⭑.ᐟ 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌| 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 ! 𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗆

Please add me to the taglist of hiraeth

I loveeee it

And hura is a cutie 💓

Sures! Tysm💓 😭

𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇 ( NAMOR X READER ) PT.1

in which you find a child floating in the water and you save them only for your acts of kindness to get misinterpreted by the father who is also the king of an underwater civilization.

author's note : this is a story i am writing on wattpad but my wattpad version is more in detail, slightly different and has an oc ( alora ).

PART 1 , PART 2

It had been a normal day for you, you enjoying your days away from the harsh city life along with the demands of your job— you needed a getaway and that getaway was going back to your parents old beach house, you did your daily routine and towards the end of the day you would sit on the beach sand and admire the ocean as the sun cascaded down the horizon— for you just watching this simple scenery healed and soothed you.

But that serenity was destroyed when you found an unconscious child floating in the water, the waves that was once gently slowly starting to become restless causing his body to be thrown around like a rag doll.

Your instincts to save the child kicked in as you dove in the water without another thought, kicking and pushing your arms through the waves that were slowly rising.

Once you got to him, you turned him around ,finding some sort of mask covering his mouth and nose filled with water — your eyebrows crinkled in curiousity but suddenly your eyes widen when the boy's once milky brown skin starts turning into a shade of cerulean blue, a gasp leaves past your lips as you blinked your eyes a few times to see if what you saw was real or just figment of your imagination.

The waves had became stronger , the sudden stench of iron mingling with the salty sea water had entered your nose, your gaze had fallen onto the young boy's torso to find that there was a wound on it, bleeding— it looked to be a shark bite.

Pushing the fact that the boy has turned blue and is far from being a human you had grasped onto him gently pulling him to your side as you struggled and swam back to shore, your lungs feeling heavy as you finally reached land, taking a few moments to grasp you breath and to let the exhaustion in her arms and legs to wear off. You had quickly reached for the child as you carried him in your arms and taken him into your house to dress his wounds.

It tooked you around an hour to clean and dress the wound, the bite was quite deep which made you even more worried but luckily you were able to stitch the wound and close it up.

You also noticed that his skin was extremly dry due to it not being in water, you had quickly went and filled the bath tub you had in your guest bathroom and placed the child in it watching as only patches of light cerulean blue skin was left and his milky brown skin takes over in areas that were covered in water.

Your brows furrowed as you remember the words of the locals that stayed around, the stories they have told you about people that came from deep within the ocean and their God.

'So it's true' you meekly thought, when you had first arrived by the sea side— you became familiar with one of the locals that lived close by, warning you to not stay for a very long time as your presence could be seen as a threat by the people that lived in the water or the sirens.

You didn't really think much of this as you had came here quite frequently when you was younger with your parents but in a world where there was an alien invasion and half of humanity suddenly disappearing— including yourself, nothing seems unbelievable.

You stayed here for a few months taking heed to the women's words and minding your own business well up until today when you found this boy.

You went to go wash your hands, to get rid of the blood and alcohol that dried onto it.Curiousity, anxiety and fear all together mingling and brewing within you, curiousity about this young boy and what he truely was , anxiety about his wounds and fear from whether you had brought danger into your home.

A gasp catches you off guard as you almost slips, your gaze falling onto the bath tub to see that the young child's eyes were wide open— staring at you.

His eyes were filled with fear, tears clouding his eyes from the fear and most likely the pain in his torso as fear also slowly starts to consume you but you take a gentle breath in , raising your hands up in an attempt to show that you was no harm.

"Don't worry, I am not going to harm you." Your voice was soothing and soft, there was a small drop of fear in it but you swallowed it back , a soft smile displaying on your face.

The boy didn't seem convinced, he looked like he wanted to get out of the bathtub or try and defend himself but the pain in his torso didn't allow him instead it caused a pained cry to leave his mouth causing your eyes to widen as you rushed to his side to stop him from moving around.

"Hey, easy there. Your stitches will tear" you coaxed out in a calm tone, placing your hand against his shoulder to try and stop him from moving around.

You made eye contact with the boy, the fear in his eyes slowly turned into  curiousity but caution filled gaze when you lowered him back into the water.

" Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you kid. I just need you to relax and not stress your torso." You say, the boy seemed to slightly relax but his shoulders were tense causing you to quickly remove your hand from his shoulder.

You wondered if her understood you, maybe he didn't that's why he was even more frantic or maybe it's the fact that he woke up in some random women's bathtub—yeah the latter is more so for his reason of panic and fear.

"Máaxech? Yaan wáaj a sóokiken." the young boy suddenly stammered out, your eyebrows furrow as you tried to recognize the language.

' Yucatec Maya ? '  you thought, hoping that your guess was right. You didn't undertsand what the child had said— you was about to say something but then the boy's stomach growled suddenly causing you to smile followed by a gentle laugh.

"You are hungry?" You asks also using gestures to ask the boy if he was hungry, by pretending to bite into something.

It took the boy a few seconds to understand and when he did, he gently nods his head— he was still lenient on trusting you but he was feeling hungry and weak.

You do hand gestures to tell him to wait as you quickly exits the bathroom and go down to the kitchen.

You walked to the sink to rinse your hands as you look out the window to see it was already dark, the waves outside seemed to be extremly furious tonight as a slight shiver ran down your spine when a sudden wave crashed loudly against the shore.

You backed away from the window and went towards your fridge, you decided on giving the boy something light to eat, not being too sure on what type of diet that his kind had and what foods could be toxic to him so you went with some water melon pieces and cut up a pear, hoping that this was okay for him.

You reached back into the bathroom, seeing that the boy was slightly slumped on the wall which caused his skin to turn a light shade of blue from his torso upwards, when his eyes fell on the fruit they widen, you reached towards him and held the plate for him.

The boy takes off his mask, the water falling from it as he takes a pear and bites into it quickly devouring it within seconds as you could only watch in amazement but also in worry as the boy didn't have his mask on and was worried about how long he could go without it.

You leave the plate to him as you take his mask, it had some sort of metal that encased around the see-through part— you didn't think much of it as you quickly fills water in it again.

The boy was done eating, the fruit seemed to gave him a bit more energy as you go to his side , he didn't seem to fear as much as he did before as he allowed you to touch behind his head to gently push his face and nose downwards into the mask.

Once it was on, you laid him into the water completely watching as his whole body submerged into it, his skin turning into his natural human skin tone.

You did not know the amount of trouble you had landed yourself into because within that very moment under the rough waves of the ocean was an army going around followed by their king who is frantically searching the ocean for the young boy that he calls his son.

"Don't worry, you are safe." You soothingly tell the boy, your motherly instincts taking over as you brushed a few strands of hair from the boy's forehead, his eyes on you as they gently close from exhaustion.

You did not know the amount of trouble you had landed yourself into because within that very moment under the rough waves of the ocean was an army going around followed by their king who is frantically searching the ocean for the young boy that he calls his son.

author's note :

shares, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated! thank you ! !

PART 2

「... It must be the mask」

I REMEMBER WRITING THIS LEVI FANFIC YEARS AGO ON WATTPAD I DECIDED TO SKIM THROUGH IT AND IT WAS MORE LIKE A PETRA X OC FANFIC … doomed wlw ig ??

Petra to my oc (aurora) :

But then aurora had never done such BAHAHAH

I shall go sleep

hiraeth is so good! literally read ONE chapter on here and immediately saved it on wattpat 😫 your writing is really good and huracan is the loveliest child ever ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Tyy 🥰🤗

⭑.ᐟ 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌| 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 ! 𝖺𝗅𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗆 𝗑 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 — 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝟣𝟪+

— (𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗂𝗆𝗒𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗑.)

part 1

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒...in which you are a cam girl and he is your favorite viewer OR in which you are a final year college student and he is your new professor.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌... smut, rough sex, oral sex (f and m),possessive sex, hair-pulling, vaginal fingering, spanking, masturbating( f and m), doggy style, mating press, language (these warnings are for all 5 parts)

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾... this is from my ao3, so enjoy <3

4.6k words

usagiibun2024🐇

Your half-open laptop sat forgotten on the couch, glowing with the low hum of an unfinished series you had tried to binge the night before. Eyes half-closed, you reached for your phone, fumbling to check the time.

8:30 a.m.

“Shit!”

You shot out of bed, tripping over the tangled sheets, heart pounding with the cold rush of adrenaline that only comes from missing something important. Today wasn’t just any day; it was the first lecture of the semester, and you were running late.

You quickly ran into the bathroom, throwing your clothes off and jumping into the shower. Your heart racing frnatucally as you quickly showered and turned it off almost slipping when you got out. The mirror offered you little comfort after you had tied your hair up messily, and threw on the first outfit you managed find—a crumpled sweater and jeans—looked less like ‘casual academic chic’ and more like ‘someone's given up.’ Still, it would have to do. You can go for the 'casual academic chic' tomorrow. Grabbing your bag, you bolted out the door, barely locking it behind you.

The world outside was already moving, buzzing with the noise of morning commuters and their routines. Your apartment building—an old, ivy-covered structure crammed between a café and a bookshop—seemed to blend into the city as you jogged down the street. The crisp autumn air clawed at your skin, urging you to move faster as the sounds of traffic and chatter filled the space around you.

The university campus wasn’t far, but today it felt like each step dragged you deeper into a sinking swamp. Your mind still swirled with the fog of sleep, your heart pounding as the towering lecture hall loomed ahead. A relic of academia, the stone building had seen its share of anxious students, no doubt making their way inside just like you. You could practically hear the ghost of every misstep made before you echoing off the ivy-covered walls.

You pushed open the heavy door, wincing as it creaked. The dim hallway was bathed in the dull yellow light of old fixtures, a stark contrast to the loud murmur of conversation from students filtering in. The quiet tap of your shoes on the worn wooden floor seemed deafening to your own ears.

Don’t be too late. Please.

Reaching the door to the lecture hall, you hesitated, already hearing the smooth, unhurried voice of the professor inside. His words were clear, deliberate, and somehow both calm and utterly dismissive. You slipped in quietly, praying no one would notice.

But then that voice, cool and laced with biting sarcasm, pierced through the room like a knife.

" Ah, nothing says commitment like showing up halfway through the lecture. Punctuality is, of course, the mark of true brilliance."

Your heart dropped. The entire class shifted uncomfortably, the air heavy with awkwardness. Your eyes flicked to the front of the room, but the professor hadn’t even glanced at you. His attention remained fixed on the screen, as if your tardiness was barely worth acknowledging beyond his cutting remark.

You ducked your head, praying you could melt into the crowd of students who were all pretending not to notice.

Settling into a seat at the back, you let out a slow breath. Great. First lecture of the semester, and already, you’d made an impression.

Alhaitham stood at the front, illuminated by the projector’s glow, a man who seemed entirely comfortable in the unyielding rigidity of academia. His pale skin stood out against the dark slate walls of the lecture hall, and his gray hair caught the light—silver at the tips with faint turquoise strands peeking through, subtle but noticeable. His eyes, those unnerving turquoise and gold-rimmed orbs, scanned the room without emotion, as if every student were a puzzle to be solved. His presence commanded attention without demanding it; there was an effortless authority about him, cold and unapologetic.

Everyone knew about him—the prodigy with an unrivalled intellect. But it was his pragmatism that made him infamous. He didn't mince words, nor did he soften his criticism. In his mind, academia was a battlefield, and if you weren’t equipped, you’d be left behind. At just 27, he was already regarded as one of the brightest minds in linguistics, with a list of publications and conference talks that read like someone twice his age. The department had celebrated his arrival like a prized acquisition after the sudden retirement of his predecessor.

As the lecture went on, his words became a blur, and your thoughts wandered. You’d heard the stories. Alhaitham had published papers before most people could finish their dissertations. He was already considered a leading figure in linguistics, and he’d barely been teaching for a year.

You looked around, catching glimpses of students furiously scribbling notes, trying to keep up. But you… you weren’t even processing his words. You were too busy stewing in your own frustration. He wasn’t just smart—he was smug. His entire demeanor screamed ‘I’m better than you,’ and somehow, that got under your skin.

The worst part? He was brilliant. There was no denying that. The ease with which he unraveled complex theories was almost infuriating. It wasn’t just knowledge; it was a performance of intellect, delivered with such cold precision that it made you feel small.

Your phone buzzed causing your eyes to widen as you quickly looked up towards Professor Alhaitham explaining something from a slide. You slide your phone on your desk as you glanced down briefly.

A request for a private session.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. The cam sessions weren’t supposed to interfere with your life like this. It was just supposed to be something you did on the side. Something that helped keep the bills paid.

When you’d started, it was out of desperation. You had needed to make money, and quickly. Your mother kicked you out due to a dispute —getting by was a struggle. At first, you had gotten a regular job at a coffee shop. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Then a friend had suggested camming. At first, you’d been horrified by the idea. Sitting in front of a camera, doing… that? It felt disgusting, degrading. But after months of struggling, you’d caved. What was supposed to be a temporary fix had become part of your routine. Log in, entertain, log off. Now, it was less of a thrill and more of a chore. You hated to admit it, but it paid better than any job you could have found as a student.

Pushing those thoughts aside you tried to pay attention to professor Alhaitham but you ended up doodling inside your book and also ended up writing a grocery list.

Finally, the lights flickered back on as the lecture ended, and Professor Alhaitham’s voice broke the silence once more. "Chapters two through four by next week. We’ll see who’s keeping up."

He snapped his laptop shut, a final punctuation mark to the end of the lecture, and students began packing their bags. You sighed, stuffing your own notes away as you slung your bag over your shoulder, the door creaked open behind you.

“Hey, wait up!” Layla’s voice pierced through your haze.

You turned to see her weaving through the chairs, looking equally disheveled but far less bothered. She caught up to you with an apologetic grin, her messy hair bouncing with each step. “You okay? You looked pretty rattled back there.”

You huffed, running a hand through your own hair. “I was late. Professor Alhaitham made sure everyone knew. God, what a prick.”

Layla snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Oh no. What did he say? I was kind of zoned out”

“Something about ‘dedication’ and ‘showing up halfway through.’ Like he’s never been late to anything in his entire life.”

Layla chuckled, shaking her head. “I swear, that guy is an enigma. Alot of people dislike him for the way he behaves, but alot of people are desperate to be in his class.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“He’s a genius, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But it’s more than that. There’s something about him. He doesn’t care what people think, and he never panders. Some people like that kind of honesty.”

"Honesty, my ass. He’s just an asshole."

Layla laughed, nudging your arm. "Maybe, but also I've heard some people have joined his class just because of how hot he is, a bit ridiculous I do say." she says as a yawn escapes past her parted lips, her head gently resting against your shoulder as she tries to fight off fatigue.

You glanced back toward the front of the lecture hall. Alhaitham was still there, gathering his things with calm efficiency, his sharp features illuminated by the faint sunlight streaming in through the tall windows. His movements were deliberate, controlled, like everything in his world followed some intricate set of rules only he understood. You hated how Layla had a point. He was good-looking, in a detached, untouchable kind of way.

You noticed Layla almost falling off to sleep on your shoulder so you gently poked her nose causing her to wake up in shock.

"I think you need to lay off those thesis papers for awhile and get a good sleep" you said to her as she mumbles something and pouts.

You and Layla left the hall, your thoughts drifted again to the complicated web of your life outside these walls. The nights spent streaming, the chat boxes filled with faceless usernames, the anonymous attention that came with your side job. You pushed it to the back of your mind—this wasn’t the time. But still, that strange double life you led lingered like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake.

You slipped back into the comfort of your cluttered apartment, the memory of his sharp words lingered.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, the weight of the day clung to your shoulders. Dropping your bag by the door, you let out a heavy sigh and kicked off your shoes, the soft thud of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet space. It had been a long day—longer than you expected.

You shuffled into the kitchen, deciding to fix yourself something simple. Your fridge wasn’t exactly stocked, but you managed to throw together a sandwich, something to take the edge off your hunger. As you ate, your thoughts wandered to your schedule for the evening, how it always followed the same routine, a strange comfort in the predictability of it.

After a quick meal, you headed into the bathroom. The warm water of the shower washed away the lingering stress of the day, soothing your muscles and easing your mind, if only for a little while. You stayed under the spray longer than necessary, letting the steam fill the room as you tried to clear your head.

But in the back of your mind, you knew what was coming. Once the clock hit nine, you would become someone else—someone confident, mysterious, and unattainable.

Toweling off, you took your time getting dressed, slipping into some comfortable clothes for the moment. You still had some work to finish before the night began.

As you sat at your desk, staring at the open notes on your laptop, your mind started drifting again. It wasn’t just the lingering tension from class that tugged at your thoughts. There was the constant reminder of why you were doing all of this in the first place.

Your mum hadn’t spoken to you in months, ever since she cut you off financially. Her voice echoed in your head, that final conversation where she’d made it clear—you were on your own. You weren’t doing things her way, and so she wasn’t going to help you anymore.

It had been hard to accept at first. The distance between you, the harshness of her words. But you had no choice now. You had to make things work, no matter what.

That was why you found yourself here, every night, doing things you never thought you’d do. Because you had to survive. This was the only way to keep your apartment, to stay in college. And you couldn’t afford to fail—not now, not with everything at stake.

Your eyes scrunched as you diverted your attention from those stressful thoughts to your notes, a few minutes past as you scrolled through the pages as the hours passed and the sky outside darkened, you checked the time. 8:45. Almost time.

You stood up, crossing the room to your closet. Opening the door, you rifled through the few pieces hanging there before finding what you were looking for—a delicate baby pink lingerie set. The fabric was soft, a stark contrast to the role you were about to step into.

Changing quickly, you adjusted the straps in front of the mirror, checking yourself from different angles. You pulled your hair up into a neat ponytail, a subtle touch that helped keep the two sides of your life separate. The girl in the mirror was confident, poised, ready to perform.

But it wasn’t quite 9:00 yet.

You walked over to your laptop and started setting up, adjusting the angle of your webcam, ensuring that it captured your body

By the time the platform loaded, it was exactly 9:00. Notifications immediately began popping up on your screen as you entered the chat. Regulars and new subscribers alike greeted you, their excitement palpable.

They asked about your day, how have you been as the night played out. After idle chatter with your subscribers, it was finally time for what they actually wanted to see.

The highest bidder requested you to use your pink dildo vibrator. A small smile graced your lips. "As you wish, master" you murmured, pulling out the vibrator. Your eyes darted to the chat window, scanning for familiar usernames, but a disappointed pout formed as you noticed he hadn't joined yet. 'He didn't join yet,' you thought, your mood dampening. The chat flared up with messages as viewers noticed your sulky expression.

You quickly plastered on a smile, bringing the dildo close to the camera, then to your face, smiling seductively.

"So, what do you want me to do first?" The next few minutes blurred into a haze of overstimulation. The bluetooth vibrator buzzed inside you, your fingers rubbing against your pussy lips as shudders coursed through you.

Your clit trembled with the constant intensity, and your body gleamed with a sheen of sweat. Your baby pink lingerie clung to your body as your hand found your nipple, pinching and playing until you came again.

The viewers paid extra to speed up the device, pushing you further and further.

Eyes fluttering open briefly, you scanned the chats again.

Your heart skipped a beat when a familiar username appeared User1102. Your thighs trembled as the vibrator reached its highest speed, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came, making a mess along your legs and lingerie. Breathing erratic, vision blurred, you were practically limp from the overstimulation.

User1102: Bunny... take a break. The chat was filled with other messages, people tipping for extra time or requesting private sessions. But your attention was glued to his message.

User1102: I'do like a private session.

[User1102 tipped $100!]

A soft smile formed on your lips despite your exhaustion. The other subscribers seemed annoyed, trying to out-tip him, but you already knew your choice.

"I'm super tired right now, so I'm only taking one private session! Thank you, guys, see you next week Tuesday~" You threw in a small finger heart, trying to ignore the love confessions and anger from you ending your live so soon.

After ending the public live stream, your heart raced as you adjusted your hair and lingerie, sending a private request to User1102. The request was accepted, and your body appeared on screen.

You smiled, head tilted slightly. "Hi, what can Ms. Bunny do for you tonight?" you asked, your voice low and sultry, though your heart pounded with nerves. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing in your head.

Why do I always get so excited for this particular subscriber? Why does he make my heart race faster and my cheeks flush pink?

The first time User1102 appeared in your live stream, someone had requested you to overstimulate yourself to the point of discomfort. Eyes glazed with tears, you tried to push through the discomfort, but your mind kept wandering. Rent was due, and the $400 being offered was something you couldn’t turn down. But you felt pathetic, disgusted even, for putting yourself through that pain.

That was when User1102 first message caught your attention.

User1102: Stop what you're doing. You're clearly uncomfortable.

The original requester got angry, but then

User1102: tipped $400.

User1102: End the live. I'd like a private session with you.

[User1102 tipped $200]

Your movements had stopped, stunned by the sudden change. The other subscribers were furious, but you nervously smiled and ended the stream. His private session that night had been different from any other. No requests for anything sexual just for you to drink water and change into something comfortable. He'd only stayed for a few minutes to make sure you felt better, then sent a simple message before leaving.

'Don't do things you feel uncomfortable doing.'

You were utterly confused, could the person have been someone who has mistakenly tumbled upon your stream from an ad?

You had'nt expected to see him again, but he came back for the next session. And the one after that. And eventually, you started looking forward to his presence, even if you didn't know what he looked like. --- You let out a soft sigh, your fingers shaking slightly as you adjusted your lingerie on screen.

User1102 message popped up again.

User1102 : are you okay bunny to do something small for me ?

You quickly nod your head eagerly, already ready to do whatever he asked (as long as it wasn't some weird ass kink).

User1102: okay, Bunny, grab the dildo you used earlier.

Your eyes widened slightly at the straightforward request. Hesitantly, you reached for the pink dildo that was still slick from earlier. You toyed with it in your hands for a moment, waiting for his next command.

User1102: Spit on it.

You froze for a second, processing his request. Sure, you'd done things like that before, but it was unexpected from him. Still, you complied.

Leaning forward, you let your saliva drip onto the tip of the dildo.

User1102: Now, Bunny, be a good girl and clean your mess up.

Your pussy throbbed at the words. Slowly, you began sucking at the dildo, cleaning off your spit with your tongue, trailing it down the length of the toy. As you worked, a notification flashed on the screen.

User1102: Play with yourself, Bunny.

Your hand left your breast, fingers finding your clit as you jolted on the bed. The added stimulation forced a moan out of you, louder than you'd intended, but you couldn't stop.

User1102: You're so pretty, making a mess all over.

The tension in your stomach tightened, your vision blurring as you angled your fingers just right. The coil in your stomach snapped, your body was trembling as the final wave of pleasure hit you, vision blurring as you came undone. The clear liquid dripped down your thighs, making a mess of your lingerie and the sheets beneath you. You lay there panting, catching your breath, feeling the heat slowly dissipate from your body.

User1102: You were amazing. Good girl.

Those two words sent another shiver down your spine. Your heart fluttered at the praise, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out of your mouth, genuine and raw: "Anything for you..." Your cheeks flushed red immediately after.

You couldn’t believe you had said that out loud. Your mind was in a haze, the warmth of the afterglow still lingering, but a strange conflict bubbled up inside you.

A small part of you, buried deep down, wanted to scream at yourself for how you felt about this man, a random stranger hidden behind a username. It was foolish to feel like this. A ridiculous crush, on someone who could very well be as old as your father. You closed your eyes for a second, lost in your thoughts, but his next message broke through.

User1102: go clean up, just take it easy when you do so. maybe run a hot shower or bath to relax your muscles. you did really good today.

User1102: Rest now. Goodnight, Bunny.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you read the message. There was something so caring, so comforting about how he ended things.

He didn’t push for more, didn’t ask for anything beyond what you were comfortable with.

"Good night" you said sweetly, your eyes widening at the 400$ tip he left as he logs off. At this point you should just do private sessions with the amount of money he spends on you.

As the session ended, the room fell into a heavy silence. The screen of your laptop went dark, leaving you in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You let out a tired sigh, rolling onto your back. It was late, and exhaustion was starting to weigh you down. You grabbed your phone to check the time, but instead, you noticed a notification from your email.

A familiar name caught your eye. Professor Alhaitham. The email had been sent before you even started your session. You clicked it open and skimmed through it, rolling your eyes the moment you saw what it was about: a pop quiz.

"Ugh, that asshole" you muttered under your breath, tossing the phone aside. The last thing you needed was a quiz first thing in the morning. And of course, he just had to schedule it for 8 AM. You groaned in frustration. Now, you'd definitely need a good night's rest.

You’d barely slept the night before, and it showed. Your body still ached from the public and private session you’d done, and your limbs felt heavy as you dragged yourself through the hall. Luckily you had awoken around 5:30 am and was at campus around 7. You still had a few more minutes to spare until your first lecture and the dreaded pop quiz.

You knew shit cause you didn't revise saying that you would do it in the morning. Well that was a lie.

'I'll just wing it' you thought as you walked into the café to grab some coffee. The café’s comforting warmth felt like a small refuge. You needed caffeine, something to drag you out of this groggy haze. The barista handed you the cup. The place was packed with students and lecturers as you squeezed through people. Distracted by your thoughts, you barely noticed where you were going.

And that’s when you collided into something hard.

You walked right into a firm, solid chest. The impact sent a jolt through your body, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. The smell of something clean—like freshly washed linen, with the faintest hint of sandalwood—filled your senses, grounding you even as the embarrassment flooded your face. Your nose twitched from pain as you let out a small 'ow'.

You looked up, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

It was him.

The devil himself, the man who thought it would be great to have a pop quiz in the morning.

Professor Alhaitham.

Oh and also the man who had humiliated you in front of the entire class just yesterday, his words sharp and cutting as if you were some lazy student who had rolled out of bed with no care. And here you were, nearly doing the same thing. You opened your mouth to apologize, but then your eyes met his, and something inside you froze.

He stared at you with a wide-eyed look, his usual unbothered, calm demeanor completely gone. For a moment, his face seemed to soften, surprise mixing with something else you couldn’t place. His light turquoise eyes were framed by long lashes, and you were momentarily struck by how striking his gaze was. His lips parted, as if to say something, but no sound came out.

What was his problem?

You shifted awkwardly, your body still brushing against his, and suddenly you became hyper-aware of how close you were. His chest was firm beneath his clothes, his body warm, and for a brief moment, you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. His presence felt… overwhelming. The scent of him, the way his tall frame seemed to block out everything else.

And yet, there was something off. His reaction wasn’t what you’d expect from someone as stoic and composed as he had seemed in class. His eyes flickered with recognition—like he’d seen you somewhere before. But how could that be?

Before you could piece together what was happening, his eyes darted away, the strange look quickly masked by his usual indifference. He straightened, but his hands twitched, as if he were unsure of what to do with them.

You blinked, quickly stepping back, trying to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, barely able to look at him. You felt like your face was on fire, and all you wanted to do was escape the situation.

He said nothing at first, still staring at you with that strange intensity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice deeper than you remembered from class. But there was something in his tone, something that almost felt… uncertain.

You mumbled another apology, your heart racing, and without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and rushed out of the café, the sound of your pounding footsteps drowning out the whirlwind of confusion in your head.

What the hell was that? You couldn’t shake the strange feeling his reaction had left you with. Was it embarrassment from the way he had insulted you in class? No—this was different. The way he looked at you wasn’t just surprise. There was something else in his eyes.

You shoved the thought out of your mind. It didn’t matter. He was just your professor, and you had to keep it that way, no matter how weird things got. Your eyes brighten when you noticed you didn't spill your coffee as you hurried down the cafe and took a right turn towards the lecture hall that Professor Al haitham's lecture will be held.

Unaware of the turmoil you had just left behind, Alhaitham stood frozen in place. His hands were still shaking, heart hammering in his chest, and he couldn’t stop replaying the moment over in his mind.

It was you.

The cam girl. The one he’d been watching for weeks. The one he had subscribed to under an anonymous name, indulging in those private sessions like they were his guilty pleasure. He had never planned on it becoming more than a fleeting escape—a place where he could admire you from afar, behind the safety of his screen.

But now, standing there, his chest still tingling from where you had bumped into him, the reality hit him with terrifying force.

He knew your body, your voice, the way you moved in front of the camera. But you… you had no idea who he was. To you, he was just the arrogant professor who had mocked you in class.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

His pulse quickened, his mind racing through the implications. His favorite cam girl was now his student, and she didn’t even know.

part 2

someone to protect — b. Reynolds [part 1]

𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 彡 you only came to the grocery store for bread. you didn’t expect to run into the man who once broke into your apartment, stole your tv, and fled through your window with second-degree ramen burns. and you definitely didn’t expect that same man—now shaggy, awkward, and uncomfortably familiar—to be dragged into your life again by a booming russian in a red tracksuit who insists on borscht and redemption dinners.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 彡attempt at comedy, mentions of past drug addiction (meth use and overdose), violence, language, and mature content in future chapters (including trauma-related themes and emotional intimacy). Please read with care !

if you prefer to read it on wattpad 🔗

word count: 6.1k

enjoy !

The grocery store’s air-conditioning blasted cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms, a sharp contrast to the muggy New York summer outside. You shivered, rubbing your forearms as you grabbed a basket and drifted through the isles. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, a bright, sterile hum that matched the strained pulse in your temple. You needed to focus. Just stick to the list. Get in, get out.

First on the list: bread. You turned down the bakery aisle, weaving through a pair of kids wrestling over a trolley like it was a prized race car. You wondered, just briefly, if one of them might suddenly turn into a super-soldier and crash into the shelves. You caught yourself. That paranoia had been creeping up ever since that day, and you had to admit it was exhausting.

Two months. Two months since the floor beneath your desk had cracked open like a jaw, spilling glass and drywall onto the street below. Two months since you had stumbled through the smoke and the alarms, clutching your laptop and half-eaten sandwich, your brain caught in a vicious loop of your worst memory, replaying over and over like a scratched CD.

You gripped the handle of your basket tighter, nails digging into the cheap plastic. You’d made it out just in time to watch a helicopter tilt sideways into the third floor, shattering the windows of the office you’d been sitting in minutes earlier. You remembered the heat, the blinding white flash of the rotors slicing through glass and steel, the rush of air that had nearly pulled you back into the chaos. You hadn’t been able to process it then, and you weren’t sure you could now.

You drew in a slow, steady breath, blinking back to the present as you grabbed a loaf of sourdough. Focus. You had more pressing problems than intrusive memories. Like rent. Or the fact that your employer had declared bankruptcy two days after the incident, leaving you and the rest of your department with nothing but a final, pitying group email about “unprecedented circumstances.” You scoffed, shoving the bread into your basket a bit too hard.

Moving into the canned goods aisle, you scanned the shelves for soup, your eyes lingering on the discount labels. You were still trying to convince yourself that this whole unemployment thing would be a short-term inconvenience, but your bank account said otherwise. You hadn’t even had the energy to look for a new job yet. The idea of sitting in another sterile, glass-panelled office, tapping away at spreadsheets while waiting for the next disaster to strike, felt like a cruel joke.

You turned the corner, debating the merits of tomato versus chicken noodle, when you nearly crashed into a broad chest that felt as solid as a concrete pillar. You jerked back, your basket swinging dangerously close to clipping your own hip and looked up.

The man you’d almost barrelled into towered over you, his shaggy, overgrown hair brushing the collar of his thick, grey cardigan. It hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, revealing surprisingly defined, sinewy muscles that stretched the wool in a way that suggested he was used to lifting more than just grocery bags. His eyes, a stormy mix of grey and blue, blinked down at you with a hint of surprise, like he hadn’t expected to be standing here either.

“Oh,” he said, his voice soft and unsure, like someone who rarely spoke first. His hand reached out instinctively as if to steady you, fingers hovering just a breath away from your shoulder before he hesitated, withdrawing his arm like it might burn him.

You blinked up at him, something niggling at the back of your mind. He looked… familiar. Not just in the ‘guy you pass on the street every day’ kind of way, but in a way that prickled at the edges of an old, half-forgotten memory. You stared at his face, the scruffy jawline, the faint scar along his cheekbone, the haunted, cautious eyes that flicked away the second they met yours.

You knew this face.

You knew his face.

Your pulse stuttered.

Then it hit you. The flicker of a greasy hoodie pulled tight around a gaunt, desperate face, a figure silhouetted in the light of your open fridge, a whispered, frantic apology cut off by a steaming cup of ramen splattering across a narrow, bony back.

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice coming out more breathless than you intended.

His eyes widened, a deer-in-headlights kind of terror flashing across his face.

“It’s you.”

“Uh…” He took a half-step back, one hand coming up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “It’s… me?”

“Yeah, you.” You jabbed a finger into his chest, immediately regretting it as your finger hit something disturbingly solid beneath the wool. You winced, pulling your hand back quickly, masking the sharp sting with a tight scowl. “You’re the one who broke into my apartment and stole my TV a few years back!”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. He blinked once, twice, then seemed to shrink a little into his cardigan, eyes flicking to the side as if he might find an escape route between the rows of chicken noodle and tomato soup.

“Oh. Oh.” He grimaced, his ears turning an impressive shade of pink. “Uh, yeah. I’m… I’m really sorry about that.” He stammered, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “I-I told you I’d replace it.”

You scoffed as you remembered his desperate face twisted with pain from the hot noodles that was thrown at his back, his words barely coming out coherent. “Yeah, well, that’s hard to believe from the guy who bolted out my window with a 43-inch flatscreen and a bad case of ramen burns.”

He flinched, a guilty look crossing his face as he glanced down at his shoes. “Yeah… I deserved that.” You were about to snap back, something cutting and cathartic, when a booming, heavily accented voice echoed down the aisle.

“Bob! There you are my friend!”

You turned, just in time to see a massive, bear-like figure stomping toward you, arms outstretched like he was about to crush the both of you in a bone-cracking bear hug.

Bob turned a little, his head dropping like a guilty puppy. “Oh no…”

The mountain of a man, dressed in a bright red tracksuit and sporting a bushy beard, clapped a meaty hand down on Bob’s shoulder, nearly sending him to his knees. “I have been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing here, hiding among the soup cans like a little mouse?”

You blinked, your mind struggling to keep up. You do know now that the man who stole your TV is named Bob, such a peculiar name.

Alexei’s grip on Bob’s shoulder tightened, his thick fingers nearly disappearing into the oversized grey cardigan, and for a moment, you almost felt a little sorry for the guy. Almost. The big Russian’s bearded face split into a grin, his eyes twinkling like he’d just found an old friend in the canned soup aisle.

“Ah, Bob! Did you find the canned corn ?” he boomed, his deep, accented voice carrying down the aisle and probably into the frozen foods section.

You took a small, instinctive step back, watching as Bob visibly shrank beneath the older man’s enthusiastic grasp.  Alexei’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing with a sudden, almost childlike excitement. Without warning, he released Bob’s shoulder, reaching into his shopping basket as he brought it up, the box crinkling slightly in his massive hand.

“Look, look!” He leaned in towards you, jabbing a thick finger at the front of the box. “You recognize this?”

You blinked, leaning in despite yourself. The box was a generic-looking brand, the kind that’s always on sale but no one actually buys unless they’re desperate or trying to save a few dollars. The front featured a group of people, posing – Alexei’s finger pointing at a specific man.

You glanced at the person he was pointing at on the box, then back at him. Then back at the box. Then at Bob, who had gone a peculiar shade of pink beneath his scruffy, overgrown hair, his eyes fixed on the tiled floor like he wished he could disappear into it.

The Red Guardian’s grin only grew wider as he watched your confused expression, his finger tapping insistently on the printed image.

“See? See? You recognize, yes?” He straightened, puffing out his chest as if to match the image on the box. You blinked again, torn between second-hand embarrassment and a bizarre kind of awe. “Uh… yeah.” You muttered out, fingers awkwardly playing with the handle of your shopping basket.

His eyes sparkled, clearly thrilled by the recognition. “Yes, yes! You know me!” throwing his hands up causing you and Bob to flinch at the sudden burst of movement.

You tilted your head, watching as he posed with one fist on his hip, the cereal box still clutched in his other hand like it was the Olympic torch. “Red… something?”

He leaned in closer, his beard twitching with anticipation, like a giant, overeager bear.

“Red… Guardian?” you finished, half-question, half-statement.

He slammed the box down onto the edge of the nearest shelf, the impact making the metal rattle and the box to tremble. “Yes! Red Guardian!” he roared, clearly pleased with himself. You took a step back, fingers tightening around your grocery basket. This guy had the energy of a particularly loud uncle at a family barbecue, the kind that smacks you on the back hard enough to make you lose your breath.

“And you?” He pointed at you now, his massive hand blocking out half your vision. “You, what is your name?”

You hesitated, glancing at Bob, who was now staring resolutely at the floor tiles, his shoulders hunched like a child expecting a scolding. You felt a strange, uncomfortable twist in your gut, that same old unease from the ramen incident years ago prickling at the back of your mind.

“It’s, uh…” You cleared your throat, feeling oddly exposed under the Red Guardian’s intense, expectant stare. You croaked out your name, this also catching Bob’s attention, the both of you making eye contact but he quickly broke it off when you glared at him.

Alexei beamed your name out loud, rolling the name around in his mouth like a fine wine. “Beautiful name! Strong name!” He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing down the aisle, his gaze now falling on Bob

“And how do you know our Bob here?” he asks, the grin on his face not disappearing.

Your eyes slid back to Bob, who was now shuffling his feet, his hair falling into his eyes as he fidgeted with the fraying edge of his cardigan sleeve. You squinted at him, a sudden flash of irritation tightening your jaw. Right. You remembered exactly how you knew this guy.

“Oh, Bob here,” you said, making sure to put a lot of emphasis on his name long with letting a hint of your old anger creep into your tone, “stole my TV a few years back.” You scoffed out, you did not have a TV for a good few months and you was just a struggling college student.

Red Guardian’s smile froze, his thick eyebrows climbing towards his hairline. His gaze snapped to Bob, who winced, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red.

“Bob,” Red Guardian said slowly, his thick, bushy eyebrows knitting together in a mock expression of fatherly disappointment. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a loud, exaggerated whisper that still echoed down the aisle. “You did this?”

Bob flinched, his head jerking up as he stammered, “I-I, uh, I told her I’d replace it!” He shot you a panicked, pleading look, his hands wringing the hem of his cardigan like a guilty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, yeah. Right before you dove out my window with my flatscreen under your arm!” you pointed your index finger towards him in an excusing manner watching as he flinched at his, your brows furrow at this…he seemed like someone who is always on edge.

Red Guardian made a deep, disapproving sound in his throat, his head shaking slowly as he clapped a heavy hand down on Bob’s shoulder once again, making the man visibly wince.

“Tsk, tsk, Bob. This is no good.” He turned back to you, his eyes sparkling with a kind of mischievous, paternal glee. “He must make this right, yes? Repay his debt. Prove he is a good man! And no longer bad chicken Bob!” he exclaims out loud, your even more confused now.

‘Chicken Bob?’

Before you could protest, the Red Guardian’s grip tightened on Bob’s shoulder, his other hand sweeping towards you in a grand, magnanimous gesture. “Bob, you must invite this fine woman to dinner. Show her that you are reformed, yes?”

“W-wait, what?” Bob’s eyes shot wide, his face blanching beneath his scruffy beard.

“Yes, yes!” Red Guardian barrelled on, clearly delighted with his own idea. “You will come to dinner with us, yes?” He turned to you, his eyes bright, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. “It will be great honour to have such a strong, brave woman in our home. We make great borscht! Very delicious!”

You opened your mouth to object, to point out that you still had half a grocery list to get through, not to mention a few years of lingering resentment towards the man who had once made off with your only decent piece of electronics, but the Red Guardian’s booming voice cut you off.

“Come, come! Do not worry about groceries. I will make you borscht. Bob will show you he is a good man. Yes, Bob?”

Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking between you and the Red Guardian like a trapped animal.

“Uh… y-yeah?” he managed, his voice so small it was almost swallowed by the grocery store’s humming lights.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Red Guardian was already steering you and Bob towards the exit, the cereal box abandoned on the shelf behind you, his booming voice echoing through the aisles.

“Come, come, we will have great feast! You will see, Bob is very good man now!”

You shot Bob a sharp, exasperated look as you stumbled along beside them, your brain still scrambling to catch up. How the hell had this become your life?

⊹

The walk to the  Watch Tower – the tower that now housed the ‘new’ avengers - was mercifully short, though it felt longer than it was with the Red Guardian practically booming with every step, his heavy boots clapping against the pavement like a small parade. The morning air was crisp, the sun cutting through the towering glass and steel around you, casting long, sharp shadows across the cracked pavement. You managed to get your groceries- Alexei insisting to pay for them as you clutched the bag tighter, the contents rustling softly against your leg as you tried to keep pace with the oversized man beside you.

Every few steps, you felt Bob’s presence behind you, shuffling quietly, his cardigan sleeves pulled down over his hands like a nervous schoolboy. You caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glossy glass doors as they reached the base of the tower, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours for a fraction of a second before darting away again.

He still looked like a ghost of a man, all messy, unkempt hair and slouched shoulders, you almost felt bad for him, but the memory of your missing TV kept you firmly on the side of irritated.

Alexei, however, was in a world of his own, practically vibrating with energy as he slapped his massive palm against the sleek, polished metal of the tower’s entrance, his voice echoing off the glass.

“Come, come! We are home now!” He gestured grandly for you to enter, his broad, calloused hand sweeping towards the sliding glass doors.

You hesitated, glancing up at the towering structure. The sleek, reflective surface stretched up into the cloudless sky, the sunlight catching on the edges of a large A near the top. You swallowed, feeling a flicker of nervousness and nostalgia – you had been here before, long ago – work purposes, memories you just wanted to tuck away.

Before you could fully process the absurdity of the situation, the Red Guardian had already marched through the doors, his heavy boots clanking against the marble floors inside, leaving you and Bob to awkwardly shuffle in behind him.

The lobby was cavernous, the high ceilings stretching upwards like a cathedral, glass and steel arching around you in a way that felt both futuristic and oppressive. Soft, ambient music hummed through hidden speakers, the faint, sterile scent of air conditioning tingling in your nose. You glanced over at Bob, who was still staring at his shoes, his long, bony fingers twisting into the frayed edges of his cardigan sleeves.

You shifted your grocery bag to your other hand, your fingers starting to ache from the weight. Alexei was already jabbing at the elevator button with one thick, impatient finger, muttering something in rapid Russian under his breath as he waited for the doors to open.

With a soft ding, the elevator slid open, its brushed steel doors parting like the jaws of some enormous, metallic beast.  Alexei stepped inside without hesitation, gesturing for you and Bob to follow.

You stepped in, feeling the air turn colder as the doors slid shut behind you. The soft, mechanical whirr of the elevator filled the silence as Alexei punched in the floor number, his massive knuckles practically dwarfing the tiny, glowing buttons.

For a moment, the only sounds were the gentle hum of the elevator and the faint rustle of your grocery bag as you adjusted it against your hip. You glanced sideways at Bob, who was staring intently at the corner of the elevator, his face a study in nervous concentration.

You tightened your grip on the bag, the plastic cutting into your fingers as you felt a fresh wave of irritation bubble up. How the hell had this guy gone from petty TV thief to… whatever the hell this was? You eyed him again, trying to reconcile the image of the jittery, scrawny man beside you with the half-forgotten memory of him scrambling out your window, your flatscreen clutched awkwardly in his arms.

The Red Guardian’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the silence like a hammer on glass. “Ah, Yelena will be so happy to meet you! Maybe you and her can be friends, yes? She needs more friends” He gave you a broad, toothy grin, his beard twitching as he chuckled to himself. “And you, Bob, you should also make more friends. You are too quiet, like a little ghost.”

Bob made a small, strangled sound, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for the briefest of moments before darting away again. You scowled, your fingers tightening around the grocery bag handle.

You shifted awkwardly, your eyes darting around the room as the uncomfortable silence stretched on. You felt Bob’s presence beside you, his hand twitching slightly as if he wanted to shove his hands into his pockets but was too nervous to move.

The elevator ride felt long- longer then you remembered. Finally, you shot him a sharp, sideways glance, Alexei was humming something in Russian lost in his own world as you lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. “How the hell did you end up here?”

Bob’s eyes widened, his head jerking up like a startled deer. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to catch in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stammered, “I-I… it’s a long story.”

You narrowed your eyes, feeling the weight of the forgotten ramen incident settling heavily in your chest. “I did not know the b-vengers also took on petty thieves”  you muttered, your grip tightening on your grocery bag.

Bob’s head tilted slightly, the harsh white light casting faint shadows across the sharp lines of his face. Your words stung like a bandit aid being ripped, his hair hung loose around his shoulders, a little too long, a little too messy, and his jaw tightened at your words. He tried his best to block memories of his past, breaking into peoples homes- stealing their valuables- all in order to buy meth – to get high.

“It’s… complicated,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze flicking down to his scuffed boots.

You huffed, eyes narrowing further. “Complicated? You broke into my apartment and stole my TV. That’s not complicated, that’s just petty crime.”

Before Bob could sputter out a response, the elevator gave a soft chime and the doors slid open, revealing the sprawling lounge of the Avengers Tower. The space was sleek and modern, polished floors reflecting the city lights streaming in from the tall glass windows. Low, comfortable couches were scattered around, and a massive screen dominated one wall, currently flashing muted news headlines.

A lady with short blonde hair spots the three of you her sharp, curious eyes immediately locked onto the three of you as she crossed the room, her genie pig clutched in one hand, its tiny paws scrabbling against her fingers. She cocked her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she sized you up, her expression unreadable before she turned to look towards Bob and Alexei.

“You do know you need to inform me first before you go anywhere with Bob, dad ?” she asked her voice laced with annoyance as Alexei gives her a sheepish grin.

“The boy needed the fresh air; thought grocery shopping will help him out.” He states, Bob just nervously standing next to him – Yelena gives the two a small smile – her dad was with Bob, she should not worry that much but at the same time her father has a blabber mouth and says things a bit too quickly before he thinks- which could trigger Bob.

Her gave now falls back on you as you were standing awkwardly through that little conversation, the urge to just run out, to disappear was becoming greater as her eyes locked with yours- stern.

“Dad,” she said, her tone clipped, her gaze still not leaving you. “You know you can’t just bring strangers in here.” Alexei’s face brightened, as if this was exactly the response he’d been hoping for. He clasped his large hands together, making the genie pig in Yelena’s grip flinch.

“Relax, Yelena. Bob here needs to make up for a mistake,” he said, clapping a massive hand down on Bob’s shoulder, making him flinch slightly. “And I thought, what better way than a dinner? A little easier on the champ.” He gave Bob a hearty shake, his bicep bulging as he grinned before he says he needs to prepare dinner in an excited tone, rushing to what you assume is the kitchen.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion deepening as she looked from you and then to the clearly mortified Bob, who was steadily turning a deep shade of pink.

“What did he do?” she asked, eyes locking onto you, clearly expecting some explanation for this odd little reunion.

You didn’t miss the way Bob’s shoulders tightened, his jaw clenching as if bracing for impact. For a second, you considered letting him squirm a little longer, but the memory of your old, second-hand TV, the one you’d scrimped and saved for, flashed through your mind.

“He stole my TV a few years back,” you said, keeping your tone as casual as you could, but not quite managing to keep the bite out of your voice.

Yelena did not seem phased by what you had said as if its something of the normal as she turns towards him. ‘Did he steal her TV too ? is this a normal ? why are these ‘avengers’ so casual with a petty thief ?’ you thought, you must wanted to go home now.

“Bob,” she said, her voice soft and calm as if she switched off her scary demeanour to calm and soft one- just for him, just for Bob.

“You stole a TV?”

Bob shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, his face a deep, blotchy red. He muttered something under his breath, eyes firmly fixed on the floor, his broad shoulders almost curling in on themselves.

“Wow,” Yelena said, leaning back, clearly enjoying this. “You really are full of surprises, Bob”

Bob’s head dropped lower, and you could practically feel the waves of embarrassment radiating off him.

“ It was when I was on meth!” he quickly justifies, your eyes widen slightly at this new found information, that actually explains a lot. “I-I needed cash so I used to steal stuf-f” he stammered out his eyes now locking with yours, a guilty expression on his face but his eyes were soft and sincere “and I’m really sorry I stole your TV, I did not want to but the voic-” “Okay Bob, that’s enough you don’t need to explain yourself anymore, what has been done in the past is in the past, you don’t have to worry, right?” Yelena had caught him off, her gaze now hard on you, trying to intimidate you into saying right- you looked at her as she wrapped a hand around his wrist- not in a forceful manner but in a way to comfort him ? then you looked at him, his eyes seemed distant, he seemed to be drifting – something was not right as you gazed back to Yelena, her gaze still cold and hard on you as if telling you to go along with her.

You took a deep breath in; a small smile stretches on your face. “Right, the past in the past” you said as sweet as you could , Yelena letting out a breath she did not even know she was holding, Bob’s eyes flickering towards you, a slight shine to them.

What is wrong with him ?

“After all, to be here with the new avengers means you have done something super good” you said, you tried not to sound sarcastic, but Bob seemed to be like a deer caught in headlights, his mind slightly spiralling.

‘You are only here so that you don’t become a threat to others’ a voice, no- its voiced whispered in his ear – his breath hitching, eyes turning glassy. Yelena noticed this quickly, a hand wrapping around his shoulder.

“Why don’t we go and sit down ? huh ? Bob? Lets go have a seat, you can pet Cucumber!” she says all of this out quickly as she lead Bob to the couch, your gaze followed them, next to the couch was a guinea pig – ginger and white, it was lazily seated on a mini pillow before being gently grabbed by Yelena- the guinea pig let out a small ‘pip’ before it was placed in Bob’s hands.

“Here pet Cucumber – think happy thoughts!” Yelena says, you just watched all of this happen awkwardly with your grocery bag making your fingers red, why the hell was this woman babying this grown ass man ? was the first thought that came to mind – Yelena’s gaze snapped towards you, her head cocking towards the couch.

“Sit.” Her voice was stern, this caused you to gulp as you made your way almost tripping on the rug towards the couch. ‘God, did I do something wrong?’ you really wanted to go home now, your heart was beating fast.

You sink into the far end of the couch, the soft cushions sagging beneath you as the worn fabric creaks under your weight. Your grocery bags rustle as you set them down beside you, the thin plastic crinkling sharply in the quiet room. Bob hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking to you, then quickly away, before his gaze falls back on cucumber – who was happily sat on his lap. His knees bend stiffly, his limbs too long for the small space, and the fabric of his oversized cardigan bunches awkwardly around his wrists, the sleeves slipping down to cover his knuckles as he gently brushes his thumb on the animal.

For a moment, he just stares at his fingers, his thumbs rubbing slow, nervous rhythm on Cucumbers head, his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. You catch a faint tremble in his hands, the slight, uneven twitch of his fingers - it’s a small thing, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, but you catch it – the subtle, constant fidgeting, the way his breath hitches slightly whenever you glance his way.

Yelena sighs a breath of relief as if she had just stopped a bomb from exploding - she perches herself on the armrest, her arm stretching along the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly scratching at a threadbare patch in the upholstery. The tiny guinea pig in Bob’s lap, sniffs at the air, its tiny pink nose twitching as it detects the faint, salty scent of your groceries.

Yelena tilts her head, her sharp green eyes flicking between you and Bob, catching the tension that crackles faintly in the air. Her gaze now falling on the paperwork that was scattered on the desk, a groan escaping past her lips “I thought Bucky was going to handle this” she sighs out annoyedly – it was mission reports that Valentina wanted back. Yelena thumbed through them, she knew her dad would want to do it but she don’t really trust him because he will say he is going to do it but ends up doing something else, Ava does not want to do them by choice, Walker – well he will straight up say no, and Bucky offers to do it but is also busy with his congress stuff and her? Well, it’s just tedious.  

Yelena’s accent thick but her tone light, as if she’s trying to ease the awkwardness settling around you, “we really should get a personal assistant. Valentina keeps dumping more and more crap on us.” She mutters more so to herself, feeling a headache forming while she stares at the cluttered coffee table, where stacks of mission reports and loose paperwork spill over the edges, threatening to slide onto the floor. One particularly crumpled page still bears the faint outline of tiny teeth marks – Cucumber’s latest snack, no doubt.

You heard what she had said, the need for a personal assistant, maybe you could just add your little two cents as you let out a soft, bitter chuckle, your fingers curling tightly around the thin plastic handles of your grocery bags. “A personal assistant, huh?” you murmur, leaning back into the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot among the lumpy cushions. You catch Bob’s shoulders tensing slightly, his head ducking lower.

“Well,” you continue, tilting your head slightly, a crooked smile pulling at your lips as you glance at Bob, trying to break the awkward tension “I could assist you with that.” You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before adding, “And maybe Bob can help me get the job, you know, as a favour. Since he did steal my TV.” You still did not want to let go of the whole TV stealing incident, this seemed to irk Yelena now.

“I don’t think we would need a girl plucked from the grocery store to be our personal assistant, especially one still hung up on a stolen TV from years ago.” She states, her voice clipped, each word a precise cut. “ Besides, I highly doubt you have the …mindset for such fields”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back a little “Depends on the field” you reply, tone light but your eyes sharp, catching the subtle shift in Yelena’s posture. “You’d be surprised what some of us pick up along the way”

Bob’s head snaps up, his eyes wide and startled, his mouth opens and closes wordlessly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to find his voice. For a moment, he looks like a cornered animal, his dark eyes flicking nervously between you and Yelena, his fingers twisting together with renewed urgency.

Before Yelena could respond – her eyes held suspicion, Alexei bursts through the kitchen doors – the smell of food, seeping through as he grins widely.

“The dinner is ready!”

The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall, glass walls of the penthouse, casting long, slanting beams across the polished marble floors. The city below pulsed with life, a distant hum of engines and faint, echoing car horns rising from the streets, muffled by the thick, soundproof glass. The air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint, lingering scent of ozone from the tower’s advanced air filtration system.

Mel leaned against the glass railing, a sleek, black tablet balanced on her forearm, the screen flickering with a steady stream of security alerts. Valentina stood beside her, one hand wrapped around a steaming cup of dark coffee, her expression sharp and slightly irritated, her eyes locked on the swirling security feed.

“Please tell me it’s not another one of Alexei’s weird karaoke nights,” Valentina muttered, her voice low, the edges of her words sharpened by a hint of annoyance. “Last time, it was that poor Pizza guy, and I still don’t know how he ended up in a Spider-Man onesie, belting out ‘You’ve Got a Friend in Me’ at three in the morning.”

Mel smiled slightly, tilting the tablet slightly to catch the glint of the overhead lights. “No, nothing like that. But… well, we might have a situation. Look at this.” She tapped the screen, the security footage flickering as the camera angles shifted, closing in on the lounge below.

Valentina’s eyes narrowed as she took in the scene – Yelena’s wary posture, Bob’s hunched shoulders, and you, perched awkwardly at the end of the couch, your fingers still curled tightly around the crinkling plastic handles of your grocery bag, the faint sheen of sweat dotting your hairline despite the cool, climate-controlled air.

Valentina watched the security camera, a scoff leaving past her lips at Yelena complain about simple paperwork and you talking about being their personal assistant.  Your face away from the camera, your hair obscuring your face.

“why does Alexei bring random civilians to the tower? Gosh, Mel please add that I need to give them a warning on that – especially to that Red Guardian” she could feel a headache forming, ever since she announced the bunch of morally grey ‘heroes’ as the new avengers, her days of peace had been short – needing to cater to every single one of their demands.

She was just about to tell Mel, that she did not want to see anymore until your face came into view - Valentina’s eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly as she took in the scene, her pulse quickening, a faint, instinctive prickle of suspicion tightening the muscles along the back of her neck.

“Wait,” she said, her voice low, her fingers tightening around the edge of her coffee mug. “Zoom in on the girl. Let me see her face.”

Mel hesitated, then swiped a finger across the screen, the pixels tightening around your face, capturing the faint crease between your brows, the annoyed twist of your lips, the dark, smudged shadows beneath your eyes.

Valentina’s breath hitched, her sharp eyes locking onto your face, the faintest flicker of recognition sparking in her gaze.

“Run facial recognition,” she snapped, her tone low, the sharp, edge creeping back into her voice.

The screen flickered, the system processing the command, the dull, mechanical hum of the tablet filling the brief, breathless silence. Then, with a soft chime, the results flashed across the glass, lines of text scrolling rapidly, the bright red banner of a classified file pulsing at the top with your picture on the left-hand side.

NAME: [Your Name]

ROLE: Strategic Planner, Stark Industries

PROJECT: [REDACTED] - Experimental Weapon Development (Scrapped)

STATUS: Resigned, Position Vacated

Valentina’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips, her fingers curling around the edge of the tablet.

“Well, well,” she murmured, her eyes still locked on your face, frozen in a moment of nervous laughter beside Yelena.

 “Maybe the New Avengers do need a personal assistant after all.”

Author’s note

I’m so sorry if this feels rusheddd, I just wanted to get my ideas out uahajw but but I’m excited – reader is slightly a beech but but she will redeem herself!! I promise hehe

Please do leave a like, comment, reblog - would very much appreciate

Also if you would like to be added to the tag list comment below !!

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ part 2 | fluff

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is alhaitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— WAH a part 2 ?? masterlist

part 1 | part 2

Unknown Number: Hi. This is Dr. Alhaitham. I received your results. Are you available to come in tomorrow?

Your heart skips a full beat.

Wait. Wait.

You reread the message about eight times, thumb trembling over the screen.

Dr. Alhaitham. Dr. ALHAITHAM.

You never gave him your number. Not directly. The clinic must’ve had it on file from your intake paperwork. Still—why did he text? Shouldn’t it have been the nurse? Or the front desk?

Your brain spins in three different directions while your thumbs hesitate, hovering mid-air. What tone do you even take with a man who has seen your bloodwork and your undereye bags?

You: Hi… yes, I’m free. Is everything okay?

You don’t expect a reply right away, but the bubbles pop up almost instantly—like he was waiting. Watching the clock.

Dr. Alhaitham: I’d rather explain in person. It’s nothing urgent. I just… want to speak to you myself. Tomorrow at 10?

You stare. Blink. Re-read. “I just… want to speak to you myself.”

Butterflies launch a full-scale riot in your stomach. Your cheeks go hot. You’re squealing internally as your thumbs tap out a response that’s way too calm for how your heart is behaving.

You: Okay. I’ll be there. Also… is this your personal number?

A beat.

The kind of beat where you spiral. Where you consider throwing your phone across the room, just to escape the weight of your own message.

Your face is burning. Why did you ask that? Why did he use it?

The silence stretches until it starts to ache. And then—ping.

Dr. Alhaitham: Yes.

A full-body meltdown ensues.

You collapse back into the couch like a Victorian woman being told her corset’s been outlawed. He gave you his number. He texted you himself. He wants to talk to you personally.

Tomorrow cannot come fast enough.

The Next Morning…

You show up to the clinic early. Too early. You pretend you’re just organized, but really you’re anxiously clutching your water bottle like it’s a lifeline. You tried to look effortless—pulled-together, but not obvious. Cute, but not trying too hard. Just… normal. Which is laughable, considering the amount of time you spent choosing earrings.

The nurse checks you in with a kind smile. You sit in the waiting room, leg bouncing, rehearsing responses in your head.

Then he appears.

Alhaitham steps out from behind the frosted glass doors. Still in his lab coat, still maddeningly unreadable. But when his eyes find yours—there’s a flicker of something. Recognition. Warmth. Something quieter.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside.

You could swear—swear—the corner of his mouth twitches, like it’s tempted by a smile.

You follow him in.

The exam room is quiet, neat, humming with soft fluorescent light. You take your seat. He opens your file, but doesn’t look at it. His eyes stay on you.

“I didn’t want to go through the receptionist this time,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought it might make you anxious.”

You blink. The words take a second to land. “Oh. That’s… kind of considerate.”

“Also,” he says, finally glancing down, “your iron levels are low. You’ll need supplements. I’ve written the prescription.”

He slides the slip across the desk like he’s handing you a secret. You take it carefully, like it might crumble.

Silence.

The kind that sits heavy. The kind that means something.

He closes the folder, slow and deliberate. Leans forward just slightly, elbows braced on the desk, fingers laced.

“You didn’t tell me you’d been feeling this way for a while.”

You look away, shoulders curling in slightly. “I didn’t want to be dramatic.”

“You said you were a Victorian woman,” he deadpans.

You smile despite yourself, soft and a little sheepish. “Okay, but that’s just my personality.”

He watches you. Sharp eyes, steady and assessing—but not unkind.

Then, gently: “I don’t think you’re dramatic.”

You suck in a breath, caught off guard.

“I think you’re… overwhelmed. Tired. Maybe not used to being taken seriously.”

Your throat tightens. You bite the inside of your cheek. Something inside you shifts.

“I just treat patients,” he says. “But… I remembered you. More than I expected.”

Your heart slams once, hard. “…Why?” you whisper.

He shrugs, gaze not quite meeting yours. “You made an impression.”

Your grip tightens on the paper in your lap.

And then—his voice drops lower: “If you feel dizzy again… or if anything gets worse—don’t wait. Just message me. Directly.”

You nod, silent.

And as you leave—hand curling around the doorknob, heart thudding in your chest like it’s trying to break free—his hand comes to rest gently on the small of your back.

Warm. Steady. Certain.

You freeze. Just for a breath. His palm lingers there like it belongs, grounding you in the quiet between heartbeats. You swear you feel the heat of it radiating through the fabric of your blouse, straight into your spine.

You try not to melt. Try not to show how much that simple touch undoes you.

Then, just as your breath begins to hitch, he leans in slightly. Not too close. Just enough that his voice slides in low, just above a whisper.

“Go home safely.”

His hand slips away—slowly, deliberately. The loss of contact is almost startling.

You turn, instinctive, eyes finding his.

And he’s already looking at you.

Not blankly. Not politely. No, his gaze is sharp and unreadable, steady and direct. There’s something in it—something knowing—that makes your breath catch and your fingers tighten around the cold metal of the doorknob.

You swallow hard.

You manage to nod. Maybe say “good bye.” You’re not sure. Your brain’s short-circuiting.

You take one step out.

Two.

You don’t even make it to the end of the hallway before your knees buckle slightly. Not enough to fall. Just enough to feel the ghost of his hand still lingering on your back.

11:41 p.m.

Your room is dim, bathed in the glow of your phone screen. You’re curled up in bed, overthinking the day in painful HD. You keep replaying every word. Every glance. Every almost-smile.

You haven’t messaged him. Even though he told you to.

You want to. But courage, it turns out, is fictional after 10 p.m.

Then—your phone lights up.

Dr. Alhaitham: Are you awake?

You sit up so fast you almost concuss yourself on the headboard. Your heart stumbles. Hands fumble.

You: yes?

A pause.

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry if this is strange. I just remembered something you said the other day.

Your pulse is in your ears. You clutch your phone like it might float away.

You: Which thing? (The Victorian woman part?)

A longer pause. Bubbles come and go.

Dr. Alhaitham: No. The part about collapsing into someone’s arms. You joked. But I keep thinking about it. Wondering if someone’s ever really done that for you.

The air leaves your lungs.

The world stills.

This isn’t a joke anymore.

You: No one ever has. Why?

A minute passes.

Then:

Dr. Alhaitham: Because I think you deserve to be caught. Even when you’re not falling.

You sit frozen in your bed, the blanket bunched around your waist, the silence loud in your ears. His words wrap around you like warmth. Like something you didn’t know you needed.

Then, another message:

Dr. Alhaitham: Sorry. That was unprofessional. Good night.

But you can’t stop staring at the one before it.

“Because I think you deserve to be caught.”

The School Auditorium – 10:07 AM

The lights are too bright. The hum of the overhead fluorescents buzzes against the high ceiling, competing with the chorus of second-graders who are very much not using their indoor voices. You’re wrangling your chaos crew down the aisle—two are arguing about who’s taller, one’s asking if astronauts eat soup, and another is trying to lick the back of their own nametag.

You’re functioning on three hours of sleep, a half-drunk coffee that went cold in your cup holder, and the sheer force of whatever maternal instinct allows a person to stop a glitter spill midair.

You don’t notice the man walking onto the stage at first. Not until the noise cuts.

The chatter dies so suddenly it’s eerie—twenty-five small heads pivoting in unison toward the front like a hive mind has seized them.

You look up.

And your brain short-circuits.

There, standing at the center of the stage, is a man. Clipboard in one hand. Other tucked neatly into the pocket of a lab coat. He’s tall—really tall—built like someone who definitely doesn’t trip over his own feet, and carrying himself with the kind of effortless confidence that makes you feel like you’ve shown up underdressed to your own job.

He’s calm. Polished. Crisp lines and clean edges. A quiet authority that makes even the most fidgety of your kids fall still.

Alhaitham.

Dr. Alhaitham.

Your doctor.

Your heart leaps to your throat and lodges there.

He scans the room slowly, methodically. Dispassionate and professional—until his eyes land on you.

And pause.

Just for a second.

But it’s enough. Your breath catches. Your stomach does a little somersault, unprompted.

You are suddenly painfully aware of the state you’re in: oversized cardigan, mystery glitter on your left sleeve, your hair pinned back with a pencil because someone borrowed your last claw clip. There’s a child gripping your leg like it’s the mast of a sinking ship.

He starts to speak—something about germs and handwashing and healthy habits—but you don’t really hear it. The children do. They’re captivated. Spellbound.

You’re just trying to remember how to breathe.

The talk ends after what feels like a hundred years but also three minutes. You start herding your class toward the exit, one hand on a shoulder, another plucking a crayon from someone’s mouth.

And then your phone buzzes.

You glance down.

Dr. Alhaitham : You didn’t tell me you were a teacher.

You stop mid-step. The world tilts slightly.

You read it again.

You: You didn’t tell me you do school tours.

The reply comes so fast you know he had the message half-written already.

Dr.Alhaitham : I don’t. I only agreed because the principal is a patient. Didn’t expect to see you. (Or twenty-five second graders clinging to your legs.)

A breath escapes you—half laugh, half disbelief. Your heart’s still racing, but it’s a little lighter now. Warmer.

You: Yeah well… you might have cracked the case. That’s why I was always sick. Kid germs are no joke.

You watch the typing bubble appear. Disappear. Appear again.

You can feel the deliberation behind it. He’s thinking. Rethinking. Overthinking. You know the feeling too well.

Then finally—

Dr. Alhaitham : I get it now. All the coughs. The dizziness. The stress. You were holding together an entire classroom by sheer willpower.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening.

Something about the way he says it. The way he sees it.

Then another ping.

Dr. Alhaitham : You’re… kind of incredible, you know. Even with stickers on your pants.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound that leaves it. A sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scream.

Because you look down—and yep. There they are.

Two sparkly dinosaur stickers on your thigh.

And suddenly, you don’t feel quite so exhausted anymore.

—usagii’s note

I wish alhaitham was real :(

hey I loved your emperor jing yuan x assassin reader fic, was wondering if there was a part 2 to it

hii! i wasn't going to write a part 2 as it was up readers to wonder what happens next but a lot of people want a part 2...problem is, i don't know how to go about the next part haha🥲 i'll probably get some inspiration for it and will write a part 2 soon (hopefully)

sunset berry tea. zhongli x reader

✦....summary: in which zhongli tries out a new tea shop in liyue.

✦.....warnings: none!

✦.....word count: 1.1k

The small tea shop nestled along the busy streets of Liyue had quickly become a haven for its patrons. To Zhongli, however, it had become something more—a quiet retreat from the responsibilities and the endless history of the city he once governed. He had first noticed the shop a few weeks ago, its subtle charm standing out among the bustling market stalls. Today, curiosity led him inside.

The chime above the door tinkled softly, and you glanced up from the counter where you were brewing tea, your hands steady and practiced. Your eyes caught sight of a tall man with sharp amber eyes and an air of calm about him, his expression serene as he scanned the room.

"Welcome," you greeted with a warm smile. "What can I get for you today?"

Zhongli approached the counter, his gaze briefly flicking to the menu before resting on you. "It is a warm day today. Perhaps you could recommend something refreshing?"

You chuckled softly, the sound light and pleasant. "I’ve got just the thing. I’d recommend our Sunset Berry Tea. It’s fruity and pleasantly sour, and the cold brew is perfect for this weather."

"That sounds perfect," Zhongli replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You turned to prepare the drink, pouring the mixture of berries and herbs with careful precision. As you worked, Zhongli’s gaze wandered over the tea shop’s décor—soft Sumeru influences interwoven with Liyue’s aesthetic. It was clear this was more than just a shop to you; it was a piece of your home, brought to the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor.

When you returned with the tea, Zhongli accepted it graciously. He took a sip, his eyes closing briefly as the cool, refreshing flavor washed over him.

“This is exceptional,” he praised, setting the cup down gently. “A drink perfectly suited for dispelling the heat.”

You grinned, a sense of pride blooming in your chest. "Thank you. I learned everything from my father. He ran a tea business in Sumeru, but I decided to bring a piece of that here to Liyue. I’ve always admired the culture and wanted to start fresh."

Zhongli listened attentively as you spoke, your passion evident in the way your eyes lit up with each word. You rambled on about the tea, your father’s craft, and how you had come to love the traditions of Liyue. What began as a simple conversation became a habit—a ritual of sorts. Zhongli would come by the tea shop regularly, each time eager to try a new brew and to hear you speak about your life and the things that fascinated you.

In turn, he shared his own stories—little pieces of Liyue’s vast history and its rich culture. The more time he spent with you, the more he realized how much he enjoyed your company. There was a warmth in the way you spoke, a sincerity that made him feel more human—less like the ex-Archon burdened by millennia of memories.

Over time, he couldn’t help but notice how your hair sometimes fell in different styles, how you tried new shades of lipstick that complemented your features. He would feel a faint flutter in his chest whenever your eyes met his or when you smiled at him in that gentle, unassuming way.

As the Lantern Rite approached, the city buzzed with excitement, the streets filling with vibrant colors, lanterns hanging from every corner. One afternoon, as Zhongli was finishing his tea, he hesitated, the words lingering on his lips before he spoke.

“The Lantern Rite is always a magnificent occasion,” he said, his voice calm as always. “I was wondering if you would care to accompany me to the festival? It would be an honor to share the evening with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth flooding your cheeks. You hadn’t expected him to ask, but the thought of spending the festival with Zhongli made your chest tighten with excitement. “I’d love to,” you replied softly, your smile bright.

---

That evening, the streets of Liyue were filled with the soft glow of lanterns. The sky was painted with hues of gold and crimson as the sun began to set, casting a magical light over the harbor. You and Zhongli strolled through the festival together, the air buzzing with the sounds of music and laughter. Street vendors lined the roads, offering a myriad of treats and delicacies.

“Have you ever tried these?” Zhongli asked, gesturing toward a stall selling golden shrimp balls. You shook your head, and he bought a pair, handing one to you. The crisp exterior gave way to a warm, savory filling, and you smiled as you tasted the delightful combination of flavors.

As you walked, you talked about everything and nothing at all—the culture of Liyue, the beauty of the lanterns, and the stories that had been passed down for generations. Zhongli’s deep, soothing voice mixed with the sounds of the festival, creating a comforting backdrop to your evening.

There was an ease between the two of you, a natural connection that neither of you could deny. And as the sky darkened, the first fireworks began to burst above, painting the night with brilliant colors. You both paused to watch, the lanterns floating up into the sky like stars.

Zhongli turned to you then, his gaze soft and warm. “May I ask you something?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked up at him, your heart fluttering in anticipation. “Of course.”

“There’s something I’ve been feeling… recently,” he began, his amber eyes holding yours. “Whenever I’m with you, I feel at ease. I find myself wanting to be around you more often, and I believe…” He paused, his expression growing tender. “I believe I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

Your breath caught, and you felt a flush rise to your cheeks. “I… I feel the same way,” you admitted, your voice quiet.

Zhongli took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. “Would it be all right if I kissed you?”

His question hung in the air, the gentle hum of the festival fading as your heart raced in your chest. You gave a small nod, your voice failing you.

With a soft smile, Zhongli leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tender kiss. The fireworks above crackled and burst into brilliant colors, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his lips against yours, the way your heart seemed to soar with every second.

When he pulled away, his thumb brushed your cheek, his expression soft and affectionate. “You have brought a light into my life,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “One I did not expect to find.”

Your heart swelled, a smile tugging at your lips. “I could say the same about you.”

Hand in hand, you continued to watch the fireworks, your hearts intertwined beneath the glowing lanterns of Liyue.

author's note: this is just a little warm up writing for me as i have not written in a while, next work is al haitham x fem reader (professor x student) but reader is also a cam girl, so if anyone is interesting for that fanfic do let me know and I'll add ya to the tag list <3