Sleepy Boys Ft. Xiao, Venti, Diluc, Thoma, Itto

sleepy boys ft. xiao, venti, diluc, thoma, itto

as an adeptus, xiao doesn’t actually need sleep, but that doesn’t stop him from getting exhausted. it makes him a little crabby and even more standoffish than usual, but give him a hot bath, spoon him and even maybe hum something to him and he’ll be out pretty quickly. sometimes, if he’s really relaxed, his eyes get heavy and he might make tiny, cute yawns, lean into you a little heavier than he was already. if you bring it up, he gets super defensive and denies it, but it’s really cute.

venti sleeps a lot—mostly when he’s drunk or bored, and he loves when you join him! if he’s drunk, give him some water to help with the hangover he’s about to have and get him into bed for a night of cuddling and him slurring out ballads about you. if he’s bored, he likes to climb all over you to find a comfortable position before he tries to sleep. if you’re working, he’ll stretch across your hands like a cat—cute but horribly distracting. he likes getting goodnight kisses, even if it’s just a nap—make sure you give him one, otherwise he’ll make a big fuss out of it.

diluc’s sleeping schedule is horrendous. he’s up all day attending to the winery and up all night bartending or haunting the streets of mondstadt. the only time he really gets any sleep is when he’s about to pass out and you make him—he’ll put up a little fight about it because he’s not a child, he can take care of himself, he’s fine, but as soon as you get him in your lap he’s fast asleep and burying his face in you. he’s so warm, radiates it like a furnace. the temperature flares if he’s having a nightmare, and it can be scary the first few times, but just stroke his hair and give him little reassurances and it will even out again. if he’s actually sleepy? give him sleepy cuddles, because he’s so big and warm; it’s a heavenly experience.

thoma is another one that works until he drops. he’s usually so worried about everything around him that he doesn’t notice he’s exhausted until he’s barely able to stand up. he’ll try to weasel his way out of resting, but just ask if he’ll at least cuddle with you, please? he’s been so busy lately… and after a minute, he’s absolutely limp. thoma will scoot towards anything warm when he’s sleeping, and usually that thing is you—even if you start out separate, you’ll wake up with him sprawled all over you.

itto loves loves loves sleeping with you!! he likes being the big spoon because he can wrap his arms around you and squeeze you like a teddy bear (gently, of course), and he likes cuddling in general. it takes forever for him to actually fall asleep, though, because he just gets excited about even being beside you. just give him little kisses and comb his hair, let him talk himself out, and eventually you’ll have a big oni-puppy curled around you and snoring. he’s a very animated sleeper, moves around and talks and sometimes laughs, and it’s usually very endearing if he isn’t kicking or rolling on top of you.

♱ ‧₊˚. THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY ꒰ toji x f!reader ꒱ nsfw — mdni [dubcon (reader is crossfaded), alcohol/cocaine use, mentions of overdosing, infidelity (reader is cheating on megumi), age-gap, degradation, praise, raw sex, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, groping, pet names, squirting] wc [4k] an [repost from last night ⸝⸝ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆⸝⸝ if you liked this, you can also reblog it]

"m’kay— think that's enough for one night, doll," toji lets out an amused chuckle as he observes your actions through his peripheral.

you’re leaning over the tray placed on your lap to snort your fifth line of coke that night, your head shooting back up to face the roof of toji’s car as you scrunch your nose in an attempt to offset the sting of the powder lining your sinuses. once the feeling subdued, you lazily turn to face the man in the driver’s seat, blinking at him dumbfoundedly with a pouty frown on your lips.

huh.

how’d i end up in my boyfriend’s dad’s car?

why couldn’t megumi come pick me up? did i even call him? i don’t think i did. did yuuji do it? why didn’t megumi come to the party in the first place? oh, right, he has that exam tomorrow morning. wait, don’t i have to write that exam, too? god, it’s so hot, even with the windows down. the wind feels nice… shit, it’s really cold.

the harsh gust of the cool summer night’s wind flew in through toji’s open window and across your body, pushing your hair past your shoulders and raising goosebumps on your bare arms. you shiver against the leather seat, sinking further into it in an attempt to avoid the draft. this shift in your position seems to have only made it worse, however; the rigid breeze now skimming over your chest.

oh, wait, that feels good…

the copious amount of drugs in your blood had you hyper-cognizant of every tiny, minute change your body experienced, and that translated into the heightened responses it elicited.

you feel your nipples harden through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you can’t help the way your thighs start rubbing together to ease the inevitable throbbing of your clit. your breathing is quick to become ragged as you feel yourself burning up, and you undo your seatbelt to shuffle uncomfortably in your seat.

“f-fuck…” it escapes you as the quietest of erotic sighs, yet, it’s loud enough for toji’s ears to pick up on.

he’s snapping his head towards you at the sound of your high-pitched voice and the slow beeping coming from his car to signal him that you’d removed your seatbelt. his brow is raised and worry is hidden in his eyes behind the usual nonchalance they carry— he’s ready to ask you if you’re alright before the sight in front of him nearly knocks the air out of his lungs.

your head is leaning back against the headrest, face set blissfully with slightly parted lips and closed eyes. his gaze scans over your body; your nipples peeking out through your tank top, your far too-short skirt doing a poor job of covering your legs— the fabric bunching up at your hips and one of your hands slotted in between your thighs. you're dragging your clit along your fist, the faint gasps you let out travelling straight to toji’s cock.

fucking hell. were you too coked up to notice that your boyfriend’s dad was sitting right next to you?

from the first day his son brought you home, toji knew. he knew damn well you were going to cause him a lot of problems. he couldn’t deny that he had the hots for his son’s girlfriend; what with the way you waltz around his home wearing nothing but megumi’s shirts and your panties, with the way you talk to him with coquettish undertones lacing your soft voice, with the way you always smile at him so sweetly and so, so enticingly.

did you have any idea of what you do to him? or were you just that fucking naive?

did you have any idea of how he fucks his fist to the obscene sounds of your whimpers and whines as megumi fucks you into the bed in the next room over? or how he spills all over your panties that had accidentally gotten into his laundry? or how you’re in his dreams damn near every night, where he’s the one leaving his mark on you, and not megumi.

he’s brought back to the present when the tempo of the beeps coming from his car increases. before he realises it, he’s reaching out to place a sweaty palm on your thigh— a bit further up than he probably should’ve— to lightly shake you, “hey, doll, you gotta put your seatbelt back on.”

you whine in response, arching your back further off the seat upon the contact of his skin on yours, “don’t wanna…” your free hand finds its way on top of toji’s much larger one, and you slide your fingers under his palm to hold it, “can- can you… h-hah…”

toji would never admit it, but you have him short circuiting. behind his seemingly cool demeanour, he’s having a hard time driving straight in between the lines; his car swerving left and right. the incessant beeping from the dashboard that only seems to be getting louder and louder doesn’t do anything to help the chaos of the situation he’s in, “c’mon, use your words…”

he hides his flustered arousal behind that signature, devilish smirk of his, eyes fluttering between the road and your legs as he swallows an impending groan that’s brought on by you sliding his hand to hook onto the inside of your thigh.

toji's too focused on trying to not let your lewd whimpers get to his head— and his dick, to notice that the grip he had on the steering wheel was turning white-knuckled and that his foot had been applying more pressure on the accelerator.

120 mph.

“t-toji…”

he covers up a cough with a low chuckle, your soft call of his name sending his brain into overdrive. he rubs a comforting thumb along your thigh— fuck, your skin was so soft, “yeah, doll?”

you utter almost painfully, “ngh— n-need… need you…”

130 mph.

toji fushiguro was a greedy man. he craved money, sex, and all the thrills that the universe had to offer. but at this point in his life, nothing came close to how much he wanted you. was it because you were probably the only thing that he couldn’t have? maybe.

was it because you belonged to his son and not him? perhaps.

toji fushiguro was a greedy man, but the amount of self-discipline he has is almost surprising. he knows not to touch what’s not his— especially when it comes to megumi.

but with the way you’re begging him to take you, with the way you’re clinging onto his hand as if it were a lifeline— god, toji doesn’t think his patience has ever been tested to this extreme.

“fuck me… please— oh, god— need it s’bad, toji…”

140 mph.

the thin thread of resolve that toji had was very close to tearing. he inhales deeply, before looking over at you with a grin more sinister than before, “you’re playing a dangerous game here… don’t get your pretty little head into somethin’ y’know you won’t be able to get out of,” his fingers experimentally dig into the flesh of your thigh, coaxing a wanton moan of his name from your throat.

"want you so bad… wanna fuck you so bad," your thighs tighten around his hand, "want you inside me, wanna feel you fill me up—"

and that's when he snaps.

"fuck this," with a sudden jerk of the steering wheel, he's pulling over to the side of the freeway, putting his car in park before hastily undoing his seatbelt and leaning over to maneuver you onto his lap. without warning, he takes either side of your face in his hands, pulling you into him to clash his lips against yours.

the kiss is hungry and full of lust, full of the want and need that toji’s had bottled up in him for the many months you’ve been dating his son.

his fingers trace down your neck to slide the straps of your tank-top off your shoulders, pulling down the front to expose your breasts. the cool breeze of the night flows through the open window, goosebumps forming on your supple skin, and you can't help the shiver that runs up your spine as you press your chest into his to try and feel as much of him against you as possible.

his palms crawl under the fabric of your top and run up your sides, stopping at your chest to rub his calloused thumbs over your perky nipples. his actions elicit a ghost of a moan from you and an uncontrolled buck of your hips against his, "f-fuck..."

toji’s fully sober, but he feels himself getting drunk on your taste and touch, the alcohol on your tongue prominent against his, the tip of his nose lightly dusted with the white powder you messily snorted earlier. your one hand is under his black skin-tight shirt, warm palm placed on his taut abs to feel the way they contract and expand under your sensual touch; your other hand is lost in his straight black locks, gripping and gently tugging every time you feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your arousal.

he’s groaning into your mouth and ravishing you with sloppy kisses, sucking and tugging on your lower lip before releasing it with a pop, "do you have any idea of what you do to me? walkin’ around dressed like a fuckin' hooker?" his large hands travel down to your hips, impatient fingers tapping against the cotton fabric of your too-short skirt; he's snarling against your jaw, peppering wet kisses and leaving bite marks along his trail, "the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you smile— the way you cry out my son’s name when he’s fucking you into the bed? yeah, doll, i can hear it all, y’know."

the growl lacing his baritone voice sends blood rushing straight to your clit and prompts you to grind down onto his lap, revealing the boner he'd popped, "please, toji—"

"fuck; you sound even better when you’re sayin’ my name,” his lips are at your collarbone now, trailing south to leave love-bites on the curvature of your breasts— right atop the fading ones left on you by megumi from nights prior. as for toji’s hands— they're on your thighs, palming and squeezing at whatever flesh he can get a hold of.

his fingers dance upwards, and you feel a lick of warmth shoot up your abdomen as he nears the place you need him the most. toji lets out a low groan against your sternum when he feels the lack of the thin fabric he was expecting to separate your cunt from the thick denim of his jeans, "no panties? you're practically begging to be fucked stupid, aren't cha?"

"wan' it s'bad, toji, please, please,” pawing at his crotch with butterfingers, you attempt to remove the button of his jeans, letting out a needy whine when you can't get them undone.

tojii notices that your words are more slurred now— the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in your system are probably just reaching their peak.

he’s a man of questionable morals; sure, he’s definitely dreamed about fucking you every which way when he sleeps at night, waking up with soiled boxers and sweat drenching the sheets. he’s definitely shamelessly fucked his fist while he hears the bed creak rhythmically from his son’s room next door, your broken mewls and cries spurring him on until he cums the most he thinks he ever has.

he’s a man of questionable morals; but even he can tell this is an all time low for him. there's a voice in the back of his mind that's screaming at him to stop, how messed up it is of him to be fucking his son's girlfriend— but how does he expect himself to hold back when you're the one who pushed yourself onto him, when you're the one asking him— and not his son, your boyfriend— to bury his cock deep within you and fill you up.

toji helps you with unbuttoning his jeans and freeing his cock from its confines, letting out a curse when the cold night breeze sweeps over it. your pussy throbs at the sight of his dick— it's leaking pre-cum, fat tip flushed red and angry; desperately in need of attention with the way it's twitching against his abdomen. you can't help the giggle that escapes you in that moment, your index finger lightly tracing over a prominent vein, "can tell where ‘gumi got his size from…”

his cock twitches again at your words, a breathy laugh leaving him as he leans forward, one hand finding the back of your neck to mold his lips against yours. with his other hand, he takes a hold of his cock and strokes it a few times, rubbing the pre-cum over his length before flicking your skirt up and gliding the head in between your folds, making sure to give extra attention to your puffy nub. he feels your hips buck against his and your arms wrap tighter around his shoulders when he prods your entrance open, dreamily sighing into his mouth, “feels s’good, toji…”

“h-hah, ‘m not even in you yet— o-oh, fuck,” you sink down on his full length without warning, languid moans falling from both of your lips, and your ass squishing down against his thighs as you take a moment to adjust to his size.

just from looking at his dick, you thought it was roughly the same size as your boyfriend’s but fuck, does it feel so much bigger inside you— the girth stretching you out almost painfully and the thick head hitting pleasure points against your wall that you didn’t even know existed. your chest flushes with warmth when he shifts his hips experimentally, your clit catching onto his pubic bone, earning a broken whimper from you as you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

maybe it’s all the foreign substances in your blood talking, but toji’s dick feels so, so amazing— feels like you’re in seventh heaven, and he hasn’t even started moving. a part of you is scared for him to, knowing that you’ll be sure to cum embarrassingly quick from the heavy drag of his veiny cock and the tip nudging up against that one sacred spot inside you that megumi’s dick couldn’t even dream of reaching.

unbeknownst to you, toji was experiencing the same inner turmoil. he swears he’s never been in pussy this tight— or at least not in many years; and god, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this good. he’s pretty sure you’re unaware of the way your wall is clamping down on his length, but he’s hyper aware of how your ministrations keep pushing him closer and closer to his release. his arms engulf your frame and pull you flush against his chest, his breathing ragged against the crown of your head, “gotta stop clenching ‘round my cock like that, baby, f-fuck.”

your hold on his bicep loosens as you turn your head into his face, lips tracing his jaw. you look up at him through your lashes and you both share the same expression; parted lips slowly curving upwards into soft smiles. toji knew this was wrong; who in their right mind would fuck their son’s girlfriend? you also knew it was wrong, even through your clouded inebriation, but that just added to the thrill of it all; the giddiness in both of you growing by the second, “i— s-sorry…”

toji’s heart swells upon hearing your sweet voice, and he can’t help but coo at you, “good girl, so sweet f’me— umph!”

good girl.

all it took were those two words to have you clamping down on his cock again, this time much harder than previously. a lewd cry escapes your lips as your head falls forward onto his chest, your arms encircling his broad shoulders, “f-fuck, ‘m sorry!”

he’s panting into your neck, hot breath leaving drops of condensation that drip down your skin. toji has a lot of patience and willpower, both of which were running extremely low— all thanks to you. it’s not like he really minds, though; he wants nothing more than to fuck you senseless, wants nothing more than to hear you call out his name, wants nothing more than to taint you and watch his thick seed leak out of you, “y’like that, huh? like it when i praise ya, pretty?”

your needy whine overtakes his voice mid-sentence as your rub your hips against his. you want to fuck him; you want to bounce on his cock and make him feel good, but there’s no way you can. you’re practically jelly in his arms; complaisant and pliable, and half your mind is wishing you’d taken it easier on the alcohol, “mhm, can you— h-hah… fuck me, please, d-daddy?”

toji groans when hears your last word, “smart girl— catchin’ on s’quickly,” he’s quick to heed your request that you asked him oh, so sweetly for, thrusting his hips up into yours gently once, twice, and then a third time, his half-lidded eyes scanning your face.

your bottom lip is caught between your top teeth as you try to suppress the obscene sounds you knew would escape your throat; your eyes are shut and brows furrowed, head tilted back to expose your neck and chest to him. his lips find a home in the hollow of your collar bone, where he sucks and nips to mark you up even more— the thought of megumi finding your body littered with small bruises that he knows he didn’t leave has toji smirking into your skin.

his actions elicit a gasp from you and your fingers find the roots of his hair to grip them, “daddy; please, please, please— ngh, s’good,” you’re babbling at this point, without even the slightest of clues of what you’re begging him for.

calling him “daddy” again seem to awaken some type of carnal desire within him, with the way his thrusts start becoming more forceful and his fingertips dig further into the flesh of your waist. he’s hitting deep— so deep and so violently that your jaw falls slack and a loud moan of his name leaves your lips.

toji growls in response, one hand leaving your waist to pull you in by the back of your neck for a slobbery kiss. your tongues massage each other, drool dripping down the corners of your mouths. it’s messy— full of lust and passion and desire.

he loves it that way.

the sounds of his thighs slapping up against your ass and the wet squelches of his cock ploughing into your leaking cunt fill the empty silence of the car, but your lewd cries and mewls are quick to join the ensemble. you sound so cute— so innocent and so sweet with the way you’re begging for him that a part of toji wishes he hadn’t fallen prey to his craving for you. despite this, he can’t help the ever-growing amount of blood rushing down to his cock.

he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, and neither were you.

every thrust up into your soft cunny has your clit catching onto his pelvis, and you can feel the cold flame in your abdomen burning brighter from the accompanied drag of his cock against all the pleasure points that line your walls. broken gasps and whimpers fall onto his ears as you swear he’s fucking up into your womb.

toji isn’t faring much well off either; your gummy walls have his length in a vice grip, and your voice only drives him closer and closer to his high. his eyes are stuck on your entrance, salivating at the way the ring of cream coating the base of his cock gets thicker with each thrust up into you, "gonna let daddy cum inside this pretty pussy?"

“oh, fuck, y-yes—” your grip on his hair tightens.

“yeah?” it’s a back-and-forth; toji asking you almost mockingly and you responding with high-pitched whines, “so good f'me.”

and suddenly, without warning, he’s groping your ass to fuck you at an angle that has you choking on your breath. you sob at the way the fat head of his dick is hitting your cervix rapidly, falling dizzy from how he’s splitting you in half. an unfamiliar tremor slowly makes its appearance within you, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt it when megumi’s made you cum before.

no, this is different; it feels like a flash, a hot streak ripping through your body and pulsating in your abdomen as you succumb to your arousal, your body breaking into trembles under toji’s secure hold, “daddy, cumming— 'm cumming!”

“shh, that’s it, princess, let go,” his thumb finds your clit to rub gentle circles on it, helping you ride out your high. you're crying while you're cumming, the pleasure hitting you like a high tide, and you’re gasping for air as you feel your essence leaking out of the gap between your cunny and toji’s cock to wet his lap and the leather seat below him. your walls spasm around him, and he twitches inside of you as his thrusts pick up speed, “f-fuck, ‘m gonna cum too.”

and that he does. he’s leaning into you, muffling a guttural groan into your neck as his hips lose their rhythmic pace and begin to stutter. he spills inside your womb, seed sloshing around your walls to paint them an opaque, milky white. his cock twitches inside you, the warmth of your spongy walls sending gentle waves of euphoria through him.

you’re resting your head on his chest with his chin on your scalp, both of you heaving to catch your breaths in the aftermath of a mind-blowing orgasm. toji’s the first to speak, pressing a lingering kiss to your hairline, “you’re fuckin’ filthy, doll.”

his voice rumbles through his chest, the reverberations ringing through your worn body and you all of a sudden feel embarrassed, letting out a timid hum as you bury your face into the crook of his neck.

“don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now,” one of toji’s hands tighten around your waist, the other coming up to gently cup your cheek and lift your face to meet his gaze.

he had always thought your looks were easy on the eyes, but seeing you like this— with your tired, lust-blown eyes, a thin sheen of saliva coating your pouty lips, and the moon casting her light down on one side of your face to illuminate the apples of your cheeks and the colour of your irises— god, he swears he’s never seen a sight more stunning, “megumi’s one lucky bastard,” his thumb caresses your cheekbone and you find yourself leaning into his touch, a lazy smile making its way onto your face.

he’s silent as he admires your face for a minute before you finally process his previous statement, your brain working at half it’s sober speed, “hah, or maybe he’s not—”

“let’s not… let’s not think about that for now,” he whispers before leaning forward to slot your lips between his in an attempt to push that thought aside in his mind.

the gravity of the situation you’d both gotten yourselves into hadn’t exactly hit yet— neither of you want it to— thinking that you could stay in this position, with his lips moulded against yours and his cock buried deep within the warm confinements of your walls for eternity.

you're both brought out of your post-sex bliss when buzzing comes from your phone that’s laying face up on the shotgun seat. your heads turn in time to take a look at who's calling, only to be met with a selfie of you and megumi on the screen. toji reaches an arm out to pick up the device, an expletive followed by a low laugh leaving his lips, and he taps your phone gently against the side of your head, "so... you gonna answer that, princess? or should i?"

REBLOGS + FEEDBACK APPRECIATED ⸝⸝ʚ̴̶̷̆ ̯ʚ̴̶̷̆⸝⸝

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hai! i’m for a prompt ideas! what if the archons met you and felt genuine romantic love (again since people says zhongli had his first love before) after being alive for so many decades.

realizing they love you

feat. Venti, Zhongli, Ei

VENTI

Venti slumps over the bar— though this time it wasn’t from being in a drunken stupor. In fact, he didn’t have a single drink tonight.

No, this time he groans to himself at the thought of you.

He’s always been good at making friends. There was no doubt that the bard was social enough to win over the favor of others. But even though he would often be surrounded by others, he often found himself alone. The merriment of others would bring a weak smile on his face, and he often wondered if this was as good as it would get.

There was something about his friendship with you that differed than the rest. You became his closest friend and someone he could rely on. He rarely would divulge in his true disposition, but you worked hard to break down his barriers, allowing him to drop his sunny facade. Venti’s not sure how you were able to do that, but it became clear to him that you weren’t just the average friend he’s made. The way he felt about you superseded what normal friends were supposed to feel.

His gaze would go soft at the sight of you. His lips would find themselves forming a smile not long after seeing your own grin. His heart would beat erratically when he felt your head rest on his shoulder. Surely these aren’t normal friend reactions.

Venti’s never been in love for as long as he’s been alive. Is this what it feels like? Was it supposed to feel both enthralling and terrifying?

“Can’t believe most people go through this” Venti mumbles to himself.

He sits back up, rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out a sigh. As wise as he was, Venti finds himself at a loss when it comes to navigating his own feelings. What was he supposed to do next? How should he act around you? And what exactly did you think about him.

Even with years of knowledge and time under his belt, these were the types of questions that never had a definitive answer.

ZHONGLI

All you did was laugh at one of Zhongli’s quips. It was just one of the many things he said on his evening walk with you. That’s all it took for that old, familiar feeling to return to him.

Zhongli had fallen in love with you.

It wasn’t that Zhongli didn’t have the capacity to love- it was that he wasn’t sure if he could do so again. He’s already loved and lost before, was he willing to go through such pain a second time? For years, he’s always held onto the disposition that even though falling in love is a wonderful thing, there was always the risk of losing it.

He looks over at you, a smile on his face as you begin rambling on about your day. Just how long has he been feeling like this? Surely this wasn’t just a sudden epiphany where he just so decided that he was in love with you. For the time that he’s known you, Zhongli always had some interest in you. And while it didn’t start off as romantic interest, he couldn’t deny that he instantly captivated by you.

And as he got to know you more and more, he began noticing endearing details about you he hadn’t noticed before. His eyes began to follow you more, his touch lingering just a tad longer than normal. Everyday he wondered whether or not you’d visit him at work. And when you did, his heart would flutter each time you walked through the front doors, a smile adorning your face.

Zhongli chuckles to himself- he couldn’t deny his feelings any longer.

He loves you. Dearly.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad for Zhongli to experience this again. Once again he glances over at you, his heart thumping even harder than before as you giggle when recalling a particularly funny moment that occurred.

Zhongli lets his hand brush against yours before gently holding it, letting his fingers intertwine with yours. It was an innocent gesture, but intimate nonetheless. He keeps his face pointed straight, unsure of your reaction- and most definitely unsure with how you feel towards him. But maybe he would take the risk to find out.

EI

Ei’s starting to believe Miko is some sort of sham. As the archon strides down the many stairs of the Grand Narukami Shirine, she thinks back on the words her best friend told her.

“Are you really feeling this way because of a curse?” the kitsune asked, smirking at Ei like the archon herself was a fool.

She had gone to see Miko for an exorcism. There must have been some sort of curse placed on her. Why else would her chest suddenly feel tight at the sight of you? And why else would she start to feel incredibly nervous the closer you got? It surely sounds like a curse to Ei.

As Ei walked back to Inazuma City, she happened across one of the small shrines littered across the town. A couple stood prayed to one of them, leaving sweets as an offering.

“Let’s pray to the archon that our love stays eternal” the man said to his girlfriend, leaving Ei confused. She certainly didn’t have any jurisdiction over someone’s feelings- let alone the everlasting love of a couple. Love wasn’t some sort of magic spell.

Ei’s steps came to a halt as she thought more about love.

Why was it that when she thought of love, your face came to mind?

“That can’t- that …” she mutters to herself, thinking too hard about something that’s relatively obvious. She continued walking, her mind an absolute haze. You were just a dear friend of Ei’s.

A friend that continued to occupy so much space in her mind. A friend that she wished would always stay by her side and never have to leave. A friend that made Ei feel cherished, and likewise someone whom Ei wanted to adore. Surely these were just all things that happened between two friends.

Ei sighs- she knew she was lacking some expertise in the real world. But even she knows that she’s not so naive to the point of being unable to recognize her feelings towards you.

And in one swift motion, the electro archon spins on her heel, making the trek back to the Grand Narukami Shrine. At the very least, Miko should give her advice on what to do next.

Broken Loyalties (1)

Yandere! Ayato + Thoma x f!reader

-I originally posted this on ao3 but decided post it here too! mostly thomaxreader but pt 2 will be ayatoxreader <3 sorry for the odd paragraph spacing btw :,)

Thoma finds his loyalties questioned

Warnings: Yandere themes, forced marriage, no explicit sex but contains thoma’s filthy imaginations 💗 descriptions of unstable mental health (?)

You feel like you are withering away.

Every day, it feels a little harder to drag yourself out of bed. The colors around your world seem so bleak and dark and dreary. And the food presented in front of you, has it always been so… unappetizing? Truthfully, the piping hot dishes spread across the oak table is a feast. Steaming soup, fresh fish accompanied with a bowl of rice. The clammy grip you have around your chopsticks tightens.

All of a sudden, you are hit with an overwhelming sense to heave your empty stomach across the lavish meal.

“Miss? Miss?”

You don’t hear your attendant until his warm fingers are prying the trembling chopsticks from your grip. Your heart calms down from its frantic gallop. He?

Immediately, your head shoots upward. Blonde hair, soft emerald eyes, and an even softer look of concern flashing in his gaze. “Who are you?” Your eyes narrow. He isn’t the usual timid servant who trails around you like a second shadow. The second thing you register is the unfamiliarity of his uniform. It’s unlike the typical Inazuman attire adorned by the Kamisato servants, they normally wear gray and blue - a representative of the Kamisato clan’s colors. On the contrary, his clothes seem to be a mixture of traditional Inazuman embellishments paired with… The crimson red of his jacket tugs on your memory. “Where are you from?” The question escapes your mouth before you can stop yourself.

His bright eyes widened in surprise. This man is perfect picture of youthful innocence.

“M-My name is Thoma,” he explains as he snatches his hand away from yours. “I hail from Mondstadt. I must apologize for touching you without your permission, it just looked like you were about to-”

“Mondstadt?” you parrot. Before Thoma can take his hand away from yours, your fingers close around his wrist in a grip that betrays the strength of your smaller figure. Something akin to life seems to flicker alight in your dull eyes. “Are you really from Mondstadt?” you ask him again.

Thoma seems startled by your bold movements. “Y-Yes, my lady.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You finally seem to realize that your fingers are still snared around his wrist. “I did not mean to grab you, that was very unbecoming of me.”

“Please don’t apologize! It was an honor for me to meet the mistress of the Kamisato clan. I shouldn’t have touched you without permission.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. The hand around Thoma’s wrist loosens as you turn around to the table again. In the blink of an eye, you’ve withdrawn back to your shell. The spark of interest in your eyes dims like a fire deprived of oxygen. “You may take your leave,” you tell him in a clipped yet polite voice. You cross your hands elegantly over your lap, not a trace of earlier friendliness could be found. “It was nice meeting you.” Smaller in stature, larger in presence. You weren't the young woman who’d gripped his wrist earlier anymore, you were now the Kamisato matron, elegant, poised, lifeless. A title that you clearly despised.

Nevertheless, Thoma bows as he retreats out of the room.

Not once do you turn around.

—

The second time Thoma meets you, he finds you in the Kamisato gardens. Your hair is swept into a delicate spiral of elaborate braids and held away from your face by a floral kanzashi at the nape of your neck. The dim sunlight glints off the pin in your hair, casting a reflection around your head and setting your skin alight with muted golden rays. A sight that would have left every painter in awe. Thoma swears his heart skips a beat.

But when you turn around, the sound of his footsteps had clearly alerted you, your eyes are dark and cloudy. Like a match about to die out if the wind blew a little too strongly. “My lady,” Thoma calls out respectfully. “It looks like it’s about to rain. My lord has requested for you to return indoors.”

The corners of your lips tug downwards slightly. “I see.”

A few moments pass as you continue to stare off into the distance. Thoma shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

Just as the silence stretches on to the point where it was uncomfortable, you raise an eyebrow. “How did a young man from Mondstadt end up serving an Inazuman clan?” you start.

You look at him properly this time. And faced with the undivided attention of your steely gaze, Thoma nearly stutters over his story.

When he finishes, you smile a bit. It’s a small smile, but Thoma takes it as a victory anyhow. “Are you happy here, Thoma?” Your voice was so soft that Thoma nearly missed it over the rumble of thunder.

Somehow, he had a feeling that the answer to your question was one that he should tread with extreme caution. “The Kamisato siblings have never treated me with anything but kindness,” he says carefully. Emerald eyes scour your face for any sort of emotion. Your features betray nothing. “But my heart still longs for Mondstandt.”

You stared at Thoma for a moment longer before you calmly rose to your feet. “Let’s go. Ayato doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Thoma nearly flinches at the direct use of Ayato’s name. You were quite probably the only person who could get away with it.

When the two of you make your way back to the estate, the elder of the Kamisato siblings is at the entrance. “My lord,” you echo emotionlessly when he makes his way to your side. Ayato’s slender fingers drifts to your hip, ghosting over the silk fabric of your kimono. Not quite touching you, but his presence is enough to catch your undivided attention. Thoma feels like an outsider all of a sudden. Like he’d just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to set his sights on. He watches as Ayato’s larger body curves behind you, almost towering over you. Immediately, you stiffen. The tension between the two of you is so palpable that it hangs thickly in the air.

“My lord, please don’t forget that we are in the public eye.”

“The hairpin I chose for you looks good in your hair.”

Your lips flattens into a thin line as your finger twitches and Thoma half-expects you to rip the bejeweled pin out of your hair just to stab his lord in the eye.

On the contrary, Ayato’s smile broadens, the beauty mark under his mouth follows the upward curve. He’s goading you, dying for you to lash back at him. You refused to give him the satisfaction of your temper. Instead, you step away from the cage of Ayato’s possessive arms and vanish inside without a single word, all while under the watchful eyes of the other loitering servants.

It’s almost unsettling how Ayato seems even more amused. “My dear Thoma, what do you think about my adorable wife?” He continues without waiting for the latter’s response. “She has quite the temper. I’m always afraid she might slip away from my grasps if I take my eyes off her for a minute. Of course, I can count on you to watch over her in my stead, right?”

Thoma gulps. He thinks of your lifeless eyes. The pin in your hair. Your soft voice. “Yes, my lord.”

—

The more he spends time with you, the more he finds his heart wavering.

Thoma likes you... Alot. He likes to hear your voice, he likes the way your eyes light up when he first gave you a bouquet of windwheel asters that he bargained for from an Inazuman merchant, he likes the way your hair looks in the pretty complicated updos, he likes you.

And you’ve warmed up to him as well. You smile more around him, the heavy weight over your shoulders seems to lighten when you catch sight of him.

It had always been an innocent sort of crush. The type of crush where he’d do anything to see your beautiful eyes light up and crack jokes to make you laugh. He thinks he’d be happy like this if he could just spend the rest of his life seated next to you under the shade of the sakura tree in the Kamisato gardens. He’s content being your husband's servant. If this was all he could get, Thoma could die happy.

Until one day, the collar of your kimono slips. It’s not much. It just so happened that you’d bent down to pet a stray cat that wandered into the gardens. It’s not much , but it allows Thoma to catch a clear view of the smooth expanse of the back of your neck and the purplish mark on your shoulder.

His hand grazes your skin before his brain fully comprehends the sight before him. “Thoma?” you jerk up in surprise and Thoma nearly rears back. All of a sudden, you're straightening back and Thoma yanks his gaze away. He’s no virgin, he knows what that mark means. He can already feel the tip of his ears flushing as hot as the pyro vision hanging by his hip. Even when Thoma glares stubbornly at the grass, his imagination is already running wild.

The innocent crush he’d developed for you begins to spiral out of control. One sinfully wrong glimpse and the blushing servant is hooked.

That night, Thoma excuses himself to his bedroom as soon as he’s done with his chores. Usually, he’d linger around with the other staff to chat and make , but he had a pressing issue that was too hard to ignore even if he tried to.

With a stifled groan, Thoma buries his face into his pillow. He can smell you. More accurately, the soap that makes you smell like flowers and clean laundry. Oh, Thoma knows exactly what soap that is. This knowledge only serves to make him harder than ever. Maybe he can put in a good word or two with the maids, would they let him use your soap? The thought of being enveloped in your scent every single day makes his skin flush hotly.

Those same trembling hands have found their way to his pants. A low hiss escapes through his clenched jaw, he’s so hard that it almost hurts to touch himself. Carefully, Thoma wraps his fingers around his cock and rubs his thumb across his pre cum to smear it across his shaft. Slowly, he pumps it once, twice, thrice. The moment his eyes flutter shut, images of you begin to flash in his brain again.

Maybe– Maybe you’ll let him dress you up after your shower. And Thoma can wrap those beautiful silk kimonos around your body, kiss each part of your bare skin as he wraps the ribbons around your waist. His calloused hand slides up his shaft, maybe he’d be rewarded with a soft sigh of appreciation if he kisses your skin. No- he would worship your body. At night, he can undress you again. Make you lie down on the bed as he massages the tension away. You are miserable, aren’t you? And Thoma can sympathize with that. Two foreigners far away from home and trapped in a marriage you never wanted. So maybe… you won’t protest when his deft fingers slip lower down your spine until they are between your soft plush thighs. Maybe you won’t push him away if he pets your warm cunt and makes your slick stain the expensive bed sheets.

Thoma can’t help the pathetic choked whine when his cock throbs in his hand at the thought. His hips buck forward as he nearly weeps into his pillow with each buck of his hips to push his cock through his hand. The warmth of his climax bubbles like a coil in him, he shouldn’t be surprised at how fast it arrives, he should be guilty that the thought of you is making him so aroused that Thoma can barely see straight. His hand speeds up, the wet click of his cockhead slipping past his fingers filling the dark room and Thoma cums so hard that he nearly sees stars. His cock twitches in his grip, the image of you, sprawled across the bed as his fingers are buried in you still embedded in his treacherous mind.

Dimly, Thoma is aware that he just made a big mess on his bed. But the you in his imagination mewls like a kitten when Thoma crooks his fingers just right, and his cock begins to twitch to life again. “Fuck,” an uncharacteristic curse echoes from Thoma’s flushed face. Despite the murky white coating his fingers, Thoma wraps his sticky fingers around his cock again.

One last time. He promises himself. One more fantasy and he’ll swear to put everything behind him. Though he might deny it, the seeds of his love for you had been planted the moment he saw you at the dinner table.

That night, Thoma doesn’t get to catch even a wink of sleep.

—--

“Thoma.” It’s near the end of your little evening session with him. The mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue is enough to send a delicious warm shudder licking down his spine. He tries to imagine how it’d sound like a little more high-pitched, a little breathier and–

“Thoma.” You frown at the dazed look in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

He needs to focus.

“Y-Yes, my lady?”

Before he can blink, you trip over something (a stray pebble, your robes, Thoma doesn’t know) and Thoma’s reflexes move before his brain does. A strong arm catches your body by the waist before you can hit the ground and his other arm braces the two of you against the railings. He thinks his brain short circuits a little because you are so close that he can feel each puff of your warm breath fanning against his skin and you are so soft. “M-My lady, are you all right?” He gulps, the tips of his ears are beginning to burn because the longer he has you in his arms, it makes him feel as if he’s going to explode.

“Thoma,” unlike him, your voice is unwavering. All of a sudden, he feels your hand glide into his front pocket. “Thank you for helping me. I must have tripped over my robes.”

Without another word, you right yourself and give him a pointed look. “Will you escort me to my room?”

“O-Of course, my lady.” The piece of paper you slipped into his pocket seems to sear like a burn against his skin.

—--

Ayato has a routine. One that you’ve memorized until you knew it like the back of your hand. Nevertheless, your heart still slams against your ribs with each shaky step you take. On Tuesdays, he comes to bed much later than usual. Not that you cared what he was doing. But this piece of information was something you tucked carefully in your mind.

Coincidentally, the window to your bedroom is connected to the garden. And after weeks loitering around the garden under the pretense of observing sakura petals, you finally figured out the rotation of the Kamisato guards.

Right now, they were changing their rotations. With your heart in your throat, you haul yourself out of the window and into the garden. Despite the stinging sensation of pebbles biting into your bare feet, you race through the garden until you reach the corner of the wall hidden behind the sprawling estate. Every Tuesday, you’d been sneaking out to add bits of valuable into the silk pouch you hit in the crack of the wall. A small diamond off your hairpin, a small comb, all tiny things that wouldn’t rouse any suspicion. Right next to the crack was a ladder that the gardener forgot to keep this afternoon because you’d instructed him to help you with the flowers in your room. Much to your relief, the aging gardener had forgotten about the ladder entirely. You can only pray that Ayato isn’t too harsh on him after you escape.

The cold wind bites into your skin, but somehow, it’s a comforting sensation. It reminds you of the time when you still had your anemo vision. It reminded you of the time before Ayato stole it away and made you his bride.

You recall the note you slipped into Thoma’s pocket earlier. It seemed unfair to abandon him here as you made your escape. The two of you didn’t belong here, you’ve seen the way the other staff gossipped about Ayato’s foreign status. It served as further motivation for you to send him the note that detailed for him to meet you here tonight.

“My lady?” A hushed whisper yanks you out of your thoughts.

“Thoma!” You could’ve jumped up to hug him at that instant. “Let’s go,” you grab his wrist and begin to yank him toward the ladder. “We can escape right now! I’ve heard that a pirate by the name of Beidou has smuggled foreigners away from Inazuma. With the stash I’ve gathered, it should be more than enough to guarantee us a trip to Mondstadt. We can go home!”

In the midst of your excited rambling, you miss the odd look that crosses Thoma’s face. Without waiting for his response, you turn around and worm your hand into the crack to grab the stash. Yet, your fingers close around empty air.

No… No way. No, it was impossible. It feels as if someone had doused your entire body in cold water. Desperately, you fall to your knees and tried to peer through the crack. Where is the pouch?

“Looking for something?”

Your heart drops to your feet.

You don’t have to turn around to recognize that honeyed voice. Nevertheless, you push yourself upright on shaky feet and come face-to-face with your loathsome husband. A knowing smirk dances across his handsome face. After a few moments, you finally register that Thoma is standing right behind him with his face turned to the side, refusing to meet your eye.

“Thoma?” Even in your ears, your voice sounds oddly strained and tense. Far away, you hear the heavy footsteps of the Kamisato guards resuming their stations, sealing off all of your escape routes.

Amidst your thundering heartbeat, silence is the only response.

“Darling, don’t be too upset,” Ayato coos, “Don’t you think that Thoma’s loyalty is an admirable thing? He– “

Before he can finish his sentence, you lunge toward Thoma and lash your palm at his face so hard that he staggers backward. Your eyes are half crazed, pupils shaking so badly that Thoma doubts that you can even see clearly. “Fuck you,” you hiss as you slam your fist against his chest again. Despite your frenzied blows, Thoma makes no move to defend himself. Instead, he remains silent as you continue to sob. He nearly breaks down at the look of utter anguish on your face. “You betrayed me! I trusted you! Out of every person in this wretched place, I gave you my trust!” Around you, the wind seems to howl in response.

A surprised look flits across Ayato’s face when he feels the strong wind billow at his robes.

Upon his command, two burly guards begin to yank your trashing figure away from Thoma. “What did he promise you?” you hiss at him in a voice full of malice.

Thoma looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, with his emerald eyes still downcast and fixed on anywhere but your seething figure. There’s a red angry gash across his cheek from where your nails had scratched him. Instead, Ayato answers on his behalf.

“You.”

love at first bite.

premise: most customers visit your cafe for the delicious bread and good coffee, but he comes for the cute barista behind the counter.

info: your parents run a bakery-slash-cafe and as their child, you're naturally expected to help around the shop. unknowingly, you attract attention in the process.

characters: kazuha, thoma, xiao, childe, albedo, scaramouche & ayato !

kazuha, a part-time employee at the bakery

when your grandmother grew too frail to work at the cafe due to old age and had to retire, the shop had a shortage of helping hands thus needing someone to work her shift. enter kazuha kaedehara, a sweet boy in the neighborhood who's always been in good terms with your older brother. having his eyes on a particular game console at the time, he was happy to help while earning some pocket money for himself.

but even after successfully purchasing the item he saved up for, he continued to work at the cafe. it was certainly something your family appreciated, since kazuha was pleasant company and he was skilled in the kitchen. remarkably more efficient than you for the job, actually, despite the fact you're the one who'll receive the business in the future.

“you won't be so troubled if he were to run the business with you,” your mother stated in what you hoped to be in jest, not subtle in the slightest with her thoughts of kazuha being a suitable son-in-law after he so sweetly prepared a cake for your surprise birthday party. your face burned while kazuha only laughed in cheer, perhaps missing the hidden insinuations. (why else would he smile at that?)

time passed in the blink of an eye and he eventually became a face you often saw first thing in the morning, cheeks dusted with flour and hands gripping a tray of baked goods fresh from the oven. rays of shimmering gold bathed him in an otherworldly glow, smile brightening when he catches sight of your figure by the door.

then you'll grab a towel and rub off the dirt on kazuha's face, missing the way his eyes crinkle in mirth. missing the way your older brother rolls his eyes at the action very much alike pda. missing how you've been doing this for the past three years and not once stopped to think about why he had flour on his face all the time, and if he'd been doing it on purpose just to see you in this proximity. an unceasing part of routine that came as naturally as going to sleep at night and waking at morning.

you see him a lot more in the summer when you both share shifts at the same time, you working at the counter and him at the kitchen preparing treats that already sold out. (he reasoned he preferred it that way to avoid getting flirted with.)

“could i get another order?” the customer you noticed have been staring strangely at you for the entire duration of his stay suddenly went up to ask. you paste on a flawless customer service smile regardless of your discomfort, thinking he hadn't done anything wrong yet. “of cou-”

“[name], there's something odd about the hand mixer,” kazuha cuts in, peeking through the door and knocking on the wood to gain your attention. “could you check it for me? i'll switch with you.”

your expression drifts to one of genuine distress, not picking up on the excuse he provided for an easy way out. you rush to the kitchen and kazuha takes your place, much to the customer's disappointment. this does not not escape his attention and kazuha smiles, “what can i get for you?”

one half-hearted order later, the customer finally leaves. the smile on kazuha's face drops as he picks up the piece of tissue the man left on the counter, scrawled with a set of numbers in dark ink.

“it worked just fine?” you return after checking on the fully functional hand mixer, confusion apparent on your expression. kazuha breezily slips on a smile, crumpling the tissue in his hand and shoving it inside his pocket.

“really? that's great.”

thoma, your childhood friend

once upon a time at the tender age of seven, you had a timid disposition and had few names you could confidently proclaim as your friend. however, thoma was an intelligent child who figured out being friends with a person who owned a bakery entailed sharing snacks with each other at breaks.

lured by the mouthwatering scent of your lunchbox, he approached your desk and initiated a conversation. his friendly demeanor had managed to break you out from your shy shell, and from there on, you began to spend time together, him oh-so-generously offering to walk you home so he could stop by the bakery. his efforts were rewarded when your parents were delighted seeing a new friend of yours, shoving a packet of chocolate cornets in his hands.

...well, that's how it started, but it wasn't like all he wanted from you was free food. he wormed his way into your life, growing close not only to you but also your family; your grandfather was especially fond of him. he even became an unofficial employee of sorts, tidying the bakery when the opportunity arose. your parents spoiled him rotten with sweets in return, them often being the cause of thoma's cavities before you grew up...

speaking of growing up, you long left primary school and now attended different schools, but thoma made it a habit to pick you up and walk home together just as you did often before, leading to misunderstandings of your classmates thinking he was your boyfriend. which couldn't be any more wrong.

but it was true that he was the sole receiver of your valentine's chocolate for a long, long time, something that he prided over. which is also weird, considering he received more than enough chocolate to fill his bag close to bursting each year. (it's special, you remember him telling you once. as to why, he wasn't very keen on informing you, maybe even a little shy about it. is it because you're good at baking? it surpassed other people's attempts at homemade chocolate? it had more meaning compared to storebought chocolate? you can only guess.)

so really, he's astonished when he spots another box of brownies stuffed in your belongings, peculiarly wrapped in a more elaborate manner compared to his bland plastic packaging. heart-patterned in a pale pink, topped with a delicate ribbon trimmed with white lace.

he narrows his eyes, fingers ghosting over the box. “who's this for?”

he gets a whiff of a pleasant scent on you, some perfume your aunt had given you on a holiday. you styled your hair differently that day, too, not a single imperfect crease seen on your clothes, lips glossy with a sheen of tint thoma remembered gifting you as a present before.

your cheeks flush in a rosy color, stuttering out an excuse. an excuse that doesn't register in thoma's head because of the buzzing in his ears, but he doesn't really need to hear it to understand; he'd be a fool not to guess this was for a special someone.

a special someone that isn't him, clearly.

xiao, the classmate you've been crushing on

contrary to popular belief, your infatuation with xiao hadn't been established from the start. you belonged in the same class but you weren't especially interested in him at first glance, staying far, far away from classmates fighting over the seats beside him. he had a pretty face, that much was obvious, and maybe you did stare at him a little longer than you had to... but that was the extent of it, an appreciation for things you found pleasing to the eye.

“the inside matters more than the outside” is a phrase as good as horse shit, empty words used to placate the ugly community. even with unread love letters trashed in garbage bins, succinct replies to heartfelt confessions, and other actions that might be considered rude if it was a less attractive man doing them, xiao remained a desirable prospect as a lover. the world just worked that way. you didn't feel particularly envious of him, but you didn't see him in a positive light either.

and his opinion of you... well. it was less than ideal when he saw you at the supermarket going grocery shopping once; he had only vaguely recognized you as his classmate when the moment you laid eyes on him, you gasped “salt!” and ran towards the aisles containing spice.

(to be fair, he was reminded he needed to buy a comb after seeing your messy hair.)

though as the seasons changed with flowers blooming in warm spring and wilting in bleak winter, underneath all that grouch xiao was pretty nice. it was a matter of his apprehension melting away and your presence growing ever more familiar as days passed. his cold exterior warmed into something sweeter, something far less bitter compared to how he appeared at the beginning.

if it were five months ago, if you were to get yourself injured by accident while preparing a meal in home economics class, he would've frowned and said “did you cut your finger?” “yes.” “don't let your blood mix with the soup.”

if it were in the present, he'd frown all the same but the furrow in his brow would suggest visible concern rather than slight annoyance, taking out teddy bear-patterned bandaids he pretends he doesn't carry all the time for exact situations like these because you weren't good with knives. (baking is different from cooking, damn it.) his hands would be frustratingly gentle as he wraps your cut finger, and the soft tenderness that always graced his actions towards people he cared about was more than enough to make you fall hard.

then you remembered your mother's teachings. “the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.”

the thing is, nobody at your school knew your family ran a bakery. it wasn't something you actively tried to hide, it just never came up at conversations. if you were to act as a romantic “secret admirer” and send baked goods to test xiao's reaction before confessing, you'd at least get an estimation of your chance at success of snagging a hot boyfriend. that has to earn you extra points for bribery creativity, right?

so. that's how xiao came to receive colorful bite-sized macarons, cream puffs piped with custard, glazed cinnamon rolls, and anything of the sort packaged neatly in boxes sent anonymously every few days. the notes greeting him good morning or wishing him luck for a test later that day are all printed, hence not giving away the sender's identity by their handwriting.

as much as xiao appreciates the gesture, however, he also looks guilty. when you ask him why, heart pounding in your chest, he flushes red at your eager expression and quietly admits, “i already have someone i like.”

childe, a troublesome customer

from your numerous years working at the cafe, you've seen a lot of things: the anticipation and nervousness in blind dates, the endearing awkwardness of first dates, the sweet thoughtfulness of friends and family buying snacks for a certain someone, and —

the entire shop broke into collective gasps as the cup of coffee was thrusted towards across the table, splashing the boy seated in that direction. he seemed astonished, pristine white shirt soaked in a muddy brown, and the girl accompanying him made a point to place the now empty glass loudly against the table. “you're the absolute worst!” she seethed, tears rolling down her cheeks. she left in fury, leaving without waiting for a response.

...break ups. not the most common, but they definitely happen. they're mostly not this dramatic though.

the boy left behind attempted a smile. albeit strained, it was enough to stop the other patrons from looking at the spectacle. kazuha seemed hesitant to deal with it, so it was up to you to approach him with a towel. he looked a bit pitiful cleaning his face with tissues. “are you... okay?” you winced at your own question and amended with, “do you have anything else you need?”

he laughed. “i'll have to trouble you to mop this mess on the floor, but i'm alright. thanks.”

you nodded. not one to pry or meddle in someone else's relationship, you only went to do what you had to, mopping the coffee staining the ground. before the boy left, you noticed he left a generous tip.

you couldn't help thinking of him as that one guy who got dumped each time he visited the cafe though. but he never went with his (ex-)girlfriend ever again, only sometimes bringing along what you presumed were his younger siblings. he spoiled them, too, unrestrained as he pulled out his wallet and paid for a large amount of treats his brother and sister wanted to try.

and because he's a treasured benefactor, you thought it would be nice if you showed your appreciation somehow. you handed him a bag of pastries he hadn't asked for, to which he tilted his head in question.

“they're on the house,” you said. “new products. we're experimenting and haven't sold them yet. it would be helpful if you gave your opinion for them.”

he peeked at the contents, seeing they were muffins amongst other things. “thank you. i'll make sure to tell you my thoughts, though i'm already certain they'll be as delicious as everything else here.” he smiled.

it was simple as that. no entanglements that linked you in a personal level, but he found himself gravitating towards the cafe whenever he had free time to be idle. he didn't even eat what he bought most of the time, giving them away to his friends, aside from the time you personally gave him that bag of pastries yourself. he didn't even let his siblings touch them.

and maybe it didn't have to be so complicated. he was striving to find love all this time, only for each relationship to run dry quickly. it was always him not being enough, not paying his lovers enough attention, not giving them enough affection. what he thought was love didn't last for very long.

but maybe this could be. keeping it secret in his heart, quiet appreciation for the dazzling person behind the counter, nurturing the small crush that would only remain small if he didn't act upon it.

“could you try this for me?” you request, offering him a batch of brownies. you seem... shy. bashful. it's a new look. childe certainly have never seen you blush before.

he takes a bite and it's exquisite. “it tastes good. are you going to sell this too?”

“ah, no.” the tips of your ears redden further. “i'm... making them for someone.”

it is then when childe remembers valentine's day is approaching. it is then that he realizes, his heart sinking in disappointment. “oh. okay.”

albedo, the eye-candy regular

people-watching is a habit you pick up on when the clock is beyond hectic morning hours, the cafe that once bustled with cranky swarms of patrons demanding their daily dose of coffee emptying to something that lets you breathe more freely, frenzied atmosphere gradually settling into calm.

in the moments of respite, you find yourself fanning your face, having enough leisure to rest instead of frantically memorizing orders. that's when your gaze steers to the customers residing by the tables, enjoying snacks and sipping on their beverages. one specific customer catches your eye, and surely you aren't the only one who's unwittingly beckoned over by his charms.

beams of sunshine blanket around him in a soft glow, light brown hair almost gold in the bright rays. teal eyes are glued to the paper in front of him, hands smoothing over the surface as the pencil in his deft fingers glide in elegant strokes. his pink lips part when he brings the cup of cappuccino to his mouth, taking small sips and his tongue darts out to catch the foam-

...or so the girl near his table types furiously on her laptop, perhaps taking him as inspiration for a novel she's writing. good for her.

in any case, the face is a familiar one. you have no name to attach to his face, so you began dubbing him as “jeff”. for no particular reason. it's quite inconvenient to refer to him as “handsome window seat dude” all the time. unfortunately, the cafe has coaster pagers and there isn't any need to ask for customers' names so his name remains a mystery. jeff it is.

so “jeff” frequents the cafe during late morning, always bringing a new book with him or a sketchbook to while away the time. not that you see anything he draws. the most you see is other customers interrupting him in the middle of it, either to flirt with him or straightforwardly ask for his number. for politeness's sake, he makes an effort to not let his irritation show, but seeing the subtle shifts in his expressions over the course of several months has allowed you to notice the minute changes in his mood. (were you really staring that hard? or it's just a talent. you can't take xiao's words at face-value because he's a goddamned tsundere so now you've honed a talent for reading people.)

so it comes off as a shock when he strolls to the cafe visibly cross, exasperation rolling off him in waves. dark circles line his eyes, a crinkle in his brows hinting displeasure. fatigue emanates from his very being, and in spite of his impeccable appearance in the past in comparison to the zombies you have as customers before they get their desired caffeine, he doesn't look too different now.

even worse, when he finds his pockets empty without his wallet and he only manages a few coins in the deepest corners of his bag to afford the most bland item in the menu, he looks vaguely murderous.

you cough, driven to help since his expression makes you think your days are numbered if he doesn't get his coffee soon. “i can pay for you this time,” you offer. he stiffens, grateful but tentative. “it's no big deal.” you even slip in a plate of waffles as extra, topped with generous swirls of whipped cream and cut fruit.

“thanks, i'm... not myself today. stayed up all night,” he mumbles, adjusting his backpack strap where it's falling off his shoulders, heavy with textbooks he has to study. “i'll pay you back tomorrow... but i don't need the waffles, really.”

a couple bucks isn't much of a loss and you're not that much of a cheapskate. “it's alright. the waffles aren't even on the menu, it's just breakfast i made.”

“oh.” he seems mildly surprised at that. “...thanks.”

you push the brewed coffee in his direction when it's done, grinning at him. “have a good morning then, jeff.”

he gives you a weird look. “my name is albedo.”

“it's a trick. i wanted to find out your name.”

he blinks, still processing what you said. then for the first time that morning, albedo smiles.

(much much later when kazuha's cleaning the cafe, he finds a worn notebook placed on one of the empty tables. he doesn't like poking his nose into things he doesn't own, but in the hopes of finding the owner's name somewhere, he peruses through the pages of scrawls and doodles and sketches of scenery. he stops at a sketch of a face he knows by heart, surrounded by an embarrassing amount of flowers.)

(kazuha somehow dislikes how he instantly knows who it belongs to.)

scaramouche, a stray looking for shelter

scaramouche despises the rain.

especially when his partner for his project bails on him 30 minutes after their agreed meeting time (by text, no less! without a single apology!), and he wasted half an hour in the campus library for absolutely nothing. then 5 minutes after his departure, the sudden downpour takes him by surprise and further sours his sullen mood.

he rushes under the nearest roof he finds for shelter, the rain refusing to let up and only getting stronger by the second. cold winds nip at his skin, causing him to shiver in his partly drenched clothes. he follows the warm yellow light illuminating what he thinks is a coffee shop of sorts, the bell's chime announcing his entrance when he swings the door open.

the place is empty with the exception of one person behind the counter, storing the leftover baskets of pastries in the fridge. you blink, not expecting anyone else to arrive, and you assume you forgot to flip the “open” sign to “closed” again.

you don't have the heart to correct the customer though; he looks remarkably similar to a stray cat caught up in the rain, wet purple hair plastered on his forehead and cheeks and drenched jacket most likely not enough to give him warmth. his sharp eyes narrow and he's scowling, irritated at his stupid partner and this stupid rain and-

“you're closing?” he notices, and you nod. he clicks his tongue, obviously displeased.

“if you're only here for shelter, i can stay until the rain stops?” you suggest. “i closed early because i had to study, but i can study here since i have my textbooks anyway.”

“that...” scaramouche pauses, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed for coming off as rude. “if you're fine with it, then that would be nice... thank you.”

you nod again, ducking behind the storeroom to take care of other equipment, so scaramouche takes it as his cue to sit at one of the tables, brushing back his wet hair from sticking all over his face. when you return, a towel rests in your grip and you offer it to him kindly.

warmth settles in his chest, gratitude filling his heart. it strengthens when you wordlessly push a cup of hot chocolate in his direction before seating in another table, sheets of paper and numerous books haphazardly littered about. the only noise he can hear is the gentle pitter-patter of rain outside and the mindless taps of your fingers against the table as you practice test questions. the intermittent loud flicking of pages in workbooks and constant clicks of your pen should peeve him, bad habits in the library he finds annoying when he's trying to focus on reading, but it's strangely comforting in the otherwise silence shrouding the pair of you.

(he finds himself sneaking glances, unwittingly stealing a peek at the way your nose scrunches up adorably when you come across a tricky question. the way you worry your bottom lip, eyes sweeping over the contents of the workbook. the way a defeated sigh parts your lips, inevitably switching to another question to answer.)

(then he catches himself being a creep so he pinches his thigh to wake himself up.)

less than half an hour later, the drizzle reduces to gray clouds pierced by rays of sunlight. scaramouche prepares to leave, followed by you scrambling to pack your things. in your haste, your bag tips over, revealing a small umbrella. that prompts a prick of guilt to seep in his skin, knowing you could've left much earlier if he didn't hold you back.

“thank you, again,” he can't help but say. you wave him off, insisting it's not a bother.

the next time he visits, it's a week later. an umbrella is tucked by his side, this time, and the rainy season has discouraged people from coming so you're closing early except you don't have anything to shield from precipitation. you lent kazuha your umbrella when he ended his shift because you thought the rain would come to pass after an hour or so, and it... hadn't.

scaramouche peers inside, the sign still displaying “open” but you're storing away things just like last time. the cursory “sorry, we're already closing for the day” sticks to your throat when you realize who arrives.

“are you staying because of the rain?” you comment, sympathetic. he shakes his head.

“no, but...” scaramouche coughs awkwardly. “i could help walk you to the bus station... or wherever you're going, really. to return the favor.”

his courage exhausted, he's barely able to find the bravery to check your reaction. he stills when you smile at him so brightly.

it was worth his dignity then.

ayato, the friend of a friend

it starts horribly, a stain on your first impression that you can never redeem.

in your defense, it isn't intentional, except it kind of is — you didn't notice the boy with pale blue hair trailing after thoma when they arrived at the bakery, so you engage in your usual light-hearted banter while he walks away to wait at the table. shame was never felt between two friends who've seen both the best and worst of each other, so crass jokes and ill-timed quips are the norm.

hence why you unabashedly draw dicks on thoma's coffee cup sleeve when he pisses you off with some offhand comment followed by a stinging pinch to your cheek, unafraid of the consequences from the small payback.

except it isn't thoma's coffee after all, and ayato is understandbly confused when he spots phallic doodles on his coffee cup.

he should be affronted, angry and disturbed by the childish display and utter lack of professionalism from staff, but instead he laughs good-naturedly as you explain the situation in ashamed stutters heavily sprinkled with apologies.

so yes. you have positively fucked up your first impression in front of a scholarly young man by behaving in the most disgraceful of manners. he must've thought you an idiot lacking all sense of propriety... and a loser who still thinks drawing dicks is funny.

as it turns out, ayato hails from a stinking rich family who isn't quite in touch with a normal person's lifestyle. his life has always been a constant stream of studies and networking, his future laid out for him. he had little time for leisure and friends outside of allies and business partners, and his story of bonding with thoma would be a lot more moving if you weren't anxiously looking at the inappropriate phallic figures artfully drawn on ayato's cup sleeve that he still hasn't removed. it is a jarring sight to see a boy with a regal disposition fitting for royalty holding such a thing in a way that would make you think he was drinking aged fine wine from a treasured goblet.

part of you thinks he might be doing it on purpose, if only to amuse himself peering at your expressions of panic. he likes to pose himself as innocent but as time ticks by the longer you spend time with him, the more you think he may not necessarily be as much of a goody-two-shoes he acts to be. the sadistic streak is worrying and you're beginning to remember thoma's earlier complaints about a certain mischievous friend of his who likes to play tricks on him.

anyway, the point is: he's stinking rich, he's a sheltered young master, and he's trying out new things he has never experienced before. one of them is trying “peasant food”.

“our humble business doesn't have a single michelin star so i fear we won't be able to satisfy your palate,” you say, looking at ayato who's poking at the egg tart experimentally. “...maybe it would do you good to eat somewhere else?”

“he was impressed by the existence of instant noodles,” thoma supplies. “i don't think he's very picky.”

“the price tag doesn't guarantee tasteful flavors,” ayato chuckles. “but i liked the sweets thoma gave to me the other day. what were they called?”

“petit fours?”

“you gave him those petit fours i was still experimenting with for valentine's day?!” you whisper-shout in disbelief. thoma holds up his hands in surrender.

“they were very enjoyable. i'm sure other customers would like them as well,” ayato confesses honestly.

flattery won't get you anywhere, you want to say. but the conversation escalates in that direction. time passes by too quickly and before you realize it, the sun is already setting and they've been chatting with you on the counter the entire time.

ayato tells you he best return home for the day, if only a little unwilling to go. “though i am hoping what i find on the cup sleeve in my next visit would be different,” he teases.

you're actually not supposed to write anything on the cup in normal circumstances, but you decide to humor him. treasured benefactor and all. you know he has deep pockets. “...such as?” you cock up an eyebrow in question.

“something that will help us grow closer, perhaps.” he leaves with those cryptic words, thoma not far behind.

??? something that will help you grow closer??? he wants to be friends??? what kind of thing does he want you to write?

(the next time, to his satisfaction, he finds your number written on his cup sleeve.)

(it's unfortunate you misunderstood his intentions. ayato would hardly be this forward if he just wanted a friend.)

AOT NSFW links

Eren Jaeger 

1. Eren in his zone eating your pussy 

2. Rough midnight fucking

3. The first time he lets you ride him and it feels too good

Armin Arlert 

1. Riding him instead of watching netflix 

2. Slowly fucking you in a mating press 

3. Armin making you so wet when he eats your pussy

Jean Kirstein

1. Fucking you in missionary 

2. A quickie before he has to go to work

3. Using the dildo and cat ears he got you

Connie Springer

1. Riding his big cock

2. He’s so big he can’t fit all the way but it has you creaming

3. Using the bed to hit it deeper and cumming in your mouth

Levi Ackerman

1. Fucking you on the couch while you drip all over it

2. Having very hot sex

3. Fingering you and rubbing your clit