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pinkberrytea · 11 days

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Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion's character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves atop your slit, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently suckling on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for.

Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing mound unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your slit resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs in your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “I do find it charming when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens for a moment, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look when your face is hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, locking eyes with you, and the proximity between you is such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You have failed him, just as he has failed others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs in the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Be that as it may, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing his own against them with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

#personal #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 fic #ascended astarion #lord astarion #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #ascended astarion x reader #fic: death and his maiden #my fics

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fragileheartbeats · 2 months

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Can you make an original Valyria house (like Targaryen and Velaryons). A house that had the most beautiful people and rode ice dragons?

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐑 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

꒰͡ ⠀ ִ 𝑃𝐸𝑂𝑃𝐿𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝐻𝐸𝐴𝑉𝐸𝑁 ⠀ׂ ⠀ ͡꒱

─ 𝘐𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𖤐

─ 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘴, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴 𖤐

House Celestyr, descended from the ancient and mystical bloodlines of Old Valyria, stood as a beacon of beauty and grace amidst the dragonlords of their age. Their sigil, a majestic ice dragon mid-flight encircled by a ring of stars on a field of iridescent blue, symbolized their affinity for the heavens and the frozen beasts they tamed. Their words, "Beyond the Flame, Our Essence Soars," whispered of their nature, transcending the fiery passions of their kin to embrace the ethereal and the intellectual. The members of House Celestyr were paragons of ethereal beauty and physical perfection, their stature towering and their features fine. Their senses were sharp, able to detect the faintest whisper of a threat or the subtlest of nature's wonders. Resilient to the ravages of time and ailment, they were the embodiment of the Valyrian ideal, their slender forms housing a strength that belied their graceful appearance. Their connection to the ice dragons of the Shivering Sea, creatures as rare and enigmatic as the house itself, granted them a dominion over realms both frostbitten and arcane. The Celestyrs were lovers of the world's innate splendor, drawn to the sea's endless depths and the night sky's diamond brilliance. Their home, the Fortress of Frostfire, was a marvel of architecture, perched upon the edge of the world where the sea kissed the stars. Libraries and gardens adorned its halls, reflecting the house's unquenchable thirst for knowledge and beauty. Yet, the Celestyrs were not untouched by flaw. Their pursuit of perfection could breed a dangerous pride, and their hearts, though resistant to darkness, were not immune to the lures of power and vanity. It was their challenge to navigate the fine line between their noble pursuits and the temptations that came with their gifts. Among them, the most radiant was Valyra Celestyr, a name that echoed her house's affinity with the skies above. Daughter of a Targaryen princess and a Celestyr king, she possessed a beauty that seemed to cast a spell over all who beheld her. Her hair was a cascade of gold-silver strands that shone with the light of the stars her ancestors adored, and her eyes, a shimmering violet, held the depth of the cosmos. Valyra was the epitome of her house's virtues, a lover of nature, art, and the mysteries of the world. Her intellect was as renowned as her beauty, and her presence was as soothing as the sea breeze. But it was not just her mind and looks that drew people to her; Valyra's spirit, kind and unassuming, was a stark contrast to the ambition and intrigue that often surrounded her. The history of House Celestyr is a tapestry woven with threads of light and shadow, its legacy enduring in the legends of a people who soared beyond the reach of fire, to dance with dragons in the frost-kissed heavens. Their tale is a reminder of the beauty and peril that come with extraordinary gifts, and of the eternal dance between the lofty stars and the mortal hearts that aspire to reach them.

Chapter 1

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

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sirenscriptures · 2 months

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pleasure waves (remastered)

pairing: tengen x hinatsuru x makio x suma x reader

synopsis: after your honeymoon with tengen starts to come to a close, he and his wives plan to make your last night on the beautiful shores of cancun memorable… 4.4k

warnings/notes: fem ! reader, fivesome, soft to rough sex, LOTS of praise and admiration, semi-public sex, size difference/kink, endearment/pet names, tooth-rottingly sweet aftercare, outdoor sex, passionate sex.

* if you recognize this, it’s because it’s a rewrite of an old collab piece from one of my old blogs <3 this may or may not be a mini series in the future, just depends on what feedback i receive ! *

a warm, kissing breeze passed over you as you stepped out onto the shore’s opening. all the noise and commotion coming from behind you began to melt into the soothing sound of the waves pushing over the sand.

the sky was stunning, clouds gradient with purple, pink and orange hues. meanwhile, the sun was piercing as it gradually sunk below the horizon, encasing the entire beach area in a warm, dim haze.

now away from the crowded resort, you felt your body relax. your feet planted into the freshly cooling sand, the thin cloth of your bathing suit cover freely dancing within the gentle breeze. with the heat slowly dying down, the near stifling warmth in the air began to fade into a soothing coolness.

behind you back at the large courtyard, there was a bustling crowd watching a large fire show being performed on the side stage. large wand-shaped poles whirled all over like flags around the flashy performers, earning excited cheers as they tossed them up and the flames continued to swirl over them.

at some point, you had lost hinatsuru somewhere in the crowd. the two of you had just gotten back early from a dinner with tengen, makio and suma, and wanted to get a head start on enjoying the last bits of the resort on your last night here.

even though the place was beautiful in and out, you had to admit the wide clearing the shore offered right outside of the resort was your personal favorite part. even if there were people all around, the serenity of the crashing waves and clear winds made it seem like pure solitude for you.

“there you are.” a familiar soft voice from behind you silenced your thoughts.

turning around, your eyes met with hinatsuru again. her thick hair flowed down her shoulders, warm violet eyes locked upon you now. seeing her in front of you now caused you to smile.

she was dressed in a lilac and white floral pattern bathing suit cover, one that was a similar style to yours. underneath, the wind kicked up to reveal her dark purple two piece that hugged her body perfectly. truly, she was a sight to behold. as she always was.

“i was certain i lost you in there,” she took your hand into hers, gently grasping it, gaze turning to the sight of the now dying sun on the shore in front of the both of you. “good thing i know this area well by now.” she chuckled.

you admired the softness of her palm intertwining with yours. the two of you stood together, watching the gentle waves roll by as night fell over the sky.

slowly, her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to her. the rhythmic, whispering crashes of the shore kept both of you practically hypnotized in your embrace.

it was amazing to think such clear waters and light air could have such a beautiful affect on you and all the people here. it was almost as if this entire shore, this entire city was something alike to a dream. which made sense, due to all the people who came here every year for vacation.

yet, your reason to be here felt so much more special than anything else. being married, especially to tengen and three beautiful ladies, was a different type of love.

it felt deeper, and certainly more adventurous than any other relationship you’d been apart of. even after the wedding, which was relatively private, it was a lot for you to get situated with.

even though you felt like you were finally breaking through the ice and getting used to being with all four of them, there was still something lingering inside you. something that just wouldn’t go away, no matter how many times you tried. a nagging feeling of what you could best describe as anxiety.

even if you did feel good and relaxed around them, especially during this amazing week vacation, there was always something you felt you were unnecessarily worried about. as if something was missing, or just not right within your mind.

while you knew it could just be overlapping thoughts, it still didn’t stop you from lying wide awake at night, even with both of tengen’s arms snaked around you, his other wives sound asleep next to you as well.

it took you a few moments to notice hina staring at you as you zoned out into your thoughts, a visibly concerned look dressing her expression.

her hands slipped up beneath your chin, hands directing your face to look at her.

“are you alright?” she asked, feeling how the heat increased in your cheeks. “you’ve barely said a word since dinner.”

you let out a small sigh. it’d be no good to just nod and say yes at this point. she knew you too well for that by now.

“i just haven’t felt my best, specifically today.” you admitted.

her hands lowered to grasp your own, tilting her head curiously. “how so, love?”

your eyes averted, glimpsing the early sprout of the full moon deep in the horizon ahead of you. it was near splintering to try and voice your feelings, yet you knew you had to. otherwise, this feeling would only fester onwards.

“well, i know its early on…but i don’t really feel like i’m really married to you.”

hinatsuru’s taken aback expression that followed your words was what made you panic instantly.

“n-not that i don’t want to be married to you! that’s not it at all! i just don’t feel completely–”

you were interrupted by her laughter, hina playfully swatting at you. she abruptly cleared her throat and met your confused expression with a soothing smile.

“[name], you’re too cute..” she murmured, stroking your now burning face with familiar tenderness. even if it was amusing, she remained with a certain seriousness, even with such a gentle personality.

“you know that’s normal, right?” she said, thumb gently stroking the surface of your cheekbone. “i can tell you, since i felt that exact same way when i first married tengen.”

you shot her a confused look. out of what you’d seen, her and tengen’s bond seemed to be so deep. even though he adored every single one of you the same, he and hina were another kind of bond that you didn’t even fully understand when first getting together with them. then again, you figured that would come with time.

“i never quite knew why, but it never felt real.” she said, turning to look at the dazzling moon above you now, its light glittering upon the water.

“it felt a little isolating and even scary at first, but that was normal at the time.” she turned back, still smiling at you. “you’re still so new to this. so don’t stress yourself out for not feeling all there.”

it was like a completely different weight had lifted off of you now that she’d said that. you couldn’t help but smile at her, your hands intertwining together again. it all made so much sense now, thankfully.

“there’s my girls!” you heard a familiar, booming voice call from behind you both.

turning around, you glimpsed tengen and makio walking towards you both, suma dashing ahead of them through the sand to come greet you.

suma’s eyes were lit up with that same fiery excitement as she ran towards you both, arms bundling you and hina in a large embrace. the three of you were left giggling at the sight, struggling to recompose yourselves.

though, suma pulled back with a slight pouty look on her face.

“now why did you head off without us?” she asked, hands now on her hips. “you know this is a honeymoon, meaning we’re supposed to be spending time together!”

“oh, give them a break, suma. can you blame them? this view is incredible!” makio exclaimed, eyes wide with amazement as she looked at the sky. “plus, we’ve had all week together.”

suma admired the view with a smile. “i guess you’re right, then.” she rolled her eyes playfully.

“well, it's our turn to enjoy it now!” she chuckled, running ahead to enjoy the rush of the shore alongside makio, where they proceeded to remove their bathing suit covers and venture deeper into the shore together.

you glanced back behind you, eyes meeting with tengen’s. he stood in front of you and hina, that same handsome smile across his lips. his longer hair was barely past his shoulders, giving him that naturally scruffy look you loved so much.

he leaned down suddenly, hands bringing your face to his, kissing you warmly. the gesture admittedly took you by surprise, the warmth rushing to your face again.

tengen pulled away gently, eyes still staring into yours with a soft intensity, paired with something else you couldn’t quite read at the moment.

“how are you?” he asked quietly, thumb gently rubbing against your cheek.

“i’m good.” you murmured in response, trying to suppress the tremble in your voice.

beside you, hinatsuru was smiling tenderly at you two. even if you were still struggling to find your true place of balance with them, she trusted it would all melt away tonight. after all, they had all arranged for this night to be all about you, the new wife.

but, you didn’t need to know that. not yet, at least.

the whole time the other two wives messed about in the shore, tengen had you wrapped in his arms as hina laid snuggled beside you both. being the new wife, they wanted to make sure you were prioritized, especially on the last night of the honeymoon.

the sound of the gentle waves paired with the darkness of the sky was so soothing. you could feel yourself practically melting into tengen’s chest as you laid on top of him.

he smiled down at you. “you look so good in that bathing suit,” he murmured.

you gushed at his sweet words as his hand tenderly stroked your inner thigh.

“you really know my style by now.” you replied.

he hummed gently, fingers running through your hair. that familiar mischievous glint appeared back in his eyes as he admired you. one of his calloused hands momentarily tilted your head up by your chin, warm breath on your cheek.

“it’s too bad i’ll have to tear it off you.” he teased directly in your ear.

slowly, his hands begin to wander even more. from your thighs to your waist, he made sure to thoroughly caress every part of your body. his hands seemed so large compared to practically all of you.

thinking about how much strength he had, he could simply wrap a single arm around you and be able to carry you perfectly anywhere he wanted. you were so delicate that it was obvious when he was holding back when touching you. it was so easy for someone of his size to accidentally hurt you if he were being careless, which he was the complete opposite of, thankfully.

you felt your breath hitch as his hands traveled to your protruding nipples, pinching them in between his fingers slightly. his large fingers kneaded carefully around your areolas, admiring how his touch made you squirm against him.

you let out a small whimper, his hands proceeding to massage and grasp at every part of you that he could. the more you responded to his touches, the more he wanted to do to you. in the midst of laying with two of his women, tengen had honestly forgotten that there was a chance anyone could walk by and see, even though this was a more private side of the shore.

“tengen…be gentle with her.” hina spoke softly, her hand interlocking with yours from behind you.

even though you only caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of your eye before she positioned herself closer to you, you swore you could see a flash of protectiveness, or…was that envy in her eyes? you never knew hinatsuru of all people had a territorial side such as this.

“she’s our new jewel, after all.” she said proudly, eyes glimmering within coming into contact with yours.

suddenly, her lips collided with yours. while this wasn’t the first time she’d done this to you, it always managed to send a plethora of sensations through you. this was especially prevalent now, for you had to hold back a staggered moan when her soft lips mashed against yours.

she tasted so sweet. with her tongue slipping in and out of your mouth, you could feel your mind blurring as if the amount of pleasure had given you some sort of fever. honestly, you wouldn't be surprised at this point if you’d caught a temperature.

hina pulled away from you eventually, her warm gaze greeting you once more with that same sweet smile. at the same time, tengen’s hands continued to roam your body, the same smirk lacing his lips.

you could feel your entire body heating up even more. having the both of them praise and caress you at the same time was almost overwhelming, yet you relished the feeling and how it began to leave a generous slick of fluid within your bathing suit bottoms.

tengen chuckled in response, turning your face back to his. now, you could really glimpse the hungry expression forming in his gaze.

“yes, she is…so precious too.”

his lips once again interlocked with yours, tongue teasing the inside of your mouth. his kiss was much heavier than hina’s, the intensity of it managing to make you let out a choked moan. meanwhile you could feel her hands from behind you taking to massage your breasts, her tender lips laying kisses along your neck.

you knew very well this whole time you were making him wait. this whole trip, you’d been so nervous around him. as if you weren’t already married to him, and like it was the first time you’d met him. you’d acted the same way in front of the wives from time to time. but it was much more intense around tengen.

but now, he craved to see your true wild side. what was it like to see you in your messiest, loveliest form? you could tell hina and possibly makio and suma would want the same.

they had only one way to find out, and what better way to do it on the most romantic beach at night?

“well well, starting without us?” makio’s voice sounded from above you. her playful smirk was directed right at you, marveling at how you were already a melting mess in between them.

suma was behind her by a few steps, peeking down at you with an aroused curiosity. “as always.” she scoffed, half-jokingly.

looking up at them, they were dripping wet from the shore that was now whispering away in the distance. you could see the sun’s golden hue beginning to cast ripples of color over the darkening water as it slowly set, the cool air fully sweeping over with the moonlight beginning to sneak in.

but you had every night to see that sunset on this vacation. what really caught your attention were the two wives in front of you. they looked so beautiful as always, just even more so now. the slight golden glow of the disappearing sun emitted a beautiful hue on their mostly bare bodies that seemed to shine with droplet marks from the sea. while suma was more bashful and trying to cover herself, makio stood unabashed with her hand on her hip, wrinkled bikini top dangling out of her hand.

tengen glared at them with the same playfulness, hands not stopping from running all over you.

“don’t complain, you just weren’t paying proper attention,” he teased. “you’re here now, after all.”

suddenly, he began to sit up, gently guiding you to do the same. tengen’s hands remained on your hips, leaning himself close to your face.

“sit and face me.” he murmured.

you immediately obeyed. now sitting in front of him, your gaze pointed up at him like you were awaiting his next command.

he shook his head at you, amused. “on my lap, princess.”

even though you were growing shaky, you obeyed. now straddling him, you gently rested your arms on his broad shoulders for a little bit of support.

you watched as he undid his robe, revealing his enthralling muscles. even if you already knew what he looked like shirtless, this was even more of an amplifying experience.

you could see how there was a faint remainder of the oil previously lathered on his skin at the beginning of the day gleaming on his skin. you could see every faint scar and mark of his perfectly displayed for you to admire. though it was futile to just stare in silence, since your awe-struck expression caused him to chuckle, even earning a slight giggle from hina and the others.

“see something you like?” he chuckled, hands running up your bare waist.

before you could react properly, you felt makio’s hand from behind you abruptly untie the string of your bikini top in a singular motion, taking advantage of you being distracted. the initial gesture caused you to jump.

“wait—!”

before you could stop it, the thin fabric had already fallen to the ground. the heat in your body now felt blistering as you were almost completely revealed, especially out in the open like this.

as you initially scrambled to cover yourself, tengen stopped you, a dazed yet still focused look in his eyes. you could almost see every want of his coming to light now. every craving, every ache he’d had for you and your body was becoming so clear now.

“don’t.” he said gruffly, placing your hands back where they were.

“you look so pretty, hun.” makio purred from behind you, embracing you by your upper waist, her lips grazing against the back of your neck.

“why would you ever want to hide this?” she admired everything from your thighs to your breasts, making you shiver even with her lightest touches.

you let out a whimper as makio continued. as if it weren't enough, both suma and hinatsuru now moved even closer to you. at this point, it was all such a collective blur that all you could feel was their hands touching you, without being able to discern who exactly was touching what in the moment.

desperately, you started to grind down on tengen’s erection through the thin cloth of your bikini. even with the slight separation, you could feel just how big he was growing beneath you. his gaze was still so focused, even though you could feel his breath growing even more labored on your skin.

though, you swear you could feel hina’s eyes burning into you. even as she patiently watched you, inside she was reeling at how good you looked. so entranced and in a pure, euphoric state. this is all she wanted for you, for you to experience the best pleasure from all of your lovers at once.

you couldn’t even gather what had happened in between, but the sound that dragged you from a near pleasure-drunken state was the sound of fabric ripping. looking down, you saw the mangled pieces of your suit bottoms in tengens hands, effortlessly ripped away to reveal your ass, along with your now soaked cunt.

before you could even move, you let out a gasp as you flinched, feeling makio’s fingers swipe over your slick wetness, admiring how a generous amount of it glistened on her fingertips.

“well, what do we have here?” makio teased. being the closest to tengen, she extended her hand to him, a knowing look in her eyes.

you could feel yourself pulsing as he took her fingers into his mouth, tongue lapping up all of your fluids from her fingers. from there, something was set ablaze in him that even he wasn’t fully prepared for.

“shit…” tengen groaned under his breath. his fingers dug into your hips, lips beginning to leave a trail of kisses on your neck. his breath was rough and hot, teeth occasionally sinking in and marking you up as he pleased.

throwing your head back, you could feel everything from his shaft rubbing against your folds, to your wives’ hands roaming and groping you all over. some were in your hair, some squeezing your ass, and some even snaking around your stomach to tease your sensitive bud.

in the midst of the entanglement, you could glimpse hina kissing up your stomach, or what of it she could manage to get in contact with while your husband suckled at your sore nipples.

her eyes had the same look of craving that tengen had—but it was so much softer. she gently caressed your face in her hands as she admired your beauty again. once more, her lips collided with yours. through her kisses, you could feel yourself instinctively squeeze your thighs together as your tongues teased one another.

in between hot kisses, you heard her say ‘i love you’ which almost made you tip over the edge, until tengen caught your attention once again. either way, there was no way you were cumming only once tonight.

you could see he was getting restless now. his hands were starting to leave deeper marks on your hips, and it was evident he wanted all of you to himself now. laying you down beneath him, the wives knew to leave him some space. they still remained close, of course.

seeing as you were already trembling and even had a few tear streaks staining your face, your wives and husband did their best to make sure you were fully relaxed.

while tengen let his cock rest at your entrance, he slowly massaged your lower pelvic area with care. hina and suma were above you: suma taking to massaging your tense shoulders and hina gingerly running her fingers through your hair. meanwhile, makio worked her hands into massaging your legs and feet.

he smiled softly down at you, the tip naturally plunging in slightly due to how wet you were. his hand caressed your face, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“take a deep breath, baby.” he said, face close to yours now. “i’ll start slow, okay?”

you could only meekly nod at him as suma and hina both held onto each of your hands now.

he let out a low groan as he almost immediately slipped balls-deep into you. your head threw back, a shaky cry escaping your lips as he was already stretching you out so much. you could feel your legs trembling uncontrollably, as you were already so close to an orgasm.

even though his starting thrusts were slow, you could feel them pick up quite fast. you could almost feel how pent up he’d been with each thrust.

tengen drove himself further into you by lifting you into a mating press, the slaps from his thrusts getting louder the faster he pounded into you. in response, your hands messily grasped around his neck, struggling to find your balance as his length fucked deeper and deeper into you.

“tengen…s’feels so good,” you slurred, the slapping only getting faster the closer you grew.

with the way you tightened around him, he could only respond with feral moans and growls, words barely stringing together as all he could think about was making you come.

“that’s my angel…taking me so well,” he panted, thrusts now growing sloppy as you clenched around him even more, your breasts bouncing with his rhythm.

his eyes, while set ablaze with something so primal, still managed to have that soft undertone to them as he looked at you. it was so clear how much he adored you, and he would make it known. he let his fingers dig back into your tender flesh, ready to spill everything he had to give inside of you.

his forehead was against yours now, both of your moans breaking up into shaky, desperate noises.

“cum for me, sweetheart,” he hissed passionately, the final thrusts becoming so deep you swear you felt like you were about to burst.

“show me that you’re mine.”

it only took a few more pumps of his cock inside of you before you cried out, louder than you ever had before. your climax had caused almost full-body convulsions, and you didn’t think you’d be able to function properly if it weren’t for your wives soothing you.

you still remained laying on your back for a while, letting hinatsuru wipe the hot tears that streaked down your cheeks as suma kissed and massaged your body, and makio helped you get your breathing back to normal.

tengen, while still in a daze himself, still fetched you cold water and wasn’t about to let you walk back to the resort. come to think of it, he probably wouldn’t let you walk for a while after this.

after a while, the group of you sat out on the shore admiring the crashing of the waves along with the beautiful stars that now blanketed the night sky.

you laid with your lovers, head resting against tengen’s chest while your wives surrounded you in a sort of “pile” of cuddling. of course, hina was closest to you, her head resting on one of your shoulders.

“I think that was a pretty good trip, hm?” tengen asked, smiling specifically at you.

you could only give an exhausted smile, hand rubbing against one of his arms that surrounded your waist.

makio let out a yawn. “it’s only good if we can stay here forever.” she sighed dreamily, resting her head on one of his shoulders. tengen chuckled, laying a kiss on her forehead.

you glanced towards hina, a sleepy figure of suma rested against her thigh. hina looked back at you sweetly, her hand rubbing over yours.

“do you feel better?”

you couldn’t help but giggle a little, thinking of how different you felt a couple hours ago compared to now.

“so much better.” you murmured, circling your thumb over her hand.

the smile you gave hina in that moment seemed to solve something within herself she even didn’t know needed solving. she figured it was because you and her lovers brought her so much peace, which was something she always found herself needing more of in her life.

after a honeymoon like this, all of you collectively felt like nothing could ever come close to this moment: watching the stars with your lovers as the waves crash in the distance.

#demon slayer smut #tengen x wives x reader #tengen uzui smut #⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚 — sea’s scriptures #tengen uzui x reader #hinatsuru x reader #demon slayer x female reader #uzui smut #makio uzui #suma uzui #hinatsuru uzui #kny smut #kny x reader #☾ — nightly yearning

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merakiui · 2 months

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everything is going to be okay.

yandere!trey clover x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, descriptions of unsettling imagery, derealization, implied drugging, descriptions of hyperdontia, descriptions of teeth falling out, non-graphic allusions to sexual assault, emotional manipulation, gaslighting note: 01110111011011110111010101101100011001000010000001101001001000000110110001101001011001010010000001110100011011110010000001111001011011110111010100111111

i. itchiness - the worst feeling in the world is knowing something is inside of you, and there’s nothing you can do to get it out.

A white rabbit blinks up at you with its beady, red eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A quiet breeze slithers through the field in which you currently stand, surrounded by lush greenery and colorful wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with botanical fingers. You watch rainbows sway, dewy petals fluttering like butterfly wings beating against a cloudless, cerulean sky.

You take one step towards the rabbit and it takes off in a sprint, bounding through knee-high grass. You stagger after it, crushing flowers underfoot. Stems snap like spines, sturdy until smashed. You hear agony whispered in the wind: How could you? How could you? How could you?

Shrugging it off, you pursue the rabbit. The grass grows with every passing minute, thickening in abundance. It’s so tall it blocks your view of the sun, eclipsing your figure like a menacing shadow. You fight through it, your gaze pinned solely on the speck of white fur. Verdant blades brush your skin, soft like silk. Itchy like hair. Itchy like maggots wriggling in marrow.

Itchy.

You struggle through the infestation until, eventually, you burst through the grass. The other side is calmer here. When you glance back at the way you came, you find a wall of grass stretching up into the above. The wildflowers are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear them when you stick your head through the grass. They’re still weeping: Why? Why? Why? It’s not fair. We were so happy. You’ve stomped us out—ruined us. We’ll never grow back the same.

“You coming?”

You whirl at the sound of a familiar voice, scanning the field in search of him. Instead, the rabbit is just a few feet away. It tilts its head at you, ears pricked. You meet its scarlet stare.

Something tells you you’re better off waiting. There’s no point in chasing, but curiosity crawls into your cranium. You hurry ahead, single steps sliding into fast, frantic footfalls. The rabbit moves quickly, its little legs thumping against the ground. You run until your every breath squeezes your heart. Until your head is dizzy. Until you’re nauseous and panting.

You run all the way to the edge of a forest, the field falling away in patches, and you reach for the trees, fingers splayed. The rabbit is within your grasp.

You step with your right leg and crush a violet butterwort.

Pain shoots through your foot in a white-hot flash. The butterwort stabs through your sole, emerging from your flesh as if it’s simply a clay pot with soil for snuggling. You yank your leg away and roots are ripped from the ground with it, attached to the flower stuck in your foot. Warm blood trickles out. Green grass is stained rusty-red. It sweeps along your calf, a physical lullaby.

Itchy.

“Fuck,” you hiss, stumbling backwards. The root goes with you, an endless strand set deep into the ground. You tug, but the flower persists. It folds itself into a bow and wraps its petals around your foot in a parasitic hug. “Let go of me.”

At the edge of the forest, the rabbit remains. Watching. Waiting. Wondering.

You flop onto your side, breathing heavy and haggard. The pain is itchy. The blood is itchy. The flower is itchy. You grab at it with shaky fingers and attempt to pry it off. Trees tower overhead, bark bending forwards to loom like leering fiends. With all of your might, you yank the butterwort out. It comes free with a sickening snap, soil-speckled roots dragging through the hole in your foot.

Itchy.

Between the breeze and your devastated whimpers, you hear it—the withered wheezing of the earth beneath your body.

Suddenly, the trees have eyes. Suddenly, everything is alive.

Desperately, you stretch your arm towards the rabbit. It blinks at you. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then it turns and disappears into the forest beyond.

You roll over on your back just as more butterworts bloom from soil moistened with your blood. A garden germinates from flesh and bone.

You shut your eyes.

Itchy.

When you open them, you see a single blade of grass backdropped by a cumulus-spotted sky. He peers down at you, glasses glinting in the sunlight, and offers his hand.

“Nice day for a nap, isn’t it?” He smiles a boyish, lopsided grin.

You stare for another quiet second before closing your hand around his. “Trey…”

Right. Your friend, Trey, who offered to stay with you in the wake of…something. Something about companionship. Something about looking out for you during difficult times. Something about something.

Was that it? What did he say again?

Words are a valuable thing for people like Trey. When strung together, they create stories and Trey is especially good at amazing others with sugared ambiguity.

You allow him to pull you up. When he moves to brush the grass clinging to your clothes, you jerk away. The two of you stare at each other for an abnormally long time.

A discordant note resounds within your head, a strangled cry from a pretty piano. The jarring crash of splintered glass. Looking at him now, in his green-and-white checkered jumper and boring, beige slacks, you feel…itchy. There’s a dull ache at the back of your throat. You think you might be coming down with a cold.

Spring is just starting to poke through the frost of winter. Even though today’s sunny and the weather is warmer than usual, there’s a frigid feeling in the air. A disconnect between seasons. That odd border between not-quite-winter and not-quite-spring.

“How long was I out for?”

Trey’s hand falls to his side. “Long enough to give the muffins time to cool.” He nods in the direction of the house, a quaint structure built at the edge of the forest. “I made your favorite.”

You brighten like candles lit in a birthday cake. Twenty of them, in fact, all arranged perfectly. It will take twenty more for you to overcome the tragedy of never having the chance to partake, for every slice was dragged onto the plate and devoured with haste. And all the while the flames flickered, burning wax down to tiny stumps.

Itchy.

Blueberry muffins are placed on a circular glass plate. The accompanying dome lid sits off to the side. You take one and turn it over in your hands. How does someone determine their favorite food? And when does that food stop becoming a preference? Memories attach themselves to everything: clothing, rooms, bodies. Even food. If something unsavory happens when indulging in a favorite, the memory soaks into the batter. The next time you encounter it, even if it’s in a dream, you avoid it. Not because the food has lost its flavor, but because the memory has corrupted the comfort of the gastronomic experience.

In a distant past, you think you liked blueberry muffins. Certainly at one point, right?

Still, you bring it to your lips and bite into spongy bliss.

Blood fills your mouth.

Trey’s initial placidity morphs into something disturbed. He moves to your side, to your aid, but you shove him away. The blueberry muffin lands on the table in a spoiled heap, crumbs scattering. You spit chunks of muffin into your palms. It feels like something’s lodged in your throat. A tiny porcelain hand pinching the skin of your esophagus in an unrelenting hold. A wad of something impossible to swallow. Like words or screams.

Crimson-tinged saliva dribbles past your lips. Lying in your hands, amidst bits of chewed muffin, is a sliver of skin.

“(Name)?”

Your name sounds wrong on his tongue.

“Hey, are you okay? Let me get you some water. Wait right there.”

Wrong. It’s wrong.

You stare at the flabby piece of skin. Your skin.

Trey returns with the aforementioned water. He pulls a chair out from the table. “Sit and have a drink. Not too fast. Slowly now.”

The rest of the muffin is swept away, destined for the rubbish bin. While you watch Trey clean up your mess, you sip at lukewarm water. Your tongue squirms in your mouth, searching for the space that’s now bleeding freely. You find it, almost like one finds the space where a missing tooth ought to be, and prod at it with your tongue. It’s raw and sensitive. Stinging slightly. You wince.

“Bit my cheek,” comes your reply when Trey walks over. He wipes his hands on a towel patterned with tulips. “Hurts.”

Trey frowns. Golden hues flick from the plate of muffins to your forlorn face. He lowers to his knees, peering up at you through his glasses. “Don’t eat so fast next time, all right? You could choke.”

“Tastes funny.”

“I can’t imagine it’s very appetizing. Blood and blueberry muffins… A crazy combo, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

He chuckles. “Well.” He runs his hand through his hair. It reminds you of the grass and trees outside. Of a summer that has long since passed. “Nothing like a little scare to liven the afternoon. How’re you feeling?”

You set your half-empty glass on the table. “Better. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You wanna try another one? I promise the next one won’t have you biting your cheek.”

“I… I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”

“As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.” Trey smiles. “I’ll make something softer for dinner. Any requests for the chef?”

You think back on all of your favorites and choose something you wouldn’t mind losing. “Lentil soup.”

After tonight, you’ll never enjoy the taste of that dish again.

Maybe that’s okay. Soups are easy to eat. Easy to slip special sentiments in.

Soup is what becomes of your brain when your body is too itchy.

ii. incessant - static is buzzing in your ears. buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. fluffy like bumblebees. sharp as a sting.

The elusive rabbit is looking at you again, red eyes boring into the back of your skull. You glance over your shoulder at it. A little bow fashioned from blades of grass is fastened around its neck. It nods in a new direction, urging you to follow. For a moment, you stand there and wait. Deep down in some forgotten corner of your stomach, you know you’ll never be able to catch the rabbit.

So you fall into step as it hops off to its destination.

Hedges line the horizon, boasting roses and thorns. The rabbit leads you all the way to the entrance of the maze. A xylophone rattles. You step forward. Another hedge rises from the ground up to trap you inside. With the rabbit out of sight and no other way around, you trek onwards into the maze.

The frequency at which xylophone chimes are registered and translated in your mind are muffled. At best, they’re almost silenced. At worst, they are static—piercing and grating in your ears.

Amidst so much static, Trey’s voice has always remained at the same pitch. An immutable intonation, one that fills the clouds with buoyant assurances: Just relax. You’re all right. I’ve got you.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him shout, but that makes sense. Grass only whistles and shivers in the breeze. It never screams. It’s soft and sweet—a wondrous embrace until it begins to feel itchy with time. Like a wool sweater. Like ants crawling in lines up your arms. Like cobwebs wrapped around your wrists.

The grass in your garden sounds more like static. Incessant, ear-splitting static. In your brain, bunching up like scribbles on paper, and falling in waterfalls from his mouth whenever he speaks.

It was static you heard when the grass cradled you in wispy tendrils.

Quiet at first, as if the world had been clicked off like a bad program on television, and then the static came seeping in. Rot was encroaching, grabbing at the rabbit and gutting it before your horrified eyes.

Somewhere within the maze, a jovial, uplifting song spills from a spinet. It puts you at ease, filling your soul with serenity.

Itchy dissonance. A rabbit split open, gooey innards tumbling free. Cotton fur tarnished. Lines running red.

Dead.

The spinet swells with rhythm. You’re walking yourself into corners, traveling in circles.

Incessant melodies, ringing in your ears like cicada shrieks.

The circle winds around and around. Where are you going? Hedges on either side, white roses blooming from comforting green. The deeper you delve, the darker they bloom. Mottled, petals wilting, white closes up and shrivels away.

Blotted black with tar, trailing in thick streaks.

Your feet pound against mossy meadows. You need to find the exit. It’s here and then there and then here again. It’s everywhere and then it’s nowhere. It’s here. Here. Here. Here. Here—

Now it’s there!

Static screeches. Blood trickles from your ears.

It hurts until it doesn’t. Until the static numbs everything and all that’s left is nothing. Blank and bitter, a wonderland set on mute.

The hedges breathe alongside you. It’s incessant, unintelligible static.

Frosting melts on cake. Pastels are sticky and spoiled. Candles droop.

A xylophone played in garbled glissando.

Quiet breaths. In and out. In and out. The grass whispers to you: “Hey, it’s fine. You trust me, right?”

In and out.

Out and in.

In and out.

Out. Out. Out. Incessant itchiness. Get it out.

Glass shatters. The rabbit’s heart, still beating faintly, is slit.

That…didn’t just happen, did it?

It didn’t, right?

Grass is supposed to be soft and full of life when watered with love.

That didn’t just happen.

What happened?

The grass billows in a breeze. “You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

You’re not. You…are anything but fine.

What happened?

You run under an arch, past thinning hedges, over the threshold, and burst into the kitchen.

“Trey!”

He startles, almost dropping a bowl of cake batter. His glasses sit crooked on his face. It takes a moment for him to process your arrival. He sets the bowl on the countertop and turns fully to face you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His concern makes your skin prickle.

Itchy.

“Everything okay?”

Incessant.

“Why…” Your fingers curl around the doorframe. You gulp down a gasp. “Why are you here again?”

He gives you a weird look. “You said you needed my help—that you were having trouble getting up in the morning. Remember? Actually… Here. How about this? Do you want me to fix you a cup of chamomile? It’ll help with anxiety and insomnia.”

Your once rapid-moving world slows to a screeching halt. You said that? When? When did you say that? When the fuck did you say that?

“I…don’t remember saying that. Ever. I don’t think I invited you here either…”

Trey shakes his head, tutting softly. “I get it. It’s rough. I know.” He folds the spatula through the batter. Calmly. “But you’re exaggerating. I’m only here to help.”

Static. Incessant, itchy static. You blink owlishly at him, straining to hear over it.

“What?”

“I came over because you asked me to, and I’m staying to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine.” You point towards the door. “I think… Trey, I think you need to leave.”

His arm, which had previously been moving in circles, falls still. He sets the bowl down again. “We’ve talked about this before, (Name).”

“I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for me to stay, yeah?”

“No… No, that’s not—”

Trey smiles, his tone lighthearted. “Hey, relax. You’ll feel better after something sweet. It won’t take long for the cake to bake. Wait for a little longer. If you want, you can lick the spatula when I’m done—”

“I don’t want cake.”

“No? I remember you told me it was your favorite, though. Am I remembering wrong?”

Is he?

“It’s…gross.”

“Gross?” He chuckles sheepishly. “That bad, huh? Not a fan of my baking?”

You gaze past him at the batter in the bowl. Confetti cake. You look towards Trey again. “What was that?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t hear the words.

Static.

Incessant, itchy static.

You track his lips, his eyes, his hands.

“What?”

Sound seeps in, crunchy but audible.

“…a joke,” he’s saying. “I was just joking.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Don’t worry about it. My feelings aren’t hurt. I know you enjoy my baking.”

The TV tunes into a nonexistent channel. Static buzzes on the screen.

Loud. Louder. So loud!

You can’t hear yourself think. Can’t hear your lungs wheeze. Can’t hear yourself speaking slowly as you stumble into the grass’s green embrace.

Incessant. You’ll go insane. Static. Incessant. Too much. You feel sick. Bile drags itself up your throat.

Loud. Loud. Loud. Impossibly, incessantly loud!

Your arm sweeps through the air. The bowl is flung across the room. Ceramic shatters. Batter spatters on the wall and kitchen tiles. You feel the dull ache in the aftermath. Trey’s speaking, but it’s just static. All-consuming. Buzzing like flies over birthday cake gone bad. Incessant.

And then the TV clicks off.

And then it’s quiet.

iii. insanity - over and over and over and over and over and over and over and and and and and and and andandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandandand01100001011100100110010100100000011110010110111101110101001000000110111101101011011000010111100100111111

Teeth. All thirty-two of them. Porcelain teeth. All forty-two of them.

They grow under your tongue and along the roof of your mouth in clusters. Insanity. It’s doing the same thing incessantly while anticipating different results. Insanity. It’s looking at too many teeth crammed where they shouldn’t be.

Opening your mouth as wide as it can go, you peer at yourself in the mirror. Your tongue runs along them. Smooth.

Teeth. All fifty-two of them. Hellish hyperdontia.

Grass is pesky when it gets in your mouth, reaching far with green fingers.

Flossing is important. If you forget, your gums will bleed and bleed, and then your mouth will be in for a world of pain. You’re smarter than this, so you need to keep up good dental hygiene. Brush and floss as you would, but not too hard or else you’ll break.

Insanity. It’s taking advice from butterworts and rabbits—from meadows tilled and filled with sin.

Teeth. Too many. Have you been flossing properly?

And then they’re at the back of your throat, sprouting from skin like the dainty heads of a dozen Frozen Charlottes. You stick your fingers down your throat to grab at one, but you can’t get hold of it. You cough. Teeth are closing up your esophagus. You look at your mouth and see a lamprey.

Insanity. It’s full of teeth.

You gag around them, heaving mouthfuls of air that struggle to reach your lungs. You feel teeth in there, too, growing in groups like an invasive species. You brace yourself against the sink, gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles sting. Your jaw is starting to feel sore.

Terrified, you find your reflection staring back with wide eyes. And then the first tooth comes loose. It falls into the basin of the sink with a pattering clink. You inhale through your nose, and that’s as much of your shock as you can express before more teeth follow suit. They shift out of your gums, one by one, until dozens of them are spilling out in calcium rain. Bent over the sink, you spit and spit. Tears threaten to pour from your eyes.

This can’t be happening.

You try to scream, to beg for it to stop, but the teeth keep coming. For every few that fall out, twenty more grow. It’s a cycle.

Insanity.

Incessant.

Itchy.

You sob helplessly, salt mingling with saliva and teeth.

When you look back at the mirror, you see blood stringing from empty gums.

The bathroom light flickers. Dizzying darkness. An unusual heat settles under your skin.

Itchy.

Incessant.

Insanity.

The bathroom light flickers. Blinding brightness. You’re still reeling. The heat won’t go away. Your eyelids are heavy. You feel sleepy, but it’s only early evening.

“Everything okay?”

You spy Trey in the mirror. His arm is propped against the doorframe as he leans in, half of his body shrouded in the shadows from the hall.

You swallow. It goes down smoothly. The teeth have retreated.

“T-Too much chamomile,” you grind out, reaching up to touch the column of your throat.

Teeth. All thirty-two of them.

The basin is empty. No teeth.

“How about a slice of bread? You’ve gotta eat something, (Name).”

“I’m not hungry.”

Your tongue traces all thirty-two of your teeth. They’re there, rooted firmly in your gums.

Trey frowns. “At least let me heat the leftover lentil. It’s liquid. You won’t bite your cheek again.”

“I might burn my tongue.”

“If you’re worried, I could feed you instead. Airplane it and everything.”

At your bewildered stare, Trey laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Joking.”

“Are you really here to help me?”

He lowers his arms. An uncanny cold fills the bathroom.

“Nothing is going to get you.”

“What?”

“There’s nothing here, (Name). You’re safe.” Trey glances down the hall for good measure. The hair on your neck rises, alert. “It’s in your head. You’re messing with yourself, you know, getting worked up over things that aren’t really there. I promise you’re okay. Nothing can hurt you while I’m here.”

It’s not in your head. Of course not. It couldn’t be.

Right?

It’s not really in your head, is it?

You storm out of the bathroom, pushing past Trey in your impatience. He follows you soundlessly. Everything looks the same. The sofa. The wallpaper. The kitchen. The cracks and creaks. Nothing’s changed.

So is it in your head? What is it—the thing in your head? It’s itchy and incessant. It makes everyone gaze at you as if you’re insane.

If you could, you’d take a scalpel to your body and cut yourself out of your skin, put it through a long wash cycle, and hang it out to dry. Maybe then the thing would leave.

You stop at the front door, suddenly hesitant. Has it all been in your head? Are you going crazy? Is Trey right: There’s nothing here and you’re making everything up?

You wrench it open.

A black rabbit blinks up at you with its milky-white eyes. Its nose twitches. Once. Twice. Thrice. A loud gust slithers through the field in which you currently observe, surrounded by decaying greenery and wilted wildflowers. They sprawl endlessly, clawing at the horizon beyond with broken fingers. You watch monochrome tones sway, dried petals flaking off like scabs against a battered, bloodless sky.

You take one step towards the rabbit and it takes off in a sprint, bounding through—

The grass gathers you in a hug. It whispers strangely soothing static.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

iv. 01101001011101000010000001110111011000010111001100100000011000010110110001110111011000010111100101110011001000000111010001110010011001010111100100101110

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere trey clover #yandere trey clover x reader #yandere trey x reader #yandere trey

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cheesus-doodles · 2 months

Text

Yakuza Boss Izana + Pudding

Valentine’s Day Shorts

Masterlist | Valentine's Shorts List

‎‎‎

took the previous week off to rest, am back at it again! happy belated valentine's day! the izzy in this is in my head is the shaggy hair future izzy <3

"Hey!" But you could only pout as you watched Izana dig into your half-eaten pudding. "That's mine!"

"Serves you right," the white-haired man huffed, spooning a generous heap of pudding straight into his mouth as he swiftly dodged your attempts to grab the cup back. You really were adorable, he mused as he watched you from the corner of his eye, to think that you could match his speed and reflexes. "You ate my share."

It was a rather cold winter afternoon down by the banks of the river, the overcast sky blocking out any sign of the usual sunlight, and the breeze that swept down the waterway only lowering the temperature even more. Well bundled up in your thick coat, you still shivered slightly, snuggling into your finance's side - and for all his pointed words, Izana was more than happy to let you, pulling you closer to him.

You shot a few more longing glances at your rapidly diminishing sweet treat, lightly brushing a strand of hair aside from his cheek before it could touch the pudding. "But what makes you think its yours Izzy?"

"You know what day it is!" His rebuttal came immediately. Though, the yakuza boss did note that you seemed more amused than distraught at his antics as he grumpily polished off the last of the dessert, before haphazardly tossing the now empty container back into your paper bag without a second glance and plopping down to lay his head on your lap. That was delicious, and you should be ashamed.

Twelve years the two of you have been together, and you have never failed even once to make - hand make - a treat for him on Valentine’s Day, be it chocolates, biscuits or any number of other sweets. Yet today, of all days, he was the one that had to hunt you down, only to find you by the bank of your favorite river, enjoying a treat in the form of a pudding by yourself. His pudding.

"I can't believe you," he grumbled. It was an unusual look for the well feared mafia boss who laid sprawled across your lap, sulking like a rebuffed child, violet gaze refusing to meet yours. "Eating all by yourself. Today!"

You didn't answer him, but the slightest ruffle of the paper bag caught Izana's attention even as you continued to run one hand through his mob of hair. And blank eyes turned just in time to catch you pulling out a second cup of pudding from your paper bag.

"Guess this one is mine then," you chirped playfully, popping open the top to reveal a pristine soft surface off which light bounced, the pudding glinting even in the dim sunlight. "Don't mind if I -"

The pudding cup was gone from your hand before you could finish your sentence. And your jaw-dropped expression were reflected in that familiar empty gaze as you followed the sound of slurping to find said stolen cup in the tanned hands of your finance. "HEY!"

Izana only started chewing faster.

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vivalabunbun · 11 months

Text

The Aftermath of Summer

Summary: Who stays to watch the credits roll at the end of a film?

Word Count: 3.4k

Tags: Alhaitham X Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Vampire AU, Contract Marriage, Fluff, Angst, Grief, TW: Talks about death, themes about death, sfw, slight! reincarnation themes, broke student life.

Authors Note: The aftermath of looking over the garden wall to see the flowers. I hope this piece brings to rest the questions that may or may not remain unanswered. Enjoy!

The garden was empty tonight, the sun had long been chased away by the dark entourage of the night and her stars.

The gates should’ve been sealed, locked by chains and heavy locks to separate the hearts that still beat and those that have decayed.

However, as a creature that’s born forever outside the delicate balance, how can these gates stop him?

Or simply the watcher who wanders about these grounds looks the other way, to give this pitifully foolish vampire a semblance of privacy.

Even the moon covered herself with clouds, trying not to peek as Alhaitham knelt down next to a polished rock.

There were double as many flowers in his arms tonight, the fragrance carried by the late breeze was twice as overbearing.

It doesn’t bother him, after all, his senses have been steeled against this.

A variable walked through the sliding doors at the office tonight, disrupting Alhaitham’s treasured routine with a bitterly sweet bouquet.

–

“Secretary Alhaitham.” A voice called as a hand knocked against the wooden frame of his office.

Said vampire responds with a grunt of acknowledgment, pen only pausing when a familiar fragrance fills the air.

“You have a visitor.” Faruzan steps to the side, nose scrunched up at the unaccustomed scent.

Familiar scarlet locks shuffled into view of teal eyes, hands fiddling with the ends of a silk ribbon that contained the bundle together.

It’s hard to not put a name to that shade of hair, Nilou, it’s been a while.

When was the last time he saw the faces of your dearest friends? Perhaps a few months back, while a coffin was lowered into the cold ground alone.

That day was mockingly clear, the sky showing off her most vibrant hues of orange, violet, and pink, brilliant colors competing with those of the blooms thrown into the lonely pit.

No words were exchanged between him and the guests. The same faces of those who once danced and smiled with you within the decorated walls of a wedding venue are now deep in mourning.

So much so that they collectively overlooked the immortal creature who stood amongst them, or perhaps they were too self-absorbed in their own sorrows to extend any grace to him.

After all, in their eyes, how could a creature like him ever understand the grief experienced by those with finite time?

It was for the best, Alhaitham is never in the mood to engage in meaningless small talk, there’s no need for them to give him their hollow condolences.

Instead, he shall stand guard just off to the side, eyes observing every toss of cold dirt until the lacquered box was no longer visible.

Sealing the gates to an unexplored sanctuary that held answers untold.

Alhaitham places his pen down, turning his full attention to the young lady who brought a physical memory into his office.

“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham… um, I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.”

Giving a curt nod to Faruzan, he dismisses her from his office, giving him and the guest some privacy.

The polite silence encouraged her to finish stating her purpose this late evening, the ashen-haired vampire awaits patiently with his hands folded atop the desk.

“I… I know there isn’t a reason for you to keep in contact with us, but… I felt it’s only right to show gratitude towards you for everything you’ve done.”

The scarlet-haired lady closes her eyes, chest expanding with a deep inhale, mind stringing together her unrehearsed lines.

“Originally, I wanted to bring Dehya and Candace along, but… their jobs kept them busy.”

It’d be quite the sight, two hunters thanking the very creatures they’ve spent their whole careers ripping the hearts out of. Even if it might seem like a thinly veiled excuse, Alhaitham knew Nilou’s words were sincere.

The firm hand on the shoulder Dehya gave him at the end of committal service, once the mourns finished shedding their tears over freshly dug dirt, was enough for him to understand.

As expected of a hunter, the strength in her grip on his shoulder stung, but she didn’t let go and he didn’t make any moves to brush her off.

A moment of silence for two grieving beings to communicate their shared pain, both caused a by void that can never be filled.

After a few breaths, the flame-mane hunter releases her hold, wordlessly parting from him. As his teal gaze moves back up they connect with heterochromatic eyes.

Candace simply steadies her stare, then closes her lids as she nods in silent understanding. He mirrors her actions, and she then joins her mortal companions.

The only gestures he accepted that horrid day, olive branches handed over by two sides.

“She used to always close her eyes when she smiled, but after she married you, she smiled with her eyes open.”

A clever habit you had, concealing the apathetic vacuums of your irises when your lips curled, otherwise it’d distract from the radiant grin.

A brilliant technique utilized by an actress as skilled as you.

“Thank you, thank you so much for making her happy, she really was happy.”

The air remains silent, but his hands were gripping each other just a tab bit tighter.

Alhaitham’s pride would never allow him to confess the truth, it’s embarrassing to admit that a creature who’s lived through multiple lifetimes couldn’t decrypt the actions of a mere mortal.

Your performance was just that captivating, blurring the distinction between a daydream and reality. Bravo.

Nilou carefully places the bouquet upon a vacant spot on his desk, they gave each other a nob in acknowledgment before parting ways yet again.

Perhaps the final applause after the credits have rolled.

–

Brushing away the wilted bouquet before setting down the bright blooms still fresh with the vigor of life. Gathering the debris to ensure the soft glow of the night could reflect off the glossy surface, you always liked watching the stars.

In the empty silence of the garden offered Alhaitham the serenity of a deep reflection.

Away from the rowdy city streets and obnoxious office phones. He reviews the past seven years, emending his past assessment of your character.

You weren’t a capricious breeze nor were you a delicate flower. You were a human, a strange human, but a human nonetheless. The purest embodiment of mortality.

That’s how Alhaitham will remember you, that’s how you wanted to be remembered. It’s his final duty as your husband, he’ll carry it out with the same dedication.

Technically speaking, not all clauses were truly fulfilled.

The ashen-haired creature stands by the grave for a few beats more, before his feet finally broke free from their trance.

Redirecting his body towards the gates, his back facing your headstone. But it’s fine, he has to wipe down the polished stone tomorrow night.

For now, let the stars keep your company.

Readjusting to the tediousness of a solitary life was unexpectedly troublesome. Alhaitham never realized just how quickly dust loves to accumulate upon untouched surfaces.

How can objects still get dirty even when there’s no interference with their existence? A question not even the universe can answer.

For his idle eyes to be bothered by the subtle hints of dust and misaligned book spines, you truly did an outstanding job in your household duties, honoring the agreements printed on the contract.

The dryer sings its tone, Alhaitham places the dust cloth down to attend to the laundry before wrinkles can settle in. It's strange really, how certain scents can never be replicated by teams of scientists.

No detergent could ever truly hold the fragrance of a morning star.

However, it would be far too tiresome for a creature of the night to voluntarily embrace the stinging light just for a familiar whiff of solace.

He’ll just have to get used to the artificial aroma of fresh linen, after all these years, Alhaitham has gotten comfortable with the notion of change, an experienced expert in adapting to the times.

Nothing is immune to change, nothing can remain the same when the hands of a clock tick forward.

Thus, the clothes you once owned no longer hold the scent you once dawned. Yet, if he were to remove them… the closet would be too empty, best to leave them there.

With the laundry now checked off the list, Alhaitham returns back to the living room where he left one responsibility unfinished. Picking up the cloth square once more, he wipes the layer of dust from the neglected remote.

Some of the print among the rubber buttons were faded, signs of wear from indecisive fingers as they debate which show they should settle on for the night.

Something passionate? Comedy? Dramatic? Which genre did you prefer the most?

His firm motions with the cloth absentmindedly pass over a certain button, allowing the large screen a long-awaited chance to flicker back on. Accompanying the bright flash of colors came the crisp audio of a rehearsed conversion between the two characters on screen.

Alhaitham stills as his head turns toward the TV.

It must be a newly released drama, one with fresh faces and a carefully selected cast. It’s such a shame that all their efforts are wasted in vain, for there’s no audience upon a worn coach to appreciate their work.

With that thought, Alhaitham sets the remote down as his ageless body settles into the sofa just adjacent to the centered coach.

The night is still young, dust will accumulate nevertheless, it wouldn’t make a difference in taking another break.

There’s a line of distinction between a mind that’s been cultivated by the pages of a book and a mind that’s been entertained by artistically framed scenes.

When one crosses the other, the gap in understanding reveals itself, manifesting in the confusion of how to appreciate such things.

It’s how you felt when trying to interpret the texts written long before you were born, face scrunched up in focus as your eyes move across the aged paper.

It’s how he feels as he observes the two lead actors as disembodied laughter rang out.

The pacing was slow, dialogue uninteresting to an immortal that’s long-lived past the experience of university. But, it’d be a waste to not finish something he intended to do from the start.

The cushions were soft, supporting his settling frame as the tension leaves his muscles, beckoning his eyelids to lower, luring him into the darkness that lay behind them.

“Haitham~ are you alive?” A voice brushes against his face.

The presence of someone intruding upon his personal space made his body alert again, the wisps of sleep vanish.

Slowly he lifts up his leaden lids, blinking the haze of sleep away, vision gradually clearing to reveal your grinning face.

“Are you finally done with the assignments you’ve procrastinated?”

“I didn’t procrastinate, I knew I could finish them in time for the deadline and I did.” His voice still gruff with sleep.

“Your breath stinks of coffee.”

“What an observation, coffee is a common beverage consumed by all walks of life.”

“Haitham, it’s 10 pm.”

“It isn’t exclusive to one time.”

An exaggerated huff leaves your lips as you folded, plotting your body right on top of his, the aged couch creaking in protest.

Instinctively, his arms opened to catch your frame, embracing you gently against his chest. Feeling the rhythm of your heart beating in time with his.

“Stubborn.” You muttered.

“Summarizing yourself?” Alhaitham bites back a chuckle as a balled-up fist gently knocks against his torso.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a tender moment like this. Deadlines and exams brought on by the warming air of a concluding semester keep you both on a tight schedule. Only able to exchange brief greets during quick breaks of packaged meals.

You sink deeper into his arms as he rests his face against your neck. Enjoying the warmth generated between your two bodies, coaxing the exhaustion away from each other’s limbs.

‘I miss you.’ A silent sentiment wordlessly conveyed by the extended entanglement.

“You didn’t eat dinner yet.”

Alhaitham lets a soft chuckle escape in the form of a quick huff, how perceptive you are when it comes to his well-being.

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy,” You scolded as a finger jabbed against his shoulder.

“I’m aware.”

“Good, the noodles should be ready by now, c’mon.”

Reluctantly, Alhaitham allows you out of his arms, letting his heavy body follow your tugging hands toward the old and stained kitchen table.

Teal eyes notice the freshly placed cups of noodles, steam leaking out from the sides of their paper lids held down by two forks.

“It’s the fourth night we’ve had cup noodles this week.” He states the obvious.

“So?” You quirk a brow at his announcement.

“We’ll get sodium poisoning.”

“It’s fine, Haitham, our bodies are young, we'll live.”

“And these choices will come back to bite us in the future.”

“Shush and eat your food.” You plotted down at your spot at the chipped table, cheek puffed out.

An absolutely endearing sight. So much so that Alhaitham will rein in his sardonic quips for now, joining you in his spot just across the stained surface.

Ripping the flimsy top off the styrofoam cup, the artificial chicken flavoring sedates his ravenous appetite as he takes a bite.

A sacred respite for any student on a tight budget, empty calories that suppress the growling of stomachs.

From across the table, his teal gaze watches as you savor your last bite.

“You can have the rest of mine.”

“No, you’re a growing boy, you need to eat.”

“The male body fully develops by age eighteen-”

“Shush and eat your food.”

Your soft lips formed a frown once again, how could he not cave into your demands? Alhaitham takes another bite of the noodles.

In just a few more semesters he’ll get his hands on a flimsy piece of paper, proving his qualifications to some white-collar job.

He'll earn a paycheck big enough to treat you to a nice steak basted with red wine.

Away from this cluttered box with creaky floors and rumbling pipes.

Then after a few years, the two of you could follow a realtor through a spacious house atop a hill, yard fenced in nicely, and located a reasonable distance away from the bustling city.

Just endure the endless assignments and demanding exams for a little while longer.

Styrofoam cups carelessly thrown into the trash, forks washed and set out in the drying wrack. The minimal effort of house cleaning was achieved.

As a reward, two figures found themselves pulled back to the worn cushions of a couch. Melting into each other's touches, fingertips trying to memorize every curve and edge.

From outside a window left ajar, its hinges rusted with age and neglect, came the first symphony of the crickets. Singing to celebrate the new season which breathes back life into the trees and their leaves.

Your hands tenderly cupped his face pulling him closer, cheeks touching as your noses perfectly rested against each other.

The leaden weight pulling on his eyelids returned, head dozing into your gentle warmth.

“I love you.” Your whisper so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

Fighting against the droopy pull, his sight centered on your content expression, tranquil gaze reflecting the teal of his irises as you await his response.

Alhaitham’s firm arms pulled your frame flushed against his, burying his face back into the crook of your neck. Deep breath intaking the light fragrance which held hints of a sunny day.

“I love you… to the extent it’s unfathomable.” His full truth.

A truth that couldn’t be left untold.

“Pfft! You and your fancy words again,” you giggled.

The tickling sensation of your bell-like giggles vibrating against his frame cause the corners of his lips to curl.

Your fingers found their way to his ashen hair, tracing faint patterns along his scalp as you tussled his messy locks.

Mesmerizing motions making him lose the battle with the sweet call of sleep. The stone-faced man allowing your trailing fingers to beckon him deeper into the temperate waves of dreams.

Alhaitham’s eyes opened again, lids dawdlingly fluttering open and shut again as the rolling credits of tonight’s spontaneous episode played against the glass screen.

His arms rested unfurled by his sides, nothing in the space against his cold hands.

Closing his eyes shut once more, efforts now conflicted between prying open the doors of sleep to plunge back into the cloudy waters of dreams or blinking the lingering traces away.

Lungs not daring to take another breath in case they distract from the task at hand.

1… 2… 3

A low sigh leaves his lips, ashen lashes opening up to observe the teal eyes staring back from the dark credit screen.

It seems the keeper of dreams felt this vile creature has overstayed his welcome for tonight.

Locking up the iron gates as they stood mockingly on the other side dangling the key between their fingers.

It doesn’t matter. The dream has already served its purpose. Allowing Alhaitham to say the lines in a script that he wasn’t able to complete in time.

It made the void ache just a bit less.

It seems that Alhaitham has unraveled the truth behind your daydreaming habits.

The itch in his palm has long faded away, the ailment cured by clarity only attainable after one processes the cold truth. Analytical mind returning to rationality untainted by the desperation of false hope.

To be condemned to forever wheeze at each gasp of air, to be bound to a bed by agony searing your every cell. Who is willing to pay the price of eternity?

Stopping the hands of a clock wouldn’t be much different than a punishment delivered from the deepest depths of hell.

How could mortal medicine ever turn back the hands of a clock? Simple, it can’t.

Nothing can.

To forever freeze a sinking ship between the thundering skies of life and the endless pits of death, doomed to never drown but never be resuced for eternity.

A fate worse than anything on the two polar opposite sides.

It’d be plain cruel. Childishly cruel.

Alhaitham wouldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t do that to you.

Instead, he simply held your hand tight. Taking away any fear, any anxieties, any regrets as your body sank deeper beneath the waves, until the furrow between your brows disappeared.

Watching the peace gracing your features as your head descends into the murky depths.

Letting your fingers slip through the gaps in his as he stays atop his floating raft of immortality.

Letting your gold bands catch on each other one last time. Letting the laws of nature and unnamed gods pull you away from his side, forever concealing you behind a wall he’ll never be able to peer over.

As it was fated to be, he knows.

If you had a healthy body, one that could live up to 80 years… maybe a little more, you wouldn’t have chosen him.

You never would’ve signed a contract.

You never would’ve cast a passing glance at him on the street.

You would’ve embraced another, one who could walk hand and hand with you through the garden gates.

You didn’t ask to be born with that body, and he didn’t ask to be born with his.

Paths predestined at birth to never fully merge, a wall forever dividing them.

Yet, during the brief time they touched, the scenery was breathtaking.

If he had finite time, a body exhausted by late nights of piled-up assignments, with nothing but twenty mora to his name.

He’d choose that over sitting in an empty house with luxurious furniture, excessive assets sitting to rot in bank vaults, and a silk-covered bed too big for a singular body.

He’d choose to be the one who could walk through the gates of the Pardis Dhyai, hand and hand with you.

Only in a mirage could that exist.

Sitting across a small kitchen table, him with his instant coffee, you with your dining hall stolen tea.

Notepad given out by some random campus event being scribbled on. Ballpoint pen jotting down the items carefully calculated: Milk, eggs, and more cup noodles.

Only in a dream could he sit in the bright rays of a star, enjoying its warmth side by side with you.

Alhaitham shuts off the TV, the greeting songs of birds from outside closed curtains now creeping through.

Slowly his frame emerges from its sedentary position, the dust cloth long forgotten to the side.

A sofa is no proper place to rest. Maybe clean sheets can replicate the purpose of cold dirt.

Such futile thoughts, unbefitting of such a noble creature.

But, he's been craving sleep lately, longing for the warmth of a fantastical sun.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #al-haitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham headcanons #genshin impact x you #vivalabunbunfics #alhaitham x you #alhaitham angst #alhaitham #alhaitham x yn #genshin angst #genshin vampire au #genshin modern au #genshin alhaitham

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papiliotao · 9 months

Text

꒰ 𝒏𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆 ✩࿐

pairings: kazuha, wanderer, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, mutual pining, cuddling in kazu and scara's, a bit of a confession in kazuha’s, tranquil beach scenery with kazu, scara is in his wanderer era, you travel with the wanderer, watching fireworks with xiao

summary: under the cover of an enchanting night, romance blossoms.

a/n: i love mutual pining. also, the idea of xiao and scara being soft towards only the reader makes me melt. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading!

Tonight, waves lap at the shore, ebbing and flowing in a steady rhythm, creating a repetitive beat — a baseline for nature’s songs. The sea reflects the darkening skies above, displays of vivid blue and violet lined with subtle shades of rose gold. Sand shifts as you walk barefoot along the shoreline with your closest friend, each grain absorbing the remnants of daytime warmth.

“KAZUHA, hurry up!” you yell, rushing ahead despite the resistance of the miniature dunes beneath you. Playful giggles fill the air as you run and Kazuha chases after you, trying his best to ensure that you remain within his sight.

“Ah, wait!” he calls back, following after you.

Although your legs carry you far, you eventually begin to pant, and your body feels far too heavy to continue on. In a single motion, you dramatically fall to the ground, thankful for the sand below acting as padding. You crash, but fortunately, you’re not injured.

Seconds later, Kazuha catches up. He stands above you, gazing down at your breathless face and smiling softly. Embers of adoration ignite in crimson eyes reminiscent of autumn leaves, burning brightly as he offers a hand to you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing one of your hands firmly. In one swift motion, he pulls you to your feet, and you nod.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say between gasps for air. You’re still tired, and you suppose you should have conserved some energy instead of attempting to run at the speed of light. However, you know you’ll recover eventually.

Kazuha stares at you for a second, irises mirroring shades of sunset flickering over your each and every feature before he shakes his head.

“You look like you need a rest,” he tells you.

He sits down on the sand and pats the spot next to him, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him. You do as he instructs, and soon enough, you find yourself on the ground beside Kazuha, your shoulders nearly touching.

You glance over at him, admiring the way his snow white hair, highlighted by the dying crepuscule, billows in the sea breeze. Autumnal pools of molten rubies fill with small flecks of gold as he keeps his gaze fixated upon the tranquil sea before you. But nothing rivals the smile that comes to adorn his features — full of wonder, an encapsulation of the sun’s brilliance and the moon’s serenity.

Ethereal. That’s the word that comes to mind while you stare at the beautiful boy next to you, and yet, you fear it’s still not enough to describe him.

He’s perfect. His allure rivals that of the panoramic scenery before you.

You wish you could stay in the moment forever — or at the very least, permanently etch every last detail of today into your memory.

Soon enough, the last threads of warmth are pulled from the earth with the disappearance of the sun, and a chill begins to radiate as the cold light of the moon overtakes the sky. Every hint of marigold, coral, and canary completely vanishes. In their place, a deeper midnight blue ebbs into the heavens. As the wind passes by, you feel a slight shiver run down your spine.

And your discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you cold, my dearest?” Kazuha asks you.

The term of endearment causes a warmth to rise to your cheeks. Although affectionate words aren’t rare with Kazuha, your friend is making it sound as though the two of you are a couple.

However, your embarrassment fades as another gust of glacial fervor drifts by to steal the heat from your face, you force yourself to nod. You know that even if you lie, Kazuha will be able to see right through you. You’ve been friends for a while now, and given Kazuha’s attunement to nature, it’s nearly impossible to deceive him.

The wandering samurai wraps an arm around you, igniting a warmth akin to the caress of golden sunrays. His embrace is so warm… so comforting…

You feel your eyelids becoming heavy, and your head involuntarily falls to Kazuha’s shoulder. Slumber begins to overtake you. Tendrils of tantalization pull you deeper into a realm of oneiric euphoria, blurring out the waking world in the process.

But through it all, thoughts of the boy beside you, the one who embodies transient autumns in both looks in personality, never leave your mind.

Just as you feel yourself falling into a plane of enchanting fantasies, you hear six soft words spoken in tandem, whispered by a voice more delicate than the marine zephyrs surrounding you.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Wow, you’re really bad at this,” the WANDERER huffs. “At this rate, we’ll freeze to death.”

You can feel the Wanderer’s indigo gaze, a flawless mimic of the night sky, piercing into the depths of your soul, scrutinizing your every move. At the moment, the only illumination is provided by phantasmagoric stars dotting a canvas of murky navy and violet, but it seems to be enough for him to make out your silhouette against the surrounding shadows.

You sigh, tangible frustration permeating the otherwise serene evening air as you exhale.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I guess I’m just tired or something.”

For a few seconds, a defeaning silence fills the atmosphere, transforming the ambience into one of awkwardness.

And then you feel the Wanderer sit down beside you.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “You’re clearly exhausted and in no state to be starting a fire.” For some reason, his tone of voice is far less pointed than usual, changing from an embodiment of everwinter storms to something more akin to a honeyed warmth — a tranquil portrait of summer’s joys.

You open your mouth to apologize again, but before you can speak, you hear grass rustling as the Wanderer stands up. Your gaze follows his barely-visible figure as he walks a short distance from where you’re sitting back to the small tent you set up earlier. He rummages around for a second before returning and draping a blanket around your shoulders.

“Don’t bother thanking me,” he says, sitting back down next to you.

Your traveling companion looks up at the star-speckled sky, and you swear you can see galaxies full of vibrant magenta and ocean blue reflected in his irises.

“Aren’t you cold too?” you ask, breaking the fragile, short-lived silence into fragments with words that echo in the midnight air, seemingly amplified in the midst of a peaceful moment.

The Wanderer simply shakes his head in response.

“There’s no need to worry about me,” he says.

And yet you still can’t help but feel guilty. You’re nice and cozy underneath the protection of a velvety blanket, safe from the frigid fingers of encroaching night. Meanwhile, the Wanderer is left to fend for himself.

What if you just share the blanket?

The idea is certainly tempting, but you’re a little too scared to follow through with it. Throughout your time with the Wanderer, you’ve gotten the feeling that he’s rather unfond of touch. After all, with his snarky attitude and unfriendly demeanor, he’s the antithesis of a cuddly person.

However, as you shift to sit in a more comfortable position, your fingers accidentally brush against his, causing you to flinch.

He’s cold. Incredibly cold.

And yet not a shiver runs down his spine.

Is he pretending to be alright for your sake?

The mere thought is enough to send another wave of warmth through your body, and suddenly, you feel less alone in the midst of enigmatic darkness. You realize that although he doesn’t outright show it, the Wanderer cares about you. Your heart flutters with the delicacy of a butterfly’s iridescent wings.

“You’re looking out for me,” you whisper under your breath. A small smile dances across your lips, and you decide to take a risk, jumping off a ledge of certainty and into an abyss filled with unknown feelings and fragile bonds.

With one swift movement, you take the end of the blanket closer to the Wanderer and wrap it around his shoulders. Now you’re sharing, and you can feel him pressing up against you. You swear you can feel the tempo of your heartbeat intensifying, each thump resounding in rapid succession.

To your surprise, the Wanderer doesn’t try to push you away. Instead, he scoots towards you.

“You don’t mind this?” you ask him, anticipating his response with bated breath.

For a second, silence fills the night, sending your mind into a polarizing frenzy and your heart into a panic. However, when the Wanderer speaks, you feel the tension leave your body.

“I don’t…” he starts, pausing briefly to consider his next words. Perhaps the surrounding darkness gives him courage, or perhaps he simply can’t suppress his feelings anymore because his next words are entirely unexpected, “but only because it’s you.”

Petals of red and gold bloom into voids of darkness, illuminating endless night in a display of phosphorescent flowers. But the sky isn’t the only thing that undergoes a stunning metamorphosis due to the luminous grace of the fireworks painting the shadows. In the edges of your vision, borders frayed from staring at the breathtaking sight before you for far too long, you catch an spark blaze alight within the honeyed amber of XIAO’s eyes. A subtle smile graces his features.

It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.

You turn your attention to the beautiful boy beside you, absolutely captivated by the grin adorning his face. Displays of happiness from Xiao are rare, occurrences rivaling the convergence of sun and moon — a total eclipse. Your heart beats erratically, creating an exhilarating backing for a nocturne composed of the crackling of fireworks.

“You’re smiling,” you whisper.

Xiao grunts dismissively.

“Nonsense,” he says, wiping all traces of childish wonder and carefree bliss from his face. “The foolish antics of humans mean nothing to the Adepti.”

You feel the corners of your lips turn down. It’s almost like Xiao’s mood is infectious at the moment. When he’s smiling, you’re smiling, and when the euphoria fades from his expression, a certain lightness seems to vanish from the atmosphere.

“Oh, I see.” Your voice comes out meek, dulled by the immense disappointment filling your heart.

You want nothing more than to see Xiao happy. Throughout your time together, you’ve grown to care about him — admittedly a little bit more than platonically — and yet despite your concerns, you feel like Xiao doesn’t share the same sentiments. Xiao doesn’t quite care about his joy as much as you do. He’s far more content with protecting you, and although his actions never fail to cause giddiness to overwhelm you, you can’t help but want to see him smile for once.

Perhaps he’s scared of shattering the cold and distant image he’s crafted, despite the fact that you already know it’s all a fragile illusion formed from jagged shards of the most delicate crystal. Deep down, you know Xiao is caring and warm, akin to a flawless summer day, complete with golden rays of sunlight beaming down at you and a honeyed caress.

It seems that Xiao has noticed the negativity radiating off of you because as you avert your gaze, staring at the wooden floor of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, you hear Xiao’s voice once again.

“Wait,” he interjects, cutting through the thick silence with a singular pointed word, sharper than a dagger constructed from the toughest of diamonds. “I… should explain myself,” he mumbles.

Although you look up once more to make eye contact with Xiao, you’re unsuccessful. Now he’s the one avoiding your stare, and he looks nothing short of endearingly shy. Gilded lamplight illuminates his features, making the sunset blush dawning on his cheeks all the more apparent to you.

“I wasn’t…” Xiao manages before pausing once more. “I wasn’t only smiling because of the fireworks,” he forces himself to say.

His words pique your interest. Although the rest of the night is exceptionally beautiful, the various acrylic hues burgeoning across a canvas painted a dark obsidian shade are the most noteworthy sights of the evening. When you try to think of anything that even closely parallels their beauty, nothing comes to mind.

“I felt at peace,” he says, his voice softening, “because you were beside me.”

You inhale sharply. The air feels far too electrifying at the moment, shocking you with an unexpected elation. You didn’t expect Xiao to be so forward, and yet, here he is, more or less telling you how much you mean to him. Many words remain unspoken, but you already know Xiao well enough to understand the weight of that one sentence.

As you glance over to the adeptus once more, a grin dances across your face. Aureate galaxies meet your gaze, sparkling with the subtlest hints of adoration.

The blush across Xiao’s cheeks only intensifies as the corners of his lips turn up once again in a shy smile.

It’s luminous. His expression, a true embodiment of equanimity and contentment, turns even the most breathtaking of fireworks more vibrant and the brightest of stars more radiant.

It’s at that moment that an epiphany strikes.

Contrary to what you had believed just moments prior, there’s one thing that rivals the stunning nature of the rainbow-infused pyrotechnics before you: the soft grin adorning Xiao’s features, accentuating each part of his face with a light brighter than that of an imploding supernova.

thank you for reading! i have a few more drafts that are close to finished, so i might post again soon (no promises though because i tend to procrastinate on my writing).

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #wanderer x reader #kazuha fluff #scaramouche fluff #xiao fluff

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doomsdaybby · 6 months

Note

Hey, sweet!

I had an idea like, eddie x gf!reader has a fight, it's not one of those super huge fights, but it's still a fight, so eddie leaves his trailer super angry, but when he comes back, he sees reader humping his pillow 🫣

eeee!!!! thankyou so so much for this request 😭 i’m so sorry for it taking this long. I got a little carried away, but I hope that it was worth the wait <3

I don’t proofread so if there’s any mistakes i’m sorrryyyy </3

cw: smut 18+ MDNI!!! oral (f receiving), weed mention

something sweet | eddie munson x gf!reader (2.7k words)

Eddie’s reeboks scuff against the dusty gravel path that led between the trailer park and the adjacent forest. The cool fall wind threatened to bite, just the tiniest amount, as he was blanketed by twinkling stars and one of the brightest moons that shone so brilliantly over the trailer park.

He had missed the fading hazes of plums, violets and roses bleed into the inky black sky above him of the late October evening. A view you both enjoyed together, the days coming to a close, on almost a nightly basis over chaste kisses and lazy comfortable conversation of how your days had gone.

It was just cool enough where the gentle breeze that rustled the changing fall leaves didn’t turn his fingers to ice, whilst still providing the welcome chill to Eddie’s blazing cheeks.

Opting to neglect his signature denim jacket that hung by the doorway back at the trailer, maybe it was for the best. His body was on fire, forehead a hot sticky mess despite the soft bite of looming colder nights.

It was rare that the two of you fought, even rarer to drive Eddie out of the trailer for an hour or two. The pair of you could never ‘agree to disagree’; someone had to be right, and the other had to be sorry.

Eddie had come home rather late post his regular weekly Corroded Coffin gig at The Hideout, a whole three hours late.

He had stumbled through the door still riding high on the lingering adrenaline from a particularly crowded gig, a little buzzed and far too cheery, the greeting of a cold laid out dinner and a seething girlfriend awaiting at his doorstep.

The unwelcome picture of you sat criss-crossed on the couch, arms tightly folded and a series of deep lines crumpling your forehead and brows, spoiling your pretty face, was one he feared to expect.

He had simply lost track of time, that was all.

Thus ensued raised voices and spitefully pointed fingers. Name-calling and an array of curses that had no meaning, ones only meant to hurt in that particular moment hurtled between you.

It wasn't a complete eruption though, both pent up with mix-matched emotions and clashing heads. You were just worn out and lonely.

He hadn't called to tell you. Did he even care that much to let you know he would be late?

Whereas Eddie felt somewhat disregarded, unsupported, walking through the door to such a buzzkill.

Were you even happy that they had a successful show? There would be so many more dinners, and countless future evenings to spend together. Could you not let him off just this once?

So both perceived that they were right, entitled to their titular emotions, and that an apology was owed. The problem lay that neither believed they needed to be sorry.

Of course this led to you petulantly slamming the bedroom door shut to shout a stream of profanity into the pillow, whilst Eddie kicked the front door closed with a heavy thud, pre-rolled blunt hanging loosely from his lips and hands busy tying his hair up in a messy bun.

So when Eddie’s wristwatch read 1:30am and his forehead didn’t pulse as wildly with pent up frustration, he decided it was about time to kiss and make up. Literally, if he was lucky. You were pretty pissed.

But what he wasn’t expecting was creaking open the bedroom door to find you with your thighs straddling his pillow, grinding down embarrassingly helpless against it.

Guess you weren’t that pissed after all.

He should have been hurt, surely? He leaves amidst an argument and he comes back to catch you pleasuring yourself? But fucking hell weren’t you just delicious.

The most beautiful little sounds were escaping your parted lips, faint moans muffled by the sheets beneath you. His name etched onto your tongue like quill ink to fresh parchment, gyrating your hips with fevered purpose, and all was forgotten.

You obviously hadn’t heard him come home, not with the Iron Maiden cassette filling your ears from across the room to set your mood, that and the flooding memories of Eddie’s low wines and breathy grunts. It was almost too much to bear.

Maybe you purposefully wanted him to catch you in the act? Vulnerable and pathetic. His head spun dizzy at the mere thought.

Eddie’s cheeks flushed rouge, the swift swelling of his cock against the material of his jeans becoming too uncomfortable to ignore.

The funniest part of it all is that Eddie knew far too well that solo masturbation wasn’t enough for you, either of you, for that matter.

The orgasm you could give yourself never compared to his touch; rough large palms knowing exactly how to strum you like a fine-tuned guitar, pillowed lips marking every inch of skin they could find, deft fingers tangled in your hair and pushing your thighs up to your chest to fold you in half.

So he watched for a minute or two, unable to deny the throbbing strain of his cock against the zipper.

His whole body was ablaze, absentmindedly rocking his groin along the doorframe for any sort of relieving friction.

He knew that you were getting close. That boy recited your body like his own personal bible, intimately acquainted with every stutter of your hips, every caught breath he had listened to as a hymn song.

He let out a barely held together sigh, lost in his own personal euphoria, teeth biting down on the inside of his bottom lip.

“Eds? You home, baby?” you called from the bedroom, stalling for a moment with your boyfriend's pillow still remaining perfectly placed between your thighs, before continuing a faint see-saw motion for some form of pleasure to linger within reach.

‘Baby’. You definitely weren’t mad anymore.

Eddie stood up straight from the doorway, knocking open the door with a breathy laugh. It was cocky, a hint of even disappointment clouding his tone.

More of a ‘you are in very big trouble’ sort of disappointment, and you had grown very accustomed to that laugh. Just as you recognised that exact arrogant grin he pulled as he entered the room.

“Are you having fun there, my sweetheart?” he pointed to the pillow still prisoned within your thighs.

I mean, could he blame you? It smelt too much like him, in too many glorious ways - the smoky amber of his cheap cologne, the faint remnants of cigarettes and weed, sticky scents of sweat-sheened skin during summer nights.

It encompassed him completely, and it was downright intoxicating.

“Mhm… missed you” your eyes rounded, peering up at him from the bed with big doll eyes and fluttering pretty lashes, giving the pillow another drawn out grind. Eddie sighed something filthy again at the vulgar sight, his hand snaking down to palm at his painful erection.

“I can see that,” another smug chuckle, shaded sinister in its undertone. “Lay on your back for me, baby. You really thought you would be able to cum without me?”.

Of course you obliged, it was close to humiliating how quickly you discarded the pillow and spread out all sweetly on the bed for him.

Ready and waiting, always at his beckon call.

Eddie relished every moment of it, and holy fuck, he nearly unravelled at the sight of your slick sticking to his pillow, glossy and sweet. Just the same as it pooled to the center of your panties.

The mattress dips where Eddie begins his climb onto the bed, warms hands wandering and anything but chaste, spread fingers mapping the exposed skin of your legs and thighs like new land amongst an uncharted ocean.

Then came the kisses, cupping your trembling flesh, smoothing and squeezing with every loving peck. They were sweet, filled with unbridled affection and pouring with many ‘I love you’s’.

“So pretty,” he murmured with charm, hot breath fanning further and further up to exactly where you needed him, walls clamping down and cunt fluttering with want.

Eddie was never shy with his fondness, ever so syrupy sweet and dripping with candy-covered charisma.

He was tender, nosing at the delicate skin of your upper thigh.

You huff out a shaky laugh when his lips reach the cotton of your underwear, barely exposed teeth grazing the elastic of your waistband.

“Are you mad at me?” The words came out overstrung, considering you were wound tight from your earlier near release and assorted with the anxiety you had upset him, your beating heart had been sent into complete overdrive.

Eddie paused, peering up at you through thick lashes, eyes foggy and filled with a gaze as rosy-colored as cloud nine.

“Not anymore,” he was soothing with it, still very matter of fact, “Are you mad at me?”.

Another kiss, yet this one was loaded with more heat and open-mouthed, sloppy in its delivery, therefore focusing on an answer went out the window in an instant.

Squeezing the warmed dough of your inner thighs, Eddie suckles with purpose, a little mean with his technique but the attentiveness remained nonetheless.

“Not anymore,” you managed in a faltering exhale, hissing a little through your teeth at the feeling of teeth to tender skin.

Eddie hummed, all fingers and thumbs sliding under elastic and cotton, settling his palms beneath your panty line right atop the plush of your hips.

Deft fingertips nursed the hills of flesh there, and Eddie’s attention abandoned your thighs now in favor of that inviting puddle between your legs.

You inhaled hard, the contact of his nose swiping along your clothed bud eliciting a sharp pitched moan, probably one a tad too dramatic for the mere ounce of connection, but Eddie’s mouth pulled into a grin and suddenly you didn't feel conscious about it.

“Pent up, aren't we?” Eddie teased with a pant, hot breath washing up along your exposed abdomen.

You wiggled in response under a hidden giggle, palms shielding your face as you nodded, Eddie’s large hands keeping you spread open for him.

He pressed down to open you up a little more, straightened out farther enough for a peak of that building wetness at your entrance to escape past your panty line.

“Promise you’re not mad?’ Eddie mumbles, more serious and genuine, plush lips tickling the now bruised spot on your thigh to keep you sweet, catching some of your slick with the tip of his tongue, a creeping hand stroking the mound of your naked pussy.

You hiss in a sharp breath through your teeth, rolling your hips into his palm the faintest amount that you can considering his weight.

“Promise,” You bit back a moan, determined to hang on to at least a shred of dignity, hands covering your thrumming cheeks when Eddie finally pulled your underwear to the side, rapid inhaling and exhaling creating erotic movement of your chest.

His eyebrows raise in unison for a moment, a ‘thought so’ sort of gesture. Smug fucker. You could have mentioned it, but the feeling of his wet tongue dipping into the dripping well of your entrance had a breath catching in your throat.

You were sick with it; the already building pressure at the base of your tummy, his searching tongue lapping at your slick folds, crude sopping sounds eliciting from the dip and drag of Eddie’s mouth up and down, up and down.

Finally he finds your clit, taking it kindly between his lips and sucking with true intention. Another moan slips free, shaking beneath his heated touch. It was too much yet not enough.

Completely giddy and nerve endings alight, Eddie’s fingers dig cruelly into the swell of your hips when they begin to lift up off the mattress, escaping his motions whilst never wanting them to end.

Fat melts and molds under Eddie’s touch, yanking a little rough to pull your cunt closer into his waiting mouth.

He suckles and licks, prods and flicks, flattening his tongue every so often to drag from your weeping hole to your clit, collecting every smear of wetness in his path.

“Eddie” you dragged out in a whine, fingers smoothing the loose strands of his hair from his face to see him clearly.

Your boy looked so so pretty. All glass-eyed and heavy lidded, his cheeks dusted baby pink. You could clearly see his tongue lapping at your clit, panting open-mouthed and head bobbing with every stroke.

He looked even prettier with his locks of hair coming loose from the hair tie he’d messily strewn it up in, your fingers aching to delve into every nook, nails seeking scalp.

Though the building release came hurtling quicker when Eddie focused his attention to the very tip of your bud, flicking with precision, pressing the perfect amount.

Eddie groans wicked when you begin to roll your hips, a sheen of spittle and arousal coating around his lips. His chin must be a mess, Eddie knows this for sure as the mixture begins to dribble down the column of his throat.

“Please” you beg, eyes squeezed shut, chasing the building orgasm. “Don’t stop, Eddie, please”.

Eddie mumbles a ‘nuh uh’ against your swollen bud, the added vibrations bringing you closer to the edge, not once changing his pace or rhythm.

He would never, he wouldn’t dare stop. One of Eddie’s favorite things was to watch you completely unravel because of him. His touch, his tongue, his cock.

He knows you’re close, having intricately mesmerized every crease at the corner of your eyes when you were tasting that peak, how your mouth hangs open in concentrated silence.

You almost looked pained, desperate. If he stopped now he wouldn’t see the sunrise. So Eddie instead uses two thumbs to spread your pussy wider, soft clit jutting out and easier to zone in on.

What he really wanted to do was lean back and admire how puffy and wet you were, but you were closing your thighs around his head and pulling him closer by the roots of his hair.

You chanted his name in an ever growing pitch, higher and higher until you were crashing down.

Eddie anchored you to the bed, moaning alongside you as you came in tidal waves onto his tongue. He almost busted in his jeans at the prettiest sounds he’s ever heard you fucking make.

Your aching legs shook around him, that pained expression on your face morphing into agony. But everything was pure bliss.

Eddie slowed his lapping, guiding you back down to earth, eventually transitioning into the smallest kitten licks until you were pushing him away with enclosed fists.

He grinned, a throbbing tent in his pants and a little too pleased with himself. Some overstim every now and then never hurt anyone.

Through bleary half-lidded eyes, you watched as Eddie crawled back into view. Long brunette curls tickled your cheeks, his soaked fingers teasing the edge of your lips.

One by one, Eddie pressed the pads of his fingertips against your wet tongue that was already waiting for him at the part of your mouth, gradually edging the digits in.

Without him needing to ask, you sucked, and you sucked well. A groan of appreciation rumbling in his chest, eyes glued heavy-lidded to the swirl of your tongue and hollow of your cheeks. He reveled in your submission.

You granted him purchase there, settling his plush wet lips just behind your earlobe, against that one particular soft spot to suck hazes of blue and purple similar to that of the midnight sky out the window.

He was a whisper in your ear, gooseflesh rising on your arms and the fire reigniting in your abdomen. “Now get on your knees for me”.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson request #my fics #doomsdaybby

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nikatyler · 1 year

Photo

𝓪𝓭𝓿𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓒𝓐𝓢𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓻 🎄 warm christmas (9/24)

Although they would much prefer the fairytale white Christmas, Vi and Prince go to celebrate it in Oasis Springs every year. But that’s okay, you can make a nice “snowman” out of sand too, and you don’t have to worry about getting sick from staying out for too long!

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #simblr #sims #AdventCASlendar #breeze nsb legacy extra #violet sky breeze #prince ryan

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sakkiichi · 10 months

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IT’S YOU, IT’S YOU, IT’S ALL FOR YOU.

“Let them have the world, I only want you.”

Kaedehara Kazuha, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Venti, Xiao x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, comfort, angst, fluff.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Lightning opens the sky and the end of the world is starting.

Over Tenshukaku, bruised clouds gather, the ground rumbling to the ear-splitting sound of thunder.

Your breath comes in short, running by your lover’s side, a scene you know neither of you ever wants to relive, peeking from behind the darkened horizon.

Spears, bows and swords drawn, you rush to the scene by the resistance’s soldiers’ side.

Violent shades of violet ignite two silhouettes: one of them with their sword at the ready, the other with something floating at their side.

The Traveler is in danger.

Picking up pace, you reach the war zone, just to be met almost face to face with the slash of lightning.

Something you never wanted to encounter again, something you swore you’d never let him have to face anymore.

Electricity is reflected in your eyes when your gaze focuses on him. Your arms reaching out, to no avail, for the wandering samurai’s katana is clashing against the very same storm that burned him, in more ways than one.

Perhaps you were screaming, maybe you imagined his departed friend’s vision glowing anew, or it could be that the crackling of neon indigo around was just scorching your throat.

You don’t want to look, and yet your eyes stay glued to him, the wandering soul you’ve come to know perhaps deeper than you’ve ever known yourself.

A bright flash surrounds you and you just can’t bring yourself to watch.

In the middle of this thunder raining night, you don’t want to, you can’t bear to imagine the prospect of a world without your sun.

Salty droplets start sliding down your cheeks, your vision blurry when you finally, tentatively, crack your eyes open.

And for a moment, all air is knocked out of your lungs.

A dull colorless vision lays lifeless before you.

“No… no… no! No…” A croaked out choke leaves your throat, your legs giving out from under you.

And yet, you never hit the ground.

Familiar arms are wrapped around you, comforting, in the way only his were.

A heartbeat, loud and quick, melting into your stressed lungs, its thumping breaking the surface of your glacial deep sea when you gasp for air.

“Shhh dove, I’m here.” His head rests against yours, silky strands of hair you’ve combed and braided countless times tickling the side of your neck.

The samurai’s hold on you tightens; oxygen fills your lungs again.

“Kazuha…” You breathe, your voice a glass string, threatening to shatter with the slightest breeze.

“I’m here.” He repeats, tender lips delicately pecking your hair.

In his hold, you turn around, your knuckles white, gripping his clothes, as if he was going to disappear right between your fingers.

“Kazuha… please…” you rest your cheek against his chest, burying into him. “Don’t do that again!” Sobs, broken like the lightning pierced sky above escape you. “I don’t care if the whole world burns down, I only want you, safe and here, so please don’t…” you can’t form any more words, tears completely blinding you, ragged breaths lodged at the back of your throat.

“My hummingbird, I don’t know if I can promise you I won’t put myself in danger again,” Kazuha utters, with the softness of autumn leaves landing on your outstretched palms. His hands brush sweaty strands away from your face, the bandages you’ve wrapped and unwrapped until you knew his scars by heart, all too present when he touches your skin. “But I swear I’ll always return to you, safe.” He leaves a soft kiss on your temple, a lingering charm reminding you of his promise.

“Kazuha…” you cry again, squeezing him even tighter.

In the thunderstruck night, the poet known by the wind doesn’t let you go.

History didn’t repeat itself.

You won’t let it in the future either.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

In the end, you’re thankful he didn’t become a god.

Looking at him now, with the last rays of summer sun carried by the breeze kissing his face, you believe Scaramouche is right were he was always meant to be: with someone by his side, not replaced, not discarded.

Not alone.

Pristine svelte hands, despite the biting gales he commands, pluck at a Sumeru rose by his side, its violet petals almost sparkling in the coppery glow of the early evening.

The wanderer’s brow furrows, a dispersing cloud flitting by in the dusk horizon. He twirls the flower around his fingers, akin to a kaleidoscope reflecting the feelings his eyes can’t fully conceal.

“What’s on your mind?” You ask, bumping your shoulder with his softly.

Months back, that gesture alone would probably have earned you a cold hard stare and perhaps the breath knocked out of you.

But he’s… different now, you guess; or perhaps he is starting to become himself.

He sighs, starting to pluck at the petals of the rose still in his grasp.

“For a moment, I thought I finally had it all.” He leans back, the flower now resting beside him, as he looks up at the glowing sky. “For a brief instant, I thought, finally, no one else would betray me, that if I stood over everyone else, I’d… I don’t know, wouldn’t be discarded once again.” He chuckles, the sound humorless. “Turns out that couldn’t have been farther from the truth, huh?” He sighs again, pulling off some grass from the ground, letting it fly away into the sunset.

“Not necessarily.” You softly tell him, picking up the rose he was holding earlier. “You’re still here, and at least there’s a small part from your past you’ve been able to pull away from, hm?” You search for his gaze, your mind back to the days in which you exchanged blows and he was still known as ‘the Balladeer’. “And I’m still here, Nahida hasn’t completely deserted you either, and well, hasn’t the Traveler invited you into their Serenitea Pot more than once?” You offer him a sincere smile that merges into a chuckle when you observe his cheeks tinting in the same colors as the sun dipping behind the horizon. “Let whoever wants to command this world have it.” You utter, brushing away starlit strands from his face. “You’ll always be at the center of mine, Kuni.” You vow, as you tuck the Sumeru rose behind his ear.

Your partner scoffs, but it comes out like more of a chuckle, the carmine on his cheeks almost glowing as silver and gold mix in the sky for a few ephemeral instants.

In a moment in which is neither day or night, your gazes meet.

And he is certain the stars dancing in your stare are very much real.

‘The moon is beautiful,’ is the thought you share looking into each other’s eyes.

✧ VENTI

Midnight dyes Mondstadt in shades of cyan. By starlight, the city of freedom is not unlike a deep lake, the lit windows akin to lanterns shining at the bottom.

On the highest point of this city, a bard sits, his lyre, by his side; his songs, silent tonight.

He feels like he’s drowning.

He’s the god of this land, and yet, no wind seems to encompass his breaths.

By daylight, no one would be able to tell gales arise inside the carefree lyricist’s heart, but, at night, the shadows tended to light up things in their true colors.

A sigh leaves him, mere ripples in the stillness of the hour.

“Long day?”

A familiar voice, the one he has wished would join his in the verses he strums on his instrument.

He turns around, eyes of northern lights following your figure as you sit beside him.

Your feet dangle from the hands of the anemo archon’s statue, night air chilly against your skin. You give him a knowing look, inviting him to go on, to speak his mind if he needs to.

“I suppose you could say that.” Venti replies, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes plastered on his features. “But I’ll be fine!” His grin widens, a cracked mask held together by sheer willpower.

“Venti…” You scold him with no malice, leveling him with a pointed glance. “How many times have you said that knowing damn well it wouldn’t be true?”

He shrugs, looking down at the city below. A city he doesn’t think he can protect now.

He couldn’t save his friend, after all.

Who’s to say if the time calls for it, he’ll be able to save everyone, or you, for that matter?

“I know…” your partner mumbles, his voice devoid of his usual cheer. “It’s just…” the wind god looks up, as if asking the midnight zephyr, ‘where do I go from here?’ He mindlessly fiddles with the strings of his discarded lyre, right now, not certain he’ll ever pick it up again. “Wouldn’t this city… be better with someone else as its archon?”

“What makes you say that?” You ask, leaning your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done many times. The sound of his lyre used to accompany you in those. You miss it now. “I know I wouldn’t want anyone else but you, Venti.”

The anemo archon rests his head on top of yours, closing his eyes against the dark sky.

With you by his side, he almost feels like he’s flying.

“Are you sure?” He asks, barely above a whisper.

“More than I’ve ever been about anything, love.”

Venti hums, letting himself melt against your hold, at least for tonight. Perhaps he’s just too tired to discuss the topic further, maybe he just wants to believe this world still can be beautiful for him after all.

You wrap your arms around his waist.

The lake he was drowning in minutes ago stills.

The lyre is back in the god of anemo’s hands.

✧ XIAO

The yaksha is starting to think perhaps this was indeed not a good idea.

He feels miserable; he sports new wounds every night, both on his skin and his heart; he hasn’t felt your arms around his form in so long.

He thought if he pulled away, perhaps he could spend more time slaying monsters.

If there was no light at the end of the tunnel, then he could stay forever entangled in his eternal dance of life and death, right? Liyue would be protected.

You would be safe.

Except maybe that candle fluttering in the middle of the night was what gave the conqueror of demons some semblance of hope.

From the balcony of Wangshu Inn, the adeptus takes a deep breath, ready to leap to the other side of the darkened sky’s curtain.

Except, something, someone catches his wrist.

“Xiao.” The vigilant yaksha turns around, piercing gold meeting the steely resolve of your gaze. Your grip on his hand tightens. “Where are you going?” You ask him.

The demon conqueror stands at a standstill, balanced between the darkness of lost stars beyond, and the warmth of existing by your side.

The set of his jaw tightens. Why did you always make him feel this… softness inside his heart?

But no, he can’t stay. He needs to keep you safe, and if that means dipping in bloodshed, then so be it.

However, you beg to differ.

A ripple of ginko leaves, aureate against the marine backdrop of infinity flutters by.

By the time it stops, Xiao is standing in front of you, both your hands on his, the wisps of dark jade smoke and his polearm, discarded.

“Stay.” You plead, reaching out to brush silky dark teal strands away from his face. You let your fingers ghost over the dark shadows coating the underside of your adeptus’ stare, as if the demons he so intently fights were taking form in the the heaviness of his gaze.

He wants to say ‘no’, he wants to walk away.

He doesn’t think he has the right to taint you with his karma.

And yet, his patched up heart can’t help but nod along to anything you say.

So, for once, the yaksha sheds his mask, head hung low, shoulders sagging.

“Xiao,” you call, your hands cradling his face, guiding it to yours. “You deserve peace too.”

Your lover’s brows furrow, why were you always so tender and kind to him?

“But I need to protect-“

“My love, no legend is without chapters, you need rest and care as well.” You retort, your index running along the rosy curve of his lips.

The vigilante sighs, relieved or defeated, he could never tell.

“Let the world fend off for itself tonight, Xiao.” You softly breathe, a caress against his flared up skin. “Be with me, at least until dawn.”

Your arms wrap around him.

Standing in the light like this… it feels good.

Xiao leans his head on the crook of your neck.

And for once, he chooses warmth.

He wouldn’t enter the tunnel tonight.

629 notes · View notes

mondaymelon · 1 year

Text

the first time you hold hands.♡

(liyue genshin impact x gn!reader)

written headcanon style! enjoy✩

(a/n) gift for @lume-nosity ♡ feel free to comment or reblog characters you want next!! (the xiao part took so much out of me i cant stop fucking squeeallinggg please hoyo give us soft xiao interactions next lantern rite pleaseee)

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

xiao ♡

he never was an affectionate person, but he tried to change that for you.

it was common knowledge that the adeptus was cold and typically uninviting to mortals, but to you, he was a completely different person.

he was never harsh to you, never yelled at you, not even when he was raging mad, because he didn't want to scare you. he never told you anything differing from kind words or praise, because he knew that doing so would make you happy.

and it did.

recently, xiao had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to come with you to liyue harbor to have a small meet up with you. it wasn't often that you got breaks from your job, but when you did, you would spend them at wangshu inn, excitedly conversing with the dark-haired man as the moon rose and shone overhead. This time, you had invited him to come to you instead, and that you would show him around modern liyue.

he never liked mortals, but you were different.

"xiao! there you are!" you gave the male a wave from where you stood, beaming. above, the sky was just beginning to get dark, the horizons tinted with hues of violet and crimson.

you could see him clearly from where you stood, the adeptus walking at his usual brisk pace. as he reached you, he paused and hesitated. "what do mortals call these things again?"

"dates?" you giggled, laughing at xiao's innocent and silly nature.

"that's it." the dark-haired male nodded, before glancing at you and then downward with his warm amber eyes. "then... can we hold hands?" he stares down at the ground, face and ears tinged red from embarrassment. xiao extends a hand toward you slowly, waiting for a response.

and you gladly take it, intertwining your fingers with his gloved ones and smiling. "of course."

the night is cold, but with the two of you interlocking hands, suddenly, everything seems all the bit more warm.

childe ♡

"comrade" had always been his title for you.

and the two of you had always been close. you had been childe's friend, advisor, and companion for longer than you could remember. the two of you had braved the harsh winters shneznaya, and when the male had received orders to head to liyue for some unsettled matters, you were more than willing to pack everything and leave with him.

after all, without childe, nothing could be the same.

you watched silently at the interaction between the northland bank receptionist and the familiar ginger, before making a quick motion to childe to mention that you were heading out. it was just too stuffy inside, and you needed some air. it had been a busy past few weeks, and the times where you did have rare solace, you decided you maximize the most of.

pushing open the heavy door, the cold night breeze greeted you. it was chilly, but it did help clear your head. the moon is full tonight, you note to yourself, staring up from where you're leaning on the side railings and smiling.

then there's the sound of footsteps behind you as low and behold, tartaglia himself comes out to check up on you.

"hey, comrade. what are you doing all alone out here?" his voice is nonchalant, but you could decipher the worried undertone in his words.

"i needed to clear my head." you glance back at him, before gesturing to the empty space beside you with a grin. "the view is great here, childe. come take a look."

and he does, stepping over to your side gently with the ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. he follows your gaze quietly, up at the round, shining moon and glittering stars that light up the night sky. then he turns to look at you, and his gaze softens.

then warmth shoots through you as he grasps your hand, fingers brushing yours before he clasps them tightly.

"it's okay if i do this, right, love?"

kazuha ♡

it was in his notebook that you saw his true feelings, displayed for you to see, and you knew how much it meant for him.

you hadn't meant to stumble across journal - really. it was by complete chance that kazuha had decided to go for a walk and you hadn't realized, and so had gone into his room to speak to him only to find him gone.

thinking that he might be holed up somewhere in the space, busy writing something, you searched high and low and only found a leather bound journal with a red maple leaf on the cover that had clearly been stitched on. opening it, you were astonished to find pages on pages of endless haikus, poems, all sorts of rhymes and tales, all written in kazuha's graceful, flowy handwriting.

a smile upon the breeze, cruelties done out of fun. that out of so many people of these my lover is none.

the rising sun brings forth new morn still, the memory fades yet, for even though your face was forlorn, your smile i shall never forget.

for as long as we play this game, i wish our paths will never part. would you say you felt the same? if i told you what lied in my heart?

the poems and easing verses run ceaselessly from page to page, and you can only feel your eyes widen and face burn as you keep reading, albeit a bit guilty for going through his personal things like this. but as you turn the page to read the last poem, you can hear footsteps resounding from somewhere down the hall.

someone's coming.

immediately, you hastily scramble to place the journal back where it was and then dive on top of kazuha's bed, hoping that no one would spot you underneath the covers. the steps stop at the door, and you can hear the hinges squeal quietly as the door gets pushed open.

"hello?" kazuha's voice is confused and quiet, and you already know that he's suspiciously scanning the room. heart racing, you hear him walk closer to the bed, pausing before-

"what-" the male threw back the covers, and you can glimpse his startled expression from where you're pressed flat against his mattress. "what are you doing here...?"

"uhm... surprise?" you sit up awkwardly, scooting off the bed and getting onto your feat nervously. "a-anyway- don't think about this too hard- let's just..." you clasped kazuha's hand in yours, smiling frantically. fingers locked together, you tugged kazuha to and out the door. "let's just forget about it, okay?"

poor kazuha's so embarrassed, he can't even say a thing except mutter a quiet:

"o-okay."

ganyu ♡

working overtime was something ganyu was accustomed to. however, she was still unfamiliar with many concepts, namely you, and your seemingly endless affection.

you were a peculiar person, in ganyu's eyes. you always, no matter how late she got off work, waited for the adeptibeast patiently, usually handing her a gift or drink of some sort before walking her back to her house.

the evenings the two of you spend together at what ganyu considers the best moments of her days.

The warm evening glow reflecting off of your face, the lanterns lining the streets, the hustling murmur of excited in the background only convinced ganyu that she cared for you more than she would ever let on.

"ah..." ganyu turns to you, and you blink at her questioningly in return. "speaking of which, was there anything you wanted?"

"huh...?"

"well, you're always waiting for me after work... and bringing me all sorts of things too... so i wanted to pay you back for all of the effort." ganyu glances away, deciding to look anywhere but you, glancing at the food stalls, buildings, and the stone path the two of you are walking on. however, her efforts were fruitless, as you were able to see a clear view of her flushed face.

"aw, that's so sweet of you!" grinning, you let out a little giggle at her mannerisms. "but i didn't give you those hoping for something in return. its because i care about you!"

i care about you.

those words rang in the blue-haired girls ears as her warm eyes widened. "then..."

she walks closer to you, tugging at your sleeve with red tinged cheeks. as you turn to look at her questioningly, she takes your hand in hers, intertwining her slender fingers with you.

"can i do this?"

shenhe ♡

she had never really understood humans, nor wanted to, until she met you.

no one ever called shenhe a human. it was only ever adepti this and adepti that. maybe it was her lack of present emotions, or maybe it was just her cold demeanor, but her words fell upon deaf ears whenever she tried to explain.

"eh? you seem pretty human to me, shenhe. it's pretty hard to get it wrong, honestly." you glanced up at the white-haired girl curiously. the two of you were seated at liuli pavilion, upon your request to share lunch together.

"hard... to mistake me?" shenhe smiled airily, an expression that was seen by few. "just as i thought. you're different than everyone else. in a good way."

"...th-thanks...?"

shenhe merely let an relatively amused expression cross her face. "let me ask you something. to you, what makes a human human?"

you thought about her question for a long pause before answering. "i'd like to say... emotions. humans are egotistic and greedy, i'll admit to that, as i'm guilty of it myself, but humans also are thoughtful. they're kind, caring, genuine and understanding. that's what makes communities so powerful too. it's because everyone as the mutual trust and belief in each other that they can do great things." you grinned at the girl. "you have emotions too, they just don't get shown as often as the emotions of others. but that doesn't mean you don't have them."

the white-haired woman stayed silent for the count of three, her multi-colored eyes sparkling as she stared at you with a level of affection you didn't know was possible.

a light blush began creeping across her face as well, although she didn't seem to notice her red cheeks and ears. instead, she just beamed at you.

"caring, you say? then, tell me, is this something a caring human would do?" with that, she reached down at took your hand with hers as a faint smile began to form on shenhe's face. her slender hands were cold to the touch, a pleasant feeling in the warm liyue heat as she intertwined her hands with yours.

"yes, it is."

"good."

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year

Text

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt.6)

summary: Cinderella finds her friend...and his real identity.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5)

“You kept your promise,” Cinderella says. She leans her head back to look into the dark canopy of the oak tree. The moon shines through the gaps in the leaves. The magic her friend carries with him slides through the branch. “I’m here.”

“You’re here,” her friend says. A wash or warmth drifts over Cinderella’s face, coaxing her eyes shut. “Don’t look at the magic.”

“It doesn’t hurt me,” Cinderella says. She closes her eyes anyway and smiles. “The dresses are beautiful.”

“I knew you’d pick the green,” her friend says. There’s a long pause. Finally, he says, “Thank you. For coming.”

How odd the words sound! Cinderella is never thanked. It makes her feel full, somehow. Confident. She wants to share the feeling with her friend. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”

There’s no verbal reaction from her friend, but she can tell he’s happy. The moonlight is warmer and the leaves rustle though there’s no breeze. “My pleasure.”

“My stepfamily is here,” Cinderella says after a moment. She smiles and stretches her arms out in front of her. “They look beautiful.”

“No, they don’t,” her friend says. She imagines he’d be curling his lip if he had one. His aura slinks around the tree. “One of them is wearing purple. Doesn’t she know better?”

“It’s lilac.”

“She’ll soon find out if that saves her from the Queen.”

If Cinderella were kind, she’d be concerned by that ominous promise. But Cinderella is selfish because she says, “You saw her?”

“…yes,” her friend says. The courtyard warms another few degrees. “I, er, haven’t told you everything about me.”

Cinderella raises her eyebrows and bites her tongue. She wants to say, we haven’t even exchanged names. Instead she says, “Like how you’re a human?”

“What?” His energy lashes. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody,” Cinderella says. What she can see of the magic through her barely open eyes is darker, responding to his emotions. Cinderella isn’t afraid even when it weighs on her lungs. She huffs a laugh. “I don’t think a tree could pick out dresses.”

Something odd happens then. Cinderella’s eyes are barely open like when first waking up. She can see the glimmer of magic through her eyelashes and the gentle light of the moon on the castle walls. Something seems to step out of the light like smoke solidifying. Her friend’s presence disappears all at once and, startled, Cinderella opens her eyes.

Not a boy, Cinderella’s first thought is.

The man standing in front of her belongs in the sun. She doesn’t know why she thinks that. His hair is as dark as the night sky above and his green eyes shine like stars. He’s beautifully structured, face drawn in broad lines and shoulders squared against her scrutiny. The coat he’s wearing is almost completely black. There are dark swirls of velvet across the lapels that look violet in the moonlight and his dress pants match.

Cinderella watches the way his hands twitch and then still. Rainbows of magic curl out from his back like wings and then fade into thin air as if they never were.

“I,” her friend says, “am not a tree.”

Cinderella surprises herself by laughing. There’s something so him in his first words to her. A little offended, a little embarrassed, a little too commanding. She smiles at her friend. “No, you are not.”

“You…aren’t mad?” Like she’s studying him, he studies her. His eyes flash from her expression to the easy way she’s holding her hands in her lap and he frowns. “Why?”

“Because we’re friends,” Cinderella says simply. She’s always known that they haven’t told each other everything. The important thing is that they know each other. “Friends learn new things about each other all the time.”

He stares at her. He is less easy to read than he was as a tree. There’s no warm energy dancing around her to interpret, no suspiciously timed breeze. He steps forward and then collapses onto the bench next to her like a puppet without strings. The line of his body against her arm is strikingly hot and he is very careful not to jostle her on the narrow bench. He throws a hand over his eyes. “You’re too kind.”

He says the word kind like a curse. Cinderella who is so tired of being kind, of being patient, likes the way he says it. She doesn’t like being accused of it.

“I am not,” she says tartly. It’s hard to look at him seated next to each other like this, but she does her best. She twists, her knees pressing against his, and sits at her full height so she can scowl directly into his face. “Take that back.”

Her friend peeks through his fingers. His lips twitch at the indignation on her face. “I didn’t say anything untrue.”

The almost-smile soothes the sting of her offense. Cinderella has to work hard to keep scowling. “Yes, you did. If I was kind I would be trying to pay you back for bringing me to the Capital and putting me up for a week and giving me a dress. But I’m not, see? I’m only taking.”

“That’s okay,” he says. He drops his hand and grins at her, leaning forward so that their noses are only inches apart. There’s a mean edge in the corners of his mouth that reminds her of winter. “So am I.”

A thrill runs down Cinderella’s spine. They’re so close and there’s a warm darkness in his words that flusters her. What does he mean? She’s the one wearing a dress she could only dream of in a place she couldn’t have dreamt. He hasn’t taken a thing from her, has he? Rather than ask, Cinderella nods firmly. “Good. Then it’s settled. We’re both taking and not paying the other back.”

“Good,” her friend echoes. He’s still close but he’s her friend again, that mysterious quality absent from his voice. He asks, “Have you been enjoying the ball?”

“Oh, yes,” Cinderella says. She’s relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Let me tell you everything.”

And she does. She tells him about Helga and how kind she was (“I’ll be sure to reward her efforts.”) and the coachman who told her the names of the nobles (“There’s no one better to ask for information.”). Her friend’s smile seems a little tight when she describes the dances and her partners (“I know of them. You enjoyed the dancing? That’s all that matters.”), but he also asks her about her favorite song to dance to and if she’s tried any of the food yet.

“I haven’t,” she says. She eyes him. They’ve been talking for half an hour and, as usual, he hasn’t said a word about himself. Usually she’d let that pass, but didn’t she want to change? Didn’t that voice inside of her tell her to ask? “You were in the ballroom if you saw my stepsisters. Did you try anything?”

“Not yet,” he says. He clears his throat and stands, offering her his hand. “Maybe we can try some champagne together?”

Somehow taking his offered hand is daunting. They’ve been sitting shoulder to shoulder, but that wasn’t a deliberate touch. She can still feel his warmth as she wrestles with her sudden embarrassment. Cinderella tries to keep her fingers from trembling when she takes his hand. “…yes.”

If he notices her hesitation, he doesn’t mention it. He gently helps her stand and then tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. “We can come back here later if you’d like.”

Cinderella looks over her shoulder as he leads her back inside. The oak in the middle of the flowers is beautiful and comforting. “I would like that. Later.”

“Later,” he says.

They walk down the deserted hall, side by side. Cinderella’s spent a lifetime keeping her footsteps light so as not to wake her stepfamily. She listens to the sound of his confident stride, ducking her head to hide her flush. His arm is strong under her fingers. Even through his jacket she can feel his warmth chase the chill away. She rubs her fingertips against the velvet details on the fabric. She struggles with herself. Ask. Don’t ask. Finally she says, “This is violet.”

His footsteps don’t falter and he doesn’t tense, but she can feel his aura flutter under her touch. “It is.”

“Violet is purple.”

“Is it?”

The ballroom is coming up. Cinderella stops before the light seeping through the entry falls on her. “Maybe you should go in first.”

He stops with her and catches her hand before she can let go of his arm. He doesn’t look at her, staring straight ahead. He swallows and asks lightly, “You don’t want champagne?”

“I do.” Cinderella can’t ask.

“Then we have to go in. That’s where the champagne is.”

“I know, but…” She can’t ask, but she can say, “Everyone will be looking for the Prince. He’s very late.”

Her friend’s jaw works and slowly, so slowly, his head turns to meet her gaze. “He has reason to be late,” he says. “He had to meet someone very important.”

The way he looks at her tells her who he thinks is important.

There’s that thrill again, like there are butterflies in her stomach. Cinderella fights against a smile and loses. “I’m very important?”

The tension leaks from his aura little by little. “You are.” His eyes search hers. “You aren’t mad again.”

He’s the Prince. Cinderella doesn’t think she’s really processing the information. All she can see is her friend frowning at her, perplexed. She wants to smooth the wrinkle from between his eyes, but refrains. She’s not sure if it’s because the gesture would be too intimate for her or if it’s because it’d be improper to touch the Prince like that.

Oh, she thinks faintly. He’s the Prince.

“I don’t think I am,” she says. She looks back to the door to the ballroom. The music sounds sweet again, complimented by the clinking of glasses and silvery laughter. “I just…they’ll be looking for you. I don’t want to…” She trails off, embarrassed, and looks at the ground.

He takes it the wrong way. His mood darkens his eyes from a summer green to the deepest parts of the forest. “You don’t want to be seen with me.”

“No!” Cinderella jerks, eyes flying up to his. Her desperation to correct him makes her honest. “No, but Stepmother is here and she’ll—well, if she sees you, she’ll see me and I know she’ll see you.”

His aura brightens so quickly that Cinderella has to blink against the flare of magic. The Prince beams down at her. “I can take care of that. I did promise you, didn’t I? Your stepfamily won’t recognize you.”

She resists his lead when he goes to enter the ballroom. “Yes, but I don’t see how! You’re the Prince! The Prince! They’ll announce you and everyone will turn and I’ll be right there—”

The Prince snaps his fingers. The warmth from the meadow descends on Cinderella all at once, rolling over her like the sun does when it rises above the horizon. The Prince grins, rainbows swimming in his eyes. “There. Now only I will recognize you.” He laughs. “Why I didn’t have Helga do that from the beginning…well. I know better now.”

Cinderella blinks magic out of her eyes. “You can do magic?”

“I’ve been talking to you through a tree for years,” the Prince says. He’s not laughing at her. He sounds affectionate. “I get by.” He gestures to the entryway. “Are you ready?”

Cinderella takes a tentative step forward. The warmth follows her. “Are you sure they won’t recognize me?”

“Positive.”

“Then…yes,” Cinderella says. This time when he gently nudges her, she follows. “Alright.”

The Prince takes her through the doorway to the ballroom. At first nobody notices. The room is as she left it, grand and arching and filled with color. Then the volume of the voices and music seems to lower.

“Presenting,” the Master of Ceremonies calls. He’s all the way across the room near where Cinderella first entered, but his eyes are on them. His voice booms across the dancefloor with such clarity it sounds as if he’s right next to them. “Presenting the Prince and the Baron’s Daughter!”

As one, every noble stops dancing, turns, and bows.

----

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#my writing #Cinderella fan fiction #cinderella retelling #my fairytales

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