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calummss · 11 months

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Infect Me With Your Lovin, Fill Me With Your Poison | Klaus Mikaelson

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summary: you have rejected klaus mikaelson a few more than once, even if he charmed you. when you find out that klaus slept with hayley, jealousy overcomes you and makes you snap at the hybrid who in return gets exactly what he wants

pairing: fem! reader x klaus mikaelson

words: 2.7k

a/n: please listen to this song whilst reading if you can!! life changing

tw: sexy vampire x hybrid smut (blood, kinky sexy) 18?+ smut BUT i can’t write smut well so i wrote some stuff and as everyone knows by now, self interpreted ending :)

‘Where have you been?’ Caroline asked as soon as you entered the back garden of the Mikaelson house, her eyes telling you that she was already fed up.

‘Dreading to come actually,’ you rolled your eyes, immediately snatching Caroline’s planner chart to see what had to be done by today.

Apparently Klaus and his siblings wanted to host some kind of ball and asked Caroline to help, and Caroline being Caroline couldn’t say no. Not only that but she also dragged you into today’s schedule because Klaus had a soft spot for you and thought you could protect her from him, and there was the other reason being that you also loved planning and organising.

‘Caroline, those blue flowers are so ugly…are you seriously going to use them?’ You judged her as she gave you the same look back.

‘Yes,’ she beamed sarcastically, ‘Morning glories are pretty.’

You cleared your throat.

‘Well maybe you should’ve been there when we discussed everything today.’

‘Caroline, please.’ You breathed, silently enjoying the banter. ‘I was not hating…just, you know, judging.’

‘Then stop.’ She snapped, taking back her chart and started to walk towards the terrace where Tyler and Matt tried to detangle pairs of fairy lights.

Chuckling at the two, you observed the scenery in front of you. Flowers in full bloom, greenery as wide as the eye could see as well as a pond that served as a home to multiple ducks. But at the bridge that led to a gazebo that stood on a small hill, you saw Hayley and Klaus talking. They were too far away to eavesdrop but you could tell that she kept smiling at him. You have rejected Klaus Mikaelson more than a few times, even if he charmed you. You just weren’t quite ready to date the most evil villain in supernatural history, but seeing Klaus with Hayley made you clench your teeth.

‘Oh my, I’m so sorry.’ A girl bumped into you with a box Caroline most likely sent her to another location of the house.

‘Watch where you’re going.’ You scoffed, defensively squaring up.

‘I apologise.’ She murmured, her eyes quickly glancing left to right.

‘And I said watch where you are going.’ You stepped closer, so close that you could lean forward to compel her. ‘I want you to go home and write down 100 reasons why you’ll never be worth anything.’

The girl left just as Caroline approached you with an angry look on her face.

‘What was that?’ She kept her eyes on her.

‘I compelled her to leave.’

‘We need help here. Hello? I mean we only have a few hours left!’

‘She was useless Caroline.’ You stated, letting your head fall back. ‘I’ll do whatever she has to do.’

‘You better,’ her white teeth smiled at you.

‘By the way,’ you straightened yourself, staring back into the distance where Hayley and Klaus were still talking about god knows what. ‘Why is that wolf girl smiling at Klaus like she owes him just that?’ You shot back one of the champagne glasses that stood on the table, quickly wiping a drop with your sleeve.

‘You haven’t heard,’ Caroline raised her eyebrows, she too now staring at the two of them. ‘Tyler’s bitchy werewolf friend Hayley slept with Klaus. Don’t ask why, I wouldn’t know how that happened.’

‘So why does she keep smiling at him?’

‘Maybe she fell for him.’

Somehow hearing that made you uneasy, like you wanted to rip her heart from her chest.

‘Why?’ Caroline smirked, turning to face you. ‘Jealous?’

‘What?’ You snapped back.

‘Oh come on, Klaus has been practically drooling over you and you kept pushing him away. I’d say you’re jealous because maybe he moved on.’

‘He didn’t move on,’ You grabbed another glass.

‘You say that so confidently.’

‘He sent me a dress to wear tonight,’ you took a sip, ‘a pink one. He knows my favourite colour is pink…he still likes me. Even asked me for a dance.’

‘So are you going to give him a chance?’

You kept your eyes on Hayley who had just put her hand on Klaus’ arm, throwing herself onto him hidden by a violent laugh.

Shooting back the second glass you walked past Caroline.

‘I’m going to get more decorations from inside the house.’

‘They’re in one of the backrooms!’ Caroline shouted from behind as you walked into the house to get away from anything Klaus and Hayley related. The thought of them having sex made your stomach churn. But it also sparked a flame from within; hatred; jealousy? You were pretty sure you were jealous you just didn’t want to admit it just yet.

Walking into a room you were greeted by many cardboard boxes that were filled to the brim with all sorts of decorations. Some where definitely for Christmas, others for Easter. Grabbing a garland you tried pulling it out but it didn’t budge. Repeatedly you tried to get it out, tons of ornaments refusing to move under the massive amounts of other stuff.

‘Why won’t this come out!’ You sneered, ripping part of it off and throwing it at the wall.

‘There there, love,’ Klaus’ voice caught you by surprise, turning around to see him leaning against the door frame. ‘I don’t know what that poor garland did to you but certainly it couldn’t have hurt you that much.’

‘What do you want?’, you scoffed, once again trying to get that bloody garland out but it would just not move.

‘Why do I have the feeling that you have been ignoring me, love?’

‘I don’t know, have I?’

‘Come on,’ Klaus stepped further into the room, arrogance dripping down his shoulders. ‘It’s rude not to let me know why…’

You turned around to face him, your body starting to feel warm. ‘Why don’t you go back to Hayley hm?’

‘So this is about Hayley? I suppose Caroline told you. You two seemed pretty close just moments ago.’

‘So it’s true then? You slept with her?’

‘Shouldn’t I have?’ He cocked his head, his devilish smirk adding to the rising warmth within.

You stayed quiet and instead turned around to face your luck once more.

‘Does it bother you?’

‘No it doesn’t bother me,’ you grabbed ahold of the decoration once more. ‘You can fuck whomever you want to, Klaus. Just leave me alone and go back to fucking her, why-the-fuck-won’t-this-stupid-decoration-come-out!’

‘You’re jealous.’ Klaus chuckled, you could hear it in his voice how amused he was.

‘I’m not. You go back to that little slut of yours and leave me alone.’ You stepped closer.

‘I have fancied you for months so now when I sleep with someone you suddenly seem to care…why?’

‘Okay fine, Klaus,’ your hand fell over your face, bile starting to rise in your throat. ‘I care. I am so angry at you for sleeping with Hayley when you should’ve fucked me!’

Klaus continued to smirk, his eyes glistening. Somewhat happy that you finally had exploded and accepted that you actually had like him for longer.

‘First of all, love,’ he came even closer, his chest so close you could almost feel his heartbeat through your chest. ‘I wouldn’t just fuck you, I would worship you.’

‘Is that what you told Hayley?’ You gazed into his eyes, his lips so close you could almost taste him.

‘Barely did any talking.’ Klaus’ nose brushed against your, ‘I thought of you whilst I was inside of her,’

‘That doesn’t exactly make a girl swoon,’ A suppressed laugh escaped your lips, breaking eye contact before Klaus’ finger pushed your head back up at him.

‘Let’s not pretend that you don’t love it, Y/n,’ he said sturn. ‘Why keep this wall up of yours.’

You raised your eyebrows.

‘Come on, darling. You love that the bad guy has a soft spot for you.’ He chuckled. ‘No one’s going to judge you for wanting to sleep with me…maybe even more.’

His lips came closer and closer, both hands already cupping your face. You really wanted to kiss him. You really did.

Heat arose from your stomach to your chest. His lips were getting closer and your heart skipped a beat. His dark blue eyes sparked with sin as his eyes didn’t leave your gaze. Your heart pounded in your chest as your knees got weaker. The empty void that filled the space between your bodies was filled with his presence as he stepped even closer. Your whole body tingled, the feeling of his frame leaning on yours, as his arms wrapped around you felt nearly forbidden. His lips brushed against yours, softly, delicately, like you were a porcelain figure, one crack away from falling to pieces and being broken forever. Seconds later the gap was closed. His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed into yours, lips plump and smooth against your own. His arms found themselves to your back, pulling you closer than was possible—you also wanted to be closer to him. You could only focus on how soft he felt against your lips, how addictively he invaded all your senses.

You pushed away from him before he could indulge once more as you hastily pulled back from the kiss.

‘We shouldn’t do this. This is a terrible idea.’ Your thoughts scattered across the floor, breathing heavily.

‘You’re right . . . Want to do it again?‘

‘Yes.’

Barely a sound escaped you before he cupped your face again, kissing you more forcefully than before; your arms finding their way to his neck, making sure you wouldn’t fall from the force he was impacting you with. His arms were around your lower back, pulling you towards his torso. Your hands had found his hair that you had secretly been dreaming of tugging since the moment you saw. Not breaking the kiss you went to one of the bedrooms just next door, closing it before resuming the kiss.

You parted your lips, urging him to open his, moaning into his mouth. Dragging his lips against your cheek up to your ear, his hand found your face again, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip, breaking the kiss again, your eyes meeting, now under different circumstances.

You tore off his shirt, gently stroking his chest as he pulled of your trousers and shirt as you kissed him again. His tongue pushing past yours, his hands at the back of your head pushing you further into his kiss.

You played with his belt, trying to unbuckle it as he clipped off your bra leaving you in only your panties. Your fingers continued to brush against the light stubble on his lower abdomen when he suddenly broke the kiss, his eyes darkening as his lip curled almost devilishly.

Klaus walked over to the door, ‘Do you get turned on listening to people have sex, Hayley?’, and swiftly opened the door to reveal Hayley whose eyes were wide with shock, taken aback by having been found.

Klaus pulled Hayley into the room by the collar of her jeans jacket, locking the door to ensure that no other person would interrupt again.

‘I didn’t mean to.’ She said, barely audible as the shame started to settle in, her fingers playing with the hair tie around her wrist. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘We don’t care if anyone knows about us, love.’ Klaus drawled, rolling his eyes.

Hayley’s eyes met yours before they visibly travelled down to your naked chest that already bore red spots from Klaus’ foreplay.

‘You are interrupting.’ You said coldly, almost hissing as you felt the annoyance rise in you, your fingernails digging into your palms as you tried to control yourself.

Klaus gazed at you then back at Hayley.

‘Now what do we do with you,’

‘I want her dead, Klaus.’ Monotone. You could only stare at her, your mind filling with images of every way you could ensure to stop her beating heart.

He chuckled. ‘You hear that little wolf? My darling girl wants you dead…,’ his hands grabbed Hayley’s shoulders and squared them with his. ‘And everything my girl wants she gets.’ Klaus looked directly into her eyes. ‘Stand here and don’t move.’

He moved her hair from her neck, ‘Fancy a drink, love?’

You stepped towards Hayley, your eyes filling with lust as your teeth finally pierced through her delicate skin. The thick sweet taste of werewolf blood coating your tongue as you felt an euphoric rush travel through your veins. You could feel the life drain out of her body as shallow breaths of dying filled your ears. Glimpsing over at Klaus who also had his teeth buried into her neck, you noticed that he already had been staring at you.

Blood started to drip down the corners of your mouth, falling onto your chest, nipples hardening in arousal. The warm blood messily smearing over your naked body. Taking your index finger, you collected some of the blood and placed it on your tongue, closing your mouth around it as you sucked it off, your eyes never leaving his.

Klaus pushed Hayley’s dead body to the ground, clenching his jaw. You stood inches apart, your nose picking up the scent of blood mixed with his cologne.

Seconds later the gap was closed again. His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed into yours. His arms found themselves back at your back, pulling you closer.

‘If only I had known how twisted you really are,’

Your eyes found his; chest rising and falling heavily waiting for him to finish his sentence.

‘I would’ve fucked you sooner.’ Klaus smirked, pulling you in for one more heated kiss before he pulled away. His breath sent shivers down your spine, raising goosebumps on every available patch of skin that was naked to the open.

Your breath hitched when you suddenly felt his mouth on your tits. He started to trace long slow licks; licking of the blood. His right hand found its way to your other breast, massaging it thoroughly and pinching your hardened nipple. You bit your lower lip closing your eyes as you felt your heart beat outside of your chest, your cunt aching from between your thighs, soft moans escaping your blood stained lips.

‘God you are so beautiful.’

‘Fuck,’ you hissed, his tongue starting to flick your nipples as your fingers buried themselves his his hair. Gently tugging it.

Your hands fell to his face bringing him to your face, and forcefully kissed him again, the sight of him being covered in blood sending heat waves down to cunt, feeling that your panties were already soaked. Your arms found their way to his neck, to make sure you wouldn’t fall from the force he was impacting you with. His arms were around your lower back, pulling you towards his body.

‘She tastes good but you would taste better,’

He pushed your body onto the bed, ripping off your panties as a long lick from your hole to your clit made you arch your back. His finger parted your lips and started to explore your already wet cunt, his teeth biting the thin skin of your inner thighs.

‘We barely started and you're soaked? Just for me,’ he chuckled. ‘And here I thought you hated me. Turns out you’ve just been fighting me?’ You closed your eyes and turned your head to the side, difficulty concentrating as he started to push his tongue deeper into you. Slowly he began to pump his fingers out of you, too slow for your liking. Your hands grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, asking for more.

‘Not satisfied darling?’ He cocked at you.

You could only concentrate on the pleasure you were receiving, and whimpered out a no. You barely had time to take another breath before he reattached his mouth to your aching cunt.

‘Fuck!’ You yelled out, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair. A deep moan escaped his lips, sending vibrations through your body. He added another finger going even faster than his previous pace, curling his fingers, hitting your spot perfectly.

He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, making you cry out in euphoria. With every forceful hit you felt your orgasm draw nearer and nearer. It felt like a knot inside of your stomach was going to explode any second which Klaus started to notice. Just before you could release your screams, he pulled out his digits and grinned.

‘Please make me cum,’ You whimpered out desperately.

Klaus’ lips hovered over yours, giving you a taste of yourself as you caught his lips. ‘With time, love.’

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wmarximoff · 1 year

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𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: you return home after being kicked out of college - your father is not happy, but your stepmother certainly is.

warnings (18+): smut, very light somnophilia hints, strap-on sex (Wanda receiving), stepcest, unspecified legal age-gap, mommy kink, heavy mommy issues, sizable daddy issues, drinking, smoking, praise kink, certain amounts of angst, bad parenting, breastfeeding. MINORS DNI.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 4k

A/N: and the whole writing about stepmom!Wanda thing is getting worse…

masterlist.|

༺ᱬ༻

It was a sunny late afternoon, warm on the skin underneath your clothes, when you took the lighter close to the cigarette that appeared between your parted lips and ran the surface of your thumb across the spark wheel, creating the necessary ignition for the ember to flicker and ignite the tip of that little white cylinder, which blinked like a firefly down your nose tip.

Your sense of smell captured an emanation of wholesome, sour, idle odor – an act of teenage rebellion turned into a noxious addiction. A puff of thick white smoke rose from your nostrils. Someone gave you a crooked look when you sighed in heavy smoke.

You were sitting on a wooden bench under the shade of a long-standing oak tree in the middle of the small green square of the city, which sheltered you in the shadows of its ancient branches, in the surroundings of the structure of the white wooden gazebo that could well have been there since the fifties; the small convenience stores spread all around, the people staring at you because they all knew your fate – what your return to Westview represented, the flaw in the perfect family picture.

Everyone in town knew your parents, your father and stepmother, Jarvis (Vis for those neighbors who were more superficially intimate) and Wanda, and so your name was thrown to the wind with totally disconnected intonations to the public admiration assigned to that couple, typical small-town good samaritans – you spray-painted a billboard or got caught by the sheriff drinking in front of the gas station convenience at just sixteen years old, even though you never bothered to hide your petty misdeeds in none of these cases.

It had been a week since your return, seven days had passed that very morning. The short drive back had been as quiet as it could be – a few hours, no more, objectively and adamantly quiet to the core; the well-trained ear would just catch the sound of the asphalt sliding under the well-heeled car's tires, vibrating and petulant, icy air being expelled from the air-conditioning in cold puffs against the warm skin of your face, in a swath soon under your chin.

You followed, solemnly, your tired eyes behind your heavy lids, as the melancholy houses passed by the gloomy panorama presented in that small suburban town, sweet little houses with buttery walls and windows with wide open light cotton curtains, all surrounded by meters of pointed low wooden fences standing close together in lavish, sweeping rows in front of well-trimmed green lawns and behind neat sidewalks and vibrant trees.

You weren't born in Westview , in the heart of New Jersey, but outside in the neighborhoods of that city where all the smallest details had throughout your early life were derived – at the height of your simple ten or eleven years of age, overwhelming in an air of rebellion for an orphaned child of a resigned mother and lacking the affection of a disinterested father, that was the location chosen by that man as a starting point of the unusual life of him as a newlywed, at the time, with your stepmother Wanda Maximoff, pushing for suburban life patterned within the traditionalist mold of a square box, as socially anachronistic as it gets.

Jarvis Stark was a reserved and rather austere man, after all, an old-fashioned thinker, a classic political liberal and an unyielding conservative – abandoned by his first wife with the eldest daughter he didn't know how to raise, a father of three, the breadwinner, a proud Republican voter. And you were, then, the twenty-year-old daughter, the eldest failure, who was asked to withdraw from college because your grades were worthy of nothing but shame and stoning in the public square.

So you believed that only conformism could soothe you out of your succinct attachment to the reality which you found yourself, deeply enraged and dangerously bored, somewhere on the fine line that separated these two opposite poles of mood from ego. The car swerved around a corner, your childhood home looming into view at the end of the street. Westview, always the same, never different. So you sighed, a heavy, icy sigh, lifting and lowering your chest inside the baggy shirt you'd pulled over your head hours earlier.

Sighing was the little you could do, but perhaps it could be a prudent way of expressing your discontent with the current situation around you when Jarvis parked the car in front of the family home, Wanda's well-tended rose bushes rising into the front yard in a polychromatic vortex of blood red color.

The window of your old room upstairs looked at you gloomily as if it didn't want to welcome you back – nobody did, after all. And you looked at it as if you could stone it, with all the hatred worthy of a child that no one ever wanted to harbor wrapped up inside an adult body barely rigid to the touch.

“Y/n,” your father's dictatorial voice echoed into the silence that filled the vehicle, his pale cerulean eyes behind the lenses of his thin-rimmed glasses staring only at the leather steering wheel, irises hard with fury, never turning back to your figure sitting on the bench next to him.

“Before we go in I want one thing to be clear here, Y/n. I’m not kidding. You're not a child anymore, though you're still behaving like one, and I'm not going to treat you like one. I'm going to treat you like an adult, because that's what you are now. The playtime is over. I will no longer tolerate this type of behavior on your part.”

There was a silent pause, not long enough to give you the go-ahead to come up with a response to that man in the cashmere blazer and dark turtleneck blouse, a philosophy teacher who was dissatisfied with the denial of his academic career that had confined him eternally to the position of high school teacher.

“You're going to have to grow up. Do you even understand what that means, at least? Nothing is free anymore, the world is not going to be kind to you, and neither am I. Tomorrow you will look for a job and while you are living under my roof until you can support yourself, you will have to contribute to the household expenses and follow my rules. No more drinking, smoking, being up late or loud music, all of that is over now. If you want to have a bed and food on your plate inside my house, you will do it my way. Did I made myself clear, Y/n?”

And then Jarvis looked at you with the recognition of a father thundering in the circle of his blue irises, but the kind of father who doesn't much like to acknowledge that you are the kind of child he made, that his strict upbringing backfired and culminated in an as unserviceable adult as you could be, a reactionary time bomb in all the splendor of your young-coming-of-age as irresponsible and immature as you could be.

“Did I made myself clear, Y/n?!” he repeated, because his answer was silence. Eyes staring back at him as a result of the upbringing he gave you, your icy breath misting inside the car.

“Crystal clear, Dad,” cynicism crept under your tongue, spitting bitterness between your teeth. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of taming your fury like an angry dog gagged at a muzzle – you never have before, after all.

That man stared at you for a single broken second as if he was going to stuff his tight nostrils to say anything, but he didn't, not in the way he could have said it. He just unfastened the seat belt across his broad chest and looked straight ahead again, stoic, ever so categorical and impassive.

“Fine,” said Jarvis, then already leading his long, bony right fingers to the doorknob, “And while you're here you're going to obey your mom and help her with the housework. This is an order, Y/n. I don't expect less than that.”

There was no opening for an answer as he then got out of the car and closed the door behind him with a hollow thud. Your eyes burned the back of the café-au-lait-colored blazer your father wore on his tall, skinny body with a vaguely British bearing, and a whisper that only your ears caught was said in the icy air inside the car.

“She’s not my mom...”

Stepping out of the car into the sweltering heat of a small town was an act at least fueled by the humiliation that weighed on the muscles just above your shoulder blades, your head hanging down with gravity in a vague impression of cowardice – on the contrary, however, since the poison running through your veins was of pure yellowing fury that compelled you to crease your brow. It's been a week, and you still haven't found a job, and your dad still doesn't lock eyes with you. Not that it mattered. It didn't matter, he never did before.

The afternoon sun hid behind the hills in the distance, and night fell like a veil over the small-town square. Conveniences closed their doors and you started walking. Going back to your childhood home depressed you, but you knew that in time it would stop bothering you. Going back to the childhood home where your father lived with his wife and his other children was what made an unpleasant impression on your nerves.

Especially when going up the three measly white painted wooden steps of the porch that led to the main entrance door of that family residence, with the night also coming the sloppiness worthy of a soul so enraged that only a young girl kicked from the university could contain within herself.

Your father's car wasn't in the driveway, and your younger half-brothers, the twins, were nowhere to be found or to be seen – not on the sofa in front of the television, not a single whiff of two ten-year-olds coming from upstairs. Only she was there, gracefully seated on the dark linen sofa, sipping expensive wine, as red as the roses and her fingernails and her long, glossy locks, in front of the television that was flashing some old program she liked.

Wanda Maximoff, your father's wife, your brothers' mother. A pair of eyes with emerald irises that blinked green in the low lights of the room and crossed their path with your figure standing in the doorway. There was the hint of a tentative smile that was stopped halfway when Wanda looked at you.

“Oh, hello dear, are you–” you looked at her when she did too, “Y/n?”

And something intrinsic to the red core of her soul just unraveled the complex puzzle expressed in the muscles of your face (call it maternal instinct or just taking the time to really pay attention to you), as she promptly discarded the glass of half-drunk wine onto the coffee table in front of the sofa and then leap to her feet, only to cross the living room towards you, like an angel coming to your rescue when all the world around you seems to be in pieces, crumbling and falling. Wanda always noticed you. Wanda was always there for you when no one else in the world was.

“Y/n,” her low voice called out to you, so imbued with warmth and affection, the only person to ever say your name in such a cordial and specious way that it just made you want to hear that word slip past her pearly lips again and again.

“Y/n, honey, is everything okay?” green eyes peered into you before twitching her dark brows, such a sweet expression on such a handsome face, such prominent cheekbones.

“Did you go out for a smoke? It's been a while since you left. And you didn't even let me know before... you only act like that when you're upset, honey. Is everything okay?” a complacent hand of hers reached for your fingers, holding them in a warm, gentle touch, “You know you can talk to me about anything you have in mind, Y/n.”

“I know,” you pursed your lips into a contrite line, Wanda looking into your sleepy eyes and your smell of cigarette smoke, her left thumb stroking the skin on the back of your right hand, “I know, I– I'm just... sorry, I'm... I'm just tired. I'm tired as fuck… Mama.”

“Oh, my baby,” Wanda whimpered, “It's okay, it's okay... my poor baby, Mama is here. Mama is here for you. Come here, honey.”

And then Wanda pulled you into a hug. A long hug, protecting your stepmother's body, her arms encircled around your shoulders, crimson-dyed nails caressing in soft touches the nape of your neck. Your right cheek rested against her left collarbone that poked beneath the thin white wool sweater Wanda wore across her torso. She was warm and comfortable, as only a mother could be – she smelled like a mother.

“It's fine, baby, it's fine, your dad and the boys are out. It's alright, Mama will take care of you my sweet, beautiful girl. Come on, let's go to bed. You need to relieve your stress, honey. Let Mama take care of you.”

And you were feeling her, her figure lifted against your cold body again as it always should be, roaming your nose through the warm strands of orange in a shade of red hair half auburn, the tousled strands exuding an exotic and distinctive dry shampoo scent on an invisible background of freshly applied hair dye. You in your stepmother’s arms, with a hint of cigarettes and the purest melancholy you were sinking into.

She held you as she had that first time, even a few years before that, when you staggered drunkenly down the driveway right after your high school prom night – the inside of your mouth tasted stale, wrinkled, the insides of your cheeks numb, a rudimentary bitter taste flooding the length of your pink tongue, oozing through your teeth the heat of the sly alcohol that chained you in a catatonic state of chronic sickness, numbing down your feelings.

And Wanda, like a good, worried mother never being able to bring herself to fall asleep next to her husband who was snoring in their bed upstairs, not letting her spirits cool down knowing that her eldest child was out and the clock was already past three o'clock in the morning at that point, was there waiting for you. As she had already done so much and so much more she would have to do, Wanda looked at you from the sofa when you opened the door, dragging your heels in soft steps into the house.

“Where were you?” was the first thing the low tone of voice across the room did reach your drunken ears, a pair of verdant irises burning holes in your forehead, “The deal was until midnight at the latest, Y/n. It's almost four o'clock in the morning! I was worried sick about you!”

The world around you was like being on the deck of a fishing vessel in a storm on the high seas, confused and treacherous, ready to engulf you in an eternal sullen, salty darkness. From beneath heavy lids, you glared at Wanda with brazen scorn leaking from your irises.

“Fuck you.”

“…What did you just said to me?”

There was a second of silence. You had to place a sinuous hand on the wall near the left side of your body to force yourself to continue standing during the afterglow of dawn, since, drunk as a skunk, cheeks as red as two ripe apples, eyes lost – you didn't even had an idea what you were talking about.

“Fuck you,” you repeated under your breath, the words as bitter as the alcohol pooled in the corners of your mouth cavity, “You’re not my mom.”

And you couldn't even tell why you said it, words so disloyal and tormenting, raw and piercing, that the woman older than you just didn't need to hear that night – after all, Wanda was your mother in a way, the closest you've been to one since the woman who conceived, bore, and gave birth to you decided to pack her suitcases in the car and disappear one afternoon when your father was away.

But Wanda has always been there for you from the moment her figure became a constant presence in your life. Wanda was the woman who raised you, who gave you the first taste of a sweet maternal love, so discordant and confusing for your cognition worthy of an abused animal. Wanda was the first woman you loved because she was the only person who loved you back.

“I'm sorry,” you wailed in a limp lisp, becoming aware of the sharp pain in your stepmother's vexed brows, the disappointed hesitation in the wavering green of her gaze, “I'm sorry, Wanda, it wasn't my – it wasn't my… my intention–”

“It's okay,” her voice was low, carrying a grief-stricken weight, “You're drunk and I…I overreacted– I know it's not my job, I'm just your stepmo–”

“No,” you whimpered, shaking your head, your eyes filled with tears of confusion, “No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I– I'm sorry–”

“Y/n, it’s okay–”

“No, Wanda–”

And so you crossed the room quickly on your shifted ankles, your lack of motor coordination even reminiscent of a hesitant child staggering still learning to walk – your balance was internal, vulnerable.

“Wanda...”

You cried out for her, stepping across that plush rug to under the coffee table. Your arms raised, probed by the maternal touch that you were denied so early on, everything that you were deprived of and that you only sought to drink from Wanda until the last drop. She looked at you with affection, such an unfamiliar affection, her face too close. But your drunken brain couldn't even prepare you for the soft feel of the commission of your stepmom's peach lips, still tasting faintly of minty mouthwash, against your rough mouth that tasted like cheap beer and rancid blues.

You had kissed Wanda, because your body needed to have her close on an intrinsic level, to her core, as if you wanted to hide from the world within the amenities of her womb. And she kissed you back because she loved you, she always had, absorbing you with strong arms into her motherly warmth, giving you a security that alone you could never reach.

“M-Mama...” your lips connected again, in the living room of that house where only one family lived. And you laid her back on the sofa cushions where your brothers, her children, birthed by her, spend most of their day playing video games.

“Shh, it's okay, it's okay, baby,” Wanda whispered in a love sigh, one hand stroking the alcohol-warm skin of your cheek, you on top of her on those pillows, your heart pounding in your chest, the pride of a mother looking at you through green eyes.

“Mama is here for you, my little girl.”

Wanda pulled you down for another kiss, your knee vaguely brushing the hollow of her inner thighs, skimming against the thin pajama bottoms she was wearing. You apologized softly, stroking her where you could, where your touch reached, on her tummy rolls and in every graceful stretch mark that appeared in your stepmother's bulky silhouette on top of that sofa, with the family portraits hanging on the wall next to the stairs bearing witness to what you had to do. Calling her, reaching for her, for Wanda, for Mama, one being synonymous with the other.

What you did all summer of that year when your dad was away and your brothers were at some other friend's house, on the living room couch biting a pillow and at the kitchen table with her red nails dug into the crown of your head, on your bed of freshly laundered sheets and hers too, crammed with feminine perfume and the sweet red scent of her pomegranate moisturizer – Wanda on top, you on the bottom, she all on all fours, you behind her clamoring with your hips for what was yours, with an adulterine urge to be physically inside her innards at all times.

Even back home from the first semester of college that you already knew you would not finish, during the night when Wanda snuck out of her bedroom shared with Jarvis only to ride your thigh like an animal in heat, because she had missed you so much that her body ached.

“My little girl,” she said, “Mama has missed you so, so much, I can't bear the thought of being away from you, Y/n, please don't leave me again,” and the feeling was as mutual as it could be, because you also couldn't stand spending so much time away from an affection like no other ever felt by your empty and abandoned chest. You would always seek the motherly comfort Wanda had to offer to ward off your ills and soothe your spirits.

Even returning home after the failure of a dead academic life, your stepmother would always welcome you with open arms and legs – the sharpened ridge of red-painted fingernails digging into the thin skin above your shoulder blades, crescent-shaped marks piercing your flesh, marking you as hers, the headboard bumping in impassive rhythm against the wall, you rutting into Wanda's cunt with a silicone toy she had bought solely for your amusement.

“Mama,” you spit against the gleaming sweat from Wanda's throat, your hips bumping in wet slaps that echoed off the four walls of the room, your skin sliding against each other, “Mama, I love you, I love you, Mama...”

“Mama loves you too, baby,” Wanda moaned in a broken voice, “Mama loves you too. Mama loves absolutely everything about you, my little girl.”

You thrust that fake dick down her hole with a yelp of lustful satisfaction, a deafening delight, giving your stepmother's womb a rushing sense of pleasure. It was the height of belonging – being inside her, being embraced by her walls, feeling her loosen up internally to receive you all. It didn't matter that her wedding ring, placed on that finger by your father, felt so cold behind your back.

“Mama, Mama I– I’m gonna–” you growled, your brow furrowed, your hips crashing into hers in waves, your breaths ragged and shabby, your thrusts hard and sloppy, “I'm gonna come, Mama, p-please, please, Mama, Mama– M-Mommy! Mommy, I'm gonna come in you!”

“Do it baby, do it,” she smiled, so sweet and complacent beneath you, “Let Mama see your pretty face while you come, sweetheart. Come in Mama, give me all of you.”

Your clit was sliding frantically against the harness that circled your hips, and smelling her, feeling her heat, hearing her moans, was like an explosion inside your belly. You came – hot, strong, a red electric current inside your veins, running down between your thighs.

“Mama!” a squeaky little scream broke out of you, and from that open crack in your soul, the tears flowed down your face. Hot tears that dripped all over Wanda's sternum, mixing with the beads of sweat that exuded from her pores.

“Shh, honey, it's okay, it's okay,” a hand cupping your head brought you to snuggle against her chest, Wanda's heartbeat could be heard from the position you were in, your ear pressed to her skin.

“You did a great job, baby. You've let all your stress out. Mama is so proud of you, honey,” Wanda hummed, fingertips bent stroking your hair humid with warm sweat, “Do you want Mama's milk now, my sweet girl?”

You looked up from under your lids glistening from a silent cry, into her inviting eyes, “Can I…?”

Wanda smiled, “You know you don't have to ask me, sweetheart.”

You blinked once between lashes heavy with lust and tears before looking down at your stepmother's rosy nipple, which you brought to your mouth to close your lips on the circumvallation of it, earning a satisfied groan from Wanda.

With the twins approaching ten years old, there was no longer a single drop of sweet milk to be actually sipped, but something in the comfort imbued in that very intimate action, facing two naked bodies fresh out of the animalistic mist of such a carnal act, was enough for you to do it again and again, whenever you could, whenever she let you.

“That's right baby, that's right,” Wanda's melodious voice crooned, her fingers stroking a lock of hair close to the tip of your ear.

“Mama loves you, did you know that? Mama loves you so much, Y/n. No matter what others say about you, Mama is very proud of you, baby. You are my special girl.”

It was the movement that reconnected the two of you, bringing together two fragments of a shattered whole that, when put together again, made up a complete whole within Wanda. Consuming the human instinctual act, you both merged with a momentary perfection, a holdover of lustful nature during countless lapses of comfortable affability. A new hot tear trickled from the corner of your eye.

“Mama loves you,” Wanda repeated, one hand stroking the length of your back, “Mama loves you very much, my perfect girl.”

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teddypickerry · 8 months

Note

Hi!! if you’re still doing requests would you do a loralie gilmore x fem reader one? maybe where they bond over liking metallica (sorry chris lmao) and their friendship turns into a relationship?

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐍.

pairings — fem! reader x lorelai gilmore

word count — 876

warnings — literally just fluffy + flirty lorelai

a/n — first of all, never apologize to chris. secondly… WHAT UP MFS (saying that like i didn’t disappear off the face of the earth for a hot min) hope this tiny little blurb did you justice, i thought it was just cute. love you guys. thank you for messaging me + sending requests lately. you guys rock.

THE TOWN OF STARS HOLLOW was on the brink of Autumn, yet the sun was mistaking the New England town for a tropical paradise. Except the sun didn't accept the idea of paradise. Not with the continuous heat waves that had the town meetings cancelled and air conditioners blasting. Not a single long sleeve in sight despite it being the first day of September.

"This feels like a joke. This has to be a joke, right?" Lorelai Gilmore mutters as she walks down the side walk, fanning herself with her hand while trailing around in her heeled boots that felt like personal hell. Her best friend, Sookie, stood to her right wiping the bead of sweat from her forehead. "If it is, this is the cruelest joke ever."

The two regretted their walk from the Dragonfly Inn almost instantly and that thought only deepened as they walked the towns streets. Luke's seemed so far away and they were ready to give up.

"Watch out!" A voice called from the town square, as the two woman turned to see a ball coming in their direction. Lorelai moved out of the way and Sookie quickly followed, the ball nearly taking out their necks. A woman came jogging over and stopped with a quick glance at the two of them, grabbing the ball and tossing it into her arms. "Oh, sorry. That kid is not ready for soccer tryouts.”

Lorelai locked eyes with the woman who stood before her, wearing a pair of sneakers with shorts and a cut-up Metallica t-shirt. She looked like she somehow didn't break a sweat. Despite her athletic efforts. "Where did you come from, the freezer section?" Lorelai asks.

The unknown woman rubs her lips together before motioning over to the kid standing in the grass across the road. "My niece has shitty aim," She says with a quick smile.

"Well we can't all be... a… soccer player," Lorelai mutters as she realizes she doesn't know the name of a singular athletic star.

"Are you new around here?" Sookie asks the girl curiously as she searches her purse for her sunscreen. Y/N only nodded in response, "Just visiting my sister. She owns the boutique down the road."

"Oh yeah, I like going in there. It's like an episode of The Twilight Zone. I never know what's gonna happen in there," Lorelai chuckles as the woman only nods along. "Cool t-shirt, by the way."

"Metallica fan?" Y/N asks as she eyes her for a moment, noticing the pink tank top with a puppy on it. She found it hard to believe that this smiley woman would be fond of Kirk Hammett.

"Great band," Lorelai nods.

"They know how to play a tune or two," Y/N comments with a quick smirk making Lorelai smile. Clearly enjoying their little talk and what Y/N said next. "It's not too often I run into a pretty Metallica fan."

Lorelai smiles sweetly at those words making Sookie have to hide her smile of excitement with her hand. Before making an excuse to leave the two alone. "I'm gonna head to Luke's before I become bacon out here... nice meeting you."

Y/N gives her a nod as she walks past her, leaving Lorelai stood infront of her and only her. "Yeah, I'll meet you there."

She tossed the ball back over towards her niece who went back to kicking it around the gazebo. Lorelai's eyes still on her as she did so. Enjoying her figure in the summer clothing. "Well I should probably get back to her..."

"Yeah," Lorelai gives her a nod as she breaks out of the trance and looks over at the kid. "She's a cute kid."

"She is," Y/N nods as she gives Lorelai another look once her head turned. "Listen... I'm gonna be in town for a while."

"Oh?" The Inn owner says, obviously too awkward to mumble out something witty as per usual. Y/N nodded before licking her lips. "Yeah, I'll see you around?"

"Yep. It's Stars Hollow; we see everyone and everything. Not in a creepy way... but in a like, we're always looking. God, that sounded very opening scene of Halloween," Lorelai smiles awkwardly before chuckling away her nerves.

"Great movie," Y/N comments with a quick smile as she glanced down at the empty coffee cup Lorelai was holding. Questioning why she was on her second cup of hot coffee on a day like this... but noticing the sharpie'd name written on the side. "…Lorelai."

Lorelai furrows her eyebrows with another soft chuckle. "So you're stalker Michael Myers."

"No, I'm just a girl who can read," Y/N motions to the coffee cup with a nice smirk. Lorelai feels a grin grow at that as she looks over at the woman. "I'll see you later, Lorelai."

"You too, Y/N." Lorelai hums as she watches her head toward the street before turning to her with a confused look. Lorelai only grins as she starts walking to the coffee shop, "I can read too."

Y/N thinks for a moment as she crossed the street and walked back over to her niece. Noticing the ball by her feet. 'Property of Y/N Y/L/N'

"Well, damn."

#teddypickerry #gilmore girls #lorelai gilmore #lorelai gilmore x fem reader #lorelai gilmore x reader #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano #rory gilmore #rory gilmore x reader #luke danes #gilmore girls fanfic

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deadlyashesart · 25 days

Text

Alastor's disappearance (Part 2)

PART 2 IS HERE WOOOH!!! Thank you all so much for the support on part 1, I really appreciate it, and it really helps with the motivation to create more! Part 3 will either come later today, or tomorrow! We'll see. After you read, feel free to let me know what you think! It's a shorter part today, sorry!!

Part 1

-----

A lot can happen in 7 years. Eventually, even the best memories become faded and blurry. Franklin’s passing in the recent extermination was a devastating blow to Rosie, but she could not falter in her duties as the overlord of Cannibal Town. Her people needed help cleaning up the disaster the exorcist angels had left, after all.

A week or so had passed since the last extermination, and everything was still a mess. Rosie sat on her couch with an exasperated sigh after a long day, tuning the radio in front of her to the channel 666 News. The new radio she had bought was quite unique. There was a circular screen right above the knobs that could show any channel, like a TV, but was only capable of showing black and white video. Her stomach twisted in faint guilt, knowing Alastor would’ve never approved of such a thing. But that didn’t matter, he wasn’t here.

The small screen flickered as the logo 666 NEWS disappeared in flames as quickly as it came, revealing the two hosts, Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench.

“Well Tom, it seems everyone in Hell is shitting their pants as new information about the extermination comes to light!” the hostess exclaimed dramatically. The man next to her attempted to speak but was immediately shushed. “Our sources tell us that the extermination dates have been changed, and will from now on arrive every 6 months! HA! We are so FUCKED!”

Rosie froze at the news, her heart dropping to her stomach. “No, no, it couldn’t be.” Her words were quieter than a whisper. She didn’t believe it. Her cannibals barely survived the attack as it is, but now that it had doubled in frequency, who knows what would happen to them?

Suddenly, she heard panicked screams come from outside the emporium—she figured her people would find out soon enough—and she stood up from the couch to make a much-needed announcement.

Walking outside, the people of Cannibal Town were assembled in the square, surrounding a white gazebo that already had a microphone in place. They waited desperately for Rosie’s arrival. She walked up to the gazebo and held the mic by its stand. For the first time in a long time, Rosie felt slight stage fright, seeing so many people looking to her for some sort of comfort.

“Attention cannibals and cannibettes, I’m sure you’ve all heard of the recent change in extermination dates… Please, do not worry your little heads about a thing! I will handle everything. I believe I have a meeting with the rest of the overlords of Hell scheduled soon, my colleagues and I will discuss it. Until then, I want you all to stay put and continue as normal. Thank you, that is all.”

The cannibals were quiet for a moment, ever so slightly disappointed in what she had to say, but they knew better than to question Rosie, especially right after Franklin’s death. Rosie locked eyes with Susan, who looked like she was about to start yelling out her usual annoying nonsense; Surprisingly, she didn’t say a word.

As Rosie prepared to make her leave, she heard a voice in the sea of faces yell, “Miss Rosie, were you aware of the rumor going around about the return of the Radio Demon?” Suddenly, the crowd burst into murmurs of agreement, all talking about Alastor’s alleged return.

“Some say he’s in cahoots with the princess of Hell, to help run that little hotel of hers!” another voice called out.

Rosie listened with little care, waving her hand as if to shoo away their words. “People, please. Thousands of rumors have surfaced since Alastor’s disappearance. What makes you believe this one to be true? Unfortunately, he is gone.” She paused, her own words leaving a faint sting. She shook her head in mild frustration at herself, she had gotten over that fact a long time ago— or so she believed.

-----

Rosie exited the glass elevator, giving a small nod to a fellow overlord as they crossed paths. Rosie had attended hundreds of meetings before, this was all very familiar to her. She began to make her way into the office when something—no, someone—caught her eye. Without warning, all the feelings she had tucked away, all her sadness, and all her frustration, had returned, causing her heart to ache painfully. She couldn’t show that here, though. Not now, while surrounded by a dozen other overlords.

Rosie continued her walk, trying to ignore the slight shake of nervousness in her body as she sat down. She felt someone move behind her, and then sit down right beside her. She stole a quick glance, it was him. The damned bastard who left without warning. Alastor.

-----

#radiorose #platonic radiorose #alastor and rosie #rosie and alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin rosie #hurt/comfort #angst

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wanderersbell · 1 year

Note

If requests are still open , how about the reader inviting Scara to their teapot (could be traveling companion reader who also owns a teapot, but do whatever you want, i love your ideas!!!) and the reader furnished an entire room for him? it's suited to his likes too :o tysm!!

a realm for him

wanderer x gn! reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2528

a/n: okay listen i may have gotten a bit carried away with this and made it way longer and sappier than i was intending, but i spent forever decking out my whole teapot for him so i loved this idea sooo much (❁´◡`❁) tysm for the wonderful request, enjoy!

getting the state of your teapot to be as lively as it is now was no small feat.

day by day for weeks on end, you’ve slowly worked at filling each empty corner with little towns and lush scenery, all of which are based off of your traveling companions favorite spots in sumeru. one island is reminiscent of a small fishing village, fenced off and framed by local shrubbery and flora, as well as some small crop gardens already growing with tiny seedlings. the second island is decorated as a beautiful scenic forest, with trees and plants and gazebos and fountains all connected by a subtle stone path that lead through to the third island.

and the third island, after much contemplation, is decorated as a tiny inazuman shrine, bordered with towering cherry blossom trees and eye catching blue glowing flowers that create an almost mystical ambiance. you weren’t sure if reminding him of the place where he came from was a good idea, but figured having a small piece of home away from home might be the one way he can actually enjoy the view of inazuma. the sights here are much different from what he saw in tatarasuna, much more welcoming, so you figured it was worth a shot and swore to yourself that you would take it down immediately if he doesn’t like it.

and, your personal favorite part is the main building decorated as a tea shop on the inside, with a tasteful mix of interior inspiration from every region you’ve visited thus far, all mushed together to create an eclectic little space for him to come and enjoy the different teas you’ve started collecting in secret.

in fact, all of this was a secret. the wanderer had yet to catch on to the actual reason behind your insistence to collect extra materials while you travel together, and the time you spent in your teapot was time he spent off running errands and assisting lesser lord kusanali, so nothing was out of the ordinary as far as he was concerned.

but, after a few finishing touches like street lamps and wildlife to make everything feel less lonely, you were finally done. it was finished. every square inch of your teapot fully furnished with things you couldn’t wait to show the one you had in mind when doing it all.

when the time comes for you to finally bring him there, you’re way more nervous than you were expecting to be. what if he doesn’t like? hates it, even? what if your design choices are wrong and the vibes are off and-

“well,” the wanderer’s voice drags you out if your thoughts, smooth and grounding. “are we going in or what? how does this thing even work?”

right, it’s too late to turn back anyways. the golden teapot hovers in the air between you from where you stand on a riverbank together, and the man next to you has his arms crossed with an unimpressed frown as he waits for you to respond. it’s cloudier than usual today, the sky a soft shade of gray in the background, and you shiver a bit both because of nerves and the lack of sunlight before clearing your throat.

“it uh- transports me in as soon as i open the lid. just…” you trail off, contemplating whether or not you want to say anything before you bring him in. “just grab onto my hand so we’ll both go together.” you blurt out instead. it would take you both in regardless, but this was the first excuse out of your mouth, and you want to curl up and become invisible at the odd look he gives you. he can tell you’re up to something, but hasn’t figured out what quite yet.

“okay.” he agrees easily, slotting his hand against yours. his skin is cool to the touch and his grip firm, and you’re reaching out to rip the lid off of the teapot before you can start thinking too much about the way it makes your heart jump into your throat. the both of you are transported to the inside of the device in the blink of an eye, arriving right before the main building where tubby dozes away inside of her own pot.

his first thought it that it’s… big. bigger than he was expecting. his eyes automatically go to the structure behind him and he wordlessly goes to grab the handle of the door but you’re quick to tug the back of his shirt to stop him, shaking your head softly when he turns to give you a questioning look.

“we’ll do this last, let’s go take a walk first.”

his eyes follow yours in the direction of the other islands that are just visible in the distance. he can’t make out any details yet, much to your relief.

“what’s out there?” he asks with poorly concealed interest while following you down the steps of the building and towards the first island. you give him a sly smile that you hope masks the way you’re freaking out on the inside.

“you’ll see.”

he raises a brow at this but stays silent. this island is the small fishing village, based off of the one you both visit regularly, the one where you first met the mysterious wanderer and your journey with him began. he feels a sense of familiarity as you lead him over to the straw hut in the middle, noticing the crop gardens off to the side and giving an approving hum at the sight.

you watch him closely the entire time, zeroing in on every minuscule change in his expression and feeling your chest swell with pride at the way his eyes soften. he can’t help but to remember the day he met you, the way you would flat out ignore him every time he tried making a dig at you then turn around and be as sweet as ever to the local kids at the village, and he has to bite back a fond smile at the memories.

“well?” you peer up at him hesitantly. it’s more than obvious that he likes it as he looks around like he’s already trying to familiarize himself with where everything is, but still, you want to hear him say it.

“well?” he parrots, meeting your expectant eyes. he pretends to think for a moment, just to leave you hanging for a bit longer, and then, “it’s nice, but there’s no fish.”

you instinctively frown and open your mouth to tell him to stop being so picky but pause just as the first word dies on your lips. with a sinking feeling of realization, you look around you and confirm that yes, there is indeed no body of water, therefore no fish.

“oh.” you say dumbly, and the stumped look on your face has a laugh bubbling up in his chest. you can’t fight back the smile that creeps up on you even though he’s laughing at your expense and give him a lighthearted shove before leading him away to the next island.

“how did you manage to forget the most crucial part of a fishing village?” the wanderer teases, catching up to you in a few long strides.

“i didn’t forget, that’s just not a furnishing option in here.” you explain.

when you reach the second island, you remain quiet again and wait for him to take it all in and make a comment himself. his eyes widen a fraction in awe as you both step underneath the canopy of trees and wildlife, the bright colors of flora and fauna and the blue accents on the towering gazebos on each side all working together to make a botanical haven that he can’t tear his attention away from.

within only moments of being in there he’s already spotted a handful of his favorite plants and flowers, ones with meanings that stuck with him throughout his life, ones that you held onto and remembered and planted here.

you watch with baited breath as he absentmindedly reaches a hand out to brush his fingers against the low hanging leaves beside him, eyes flitting from place to place and noticing something different each time. there’s a look akin to childlike wonder on his face, and when his attention finally falls back to you there’s a tiny genuine smile playing at his lips that makes you ache to reach out and hold him.

he’s so, so beautiful standing underneath of the lush trees and flowers, and unbeknownst to you, as he holds your gaze, he’s thinking the same thing in return. your excitement to bring him here and show him this leaves him with a warm feeling blooming in his chest, an appreciation for you that he fears he’ll never be able to properly express.

“ready to keep going?” you ask softly, as if speaking too loudly will ruin the peaceful atmosphere.

“there’s more?” the look of surprise on his face has you chuckling breathlessly while you continue the path forward.

this is the part you’ve been looking forward to and anticipating the most, and as the final island comes into view, you can feel him stiffen beside you. the giant cherry blossom trees are visible even from the distance, but his step doesn’t falter and he keeps up next to you so you take it as a sign to keep going.

his presence beside you stays strong as you approach the shrine and step into the field of glowing flowers, and you watch out of the corner of your eye as he takes in the familiar pink trees and red painted wood with a complicated emotion swirling around in his irises. he doesn’t look angry though, so you finally feel your shoulders relax and allow yourself to enjoy the scenery as you walk along the path.

in his own head, the wanderer is… puzzled. this island is so out of place inside of your sumeru themed teapot, and yet, the care and effort you put into it makes the other ones small in comparison. the shrine is grand, sleek, and high quality. the trees are placed perfectly so that the breeze carries soft pink petals down with it, dancing around you two in a beautiful airborne waltz.

the flowers, the same ones that grow in chinju forest, cast everything in a gentle azure glow, one that when he looks at you is reflecting an ethereal light over your features. somewhere deep down inside of him, he feels a bit of sorrow clinging onto him, bringing with it the memories of a place he left behind long ago.

but next to that is the all consuming feeling of happiness that he tries so hard to convince himself he doesn’t feel when he’s with you. in this special place of yours, filled with your hard work and thoughtfulness, he can no longer deny himself the truth of how wholeheartedly he cares for you. you, who’s staring back at him with a kindness he’s never known as you give him new memories to associate with the sights of his homeland.

you still can’t decipher the emotions on his face, but you can tell they’re good ones and that he’s contemplating something deeply, so you let the silence hang comfortably in the air as you walk side by side all the way back to the entrance and to the main building, the part you’ve been saving for last. he says nothing the whole way back, granting you the chance to appreciate the comfort something as simple as walking with him brings you.

when you finally make it to the main island and ascend the steps of the building, he snaps out of his reverie and raises a brow at you questioningly. “what’s inside?”

“it’s nothing much,” you lie with a mischievous smile adorning your face. when you open the door and let him in he realizes he really, truly has fallen hopelessly for you.

it’s a tea shop. for him.

there’s no denying it, there’s no other explanation he can give himself because he knows you don’t care much for tea. that means-

this whole teapot, every single island, was for him.

you watch with a huge grin on your face as the wanderer splutters and blushes when it all finally hits him. nobody has ever done this much for him, not without a price at least, but you never ask for anything in return from him so he’s almost literally short circuiting while trying to figure out the proper response.

“why did you- what…” he takes a grounding breath before trying again. “why do all of this?”

you smile softly and shrug. “because i wanted to.”

he opens his mouth to say something else, likely to prod you for a legitimate reason as to why, but you cut him off before he gets the chance. “look around first, i want to know what you think.”

he wants to argue, but bites his tongue at the clear eagerness on your face and clicks his tongue in fake annoyance as he takes in the contents of the room. he walks around for a few minutes, observing the things on the walls and shelves, scrutinizing the chinaware, poking the souvenirs you’ve collected from other regions, until finally he stops at the cabinet that houses the tea collection.

“open it.” you say hurriedly. he gives you a fake suspicious raise of his brow but complies and tugs the door of the cabinet open, a sharp intake of air following immediately afterwards as he instantly recognizes the labels.

“this is…” he trails off in disbelief.

“the tea from the shop you keep staring after longingly in sumeru city? yep, sure is.” you confirm mirthfully, skipping over to stand next to him and watch him take a container down to turn around in his hands. he’s struggling to process this, to accept this much kindness from you when he knows he doesn’t deserve it, not in the slightest, but the proud gleam in your eyes doesn’t get lost to him and he knows you’re anxiously awaiting his response.

“i don’t know why you would bother with this, and go through all of this effort,” he starts tentatively, placing the tea back in the cupboard so he can turn to fully look at you. “but i can acknowledge the work you put in and promise i will put it to good use.”

your expression falls slightly at his formal tone of speech. “and?”

he frowns hesitantly and averts his eyes. “and… i like it. or whatever. it’s really nice.”

your triumphant grin is almost blinding when he meets your gaze again and he shakes his head in silent exasperation. though he doesn’t know how, or when it’ll happen, he swears to himself that somehow, someway, he’ll repay you for this. he’ll find a way to show you how much it really means to him, how much you really mean to him.

but for now, sitting together in your shared realm with some freshly steeped tea, for the first time in centuries, he feels at home.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #my writing #requests! ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

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