#third-round knockout

[fischlcatgirl]

Im not gong to lie i think unfortunately i peaked with lets see paul allen’s vision i think that might be the funniest thing i ever say

[aurorasgate]

the signs of zhonglis first heat after finding you, his one true mate

theres no explicit sexual content but for my own comfort 18+ only pls!

he notices it first when he finds his hand gripping tightly onto you at dinner, long and slender fingers sinking into your inner thigh, slowly traveling upwards under your skirt. your cheeks burn as you try your hardest to keep your attention on the story being told from across the table and your hand comes into contact with his, an attempt to stop the roaming fingers that are touching you much too intimately for a public setting such as third round knockout.

“zhongli..” you whisper, out of pleasure or a plea for him to stop, he's not really sure which but his chest flares with heat at your sweet voice saying his name.

recoiling his hand from your leg completely he uses it to cover his mouth and clear throat, how ungentlemanly of him. 

“my apologies darling,” the words sound strained, so unusual for the normally calm and unbothered ex archon but he doesn’t speak any further on it. though that’s only because he’s finding it hard to form words at the moment with the way your scent clings to the leather of his gloved hand, invades his senses and makes the air around him incredibly hot. he should not have brought the hand that rested on you so close to his face.

did you always smell so potent? he wonders.

he normally loves to hear the stories being told, after all that's why you came here tonight, but right now the words are nothing more than static in the background of his thoughts of you. thoughts that are making his throat dry and the tie around his neck feel a little more suffocating. it’s much too stifling despite the gentle breeze the sea brings in as evening falls to night but the loveliness and liveliness of the city was hardly on his mind tonight and did nothing to bring his focus from the only thing he’s craving the most. he can barely take his eyes, or his hands, off of you. a burning amber gaze glued to your exposed skin that doesn’t go unnoticed by you, hands that hold you tightly, closely, possessively.

“‘li, are you okay?” you question innocently after dinner as you walk home for the evening, arm in arm. he stays close to your side but his muscles are tense, you can feel it in the way his body stiffens under your hand and it makes you worry. 

zhongli never minded your affections, prefers them in private though is always happy to indulge you as long as it’s within reason in public, but it was impossible to ignore just how touchy he’s been, today being the most so with how daring they became around a crowd of people. while normally his hand is in yours or you walk with his hand on your lower back, the last day or so he’s been holding you incredibly close, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist or his chest pressed against your back. today his touches grew bolder but now he’s stiff as a board and you swear you can see sweat beading on his forehead. 

inhaling, hoping the cool night air that settles around the harbor will calm him, he looks at you with a smile, one that looks completely normal even though on the inside he can feel you chipping away at his put together demeanor, though he knows you have no idea you’re doing it. “yes, i didn’t mean to worry you my lily.”

your knitted brows and adorable pout on your lips tell him that you don’t quite believe his words but you don’t question him further either. wanting to calm whatever was troubling him that he wasn’t ready to tell you about, you kiss his arm, the fabric of coat smelling so heavily of him, before leaning your head there and pulling yourself closer to him. 

if only you knew how much worse that made the heat within him burn. everywhere you touched him was scorching, sending searing desire straight to his cock and his dragon heart that yearned for you and you alone. gulping, he tries to put a lid on the bubbling carnal need within him. it is only the start of what is sure to be a long heat. he has to get this under control and quickly.

𓆩✧𓆪

zhongli sensed you before he saw you, could pick out the loveliness of your scent in the wafting evening air as the day drew to a close and followed it to where he knew he would find you. you weren’t far, likely having come to walk home with him after cashing in your commissions, and in long strides he had made his way close to where you were before he was stopped in his tracks by the sight he was met with and the feelings it brought out of him. feelings that made his breath look like smoke in the cool night and the leather of his gloves stretch as his hand bunches into a fist.

he’s seen the man who stands closely to you before. if he recalls correctly the man has helped you with commissions from time to time and normally zhongli would welcome him with a polite greeting, unbothered by his presence around you but it is not so today. not when he felt like this.

he tries to let it go. he is not a possessive man. he wants you to have all the freedom in the world, let you meet many people who could bring something great into your life, give you cherished memories to last a lifetime and people you could rely on. but as he watches you converse with another from afar, he wants nothing more than to kiss you breathless for everyone to see, to remind all of liyue that you are his and his alone, have you scream his name for them to hear-

those thoughts are cut off when he sees the man touch you. it’s innocent enough, nothing more than a friendly gesture but all he sees is you, someone touching what’s his; his mate. how dare they put their filthy hands on you. 

swirling amber eyes turn dark, deep honey with black pupils long and thin. his chest feels uncomfortably tight but it’s a relief of pressure to follow his instincts, letting his feet bring him to your side without a second thought. powerful arms wrap around you, which catches you by surprise, but zhongli doesn't care if he’s interrupted your conversation and places a kiss to your cheek, feeling your skin grow warm under his lips. his arms around you tighten as you once again invade his every sense, unknowingly adding fuel to the ever growing fire that had slipped from his grasp near moments ago. 

it takes all of his strength to not indulge in tasting more of your skin. it's right there, calling to him, beckoning him to sink his teeth in and he almost does, forgetting or not caring that you’re in public but the voice of another, someone he doesn’t care to hear, as they are not you, stops him. 

“good evening mr. zhongli,” the adventure greets, the awkwardness of your beloved's sudden intimate greeting and interruption that was so unlike zhongi making him confused, unsure of how to proceed. 

“evening,” zhongli meant to reply but the word doesn’t quite make it and instead comes out as a low, intimidating growl. you can feel it in the way his chest vibrates deeply against you and, even if you didn’t want to admit it, it makes your entire being hot and your knees weak, so unbelievably so.

“i- i should probably get going,” the other man stutters and takes a bow before quickly leaving without another glance from either of you.

the air around you is thick and the arms around you keep you trapped against the sturdy, warm chest of the man you love. you don’t know what’s gotten into him and you feel terrible to have made your friend uncomfortable but zhongli makes it impossible to remove yourself from his grasp, and a part of you really doesn’t want to either.

“what’s gotten into you?” you ask, concern and confusion laced in every word. in his grasp you turn to face him and cup his cheeks, your expression going from worry at seeing his eyes so inhuman as they catch your gaze but turns to tender softness as he leans into your touch, tilting his head slightly to kiss your palm, slow and intimate as if he was savoring you. “p-please,” you stutter trying to keep your composure while he kisses your skin as if he were worshiping it. “tell me.”

he had thought plenty about telling you. after all, why wouldn’t he want to share his heat with his mate? but it’s his first one since finding the person his true dragon self wouldn’t go without and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back if he gave in. the intensity of the needy dragon that’s been clawing through his calm and composed demeanor to get to you was not lost on him and it had been so long since that part of him did as it pleased.

it’s so unlike him to lose his composure after so many years, but if it’s been this bad and it’s just the start of his rut then he can imagine what it would be like to give himself over to the need to claim you while in this state, though it does much more than fill him with worry and stir his cock. 

but as he basks in your touch, your thumb running along his cheek, cooling him and driving him insane all at once, his heart pounding but his anger long forgotten now that he has you in his arms without distraction, he decides he should give you the chance to decide for yourself.

[sooniebby]

Boxer OC idea… yall should watch Knockout the series immediately. Anyway, bottom male reader obvi. Just a little stream of consciousness on how the character works/story. LI means love interest

A popular boxer who known for being a little cocky, telling his opponents that they have to offer something if they lose. He always offers 35,000 dollars, an extra 20,000 if they deliver a knockout in or before the third round if he loses. No one’s been able to get it. While the LI always asks for something he notices the opponent cherishes. Like jewelry, a date with their partner, their car. Anything really.

He never usually keeps them. Uses it for like a week or two and then returns it, not without flaunting it on his Instagram to show it in their faces.

Your older brother is an up and coming boxer who hasn’t lost a fight so far—and has been dreaming (obsessing) over managing to knockout LI. So when at the press conference, a month or so before their scheduled fight, LI asks what your brother will offer when he loses.

Theres tension at the word “when” while your brother is about to offer up his car, not wanting his boyfriend to go on a date with him.

“That’s boring… obviously, that boyfriend of yours is more important.” LI said. The coaches immediately have to hold your brother back just as you manage to slip near your brother’s boyfriend and friend.

LI is about to call on the boyfriend when he notices you. You’re confused as it looks as if he’s recognizing you from somewhere but you’ve never seen him before. He takes in your clothes, noticing the scrubs you’re wearing, similar to the boyfriend.

“I know,” he suddenly said, catching your brother off guard, “he has to be my nurse for six months.”

Your brother hummed, “that’s.. better. Okay. He can do that.”

LI smirked. “You probably should’ve double checked on who I was asking for.” He said, nodding his head towards you. Your brother glanced back and immediately panicked at seeing you.

“Hey—you can’t—!”

“—too late~ you already agreed. Aim for a knockout, buddy.” LI pats your brother on the back before leaving the small stage. He walks over to you and leans down so only you could hear him.

“Can’t wait for our six months, babe~”

Smut ideas: heavily into manhandling you into any position. Constantly touching you and riding up your shirt, even if other people are around.

Semi-blood play, definitely would purposely spread his blood over your face with kisses. Sometimes even biting your lip so you could bleed… blood mixing, he nasty like that.

Pictures. Definitely takes pictures after or during sex, sometimes videos so he can watch them back later for masturbation. Would ask for audios of you masturbating.

Constantly tearing your scrubs open. He starts paying for your scrubs since it’s gotten to a point. The store clerks know you by name now.

First few times he’ll use condoms but quickly wants to do it bare. Into covering you in his cum.

While he’d love claiming and leaving marks on you, he’d encourage you to mark him up to. Most certainly going to show it off in front of your brother to piss him off.

Primal play, degradation. Little bit of feminization, gotta have a scene of reader having to wear a Halloween nurse costume, just gotta. Yall see the vision right?

Tag list: @secretivemessenger @kiiyoooo @star-3214 @cherry-blossoms-187 @tomoeroi @rhetorical-conscience @the-ultimate-librarian @chill-guy-but-cooler @remdayz @tehyunnie @mooncarvers-world @ofclyde @smellwell @castocipher @love-kha1 @ning1e @yuzuukix @m00n-b4b3 @iwishtobeacrow @mello-life25 @anchoredphoenix @bensontrechic

[freedomfireflies]

Whiplash*

Summary: The second part to Knockout*

The one where Harry does something dangerous in the shadows, and he'll do anything to keep you out of it.

Word Count: 9.4k (again...so sorry)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, mentions of violence, slight blood kink, slight pain kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

There’s no protocol for what to do when a handsome stranger you hardly know (but occasionally fool around with), stops showing up at your diner. 

You stare at his booth for far longer than you should. Willing him to appear. To walk through the door and make things right. Ease this ache in your chest.

You have no way to contact him. You don’t know his last name, or his phone number, or his address. You don’t even know his license plate number. He’s a ghost to you. More than a stranger but less than a friend.

You give him a few more minutes to appear. Maybe there was traffic. Or maybe he forgot you were working tonight.

But soon, a few minutes turns into an hour, and booth 505 remains empty.

So, you put the idea of him to bed. Carrying on with your shift while wearing your heavy heart on your sleeve. Perhaps he’s gotten bored with you. Or perhaps he’s found other ways to occupy his nights.

You almost think you’d prefer this alternative to the other. The one where he’s not here because he’s not…here. That wherever he goes and whatever he does has finally caught up to him.

It makes your stomach wrench to imagine, and you forcibly shove the thought free before returning your attention to your newest pie.

Peach. Another one of Harry’s favorites.

3 a.m. has never felt so liberating. Bringing you the perfect escape as you clock out and rush through the doors for the parking lot. Eager to rid yourself of this wretched night and head back to your apartment to worry about your stranger in peace.

You step out into the cold morning air and pull your jacket a bit tighter around your frame. Exhaling a shaky breath that you can see dance across the dimly lit space.

There are only two other cars over by the right side of the building, and much to your continued dismay, you notice that Harry’s still isn’t one of them. 

So, with a sinking stomach, you reach into your pocket for your apartment keys, and begin walking for the subway. Yet right as round the corner of the diner, you notice something move within the shadows just beside you.

With a jump, you gasp, and spin around on your heel with your keys raised and aimed at the ready.

The figure that emerges sends your heart straight into your throat.

“Harry?” You drop your arm and move closer for a better look. “What…what…?”

The battered and bruised man offers you a tired smile that hardly reaches his lips. “Hi, Cherry.”

He looks worse than you’ve ever seen him. There’s a nasty slash going down his left eyebrow, a dark bruise forming along his jaw, and blood dripping down his arm from beneath his sleeve onto the pavement below.

You search for the right words – for any words at all – but before you can, he’s stumbling forward. Just barely able to catch himself before he collapses onto the ground.

With another gasp, you surge forward, quickly taking hold of his shoulders in order to keep him upright. “Harry—”

“M’okay,” he murmurs, and you can hardly hear him. As if he barely has the strength to speak. “I’m fine. I promise—”

“Harry,” you repeat for a third time, almost incredulously. “You…this is not fine. You’re…what happened?”

Even before he shakes his head, you know he won’t truly answer. “Nothing. S’just a little worse this time, but I’m okay. Really.”

You feel sick. Sick that he’s so hurt, sick that you can’t help him, and sick because you don’t understand who does this to him. “Okay, we…we need to get you to a hospital, we need to get you some help—”

“No.” His head shakes again, a bit more insistently. “No, I can’t go to a hospital. I just…I had to see you.”

You feel your throat constrict. “What?”

His hand lifts, palm finding your jaw until he can softly caress your cheek. And you feel a streak of blood smear across your skin from where his thumb brushes at your chin. 

“I had to see you,” he repeats softly. “Had to make sure you were all right. M’so sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”

You want to bury yourself in his arms. Want to kiss him, and hold him, and fix him. Make everything better again.

“It’s okay,” you nearly whimper. Pushing yourself into his touch. “I’m just really worried about you.”

The smirk grows. “I’m all right. I’ll go home, take some pain pills, and be right as rain by tomorrow. Really.”

 You’re hardly convinced. “Harry—"

“I’m all right,” he insists, dipping down to press his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to worry about me, Cher. S’not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last. I’ll be okay. I just wanted to see you.”

And you don’t believe him. You don’t even think he believes him. But he smiles at you as though he wants to. As though he wants to offer you any sort of consolation for his pain. To make this better…for you.

You allow him to hold you a moment longer before you pull back and declare, “I’ll help.”

His brows pinch together. “What?”

“I’ll help. I’ll go with you. Make sure you’re okay, and…and help you clean up.”

His expression softens, but he sighs heavily. “Baby, I can’t…I can’t ask you to do that—”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“I know, s’just…” He holds your cheeks in both hands now. Keeping you in his sights. “I made a rule with myself. A promise that I wouldn’t drag you down with me. That I’d make sure you were okay, and that you’d never hurt because of me.”

The pit in your stomach deepens, but you merely straighten up. “How could this hurt me? I just want to help.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he breathes. “But letting you come with me means breaking my rule. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”

You wonder what he means. You wonder if you really want to know.

“Then you come with me,” you decide. “You can come back to my apartment, and I can make sure you’re all right.”

Another heavy exhale, but you can tell he’s touched. “Cherry—”

“I mean it. You’re not…Harry, I’m really worried about you. You can hardly stand and you’re bleeding from more places than one. You could have really hurt yourself and you shouldn’t be alone. I won’t let you be alone right now.”

He considers this. “Cherry, I’m trying to protect you—”

“And I’m trying to protect you, too,” you argue firmly, but with a persuasive grin. “Please let me.”

There’s a long lull of silence, those gentle green eyes studying you closely. He looks so very tired and wrought with grief. Yet when he sees you…his entire world seems to change. Lighting up about as bright as the moon.

“Okay,” he finally agrees. “Okay, we’ll go. I trust you.”

I trust you. Three little words that have never sounded so good and you can’t help but push up onto your toes to kiss him as gingerly as you can.

“Okay, where’s your car?” you ask, letting go in order to look around. “My apartment isn't too far, so I can drive until we—”

“No.”

“What?”

He squeezes onto your wrist almost pointedly. “No, we can’t…can’t take my car. S’not safe.”

“Oh…” Your lashes flutter. “All right. We…we can take the subway. I was going to take it anyway because a friend of mine is borrowing my car for the night, but…that can work. We can make that work.”

He says nothing, instead swaying a bit from the loss of blood as you rush to take hold of him once more.

“All right, okay. You’re okay,” you murmur softly. “Just hold on, okay? It’s only a few stops to my place, and we’ll be there in under twenty minutes.”

He nods weakly in response, and you’re quick to pull his arm around your shoulders in order to help guide him through the parking lot.

He seems grateful for this hold on you. Smirking to himself before leaning over to press his lips to your temple. Keeping you tight against his chest as though the two of you are merely going for a stroll in the park. 

Like a real couple.

You cling to his stained hoodie and help lead him toward the subway station. Making sure that you don’t walk too fast (or too slow) in order to get him there in one piece.

You don’t talk much – although there’s so much you want to say – but you can tell he’s pleased. Grateful to be in your company, even despite the circumstances. 

Once the train arrives, you both slip through the doors, and take a seat near the exit. You push your shoulder into his and he pushes his shoulder into yours. Leaning against each other almost contently and smiling to yourselves as the rest of the crowd saunters on.

The subway is relatively empty for this time of night. Or rather, early morning. And you’re more than all right with that. It means less people to stare at the bloody, bruised man dripping onto the train floor. 

He doesn’t notice the odd looks. He doesn’t seem to notice anything but you, instead staring down at where your fingers are tracing his. The way they run tenderly over the cracked skin across his knuckles before intertwining together.

He hums contently, lips stretching into a gentle grin.

You’re at your stop only fifteen minutes later, practically leaping onto your feet in a rush to get him out.

He seems to have a bit more energy now, perhaps from being able to rest for as long as he did. But he still holds onto you as tightly as he can while you walk along the sidewalk.

And you can’t help but let him.

“My apartment might be a little messy,” you attempt to preface as you head inside the tall building. “I was going to clean it before I left, but something…came up.”

He nods understandingly before glancing over the side of your profile. “Are you all right?”

“Am I all right?” you tease, gesturing toward him.

He smirks, but that curious look doesn’t slip. “Are you?”

You press the elevator button with one hand and squeeze his palm in the other. “I will be once you are.”

Apartment 505 is on the left side of the building, just beside the stairwell. It gives you a perfect view of the city, and you spend most of your days out on the stairwell watching the sun rise and set.

There’s a wreath on your door, hanging just over the number, and your stranger smiles when he sees it. Seemingly amused by the bright flowers and dainty bow that stands out amidst the dark grey paint.

After fumbling with your keys, you finally manage to get you both inside. Exhaling a deep breath and tossing your things toward the coffee table.

“Lock it,” he murmurs just as you’re moving for the kitchen.

“What?”

“The door. Lock it,” he says, almost firmly while nodding toward the handle. “Right now.”

A tad surprised by the resolute tone of voice, you nod, and turn around to oblige. Making sure the lock is turned and the door is secure before glancing over for his approval.

“Good girl,” he mumbles. “I want you to always lock it when you come in, all right? Always.”

“Okay,” you agree softly, returning to him. “I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” you whisper, raising your hand to his face to press a kiss to his cheek. “Can you let me take care of you now?”

He seems to chuckle as he allows you to stroke his jaw. Settling into your gentle touch before nodding.

Pleased, you take his hand, and lead him toward your small bathroom. Sitting him on the edge of the bathtub in order to get a better look.

But the moment you see each cut and scrape beneath the bright, fluorescent light, there’s a hitch in your breath. Overwhelming you with sorrow and anguish at the sight of him. 

“Harry,” you exhale, almost unintentionally. 

His lashes flutter as he smiles, reaching out to lightly tug on your waitressing dress. “M’okay, Cherry. Really.”

He’s not okay, and you both know it. “I’ll…I’ll need to clean them first. Where…how many are there?”

A beat while he thinks. “There’s a couple on my chest. Plus, the one on my eye, and, you know, my hands.”

You nod, and vaguely gesture toward him, willing yourself not to shake. “Can…may I take off your hoodie? So I can check?”

The corner of his mouth curls up and he nods as well, reaching for the collar of his sweatshirt in order to begin peeling it off his torso.

You attempt to help, making sure he can get his arms through without having to bend too far or cause any strain to the injuries.

But once it’s off, you feel your stomach twist.

 His skin is littered with scars, scrapes, and fresh bruises. A variety of colors that range from light pink to an unsettling yellow. Blood is smeared across tattoos you didn’t even know he had, and there’s a rather nasty gash along the side of his ribcage. 

You hear yourself gasp, and he quickly tugs on your hem again. “Cher—”

However, you brush his hand away and move closer, running the tips of your fingers along his shoulder and down his sternum. Trailing each inch of stained skin until you reach his heart.

“Harry…” you say again.

He takes hold of your wrist and offers you a look of remorse. “I know.”

You aren’t sure you have the strength to ask, instead swallowing thickly as you pull back, and turn around. Searching through your cupboards for everything you’ll need.

He watches you closely, and it seems your reaction causes him more pain than anything else. It’s a look you know well. One where he’s desperate to comfort you, and you wish you could let him.

You rejoin his side with bandages, rubbing alcohol, and a sterilized needle with thread. “All right, I have to clean them first, and then…”

His eyes flick down to the suturing supplies with a smirk. “Ah.”

You grimace. “It’ll probably hurt.”

To your surprise, he shrugs. “No worse than what gave me the cut, I imagine.”

You hum to yourself and move for the alcohol. “And this might sting.”

“Mm. I’m counting on it.”

Dipping a cloth into the potent liquid, you begin to dab at each open cut that’s painted along his body. Making sure to be as gentle as you can and avoid any potential infections.

He tenses every few moments, jaw ticking as he takes steady, even breaths. But he makes no noise of complaint, nor does he flinch away from your touch. Almost leaning into it as you move between each scratch.

“How’s that?” you whisper, glancing over his face curiously before moving for the cut on his brow. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, red-rimmed eyes trained on you. Seeming to study you while you study his injury. “M’okay. Are you?”

You smile. “Yeah. Don’t like hurting you, though.”

“You’re not. Could never.”

“Hope you’re right.”

You smooth back the dark hairs of his eyebrow as gingerly as you can before reaching for the medical tape. Cutting the strips to the right length, you place a couple over the cut, and step back to observe.

“All right,” you declare. “Now, um…now I’ll need to…”

You both look toward his stomach where the worst gash lies, and he nods. “Where do you want me?”

“Just…there. Is fine.” You collect the needle and thread before crouching down near him in order to get closer. “It shouldn’t take too long. Be over before you know it.”

“All right.” He’s oddly calm, and for some reason, it makes you nervous. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been stitched, Cherry. I’ll be all right.”

 “I can see that,” you mumble to yourself, reaching now for his abdomen. “Just…tell me if it hurts too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

With a deep breath, you pinch his skin between your fingers, and bring the tip of the needle closer. Piercing the skin and threading it through slowly and with great precision.

He looks down, watching for a moment almost as though fascinated. “You’re really good at that.”

You offer a tight-lipped smile. “Should hope so. Spent three years learning how to do it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My, uh…my parents really wanted me to pursue a career in the medical field,” you explain as you continue working your way down. “And I thought being a nurse would be good because I liked the idea of helping people. And I liked learning about the body and how to heal it.”

His eyes remain on you.

“Anyway, it didn’t…I didn’t have a great experience in medical school,” you continue. “And it made me realize that it wasn’t what I really wanted to do. I wanted to…help people through food, I guess. Which probably sounds silly—”

“No,” he says, almost immediately. “No, it doesn’t.”

You smile a bit bigger. “Well, my parents were pretty pissed when I dropped out. Which makes sense, since they were the ones paying for it. But…they told me that if I wanted to pursue baking, I’d have to do that on my own. Financially, anyway. Hence all the late shifts at the diner.”

His brows furrow together almost sternly.

“And I don’t mind it. I really like working there. I like my coworkers, I like the people I meet.” You pause now and brave a glance up. “And I really like that it brought me to you.”

There’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart skip. “M’glad it brought you to me, too.”

You chew on the inside of your lip to suppress a rather giddy grin before returning your focus to the wound. “All right, your turn.”

“My turn?”

You nod your chin toward his injured body. “Why do you keep letting this happen?”

He sighs, and his stomach tenses with the strained breath. He wears the same look he wears each time you ask, and you already know he’s searching for the right way to deflect the question. 

“I don’t know.”

You expected nothing less, yet tonight, you insist upon the truth. Scooting closer as you glance up almost pleadingly. “Where do you go? Who does this to you?”

He hesitates. “Cher—”

“I won’t judge you. I’d never judge you, but this isn’t…Harry, this is really scary. And I want to make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Another heavy pause as you continue the suture. He contemplates his response, the small bathroom filling with a tense sort of energy. You wonder if the truth hurts him more than the scars.

“I…fight,” he finally says, and you feel your pulse stutter. “I get paid to fight. Three nights a week.”

And even though you’d already begun to assume that was the case, you feel the blood drain from your face. “Harry…”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs quickly, reaching out to brush his thumb along your cheek. “I’m okay.”

You want to argue, but you bite your tongue. Zeroing in your focus on your hands.

“I like it,’ he continues. “Don’t know why, but there’s just…there’s this rush, you know? This adrenaline. Makes me feel alive to be so close to death, I guess.”

You hum quietly, features pulling together in a wince. 

“S’about the only thing I’m good at, too,” he adds with a wry chuckle. “And all I have to do is win.”

Your head lifts. “This doesn’t look like a win.”

“Yeah, well. You should’ve seen the other guy.”

And despite his attempt at humor, you look back down, lashes fluttering.

It’s quiet for another long lull before he says, “It’s how I met you.”

You choose to keep your eyes downcast on the needle this time, but your ears perk up.

“One of the guys I work with said your desserts were the best he’d ever had. Said he used to go there all the time, for every fucking meal.”

You pull the thread though his stained skin and he sucks in a sharp breath. 

But his story is undeterred. “And I always get kind of a sugar craving after a fight, so I thought I’d go. And then…you.”

You remember the night vividly. The sight of him, hands wrapped in gauze, eyes dark and inquisitive, that familiar hoodie pulled over his head.

He was mysterious and strange, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

You have been ever since.

“And he was right,” Harry whispers now, tucking his finger beneath your chin until he can see you. “Never had anything as sweet as you.”

Your heart returns to your throat, and there’s a sort of longing in your stomach that can’t be tamped. You aren’t sure if you want to laugh or cry, so you merely release a soft sigh and finish closing the wound.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” you ask of him again. “Really?”

He runs his tongue over his cracked lip. “Sometimes.”

“And would they let you leave? If you wanted to?”

The silence is deafening. 

His thumb moves to your mouth, brushing over the pink fibers that part for him. “Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to find out.”

It’s not a perfect answer. But it’s the one you choose to cling to, reaching up to squeeze his wrist in desperation.

You suppose this explains more than you realized. Why he won’t tell you who he really is. Why he won’t let you into his world. Why he insists on keeping you safe.

But it only makes this new reality that much heavier.

“Just make me a promise, okay?” you exhale. “Promise me that you’ll be all right. That you’ll stay safe. That you won’t…”

The unspoken word carries a weight that nearly crushes you, and he seems to understand as he squeezes your chin.

“That you’ll always come back,” you finish.

“I promise,” he says, even if you both know it’s not a promise he can make. “Always.”

You kiss him. Quickly and without pause, surging forward until your mouth meets his. You take his lips between your own, careful to mind the cut while remembering just how much he enjoys the sting.

Instantly, his hand curls around the back of your neck, tugging you as close as he can get you. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, and soft grunts that reverberate all the way down to your chest.

“Careful,” you gasp, attempting to pull back when he guides you between his legs. “Your cut—”

“Don’t care,” he whispers, bringing you back to nip at your bottom lip. “Don’t fucking care.”

You whimper against him, hands resting delicately on his chest. “Har—”

“I know. Just missed you. Really missed you, sweet girl.”

He tugs you between his thighs and you allow yourself to be moved. Melting into his touch as he uses his height advantage to fully take control of you. In more ways than one. 

Desperate pants fill the tiny bathroom, and you can’t help but feel undone by him. Already feeling a certain throbbing in the pit of your stomach that can’t be tamed by anything else but him.

“Harry,” you try again, moving your hands to his hair. Carding your fingers through his matted, bloody curls. “Please…”

And then…you feel it. Rather, you feel him. Hard and prominent, pressing right up against you. 

You gasp, and he rests his forehead against yours. Cursing to himself when you nudge yourself forward.

And that’s when you realize. 

“Does pain turn you on?”

There’s a quick pause before he nods once. Trailing his lips along your cheek and toward your throat.

Your head spins. “Really?”

Another motion of his head. “It’s not really pain when it’s you.”

Breathlessly, you drop your touch to his lap, palming him through his dark jeans while he groans again and buries his nose in your neck. Inhaling you deeply while bracing himself against your knelt frame.

“Think it’s my turn now,” you say. “My turn to be good.”

The grip on your neck tightens, and you can feel him release a warm exhale against your collarbone before he’s kissing just below your ear.

Then, he shakes his head, and mumbles, “No.”

You stop, fingers freezing over the bulge between his thighs. “What?”

“No,” he repeats gently. “S’not about me. Wanna make this about you.”

You lean back just far enough to catch his eye. “But—”

“There are a lot of things I’ll never be able to give you. Or do for you,” he explains gingerly. “But I can do this. I want to do this, sweet girl. Wanna give you the fucking world because it’s what you deserve.”

You consider this for only a moment before settling on the floor. “Har…”

His head shakes once more. Thumb stroking the curve of your jaw while tilting your eyes up. “Never be able to tell you how beautiful you are. I don’t…I can’t even understand it. You’re perfect, Cherry. So fucking perfect, and I will spend the rest of my life wanting to be near you.”

It’s a sweet sentiment. One that nearly knocks the wind from your lungs as you gaze at him.

“Wanting to taste you…” he continues, dipping down to brush his nose against yours. “Feel you…touch you. You…are the best goddamn thing I will ever have.”

You whimper, pushing yourself closer until he finally kisses you. “Then let me…”

But he merely smiles. “One day, sweet girl. I promise.”

You want to push. You almost want to insist that he let you take his cock into your mouth, but the look on his face is resolute. Decisive. You aren’t changing his mind, at least not tonight.

And you decide that maybe it’s for the better. His body needs to rest in order to heal, and perhaps any extra strain would hurt him or rip the stitching.

So, you oblige. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that.”

With a chuckle, he kisses you again. “Good girl.”

The kisses grow more frantic. About as frantic as before, and you have to physically yank yourself out of his grasp in order to calm yourself down.

“No,” you say this time as you stand. “No, you need to lay down. And rest. Okay? Give your body time to heal. And get better.”

He watches you go, but he’s unconvinced, already looping an arm around your hips to pull you back. “This is how I get better.”

And even though you’re concerned for his health, you can’t deny the pulsing between your thighs. “Harry—”

“You make me better,” he says, trailing his lips along your arms, all the way down to your palms. “Always. Fucking always—”

You whine beneath a strained breath, your other hand dropping to his head as you tug on his hair.

In turn, he moans against you, and your knees about buckle. “Let me get better…please…”

And it’s almost like he doesn’t realize he’s said it. A subconscious thought that’s whispered against your skin until it becomes one with your bloodstream.

“Want to,” you say. “I want to, but you need to rest. I need you to rest, Har.”

“I am,” he tries to argue, glancing up through those thick lashes of his. “This is me resting.”

“Harry—”

“Please,” he nearly groans again, pressing his nose into your stomach. “God, please, Cher. Please. M’so fucking lost on you, I can’t…I need…”

He told you once that you’re like a drug to him. That he goes through withdrawals if you’re not near. If he’s gone too long without you.

And, truthfully, you feel about the same. Feeling strung-out and shaky without his touch. Even the sound of his voice. It’s borderline pathetic, yet you don’t ever want to be rid of him.

“You need to rest,” you repeat, although you’re losing conviction. “I want to, but I can’t…I’m worried. You shouldn’t move, you should rest.”

The air becomes charged as he looks back up. “Then ride my face.”

You hesitate. “What?”

“Ride my face,” he says again, practically groaning the instruction. “S’easy, right? Won’t have to move. I’ll just hold you, yeah?”

You feel the heat rush into your cheeks as you blink down at him. “I…you’re already hurt. I don’t want to suffocate you, too—”

“God, suffocate me,” he sighs, grabbing onto the backs of your thighs. Squeezing the flesh in his strong, battered hands pleadingly. “You’d never hurt me, baby, ever. S’all I fucking want. Don’t want anything else but you. Only you. All of you. Want you everywhere.”

And you believe him. You do. But the idea of…and being that close…

“What…but what if it’s too much?” you murmur. “What if I’m too…—”

“Never.” A firm shake of his head. “Fucking never. You would never be too much. Believe me. Tasting you is the only good thing in my life.”

There’s a catch in your throat that you swallow down. “I just…I’ve never…”

His expression softens. Thumbs brushing at your exposed skin before squeezing once more. “It’s okay. S’okay, sweet girl, really. Don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t have to do anything at all. But…I promise you…you could never do anything wrong. Ever. You breathe and you’re perfect.”

And he’s so honest. So good. You know he means it, know he’d never lie about something like this. And you do trust him. More than anything. Trust that he’d never judge you or want anything more from you than what you’re willing to give.

“If you say no, then it’s no,” he adds gently. “End of. Promise.”

But that’s not your problem. You’d happily do anything and everything with him. But you’re worried about his injuries and all the blood he’s already lost. Granted, his suggestion would perhaps be the best alternative, but…

“Fine,” you whisper, squeezing his curls in your fist. “Okay. But you need to be very careful and very still. And if it starts to hurt, we stop. Okay?”

There’s a wicked gleam in his eye. One you recognize all too well, yet it merely makes your pulse jump.

“Okay,” he agrees, almost mischievously. “Deal. Just lead the way.”

You bite back a whimper before glancing toward his knuckles. “I need wrap your hands first—”

“No,” he interjects. “No, leave ‘em. Just for right now. Wanna see them when I hold you.”

And there’s something about the idea that leaves you breathless, making your nails curl into his scalp as if to drag him closer. “Are you sure—”

“Yes.” He tugs on the hem of your dress again, almost as though trying to rip it off. “Yes, m’sure. Please, Cher…”

And you have no choice but to oblige.

You reach down, take his hand, and pull him onto his feet. Quickly and impatiently leading him out of the bathroom and down the hall to your room before pushing the door open and bringing him inside.

He only takes a moment to look around, eyebrows raised while a smile plays at his lips. He studies the array of artwork you have displayed, the baby blue paint on your walls, and the plethora of pillows that sit near your headboard. He seems…enchanted, almost, and it makes you giddy.

“S’cute,” he decides, offering his smirk to you. “Very cute. Very you.”

“Thanks,” you reply anxiously, already looping your arms around his neck in order to yank him back down. “Please?”

He chuckles against your lips before dropping his hands to your waist, nodding once, and pushing you back. “Do you trust me, baby? Trust me to take care of you?”

“Yes,” you answer instantaneously. “Yes, always.”

“Yeah? Know I’ll take care of you?”

“Yes.”

He drops you onto the bed before chasing after you. Lips on your cheek, your neck, your chest. Fingers playing with the buttons on your chest before he whispers, “Can I take this off, sweet girl?”

You motion your head almost frantically, leaning back to give him room.

He undoes your dress and slips it over your head in a matter of seconds. Leaving you in nothing but your underwear as he tosses it toward the floor before surging forward to kiss you again.

He’s seen you before. Seen your chest, your stomach, your thighs. But never in the privacy of your own home, and the way he seems to look at you now feels as though it changes everything. Like he’s looking at you for the very first time.

“Baby,” he breathes, pulling your lip between his teeth before groaning. “God…s’fucking cruel you have to hide this behind such a hideous dress.”

You grin against his mouth, scooting back in order to make space for him. “Then maybe you should come around and take it off more often.”

He likes this idea, chuckling to himself before grabbing hold of your hips, and flipping over onto his back. Effectively pulling you with him until you’re straddling his waist.

With a gasp, you glance down to his newly stitched cut, quickly inspecting in order to make sure nothing has been ripped or pulled. “Harry, you can’t—”

“Shh,” he coos, pulling on the back of your neck to bring you down again. Nose nudging with yours. “M’okay. I’ll tell you, yeah?”

“But—”

“I’m all right,” he insists quietly. “Promise. Just need you.”

You swallow the rest of your complaints, allowing your body to be pulled into his before he’s moving both hands to your naked thighs. Stroking along the tender, soft flesh and kneading it tenderly.

“Think you’re ready, baby?” he whispers. “Hm? Gonna let me have a taste?”

And even if you’re somewhat apprehensive, the lust that swims within the bottom of your stomach makes you whimper. Urging you to say, “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.”

“Good girl,” he hums, gliding his palms toward your ass before patting it once. “Up you go.”

You imagine you seem somewhat terrified, but his look of encouragement goes straight to your cunt. Encouraging you up his body until you can place your knees on either side of his head.

“Good,” he breathes, eyes already gluing to your panties. “So good, baby. Can you hold onto me? Hold onto my hair? And tug it if it’s too much?”

You nod weakly and drop your fingers to his curls. Brushing them gently while he smiles, lashes fluttering.

“Good girl,” he says again, and it makes you clench around nothing. “M’gonna pull you down now, okay? Don’t worry about anything. Just let me make you feel good. Promise I’ll be all right.”

You whimper beneath a deep breath before nodding again and allowing him to guide you down to his face.

You feel the tip of his nose ghost across the edge of your panties, right near your clit. And you can help but buck up, gasping as you squirm away from the stimulating touch.

But his hold on you is unrelenting, tightening when he feels you twitch before yanking you back into position.

“Uh-uh, sweet girl, none of that,” he warns softly, mouth dancing down your covered cunt. Tauntingly. Deviously. “M’just having some fun, yeah? Gonna let me have fun with such a pretty pussy?”

When you don’t answer, he gently smacks his hand against the side of your thigh.

“Yes,” you answer quickly, gathering his curls in your fist. “Yes, I…I will.”

“Mm. Good. Cause m’having so much fun with you, Cher. You know that? Always have fun getting to play with what’s mine.”

This possession sends chills down your spine and your chest heaves from the way he flattens his tongue against your underwear before dragging it down.

He seems to bask in your whines, moaning against your cunt before curling his fingers into your skin. Forcing you down even further until you’re nearly sat on his mouth.

His technique is sinful. Just enough to tease you and leave you wanting more. Effortlessly casting out any doubts or hesitation as you begin to settle in his hold, permitting him to keep you against his tongue until he sighs contently.

“Fucking killing me, baby,” he says, lifting you up in order to reach for the soft material against your pussy and drag it to the side. “Ready, sweet girl?”

You nod quickly.

“Promise to tug me if it’s too much or you want to stop?”

“Yes…yes, Har, please—”

“I know,” he shushes. “Just so well behaved for me, aren’t you? Hold still for me, all right?”

You go to nod again, but before you can, his lips are meeting your clit. Pressing the most innocent of kisses to the sensitive nerves until you choke on his name and yank his curls.

He seems to realize this aggression has more to do with the pleasure than the pain, and you can practically feel him smirk into your cunt before he does it again. Over and over and over, making your eyes roll back and your throat run dry with desperate pants and whimpers.

Then…he sucks. Takes your clit into his mouth before flattening his tongue and dragging it through.

You’ve never felt this kind of stimulation. This kind of overwhelming pleasure that goes directly to your toes.

Sure, he’s eaten you out before, but he’s never been this…close. He’s devouring you from the inside out. Forcing you against his mouth as though his life depends on it. 

The hold on your hip is unforgiving, and you’re almost sure you’ll see remnants of him on your skin tomorrow. The tips of his fingers tattooing to your waist and marking you as his forevermore. 

You aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Overcome with lust and infatuation for the man between your thighs. The way he expertly slides his lips through your folds, drowning in you.

The tip of his tongue teases your hole, and you feel him groan at the way your pussy flutters from the slight intrusion. And the vibration of his greed makes your hands tighten in his hair. Nail scraping so hard down his scalp, you’re sure you’ll draw blood.

But he loves it. Seems to thrive off it. Going in a bit further before dragging your arousal up to your clit and flicking.

Then, he swallows you down.

“Harry,” you gasp, and you wish you could see him. Wish more than anything that you could gaze down at his face and watch while he does this to you. 

He always tends to get a sort of mesmeric look in his eye when he’s making you cum. Almost like he’s in a trance. Hypnotized by your body, drunk off the way he’s making you feel.

You imagine that’s about how he looks now, and you’d give anything to see those beautiful, hazy eyes just once.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, pulling away just long enough to speak. “You’re okay, yeah?”

You nod quickly. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay. I promise—please…”

He understands your request perhaps better than anyone and smiles to himself before going back in. It’s far too easy to unravel you, it seems. All he has to do is suck, and flick, and slide his mouth along your dripping pussy, and you’re done for. Already nearing release before he’s even really begun.

He senses this, and instantly goes harder. Faster. Tongue fucking into your clenching hole relentlessly until you cry out his name…and let go.

You hardly have time to register what’s happening or warn him of your impending orgasm. Nor do you have the time to remove yourself from him before accidently crushing him between your thighs and beneath your weight.

Yet through every second, he holds on. Keeps you exactly where you were, stuck in his hold, glued to his tongue. Until every drop of your cum belongs to him.

“Har…Harry,” you pant, uncurling your fingers from his hair. “Okay, it’s okay…I came, I—”

“I know,” he mumbles, leaving another kiss to your clit. “And you’re gonna do it again.”

It’s resolute. He leaves no room for bargaining or questioning before he’s going back in. Quick flicks of his tongue through your pussy until you feel breathless.

It’s sloppy. Everything about it is sloppy and wet. The sounds, his technique. The way he makes out with your cunt as though it’s the best thing he’s ever had. And, truthfully, you imagine he believes it is.

He repeats the movement of his tongue along the overstimulated nerves until you begin to shake. Never letting up, even when you begin to whine rather pitifully. Instead, he squeezes your waist, and keeps you close. Makes sure you take every second of this blissful affliction until you cum for a second time. 

The moment you do, he readjusts his hold on your panties in order to slip a finger inside. Forcing you up onto your knees so he can nip at your clit and fuck his finger into you with a newly determined fervor.

“Harry,” you cry out again, moving one hand to your headboard to brace yourself. “Can’t…can’t—”

“You’re all right,” he hums, the tip of his nose pressing hard into your skin. “You’re all right, sweet girl. Just want one more, okay?”

 And you believe him. You do believe you’re all right, even if the painful pleasure he’s dragging you into nearly kills you. Making your legs shake and your lungs heave.

You want to give him another. You want to give him all of your orgasms, forever. And he knows this, so he adds a second finger, and pumps you mercilessly.

The sound echoes through your room, loud and lewd. But it intertwines beautifully with his soft murmurs of encouragement: 

“Good, baby, just like that. Fucking squeezin’ me, aren’t you? Hm? S’it feel good? Feel so good to ride my face?”

You can’t answer. Want to. Can’t. Skin growing hot as sweat beads at your hairline. Muscles burning, aching, crying out for reprieve.

But all you really feel…is him.

“One more, come on,” he urges, increasing the speed of his tongue and his thrusts. “Can feel how close you are, sweet girl. Know you want to, yeah?”

You whimper softly, body tensing with the impending release.

“Yeah? I know. Know you’re so close. Bet it hurts, doesn’t it? S’just too much for this sweet little pussy, hm?”

He curls those long digits into your cunt until you moan, thighs trembling beside his head as you attempt to keep yourself upright. “Har, please—”

“What? What do you need?”

Everything, all of it, whatever it takes. You aren’t even sure, you just need…more.

He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg. Kissing and sucking into the tender skin while his fingers continue to encourage you closer. 

“Just taste so good, don’t you?” He trails his lips back toward your cunt. Lazily mouthing at your clit as if to torture you. “Get so wet for me. S’precious. So fucking precious.”

He uses his fingers to spread you open. Exhaling against your dripping cunt until you begin to squirm. Writhing away from the sensation while he does it again.

“Mm-mm,” he tuts, pulling you closer. “Told you no, sweet girl. Said I could play with you, so I am. Thought you were behaving for me?”

He exploits your need to please him. To obey and win his approval, and it nearly drives you mad.

“Know it’s a lot, baby,” he coos next, slipping back inside and curling. “Know you’re all sensitive. Not used to being so overstimulated, are you?”

He’s right, you’re not. Apart from him, nobody else has ever really taken the time.

“Makes me wonder,” he continues gently. “Wonder how you touch yourself…here in this very room.”

He pulls your clit between his teeth and tugs until you gasp.

“Tell me, Cherry. Tell me how you touch yourself when I’m not around.”

Your mind goes blank. Darkening around the edges while you suck in quick pants for air.

“Tell me,” he repeats, coarse and riddled with an insatiable hunger. “Tell me what you think about. D’you think about me, baby? Think about how good you look on my tongue?”

You find just enough strength to nod as you squeeze his curls and whimper out your agreement. 

“Yeah? Go on, tell me.”

Your mouth drops open, yet nothing else comes out. Save for a plethora of pathetic whines and anxious mewling.

He seems to laugh, the low sound sending goosebumps across the back of your neck. “What’s the matter, Cher? Pussy got your tongue?”

You can hardly acknowledge the joke as you go reeling forward, just barely able to catch yourself against the headboard before collapsing. “You…you,” you finally groan. “Always you, Harry. Always.”

“Me?” You can hear the faux fascination. “You think about me, baby? What do you think about?”

What don’t you think about? “Your…your fingers,” you stammer. “And…and your mouth.”

“Yeah? Good girl. What else?”

You’re too close to think straight, already falling victim to your orgasm before it’s even found you. “You…your…your…”

“S’okay, baby, come on. Tell me.”

You swallow thickly and will yourself to speak. “Think…think about taking you. About how you’d feel. How you’d…be.”

“How I’d be, hm?” The hand on your hip tightens almost possessively. “How would you want me to be? How would you want me to fuck you?”

 An array of positions flash through your mind. The echoing of his groans and pants in your ear as he fucks you. The way he’d hold onto your leg and push it into the bed. The way he’d pull your hair and demand you take him. That you behave, be good. 

There’s something about him, you realize. Something about his dominance that makes you feel safe. Seen and cared for.

You want him to tell you what to do. Want to give him full control of your body and mind. Make your decisions for you so you don’t have to wrestle with them yourself. You trust him. Trust that he’d always put you first.

“Any way you want,” you finally answer. “Any…any way. Hard…slow…fast…deep. Just wanna be good for you.”

The noise he makes against your pussy is animistic. Virile and obsessed, and his mouth reattaches to your clit almost like a reward. 

“Good,” he nearly growls. “Know you would be. Know you’d be fucking perfect, yeah? Let me stretch this sweet, little pussy anyway I’d like?”

 “Yes. Yes, Harry, please—”

“Just take it, wouldn’t you? Take me so well?” He yanks you down so hard, you wonder if he can even breathe. Truthfully, you don’t think he cares either way. “What else do you think about, sweet girl? Think about me tying you up?”

You nod zealously, sneaking a glance at the headboard almost as though to recreate your fantasy. 

“Yeah? What else? Would you want me to spank you?” He follows this inquiry up with a quick – albeit gentle – slap to your outer thigh. “S’that what you want?”

“Harry—”

“What about your pretty, little throat, hm? D’you want me to hold it in my hand? Squeeze it till you see stars?”

The thought sends you into a frenzy. Stomach flipping in on itself until you’re clenching so hard around his fingers, you’re surprised they don’t break.

“Yeah? Oh, sweet girl,” he coos, slowly and almost inconspicuously sneaking a third digit into play. Filling you exactly the way you need. “My dirty little Cherry just wants to be taken care of, doesn’t she?”

You have nothing more to offer him. No more noises, no more whines, no more pleas. Your throat has gone dry, and your body is trembling almost violently.

He grins. “Then I’ll always take care of what’s mine.”

You’re not sure what does it. If it’s the way he strokes his fingers into that sweet spot in your cunt, the way he skims his tongue against your clit, or if it’s his promise. 

But no matter the cause, your third orgasm overwhelms you. Pulls you down into the deepest part of your pleasure before ripping you apart. Seam by seam.

He swallows every second of it. Attempting to drag the stimulation on for as long as he can before you have to psychically take yourself away in order to breathe. 

“Okay, okay,” you whimper, returning to the bed just beside him. “Can’t…I can’t…”

“Okay,” he agrees in a soft, soothing tone. Quicky reaching out to press his hand to your cheek while his thumb brushes at your heated skin. “Okay, we’re done. Did so good for me.”

Your lashes flutter as your vision slowly returns, and when you see him, you about moan.

During his ravaging of your pussy, the cut on his lip reopened, and now, blood is smeared across his mouth and chin. Glistening from his skin right beside the remnants of you.

You don’t imagine you’ve ever seen something so erotic. You also never imagined you’d find it so appealing, and yet the way it looks painted across his sharp jaw and swollen lips…

You surge forward and kiss him. So hard and so fast, you imagine you’ve made him dizzy. 

Instantly, his palm is pressing to the back of your head. Keeping you against his mouth while slowly pulling you back into his embrace. And he holds you against his chest while moaning something that sounds a lot like, “Fucking hell.”

 You kiss until the sun comes up. The soft, warm beams of light slipping through your curtains, setting the whole room – and your tired bodies – aglow. 

His mouth moves to your neck. “You still with me, baby?”

You smile. “Always.”

“Good.” He leaves one, final kiss. “And you’re feeling all right?”

“Mhm. Are you?”

“Oh, I’m more than all right, sweet girl. M’fucking perfect.”

He guides back onto his chest. Limbs tangling together as he puts your body between his legs until he can hold you properly. Even despite your fussing over his injuries.

But it’s not until you’ve begun to settle that you feel it. “Harry?” you whisper softly.

“Mm?”

“…did you cum?”

He smiles before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Yeah.”

“But I didn’t…I mean I didn’t get to—"

“You just have that effect on me, Cher,” he murmurs, snaking his arms a bit tighter around your frame. “Told you. Making you feel good is all I want.”

You glance up, expression wounded. “Why won’t you let me help? I thought…I mean, you keep saying you want me to, but you never…you won’t let me.”

The bedroom falls silent as he considers this. The sage green in his eye melting into something golden from the reflection of the sunrise.

He reaches out and brushes his thumb across your mouth. Seeming to clean you of the blood that smeared when you kissed.

“I didn’t want this to be about me,” he finally says. “I never do.”

You merely frown. “But I want to do it. Do you not…I mean, do you think I can’t or something?”

A soft chuckle. “Oh, I know you can. Know you’d use this pretty little mouth just right, yeah?”

You nod.

“Yeah.” He squeezes your chin. “I meant what I said. One day. There are a lot of things I want to do with you. Be for you. But right now, I can’t…I’m not in a place where I can offer them to you. Not with…everything else going on.”

Your stomach sinks as you realize. You might not understand the complexities of his job or his life, but you do understand his concern. And you trust that he doesn’t make this decision lightly. 

“Besides,” he adds coyly, “they kind of have a rule about it.”

“Oh, do they?”

“Yeah. Something about reduced testosterone and decreased aggression. I don’t know, s’probably bullshit.” A nonchalant shrug. “Just means I get to keep the focus on you. Which is all I really want, anyway.”

“I can tell,” you tease, reaching up to brush your nose against his. “Why is that?”

“Because you’re perfect.” He says it so easily. As though it needs no thought. “Baby, you have no fucking idea how beautiful you are. Touching you is the closest I will ever get to heaven.”

You wonder how he does that. How he always manages to say exactly what you need to hear. And make you believe it. Every time.

You kiss him again, but it’s slow. Soft and gentle and full of an unspoken emotion that nearly overwhelms you. 

You fall asleep against his heart. His lips in your hair, your fingers on his chest. And for the next few hours, you dream of nothing but him.

By the time you wake, it’s nearly afternoon. Your muscles are sore and your body aches from the decisions and positions of the night before. 

But it’s a good sort of pain. The kind that reminds you of how willing you are to do it again.

You’re both quiet as you stir, and it’s comfortable. As though you’re used to waking up together. Exchanging nothing more than smiles and a hoarse, “Morning.”

After offering him some cereal, you ask if he’d like to take a shower. Maybe change into something else before you take him back to the diner so he can retrieve his car and you can pick up yours from your friend.

He politely declines, but he does agree to your stipulation that you check his wounds before you leave. He even stands perfectly still while you assess each cut and stitch in order to make sure everything is still in place.

Which to your surprise, it is.

Once you’ve gathered your things, you exit your apartment (after locking it as previously instructed), and head for the subway station.

It’s almost strange to see him in the light of day. He’s still as effortlessly striking as before, if not perhaps more. His skin looks a bit more tan, and his hair seems softer in the sun. But he walks with a kind of confidence you almost envy, slinging his arm around your shoulders just like the night before. This time, out of possession.

And you grin the whole way there.

It feels normal. Feels good. Natural. Like it was always meant to be. You and him. Always.

Your heart begins to sink with each step closer you get to the diner. You cling to his hoodie as though it physically hurts to say goodbye. And in turn, he pulls you in tighter to his heart, as if refusing to let you.

“I’ll walk you in,” he murmurs once you reach the parking lot, and you nod gratefully. Already taking in a deep breath as you prepare to watch him leave.

You see your car near the front of the diner, signaling that your friend is here to drop off the keys. And you almost feel nervous because you aren’t sure how to explain Harry. Or if you even need to explain him at all. 

If he’d want you to.

A part of you wants to protect him from everybody else. From their prying eyes and inquisitive questions. From their haughty, judgmental stares and this idea that they know who he really is.

Instead, you take his hand in yours, and squeeze. Offering him one last smile to hold you over until you see him again.

Which you can only hope will be soon.

He pushes the door open and leads you inside. Loosening his grip on you almost regretfully while your heart sinks down into your toes.

But the moment you both step beneath the light, he stops. Suddenly and with a strained inhale as fingers retighten around yours, halting you in place.

Concerned, you glance over the side of his face rather curiously before following his eyeline further into the diner.  

And that’s when you see him. 

“Hey, thanks again for letting me borrow your car,” your friend says, sliding off one of the barstools in order to hand you your keys. “I really appreciate it. It was a huge help.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” you murmur before looking back to the tense man beside you. “Uh…this is my friend, Jesse. And Jesse, this is—”

“Harry,” Jesse says for you, lips curling up almost knowingly before he’s nodding once. 

Now even more confused, your head tilts while Harry’s skin instantly pales, his jaw clenching as his grip on your hand gets stronger.

But despite your muddled expression, Jesse merely chuckles to himself and steps forward, dragging his eyes from you to the tall stranger holding you.

“I see you finally found my girl.”

EEEEE I AM HAVING WAY TOO MUCH FUN

Next Part:

~ Reckless*

Previous Part:

~ Knockout*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgff@myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @mitochondrialeva-blog1 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @rainycowbride @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @dylanobandposts21 @cherryshouse

[calcifiedunderland]

The Five Senses of the Archons

— Moments with the Archons of Teyvat shines like gold in your heart.

gn! Traveler! Reader with Zhongli, Venti, & Raiden Shogun

(Nahida (platonic), Furina, Mavuika ver. )

Taste - Zhongli

You hummed while you walked through the busy Liyue streets, dodging the odd decoration and person. Lantern Rite was always busy, but it seemed that last-minute preparations were being made. You ducked under a kite, your laughter abruptly cut off as the child holding the string darted past your legs. You would’ve nearly fallen over if someone hadn’t caught you.

“Ah, Traveler. I’m pleased you made it for the Lantern Rite,” you gazed into Zhongli’s warm amber eyes as he set you upright. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Soon enough, the two of you ambled down Liyue Harbor, your arm tucked into his. “We’re here,” Zhongli’s smooth, baritone voice took you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, gazing up at Iron Tongue Tian. Zhongli had walked you all the way to Third Round Knockout. You turned to look up at him, and found that he was already watching you with a soft smile. Soon, the two of you were seated, and listening to the storyteller recount tales of Rex Lapis. “This tea is a popular blend,” Zhongli said quietly, so he didn’t disturb the other guests. “It was said that Rex Lapis favored this blend long ago.”

Your lips quirked upward in a smile, “you don’t say?” You murmured to him. Softly, you clinked teacups together, and you watched Zhongli sip elegantly out of the corner of your eye. You raised your cup, closed your eyes, and drank. The complex flavor of the tea spread on your tongue, and the aroma filled your nostrils pleasantly.

You supposed no mere mortal could reach Celestia, but tasting the same tea together as the Geo Archon, listening to stories of Liyue while the warm Lantern lights washed over you both, was close enough.

Sound - Venti

The tavern is busier than usual, you sipped your drink. You were back in Mondstadt for the Windblume festival, and of course you couldn’t miss visiting Angel’s Share for the evening. All around you, people laughed and clinked kegs of Dawn Winery’s finest. You overheard a lyre strumming behind you. You smiled warmly when you saw a bard you were very familiar with, raising your glass to him.

Venti the bard grinned at you, laughter in his voice and wind in his feathered hat, “fancy seeing you here, Traveler! In honor of your presence, I’ll play your favorite~” The boy winked at you, and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He cleared his throat, and the chatter of Dawn Winery died down. Even though Venti took the appearance of a Mondstadter, you couldn’t help but feel the air of reverence in the Winery air.

Venti strummed his lyre, and began singing a bright, jaunty tune about a story you hadn’t heard. Music filled every corner of the Winery, and soon patrons were up and dancing. Everyone clapped in rhythm, and somehow you were jostled right next to Venti. Your teal-clad friend grinned at you, shoes tapping on the bar table, and you pointedly ignored Charles’ shouts to get off. Venti winked at you, careful to avoid knocking over kegs and glasses as he started up his song again. The people crowded in Dawn Winery cheered, stomping and clapping and dancing in unison.

And yet, in the chaos as the humble bard boy sang to the room full of patrons, it felt as if the god’s song was only meant for you.

Touch - Raiden Shogun

You supposed that, when the Raiden Shogun herself summoned you, there was no choice but to obey. Fortunately, you had no complaint. Your meeting at Inazuma City started curtly. After all, the two of you clashed swords not long before. After a few halting words, you pieced together that Ei wished to personally invite you to the Palace of Narukami to view the Naganohara firework’s show. You were quiet, and you hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you met Ei’s eyes, and saw something like nervousness and sorry inside them.

It goes to say that even the Almighty Shogun of Eternity wanted a friend to spend time with during a festival.

So, after nodding, she wasted no time leading you up the Palace. The staff gawked at you, although you guessed that it wasn’t specifically you they were looking at. Merely the shock that the Raiden Shogun had a guest over. Although, at some point during your stay, you felt yourself grow drowsy while sitting next to Ei. She suddenly felt a weight on her shoulder, and heard you softly breathing. A strange sensation, but the Raiden Shogun would allow it.

She felt you stir awake as the festival began. You heard the loud pop! of Naganohara’s fireworks, and your closed eyelids you saw the flashes of light. You stayed slumped against her shoulder, her arm around you, and silently you both watched the fireworks overhead. No words passed between you, but slowly her cheek dropped onto your head. You felt her relax against you.

As the fireworks stopped, she cleared her throat. “It’s only proper that I escort you to the entrance. Come, Traveler.” You nodded, too tired to politely deny. The two of you walked in rhythm, the backs of your hands barely brushing. She was about to pull away when she felt the weight of your hand drop into hers. Instinctively, she tightened her grasp on it. Your hands remained intertwined until you parted at the gate. As Ei went back to her chambers, she could still feel the warmth of your hand in hers, and the weight your head on her shoulder. Fleeting, and yet eternal all the same.

Back in your own room, you flexed your hand. You could still feel the touch of the God of Eternity’s hand, tingling, electric. You hoped it would never fade away.

—☄️🌪️⚡️

I wanted to try something new. This is my Genshin fic posted to tumblr!! Please consider leaving a like, comment or reblog!! Thanks for reading travelers 😘✨

~xoxo Calci

[hynzsn]

★ KISS MY WOUNDS ★

☆ choi san x male reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff

contents: playful!san, boxing, boxing match, locker room, kissing, kissing hands / arms, thigh grabbing, sitting on lap, pet names (baby), teasing

wc: 1.3k

summary: san asks his boyfriend to kiss his swollen knuckles after winning yet another boxing match.

a/n — this is literally like my first time writing a fic yall omfg!!! feedback is heavily appreciated, i’d really love opinions and thoughts on this. please spare me if this is complete trash >.< i’m still getting used to this and learning as i go along <33!!

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“8…9…10.”

and with the ring of the bell, the match that felt like it could’ve lasted a lifetime was finally declared over.

san was notorious for his opponents never passing anything but the second round, but today was different.

“and there we have it, ladies and gentlemen. referee kim hongjoong has called a stop to this contest at 3 minutes and 30 seconds into the third round, declaring the winner by knockout. choi san!”

despite his body physically feeling drained, san raised his arms to revel in that joyous feeling of being the winner, to have defeated the obstacle in his path to complete stardom—his opponent. in the crowd was y/n, wearing what seemed to be both a look of concern and frustration.

when san’s gaze fixed upon y/n, he recognized that look—the look he’d seen more times than he could count. for a second, san’s mind jumped to the countless times he’s had to reassure y/n, and it looked like today was going to be the same.

san wanted nothing more than to run over to y/n, exhausted body and all, but he knew right now wasn’t the time.

so, following protocol, san dropped his arms to his side and sauntered over to the ringside, where the medical staff could tend to his injuries and check for any signs of more serious damage. luckily, his opponent hadn’t caused any major damage; all he had were swollen knuckles and a slightly bruised left rib from where his opponent had gotten the better of him.

but that doesn’t take away from the fact that his opponent had more energy than the sun itself, an absolutely little firecracker that wouldn't go down. the crowd’s energy was still at its peak, but it was expected given the performance that san had just put on.

his eyes never left y/n’s, not even for a split second, even with the medical staff gently placing an ice pack on his slightly bruised ribs or with his coach practically drowning him in praise and awe. no, his eyes were on his beloved, the only person he cared about in this venue right now.

“locker room, meet me there in 10,” san mouthed, his eyes filled with nothing but love as he waited for y/n to respond.

y/n had responded with a simple nod, a smirk playing on the corner of san’s as he anticipated the moment of finally being with y/n. he’s been craving his boyfriend ever since y/n gave him his ritual good luck kiss earlier.

oh, y/n’s kisses felt like heaven for san; they felt like home. he could still taste the lingering scent of pineapple mint that radiated from y/n’s lip balm, a taste he had grown very fond of.

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

once the medical staff had finished tending to his needs and had given him a thumbs up, san practically bolted to his locker room, and with the thought of y/n in his mind, it gave him an adrenaline rush like no other. there was also the fact that during the checkup, it gave him more than enough time to sit back and take a much-needed rest, giving him the respawn he needed for his time alone with y/n.

with the swing of his locker room door, san was only faced with nothing but an empty locker room. it was okay, though. given the number of people in the venue, he could only imagine the struggle to escape, from the wild fans to the mess on the floor from disposable cups and spilled food. he had expected for y/n to arrive a bit late.

he took the time to sit down on the locker room’s bench, purposefully choosing to position himself where his eyes could lock on the door, just waiting for y/n to arrive.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the door to his locker room had finally swung open, and there was y/n walking in with that same concerned look. god, he looks so beautiful, san thought to himself.

“are you hurt?” y/n asked, rushing over to where san was seated, the shakiness in his voice showcasing just how concerned he was.

before san could even get an answer in, y/n had cut him off.

“what did the medical staff say? i want to know everything.” his eyes were boring into san, but all san could see was the amount of love y/n harbored for him, and the feeling was more than mutual.

“calm down, baby,” he said, his voice nothing but a soft and reassuring tone.

“i’m fine. just swollen knuckles, and my rib is bruised slightly, but nothing a little ice pack couldn’t take care of. there’s seriously nothing major.” san wrapped his arm around y/n’s waist, bringing him in even closer and sitting him down on his knee.

“really? are they sure? that fight looked... rough. y/n comfortably sat on san’s knee, his eyes still boring into san as he tried to search for any signs of discomfort or dishonesty plastered on his face, but was met with nothing.

“yes, baby, the medical staff team knows what they're doing. i wouldn't be sitting here with you right now if I wasn't okay.”

“but... my knuckles do hurt a bit. there is something I need—something that i desperately need, baby. and you're the only person who can give it to me.”

“what is it?” y/n had practically jumped out of san’s thigh, ready to get him whatever it is that he desperately needs.

a smirk played on the corner of san’s lips; this was exactly the moment he'd been waiting for.

“kisses.”

“kisses…?” y/n repeated, a small frown appearing on his face as if san had just asked for the impossible.

“yeah, kisses. kisses from my beautiful boyfriend. am I asking for too much?” san asked, his voice taking on a teasing tone.

a blush slightly creeped up on y/n’s face. “no, I just thought that you were going to ask for something, you know… serious.”

“but this is serious, baby!” san protested, his voice now a soft whine. his duality, from one minute being teasing and cocky to whiny and pouty, was seriously impressive, almost scarily impressive.

“look.” san held up his hands for y/n to see, showing his red-swollen knuckles. “don’t i deserve some tlc?" i just fought my ass off out there.”

y/n couldn't resist that soft, whiny voice—not now, not ever. it was as if a siren’s song had pulled him in.

the blush on y/n’s face deepened.

“okay, okay.”

y/n softly took san’s hands into his, bringing his hands up closer to his lips and tenderly planting kisses on the swollen knuckles. all the while, he kept eye contact with san.

san let out a soft sigh at the feeling of y/n’s lips on his skin. it felt like he was floating in the clouds with every kiss. y/n’s kisses were so soft and so loving. so… so… san couldn't even think; all he could do was just revel in the way y/n kissed his swollen knuckles.

“this is the best kind of pain relief anybody could ever ask for. kisses from my baby, ” he purred, closing his eyes and leaning back on the bench, the back of his head back against the lockers, as y/n kissed up his hands, going from the back of his hands to his wrists, even working his way slowly up his bare arm. the feint taste of sweat and musk lingering on y/n’s lips.

“you’re so cheesy,” y/n said, a slight chuckle escaping from his lips as he gave san’s arm one last kiss, directly on his bicep.

san opened his eyes and watched as y/n now made his way up from his bicep to just inches away from his lips. his mouth suddenly got dry, his tongue darting out to wetten his lips.

“yeah, I am. but you know you love me for it, baby,” he said confidently, closing his eyes again and pressing his lips against y/n’s in an affectionate and soft kiss. 

y/n eagerly returned the kiss, moving his lips to match san’s rhythm, letting his body loosen up as he felt san’s calloused hands gripping onto his thighs and pulling him down onto his lap.

 “yeah, I do.”

[ziaxkawaii]

The Creator needs help

I claim to know s*it about canon genshin impact Teyvat lore or how things work in it. I just wrote something that was on my mind at 2 AM.

~~~~

Teyvat was crying...

No, it wasn't any ordinary rainy day no.

Not only was water falling down from the skies above in the form of tears, hail and snow also came down along with powerful winds in places that rouse concern in humanity and other forms of life alike. 

Thin layers of snow covered parts of the smeltering deserts of sumeru, rain poured down in forever freezing shnesnaya, pillars of ice formed in the waterfalls of watatsumi island in inazuma and such other incidents wreaked havoc all around the land of Teyvat. 

These disasters drove away almost all creatures of nature into hiding and cursed all yields to be near nonexistent due to the extreme conditions, leading to a landwide food shortage and miserable people. Even vision holders report feeling less elemental energy from their visions than before.

Mr. Zhongli, or formerly known as Morax or Rex Lapis, sat at Third-Round Knockout on a rare good day drinking tea as he  watched the dark clouds over the sea creep closer to Liyue Harbor. He sighs, as he already figures that the weather would one again cut his visit short.

Just as he brought this tea cup to his lips to take another sip, his surroundings changed. He was no longer drinking tea he was standing inside a domain of sorts. Where ever he looked, he couldn't see an end to the limitless space.

He wasn't alone though, six others, who he realized were the other archons and people of the highest authority of each nation, were here as well. And from the looks of things, they were just as perplexed as he was.

Since all of them were brought here, it could only mean, a being higher than them have summoned them for a purpose.

"Be not afraid."

A voice spoke, which drew everyone's attention to them.

A figure floated by their lonesome in place with a calm and understanding expression as they gestured at the seven of them. The figure was like a glowing humanoid lamp, glowing brightly with no distinguishable features whatsoever, except a horizontal golden line at their throat that seemed to extend all the way around their neck.

As if their head had been cleanly sliced off...

Wait... He recognized such featured being described somewhere. An ancient parchment that spoke of a deity that was the purest and highest being in all of Teyvat. A being whose purity was reflected on how others would perceive them, for they lost their real body and a line as tough drawn with gold wrapping around their neck symbolizing their sacrifice to the life on Teyvat.

That being being the Creator...

The moment Zhongli realized who was talking to them, he sank down on one knee. Others following suit as they too realized the same thing as he did.

"Be not afraid... I am not here to neither cast judgement nor punishment." Their voice spoke, as though it was coming from everywhere at one. From behind the seven, from above, from inside their craniums. It would of felt almost overwhelming, had they been afraid, but none were.

"Your excellency... why have you summoned us to appear in your presence, if not for a punishment?" Zhongli hears one of the seven ask, as the same question runs in his head.

That was an excellent question. Though many of the Archons have done everything in their power to fulfill their duties as assigned, their disastrous and war filled past and even current lives, leave no room to doubt they too were not above desire.

The same desire that plaques Teyvat and every other being on it. Driving them to satisfy their own desires

to survive

to live

to build

to control

to destroy...

The Archons carry their sins for they are forbidden to forget them, it would be shameful to do so.

What reason are they here?

"My children... heed my words, for I am afraid time is running out." The creator spoke, their hands gently clenched in front of them, without a single waver in their tone as they continued.

"I was afraid that the day when the balance of Teyvat would be disrupted would come, but the severity of this disruption is far too severe. I can no longer watch as the creations I gifted life needlessly suffer." They floated closer to the kneeling seven as they pleaded.

"I beg of you my children, help end this misery that plaques Teyvat."

The Creators plead rang in their ears as giant bells as they looked up at their Creator, heads full of questions.

The Creator requests their assistance?

"Your grace, we do not know the causes of the anomalies on Teyvat, therefore we are powerless to help even our own nations. What can we possibly do to help?" Another Archons spoke.

"To understand our current obstacle, you must understand how Teyvat came to be." They spoke as, with a flick of their wrist, a mist like substance filled the surrounding space. Creating images aiding the Creators storytelling.

"As you are already aware, I, the Creator, was born of and egg and used the shell of said egg to create Teyvat, but that is not all." The Archons watched intently as images formed before their eyes one after another, telling a history never told before.

"After I was born, I wandered among the stars, awaiting for a purpose for my own creation. As time passed, a sudden desire willed me to use my given power for something, so I returned to my first ever home and used it's eggshell to house a new world in another galaxy.

I shed tears to form the seas, I took pieces of my body to create land, I blew air to form the atmosphere... I lent the sun and the moon to occupy the new lands lonely existence...

however... I wasn't satisfied...

what use does a world offer if no one is there to appreciate its beauty?"

The loyal Archons remained on their knees, listening to the tale of creation and birth of the land they call home. Seems as though even the most purest of beings in Teyvat cannot escape the curse of desire.

"So with the last of my strength, I gave up one of my hearts and divided it to millions and millions of pieces and scattered them all around the land and sea to form life. Life capable of growth, capable of feeling emotions and capable of death on the world I call Teyvat.

As a final gift, I gave up a fraction of my power and formed the seven elements. To make sure these gifts are not used wrongfully, I also created Celestia to act as guardians of Teyvat, the elemental energy and its happenings."

Zhongli stood silent in fascination of the history told. Their Creator really was just as benevolent as described in the ancient parchment he read oh so long ago. Even if their intention for Celestia was different from how things currently stand, they were thinking about their creations' well being. How could he disrespect his own creator so severely as to forget them? How could he?

"However...." The Creator continued.

"Just as I basked in relief and excitement of having created something that would have a life of its own... it caught the eye of another deity."

"They were envious of one of their own giving their body and attention to another, and so, they were going to curse the newborn world, which I could not let happen. I sliced off my own head as a distraction but the spell ended up landing on and affecting my own soulless mind and body, leading me to temporarily forget myself and my creation.

After the battle, my body and severed head fell into Teyvat, leaving behind the deity to grieve for hurting a fellow god.

My body collided with the earth while my head went missing, both staying unmoving, for I had no way to control them nor any memory to guide me on what to do. I felt as eons of life cycles passed before me, ground slowly swallowing my body and breaking it down, making me one with my creation." 

The sudden realization hit Zhongli harder than any of his meteorites. All along, the Creator has been among them. They were no spectator above Teyvat or a god who had abandoned them after their duty had concluded, no. They were there... they are...

"Yes, my children... I am Teyvat, and Teyvat is me."

Zhongli was taken aback as their Creator had read through his entire inner battle inside his mind. Now that he was aware of Teyvat's major historical event, he can finally start to string pieces together and think why Teyvat now experiences such instability. 

"Your eminence, since your body is apart of Teyvat itself, does the weather, soil and even elemental energy have anything to do with your physical well being?" Another Archon spoke and all tuned in to hear the Creator.

"I certainly does... Even if my body is no longer, most concentrated amounts of my being and the energy inside still lie beneath the ground, instinctively healing Teyvat and the ley lines from major damage, effectively enabling Teyvat and the elemental energy to remain balanced and flourish. 

However, lately the level of corruption in the ley lines and the amount of abnormal elemental energy surges have risen greatly, leading my "body" to panic and repel the added strain, therefore leading Teyvat becoming unstable." The creator hugged themselves as they explained and all of us understood the current issue and the gravity of it.

The creators physical body is what had been keeping Teyvat and its energy in line even when the Archons, gods and Celestia had abused it, but know that the last nail has been hammered, the creators body is no longer instinctually healing it and the Celestia is not stepping up to the task that was theirs to begin with.

"Your grace, just say the word and we are at your disposal. What can we do to help?" Zhongli himself spoke, voice even and calm for he had his full faith in his creator.

"You need to find my long lost head and bring it over to my bodys remains. Only then, can I reawaken and consciously put a stop to all of this, for in my current state I am a mere piece of your imagination laced with a voice." The creator explained, as though to prove their point, Their voice now sounded from inside their head as they floated higher and addressed the seven once more with a formal order and open arms.

"Please, find my body and bring my head over to it so I can awaken and help put a stop to this disaster! Let my mind be once again one with my body so balance may be restored, and the curse be lifted!"

Zhongli blinked and everything was just as it was before getting pulled into the domain to meet the creator. The tea he was going to savour previously, was still in his hand, steaming, as though no time had gone by at all. He however knew what had transpired mere second ago, was no daydream or a hallucination, his creator had really summoned him and requested his assistance.

With no more interest in the tea, Zhongli set the unfinished cup down while rising from his seat and began making his way out of Liyue harbor, with a newly acquired goal occupying his mind and shoulders.

[beepboopkek]

— Steady as Stone Chapter 1, A Study in Patience

Including: Zhongli x GN!Reader (for now) c/w: multi-chapter fic, will be NSFW later on, established relationship, non- $3xual BD$M, k1nk n3g0titation, fluff and smut, t0p!d0m!Zhongli, sub!bttm!reader, soft zhongli, reader is NOT traveller, reader has anxiety, gentle d0m zhongli (lmk if i missed anything) w/c: 8.6k

a/n: HALLO EVERYNYAN!!! we r so barrack !! life has put me through the ringer lately but cock waits for no one so here we r !! hopefully if this is well received chapter 2 will be out sooner than my other neglected fic (shh) anyway hope u enjoy!! sorry if the tags r a lil innaccurate im still learning,, i also kept my own self insert (whos dating zhongli akshually) in mind while making this but no features are described so go crazy imagining !

CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

It was a rare occasion—one of those few times where Zhongli chose to stay in with you, rather than spend his day off wandering through Liyue, making purchases, conversing with vendors, and reconnecting with old friends. You had long come to understand his love for these leisurely strolls, and though you were more of a homebody, you often accompanied him.

Late into the morning, you stirred his favorite tea, carefully carrying the pot over to the low table in the center of the living room. Zhongli sat across from where you stood, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he scanned the morning newspaper, one hand resting thoughtfully against his chin—a small, yet endearing habit of his.

The soft clink of the teapot being set down caught his attention. Without hesitation, he folded the newspaper to the side, reaching for his cup with one hand while adjusting his glasses with the other. A gentle smile graced his lips as he looked at you.

“Thank you, dear.”

No matter how many times he used these affectionate names, they still made you blush. Humming in acknowledgment, you lifted your cup in an attempt to hide your flustered expression.

Zhongli closed his eyes briefly, savoring the tea. Then, with a teasing lilt to his voice, he remarked, “This pot of tea is just as exquisite as the person who brewed it.” A sly smile tugged at his lips, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he watched for your reaction.

You ducked your head slightly, mumbling, “It’s really no different from the one you get in Liyue, but… thank you.”

Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you inwardly cringed. How was it possible to be this smitten every time he praised you? Something was terribly, terribly wrong with you.

Casual conversation carried on—you asked Zhongli what he wanted for lunch, whether he preferred to go out to Wanmin Restaurant or cook something at home.

“I was thinking we could stop by Wanmin today,” you suggested, idly swirling the tea in your cup. “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten there, and I don’t feel like cooking.”

Zhongli nodded, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “That sounds agreeable. Chef Mao’s hotpot is particularly good this time of year.”

“Hotpot?” You perked up, resting your chin on your hand. “That does sound tempting. But do you think we’ll be able to get a table? You know how busy it gets during lunchtime.”

Zhongli’s lips curled into a small smile. “I am certain we will find a way. Perhaps we could also take a stroll through the harbor afterward.”

You hummed in thought. “That sounds nice. Maybe we can stop by Third-Round Knockout and pick up some tea leaves on the way back.”

“A fine idea,” he agreed, fingers tapping lightly against the porcelain of his cup. “Though I suspect you’re more interested in their osmanthus cakes than the tea.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “How dare you call me out like that?”

Zhongli chuckled, deep and rich, and the sound alone made your heart stutter. “Merely an observation.”

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head with a small smile. “Fine, guilty as charged. But if we’re getting tea, we should also get some almond tofu for later.”

“That would be a welcome addition.” He exhaled softly, pausing as if in thought. Then, in a slight shift of tone, he continued, “However, before we finalize our plans, there is something I wish to discuss with you.”

His voice was calm, steady as always, yet something about the way he said it made your stomach do an uneasy flip. The casual air between you both seemed to still, anticipation creeping into your veins.

“…What is it?” you asked, sitting up a little straighter, shifting uneasily in your seat. That sentence never led to anything good in your experience. Maybe Zhongli had caught onto your sudden bout of anxiety; if he did, he made sure not to show it. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we can always stop.”

You nodded as you blew air on the edge of your cup, trying to cool the tea down, before taking a sip. “I have noticed a few things about you when we fornicate.” You choked.

Barely managing to swallow before coughing violently, you slapped a hand over your mouth as if that would somehow undo what you just heard.

Fornicate? Who even used that word anymore?!Zhongli simply waited, watching you with his usual patience as you tried to collect yourself.

“Okay, first of all—please, never say it like that again,” you blurted out, still recovering from your near-death experience with tea.

Zhongli arched a thick brow, looking completely unbothered. “Would you prefer ‘make love’?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Oh, Archons—just—anything but ‘fornicate.’”

“Duly noted.”

He set his cup down and folded his arms—a signal that he was about to launch himself into a monologue. A signal you had long since come to understand. "You respond exceptionally well to praise, and, if you'll forgive my bluntness, you also seem to enjoy being given instructions. I've observed how you react when guided—how your breath hitches, how your gaze fogs up, the way you instinctively follow without hesitation. It’s not just obedience; it’s something deeper, something that seems to bring you a distinct sense of comfort… and perhaps even pleasure." Zhongli paused, taking in your wide eyes and timid posture. He sighed softly, realising he had to wrap up his side quickly or else he would scare you off. "What I’m saying is that I think you might enjoy a more in-depth exploration of BDSM. It seems to resonate with you on a deeper level, even if you haven’t fully acknowledged it yet. I believe it’s something worth exploring together, at a pace you're comfortable with. Do you know what that entails?"

You stared at him for what seemed like several minutes, but Zhongli, as patient as ever, only looked at you with reverence in his eyes, awaiting your response. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, trying to force the words out of your throat, but to no avail. “Take your time.” Zhongli spoke, the baritone of his voice grounding you. You shut your mouth for good this time, collecting your scattered thoughts as you tried to piece together a response. After what seemed like an eternity, you quietly spoke. “I—um, I’ve never experienced it,” you admitted, gripping your cup a little tighter. “I’ve read about it, but… that’s it.” Zhongli regarded you with his usual composed expression, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—curiosity, perhaps even understanding. He nodded slowly, unfolding his arms before speaking again.

"That’s perfectly alright, it is nothing to be ashamed about," he reassured, his voice warm and even. "Knowledge is one thing, but experience is another entirely. It’s not something one can rush into, nor is it something that should be done without trust and mutual understanding. If it’s something you’re willing to explore, I would be honored to guide you through it… but only if you truly want to."

His words sent a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from something else entirely. Excitement? Anticipation? You weren’t sure, but the weight of his gaze, steady and patient, made your heart race. "Truth be told, it has always interested me," you admitted, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. "I, um… I’ve read a lot about it in fanfiction, but I highly doubt it’s anything like the real thing."

Zhongli let out a soft chuckle, his golden eyes filled with quiet amusement. "Fanfiction, you say? While I admire your dedication to research, I suspect much of what you've read may be… dramatized, if not entirely inaccurate."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "I knew you were going to say that."

His voice took on a gentler tone as he continued, "That being said, curiosity is a natural first step. What matters most is ensuring that any experience is based on trust, communication, and a deep understanding of each other’s boundaries and desires."

You peeked at him between your fingers, your face still hotter than the Pyro Archon herself. "So… if I wanted to try, where would we even start?"

Zhongli’s lips curled into a knowing smile as he leaned forward slightly. "We start with a conversation—one where you tell me everything you’re curious about… and everything you’re unsure of." You groaned, covering your eyes with your hands again, feeling your skin burning with embarrassment beneath your fingertips.

“Do we… really have to talk about it?” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Zhongli replied, his tone calm yet firm. “I would prefer to have this discussion openly. Communication is key in matters like these.”

You continued to watch him from in between your fingers, observing as he took a slow sip of his tea before continuing.

“As for desires and boundaries, those can be outlined in a contract—on paper. That way, there is no room for uncertainty.”

Your hands dropped slightly as you gave him a wary look. “A contract?”

Zhongli simply smiled. “Naturally.” He set his teacup down with deliberate care, his golden eyes meeting yours with steady patience. “To put it simply, BDSM is built upon three fundamental principles: everything that happens must be done with clear consent; there must exist mutual understanding; and finally, there must be a focus on both partners’ well-being.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly as he continued.

“There are different dynamics within it—dominance and submission being one of the most common. In such a relationship, one partner takes on a guiding or commanding role, while the other follows and submits to that authority. However, submission is never about weakness; it is about trust. The submissive has just as much control as the dominant, if not more, because their comfort and boundaries dictate everything.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you listened.

“There are also elements of sensation play, restraint, discipline, and psychological aspects that may or may not appeal to you. It is never a one-size-fits-all experience. Every dynamic is unique, shaped by the needs and desires of those involved.”

He leaned back slightly, his expression softer. “That is why a discussion like this is essential. Before anything can be explored, we must first understand what intrigues you, what you’re uncertain about, and what you absolutely do not want.”

You hesitated, processing everything he had said. “And… the contract?”

Zhongli inclined his head. “A written agreement outlining boundaries, preferences, and limits. It ensures that both parties are respected and protected. Think of it as a set of guidelines rather than a rigid document—flexible, evolving, and entirely up to us.”

You bit your lip, heat creeping up your neck again. “This is… a lot.”

His lips twitched up into a knowing smile. “Take your time, my dear. As I said before, curiosity is merely the first step.” You fidgeted with your cup, your thoughts swirling as you tried to wrap your head around everything. Zhongli’s explanation made sense—his calm, steady voice had a way of making even the most complex ideas seem approachable—but there was still so much you didn’t know.

After a moment of hesitation, you finally spoke.

“So… how do you know what someone likes? Or what they don’t like?”

Zhongli’s gaze softened, as if he was pleased by your willingness to engage. “Communication, first and foremost,” he said, chuckling as your face soured again. “Some preferences may already be known, but others can only be discovered through discussion and, if desired, gradual exploration.”

He paused briefly before continuing, “For many, this is done through a checklist—a tool to help identify interests, limits, and curiosities. Some things may intrigue you in theory, but feel different in practice. That is why it’s important to start slow and build trust.” You nodded slowly, processing his words. “And… what if I don’t know what I like yet?”

Zhongli gave you a small, reassuring smile. “Then we discover it together.”

You swallowed, feeling your face heat up again, but curiosity pushed you forward. If you were going to have this conversation, you might as well understand all of it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice quieter than intended. “What’s… your preference?”

Zhongli studied you for a moment before answering, his tone even, yet unwavering. “I prefer the dominant role.”

You felt a shiver crawl down your spine at the unwavering certainty in his voice. “Why?”

Zhongli’s expression remained calm, but there was something deeper in his gaze now—something knowing.

“There are many reasons,” he began. “For me, it is about guidance and control—not in the sense of restriction, but in offering structure and security. I take great satisfaction in learning my partner, in understanding their needs even before they voice them. A good dominant does not simply command—they observe, anticipate, and ensure their partner feels both safe and desired.”

His gaze held yours as he continued. “More than that, it is about trust. To have someone place their faith in me, to surrender control knowing that I will never overstep their boundaries—that is something I do not take lightly. I enjoy the responsibility, the care that comes with it… and, of course, the pleasure of watching my partner unravel under my attention.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his last words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but his answer—so thoughtful, so Zhongli—only left you with more questions and a racing heart. You shifted in your seat, trying to steady your thoughts before speaking again. “About the contract… how detailed does it have to be?”

Zhongli gave you a small, approving nod, as if he was pleased you were asking thoughtful questions. “As detailed as we need it to be,” he replied. “Some contracts are simple—outlining only the most important limits and expectations—while others are more comprehensive, covering everything from specific boundaries to preferred forms of aftercare.”

His fingers traced the rim of his teacup as he continued, “The purpose of a contract is not to restrict but to clarify. It ensures that both partners are fully aware of each other’s needs and limits, so there is never uncertainty. It is not a binding document in the legal sense, but rather a mutual agreement—one that can evolve as trust deepens and desires shift.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “So… if I agreed to this, we would write one together?”

Zhongli’s lips curled into a small, gentle smile. “Yes. Together. Every line, every detail would be discussed, ensuring that you are comfortable with every aspect before anything begins.”

A flutter of nerves, mixed with something else—anticipation, possibly?—settled in your stomach. The way he spoke, so patient and assured, made the entire concept feel less intimidating… and far more intriguing. You sat in silence for a long moment, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your teacup again. Every word Zhongli had spoken replayed in your mind—his patience, his steadfast nature, the weight of trust in his voice. He wasn’t just offering you an experience; he was offering you a foundation, a partnership built on understanding and care.

The idea should have been overwhelming, but instead, you felt something unexpected—a sense of clarity. A slow, deep realization settled within you.

“I…” You took a steady breath, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I think I want to try.”

Zhongli’s expression remained unreadable for a beat, as if gauging the depth of your conviction. Then, his lips curved into something softer—not just a smile, but something deeper, something proud.

“Very well,” he said, his voice smooth and warm—as if he had known you would reach this decision, but had been content to wait until you arrived there on your own. “Then we will take our time, discuss everything thoroughly, and move at a pace that feels right for you.”

His reassurance settled any lingering nerves, and you nodded. This was unknown territory, uncharted and vast, but you weren’t navigating it alone.

The next step arrived quicker than you anticipated, it was only a few days after your conversation that he presented you with a small stack of papers—each page neatly filled with columns of words you didn’t entirely understand. Your heart pounded as you took the documents from him, fingers ghosting over the crisp parchment. You had known this was coming, but knowing and experiencing were two very different things. You were hesitant at first, to sit down with Zhongli and understand each and every kink outlined, but you pressed through your hammering heart and went ahead. He had reassured you that there would be no pressure, no expectations. So, swallowing your nerves, you sat with him and turned your gaze to the words. The columns of words were all written in Zhongli’s neat handwriting, clear to read and immediately identifiable. What surprised you most, however, was the sheer amount—almost eight pages of kinks, limits and instructions, all painstakingly handwritten.

A shiver ran down your spine at the realization. Zhongli had spent considerable time crafting this list, ensuring every possibility was accounted for. The thought of him, sitting alone and carefully writing down all of these things with that signature patience of his, made something flutter in your chest. You snuck a glance at him. He was calm, composed as always, as if he hadn’t just handed you something that had your face burning. Meanwhile, you had barely skimmed through the first few lines, and already, heat was creeping up your neck. Some of the words on the page were unfamiliar, some made your stomach twist with curiosity, and others—others had you pressing your legs together beneath the table.

Zhongli, noticing your silence, tilted his head slightly. “If anything is unclear, you are welcome to ask,” he offered smoothly, as if he was discussing something as ordinary as a grocery list.

You exhaled, steadying yourself. This was fine. This was just a conversation.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a little weaker than you’d have liked. “Let’s go through it.”

Zhongli’s lips curled into something small, something approving. “Very well. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

…It was indeed not ‘just’ a conversation.

Zhongli remained calm and patient through it all, effortlessly composed as he explained each term with the same measured tone he used when discussing historical texts or the finest tea blends. Meanwhile, you—well. You were a blushing, overheating mess barely holding yourself together.

At some point, you had abandoned any attempt at dignity, sliding further and further down your seat until you were practically sinking into the floor, face buried in your hands.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?” Zhongli asked, his voice laced with the barest hint of amusement.

You peeked at him between your fingers, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Overwhelmed is an understatement,” you groaned.

The list was thorough—painfully thorough. Every kink, every act, every dynamic was detailed in that elegant script of his, with small notes in the margins explaining anything that might be unfamiliar. You couldn’t even begin to wrap your head around his unwavering composure— as solid as the element he governs.

“I—I just—” You flailed slightly, struggling to form a coherent thought. “You actually wrote out all of this?”

Zhongli nodded, entirely unaffected. “Of course. Proper communication is essential. It is important that you understand each possibility before making any decisions.”

You groaned again, pressing your forehead against the table. “I don’t know if I’m more impressed or mortified.”

Zhongli chuckled, a soft little sound. “There is nothing to be embarrassed about, my dear. This is simply an exploration of interests. Whether you find something intriguing or wish to rule it out, every reaction is valid.”

Easy for him to say—he wasn’t the one barely holding onto their composure.

You took a slow, deep breath, willing yourself to pull it together. “Okay,” you murmured. “I can do this. Let’s… keep going.”

Zhongli’s smile was subtle but unmistakably pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

After he’d explained each item on the list iin-depth, it was time to move ahead. Taking another deep breath, you straightened in your seat—or at least tried to, despite still feeling like you’ve melted into a puddle of embarrassment. Zhongli patiently waited as you gathered yourself, his golden gaze warm yet expectant.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice only slightly wobbly.

Zhongli gestured toward the stack of papers in front of you. “We will go through each item one by one once again. If it is something that interests you, or something you are certain you wish to explore, we will mark it with green. If it is something you are unsure about, hesitant on, or feel neutral toward, we will mark it with yellow. And if it is something you do not want under any circumstances, we will mark it with red.”

You nodded slowly. It sounded simple enough. But as your eyes flickered down to the page again, scanning the long list of kinks, a wave of heat crawled up your neck. Simple or not, actually deciding on these things was another matter entirely.

Zhongli, ever perceptive, seemed to catch your hesitation. “We are in no rush,” he reminded you gently. “You may take as much time as you need. Moreover, if you wish to understand what something entails, I will be more than happy to explain it again.”

You exhaled, nodding again. “Alright.” You picked up the pen he had placed beside the papers and, after one last moment of internal screaming, placed a careful green mark beside something that made your stomach twist in interest.

Zhongli hummed approvingly, his sharp eyes noting your choice. “A fine selection,” he murmured, voice low but undeniably pleased.

Your hand tightened around the pen, snatching the paper away from Zhongli’s piercing eyes as you looked at him from the corner of your eye, face burning. “D—Don’t say it like that! And don’t look!”

His lips twitched in the faintest trace of amusement, but he said nothing more, simply gesturing for you to continue.

And so, you did—marking red for hard limits, yellow for things you weren’t sure about, and green for things that sent a thrill through your body. With each mark, you noticed that Zhongli was also filling his list alongside you, albeit much faster than you. You had to remind yourself that it wasn't a competition. Zhongli remained patient, never rushing, never pushing, only guiding. And by the time you had reached the last page, your heart was still racing—but now, it was more with anticipation than mortification.

Once the last mark was made, you set your pen down with a relieved sigh, leaning back in your seat. Zhongli, ever composed, waited for you to collect yourself before he slid his own identical stack of papers toward you.

“We will now exchange sheets,” he said smoothly, as if this was a standard contractual agreement rather than an intimate discussion about deeply personal desires.

You swallowed, your fingers hesitating for a moment before you slid your own sheets over to him in return. The weight of the moment settled in as you each took in the other’s markings—your own list now in his hands, and his in yours.

Your eyes scanned over Zhongli’s paper, taking in the familiar crisp handwriting, now marked with green, yellow, and red. Some of the things he had marked green made your breath hitch slightly, heat prickling at your skin. Others, especially the ones marked yellow, sparked curiosity. But it was the red marks that truly held your attention.

Zhongli, who had already begun reviewing your own sheet, glanced up. “If there is anything that stands out to you, do not hesitate to ask.”

You bit your lip before tentatively pointing to one of his red-marked kinks. “This one… ‘Blood Play’, you marked it as a hard limit. Can I ask why?”

Zhongli set your paper down, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he met your gaze. “Of course,” he said without hesitation. “This particular act does not align with my personal preferences, nor do I believe it would bring either of us enjoyment. Boundaries exist for a reason, and I expect you to uphold mine just as I will uphold yours.”

His words settled something deep within you, a reassurance that this was truly an equal exchange. You nodded, understanding. “That makes sense.”

He studied you for a moment before his own curiosity flickered across his expression. “And you?” His eyes dipped briefly to your sheet before returning to you. “I noticed you marked ‘Switching’ as yellow. Are you uncertain about it?”

You followed his gaze, spotting the term he was referring to, and felt your face heat up. “I—yeah,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I’d like it or not. I just… haven’t really thought about it much before.”

Zhongli hummed in thought. “Then it is something we can discuss further in the future,” he said simply. “There is no need to make a decision now.”

The ease with which he spoke, the lack of pressure, made you relax a little. This wasn’t a test or a negotiation with strict terms—this was a conversation, one meant to foster understanding.

You nodded, a small smile forming at the corners of your lips. “Okay. That sounds fair.” You spent a long moment going over his sheet, your fingers fidgeting slightly against the edges of the paper as you took everything in. Seeing his interests and boundaries laid out so clearly made everything feel real in a way that even your initial conversation hadn’t. This wasn’t just some abstract discussion anymore—this was him, his preferences, his desires.

And the fact that he was sitting here, openly sharing all of this with you, trusting you with it, made something warm settle deep in your chest.

Still, curiosity won over hesitation. You tapped your finger against another mark on his sheet—a very clear green—before looking up at him. “And this? You marked ‘Kneeling’ as a strong interest. Can I ask why?”

Zhongli’s golden eyes flicked down to where you were pointing, and for the first time since this discussion began, you saw something shift in his expression. It was subtle, but the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly—not quite a smirk, but something close.

“You may,” he answered, his voice carrying the same smooth confidence as before, but now laced with something deeper. “That particular dynamic appeals to me for a number of reasons, but primarily because it aligns with my natural inclinations.”

You swallowed, feeling an odd mix of anticipation and nerves. “Which are?”

His gaze held yours, unwavering. “As I mentioned a few days back, I find great satisfaction in structure, in guidance. I enjoy providing my partner with direction and watching them flourish under it. There is a certain intimacy in control—not as a means of restriction, but as a way of deepening trust.”

Your breath caught slightly, and you tried not to shift in your seat. How was he saying these things so effortlessly?

“I see,” you mumbled, eyes darting back to the paper, more as an excuse to look away than anything else. You could feel his gaze on you, patient yet knowing, as if he could already see the way his words were affecting you.

Zhongli let the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. “And you?”

Your head snapped back up. “Huh?”

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes. “You marked the same with yellow.” He tapped a finger against your sheet, the slight smirk still playing at his lips. “Are you uncertain because you lack experience, or because you are unsure whether it would suit you?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. “...Both,” you admitted. “I mean, I think I’d like it, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve never had someone actually… take control like that before.”

Zhongli nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Then it is something we can explore carefully, should you choose to. There is no need to rush—only to communicate.”

His calm, measured response should have eased your nerves, but instead, it only made you hyper-aware of the weight of his words. “Should you choose to”. The choice was yours, entirely, but the way he spoke made it clear that if you did choose to pursue this… he would guide you through it with the same meticulous care he approached everything else.

The thought sent a full-body shiver through you.

You took a shaky breath, nodding. “Right. Communication.”

Zhongli’s lips twitched, but he said nothing else, simply waiting for you to continue.

Your eyes flickered back to his list, scanning over the remaining marks. The conversation had already gone deeper than you expected, but there was one last thing you needed to ask before you could fully process it all.

Taking a steadying breath, you pointed to a specific line near the bottom of the page—one of the few things he had marked yellow. “And, ‘Breath Control’?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Why are you unsure about this one?”

Zhongli studied your expression for a moment before answering. “Because,” he said slowly, “it would depend entirely on my partner.”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I have no personal aversion to it,” he explained, voice even as always. “However, its enjoyment is derived from the response of the one I am with. If my partner finds it pleasurable, then so do I. If not, I would have no particular attachment to it.”

You blinked, absorbing his words. “So… you’d only be into it if I was?”

A single nod. “Precisely.”

Something about that answer sent another wave of warmth through you—this time, not out of flustered embarrassment, but something softer. Zhongli wasn’t just interested in his own preferences; he was interested in yours. In you.

You swallowed thickly, nodding as you let the information settle. “That… makes sense.”

Zhongli watched you for a moment longer, then set the papers aside. “I believe we have covered the majority of what needed to be discussed.”

You blinked. “Oh.” You glanced down at the pages, realizing that, somehow, you had made it through all of them. You still felt like you might spontaneously combust at any moment, but you had done it.

Zhongli’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

That was a loaded question.

“…Overwhelmed,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “But also… kind of relieved? I don’t know, I just—” You sighed, shaking your head. “I was so anxious about this conversation, but you made it feel… safe.”

Zhongli’s expression softened, and he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle, so intentional, that it nearly made your breath catch.

“I am glad,” he murmured. “That is the most important thing.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering against your ribs.

This was really happening.

And you were starting to think you wanted it more than you’d ever realized.

A few days had passed since your conversation, and while the initial overwhelming fluster had settled, the thoughts had not. Every now and then, your mind would drift back to the discussion, to the words written in Zhongli’s neat script, to the way he had patiently answered each of your questions, to the way his eyes carried more warmth and love for you than anyone else, and his unending patience through all your self-doubt and anxiety.

You had agreed to take your time—to ease into things rather than rushing headfirst. But tonight, as you sat beside Zhongli in the quiet glow of your shared space, sipping on tea that had long since gone lukewarm, you felt the weight of unspoken words between you.

Zhongli noticed, of course. He always did.

Setting his cup down with careful precision, he turned to you, studying your expression. “You seem lost in thought.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around your cup. “…I guess I’m just trying to picture it,” you admitted. “What it would actually be like.”

Zhongli hummed in understanding, his golden gaze holding yours. “Would you like me to describe it to you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. “You mean…?”

“A scene,” he clarified smoothly. “A glimpse of what you could expect,”

Your heartbeat stuttered. It was one thing to read about it, to theorize and wonder. But to have him—the man you trusted, the man who made you feel both safe and utterly unraveled—describe it in his own words?

You swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Zhongli’s gaze darkened slightly, though his expression remained composed. He leaned forward just enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. When he spoke, his voice was low, as smooth as polished Cor Lapis.

"Then picture this,” he murmured.

“You stand before me, anticipation thrumming beneath your skin. You do not yet know what I will ask of you, only that you have entrusted yourself to me for the evening. I take my time—watching you, observing the way you respond to my presence, the way your breath hitches when I step closer. I do not touch you yet. Not until I am ready.”

A shiver ran down your spine. You shifted slightly, pressing your thighs together, but Zhongli didn’t acknowledge it. He simply continued.

“When I finally reach for you, it is deliberate—one hand at the back of your neck, the other tracing the length of your arm, slow and measured. I tilt your chin up, making sure you meet my gaze.”

His voice dipped, the weight of those words settling deep in your bones. You could almost imagine him doing these things to you, almost see the way his golden eyes would bore into you, unwavering.

“Pleased with your obedience—I reward you. Perhaps with my touch, perhaps with my voice, whispering praise against the shell of your ear. I let you feel the restraint, the control. I give you direction, and you—” His lips quirked slightly. “—you follow beautifully.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers digging into the fabric of your clothing as your eyes remained trained on your legs. Your entire body felt like it was burning.

Zhongli watched you closely, his gaze flickering over your face, as if memorizing your every reaction. And then, just as smoothly as he had begun, he leaned back, his expression once again composed.

“That,” he said calmly, “is merely one possibility.”

You exhaled shakily, your entire world narrowing down to him—his voice, his presence, the lingering heat of his words still settling into your skin.

“…Oh.” It was all you could manage.

Zhongli’s lips curled slightly, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You seem… affected.”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan. “You think?”

A low chuckle rumbled from him, warm and indulgent. He reached out, prying your hands gently from your face, his gloved fingers cool against your overheated skin. “There is no need for embarrassment,” he murmured. “I only wish for you to understand what this dynamic might entail.”

You met his gaze, your pulse still racing. There was no teasing in his expression, no judgment—only patience. You swallowed. “I… think I understand.”

Zhongli tilted his head slightly, watching you. “And do you wish to take the next step?”

Your breath caught. You had spent days thinking about this, about whether you were truly ready. But after hearing that—after feeling the effect his words alone had on you—was there really any doubt left?

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself. Then, finally, you nodded.

“Yes,” you murmured. “I do.”

“Good,” he said, voice rich with quiet satisfaction. “Then we shall begin a discussion for our first scene together. I wish to plan something that is not inclined entirely towards something sexual, since it is your first time. We can have this as a trial run to see how you like things. What do you think?”

You nodded slowly, your mind still catching up to the gravity of the moment. A trial run. Something meant to ease you into the dynamic without pushing you too far, too fast. The idea was reassuring, grounding you in the knowledge that Zhongli would guide you at a steady pace.

“That… sounds good,” you admitted, voice quieter than you intended.

Zhongli’s eyes softened just slightly, a glimmer of approval settling in their golden depths. “Then let us discuss what this scene will entail.”

He sat back, folding his hands neatly in his lap as he regarded you. “To begin, I want to establish a structured environment—one where you can focus entirely on obedience and discipline, without the distraction of intimacy. This will allow you to explore the dynamic fully before we proceed any further.”

You swallowed, nodding again. The way he spoke—so composed, so sure—only reassured you further.

Zhongli continued, his tone smooth and deliberate. “For our first scene, I propose a few simple tasks. One: posture training. Learning to hold yourself properly under my instruction, maintaining discipline in both mind and body.”

You could already feel the phantom weight of his gaze, the way he would watch you, correct you.

“Two,” he went on, “obedience drills. Simple commands that will help you understand what it means to yield—not out of obligation, but by choice.”

His words sent warmth curling through your chest. You had already felt it, the pull of his authority, the way it settled over you like a comforting weight.

“And finally,” Zhongli said, voice dipping just slightly, “endurance.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Endurance?”

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Yes. The ability to hold a position, to follow instruction without hesitation, to listen even when the silence feels overwhelming. Discipline is not simply about following orders—it is about understanding them.”

You exhaled shakily, processing everything he had said. It all made sense. He was creating a foundation, a structured experience that would allow you to explore without feeling lost.

Zhongli observed you for a moment before speaking again, his voice gentle yet firm. “Does this sound like something you would be comfortable with?”

You nodded, heat creeping up your neck. “Yes.”

His gaze flickered over you, assessing. “Good. Then tell me—would you prefer for this scene to have a set timeframe, or shall we go until you feel you have reached your limit?”

The question took you by surprise. He was giving you control over the structure, ensuring you had a say in how this would unfold.

After a moment of thought, you answered, “A set time, I think.”

Zhongli nodded approvingly. “Very well. An hour, then. Enough time to explore, but not so much that you feel overwhelmed.”

Zhongli’s voice drew you back to the present. “Then we will begin tomorrow.”

Your breath hitched. “Tomorrow?”

He chuckled, the sound rich and indulgent. “Yes. I want you to have time to process, to prepare. Anticipation is a powerful thing, my dear.”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your stomach at his words.

Zhongli’s golden eyes glowed with quiet amusement as he reached forward, brushing his thumb under your eye. “Rest well,” he murmured, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “You will need it.”

The next day could not have arrived faster, you thought to yourself, as your jittery hands unlocked the front door with Zhongli’s pair of extra keys that he had given to you. The door unlocked with a resounding click and you stood motionless at the door for a moment, collecting your thoughts. 

Zhongli had made it abundantly clear that you could back out of this scene at any time you felt uncomfortable and he would be entirely okay with it. But, something about seeing Zhongli’s glimmering eyes and soothing voice was driving you to at least try your best. Zhongli had instructed you to prepare—wear something comfortable, ensure you were hydrated, and most importantly, come with an open mind. You took a deep breath as you pushed the door open and stepped in, setting down your bag and timidly waving at Zhongli, who was seated on his usual seat. You also noted the lack of the center table and the stack of books next to the sofa he was seated on along with a pillow placed on the ground. “Come,” he said simply, noting how your mind was already wandering

You obeyed without thought, stepping around the sofas until you stood right before him— Peering down into amber eyes.

Zhongli studied you in silence for a moment, as if assessing something unseen. Then, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, grounding you.

“Are you ready?”

You swallowed, nodding. “Yes.”

A small, approving smile graced his lips. “A few instructions, we will follow the tricolour dango system for this scene. When I ask you what colour you’re feeling, you respond with ‘green’ for good, if you are okay to continue; ‘white’ as a warning, if some discomfort is present; and finally, ‘pink’ to completely stop the action. Is that understood?”

You swallowed again, nodding in affirmation. Zhongli’s gaze remained steady, but his brows furrowed slightly. “I would like you to provide as many verbal confirmations as possible. It is important for both of us.” “...Yes, I understand.” “Good.” Then, he continued, his tone calm yet firm. “If at any point you feel overwhelmed, even after signaling ‘green,’ we will use our safeword. I trust you remember what it is?” “Yes, Glaze Lily.” “Correct. You’re doing exceptionally well so far.” You ducked your head at that, blushing as he chuckled at your reaction. He closed the book he was reading and cleared his throat. “We will begin now. Do you have any questions you would like to ask, or any other preparations you want to make?” You hesitated, your stomach twisting in anxiety at the thought of what you were going to say. You cringed, but decided to ask anyway. "Yes... what do I… call you?"

Zhongli tilted his head slightly at your question, his amber eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Ah. I see you have given this some thought.”

Your face burned, but you nodded. “I mean… I’ve read things. In fanfiction.” You hesitated before continuing, voice growing softer. “There are… titles. Honorifics. And I wasn’t sure if you had a preference.”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum, stepping closer. “It is true that certain titles are often used in dynamics such as these.” He regarded you carefully, as if weighing his words. “However, what truly matters is what feels natural for you.”

His voice dipped lower, more deliberate. “Would you prefer something formal? ‘Sir’ is a common choice, one that carries both respect and structure.”

Your breath hitched at the way he said it.

“Or something more personal?” He paused, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “I must admit, I have always been rather fond of ‘Master’.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the weight of the word.

Zhongli’s gaze remained steady. “But the choice remains yours, my dear. I won’t enforce anything. At least not now, for our first time doing this together.” You whispered a muted ‘okay’ as your skin crawled with embarrassment, but before you could spiral into your own thoughts, a firm voice broke you out of your stupor. “Kneel.”

Zhongli’s voice was steady, unwavering, yet never forceful. It was a command, yes, but one laced with patience.

“Slowly,” he reminded you, his tone soothing. “Gently, onto the pillow. Move with intention, and above all, be mindful of your own comfort.” You swallowed hard, obeying as you carefully lowered yourself onto your knees. Your movements were stiff, uncertain, and your skin prickled with self-consciousness.

You adjusted yourself onto the pillow, foam dipping underneath your weight, You placed your hands on your thighs for balance, your breath uneven as you settled into the position.

“Now,” Zhongli continued, leaning closer towards you. “Spread your legs—just enough to remain comfortable.”

Your face grew impossibly warm, and for a moment, hesitation gripped you. The vulnerability of it all sent your thoughts into a spiral, but before you could get lost in your own self-consciousness, Zhongli spoke again.

“You are overthinking this.”

Your eyes flicked up to him, startled.

His expression was calm, unreadable, but there was an undeniable softness in his gaze. “This is not a test. There is no right or wrong way to feel. I simply wish for you to be at ease.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, and forced yourself to relax. Slowly, you parted your knees, shifting into a position that felt natural.

Zhongli observed you in silence for a moment before offering a small nod of approval. “Good. Now hold this position.”

You did as instructed, the weight of his gaze pressing into you like a silent force. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just new. Different.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “How do you feel?”

You wet your lips before answering, voice barely above a whisper.

“…Exposed.”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum. “That is to be expected.”

You heard the rustle of fabric as he moved slightly, still seated across you. “And yet, you are still here. Still listening. Still following.”

The words sent a shiver through you.

Zhongli exhaled softly, his voice a velvet murmur that wrapped around your nerves like silk. “You are doing well,” he said, approval thick in his tone—quiet but grounding, like a weight that anchored you in place. “Shall we continue?”

You nodded at first, but then remembered his earlier request for verbal confirmation. Your throat felt dry, your heart beating a little faster as you forced your voice past the lump in it.

“Yes… Sir.”

There was a beat of stillness. His amber eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps?—just for the briefest moment. But it passed just as quickly, fading back into the steady, composed expression you had come to rely on.

His smile softened, warm and reassuring, and he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

“Good,” he said, voice low and fond. “You may use my legs for support, if that will help you stay comfortable.”

He adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter as he reached for the book beside him, flipping it open with deliberate ease.

“I am going to read now,” he continued. “You will stay where you are, relaxed and present. If anything feels off, you will tell me immediately. Is that understood?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time. “Yes, Sir.”

The corners of his mouth tugged upward ever so slightly in approval before his gaze shifted down to the pages in his hands.

And just like that, the silence enveloped the two of you like a weighted blanket. Zhongli’s eyes scanned the pages with the same graceful attentiveness he applied to everything he did. His presence, calm and composed, exuded a quiet authority that filled the room. You shifted slightly, careful to maintain your position, adjusting your weight against his legs as he’d allowed.

The rustle of the paper as he turned a page was soothing, almost meditative. There was something oddly comforting in the silence that followed—being still, being watched over. His hand occasionally moved, brushing idle circles against the back of your head, never distracting, only grounding.

“You’re doing very well,” he said after a few minutes, his voice low, almost like an afterthought—but it made your chest flutter nonetheless. “I’m pleased.”

You weren’t sure what made you more placid—his praise, the closeness, or the simple, deliberate rhythm of his movements. But you basked in it anyway, quietly proud that you hadn’t panicked or shifted away. Time passed slowly, though you did not count the minutes. The silence between you was never empty—it was full of breath and thought and unspoken affection. His hand would occasionally leave the top of your head to turn a page or adjust his posture ever so slightly, his calm energy keeping you anchored, a silent reassurance that he hadn’t forgotten you were there—he never would.

You stayed still, adjusting slightly only when your knees began to ache, always mindful of the position, of your breathing, of the atmosphere that wrapped around the two of you like velvet.

After what must have been the agreed upon timeframe of an hour, Zhongli gently closed his book and placed it to the side. The soft sound of the cover meeting wood brought you back to the present like a gentle chime. His hand moved to cup your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin as he coaxed your sleepy gaze upward.

“You did wonderfully,” he said, his voice low and warm, thick with praise. “How are you feeling?”

You blinked up at him, eyes slightly dazed from the quiet headspace you’d slipped into. Your body felt heavy, but not unpleasantly so. Relaxed. Tethered. You offered a small nod, followed by a whispered, “Good… I feel good.”

A rare smile touched his lips, one that reached all the way to his eyes.

“Let us bring this scene to a close, then,” he said gently. “You’ve done enough for now.”

His hands moved with care as he helped you sit up on the sofa, guiding you slowly to avoid any sudden discomfort. He handed you a glass of water, fingers lingering against yours in a touch that felt as intimate as any embrace.

Zhongli remained close as he took a hold of your legs, gently stretching both limbs as your knees protested from being locked in the same position for so long. As you winced at the feeling returning to your legs again, you felt a pair of lips on your knee. “You listened to every word, and you stayed with me. I’m proud of you.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion. A breath caught. All of it—your effort, your nervousness, the fluttering thoughts you tried to push down—felt worth it just to hear that.

“You did not falter,” he continued softly, reaching out to cup your face. “You respected your own limits while offering me your trust. That is no small thing. I want you to know how much I value it—and you.”

You blinked quickly, overwhelmed, but nodded.

“I… I wanted to do well for you.”

Zhongli’s expression softened. “And you have. More than well. I am exceptionally proud.”

He helped you shift positions slowly, guiding you up with steady hands so you wouldn’t strain anything. Every movement was careful, deliberate, as though you were something precious—because in his eyes, you were.

“You may rest now,” he murmured. “You’ve earned that much and more.” You nodded numbly, mind still clouded as you were led to his bedroom. You barely registered how his hands moved with practiced care—helping you tug off your clothes, guiding you under the covers as if you were made of something fragile. All you truly noticed was the pleasant ache still blooming in your knees, the distant hum beneath your skin, and the warmth that clung to you like a second blanket.

He didn’t speak much—he didn’t need to. His presence alone was grounding, quiet and constant. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat beside you, brushing your hair away from your face with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

Then, a kiss—soft, reverent—was pressed to your forehead.

“You did so well,” he murmured, the weight of his voice pulling you deeper into the warmth of the moment. “Rest now. I’m right here.”

Your fingers curled faintly into the blanket as sleep tugged you under, slow and sweet.

And the last thing you felt was not the ache, not the nerves, not the uncertainty…

But safety. Wholeness.

And love, quiet and unwavering, resting just behind the press of his lips.

[destielmemenews]

"The lackluster fight turned in the third round when Paul landed jabs and a few combinations as Tyson looked every bit of his 58 years of age.

The near-capacity crowd booed the final decision and even walked out at the final bell. The best Tyson did was stalk Paul, 27, in the first round and landed a handful of punches. But for the rest of the fight he moved around, bit the thumb of his boxing glove and watched as Paul beat him.

According to Netflix’s statistics, Paul landed 78 punches to Tyson’s 18. Paul kept his distance by using his jab and combinations but in the early going he clinched Tyson several times, expecting the Tyson of old’s knockout power."

source 1

source 2

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[arlucent]

Title: Adepti-Approved Sugar Rush

(GN!Reader x Shenhe, Established Relationship.)

(Authors note:pls wish for me to get her I really need her,but anyways I hope you enjoy this)

✧༺☄️༻❄️༻✧

A Civilized Introduction to Modern Liyue

The idea had seemed simple enough—introduce Shenhe to one of Liyue Harbor’s newest and most popular modern treats. You hadn’t expected it to become a diplomatic incident.

She observed the bubble tea stall with the same detached focus she applied to tracking demons. The cheerful vendor, unaware of the danger, held out a sample cup of tapioca pearls.

"This one’s our bestseller! The pearls are made from—"

"I see." Shenhe interrupted, lifting the cup to eye level. "They resemble the eyes of a defeated foe."

You sighed. "They’re chewy. Sweet. You might like them."

She gave you a look that suggested she was humoring you. "If you insist."

Her first sip was measured—adepti-trained restraint in action. She swallowed, paused, then frowned slightly.

"The texture is… unusual."

"But?"

"But not unpleasant." She took another sip, this time catching a pearl between her teeth. "However, the straw is inefficient."

You watched in mild horror as she removed the lid entirely and drank directly from the cup, chewing methodically.

The vendor looked faint.

✧༺☄️༻❄️༻✧

The Great Straw Debate

Over the next week, Shenhe developed a very particular set of opinions about bubble tea:

1. Tapioca pearls were acceptable, but only if evenly distributed

2. The straw was, in fact, "a crutch for the weak"

3. Any flavor containing "excessive floral notes" was a suspect.(You found this out the hard way when you brought her a rose lychee tea.)

"This," she said after one sip, "tastes like perfume."

"It’s a popular flavor!"

"Then popular opinion is incorrect." She pushed the cup back toward you with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence.

Still, you noticed she never refused when you offered to share your own drinks.

✧༺☄️༻❄️༻✧

The Incident Witnessed by Chongyun

The turning point came when Chongyun stumbled upon the two of you near Third-Round Knockout.

He froze mid-step, his own drink slipping from his grip as he took in the scene:

Shenhe, the legendary disciple of the adepti, was holding a pastel pink cup with a heart-shaped straw while you argued about whether mango or taro was the superior flavor.

"A-Aunt Shenhe?"

She turned, completely unbothered. "Chongyun. Your presence is… timely." She held out her cup. "Which of these would Cloud Retainer prefer?"

Chongyun’s eye twitched. "I—she—what?"

You took pity on him. "We’re doing market research."

Shenhe nodded gravely. "The mango has superior tactical advantages."

Chongyun made a noise like a boiling kettle.

✧༺☄️༻❄️༻✧

The Boba Experiment

When you mentioned offhand that bubble tea could be made at home, Shenhe took it as a challenge.

Cloud Retainer’s kitchen had never known such peril.

Phase 1: The Tapioca Offensive

Shenhe approached the boiling pot of pearls like it might contain an ambush. "They’ve expanded. This was not in the instructions."

Phase 2: The Milk Tea Mutiny

"The ratio is incorrect," she declared after tasting the brew. Before you could stop her, she’d added what appeared to be an entire qingxin’s worth of leaves. The resulting tea could have stripped paint.

Phase 3: The Assembly

The final product resembled a science experiment gone wrong. Shenhe studied it critically.

"It lacks structural integrity."

You took a brave sip. Your vision blurred momentarily. "It’s… unique."

She nodded, satisfied. "Next time, we will improve our strategy."

Cloud Retainer banned you both from the kitchen for a month.

✧༺☄️༻❄️༻✧

A Quiet Moment

Weeks later, you found Shenhe waiting by the harbor stall at sunset—two drinks in hand.

"You were late," she said simply, pressing the less-sweet one into your hands.

You smiled. "You remembered my order."

She looked away, but not before you caught the faintest curve of her lips. "It was… no trouble."

And as the lanterns began to glow above Liyue, the great disciple of the adepti sipped her mango slush in peaceful silence, one arm brushing lightly against yours.

Some traditions, it seemed, were worth adopting.

[woso-dreamzzz]

World Cup V

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first World Cup

Everyone dreams of scoring a goal in the World Cup final. Hell, everyone dreams of scoring in even the qualifying rounds for the World Cup.

But, to you, it was almost certainly going to be a dream.

You were goalkeeper. You didn't score goals. You stopped them.

It was your whole job.

Your first World Cup was an honour. You were still young but it had been timed perfectly. When you were first called up to join Sweden's team, it was as the third keeper.

The two keepers before you had retired just before the selection for the World Cup squad. Two new keepers for the squad (both older than you) had been selected but you were the number one - a combination of your talent, training and just how many more international caps you had over your counterparts.

Coach Emma had been wary about putting you as the first choice but your performances at Arsenal spoke for themselves. There wasn't much she could do. No one else seemed to quite fit the bill like you did.

It had been a hard won road with two rounds of penalties in the knockout stage that you refused to be cowed by.

It all came down to this.

Sweden vs England.

You recognised a few of the girls from playing in the WSL and you gave them each a tense smile as you run through warmups. You sit in your cubby during the last team talk where Emma speaks about the game plan and how much work this will be and how much everyone needs to give it their all. You put on Zećira's old World Cup gloves. You flex your hands before clenching.

You replace her's with your own and roll your shoulders.

You walk out to the cheers of the crowd and take your position.

England are out with a vengeance and you make a few daring saves in the first half but it's mainly Sweden who dominate possession.

You're deadlocked in nil-nil throughout the first half and then the second half.

You leak into nine minutes of injury when one of your midfielders is dispossessed. You can hear Coach Emma yelling something at your defenders but you don't look to see the disarray of your backline. An England kit comes streaking up your left wing. She shoots but you're not worried because you already know that she has a tendency to shoot wide.

You collect the ball for a goal kick and one of England's finest starts a run towards you, to put on the pressure.

You could think of nothing but making sure this forward didn't get anywhere near your box or your ball.

You booted it up the pitch.

To be honest, it was an accident.

It hadn't been you trying anything. All you could think about was making sure England didn't even have a chance to score a goal.

You assumed one of your forwards would pick it up - some of them had this uncanny ability to know what you would do before you did.

Either way, you watched the ball sail over everyone's head...

The keeper was about as far off her line as she could be.

It sailed over her head, bounced and rolled into the bottom right corner.

You freeze in shock.

You hadn't meant to do that.

The crowd behind you screamed and you didn't have time to think before you were completely dogpiled by your teammates.

"Get off!" You laugh, trying to shake them off.

"There's no chance now!" Someone says.

"Keep them away from my goal and then there will be no chance," You reply, still completely trapped.

"Which goals is yours again?" Someone else teases," Because I think you've staked a thorough claim on England's too."

Your cheeks flush red and you bat her away. "Shut up."

"Never!" Someone declares," I'm pretty sure our goalkeeper just won us the game! You're never hearing the end of this!"

"Go away," You laugh," Go on. We've still got a few more minutes to play. Keep them off my goal and I'll let you talk about it all you want."

And they do keep England off your goal.

You sink to your knees in shock as you're dogpiled again. Swedish is flowing easily into your ears but you can't understand any of it. You slowly get to your feet and walk strangely calmly over to the stands.

You pass Coach Emma on the way. She's smiling, clapping you on the back. You think she says something too but you're too busy listening to the roaring of blood in your ears.

You hop the barrier and move into Momma's arms.

She holds you nice and tight as you still stare in shock. You think you're crying but you're numb to most things.

Momma's talking but her words are just static in your ears as you're moved from her to Morsa to moster Frido and then finally to Zećira.

You come back into the present when you see her. Shakily, you remove your gloves and hold them out to her.

She smiles and takes them. "I'm so proud of you. Best keeper in the world."

More tears slip down your cheeks. Your voice breaks. "Thank you."

"So proud of you," Morsa says as she and Momma appear over your shoulders," Clearly you're just like your Momma. Scoring goals."

"Is was an accident," You say softly.

"And it was a perfect accident," Momma says," I couldn't have done it better myself."

You laugh a little wetly. "Well," You say," I must have picked it up from all those times you kicked at me in the garden."

"Champion of the world!" Moster Frido declares, clapping you on the back and planting a kiss on your head," World Champion! Best keeper in the world!"

"Well," Momma says," This keeper needs to head back down to receive her medal. Go on, off you go." She pushes you away lightly.

You hop the barrier again and line up with the others.

There's a sense of pride as you walk across the stage, receive your medal and kiss the trophy.

You feel a little shaky as the trophy is lifted and you celebrate, screaming out your victory for the whole world to see.

You jump around with your teammates, each of them strongarming you into taking a picture with you and the trophy.

By the time you manage to get away, you're jogging over to the England side. You strip your shirt and hold it up into the crowd.

A hand reaches down to take it.

You look up.

Leah stares down at you. She leans over the railing.

"I should be mad at you," She says," But that was the best goal I've seen in a while. I'm very proud of you. Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?"

You look down bashfully and confess," I think Arsenal's getting a bit too small for me."

Leah laughs. "Yeah, I reckon that too." She pulls your shirt over her head. "You'll come back and visit?"

You bump your fist against hers. "Well, North London is red."

She grins at you. "Go on, World Cup winner. Off you go. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Leah."

You jog towards the Sweden side of the crowd again, pumping up your fist as people scream your name.

You skid to a stop in front of Morsa. You drop your medal over her neck.

"For you," You say," For all the World Cup medals you gave me."

[gnostichymns]

✰ LANTERN RITE 2025 ! – reblog & send to earn Peace Talismans.

[XINYUE KIOSK] - Back again, Xinyue Kiosk’s keeping up the competition, offering sweet treats, savory dishes, and even refreshing veggies for all those looking to share a snack.

[TEA TASTING] - Third-Round Knockout is once again bringing the new year on with plenty of new tea options for all those caffeinated connoisseurs that want to branch out. Including, for the first time in quite a while, specialty imports all the way from Natlan!

[DRAGON DANCE] - Uh-oh! It seems like the main crew that would lead the dragon dance are two members short, and need two sets of hands NOW! Grab someone and help keep this dance from falling through.

[KAMERA BOOTH] - Liyue is as scenic as it is busy. Several Kamera’s are set up on the docks, surrounding mountains, and some of the best balconies in the area. Make a memory with someone important to you, or keep the lens' attention for yourself!

[LANTERNS] - Like a sea, lanterns float up and flood the night sky. Meaning often dictated by color, they contain our hopes for the new year. Gather with those most cherished and wish for blessings.

[FIREWORK SHOW] - While noisy, fireworks are an incredible display of beauty and color. Make your mark on the new year with a bang!

[JADE HEARTS] - A popular shape for a popular stone in the land of Geo, these Jade Talismans sold quite well. Now, they’re made as a profession of love and desire to ring the New Year in with the company of another.

[BURNING INCENSE] - Even with all the raucous celebration, it is always important to find a quiet moment and remember those who now belong among the stars.

[TOUR GUIDE] - With as many sights to see as Liyue has, join up with a group of strangers to garner the best sights across the city and countryside!

[GIANT JENGA] - While not necessarily a Liyue classic, a recent uptick amongst the younger generation has brought this classic game to the port, and with blocks bigger than ever! Will you best your friend, or will all the pieces come crumbling down? 

[RED ENVELOPES] - Customize your own envelope as a gift to those most cherished. Whether you slip in some mora or a confession of love, even the smallest of envelopes can be life-changing!

[SNAKE PETTING] - As the mascot animal of the year, an exhibit has been set up with several non-venomous and super friendly snakes, if you’re not afraid of these scaly babies.

[JADE MYSTERY] - Shitou is running a special promotion! Guess the correct Noctilucous Jades to find out what it is, just don't gamble all of your mora away...

[k9iriz]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬!𝘧𝘦𝘮/𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘫𝘰𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸

𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝘫𝘰𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴.

[ warnings: fluff w/ a pinch of smut, newlyweds alert. new years update so im sorry if it’s short i just wanted to write sumn about joe:) ]

“joe! the fight is on!” i yelled as i ran downstairs, rushing to turn the tv on as joe followed behind as i was in a robe, and he was in his, open and out.

“alright, here i come, mrs. burrow.” joe jokingly chuckled as he grabbing a water before he sat next to me on the couch, grabbing a water before immediately tuning into the main event of the card.

me and joe normally bond on things, even special date nights reduce to ufc fights or any type of martial arts because it’s rare for a girl to like it.

especially since we were newlyweds and we had all the free time since the season was over. but not only do we do, we made up a tradition to do on these fights. it encites the fun within it all.

betting on it.

“usman has leon in the second around by knockout.” joe smiled as he took a sip of his water, making me blink out and stare at him.

“nope, leon has it, third round, knock out. bet on it.” i smirked that the last part as i looked over at him, smirking to say the least, before looking at me the same way.

“okay, winner…gets 500 dollars.” joe shrugged as i looked over at him, smirking as he did the same.

“okay, but let me raise the steaks. double it and the winner gets the cookie jar money.” i smiled as joe furrowed his eyebrows, looking at me as i sat up.

he was taken aback by that, but he wasn’t turning it down.

we had a cookie jar with money we randomly have left to save for any future things we planned on, but for right now it was just sitting there at that moment.

it was a total or near estimate of 3,800-4,000 dollars in there, but who really was counting?

“alright. you’re on beautiful.” joe confirmed as he kissed my lips, making me blush, he’s so cute.

I YELLED loudly as i jumped up and down, my prediction was right after all.

joe looked defeated in some way but smiling because this was the best ever bonding time we’ve ever had, especially date night kinda things. just proud of me but it kinda sucked he lost thousand dollars.

“i told you! didn’t i not?” i squealed as i jumped up and down on the couch, making joe laugh, his face turning red at his wife being hyper.

“alright, alright beautiful. you got me there. congrats.” joe chuckled as his face turned red making me slouch right back into his lap, facing him.

“mnm…thank you mr. burrow.” i smiled as he kissed me on my cheek, tapping my thigh as the ppv concluded.

“what do you plan on doing with the winnings anways? shopping?” joe asked curiously as he looked at me with his hooded blue-icey eyes. lord. if looks could kill.

i took it in as i giggled a bit, but i thought about it for a second before smiling, adverting my eyes back to him.

“im gonna use it…and the cookie jar money…go get your whole mancave redecorated like you asked, for your birthday baby.” i smiled widely as joe’s eyes lit up, making us share a passionate kiss, whi body language changed immediately.

he loved how i was never selfish and always thought about him, even though he’s great at taking care of me in return.

i love him so much.

“really?” joe asked again as i chuckled, confirming it as i yelped at him randomly picking me up out of nowhere.

“i love you so much y/n.” he whispered as i smiled, doing the same.

“i love you more…but where are we going? we have like two more fights to watch.”

“nope, but you know what i really wanna do? i wanna go some actual rounds, and make you tap-out…hm?” he bit his lip at me as i wrapped my arms around his neck, returning the same energy look.

the sexual tension. “mhm…that’s if you don’t tap out on me.” i playfully smirked.

“trust me. i got enough energy.” joe smirked as he took me into the back, making me squeal the night played out well.

and we did some unspeakable rounds that night…date night successful.

[ HELLO?? nobody asked for some joe newlywed fluff with a pinch of smut HUH? but happy new years! 😗 even though they lost so idk why im updating. ]

[1863-project]

I need to actually talk about the EUIC Masters Division VGC finals from yesterday, because to me they really epitomized what Doubles is all about, and especially brought to mind what Emmet means when he talks about how one tiny misread can change the entire course of a battle.

First off, here's the video of all three rounds. The two Trainers in the finals were well-known veteran and 2016 World Champion Wolfe Glick, the most prominent Perish Trap user out there, and newcomer Dyl Yeomans, who we will absolutely be seeing more of. They're incredible.

Wolfe got to the finals in typical Wolfe fashion, skillfully piloting a Perish Trap team through a tournament with over 1,000 Trainers vying for the top spot. Dyl came out of seemingly nowhere, and their surprising use of Iron Treads caught a lot of people off-guard. The stage was set for what was clearly going to be a battle for the ages.

Interestingly, neither Trainer used the most stand-out methods they used to get to the final in the final. Wolfe didn't run his Perish Trap team members, and Dyl didn't bring Iron Treads to any of the three rounds. Ultimately, this came down to a more simple concept: past versus future, and Koraidon versus Miraidon. Wolfe, the veteran, had Koraidon, Scream Tail, and Flutter Mane on his roster; Dyl, the newcomer, had Miraidon, Iron Hands, and Iron Treads. The parallel was not lost on anyone watching.

The thing I really want to discuss here specifically is the third round. Both Trainers had won one battle apiece at that point - Dyl taking round one in a fairly dominant fashion, and Wolfe clawing back round 2. It seemed that whichever Raidon was standing at the end would determine who won that round - Miraidon was taking the knockouts in round 1, with Koraidon being the last dragon standing in round 2. It really did seem like it was going to come down to who got their restricted Pokemon set up first.

But round 3 didn't go as expected.

Wolfe's leads were Koraidon and Flutter Mane. Dyl's leads were Urshifu and Incineroar. One of Incineroar's abilities, and the one most used in competitive play, is Intimidate. The whole point of having Incineroar on your team is to pivot it in and out of battle to continue to get Attack drops on the other team. Both Wolfe and Dyl had an Incineroar on their roster that appeared in all three battles for both of them. It wasn't a particularly unexpected start; a lot of players lead with Incineroar to get the initial Intimidate onto the other team.

Turn 1

Dyl's Incineroar's next move was to use Fake Out on Wolfe's Koraidon. Again, this is another common use of Incineroar - preventing the major attackers from landing a blow, or stopping a support Pokemon from using its own skills. As a priority move, Fake Out goes first, so Koraidon was able to do nothing on the first turn. Wolfe's Flutter Mane, the fastest thing on the field, then launched a Moonblast into Dyl's Urshifu, bringing it down to its Focus Sash. The Urshifu was essentially a sitting duck with 1 HP now. Urshifu went last, hitting Koraidon with a Close Combat, bringing Koraidon into the yellow.

Turn 2

Wolfe retreated Flutter Mane and sent out his own Incineroar with Intimidate. Dyl Terrastalized their own Incineroar to Ghost-type, eliminating the Dark-type weakness to Fighting moves. Urshifu attempted to use Sucker Punch, but Flutter Mane was no longer there, and Koraidon took it out with a Flame Charge. Dyl finished the turn by having their Incineroar take out Koraidon with a Flare Blitz. Both Trainers were now only down to 3 Pokemon each. Given how the last two battles had gone, the crowd murmured, thinking Dyl had possibly obtained their win condition already - the biggest threat on Wolfe's side was off the field.

Turn 3

Wolfe replaced Koraidon with Flutter Mane. Dyl replaced Urshifu with Farigiraf. Before any action could occur, Dyl swapped their Incineroar out with Miraidon. Flutter Mane, targeting the Incineroar that was no longer there, hit Miraidon with a Shadow Ball, earning a Special Defense drop. Wolfe's Incineroar followed up with a Flare Blitz, doubling into the slot. This freed up Farigiraf to use Trick Room, reversing the speed order - now the slowest Pokemon would move first. This obviously did not bode well for Flutter Mane.

Turn 4

Farigiraf's work was done, so it retreated in favor of Dyl's Incineroar. Flutter Mane, not in a good position, used Protect to stay safely on the field as Wolfe's Incineroar used Parting Shot, a pivot move that drops the target's Attack and Special Attack by one stage each; this move went into Miraidon, and Incineroar swapped out for Amoongus. Miraidon swapped out with Volt Switch, hitting Amoongus (who resisted), and Farigiraf came out in its place.

Amoongus, notably, has two main functions in competitive play - redirection via Rage Powder, and Spore to put the opponent to sleep. Since Miraidon was setting Electric Terrain every time it came onto the field, which prevents all Pokemon touching the ground from falling asleep, Amoongus had one purpose in this battle, and it would do it incredibly well.

Turn 5

Wolfe Terrastilized Amoongus to the Dark type. Farigiraf, also running support, used Helping Hand on Dyl's Incineroar to boost its next move, but then Amoongus used Rage Powder to draw all attacks onto itself, likely preventing Dyl's Incineroar from attacking Flutter Mane. Sure enough, Incineroar used Flare Blitz, but with Amoongus no longer being a Grass type due to its Dark Tera, it should have taken the hit cleanly. However, Helping Hand boosted things just enough, and Amoongus went down, leaving Wolfe with just two Pokemon. Flutter Mane, left unharmed, took out the Incineroar, leaving Dyl with just two Pokemon as well.

Turn 6 - "if you misread one thing, the rest will be totally different"

The crowd didn't notice the moment the battle was actually won. In fact, it's unclear if the commentators realized it right away, either. But Wolfe knew it, and if you were paying attention to his reaction, you would have known it too.

Wolfe was down to Flutter Mane, a glass cannon, and Incineroar, running primarily support. Dyl was down to Farigiraf, running support, and their Miraidon, who had handily won them the first battle. The advantage appeared to be Dyl's, and the crowd thought so too.

Incineroar did its thing, getting the Intimidate down upon its reentry into the battle. All the Pokemon except Miraidon were in the green; Miraidon was notably in the yellow, but with its sheer strength and the support of Farigiraf, nobody paid that much mind. It had the terrain advantage. The sunlight Koraidon had set for Flutter Mane was gone. The ball was in Miraidon's court.

Trick Room was still up, meaning Farigiraf went first. Farigiraf used Psychic, hitting Flutter Mane. Incineroar went next, and in a key moment, it hit Miraidon with Flare Blitz, bringing it down to the red and leaving a burn. Miraidon was now on a timer, and it launched its Electro Drift - into Flutter Mane.

This was the misread that made the rest totally different.

Flutter Mane fainted, and the crowd roared. Dyl's victory looked assured...except that it wasn't. Trick Room was still up. Farigiraf would go first, Incineroar second, and Miraidon third. Farigiraf had a couple of options - it could use Helping Hand to strengthen Miraidon's next attack, or it could try to attack Incineroar. However, neither of these were viable, because Farigiraf was only carrying one attack move, Psychic. Incineroar, a Dark type, wouldn't have been affected by it at all. If Farigiraf used Helping Hand to support Miraidon, it wouldn't have done anything either, because Miraidon still had to go after Incineroar, who would knock it out.

So Dyl did the only thing they really could do in this situation...

Turn 7

...and had Farigiraf mercy faint Miraidon with Psychic. Incineroar hit Farigiraf with a Flare Blitz for a decent amount of damage, and prepared to do so again on the next turn, but Dyl locked in the forfeit instead. Farigiraf couldn't do anything to win at that point, and so Wolfe's Incineroar was the last mon standing, netting him the 2-1 victory.

I watch a lot of Doubles because, frankly, I do genuinely like Doubles and all the different strategies that can go into it. I love seeing how different combinations on the field can completely change the course of battle. But it's absolutely true that sometimes, Doubles comes down to sheer luck. If you lose to Emmet in BW or B2W2 on the regular Doubles train, he'll mention that he thinks he "just got lucky," and famously goes on to say that "In a Double Battle, if you misread one thing, the rest will be totally different." That was absolutely the case here - if Dyl had targeted down the Incineroar, they would have had the victory, but they chose to focus on Flutter Mane, likely because they knew the Trick Room was going to run out soon. Unfortunately, with one more turn on Trick Room remaining, Incineroar being the remaining Pokemon on Wolfe's side was actually the last thing Dyl's team would have wanted there, because Farigiraf couldn't hit it and with Trick Room still up Incineroar was going to go before and take out Miraidon. It was one small mistake, but it ended up losing them the battle - perhaps something that can be chalked up to inexperience. Wolfe, who has been doing this since the early 2010s, knew in that moment that he'd won, but it had literally come down to luck. He lucked out when Dyl attacked Flutter Mane; that battle could have gone either way.

This set is definitely going to be joining my rotation of Doubles VGC matches I rewatch to learn from. There's always more to learn, after all, and this battle will definitely be one of the greats.

(Also, I can't wait to see more of Dyl. They've clearly got a huge future ahead of them and I'm so excited to see what they do next!)

[twistedheartsclub]

Yandere Boxer X Fem Reader PT 1

⚠️ Warnings: psychological manipulation • obsessive love • stalking • parental betrayal • gaslighting • grooming • non-consensual drug use • emotional abuse • toxic family dynamics • physical violence (mentioned) • slow burn dread • dark romance themes

PART TWO HERE

Y/N didn’t belong there.

Not in the crowd. Not under the blinding lights. Not in a seat that smelled like beer and popcorn.

But her mother had practically shoved her out the front door.

“You’re not going to rot in this house all summer, Y/N. You’re going. That’s final.”

And her father had grinned, tossing her a spare ticket. Her older brother hooted from the hallway, already wearing the boxer’s branded hoodie.

“You’re gonna love it! Silas Vega’s a beast.”

She didn’t know who Silas Vega was.

Her world was books. Soft blankets. A quiet room with a cracked window and a constant cup of tea. The only rings she knew were in fantasy novels.

And yet here she was—wedged between her brother and father in a packed stadium—her knees pulled together, hands clutching her canvas tote like it could shield her from the world.

The crowd was a living thing. Drums pounded. Fans screamed. Giant screens flickered with promo clips—slow-motion punches, blood-slick gloves, victories.

Y/N kept her head down.

Her wire-frame glasses slid down her nose again as she tried to quietly open her book—an old worn copy of Wuthering Heights. She didn’t care if it was dramatic or out of place. She needed something to hold onto.

“Seriously?” her brother hissed. “You’re gonna read at a fight?”

She didn’t answer.

She just pushed her glasses up again and stared hard at the words, trying not to jump every time the speaker blared.

Then the lights dimmed.

The bass throbbed.

And a voice roared through the stadium.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—THE UNDEFEATED, THE UNTOUCHABLE—SILAS VEGA!”

The crowd erupted. A wave of bodies stood.

She looked up.

And the world slowed.

From the far end of the tunnel, a figure emerged beneath flickering lights. Shirtless. Skin glistening with oil. Muscles rippling with every step. Ink curled down his chest, across his stomach, his arms—a full sleeve on the right, fragmented designs on the left. His shorts bore his name in sharp, silver stitching.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He looked straight ahead—face calm, unreadable, focused. Like a storm brewing under skin.

Y/N had never seen someone like that in her life.

He climbed into the ring. Jumped once to loosen his limbs. Raised a single fist.

The crowd lost their minds.

She could barely breathe.

She told herself to look away. Told herself to read. But her fingers curled tighter around the pages instead, as if holding the book could tether her to who she was before this moment.

And that’s when it happened.

He looked at her.

Just for a second.

Among thousands of people. Thousands of screams.

His eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, intense—landed on hers.

Her breath caught. Her pulse stumbled.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod.

Just looked.

Like he recognized her.

And then the bell rang.

Fifteen minutes later

Silas Vega won, of course. The man barely broke a sweat. His opponent went down hard in the third round, and the crowd roared with adoration.

But Silas wasn’t listening.

He was staring at the third row.

The seat where the quiet girl had sat.

But she was gone.

Y/N

The fight was over.

Thank God.

Y/N pushed her glasses up for what felt like the hundredth time and ducked through the crowd, one hand gripping her tote bag, the other fiddling with her long, thick hair to keep it from getting caught in someone’s shoulder.

“Was that insane or what?” her brother shouted over the noise. “Third round knockout. Silas is a monster.”

Her dad laughed, clapping a stranger on the back. “Told you he’d win. He’s unstoppable.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just kept walking, stepping around discarded popcorn bags and sticky beer patches on the concrete. Her book was still in her bag, untouched. The lights had been too much. The noise. The heat of the crowd. She hated every second of it.

She hadn’t even meant to look at him.

Silas Vega. Whatever.

For a moment, she thought he looked at her. Dead in the eyes, like he knew her. But that was impossible. It was a fluke. Her seat was front and center. Maybe he was just scanning the rows.

She pulled her hair over one shoulder and rolled her eyes.

It didn’t matter. She didn’t care.

He was a fighter. A celebrity. Not her type. Not her world. Not someone she’d ever think about again.

“Y/N, did you see that hit?” her brother asked, jogging to catch up. “That combo? Guy dropped like a sack of bricks.”

“I wasn’t really watching,” she replied simply.

“You were there. How were you not watching?”

“I don’t like watching people get hurt,” she muttered. “It’s not entertaining to me.”

He blinked. “You’re weird.”

She shrugged. “You’ve known that since birth.”

Her mother was waiting by the car with bottled water and a smile. The ride home was full of chatter—her dad analyzing footwork, her brother pulling up replays on his phone, her mom humming along to old radio songs.

And Y/N just sat in the backseat, staring out the window. The world blurred past in soft yellow light.

She was already forgetting about the ring. The fighter. The noise.

She had a quiz on Monday. That was what mattered.

Back at the stadium…

Silas stood under the fluorescent lights of the locker room, taping up fresh bandages.

“She left,” he said to no one in particular.

“Who?” his brother asked.

“The girl.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

He just kept wrapping, slower now, like he was thinking about the way her glasses slid down, the way she didn’t scream or smile or react.

“She didn’t even look impressed,” he murmured.

Then, quieter, darker:

“I like that.”

Y/N – Quiet Life

The weekend passed the way most did in Y/N’s house—slow and warm, like sunlight filtering through lace curtains.

Saturday morning was pancakes. Her mom’s recipe, perfectly golden with crispy edges, served with fresh strawberries. Her dad read the paper out loud between bites, occasionally pausing to explain the comics like it was still 2007.

Y/N sat at the table with her long hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, oversized sweatshirt falling off one arm. Her glasses slid again. She pushed them up without thinking, flipping the page of her novel.

“You’re gonna wear your eyes out,” her mom teased, sipping her tea.

“I’m nearsighted. It’s already too late.”

Her dad chuckled. “What are you reading now?”

“Historical fiction. Set in 1840s England. There’s a horse farm and emotional repression.”

“So, exactly your kind of thing.”

Her brother stumbled into the kitchen wearing a hoodie and mismatched socks. “Silas Vega looked at Y/N at the fight.”

Y/N froze.

Her mother raised a brow.

Her father snorted.

“What?”

“No, he didn’t,” she muttered.

“He totally did,” her brother insisted. “Dead-on. Like, full eye contact. Didn’t look at anyone else like that.”

“I wasn’t even looking at him,” she said. “He probably just scans the crowd like a showman. It’s his job.”

“Whatever. You could marry him and become a rich housewife.”

“I’d rather marry a librarian,” she said flatly.

Later That Day

Y/N met her two closest friends, Mara and Jules, at the little café near the bookstore. The bell chimed when she entered, and Jules waved her over with a grin.

“Hey, celebrity.”

Y/N groaned. “You too?”

Mara leaned forward, excited. “He definitely looked at you. My brother said he’s never seen Silas stare at anyone like that. You broke the internet.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Jules said. “That’s why it’s hot.”

Y/N sipped her tea. “I’m not interested. I don’t care about muscles and violence. He probably doesn’t even read.”

“You don’t know that,” Mara smirked. “Maybe he reads poetry between punches.”

Y/N laughed. “Yeah, sure. Blood-stained Shakespeare.”

She didn’t tell them about the way his eyes made her freeze. Or how her heart thumped in her ears. Because she didn’t want to think about it.

Meanwhile

Silas – After the Fight

Silas sat in the back of his town car, knuckles bruised, hoodie pulled low. His phone buzzed with notifications—sponsors, fan edits, interview requests. He ignored them all.

His eyes were on a grainy screenshot someone sent him.

A still from the broadcast.

Her.

Y/N, sitting in the third row, arms crossed over a book, glasses falling, a bored look on her face.

She looked soft. Untouched. Like the world hadn’t ruined her yet.

She didn’t cheer. Didn’t worship him like the rest.

And she was perfect.

“Find out who she is,” he said to his manager, already knowing he would.

“Why?”

“Because she belongs to me.”

The front door slams open like a storm. Y/N barely glances up from her book as her little brother barrels into the living room, waving his phone like he just won the lottery.

“Y/N! Oh my god—you’re not gonna believe this!”

She blinks behind her glasses, adjusting her blanket. “What?”

“I won. I actually freaking won.” His eyes are wide, face glowing. “Two backstage passes to meet Silas Vegas—after his next fight!”

She frowns. “Who?”

“Who? Y/N, he’s only the most undefeated fighter in the league. The guy’s a legend. A beast. A literal god. And I get to meet him. I get to stand in the same room as Silas Vegas—Silas freaking Vegas!”

She smiles a little, amused at his excitement. “That’s cool.”

“Cool?” he gasps. “No—this is fate. You’re coming with me.”

She shakes her head instantly. “No way. Loud arenas? Drunk crowds? Sweaty guys punching each other? That’s your thing, not mine.”

He groans dramatically. “C’mon, you have to! It’ll be fun. Just one night.”

She looks back at her book. “You’ll have a better time without me.”

Later that Night:

Her brother’s at the fight, surrounded by flashing lights, deafening cheers, and roaring energy. But he’s not watching the match—he’s watching for her. Hoping she changed her mind.

She didn’t.

Backstage, he stands in awe as the towering figure of Silas Vegas enters, blood on his knuckles, his chest rising slow and heavy. He looks around… and pauses.

The girl isn’t here.

His eyes flick down to the boy. Same nose. Same last name printed on the email invite.

“You her brother?” Silas asks, voice smooth but dark.

The kid blinks. “Huh? Wait—yeah! That’s my sister. She didn’t come. Not really her scene.”

Silas stares at him for a moment too long.

“Pity,” he murmurs. “She looked like she belonged to me.”

Then, with a friendly smile, he claps a heavy hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“You ever think about training?”

And just like that… he’s in.

Scene: Family Dinner – Thursday Night

The kitchen smells like garlic bread and roasted chicken, laughter echoing off the walls. Y/N sits between her mom and her brother’s best friend, trying to follow the conversation, but the boys are talking a mile a minute.

Her brother is practically vibrating in his seat.

“And then he came out, shirt off, towel around his neck—and I swear, he looked right at me.”

“Who?” their dad asks, loosening his tie as he sits down, tired but trying to catch up.

“Silas Vegas, Dad! You should’ve seen him. He said I had potential. Me! I’m going to his gym on Sunday—private training.”

Their dad smiles, proud but with a hint of regret.

“Wish I could’ve come. Damn job got in the way.”

“It was insane,” the brother says, turning to his best friend. “Even you would’ve freaked out.”

The best friend, a soccer kid through and through, grins.

“Dude, you know I don’t get the whole fight scene, but that’s still badass. Maybe you’ll get famous and I’ll switch sports.”

Y/N just blinks, pushing peas around her plate.

“What’s a southpaw?” she asks, dead serious.

Everyone laughs.

“It’s when a fighter leads with their right hand,” her brother explains, half proud, half exasperated. “C’mon, Y/N, I’ve told you that before!”

“I forgot,” she mutters, cheeks warm.

Their mom chuckles softly and nudges Y/N’s arm.

“Speaking of forgetting…” Her voice turns playful. “Somebody’s birthday is this Saturday. My baby girl’s turning eighteen.”

Y/N groans. “Can we not talk about that?”

“Why not?” her dad says with a warm smile. “Eighteen’s a big deal.”

“Exactly,” her mom adds, already pulling out her mental Pinterest board. “I was thinking a small dinner. Something sweet. Maybe you can wear that dress I bought—the blue one?”

Y/N shrinks a little in her seat, suddenly aware of how fast everything is moving.

“We don’t have to make it a thing…”

“Oh, we’re making it a thing,” her brother chimes in, mouth full. “Eighteen, Y/N. You can vote. You can finally drive after years of avoiding your learner’s permit—”

“Thanks,” she deadpans.

“We’ll keep it lowkey,” her mom says gently. “Just us and maybe a few friends.”

Across the table, her brother’s best friend gives a little wave.

“I better be invited,” he says.

Y/N smiles. “Of course.”

But beneath the table, her phone buzzes in her pocket. An unknown number. No message. No call.

She doesn’t check it.

Not yet.

Saturday Morning – 

Sunlight filters through the curtains. The smell of pancakes and cinnamon floats up the stairs. Y/N blinks awake to the sound of soft knocking.

“Sweetheart?” her mom’s voice is gentle. “Can we come in?”

Before she can answer, the door creaks open and in come her parents—with her brother right behind them, holding a sad balloon he clearly bought last minute.

“Happy birthday!” they all say in unison.

Y/N sits up, sleepy but smiling. Her dad places a kiss on her forehead.

“Eighteen, huh? Our baby girl’s all grown up.”

Her mom hands her a tray with breakfast and a little wrapped box on the side.

“Your favorite. And something small to start the day.”

Her brother flops onto the foot of her bed. “I had to convince Mom not to put eighteen candles on your pancakes.”

“You’re so annoying,” Y/N mutters—but she’s still smiling.

He grins. “Wanna hear something wild though?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Silas Vegas—yes, THE Silas Vegas—texted me this morning.”

Y/N freezes, fork halfway to her mouth.

“He wanted to hang out,” her brother continues, completely unaware. “Said he had some free time today and asked if I wanted to drop by the gym. Just chill.”

Her mom gives him a look. “Didn’t you tell him it’s your sister’s birthday?”

“Of course I did.” He shrugs. “Told him no way, it’s family time. He said it was cool. That we’d reschedule.”

Y/N lowers her fork. Her chest feels… strange.

“He has your number?” she asks softly.

Her brother laughs. “Yeah! Gave it to him after training last night. Thought he might wanna talk fight stuff.”

Their dad raises a brow. “Pretty generous of him.”

“I know, right? He’s actually super chill. Not like I expected.”

Y/N nods slowly, but something inside her is already twisting. She stares at her untouched pancake, suddenly not hungry.

Later That Day

A knock at the door. Her brother goes to open it, expecting a neighbor, maybe a delivery.

Instead: Silas Vegas, standing on their porch with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “Just thought I’d drop off a little birthday something—for your sister.”

The brother blinks. “How’d you—?”

“You mentioned it this morning,” Silas interrupts, handing him a soft white box tied in navy ribbon. “Don’t worry. Nothing crazy.”

But his eyes are already scanning the house behind him. Listening. Looking.

Waiting.

Saturday Evening –

The house is bustling as everyone gets ready. Her mom finishes curling Y/N’s hair while humming softly. Her father shaves, her brother’s trying to fix his tie in the hallway mirror. They’re planning to go to Bella Vita, the “fancy” place in town—white tablecloths, dim lighting, decent food.

Y/N stands in front of her mirror, slipping on nude heels. Her dress is simple but fitted—a soft champagne tone that makes her skin glow. Her glasses are off for once, replaced with contacts. Her hair falls in loose curls over her shoulders.

She feels… exposed.

From behind, her door creaks open.

“Hey, you almost ready?” her brother calls, but another voice answers.

Silas.

Low. Smooth. Intimate.

“She’s perfect.”

Y/N freezes.

He steps just inside the doorway, closing it behind him with a click. He’s in a sleek black button-down, dark slacks. The gold on his watch gleams. He doesn’t touch her—he doesn’t need to.

“Happy birthday, angel.”

His voice is like smoke, curling around her, sliding beneath her skin.

“You clean up nice. Contacts suit you… but I liked the glasses.” His eyes drop—just once, slow and deliberate—then rise again. “Everything else though? I already imagined it.”

She steps back instinctively, brushing against her dresser. Her heart thunders. She tries to speak, but—

Knock-knock. Her brother barges in, holding a box. “Oh, hey—Silas, you made it! Mom said we’re about ready to leave.”

He holds out the box to Y/N.

“Here. I know it’s kinda girly, but the lady at the store said it was classy. Figured you’d like it.”

Y/N opens it—and stills.

Inside is a delicate, thin gold necklace with a tiny charm… a lock.

Not a heart. Not a name. Not an initial. A lock.

It matches the tattoo on Silas’s neck.

Her eyes flick to Silas.

He’s already watching her. Expression unreadable, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly.

“Put it on!” her brother says, grinning. “Let’s see it!”

Y/N hesitates. Her fingers tremble.

Silas steps forward, breaking the tension with a casual tone. “I can help, if you want.”

“No!” she says too fast, then softens. “I—I got it.”

She turns toward the mirror, clipping the necklace in place. Her fingers brush the charm, cold against her skin. Her brother grins.

“Looks good. Kinda fancy. You could be in a movie or something.”

Silas says nothing—but when their eyes meet in the mirror, it’s like he’s already claimed her.

As the family gathers by the door, ready to head to Bella Vita, Silas casually speaks up:

“Actually… I’ve made other arrangements.”

They all turn.

“A friend of mine owns a place in the city. Real five-star stuff. Private dining room. I thought I’d treat the birthday girl and her family.”

Her father hesitates. “That’s very generous, but you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Silas says firmly. Then, softer: “She deserves it.”

Everyone murmurs thanks, impressed by the gesture.

Y/N stays quiet, her hand touching the little lock charm, the air in her lungs feeling heavier than it should.

The moment the front door opens, the difference is impossible to miss.

Not the family’s old, slightly dented minivan. No—the vehicle parked in front is long, sleek, and obsidian black, with chrome rims that shine even in the twilight. The engine hums like it’s alive.

“Whoa…” her brother whispers. “This your ride, Silas?”

Silas smiles. “One of them.”

The back doors open automatically. Y/N’s mom gasps softly. Her dad hesitates, running a hand through his hair like he’s underdressed. Y/N follows behind them slowly, her heels clicking lightly on the concrete.

She expects her brother to slide in beside Silas—but he takes the far back, dragging his best friend with him. Her mom and dad sit up front with the driver.

Which means Y/N is left… in the middle row. Next to him.

Trapped.

The leather seats are cool against her thighs. The smell inside is sharp, expensive—like dark spice and polished wood. Silas doesn’t speak right away, and neither does she.

Then her family starts in.

“So what do you eat to stay that fit?” her dad asks.

“What kind of training do you do?” her brother pipes up.

“Is it true you broke someone’s nose in six seconds?” his friend blurts out.

Silas laughs softly, smooth and controlled, answering each question like he’s been prepped for press his entire life. But while he talks…

His fingers move.

Slowly, he shifts closer. His knee brushes hers. His hand settles near her thigh—too near. Then it moves again, casually brushing the side of her leg.

Y/N presses closer to the door, trying to stay in the shadows, heart thudding. Her fingers grip her clutch like a lifeline.

Her family laughs at something he says—she doesn’t hear it. All she hears is the soft drag of his knuckles near the hem of her dress.

She squeezes her thighs together. The necklace feels heavy against her chest.

Don't react. Don't let them notice.

The car rolls to a stop in front of a place none of them have ever been.

The entrance is a tall arch of black glass and stone, glowing softly from within. No name. No flashing signs. Just a small gold plate by the door: Maison D’Or.

“Is this it?” her mom whispers. “It’s gorgeous…”

Inside, the air is cool, lightly perfumed with sandalwood and rose. The lighting is low and golden, casting everything in a soft glow. Rich velvet curtains, crystal glassware, white-gloved waitstaff.

A live string trio plays in the corner, the music delicate and rich like honey over silk.

At the table—already set and waiting—sits another gift box. A bouquet of dark red roses rests beside it, thorns clipped clean.

Silas gestures for Y/N to sit first. She hesitates.

“Go ahead, angel,” he says low, just for her. “It’s your night.”

She lowers herself slowly into the seat. Her brother rushes to grab the gift.

“Another one? Damn, you’re getting spoiled.”

He passes it to her, eyes gleaming. “C’mon, open it.”

Y/N glances at Silas, who smiles that slow, careful smile.

She lifts the lid—and finds a silk hair ribbon, deep wine-red. Simple. Soft. Expensive. Embroidered in tiny golden thread with her name.

Just her name.

No one comments on how intimate it is. No one notices the way she grips the table under her dress.

Silas leans close.

“For when you put your hair up,” he murmurs, brushing a finger behind her ear. “Next time I see you, I expect you to wear it.”

The server pours wine into crystal glasses. The family is buzzing, dazzled by the elegance. Y/N sits stiffly, her body turned ever so slightly away from Silas—even though he’s right next to her.

He doesn’t let her forget it.

“She’ll have the salmon,” Silas says smoothly, before Y/N can speak.

The server nods.

Y/N opens her mouth—she was going to order something else—but her mother interrupts, beaming.

“That sounds perfect. You’re always so picky, sweetheart. He’s a gentleman for deciding.”

Her stomach coils.

Silas leans in.

“Told you,” he murmurs near her ear, “I know what’s good for you.”

His hand brushes her bare thigh under the table.

At first, it’s light. A slow stroke with the back of his fingers. She shifts away. His hand returns, bolder. Fingertips sliding higher beneath the silky hem of her dress.

Her fork clinks against her plate as she stiffens.

Her dad doesn’t notice—he’s mid-laugh at one of Silas’s perfectly placed stories.

Y/N’s breathing starts to falter. She forces herself to smile. But the hand won’t stop. Now it’s pressing, gliding along the sensitive inside of her thigh.

Higher.

She jerks in her seat.

“Are you okay?” her brother asks.

“I—I need to use the bathroom,” she blurts, pushing her chair back.

Her napkin drops to the floor. Her legs wobble as she walks away, heels clicking too fast on marble. She bursts into the lavish bathroom, heart hammering, tears threatening.

Her hands clutch the edge of the sink. Her reflection looks wrong—flushed, shaking, helpless.

She thinks about telling her mom. About crying in her arms like when she was little. But—

Would she believe her? Would anyone?

A soft click interrupts her spiraling thoughts.

The bathroom door shuts behind her.

Locks.

Silas.

He’s already inside.

She spins, her back hitting the counter.

“W-What are you doing?” she whispers.

He steps forward slowly, every movement deliberate, wolfish. The music outside is still playing—something elegant, something light.

“You didn’t say thank you,” he says, eyes sweeping over her. “For the necklace. For the ribbon. For dinner.”

His voice is soft. Velvet wrapped around a knife.

“So I figured you needed reminding.”

He closes the space between them.

Y/N’s breath shudders. Her lips part to speak—but nothing comes out.

Y/N’s back presses against the cool marble countertop, her breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.

“Stop,” she says, voice trembling. “Get out—get the hell away from me.”

Silas tilts his head, mock-hurt in his eyes.

“That’s no way to speak to someone who gave you such a beautiful night.”

He steps closer. One hand rests beside her on the counter—blocking her in. The other reaches, slow and deliberate, brushing a strand of curled hair from her cheek. She jerks her head away.

“You’re insane,” she hisses. “You’re—fucking crazy.”

His smile doesn’t move. It only sharpens.

“You didn’t seem to mind earlier… letting me touch you at the table. Didn’t stop me.” His hand glides down again—this time, not stopping at her thigh. “You squeezed your legs together, baby. That wasn’t fear. That was need.”

“Stop it!” she chokes, twisting away—but he grabs her wrist and turns her toward the mirror.

Her reflection stares back—eyes wide, cheeks blotched with shame and panic.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers against her ear. “You’re mine already. You just don’t know it yet.”

She trembles. Tears well up. Her mouth parts again to scream—when—

Knock knock knock.

Her mother’s voice outside the door.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay? You’ve been in there a while.”

Y/N freezes.

Silas meets her eyes in the mirror, still holding her tight.

Then slowly, he lets her go.

His fingers brush her cheek, gentle now. He wipes the tear that escaped, smearing it away like it never happened. He leans in, lips grazing the shell of her ear.

“Go out there and smile,” he says softly. “Tell her everything’s fine. Or I’ll start with your little brother next.”

Her stomach lurches.

Then—smack.

His hand lands sharply on her backside.

“Go on, birthday girl.”

She flinches but obeys, body numb.

With trembling hands, she unlocks the door and steps out. Her mother stands there, concern fading into relief as she sees her.

“There you are! Are you okay?”

Y/N forces a smile.

“Y-Yeah. I’m okay. Just needed a minute.”

Her mom wraps an arm around her and leads her back toward the table.

Neither of them turns around. Neither sees Silas still inside—his reflection grinning in the mirror, dark eyes burning.

By the time Y/N returns to the table, Silas is already seated, laughing with her father like nothing happened.

“Your girl’s got quiet strength,” he’s saying. “Rare in someone so young.”

Her dad chuckles. “You’ve got no idea. She’s always been the stubborn one.”

Y/N’s legs feel like lead as she sits down again—but not in the seat next to Silas. She moves her chair a few inches away, pretending to adjust her dress.

He notices. Of course he does.

But he says nothing.

Instead, he lifts his wine glass in a silent toast, watching her over the rim with those cold, hungry eyes.

She forces a smile. Tries to eat. Tries to breathe.

Her mother and father keep chatting. Her brother is still raving about training. But it’s his best friend—seated across from her—who seems to notice something's off.

“Hey,” he says softly, leaning in a bit. “You okay? You’ve been kinda quiet tonight.”

Y/N blinks at him. For a second, the tension in her chest cracks.

“I’m fine,” she whispers. “Just overwhelmed, I guess.”

He grins. “Can’t blame you. This place is like a movie. Honestly, I keep expecting a celebrity to walk in and ask for your autograph.”

She laughs—actually laughs, just a small, quiet sound—but real. It slips out before she can stop it.

And Silas hears it.

He doesn’t react.

Not with words. Not with his face.

But his jaw tightens ever so slightly. His fingers curl around the stem of his glass.

Under the table, he moves his leg again—slowly pressing his knee against hers.

She flinches and shifts away, smile fading.

But the moment has already happened. She laughed. At someone else.

And he didn’t like that.

Not at all.

The lights dim, and the server brings out a small, elegant cake topped with gold dust and spun sugar. A single candle flickers on top.

“Make a wish, baby,” her mom says softly.

Y/N leans forward, her face glowing in the candlelight.

She looks around—at her parents, her brother, his goofy best friend. And then… at him.

Silas.

Watching her like she’s the prize at the center of the table.

She closes her eyes, blows out the candle, and wishes to be invisible.

For just a moment.

The family cheers. Her brother claps, teasing her about growing up. Her dad kisses her temple.

Y/N smiles—a real smile this time. For them. She pushes everything aside. For a few minutes, she eats cake and pretends she’s just a normal girl with a normal birthday.

But she doesn’t notice Silas texting under the table.

A message already sent. Something waiting at home. A gift he picked out just for her.

Home – After the Dinner

The drive home is quieter.

Her family chatters softly—still glowing from the fancy dinner, still singing Silas’s praises like he’s some golden god. Her dad goes on about how polite he was. Her mom’s already talking about inviting him over for Sunday dinner sometime.

Y/N says nothing.

She sits pressed against the car door again, her heels pinching, her shoulders aching. The necklace feels tighter now. Heavy. Like a chain instead of an accessory.

Her stomach churns every time she thinks of the bathroom.

You didn’t say thank you…

They pull into the driveway. Everyone stumbles out with full bellies and sleepy smiles. Her brother gives her a big side-hug, practically dragging his best friend inside to raid the fridge.

“Night, birthday girl!”

Y/N forces a smile, waves, and slips off her shoes the second she’s inside the door. Her toes ache. Her curls are falling. Her makeup feels heavy.

She just wants to crawl into bed, wash it all off, be alone.

But when she gets to her room, she stops cold.

It’s there.

Another box.

Smaller. Sleeker. Matte black with a blood-red ribbon tied in a bow.

No note.

No name.

But she knows.

He’s been here. Or someone has… for him.

Her breath catches. She shuts the door behind her and locks it, heart thudding.

Slowly, like it might bite her, she unties the ribbon.

Inside the box: a pair of black silk panties.

Delicate. Laced. Embroidered at the hip in gold thread:

“Mine.”

Y/N stares down at them, her throat tight, bile rising. Her chest heaves.

She drops the box like it burned her.

And under the tissue paper at the bottom, something else slides free—a polaroid.

It’s her.

Sitting at the restaurant. That moment she laughed with the best friend.

She didn’t even know a photo was taken.

On the back, in clean, all-caps letters:

“I LIKE YOUR SMILE. DON’T GIVE IT AWAY AGAIN.”

That Night

Y/N stares at the box, the panties, the photo. Her heart is pounding so hard it drowns out everything else.

“No. No. No,” she whispers.

She grabs the photo and box and storms out of her room, barefoot, still in her dress, her hair messy from the night.

Downstairs, her mom is in the kitchen finishing dishes. Humming softly.

“Mom—” Y/N’s voice cracks.

Her mother turns, startled. “Sweetheart, what is it?”

Y/N holds out the photo with shaking hands. “He—he was in my room. He left this. And these—” she can’t even say the word. “He’s crazy, Mom. He’s not okay.”

Her mom takes the photo, frowning. She flips it over, reads the message… and then chuckles.

“Y/N… you’re overthinking. It’s probably just a joke. A flirty little thing—men like that, they’re intense.”

Y/N’s breath stops. “What?”

“He’s clearly taken with you. Can you blame him?”

Her mother places the photo back in her hand.

“Don’t ruin a good opportunity because you’re scared of a little attention.”

Y/N’s lips part in horror.

“He followed me into a bathroom. He touched me. I didn’t want—”

Her mother’s smile tightens.

“You didn’t stop him.”

Silence.

Crushing silence.

“You’re tired,” her mom says, turning away to dry her hands. “Sleep on it. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Y/N doesn’t remember going back to her room. She curls up under the covers, heartbroken, terrified, and completely alone.

Scene: The Next Morning – Sunday

Sunlight slices through her blinds. The smell of breakfast is downstairs, but her stomach turns.

Then—

“Y/N! C’mon, we’re gonna be late!” Her brother barges into her room, full of energy. “We’re going to the gym to watch me train with Silas!”

Y/N sits up slowly. Her eyes are puffy. She barely slept.

“He asked if you were coming. He said—oh yeah—he mentioned something about… a white dress?”

Her blood goes cold.

“What?”

Her brother shrugs. “I don’t know. He just said, ‘Tell her to wear the white one.’ I figured he meant that flowy one you wore to Easter or something?”

Y/N stares at him.

“You coming or what? Mom said we’re leaving in twenty.”

He disappears down the hall, yelling about protein shakes and wrapping his hands.

Y/N doesn’t move.

Her gaze drifts to the closet… to the white dress.

Waiting.

Sunday Morning –

Y/N moves like a ghost.

She pulls the white dress from her closet with trembling hands. It's soft and delicate—flowy, with a lace-trimmed neckline and little flutter sleeves. It used to make her feel pretty.

Today, it feels like a uniform.

She puts it on in silence. No makeup. Bare-faced. She stares at her reflection with dead eyes.

"Tell her to wear the white one."

She grabs her flat sandals, hoping to feel just a little bit grounded. But as she steps into the kitchen, her mother looks up from packing fruit into a cooler and frowns.

“Sandals?” she says gently. “No, no, baby. Not with that dress.”

Y/N pauses, blinking.

“Go put on your nude heels—the ones we bought for Easter. You’ll look so much more polished.”

“I don’t really want—”

Her mother kisses her cheek, smoothing her hair.

“Trust me. You’ll look beautiful. He’ll love it.”

He already saw me break, Y/N wants to scream. He saw me cry. He touched me. He left underwear in my room.

But instead… she nods.

“Okay.”

She goes back upstairs, hands shaking as she straps on the heels. Her feet already ache in anticipation.

She’s not walking into a gym.

She’s walking into his hands.

The car ride is quieter than last night—no fancy car this time, just their regular van. Her brother and his best friend talk nonstop in the back. Her father drives. Her mother hums along to the radio, glancing over now and then with soft smiles.

“You look radiant, sweetheart,” she says, resting her hand over Y/N’s. “You’ll turn heads today.”

Y/N forces a tiny smile and looks out the window.

Every turn takes her closer.

The gym is loud with the rhythmic thud of gloves hitting bags, the clang of weights, and the distant sound of a jump rope whipping against the floor. But when Y/N steps inside, all of it dulls.

Her white dress flutters around her knees. Her heels click against concrete. She looks like a misplaced angel in a cage of wolves.

Her family enters behind her—chattering, laughing, comfortable. They’d already met Silas Vegas at dinner. They liked him.

They trust him.

And he’s already waiting.

Standing near the ring, wrapped hands resting on the ropes, sweat clinging to his chest, Silas’s eyes lock onto her like a predator recognizing its scent.

His manager, Rey, stands beside him, clipboard in hand. He glances up, sees the family, and smiles politely.

“There’s the birthday girl,” Rey says. “Back again already.”

He leans closer to Silas, keeping his voice low.

“That the dress you picked?”

Silas’s mouth curves—just slightly.

“Fits her better than I imagined.”

Rey chuckles under his breath, but then his eyes catch on her again. He’s been around long enough to know when something’s off.

“She’s pretty young, Silas.”

Silas doesn’t break his gaze from Y/N. His voice drops.

“She’s mine.” Then: “And I’m always good to what’s mine.”

Rey looks away.

He’s not going to interfere.

Y/N’s brother bounds toward Silas, throwing a few fake punches.

“You ready for me today or what?”

Silas chuckles, clapping him on the back. “Let’s find out.”

Her father thanks him again for the private lessons. Her mom smiles, complimenting the gym. It’s all smooth, easy, familiar now.

No one notices how Y/N doesn’t say a word.

No one sees how she inches subtly away, heels wobbling slightly on the gritty floor.

But Silas?

He notices everything.

He turns toward her slowly.

“You wore it,” he says softly, so only she hears. “Good girl.”

Her stomach knots.

She says nothing.

His hand brushes her lower back when he passes by—not too long, not too obvious. But just enough to make her flinch.

“Enjoy the show,” he adds with a smirk. “It’s all for you anyway.”

The training begins.

Her brother is glowing, already on the mat with gloves on, listening to Silas bark instructions with charm and power. Their parents sit in folding chairs by the ring, sipping complimentary water, chatting politely with Rey.

And Y/N?

She slips away.

The heat, the sound, his eyes—it’s too much. She pretends she needs the restroom, wanders past racks of towels, down a hallway with dim lighting and cold walls. There’s a storage room with a cracked door, and she slips inside.

A moment. That’s all she wants. Just one breath without Silas watching.

She leans against the shelf of gear, head bowed, the cold air a relief against her flushed skin. Her fingers toy with the little lock charm on her necklace.

I’m not safe. Even here… I’m not safe.

Then—

Click.

The door closes behind her.

Locks.

She spins around.

Silas stands just inside, chest heaving lightly from the workout, hands still taped. He doesn’t speak at first. He just stares.

“You ran,” he says quietly.

Her voice shakes. “I didn’t— I just needed—”

“You left the room.” His voice sharpens. “While I was performing for you.”

Y/N tries to take a step back, but the shelves are already behind her.

He stalks forward, slow and lethal. His taped fingers reach out and brush her wrist, trailing up her arm, wrapping around the base of her neck.

Not squeezing. Not yet.

“I don’t like chasing,” he murmurs. “But I will. Every time.”

Y/N’s breath hitches. “Silas, please—don’t do this. Not here.”

He leans down, lips nearly grazing hers.

“This is the perfect place, angel. You’re surrounded by men who’d kill to be near you—but they can’t. Because you’re already owned.”

He pulls something from his pocket and dangles it in front of her.

A small, gold padlock key on a delicate chain.

“This matches your necklace,” he says with a wicked grin. “But only I get to use it.”

He hooks the chain around her neck, layering it beneath the lock.

“Two pieces. One game.”

Then, softer, colder:

“If you take either off… I’ll come for someone else in your house.”

He pulls away, smooths her dress like nothing happened.

“Now smile. Fix your lipstick. And come watch me train your brother.”

Y/N walks back out.

Composed. Silent. Shaken.

No one notices the second chain around her neck. No one notices the bruise forming beneath her jaw where his thumb pressed too hard. But he sees it. And he smiles like he just won.

Her brother is practically glowing in the backseat, still sweaty from training but grinning like a kid on Christmas.

“He said I’m a natural!” he beams. “Did you hear that, Dad? He said I had power in my stance.”

Their dad chuckles, proud. “He’s not wrong, son.”

In the passenger seat, their mom is scrolling through photos she took of the session. "I got one of Silas showing you how to block—look how intense your face is!"

Y/N sits in the back, crushed against the door again. The necklace with the lock feels heavier now. The key chain underneath it rubs against her collarbone like a secret no one else can see.

Her thighs are pressed tight together. Her hands shake in her lap.

Silas, up front beside her father, turns slightly to glance back at her. His smile is calm. Polite. Too calm.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks smoothly, the word twisting in her stomach.

Her mother glances back too. “You’ve been so quiet all day.”

Y/N nods quickly. “Just tired.”

Her voice is flat, too soft.

Silas’s fingers rest on the center console—close enough for her to see them twitch.

Instead of going straight home, Silas insists on treating them to something small—frozen yogurt, of all things.

They go.

Because everyone trusts him now.

He pays for everyone. Even picks out her flavor without asking.

“Vanilla with raspberries,” he murmurs to the cashier. “It’s her favorite.”

Y/N doesn’t correct him. Her throat’s too tight.

Her brother and his friend sit outside, laughing over toppings. Their mom and dad share a bench, enjoying the quiet.

Silas stands beside Y/N as she stares into her melting cup.

“You don’t get to run from me,” he whispers, voice low enough no one else hears. “And you definitely don’t get to hide.”

The Next Day

The sun is warm. They sit on a picnic blanket in the park, iced drinks in hand. Her friends are talking about summer, boys, music.

Y/N hasn’t said much—until she finally breaks.

“He touched me in the bathroom. On my birthday. He followed me in. Locked the door.”

Her voice is quiet, but it shakes.

One of her friends blinks. “Silas? Silas Vegas? Are you serious?”

Y/N nods.

“He left underwear in my room. A photo of me. He… he put his hand on me yesterday. I didn’t want him to.”

Another girl bites her straw. “Okay, that’s… intense.”

“Creepy,” another mutters. “But like… are you sure? He seems kind of… protective.”

“I’m sure,” Y/N snaps, eyes wide, tears building. “He threatened me.”

A silence falls.

It’s awkward. Heavy. They don’t know what to say. No one gets up. No one rushes to hug her.

Finally, one of them shifts the subject.

“Hey,” says the one with the sunglasses, “you should come with us to the summer camp pits.”

Y/N blinks.

“Camp?”

“Yeah. The annual one. You know—two weeks of hiking, swimming, taking care of little kids. It’ll be a break. You’d be a counselor this time.”

“And Silas can’t follow you there,” one of them adds, more gently. “He won’t even know where you are.”

That thought nearly makes Y/N sob.

She nods, clinging to the idea like a raft in the storm.

“I want to go. I’ll go.”

That Night – 

She stands in the kitchen with her hands folded, her voice practiced.

“There’s this camp. I’d be a counselor. Two weeks. Just girls and kids. No phones allowed.”

Her mother frowns. “Two weeks? Alone?”

“You won’t be alone,” her dad says gently. “But you just turned eighteen…”

“Which is why I want to do this,” Y/N says quickly. “I need some space. Some clarity.”

Her mom hesitates.

“It’s just—it feels sudden. You’ve been spending time with Silas. And now you’re rushing off?”

Y/N feels her heart drop into her stomach.

“He doesn’t need to know,” she whispers.

Her dad tilts his head. “Is something going on, Y/N?”

She almost says it.

Almost.

“No,” she lies. “I just want to be around people my own age.”

That Night – 

Y/N stands quietly as her parents talk in the kitchen. She can hear the concern in her mom’s voice—but it’s her dad who finally ends it.

“She’s eighteen. And she’s been… off lately. Let her go.”

Her mother sighs. “I just… it feels sudden.”

Her father glances toward the hallway—where Y/N stands just out of sight—and softens.

“She needs time with people her age. With girls. Camp’ll be good for her.”

Her mother doesn’t argue again.

Y/N barely makes it to her room before her legs give out. She sinks onto her bed and stares at the ceiling.

For the first time in weeks… she feels a sliver of hope.

[Time Skip: One Week Later]

The days pass quietly, almost too quietly.

Y/N barely speaks to Silas. She avoids his texts. Ignores the necklace. She’s careful. Cautious. Every step closer to leaving feels like a stolen breath.

She’s packed her bag in secret. Folded clothes, tucked in sunscreen, worn-out sneakers. No white dresses. No heels.

Just comfort. And escape.

Her friends pull into the driveway in a beat-up car, all piled with duffels and sleeping bags. The windows are down. Music’s playing low.

Y/N walks out with her bag slung over her shoulder. Her father steps out onto the porch and gives her a hug.

“Be safe, kiddo.”

She nods. “Thank you, Dad. Really.”

Her mom lingers by the door, arms crossed but silent.

Her brother stumbles out, yawning. “Wait—where are you going?”

Y/N hesitates. “Camp. I’m going to be a counselor.”

“Since when?”

“Since now,” she says softly. “It’s just two weeks.”

He shrugs, not thinking much of it. “Okay, cool. Send pics.”

She climbs into the car.

As they drive off, the necklace with the lock bumps lightly against her chest. She tucks it deep into her hoodie.

Later That Day –

The gym is humid, alive with energy. Her brother is sweating through drills, gloves pounding against the pads.

Silas watches from across the mat, still and unreadable.

“Keep your chin down,” he says. “Don’t leave your right hand hanging.”

“Yeah, yeah,” her brother pants. “You’re really uptight today.”

Silas doesn’t answer. His mind is elsewhere.

That’s when the brother says it, totally casual.

“Y/N left for camp this morning, by the way.”

Silas’s world goes still.

“What?”

“Yeah. Like two weeks. All-girls camp. She’s a counselor or whatever. She packed last night and just dipped.”

Silas stares at him.

“She didn’t tell me.”

The boy blinks, confused. “Uh… she said it was kind of last-minute. Guess she didn’t think you’d care.”

Silas doesn’t speak.

He simply turns, walks toward the back office, and shuts the door behind him with a quiet, final click.

The door locks.

He paces. Breathing sharp. Controlled.

She ran.

Not far. But far enough to think he wouldn’t follow.

He opens his phone.

No texts. No updates. No location ping.

He closes his eyes.

Good girls don’t run. Good girls don’t hide.

He opens a drawer. Pulls out something small.

The second key. The matching padlock.

He runs his thumb along the gold edge.

“Two weeks,” he whispers. “She thinks that’s enough time to forget who she belongs to.”

[calqlate]

RE: LOVE & LIFE | THREE

— THOSE WHO SHARE THE MEMORY

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

PAIRING(S): zhongli x f! reader + diluc x f! wife! reader

SUMMARY: As the wife of the famous big shot in the wine industry, you have everything you could ever ask for — a beautiful mansion, endless wealth, servants at your beck and call... However, you lack the one thing you yearn for: love. With your beloved husband neglecting you and being stuck in a loveless marriage, you decide to end it all, only to be stopped by a man whom you have never met before, and who also coincidentally happens to be your soulmate. In addition, there just might seem to be more than what meets the eye in regards to your peculiar soulmate, and you just might have to find that out for yourself.

CW(S)/TW(S): contains mentions of suicide attempts

TAGLIST (italicised blogs are unable to be tagged, pls dm me with your updated username): @crescentmoonnn + @deeomi + @esthelily + @holaseniorahoe + @loving-august + @mshope16 + @needsleep3000 + @nerdiel-has-no-braincells + @saintbernardthethird + @seyboo + @thelonelyarchon

A/N: apologies for the wait, uni has been kicking my ass (i'm in my final year of bachelor's rn! wahoo!) which made my brain go to a stalemate for a while. bUTTT i've recently finished tale of the nine-tailed which caused my brain to spur into action again (everyone say thanku to lee dongwook)! without further ado, pls enjoy!

You were presently seated in the Third-Round Knockout, a Liyuen restaurant which was famed for its gorgeous dishes which had a mouth-watering taste. Zhongli was seated diagonally across you to your left and Ajax in front of you. It was an odd combination, really, having a meal together with your business associate and your soulmate in a fancy, high-end restaurant.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Zhongli's direct gaze on you. It was zeroed in on you, making it seem like he was scrutinising every square inch of your face, and yet it made you feel warm all over, making you feel... embarrassed, somehow? You could only take small sips out of your cup of tea, careful as to not burn your tongue.

(Your tongue, or your cheeks, either one was applicable in this situation.)

"Are you familiar with Mr. Zhongli's practice, Mrs. Ragnvindr?"

Ajax's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I'm afraid not." Oh no, was your mind preoccupied with other thoughts while Ajax was talking? "Could you elaborate on it?"

"I should let Mr. Zhongli do the talking instead," Ajax said, "It's better for him to explain his job scope."

"I am a consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour," Zhongli spoke, "And I simply give people suggestions on how to proceed with their funeral preparations and which packages would best suit their needs. We have a variety of packages for everyone's needs, thanks to Director Hu's business-savvy mindset."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a funeral parlour consultant," you said, smiling candidly at him, "If anything, I thought you would be an art museum director of sorts."

"He does look the part, doesn't he?" Ajax said with a laugh, "I once mistook him as a CEO of some sort the first time I met him."

"Oh, I understand what you mean," you laughed, "It's in the way he carries himself."

"And the fancy choice of words, too," Ajax chimed in, "That's not all: he's so unusually knowledgeable about every topic!"

"You flatter me," Zhongli shook his head with a smile, "I simply have a good memory."

"Excellent memory, you mean," Ajax corrected him almost immediately, "Anyone would kill for that kind of brainpower. Remember the time you gave advice to that one Fontanian guy who pivoted into film-making? He immediately made a whole lot of money with his debut film!"

You raised your eyebrows. If Zhongli was even adept at advising a novice filmmaker, perhaps he had some good suggestions for your new business plan you had in mind.

"Mr. Zhongli," the dark-haired man immediately turned his head towards your direction as soon as you called his name, "If you would be so kind, I would like to hear your opinion on my business plan."

He straightened his back slightly and interlaced his fingers together, interest piqued as his entire body was turned to face you as he spoke, "Sure, I am all ears."

"This is the business plan I had in mind, which is in collaboration with the Fatui Network..." You launched into your spiel, mapping out the business plan you had in mind (which all of the details had already been discussed with Ajax beforehand), and Zhongli listened attentively. After you were done speaking, there was a brief moment of silence.

"This is indeed a well thought-out plan, but could I make a few minor suggestions?" Zhongli asked.

You nodded, "Please feel free to do so, the floor is yours."

Zhongli began to speak his mind, pointing out what particular flaws and loopholes your business plan might have concerning your consumer base in a respectful and straightforward manner, and what particular negative repercussions might be incurred. You thought Ajax was bluffing when he said Zhongli was insightful; Zhongli was pretty much a wise sage speaking with all the knowledge Teyvat could possibly even offer. If he were a movie character, he would be the wise old pilgrim living at the top of some snowy, out-of-reach mountain that the main character had to climb for months just to reach him.

"...That is all I have to offer, and you might want to take my thoughts with a grain of salt," Zhongli concluded his verbalised thoughts, picking up his teacup again.

"No, what you've just said makes complete sense," you shook your head, "I'll adjust a couple of points on my end. Thank you for your insight, it was really helpful!"

As if right in cue, the food that Ajax had ordered arrived and was served on the table.

"Let's dig in, shall we?" Ajax grinned, and you mirrored his smile and dug your chopsticks into your bowl of noodles as a response.

Ajax left as soon as brunch concluded, scurrying off to pay for the meal first and apologising for leaving first due to urgent business matters.

So that left you and Zhongli alone, standing outside the restaurant.

"Are you heading back to the hotel, Mrs. Ragnvindr?" Zhongli asked, hands situated round his back.

The sun was shining in the sky, but it was not unbearably hot. On the contrary, it was warm and inviting, perfect for an afternoon walk.

You shook your head, "I was planning to go for a stroll. Would you like to join me?"

The man smiled as his eyes softened, "It would be my pleasure."

You and Zhongli walked along the roads of Liyue's capital, taking in the bustling chatter of people and the busy city life. Vehicles were whirring past the both of you, and the rays of the sun ricochetted off the glass panels of the buildings. Somehow, doing something as simple as going on a promenade was much more fulfilling than doing work back home.

"Oh, look! Roadside stalls!" your eyes brightened as you spotted a couple of stalls set up by the road, with old women managing them and selling a variety of trinkets. Without hesitation, you made a beeline towards the stalls, eyes scanning through the products on display. Zhongli joined you soon after, peering past your shoulder to peruse through the items on sale.

"It's nice to see you, Zhongli," a welcoming, gentle voice spoke, causing both you and Zhongli to look up. It was an old woman with her silver hair tied up into a low bun, and a pair of round-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose.

"The pleasure is mine, Street — ahem, Madam Ping," Zhongli returned the greeting.

"Ah, and who's this young lady you've brought along with you?" Madam Ping's eyes shifted over to you, and for a split second, you could see some sort of surprised expression in her eyes. However, it was fleeting and was quickly replaced by a warm gaze and a complementary, friendly smile.

"She is an... acquaintance of mine," Zhongli explained.

"It's nice to meet you," you smiled and gave a little bow (It's customary in Liyuen tradition for younger people to bow in greeting to the older folk, you remembered), then refocused your gaze on the items on display, "You have wonderful wares on display, ma'am."

"Take your pick, child," Madam Ping smiled, then bent over to whisper, "As Zhongli's friend, you're entitled to take one for free."

Your eyes widened into the size of saucers, "Oh, no, I can't do that! You're running a business here; I wouldn't want to make you lose any profit!"

"I insist," Madam Ping shook her head, then nodded towards Zhongli, "He doesn't have a whole lot of friends, so I'm happy to know he's made a new one. I guess you can say this is a little bribe from me to convince you to stay friends with him."

While you really thought you should not be imposing and picking out something for free, you knew you would offend this sweet old lady if you turned her offer down. With a smile and dejected shake of your head, you said, "Alright, then."

Madam Ping brightened almost immediately and you went about the stall, browsing through the wares, discreetly looking at the price tags and trying to pick the cheapest one so that you would not be the first step into driving this poor woman into bankruptcy (or whatever it would be).

Madam Ping shifted over to Zhongli and lowered her voice down to a whisper, "So, it seems you've found her again in this life."

Zhongli hummed.

"This is her last life, isn't it?"

Zhongli nodded, a bittersweet smile taking over his features.

Madam Ping studied his facial expression before speaking again, "You don't seem that happy to know that she's one step closer to reuniting with you."

Zhongli shook his head, "I am beyond delighted to know that she is not too far from reincarnating again and spending her next life forever with me, but..." Zhongli frowned before continuing, "I cannot help but wonder if that is exactly what she wants in her next life is all."

Madam Ping mirrored Zhongli's expression, but in a curious manner, "What makes you say that?"

"I was never her lover in any of her past incarnations," Zhongli explain in a slow manner, as if recalling an archaic tale from long ago, "I had always been a friend, a companion to her. In one of those lives, she told me that she never wanted to live her life like that, having me by her side."

He could remember it as clear as day. The day he saved you from drowning, his body completely drenched in seawater. The fabric of his clothes was clinging to his skin and his hair was tousled and damp. Your skin was pale and your lower lip was trembling, but most importantly, your eyes were filled with tears and you were hitting his body repeatedly.

"Why did you save me?" you wept as your fists struck his chest weakly, "You should've just left me to die!"

"I would never want to see you give up on yourself," he whispered as he swept a stray lock of hair out of your face.

You lowered your head and gripped his clothes, "Did it never occur to you that this was not the life that I wanted?" You raised your head to look at him directly in the eye, a sort of sad fury burning behind your eyes, "In this life, or in any other life, I've never wanted you by my side."

It was a painful yet memorable moment that haunted him every waking hour. Perhaps he had been wrong to even make that contract in the first place. All of this happened because of his selfish desire to see you again, to meet you again, to just stand by your side for another day. He had never once thought about what you wanted. And so, that day woke him up from his self-centered fantasy and caused him to question all his choices. Maybe he should have just let you leave and not hold you back. Perhaps that was what you wanted in the very beginning.

Madam Ping frowned, "I'm sure that's not what she meant. You know she's got a tender spot for you."

Zhongli lowered his head and stared at his gloved hands, "I hope that holds true, Streetward Rambler."

"Ma'am! I've found something!" your voice plucked the two old friends out of their little bubble of conversation, and both of them turned to look at you. You were waving at them, a smile in place as your other hand was holding something small in your palm. You looked so carefree and happy, and Zhongli could only hope you would stay this way forever.

"Don't worry too much, Rex Lapis," Madam Ping whispered as she gave the man a gentle pat on the arm, "I know she wouldn't blame you for your choices."

As the old woman walked off to talk to you and package your procured item into a small wooden box, Zhongli could only hope and pray that Madam Ping's words rang true.