flins

flins loves, adores, treasures you oh so dearly, it’s nothing short of a fact that he would do anything for you. thus, to him, it only felt like the natural response to ease you into unfamiliar pleasure upon, kind of to your shame, finding out you’ve never come before.

but holy shit is his “easing you into it” a slap in your face, screaming “sorry i don’t realize it but i’m maybe bullying you right now”.

his kisses are comforting and intentional but as they brush over your features, down your cheeks to find purchase in your neck, they do quite the opposite of calming you down. between some of them, he murmurs praises and sweet nothings. a hand rubs your waist, humble in nature, but even you can make out the hints of pride and greed from the knowledge that he’s the one who gets to do this.

worst of all though—and archons forbid flins ever realizes it himself—is the other hand, cold between your thighs, fingers ruthless inside you. ruthless in the sense that the pace of his easing into it is so slow, verging to the border of teasing; ruthless in the sense that they reach spots your own never could, curling in ways that have your toes curling, back arching and fingers clawing; ruthless in the sense that they leave you torn between wanting more so badly and unsure if you’ll actually survive that one coil growing tighter and tighter with every second.

“flins, it feels—” you cut yourself with a gasp, but even once it dies, you can’t seem to bring out any coherent words whatsoever. with your eyes squeezed shut, his widening smile goes unnoticed.

“strange, no? new?” flins hums, his lips ghosting over yours, going on when you nod, “you’re doing so well, y/n, just a little more.” the absolute killer is when he brings his thumb to the bundle of nerves, drawing figure eights. your arms are quick to wrap around his neck and pull him closer, biting down his shoulder in a sorry attempt to muffle the high-pitched moan escaping you. “there you go.”

by the time he pulls his fingers out and you open your eyes, flins is already back up with that smile still on his lips. there’s nothing but fondness in it, and yet, you can’t help but think there’s got to be some pure evil inside him when he has the audacity to ask,

“did i meet your expectations, my dear?”

varka

you had let your needs and desires get the best of you under the disguise of “bringing over a surprise lunch” for your lover, and now you’re paying the price for it.

“varka, s-slow down— the other knights will hear!” you do your best to whisper the loudest you can as you turn your head towards the office’s door. you don’t even know if it’s locked.

“slow down? when my pretty darling was the one who came here for me?” varka leans closer, relishing the sight of you underneath him, sprawled all over his desk. “you already knew this would happen—this is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

despite the trademark goofy grin on his face, his words do nothing but raise heat all the way from your neck. you want to argue back, even when you both know it’d be completely meaningless, but it flies straight out of your head when his fingers suddenly speed up. “f-fuck, so big— varka, i can’t take it—”

“you can take it, darling. it’s just my fingers,” he coos, voice laced in what just might be fake sympathy, yet placing a sickeningly sweet kiss to your lips. “you will—how else could you already have taken all of me before?”

the mental image of the reminder has you choking on your own breath, and varka laughs when you uncontrollably clench around his digits for dear life. “can’t believe you had to lie your way to this,” he comments, leaving kisses along the crook of your neck. “you should’ve just stayed at home patiently…” for a brief moment, you can make out the cruel smile against your skin as your body begins to tremble against his. “could’ve let me take care of this problem of yours properly.”

“l-lohen—” the call comes out as a sorry excuse of a squeak rather than a warning, “t-they’re going to hear us, s-slow down.”

lohen just laughs at this. “slow down? kinda messed up to say that when you’re soaking wet.” and it’s when he hits even deeper that you realize you’d struck a deal with the devil when you followed him upstairs only a few minutes ago.

“i mean, just look at you.” a choked moan flies out of you when his gloved fingers find your bundle of nerves. the drawn eights leave you clenching around him for dear life, and he can’t help but groan before adding,

“you’re taking it like a fucking dream.”

your shoulders hurt as they’re being buried against the table beneath you. your throat is dry, breathing has become a struggle and you’re sure your nails are about to break as they dig into his arms. yet, you can’t bring yourself to deny any of it, far too dazed in pleasure.

your body keeps trashing around, almost vibrating under lohen, back lifting off the table, head arching back painfully. you’re only brought back when his hand abandons your clit, moving to hold your face between sticky fingers. “eyes on me, bunny.” he leans down, and it almost throws you off when he feathers a kiss to your cheek, sickeningly sweet had it not been for the smirk you can damn near feel against the burning skin, “wanna see you fucked out for me.”

and he gets up again. gets up to savour the way your eyebrows knit and bruised lips gasp for air and spilling prayers at the same time; savour the marks decorating your neck oh so beautifully, high up enough to make sure they don’t go unnoticed by others; savour how your sweat-glistening chest violently heaves up and down.

savour his free palm sliding down your stomach, just to feel how damn deep inside you he is.

your chest aches somewhat at the thought of it. aches at the thought of them entering through port. aches at him entering through the port. just like all the other times you’ve envisioned it because, at this point, time has become nothing but a menace keeping you thousands and thousands of kilometers apart; leaving you restless when you have no commissions to distract yourself with; preparing for that one usual knock on your window in at the crack of sleepless dawns despite knowing there’s no way that’d happen; stealing meaninglessly hopeful glances at office doors whenever you pay the library a visit.

then again, what are you supposed to do when the knights actually return?

how are you going to react? how will lohen react?

trying to imagine it, a puff of cloud slips into the slightly chilly air as you scoff. you twirl the ribbon of the hair clip lohen once had gifted you around a finger like hopeless, giddy romantic-although being damn well aware any sort of wholesome reaction from him, out of all people, would border on further terrifying than he already can be.

it’s not as if lohen is cold-hearted, rather just… unpredictable. if anything, it would almost make more sense if he suddenly showed up out of nowhere and greeted you like you saw each other yesterday-

“oh, you’re still awake?”

it’s safe to say you almost believe it’s the wind pulling tricks on your ears, because there’s just no way, right? and yet, as your widened eyes drop from the walls down to the pavement, the moon slips past the dark clouds to, actually, reveal none other but the vice captain himself. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to be surprised or not.

“lohen…” 

it’s nothing but a mere whisper, but you can tell it reaches him perfectly fine as a pleased smile finds his face.

your fingers claw at the wooden balustrade of your balcony, to the point of your nails almost breaking. it’s brief though, as you soon find yourself turning around, ready to flee down the stairs.

“nah, stay there.”

halting as fast, you spin on your heels-just in time to witness lohen vault his way up. in contrary to that, his landing is soft, and ever the knight he is, he’s already right in front of you, kneeling on top of the balustrade of your balcony. flesh and blood.

you take a deep breath, unknowingly holding it as lohen’s grins makes itself audible in his greeting, “long time no see.” so casually. awfully casually. too casually for someone who hasn’t seen you in more months than you cared .

you want to be angry. you are angry, but you will yourself to not burst out into the dead of the night for the entire town to hear. if you were to do that, it’d surely warrant the adventurer’s guild a commission to identify the source of an, perhaps, ear-shattering roar.

so you hold it back. all the anger, rage, frustration, powerlessness, pain, sadness, longing. instead, you grit your teeth. “is that all you have to say?”

“hm?” he grins wider. “what happened to hi? how are you? not even a welcome back? you looked so excited to see me just two seconds ago.”

“i was not excited. i was just going to make sure the door was locked.”

“yeah?” an amused puff of air escapes him. “i don’t recall you being this cold.” he reaches an arm out, the gloved fingertips ready to graze your skin-had it not been for you quickly turning your head away.

as your own arms rise to cross your chest, lohen is quick to figure out the full picture. “care to tell what got you this upset?”

“you’re back.” “i sure am.” “after eleven months.” “ten and a half, actually.”

in the back of your head, you begin to wonder if a commission would be worth it after all.

“...”

lohen truly has the gall to laugh at this as he repositions himself, a leg hanging from the balustrade, the other bent up to his chest.

“what’s this, did your love and attention become some sort of lottery while i was gone? i’m finally back and this is what i get?”

“lohen,” you speak in what you’d like to be a threat, but rather comes out as a miserable, trembling call for patience. “you never came back. not even a letter, no nothing. the only reason i knew you were still alive was because jean received your reports - mind you, in gunther’s handwriting - and they were all about the wild hunt and some archon forsaken maniac who almost obliterated all of nod krai.”

“and?”

“and, what?”

resting his cheek against his palm, a gleam finds lohen’s eyes, curious to see how much this will drag out.

“that’s all? you’re upset because you didn’t hear from the vice captain of the knights of favonius’ fifth company?”

“... as if.” “or were you worried i’d get wounded in the war?” “that’d put me at ease, you thrive off getting hurt!” “so, you thought i wouldn’t return to mondstadt at all?” “i- no, i knew you’d come back. or i’d kill you myself.” “then, what?” “...”

you dare casting a single glance at lohen. his pauldron, the golden embroidery and decoratory elements of his overcoat all shimmer under the moonlight. the blue earrings sway in a light breeze, so do the mint-green bangs, yet doing little to nothing to hide what softness has begun taking roots in the eyes behind them. at some point you’d missed, that one nearly infuriatingly on-brand grind has disappeared, eased into something that barely lifts the corner of his lips.

it’s a sight that would probably leave the fifth company shaking in their boots, simply because that’s nothing that looks like their vice captain lohen. this is lohen. your lohen, the one that only ever looks mesmerized if it’s you.

a secret moment that belongs to you and him and alone, with the moon as your sole witness.

“what’s going on in that little head of yours, y/n?” you can still easily hear it, that silly smugness lacing his words, but your name falls off his tongue like it’s meant to be there and oh archons, has it been long since you heard it.

your posture loses what determination you had been so stubborn with displaying. arms loosening a little, shoulders slumping. jaw unclenching, head unconsciously giving in to tilt back to him just the slightest bit, but not fully looking.

“you were gone for months without a word, lohen. i stayed patient just like you told me to, but you were gone for so long, i thought i was gonna go crazy but now i remember you’re even crazier ‘cause of course you show up on my fucking balcony like nothing ever happened and everything is fine while i’ve-...”

“missed me?”

upon hearing this, you finally look at him properly. perhaps to confirm it, or deny it, or maybe even call him an asshole for - for better or for worse - being no less like himself than before he left for the expedition.

however, not a syllable makes it out before you freeze in your motions; lohen is suddenly standing up, closer than before, but slightly bent down. you hardly feel it, that little tug as he reaches for the ribbon; tucking one of its silken strings between his fingers, he brings it to his lips, eyes shut like he’s pouring his entire body, soul and spirit into the touch. something that actually makes him look like a knight for once, and then-then, once he barely opens his eyes again to lock with your own, you feel like the universe has stopped moving to give you all the time in the world.

“you sure like making me sound heartless. any knight would miss their beloved after being apart this long,” he whispers, so uncharacteristically softly, and still in a way that makes your chest clench. “and last time i checked, i was also one, no?”

you’re not sure what face you’re making over the phrasing, but you can tell past his glove it’s tempting a grin back. as much as you want to slap it away, you have to try your hardest to stop your lips from trembling, tears welling in the corner of your eyes.

so, you clench your jaw again for a moment. unclench, deep breath. mustering up what stubbornness you still have left.

“if that’s the case, attend the award ceremony, finish all your paperwork without dumping it on jean or gunther or anyone else, and then take some days off, got it?”

lohen lets the string slip out of his hold as he chuckles. bowing down even lower, he holds his palm to his chest without looking away even once,

“that’d be my honour.”

you can’t bring yourself to look away. you simply stay there, soaking in the sight of him being right in front of you, still wondering if it’s just a dream.

that said, you’re not given much longer to think about that.

lohen straightens up in a hasty motion, and an arm snakes its way around your waist; before you can really process it, you’re pulled closer, his free hand finding purchase in holding your face between his fingers.

“so?” he grins, only going on after you repeat it in semi-confusion, semi-concern. “i was gone for so long, fought for dear life, even left my squad on the way home just to see you sooner-where’s my reward?”

ah. there it is. the unpredictable lohen. it sure is a relief that he is the same as always, but it’s at the cost of keeping you on your toes at almost all times.

“you’re fucking unbelievable.”

somewhere further down, returning knights walk along the sidewalks of the city. they call for the vice-captain of the fifth company, wondering just where he had hurried off to ahead of them. without their knowledge, they stroll past a certain balcony, carrying two lovers and a secret.

you’ve seen kinich worried. he trusts you enough to easily wave you off every time you go on a journey, but at times where you return with more than just a couple of wounds, you can’t blame him for getting worried nonetheless.

today is different though. he’s never seen you this battered and patched up, and you’ve never seen him this upset. not worried, but upset, on the border to irritated. you can tell in the half-lidded eyes that bore into you, and the weight of it makes your own divert away to anything and everything else in the room.

“so, what? it’s like that for every adventurer, it’s not like i’m gonna quit being one,” you mumble, genuinely meaning your response but not able to sound as confident as you’d hoped, “besides, i came home this time too, didn’t i?”

a small gasp escapes you when his other hand finds your chin, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you turn to face him again.

“what about next time? what about the day you don’t come home at all?” kinich mutters, leaning even closer until his forehead rests against yours. “how often do i have to remind you?”

“kinich, i—...” you try to argue back, though words blending in with the room’s silence when you feel his breath tremble against your lips; beneath all that frustration, there’s a tinge of pain ringing in his tone; a pain that echoes into your chest as well and for a brief moment, it makes you imagine what it’d be like if the roles were reversed. you can’t imagine trading your current for anything in the world but you simply can’t blame him either.

you make another attempt. this one, however, is also shut down when the gap separating you closes without as much as a single warning—the desperation in the kiss anchors you to the plane of reality, and so does the next one, and the next one. you’re slowly given fewer and fewer opportunities to breathe in a way that isn’t through sharp inhales and yet, there’s a part of you that outweighs a need so primary human. kinich parts from you for a mere second, locking your eyes during that instant, before tilting his head to the other side, and as his hand slips from your chin to gently caress your cheek, you wish time would stop,

“kinich, i’m sorry,” you try again, barely getting the words out between dazed touches. “i can’t give up my adventures, i— you know i can’t.”

and he nods.

kinich nods, so pliantly, like he didn’t try to argue with you in the first place. he doesn’t want to, and he makes this clear as he at last parts, “i know.” he slides further down, just enough to attach his lips to the spot below your ear, slowly but surely leaving a trail of kisses down your skin. “i would never take them away from you,” he says, with a genuinity in the purest sense of the word. there’s another pause and the longer it lasts, the more certain you become that there’s a mark soon to blossom where your neck meets your shoulder.

“i just need you to take better care of yourself,” kinich declares between gritted teeth. you feel a second squeeze from his hand, the thumb of his other running across the corner of your eye, and that’s when he gives in; he detaches himself from your burning skin one last time, opting to settle into the crook of your neck.

“don’t make me remind you again… please.”

you’re not entirely sure when he let his entire weight drop on top of you, or when your legs tangled together. neither are you sure exactly when your fingers started to feel like they were about to break in the grip of his own, but that doesn’t really matter. the events in the rest of the inn have greatly increased, but you don’t care a particular lot about that either.

for the moment, there are only two people flush against each other, closer than ever as if a gap of even a centimeter would mean the end of the world—maybe it would, for you, and for him because in this very moment, nothing else matters except the fact that you both exist in it.

you move around the slightest bit, enough to nuzzle your face into the messy strands of his hair. your fingers find their way to his scalp as well, and he sighs in what sounds like relief.

“i can’t promise anything,” you answer bluntly, having no intentions whatsoever on sugarcoating anything, though follow up with a reassurance, “but i’ll try. someone has to welcome you back next time you get revived after all.”

it’s muffled, but the groan kinich lets out against your skin is loud and clear nonetheless.

perhaps that’s one of the reasons you can’t focus.

nonetheless, you hurry to shift the book to its rightful position and return to the story with a groan of mild frustration, as if nothing just happened. 

something is off. he’s being different. he’s xiao but at the same time not, but it’s still him because he’s still as unpredictable as ever, in that one way only he is—you just cannot for dear life figure out what it’s about this time.

xiao knows though, he knows perfectly fine. he knew from the very beginning, as soon as he entered the kitchen just earlier this morning. he’d found himself oddly intrigued by the unfailiar tint on your lips; a gloss so subtle, but shimmering in a way that complemented its shape, your features and every inch of skin oh so perfectly. a new product you’d purchased somewhere? a gift from someone? hopefully not, he’d prayed, but at the same time it didn’t particularly matter where it came from. he did like to think you put it on for him — not that he would ever confess that — but was equally fine with knowing it’s probably for yourself. either way, it looks good on you. too good. was he always like this?

he never commented on it (still hasn’t, frankly), and had opted to simply take his seat by the kitchen table despite only having half a mind on the breakfast. the other half has been on your lip gloss ever since.

xiao wants to know what it feels like, what it would feel like on his thumb. he also wants to know if it has a certain flavor. at the same time though, he doesn’t want that, partially because it would mean wiping it off and partially because wiping it off felt nothing short of impolite. so he remains in his seat, admiring it instead.

you’re, on the other hand, starting to get impatient. sure, he doesn’t always speak his mind, but at this point it feels like he’s just messing with you. aware that you probably won’t get anywhere like this, you soon let out another groan, this one rather tired. you shut your book and slide it a bit further away, and his attention falters a bit as he both confusedly and curiously watches you slam your palms on the table to stand up.

“okay,” you puff out, trying to keep the eye contact as firm as you possibly can. it’s a bit hard, but by the end of the day it’s still just your lover. “something is up and i want to know what it is.”

the lover in question blinks at you a few times, actually a bit surprised. yet he can’t help but find the temper of a child you carry a bit amusing. he doesn’t take too long to collect himself and upon seeing the chance while it’s there, he finally moves just to mimic your posture.

across the table, xiao reaches out to hold your cheek in his palm. bold isn’t a word you frequently use to describe him, so it’s safe to say you’re surprised when he suddenly leans in, lips meeting before you can really process it. the way his move against your own isn’t as daring as the entire process itself, but there’s a humble tinge that one has to kiss countless of times to tell its eagerness and with the half-lidded eyes never diverting from you, you’re grateful the table is there to support you figure.

at last parting, there’s a faint red on his cheeks, but xiao isn’t as stunned as you are. he glances down at your lips, unable to stop himself from dragging his thumb across the corner where a bit of the gloss had smudged. he lightly smacks his own, and you soon hear him hum again, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“is that cherry?”

xiao’s fingertips merely feather your cheek, but when you lean even closer his palm curls to fully caress its expanse. it brings a smile to your face and for as long as it remains, he allows himself forget the weight of karmic debt, breathing out in what sounds like relief. the final push is the way you place your hand on top of his, the underlying sign of mutual affection urging him to close what’s left of the gap.

it’s a light touch, and xiao is so tender in the way he moves his lips against your own, almost as if he’s afraid the slightest pressure will break you; you’re simply too dear to him, a mortal being out of many, many others that he cherishes more than he’d ever even let himself imagine, and it’s that particular feeling that makes him push just the slightest bit closer.

it’s pure tenderness that the kiss conveys, and xiao knows the taste of it will remain on his lips even after you part. yet, it’s faint, so delicate and fleeting. it’s not enough, not for an adeptus who’s living through loving and being loved for the first time, so it makes you laugh a bit when he’s quick to lean in once again.

☁︎ kazuha

for his nature to be the definition of calm, kazuha must love to make all hell break loose within you.

at this hour, the crux is just about as quiet as the vast sea is tonight. the ship’s deck is empty, even beidou, who’d been up drinking until late, is sleeping soundly and nowhere to be seen. yet, he’s being awfully carefree and comfortable with having you held between himself and the ship’s railing when anyone could come out and see at any moment.

with one hand on the wood, the other is holding your chin in the other. the bandaged fingers of a sword-user feel rough against your skin, though you hardly notice that with how soft his grip is—he’s giving you a clear opportunity to slip away from the risk of being caught, but you can’t bring yourself to do so when kisses feather from the spot below your ear, gradually further up towards the corner of your lips. your stares lock for a moment, and kazuha can’t help but let out a breath of someone utterly lovesick. “don’t give me that look,” he breaks the night silence, “you’re going to drive me insane.”

and just like that, he presses his lips against yours. upon responding to the kiss, kazuha sighs in relief, revealing the slightest hint of eagerness in the touch. he shifts from the railing to hold you closer by your lower back; in the back of your mind, you wonder if he had anything to drink tonight, but you don’t think much more about it, instead letting yourself indulge in the love he’s so shameless about giving you.

☁︎ kinich

kinich rests his weight back on his palms, one leg curled up to his chest as the other dangles from the side of his bed. you’ve been yapping for quite a while now, but he doesn’t mind at all, entertained by the fresh stories of your most recent journey outside of natlan’s borders. with that said, parts of his mind isn’t even present, something which you seem to notice in the middle of your talking. “and that traveler actually had this flying little companion with he— hey, are you listening?”

the small smile he’s been wearing this entire time doesn’t falter even as he answers, head tilting to the side, “yeah—what about the traveler?”

“oh—... well, yeah. after she proved me innocent to fontaine’s iudex—i think they were friends, by the way—we hung out a bit, she told me about her adventures, and how she was looking for her brother…” your words, trail off a bit, the excitement turning into a pout, “but she looked quite sad while talking about him. i’m sure she misses him a lot.”

“that’s not really strange, is it?” kinich responds, “waiting for someone to come home can get quite lonely sometimes.”

the wording makes you curiously glance up, but he’s already reaching a hand out, his warm palm finding your cheek. you’d lie to say it doesn’t cause an extra skip in your chest, but you hide that with a smug grin, “are you saying you’ve missed me too?”

kinich doesn’t answer through more than an airy laugh, and it surprises you when he suddenly leans in without warning. there’s only a brief pause, one where his eyes dart down to your lips, before he locks them with your own.

you’re conscious of every inch of his arm around you, all the way out to the fingertips that dig into your hips to further secure his grip. he’s careful about it, yet knowing just fine what he’s doing, seeing as his vines travel you through the dense jungles of natlan with ease.

the chill air should feel nice against your face like this, brushing it like gentle whips, but it does nothing to cool it down. it’s still burning terribly, and your guess is that kinich can feel it too as you subconsciously nuzzle into the crook of his neck. turns out you’re right because he soon sighs,

“don’t tell me the poison’s giving you a fever.”

you definitely don’t have a fever.

you don’t try to respond back with more than a shake of your head. much to your relief, he doesn’t question it any further. just a quiet “good”, and you realize that even one word alone has a special ring to it as long as it’s spoken in his voice — the more you comprehend that fact, the more pathetic you feel. 

kinich opens his mouth, ready to speak. he doesn’t have a particular interest in scolding someone who’s injured and poisoned to the border of comatose, but this is slightly different; on his way back from a commission, he’d just happened to stumble across your miserable state; it was surprising to see someone greatly familiar with combat crouching back against a tree, heavily breathing while in desperate attempts of hiding from tribal warriors. were you on a commission of your own? or fighting an informal battle? a misunderstanding? he wasn’t sure, but watching them about to gang up on a single, damaged person — who he, on top of that, knew very well — didn’t sit right with him. before you knew it, you were no longer on dangerous ground. or any ground at all.

kinich truly is ready to speak, but nothing comes out when he suddenly feels you fisting his shirt, tightly collecting the fabric between your fingers. so, he closes his mouth, letting out a deep breath through his nose. “stop being scared. i’m not going to drop you.”

you definitely aren’t scared.

you couldn’t be, ever. you trust him, possibly a bit more than you’d like to admit, and you don’t like this type of feeling — this type of affection, one you initially thought would be softer, sweeter and kinder, only to turn out to be much more violent. it feels rather like being internally assassinated, or like having your flesh dramatically ripped apart.

you simply never expected that falling in love with someone meant exposing the most fragile pieces of yourself. 

you can’t handle that any further, so you make a meek attempt to push yourself away from him. claiming that “you don’t have to carry me all the way back,” that “i can walk on my own”, yet it doesn’t surprise you the slightest when he holds you even closer with a scoff he doesn’t even try to cover.