⟣ Tartaglia

☆ itto drabble.

THINKING ABOUT... going through baby photos with itto.

"LOOK AT YOUR LITTLE BOOTS!!!! YOUR BOOTS!!!"

your boyfriend, itto, is practically screaming, with his face mere inches away from the aged, creased photo of you as a toddler. he just can't help himself. he is completely entranced by you; your smile, your outfit, your height, everything, little you was just so cute! (of course, he still thinks you're beyond adorable now... but your boots!!!)

"i get it, i get it, the boots are cute-"

"BUT THEY'RE SOOOOOOOOO CUTE [NAME]"

nothing can get through to him; not grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, nor ruffling his hair or even poking his horns. just wait until he sees your little ducky sweater...

"AWWWWW YOUR SWEATER!!! YOU'RE SUCH A CUTIE"

he points a finger at the yellow pullover, which was a couple sizes too big, hanging off your shoulders and stopping a little past your knees. he really is a child at heart, but you have to admit, it's something you really love about him.

you'll have to wrestle the photobook off of him if you want even a chance at getting your boyfriend back, no matter how much he whines and pouts afterwards.

if anyone is a cutie, it's him...

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迪卢克 ⸜ BIRTHDAY SEX

❪ && ❫ warnings ⸻ diluc ragnvindr 〥 afab reader. mdni. alcohol consumption (aphrodisiac), pussy drunk lulu, oral sex (character receiving), overstimulation, sub/dom undertones, rough sex, breeding kink. multiple orgasms. 2.1k wc

everyone drop your things !!!! it's diluc day today !!!! happy 4th anniversary to my first lover hehehe. celebrating with @vampsluv & @chichikoi ᰔ not proof-read

coming home to find your husband diluc tipsy on his birthday, hand lazily fisting his cock atop one of the winery's spongy sofa's, was not part of the plan...in fact, it was so far beyond your plan, that you had totally forgotten you swapped out the regular bottles of sweet grape juice with a strong stimulant to help him sleep tonight instead.

it was late, no doubt about that, which was why diluc had trouble sleeping without you, like his insomnia devoid any semblance of hinderance when he had you secure in his arms.

he didn't need drugs to put his mind at ease when he had your warmth instead. he didn't need drugs to kill his mind when the thought of you alone sent him into a complete and utter frenzy―just like now, as he thumbed the tip of his swollen crown and bucked his hips into the tight grip of his fingertips, was still not enough to weed out the growing fever in his body.

he imagined the way your cunt would break him down slowly instead, the slippery flesh molded to the shape of his dick. he loved when you cock warmed him, but tonight he had more obscene thoughts of filling you up to the brim instead; it was not enough to satisfy him. what exactly was in that drink, exactly?

―which was why the hot tears streaking down the apples of his cheeks were the second thing you noticed. the first was being how unbothered he was with doing such a salacious thing out in the open rooms of the mansion, when anyone would hear him or walk in on him. everyone had retired to their rooms for the night, but why was everyone ignoring the fact that the young master was loud enough to be heard just outside the front door?

as you creep your way in slowly, tiptoeing out of your shoes and dropping your coat to the floor in silence, diluc whimpers out your name between broken gasps. his eyes are hazy and glazed over with lust, and you think this might just be it―you had never seen him this beautiful before in your life, his hair messy and sticking to a multitude of open surfaces of his skin.

you wanted to stop him in his movements, tell him that you're finally home, that he didn't need to do this alone anymore...but maybe five more minutes of ogling him wouldn't be too bad, right? that's if the man could last any longer than a minute; he was close, so close.

"hah...ugh, y/n- ngh! w-where are you." he breaks out into the atmosphere, irritation lacing his tone that drawn a frown on his face, "fuck, where are you? oh my god- i'm gonna cum."

you crouch indiscreetly behind a vase just a few feet away from him, gnawing and nibbling on the tips of your fingers, the ache between your legs becoming too evident. you squeezed them together, which made you slip over your own feet, yet, in that moment, you heard a cry in diluc's direction, watching him spill seed over the expanse of his pelvis.

he was rubbing his tip viciously, eyes squeezed shut and panting desperately with the back of his neck supported by the head of the chair. he still hadn't gotten out of his uniform yet, the openness of his coat and slacks making your swallow nervously. you didn't realise how proportionally big he was compared to you now that you were viewing him from below.

you turn your hungry gaze away for a brief moment when you hear a door creak open, and when doing so, you are instantly pulled into a sticky embrace. you don't struggle when you realise who it could be; there's only one answer to that, and you came to know quickly from his scent alone.

diluc holds a hand over your mouth as your heart practically thumps out of your chest. he's holding you close to him on his lap, legs spread apart so you could fit between his thighs. there, you could really feel how febrile he was, especially when his dick was pocking into your back and leaving a wet trail against your cloths.

he leans in to kiss your neck tenderly, rubbing himself into with a soft pant. "what took you so long? i missed you- hah, so much."

diluc kisses your ear and whispers worries of concern into it, the feeling sending shivers up your spine.

"i-i told you i was going to be home a little later than usual, lulu."

he scoffs lightly, "i don't remember that."

he does...he's acting like a complete puppy missing their owner, right now.

"i think you should make up for it- for...what you did to me." he turns your face by the chin to look at him, and when you meet his gaze, your blood grows extremely hot at the lecherous look in his irises.

"it's my birthday. won't you do it, please?" diluc tries to suppress his voice that comes out in a croaky plead, and you saw how hopeless he really looked in that moment.

you had never seen him like this, ever, in your whole entire life. it made your cunt flutter with greed. you wanted to suck him off so bad.

diluc eases his grip on you when you try to wiggle out of his grasp, and he scrutinises your movements carefully as you kneel down in front of him, coming head-to-head with his throbbing dick.

cum from his previous release was still sticking to the skin of his shaft, and new droplets were forming at the opening. your lubricate your lips momentarily as you run your tongue over them, scooching closer and spreading his legs wider for you.

when you grip the base of his cock, he shivers, and you audibly have to hum in awe at how cute he looked. he was holding back so much temptation right now of taking you raw on this couch, but when you glance up at him with soft eyes, it makes him melt further into the cushions.

taking his tip into your mouth, your tongue swirls around and focuses on his overly sensitive tip. diluc instantly has to find something to grab, the closest thing to him, your hair. so he fists it, although somewhat a little too painfully, you didn't mind, knowing how unaware he was of his strength during this moment.

when you begin to work your mouth on him he has to move his hips up into you for more stimulation. he enjoyed the feeling of how tight his stomach felt, but he loved the sound of your gags ringing in his ears more. wet sounds alone were enough to send him over the edge, and he brings himself up on the seat to bring more of himself down your throat.

you choke momentarily as he positions both of his hands in your hair strands now, desperately fucking your face like it was the last day on teyvat.

"my love, your mouth is so hot. it's gonna make me cum....!" and he does, now you have to force his legs open so he doesn't break your skull. you could feel him twitch like crazy inside of you, and it compels tears to pummel down your face.

after he pulls out of your mouth, there's no forewarning when he throws you to the couch, face down by the neck while his spare hand desperately tries to rid you of your pants. he's a bit clumsy, dizziness setting in when you notice it.

you groan loudly as his strength unknowingly tightens around your neck and you wiggle your hips to aid him. after they fall down just below your knees, he doesn't waste any time in getting to fuck you.

you truly wonder how you can take him every time, no matter if you had prepared beforehand or not―he was still massive, with each vein protruding out of his shaft so evidently annoying when it rubbed up against your insides.

diluc inserts himself into you, bottoming out completely with a long, satisfied sigh. his head tilts back from this with stray strands of hair flowing in the wind of the opening of a window. it sends a shiver down his spine, and he allows himself a good five seconds of feeling you shudder around him before he begins to thrust your hole.

he was so unaware of his surroundings, right now. maybe you should have been more careful with his drink...

"ah- diluc! too rough-" you choke out and it compels the man above you to shove two digits into your mouth. he leans down over you, putting all of his weight into your back before whispering into your ear.

"you don't want to wake up the rest of the mansion, do you?"

how irritating that you had forgotten about that and he did not, and you involuntarily clench around him because of it, moans slightly muffled by his fingers.

"good, good. take my cock, darling. archons, how i have missed this. i've missed you." he babbles into your neck when he maneuvers a hand underneath your stomach, pressing into you that forces you to arch your back more.

"lift your hips up."

during this, he accidentally presses into the skin of where he was bulging inside of you, and it makes you squirm with an inaudible gasp.

"fuck-" he breaths in sharply, looking down at the back of your head in a dazed fit. he hums to himself as he watches you twitch, "did you just come from that? sweetheart..."

he inches down further to play with your clit, and the overstimulation instantly moves from your stomach to there. diluc's movements are violent when he pulls out and slams into you again; he knows this is your favourite position, especially when his cock had a little bit of a bent in it. it hit all the places you thought you didnt know could be reached, but his length wasn't something to joke about.

"does that feel good, hmm?" he taunts in a slurred voice, rubbing the bundle of nerves harshly in rhythm with his hips. "you're doing 's well, baby."

this could go on all night, with how much stamina that drink actually gave him. you knew that he had no control over his releases now, and with how he had you in prone bone, there was no way he could pull out from you either.

"can i do it inside, please?" diluc leans down into you again, his tone coming out in a plead. "you just feel 's good. ugh-" he whines, shivering above you.

and then his movements halt when he doesn't hear a response from you, sheathing all of himself into you. the action makes his tip press up against your cervix and more tears fall from your eyes.

you turn your face where your cheek squishes against the seat below you, looking into his lust-driven eyes with a nod.

"i want you to say it." he whines, unable to stop grinding into you. "l-lulu- ahh-" your eyes flutter to clear your glossy vision and you bring both of your hands behind you, spreading your ass for him.

"please fill me up, master diluc. i want to carry your warm seed. i will make it up- ngh- to you for ruining your birthday. so please...use me however you'd like."

from those words alone, diluc's cheek flush a bright red adjacent to his hair colour, pupils dilating. did he hear exactly what you had just said? he stutters, surprised to discern it. the thought alone pulls him to his release, and he's cumming inside of you without even moving his hips.

"ahhh- ahh" diluc cries above you, eyes nearly fluttering closed as tears fall from them. he can't help but glance down at where he is connected to you.

your stomach tenses up from this and you groan with a wince when you feel your insides stain white. he was so ridiculously cute, right now. and then, without warning, he lifts you up and pulls you to his chest, arms snug around your ribcage.

he then fucks into you at a malicious pace, and all you could do was let your arms flop and take what he was giving you. "so good, sooo good. ahh hah."

your mind goes completely blank as he continuedly presses against that spot inside of you, making you as equally drunk as he was.

if you don't stop him...this could go on all night.

『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity. 

DING DING DING 

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium. 

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf. 

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!” 

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.  

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it. 

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe. 

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.  

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you. 

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.  

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.  

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching: 

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!” 

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy” 

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss. 

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.” 

“Then why is this happening?” 

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.  

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice. 

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.  

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily. 

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life. 

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest. 

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect. 

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished. 

“Hm? Who’re you?” 

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.” 

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this. 

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly. 

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you. 

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked. 

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist. 

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.” 

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.  

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.” 

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.” 

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?” 

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours. 

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.  

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.  

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this. 

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear. 

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.” 

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response. 

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.  

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.  

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring. 

“Wriothesley! Times up.”  He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you. 

“Two minutes.” 

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.  

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.  

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe. 

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. 

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line. 

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads. 

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette. 

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand. 

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.” 

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you. 

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand. 

 “No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy. 

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.” 

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.  

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.” 

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him. 

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze. 

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips. 

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips. 

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction. 

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl. 

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence. 

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head. 

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair. 

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone. 

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle. 

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant. 

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face. 

“Why are you being annoying-” 

“Who were you talking to” he chides.  

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.” 

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.  

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.” 

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel. 

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word. 

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners. 

 Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course. 

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone. 

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face. 

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you. 

He promised. 

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address. 

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again. 

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.  

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly. 

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse. 

“What? I don’t know.”  “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”  

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response. 

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.  

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy. 

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-” 

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-” 

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab. 

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-” 

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”  

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes. 

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-” 

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.  

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there. 

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts. 

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.  

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds. 

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside. 

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.  

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask. 

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid. 

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face. 

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:  

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”  

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body. 

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology. 

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.  

“So, um.” 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably. 

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts. 

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes. 

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.  

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you. 

“Sorry. For what I said.” 

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit. 

“You know I didn’t do it, right?” 

“I know.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“I know.” you reassure.  

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention. 

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy. 

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours. 

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house. 

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw. 

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge. 

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom. 

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness. 

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.  

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.  

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “ 

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.  

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.  

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.  

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks. 

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance. 

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can. 

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest. 

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.  

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.  

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?”  he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.” 

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.” 

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

fortune doesn't favor fools

aventurine x reader

notes: hinted nsfw, angst, gn reader, mention of slavery, mention of abuse, mention of sa word count: 2.7k

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts revels in the presence of a gamble. he rises at the mention of a bet and is quick to set the stakes. it is where he exceeds, afterall.

it is his fortune that grants you your freedom, afterall. it is his gamble that brought him his own freedom, after all.

aventurine is quick to make bets, whether the odds are against him or not. no matter the odds, no matter his disadvantages, the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts always wins.

it is his mere luck, he will say. all he does is for the thrill of the gamble. aventurine takes any bets, as he knows he will win.

though, there is one thing aventurine refuses to take a chance with–you.

aventurine will only take gambles where he knows he will succeed. aventurine only takes bets where he knows he is at an advantage. aventurine will only take chances he knows he can outsmart.

aventurine cannot bring himself to be with you.

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts chooses to live his life to the fullest. offering himself as collateral and sacrificing his life all for the sake of winning. it is that very reason that he refuses to involve himself with you–at least anymore that you are already.

he keeps you at a distance.

despite aventurine’s warnings, his pleas to himself to keep you away and out of his life–his ruined life–kakavasha cannot bring himself to do so. thus, he keeps you in his life, in his sight, all as to make sure you are alive.

kakavasha refuses to let anything happen to you again, and aventurine chooses to comply with his dead friend’s wish.

it is that very wish that he cannot involve himself in you–in your life. as anything more than an employer, that is. he cannot bring you into his world, not anymore that you already are. you have suffered enough because of him, and he refuses to cause you anymore grief.

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts does not want you.

aventurine does not want to hold you. he does not want to kiss you. he does not want to reassure all your worries. he does not want to replace all your horrible experiences of ‘love’ with new ones. he does not want to love you.

not one bit.

the very thought of it does not cross his mind.

afterall, the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts refuses to be touched by anyone, ever again. the mention of the very act disgusts him to his core. he refuses to take part in such acts. they have no use to aventurine, a stoneheart. so, why would he desire for you to do so?

you two share the same scars. you two were cut by the same knife. 

he knows how you feel–as he feels the same. you both underwent the same experiences, the same memories. so you must feel as he does. you must feel the same sense of disgust, embarrassment, and humiliation. the same that he does.

so, he will be strong. he will protect you, alongside himself, alongside kakavasha.

that is why, as the two of you share a drink, he is sure to keep his eyes on you. he is sure to watch you–to protect you.

“ah, this one is a special honey flavor”

the female across from the two IPC members spoke.

aventurine currently sat next to you, resting against the couch. in front of him sat a wealthy young woman who held a large bottle in her hand. a coffee table separated the couches.

he watched as you tilted your head, seemingly staring at the bottle. the woman laughed in response.

“it’s alcohol, sweetie. would you like some?”

he watched as you paused for a moment before slowly shaking your head.

“no thank you, ma’am.”

the woman laughed again.

“what’s the matter, sweetie? it isn’t all that strong”

you shook your head again.

“i’m alright, really.”

“ahhh, so a lightweight you are?”

he watched as you tensed up. he lightly clicked his tongue. 

it was unfortunate that you were forced to be here. he had been discussing with the woman regarding the ipc’s deals before she spotted you, and beckoned for you to join their conversation.

“ah, well.. yeah, i guess”

“you guess?”

he watched as you paused and redirected your gaze.

“i’m not a huge fan of alcohol”

the woman merely raised an eyebrow.

he knew. of course, he knew. he knew why you were so nervous, so alert. he knew why you hated alcohol. afterall, he isn’t a fan of it himself. and the two of you shared the same scars.

“well, this lovely thing’ll change your mind. specially imported from the xianzhou. be a dear and pour her a glass.”

the woman motioned towards one of her bodyguards.

aventurine watched as you gulped and slightly shrinked into yourself. he watched as you looked towards him. he sighed and sent you a nod and a slightly smile. he watched as you hesitantly smiled back.

“and you, aventurine?”

“go on, i’ll try some”

oh, how he dreaded those words. 

he was indifferent towards alcohol. it was an important and necessary tool for garnering relations and deals, so he did not mind. the taste was not all too bad, sometimes. the only thing he dreaded were the occasional memories that came along with the drink, the memories of the past–of a past person, of kakavasha.

as the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts, he enjoyed alcohol and the act of drinking. he could easily push his memories aside, as the aventurine now had a job to do. though, he knows that you are not the same. while he is now aventurine, he knows that you are still and have always been you.

his mood becomes slightly annoyed. forced to play nice, forced to act in order to garner a deal. forced to watch as the memories of the past resurface his own mind as well as yours. he does not like this one bit, though he hopes you are able to endure the situation for just a little. after, he’ll be sure to indirectly apologize by taking you on a trip, perhaps.

he watches how you are silent as he and the woman continue to converse, regularly taking small sips of the honeyed drink. he watched as the woman looks to you, telling you to join them and take a sip of your drink, and to at least finish a glass or two–after all this stuff is quite hard to get and expensive.

as you finished your first glass, it wasn’t long before the conversation switched back to you.

“so, whens the last time you’ve been able to let loose like this and just have some fun?”

the woman asked. there was an obvious flush on your face from the alcohol. you paused for a moment, before averting her gaze and answering.

“it’s… it’s been a lot of years”

he watched as your expression dropped. he knew. god, he had to finish this up already.

“she doesn’t enjoy drinking, that’s all. it’s not quite the hobby for everyone”

the woman glanced at him, laughing slightly before turning her attention back to you.

“and why is that?”

he watched as you paused, before your eyes widened. he could feel as your whole body began to tremor.

“the taste isn’t for everyone”

he quickly interjected.

“ah, is that so?”

“now then, back to the shareholder?”

“ah, yes. my apologies”

the two refocused their discussion. aventurine’s words became slightly hostile towards the woman, urgent to wrap up the deal.

the woman had poured you another drink. quite stubborn this woman was. you understood the importance of a deal, of keeping an appearance in the ipc. he watched as you hesitantly accepted the drink.

the two continued to converse whilst drinking, slowly emptying the lavish bottle. whilst you had been working on your second glass, aventurine kept up with the pace of the woman, nearly both on their seventh.

you had slightly scooted closer to him, now able to feel how your entire body shake as you tensed up. you were silent, and zoned out. he knew.

he sighed deeply as he placed his gloved hand over your shaky ones, sending you a firm, reassuring squeeze as he glanced at you. your eyes were frightened, terrified. he knew. he had to wrap this up quicker.

“so then, we have a deal?”

the woman held up her glass towards aventurine. he smiled, and brought his up in response, clinking the glasses together and finishing the rest of the glass. the woman got up, sent a final smile and goodbye wave towards the two, before exiting the room, leaving you and aventurine.

as the doors closed, you let out a deep breath, slightly panting. your cheeks were flushed an intense red, as your entire body continued to shake. you looked down as sweat ran down your body.

he knew.

he knew. he knew what you were thinking of. he knew what was going through your mind. he knew what memories were resurfacing. 

he quickly used both of his gloved hands to gently cup your face, turning you to face him. he watched as your eyes widened, slightly in shock at his actions. he watched as a tear ran down your face.

“i’m sorry. you shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

he watched as your lip quivered as more tears threatened to spill from your eyes. he moved to wipe the tear from your eye as you grabbed him, pulling him into a hug. 

you were leaned forward on the couch, hands desperately clutching onto the back of his coat as you placed your chin on his shoulder, leading your head onto his.

he was stunned for a moment, hesitant. he could not hold you like this, he really couldn’t. he cannot, for the sake of both of you. though, it is his fault you are in this position, so he will be selfish just this once.

he slowly wraps his hands around you, one wrapped around your back as the other was gently placed on the back of your head. he felt you shake, he felt your tears, he felt your rapid, heavy breaths.

aventurine was good with words, though when it came to you–he was at a loss.

all he could do was sit here. sit here with you in his arms. he could not say anything. he sat, comforting you for an hour. he would do it again, for as long as it takes.

he notices as you slump your head against his shoulder, your eyes closing. he notices your grip slightly weaken. he stands, holding onto you as he makes his way to your room.

the alcohol had gotten to you.

he sighs as walks down the halls, finding your room. you lightly stir as he walks whilst he caresses your hair. you hadn’t taken the alcohol well. you never did.

he finds himself at the entrance of your door, turning the knob and entering the room. soft, minimal, and cozy–as you were. he spots your bed, walking towards it as he places you down on it. your shut eyes slightly furrow in your sleep.

a small frown finds his face as he sighs. he brushes a strand of hair out of your face before turning to leave, stopped by a weak grip.

“aventurine…”

you voice is slightly groggy, eyes fighting to stay open. he sighs.

“go to bed”

he speaks as he places his other hand on yours, removing your grab off of him. he turns again, this time cut off by a grip onto his back, onto his coat.

“don’t... don’t leave me”

he pauses for a moment before turning to face you. sat up in your bed as a sense of desperation washed over you. tears threatened to spill as your eyes were wide open. you were shaking and slightly panting.

aventurine cannot bring himself to be with you.

he cannot be with you, as to save both you and himself. but, at your current state, he will stay. if only to comfort you.

he breathes deeply as he sits on the edge of the bed, facing away. you continue to clench onto his sleeve, as if he’ll leave if you falter for just a moment.

“i won’t. i’m right here”

“...promise?”

he pauses, his eyes slightly widen.

“of course.”

you let out a shaky breath.

it is silent for a moment before you speak.

“aventurine…”

“...yes?”

your breaths continue to become more shaky as you quietly speak.

“please hold me”

his eyes widen at your request. he notices how both your hands seem to grip onto his coat tightly. you are fully sat up, staring at him with half-lidded eyes as he turns.

his breath hitches.

the esteemed aventurine of the ten stonehearts does not want you. you have suffered enough because of him, and he refuses to cause you anymore grief. he refuses to reawaken old memories. he refuses to reopen your scars.

the alcohol had gotten to you.

he sighs. he will only hold you. he will only hold you in his arms. he will only provide you comfort–a sense of someone being there. he does not want you–for now he acts as a mere replacement for comfort. a mere replacement as he waits for you to meet someone you love. someone you cherish. someone you meet naturally.

aventurine is fully sat on the bed, his legs crossed as he opens his arms, a gesture for you. you quickly lean into him, moving to sit in his lap and accept his embrace. 

you are quiet for a moment, still as your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, quiet as your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. he feels your rapid heartbeat as you remain silent. he feels your breaths against his neck.

it is a moment before you clumsily take his coat off of him, struggling.

“hey.”

you continue to take his coat off.

“hey, you’re–you’re drunk.”

as the coat drops off his body, you look up to meet his eyes. his beautiful eyes. they widen as you press your chest to his and lean up, inching closer to his face.

“[name]?”

he can feel your heartbeat so clearly. it’s rhythm so fast, pressed up against his. he can feel your breaths on his bare neck. the feeling sending shivers down his spine.

“please… please aventurine”

he watched as you move your arms up to lightly grab onto his collar. the red flush unable to cover the clear desperation on your face. your voice is low, quiet, and tired.

the alcohol had gotten to you.

“please… just make me forget”

his eyes widened, frozen.

you bring your soft, small hands to gently cup his face. he hesitated, before quietly speaking.

“you don’t want this”

he places his hands on your wrists, moving to push your hands off his face.

the memories wash over you two. they still continue to. you more so than him. he knows this. he knows.

how could he bring himself to reawaken them further? how could he ever harm you more? he cannot. he will not.

his avgin eyes move to meet yours.

“replace my memories, please, aventurine”

his movements pause. he stares directly at you.

he cannot involve himself in your life any further. because of him, you are like this. because of him, you are forced to remember the past. because of him, you are in pain, again.

“help me forget”

aventurine does not need you. aventurine does not want you. aventurine does not love you.

he knows this.

“please, aventurine”

aventurine does not want to need you. aventurine does not want to be with you. aventurine does not want to love you.

and yet, he knows he does.

“i need you”

in a moment his lips are on yours.

your hands move to wrap around his neck as his move their way to your waist.

the kiss is tender, gentle, embracing. unalike anything you two had ever experienced. it’s new. it’s soft. it’s love.

he pulls apart, breathless. his eyes widened as he shakes his head.

“we–we need to stop. we need to stop this”

he knows he needs to. he knows.

“do–do you want to?”

no

how could he ever

‧₊˚.𖧧. BEING A STREAMER!

including! — (in order) xiao, hu tao, albedo, kazuha, childe <3

genre/warnings! — fluff, streamer! au, ooc childe SHUT UP its canon to me, they’re all so in love it’s sickening, dedicated to [ @starglitterz ] !!! if you don’t know my darling quill actually has an ongoing series surround streamer!xiao SO IF YOU’RE INTERESTED here is her [ masterlist! ], based off personal opinions of who i can actually picture streaming!

༉‧₊˚. SYNOPSIS! — what they’re like as streamers + being in a relationship with them <3

:: XIAO! ♥︎

gaming streamer!

genuinely very dedicated to his gaming, he can get into storylines but prefers combat & action-adventure over anything

though when he’s not up to fight, he enjoys chill idle games where he’s really just talking with his chat <3

he’s not the most talkative unless the gameplay calls for it, but everyone just enjoys watching him play because of how absorbed he gets

━━━━ IN A RELATIONSHIP :

his chat will never not make fun of him when you’re on screen

it starts as him just immediately muttering “intermission.” into his mic and switching to his idle screen whenever you enter

then one time he fatefully forgets to mute his mic and boom! the jig’s up, they all know how in love he is behind the scenes

the way he blushes and practically forgets he’s on camera as he loses himself focusing on you; they’re spamming emotes and the like labeling him a simp

he glances directly at his face cam, clutches his headset’s mic and says “not a word.” in the most intimidating voice he can muster, but how is he meant to intimidate his chat when they’ve already seen how soft he is?

and if you’re playing the games with him !!! absolutely forget about it he’s done for

even if you’ve got no idea what’s going on, he’s happy to teach you (which he’d never admit on stream though everyone already knows)

he loves how you interact with his community, you giggling and reading out comments that he in turn gets to quietly answer with you, a small loving smile never leaving as his eyes roam his monitors

in conclusion, you two are very cute <3

:: HU TAO! ♥︎

gaming streamer!

very lively all the time !!! her streams are more experiences then anything

also a fan of combat, but horror & thriller games are undoubtedly her favorites

she doesn’t scream or get scared, but everyone else does and that’s what makes it fun for her >:D

━━━━ IN A RELATIONSHIP :

no one can tease her because she’s too busy teasing you</3

“my my, look at you! strolling into my office all cute like this while i’m streaming, are you trying to seduce me?”

whenever she sees the door behind her creak open through her face cam she beams, awaiting the small “…are you streaming?” you always ask for confirmation when you enter

rapid comments immediately pour in the chat, all of them containing strings of your name and various exclamations of excitement

she loves you, so of course her chat has to as well

ushering you in, she pauses whatever’s displayed on her stream and immediately asks if you wanna stay, chat continuing to go insane about the the possibility of them getting multiplayer content that’s always the cutest

whether or not you wanna play is up to you, of course, but she’ll definitely ask you to come on stream and play with her at least once, even if you’re basically just watching !!!

her mods usually have to remind her she’s on camera so she doesn’t completely lose it and end up kissing you right there

even if you’re just bringing her something, the few seconds you’re in the back and she gets to rewatch and see you wave at the camera or smile or laugh, they’re always her favorite clips

“that’s my love, always stealing the spotlight from me.”

:: ALBEDO! ♥︎

artist & gaming streamer!

his streams are the ones that people always say they fall asleep to, in a comforting way of course <3

he’s so calm all the time, and his viewers just love to relax & vibe with him

the times he does play games, they’re always rpgs or open world exploration! he adores being able to just roam around in a game and go on about the beauty of it all

━━━━ IN A RELATIONSHIP :

by far the most flustered by you being on stream with him

he doesn’t mean to be, he usually just isn’t prepared for you to make an appearance at all

his most clipped stream is one titled “just sketching :)” where he’s sharing his screen as he draws someone, an unidentifiable person (so he thinks), and someone donates with the message “is that your partner?”

his eyes go wide in realization and he immediately switches screens, saying nothing and opting to switch to gaming

he puts chat on emote only mode whenever you’re on because he thinks he might pass out if he’s teased, and it always explodes with his custom love emote (he draws them himself)

“you can’t keep flustering me on stream like this…” he mutters to you as quietly as he can, the softening of his quizzical eyes intimately drawing you in

you grin, brushing a strand that’d been tugged from his braid behind his ear and cupping his cheek. you tease, “my apologies, mr. kreideprinz.”

enunciating your chide with a quick tap to his nose, you leave him be, knowing he’d come find you later after the camera’s off. he clears his throat, readjusting his pen and removing the “intermission” screen from his stream

“was that them?” he reads a comment aloud, locking his jaw and looking down to hide his growing smile

“of course it was.”

:: KAZUHA! ♥︎

reading/writing & gaming streamer!

there’s a bit of music sprinkled in there as well, but his main three topics are usually above

his streams are also ones people fall asleep to… unless he’s gaming. then no one is truly safe

his closeted chaotic nature falls forward as he begins gaming, especially if there’s high stakes or fear factors involved

━━━━ IN A RELATIONSHIP :

he always becomes even more soft spoken when he’s discussing you, as if you might shatter should he talk about you too rashly

his chat loves when you’re brought up cause he gets all smiley, even if he’s raging because of minecraft spiders

“i dare say you all like them more than me.” he laughs as a donation that’d asked about when you’d be joining him on stream again disappears

there’s one time he’s writing a haiku, his chat just as stumped as he is as he struggles to conjure up a last line, and you enter. a mug full of tea, freshly brewed with all your care

you remain at the side of the camera, only your hands dipping in to hand him the mug. he looks to you, a ghost of a “thank you” slipping from his lips as you dip down and kiss his hair

series of “IS THAT THEM?” and “AWWWW” range through his chat displayed on the side, and they all swear he’s never looked happier

he’ll never object to you joining him on stream! he has so much fun when you play games with him, laughing as he finds you getting frustrated on the same levels he was previously losing his mind over

keeping his light way of speech even when he’s playing almost never happens, and while it might be shocking for some, it’s nice to be able to see this side of him that before was only shared with you, now with a whole community <3

:: CHILDE! ♥︎

gaming, lifestyle, and …everything streamer!

he can truly get away with anything, and it’s awful

the type to be dragged into doing outlandishly long streams because of a bet he lost with his chat

a certified whale for any games that involve paid features (don’t let him anywhere near genshin dear god)

━━━━ IN A RELATIONSHIP :

like a puppy whenever you come on camera

he gets so happy when you’re on with him !!! smiling with his teeth all throughout the stream, leaning towards your ear to flirt within his whispers (which everyone most definitely heard)

“are you gonna come stream with me?” he gasps when you walk into the room, the freckles amongst his cheeks igniting with the small blush he sports

he’s so in love with you that his chat is too

“childe, is your s/o single?” is said in a donation, to which he sarcastically clicks his tongue and replies “i think they’re taken and i’m so mad about it, they’re so fine—”

whenever he holds polls as to what games he should play, horror is always the winner (because they all know he can’t handle it)

and so whenever it gets too scary for him, he calls out for you and asks you to stay with him for moral support </3

has kissed you on stream before and will do it again. sometimes the comments get too comfy for his liking and he has to remind both them and himself that he’s yours

no matter what it is he’s doing, he already loves what he does! it’s just the tiniest bit more fun when it’s with you :D

thank you so much for reading !!! stay safe & ily <3

How about honkai valkyrie! reader who once taught by himeko got sent to hsr world and meet hsr himeko? Especially after her death in hi3

-----♡

A/N: Hello! Thank you for the idea, Anon! Himeko's death was by far the most painful character death I've ever witnessed and I cried so hard, I'll never recover from it tbh. So I decided to make a little one shot out of this. I hope you like it!<3

Content: Spoilers for hi3 lore regarding Himeko's death, angst, mentions of death, Valkyrie reader, platonic student/Mentor relationship, kinda fluff-ish yet bittersweet ending

Most Valkyrie's are usually women, but this can be read with gender neutral pronouns as well!

((Not fully proofread, so sorry for any mistakes.))

-----♡

☆《Bittersweet. (Himeko x Valkyrie!Reader)》☆

-----♡

"Are you sure, that this is what you want? You won't be able to return to this world." Welt hummed, his eyes turning to a window in the Hyperion, watching the rain and thunder rage on outside. You said nothing for a moment, your head hanging low, eyes trained on your interlaced hands and the tear droplets that slid down your gloves every time they left your eyes.

"And there is no guarantee, that she will survive in the next world either... she never seems to." The older man continued, the sound of his cane echoing through the dark room as he approached you. He took a seat infront of you, patiently waiting for you to speak. Yet you felt like you'd break, if you spoke as much as another word about what you wanted to do.

You wanted to leave this world and travel into a different one with Welt, having overheard his plan to do so on accident. He didn't judge you for your choice, he in fact understood you perfectly well. You were one of the first students Himeko ever teached. You looked up to her alot in your most darkest days and despite her faults and harsh teaching style, she always still looked out for you in her own ways. Even after you graduated, you still stayed close to her I the form of a teaching assistant, never too far from your mentor at any time.

But that changed a week ago.

Himeko had sacrificed herself in order to stop the reawakening of the Herrscher of the Void... and in turn, she lost her life. Or well, you were definitely certain that she had. The reports claimed that she was missing in action, but everyone knew that she was gone. She had left you a letter, thanking you for being her student and assistant for so long. And that was it. The only thing you had left of her.

You couldn't help her that day, as she had purposely locked you in your room during the reawakening and by the time you got out, it was already over. Nothing anyone said to you could comfort you either. You felt like an empty vessel, the world passing you by and moving on, whilst you stood there, unable to.

It hurt. It ripped you apart. Killed a part of your soul that you'd never be able to recover.

And that's what led you here now, sitting infront of the only person you knew could help you, having a new goal and purpose in mind. You didn't care how many worlds you had to go through to make it happen, but you were determined to save her in at least one and give her the life she deserved to have. It was your way of thanking her for being your mentor and idol for so long. It's the least you could do. But it wouldn't be an easy feat to achieve... yet you had nothing to lose anymore.

Finally, you looked up at the man with teary, red eyes, your heart pounding in your chest from the determination and passion, as you spoke. "I'll do my best to keep her alive. And if it takes me centuries or even losing my own life to do it, then so be it." You said with surprising strength. Welt looked at you in silence for a moment, before giving you a small smile and nodding.

He helped himself back up onto his feet, stretching a hand out to you carefully. "Very well... let's get going." He simply said. You took a moment to look out of the window, silently bidding this world a goodbye, before taking Welt's hand. He had done this plenty of times before, returning only rarely to your original world to see Himeko here. But now that she was gone, there won't be any need for it anymore.

The world grew dark and you felt yourself being pulled through time and space itself. You closed your eyes in hopes that you will see your mentor soon.

--

"-The Astral Express will be leaving in 10 minutes. Please make sure to step away from the platforms for your own safety." You gasped softly, when your eyes snapped open again. You blinked rapidly, your ears ringing with the announcement, as you tried remembering what happened. When your vision finally cleared, you noticed that you weren't wearing your battlesuit anymore. You were dressed in foreign clothing and kn further inspection, you seemed to be in a... train station? You looked up at the massive train infront you in awe, shifting to get a better look from the bench you were sitting on.

You remembered then what had brought you here in the first place. Was this your new world? If so, where was Welt? Your eyes focused on the people around you and then on the large glass windows, that showed you an endless galaxy and it's bright stars. It was breathtaking, despite you still not knowing where exactly you were.

But you froze, when you heard a familiar voice speak in your to you. Your mind went still, all thoughts leaving your brain, as you slowly turned your head at her. You nearly didn't catch her words from the shock and pain that filled you. You thought that you could be normal and strong when seeing her again... but it seemed that you were wrong.

"So you must be our new Trailblazer member, hm? Welt has told me alot about you." Her voice was so gentle and elegant, her appearance so different from what you were used to seeing her in. She looked at ease and content. It was your dear mentor, despite her drastic differences. "My name is Himeko and I hereby officially welcome you onto the Astral Express- Oh my, are you alright?" The red haired woman gasped softly, instinctively pulling a Handkerchief out of her pocket and holding it out to you. You shakily reached up to touch your cheek, flinching at the tears you were unknowingly shedding.

"Sorry." Was all you could say, as you took the handkerchief gratefully. Himeko gave you a gentle and encouraging smile. "It's alright, I understand. It must be a little overwhelming, but I can assure you that you'll fit right in." She chuckled, as another announcement of the train leaving soon came in. Himeko held out her hand to you, a kind and reassuring look in her eyes.

"Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the crew, alright? I'll always be there for you, if you need help or guidance." The woman said gently and for a moment, you saw your old mentor standing over you with a stern, yet encouraging expression.

For once in a very long time, you smiled as well. It was bittersweet in a way. You might've lost your old mentor, but you regained her here. And you were going to keep her alive and well this time, no matter what.

You took her hand, letting her pull you to your feet.

"I know you will be, Himeko."

-----♡

A/N: This lowkey hurt to write haha! But I hope it wasn't bad, I get so insecure about my writing sometimes. Anyhow, thank you very much for the request again, Anon!

Hihi

if your up for it can I request (imposter au) reader whos on the run from everyone and ends up in snezhnaya. Exhausted from running, ends up collapsing in the snow. Childe finds them, foul legacy recognises them as the creator and yeah... Just sort of fluff/comfort if possible, I'm finding it hard to find works on him in sagau. Thank you

an yes! The classics, back in the prime days of sagau you’d find these in no time, but ofc ofc Childe is one of my favourites so I need to write this too!

i think, I wrote this too much out of what i wanted el oh el, as much as I love the carefree childe who’ll probably try to cheer you up by popping jokes, I’d like to dig deeper into their actual obsession to you. Reminder, I believe that, they don’t really worship you, you as the person but as a embodiment of the god that create them.

i don’t see a lot of people write about that, and it might be ooc but I really want to dig deeper into this!

—————

BLUE’S ALWAYS BEEN MY FAVOURITE COLOUR.

honey’s notes : hello, hello! I’ve been trying my hardest to get back into genshin impact, im currently trying out tower of fantasy + marvel movies, it’s been a busy year for me! Please do be patient with me when it comes to putting things out, im trying to continue both my series and see if im able to progress where I left off. As of now, have this small fic I wrote, I hope you enjoy this!

summary : ever since you’ve been small, you’ve always had the connection with the colour blue, it was the first thing you ever felt happy seeing. whether it’s the blue sky, the serene waters, or even, your favourite acolyte’s eyes.

pairing : childe x reader. [can be platonic/romantic.]

reader uses they/them pronouns.

may contain really bad grammar.

taglist : will be placed in later!

recommended song : once upon a december - christy altomare.

a cough escaped your lips, frail and shivering. you clutched the now tattered and ruined cloak, the fabric barely clinging onto your bruised and battered skin. Your fingertips run themselves against your arm, trying to create warmth.

you couldn’t tell if people were still hunting you, chasing you. their yells and distaste ringing in your ears, their words so thoroughly clear in your ears, never leaving. you grit your teeth. You haven’t slept in days, you remember. You told yourself you couldn’t, not until you’ve passed Liyue. Then you will rest.

You grit your teeth in anger and disappointment, your legs wanting to give way but your will won’t let them. You could remember the amber eyes that laid their gaze on you, full of hatred, full of distaste, as if, you were to blame of the way you looked. Were you?

You have no idea how long you’ve been on the run, how long have you had a full meal? Clean water? Warm clothing? A home? Every step you took, it felt like your body would cave in. You remember what Venti has told you once,

“there’s no home for you here. As long as you carry a face we so adore, you are always to be considered a curse.”

Your gaze stays on the floor, you can no longer tell when you’ve crossed lands, you no longer remember when you’ve stopped to take a rest, because you knew, they’re always near by, the people who despise you so, the ones who can never let go of the face you so wear.

For once, for once in your long walk, you look up. The silver storm of a suspicious land greets you so, you could almost see, every unique snowflake’s design, so intricately made. Your head makes a click, Snezhnaya. You could see the sigh that escapes your lips, forming a small gust of air in front you.

You just now start to feel the ice freezing up to your feet, your toes no longer being able to move, how long have you been walking this barren land? The icy blue was the only thing you can remember. For once, you smile. Blue was your favourite colour, it reminded you of the good things in life.

The blue sky, the calm waters you’d play at as a child, the bluebells that’d grow outside your home. You can no longer feel energy to walk, you knees give way, a soft thud onto the snow, you can barely feel the cold creep up to your limbs. The white snow, reminding you of a blank canvas. So peaceful, yet so horrifying. You’re alone, in what seems like a never ending field of ice and snow.

A hum is heard from behind you, you don’t turn your head, no longer feeling the will to, just staring at the white fields that lay itself in front of you. weirdly enough, you’re warm.

“your celestial highness, you must be cold no? don’t you worry. This one, will take care of their most beloved.”

You don’t remember what happened after, the last remnants you do, you remember staring at a beautiful creature, reminding you of the galaxies they’d talk about back in your world. Oh how gorgeous you remember it. You felt a warmth surround you, as you slowly close your eyes, letting yourself be consumed by the tiredness you’ve finally acknowledged.

blue eyes stared at you, you felt your eyelids still droop, your tiredness not going away. a hum, once again, though you can’t tell if that came from him or you.

Childe stared at you with uncertainty. Although not at you, archons, never at you. You force your fingertips to life, you felt it twitch, shaking. Your eyes slowly move around the room, the fireplace in the far corner, the countless pales of warm, boiled water. The bucket that lay at your feet, your feet’s draped in a hot towel.

You could tell why, from your ankles to your calf, it grew bright red, you though, from the snow, must be. Childe watched you scan the room, you remember him as awfully noisy, so, carefree. Almost child-like. It kind of weirds you out, how quiet and so, calculating his gaze was on you.

“tartaglia..” your hoarse voice calls out, as if a machine turning back to life, he moves, his hand reaching for a glass of water from the bedside table, slowly placing the rim of the glass to your lips, quenching your thirst.

“shh..beloved. you’re still weak.” His hushed whispers tell you, slowly tipping the glass more and more, so you could get as much water as you needed.

you force yourself up, childe supporting you from the small of your back, the soft plush bed dipping as childe stacked your pillows up behind you.

“where..” a hum silences you, you stay silent for a moment, almost afraid to speak.

“I cannot apologize for, what the other nations did to you, your highness..” childe replaces the now cold towel on your forehead, only now feeling the wet sensation as he peeled it off and placed it in a pale with warm water, you watched his hands wring it damp before dipping it back into the water.

“they know not, when their god possess such a weak mortal body, and for that, they are insolent idiots.” Childe continues, wringing the towel damp one more time, before folding it neatly, into a small shape, big enough for your forehead.

“but here, in snezhnaya, we adore you so dearly.. here you are, our treasure. the most wondrous.” you took the time to admire him, as he gently placed the warm towel on your head. You could see his ginger curls, lay so perfectly on his frame, his hair was a mullet, small cuts litter his cheeks, you mustered it was from the countless spars you always imagined he’d love to do.

his freckles littered his face so perfectly, his lips in a thin line, his gaze flickers from the towel to meeting your eyes. His cerulean eyes meet you, his eyes carry adoration, care, love and affection for you. a truly magnificent acolyte.

You could not think of anything to describe laying your eyes on childe for the first time, almost, as a breath of fresh air, but you can feel yourself bubble up, especially his eyes, oh how his eyes affected you so. Your favourite colour, Blue.

“we, snezhnaya as a nation, will restore you to your peak greatness. I, your loyal acolyte, the 11th harbinger. The holder of your foul legacy, will promise you so.” His words stun you back into silence. You aren’t sure how to respond to him, his declaration has you so curious. Why hasn’t he had the same reaction as the other characters you’ve met?

and if he knows who you truly are, then why doesn’t the others?

you didn’t let words speak for you, rather your actions. Your hand shakily raised to meet your beloved Ajax’s face, it was almost if it was a perfect fit, his cheek to your warm palm, his eyes flutter close, as he yearns more for your skin, your touch. Your thumb slowly runs through his cheekbone, delicate, soft and gentle.

“ajax..” you mumble as he hums even more, the vibration ran shivers down your spine. he looks up at you, a small smile on his face, determination and his face shows serious listening, wanting to hear every syllable your lips tells him.

“will you…will you protect me, till then? till I give them their judgement, my revenge?” You whisper, voice still hoarse, ajax leaned his lips against the inside of your palm, nodding enthusiastically, kissing it ever so gently, as if you’ll break from under his touch.

“I promise, I will restore you back to your divinity, and I will stand by your side, the day you take back the world you once created..” his eyes glisten, never breaking his gaze on yours. you couldn’t help but, fall a bit in love with his eyes. after all, blue is your favourite colour.

“we must get started then, no?”

the mashup

punkrocker!wriothesley x reader II 2.7k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, music! au, modern au, punkrocker!wriothesley, r&b!singer!reader, semi-public sex, consensual filming, creamipes, fingering, riding, piercings, unedited

synopsis: your record label insists that the next phase of your career needs to require you to branch out to other genres and collaborate with an artist. After a long time of searching, to your surprise a punk rocker seems interested not only in the music, but yourself too.

Music is an avenue of expression, at least that’s what you always told yourself. You always felt yourself escaping into the vibrations and notes, amplifying your emotions and imagination as easily as putting two earbuds in.

There were many genres to which people escaped, and yours was the slow, sultry tones of R&B. With its elements of pop, gospel, blues, and jazz with a strong backbeat, you found yourself as one of the top performers in the genre. Your name was associated with the top streamers of Spotify and Apple Music. You even had trending songs on TikTok, people would dance or lip-sync too.

As a child, you never imagined the pitchy singing of your idols would bring you here among the hottest stars.

Despite the success, your record label was craving something different from you—eager to break into the “next phase of your career”, or so they say. They insisted you branch out into new genres and collaborate with some trending artists to give you a push towards winning a Grammy.

You were naturally hesitant, wanting to stay true to your craft and tune but their silvery words and promises of popularity caused your position to falter. Still, you wouldn’t just be collaborating with anyone your managers would send your way, you’d make sure of that.

The first one your label brought to your attention was Childe, a popular alternative singer from Russia. He was making waves in the Western market. His music was…alright and his personality was okay. Something about him irked you though, so you ended up passing on that opportunity to your label's dismay.

The second person they introduced you to was a pop singer by the name of Focalars. Furina was her real name though and she was as eccentric as ever. She was a bit vain and her slight condescension tried your patience a little too much, so you ended up passing on that opportunity as well.

Finally to your shock, a punk rocker reached out about a collaboration. No one would imagine R&B and Punk Rock could mess well, yet his label insisted otherwise. You recognized the name before, Wriothesley. He had been away from the spotlight for a while, only having small shows in London after an incident.

You heard he had punched out some hotshot producer for creeping on his subordinates at a party one night. Wriothesley ended up getting blacklisted for a while as a result. You weren’t sure why he was blacklisted, the creep Wriothesley punched out had it coming, but you knew the music industry was the music industry. Perhaps people were fearful that other cockroaches like that producer would get squashed by Wriothelesy as well.

Nevertheless, his label team things with your image and reputation could help mitigate his own in the community. 

When you first met Wriothelsey was interesting as well. Your labels had just finished the contracts, agreeing to a collaboration between your team and his. He would be singing a cover of one of your popular songs; ”everyone loves a rock cover”, your manager said. 

In addition, the two of you will be working on a new song for an upcoming film, your labels salivating at the thought of getting a Grammy and Oscar nomination.

Needing a break from the paperwork and discussing business, you headed out to the balcony to get some fresh air only to see him smoking there instead. His ears were decorated in silver piercings and a hoop loomed on his bottom lip. He took a drag out of his cigarette, letting the smoke blow out and dissipate in the cool air.

His eyes seemed tired, but his icy irises locked onto your own as he began to cough in surprise. He balled his fist up hitting his chest, to try to help him breathe as he tried to sputter apologies.

“Sorry there, I didn’t see you. I try to make it a habit for people not to catch me indulging in my vices,” he chuckled, still coughing from his surprise. You softly chuckled as well, walking up to him to admire the skyline. London was as gloomy as ever, and it seemed you would be remaining here for the time being.

“I didn’t think you were much of a smoker,” you hummed. The man playfully rolled his eyes, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and looking at it. His gaze seemed nostalgic admiring the soft ambers of one end of the rolled nicotine.

” It was a bit of a bad habit when I was younger. I usually just drink a cuppa’ whenever I get a craving but didn’t have an opportunity to so I caved,” he admitted. He threw the cigarette on the ground, stomping it out with his large black combat boots tied up in yellow and purple laces. You chuckled and nodded.

“I get it. No judgment here. Had to stop drinking coffee for a while. One day I drank about 4 drinks and could see my hand shaking when I was trying to write lyrics. Told myself to never get that far again,” you recalled. Wriothesley let out a hearty laugh at your story.

“See, we all got our vices,” he replied.

There was a soft pause between you two as you two looked at the towering buildings below you. The smell of rain on asphalt was prevalent. It must’ve been raining earlier when you were in your meeting, finalizing the collaboration. 

“I’m curious, why did you specifically ask to collaborate with me? Your managers at the meeting informed me that it wasn’t just their idea but yours,” you asked. Wriothesley simply shrugged before lifting his arms nonchalantly as he placed his hands on his jet-black hair with gray streaks. 

”I like your music, what can I say,” Wriothesley replied. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion. Why on earth would someone like him enjoy music from you? Wriothesley must’ve sensed your confusion before a lazy smirk made its way onto his pale face.

“What? Do you think I only listen to one specific genre? Should never judge a book by its cover” he murmured, tutting. You bit your lip, gaze darting from him in slight embarrassment. It was true. You didn’t only listen to R&B after all, you enjoyed a plethora of genres regardless of if it was the genre of music you made yourself.

”Besides, I see all the time people taking different genres and finding a way to mesh them together,” he added. Wriothesley moved so his back rested on the balcony as he crossed his arms and a more genuine smile fell.

“It would be an honor to do that with someone’s music I admire,” he finished.

Recording soon began after that. It was always interesting to see his fingers glide along his electric guitar, strumming and musing as if he were on another plane of existence. He would often flash you winks at these sessions. Banter turned to flirting to the point rumors began circulating in the office, but the two of you didn’t care. It was fun having him in your life and hard to fight off the smile whenever his callous hands would brush against yours when he got the chance.

A few months passed and it was finally time for the last recording session. As everyone left the studio for the night, you decided to stay back to fine-tune things on your end until you felt satisfied yourself. When you walked out, you noticed Wriothesley sitting on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone and looked up, hearing the heavy door of the recording studio open and close.

“Seems you finally got out. Took you long enough, love. I did want to celebrate with you,” he mused as he rose from the couch. You couldn’t fight the smile creeping on your lips seeing his presence right in front of you.

“Celebrate what exactly? Done being in this stuffy room together for now,” you retorted. Wriothesley simply smirked and shrugged.

“Perhaps I could take you to a pub and celebrate that way. Get a few drinks, I can show you the sights of London before you jet back to LA tomorrow,” he suggested. You took a sigh. You truly weren’t in the mood to socialize in a dark tavern tonight. 

“I don’t know about that….Why? Are you trying to take me out on a date?” you chimed back. Wriothesley chuckled and walked closer to you. 

”Maybe. Think I can be lucky enough?” he asks, hands reaching up for their chin. Your eyes widened slightly, shocked at his nonchalant confession before your expression softened. Your hands reach up, placing themselves on his firm chest. 

“We can always celebrate here…too…y’know…” you suggested. Wriothesley expressions darkened, a grin forming on his face. His hand left your chin, making its way towards your waist to bring you in closer to him.

”Didn’t think someone with a reputation like yours would be so naughty,” he hummed, deep in your ear.

”Don’t judge a book by its cover, I think you were the one who said that, no?” you retorted. 

Wriothesley leaned down, capturing your lips. His lips were sweet, tasting faintly of chapstick he must’ve applied earlier. His hands wandered up and down the curves of your body as the two of you made wait onto the couch.

As your form plopped down on the expensive leather couch, Wriothesley crawled on top of you. His hand cupped your clothed cunt, watching you grind onto his hand desperate to get any bit of friction you could. He sucked his caine as he smiled at the scene before letting his hand dip between the waistband on your pants and cup your now bare cunt.

“Already drooling for me…” he murmured, fondling your soft cunt. You rolled your hips, whining as his fingers brushed against your clit. Growing impatient, Wriothelesy, took his hand out before tugging on the waistband of your pants, bringing them and your panties down with it. Your bottoms were thrown aside on the rug, shielding itself from falling on the cool tile ground.

His icy eyes finally gazed at your cunt bare to him. He pressed his finger against one of your puffy folds, pushing it to the side to spread you out further and watching your hole convulse at the mere thought of having him inside of you. 

Clicking his tongue is satisfaction, he slowly sinks his finger inside of you. You whined, feeling the cool touch of his silver rings decorating his fingers as he slowly pumped them. His other hand goes beneath your shirt, moving towards the valley of your breasts.

He grabbed a mound—rolling your pebbling nipple with the side of his thumb while his lips pressed against your neck—nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. His fingers curled as he continued to thrust while the calloused pad of his thumb massaged your clit.

You writhe under his touch, soft moans falling from your lips. He shifted, his hips slightly bucking as his own erection pressed in his tight pants satisfied by the music falling from your mouth. His fingers drilled inside of you faster as the sloshes and lewd noises of your cunt echoed in the room. 

“That’s it…that’s it…you’re almost there, love. C’mon and give me a show,” Wriothesley grunted. A loud moan is ripped from you as you throw your head back. Your body twitched trying to come down from your high as Wriothesley whistled in amused, satisfied by the way your cunt squeezed and pulsated on his fingers. He dug his free hand into his jeans pockets, revealing his phone.

“Mind if I memorialize this,” he asked, flashing his phone to your tired gaze. You furrowed your eyebrows but whined feeling him pump his fingers slowly in your overly sensitive hole. 

“...If you show anyone and I mean anyone, Wriothesley—” you threatened albeit agreed. Wriothesley chuckled, moving to click on the camera app.

“And risk losing a person like you? Never. Besides, I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you like this…whining and crying just on my fingers. Y’know if you made a face like that then I wonder how you’ll look with my cock inside of you, hm?”

Wriothesley began recording as he continued to slowly pump his fingers inside of you before slowly dipping them off. He chuckled, admiring his digits coated in your slick before smacking down your clit as you jolted. You scoffed and grabbed his phone, filming the camera in his direction. 

”Well then why don’t you also give me a show,” you suggested, quirking an eyebrow up with an amused expression. Wriothesley chuckled and nodded. He slowly took his shirt off revealing his fit form, tattoos adorned his arms. His nipples were flushed and pierced as well.

”My eyes are up here, love,” he joked. You fought the urge to roll your eyes before you shifted the camera towards his crotch. He played with the waistband of his pants before slowly letting them fall, his cock immediately smacking to his lower stomach, pulsating eagerly.

He pumped his cock a few times, you could see precum budding at the tip along with his Prince Albert piercing. His moans are light and airy, clearly teasing you as you rub your thighs together.

He leaned over and claimed your lips as he grabbed the phone from you. His tongue dragged against your bottom lip as you moaned in the kiss. He shifted you on top of him so that he was lounging in the chair instead. You could feel how hard and thick he was as his cock pressed against your leg

”Well then, I can’t do all the work…Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat” he suggested, patting his upper thigh. You took their shirt off, hovering above their cock. You grabbed onto his member as Wriothesley sucked a breath in before you slowly sank down it.

As you slowly moved down on it, you could feel how much he was stretching you out. The dull burn as you inched closer was getting to you. Wriothesley offered a sympathetic smile reaching out with one hand to rub your clit to encourage you to sink down further. Although it was a tight fit, you eventually bottomed out. Your body shuttered feeling the foreign coolness of his piercing pressed against your gummy walls. 

His hand eventually leaves your clit before trailing towards your thighs and resting on your ass, where he gives it a tender squeeze.

”Don’t keep me waiting, lovely,” he cooed. With a grunt, you slid up before sliding back down continuously, pressing your hands against his chest as you bounced on his cock. Wriothesley bit his lip, zooming in as he reached out to fondle your tits before drifting the camera back down to where his cock was disappearing inside of you.

He could feel how tight you were, etching him to reach deeper inside. He starts to thrust up causing you to moan. You weave your own hand down to play with your sensitive clit to get more friction.

Wriothesley clicked his tongue noticing, before throwing his phone on the ground without a care. His large palms grabbed onto the globes of your ass before his pace grew faster. You could barely think as he pistoned himself inside of you, legs quivering as you didn’t bounce on him anymore.

His cock continuously hit that sweet spot inside of you as you shifted and gyrated your hips— drool dripping from your lips. You rub tight circles on your clit faster.

“There! There! There!!” you yelped out. Your back arched, as your eyes rolled to the back of your head finally reaching your high. Wriothesley grunted nails harpooned in the plush of your ass as his lower half bucks up, spilling cum inside of you. 

He continued to thrust inside of you, pushing it deeper while he groaned. Your voice quivered, feeling his warmth completely coat you as thick globs of cum smeared on your folds and thighs. You let your upper half lean down to rest as Wriothesley patted your ass gently, red from how tight he was clinging onto it.

His lips pressed against your shoulders for a tender kiss, heavy pants echoing in the recording studio.

“This’ll be a night to remember…” Wriothsley chuckled before kissing your sweaty forehead. His gaze softened at your tired panting one.

“I say it’s a good thing we will be working quite closely together for the upcoming year, wouldn’t you say, love?”

“Can I date Y/N, please?” [Genshin Impact - Diluc and Kaeya’s sibling edition]

Summary: In which your potential Genshin lover asks your Genshin sibling(s) if he can date you.

Characters: Diluc and Kaeya as your brothers, Aether, Albedo, Venti, Bonus: Tartaglia, gn!reader

Notes: There was a similar request a while ago but for the volleyball AU, I might do that or I might not but what are your thoughts on this brand new brainrot I have? I felt like I just needed a change of pace about what I write, needed something platonic-ish but also cute and funny??? idk. These days I feel like my genre is changing a little, or I just need a break from romance.

Warnings: crack elements, fluff, overprotective siblings, alcohol consumption, Diluc and Kaeya are civil towards each other, complicated deception in Tartaglia’s part, I only mixed and matched certain characters cause I thought those would be particularly interesting, some are longer than the others cause I enjoyed writing it more.

Your brothers: Diluc & Kaeya

Who wants to date you: Aether

“Relaaaaaaax, you’ve fought a giant dragon before, this is nothing!” Easy for Paimon to say, Aether thinks. Not for him, when he was going to ask Diluc and Kaeya for their blessings to date you. The Kaeya part, not too bad. The Diluc part…Aether didn’t know what to think. 

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