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#tartaglia imagine
itadorey · 7 months
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄
pairing: childe/tartaglia x gn!reader summary: a case of mistaken identity leads to childe challenging you to a duel. (and it's totally not because he thinks you're hot). genre: strangers to crushes, pre-relationship, fluff, meet-cute(?), humor, tension (hopefully), love at first sight (on childe's behalf) notes: probably ooc but i have a thing for flirty childe, childe is an idiot, idk i think he'd be attracted to someone who could beat his ass, he's a masochist, very slight fontaine/v4.0 spoilers, reader is a champion duelist but everything is made up since we don't know much about them, fighting/sparring/canon typical violence, a bit of blood wc: ~2.4k
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Soft pants leave your lips as you stand up straight, your hands slightly shaking from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
There's a sharp look in your eyes as you observe your opponent, your hand firmly wrapped around your sword's handle. The blade's tip rests underneath your opponent's chin, an irritated look on their face as you stare back fiercely. After a few moments, they sigh and lean back on their elbows, separating themselves from your blade and admitting defeat.
There's a beat of silence before slow, loud clapping fills the arena, and both you and your opponent turn to face the source of the noise. Your sword comes up instinctively, your eyes narrowed as you hold it up the newcomer.
His choice of clothing lets you know he's not a local, and you find yourself wondering how he got into the arena in the first place as he moves closer. You take the opportunity to study him, taking in his tall stature, handsome face, and messy, ginger hair.
"State your name and business," you say, your stance rigid yet casual, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice. You don't flinch as he approaches, merely raising an eyebrow when he comes to a stop right in front of you, his chest mere centimeters from your sword.
"That was quite the battle the two of you just had," he comments, ignoring your words as he shoots a quick glance at your opponent. You're met with deep blue eyes as he shifts his gaze to you, and you take note of the way he seems almost impressed when you don't look away. "You have a talent for fighting."
"Name and business," you repeat, face void of emotion as you stare him down. He huffs out a laugh, raising a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes.
"I'm Tartaglia," he says casually, his chest brushing the sharp blade of your sword with every breath he takes. He holds out his hand for you to shake, and you spare a quick glance at it before looking back up at his face. "You can call me Childe, but what should I call you?"
"That's your name, now what's your business?" you ask sharply, ignoring his question as you watch his eyes trail over your form. You click your tongue once in irritation, drawing his attention back to your face. He gives you a brazen smile, and you roll your eyes as you wait for him to answer.
"I'm here to spar with the Champion Duelist Clorinde," he proclaims, moving his hand to poke at your weapon. You lower it before he can touch it, remembering that Clorinde had in fact mentioned something about a challenger. You choose to ignore the small pout he sends you at the action, looking away from him and dismissing your previous opponent with a nod. You turn your back to Childe, as you follow after them, sheathing your sword as you do so.
"Should you really turn your back on your opponent?" you hear him ask, his tone playful as he follows after you.
"No, you shouldn't," you respond, coming to a stop near the edge of the arena. You bend down to pick up a canteen of water, quickly opening it before taking a sip. You can feel Childe's gaze on you, heavy as he watches every move you make, and you can't ignore the slight nervousness you feel. The silence lingers as you finish drinking and close your canteen, catching a glimpse of Childe's amused expression in the process. "But you're not my opponent."
Childe's face drops slightly at your words, and for the first time since he walked into the arena, his confident attitude is nowhere to be found.
"You mean," he begins, a puzzled look on his face as he tilts his head to the side. "You're not Clorinde?"
A surprised laugh escapes your lips at his question, and Childe freezes when he sees a smile spread across your face.
"No, I'm not," you finally say, shaking your head as you lean against the wall, one hand resting on the hilt of your sword.
"But your fighting style, it's basically perfect," Childe argues, his eyes drifting towards your weapon. "You're impressive, and I heard that Clorinde is the best of the best."
"She is," you confirm with a nod. "She's even better than I am. Unfortunately, she is also currently in a meeting, so she's probably running a few minutes late. You can wait for her here if you'd like."
"Wait, you're leaving?" Childe asks, a smirk appearing on his face when he sees the mild surprise on yours. "But we were getting along so well."
A hum is the only response he gets from you as you turn your back to him once more, lifting your hand in a lazy wave as you head towards the exit. He watches as you get further and further away, and he takes a few steps forward before speaking once more.
"How about we spar while I wait?"
His words cause you to falter, and you eventually come to a stop before throwing a glance back at him. He shifts awkwardly as you look him up and down, watching as you raise an eyebrow when you notice his lack of weapon.
"And what exactly do you plan on sparring with?" you ask, turning around to face him. The smile on Childe's face is visible even with the distance between the two of you, and he gestures towards the backup swords displayed along the back wall of the arena.
"One of those should be fine," he comments, giving you a sly look before stalking over to them. He studies the swords for a brief moment before picking up one of the steel estocs, earning a pensive look from you.
"Are you sure?" you ask, receiving a nod in return from the ginger. You place your canteen back on the floor.
"How cute of you to care about my well-being," Childe says, earning a scowl from you. "But it's not needed. I'll be fine with this."
You hesitate slightly before unsheathing your own sword, nodding stiffly and approaching the center of the arena once more. Your rigid posture is a stark contrast to Childe's casual stance, soft hums leaving his lips as he swings the estoc back and forth in an attempt to get used to its weight.
"Ready? If I win, I get to know your name," Childe says, earning another nod from you. His lips spread into a wide smile, and you're momentarily caught off guard by the fierceness shining in his eyes. "Give it your all, I won't be going easy on you."
There isn't any time to think before Childe springs into action, thrusting his sword forward in an attempt to catch you off guard. You block it without hesitation, swinging your arm up and then quickly slashing down in an attempt to strike him. He does a quick spin, gracefully dodging your attack before attempting to slash at your hand.
You breathe in sharply as you let your sword go, dropping your hand as you catch the hilt with the other. You immediately go on the offense, darting in close and swiping at his legs with the flat of your blade. A shocked noise leaves Childe's lips as he goes tumbling backwards, rolling out of the way when you go to pounce on top of him.
"So you're good with both hands?" he asks, barking out a laugh when you scowl at the innuendo.
"I am," you say anyways, bringing your sword up to block another strike. He leans in close, your swords crossed as he observes your face.
"You know, the heat of battle really suits you," he says, voice low as he leans in closer. You roll your eyes before shoving him back, chuckles leaving his lips as you do so. "See? Breathtaking."
"Shut up! Do you flirt with every opponent you come across?" you ask, taking the chance to kick at his chest. The action earns a laugh from him as he stumbles back a few steps, his sword coming up as you creep closer in a weak attempt to keep you at bay.
"Only the pretty ones who like to fight dirty," he teases, laughing once more as you lunge at him. You scoff loudly, shaking your head as you sidestep another attack.
"All of our duels are no holds barred," you explain, eyes narrowing as he backs away from you. His movements are confident, and you find yourself wondering what his next attack will be. "It will do you good to remember that. Especially when you fight Clorinde."
"Noted," he mutters, dropping low in an imitation of your earlier move. You jump over his blade, smirking to yourself as you land lightly. Your smirk drops however, when he immediately straightens up, swiping his right leg under both of yours and using his free arm to pull you down to the ground.
Your back hits the ground with a thud, and you huff softly as you feel the air leave your lungs. Childe is half-kneeling next to you, the tip of his sword digging into the dirt as he uses it for support. He looms over you, a satisfied smirk on his face as he leans in closer.
Blue eyes bore into you as Childe studies your face up close, and you find yourself struggling to keep your expression neutral at the intensity of his gaze. Your can't help the way your eyes trace the curve of his mouth, and you hurriedly look away when you see the glint of amusement in his eyes.
"You're strong," Childe says quietly, removing his arm and tilting your chin up. You manage to meet his gaze evenly, watching the surprise flit across his face when you smirk. The action has left him slightly unguarded, and you take the opportunity to act against him.
"You're right," you whisper back. "I am."
Childe reels back as you throw yourself at him, your hand shoving at his own at you push him down. His sword gets knocked out his hand in the scuffle, and you make sure to kick it far away from him before pinning him down. You're quick as you kneel atop of him, knees on either side of his torso as you press your free arm against his neck. You lean forward as you place your sword underneath his chin, digging into his skin in case he tries to get up.
There's a moment of silence as the two of you stare at each other, and you faintly register the movement of his arms as he brings his hands up to rest on the sides of your thighs.
"Interesting predicament I find myself in," he comments, but his expression lets you know that he's not entirely bothered by the situation.
"I win," you hiss, a victorious grin on your face. "I'll admit you were a worthy opponent."
"I dunno," he says back, a lopsided grin on his face as his thumbs brush against your thighs. He doesn't react to the way your blade digs into his flesh, and you pull your sword away slightly when you see tiny red droplets well up underneath the steel. "From my point of view, I feel like I'm definitely the one who won."
He catches you by surprise when he suddenly sits up, one hand now resting behind him to support his weight as the other remains on your leg. The ease he moves with has you wondering if he let you win, and the way he jostles you around in an attempt to get comfortable basically confirms your thought. By the time he settles down, you're left straddling his lap, your sword now hanging limply from your hand as the other rests against his chest in an attempt to steady yourself. There's a lazy grin on his face as his nose brushes against yours, and you lean back slightly to try and put more distance between the two of you.
"You're insufferable," you comment, looking away from him.
"Oh, I know," Childe murmurs, a sly smile on his face as he leans in slightly once more. You do your best to ignore him. "Can I get your name anyways?"
"Am I interrupting something?"
Clorinde's voice has you scrambling to your feet, and you find yourself sheathing your sword in an attempt to avoid her gaze.
"Clorinde," you greet, waving a hand towards the ginger. "This is Childe. He said you'd be sparring?"
She raises an eyebrow when you meet her gaze, eventually choosing to ignore the scene she walked into in favor of turning to face Childe.
"Apologies for my tardiness," she says, bowing her head slightly as she hold a hand out for Childe. He pulls himself to his feet before shaking her hand. "Lady Furina required my assistance with something."
"No apologies necessary," Childe insists, waving off her apologies with a laugh. "I had great company while I waited."
A curious glance from Clorinde is all it takes for your cheeks to heat up, and you simply wave before taking a few steps backwards.
"Well now that you're here, I'm going to go," you mutter, swiping your canteen from the spot you had left it.
"You're not going to stay and watch?" Childe asks, pouting when you shake your head. He watches as you head towards the entrance, sending a wave towards Clorinde before giving him a hesitant nod. "What about a good luck kiss?"
His words go ignored as you hurry out of the arena, and he only sighs and turns his attention back to Clorinde when he hears her unsheathe her sword.
"I trust you know the rules?" she asks, watching as he walks over to the abandoned estoc. She's met with a nod, and she hums lightly when she notices the way he keeps glancing at the exit.
"No holds barred, right?"
"Mhm," she confirms, taking a battle stance. Her face remains stoic as Childe gives her a wolfish smile, different from the ones he had given you. He blocks her first strike easily, and she gives an impressed nod at his quick reaction before immediately launching into a follow up attack. Childe finds himself completely focused on the fight, all signs of teasing and playfulness gone as he does his best to end the fight as quickly as possible.
After all, the faster he wins, the faster he can find you once again. (And perhaps even get to learn your name).
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rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!
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thomacrumbs · 7 months
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you're on your own, kid, you always have been.
childe x gn! reader, soulmate au (flowers bloom on your skin where your soulmate got hurt, they fade away when your soulmate touches them). so like....... i was going through my files and realised i never posted this (i think. at least. its been like a year) so i edited it. enjoy 🥳
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“your soulmate flowers-- they’re gone!”
the woman from the docks had pulled your arm towards her and awed, running her fingers over the nicks in your arm, “did you meet them?”
you were notorious for the laurestines that budded upon your arm, seeking to nestle themselves into every crook and cranny of your body. it was worse when you were younger, around 14 was when you first started choking on the white of laurestines, throat erupting in pain as you tried to suppress the bile, terrified at what was happening-- and worse, what was happening to your soulmate?
“i did.”
“what are they like?”
tartaglia-- or sweetheart, as he makes you call him. he clung to you like a drowning man, mouthing at your neck as gloved hands intertwined themselves with yours, the bundle of white dying at his lips and shrinking before turning into nothingness. he presses into you with a chuckle, breathing you in as his hand finds the laurestine that matches the bruise he had gotten in sparring against the traveller, his fingers tracing love hearts around the bud before he strokes his thumb over the flower, finger pressing flat against your skin in a soft smother, idyllic murmurs trailing out of his mouth as he sighs and rubs his cheek against your shoulder.
“he’s… something.”
you had grabbed him by the arm, and with a smile on his face the idea of the perfect soulmate turns to pull you in closer. the snezhnayan breeze cards through his hair. he’s perfect, a reflection of the ideal, tall, handsome, impossibly rich-- not to mention just the right balance of loving & protective. his fingers always found earnestly drawing daisies into your skin and the constant seeking to intertwine his pinkie with yours. his love, delivered & tied so neatly as the bow that adorned the box that accompanied the letter he sent from liyue-- frivolous fancies and trivial dreams spouted across paper in dark ink that had the same highs and rolls as him, with straight lines and stabbed dots.
but under all that is the boy who found himself in the abyss, the one who made you cough up flowers and leave you stroking at your throat and humming pains out years later. the one who does not know the difference between the red on his hands-- whether it is his or someone else’s. but when he sees the red on your hands, and that glassy look you watch him with, he does nothing but kneel at your feet, mumble quiet apologies as he traces the bud, flower not even truly open and in full glory as it dies, silent in its short uneventful life.
“what’s wrong?” he had asked, once, pulling his gloves on as the two of you stand by the door of your house. the world howls outside.
but you can only shake your head, words suddenly stuck in your throat, unable to be coughed out.
“be safe,” is the only thing that slips out, croaked under the veil of moonlight across the cold.
in these plains of broken towers, beyond the cold of the mountains and snow of the loveless land, you found sparking familiarity cradled between your hands and pulled out of your throat.
“its just a fatui meeting,” at your huff, he laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead as if you were made of glass, his gloved knuckles running up and down your arm in a poor imitation at a will for warmth, “alright, i’ll be careful.”
and you let him go, all that is left of him.
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fullybooked · 1 year
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The Domain
Title: The Domain Pairing: Tartaglia x Reader Word Count: 4.5k Warning: Swearing, blood, fighting, injury Summary: It was just a domain, one nobody ever went to anymore.
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Your codename among The Fatui was “The Ghost” and anyone who knew of you knew that it was earned. You appeared only when sent, cleaned up missions that were quickly spiraling out of control, and were gone before anyone could question your appearance.
It was never even sure who sent you or how they decided where you needed to go. You would hand a letter to the mission leader, tie up loose ends the others neglected, and disappear. Mission leaders were never allowed to disclose any information.
So now you were only ever called “Ghost” by fatui members, and “Y/N” by the harbingers.
Unless it was your mother, who called you “dearest.”
La Signoria to everyone else, mom to you. The one who told you where to go and what to clean up. Who trained you to use just about every weapon you could get your hands on, and how to win without one, and who could smile at you like you were the sun itself. 
“Dearest,” she spoke that morning after finally spending a night in your own bed. Days of travel resulted in sleeping in, and she walked into your room to find you still asleep.
You woke up with a, “huh?”
Your mother hums, “I assume you got a good night's rest,” she says.
Groggy eyes look her over. She was dressed in her fatui garb, her mask in her hand so she could put it on when she left, and you were in your pajamas and not sure if you were actually awake yet. With a rub of your eye, you hum to agree with her.
“Good. You’ll need it for your next mission,” she says and you deflate a little bit at the mention, wanting to curl back up into bed to avoid leaving again, “meet me at the church before noon, ad please be awake when you get there.”
You nod, “yeah yeah, ma. I know. Awake,” you give a thumbs up, “you got it.”
Your mother hums but takes your word, “breakfast is going to get cold,” she shuts the door.
La Signora, your mom, liked to be the fearsome “crimson witch” that everyone called her. Oh, how that persona would crumble when it involved you, and you were aware of it. Even if you weren’t biologically hers, just a picked-up orphan from a burned-down village years ago, you knew how lucky you were to have her.
You could’ve been eaten by wolves that night. Instead, you slept in a bed much too big for one person and ate meals made by professional chefs. Not to mention you were feared among travelers and fatui alike with the skills she taught you to survive. You were a spoiled soldier.
The term came from the only harbinger that was very open about his opinion of you. None of them were your biggest fans, most thinking it was wrong for a harbinger to have a family, but none spoke what they thought about it. You could only tell from their looks and dislike of you being involved with their work.
Tartaglia, however, was never shy about hating you.
He called you “spoiled soldier,” “mommy’s little assassin,” “the fatui golden child,” among other things. He didn’t like that you lived a lavish life without having worked for it. Most of the time you tried not to humor him with a response, but sometimes he pushed your buttons a little too far.
Since the time you threw a spear at his head, barely missing when he dodged, your mother hadn’t allowed you to be in the same room as him. So you didn’t think he'd be anywhere near the church when you went later that day.
After picturing his orange hair and cocky grin, annoyance crept into your mood. You climbed out of bed, a frown on your face, and moved along with your day.
Weapons lined your room, every single one of them you were capable of using. Some you were better at than others, but you could use anything in a fight if necessary. While you were just going to a briefing about a mission, you didn’t dare travel unarmed. After getting dressed and examining your weapon, you grabbed (your favorite weapon) and left for breakfast.
★★★★★★
The church of Snezhnaya was lined with snow, as always. Even with your thick coat on, you shivered just the slightest. Cursing at yourself for getting used to the warmth of other nations, you didn’t hear the sounds of crunching snow behind you.
“Don’t worry,” you jumped when someone spoke behind you, “I’m sure mommy will burn the church down to keep you warm.”
You knew the voice before you saw the face, and you tried not to let yours contort in annoyance. Tartaglia. He was grinning, orange hair unimaginably bright against the snowing background. Like fire. His blue eyes were wide and mocking, unfazed by the cold around him like you were. You hated that he looked so attractive while being so annoying.
Mouth clamped shut, you turned to continue towards the doors of the church.
“Come to ask for an allowance?” He pushes, following you up “or were you cut off after throwing a spear at a harbinger?”
“You can hardly be called a harbinger,” you spit despite trying to be quiet, “more like an annoying little boy.”
“Ooh,” he says with a chuckle behind you as he follows, “I got to you quick today. Not sleep well? Was there a pea under your mattress?”
Would your mother really care if you punched him? Not stab or shoot, just punch. Maybe just loosen a few teeth. He got under your skin so easily because he knew how. Nobody else could manage to make you seethe like him.
You push open the doors of the church, and you immediately see that only two other people were already inside. Your mother, of course, and Pierro. Number one of the harbingers, who you didn’t do much dealing with. Any missions he had for you were directly passed to your mother to be relayed.
He intimidated you, honestly. And you tensed when he saw him.
“What? Need a warm drink? You don’t have a maid following you around 24/7 to tend to your every need?” Tartaglia continues to jab as he walks in behind you.
He falls silent when he also sees who’s inside. At least something is capable of shutting him up. 
When the doors fall shut behind you two, the two other harbingers turn away from their quiet conversation. Your mother, mask now on, can’t hide the slight softness of her face when she sees you. 
“Childe,” Pierro says, voice carrying across the empty chapel, “Y/N, come forward. We have  much to discuss and not much time in my day to discuss it.”
He was a busy man, but this had been his idea. He couldn’t spend a few extra minutes?
You were brave, but not brave enough to up against Pierro himself. You kept your mouth shut and walked forward silently. Your footsteps were hardly heard, unlike Tartaglia’s clunking ones beside you. You were as quiet as a ghost.
The two of you approached, backing off the bickering while in front of your leader. It took everything in you not to reach a foot out and trip him as payback for his comments. He put enough space between the two of you as if he knew that, or maybe he wanted to do the same thing ad was stopping himself that way.
“You two are going to Mondstadt,” Pierro says simply, “to be more specific, you’re going to an island just easy of Mondstadt.”
“What’s the occasion?” asks Tartaglia beside you, crossing his arms under his big coat.
“On the island, there’s a portal gate,” number one explains, “nobody knows what’s on the other side, or rather nobody wants to know. But we do. It could be resources or materials that we could use and gather before any of the other nations get to it.”
A gate? You’d never been through a portal gate before. There were remnants of old ones scattered around Tayvet, but nothing that actually worked anymore. No one knows where those ones had gone once, and it seemed no one knew where the working one went either. 
“You’re sending….both of us?” Asks Tartaglia, and you look out of the corner of your eye to see him raising an eyebrow at Pierro, “together? Why?”
“Are you complaining, Childe?” Pierro asks, annoyance evident in his voice.
“No…I don't think so,” his eyes flit over to you, “but why both of us?”
“You may not like to admit it,” your mother speaks for the first time since the meeting had begun without being announced, “but my child is just as good on the battlefield as you, Childe. You two may not like each other,” she gives you a pointed look, “but you’re both capable of handling whatever is on the other side of that gate, and twice as capable with both sets of skills.”
There’s a scoff from his side, “you want us to fight? Together? They tried to spear me in the head.”
It was your turn to talk. You couldn’t speak ou against Pierro or your mother but him you had no trouble arguing with her, “if I wanted to spear you,  would’ve speared you. I was trying to get you to stop talking.”
“You missed,” he snaps, “admit it.”
“I don’t miss, but I know you do with that bow.”
“Enough.” Pierro’s voice shuts both of you up, and you only glare at each other from the corners of your eyes, “this is an order, to both of you. It's a week mission. Get into the gate, take notes of what's inside, and don’t kill each other in the process. Is that clear?”
You bite your lip and say, “yes, sir.”
Tartaglia only turns on his heel and is halfway down the center aisle before saying, “sure, whatever.”
Turning your head, you watch him walk away. Arrogant and mocking, you wondered if you could put an arrow through his head and pass it off as a hilichurl that got him on the way to the island. And then you turn back to the other harbingers.
He could leave when he wanted. You had to be dismissed.
Pierro waves a hand as if he doesn't want to bother talking to you anymore.
“Come on, spoiled soldier.” Tartaglia calls from behind you, “let’s get this over with and fast. Can’t have you missing your next nail appointment.”
With an exasperated look at your mother, you turn to follow him toward your next mission.
★★★★★★
There was the gate. It looked ancient but new at the same time, with a black hole in its center. It seemed to be swallowing all sound on the little island it was located on. You couldn’t even hear the wind this car out, something Mondstadt was known for.
“I was expecting guards,” Tartaglia says beside you, “or any kind of security.”
He was right. You had been expecting that too. 
“Probably on the other side.” You offer, glancing around, “are there any other gates like this in Tayvet?”
“Not anywhere I’ve been,” Tartaglia reaches his arms up above his head, stretching out his arms to the air, “why does that matter?”
You scowl, “because every door has another side, dumbass.”
His arms drop and he walks towards the gate, “I’m guessing it’s some domain everyone forgot about. There’s too many to keep track of anymore.”
It was odd to see him outside of his winter coat and gloves. But, come to think of it, you’d never seen him outside of Snezhnaya. He was in nice clothes, probably custom tailored to fit him the way that it does. When he reached up too far, you could barely make out the skin of his abdomen. And even though you tried not to stare, your eyes always found it. Found him.
He turns to face you, arms motioning to the gate for you to go first.
You smirk but walk forward anyway, up the stone stairs, “Pussy.”
You were walking through the veil before you could hear any kind of response he would give. 
It felt like walking into a pool of fog. It was thick to breathe in and smelled like saltwater. Your limbs moved a little slower as you walked like the air was trying to drag you back out for your own protection. But you pushed through it, anyway.
If this was a domain like he thought, then you did these regularly. This would surely be no different.
Your next few steps were on stone, and you emerged in a much darker place than you came from. There was no sunlight, no warmth. It was cold but not cold enough to freeze you in a place like Snezhnaya. It felt like all the warmth in the air had been siphoned out. 
You were at the top of a staircase, and when you looked in front of you, in the distance, there was a room. It was…a domain.
Curse him for being right. You scowl, walking forward without thinking about where he might be behind you. As you walk, though, you look around the domain further. It looked like you were floating on a platform in the sky, majestic pillars surrounding you and floating no seemingly nothing as well. When you glanced down, you realized why.
You were on top of a tower. And it went on and on and on for as far as you could see, even disappearing into what you thought were clouds. A tower with no markings or noticeable marks that would tell you where in Tayvet you were. Surely everyone would know of a tower this high.
“Tartaglia!” You shout as you stop in the center of the staircase, “you should really come see this!”
You didn’t know if he could hear you through the gate behind you, but you were confident he would be through in a moment. You made a note to make fun of him for being so hesitant. But until you could, you went further down the stairs. A domain would mean new resources. And probably powerful ones if it was something extravagant.
Making it to the landing, where the room was done in a style you didn’t recognize from any of the nations you had been to, you started shouting up the stairs.
“Come on! I’m not gonna wait around for you to get the balls to come down here!”
With an eyeroll when you see nothing, you turn back to the room. There didn’t seem to be an activation switch like most other domains. You wondered what was taking him so long as you stood on the center stone. There was a door on the other side of the room, maybe it let to something more interesting to report.
When your feet came off of the stone, blue veils descended over both exits.
★★★★★★
Archons, how long had it been? Since you last slept? Ate? Saw another living thing that wasn’t trying to kill you?
This damn domain had taken the sense of time from you as well as the exit to the world you knew. And you know, for sure, that it was a domain. An ancient one. The first fight started off easy, with slimes and a few hilichurls, things you didn’t question finding their way into here. They’d surely stumbled off the path and slipped through the gate.
But after that first fight, the door back up the stairs wouldn’t open like other domains. There was no way back up, only the other door that led to a staircase that only went down. And there was no sign of Tartaglia at the entrance.
By now the entirety of your area had changed. The farther down you went, the more shattered the place looked. Rooms were falling apart, enemies almost knocking you through holes in the walls and down to your death. Enemies that were getting harder and harder to justify their appearance here.
Like now,  vishap materializing out of seemingly nothing was staring you down from across the latest room you had ventured into. With no way back, you had been walking down for what felt like days. Going through all your rations told you had been at least a week. At leat.
Was nobody coming from you? You wondered as you held you weapon as tightly as your tired hands could manage. Had nobody thought about your disappearance? You mom? Tartaglia?
That traitor! The only thing keeping you hopeful of an escape was the thought of what you would do to him when you got out. The weapons you’d chuck at his head, the things you’d scream. The coward had left you and gone home. The things you’d say to him, and to Pierro for sending you on this mission, to your mother for not sending after you.
“Come on, then!” You shout at the creature that was this floor's first challenge, “I don’t have time to stand here!”
You were covered in cuts and burns and bruises, and starving. Freezing. The further down you went, the colder it got. 
The vishap screeches its big mouth and takes off on all fours towards you. This was the second enemy to appear on this floor, which meant it was the second wave. You’d realized halfway through the fourth floor that there was a pattern. Three waves of enemies you had no idea where they came from or how they got here.
You were almost done with this floor, whichever it was. When it was dead, or you were, you could rest for a moment. 
You raised your sword, one of the only weapons that remained intact on your person, and knew you wouldn’t be able to break through its skin. It was covered in rock, and its underbelly was your best bet. 
With your arms heavy and starting to wonder if this would be your last fight, your mind sent out a last curse to Tartaglia for abandoning you here.
“What? Can’t handle this guy?” The voice was enough to catch you off guard for long enough for the vishap to get too close for comfort, “I thought we were at the same skill level?”
You didn’t have time to regain your attention on the fight. There was a blur of gray and red, the sound of rushing water. And the vishap was no longer in your direct line of sight. When you followed the motion, red hair went in and out of focus in your eyes. A hydro vision glowing.
You’d given up hope of ever seeing him again. And while you were disappointed for a moment, you were angrier than anything. Now he showed up?
“Don’t worry,” He laughs as he uses his sword, forced under the vishap’s throat when he was focused on you, to throw it onto its back. 
Your brain is too tired and on high alert at the same time to register that he was talking to you.
“I won’t hold this particular time against you.” He’s saying.
The sound of another voice is starting to make you think you were finally snapping. Nobody had come so far, not him or anyone else, why would not be any different? Did the vishap get you? Were you dead?
You watch him kill the vishap and wonder why the hell Tartaglia would be the angel to escort you to Celestia.
He pulls his sword from the vishap’s body, where’s stabbed its underbelly, and he turns to look at you. He looked as bright and cocky as the day you walked through that gate. And when he grinned at you, you knew you weren’t dead. Nothing, angel or not, could recreate his smile that exact.
“I leave you alone for five seconds,” he says, “and you get into this mess? How did you even find this thing?”
You don’t respond. Only stare, eyes blank and exhausted and arms shaking from the constant force they’d been using to keep you alive the past week and a half. His smile falters and he looks you over. 
“What happened?” He asks curiously.
You swallow, “wave three,” you answer and watch the center stone in the cracked and crumbling room light up.
“Huh?”
“Wave three is starting. Every floor. Three waves.”
“Floors?” He questions, and behind him you see it materializing out of nothing.
A ruin hunter. Garbling in its gibberish that no one alive could understand, its center eye glaring an angry orange down at you as it finished forming from nothing. You almost wanted to give up right there. Your bow had broken the last time you fought one of these, maybe three floors ago, and you had no other distance weapon. Only your sword, which is on its last leg.
Tartaglia turns, eyes wide as the thing whirrs and spins its propellers to come right at him, who’s directly in its vision path, “whoa,” he says, reaching behind him to grab the bow on his back, “where did you come from?”
If you were dead, then this fight meant nothing. And if you weren't? Then this one is his. You were tired, and you didn’t want to fight if you didn’t have to. You lower your weapon and stand there, watching.
His bow was useful, puncturing the center eye every time it was open. And the water infused in his arrows leaked into its circuits. You saw the thing spasming after a few direct hits, before falling to the ground.
You didn’t care who won. Stumbling over to the wall, you press your body against the crumbling stone. If it broke, and you fell, at least this hell would be over. But it didn’t, and you slid to sit on the ground with your weapon at your side. Heart hammering and head spinning, you don’t know how many more floors were left in you. So what if Tartaglia was here? You didn’t want to keep fighting an endless fight. He could.
There’s a thud, a brush of cold air making you shiver, and you hear the sound of his water weapons dissolving.
“Hey! Nice assist, Ghost!” He shouts in a mocking tone, his footsteps coming closer.
You didn’t look up at him as you chuckled. It was him. Whether or not that was good news or bad, you weren't sure yet. It just…was…for now.
“Hello? Talking to you, ya know.” He’s right next to you, and you can only stare at the veil that leads up that won’t lift. You always hoped it would.
“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice rough from lack of water, “feel bad about leaving me to die?”
“Leaving you?” He scoffs, “it was three seconds, don’t be dramatic. I thought you could’ve handled yourself for that long.”
Slowly, you turn your head to face him. Dried blood caked a lot of your skin, maybe he hadn’t noticed it until now. You hadn’t exactly had a second to sit and talk. His eyes went to the size of dinner plates and his cocky smile finally fell. The only expression you could manage was a sneer in return.
“Get the hell away from me, Childe.” 
You never used his code name. Only Tartaglia. Never even his real name, Ajax. So maybe he could sense how angry and exhausted you actually were. Slowly. He walks forward and closes the remaining space between you.
“What happened?” He asks, his hands reaching to grab your shoulders and turn you to face him, “all this blood? Is it yours?”
You try to jerk away, too weak to do much to fight him off. He’s turning your head from side to side, looking at your eyes to see if you were concussed. And you probably were by now. 
“Why the hell didn’t you just wait for me?!” He asks, blue eyes getting a little darker and a little more frantic, “you didn’t have to keep going down!”
You scowl and use a little more mustered strength to push at his chest. He hardly stumbles back, but his hands slip from your face.
“Because I would’ve been waiting for over a week!” you snap and lean back against the wall, your glares meeting each other, “I wasn’t gonna sit around and die waiting for you!”
“I wouldn’t have left you!” He snaps, reaching around his back, “I didn’t leave you!”
There was a possibility that this place wasn’t like the rest of Tayvet. Time could move differently. You knew it was a real possibility, but your mind was too fogged to try and deal with that. You open your mouth to tell him to leave you alone and go down the next staircase by himself when he shoves something into your hands. 
A flask of water.
“You look like shit,” he snaps and yanks the red scarf off of his neck, “all you had to do was wait for me and you would’ve been fine!”
“Well, I didn’t–” 
“And look what happened!” He snaps, “drink the damn water, Y/N!”
“Calm down! It’s not like it would affect you if I died beyond some paperwork!”
His eyes flared and he leaned forward just a little bit. Enough for your eyes to get dizzy watching him move too fast. You clutched the flask, wanting to down the entire thing right this second but too invested in the way his eyes seemed to darken.
“No, I won’t calm down because it would affect me!” He shouts.
Why? Because your mother would hate him? Because he would be forced to attend the funeral? He wouldn’t even notice your absence.
“You almost died, and I can’t lose you!” he shouts further, making your hands clench the flask a little bit harder. Any kind of retort or reply you had gets lost in your throat, or maybe it's the lack of water, “not you!”
The words echo around the dying chamber that seemed to swallow all life within it. You wondered, for a moment, if this was actually Tartaglia talking to you. If this was some trick from this place to make you fall into a false sense of security. And then you saw his head fall, eyes cast towards the ground.
“Please, Y/N, not you.” He ads so quietly that you wonder if he’s talking to himself or still to you. 
You aren’t sure how to reply, or if you even could. Tartaglia lifts his eyes again, this time focused on the flask. He motions to it.
“Just…drink,” he says, “I’ll try to find us a way out.”
“There’s isn’t one,” you whisper, defeated by this place, “I’ve been looking for days.”
He scowls and snatches the flask from your unmoving hand. You watch his movements and are shocked when he leans forward and forces the uncapped top to your lips. A stream of ice-cold water falls down your parched throat.
“Then I’ll protect you until we find one.”
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puperv · 1 year
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⪧   ⻩   📼 anything u can do, i can do better. ☆᠀ Tartaglia X Reader — (ɔ ˘⌣˘)˘⌣˘ c)
╰╮ ❗﹑ cw: smut (duh)꒱; gn!reader; switch reader, switch Tartaglia, masturbation, sweat ++ sweat licking, competitive sex LMAO, implied rough sex ig, kinda temperature play.
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⠀⠀⠀         ⪩      ㅤㅤ⸺ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤㅤ❦︎  
ฅ゛(📞﹏⁰)。 smut below, cuties.
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The sticky sounds of your mouth clinging to Tartaglia's sweaty body was heavenly, to you. The ginger normally doesn't find anything you would do gross, but this was a completely different topic. But how could you hold yourself!? The way the layer of his sweat glimmered against the heated sun drived you insane, his body being clingy was just a sign that you needed to make your hands filthy with him. To have his cum make your hands more and more sweaty and the opportunity to get off all the clothes that made it difficult to survive with the unpityfull sun.
As unpityfull as the slamming of his hips against yours suddenly stopping for him to turn the tables around and now lick all the fucked out sweat in your body, an action that could make you cum on the spot, but not being able to. Ajax doesn't like calling this a punishment, it's just a way to proove to his busted ego that: whatever you can do, he can do better.
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( ✂ ² ) ﹗A very silly Tartaglia thing that haz been in my drafts 4 a loong month ... (((;´ω`) ⅄ 💤 My reqs are always open babes (*'-⌒*)v ♡
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pachimation · 1 month
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there’s nothing wrong with a bit of workplace gossip, right?
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jinxlixir · 9 months
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in which childe is really in love with you
a/n: i really like whipped men, short contiunation
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"i like you, let's get married!"
paimon's random screeches right next to your ear feel distant as you can feel your soul leaving from your body. even lumine isn't sure how to react.
it was definitely a mistake to accompany lumine on her trip back to liyue. especially after meeting this stranger who seems way too eager to make conversation with you for the past week you've met him.
with the best, politest, brightest, professional smile you could muster, you beam at childe.
"no."
lumine gives a comforting pat on the back for the ginger.
.
.
.
"childe, for the last time, stop sending me gifts that cost more than my entire life savings!!" you barge into his office with a new set of sapphire jewelry in hand. none of the fatui recruits really blink an eye anymore, used to seeing your presence in the past few days.
he clicks his tongue in disappointment, and then pouts with a sound huff.
"is this set still not to your liking? i made sure to chose the best one.."
"best as in the most expensive?"
"...the prettiest."
"childe i-"
"i said you could call me ajax when we're alone" his frown deepens along with the crease in his brow. you can't lie to yourself when you say that it didn't make your heart twinge with a little guilt.
"....ajax, i don't need you to be sending me all these lavish items." you mutter softly. you notice him flinch a little, before masking it with his normal playful expression.
"ahh... i don't know what to do.." he dramatically sighs. you lift your brow. "i'm sure my face is plenty attractive, and i'm still young all things considered. and my body is up to standards i suppose."
"..?"
"but you're not falling for it!! is my face not your type? or is it my personality? what is your type? i can change to be whatever you like." his rambling causes him to unintentionally lean closer towards you, pressing for answers to his desperate questions. you should deviate, somehow. he's close enough that his scent washes over you, pleasantly surprising you.
"what cologne do you wear?" his eye widens in glee. uh oh.
"do you like it? i'll wear it everyday for you." his charms really flow out of him as naturally as he breathes. you shake your head. no. you shouldn't be swayed this easily.
"do whatever you want." you place the box of jewelry on his desk. his eyes follow your movement.
"you didn't answer my question."
"yeah it's nice. reminds me of the ocean"
"not that one." your eyes meet his. the eyes that also resemble the ocean that you think of. the one that has gentle swaying waves, a soothing breeze that wisps through the air, soft melodies whispered in the depths of the water. an ocean that brings you comfort like no other.
oh. oh. oh.
in your silence, childe slowly inches his hand towards his rejected gift. snaking the necklace out of its hold, grabbing the clasps.
the cold tingle against your collarbone pulls you back to reality.
"hey stop it. i never accepted it." your words go ignored as you feel his hands fumble to clasp each end together, his gaze tenderly tracing around your face. an overwhelming gaze that you can't get used to with how much emotion you can feel from him. a rare thing.
"just give me a chance. please." his fingers dance around the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your back with how intimate you've let him get with you.
"...fine." you suppose it's alright to indulge in this feeling a little.
the pure joy that radiated off the man in front of you could really blind you.
"really!!!?! no take backs okay?? you swear?? promise me right now!!" his animated words come out quickly, with one of his hands lifted right in front of you with his pinky extended. cute. you extend yours as well and wrap it around his.
"you know what a pinky promise means snezhnaya right?"
"mhm." you've heard it from him one time during a midnight walk on the beaches of liyue (he insisted to come along so he could 'protect' you). "you make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. you break a pinkie promise, i throw you on the ice. the cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again."
childe's mind reels for a second, hearing you recite a simple nursery rhyme from his home country makes his heart pound even harder, yearning for your presence by his side.
"then we can get the rest of this set on with a cute little dress for our date later tonight at wanmin-"
"no."
"what~!! fine, minus the jewelry."
"no."
"why.."
"i don't want to eat at some fancy restaurant."
"...then at my place.?" his face has a light dust of pink on it.
"...fine. meet you at 7."
with that, you twist out of his hold (his hand snuck to the small of your back) and walk out of his office. childe is unable to push down the stupid grin that takes over his face throughout the whole day. the fatui recruits shiver at the thought of the maniacal smile that covers his murderous mood that day.
.
.
.
it doesn't take more than a few seconds before you hear a noise barreling at the door, flinging it open before tugging you inside, in a deathly embrace.
"hey!! i'm almost done with the last dish, come with me!!" his excited state pulls you with him barely letting you take off your shoes as you follow his long strides towards the kitchen.
his place his clean, light decor sprinkled around some corners. you see a lot of frames on the wall, with various people in each photo, all slightly resembling the ocean eyed man that you know. he must cherish his family.
the air is filled with the aroma of many fragrant dishes foreign to you. childe settles you on a dining chair before rushing towards the stoves. it allows you to see him don an adorable pink apron. you wish you brought your kamera.
"do you need help?"
"no, just sit there prettily and wait for me." he chimes out. you roll your eyes are his comment, but fail to keep your lips from stretching into a smile. your eyes don't leave his form, taking note of how this light makes him look softer, more domestic. you look at the way the muscles of his arm tense with every movement of the pan, the way his fingers expertly sprinkle spices, the way he hums a tune while cooking.
it's a nice view.
"enjoying the view?" his voice is filled with a teasing tone, as his face reads nothing but amusement and mirth.
"no, i'm looking at the food." you scoff, feeling your face heat up. he laughs and turns back to the pan.
eventually he finishes the last dish, and lays everything in front of you. you take note of the lack of ingredients you dislike.
"uh, i didn't know what dishes you like, so i hope you like these. they're some snezhnayian dishes i grew up with.." he's visibly worried, but you quickly quell those thoughts.
"it smells amazing. i want to try them all." he perks up and settles down.
"please, help yourself."
each bite you take makes you delight in the flavors that hit your tongue, your face lighting up with every dish you try.
childe can't describe the tugging in his heart as he observes each of your positive expressions as you enjoy the dishes he made.
the usually lonely and empty dinner table is filled with light chatter and giggles, replacing the void that left a cold bitterness in childe's heart.
after everything was completed finished with no leftovers, you take it upon yourself to wash the dishes, leaving no argument for childe when you threatened to take back your promise (he thinks that was too cruel of you to pull that over him).
he stands by you while you wash each dish, eventually shifting to tugging you against his chest as he rests his head on your shoulder. you bite back your complaint of the difficulty to move in the position when you hear his content sigh.
his heart is drunk on the pleasure of your presence that feels so natural in his life. the presence that fits perfectly in his present and future by his side, as his only lover.
he can't help but let his mind wander, thinking of the moments when you would visit his hometown, when you would meet his beloved family, when you would carry his younger siblings in your arms, when his family would dress you in traditional snezhnayian clothing.
these thoughts don't leave his mind, even as you finish up and he leads you to the couches, filling the silence with mindless chatter of his family when you ask more about himself.
you planned on leaving sooner or later, but you couldn't help but give yourself a few more minutes, listening to his voice for a little longer. the longer you stayed, the more comfortable you felt. eventually, you let yourself be lured into the darkness as you drift off.
childe carefully directs your head towards his shoulder when he sees you start to drowse off. he thinks you're attractive even when you're asleep. an angel sent from heaven.
the item in his pocket weighs a little heavier now. with a little hesitance, he carefully pulls it out, making sure not to disturb your sleep,
opening it up, the crystal gleams the same crimson glow as the one that dangles off his ear every day.
with cautious movements, he gently puts it on your ear. it rests softly against your jaw. his heart pounds so loudly he worries that it would wake you up.
ah, he should have given this to you sooner.
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lijojo · 9 months
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genshin sugar daddies
premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)
tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni
mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.
on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.
periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.
then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.
even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.
when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.
you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.
"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."
he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.
"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."
you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.
tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.
or a dollar.
childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.
"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."
you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."
you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.
"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"
"childe!" you chide.
he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.
he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.
you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.
the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.
"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"
of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.
but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.
"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.
it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.
"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"
the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"
"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.
the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.
"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."
his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."
your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.
"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"
he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."
wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.
out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.
in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.
you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.
even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.
you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.
"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"
it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."
"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."
his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."
his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"
he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.
"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."
"kazu—"
"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"
"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"
there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.
he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."
after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.
after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.
on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.
you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.
his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.
except when spring comes.
when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.
you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.
the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.
as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.
"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"
some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.
and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.
then the process starts all over again.
when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.
"why won't you leave them all for me?"
you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."
his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."
his words make you freeze a bit.
you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.
so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."
as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.
you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.
at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.
when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.
when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.
and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.
sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.
in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.
after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:
outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.
somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.
outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.
the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.
his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.
your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.
you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.
"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."
he smiles.
"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."
saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.
on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.
today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.
it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.
ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.
"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.
"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."
he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."
you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.
at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.
somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.
but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.
instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.
you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.
when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.
instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.
sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.
in other words, he sees you.
at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.
conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.
kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.
at least, that's how you used to be.
you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.
and that's not the only thing that's changed.
the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.
but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.
vulnerable.
after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.
although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.
his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.
the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.
instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.
but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.
you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.
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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚ what I know to be true ⋆。˚ ೀ⋆。˚ ༘
Childe wasn't a big fan of the Tsaritsa's demand for him to find a wife, until he'd come upon the perfect girl for the job. You—a lady he knew in his childhood to be a horrible nuisance and demon on Earth. Not only would this marriage fulfill his duty, but would let him settle a long-time grudge as well. Little did he know, he stood more to gain from this partnership than he thought.
Childe x fem!reader II arranged marriage, angst? to fluff, childhood enemies to lovers, romance!
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Childe was never one for romance, and especially not for commitment.
He just had so much else on his plate, much bigger dreams than that of settling down in a household and abandoning his place on the battlefield.
He was always looking ahead to a future of bloodshed, of power, of someday ruling the world.
That wasn't going to happen if a distraction stood in his way.
He would sometimes muse about having kids, loving the idea of continuing his lineage and watching a bunch of mini-me's run around, but ultimately, he decided his duty to the Tsaritsa would stand in the way of him being a good father. So he'd just have to settle for being an amazing uncle to the children his siblings would eventually have, spoiling them with presents at Christmas time and teaching them how to protect themselves out in the wild.
So when he was called into the Tsaritsa's throne room and received the news that a harbinger of his status was to be married, in order to keep up with regal airs the nobles of Snezhanaya, he was, respectfully, very unhappy.
"You'll be seen at balls and lead battalions. Your role must be carried with honor. Nobody will respect an old lonely man.", she claimed, then drew out a long, thin arm to hold his chin with a bony hand—long pointed nails pressing divots into his skin. Though her touch was frigid, she looked down at him with a certain fondness in her eyes, though the sincerity of it was undistinguishable. "You need a pretty thing by your side to elevate your status. You know I only want what's best for you.", she cooed, like she was addressing a child.
He new better than to disobey her commands, and something about the smoothness of her voice assured him that this was the right choice. He only nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides in dismay.
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Childe read over the listed names of eligible young ladies for him to marry with contempt; scrolling through the meaningless last names and accompanying statures, ordered from top to bottom by how highly they stood in the totem pole of nobility. Like he cared where the girl would come from.
He felt guilt for the miserable thing that would have to marry him; though he could care less about who these women were, he believed that they deserved a partner that loved them, or at least a good man that could stand to take care of them. All they would be to him is a nuisance, a label which they had done nothing to earn.
Though, when he neared the end of the list, a section devoted to common folk who had certain merits like striking beauty or some sort of fame, that he found a name he recognized.
Your name.
Oh, how he remembered you.
You were the daughter of good friends of his parents. Your families would often gather for holidays or dinner parties, sharing what little they had in the name of kinship. The gatherings were lively, full of happiness and cheer...
But you had a certain countenance that stood out to him and branded your name into a special part of his brain to be remembered for the rest of his life.
You were a little brat was what you were.
Though you were only a toddler when he met you, having only just taken your first steps while he was already halfway through being eight, he found you to be the most insufferable little human he'd ever met.
Your parents would always gab and brag about what a good little girl you were; how you never cried or screamed, how you were sweet and patient and loving—a wonderful surprise for parents preparing for the "terrible two's.".
They had to be lying, because every time Ajax would come into view you'd immediately throw a fit, wailing and swiping at his face with a kind of rage an entire army of men could not match.
He had no idea why; he never touched you, or spoke to you, all he did upon your first meeting was draw back in repulse.
You weren't a pleasure to look at; with your beady little eyes and thick eyelashes that lined them, your thin eyebrows and piercing gaze. You looked like some haunted porcelain doll. And there was a certain consciousness behind your eyes that children your age were not supposed to have.
His little siblings were much cuter.
And he did not hesitate to say that.
"Tonia was a prettier baby. What's wrong with her?", he piped up, humiliating his mother and father who immediately scolded him for his rudeness. Your mother only laughed.
"Trust me, she'll be a beauty when she grows up. I won't be surprised when you come around here in sixteen years asking to marry her."
This started a little musing session between your mothers, giggling about the possibility of their children being wed and how wonderful that would be for their friendship and their families.
Meanwhile, Ajax was dwelling on how that would absolutely never happen—if the look on your face was any indicator.
You were red as a tomato, nose scrunched in distain as your eyes pierced his. Like you'd understood him.
How was he supposed to know babies could take offense?
Whether or not your infant brain could comprehend his words, your hatred was clear, and before he could react, your soft little hand went flying towards his face and landed with a resounding THWAP!
Even though you struck him, you immediately burst into tears, bawling crocodile tears that ran down your face and dripped off of your chin.
All of the adults in the room immediately ran to your aid, hushing and petting you while scorning Ajax for "tormenting the poor girl."
Never before had he felt so cheated.
That begun his feud with a two year old.
Your detest for one another ran deep. So much so that every gathering between your families ended in you receiving plenty of sneaky pinches to your fat baby skin and him risking a bald spot with the amount of hair you'd rip out of his head.
It was a nightmare you could walk too, since you'd often seek him out just to babble in annoyance and tug at the knee of his trousers.
"See? Look at how much she likes you!", his mother would coo, but he knew better. Your grappling with his pants was your pea-brained strategy to get him to bend down and remove you so you could bop him one on the nose.
He swore you were such a strong baby. He'd rather take a hit from a club than suffer the force that your tiny fists could bring down on his head.
That's why you were the perfect girl to be his wife
If he were to marry any other woman, the guilt of leaving her alone at home for long stretches of time, depriving her of having the good husband she deserves rather than a man who could never love her, would be overwhelming.
Sure, he was a monster, but he wasn't about to let some innocent bystander be collateral damage.
But you? The evil, horrible little wench you are? You more than deserved it.
In his mind, he'd actually be doing his fellow man a favor by saving an unsuspecting bachelor from accidentally marrying a grisly thing like you.
So, although his retainers were already in the process of scheduling meetings with his potential brides, he plucked your name from the list without hesitation.
"Set the wedding date. I'll have that one."
The organizers looked between themselves warily, deciding whether or not they should challenge him on this monumental decision.
"And nothing too grand—it'll just be family.", he cooly added, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet upon his desk and crushing the list of names under his dirty boots.
In the end, the harbinger always gets what he wants, so his retainers retreated with quiet nods and quick steps.
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Though Childe acted aloof towards the decision to have you as his bride, when the day of the wedding actually arrived and he found himself standing at the altar of a small church in Mosepok—his home town, his palms were sweating and eyes darting around nervously. He shifted his weight on his feet as the congregation waited for you to enter; this was supposed to be a small ceremony, but leave it to his mother and father's proud announcements to their friends and neighbors to draw a crowd. As his eyes scanned the faces of those who'd known him in his youth, he realized near all of the small port town was packed into the pews. He wracked his brain for the answer as to why these people would want to watch their old town troublemaker's union, but he supposed it would be the most interesting thing to happen in the town since his era of delinquency.
It was a miracle that the budget the Fatui gave Childe for this wedding greatly superseded the amount he'd needed for the original plan of a small gathering; it was more than enough to feed the whole town for a night, which actually brought a flicker of joy to Childe's chest.
He was pleased that he could give back to the community that handled him like a family in his childhood.
But that flicker was immediately quenched when the creaking sound of the heavy oak doors that led into the chapel reverberated through the room—revealing the silhouette cast in white of his bride.
His stomach turned with anxiety. Childe had led battalions into what could be considered suicide missions if not for their miraculous victorious outcome, and yet, somehow, the fear he felt standing in front of a girl that, though she may not be small by definition, definitely looked so standing next to him, significantly surpassed that of which he's ever felt.
His cold body shook like he stood inches from death.
Suddenly, he remembered the fury your little body had when you were only a baby, and it dawned on him that you've only gotten bigger, smarter, stronger. A little arbiter of the apocalypse couldn't have grown into the meek woman he imagined, if anything, her bloodlust grew with age.
What did he get himself into? Was he an idiot? Did he, blinded by his scheming for revenge, land himself in a lion's den?
With a light tap on the shoulder from the priest, he jolted out of his stupor and found you standing in front of him already, suddenly remembering that he was now to lift your veil.
His hands shook as he reached out, bracing himself for the hideous face he'd been forced to associate with at every friendly gathering between your parents in childhood, and now, due to his own brashness, would have to associate with every time he returned home or attended public events.
He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he took the fabric between his white-knuckled fingers and threw the thing up and over your head. The procession hummed with awe and approval—some more boisterous men from the docks whistling, to which their wives jabbed an elbow into their ribs.
The sounds of adoration resounding from the audience perplexed Childe, drawing his interest and encouraging him to open one wary eye and peek at you.
But his cautious peek grew into an owlish gawking and dropped jaw when the woman before him shined like an angel.
This couldn't have been the girl he knew in her infancy; her once-beady eyes now twinkled like stars, her red puffy face was now sculpted and the only remnants of her discoloration resided in dusted pink pigments on her cheeks. They were so perfectly placed that they could be mistaken for a painting by an artist with a keen eye. He pried his gaze from your enrapturing eyes to ogle your lips—plushy and inviting. He'd give anything to kiss a gorgeous woman like you.
And he remembered with an unexpected delight that he would by the end of this ceremony.
Before he knew it, the soft ring of your voice settled upon his ears. Having been caught in a trance, he hadn't realized the procession already arrived at your vows.
He only tuned in after the opening sentences of your declaration had passed, your words blurred by his reverie.
"I promise to wait for you when you go and embrace you when you return; to make a warm, solace of a home for you that you can always come back to, whether there be a roof over our heads or not. I promise to follow you through this life and meet you in the next, to be by your side when you need me, no matter how far apart we may be forced to exist. I promise to love you and only you, to be true as long as your ring encloses my finger, and promise to keep it there forever. I will take your family into my arms just as you will me, care for them—as they are an extension of you, to love them just as I do you. I'll hold you ever close to my heart, speak to you with nothing but kindness, recognize your face as that of my partner in life, my one and only, and..."
Childe jumped when he felt your warm hand sneak up on his and gingerly intertwine your fingers, to which he did not resist, nor want to.
"I promise to love you as you are; no matter how much the years we spend together may change us."
To his puzzlement, Childe felt a certain wetness roll down his cheek, causing him to look up at the skylight above the both of you to check if it was raining. When another droplet ran down the other side of his face, he realized he was crying.
Childe never cried, he couldn't even remember the last time it had happened; maybe it was sometime when he was a boy, but the memory simply did not exist. These were not tears shed in misery, they were spurred by your words of devotion, words he'd never been blessed with before. He truly wondered now if you may be divine, but all he beheld of you told him you were, in fact, human, and not a vision of absolution sent from the heavens above.
You tilted your head to the side and blinked your dollish eyelashes at him, obviously waiting for something, to which he remembered that is was now his turn.
He had neglected to write vows beforehand or memorize the traditional vows spoken by couples bound by marriage as an arrangement. He had, in fact, planned on skipping the process altogether, but your profession of love caught him off guard and incentivized him to speak his own.
So, with a blank mind, he resorted to letting the few truths he knew spill from his mouth.
"I'd only known you during our childhoods, but how you've blossomed and changed has..."
He had never been one for words, so making something up on the spot in front of quite literally a hundred people was daunting. His voice seized with trepidation, but he took a breath and moved forward.
"Has...left me speechless. My mind is empty, and all I can think of now is...that I am blessed."
He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, struck by your endearing gaze on him—it made his voice quiver as it resounded from his chest.
"I'd assumed I knew you, but it's clear to me now that I have so much more to learn."
He unconsciously squeezed your hand for comfort, and, with a gentle smile on your face, you reassuringly squeezed back; making him sigh and yearn to feel more of you—imagining that you felt like warm cotton, soft and homey, something he could bury himself in and happily stay there for eternity.
"And I want to learn it. I...want to spend my whole life in awe of you, discovering as much as I can, knowing you like I know myself."
He could not hesitate before he blurted his next statement, his voice getting carried away from him and spilling his most personal beliefs.
"And loving you as you love me."
Your cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, and your eyes glimmered as your perfect lips stretched into an even more enticing smile. He could hear your soft, happy sigh, a sound that not even the priest beside the two of you could catch, almost like a secret meant just for him.
Your sweetness enthralled him like nothing he'd ever experienced— slowly convincing him that you very well may be the best thing that's ever happened to him.
"I'll take care of you.", he promised, and meant it. "I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. Despite what you promised before, I will always put a roof over your head. You'll be forever warm and safe. I will fight for you, die for you, do anything you ask. You will want for nothing as long as you're mine."
His vow had come upon its conclusion with one final promise he all but growled, like it was somehow in danger of being broken—that he would go to any length to protect.
"And you will forever be mine."
His pause at the end indicated to the priest that the his vow had ended, and the way your lips parted in wonder and your wide eyes remained locked on his made him want to lean in and kiss you like every inch of his body burned to do. But he had to, begrudgingly, wait; hoping the ceremony would end as soon as possible so he could finally have you to himself and ask you all the questions he was dying for the answers to.
Did you really mean what you said? He sure did, and he didn't even know he had the capacity to not only promise, but want, desperately so, the fulfill the oaths he had declared to you.
Soon enough, the priest announced it was now time for the bestowing of the rings—a symbol of the bond you will share for eternity.
As the ring bearer, Childe's dear brother, Teucer, brought the rings resting on a white silk pillow over to the altar and held it over his head while he balanced on his tippy toes so the two of you could reach the rings with ease. Childe immediately felt awash in shame. All he'd purchased for you was a simple silver band—no precious gems, no original detailing, just a band. He didn't expect to want to take pride in the symbol of his loyalty you'd wear for him on your finger. He'd get you a new one, a better one—one he could admire as he kissed your hand, held it with adoration and smoothed his fingers over it.
But although the ring fell below expectations, there was no disappointment on your face. You barely glanced at it, your eyes trained on his face with a fondness he'd never received before. Your gaze had his heart spilling over with exaltation.
You took his hand in yours and slipped the perfectly fitted ring around his finger, giving it a small squeeze when you were done—as if to brand your affection deep into his hand.
He returned the gesture, taking your other hand in his and, carefully, securing the ring around your finger as well; he breathed a sigh of relief and felt a weight he hadn't known was resting on his shoulders alleviate. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to leap out in a desperate attempt to be ever closer to yours.
The priest spoke, but his voice was drowned out by Childe's inner voice, wailing for you.
All he could register was the sound of your silver bell-like voice, piercing through the fog in his head like a star's light in the void of the night sky above.
"I do.", you said.
He couldn't tell if he'd rushed ahead of the priest's announcement of his turn or not, but he followed your statement blindly.
"I do.", he whispered ardently, brushing the backs of those precious hands of yours softly with his thumbs.
After the final blurb recited by the priest, a sentiment he couldn't bring himself to listen to in his anticipation, he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.
"You may now kiss the bride."
Without a moment of delay, he brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks, a look of ache in his face as it felt like you had reached an invisible hand into his chest and gripped his heart, and kissed you.
Fervently, passionately kissed you.
It took your breath away, left you panting when he finally pulled away after remembering he was, in fact, in front of his parents and broader community.
But cheers sang from the crowd for your union as he led you back down the steps of the altar and out of the church, eyes trained on your feet with your hand secured in his—watching carefully as you descended to make sure you wouldn't fall. He treated you as if you were sculpted from crystal glass.
After the two of you crossed the threshold out of the church as one, Childe gently tugged your hand to draw you closer so that he could whisper in your ear.
"Could we take a walk in the garden?"
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While the guests made their way to the reception hall for their lavish dinner, you and Childe strolled through the church's garden together, hands still intertwined as the two of you gazed at the various winter shrubs and evergreen trees sprinkled with snow. It was beautiful in its own kind of way; the way life persevered through otherwise uninhabitable conditions, how even the bear oak trees existed as intricate silhouettes against the grey sky—providing cover as the sun sank down and gave way to a grim dusk, it was wonderful, and in this moment, it was yours to share.
The two of you came to a halt at a marble bench next to a large, frozen fountain, adorned with swirling details and moulding from an older, more fanciful era. He swiped off the snow that had built on top of the bench, then removed his large, fur-lined cloak to rest on the surface. He led you down to sit on it, having fashioned a dry, warm seat for you as he stood.
"Won't you be cold?"
"I'll be fine.", he assured you. He'd grown used to the frigid air of his home country, having entered various conflicts with nothing but thin linen to cover him for the sake of his movements not being burdened by thick, heavy fabric.
"Thank you.", you spoke, softly, and the words warmed his chest more than any coat could.
He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you. He just couldn't believe you were real, and couldn't believe you were his at so little a cost—he'd done nothing but bellyache and pluck your name off of a paper, and somehow the situation ended up being the best decision of his life. He'd found someone that claimed to truly, deeply love him by sheer chance.
And that thought brought him to the question that had been weighing on his mind since your vows.
"Did you really mean what you said?", he asked, quietly, hesitantly. After the words left his mouth, he wished he'd never said them. He didn't want to know the answer; if he could live in a fantasy where a miracle like you truly adored him, he'd seize the opportunity and hold it close to his heart for the rest of his life. He felt like such a fool.
"Of course I did.", you chuckled, like the question was ridiculous.
"I thought you hated me.", he confessed, his curiosity for your change of heart getting the best of him when he knew better than to ask too many questions. You only quirked your head and blinked at him, indicating that he needed to clarify. "When we were younger, you acted like you wanted my head on a stick."
To that admission, you laughed heartily. It was a lovely sound, one his mind would no doubt play on repeat in his darkest of times, sending sparks to his heart that would keep him moving forward—back to you so he could hear it again and again. "I was a toddler, dear. I didn't understand my feelings! And you were pretty nasty to me, too.", you said with a playful, pointed look.
The term of endearment made his heart bubble, craving to hear you say it again, but his mind was desperate for more answers. "But...how did you...", he coughed awkwardly, "fall for me?".
His carefully spoken question only made you giggle once again, but you could understand his confusion.
"Oh, Ajax. You were the most entertaining person I've ever met. I know we fought, but I remembered your presence in my life so fondly. And I'd look at pictures of us from our old gatherings, where our parents would force you to hold me on your lap and smile, or take candid shots of us chasing each other around, and I'd wish for you to come back so we could fight again.", you laughed at the memory. "I thought of you all the time, you know. And, as I grew older and life passed by, I'd keep looking back on those photos and...", your cheeks turned even redder than the chilly air had already done, flushing your cheeks and nose. After this conversation, Childe would make sure to rush you inside so you could warm up by a hearth. "Well, my heart would beat for you. And I wished you would come back for different reasons...so I could see you again and fall in love with the man you've become."
Childe gulped in shame. He knew the man he'd become was...cruel. Wicked. He'd never thought so little of himself than when he stood before you, your glorious, pure eyes assessing him like Celestia would upon the day of his death.
But how you looked on at him was not in judgement, but affection. "And when I met you at the altar, I did. I truly did."
He was so swayed by your words, so caught up in your devotion, that though he knew he was undeserving, he leaned down and connected your lips with his once again; his large hands warmed you where they caressed your cheek and the side of your neck, his lips thawing your frozen ones. The flavor of you was intoxicating, but as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, your icy skin pushed him to get you inside immediately.
So he drew back, drawing the most angelic whine of protest from your lips. It made him grin in pride.
"Let's warm you up, huh?"
Though you wanted to stay in the privacy of this isolated garden, continue to live in this moment that only existed for the two of you, you couldn't deny how you shivered and your stomach growled. It was time for your reception, and you couldn't keep your guests waiting.
So you, albeit reluctantly, let Ajax pull you up into his arms and throw his cloak around the both of you before taking you back to the church where he married you, now entering sharing one heart, one life, one love. Forever.
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sakkiichi · 7 months
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COVER ME IN SUNSHINE.
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Ways in which your kid calls his dad. Will he get to hear a ‘papa’?
ft. Scaramouche/Wanderer, Albedo, Xiao, Childe, Kaeya, Neuvillette x gn! reader.
cw/genre: pure fluff. Reader is referred to as ‘mama’, you and the character have a child. They’re all girl dads.
a birthday present for my dearest @bunny-rambles 🩵 i’m wishing you the best day today and always, hun ! ilysm, thank you for always being by my side. I hope we can celebrate many many more birthdays together, mwah <3
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ note: about this fic… i struggled quite a little with it, and i’m sorry it’s not my best piece… this was a totally new concept to write for me, but i still hope you can enjoy, bunbun, dear ♡
if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !
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✧ SCARAMOUCHE
Wide indigo orbs meet his furrowed gaze.
Scaramouche is not amused.
Or at least that’s what he wants whoever sees him right now to believe. Namely, you.
Tiny hands cup the Wanderer’s cheeks, big eyes, so similar to his, staring up at him in wonder. The little girl in his arms squeezes his face, a pout forming on her father’s lips. Giggles erupt from her smiling lips, the corners of Scaramouche’s mouth unconsciously tilting upwards.
“You’re amused, huh?” Your husband asks, rocking the baby in his hold. She stares at him, her little arms flailing upward, giggling happily.
“Moochie!” She babbles, trying to stand on the wanderer’s knees, her hands reaching for his hat.
“Hey, hey, now!” Kunikuzushi pouts, securing his hat. “That is not a toy and I’m not Moochie…”
“Moochie!” His daughter repeats, poking his cheek.
He sighs.
“Not Moochie…” Scaramouche’s ears take on a rather rosy tone, especially when your giggles are not exactly inconspicuous, your attempt at keeping hidden just outside the living room, obviously half-assed.
“Pa-pa. Not Moochie.” He repeats, bopping his little one’s nose. “And here, play with this.” He offers, handing his baby a doll curiously identical to himself.
Your eyes soften from your spot when you observe the fond smile on your lover’s face. He might feign annoyance, but when it came to your baby, all the facade was scattered to the winds. Storm clouds and lightning seemed so far away when he was surrounded by the blue skies and birdsong that dawned with your daughter’s hand grabbing his finger.
“Pa..” The little one begins, lifting the doll, as if indicating that it indeed represents her father.
“Pa…” Your wanderer prompts, as he points to the cloth mini version of himself.
Then, the girl’s eyes focus somewhere beyond her dad, tiny hands wiggling and waving, the plush doll still in her grasp.
“Mama!” She exclaims, making to reach for you, trying to climb over the sofa’s backrest, where it not for your partner’s protective hold.
Finally stepping out from your hideout, you walk towards them.
Familiar warm arms wrap around the no longer broken puppet, as your precious baby rests between your two heartbeats. Yours, steady, undeniably human. His, bloomed anew, thanks to you; with a newfound tune, sweeter, gentler, thanks to his little one.
Scaramouche closes his eyes, lashes of now starlit midnights resting on his perfect cheekbones. His head leans on your shoulder, your lips feather-light on his dusky hair, as your hands gently lift his hat a bit.
Your girl grabs one of her father’s fingers once more, the handmade mini wanderer kept close to her chest.
Yes, storms were definitely over for days to come.
✧ ALBEDO
A tug on the leg of his pants and familiar unintelligible noises pull the alchemist out of his task.
Albedo’s features soften when he spots the cause of his distraction.
Putting the notebook he was currently scribbling on aside, he crouches down.
“And who do we have here?” The chalk prince asks, smoothing the golden locks on his baby’s small head.
“Mama?” She replies, her tiny hand pulling on her dad’s clothes.
The gesture is followed by one of Albedo’s gentle chuckles, eyes like northern stars on clear nights bright at the sight of his daughter.
“Mama’s not here now, little princess.” He explains, as he picks the baby up. “They will get home soon, though.” Your child stares at him as if unsatisfied with the answer, head slightly tilted to the side. “How about we have some fun in the meantime?”
Giggles that always reminded Albedo of sunshine days at dragonspine are the answer that follows.
Taking his little one’s two hands in his, the chief alchemist helps his daughter take a few trembling steps, the baby happily padding on the wooden floor.
“There we go, princess!” Your lover chuckles, sitting the girl securely on the beige couch. Teal eyes flecked in emerald follow your partner’s movements, as he rummages through your living room’s drawers.
A few seconds later, more incomprehensible joyful babbles follow, when he sits by your daughter’s side, his hands expertely setting the supplies he retrieved on the low table. She stares at him intently, her gaze drawn to the vibrant crayons cluttering the tabletop’s surface.
“What should we draw today, my princess?” Are Albedo’s words, as he hands his child a light blue pencil, its tip dulled so she can’t hurt herself.
“Snow!” She exclaims, her tiny feet kicking back and forth in excitement, eliciting chuckles from her dad.
“You want to paint snow, my little cecilia?” He asks, combing through her blonde strands. “Alright, how about we paint you, mama and papa building a snowman?”
“Yay!” Your baby reaches for the blank paper, wonder and excitement written all over her rounded features, her tongue sticking out the corner of her small mouth. She always loved to draw and paint, especially when it was with Albedo. And even if her pictures often ended up turning out as just criss-crossing lines or messy splotches, you and your husband always kept every single one of them, displayed as priceless masterpieces on the fridge’s door, the living room walls or your study.
After a few minutes of focused work, three figures start taking form over a background of messily drawn blue snowflakes.
“Look, dearie.” Albedo calls. “Who are these?”
His girl looks up at him, a huge smile on her face as she bites the pencil.
“Mama! Me! And Papa!” She answers proudly, pointing at each of the figures.
Albedo’s eyes widen, gilded sparks reflected in the cloudless skies of his irises at his daughter’s words.
Those last two syllables.
His own pencil falls out of his grasp, clattering to the carpeted floor. In this moment, nothing else exists, save for the jingling echo of his daughter’s angelic tone.
“Papa?” She asks, tugging on his sleeve.
Albedo picks the little girl up, rising her as she laughs, unaware.
“Can you say it again, little princess? ‘Papa’.”
“Papa! Papa!” Giggles leave her throat.
Softly, Albedo places a kiss on her kid’s forehead, hugging her as the both of them lay down on the sofa.
When you got home, silence greets you, broken only by even breaths. Smiling to yourself, you brush a kiss against your husband’s and your daughter’s hair, a new painting adorning the walls after you gently throw a blanket over the sleeping figures of your two treasures.
✧ XIAO
“Do you want to hold her, Xiao? She’s been looking at you for a while.” You chuckle, your gaze softened when it sets upon your yaksha.
Golden eyes, not unlike the child’s currently on your arms, shadow in fear and shame for a moment.
What if he hurts the baby? What if his karma taints her somehow? What if-
“Xiao.” Your hand finds his gloved one, centuries of bloodshed written in the concealed scars. “She’ll be okay.” You reassure, a gentle squeeze, as your fingers slot between his.
The adeptus glances in his daughter’s direction, her round amber eyes curiously observing him.
Your husband’s jaw sets, his lips drawn in a taut line. If someone were to look at him now, they may think he’s sulking, the furrow of his brow apparently an indication to steer clear.
You, however, know better.
“Here, I’m with you, love.” You softly utter, placing your daughter in her father’s arms.
The baby stares up at her dad in awe, her little hands fiddling with the necklace he always wears.
She’s so small… such a pure and precious being… will she be safe with him?
Just as these thoughts plague his mind, the girl curls up in his embrace, nuzzling against his toned torso.
“See? She adores you, Xiao…” You tell him, knuckles brushing against your baby’s soft full cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?” She turns around, a smile drawing on her lips, as she buries herself further into Xiao, whose cheeks have gone as red as the carmine lining his eyes.
“H-hello, little qingxin…” Xiao greets her, awkwardly rubbing her back.
In response, his baby tilts her head slightly backwards, the molten suns in her stare illuminating her father’s rusted gold gaze.
“Papa!” She goes, a little clumsy, it sounding more like ‘dada’.
The vigilant yaksha’s eyes widen, his heart feeling like a million bright lanterns floating towards a starry sky.
“Xiao! She said ‘papa’! See? She loves you!” You excitedly chant, hugging your husband’s waist, as you pepper kisses all over his face. “You are her first word, dear, our baby adores her dad so much. I knew she would!” A smile tugs at your lips, lids fluttering closed as you rest your cheek on Xiao’s shoulder.
His hands hover around his daughter, his hold on her delicate, as if she was a newly bloomed flower whose petals could vanish if the wind blew too strongly.
“Papa…” The girl repeats, her chubby cheek squished against’s Xiao’s form. Her eyes are droopy, a little yawn escaping her as she settles more comfortably in her father’s embrace.
Your adeptus heaves out a sigh of relief, the warmth of a familiar fireplace swarming all around him, as if candid candle flames were running through his veins when the soft snores of his daughter reach his ears.
The conqueror of demons’ mask would be shed for tonight.
✧ CHILDE
Small hands are glued to the window’s glass panes, a pair of bright blue eyes staring awestruck at the image currently taking place in your garden.
Flashes of crystalline cyan flit across the air as Childe wields his double blades, merging them into a spear, his muscles taut at the effort.
The little girl’s tiny hands curl into fists, as she leans forward in anticipation, marine gaze following her father’s movements.
He reminds her of the illustrations she’s seen in the picture books Teucer has shown her before.
She must get closer.
Looking over her shoulder, your daughter makes sure you’re busy with something in the kitchen.
Her plan can be put into action now.
Crawling towards the door on all fours, she realizes she’s nowhere near tall enough to reach the handle.
Oh, but she takes after you, and will not be deterred by something like this.
Silently, the baby makes her way towards the dog you took in. He’s big and fluffy and very peaceful, often keeping company to the little girl. With a gentle pat to his side, she looks up at him with those big blue eyes and, despite his instinct to keep her safe, the puppy obliges to her demand.
Folding his paws, the animal lowers himself to the ground, allowing your daugher to climb. A vivid spark flashes through her ocean eyes, tiny hands securing on her companion’s fur.
And just as she was about to reach the door opening to the garden, a familiar voice that’s lulled her to sleep many a night stops her in her tracks.
“And just what do you think you’re doing, little lady.” You stand a couple feet away from her, hands on your hips, your concern masked with masterfully feigned anger.
Your baby stares up at you, that oceanic gaze puppy-like, much like her father did when you were mad at him.
“Mama…” She mumbles, her little hands signaling to where Childe is training outside, sounds you can’t understand leaving her pouty lips.
You sigh, kneeling to pick her up, rubbing your dog’s chin gently.
“So you want to see papa training, don’t you, little troublemaker?” You prompt, smiling as you tickle her belly. She giggles, wiggling her legs in your hold. “Alright, just this once, and because he’s almost finished with his routine.” You warn, softly pinching her cheek.
Once outside, you both stare at the harbinger, you, with heating cheeks; your daughter, in admiration and wonder.
Then:
“Papa!” She calls, energetically waving to her father, as you have to struggle so she doesn’t fall out of your grasp.
Suddenly, Ajax’s hydro blades vanish, a rare glow present in the eyes that are so like his daughter’s. A wide grin spreads across his sun-kissed features, arms opening as he runs towards you and his baby.
“Papa! Papa!” His daughter repeats, as your husband hugs the both of you.
No matter how cold Snezhnaya’s blizzards blew, Ajax would always have his personal patch of sunshine in you two.
✧ KAEYA
Calla lilies surround the scene, their russet-hued petals aglow in the blue shimmer of the statue of the seven standing amidst the lake.
Dusk approaches, the sky still dyed in shades of tangerine and cherry blossom, the sun, a glimmering halo right above the horizon.
Over frondous grass spotted in sun and shadow, a blanket lies, its baby blue pattern fading into the multiple colors of the snacks scattered above it: portions of cake you baked the afternoon prior; sandwitches carefully cut in triangle shapes; handpicked apples and sunsettias, cut and placed into plates by your lover.
But perhaps the most vivid color of them all was that of the couple sitting atop it.
A couple and their daughter.
“You really liked this pie, didn’t you, little lily?” Kaeya coos at his baby, her chubby cheeks littered with crumbs of the soft cake she’s been devouring all afternoon. Two pairs of ice blue eyes meet each other beneath the setting sun, the girl’s giggles eliciting a chuckle from her father’s lips as he carefully wipes her face. “Mama will be mad if you stain your dress, little princess.” The cavalry captain points out, in mock scolding.
His reprimand is met with a bashful smile and his kid cuddling into him, her tiny hands clutching his clothes.
“Kaeya, don’t tease her!” You swat at his arm playfully, soft laughter leaving the both of you as your husband smooths over your girl’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head.
“Don’t pay any mind to papa, now.” You reassure her, tenderly brushing over her chubby hands. “He’s a little silly sometimes.”
The girl looks up at you, those iceberg toned eyes wide in wonder at the world that she still has to discover around her.
You ruffle her hair, as she turns around in Kaeya’s embrace, settling on top of his legs, staring up at him.
“Papa!” She announces, taking ahold of Kaeya’s long braid, playing with it. “Papa… prince!” She points out, as she grabs one of the dolls she brought: a boy wearing a crown.
With a knowing grin, you shift closer to your lover, leaning against his side.
“Yes, little sweetheart, you’re right, papa is a prince.” Kaeya’s hand locks with yours over his shoulder, fingers laced together, the warmth of his touch so paradoxical, given the freeze he commands.
“And that is why you’re our little princess.” The knight tells your baby, as he places a stray calla lily on her hair.
“Princess!” She happily babbles, rising her arms.
Instances like this… they truly stoked gentle flames around the captain’s heart, oftentimes concealed behind apparently crystalline walls of frost. As long as he had the two of you, at least during brief moments like this, there would be no need for practiced facades.
Across the distant horizon, even dusk seemed to delay, allowing a few more seconds of luminous skies for the family sitting below it, a flickering smile crossing the anemo archon’s face of stone.
✧ NEUVILLETTE
Slate skies expand above him, his opal eyes restless oceans in the tears they contain, painted lashes dripping in midnight droplets.
Rainbow roses seem to weep too, their petals downcast, the sunrise shades of their blossoms muted in the downpour.
Neuvillette stands alone, the garden of your shared home melancholy; the trees too bare, the grass ashen, the flowers wilting.
Save for the pitter-patter of rusted silver droplets, silence reigns the scene.
The hydro dragon’s mood had a tendency to be mirrored in the heavens over Fontaine, after all.
Sighing, the Chief Justice takes a sit by a bush of lumidouce bells. Fitting, for someone whose shoulders slump not unlike the petals of the periwinkle hued blooms.
“Neuvi, love.” A familiar voice calls him, gently. “What are you doing out there in this weather, dear?”
Long argent locks of hair shift, like seafoam by moonlight, when he turns around, water, from the rain, or his tears, or both, running down his cheeks.
“Someone has come to see you, my love.” You softly utter, beckoning your husband towards the porch, the impending cacophony of his racing mind and falling downpour partially silencing.
Neuvillette’s features warm up a bit the moment he realizes who you’re talking about.
A little girl placidly rests between your arms, eyes of crystalline dusk looking up at her father. Unlike his, hers are rounded, lacking the dark circles frequently etched under your lover’s.
“Look who’s here, little rainbow.” You coo at your daughter, who tries chasing after your wiggling fingers, right as you playfully poke her belly. “Papa is here, do you perhaps want to play with him?”
The baby looks at you, one of her tiny fists on her mouth, as her eyes crinkle up in crescents. Then, she turns towards her dad, arms reaching out.
“Papa! Papa!” She laughs, inclining her flexible small torso towards him.
Neuvillette’s gaze widens, placing his hands around his little girl, protectively cradling her in his embrace.
“Papa is here, sunshine.” Your lover assures her, as he leans down to kiss her nose.
In the distance, a familiar arch shoots across the heavens, the violet of goodbyes and separations shifting into rosy affection.
Golden replaces dull steel, flecks of it dotting the grass, remnants of rain clinging like emeralds to the verdant stems.
The sun is out. The hydro dragon cries no more.
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whoistartaglia · 7 months
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genshin men when you sleep talk
childe
childe would try to talk to you while your sleep talking. he thinks he’s kind of adorable how you’re muttering random things about your day, and will try to prolong the “conversation.” even if he’s really tired and you accidentally wake him up, childe will just sigh and entertain your sleep talk.
“then i came home… and my boyfriend was there…”
“hmm? and do your think your boyfriend is handsome?”
“yes… i guess…”
childe will try and ask you what “i guess” means, but you’ve started to snore, and his words fall on silent, sleeping ears.
zhongli
zhongli would wake you up the first couple of times, but then let you do your thing once he realizes you go back to sleep talking the moment you fall back asleep. most of the time, he can’t make out the words, but when he does, zhongli is confused. what do you mean you’re having a dream of him breaking up with you? he would never do that— and now you’re awake and accusing him of breaking up with you?
“it was just a bad dream, dear.”
“you broke up with me, and now i’m upset.”
“you’re upset with me for breaking up with you in your dream?”
at your fervent nod, zhongli sighs, and subsequently resigns to make up for your subconscious’s version of himself.
neuvillette
neuvillette finds it endearing, even if it’s three in the morning and you’ve awakened him by voicing random, nonsensical questions. he answers them all too—at least, to the best of his ability. some of your questions are so out there that he simply doesn’t have an answer to give you.
“…why is the ocean blue?”
“because the sky is blue.”
“but… why is sky blue…?”
neuvillette opens his mouth but finds himself stumped. at this point, he’ll gently urge you into a deeper sleep, and ponder your question as you’re snoring away. neuvillette takes it upon himself to ask your random questions later, when you’re awake, and very confused why he’s giving you a science report on the atmosphere and light refraction.
albedo
albedo will write down everything you say. he promises he does this in the least creepy way possible—he just wants to see if there’s any patterns to what your sleep talking. you didn’t think you talked in your sleep a lot, until you saw albedo start a new notebook, and found out he was on his second.
“‘albedo i love you’ i say that in my sleep too?”
“yes. more than once a week.”
“do i say anything too embarassing?”
“…do you really want to know?”
you hesitate, glance at the notebook filled to the brim, and decide your curiosity can be sedated another day. albedo is grateful for this so he didn’t have to tell you that you called him “the most handsome alchemist in teyvat ever.”
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mondaymelon · 14 days
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₊⊹ "𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐨, 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝…" | xiao, childe, alhaitham x gn!reader
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「 "𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐚𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮!!"」
— in which you've gotten drunk... drunk enough to fail to recognize your own lover.
— silly fluff. soft xiao, had this one in the drafts for far too long and its about time i choke it out... happy white day !!
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the moment your slurred words reached his ears, XIAO knew that he never should've let you get your hands on that cursed rice wine.
in a way, he supposed it could be his fault. the one time he had decided to indulge in trivial mortal matters like alcohol due to your constant insistence... well, just look at you.
red-faced, the tips of your ears and cheeks stuck in a helplessly drunken flush, you babbled incoherently with half of your face smushed against the table. xiao could only stare in contempt as you feebly reached towards the already-emptied bottle,
( xiao had taken one sip and refused any more indulgence, claiming it was bitter, when in fact, you had gone out of your way to find a sweeter drink ),
and sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with a certain disillusionment.
"come on, you're getting to bed." the man was just about done with your hopeless actions. he grabbed your wrist and tugged, only to be met with resistance. you're pouting like a child, brows furrowed lazily as you stare upwards at him.
"nnno. m'not going with you."
"...excuse me?" what in the archons was the problem now? he tugged again, this time with a small margin of force, and was met with an even larger pull back, this time paired with a low whine. "hey, it's late, and all the wine is gone, so just comply with me won't you?"
"i already told you... i have a husband..."
your complaint met the cool night air and the adeptus' silence. his lips were slightly parted as his round eyes blinked once, then twice, in a sort of stunned stupor. "...love, i am that husband."
archons, how had he found himself such a foolish mortal to love?
"don't lie to me!" you shook your head profusely, wiggling around in his grasp relentlessly until the adeptus had no choice but to let go. "i know my husband when i see him... and he's way handsomer than you, stupid..." you stared him up and down with squinting eyes, eyeing the way his ears were beginning to turn pink, and sat heavily in thought as you pondered the man before you.
definitely not your husband.
idiot. with a huff, he easily hauled your body over his shoulder as if carrying something as trivial as a sack of potatoes. you hung loosely over, landing a couple weak punches on his back as you proceeded to prattle on, your defiance seemingly having little effect.
then, you were silent, and xiao had to look back to make sure you hadn't gotten hurt. sure, he had considered once or twice leaving you out there all passed out on the balcony, but not without reason, yet he'd decided against it. you seemed fine, mouth hung slightly ajar as you snoozed peacefully, your eyes shut and cheeks still warm from what you'd downed. the audacity to fall asleep... xiao couldn't deny that his sigh was one of fondness.
"night, this husband of yours loves you."
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strange, wasn't the wine from liyue supposedly far less intense compared to the vodka CHILDE had tried back home?
that, or the people here simply were more susceptible when it came to the topic of intoxication. you were no exception — he'd taken you out drinking, his mistake, thinking it'd be an easy, splendid time.
and don't get him wrong, it was! not just, well... conversation was rather hard to make when the other person was practically unconscious. you're practically splayed across the mahogany table, eyes nearly drooped close and fire across your cheeks.
you giggled. it's a muddled sound, when you're mostly mumbling into the table. "hhhey, pour me another glass~"
childe scans your less-than-ideal state and procures an answer in a little under a second. "love, you've had too many."
you seem shocked at his words, leaning forwards a little with narrowed eyes. your figure sways as you shake your head lazily, from side to side. "wwhhhat? nnno, that can't be right..."
the man holds back an amused chuckle. it's entertaining. "and how many fingers am i holding up?" he holds up just one hand, displaying a reasonable amount of three.
there's a beat of silence. "...nineteen?" you blink a couple times, as if to shake you out of your stupor. "...nineteen," this time, with confidence.
childe claps his hands together, a sudden sound that makes you startled, and he moves to apologize immediately. "we're getting you to bed, love. clearly you've had more alcohol than you can handle."
"what, was i wrong??" there's tears forming in your eyes, and your lips tug downwards in a frown. "u-uhm, fifteen? nno, four...?"
"still incorrect, love. i'm afraid it's time for you to go to sleep. you'll wake up with a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning, but..." he sighed, thinking back to his time in shneznaya, then made a mental note to prepare you a hangover drink in the morning. his hand found its familiar place in your hand, unnaturally warm with your skin rosy from the alcohol. he smiled, turning to glance at you, but ceased when he saw you on the ground, tears now falling from your eyes, quietly sobbing as you shook your head back and forth.
panic immediately sets in. what has he done wrong?? "love, what-"
"nnnno, don't call me that..." you squinted upwards at him, looking quite displeased. "no 'love', 'kaaay? i'm not your love, mister."
he paused. wait, you didn't possibly think that... "love-" oh, old habits died hard, and the word had already left his lips before he could process what you'd said.
"i have a husband, you!!" in some sort of fit, or perhaps better worded as a tantrum, you stood, wrenching yourself from his grip and then hitting him repeatedly in the shoulders, chest, anywhere your fists could reach, really. the alcohol had surely affected your capabilities of combat — you missed half the time, and what punches did land caused no pain at all.
as your anger subsided, your step faltered, body swaying in the open air before childe reached over to catch you in his arms. he was concerned, naturally. "lov- are you alright?" his worry only grew when he heard no response, but it ebbed with a chuckle when he saw you were already fast asleep in his arms, snoozing without a care in the world.
"a husband, hm? whoever it is, he must quite be the gentleman..."
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ALHAITHAM knew his night was fated to end in idiocy the moment you knocked on his door.
it didn't even strike him that you were holding wine, of all things, when you waltzed into his house like it was your own. sure, it wasn't as if these occasions weren't frequent, but really anyone would be surprised to glance up from a quiet reading session only to see their (annoying) lover pressed against the door, repeatedly calling out his name in a sing-song, satire-like voice.
like... calling a cat. it was a realization he made with not too much contentment. silently, he thanked the archons that kaveh was not home — they knew that he could not handle the both of you.
it was only when you sat down at his table, where he'd been reading up to the point when you barged in, that he noticed. green-tinted glass, a little wind motif on the front... dandelion wine from mondstadt. now, just how did you get your hands on that?
"connections," you had stated. with a note of pride, he might add. what, was he supposed to congratulate you on being able to talk to other people? even he, a person who generally hated people, could do that.
ah, but he didn't hate it. your voice, that is, when you rambled on for hours on end. he didn't have the heart to interrupt you, especially when you were so heated on a topic — be it work troubles, an especially annoying sailor, or you accidentally dropping your pita pocket into the water when walking along the port, he didn't mind.
"...mmbottle. haaithammm, the bottle..." your drunk complaints reach his ears, and he his irritation is more so disrupted with inward amusement as he watches you in the predicament you've landed yourself in.
"the bottle?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. his hands are crossed over his chest; he's clearly getting a ruse out of this. "just what would you need the bottle for, love?"
your eyebrows scrunch together. he can tell your brain is working at its max capacity. "...im. thirsty?"
"you've already drunk two thirds of this bottle." he holds said bottle high above your head, hopelessly far from your reach. "if you're so thirsty, drink water."
"i don wanna."
"..."
"just... one drop?"
"hah..." he pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, and places a hand on your shoulder. you barely react, and don't even glance at the sudden weight. "love, you're staying over. you're going to bed."
"bed...?" horror crosses your face, paired with evident irritation. "y...you, who do you think you are, to suggest such things!?" your face is bright red, and you're hugging yourself with one arm and pointing an accusing finger towards the male with the other. "i have a husband!!"
ah. "...what's his name?"
"and why do youuuu want to know?" you narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, but seem to come up with an answer to your own question, for you answer him anyhow. "haitham."
"do you love this 'haitham'?" alhaitham's enjoying himself. when he teases the sober you, all you do is retort back, but now... he can see your flustered expression on full display as you stammer out an answer.
"o-of course! a-and, if you wanted to know, he's waaaaay handsomer.. than ... you..."
just like that, you topple over and sink into the couch, knocked unconscious. a trace of a smile crosses alhaitham's lips as he looks at your sleeping form.
"fortunately for you, this 'haitham' you speak of loves you too."
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(a/n) bye i was gonna add kaveh to this one too but i realized oh fuck its white day i said id post a month ago what the fuck am i doing so i just like regurgitated this out and spat it onto your dashboard. ahodfjlds
tags (id paste the aesthetic thing but i cant find it so we're just gonna roll w this):
@manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @ @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @ceneid, @avensuersa, @solxima
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ghostarii · 8 months
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childe is a dirty bastard with a nasty obsession for you. he finds you so beautiful, so gorgeous and filled to the brim with visual blessings. he can’t help how his cock grows and hardens at the sight of your filled out frame and he can’t leave himself that way . . . so he jerks off. wraps his calloused hand around his thick cock and drags it up and down with shut eyes and a gaped mouth, imagining it was your soft hands making him feel good. he did this often, hiding in bathrooms or waiting until he gets home and releasing all over his sheets. but at some point, it’s not enough.
so, if you ever get a text from your good friend childe, reading “attachment: 1 video”, don’t be surprised when you see his cock sliding in and out of a fuck doll. the sound is lewd and nasty—squelching and wet slapping that rings off in unison with his grunts and pretty moans. he moans your name, groping the fake tits of the doll, “so fucking pretty for me . . . ngh, fuck—“ he had to let you know how he felt. what you do to him. so he raises the angle of his phone, showing the tablet that displays a selfie of you—one you sent to him when asking him which lipstick shade looked better on you. he groans louder, pounding the doll even furiously, “you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum . . .”
he said he wanted to breed that tight cunt and make you his. you hadn’t even realized the video was three minutes long and you were nearing the end. he whimpers as he pounds tougher, snapping his hips against the doll with sniffles of your name and begs for his release. and then he cums. spills his seed deep in the doll with a guttural moan and fucked up camera angle as he doubles over. there’s a shuffling sound and then you can see clearly: see the load of cum spilling out of the doll, and he fingers the spill back in, moaning at the sight. “‘ts gonna be you next . . .” he murmurs, and the video ends.
you never saw him that way. he was your friend. but that promise he made at the end had your cunt throbbing, waiting for that treatment.
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anantaru · 1 month
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HAI YORUUUUU I LOVE YOUR WORKS SMMMMMM, which boys do you think would be really rough?
including. zhongli, childe
cw. dom zhongli & dom childe, dirty talk, messy and sticky!!! rough syx, teasing you, fem! reader
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— ꒰ ZHONGLI ꒱
zhongli wants to break here and there, and perhaps his nature was to blame for his lack of restraint right now, because in reality— he wasn't patient when it comes to you, particularity to this, he couldn't hold back the carnal desire seeping in his bones whenever you enclose around his shaft.
but he finds it so enchanting, how every time he drags his cock into you harder, presses deeper against the plump lips of your pussy, as well as rushing through your walls slowly in and out, you take it with a pitched whine and a shiver on your spine, your throat burning with lust.
you drive him crazy. it really takes unparalleled strength to deny himself of you. it must be your scent, or your noises bearing a resemblance to silk.
when it comes to morax, or as you called him— zhongli, despite him masking as a human, he owned an overbearing strength compared to that of mere mortals, a divinity rummaging in his veins and staying with him no matter what.
while his experience too, had to be uncountable.
he can fuck you all night, he has fucked you multiple times. pulled and twisted you into various positions and shadowed his sheer strength above your own fragile one— thrusting his long, veiny length into your warm cunt to the pure limitations of you, until you're writhing, utterly consumed with pleasure, not finding the strength to stop yourself from throbbing around him.
and despite that, his hunger still, cannot be quenched.
you obediently hold his gaze when he cradles your face gently, pressing in close and drawing an arm over your naked body— the new expression on his face was concealed, aside from the lust you ignited in him you couldn't catch a sight of something else.
although under further focus you watch the seriousness melt from his stare as something feral, disgustingly carnal slips into place.
he thrusts his cock through your ruined pussy as he strains his hot, twitching shaft by fucking through your cunt fervently, your eyes criss-crossing when he gets faster and deeper, his balls bouncing off your flesh and igniting the room with lewd sounds.
yet within a drag of his cock, zhongli leans into your body, the warmth in his voice offering enough contentment to wrap your arms around his chest and draw him nearer as he parts his lips, "you will tell me if it hurts?" he whispers into your cheek, making sure, sighing wistfully as he smears his saliva on your skin before kissing you, "and if it's too slow, darling. i have to hear you,"
you're just so soaked by how he articulated himself, how he presented his golden eyes and touched you that you're so hot in your skin right now, utterly certain that he could very well melt against your body like this.
an infatuation of being filled to your capacity by his thick, stretched-out erection turns your thoughts into dense clouds, the nerves in your body into putty beneath his hands— it's over, and an interval of choked cries echoes from your throat as he deepens your connection.
zhongli bites down hard on his lower lip, nearly splitting the fragile flesh as he sinks and sinks and sinks back into you, the overwhelming taste of fullness turning you almost out of commission as you bend your hips up obediently, finding solace in the hands of the man who promised to protect you, take care of you, love you.
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— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱
childe will thrust into you with a force that repeatedly hits the bed-frame against the wall and shifts the mattress beneath your combined weight.
his strength was almost frightening, as well as intriguing, perhaps both— and archons, childe was truly so good at this, he turns you slicked and desperate without blinking once.
it's all fun and games to the eleventh harbinger, and he's up for another challenge tonight. can he make you cum faster this time? well, he knows your body better than anybody else and might even believe that he'd be aware of your sugar-glazed spots inside your pretty pussy more than you were.
childe was insufferable, truly, and every time he rolled his hips slowly into your heat to taunt you, pretend like he doesn't want to fuck you hard and fast, he pulls out of your warmth and messes up your slobbering pussy by suddenly grinding in deep. thick globules of your arousal, hefty in amount, glissading from your hole whenever he moved you body back and forth his cock like you're his own, personal ragdoll.
"so pretty..." ajax muses, his eyes slipping shut when he leans in to kiss you abruptly, your shy whimpers morphing into panting gasps with a desperate need to kiss him back.
shortly after, he releases your lips with a raw, sinful sound before indulging his fingers in tracing along the curves of your pretty hips, "ahh, i can't hold back anymore, what will you do about that, baby?"
"you'll take it, right?" childe continues, his forehead bedewed in sweat as he narrows his brows when you clench down on his shaft resting inside the snug confines of your pussy, "yeah... I will baby, just please move again," you mumble back helplessly, and flinch right after when he turns to your chest to lightly tease your nipples and squeeze your breasts in his palm, simply bathing in the glory of your naked body.
a twinkle of amusement animates his eyes, "you know," he says amiably, beginning to smother your walls with his shaft again as he rests his forehead against your own, "it's nearly too much to bear for me, when you do that," childe whines brazenly, like he wanted you to hear the filthiness in his tone as he points towards your hole fluttering around his length.
"—and yet, it's nowhere near enough to me, all the more reason to continue this all night long," he smirks with a sharp lick of his tongue into your mouth before forcing your cunt to swallow his cock to the complete base of him, "to fuck you baby, until you're so ruined for me baby, until we both are,"
his chest sticks to your glistening body before he pushes himself off you to place on hand against the bed frame while the other kept your hips in place.
childe grins triumphantly when you pull your legs further apart as he begins to move faster, the shape of your cunt already morphed in the size of his shaft as you take his blows like he needed you to— and you're basking in the roughness and experience, drooling messily as he fucks you until you're done for.
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©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
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fullybooked · 1 year
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I hope you guys know that The Domain had a whole fleshed out mini-story that I had to break down
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yandere-daydreams · 8 months
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Fox Hybrid!Childe, who arrives at the sanctuary where you volunteer in the dead of winter. He's brought in by a group of hunters who found him in a decade-old bear trap on the verge of freezing to death. He's aggressive at first, still rattled from such a close call, but comes around quickly after a warm bath, a visit with your on-call vet, and of course, something to fill his stomach.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who can't be released back into the wild while he's still in recovery or left alone overnight, not when he's so eager to play fight with the other hybrids. He gets along well enough with all the volunteers, but he's constantly trying to get your attention, either sulking as you tend to another hybrid or drinking in your generously-given affection. You're clearly his favorite, so you're the one to take him home. He's ecstatic about the change in scenery, to say the least.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who takes to being a housepet like a fish takes to water. You try to make up for the lack of stimulation with a never-ending supply of thrifted toys and as many walks as his injured leg will allow, but he prefers to spend most of his time curled up at your feet or trailing after you, ginger ears perked-up and blur eyes wide and bright. He's surprisingly good at household chores for a wild animal. By the end of the first week, he's cooking and cleaning on his own, and when you insist that he's your guest, that you don't want him to get too domesticated, he just laughs and tells you that he likes it, that he's used to hunting for his siblings. Since you won't let him bring the birds and rabbits he catches past the front door, this is how he's decided to provide for you.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who destroys your apartment the first time you leave him alone for more than an hour. It makes sense, even if you can't say you've ever seen another hybrid react so violently to being separated from their handler. Foxes are social animals, and he hasn't been on his own since he was brought to your sanctuary, since the day he stumbled into a trap he couldn't understand or struggle his way out of. Still, when you come home to find all his toys gutted and all of your furniture overturned, you can't say you're thrilled. Childe spends the rest of the day buried in your sheets, pouting until you finally give in and forgive him. Childe goes wherever you go, after that.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who suddenly seems a lot less friendly than he did, when you first took him in. You try to write it off as him being overly protective of his temporary skulk, but it's a little hard to tell that to your male friends when he bares his teeth and snaps at their hands. In public, he refuses to leave your side, his tail constantly thrashing and his ears pressed flush to his scalp. He'll still smile, laugh, promise he doesn't get jealous that easily, but it's difficult to take his word for it when he holds your hand so tightly.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who's been scenting you in your sleep for weeks, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and gripping at any flesh he can reach and humping your thighs until he inevitably climaxes and has to clean his cum off of your skin with his tongue. He makes a point of 'accidentally' staining anything he doesn't want you wearing in front of anyone but him, letting you think he's too vulnerable to his animalistic urges to not mark your favorite top with his cum, that his separation anxiety is just too severe for you to shower without him, let alone close the door when you change.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, whose leg has been fine for months. You're too much of a bleeding heart not to buy it when he puts on a half-hearted limp, and while he hates having to lie to his future mate, he hates being away from you more. It's not a permanent arrangement, either - he'll be able to tell you the truth when you're fully bonded, when you're heavy with his pups and coming undone on his knot every night, every minute he can get with you.
Fox Hybrid!Childe, who's not going to let anyone take him away from his precious mate now <3
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rillian4e · 5 months
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Are they dominant or submissive in bed?
ft& Childe, Wriothesley, Scaramouche, Neuvillette
Childe: For him, being the dominant one in bed is something he loves. Childe prefers being the one on top, doing the work while you lay there all pretty, taking it like the obedient girl he made you for him. That doesn't mean that he doesn't let you be the dominant one on occasion, he likes a challenge, be it testing his own limits or that of his partner. But most nights he is far too impatient for that, instead indulging his desires and rashiving you for himself. "Archons... you and your body—drives me crazy," whispering into your ear as he moaned shamelessly, before long releasing his fluids deep into your needy pussy. "Fuck—one more, baby, yeah?" one more would turn into two and then you both would lose count, knowing it would never really end up as only one more.
Wriothesley: As for the Duke of the fortress of Meropide, he is similiar to Childe except he is a patient man, he would let you be the dominant one, watching you struggle and end up pleading for him to help you which eventually turns into full-blown rough sex with him, just what you both needed. Wriothesley would adore taunting you when you try being dominant, it's in his nature to tease and all the more if it's his sweet lover, trying to switch things up in the bedroom. Most times it ends up with him, releasing his pent-up frustration on you, you gladly take it all—enjoying the way his fat length rams into your hole, the wet and squelcing noises filling his office. "Mm...are you close? Yes? Well, hold it, sweetheart. You don't deserve to cum yet, you need to earn it." Purposefully teasing you even as tears fill your eyes, the way he was pinching your nipples harshly not helping in the slightest.
Scaramouche: The dominant one. Nothing else needs to be said here, he doesn't like feeling vulnerable and having you be in charge, just feels so wrong to him. Due to him being a puppet, his stamina is insane and he isn't easy to please, so he would much rather be in control. He would have you spread out, legs wide open as he smirked at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing. Normally he would tease you and make you beg but when he gets too impatient, he would simply enter you without any warning, adoring the way you moan in pain and pleasure at the stretch. "fuck...you're so tight—loosen up a little, will you?" His words wouldn't get any less mean, your fucked out expression only making him more turned on, his desire to make you break deepening.
Neuvillette: Sweetest man ever. He is fine with anything you want, you want to be on top? Your wish is his comman. You want him to be in charge? Of course. He would do anything for you, no matter how unreasonable of a request. You have him wrapped around your little finger, and you love it. Even when he has you in a mating press, ravishing your body and using you for his pleasure—which you absolutely love when he does. But on a typical day after completing the long piles of paperwork, he considers it a reward to have you bent over his desk, his big, fat cock fucking into your dripping cunt, that's the sweetest reward he could get. "You feel so warm...I didn't know I needed this, maybe I should have you as my reward like this more often, hm?" His sweet praises were music to your ears, telling you about how good you were doing for him. His soft groans and hot breath on your neck makes you all the more needy for him.
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