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s4nguiine · 10 days ago

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(new to Tumblr, sorry in advance) but can we get more gentle Sunday? Like, the way he looks at us through his gentle gaze is too much man idec if it's smut or normal I want to see him ignoring reader's teasing/playful tendencies even if we are a little shit

-IA

paparazzi — sunday

summary. aeons forbid mister sunday has a secret private life outside of being the head of the oak family. it just so happens it might be a bit more promiscuous than originally let on.

notes. IA possibly sent me this six months ago. excuse my unexplained lack of content. more may be coming, not sure. come get ur slop.

warnings. gopher wood appears for five seconds.

The Head of the Oak Family almost keeled over on top of his desk the day it was brought to his attention that his name was topping the popularity charts on every site in Penacony. His face was plastered as the preview image on every article attached with his name.

That wouldn’t have been so bad in itself if the picture wasn’t of him ‘sucking face’ — as The Penacony Tribune so eloquently put it — with a ‘dazzling stranger’ — as Inquirer so eloquently put it — on the ‘whimsical night celebrating yet another successful Charmony Festival’ — as Republicony so eloquently put–

Sunday almost heaves as he swipes off the news article. His photo stares back at him on the millions of other sites covering the topic.

It wasn’t any sort of assumption either; the photo was clearly of Sunday, no doubt about it there. Same coloured hair, the distinctive six feathered wings that curled around his ears that not many other Halovians possessed.

He’d been spotted prior in photos with Robin, who was dressed just as prettily as him on that night, being special guests and important Penacony figures, and so even if his face was obscured in the image he would have been recognised by his clothing.

The ‘dazzling stranger,’ however, not so much.

They were dressed like all of the other staff in simple black pants and the white apron. Thankfully, their face was completely obscured by shadows, some of Sunday’s face due to the angle, and the branches hanging from where the mysterious photographer had snuck the picture.

Sunday wasn’t sure whether this was a blessing or a curse, however. On one hand, they’re safe from the backlash. On the other hand, it only encourages the journalists to play guessing games on who the mysterious person really is.

There is an entire article featured already on the list of potential suspects, but thankfully, none of them were correct.

Sunday sits at his desk with his phone burning hot and running low in his hand. He doesn’t want to continue scrolling, but his fingers swipe and swipe and swipe and every article makes him feel sicker and sicker.

His stomach churns and he opens his messages.

Ignoring the streams of notifications from work partners, colleagues and his own father, his thumb hovers over your contact. He opens your messages and hesitates.

You haven’t sent him anything since two hours before he saw you that night. It was a simple “see u there beautiful” that made his heart hammer that night.

Even now, as his fingers tremble over the keyboard, his face reddens. Nerves spike heavy in his heart like needles made of lead as he thinks on it. And then he thinks, and thinks, and thinks and thinks and thinks—

He quickly turns his phone off when there is the flap of a wing and a raven perches onto his shoulder, light and soft. The feathers rustle against Sunday’s own, and perhaps once that feeling was comforting to him when he was just a boy. Now, it does nothing but make his heart stop.

The bird speaks, “you’ve made a fool of yourself.”

Sunday stammers for a moment. And then, he answers, “it won’t happen again.” It’s a phrase he’s said many times, and he hasn’t been proud each time he has uttered it. In fact, bitterness seeps at the base of his throat when he whispers, and his stomach stirs. Tears prickle behind his eyelids, but he holds his breath.

“Another empty promise,” the bird comments. “You offer a lot of them.”

“It will not happen again,” he repeats, this time with a steady voice.

“I would hope so,” the bird says. “You are fully aware this next Charmony Festival will be–”

There is a timid knock at the door. Three taps of the knuckle on the wood on the other side ring through loudly, and the raven’s wings bristle instinctively. It halts its speech as the door is silently pushed open.

Sunday stiffens for a moment. It’s polite to announce yourself, or to ask permission to step into his office, for colleagues or guests alike. Not many people just invite themselves in.

“Hi.” There’s the familiar click of short heels as Robin inches through the crack in the door and shutting it securely behind her, making sure nobody had seen her wander in. She’s wearing one of Sunday’s old sweaters he grew out of, and her hands are covered in blue and red ink.

Sunday breathes a sigh of relief.

She pauses for a moment, her eyes flitting to the bird on his shoulder. She nods once in greeting. “Father.”

He pays her no mind. “You are grown now. You are to deal with the press yourself tonight.”

The bird merely hums before the weight is lifted off and the raven leaves behind a purple feather as it takes flight out of the office window from whence it came.

Robin hums worriedly, and there’s a frown on her lips as she watches the bird depart. “I came to check on you.”

Sunday’s lips twitch upwards into a smile. “What for?”

She sits down on one of the chairs opposite his desk and pulls it forward. “Well, you’re all over the news.”

Ah. Sunday grins uneasily. “It will subside.” He glances down at the empty papers awaiting filling on his desk. He hasn’t touched them since the minute before he started receiving frantic messages last night.

Since then, he hasn’t slept.

It won’t subside. It never will. This is a permanent scar on his reputation, his image, his entire work he’s put into this position. This person he’s made of himself is tattered and ruined, and he guarantees if he steps outside of his office and trudges into Aideen Park, his photo will be broadcasted on every screen visible in the area.

Robin rests her elbows on the desk. “I was gonna tell you that.” She taps her nails against the wood. “It might be a big deal now, but everyone gets bored of the same old news eventually. In a week, everyone will forget. They’ll move onto something else.” She looks up at him. “But…”

Sunday raises his brows.

She raises hers in return and leans back in the chair. “You never told me you found someone. Never thought anyone would be into something as ugly as you.”

He opens his mouth but nothing rolls off his tongue like it usually does. Instead, he quickly shuts it. He swallows hard.

“It’s not–”

His phone rings. Again. He has ignored most of the incoming calls today, but this ringtone is different, and Robin notices that too.

She looks down at his phone on the desk with a sparkle in her gaze. “‘S that them?”

He does not have to look down at the contact number. “Yes.” His fists clench nervously. “It’s not a relationship. It’s–”

“–Complicated, I’m sure,” she finishes over the ringtone. She stands up nonetheless. “You should answer it. It might make it less complicated.”

Sunday hums. His thumb hovers over the decline button.

Only when she arrives at the door she reminds him, “I’m here if you need to talk.”

She knows he won’t, and even he knows he won’t, but he thanks her anyway, and she closes the door behind her.

Sundays waits for a while. So long, in fact, that he’s missed your call, and you’ve sent him a quick “hi beautiful. call me back when u can” that makes his heart lurch in his throat.

And weakly, Sunday returns your call.

*ೃ༄

The ceremony was but ten minutes away from starting, and it was him and his alone who would be opening with the welcoming speech, and then sticking around afterwards.

He’d much rather go home and scream into a pillow.

Even now, as he stands behind the curtains of the stage, he picks at his gloves and pinches the material around his fingers. He’s already broken a nail from scratching idly at his desk when the tics in his stomach grow too restless, and it catches against the cotton.

He’s supposed to go out there to commence the second night of the festival, and yet his palms are sweating, and his face is pink and white all over in splotches like spilled speckles of paint, and–

“Ooh. Someone’s nervous.”

Sunday stiffens, though it’s barely visible. He’d been wrong to assume he was alone for the time being. Backstage has been presently empty aside from a few workers who’d given him curt nods in passing. It was humiliating to even pretend that nothing was wrong, but it was all he could do.

Sunday turns quickly.

You pop your head out from one of the side curtains. “Did I scare you?”

His wings flutter instinctively when your hands reach outward to rest on his shoulders, fingers running just short of the base of his lowest pair of wings.

Spiders crawl up his throat and Sunday peers behind to check for anyone else that may be passing by.

“How did you get back here?” he asks worriedly.

You glance to the left. “I have a key. I work here, remember?” You tap at your badge, the word ‘ESCORT’ printed beneath your name. “We have to talk.”

“Can it wait?” Sunday glances behind him again. “I’ll be–”

“Really quickly,” you interrupt. You pop behind the curtain for a second and he hears something rustling. “I wanted to say sorry for… well, everything.” Your poke your head out and offer him a white box.

Sunday gingerly takes it and lifts the flap.

Inside is two giant slices of strawberry shortcake, adorned with frothy white cream and strawberry slices sitting neatly atop in rows of three. They look delicious, but also identical, and Sunday’s wings flutter once.

“Made it for you.”

He glances up.

“You can eat them later.” You hum in amusement. “I know you like strawberry.”

He closes the lid and sets the box aside gently on a nearby table. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

You follow him silently after zipping the curtain shut. “You didn’t. I just assumed from your lip balm.”

“My lip balm?”

“Mhm.” You lean forward and press your lips to his quickly.

Sunday reels back.

He watches your tongue lick at your bottom lip before you smack your lips together to annoy him. “Strawberry.”

Sunday refuses to make a show of scrubbing the fluster off of his face. If he’s to touch his face, then he has to fix his hair, and then his shirt, and then his pants, and then–

“Hey.”

He hasn’t even realised your cold hands have moved to soothe his burning cheeks.

“I know I kinda made your life harder with this whole… rendezvous…” Your thumb nail traces the outline of his lip, collecting smudged shine of his lip balm. “Maybe when you finally quit this suckish job I can live my dream sucking at Mister Sunday’s face out on the streets.”

Sunday knits his brows together.

The back of your knuckles finds one of his wings and you follow the plush feathers idly.

Nervously, his eyes search around the room again.

“There’s nobody here,” you remind him.

“That’s what we assumed last t–”

You kiss him then, partly to shut him up, and it seems to do the trick just fine.

Sunday can’t fight the way he instantly melts in your embrace. His knees almost give out as your knuckle twists into the base of his stiffened wing. His heart pounds ridiculously quickly in his chest, so much so he feels horrifically sick and dizzy, like he could die right there, and he’d be okay with it.

He returns your affections as best he can with what strength he still has. His grips tight onto your arms and he all but pushes his face closer to your lips. The tip of his nose squishes against the side of yours and his wings flutter beneath your fingers. He feels you pluck a loose, overgrown feather from the base.

You pull away.

When he gives chase, you tap his feather against his lips. “I’ll give you the rest of the shortcake tonight.”

Sunday blinks once, twice. Then, he swallows whatever pride remains in his heart and leans forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “Then I look forward to your visit.”

You reach upwards and pinch his nose. “Now go do your sucky job.”

Since you told him to.

“I’ll wait for you, Mister Sunday,” you promise him with a grin. “I’ve got time.”

Sunday scoffs playfully. “I’ll be in this position for a long time.”

“Yep. Even if you’re all old and wrinkly, I’ll still give you kisses.” You point at him. “Promise.”

“Mhm.” He can be playful if he wants to, you notice. “Then I look forward to the day.”

Your heart stammers.

He notices your cheeks darken with blood.

You laugh and almost trip over your own feet. Then, you raise him a mock salute and disappear around the corner.

Sunday knows he won’t be seeing you for a while. Not while he’s stuck as Head, anyway.

But still, his chest fills with warmth at the idea that one day—and maybe that day will never come. Maybe he will die before he ever gets the chance to really meet you again—you will be there. And he’ll let his feet drag him towards you so he can feel your hands in his. It’s a pull, like a magnet.

He knows patience.

So, he’ll wait. He’ll wait as long as he has to until he has you again.

#YUMMY #love this so much missy #more kisses for sunday!!!!#★ hsr tag

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s4nguiine · 13 days ago

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Do you have any thoughts on how Mydei would react if his lover was injured?? Love your Mydei hcs btw! <3 <3 <3

thank you nonnie!! <33

it so happens that i've actually thought about this! i feel like mydei, as someone who cannot die, would over time sort of forget the permanence of death and how easy it is for a mortal to die. so there comes you, someone who is so very dear to him, someone who gets him on the deepest level - and he can't lie to himself, he totally takes you for granted - and you end up getting seriously hurt.

and it suddenly dawns on him. it's a painful reminder that life is fragile, you're fragile, and it freaks him out. i honestly think that it would crack that tough shell he tries to wear so hard and he would become such a worrywart that it would get overwhelming at times. he would try to shelter you, protect you from harm at any given moment. this would pass of course, especially with your guidance (and a couple arguments), but it does change him and he starts to appreciate you more outwardly after that :P

#★ let's chat!#mydei x reader #mydei x you #mydei x y/n

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s4nguiine · 13 days ago

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sorry for not being active guys, i accidentally got hyperfixated on the witcher 3 again

#★ yap tag #i may or may not have spent the last 3 days doing nothing but playing tw3 #this sick leave is doing me good

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s4nguiine · 19 days ago

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guys i literally just realized that i left an unfinished sentence in there. oh my god. this is my lesson for writing stuff at work

neuvi 👉👈

hi chex <3 happy (late) birthday!

» nsfw ahead!! minors dni!

—neuvillette headcanons

this man is OBLIVIOUS. neuvillette doesn't catch onto your affections until you spell it out for him, and so does he not realize his own affections towards you. be patient, he's still figuring this out!

that being said, it is very clear to you that he feels something towards you. he's kind to everyone of course, but to you it feels like he's going the extra mile.

he walks you to your house every day after work to make sure you arrive safe and well, he pays for your lunches, he relies on you more than the others. somehow he's always there with an umb

so, safe to say when he realizes your mutual love for each other, he gets so much worse. he's spending so much time with you, using every excuse he can get to see you even if for just a moment

neuvillette is not a PDA guy. he is very reserved and the most you will get out of him in public is interlocking your arms. at home though he is a clingy beast. he insists on showering/bathing together and having you sit in his lap when he's doing paperwork

so incredibly fussy. not feeling well? get ready to be pampered. he will try to spoonfeed you. immediately shifts into mother mode and buys 500 different types of medicine "just in case"

his workaholic side retreats a bit when you're together. he still shoulders most responsibilities, but if you ask him he will take time off

date nights consist of dinners, theater, concerts and scenic walks, maybe some stargazing. if it gets hot, he'll take you swimming in the sea

literally lets you do anything to his hair

so so sensitive around you even if he won't really voice it. you get into an argument and it's pouring outside for a week straight

i've said it once i'll say it again. this man has ZERO muscles. get hit with the soft tummy beam idiot. i'm drooling

neuvillette is a gentle lover. don't expect rough sex, not even when he's feeling more frisky. he will try to thoroughly breed you, but he does it in a way that's so nice and loving you'll be on cloud nine the entire time

favorite positions: missionary, close breathing - any position where he can look at you and hold you close to him. occasional spooning

service top, LOVES going down on you

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s4nguiine · 20 days ago

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neuvi 👉👈

hi chex <3 happy (late) birthday!

» nsfw ahead!! minors dni!

—neuvillette headcanons

that being said, it is very clear to you that he feels something towards you. he's kind to everyone of course, but to you it feels like he's going the extra mile.

he walks you to your house every day after work to make sure you arrive safe and well, he pays for your lunches, he relies on you more than the others. somehow he's always there with an umb

so, safe to say when he realizes your mutual love for each other, he gets so much worse. he's spending so much time with you, using every excuse he can get to see you even if for just a moment

so incredibly fussy. not feeling well? get ready to be pampered. he will try to spoonfeed you. immediately shifts into mother mode and buys 500 different types of medicine "just in case"

his workaholic side retreats a bit when you're together. he still shoulders most responsibilities, but if you ask him he will take time off

date nights consist of dinners, theater, concerts and scenic walks, maybe some stargazing. if it gets hot, he'll take you swimming in the sea

literally lets you do anything to his hair

so so sensitive around you even if he won't really voice it. you get into an argument and it's pouring outside for a week straight

i've said it once i'll say it again. this man has ZERO muscles. get hit with the soft tummy beam idiot. i'm drooling

favorite positions: missionary, close breathing - any position where he can look at you and hold you close to him. occasional spooning

service top, LOVES going down on you

#★ genshin tag #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n

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s4nguiine · 21 days ago

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mydei headcanons? pretty please?? 🥺

hi nonnie! of course i'll do mydei <3 you didn't specify whether sfw or nsfw, so i decided to do a mixed bag of both, hope that's ok <3

» nsfw ahead!!! minors dni!

—mydei headcanons ✿

mydei's love is absolutely incomprehensible to someone who didn't grow up in castrum kremnos and understands its customs.

why does he keep challenging you to a duel?? why is he constantly on your ass trying to argue with you???

you lowkey think that he hates you. only phainon knows that this is his strange way of showing affection and he's having a field day watching you deny all of mydei's attempts at courting you

you mostly just brush him off. it is only when you finally snap back and chew his ear off that you notice him blushing and it makes you reevaluate all interactions you've had with him prior to that

mydei likes people who are stubborn and not afraid of standing up for themselves. he loves watching you fight for your rights, loves watching you argue, even if it's with him.

that happens a lot, too. sometimes he riles you up on purpose just to see you get mad. he finds it hot, and it's no surprise that the two of you end up fucking after every argument.

despite knowing that you can definitely fend for yourself, he gets quite protective of you at times. say goodbye to any person that dares insult you behind your back. somehow he always finds out before you do.

of course, he has a soft side to him too. he loves it when you play with his hair and quite often he will fall asleep in your lap

he buys you stuff. so much of it, actually. trinkets and clothes that he thinks will look good on you, and most of the time he's right

he lets you apply his red eyeliner

you're the only one he ever willingly shows his gentle side to. you know all of the stuff like him liking pink and grapefruit juice and he knows that you won't make fun of him for it

sometimes you do skincare together.... sometimes.

you're an absolute menace on the battlefield together. at first look you may look like you wouldn't agree on anything, constantly bickering and pushing each other's buttons, but then you cover each other's weaknesses perfectly. mydei trusts you a lot

sex is on battle mode when you're with him. he loves it when you fight for dominance and he's not one to not accept defeat. you're just as beautiful on top of him as you are under him, so he's satisfied either way

you have to teach him aftercare. i'm so sorry, you cannot convince me that this dude wouldn't just get up and leave after you're done. but he likes it when you teach him to stay with you. he doesn't realize it but he's quite starved for affection

favorite positions: prone bone, doggystyle, generally any position where he's behind you, mating press, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl

lets you peg him :) you have to fight for it :(

#mydei x reader #mydei x you #mydei x y/n #★ hsr tag #mydei headcanons #hsr headcanons

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s4nguiine · 22 days ago

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i'm feeling kind of uninspired! how about dropping a couple characters in my inbox and i give you my headcanons for them? :P

#ask game #this goes for both genshin and honkai star rail

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s4nguiine · 22 days ago

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soooo..... mydei, right?

#★ hsr tag

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s4nguiine · 23 days ago

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was watching the new season of castlevania nocturne and i had to hit the kicking my legs hiding my face in my hands combo when i saw alucard. nice to see my inner 13 year old is still alive and well

#★ yap tag

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s4nguiine · 24 days ago

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making out with sunday. it's clumsy; he's clumsy, and he's so red in the face it feels like he's on fire. a secret rendezvous in a quiet corner of the astral express, you're both gasping and pulling at each other's clothes, desperate to fit as much affection as possible into this space and time you've cut out for yourselves, before someone walks past, before someone finds you

#★ hsr tag #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n

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s4nguiine · 1 month ago

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thank you for all the comments guys 🥹 i was feeling kinda pessimistic about this fic after finishing it so i'm happy to see that i caused some emotional damage hehe

deep blue

capitano x GN!reader

» summary: capitano saves you during the war with the abyss and you get to know each other. sadly, things are not meant to be. the right person at the wrong time type deal

» rating: sfw

» notes: this is angst. it doesn't end well. capitano is such a tragic character, i couldn't write a happy ending for him. sorry!

“get behind me!”

hours has it been since the abyss’ invasion upon your homeland, and with all the vision bearers in your group defeated by the monsters, the burden was passed to you to protect the children and the elderly. although you are familiar with the sword in your hands, you tremble now in the face of your enemies concealed by the thick dark fog around you.

word has it the heroes and the outlander are going around helping people. if that is the case, then your caravan has to be very well hidden, for none of them have shown up to help so far.

you pray someone finds you. oh, archon, please let someone-

you are snapped out of your thoughts by a snarl to your left and you barely have any time to shift your posture and raise your sword. the strange-looking wolf clamps down on the steel, growling as it’s denied a bite of your flesh. you shake with exertion, feet planted firmly in the ground. soaked with blood as it is though, you end up getting pushed back.

you can’t give up here. you can’t let the creature topple you. you have to protect these people.

a pair of hands finds itself upon your back. you chance a glance back to find the very people you’re protecting watching you with equal fear and determination. more hands join that pair, and as they push forward, you are stopped from sliding backwards.

they don’t say anything, but you know this: you are not alone in this.

and with an emboldening yell, you grip the sword tighter in your hand and you push forward, slicing through the wolf’s jaw open. it yelps and retreats, and you’re about to cheer for your first personal victory, when a sharp scream penetrates the air. swishing around, you find a child raised in the air, held by a mighty mitachurl with an axe in its other arm.

someone yells out the boy’s name, but the sound is muffled against the pounding of your heart as you dart past the group of people, hand outreached to save the child. you’re not allowed to do this, however, as another wolf dives in from your side to close its jaws around your shoulder.

panicking, you dig your blade into its flesh and you swing it in whatever direction, splitting the creature in half and making it let you go. when your eyes are back on the mitachurl, it is raising its axe to cut down the people in front of it. you won’t make it. you know you won't. this powerlessness creeps up under your skin; the battle is over.

just when you’ve lost all hope, a gunshot echoes through the fog. the mitachurl releases its axe with a metallic clang and the claws around the boy’s neck go loose. your body moves seemingly out of its own volition, for before you know it you are lunging forward. the boy falls into the safety of your arms and you crouch, cradling him closely to shield him with your body.

and then you feel something warm spray across your face. you look up, and the hulking churl has been cut in half. as it comes tumbling down, you see a tall man standing behind it clad in armor you do not recognize. a helmet obscures his face, yet you know he is looking directly at you.

you’re tired and out of breath, but you grip your sword in your hand all the same and raise the steel blade against this foreigner.

he merely swings his sword to get rid of the blood stuck to it.

“stand down,” he finally speaks and his voice is so deep and gravelly it rumbles in the depths of his chest. “we’ve come to your aid.”

fatui soldiers emerge from the darkness. is he a fatuus then? unsure of their allyship, your weapon remains pointed at him.

“how do i know that you’re not one of those shapeshifting monsters?” you ask.

“have you ever heard them speak?”

you turn his words over in your head. he’s right, they don’t speak, and they certainly don’t kill their own. you lower your weapon at last and release the boy in your arms, who immediately runs to find his mother.

after a deep breath or two you manage to stand back on your feet to face the stranger.

he asks, “are there any more fighters among you?”

“i’m afraid i’m the last one standing,” you reply. your hand shakes as you sheathe your sword. the man places his hand on your shoulder, pulling your attention back to his hidden face.

“you fought well.”

you blink as tears well up in your eyes, and you quickly turn your face sideways to wipe them away. when the man lets go of your shoulder, you suddenly feel a throbbing sensation burn through your arm and chest. you wince and grit your teeth, hand coming up to squeeze the wound in search of reprieve. it does not help, and when you look at your hand, it is stained with blood.

the wound makes itself known once the adrenaline subsides and you have to sit down on a nearby rock. the man does not leave your side, instead now fretting about you, if you could call it fretting. he takes your arm and rakes up your sleeve to reveal something dark spreading through your veins from the bleeding bite.

“corruption,” he says, “you have to get that purified as soon as possible.”

“yeah, well…” your tone is dripping with sarcasm as you sneer. “i’m sure the doctors have nothing to do right now.”

you search through your pouch and pull out some bandages. it’s not perfect first aid, but it will have to do. “can you and your men turn around, please? i’d like to treat myself.”

the fatui oblige and you are granted a semblance of privacy on the battlefield to take off your upper clothing and bandage your wound with trembling hands. they don’t seem to stop even now as you’re kept safe by the group of soldiers. you clench your fists in an attempt to calm them, then you get dressed again and join the rest of the group.

“what now?” you ask as you stand beside the armored man. “who are you anyway?”

“now you’ll evacuate to the stadium. it’s safe there.”

“you? you’re not coming with us?”

he shakes his head. “there are still more monsters to slay.”

“i…” your mouth opens and closes as you weigh your words. “i’m not sure i can protect these people all on my own.”

“fret not. nikita!” a huge man clad in purple armor walks up to the two of you and salutes. “pick three men. you’re staying behind to help these people get to safety.”

“yes, sir.” nikita wastes no time in fulfilling his task.

the other fatuus turns back to you. “stay safe.”

“don’t worry, i won’t let your soldiers die.”

he looks at you silently for a moment, which makes you wonder if you said something strange. but then he wordlessly walks away and his soldiers, apart from those 4 he left you, follow closely behind.

“wait, helmet guy!” you call out to him. the fatui seem to recoil in shock at the nickname but it does have the desired effect of stopping the man in his tracks.

“helmet guy..?”

“thank you! for helping us.”

the stranger nods and then disappears in the dense fog once more.

“everyone, we are gathered here to celebrate a glorious victory.”

the pyro archon stands at the center of all attention, as she always has. the tavern is packed with people, all heroes, some greater than others. a bittersweet taste of victory at the cost of many lives lingers in the air. it is in true natlanese fashion that people celebrate not with tears but with alcohol, laughter and gratitude for their sacrifice.

you sit at the very back, watching as the orange liquid in your cup swirls around. you can’t hold this way of grieving against them, and victory does have to be celebrated. but as you mull over all that has happened, you find yourself lacking any sweetness. it is only the bitterness that you feel towards everything that the abyss took from you.

you finish off this cup, order another, and make your way outside to get some fresh air. the stairs seem to sway beneath your feet but you retain your balance as if you were completely sober.

the air feels pleasantly cool against your hot cheeks when you step outside. despite the battle that took place just moments ago, it smells fresh. everything is so serene. it pisses you off.

kicking a rock along the way, you sit down at the edge of the wall, feet dangling over nothing. somewhere all the way down you hear the gentle rushing of water. cheers, then. you raise your cup. to all your dead friends, to this nation of endless struggle, and to that fucking hole in the sky your archon blew an hour ago. you take a swig, and whatever spills down your chin, you wipe away with the back of your hand.

“enjoying the night?”

of course you’re not left alone for long. a deep familiar voice comes from behind you and thankfully you’re too drunk to get spooked. a slip is all it would take for you to die, which would be comical after all the fighting you did to stay alive.

“sure!” you slur. “enjoying, yeah. you could call it that.”

the tall man appears by your side. he sits down next to you, though he leaves some space between the two of you.

“hey, helmet guy. why didn’t you tell me that you were a harbinger?” you try to make out his face underneath the helmet, but all you get is a vague outline of a face in the darkness of the night.

“i saw no reason to.”

“no reason to? your soldiers weren’t very happy about the nickname i gave you,” you grumble.

“did they give you any issues?” he asks.

you ponder for a bit, staring off into the distance. “no, actually… they were really nice. it surprised me.”

whatever comment rests on capitano’s tongue, he swallows it back. this is not the time to be snarky. he sees it in you - in your heavy shoulders, in the lack of life in your eyes, in the slight tremble in your hands that you try so hard to contain. this loss has hit you hard.

“you’re like me,” he says after a long pause.

“how so?”

“you carry the ghosts of those you cared about in your heart. you grieve with anger and sadness - that’s why you’re here alone, just like me. the others don’t give themselves time to sit with sorrow but you do, because your heart won’t allow you otherwise.”

you clutch your chest, shirt wrinkling as your fingers dig into its fabric. a deep frown forms on your face. it’s ugly. you feel ugly. bitter tears well up in your eyes. “you don’t know our culture.”

“culture or not,” he says, and suddenly you feel the weight of his hand on your head, pushing you down into a bow, “you are human. just cry if you need to.” you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. a group of people walks past, all laughs and words meaningless to you.

he’s hiding you.

the tears can’t be contained now. you watch them drip down into your cup of alcohol, and a sob wracks your body, the last straw that breaks the sumpter beast’s back. you set the cup aside to hide your face with your hands.

capitano remains by your side, silent as you break the night’s quiet with your cries.

“what are you doing here?”

when capitano returns to the fatui camp after his research, he is surprised to see your familiar face surrounded by his subordinates. you’re all sitting around what seems to be a pot of some kind of stew, which you pour onto a plate along something that resembles a smooth dumpling.

it’s a puzzling sight indeed.

all the soldiers freeze and stammer to explain what’s going on, however as they talk over each other not a single coherent explanation is heard.

you merely smile up at him, and capitano feels something shift underneath his rotting flesh.

“fufu?” you ask, holding out a plate.

capitano is speechless for a moment. “what?”

“fufu. that’s what this is called. do you want some, harbinger?”

you roll the word ‘harbinger’ on your tongue like it’s some sort of plaything, and… he’s not finishing that thought.

“i’ll have to politely decline. can we talk privately?”

you hand the plate over to nikita, who’s sitting next to you. he speaks up before you: “if i may, lord capitano - is y/n in trouble? we figured inviting them to our camp would be fine, but… if there’s anyone to punish, it should be me.”

capitano sighs. “we’ll talk about that later.”

you finally stand up and follow the man to a more secluded area, kicking up rocks as you go.

“why are you here? are you not scared?” capitano says at last, after a good while of unbroken silence. his tone gives away his exasperation.

you smile and a hint of exhaustion shows its face through the facade. you take a seat on one of nearby boxes. “scared of what? the man who saved my life, or his subordinates who won’t stop talking about their wives back home?”

“both. this is a fatui base. under normal circumstances, your head would be separate from your body by now.”

“i also imagine that under normal circumstances the fatui don’t support other nations in war or comfort grieving drunks.” your cheeks turn pink as you speak and pick at your nails. “what we’ve found ourselves in is pretty far from normal.”

the captain watches you, you can tell despite not having a clear view of his face. he’s studying you, and it makes you shift in your seat uncomfortably. you find yourself not hating the discomfort.

“why are you here?” he asks again.

you hold back your words at first, thinking them through before speaking them. “i just felt that it was unfair not to include your men in the celebrations. i figured a good meal could lift their spirits… as thanks. and yours, too. but they told me that you never eat, so i guess i should have thought of something else.”

“no.”

you raise an eyebrow at him quizzically, and when he turns his head to glance their way, so do you. the two of you get the perfect view of your men gushing about the food, some even fighting over a plate.

“i haven’t seen them this lively in a while. your presence is welcome.”

and you take his words to heart. the camp becomes your second home. sometimes you even sleep over. the fatui are kind, as strange as it is to say. nikita warns you that it’s only them that are this way, that the other harbingers’ forces are not so nice. you suppose it’s true - it’s not like you have any other experience. still, you bond with them - most of all with capitano.

there’s something about every conversation you have with him. he’s clearly a very intelligent man, but more importantly you feel like he understands. you take walks together whenever you can and you help him out with whatever he needs - truth be told, it’s just another excuse to be near him and to talk with him. you even like to think that he enjoys your presence as well.

you’ve caught the soldiers giggling at the two of you multiple times.

your favorite talks are the ones spent under the stars. something about the moon and the stars pulls at the strings of your soul, and neither of you can help each other from sharing your sorrows and joys.

“so you meant it back then… we both carry our own ghosts. though i suppose it is more literal in your case…”

you stand leaning against a wooden railing, watching as the sun sets over the horizon. the breeze that tousles your hair is gentle and pleasantly cool.

when capitano invited you for a walk together, you knew it would be different from the ones you usually took. he seemed more introspective, more anxious somehow. his shoulders, usually so straight and broad like nothing could topple them, looked just a tad heavier than usual.

and then he confided in you. told you that he’s khaneri’ahn, that he’s fought the abyss once before and that he feels a kind of connection to your homeland. you feel for him and for all the soldiers’ voices that he’s had to listen to the entire time. you feel his grief.

he must be so tired.

“there’s no need to pity me.”

his voice brings you back to the present, and you turn your head to face him, wide eyed. “ah… yeah. you know, not all compassion is pity, captain.”

he would usually correct you, say it’s “lord capitano” to you, but for whatever reason he doesn’t. instead he just lets out one of his ‘hmph’s.

you look back towards the horizon. “the sunset is beautiful today…”

“indeed,” capitano says, yet his eyes don’t leave your face.

“it’s hard to believe the abyss itself was here just a few days ago,” you smile, and when you look at capitano one final time, he’s suddenly much closer to you than he was before.

you freeze, gazing up into where his face should be. capitano’s hand comes up to cradle your chin and tilt your head, and for a moment you have the fleeting thought that he’s about to kiss you.

but he doesn’t. his clawed thumb traces your lips, and when he pushes down on your lower lip they part to make way for the shaky breath that escapes your lungs. he just remains quiet, eerily quiet.

“thrain,” you mumble. he suddenly sucks in a deep breath as if snapped out of a trance and lets go of your chin, stepping away from you. your own fingers trace the spot on your lip where his thumb was mere seconds ago.

“i… i apologize. something must have come over me.” capitano is panicking now, a state you’ve never seen him in before. he always gives off an air of absolute confidence, like nothing could shake him, his eyes pinned to a single goal ahead of him.

yet now you’ve captured his gaze, and it’s put a crack in his resolve.

“you should go home. while it’s not too dark.” capitano steps further back from you. “good night, y/n.” and then he turns his back on you and briskly walks away.

you find it almost comical, the way he flees from you, unable to stop yourself from chuckling. good night indeed.

but as you would find out the moment your body hits the bed, sleep eludes you for the majority of the night. by the time you manage to fall asleep, you’re wondering how he’s managed to do this for 500 years.

when you wake later in the day, you waste no time in rushing out of the house. you don’t feel hungry or thirsty, you just - want to see him. burning questions lie on your tongue. how long has he felt the same as you? would he accept you, if you were to accept him? your legs carry you all the way to the fatui camp, and your eyes light up when you find him.

but then you also spot ororon. you freeze. though he’s usually deadfaced with little emotion in his voice, he’s now looking rather panicked as he explains something to capitano. something’s going on. should you intrude..?

before you can actually do anything, however, the two of them turn to leave and you’re found out. capitano hesitates before finally making his way over to you.

“y/n,” he says. his voice is full of… something. you have a hard time identifying it. is it grief? is it want? is it everything all at once?

“what’s happening?” you ask. capitano and ororon exchange looks.

then, capitano speaks: “each of us have a part to play in this war. i think mine has come at last. to end it all, once and for all.”

“i don’t like the way you said that. where are you going, capitano?” for the first time, his helmet pisses you off. you wish you could look into his eyes, see what kind of expression he’s making.

“we don’t have much time,” ororon urges.

capitano lifts his hand and rests it on top of your head, which dips under the weight. he caresses your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness.

“i wish we could have met earlier. but now, at least you can enjoy a lifetime of peace.”

something in you cracks.

“what’s going on? is this goodbye? if you’re leaving, then let me come with you! i have nowhere else to go anyway!”

he shakes his head and lets go of you. “i’m sorry.” without saying another word, the two of them depart.

yet the promise never comes. you’re left all alone, standing in the middle of an empty camp.

“thrain!” you yell after him. he does not stop. “promise me you’ll come back to me! please!”

heavy legs carry you up the stairs of ochkanatlan. though this place is normally off-limits, when ororon finds you back in the camp and tells you that you should go there, you rush over with zero hesitation.

natlan is a tropical country. yet now as you climb these stairs, you suddenly feel chilly and your quickened breath comes out in puffs of steam. somewhere deep down, you already know. you knew when he left, and you’re even more certain now. and as you finally ascend the final step and you see him on the throne, surrounded by massive crystals of dark ice, it becomes all too real.

thrain is dead.

yet you can’t bring yourself to cry. your feet remain planted in the ground as you watch his soulless body. his chest rises and falls but you know that he’s not there, it’s just the curse controlling his undead body like a puppet.

fate must truly hate you. is it your destiny to lose everyone you’re ever loved?

at last, you approach him. everything feels so slow.

“you know, i was so happy last night that i couldn’t sleep,” you say. “because it finally seemed that i would not be alone for the rest of my life. i thought that even if you were to leave, i would gladly follow. i’m sure many of your subordinates feel a similar way.”

there comes no reply. you cast your gaze downwards.

“i can’t hold this against you. you’ve fought for so long and… you deserve this rest. but what about me?” you bite your lip to stop the delayed tears. what do you do now, knowing that he loved you?

you wipe at your eyes and sniff. then you lean forward, grasping the helmet with your bare hands. you plan on taking it off at first, but ultimately you decide against it. if he didn’t want to show you his face while he lived then that’s something you’ll have to respect even after his life.

so you kiss his helmet instead. your lips meet the cold metal as the first hot tear runs down your cheek, and you crawl into his lap. it’s okay if you rest together, right? you’re not ready to leave yet. wrapping your arms around his neck, you bury your face in his cold body.

just once, you would have liked to have been held in those arms.

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s4nguiine · 1 month ago

Text

petals and bullets

boothill x fem!reader - pt. 2

» rating: still eventual nsfw.

» notes: two fics in a row! woooo!! i wanted to discuss the future of this fic a bit. i want to try something new, something non-linear. the first 3 chapters will be linear of course, because i need to establish a backstory and yada yada, but i figured it would be cool if i made the following chapters separate stories. that way i wouldn't be tied down to one story and trying to make fun concepts fit - i can just write separate chapters with different adventures the reader and boothill would go on. let me know your thoughts on this in the comments if you have any :p

» tag list: @favsruii @inyourfaceace @crystalkat6747 (lmk if you'd like to be added or removed!)

you’re frozen where you stand and drops of sweat run down your throat as you swallow. you don’t need to see the weapon to know there is a gun pointed at you. do IPC workers carry around guns now..?

“looks like this crate had a rat in it, too,” the man behind you says.

you make an attempt to grab the knife in your pocket - unsuccessfully, as he immediately spots the small movement.

“don’t even think about it, darlin’. why don’t you turn around slowly so i can get a proper look at ya?”

you take a deep breath first, then you do as he says. and when he comes into view, an extravagantly clothed cyborg cowboy, you’re.. not sure what to think. he seems to have a similarly surprised expression on his face.

“a lady? muddlefudger. i don’t like pointin’ my gun at ladies.”

his accent… his long black and white hair… his eyes. you hate it, but you’re just as scared of as you are attracted to this man.

“what’s your name?” he asks.

“y/n,” you reply.

“y/n,” he says your name, as if tasting it. “listen up, sweetheart-” sweetheart? “-i don’t tolerate stowaways. you’re a mighty fine lady, though a bit wild-lookin’, but traveling with me is dangerous. we ain’t too far yet, so i’m taking you back home.”

your eyes grow wide. no. no, you can’t go back. the cowboy keeps his gun pointed at you as he backs away to the pilot’s seat to put in the coordinates of your home planet.

while his eyes are off you, your hand swiftly enters your pocket and grabs the handle of the knife. you lunge, and you make the mistake of yelling as you do so. you only stop at the crisp sound of a gunshot, which makes you freeze and gasp for air. the bullet does not hit you, however - instead there is a metallic clang as the knife is forced out of your hands. it falls to the ground and slides far out of your reach.

your arms remain raised in the air as you are frozen in fear once more, and your eyes are shut tight, until you hear the man’s footsteps. he approaches and you cower, looking up at him through your lashes. you realize that he’s been very relaxed until this very moment - because now he’s wearing a deep frown on his face.

“seriously, lady… a knife? my body-” he stops as his eyes wander lower on your body. “wait a second.” his hand grips the hem of your coat. ah. it’s over. everything’s gone to shit, and now you’ll be at the mercy of this weirdo.

the cyborg opens your coat with such a force that he almost tears it off of you. you close your eyes and press your lips into a thin line. of course, your clothes underneath it are soaked with your mother’s blood.

“whose blood is this?” he almost growls. when you answer only with quickened breathing, he presses the cold barrel of his revolver against your forehead. you hear the cylinder turn. “answer me.”

this is the shittiest day of your life. fuck freedom, you should have just stayed in that apartment. you can’t take this anymore.

“it’s… it’s not mine.”

the cowboy isn’t very pleased with that response. “a stowaway is one thing. i can understand a runaway daughter. but i sure as hell don’t tolerate murderers.”

“pl- please! please don’t kill me. i had no other choice!” you are almost ashamed of how quickly you resort to begging. power? what power? you never had any after all. you can’t even defend yourself right now.

the man is silent for a while. then, the gun is lifted off your forehead. he uses it to motion towards a couch standing underneath a window, which you take as your cue to sit down, albeit confusedly.

“you have thirty minutes ‘til we arrive back home. explain,” he orders.

first you fiddle with your thumbs in your lap, looking around nervously, then you sigh and hang your head. “i had to get out,” you mumble.

the cowboy pulls up a chair and sits on it with his arms crossed. “can’t hear ya, darlin’.”

you pick at the skin around your nails and finally muster up the courage to speak loud and clear. “my mother. the blood is my mother’s.” suddenly your sight gets blurry, and you think you’re about to pass out until a drop of water lands on your hand. you wipe at your face. tears. they’re tears - you’re crying. why are you crying? you don’t feel sorry. you feel nothing at all.

“i just,” you take a shaky breath, “i just had to get out. i couldn’t keep on living like that!”

you see the cowboy shift in the corner of your eye. he uncrosses his arms, assuming a less interrogatory pose. his robotic hand hovers over your knee for a moment, unsure, before he changes his mind and withdraws.

he lets out an agitated groan as he takes off his hat and runs his hand through his long bangs. just as he’s about to speak, a notification sound comes from the control panel. the man looks a bit confused. he stands up and walks over to the panel, opening the new message. you watch a toothy grin form on his face.

“well would you look a’that. you’ve made the IPC your enemy, little lady,” he says.

you are shocked out of crying as you glance at the touchscreen in front of him. your name, your photo - and a sign that says wanted dead or alive. a hefty sum of credits glares at you underneath.

of course. you’re not just wanted by the authorities on your planet. you still owe the rest your mother’s debt to the IPC, the corporation that does not just let things pass.

the cowboy turns to you. “this makes things very different.”

“h-how so?” you ask.

“see, i’m a galaxy ranger.” a bounty hunter. the words aren’t spoken, but you assume that’s what he’s getting at.

you’re silent for a while as the two of you stare at each other. “so, you’re gonna turn me in?”

“i won’t.”

you’ve already made peace with your execution, but his response throws you off. “wait - what? that’s a lot of money, you know.”

the cowboy chuckles and approaches you once more. you shy away from him, and as he towers over you - boy is he tall - you finally notice that his teeth are sharp like a shark’s.

“the name’s boothill.” he offers you his hand to shake, and you do so, albeit reluctantly. it’s surprisingly not as cold as you expected it to be. “the IPC is my number one enemy - it’s mutual, really. this ship? stole it from ‘em. your bounty is chump change compared to the money they’re offerin’ for my head.”

“s-so…”

“the enemy of my enemy is my friend. i’ll do you one favor, lady. you’re not going back to your home planet. instead,” he drawls as he lets go of you, walking back to change the coordinates of the ship. “i’m droppin’ you off at my next stop.”

you stand up abruptly, and before you can blink, boothill is pointing a gun at you. “but don’t think i’m lettin’ you off my sights, pretty lady. you’re still a murderer.”

you open your mouth and close it a couple times. “th..thank you…” a sudden wave of dizziness comes over you, forcing you to your knees. boothill is by your side almost immediately to hold you by the shoulders.

“whoa there!” he chuckles, “you good?”

you sigh, hanging your head. you’re tired. you’re so tired you can feel it in your bones. “it’s been a long day.”

“oh i bet it was. y’know, i think there is a shower in here somewhere - why don’t you get yourself cleaned up?”

you nod. the thought of having your mother’s blood on you any longer doesn’t make you feel very great. “oh, but.. i don’t have a change of clothes.”

boothill hums. “i think i saw some uniforms around here somewhere. come with me.”

the ranger helps you to your feet and then he’s leading you out of the cockpit into a small resting area. you figure that this ship probably isn’t very big. boothill starts opening various cupboards and closets until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“aha!” he exclaims. “there it is. here. pick up whatever’s your size.”

“thanks,” you mumble. “where’s the bathroom then..?”

boothill clears his throat. “no idea.”

“what?” you raise an eyebrow. “how long have you had this ship?”

“whatever. i’m a cyborg, y'know, i don’t exactly take showers.”

“well don’t you brush your teeth..?”

the cyborg flashes you a toothy grin. “you think these bad boys are mine? they don’t need cleanin’.”

you stare at him for a while without saying anything. your expression however speaks volumes. you’re disgusted. then you turn, uttering a simple “ugh, men” while you embark on your journey of finding fitting clothes and a shower - or any other place to wash yourself.

and you’re successful. the third door you open happens to lead to a small bathroom. and as you shut the door behind you and slump against it, you let out a long sigh. finally some proper quiet, an oasis just for you. maybe things turned out better than you’d planned after all.

when you found out that it was boothill’s ship you ended up on instead of the IPC, you were crushed. but now that you know that there is a bounty on your head, the thought of having to hide in enemy territory sends shivers down your spine.

things are still uncertain. you have a long road ahead of you - one of hiding and fleeing, probably. but this matter is in your hands now. you can decide for yourself. and if you get caught and killed, well - that will be your repercussions for the decisions you’ve made.

you undress and step inside the shower while actively avoiding looking in the mirror. the water that leaves your body is stained red as it washes off the blood stuck to your skin, which you scrub so meticulously it starts to burn.

you leave the shower refreshed and feeling somewhat like a person again. the mirror is foggy, and when you wipe it to finally look at yourself, you find dead, exhausted eyes staring back at you. all the adrenaline of today really did a number on you.

is that all you’re concerned with..? shallow cuts litter your arms where you nicked yourself. they serve as a reminder of what went on earlier. your mother is dead. the woman who birthed you and raised you. you repeat this to yourself over and over, hoping to elicit some kind of emotional reaction from yourself.

nothing comes of course. you’re still a husk devoid of emotion.

maybe you are a monster after all. maybe it’s time to accept that.

you find your way back to the cockpit, boothill nowhere to be found. unsure of what to do, you sit back down on the sofa and look out the window into the darkness of outer space. small white dots decorate the blackness and you think about how many worlds are out there, orbiting those dots.

you’re in space. actual space. it finally dawns on you. you’ve escaped that hellhole. talk about moving! you’ve always dreamt of moving far away, but truthfully you never dared think outside the box - or outside the planet for that matter.

your eyelids grow heavy as you lean against the backrest. you should thank boothill… make it up to him… maybe tomorrow.

sleep claims you before you know it.

when boothill enters the cockpit with a blanket in hand, he finds you crashed out in an uncomfortable position. he blinks. would it be rude to move you? but then he thinks about the back pain you could get from this… and he approaches you, carefully laying you down along the length of the sofa. he covers you with the blanket and dusts off his hands, quite proud of his work if he says so.

when he stole this ship, boothill thought this would be just another heist. but then you crawled out and, admittedly, you looked scary as all hell. but if there’s anything he’s learnt in his life as a ranger, it’s never to judge a book by its cover - and you just might be a book that’s right up his alley.

#★ hsr tag #boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill x y/n

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