maybe it's because the opportunity is just too perfect to pass, and you've seen that TikTok audio one too many times.

You gasp, loud, dramatic, your voice coming out in that exaggerated, scandalized tone that you know he's going to hate, "he's BALD. He's bald, and he's torturing people who have HAIR!"

The silence that follows lasts exactly one and a half seconds.

His eyes snap to you, and you're looking at him over your shoulder, half of your face pressed into the pillow, and you're grinning. That kind of stupid, shit-eating grin that you know is about to have severe consequences.

His expression goes through several stages in rapid succession. Disbelief comes first, processing it comes second, then recognition of the reference, and on the last and final stage, something dark and focused appears that makes your grin falter just slightly.

He throws the wig, and it hits your vanity mirror, sliding off somewhere that you don't care to watch, and his now-free hand shoves your head back down into the pillow. It's not gentle. His palm is flat against the back of your skull, pressing your face into the fabric, and your giggle gets muffled by cotton.

"You think that's funny?" His voice drops back into Lohen's, but it's rougher now, meaner, the edge of genuine irritation soaking through the character because you made a dumb joke while he was inside of you. "You think you're clever?"

You're trying to respond, but your face is pressed into a pillow, and his hand is keeping it there. What comes out next is a muffled, "Mm srrhyy-" that dissolves into a yelp when he slams into you so hard your knees slide forward on the sheets.

"Every prey animal thinks it's funny right before the teeth close." He fucks into you at a pace that's brutal, and way faster than anything before. Each thrust is showing you further into the mattress while his hand keeps your head pinned, and the belt around your neck pulls tight from the motion. "You want to make jokes? I'll give you something to scream about instead."

His other hand leaves the belt to grab at your hip, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the force of being pushed down and pulled back simultaneously has you making sounds into the pillow that are just broken, raw sounds. Your hands claw at the sheets above your head, your back arching down, while your ass stays up, and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hip while the belt drags against your throat.

"Mmph- wait, f-fuck, I'm sorryyy, I was k-kidding-" you manage between thrusts, your words slurring against the pillow, saliva starting to collect at the corner of your mouth because your jaw won't close properly. "Loh-hen, please, 'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-"

"You have a funny way of apologizing," he grinds out, and his hand on the back of your head shifts, his fingers curling into your hair and pulling your face just barely off the pillow, enough that your moans aren't muffled anymore. "Usually, people apologize without laughing. You're still smiling about it, I can hear it in your voice."

He's not wrong. You are still smiling, with tears in your eyes, getting absolutely destroyed because the image of your boyfriend ripping off a wig mid-sex with that look on his face will live in your brain rent-free forever. "Liar… 'M not smiling-"

"You are." A thrust so deep your smile actually drops because your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open around a moan that's more of a wail. "There… fixed it."

His other hand releases your hair and goes to his own head. You can feel the shift in his movements, slightly distracted, one-handed thrusts that are still devastating but less focused as he runs his fingers through his real hair, fixing it through the vanity mirror on the far side of your room.

Because even while he's railing at you, Kunikuzushi will not be caught dead with bad hair.

He's multitasking, fucking you into the mattress with one hand on the belt, and styling his hair with the other… the worst part is, he doesn't even slow down.

He pulls the belt back just enough that you're forced to arch your spine, the pressure on your throat lifting your chest slightly off the mattress, and the angle change makes his cock hit differently, shallower but dragging against your front wall with every stroke, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly close to a squeal.

"Ah ah AH, oh m-my god, oh my god, right there, don't- nghhh don't move from that, please plea-hease..." Your words are tumbling out in a slurred mess, your brain is completely out of your control, and your hips are pushing back against his on their own because the angle is too good.

He cums with a groan, pressing into the back of your shoulder, biting down on your skin through a moan he clearly didn't want to let out. You feel his cock pulse inside you, the heat spreading, and his hips grind forward in small, lazy rolls as he empties everything. His hand goes slack on the belt, and his forehead drops against the space between your shoulder blades.

He stays there for a second, breathing, then he pulls back, letting go completely of the belt, and you fall forward because he was the one pulling your practically limp body against him. Your ass is up in the air, and you feel him slide out, and the gush of cum that follows is immediate. It's thick, warm, spilling out of you and down between your thighs.

He sits back and watches it, you know, because you hear the sheets shift, and you can tell by the way he doesn't move or speak, just watches the mess he made ooze out of you.

His thumb presses against your entrance at the rim, and more cum leaks out around the pressure, sliding down in a slow trail toward your clit. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice back in character for Lohen, in an amused, fascinated tone. "You can't keep any of it in."

His other hand comes up and spreads you open with his thumb and forefinger, holding your folds apart, and you can feel the cool air hit the mess inside you. You feel more of his cum spill out from being exposed. You bury your face deeper into the pillow because the visual you can't even see is somehow still the most embarrassing part of this entire night.

"Lohen, don't just… stare at it-" You mumble into the pillow, voice a bit pitchy as your thighs try to close, but his knee is in between your legs before you can even try to hide.

"Why not?" His thumb traces through the cum leaking down your folds, collecting it, spreading it in a slow circle around your clit, and your hips jerk at the contact because you're so overstimulated. "It's mine, I put it there, and I'll stare at it for as long as I want."

He leans down, and you feel his breath warm against your swollen, sensitive skin. Then you feel his tongue, a single slow lick from your clit up to your folds that collects everything in its path. You let out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a sob, your fingers crushing at the sheets. His mouth seals around your clit and sucks one, hard, before pulling off with a wet pop that's so loud it echoes.

"Ahh- hhah, that's... you c-can't just do that and stop..." You whine, your hips chasing his mouth, but he's already sitting up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"I can do whatever I want." He says, like it's a fact, and his thumb pushes inside you lazily, scooping cum out and watching it drip off his finger before sliding it back in. "And right now I want to watch you try to keep it together while I play with the mess I made."

He does this for longer than is reasonable. Sliding his finger in, pulling it out with cum on it, pressing his thumb against your clit, watching you flinch and twitch and moan into the pillow while your body can't decide if it wants more or if it wants him to stop.

When you finally lift your head enough to look back at him, your vision is blurry, and your cheeks are wet, and your hair… let's not talk about that. But his hair, however…

It's perfect.

His actual hair, styled in Scaramouche's cut, falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look like a character rendered by someone who accidentally released him into the real world. He fixed it while he was fucking you, which means at some point of the most brutal backshots of your life, your boyfriend was simultaneously running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked good.

And it does, it looks like Scaramouche wearing Lohen's clothes, the dark blue and silver of the cosplay framing his face differently than Scara's outfit does, and the combination of his real hair with Lohen's costume is somehow hotter than either one on its own.

"Your hair…" You start, breathless, head tilting, staring at him.

"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and for a second you did forget just where his fingers still are, but then you get instantly reminded when his thumb circles your clit again. His expression is annoyingly smug for someone who was complaining about a wig 4 minutes ago.

He slides back into you without warning, and you gasp, your head dropping back down, because you're still so unbelievably sensitive. Even though he did slurp some of it out, you still have his cum inside of you, and the re-entry just pushed every bit of the leftovers deeper. He does exactly two, slow thrusts from behind, enough to hear the wet sound of it, and enough to feel you clench around him involuntarily, and then he moves.

His hand wraps the belt tighter around your neck and pulls backward toward him. Your upper body lifts off the mattress as the leather digs into your throat. And at the same time, as if he's some pro multitasker, his other hand hooks under your thigh, and hauls you up.

The room tilts as he rearranges your body like you're a doll getting repositioned on a shelf.

He sits back on his heels, then further, his legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and he pulls you down onto his lap with your back against his chest. His cock is still inside you, and the angle of his cock in your folds shifts as gravity does the work of seating you fully onto him. Your weight pushes him impossibly deep.

"Oh my- f-fuck..." Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth open, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. You can feel him everywhere. The depth of this position, your full weight on his lap, is the kind of full that makes your brain actually go blank.

The belt is still around your neck. He grips the loose end in one fist, his other hand settling on your hip, and he snaps his hips up.

It's different from behind, and the mating press, and just any position he's ever tried with you. Every thrust pushes up into you while your own weight pushes down. The collision of both forces means he's hitting your cervix with almost every stroke. The belt pulls at your throat in time with his rhythm, and it's like a constant tug that keeps you slightly alert. He's using it as a leash while he fucks up into you.

"Lohen… Lohen, oh my g-god, that's so… hhh…" Your hands grip his thighs behind you for leverage, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin through the dark fabric of the cosplay pants. Every thrust forces a sound out of you that you didn't choose. The sound ranges from breathy moans to hiccuped whimpers to full, unfiltered whines that bounce off your bedroom walls.

"Mm, good girl… Keep saying my name just like that." He says against the shell of your ear, his grin pressing into your hair, and his hips don't slow down at all while his free hand leaves your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it through your bunched-up tank top.

Then, suddenly, the pace changes. It slows like someone pressing on the brakes. The frantic upward thrusts melt into something grinding, deliberate, circular. His hips roll instead of slamming. His hand on the belt adjusts, and you can feel the leather pulling higher on your throat, the pressure shifting from the side of your neck to the front, directly on your windpipe, cutting your air down. It makes the room tilt and your head go light.

"Lohen is fun. I'll give him that."

Your walls clench around him so hard that you feel his breath catch, a tiny fracture in his composure that he covers immediately. The shift from Lohen's energy to Scara's is like someone swapped an entire soundtrack mid-song, same instruments but a completely different vibe.

"But fun is temporary." His hips roll in that slow, calculated grind that's purely Scaramouche. The one that doesn't just find your spot but sits on it, presses into it, with the exact amount of pressure needed to make your eyes cross. "Chaos without control is just noise."

He thrusts so deep that your vision goes white at the edges and your mouth opens around a shameless sound you can't hold back. "I'm not noise." He pulls the belt tighter, your air growing thinner as your head feels floaty and warm. "I'm the only voice in your head that stays."

"Scara…" It comes out of your mouth before he can ask for it, before he can demand it, your body just defaulting to the name it knows and has moaned out more times than you can count. Just the same as muscle memory.

"There she is." His voice sounds satisfied in a way that Lohen's never was. It's settled, fully sure, like something just got confirmed that he already knew. His thumb traces the edge of the belt for exactly one second.

Then his pace goes feral, the leash yanks tight, and you can feel the grin return against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. The whiplash of Scara's controlled grind slamming into Lohen's chaos makes your entire body jerk against his chest.

Then he goes back to Scara, slow, precise, the belt adjusting to hit your windpipe just like before, and your vision goes soft and dreamy.

Then Lohen, again, fast and reckless, the belt pulling to the sides, sharp and painful. Your vision snaps back, too clear… too much.

Then Scara.

Then Lohen.

The switches accelerate, and you're caught between two different rhythms that you don't even have time to get used to either one before it switches back and forth, and you're left shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering helplessly on either side of his.

"You feel so fucking good-" you can hear Lohen's signature grin in his tone, his hips snapping up hard enough that you bounce on his lap, "You think you can handle more?"

And then, like a light to a switch, Scara's back, his thrusts slowing into a grind that feels torturous. "Of course you can't… You never could. You just pretend."

"Mm… mmnhh, I c-cant, it's too much," you're babbling, the words coming out in disconnected fragments that don't form a single coherent thought, "both of you at the s-same time… I can't… my brain… can't…"

Your body is trying to process two characters and one cock, and one belt on your throat that keeps changing how tight and how rough it's being pulled, and the gravity pinning you down, and his hands on you everywhere. "Please jus- hha, pick one, p-please, I can't think when you keep switching, I-"

"No." It doesn't sound like either character he's playing as he says that, almost himself. "You don't get to pick, you get both."

You cum on the fault line. On the exact millisecond where Lohen's chaos collides with Scara's control. The two rhythms are crashing together inside your body like a wave hitting a wall. The orgasm rips through you so hard that your vision actually blacks out for a second.

Your walls seize around him in rhythmic, violent clenches, your back arching against his chest, the belt pulling taut as your body contorts, and the sound you make is raw, unformed, the kind of noise a person makes when their brain short-circuits.

He cums with you, his groan is buried in the crook of your neck as his teeth bite down on your shoulder. The belt goes slack in his hand, and his hips stutter up as he fills you again. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, and his hands grip your hips hard.

His breathing is ragged against your neck, not in character, just Kuni, just like before, catching a breath he doesn't need to catch because the adrenaline is still making his body do human things.

He lets go of the belt and unloops it from your neck. The leather slides off your skin, leaving a warm, raw line that you'll see in the mirror tomorrow. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, all the urgency gone.

He turns you around, rotating you by your hips without pulling out. Your legs swing around until you're facing him, straddling his hips. When your eyes meet his, it's your boyfriend looking at you, Kuni, with his makeup smudged, his real hair messy and falling into his eyes, wearing another character's clothes with his own face underneath.

He grinds up into you, slow, not thrusting, just rolling his hips with his cock still inside you, his cum still inside, and the wet sound fills the quiet room.

He kisses you, a slow kiss where his hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands find his face, holding his jaw the same way you hold it when you do his eyeliner. Your fingers on his cheekbones, your thumbs at the corners of his mouth… the grip is so familiar that your chest aches with it.

He pulls out, the gush of everything between you spills onto his thighs, and you whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him involuntarily, still kissing him, before settling.

He leans back, lies flat, and looks up at you. "Sit on my face." He instructs, his hands already going for his bottoms, shoving the waistband down with both hands, lifting his hips, and kicking the pants and underwear off in one motion that sends them somewhere on the bed. He settles back onto the mattress with his cock resting against his stomach and the rest of Lohen's cosplay still on his upper half.

You're still on top of him, and you start to move toward his face, swinging your leg over to straddle his chest, and just as you're about to lower yourself down facing the wall, he stops you.

"Other way." His hands catch your hips, holding you in place before you can settle. "Face my cock, not the headboard."

You turn, shifting on your knees so you're facing his legs instead, and the second your thighs are on either side of his face, his hands pull you down. He doesn't ease you into it, his fingers dig into your hips and yank you flat on him. His mouth meets your cunt like he's been starving for it. His tongue is on you immediately, flat and broad, licking through the mess of his cum and yours that's still leaking, and the groan he lets out against your folds vibrates through your entire lower half.

"Ah- oh my god, Loh-" Your hands brace against his stomach, fingers splaying across his chest, your body jerking at the contact because you're still so overstimulated that even his breath against you would be too much, let alone his entire mouth sealed to your cunt like he's trying to milk you dry.

He doesn't let up; his tongue pushes between your folds, lapping at the cum he left inside you, alternating between long drags up your clit, and pointed flicks that make your thighs clamp around his head. His hands keep your hips pinned to his face, and every time you try to lift yourself even slightly because it's too much, he pulls you back down harder.

You look down past his stomach, past his lips, and his cock is right there. Hard again, flushed at the tip, twitching every time you moan. It looks helpless, which is a stupid word to use for a dick, but that's what it looks like.

Just lying there… hard… neglected, pulsing at nothing while his mouth does all the work on you. The visual of that all, combined with the way his tongue just circles your clit makes your mouth water and your body move on its own.

You lean down, lips pressing against the tip, soft, barely any contact, and you feel his hips twitch upward at even that little touch. You open your mouth wider, about to take him in, settling your weight forward onto your forearms on either side of his hips, and then his hands move.

They leave your hips, and you feel them slide down your back, his arms wrapping around your torso, his palms pressing flat against your shoulder blades from behind, and before you can even register the shift in grip, he lifts you.

Your knees leave the mattress, your thighs slide up his shoulders until they're hooked over them, his arms anchored around your back. You aren't straddling his face anymore; you're suspended above him, upside down, your entire lower body held up by his arms, and your upper body hangs between his legs with his cock directly in front of your face.

"KUNI- what the HELL-" Your hands scramble for something to hold, and the only thing available is his back, his sides, your fingers digging into whatever part of him you can reach. "Stop putting me upside down!! How are you even this strong??"

He ignores you, his mouth is still on your cunt like the position change was nothing, like rearranging your entire body didn't interrupt the rhythm of his tongue.

Your thighs are wrapped around his shoulders, your calves pressed against the sides of his head, and his arms are locked around your lower back and hips, creating a cage of muscle that keeps you from falling. Your stomach is pressed against his chest, your breasts squished between your body and his, and your face is hovering directly over his cock with your hair hanging down.

He doesn't pause to let you adjust; his tongue pushes inside you from below, curling, and the moan that rips out of you vibrates against his inner thigh because your mouth is right there, inches from his cock, and you can't even hold back the sound.

You take him in your mouth because his cock is right there, hard, flushed, leaking from the tip, and this is the only logical response you can think of.

Your lips close around the head, and you can hear, feel, his groan vibrate against your clit from below. The sensation travels through you, making your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and you take him deeper in response, your jaw stretching as you slide down his shaft.

His hips start moving, and he's fucking up into your mouth with thrusts that push his cock past your tongue and into the back of your throat. The angle of being upside down makes your gag reflex hit differently, sharper, your throat constricting around him with every push.

"Mmph-" You gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth and running up toward your nose because gravity is working against you, and your eyes water as he pushes in deep enough that your lips press flush against his base.

He pulls your hips down against his face at the same time, grinding your cunt onto his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his cock in your throat creates a never-ending loop.

Every sound you make around him vibrates through his cock and makes his groan against you, and every groan he makes against you vibrates through your clit and makes you moan louder, and the cycle just keeps building on itself until neither of you is making sounds that qualify as human.

Your hands grip the backs of his thighs, nails biting into his skin, your only anchor while the rest of you is suspended in the air, getting destroyed from both ends. His arms tighten around your back whenever your body jerks too hard, keeping you steady, and the strength required to hold you like this while simultaneously eating you out and thrusting into your mouth is something you'll think about later, when you have brain cells to think with.

His tongue circles your clit and then seals over it, sucking hard, and your entire body arches in his grip. Your moan around his cock is muffled and obscene, a wet, gargled sound that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, and the vibration of it makes his hips stutter up so hard you choke.

"Mmngh-" Spit drips down your chin, or up your chin technically because you're upside down, and his cock slides out of your mouth for a second while you cough and gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.

He doesn't give you a break. His mouth doesn't leave your cunt, his tongue pressing harder, faster, relentless, and your mouth finds his cock again through the haze, taking him back in because even choking on him feels better than the alternative of not having him in your mouth.

His hips roll up in longer strokes now, less frantic but deeper, and you can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles tightening under your fingers. His arms squeeze around your back, pulling your hips down harder against his mouth, and his tongue works your clit in tight, focused circles that are designed to break you.

Everything builds at the same time. His cock pulsing heavier against your tongue, your walls clenching against his mouth, the pressure in your core climbing toward something massive, and his breathing getting faster against your cunt, his groans getting louder, less controlled, desperate in a way he only gets when he's close.

You cum first, barely, by maybe a second.

Your walls seize, and your thighs clamp around his shoulders, and the orgasm crashes through you in a wave so intense your jaw locks around his cock. The constriction of your throat, squeezing around him, plus the vibration of your moan, plus the way your entire body shakes in his grip, is what sends him over.

He cums in your mouth with a groan so deep you feel it in your spine. His hips push up one final time, his cock pulsing thick against your tongue, and you swallow around him because there's nothing else to do in this position, the cum sliding down your throat (or up, gravity is still confusing) while his tongue works you through the last aftershocks.

His arms loosen, not all at once, because if he did, you'd drop violently onto the bed. He eases the tension gradually, lowering your hips back toward the mattress, and you let his cock slip from your mouth with a wet sound that you're too brain dead to be embarrassed about.

"Put me down," you mumble against his thigh, your voice wrecked, your arms shaking. "Please, Kuni, put me down before I die in this position, and you have to explain it to my parents."

He lowers you down carefully, his hands guiding your hips and legs until your back is flat on the mattress beside him. Your head is at the foot of the bed, and your feet are near the pillows, but you don't really care because you're horizontal and alive, and that's enough.

He sits up, looks at you sideways on the bed, completely destroyed, and he doesn't say anything. He just moves you, his hands sliding under your back and your knees as he repositions you properly to put your head up against the pillows where it belongs.

He's quiet when he cleans you up this time, zero commentary about you squirming, no dry remarks about sensitivity, just the warm cloth from the bathroom, careful movements between your legs while his other hand stays on your hip to keep you still when you flinch.

He brings new clothes from your dresser, a pair of underwear, which goes on you first, slides up your legs, then shorts, then a top he pulls over your head and feeds through your arms without asking for your cooperation because he's already learned you won't give it.

He doesn't talk the whole time, which is unusual, because Kuni always has something to say, always has a complaint or a remark or a correction. But right now he's just doing it quietly, focused, tucking the hem of your top down with his fingers before standing up and walking toward your closet.

He changes into the pajama pants and black shirt he keeps in your drawer, and he pulls the Lohen cosplay off in pieces as he does it, dropping each part onto the chair by your desk.

"I'm never wearing that thing again," he says, pulling the top layer of Lohen's outfit off his shoulders with a grimace, his tone flat and final. "Whoever designed this character hates the human body. It feels like it's over 6 layers, especially with the long-sleeve, the cape thing… everything." He drops the last piece and kicks it under the chair. "Scara's cosplay isn't even that heavy because Scara was designed by someone with common sense."

You watch him from the bed, half-lidded, sinking into the pillows, your body so heavy that you feel like you're melting into your own mattress.

He walks back and pulls the covers up, sliding in beside you without ceremony. The second he's horizontal, you're already moving toward him, pressing your face into his chest, your hand curling into the front of his shirt, and his arm wraps about your back.

He kisses your forehead, soft, and then the bridge of your nose when you lift your face up enough, then the corner of your mouth. It's small, quiet presses of his lips against your skin that feel nothing like Scaramouche or Lohen. These are Kuni kisses, the ones he gives when no character is being performed.

The ones he probably doesn't even realize he's giving because they come out of him the same way breathing does.

He tips your chin up with his finger, and his eyes are just blue. Not indigo contacts, not the ones he wore for the Lohen cosplay, just his natural, stupid, annoyingly pretty blue that you fell for before you even knew that you cosplayed.

"Who do you want?" He asks, his voice low, and it's the softest you've heard it all night.

You look at him, at the messy hair, at the body who dyes his hair for a fictional character and hates wigs and complains about having to style his hair everyday and who buys you an abmormal amount of primogems, and probably would get you c6 r5 Lohen the minute he drops because he does that for every character, even when he gets jealous when you simp for a character that you don't just ask him to cosplay like any other logical person dating a cosplayer.

"Kuni," you say, and your voice is small and sure. "Just Kuni."

His mouth twitches, and you can see the shape of a smile trying to form before he catches it and pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and pressing his lips to your hair.

"Good answer," he murmurs into your scalp, so quiet that you almost miss it.

You close your eyes, your face against the fabric of his shirt, and you're asleep before you can respond. He stays awake for a minute more, his hand moving through your hair in slow repetitive movements. He stares at the ceiling fan, and he doesn't say anything.

He doesn't need to.

I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)

taglist: @vvalentiqq, @jellyfishesandroses, @staarflowerr, @literallyibanny, @justwandererforever, @hanakokunzz , @bvlletwound, @kas1sh1bas1ke, @maomaoyuki, @xaeevie @pwushizz, @txyyyyyyyyyssssssss, @livvysoxytocin, @ventiij, @ruoussss, @kunimooch, @morangosdocesdsuki, @yumi-rxiden, @heavyonsloth, @saviiamzz129, @hilaryinumaki1

(as if he hadn’t been drooling all over the damn couch.)

“insufferable,” you’d mutter, an exasperated scowl on your face.

varka would only laugh at that — loud, bright, utterly unashamed, 'cause of course he is, he's varka for archons' sake.

“but still yours, no?”

which was, (un)fortunately, true.

even if he gave you migraines on the daily. even if he was utterly unbearable sometimes.

varka was yours, as much as you're his.

decades of marriage had taught you many things about the man you loved. some grand, some small, some hidden in the quiet habits he didn’t even realize he had.

but you'd see them all, no mattter how miniscule they may seem.

you knew the way exhaustion settled into his shoulders after long days, knew the look of him when he walked through the door.

dim ocean blues, a crooked, tired smile, muscles aching beneath his coat.

these days he would simply press a quick kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom to wash the grime off his skin then spare a few minutes for mantaining his swords, talking about the day with you as he wipes and polishes them to perfection.

and inevitably, after a meal, he'd end up passing out just about anywhere but your shared bed.

you knew your husband very well.

which is why the moment he steps through the door tonight, you kmow something is different.

his eyes meet yours.

and the fire burning in them — sharp, bright, dangerously familiar — sends a shiver down your spine.

“i’m home,” varka whispers, boots heavy against the wooden floorboards as he crosses the room.

tonight he isn’t wearing his usual coat, nor the small pieces of armor that usually cling to him like a second skin. they’re nowhere to be seen. instead, he’s dressed only in a black shirt — the top buttons carelessly left undone.

half of his chest is exposed through the open buttons — scarred skin, a faint trail of blonde hair, and the familiar wolf-tooth necklace swaying faintly with each step he takes.

yet somehow, tonight, everything about him feels. . . different.

"sorry if i've kept you waiting," he places a light peck on the side of your lips, eyes gazing straight at you as he does.

predatory.

that was the gaze of someone who wanted to devour something — or in this case, someone.

warm, large palms rest just above the side of your hips, and you can feel the way he presses slightly, inching your body closer to his.

"no 'welcome home, honey' for me?" a deep chuckle spilled from him, soft with fondness, "finally got tired of your husband, hm?"

his eyes gleam with a certain hunger, tracing over the shape of your lips to the half-exposed cleavage of your dress.

varka does not lighten his grip, eventually pushing you further and further until your back hits the wall. leaning over until he's got you trapped between his frame and the wood now, faces mere inches apart.

you could hear the sound of his heartbeat, loud yet steady.

gulping the sudden nervousness, you were about to welcome him home as you usually did.

before you could speak, he captures you in a deep kiss, discarding whatever restraint he has. varka places a hand behind your head, softly caressing, before forcing your face closer into his waiting mouth.

he can barely keep it together, chest heaving with every rhythmic dance of his lips on yours.

"welcome—mmph—" kiss. "ahhn, home. . ." kiss.

you whine at his desperation, "varka—"

he groans into your mouth at the mere mention of his name, lips turning even more desperate. the sound rattles your bones, making you squirm against him.

and with how large the knight is, you're practically engulfed in his arms, body pressing onto the flimsy fabric of your dress until you eventually mold into one, until you eventualy feel it —

your face goes red immediately, and you hopelessly try to hold onto his biceps as he grinds the very obvious bulge against you.

you can hear every wet smack of his lips on yours, the lecherous sound bouncing off the sides of your throat into your ear. he's practically devouring you by this point, panting into the wet cavern of your mouth.

there’s a hunger in the way he looks at you, not for anything fleeting, but for the entirety of you — your voice, your laughter, the way you carry yourself

he needs you so bad that it's breaking him apart.

a small yelp escapes you when varka suddenly lifts you into his arms.

the motion pulls your lips from his, the kiss breaking too soon. he doesn’t go far, though — only tilts his head forward until his forehead rests against yours, breath warm against your skin.

your hands fumble to rest at his shoulders, steadying yourself in his arms.

"yeah, much better," he laughs, bright as ever, "my back was killin' me, leaned over too much."

varka's moved the both of you to the living room now, hs probably knocked into a few things on the way but the two of you are much too distracted to care.

"it's not my fault you're built like a hilichurl tower." you quip, looking to the sides so you can avoid his peering eyes.

he flashes you a fond, crooked grin, resting his face on your chest. "hilichurl tower? surely, there are better structures to describe someone like me."

"like what, grandmaster?"

"a guizhong ballista?"

". . . i have no idea what that is."

varka lingers dangerously near your throat, warm breath brushing your skin.

"hah, don't worry, love— you'll find out soon."

you're sitting on his lap now, directly over the twitching bulge of his cock. your thighs flinch at every shift of his hips, feeling it brush over your warmth.

he's nipping at your exposed neck, leaving faint marks that you'll scold him for in the morning. though, varka could care less about the scolding he'll get when he has you exactly how he wants you:

flushed, trembling, and soaking wet.

the strap of your dress starts to fall off your shoulder, revealing the rest of your cleavage for him to stare at. he's mesmerized at how beautiful you look, finding it hard to believe he has you all for himself.

"have i ever told you how beautiful you are?" he rasps, unzipping your dress from behind. maybe it's because of the way he's speaking to you in that tone, looking at you with that gaze, but you suddenly feel like putty in his hands.

"many times, i believe you say it everyday."

he chuckles, "really?" pulling the dress down further until it's bunched at your hips. "s'pose i can't really help it when you make me hard every damn time i walk into this house."

you feel him lick and suck bruises into your skin, each mark blooming red and pink across the canvas of your flesh — a vivid display of his relentless desire for you.

"aren't you embarrassed being this shameless at your big age?"

even well past thirty, there’s still that same restless hunger in the way he looks at you, the same eagerness in the way his hands find yours. time may have carved new lines into his face and scattered scars across his body, but it has never managed to dull the way he wants you.

varka makes a show of caressing your thighs, pushing your skirt along with it, "shameless? i'm just being honest, don't you like an honest man?"

he sneaks a glimpse at the cotton underwear hidden beneath, swallowing the urge to push them aside and take you already.

"maybe if this honest man stopped seducing me everytime he came home, i'll like him better." you huff, carding your fingers through his disheveled hair.

he looks back up at you.

"oh?" varka smiles toothily, amusement rolling off him in waves, "so the lady screamin' for more last night was just a figment of my imagination then? the very same lady who rode me so well she—"

memories of last night started flowing into your head, causing you to fluster.

your hands immediately fly to his mouth, shutting him up for good, "okay! i get it, that's enough!"

you hear his muffled laughter through the gaps of your palms, his eyes crinkling with shameless amusement.

meanwhile you’re left flushed and needy beneath him.

it’s terribly unfair.

for all the years you’ve had this man wrapped around your finger, not once have you felt undesired.

if anything, there were moments you felt too desired.

his appetite for you was relentless — rivaled only by his well-known love for alcohol.

passion has never dimmed in your marriage,. you were in an eternal state of the so-called 'honeymoon phase' where the two of you fucked like rabbits and slobbered over each other anytime you can.

that never changed, even as varka traded the reckless, stubborn youth he once was for the measured, commanding man worthy of the grandmaster’s position.

you actually found it quite funny that the young boy who used to cause a ruckus everyday for valentine would mellow down into this boisterous but dependable leader.

he's changed so much over the years, turning into the pillar of strength in mondstadt — a legend among men.

and even so, he still acted the same with you, as if he was that same bumbling fool who professed his love to anyone who would listen.

varka might have changed — in ways that might seem inconsequential to anyone else — but deep down, he was still the same man you married all those years ago.

even down to that insatiable hunger he always carried for you.

your husband has you laid out on the sofa, legs wrapped around his waist — though they never quite meet around him, his broad frame simply too large, pressing you close in all the ways you’ve grown to know and crave.

"is it too much, hun?" varka asks, combing a hand through his hair to keep it away from his eyes, all so he could stare at the way your face scrunched up for him, kiss-swollen lips trembling from the stretch.

"need me to slow down a li'l?"

you vigorously shake your head, clutching at the large palm softly caressing your cheek, "no, no, keep going, please—"

varka laughs at your desperate cries, pushing a bit further into your warmth. it's always been necessary to prep you for hours before you could take him without much pain, and varka doesn't mind the extra work – he quite enjoys it actually.

but you don't have that patience, too needy and wanting to feel him inside you as soon as possible. he finds it very cute by the way, seeing you beg for it always gets blood rushing to his nether regions in no time.

"taking me so well," he whispers, kissing your forehead, "just a bit more, mhm? be a good girl f'me."

you whimper, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he starts to slowly thrust back and forth, and it immediately makes you even wetter, soaking him in your juices.

varka lets out a lengthy groan, throwing his head back when he feels you clench around him.

“fuck,” his brows pull together, beads of sweat trailing down the hairs of his chest. “relax a bit. . . gonna break me at this rate.”

varka chuckles lowly, an obscene grin curling across his lips.

"s-sorry. . . " you say, clinging to his arms like it's the only thing anchoring you to reality.

his wolf-tooth pendant sway with every delicious roll of his hips, nailing you to the cushion, the metal glinting under the dim-lighting of your home.

your eyes linger on the many scars along his chest and arms, each one waz a testament to the battles he’s survived — a symbol of courage, of years spent facing danger without hesitation for the sake of his lobed ones.

and yet it’s the very same body he uses to carry you to bed, careful hands far gentler than anyone could imagine.

the same arms that once raised a blade now wrap around you with an ease that feels almost tender, as if the weight of war and bloodshed melts away the moment you’re in them.

it always amazes you — how a man built for battle can hold you like something precious.

varka's lips found its way to the dip of your neck, licking anywhere he could while his hips gain a steady rhythm for the both of you.

and soon enough, you start to see blurry white stars along the edges of your vision.

decades may have passed between the two of you, yet varka’s desire has never learned how to calm itself. age has softened many things in life, but not this — not the way his hands still find you with the same urgency, thee same hunger as it did all those years ago.

time may wear down mountains, but it has never managed to wear down the fire he carries for you.

"still, ah, with me?" varka asks, face still buried in the crook of your neck. his voice a soft and warm thing, contrasting the way his hips viciously slam against your soaking heat.

you could barely even garble an answer, moaning and whimpering his name at every hard thrust.

varka gently pushes your knees toward your chest, holding you close as he leans over you, his presence overwhelming in the small space between you.

you could feel every vein and throb of his thick cock, the way he stretches you out sooo good that it leaves you limbless.

he's got an arm under both of knees, locking them together, and pushing them to the side of his waist.

"take a deep breath for me," varka warns you, chuckling at the way your pussy seems to respond instead, pulsing around him with need.

he fucks you roughly, frantically pushing in and pulling out. bright red marks start to form on your ass, his pelvis repeatedly hitting against it.

every loud slap of skin makes you go dizzy, mind turning into mush as you let yourself get lost into the throes of pleasure.

your neighbors could probably hear you by now, moaning so loud that the sound bounces off the walls. varka could care less, more than happy to let you disturb the ones nextdoors — what are they gonna do? complain to the knights of favonius?

plus, hearing you sing his name like this, talking about how good everything feels and how he's 'too big' just pushes him off the edge.

he leans over to lick your lips, fingers brushing onto the side of your face.

"too much, hngh. . . "

varka laughs quietly against your ear, the sound deep and gravelly, “oh, but you love it rough. don’t you, pretty?”

your nearly roll to the back of your head, a line of drool slipping past your parted lips, "yes, i do! love it s'much—"

"really?" varka teases, voice low with desire. he wipes the drool with his thumb before bringing it back to your lips, "tell me how good it is then, c'mon, cry for me."

cry for me.

this is the only time varka would let tears run down your face willingly. he loves seeing how good he makes you feel, especially through the soft cries of his name.

"i love you! i love you!" you wail, feeling him speed up, the sounds of skin against skin getting louder. "ah! varka—"

he’s practically buzzing with adoration, every muscle taut and alive with each “i love you” that slips from your lips. even now, his heart leaps every time you praise him — a feeling that has never waned, no matter how many years have passed.

he bites his lip, letting his hips do the talking.

the sofa shakes with every brutal thrust, wood creaking under his weìght and strength.

he laughs, a low rumbling thing that makes your cunt throb, "fucking gorgeous, could never get tired of this pussy—hah, shit."

"could never, ever, get tired of you."

a mixture of sweat, drool, and cum is splattered across his meaty thighs and sticking to the trail of hair along his navel.

varka loves it when you make a mess — whether it’s around the house or on his cock. to him, it simply means his wife feels comfortable enough to let herself go around him.

and he loves it the most when you arch so beautifully in his arms, cunt clamping hard on him as you cum — you could call it an addiction with the way he groans at the way your eyes cross, whimpering his name.

"i love you too," varka whispers into your ear, leaving small butterfly kisses along the shell of it, "gonna—ugh—cum." he stutters, a low exhale leaving his lips.

your nails scratch down along his shoulders, leaving bright red marks but the pain doesn't register for him, too busy chasing his release.

not that something as small as a scratch could ever faze him.

his eyes never leave yours, following every tremble, every small gasp, as if he could memorize you whole. varka’s expression stays gentle, even as his hands leave indents on your skin — a silent tether, a promise you’re not going anywhere.

even through overestimated tears, you manage to see the silhouette of his face, desperate in a way he shouldn't be. after all, he had you nearly everyday, so why is it that he always fucks you as if it's your last?

varka presses down on you — hard. putting most of his weight onto you while you keen, cumming for a second time.

his hips goes completely still, filling you to the brim with all of his length.

all while he crashes his lips into yours — hungry, desperate, and all consuming, moaning into the kiss while your tears fall from overwhelming pleasure.

"sorry, honey. . . i don't think i'll be able to hold back tonight."

"ugh, maybe i should just go ahead and get married too. . . " one of the junior knight sighs dreamily, looking at the grandmaster's bright grin as he steps into the favonius headquarters.

his partner looks at him with a confused expression, "hah? what brought this on?"

the junior knight, palez, points over to varka, "the grandmaster gets to come home to a sweet, loving wife and a warm meal. . . that's why he's always smiley like that, look at how much he's glowing!"

"are you mentally ill?"

a suave voice cuts in, "oh dear, gossiping about the grandmaster's love life in such an open space, getting a little too chummy are we?"

kaeya and rosaria look at the two knights, and an air of chill sweeps through making them shiver. when put together, these two are no joke (outside of a tavern).

"s-sorry! captain kaeya, sister rosaria! it won't happen again." the two frantically salute, palms already getting sweaty.

kaeya laughs lightly, saluting half-heartedly as he walks away. rosaria follows right behind, her expression as icy as ever.

step.

step.

step.

". . . ."

"you think she's alright?" kaeya whispers, cringing at the thought of you being bedridden again.

rosaria can only scoff, massaging her temples as if talking about it was already giving her a migraine, "likely not. she hasn't gone to good hunter all morning which means she's. . ."

"especially since he's looking so refreshed then she's probably. . . " kaeya trails off, silently praying for your recovery.

speak of the devil.

kaeya straightens up, smiling like normal. rosaria rolls her eyes, wincing at the loud voice.

"oh, hey— it's you two! thank barbatos! mind doin' me a small favor?" varka greets them with an enthusiastic wave, a bright, boyish grin on his face.

and he shall appear.

"jean's gonna tie me to the desk at this rate," varka grumbles, "so i was hoping you two could drop this off for me—"

he shoves them something warm wrapped in cloth, rosaria takes it and perks up at the familiar smell of food — it's your favorite dish from good hunter.

kaeya shares a look with her, looking back up at varka with a sly grin, "of course, leave it to us."

.

.

.

it's just another day at mondstadt.

oddly enough, you woke up that morning with your stomach feeling warmer than usual.

it's probably nothing.

#it's-your-captain-ari-speaking ☆ i was listening to sade while scrolling on twitter dot come when i suddenly came across such a golden tweet that inspired me to immediately open my tumblr drafts to goonwrite.

I KNOWW ITS ASS...im sorry i just wrote this in between other longfics.....just...take rhis for now...ill edit it when i have time

btw just a funny thing i added but he laughs/chuckles a lot in this fic, this is bcs i went through his voicelines and istg — this guy always has to let out a "AHAHAHAHAHA!" or "hahahaha. . . " or even a small "heh." like omg shuuut up....he just be hootin' and hollerin' all over mondstadt bro 😭😭 he is soo happy to be alive.

i asked the gc for a title, and 8 out of 11 people voted for "AITA for fucking my wife too often??" while the rest either voted/recommended "a case of erectile overfunction" or "HOPPIN' DIH DIH DIH" which cracks me up a bit.

anyways brought to you by this #truthnuke of a tweet lol:

“No, not yet at least. It’s normal for him to get puffy when he cuts new teeth.” Your fingers run through his hair softly, soothingly. His head moving with the rise and fall of your chest. Xavier sat down by your feet, careful not to move the cushions too much and disturb the baby’s much needed rest.

“Do you want me to move him to his bed?” 

“He just fell asleep a few minutes ago, not yet.” You grin at your husband, noticing the small pout on his lips. Xavier had gotten much better with his jealousy once your son was born. He was more than willing to share you if it meant your son would smile. But, ever since your boy entered a “Mama or nothing.” Phase, Xavier has been struggling to get you alone. 

All it took was a flash of his big eyes – the same color as his mama’s – and Xavier melted. He didn’t think it was possible to give in so easily, but his son proved him wrong every day. “Then can we move this to the bed? I wanna snuggle you too.”

And you? You’ve found it incredibly hard to deny Xavier and your darling son of anything. Your heart has become incredibly weak because of them, your sweet boy had his daddy’s pout. “Alright, fine, but you have to carry us both.”

Xavier nearly leapt off the couch. 

Rafayel had been convinced that his little girl would be all about him. You know, since humans like to claim that boys are more drawn to their mama and girls are more drawn to their daddy. Well? Your little girl proved him very, very wrong. 

Your sweet little princess – only a year and a half old – wanted mama and mama only. 

Her first word had been mama, her first crawling attempt had been to mama, her first steps? Right into mama’s arms. She was a mama’s girl through and through. Rafayel was a tad hurt honestly, because he thought he’d be sharing himself with you. Not fighting with his baby for a chance to hug her mama.

“I mean really, who does she think she is?”

“Your daughter.” you snort, peeking over her little shoulder. She’s perched on your lap, chubby arms folded and signature glare on her little chubby cheeks. No DNA test needed, she was Rafayel’s daughter through and through. 

“I really can’t give mama a kiss?” he bargains, the furrow in his brows relaxing as he stares at his little girl’s face. His eyes, her mama’s hair and nose, his smile. God she was so perfect, it made it even harder to try and put up a fight. She’d always win. 

“Yuck!” her new favorite word to use against her daddy, one that you couldn’t help but laugh at because he was the one that taught it to her when trying new baby purees months back. That one word carried weight, considering she couldn’t get any of her thoughts out fully yet. Too little to string together creative insults, she’d get there though, he was sure. 

“Seriously! What if I give you a kiss too?” he puckered his lips, inching closer just to see his daughter burst into giggles and push back against her mama’s chest. “Yuck!” 

“Too bad!” Your laughter mingled with hers as Rafayel grabbed her little head and placed tens, if not hundreds, of kisses all over her chubby features. Not relenting until her giggles nearly went silent from how hard she was laughing. “I win!” 

The soft kiss that landed on your lips was sudden enough to startle you, eyes wide as you glance down at your baby’s shocked face. 

Zayne never thought he’d see the day where he was genuinely battling his four year old daughter over your attention. She was the spitting image of you, for one.

Why didn't he think she’d inherit your stubbornness? I mean, seriously, she was your identical twin. Save for the fact that she had his eye color, it looked like Zayne didn’t even partake in the creation of her.

“I just want to talk to mama for a bit, baby. Please?” He was trying not to frown, but you were leaning against the kitchen counter trying to stifle your giggles. Your daughter, however, stood her ground. Blanket in one hand and snowman plush in the other, inching ever closer to your legs. Your little velcro baby for sure. 

“No! Mama said she would read me some stories in my bed.” You had promised that, had even been on your way to her room when Zayne got home. Your poor husband looked exhausted and in much need of your love.

Your daughter, however, was not backing down. 

Zayne tried not to sigh, he wasn’t frustrated at her of course. The whole display was cute, he loved the fact that your daughter adored you so thoroughly. But, the need to be in your arms was something he very much craved too.

No room for little legs and arms to bat him out of your embrace or kick him in the stomach for getting too close to her beloved mama. 

“How about I read you your stories and then I go help daddy. Does that sound like a good compromise?” She’d be asleep half way through the first story anyways. “No! Cause then you’ll leave me alone!” Asleep in her bed, it was nearly ten at night after all, she had school in the morning.

“You’re a big girl, my love.” Zayne crouched down, watching her lips quiver as she looked between the two of you. Dammit, his resolve was crumbling right before his very eyes. “How about mommy reads to you in mommy and daddy’s bed?” 

Zayne ignored the way your eyebrow raised, but the lip quivering stopped and her glassy eyes blinked away. He could survive sharing your presence if it meant his little girl could sleep comfortably. “Oh-kay I guess that works, daddy.” 

Oh yeah, she was your child alright. It didn’t take much at all for Zayne to give in.

Sylus felt bad, honestly. Who would have thought your eight month old twins – one boy and one girl – would be so thoroughly attached to their mama. I mean, he really thought the two of them would pick their person. Your daughter would gravitate towards him and your son would gravitate towards you or vice versa. 

But, no. Both of your babies wanted their mama and their mama only. 

“C’mon, hey!” You were lounging on the couch, your little boy sitting next to you while Sylus held your little girl out in front of him. Her little legs kicked wildly as she grinned at you. Her head turned away from her daddy to just beam at you. Your son was doing the same, lips curled in a toothless smile as big red eyes peered up at you. 

“They don’t even know I exist.” Sylus sighed, but there is a grin pulling at his lips as he glances between the three of you. Two little humans, a perfect mix of you and him, who were completely and utterly infatuated with their mama. Just like their daddy. 

“Yes they do, Sy. They’re just a bit milk obsessed.” You laugh, rubbing your baby boy’s cheek fondly as Sylus relents and offers your baby girl to you. “Milk or no milk, they’d be this obsessed with you, kitten. You’re their whole world.”

You’re surprised to see a small pout on his lips, your eyes shifting between your grinning little girl and your husband. “You really think so?” You wonder softly, bringing her face to yours so you can nuzzle her nose and kiss her chunk cheeks before settling her on your lap. “I don’t think, I know.” 

“Never in my life did I think I’d have to battle two eight month olds – nevermind my own babies.” He stops to fake glare at your son, watching his little head of silver hair turn to look up at his daddy before quickly looking back at you, rocking back and forth on his butt while making a grabby fist towards you so you’d pick him up.

“For your attention, kitten. I mean really, the leader of Onychinus has met his match. Two sets of little fists with chubby dimples where their knuckles should be have brought me to my damn knees.” 

You laugh, dragging your little boy onto your lap and kissing the top of his head. Smiling fondly at his little giggle. “You met your match a long time ago, Sy. We just created two more.” Well, he certainly couldn't deny that. You, of course, were his first weakness. The two little creatures on your lap were his second. 

“You’ve weakened me, kitten. Whatever will we do?”  “Hmm, maybe we can make some more?” 

Caleb was just a tad bit butt-hurt when your two and a half year old son entered his “nobody, not even dada, can come within five feet of mama” phase. 

Coming home from work, for example, would lead to tears running down his chubby face when you and Caleb shared a hug and a kiss. Going to bed meant you would sleep in your son’s tiny toddler bed until he was in a deep slumber before sneaking back into Caleb’s arms. Until he woke up and wiggled his way between you both.

It wasn’t as if your little boy disliked him, he was his dad after all. It was just that he was overprotective of his mama. Exactly like his father. If he didn’t have Caleb’s eyes and smile, you’d still be able to tell his DNA ran through that little boy’s veins with the way he obsessed over you. “C’mon bud, I can’t give mama a kiss?” 

Your son clung to you, squeezing just a little harder as Caleb inched forward. You tried your best not to laugh, holding your boy tightly in your arms as Caleb approached like you were both wounded stray cats. “No! Nuh-uh!” His mama’s stubbornness was definitely inherited. “What about a hug? Kiss on the cheek? A high five?”

He was desperate. 

Caleb felt like he was being deprived of his own wife. But dammit, the little boy in your embrace was melting his heart regardless of what he did. “No! Leave!” He bellowed, face contorted in grumpiness as you tried to stifle a laugh. “Hey now, that’s not nice, baby. Be nice to dada, say no thank you.” Caleb nearly choked on air. “No thank you?” 

But you only grinned, “I gotta teach him manners while also teaching him to stand his ground.” Caleb frowned at that, you weren’t exactly wrong with that idea. “Can I give my buddy a hug and a kiss?”

Caleb was nearly a foot away now, and you felt your son’s head peek upwards at the question. A hesitant little nod shook his head as he used one arm to reach for Caleb.

Maybe it was a little trick, because Caleb used that opportunity to hug you both, kissing his baby boy’s head as you rested your cheek on his shoulder. “We’ll get there eventually.” 

“Maybe we can make a ‘sharing mama’ schedule.” 

it always starts the same—he feels your heat, sees your pupils dilated, senses the restlessness. then he initiates. he’s gentle at first, caressing your face and working his lips into yours like he’s trying to warm you up. his hands cup your tits through the fabric of your shirt, eliciting a tiny gasp for you.

and honestly, the sound alone is enough to turn him into a monster.

a monster that tears at your clothes until you’re both left in nothing but underwear. a monster that pushes you back onto the bed and drinks you in—your chest heaving, your lips swollen and parted. a monster that shreds your underwear without hesitation, savoring your startled whine before murmuring promises of buying you more.

“you okay, angel?” he pants, the question breaking through once the haze lifts just enough for him to worry he’s gone too far.

but you nod, a wobbly smile tugging at your mouth as you whisper, “‘m okay… keep going, please?”

xavier can’t hold himself back, pulling out his cock and tapping it against your hardened clit and watching you jolt underneath him. 

“so fuckin’ cute…” he mutters, pressing into you with a hiss. “and so fuckin’ t-tight, god, honey. doesn’t matter how many times i fuck this pretty pussy, you’re always gonna be so, so tight.”

your eyes squeeze shut, brows knitting together as pleasure takes over—making the prettiest face xavier has ever seen, and ever will. your expression says more than your voice ever could, the barely audible whines slipping past your lips as he pushes through the resistance and sinks fully into you.

he bottoms out with a groan, the tip of him brushing your cervix. a sharp, pained gasp tears from your throat as your walls clamp around him, tight and reactive, holding him there like you don’t want to let go.

he waits for your okay—he always does—and when you nod, slightly arching your back off the bed in silent permission, he grunts happily. he pulls out of you slowly, making you feel every inch of him leave your pussy till only a single inch remains and then pushes back into you. faster than his first thrust— harder.

“xavie…” you whimper and it makes him throb. from his head to his dick to his toes, he throbs. his name sounds so precious, so pretty when it falls meekly out of your mouth. he’d have to be ill to be immune to it. 

“fuck, angel, you feel so good—so perfect. all for me.” he groans, snapping his hips harder, watching the last of your nervousness melt away. he knows that’s why you’re so quiet—why you’re so shy about being loud. he knows how easily embarrassment creeps in, even when you have no reason to feel it.

but he doesn’t care. you could be silent the whole time and he wouldn’t care. 

because your pretty face says it all. your slack jaw, the drool slipping down your face, your eyes crossing beneath knitted brows, they all scream one thing:

it feels so fucking good. 

and he knows when you’re close. your walls flutter and spasm around him like crazy and you can’t seem to find a place for your hands. they fall flat on his abdomen, then trail up to his chest, then back at your sides where they fist at the sheets. you get a little noisier—though barely. your breaths turn labored, a cute squeak slipping out with every thrust as you pant, murmuring a ghost of his name between shaky exhales.

and you completely shatter when he urges you on, cooing, “go on ‘n cum f’me, honey. soak my cock like a good girl.”

it’s too much—you can’t ever resist being praised like that. your stomach stirs and static fills your already-fuzzy brain as you clamp around him and cum. your arousal soaks him beautifully, leaving a milky-white ring around the base of his cock. 

the cock that fucks you through your orgasm while you whimper his name, softly—gently, like a mantra. like it’s the only word you know and it drives him crazy. it makes his hips stutter, his moans grow louder, a whiny, “baby, ‘m cumming,” spilling past his lips. 

then you’re full, cum flooding your pussy and spreading warmth through your body. he collapses on top of you, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck with his length still trapped between your messy, worn walls. he lays a few lazy kisses against your pulse point and his lips spread into a smile against your skin when he feels you gasp. 

his lips trail up to your jaw, then your cheek, before his cobalt blue eyes meet yours—soft, adoring. “you always sound so pretty, angel,” he murmurs, voice like a vow, and then he seals the words with a gentle kiss to your lips. ♡

kit says… um hello…. i hope this is good LMAO. only proofread like once and based off this request!

you wrap your arms around him, gripping him hard as you whine and come all over sae's cock.

sae pulls out only to bring his mouth between your thighs, lapping up your slick until the numbness becomes overstimulation, until one of your hands comes down to press to his head with a cry.

"don't hurt her." kaiser almost rips you out of sae's grasp, it's a near thing, but sae grabs at you first.

"she likes it." he flips you around so kaiser can see, your back to sae's chest. he slips his fingers inside of you, tapping on your clit all at once. "see? she's dripping all over."

and then a realization passes over sae's face. "you really do like her."

"ha? she's my girlfriend, you dipshit."

"yeah, i know. i just…" lots of people in sae's team have girlfriends, but the way kaiser treats you -- he holds your face carefully as you fall forward towards kaiser, like you might do to a teacup.

"sorry." sae says it with such a strange amount of sincerity that it has kaiser narrowing his eyes. "if i had known, maybe i wouldn't have asked."

kaiser scoffs. "yeah, you would've."