Berry

Sometimes you wonder how you ended up in this situation, how you ended up in this unusual relationship with Scaramouche.

The two of you used to be normal friends, you were always aware of the fact he's a content creator.

Not like a YouTuber or influencer but something much more mature.

He's an adult content creator, BDSM to be specific, occasionally streaming and letting chat offer suggestions.

And it wasn't long until he found out you watched everything he uploaded, even were into it.

So he made you an offer, suggesting you participate.

At first you stayed behind the camera, squirming as you took care of technical stuff but slowly after many recordings he beckoned you out in front, eventually leading to the position you're currently in.

Your wrists are tied behind your back as you lay on your stomach, barely clothed, face flushed as your eyes are met with the camera lense currently broadcasting your form to several hundreds of people.

Next to the tripod steadily standing a monitor showing current stream chat, many users demanding many different things.

"Relax." He whispers into your ear, breath hitting your skin, slightly messaging your tense shoulders.

"Behave." Despite your bound body and his harsh words you feel safe in his handling, you know he won't do anything you won't like.

Leaning back his gaze grows cold, a look you're already used to.

His hands grip your ties, testing them while simultaneously making his hold over you obvious. You're helpless in his grasp.

"Now what should I do with you?" Obviously pretending to be thinking before rustling behind you, he doesn't give you time to question him before a soft black cloth covers your sight, robbing you of visuals.

"No peeking, especially not at the chat...don't wanna ruin the surprise now, do you?"

You're left with only the feeling of his fingers on you holding you down by the small of your back, the feeling of being watched, having power dangle above your head.

For a moment he just watches you out of the corner of his eye, scanning the incoming notification for an idea he'd like.

One message catches his attention, grin spreading across his lips behind you as he lands a single spank on your almost bare ass.

"Sounds fun."

More shuffling can be heard behind you before he tugs at your panties, straight up ripping them apart, your gasp audible for him and his viewers no matter how much you bury your face in the sheets.

Digits make their way to your front, rubbing against your clit while he grinds against your backside, hard cock already poking you.

Feeling his chest press against your back you suddenly feel something cold against your bundle of nerves where his fingers have just been before the vibrations start, jolting through you.

"Let's switch it up today a little." His teeth dig into your shoulder, not enough to break skin but enough to border the edge of pain.

The item you have no identified as a vibrator keeps humming away on your nub, running through your folds until it circles your quivering hole, slipping inside.

Your panting is coming out in raged puffs for the whole stream to hear, squirming a bit under Scaramouches weight.

"Now that pretty cunt is stuffed full...what should I fill next?" The question is more towards the viewers than you, he knows you can't really speak right now anyways.

His hips roll against your butt again as he reads the comments, flicking over each and everyone coming in.

"They want me to fuck that pretty little ass of yours." Voice low he speaks as if the topic itself is something forbidden.

"Would you like that, my dear?"

Grabbing your chin he lifts it towards the camera, showing everyone your blissful expression you tried to hide in the mattress below you.

"Let them know. Will you take it, take everything I give you?"

Your vocal cords refuse to cooperate but your expression shows your desperation enough as you nod, lips parted slightly.

He drops your face, letting it fall back down, showing how boneless you are as he pats your head.

"Good." As a reward he turns the vibrators setting higher, coaxing a whine from your throat.

Another spank lands on your bottoms before a generous amount of lube coats it.

His warmth disappears from you as he leans back, gripping your hips as he positions himself.

Slowly he pushes in, just the tip at first, letting you adjust to the foreign feeling even if his mind is screaming at him to just slam in all at once.

Biting your lip you try to keep your noises in but of course he notices, grabbing a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back forcefully.

"Don't you dare." A clear warning to not hold back as he thrusts in all the way to the base, bottoming out.

Your mouth falls open in a chocked moan, his hold on you tightening, leaving crescent markings in the softness of your sides.

Gritting his teeth he has to take a moment to collect himself, he'd absolutely ravage you otherwise.

Chat explodes, egging him on to start moving, saying you deserve it, praising you for being such a mess despite your inability to see it.

Slowly he removes himself, just leaving the head, letting you squirm for a moment but rutting back inside roughly.

The toy in your pussy keeps deliciously vibrating while he ruins your tight ass over and over, you can't do anything against it.

A thin layer of sweat coats you, pleasure assaulting you from all sides, you can imagine. You can't believe you're putting on such a show for strangers on the internet.

Body limp underneath him he relishes in your trust, in your submission, especially as your moans rise in octave the faster he pounds into your tight hole.

Being double stuffed is almost too much for you, you're basically drooling onto his bed shamelessly, his movements only increasing I'm speed and intensity.

It doesn't take much of his assault until you squirt all over the plastic inside you, ruining his sheets completely as you reflexively tighten.

Small tears of ecstasy seep through the fabric of your blindfold, dampening the blinding cloth.

But he doesn't let up until he shoots white seed into your behind, almost overstimulating you.

Stilling he comes down from his high, leaving you gasping before getting up and ending the stream.

"You did well. Let's get you cleaned." Freeing your sore arms he removes the vibrator and your eye cover, watching you blink at the light.

Lifting you he carries you to his bathroom without another word, knowing well you can't currently walk.

you were developing a habit. you posted something. he replied. you replied to his reply. and somehow, an hour disappeared.

you weren't sure when it had started happening. maybe it was because he was easy to talk to. maybe it was because you liked making him laugh. or maybe—no. you weren't going to think about that. you opened the app instead.

you locked your phone before you could embarrass yourself further. your face was warm. this was getting dangerous. but it didn't help that he had started doing it too.

you didn't answer, because suddenly you weren't sure if you were joking anymore. you started posting more. things you knew he'd respond to. and like clockwork he always did.

you wanted to ask. what happened? who hurt you? why don't you let people close? but you knew better. that night, you were lying in bed when another message came through.

you immediately wanted to throw your phone across the room, but opted to set it down on the pillow next to you. then of course you picked it up again and made one last post for the night while you still had some courage.

your mouth fell open. you stared at the screen before you buried your face in your pillow. this was getting out of hand. and yet neither of you seemed particularly interested in stopping.

Scintillating shards of crystal clatter about, earning you numerous stares. Your breath catches in your throat. Aether, who seemingly has a sixth sense for people in crisis, strides over. Remembering yourself, you join him on your knees and collect the jagged fragments of your celebratory drink. The mess resolves itself in record time. After quietly expressing your gratitude, you await an opening to slip away, but he hovers by your side like a second shadow and asks the worst possible question: 

“Are you alright?”

The muscles in your throat seize. You try to mouth an affirmative response, only for your tongue to lie limp in your mouth. Settling on the next best option, you nod, mustering your most convincing smile. The Descender considers you. Every second of his appraisal is torture, the genuine concern on his face like gas near an open flame. There’s a disconcerting quality to its intensity.

You have to get out of here. You’re rapidly approaching your limit, a threshold that promises no return. 

Realizing you’ll have to do better to convince him, you squeak out, “I’m fine.” 

The thin, raspy quality of your voice is detrimental to your cause. If he was uncertain before, he’s going to be hellbent now. He speaks your name like he’s approaching a wounded stray. You play the part well, flinching back when he extends his hand, a reaction that surprises you both. Panic hits like a flash flood. You shrink back, muttering a lame excuse about needing air. 

You navigate the Flagship with the grace of a newborn fawn. Given the locale, your stumbling doesn’t raise any suspicion. You’re grateful to leave the packed tavern behind you. There’s a certain serenity to Nasha Town at night, the cool air heavenly on your clammy skin. You spot an alcove and establish yourself there. It’s a balcony overlooking the main square, high and lonely, perfect for your purposes. Squeezing your eyelids shut, you grip the railing painfully tight. 

In a matter of seconds, footsteps approach close behind. You don’t need to look to guess the culprit. Instead, through chattering teeth, you raise a painful question of your own. 

“Who is the Balladeer?” 

Aether exhales sharply like the inquiry stabbed him.

“You remember?” he asks, tentatively. 

“Bits and pieces,” you hug yourself. “I remember…” 

What it is to not live, but exist. Luggage cases. A revolving door of masked attendants. Custom clothes. The scent of incense and tea. Crimson, indigo, lavender. Static. Cotton sheets and silk pillows. Frigid nights in Schenzaya, tepid days in Inazuma. Roaring fireplaces and the thump of the shishi-odoshi. Pine trees, sakura petals, fire-water, engawas, sunless winters, summer fireworks viewed in solitude. So, so much solitude. Hours whittling you away. Unanswered prayers, futile plotting. 

“... I remember enough.” 

Aether begins to say your name, but you spin around, the expression on your face stunning him into silence. 

“You knew?” you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “You — Nahida too — you knew and— and— he’s still…!” 

“I understand you’re upset—” 

“You understand nothing!” you snap. Hot tears stream down your face. You wipe them away with your sleeves, but it does nothing to staunch the flow, like a wound that refuses to clot. “Space. I need space, please. This isn’t… what am I supposed to even do with this…?” 

His lips part and close. You sense that you’re being unfair, lashing out at the wrong person. A heavy silence engulfs you both. You witness Aether’s resolve crumble one piece at a time. He takes a step forward and freezes, his eyes darting from you to the left. You follow his gaze, your soul discerning who it is far before they’re visible. 

“Dottore made good on his promise, I take it?” the new presence wonders. You look at him like he’s a ghost, terror seizing your heart. 

“Should I…?” Aether trails off, his attention flitting between you both. 

“You can leave us,” he reassures. You take note of his refusal to look at you. It’s a slight so insignificant compared to his other sins, yet it manages to stoke your wrath into something profane. The rage is nauseating. Primal in essence, burning with the fury of a thousand stars. And yet words fail you. Even as Aether leaves, glancing over his shoulder before he heads back inside, your mind goes blank, like a canvas stolen of its colors. 

Finally, your eyes interlock. 

This incarnation — the Wanderer — has the courtesy to maintain his distance. All you can bring yourself to do is stare. Weighing the similarities, judging the differences. He doesn’t shy away or wilt beneath your scrutiny. Your inability to decipher his stone-cold countenance inspires frustration. Where is your catharsis? His shame, your triumph? Is he not guilty before you? Why won’t it show — why don’t you want it to show? What do you want? How can the scales ever fall in your favor, after everything he’s stolen? 

You pity that girl he kept locked away like a prized jewel. It’s strange, mourning for a you that was but no longer is. Her fear, despair, and helplessness; it washes through you, coming and going in waves. She was forgotten. Her suffering erased alongside the memory of the Balladeer, no justice ever achieved. There’s no metric to measure inequity on such a cosmic scale. Even now, if you were to end his life, it would do her no good. She no longer exists. You, her afterimage, can’t deliver proper retribution. 

Your knees buckle. You collapse, the fabric of your skirt billowing out alongside you. 

“Say something,” you demand. 

Nothing. 

“Kunikuzushi,” you try again. Finally, he flinches. It feels right. Divinely ordained. You want more. “Have you been mocking me all along?” 

He takes a few moments to think over his response. “You’re not going to get what you want out of this.” 

Sensing your confusion, he clarifies, “I’ve seen this moment coming for a long time. I had no way of knowing for certain it’d happen, yet… it felt inevitable. A fitting penalty for my shortsightedness. So, trust me when I say I’ve imagined this moment countless times, taking into consideration how you are, and… there is no outcome that will satisfy you. This might come across as cruel, but I consider it the greatest mercy I can offer.” 

“What do you know about mercy?” 

“Not much. But I know you,” he reassures. “Every quirk, character flaw, and inclination. For instance, right now, all you can think about is how to make me hurt. That’s fair. Do and say what you will. I’ll take it all.” 

You regard him warily. Who is this? He looks like Scaramouche, from the sharp, piercing quality of his eyes to the aesthetics of his clothes, though the palette is different. His speech pattern is similar too. Wry, vaguely derisive. Yet a critical component is absent. Or is it multiple? You reflect on his behavior in Nod-Krai. Had it not been for him and his willingness to participate in Sandrone’s plan, Dottore would’ve triumphed, upsetting the balance of Teyvat and guaranteeing oblivion. He is, in every definition of the word, a hero. Your intestines twist into knots at the thought. Aether has faith in him, as does Sumeru’s Archon, whose domain is wisdom. 

Slowly, you rise on your own strength. 

“Do you regret what you did?” 

He pinches his eyebrows together. “I regret my weakness.” 

“Weakness?” you repeat back, incredulous. 

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he closes the distance, stalking toward you with a steady gait. And there it is — hints of his depraved nature rising to the surface like a bloated corpse. You turn your chin up, daring him to pull anything. Energy crackles between you. “You’ll be pleased to learn I’m still, at my core, that awful bogeyman worthy of your loathing. Ah, I can see it. You were worried what it’d mean for you if I’d been redeemed. I get it.” 

He fiddles with the rim of his hat. “It’s funny; Lesser Lord Kusanali posed the same question. ‘Do you regret what you did to her?’ she asked, leaving unsaid the expectation that I should. And well… I regret much, but I don’t regret you.” 

You ball your hands into fists. 

“You closed me off from the world.” 

“A rotten world.” 

“You took my life, my— my future, my aspirations—” nearing hysterics, you have to pause to regain your breath, “I lived in complete fear! I never knew what might set you off, or why, and it was fucking terrifying!” 

“I know.” 

You want to claw his eyes, rip into his jugular with your teeth, and tear open his chest cavity with your hands. You want him to cry, beg, and blubber, pleading for forgiveness that will never be his. You want revenge. A punishment worthy of the crime. You pounce, roughly grabbing his collar and tugging, vision blurry with tears. He goes limp, not offering up the slightest resistance. His gaze is unblinking, drinking in the sight of your ruination. Perhaps there’s a hint of pathos on his features, but it’s fleeting, like a passing breeze. 

You’re not going to get what you want out of this, he warned. 

Scaramouche (the Wanderer?) is many things, but he was never a liar. 

You push him away with all your strength. He barely budges, forcing you to scurry back to make space. 

“It’s not going to happen again,” the words come tumbling out like the ravings of a madman, “You don’t have the power anymore— the authority.”

“I don’t,” he admits. 

You derive some satisfaction from his flat acquiescence. That has to sting, right? The knowledge that once was never will be again? In that life, he was a Harbinger, given impunity by the Tsaritsa. Certainly, he has his own strength, but it’s no longer uncontested. He has Aether and Nahida to keep him in check. Given their knowledge of his past wrongdoings, they must be monitoring him. Theoretically, this should grant you solace. You’re not alone. This time, you have formidable allies that will come to your aid. 

He laughs. It’s a choked, bitter sound, worse than a person gurgling on blood. You wince, terrible memories teeming forth.

“The past is set in stone,” his voice takes on a melancholic character. He shakes his head, dismissing the thought that inspired his rumination. Squaring his shoulders, he changes the subject.  

“You wondered if I’ve been mocking you all this time. I haven’t. If anything, it’s been… refreshing. Speaking to you without encountering resentment, that is. I’d forgotten what it was like. If I tried hard enough, I could almost put our shared history behind us and pretend I didn’t know what I did.” 

His lips curve into a soft smile. Goosebumps dot along your skin, shudders accompanying them. You never thought he was capable of a tender expression like that. It doesn’t last long, like a shooting star streaking across the night sky. His countenance contorts back to its usual deadpan. 

“But… I think I prefer you like this,” he decides. “This is how you’re meant to be; lost and vulnerable. A testament to my influence.” 

You break eye contact, unable to withstand the weight of his stare any longer. 

“I won’t always be this way. A day will come where I put you behind me,” you back the lofty declaration with as much confidence as you can. “And then you’ll be truly alone. Forgotten by me twice.” 

Darkness clouds over his brilliant eyes.

“We’ll see,” he responds to your challenge in a sing-song lilt. “I won’t make it easy for you.” 

𝖷𝖨𝖠𝖮 - 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 :𝟢 | 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

until this day, you still had barely any clue on how you found yourself in a fake relationship with the famous drummer of the 6REEZE band. 

a famous rockstar and a worldwide known actress. 

the simple idea was ridiculous, you thought. your worlds had nearly nothing to do with each other. 

his was a whirlwind of ear-deafening concerts, endless band practices and makeup so dark it made the amber shades of his eyes seem a little too hypnotizing for your heart to handle. on the other hand, yours was a soft and gentle lifestyle that included playing in heartwarming rom-coms and comforting yet soul shattering movies that left the deepest impressions in the viewers’ hearts. 

the shock that nearly broke the internet on a global scale at the news of your relationship was nothing compared to the way you had nearly screamed while jumping out of your seat when your manager informed you of the next step in your career. 

a break you had taken in the middle of your peak had awakened baseless rumors and provoked a decrease in your fame. and the solution was to date one of the most loved celebrities in liyue. and you still haven’t decided whether you hated your manager or not, yet. 

not that you had the time. 

between interviews, trying to get to know each other as fast as possible with xiao and luring the paparazzis into your supposedly “private” dates to keep appearances, you couldn’t help but catch a tiny teeny amount of feelings for the rockstar. 

xiao was a bit too good at his role. 

the arms around your waist, the hand at the small of your back and the occasional kisses you’d receive on your cheek or forehead to please your fans – sometimes enraging some. it all felt like a bunch of arrows being shot one at a time in your direction, piercing your chest open and urging you to hand your heart over to your fake boyfriend. 

and this whole act was definitely getting to you. 

after attending one of his concerts in the vip section, cheering for him and sending each other smiles, flying kisses and other cheesy displays of affection to one another to keep your fans entertained, you found yourself visiting him backstage. 

the members of his band didn’t know that your relationship was a play. so, seeing you arrive, it was only natural for heizou to prompt everyone else to exit the makeup room, leaving you and xiao alone. 

“you did amazing,” you told him with a soft smile, sitting beside him on the couch. 

you handed him the cold bottle of water in your hands. stupidly enough, your heart clearly didn’t seem to manage getting used to the little touches or affectionate gestures. it hammered against your chest when his fingers brushed yours. nearly leaped out of your ribcage at the grateful smile he gave you, the sharp edges of his face softening and the paleness of his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. 

you sat there in silence, enjoying each other’s company. 

unconsciously, your head ended up resting on his shoulder. but none of you dared to make a move, scared that the slightest twitch would have the other pull away. 

even after you had realized what you were doing. you didn’t budge. his head rested on top of yours and your heart did a little somersault in its cage, jumping all the way to your throat and resting on the tip of your tongue. 

so close to make you spill all the unspoken feelings you couldn’t contain within yourself to him. 

“i have to go back on stage,” xiao whispered gently. 

you masked your disappointment, lifting your head from his shoulder and watching him as he stood up. 

your eyes raked over his back, admiring how the deep v-cut of his shirt revealed a large portion of the skin beneath. 

smooth. pale. slender and toned. and you couldn’t look away when you noticed the way his muscles moved as he arranged his hair and in-ears. how could you, really. 

when xiao turned back towards you, he handed you back the bottle of water, leaning down to plant a tender kiss on your forehead. his lips slowly wandered all the way down your lips, leaving a trail of shivers and heat behind them. your brain didn’t process what was happening fast enough. at least, not before xiao had stormed out of the makeup room, realization befalling him. 

you sat on the couch. speechless. unmoving. paralyzed in your seat as reality dawned on you. 

did the play you were entertaining your audience with get to him to the point he kissed you out of habit? 

but he never kissed your lips before! 

did xiao hold some sort of affection for you that went beyond the limits set by the contract? 

you shook your head frantically, not allowing yourself to go any further with that dumb, delusional, silly reasoning of yours. 

and while you tried to compose yourself before going back to the concert, xiao was leaning against the other side of the door, a hand pressed to his mouth while his face glowed a bright red. 

“what the hell,” xiao mumbled to himself, crouching on the floor. 

𝖠𝖫 𝖧𝖠𝖨𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖬 - 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗒 !! | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗅

haitham was a rational man. he knew it. you knew it. and so did the entirety of sumeru. 

he’s never acted on impulse a day in his life, never made any decision that would ever impact his career in a negative way. he kept a respectful distance between him and his co-stars, easily evaded intrusive questions regarding his romantic life and just did everything possible to avoid scandals. 

it was never enough, seemingly. 

he’d like to blame it all on kaveh, but really, it was mostly your fault. 

after another tiring, early shoot, he caught his friend chatting away with an unfamiliar person. and although he didn’t really care about socializing, he could hardly escape the both of you when you signaled him to approach. so, with a sigh, he made his way towards and you both introduced yourselves. 

“i got coffee,” you told the two men, watching them perk up. 

it only took your manager tapping on your shoulder for you to startle and spill the scalding hot liquid all over haitham’s shirt. after much insistence, and seeing how apologetic you looked, he handed you over the dirty clothing while you promised to bring it back in a pristine condition.

you never imagined such a small incident would impact your modelling career on a large scale. 

truth be told, you were a bit to blame for the lack of precaution you took, despite being so painfully aware of paparazzis following the both of you. sure, you visited him in the middle of the night to hand him back his clothes. and sure, you may have overstayed your welcome, slipping inside his apartment after he’d offered you a glass of water. and maybe you shouldn’t have stayed there for a few more hours, not noticing the time slip by as you both chatted away. 

you surprisingly got along pretty well, despite the terrible first impression he had of you. 

the next day, you were the talk of the nation. several tabloids and social media posts showing pictures of you going into his residence, scandalous captions discussing how you hadn’t come out for several hours. 

so, of course, the only way to appease the morbid curiosity of both your fans was to confirm the dating rumors. 

at least, according to your managers. they didn’t give you much of a choice, posting announcements and leaving you both staring at each other blankly.

it was a simple arrangement. fake date for a few months and break up because your schedules go too busy. 

haitham knew it couldn’t be too hard. his whole career revolved around acting, he could easily fool everyone that you two were madly in love with each other without it affecting his personal life.

and haitham was a rational man. he knew that. 

he had absolutely no valid reason as to why he was glaring from the other side of the room, nose scrunching in disgust as your coworker’s hand slid down your arm and wrapped around your waist. you followed the photographer’s instructions, the both of you executing pose and after pose under his loud praise and encouragement. 

as the perfect boyfriend he was (fake, of course), haitham had come to visit you with a well deserved ice cold drink. the thought of having to reign himself in and avoid making the cup explode in his hand never crossed his mind while he was in line at the coffee shop earlier. 

he was the perfect picture of control, leaning against a wall while his eyes never left you, a few staff  members gawking at him. thankfully for him, none of them seemed to notice the murderous intentions behind his eyes and the way he glared at the man leaning way too close to your face. 

the very sight made him want to puke his guts on the floor. 

and while nothing slipped through his permanently stoic facade, you had no trouble reading through him. you pecked his cheek as you grabbed the drink he brought you, a small huff of laughter escaping you as he just wouldn’t relax his face. 

gently, you traced the slope of his nose, caressing the little wrinkles forming between his furrowed brows. “you look upset,” you remarked calmly.

haitham scoffed. “he looked stupid next to you.” 

his words made you snort. so much emotions for someone claiming that this was purely contractual. in the months you’d pretended to be a loving couple, he’d always kept a distance between the both of you in private. yet the walls he’d built around himself were beginning to crack and crumble. 

not that you didn’t like it. it was simply amusing to watch him try and fail to rationalize the current situation. 

“oh, i’m sure you’d make a better fit,” you giggled, leaning on the wall beside him. 

you pretended to not notice his insistent gaze above you, ignored the little sparks of hope burning away in your mind. when your coworker waved at you from the other side of the room, haitham placed himself in front of you before you could smile back. 

your eyebrows shot up, a playful smile pulling at your lips. “are you jealous, or something?” 

you noted the way he frowned again, confusion morphing his face, his mouth opening and closing a few times. haitham sighed, resigned.

“as if.”

his curt response made you laugh aloud, drawing attention from the busy staff around you. none of them stopped him when he gripped your wrist and dragged you away, your laughter muffled by the door he closed behind him and his lips crashing against yours. 

𝖲𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖠𝖬𝖮𝖴𝖢𝖧𝖤 - “𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋” “𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗌” >:( | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

scaramouche stared at his manager like he grew a second head.

“hell no.” 

“hell yes,” heizou insisted. 

there was no way his star actor would refuse such an offer. yet no arguments seemed to make him budge, looking at the red-head with nothing but disgust plastered on his face. the fact that he already convinced him to play in a romance was a miracle to begin with. but heizou really needed a second one right now, if scaramouche would just be merciful enough. 

while he was known on a global scale, no thanks to his incredible talent and his mother’s connections, you had only gotten into the acting scene a few years ago. 

and a dating scandal between two leads of a romance movie was bound to not only attract a bigger audience, but also get you under the limelight. 

unfortunately for scaramouche, it was working before anyone made it official. stupid tabloids about how lovely and oddly attentive he seemed to be with you behind the scenes were already emerging. clips of him wrapping his jacket around your shoulders during late shoots circulated quickly on the internet. the way he peered at you in concern when you sneezed far too many times in a row having people questioning his relationship to you.

and those dumb edits with even dumber songs. can a man not worry about his coworker anymore? 

“you never worry about coworkers,” heizou deadpanned at his complaint. 

and so, scaramouche surrendered to his fate.

the announcement dropped like a bomb above everyone’s heads, your socials exploding with a sudden overflow in followers, comments and intrusive questions filling up your private messages. although you trusted your manager’s plans, you never imagined it’d work in such a short time. part of you was afraid that your fake relationship would only attract negative attention and an overwhelming amount of scaramouche’s – sort of obsessive – fans banging at your door with pitchforks and murderous intents. 

instead, they thought it was hilarious. 

and maybe you agreed a little. you had to suppress a laugh at the almost robotic way in which he approached you, extending his arm for you to take to walk down the red carpet. the premiere was taking place today and it was only customary for the lead actors to be present today. 

you could already picture thousands of comments mentioning how stiff scaramouche looked beside you, standing before hundreds of flashing lights. his hand was hovering over your waist, his spine so straight and his smile so forced. it was a bit ridiculous, given the fact that you two kissed at least a dozen times before your director was satisfied with the result. 

it seemed like scaramouche’s professionalism didn’t follow him outside the set. 

you turned sideways, peering at him. “you look awkward, y’know,” you muttered through a smile.

his head whipped towards you and you could see him fighting back the urge to frown. 

“yeah, it’s because this is awkward," he retorted, his lips quirking downwards. 

you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. he was oddly endearing for someone so known for being bossy and rude. your hands went up to his collar, carefully adjusting the slightly crooked fabric. you didn’t think he could get any stiffer than this and yet. as your fingers brushed the skin of his neck, you noted how he’d gone completely still, the apples of his cheeks turning redder by the second. 

scaramouche could barely look at you, the slight contact of your skin against his making embarrassment crawl down his spine, so painfully aware of the public setting you were in. and the photographs immortalizing the, possibly, most mortifying moment of his acting career. he couldn’t bring himself to look at you, eyes fixated on the large crowd of paparazzis in front of him. 

you hummed, guiding his hand to rest properly on the curve of your waist. his throat bobbed, nerves eating at him. your laughter reaching his ears sounded like a death sentence to him. 

“you’re not a very good actor,” you giggled. 

that seemed to offend him more than anything else today. more than heizou, who was standing behind the crowd of paparazzis, capturing the moment on his phone like a proud mother, ever did. 

scaramouche turned towards you, a pout pulling at his lips. “i have four oscars,” he protested, almost petulant. 

the sight made you bring a hand up to your mouth, hardly stifling your giggles. scaramouche frowned, his face turning into an even darker shade of red. you didn’t have the brain cells to even wonder how he even managed that, unable to contain your laughter any longer. 

his hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, pulling you along with him and away from the blinding flashes. and you followed straight behind, grinning and waving at the paparazzis.

𝖵𝖠𝖱𝖪𝖠 - 𝖼𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗎𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗍 <//𝟥 | 𝖻𝗈𝗑𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗅

you never expected your peaceful days of modelling and travelling around the globe to be so rudely disrupted by a man, of all things. then again, you should have seen that coming. 

no amount of softening your speech and keeping your feelings inside was going to save your doomed relationship. and although it’s been months since your messy breakup happened, dozens of headlines still followed you around, claiming and lying about your mental state. 

“he tried to ruin my career!” you whined to no one in particular, throwing your phone across the room. “why would i miss him!?” 

and maybe you were paranoid but you were almost sure he was the very reason behind why paparazzis and interviewers still bothered to ask you about him. with him being the rich heir of the most influential company in mondstat, it wouldn’t be surprising for you to discover his bribing. 

while you didn’t have the power to turn the tables on him, you sure did have enough pettiness in you  to hit where it hurts. 

and yeah, sure, getting with your ex’s favorite athlete might be a bad look. and maybe dating his favorite boxer made it seem like you were the bitter one. but it wasn’t like you had the time to care, really, far too busy entertaining the media and your fans with more lies than you could count. 

you didn’t know why varka even agreed to fake a relationship with you, and you didn’t care to know. all that mattered was your private messages blowing up with your ex’s rage. 

strong hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a sturdy chest. “looks like it worked,” varka said behind you. 

the corners of your lips curled up as you turned to look at him, avoiding the blinding flashes capturing this tender moment. 

“told you it would,” you chuckled. 

with his match starting soon, and feeling the attention on the both of you, you turned to face him fully, arms wrapping around his neck. you didn’t let your eyes linger too long on his, ignoring the little somersaults your heart did at his insistent gaze and the lack of his usual cheerfulness. your fingers raked through his unruly hair, fixing up golden strands that refused to stay in place. 

it was a temporary arrangement. there was no need for you to search for a deeper meaning behind the longing swimming in his bright pools. or the quiet desperation in the way his lips pressed against yours. 

and there was certainly no reason for you to feel your heart sink at the sight of his bloodied face and the fire burning in the blue of his eyes. despite trying to remind yourself that he was an exceptional boxer, nothing could stop the tears gathering at your waterline when he was crowned, yet again, victor, bruises and cuts all over his proud expression.

you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him as he drove you home. varka didn’t say a word either, teeth pulling at his split lip. he didn’t think you’d care this much about the injuries he’d sustain in his matches when you first presented him with the setup. and he always tried his best to not overwhelm you with feelings that went beyond the limits set by the contract. 

yet varka, in the past few months, has discovered that he never had the strength to refuse you anything. so he didn’t protest when you pulled him into your apartment and sat him down on the edge of your bathtub. nor when you pressed a little too harshly on his cuts and when you didn’t bother being gentle while applying ointment to his bruises. he didn’t have it in him to crack a joke when you threw towels at him and practically slammed the door behind you. 

he’d also realized that it took so little for you to melt into his large hands. so when you walked past him, his fingers gently grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a warm embrace. 

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, lips pressing against your forehead. 

stubborn, you didn’t ease your frown, burying your face into the crook of his neck. you burrowed yourself in his lap, his arms wrapping around your form, rocking the both of you forward. 

“shut up.”

a small smile played on his lips, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. despite the harshness of your words, you refused to let go of him, any attempt of his at moving rendered useless when you dug your nails into his forearms. with a laugh, varka guessed that it wouldn’t hurt to spend the night on your couch, with you clinging to him. 

when the first rays of the sun pulled you out of your slumber, none of you addressed what had occurred. 

𝖪𝖠𝖹𝖴𝖧𝖠 - 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾 !! | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

it was necessary, you tried reasoning with yourself. 

obviously, it wouldn’t make sense that two renowned actors, who were dating nonetheless, would appear so stiff while kissing on camera. it would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? 

maybe not as ridiculous as your current predicament. as if sensing some hesitation from your side, kazuha tilted your chin so you’d look at him. 

“we don’t have to,” he told you, his tone far too sweet for you to handle. 

he wasn’t completely wrong. the arrangement your managers had put you in was fairly recent. if anything, it would only endear the crew to see the both of you shy away from such displays of affection. 

you’d barely registered the reason why yoimiya was so adamant on making you fake a relationship with kazuha. the only thing you’d processed was his name and the fact that he was going to pretend to be your boyfriend for a few months. 

the very actor you’d set your eyes on since the beginning of your career – and even before then. the same one you’d admired for years and years. the one you were filming a show with, playing as each other’s love interests while the wide public was hit with the news of your supposed relationship. 

you hardly believed the situation you somehow ended up in until today. you wondered if he had to go through the same mental gymnastics you did before showing up at your doorstep. you couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, him revealing the reason behind his presence as wanting to practice your lines together was but an excuse. 

after all, you were under no obligation to play pretend behind closed doors. yet his attempt at easing your nerves only alarmed you. 

“no, it’s fine!” you blurted out. 

when kazuha chuckled at your eagerness, you slapped a hand over your mouth, deflating like a balloon. you felt a bit stupid, so easily baring your feelings to him unprompted. sure, it wasn’t a direct confession. but kazuha wasn’t dumb enough to miss the meaning behind enthusiasm. you hid behind your hands, the AC not helping the state of your burning cheeks. 

you felt the mattress dip beside you, gentle fingers wrapping around your wrist and prying your hands off of your face. “don’t hide,” kazuha whispered. 

he was so insistent on your eyes meeting his, peering and searching for your gaze until you relented. the softness of his smile felt like a dozen arrows were shot straight through your heart. just as gentle, his fingers trailed up your arm, leaving sparks in their wake, tracing the column of your neck, cupping your jaw. 

kazuha inched closer to you until you felt his leg press against yours. “i’ll kiss you now, okay?”

your eyes were screwed shut, your entire being nearly vibrating with nerves and anticipation, fists clenching on your lap. maybe it was a good idea to practice before your shoot tomorrow, given your predicament. 

kazuha didn’t close the distance immediately, a fond smile drawn on his features at the sight of you. you looked just so nervous that a little, cruel part of him wanted to toy with your current state. his hand rested on one of your fists, thumb caressing soothing circles on your skin until you allowed his fingers to interlink with yours. 

a beat passed. a quiet moment in which your ears couldn’t perceive anything beside the erratic beating of your heart. 

hot puffs of air fanned over your lips. before you could stop yourself, you flinched away from the sensation, wide eyed. a moment passed by as you simmered in your own mortification before you muttered a quiet apology, looking down at your lap. you couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated at yourself. 

“it’s okay”, kazuha chuckled, his knuckle caressing the burning skin of your face. “relax for me, yeah?” 

you didn’t bother complaining about how his presence was anything but relaxing. it felt like every hair on your body was standing straight just from the proximity. any and every contact of his skin against yours lit a fire within the pit of your stomach, flames growing and licking at the little frustration you felt. 

when kazuha leaned in again, he didn’t linger too long on the cute look on your face. 

his lips were as sweet as he was, you thought, sitting straight and unmoving for a few seconds. when he moved them against yours, you felt like putty in his hands, pliant and so quick to follow the pace he set. your fingers gripped at the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his shoulders when his tongue traced your bottom lip. 

your mouth parted instantly, the small noise of surprise you made quickly swallowed by kazuha. his hand slipped to your nape, angling your head in a way that let him lick into your mouth. you pulled away for a second, your mind spiraling at the suddenness of his actions. 

“don’t do that,” kazuha tutted playfully. 

you felt your mouth dry up when your eyes met his half-lidded ones, the ruby shade of them barely visible through his dilated pupils. you wouldn’t be too shocked if they suddenly turned into hearts. 

and he was so mean, pushing his lips against yours and swallowing your protests and shy mutters, claiming that you could do so much better for him. you didn’t have it in you to deny him or disprove his words, growing dizzier and dizzier with every lungful of air he stole from you. 

so light-headed that you’d forgotten the reason behind his hunger. 

𝖥𝖫𝖨𝖭𝖲 - 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 <//𝟥 | 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌

you collapsed onto your hotel bed. every muscle of your body was screeching in pain, sore and exhausted with all the running and fighting you’d done today. the steaming, hot shower you’d taken did nothing to soothe the ache, nor did any of the stretches you quickly looked up. 

with a sigh, you surrendered to your fate, burying yourself in the covers of your bed. 

your loving manager, nefer, had deemed that you’ve done enough romance shows and movies for a lifetime. and of course, what better way to change the trajectory of your acting career than by having you play in an apocalyptic show. really, she could have had you participate in a survival reality show and you wouldn’t have noticed the difference. 

the only thing that helped you pull through was flins playing a role alongside you. despite the contractual nature of your relationship, there was no helping your traitorous heart and its inability to not fall even deeper for him. the arrangement was set purely to draw attention to the show. yet, with every day that passed and with its end nearing, you couldn’t help but hope that, perhaps, flins wouldn’t want this to be over.

you rolled around in your bed, trying and failing to ignore the restless state of your mind. 

but there was no logical explanation behind his endless flirtations and tender attentions. you hoped that there was a meaning behind the hands around your waist when no one was present to witness them. that you didn’t imagine the small flickers of affection in the depths of his hypnotizing eyes. there had to be a reason as to why he was so adamant on kissing your knuckles as a greeting, right? 

the sky roared, making you sit straight on the mattress. 

you could nearly feel the building shake with the intensity of the thunder, raindrops close to breaking the windows. 

just your luck. 

for a split moment, you stared into the darkness of your room, refusing to look at the bright flashes of light slipping through the glass. you contemplated staying up and falling asleep until the storm passed. maybe watch a show to take your mind off of it until your exhaustion would get the best of you. 

another deep, rolling rumble made you scramble towards your bedside table, turning on the dim light. 

you felt a bit stupid, getting so spooked by something so normal. but you were so wide awake at the moment, arms crushing your poor stuffed bunny. and you were so hyperaware of every little noise, all the alarms in your brain going haywire when you heard a rattle from your door. 

you stared at the wooden surface for a long moment, hoping that whoever was behind it would just leave you alone. better yet, that you simply imagined the sound. 

all those thoughts flew out of your mind when a familiar voice called out your name. “it’s just me,” flins added, raising his hand to knock again. 

before he could do so, you opened the door, looking at him through a small crack. your lips jutted out into a pout as flins smiled down at you, taking in the messy state of your hair and the plushie glued to your chest. 

“thought you’d be scared,” he told you. 

something in your chest melted into a pathetic puddle at his words. of course he would think so. despite all his teasing and playfulness, flins was so terribly attentive it made you want to pull out your hair. instead, you opened the door wider, letting him slip inside. you noticed how he’d braided his hair and the near translucent paleness of his skin. his eye bags looked even more pronounced, you thought, guilt twisting your guts. 

he probably sacrificed his well-deserved rest just to check on you.

“i couldn’t sleep either.”

you blinked at him, any remorse you’d felt evaporating instantly. “you’re not good at lying,” you deadpanned, locking the door behind you. 

flins only laughed at your words. he took a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes crinkling, small sparks of joy animating his gaze. you looked away, feeling your heart take on a faster pace. yet when his hand urged you closer, you followed through almost immediately, wishing that he wouldn’t feel the erratic pace of your heart as his thumb caressed the skin above your pulse. 

“do you want me to stay?” flins asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

his lips traced the inside of your wrist, awaiting an answer you couldn’t provide. when you only gave him a nod, he nipped at the sensitive skin, eliciting a hiss from you. “hm?” he pressed. 

your eyebrows furrowed, frustration painting your features. 

“i do,” you muttered, looking down at the way you shifted on your feet. 

a small huff of laughter tumbled out of flins’s lips. you never looked sweeter to him, he thought, pulling on your wrist and into his embrace. you burrowed yourself into his chest, the both of you buried into the covers. you were deaf to the distant rumbles, ear pressed against his wildly beating heart, eyes widening in disbelief. 

you didn’t dare say anything that would disturb the peacefulness of this moment. when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you tried your best to succumb to the fatigue you felt earlier. 

and so, the both of you laid there sleeplessly, praying you’d find a way to extend the contract. at least, until either of you found the courage to put a word on your feelings. or three. 

© mimi-sunny ─ all rights reserved. do not translate, plagiarize or feed into ai.

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Sunflowers, daisies, and little wildflowers would suit him particularly well, something bright and natural that felt personal rather than extravagant, and he'd probably spend a moment examining the arrangement before looking back at you. "You actually got these for me?" He'd let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as though he still couldn't quite believe it. "I wasn't expecting this at all. I mean, they're really nice. They're actually really, really nice."

He'd pause, visibly trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with himself now that the gift had left him without his usual confidence. He'd probably make some awkward attempt at a joke about how he was apparently going to have to start returning the favor, only for his smile to soften again when he looked at the flowers.

"You know you've completely caught me off guard, right?" There'd be something almost boyishly pleased about the way he'd keep glancing between you and the bouquet, clearly touched despite trying to play it off.

Then, he'd give up on finding the perfect response altogether, shift the flowers carefully into one arm, and pull you into a warm hug with his free arm, keeping the bouquet safely out of the way. "Alright, fine. I love them. Thank you." The words would come out a little quieter than usual, accompanied by a genuine smile that would make it obvious he meant every bit of it.

What would make the whole thing even more amusing would be the reaction from the other Knights afterward. Lohen walking through the headquarters carrying a bouquet would already be unusual enough, but the fact that someone had apparently given the bouquet to him would have half the room staring before they could stop themselves.

He'd notice the looks almost immediately and glance around with a slightly irritated expression, realizing that people were trying very hard not to stare while simultaneously failing miserably.

He'd probably try to walk past as though nothing unusual were happening, only for someone to eventually glance at the bouquet and then at him with an expression that practically screamed Lohen? Flowers? Someone gave Lohen flowers? The attention would make the tips of his ears turn even redder, and he'd instinctively hold the bouquet a little closer while muttering something about everyone needing to mind their own business.

Later, when he saw you again, he'd probably bring up the whole spectacle with an embarrassed laugh, telling you how everyone had stared at him as though you'd handed him a priceless artifact instead of flowers. "I'm never going to hear the end of this from the other knights, am I?"

Despite all his joking complaints about being put on display, he'd make one thing very clear, he wouldn't trade the bouquet for anything.

"Not that it matters. It's still worth it. Especially since they're from you." As he said the last part, he'd glance toward you with a small, teasing smile, clearly noticing the way your expression immediately changed. The faintest flush in your face would be far too entertaining for him to ignore, and he'd hold your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, looking quietly pleased with himself.

He'd probably raise an eyebrow when you tried to hide your embarrassment, the corner of his mouth lifting further as though he'd just discovered an entirely new way to fluster you. "What?" he'd ask innocently, despite knowing perfectly well what he was doing. "I'm just saying the truth."

── ( 𝒄. ) Childe would have a huge reaction because he's naturally generous himself, and in a relationship he'd probably be the one who was constantly buying things for you without making a big deal out of it.

With his position and wealth, bringing something home for you would be almost second nature to him, he'd pass through a market and see something that reminded him of you, pick it up, and present it later with that easy grin of his, or return from a trip with some little trinket, accessory, sweet, or souvenir he'd decided you'd like.

Because of that, he'd become so accustomed to being the giver that it genuinely wouldn't occur to him that you'd turn around and do the same for him. So when you suddenly held a bouquet out to him, he'd actually freeze for a moment.

His eyes would widen, his usual confident expression falling away into unmistakable surprise as he looked at the flowers, then at you, then back at the flowers again. "For me?" He'd laugh softly, almost disbelievingly, before taking them from your hands with both of his as though he needed to make absolutely certain they were really meant for him.

He'd probably adore something bright and lively like orange lilies, chrysanthemums, red carnations, or sunflowers, flowers with rich, warm colors that suit his energetic personality rather than something overly delicate.

He'd turn the bouquet around, inspecting the arrangement with an enormous grin, occasionally glancing at you as though the fact that you'd thought about giving him something was more surprising than the flowers themselves. "Well, well. Looks like someone's decided to spoil me for once." The teasing would come naturally, but there'd be a genuine softness underneath it that would betray how touched he was.

He'd probably ask where you got them, whether you chose them yourself, and what made you pick those particular flowers, listening with a strangely attentive expression as though every little detail made the gift more special. He'd even laugh at himself when he realized just how caught off guard he'd been. "You know, I'm usually the one doing this." He'd glance down at the bouquet again, his smile becoming smaller and more sincere. "I really wasn't expecting you to get me something."

The cuteness aggression would probably hit him hardest once he fully registered that you had gone out of your way to make him happy, rather than simply buying him something because you happened to be shopping. He'd stare at you for a few seconds with that bright, almost boyish grin, looking like he was fighting the overwhelming urge to do something about how adorable he suddenly found you.

He'd shift the bouquet into one hand, lean toward you, and press a warm kiss to your lips before pulling back with a laugh, his expression still impossibly pleased. "You really surprised me, you know?" He'd probably shake his head, looking at you like you had somehow managed to turn the tables on him without warning. "I'm starting to think I might've spoiled you too much!" Yet the joke wouldn't stop him from continuing to admire the flowers.

He'd keep them somewhere prominent afterward, making absolutely no effort to hide how proud he was that you'd given them to him, and he'd probably catch himself looking at them throughout the day with a stupidly fond smile.

At one point, he'd be sitting behind his desk with a stack of paperwork spread out in front of him, his cheek resting against one hand while his other arm lay folded across the table. He'd stare blankly at the documents for a few seconds before his attention inevitably drifted toward the bouquet sitting nearby.

His expression would soften almost instantly, his eyes lingering on the flowers with quiet admiration as he propped his chin more comfortably against his palm. The paperwork would be completely forgotten.

He'd just sit there looking at the bouquet, replaying the moment you'd handed it to him and remembering the expression on your face, a small, almost yearning smile slowly appearing as he thought about how much he genuinely loved the gift.

It would take someone entering the room or calling his name to pull him out of it, and he'd immediately straighten, glance back at his paperwork, and pretend he'd been concentrating the entire time.

He'd already be thinking about what he could bring you next, not because he believed he needed to repay the gift, but because giving things to you was one of the ways he naturally showed how much he cared, and now he had even more reason to spoil you.

But when the two of you were alone, he'd probably glance down at the bouquet and then back at you, his smile turning softer. "Seriously, though thank you. I... really love them." He'd pause, looking at you for another moment before that playful grin returned. "Although I think I like the person who gave them to me even more."

── ( 𝒘. ) Wanderer would be one of the most visibly conflicted because receiving flowers is exactly the sort of openly sentimental gesture he'd have absolutely no idea how to handle. You'd hold the bouquet out toward him and he'd stare at it in silence for several seconds, his expression slowly shifting from confusion to suspicion as though he were trying to determine whether this was some elaborate joke you were playing on him.

His eyes would narrow slightly, and he'd glance from the flowers to your face before looking back at them again. "What is this?" Once you explained that you'd gotten them specifically for him, he'd go quiet for another moment, clearly caught off guard despite his best attempt to appear unimpressed.

He'd prefer something simple and understated, perhaps violets, lavender, forget-me-nots, or small blue flowers, rather than an enormous romantic arrangement, because something delicate and quietly beautiful would feel much more appropriate for him. He'd eventually take the bouquet with an awkward little click of his tongue, holding it rather stiffly at first as though he hadn't quite figured out where his hands were supposed to go.

"You bought me flowers?" The question would come out almost incredulously, and he'd immediately follow it with some dismissive remark about how impractical they were, how they'd wilt eventually, and how there was no reason to spend money on something temporary.

Yet the way he'd carefully adjust his grip so none of the stems were crushed would completely undermine his argument. He'd look down at the flowers again, studying the petals with quiet curiosity, and there'd be something almost strangely gentle in the way his fingertips occasionally brushed against a stem to straighten it.

When you told him you simply wanted to give him something, he'd avert his gaze almost immediately, the faintest warmth creeping across his cheeks. "You didn't have to do this." The words would sound dismissive, but there'd be considerably less bite behind them than usual.

He'd probably mutter something about you being strange when you smiled at him, yet he wouldn't hand the bouquet back. In fact, he'd hold onto it rather carefully, occasionally glancing down at it whenever he thought you weren't watching, as though he were still trying to understand why something so simple had managed to affect him this much.

What would really betray him, however, would be everything he did once the initial embarrassment passed. Wanderer would insist that the flowers were merely flowers, but he'd still find somewhere safe to keep them, making certain they weren't left somewhere they could be knocked over or damaged.

He'd probably choose a quiet corner and arrange them himself, pretending that he was only doing it because leaving them lying around was careless. Whenever you walked past, you'd catch him occasionally looking at them, his expression softening for just a moment before he'd realize you'd noticed and immediately look away.

"What are you staring at?" he'd mutter, despite being the one caught staring at the bouquet. He'd become strangely particular about their condition too, changing the water or adjusting the stems while insisting that he wasn't doing anything special.

Once the flowers began to wilt, he'd be reluctant to throw them away. You might suggest replacing them or simply letting them go, only for him to immediately look at you with a faint frown and pull the bouquet a little closer. "It's fine, I'll decide what to do with them later." When you pointed out that he obviously cared about them, his expression would tighten with embarrassment before he'd immediately become defensive. "I care because you gave them to me. Of course I wouldn't just throw them away like that." He'd say it as though that explanation somehow made the situation less sentimental, but he'd still keep the flowers.

Eventually, even after the petals had begun to fade, he'd probably preserve one of the smallest blooms somewhere private rather than admit he couldn't quite bring himself to discard something you'd chosen specifically for him.

Giving him flowers had been a strange choice of gift, really. Something so beautiful yet so temporary, destined to last only a fraction of his already long existence, and yet somehow their presence had become quietly ingrained into his mind. He'd find himself feeling strangely at ease whenever he caught sight of them, as though the little reminder of you sitting nearby had brought a sense of warmth and familiarity he hadn't realized he'd grown attached to.

Whenever he looked at it afterward, there'd be that same quiet softness in his expression, the kind he would never willingly let you see for too long, because acknowledging that your simple gift had made him genuinely happy would be far more embarrassing to him than receiving the flowers in the first place.

── ( 𝒗. ) Varka would have one of the biggest and most openly delighted reactions because he's naturally affectionate and generous, and he's the sort of person who'd be much more accustomed to giving flowers than receiving them.

He'd probably have bought bouquets for other people countless times simply because he happened to see something pretty and thought it would brighten someone's day, so having you suddenly approach him with a bouquet specifically chosen for him would genuinely catch him off guard.

The moment he realized what you were holding, his entire expression would brighten, his eyebrows lifting before that broad, unmistakable grin spread across his face. "For me?" He'd laugh warmly, reaching out almost immediately to accept them, though he'd be careful with the stems once he had them in his hands.

He'd adore sunflowers, daisies, wildflowers, or a bright mixed bouquet, especially something that looked cheerful and natural rather than overly formal or meticulously arranged. He'd lift the flowers slightly, admiring them with genuine appreciation before looking back at you, his expression becoming even warmer when he realized you'd chosen them yourself.

"Well, aren't I lucky?" He'd probably turn the bouquet around a few times, pointing out individual flowers and asking where you'd found them, whether you'd picked them because you thought they'd suit him, and how long you'd been planning the surprise.

The moment you explained that you simply wanted to give him something nice, he'd let out another pleased laugh, clearly touched by how simple and sincere the gesture was. He'd pull you into a big, warm hug almost immediately, making sure to hold the bouquet safely away from you so he didn't crush it between you.

"You really caught me off guard with this one." He'd give you an affectionate squeeze before pulling back and looking at the flowers again with a ridiculous amount of pride, already acting as though you'd handed him something far more valuable than a bouquet.

Varka absolutely wouldn't be subtle about how pleased he was afterward, finding somewhere prominent in his office to place the bouquet where the flowers could catch the light and where he'd inevitably notice them throughout the day.

He'd be in the middle of looking through reports when Aether and Paimon happened to enter, only for Paimon's attention to immediately land on the flowers sitting beside his desk. Varka would notice their staring and immediately break into a proud grin, leaning back in his chair as though he'd been waiting for someone to ask.

"Ah, those? My lover gave them to me." He'd probably pick up the bouquet carefully, holding it between his hands while admiring the flowers with an almost ridiculously fond expression. "She chose them herself, too. Pretty, aren't they?" Even while talking about the arrangement, his gaze would soften as though the flowers had somehow become a reflection of you in his mind. He'd gently turn one of the stems between his fingers, smiling to himself. "She's got good taste. Though I suppose anything would look beautiful when she gives it to you." Paimon would inevitably tease him for being so openly smitten, but Varka would only laugh, completely unashamed. "What? Can't a man admire his lover's little gift?" He'd glance down at the bouquet again, his thumb brushing lightly over one of the petals as he continued admiring it. "She saw these and thought of me. That's what makes them special." His expression would become softer for a moment, his usual boisterous demeanor giving way to genuine tenderness. "You know, I think I could stare at them all day and still find myself thinking about her." Then, almost as an afterthought, he'd smile and shake his head. "Though now I'm wondering what I can do to make her feel just as lucky as I do."

He'd remember the gesture long after the flowers began to wilt. Rather than immediately replacing them with something equally sentimental, Varka's instinct would probably be to return the affection in his own way, making sure your favorite food was waiting for you after a long day, fixing something you'd mentioned was bothering you, saving you a comfortable place beside him during a gathering, or quietly taking care of some little task before you even had the chance to ask.

It would be his way of saying that he'd noticed the thought you put into the flowers and wanted you to feel that same thoughtfulness from him. And whenever he happened to glance at the bouquet afterward, he'd probably smile to himself, remembering the look on your face when you gave them to him.

"You know," he'd eventually remark with an amused grin, turning toward you while still holding one of the flowers carefully between his fingers, "I think you've spoiled me." He'd pause, his smile widening as he added, "Not that I'm complaining."

── ( 𝐦. ) Mitya would probably be so completely absorbed in his work that your arrival would barely register as anything more than a familiar presence in the room.

He'd be sitting on the floor among an almost chaotic spread of books, loose papers, handwritten notes, diagrams, and half-finished calculations, one book propped open beside him while another rests across his lap, his attention moving between several different pages as he quietly pieced together whatever problem he's working on.

The moment you stepped into the room, he'd notice you from the corner of his eye, lifting his head just enough to offer you a gentle, distracted smile before returning to his notes. "Ah, you're here, come in." He'd probably shift a few papers aside with his foot to make space for you without ever seeming particularly bothered by the interruption, already accustomed to your presence being part of his little world of books and scattered research.

What he wouldn't notice, however, was the bouquet in your hands. You could stand there for a while, watching him work, before finally calling his name and asking him to look at you.

He'd blink and lift his head properly this time, his violet eyes settling on you before dropping to the flowers. His hand would stop halfway through reaching for another page, and for several seconds he'd simply stare.

The surprise wouldn't be dramatic, it would be quiet and genuine, his expression gradually softening as he realized what you were holding and why you were holding it.

The pen in his fingers would stop halfway through a movement, his eyes moving from the bouquet to your face and back again as though his mind needed a moment to understand what he was seeing. "Are those…" He'd slowly straighten from his notes, looking genuinely bewildered. "For me?"

Once you nodded, a small, bewildered smile would appear, and he'd carefully set his notes aside, standing up in front of you before accepting the flowers from you. "Sorry, I was so focused on all of this that I didn't even notice you were carrying them." He'd glance down at the bouquet again, turning it slightly in his hands with genuine curiosity, before looking back at you with that gentle, almost dreamy expression. "Where did you get them?"

The answer would initially make him smile, especially when he realized you'd gone out of your way to find flowers specifically for him, but that warmth would quickly become tempered by concern once he learned you'd traveled outside the city to pick them yourself.

His eyes would immediately lift from the bouquet to you, his expression becoming more serious as he quietly asked how far you'd gone and whether you'd been alone. The more details you gave him, the more obvious it would become that he was trying not to fuss while simultaneously worrying about every possible thing that could have happened along the way.

"You went outside the city for these?" He'd probably let out a small sigh and shake his head, gently scolding you while still holding the bouquet as carefully as though it were something precious. "You shouldn't go that far on your own just to pick flowers, especially when it's cold out there without the torch. You could've gotten hurt."

There wouldn't be any real anger behind it, only the kind of gentle concern that made it obvious he'd much rather have had you come to him safely than risk yourself for something as simple as a bouquet.

Even while he was worrying, though, his gaze would keep returning to the flowers, and eventually his expression would soften again. He'd carefully adjust the stems so they wouldn't bend, then give you a quiet, genuinely grateful smile. "Still... thank you. They're very beautiful."

He'd pause before adding, almost as though admitting it made the sentiment feel more real, "And knowing you went all that way to find them for me makes them even more special." Afterward, he'd make sure the bouquet had a proper place beside his work rather than leaving it somewhere among the papers, carefully moving his books aside to make room for it.

His attention would inevitably drift toward the flowers every so often while he worked, and whenever his eyes met yours afterward, there'd be that same soft smile waiting for you, accompanied by the faintest hint of concern whenever he remembered that you'd gone beyond the city walls just to bring them to him.

── ( 𝒘. ) Wriothesley would stare at the bouquet for a moment before looking at you with an amused, slightly incredulous expression, especially because he's far more accustomed to being the one making sure you're taken care of than receiving overtly romantic gifts himself.

You'd hold the flowers out to him and he'd raise an eyebrow, looking between you and the bouquet as though he were trying to determine what had prompted this sudden change in routine. "Well, this is new."

He'd eventually take them from you with one hand, lifting the arrangement slightly while inspecting it with a quiet laugh. Dark red roses, chrysanthemums, and sturdy wildflowers, something elegant but not excessively delicate, with a little character to it.

He'd turn the bouquet around, examining the flowers with a thoughtful expression before glancing back at you with that familiar crooked smile. "Didn't know you were trying to make me sentimental." The teasing would be effortless, but the way he'd carefully handle the stems would reveal that he was taking the gift much more seriously than he was letting on. He'd probably lift the bouquet slightly, inspecting the arrangement again before asking whether you'd chosen them yourself, and the moment you confirmed that you had, his expression would soften just a little more. There'd be a quiet pause where he'd look at the flowers, then at you, as though the thought of you deliberately picking something out for him had caught him more off guard than the gift itself. He'd give you that knowing half-smile before leaning in and pressing a brief, warm kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to make you smile before pulling away. "Thank you, sweetheart. They're lovely."

He'd find a proper vase for them himself, trimming the stems and arranging them so they wouldn't be crushed or forgotten among the paperwork, all while pretending this was simply the sensible thing to do. Still, he'd make sure the bouquet ended up somewhere he could easily see it from his desk.

Once the flowers were settled in his office, Wriothesley would become surprisingly protective of them. Anyone at the Fortress who came too close would receive a pointed look, especially if they seemed remotely tempted to touch them, and he'd make it perfectly clear that nobody was to mess with the bouquet.

The amusing part would be that he wouldn't actually act embarrassed about keeping them there. He'd simply carry on with his work, occasionally glancing toward the flowers between documents and meetings, his expression softening whenever he remembered that you'd chosen them specifically for him.

You'd probably catch him doing it eventually, and he'd immediately lean back in his chair with an innocent half-smile as though he'd been caught doing nothing unusual. "What? I like them." When you teased him about being sentimental, he'd give you that knowing look and lightly tap the edge of the desk.

"You gave them to me. I'm not throwing them out." And because Wriothesley's affection tends to be practical rather than overly demonstrative, he'd probably repay the gesture in his own quiet way afterward, making sure your favorite meal was prepared, taking some troublesome task off your hands, or deliberately setting aside time to sit with you when he knew you'd been busy.

The bouquet would remain in his office as a quiet reminder of you, something he'd never make a grand announcement about but would never willingly get rid of either. Long after the initial surprise had passed, he'd still occasionally glance over at the flowers with a faint smile, before returning to his paperwork as though they hadn't just become the most pleasant distraction in the entire Fortress.

── ( 𝒗. ) Venti would probably have one of the most openly delighted reactions because he absolutely adores little expressions of affection, especially something as sweet and old-fashioned as a bouquet of flowers.

The moment you held them out to him, his eyes would light up and he'd lean forward with genuine surprise, his usual carefree expression immediately brightening into an enormous grin. "Oh? Are those for me?" He'd accept them with both hands, almost reverently at first, holding the bouquet close to his chest while looking from the flowers to you with such sincere delight that there'd be absolutely no mistaking how happy he'd become.

He'd adore the flowers you picked; windwheel asters, Cecilias, and a colorful collection of wildflowers, especially flowers that felt as though they'd been gathered freely from the countryside rather than carefully arranged into something excessively formal.

The little differences between each flower would immediately catch his attention, he'd turn the bouquet slowly in his hands, admiring the colors and gently separating a few of the stems to get a better look at the smaller blossoms tucked between them.

Every now and then he'd lift one closer to his face, taking in its scent before looking back at you with that bright, mischievous smile. "You picked these for me? How sweet of you!"

The realization that you'd specifically thought of him while choosing them would make his reaction even bigger, and he'd probably look at you for a moment afterward with an expression that was almost ridiculously fond, as though he were trying to memorize the sight of you standing there with the flowers you'd chosen for him.

He'd continue admiring them while walking beside you, occasionally holding the bouquet up between you both and pointing out whichever flower had caught his attention.

He'd tease you about how you'd managed to make the wandering bard feel like the luckiest man in Mondstadt, dramatically pressing the bouquet against his chest as though you'd just handed him some priceless treasure. He'd probably smell the flowers with an exaggeratedly contented sigh, then look at you over the top of them with a playful grin.

"Ahh, what a thoughtful lover I have." Rather than putting them down immediately, he'd carry them around with him for a while, proudly showing them off whenever someone happened to pass by, and he'd absolutely have no shame about telling them that you gave them to him.

If you caught him being particularly pleased with himself, he'd simply laugh and insist that he was allowed to be proud when his lover had given him such a beautiful gift.

He'd become even more playful once he noticed how happy his reaction was making you. He'd choose one of the smaller flowers from the bouquet, carefully tuck it into his hat beside his feather, and then turn toward you with an expectant little smile as though waiting for you to admire his new decoration. "Well? How do I look?" He'd already know the answer, of course, and he'd probably laugh when you told him it suited him, reaching over to lightly bump his shoulder against yours. He might even keep the flower there for the rest of the day, treating it like a tiny personal treasure simply because it came from you. At some point, he'd pluck one of the smaller wildflowers from the arrangement with exaggerated care, twirling it between his fingers before suddenly leaning toward you and tucking it somewhere near your hair. He'd pull back to admire his handiwork, his grin widening when he saw your reaction. "There! Now we're matching." He'd laugh at his own little idea before returning the flower to the bouquet, treating the entire thing like a wonderful excuse to be playful with you.

Later, he'd find somewhere safe to keep the rest of the bouquet, either beside his lyre or in a little vase near wherever he happened to settle down, making sure the flowers had enough water before wandering off to do something else. Yet he'd inevitably keep returning to them.

He might be halfway through tuning his lyre, stop when his eyes fall upon the bouquet, and smile quietly to himself before continuing. The flowers would become associated with you almost immediately, not because they're particularly rare or valuable, but because you'd looked at something beautiful and thought of him.

He'd probably tell you that sentiment matters much more than the flowers themselves, then lean closer with that familiar teasing smile and add, "Though I certainly won't complain if you decide to make a habit of spoiling me hehe." And judging by the way he'd keep one of the flowers tucked safely in his hat and the rest displayed somewhere he could see them, he'd be enjoying the gift far more than he'd ever let you forget.

His waist is just too enticing to ignore.

You swear you’re not a pervert, not even a little. He got a hold of your affection for being genuine, for being there when you needed him, for being his unapologetically cynical and yet soft-hearted self. Nothing to do with his looks, no matter how inviting they are.

That damn waist though, it’s trying its hardest to allure you.

Just recently there was an occurrence where this exact problem became a point of attention.

You were going into the kitchen to grab a small snack, if only so that your boyfriend doesn’t nag you for neglecting your ‘human needs’, when he was there, standing oh so prettily at the counter, chopping some vegetables up for dinner.

You didn’t notice it was that late already.

What you did notice, though, was his scandalously slim waist.

Admittedly, you stopped in your tracks.

“Quit staring”, he grumbled, not even looking up from the task at hand. Sometimes he makes you wonder whether puppets have a sixth sense for feeling people’s gazes.

“I wasn’t staring”, you lied. Badly.

He shot you a glance over his shoulder, clearly unconvinced. It wasn’t the fact that you were staring that made him judge, but the fact that you seriously thought that this pitiful of an attempt at lying would fool him. His tone was flat when he said, “Yes, you were.”

“Then stop tempting me!”, you whined dramatically, too wound up in your lie being detected, “It’s so unfair. How are you this distracting without even trying?”

“Distracting?”, he repeated incredulously, a faint flush creeping onto his cheeks. His gaze instantly turned back to the cutting board, not wanting you of all people to see how stupid he must look right now. “Don’t be ridiculous, I was only making dinner so you don’t end up starving to death.”

It was hard to resist the impulse to say that acting in a domestic, wife-like way will certainly not make him any less enticing, but you already gave away an embarrassing amount of appreciation for his looks just now. And he would absolutely use that against you once he calms down from the fluster himself.

But that was a few days ago.

And your mind has been running since, even more so than before.

And you arrived at the conclusion that he would look really beautiful in a dress. Preferably a short one, his waist isn’t his only enticing feature.

Unrelated, but he does have the tendency to get more embarrassed than you do when you make a shameless request of him. It’s almost unfair, really, considering he’s terrible at saying no to you.

“Pretty, pretty pleeeeease?”, you ask for the n-th time this evening. His blush is rather apparent by now.

“I am NOT putting on that… that THING”, he insists, though the way his voice catches halfway through the sentence ruins any attempt at a dignified response. He’s standing here, stammering and stumbling over the prospect of wearing something that he knows will make you absolutely insufferable.

But he is firm in his decision to not put on a frilly pink dress.

That is so many layers below him.

You dangle the garment in front of him, so as to show off its aesthetics. “But Sweetheart, you would look so, so pretty in a dress”, you try to convince him sweetly, as if your blatant flattery will sway him. There’s no way.

“Not in this one”, he says, leaving no room for argument.

“Oh?”

You can’t help the cheeky grin that tugs at your lips, he should know better than to leave you an opening like that. “So you are open to the idea”, you point out.

“That is not what I said”, he protests, but the way his fingers twitch when he says that gives him away.

You both know he left the door open for a reason.

And you will jam your foot in there now that he’s backtracking out of embarrassment.

So you counter, “It is what you implied.”

…

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you.

He hates the fact that he loves you so much.

“Fine, just get this hideous thing out of my face”, he relents, gesturing at the frilly garment. You put it away without hesitation, not wanting to waste even a second before getting to dress your boyfriend all pretty and cute.

There’s so many clothes to dig through in your closet. Your original plan of putting him into the most offensively feminine dress you own might have failed, but the alternatives look equally appealing in your imagination.

He will look so delectable. Just the thought of what’s to come makes you wanna grab his waist and— that’s a thought for later, you need to pick out some gowns before he changes his mind.

The pile of dresses you gathered is not so large that it would scare him off, but varied enough to give you a handful of devastating sights to burn into your mind for all eternity. You throw the garments onto the bed with a soft huff as he eyes you carefully. He’s not fully convinced yet.

“You said ‘another one’”, he points out.

“I thought I’d give you options, since this is unknown territory for you”, you say softly, hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness he feels right now. You do wanna see his waist in pretty dresses, but more than anything you want your lover to be comfortable.

A grin forms on your face as a thought makes itself comfortable in your mind, and you muse, “I won’t complain at all if you end up liking it enough to try on more though. If you want, that is.”

His brows twitch. You’re being too sweet, and the fact that you genuinely seem to delight at the idea of him in a dress of all things makes him feel helplessly flustered.

You give him a moment, before you tentatively gesture at the pile. “Your pick.”

Wanderer slowly walks up to the pile, searching for the least embarrassing dress to let you see him in. His eyes fall on a modest, ankle-length gown. He wonders whether you purposefully gave him a decent option or whether this dress accidentally made its way into your selection, but either way he found his pick.

He raises the dress and gives you a curious look, as to ask whether this one is acceptable.

You clasp your hands together in delight. “This one will look stunning on you”, you gush excitedly, your vivid imagination already generating way too many images of him in this dress.

It doesn’t have to be short to show off your favorite feature, after all.

Changing into the garment takes him suspiciously long, so after a while you decide to gently knock on the bathroom door— maybe he decided to back out, or he’s having trouble putting it on. Whatever it is, he’s taking his sweet time and you want to check on him just in case.

“Are you okay in there, Sweetheart?”, you ask curiously.

The sound of something rustling in the bathroom fills your ears. So he is wearing it right now.

“Need help closing it up?”, you offer, unsure whether this is actually the problem or it’s something else, ”I won’t mind, you do it for me all the time.”

More silence passes.

“You better not try escaping through the window”, you joke, trying to get some kind of response out of him. He’s too quiet.

“I look utterly ridiculous”, he finally says after another beat.

“It can’t possibly be that bad”, you reply, trying not to sound too eager, “I’m sure you look lovely.”

Because how could he look anything less than lovely when he is your beloved partner with such a pretty, heavenly waist?

He hesitates, before flatly saying, “It is that bad.”

The certainty in his voice almost makes you laugh. You’re not used to your lover fussing over a dress, it’s very cute though.

You decide he spent long enough time scrutinizing himself in the mirror, so you ask, “Can I see?”

You hear a shaky exhale.

Then the door opens a slit.

He peeks through the gap and you’re met with a slight glare. “If you laugh I am breaking up with you”, he declares, but his tone indicates that his threat is empty. Still, you will make a conscious effort not to tease him too badly.

You nod, and after a moment he fully opens the door, eyes searching anything but you.

And archons he looks adorable, way better than you imagined. So much so, that you fail to get out words for a solid few seconds. If it wasn’t obvious before that you’re absolutely in love with his pretty waist, it now is painfully so.

“You’re staring too much”, he says weakly, the fact that your gaze is affecting him a lot is abundantly clear.

He knows that you like it. Because of course you do.

And you know that he knows. Which makes his reaction so much more endearing.

“You look…”, you begin to say, but trail off. What words could possibly describe how devastating he looks right now? “You look stunning”, you eventually settle on, though the compliment feels painfully inadequate.

If you look anywhere near flushed as you feel right now, he will definitely be able to tell your thoughts, though.

“How are you that worked up over a dress this modest?”, he asks, his exasperated tone contradicting his flushed cheeks, “It doesn’t even fit properly.”

He grabs some of the loose fabric to prove his point.

You blink, and realize that he does have a point. The dress is a bit loose.

“I’ll get a safety pin”, you say a bit too hurriedly, running off before he gets the chance to interject.

A few seconds away from him should be enough to get your composure back. Probably.

---

“Found one!”, you declare, waving the safety pin in the air.

Before he can properly react, you’ve already slipped behind him to fix the loose fabric, earning a startled jolt from him that you have to bite back a laugh at.

He glares at you over his shoulder, cheeks reddened with a furious blush, “What are you—"

“I’m cinching your waist, Sweetheart”, you cut in eagerly, before teasingly adding, “I wanna accentuate your best feature after all~”

He doesn’t get the chance to reply before you pull at the dress without warning, trying your best to properly cinch him in. You did not miss the way he squirmed like a skittish cat, the way his shoulders rose and tensed under your touch.

“I’m done!”, you announce, patting his back gently.

He huffs quietly, then grumbles, “I’m done too.”

“Not even gonna do a little twirl for me?”, you ask whiningly. Now that the dress is firmly hugging his sides, it’s getting increasingly hard to take your eyes off of him. Oh how badly you want to place your hands there to watch him squirm even more than he is already doing right now.

“No”, he replies flatly, but no matter how hard he tries to seem annoyed and unbothered, the waver in his tone and dark flush on his face give him away.

“Pleeeeeease?”

He sighs in exasperation. The fact that he has to go out of his way to do that makes you smile, knowing that he’s about to give in to your little request.

Two twirls later and you’re absolutely over the moon. The way the dress swirls in the air around him is very addicting to watch, he almost looks like royalty with the long dress and dainty waist.

He really is your pretty princess.

“Done staring?”, he says, trying but failing to sound annoyed, “The least you could do is say something. At this rate you’ll lose all function by the time I’m out of this one.”

Subtly trying to ask for more praise now, are we? Might as well indulge your Sweetheart lover.

“It’s really nice that you don’t need air”, you muse, looking right into his eyes despite your own giddy feelings, “Made it so that I could bring out that pretty waist much more”

His mouth opens to form an equally blunt reply, but he can’t really form one. You’re too good at this, he hates it.

Instead, he redirects his gaze to the pile of dresses from earlier. The gears in his head are turning.

“This one hardly brings out anything”, he says. And he’s right. The dress may show off his delicate waist, but nothing beyond that. There’s not even a slit to let you peek at his thighs, for better or for worse.

What he just said did oddly sound like a hint, though.

A cheeky grin makes its way onto your face, you got him right where you want him. “Oh? Are you offering to wear another one?”

“Of course you would suggest something like that”, he says sharply, hesitating for another moment before continuing, ”Fine, I’ll indulge you. Pick your favorite.”

The way your eyes sparkled at that made him immediately regret his decision.

There’s so many options and they would all look beautiful on him, how are you even meant to pick? Do you pick the most indecent one? Do you go for a cute one instead? This is the hardest decision you had to make in a while.

“Is any of the dresses fine?”, you ask carefully.

He nods, and replies, “Any one aside from that pink atrocity from earlier”

“You sure?”

“Do your worst.”

Your grin widens more at that. He’s being strangely cooperative, not that you mind in the slightest.

Picking out a dress was a difficult feat, but not an impossible one. In the end, you settled for the shortest one you could find. Maybe the long one did make you want to see more of him, but who could blame someone for that when their boyfriend is this pretty?

“This one”, you say decisively, holding it up in front of him, “If that’s okay?”

The critical look on his face when he sees the dress already says it all. “You really want me to wear that?”, he asks reproachfully.

You nod earnestly, your voice sultry when you confirm, “I think you would look really, really, lovely in that.”

He averts his eyes instantly, unable to return your gaze when he feels this bothered by your words.

“Fine, I’ll wear it”, he says curtly before he quickly snatches the garment out of your hands and disappears into the bathroom.

He was hesitant to leave the bathroom earlier, but he is even more so now. The amount of coaxing it took for you to convince him to even peek out the door was considerable, but absolutely worth it when you saw the deepest blush on his face.

“Please Sweetheart, I wanna see how good you look”, you whine softly. This is your last attempt at coaxing him out of the bathroom, if he still refuses to show himself you’ll accept defeat.

A long sigh leaves him.

And then he fully opens the door.

And you see just how mouthwatering he looks.

Genuinely, you don’t think he’s ever looked this enticing before. The way his thighs look so soft that you can’t help wanting to squish them, the way his bare shoulders have an almost tantalizing effect on you, and above all, the way the dress hugs his seductively pretty waist so well that the urge to peel it off of him is painfully hard to resist.

“I can see where you’re staring, you know”, he mumbles in an attempt to sound irritated, but he falters midway through.

And archons, the shakiness in his legs makes you falter, too. It really is unfair.

“How am I meant to look away?”, you whine in embarrassment.

“You could try”, he suggests coyly, leaning into you a bit, “Though you’re making it rather difficult to pretend I regret this.”

Heat immediately rushes to your face. He caught on to how he makes you feel and now he’s trying to downright kill you.

A satisfied grin forms on his face, “Go ahead, Sweetheart, do you have nothing to say?”

Your hand shoots up to cover your crimson blush, but his words coaxed a muffled whine out of you regardless. “You look really good”, you mumble quietly.

“Oh, do I?”, he challenges, taking a step forward, “You sound uncertain.”

You instinctively take one back, “I’m not uncertain.”

“Then look at me when you say it”

You immediately look away.

He takes another step forward, and you fall backwards into the bed. When you open your eyes after the impact, he’s slowly crawling on top of you. He smiles down at you with the smuggest, most self-satisfied look you’ve seen on him yet.

You look down in an attempt to escape his gaze, but are met with the sight of his deliciously soft thighs, and the dress riding up around them, only amplifying the need you already feel.

“Someone’s bothered”, he points out.

“Someone’s awfully confident”, you counter despite yourself.

"Mommy, I—mhmm so close— ah!" You pull away just before he can come, his legs trembling pathetically in your hold as he looks at you with teary, disappointed eyes, mouth agape for the few moments he needed to get enough brain power to talk. "Why... did you stop?"

He sounds on the verge of tears, and you would've felt a little more guilty if your own crotch wasn't throbbing with desperate need for him and his pretty, pretty cries. "Sweetheart. Would you repeat that for me?"

The puppet looks confused at first, then flustered as he realizes his grave mistake. "I will not call you mommy."

"Oh?" You back off completely from his drooling folds, watching them try and fail to close against nothing as the cold air caresses them. "But you sounded so good right now. I'm sure you can do that for me again?" Whining, your hands squeeze his plush thighs persuasively. "Unless you don't want my help to finish?"

In that moment, many emotions flash through Wanderer's visage; his face scrunches as he is about to deny at first, then flushes in fury for letting himself be so careless around your pestering self, his mouth opens and closes as he thinks of how to negotiate this out, and finally his glare loses it edge as he bites the inside of his cheek.

"I— fine. Mommy."

Positively delighted, you lower your face between his legs again, nibbling on his inner thigh for a bit before placing a sweet peck on the reddned skin, the color almost as pretty as the one tinting his pale cheeks. "Louder, sweetheart, I wanna hear your pretty voice."

You don't give him time to respond after that, immediately delving back into his desperate pussy, making him jolt in surprise as your hot breath fans over his throbbing heat.

"Mommy... hah—" Almost as if on command, he whimpers, cutting himself with a choked gasp as you moan into his folds, sending soft vibrations through his burning core. You don't stop here, though, letting your tongue squeeze into his tight hole, and thrusting agonizingly slowly into it before increasing the speed to satiate his needy hole.

You can tell that he is getting close again by the time you reached your maximum speed as his soft but sweet breaths turn into increasingly louder whimpers, his back arching prettily and grip tightening on the sheets as he comes messily into your mouth.

"Momm— nghh... ha♡"

Swallowing all of his pretty mess, you silently enjoy the cute little whines he is letting out as you overstimulate his abused clit with your tongue, before finally deciding to give him some mercy. You make a show out of licking your lips as you climb on top of him, still breathless and flushing red and positively glowing in the aftermath like the pretty princess he is.

Locking eyes with him, you smirk. "Sweet."

Wanderer's face scrunches, becoming impossibly hotter as he throws an arm over his face to hide his eyes from you. "Tease."