#ajax drabble

[elysian-edu]

rich husbands who make their whole life about taking care of you.

oh, that necklace you glanced at while at the mall? now you're there trying several other ones on because "they all look perfect on you."

the dress you looked at through that shop window? bought. plus anything else you even remotely wanted.

that snack you crave almost all the time? he almost buys the whole business for you just to have them as often as you'd like. (in moderation of course!)

rich husbands who don't understand why you want to work, and every time you tell them why they simply say:

"i can provide more than enough for the both of us, but go ahead."

rich husbands the second they see you all stressed and tired from that job, call in and quit for you.

and when you try to get up the next morning to go to said job, he ushers you back to bed, lays you down and tells you to "not worry about that pesky job again."

rich husbands who like to make it known to everyone that you're married to him.

buys you the biggest rock you've ever seen adorned on your finger to propose to you, and makes it his routine to see if you have his ring on. (which you always do.)

indirectly flaunts it to passersby's by holding your hand, occasionally picking your hand up to inspect it, and trying not to crack a smile as he hears women gasp, and whisper, "she's one lucky woman."

rich husbands who tell everyone they know about you, whether that be coworkers, family, or random people, he'll always somehow flip the conversation to being about you.

"oh that? my wife is quite fond of it, yes."

"that reminds me of my wife, she quite likes those things. often calling them "cute.""

rich husbands <33

[saint-ajax]

when you married ghost , it's automatic that you're married to the rest. that's why they call it one for one. hubby's friend comes over with just you in your robe, nude underneath, and price needs a little taste? no problem captain hubby, lieutenant's consent and yours is given. soap is drunk and needs help with his boner? baby, im here, it's okay. you assure him while simon watch you two proudly. while, kyle, his big respect to the both of you hindrances his needs. simon appreciates that, big time. at the same time, we're family here sergeant. you nod and brush your palm on top kyle's lap to gently assure him as you agree with simon, yes, that's right. let me help you, sweety.

it's just something to love about the concept of your beefy husband casually fucking you whenever he wants, and letting other gigantic men who are very close to him, share you.

[foolisheval]

DRABBLE - men who overstimulate

MDNI! sexual content ahead!

✻ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. men who like to overstimulate— whether that be by accident or intentional (Scaramouche, Xiao, Tartaglia)

✻ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. overstimulation, bratty! afab! Reader, creampie, praising, implied unbalanced power dynamics (Scaramouche), choking (Scaramouche), degradation (Scaramouche) Switch! Xiao and Fatui! Scaramouche (he drives me crazy)

didnt proofread and slightly slacked off with Ajax’s part. Mb gang

BALLADEER

The Balladeer? He's reckless when he's fucking you. He's all raw energy and unbridled passion, like a storm of thunder you can't control but can only surrender to. When the Balladeer's hands are on you, it's electric. Every touch sends shockwaves through you (quite literally) and every kiss feels hungry. As if he's trying to devour you whole.

Scaramouche will fuck you for hours if you ever dare to mouth off so don’t even think he’ll look past disorderly behavior. You’re his cute little subordinate after all. If his hands aren't firmly gripping your waist, then one of them is surely between your legs, his fingers working their magic with the kind of precision that only he seems to possess. Two fingers press into you, curling upward with perfect intent when they find that sensitive, gummy spot inside of you— the one that makes your knees tremble and threatens to steal the strength from your legs. Scaramouche’s other hand is no less active, the broad expanse of his palm pressing teasingly against your lower stomach. It's not just to make you feel more; it's to ensure you're at his mercy, unable to shift or chase after the rhythm he sets. He gives you only what he decides you’re allowed to have. And today, despite his day being ruined by your relentless teasing, he’s feeling unusually generous… perhaps even a bit too generous with the way he’s been overstimulating you.

You've always loved Scaramouche’s hands. You love the way they feel, the way they claim every part of you they touch, and especially the way his palm grinds against your clit when he slips a third finger inside. It's a delicious stretch, one that pulls wanton moans from your lips before you can even think to stifle them. It’s all too much. All too fast and too rough! But, god, you can’t get enough.

When frustration has been building up in him for far too long— he lets it show in the roughness of his words and touch.

That's when you feel his hand slide up to your neck, wrapping around your throat with a firm yet deliberate grip. “Fucking slut, huh? Yeah? You asked for this.”

XIAO

Xiao, who finally has enough of your teasing, your denial of the orgasm he was chasing and your constant mouthing off. He is so frustrated and annoyed that he flips the both of you over just so he can fuck you at the pace he's been aching for this entire night.

It takes you by surprise because the change is so sharp, as if a flip has switched. One second you're lazily riding the man, holding him down and bathing in his moans and whines for more. Denying him as often as your heart desires because you thought he'd let you.

And now you're beneath him, desperately gripping the sheets to try and find purchase as he fucks so hard and so fast that you're about to pass out. You've never been so full of him and still so hungry for more at the same time now that he's hitting spots inside of you that you didn't know existed in the first place.

Xiao holds you by your lifted hips, fucking himself into you like it would make up for the amounts of ruined orgasms you've brought him. And he does it so easily, handling you around like a doll made for his desires. "You’re impossible to handle,” He groans, the drag and pull of his fat cock rendering you speechless.

He knows you deserve the meanest of treatments. It would be just fair to almost drive you over the edge just to ruin every ounce of release once you're actually about to finish. Maybe he should've fucked your throat instead so he wouldn't have to deal with your attitude. Even now, all you do is complain and whine between broken moans and gasps for more. But, god, you feel too good, too warm and way too tight. The face you're making is motivation enough to keep on fucking you even after you've come.

Xiao rubs your clit, gifts you another orgasm, but he never slows his pace. And although Xiao fucks like he owns you, even he is moaning like a bitch when he empties his balls into you.

TARTAGLIA

There's nothing Ajax likes better than seeing your stupid colorful socks dangling over his shoulders as he fucks his fat cock into your gushing pussy. Your nails dig into his biceps, whining for him, telling him that it's too much but not pushing him away as he pounds you harder.

"A-Ajax!" Your eyes roll back whenever he hits that special spot inside of you, but Ajax isn't stopping until he's sure your pussy is filled to the brim. You're so close to drooling all over your chin, moaning his name over and over just to spur him on a little.

Ajax isn't exactly known to be a patient man, but he'll make an exception for you. Fucking you senseless is an art he's more than willing to practice over and over again until he's mastered it. It doesn't matter whether his balls are coated in your slick, or you babble incoherent sentences about how big he is, about how full you feel.

He knows he did a great job fucking you when he finally empties his balls into you and you gush around him like you've never before.

"you look-- s-shit! look so pretty like this. Pussy feels so fuckin' good, so fuckin' wet. Am I making you feel good, baby? C’mon, talk to me."

[f0ofishies]

fratboy!childe, yes in this goddamn college of yours. There was a big clique, the fatuis.. yes, they do trouble, and yet all of them have never been expelled– even after some heinous acts they've done in the past.

Now, Childe or Tartaglia was a sophmore.. the same as you are. You don't know how many alias the man has. Somehow, you took the same major, and now you're stuck with a partner who literally does nothing except partying, getting drunk and the other stuff– you shouldn't and won't want to know the details.

He's flat-out drunk as he looks over at you from the bed, your hands on the laptop doing the work again. "Mmm, doing the project again?" His words slurred, his blue dull eyes staring straight at the back of your head.

"Yeah, because someone clearly doesn't want to help–" A laughter erupted the dim lit dorm room. "I helped–" "By making a title only." The sounds of the keyboards clicking only filled the room.

"Sorry angel.." That Russian accent of his slipping off, his ginger haired, fell against your pillow. "Apology not accepted..!" Your voice hushed, being deeply annoyed at how lax he was. Though he was one of the students who could pass even without doing much.

Light footsteps echoed through the room, he spun your squeaky chair around. "Cmon, deary.. forgive me.." He huffed a bit, his pale finger reaching a loose hair strand. You turn bright red at that.

"Red.. such a nice colour on you– hmm?" He was amused at your face. So gorgeous he thought..

So why then, are you arching your back for him? It gave him plenty of access to just look at your ass twitching just from how hard he was going from behind. "Red.. such your color huh?" He giggled, looking at one of your swollen ass cheeks.

The implications of what he did to your poor bum, was totally his fault. "ah..ah–!" The noises you were making for him, the way your walls was sucking him real tight was too good. "ffuuck.. you're– agh grippin.. me real tight.." He was vocal with it too, poor your other colleagues if they could hear it.

Hell, even your bed was moving on the verge of breaking from this man. He may not look like it, but he has so much strength to just flip you over your back. His calloused hand wiping your tears, as your pleas goes on deaf ears to him. He'd pull out, edging both of you at the process.

His tip trailing your hole, making you whine. "shit– Ajax.. no– no fair mmph!" You whined, your hands all up in his ginger hair. Another passionate kiss from you two. There was even a hint of sparkle in that blue eyes of his, as your saliva connected.

"Nah, these lips s' good.. need a breather..."

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (this is just me having a mommy kink. genuinely nothing else. oh and sucking his tits. don’t .. don’t talk to me)

childe lets you get away with it the first time. when you softly whimper “mommy” from where you’re pinned beneath him, he hides the way his ears perk up, the way his cock twitches inside you; and you, sweet, innocent you, remain blissfully unaware of the slip-up, too lost in the pleasure each thrust brings you.

the second time, though, he’s not as forgiving.

when a particularly rough slam of his hips makes your back arch towards the ceiling and your neck crane into the pillows, it would be impossible not to hear the way you cry for him, “harder, mommy.”

“what was that?” he chuckles, too breathy and scratchy for your liking, the sound a lion makes before it pounces.

“i-” and what would you even say? now, having to face it, your cheeks burn, down your neck and into your chest.

when he smiles, it’s with the glint of a predator.

you wait for the strike to come, for his teeth to sink into your neck, but it never does. instead, his thrusts soften inexplicably, his thumb tracing over your lips.

smoothly, his finger slides into your mouth and presses down on your tongue, but it doesn’t make you gag, it doesn’t make you want to spit him out. instead, you graciously suck on his skin, letting the salt melt across your tastebuds.

“it’s okay, let mommy take care of you.”

his lips sear your skin but they don’t bite; his hips slam into your pelvis, but they don’t bruise. childe, of course, notices the way you clench around him, tensing and untensing.

“are you close, baby?”

with wide eyes you nod; he doesn’t miss the blind adoration behind them. he thinks you’d follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked (you would); he thinks you’d let him swallow you whole if he asked (you would, and ask if he’d like more).

“go on then, cum for me. be good for mommy.”

and he doesn’t even need to pierce flesh with his canines because this is better, when the heat explodes from your core and sends shockwaves of warmth after warmth after warmth.

you can’t stop the way you shake with each one, the way your body is racked and exhausted. childe, your sun, just pulls you into his chest and cradles you. your lips search for his skin, the hand behind your head guiding you as your tongue glides over nipples, soft and pink.

“thank you, mommy,” is all you need to say.

a/n: i don't even want to put an author's note on this one you guys... sorry for who i am . i guess lsdkjfskldfj

[reshinless]

childe takes you out as he's finally back from his travels in snezhnaya, and takes you out on a stroll, your arm around his as he describes to you all his adventurous tales.

he subconsciously buys you, and personally one of his favorites- grilled tiger fish!

as you take a bite, sitting down onto a bench nearby, hearing him speak.

he suddenly stops to look at your face, his orbs scanning your appearance.

"comrade, you—" he doesn't complete his sentence, simply pointing over his cheek, which happens to be bandaged. his small wounds from your sparring session with him still healing.

his face was mostly—mostly—serious yet you couldn't tell if he was trying to be playful or not.

so you land a peck onto his cheek, right over the very covering you had put over his face earlier that day.

yet the ginger haired harbinger couldn't help but blush, even if he'd been very open to compliments—this one of the first times you had actually...

"you...!" "what?" "prince/ss... I meant you had a few crumbs on your cheek."

"oh"

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Mentions of Blood

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Yandere!Childe who stares at you with the most loving, affectionate eyes imaginable. When he is home, he trails behind you from room to room, desperate for your attention and love, for sweet little kisses and quips. Yandere!Childe who loves combat and fighting and the thrill of a hunt, except when it comes to you. Oh, how he hates it when you try to run; he wishes he could kiss all your fears away. The idea of you in pain is unfathomable. Childe knows his hands are stained with blood, but whenever he returns home to you, for just a short period of time, he can be clean.

Yandere!Childe who wishes he didn't have to whisk you away to a safe and secluded cabin in Snezhnaya, but knows that if any of the Harbingers find you, it only gives them more leverage against him. He can't let that happen. Can't let them take you away from him. Every time he intertwines your hands with his, he swears you have magic in your bones, a piece of divinity tucked away in your soul. You heal the invisible wounds that mar his mind. Yandere!Childe who watches fondly as you drift off into sweet dreams one night, brushing away a strand of hair from your face. So fragile. So beautiful. So powerful. You're so dangerous that you have disarmed one of the Fatui Harbingers, tamed him beneath your unwilling touch. Yandere!Childe who wields his delusions like weapons. You don't hate him, you're simply adjusting. Soon enough the two of you will be dancing to invisible music on hardwood floors and cuddling on couches, protected by wood walls from the harsh chill of winter. And even if it takes time, he'll be sure to pierce your heart eventually with his love, and claim victory in this battle.

[mooniiify]

Hiiii

Any thoughts about Wriothesley, Tarutaru and Diluc having their first date with reader? I need fluff aaaaa

ouuu alright let's see

wriothesley would have to go out of his comfort zone for your first date, since he wouldn't want your first official time out with him to be in a literal prison. he says it's a surprise even though when he first invites you, he has no idea where to bring you. he rarely goes out nowadays due to how demanding his job is, but the days before your first date, he goes around fontaine, checking out different places, curating his plan.

on the day of the actual date, he tries to tame his hair with sigewinne's help unsuccessifully and goes to pick you up from your home, unaware of the sticker on his shoulder, courtesy of sigewinne. he was just a little nervous at the beginning, but once you chuckled at the sticker and pointed it out to him, his anxiety grew. had he just made a fool of himself?

the date continued, though, which eased his nerves. he took you to a play you'd mentioned you've wanted to see for a while first, then to grab a bite at hotel dubord (at neuvillette's suggestion) where you spend the evening talking over nice desserts; at the end of the date, you point out the other two stickers wriothesley had over his jacket, making him groan and you laugh

tartaglia is more of the adventerious type, so i feel like he'd want to do something more interesting than just a typical date, especially if you're also into it. he'd probably think about suggesting to go fight something or someone, but he quickly realizes that wouldn't really make a good first date, so he goes back to the drawing board.

he just so happens to ask you out around lantern rite when he's also in liyue, so he thinks that would be the calmest way to spend the evening. after all, his goal is to make you smile, get to know you better and spend time with you and show off to make you fall for him more.

regardless, tartaglia is tartaglia, so once he gets to a game booth, he's playing. he'll get competitive with a kid and forget where he is for a moment, though after he wins a trinket, he gives it to you, proclaiming he'd won it for you only and definitely not because he just wanted to win, which happens a few more times throuhout the night.

at some games, he even challenges you and cheers you on when you beat him at some of them. even if this is just your first date, he's your biggest fan and would lowkey let you win just to see the smile on your face tbh.

overall the date goes rather well and tartaglia is already planning the second one which is to fight any treasure hoarder they come across bc he thinks you look badass when you fight

diluc is a rather simple man. he's traditional. he would invite you to the dawn winery for dinner (and maybe a sleep over if it gets too late). i feel like diluc is the type of man to have to know someone really well or be friends with them for a while before he could even consider dating them, so he's not nervous about the first date because he knows you, or he's trying to convince himself of that, at least.

he wants to make it special, so he asks the maids to leave the kitchen and leave him to make the meal himself. everyone but adelinde leave, as she was too scared to leave him alone in the kitchen. ten minutes in and she had to step in and help him.

regardless, he helped for the meal at least halfway. he promises himself then he'd do better next time and learn how to cook.

anyway, you arrive and he'd set the table by himself, using the red designed plates he'd inherited from his mother, as well as his finest cutlery. he takes your coat off of you and hangs it himself, then pulls your chair out for you. you giggle at how gentlemanly he's acting, but it's not unwelcome by all means.

the date passes calmly, with the two of you talking about anything and everything. it feels like an usual hang out for the two of you, though this time a bit more intimate, as you're not aware of each other's feelings. after dinner, the two of you end up on the couch in front of the fireplace, with diluc's arm around your shoulders and you snuggled into him, eventually falling asleep in each other's warmth.

thank you so much for the request! hope i delivered! requests are still open!

[hsakuras]

𝑮𝑨𝒁𝑬 | 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑨

warnings: dubcon, stalking, yandere childe, alcohol consumption, facial, blow job, fem reader, degradation, cum eating(?), snowballing, breath play

wc: 4.1k

a/n: im baaaaack, also this is for @jozhenji ily bitch mwah

You hate Snezhnaya. 

The cold that bites at your cheeks, the way your bones ache if you stand outside too long, and how blinding the snow can be on the days where the sun is the brightest. You hate holding onto candle light to maneuver your way down the hallway of your house, only to hear talk of the Fatui growing in size and manipulating more people into joining under the harbingers from the neighbors that stop by to chat in front of your door late at night. 

“They each have their own agenda.” One of them says, as if that’s supposed to justify their actions, like they’re not all connected in some way.

“Did you hear Ajax got into another fight?” 

“Again?”

You hate him. Ajax. You hate how he always needs to be the center of attention.

You hate his laughter, his gaze, the way he starts fight after fight and how he doesn’t care if his father cries or threatens to send him to the military. You hate how he knows so much, how he thrives off of the adrenaline that runs through his veins when he knows he’s won, when he can taste it, feel it in his hands and configure it so that it adds fuel to the fire burning brightest in his chest. It’s the one of the only times his smile reaches his eyes.

You hate that it’s the same smile when he looks at you. When he thinks that he can barge in on your walks to get firewood, or when he finds one of your siblings and walks them home. He only wanted to make sure they would get home safe, he swears. 

 If Ajax could put his pride on a pedestal, he would. He would bellow in letting people watch as it grows and swallows everything in its path to take up more space, thriving on the marvel painted on people’s faces who pass, who watch as he leaves the small village of your hometown to join the Fatui. It shouldn’t have come as a shock when he was recognized because of his ability to fight. 

You think about the time that he went missing for three days causing a search party that grew so rapidly in size because his father is a respectable man, it hurt to see how little he slept. It hurt your community to see him attempt to console his other children. 

It hurt even more when you were the one Ajax showed up in front of first. 

You were looking out to the horizon, the firewood that had been collected by your side, stopping to enjoy the hot stew you had prepared for your siblings in the thermos that had been carefully wrapped to protect it from the bitter temperatures. It wasn’t exactly as hot as you expected but you welcomed the few seconds of warmth brought to your lips. It’s comforting and while looking out to the horizon, you make a silent promise to yourself to move to a nation that is always sunny, where the winds are warm, and the waters are blue. Something that would help your soul feel weightless in contrast to your current surroundings. 

When the forest is covered in snow you can hear everything, the branches that fall under the weight of the ice, the crunching of footsteps when someone passes by, and even the curses of the men who were fetching more wood for their wives; tired, exhausted, and numb. 

That day he came back, you didn’t expect to hear him, much less see him. 

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” You knew his voice, whipping your head around so fast because you never heard his footsteps approaching. His nose was bleeding, staining his mouth and shirt. “It’s nothing compared to you.” He smiled after wiping the blood off his nose and mouth with his sleeve, watching you in awe of how relieved you must have been when he showed himself to you.

He stumbles forward a little, laughs, “Hey, I lov-I’ve loved you from the moment we met.”

You’re the last thing he sees before he blacks out. 

Years have passed since then. You watch when Teucer and Tonia come running by with their new toys, how much easier it gets for his father to take care of himself when he’s promised that Ajax is okay and the financial hardship doesn’t consume his very being. It’s hard not to smile when Teucer looks up at you with a toothy grin, begging you to play with him again. 

You’ve never been able to tell him no, even though he has the same eyes as his older brother. 

-

You feel uneasy when Pulcinella knocks at your door one evening.

It’s routine for him to visit Ajax’s home, he is the one who offered him the position in the Fatui, you knew he had good combat skills but never would have guessed it was enough for him to be recognized as one of the harbingers. His name is no longer familiar, replaced with Tartaglia. He erases the name given to him, fully accepting his role.

You open your door for him, it would be rude not to answer when the mayor comes to your door. 

He smiles gently at you, it does nothing to relieve your nerves, makes goosebumps run down your spine and you will yourself to meet his gaze and return a smile that you would never call your own. 

“For you.” 

You let him place the box in your hand, it's rectangular, flat, and wrapped beautifully. It makes your stomach drop when his hand touches yours, you can feel a letter slip in between your hand and his, it reminds you of when your grandmother would place chocolates in your hand when you were a child. 

“Thank you.” You mumble, mouth dry and lips chapped from the unexpected visit. He nods, leaving you and waving goodbye at Ajax’s family. 

You set the box down next to the fireplace, you can hear the crackles from the wood engulfed in flames, it makes you feel less lonely at night. Now that your siblings have gone and left, you’re left to take care of the house your parents had left behind. 

You carefully unwrap the bow that sits on top, folding it neatly beside you. Your palms are sweaty when you peel back the wrapping paper. The outside is revealed with the name of an expensive boutique known for the intricate patterns of beautifully displayed lingerie. 

You stare at it in disbelief, the measurements are your size down to the millimeter, you feel like screaming. Like locking yourself in your home, blocking out the windows and doors so that no one, no one else could ever invade your privacy the way that he has. 

The black lace is decorated with hints of glitter and the satin lines it feels so, so fine. If it were from anyone else you would be enamored, delighted to wear this for someone that you held feelings for, but the only thing you feel is fear. 

You remember the letter that was placed in your hands. 

You wish you hadn’t opened it. He only speaks of the past, how he never got to tell you how grateful and happy he was to see you after he had been missing for so long.

When you returned home with Ajax, he was different, asking how many days have passed to everyone that came to visit him during his recovery, contemplating how time passes differently where he was in. When you would see him, you had reassured him over and over that it was three days, though he argued it had been three months. He used to make you retell the story again, and again, and again going over the most miniscule details until you were in tears telling him that it’s all you can remember. 

You throw the box and letter into the fire, watching the flames consume it all. You spend the remainder of the night fitting whatever parts of your life that you could in a suitcase. 

You leave the next morning. 

-

Your life in Fontaine is calmer than back home, you’re near the ocean and you bask in the warm windy hills during the day or dive into the ocean once you’ve finished your work at the small little dress boutique in the middle of the city. 

Your boss teases you about one of the Gardes that have caught your attention when he patrols, you even sparked up a conversation about your favorite flowers you’ve encountered in Fontaine. 

“Romaritime flowers!” you exclaim, “They’re beautiful. They look so pure in and out of the water.”

He places one in your hands the next time you meet, promising to take you on a proper date when he finishes patrol. 

You assume the bouquet of them at your front door was from him, assume that you would see him that night when you closed the boutique and assume that he would ask where you would like to go next. 

You spent that morning getting ready for work. Donning one of your favorite dresses, it compliments you well enough to make you stand out, but still allows you to work comfortably. It’s something your boss had given to you when you first arrived in Fontaine, the excuse was that you also needed something when you would go out. How else would you fit in? 

You cried at her kindness, something you had not encountered in years. 

You finish work that night, assuring your boss that you would close up. She gives you a hug, tells you that she wants to hear all about it when you come back after your day off. 

The clouds start to darken when she leaves. You hope it’s only temporary. 

- 

You imagine this is what heartbreak feels like. 

To trust someone with your feelings so easily only to be faced with the hard realization that they didn’t seem to care about that trust to begin with. The rain, which you hoped was short lived,  only rubs salt in the wound. It’s pouring, your shoes are in your hands and your dress is stuck to your body. You waited for two hours after the boutique closed for him to come by, you waited another hour after his patrol ended. You finally left after ten more minutes, when a young woman knew the look on your face and offered you her umbrella. You politely declined, assured her that you would be okay. 

In the end you’re left disappointed, cold, and wet. It reminds you of the numerous times you would come home from the harsh snowfall in Snezhnaya, greeted with silence when you stepped foot into your house shivering and attempting to start a fire. You hated it. 

You ignore the stares from couples strolling the night, instead focusing on the cool pavement beneath your bare feet, how the rain feels somewhat cooling to your face and how you can hide your tears. 

It’s better this way, to only rely on yourself. You’re all you have after all. 

When you return home, you toss your shoes outside to dry. Slamming the door behind you and begin struggling to peel off your dress because the fabric is soaking wet and it’s stubbornly sticking to your skin. You curse when it doesn’t come off, panting and pulling it over your head, you step on something sharp, cursing again when you finally throw your dress off and the tears threaten to spill. You curse and throw the dress into the corner of your living room. 

You’re left cold, shivering, and only in your bra and panties when you look at the blood from your foot. You begin to cry. 

Your gaze then follows the trail of broken glass on your floor, the pool of water leading up to the broken vase of the Romaritime flowers.

“Do you let others stare at you like this?” 

Your blood runs cold. You remember the same feeling back when he found you staring out into the horizon all those years ago. 

He places a hand over your mouth, holds you flush against his chest when he sneaks up from behind you. “Shh, s’kay.”

You can’t scream, you squirm in his hold, kicking and clawing at his arm holding your face. He thinks it would be fun to allow you to think he’s off balance. 

You shift all your weight onto him, hoping that in the fall you’ll have enough time to run, to hide, to fight. You could run to your neighbor’s house, the nice little old couple that lives behind you and hide in their garden until you’re safe. You wish you were safe, you wish you were home sooner. Oh fuck, if only you hadn’t waited for so long into the night. 

He grabs your wrist before you’re able to move, bringing you back to him. You force yourself to find strength to move, to be able to turn around and face him. He anticipates this, he spins you around like a dancing couple would. 

He laughs once and you stop.  

You no longer want to look, you can only see the boy who was missing smiling and complimenting you with blood running down his nose, you remember the lingerie he sent when you were still in the village, how your stomach dropped when the mayor knocked at your door. 

Nothing compares to this, to the goosebumps littering your skin when he peers down at you, blue eyes that don’t ever leave your gaze and make you feel like you’re drowning in the sea waters that surround Fontaine. 

“I was waiting for you” he whispers, peppering your face with kisses while you stand there, frozen. It’s similar to the time when he collapsed in front of you, only this time you can’t find the words to scream.

It’s funny how this time he’s found you. Your poor attempt at hiding from him is amusing. 

“Missed you so much” he continues to kiss you, makes his way down to your collarbones and doesn’t hesitate to get on his knees to kiss the softness of your stomach or the tops of your breasts that are exposed to him. 

“Should have locked you up you know? You ran from me, took me forever to find you.”

“Ajax” you whisper, the tears that sting your eyes are threatening to spill. “Why are you here?” 

You hold in a sob, you know why. You’ve always known why he was enamored by you. 

“Does it matter?” he breathes, shifting his position so he is behind you again, kissing the tears off the side of your face, watching how your breathing shifts when his cold hands touch the bare skin exposed to him. 

“Had to pay that Garde off really well. He wasn’t cheap, you know?”

Your heart breaks further, the sob you were holding building into your throat. “You’re so worth it though, pretty little thing. Look at how I found you, fuck, you missed me too didn’t you?”

He’s guiding you to your couch, laying you down while he towers over you. You feel nauseous when you feel his hardening cock through his pants, “look at you, look at you!” He laughs again, another bout of tears flowing down your cheeks, hot and heavy. 

He leans down to kiss you, you turn your head but Ajax isn’t opposed to using force to get what he wants, you know this. You’ve always known this. He takes your face into his hands again, squishing your cheeks together like he did before except his gaze is demanding, icy, and bitter. 

“Kiss me back” 

You oblige, letting him press his lips against yours and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You flinch at the roll of his lips, clutching at his shirt when he groans into your mouth. He mistakes this as want, giving you more until you’re consumed by him, his presence, his scent, his touch. 

He breaks away to let you breathe, smiles at the string of spit that connects both of you and how your eyes are hazing, even though he can’t tell if it’s from crying or from how dizzy he’s made you when he kissed you. 

“Let’s celebrate” He’s off of you before you can register what he said, grabbing a bottle of one of Mondstat’s best wines. He’s unceremonious, rogue even, when he pops the cork off and takes a drink straight from the bottle before dipping back down to kiss you.

He didn’t swallow much to your surprise, he let the wine pass from his mouth to yours. Pulling away to watch your face scrunch up at the taste, “s’good” he slurs, taking another drink and swallowing this time.

“Here.” He’s pulling you to sit up, he’s so fast it’s hard to follow what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. He’s taking another drink again, it’s smaller this time, more like a sip that he thinks is adequate for you. 

He doesn’t let you pull back, his hand is on the nape of your neck making sure you can’t escape his intensity. You try to keep up, letting his tongue enter your mouth and swirl with his. It’s so sloppy, so hot, and sticky that it makes your head spin. He only gives you a break to drink more wine, to make you both drink more. 

He keeps giving you more and more, loves when you get weaker and you don’t protest as much anymore. When you whine and start anticipating the alcohol from his mouth to yours, it makes the taste more bearable and your thoughts aren’t as loud in your head. 

The wine keeps spilling from the corners of your mouth, leaving a little trail of purple-red for him to lick up to. He’s sucking at the skin of your neck, finding your pulse point so easily. His teeth nip at your skin, you don’t mean to lean into him, the alcohol is making you slow to react. He swears he hears a small moan escape your lips when he nips at the sensitive skin again. 

His hand slides down your chest, feeling your tits through the fabric of your bra, it’s still wet. 

“Ajax” you slur, “wanna wait” you say. He looks at you, he notices the tears again. You feel them spill, you’re cold. You cling onto him because at least he’s offering you that sliver of comfort. 

“Wait?” He repeats, licking a tear off of your cheek. 

“Why would I wait when I know you want me too?” He whispers in your ear, his hands unclasping your bra in one go. His touch is cold, similar to how it feels when you first go into the sea. Your body has to get use to it, it starts to warm up and you feel like you could swim and float for hours. 

It’s the same with his touch, the cool tips of his fingers warm up the more he squeezes. He likes the sound you make when he pinches at your nipples, he takes one into his mouth, sucking and licking. Groaning when he hears the little whimpers you try to hold back. 

He makes his way back up to your lips again, grabs your hands that are clutching at his sides to guide them down to palm the shape of his cock through his pants. 

He’s dreamt of this for so long. 

“Oh fuck” he pants, his breath hitting your lips before he’s kissing you again, his tongue feels like he’s lapping into your mouth getting as sloppy as possible as if you’re going to vanish again. His tongue rolls over yours until he’s aching, cock throbbing for attention. 

“Hey, feel me here.” He pants, eyes red rimmed and the blue of his irises brighter. You feel like you could drown in them. 

He takes your hand and holds it in his, tossing his vision on your table. He’s undoing his belt & pulling his pants down enough for his cock to spring free. 

He wraps your hand around the base, guides you in how fast and how much pressure to place around him, when he lets go of your hand you can feel him looking at you. You’re focused on the length of him, how heavy and hot he feels against your hand. 

You feel like crying again. You oblige him because at least he’ll leave you alone sooner, you’re just another thing for him to win over, to declare victory before he gets bored with you and moves on to this next challenge. 

“More fuck, please more” he pants, hips stuttering into your hand. You can feel the sticky, hot precum that coats the tip of his dick and now your hand. You look up at him and see that he’s got his head tipped back, moaning about how hot you are, how good you are, how he’s thought about this since you saved him. Since you found him, how he’s been in love with you since he found you looking out into the horizon. Even before, he’s been in love with you since the beginning, since he saw you. 

“You owe me this.” he breathes.

“What?” 

He laughs again, the same one that haunts you. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t know. I had you watched wherever you went, I made sure your siblings got into the school they wanted, fuck I even followed you here.” 

He takes your hand in his, knows that your hand is coated in his pre cum, takes one of your fingers and licks it up the length. His eyes ever leave yours as he does. 

“You should thank me.” He deadpans, cock still throbbing and hard when he stands up at full height. 

“Thank me.” He repeats the length of his dick is on your face, rutting against your cheek until the tip meets your lips. 

“Yeah, that's how you should do it.” He smiles, the one that meets his eyes. The genuine one. 

He’s holding on to the back of your head before you can move. He doesn’t care if your hair is messy, it's almost dry now. He takes your hand again, planting it onto his thigh for leverage. 

His grip returns to the base of his cock, tapping the tip on your lips again. 

You don’t open your mouth, new tears building up in your waterline. He shows no remorse for what he’s doing, no concern, he thinks he deserves this. It’s the least he deserves for what he’s done for you. 

He pinches your nose, catching you when you part your lips to shove his length into your mouth. 

You cry, struggling to breathe at the pace he starts at. 

“Woulda been so gentle to you if you would have been good, fuck.”

He seethes, eyes rolling into the back of his head when both of his hands are holding your head to match his hips. Your nails are digging into his thighs, your strength unmatched for how you try to push yourself off of him as he pulls you forward on his length. He can’t handle the hot, wet, tightness of the back of your throat. 

“Fuck yes, more, more, more” he chants, pinching your nose again to see you panic when you look up again, he loves you like this. When your chin is covered in spit and tears and his balls hit you with every rut of his hips. 

“God, gonna paint your fucking face, slut. Gonna cover you in my cum so you can never forget who you belong to” 

You can feel that he’s getting close, he grants you grace for only one second before he’s holding your jaw in his hand again. 

You take in gulps of air, coughing, and crying while he forces you to look at him. 

“Don’t run from me again.” He seethes, forcing you back down on his length. 

He’s ruthless this time, uncaring for the way your eyes can’t focus, or how you look like you’re going to pass out. You’re vision keeps going in and out, you can hear yourself. How you choke and gag around his length how he curses with each “ack. ack. ack” of his dick hitting the back of your throat. 

“Gonna cum—shit”

He pulls you off, using one of his hands to keep you in place while he jacks himself off with the other. 

“Say it, say who you belong to.” 

You can’t understand, hazy vision threatening to go black. 

“Fuck, say it and I’ll cum. I’ll cover your fucking face and never leave you. You understand? You’re mine. “

You don’t know what he’s rambling on about. You want to plead with him, talk this out and let him know he could pursue someone else. 

“Ajax” you rasp. 

“Yeah? You belong to me don’t you? Oh fuck—“ 

He groans, doesn’t hold his voice back, calling you all sorts of names but mostly that you’re his, his, his. 

His cum on your face should be enough to prove it. He looks at you like a masterpiece, taking his finger and dragging it through his cum and putting it into his mouth before kissing you. 

“Don’t let anyone else see you like this.” 

[wishluc]

Courtship

CW: Yandere character, obsession, power imbalance, implied murder, implied stalking

PAIRING: Yandere! Childe x GN! Reader

Childe, who is desperate to earn your affection, but is unsure of how to go about it. He's fought for all the things he loves; his family, his nation, his name—yet when he raises his weapon against a bumbling fool that dared to glance at you for a moment too long, you frown and his moniker falls from your lips as a harsh, curt order.

"Master Childe," your voice is as cold as your inconsideration to his intentions, but he steps back at once, as though your utterance of his title is akin to a harsh tug on a tightly clamped leash.

He earns a familiar look of displeasure when he reaches out for his dagger, and you hide your scowl with a stiff smile when interrupting his threats against his helpless victim. You swiftly enter his line of sight and render him unable to defy, and he wonders just when you'd realize why he was doing this.

But in the next moment, he's all over you again. Smiling, teasing, his arm around you as he continues his previous story about Teucer's latest interests without missing a beat. You don't pretend to humor him for a moment longer—all under a ridiculous pretence of what you call professionalism—and he's left alone, humiliated yet entirely concerned that you'd never spare a glance his way again.

Though your rejection stings, he's persistent, and the unassuming smile on his face does not falter. He continues to try and entice you with sweet whispers and cloying words, letting his hands linger on your waist as he tells you about how much he misses you. He leans in closer when you smile back—the gesture barely perceptible to anyone else, but Childe is extremely observant— only to be stopped by your hand atop his.

"It's getting late, Master Childe. I should be heading back now," and your smile grows, radiant against the aureate light.

"Dinner first, then?"

"I prefer to spend the evenings alone."

"Let me accompany you home, at least." Your lips press into a thin line before you nod, letting him lead the way. There was no point in pretending to be unaware of how much he already knew about you.

Your conversation has onlookers whispering amongst themselves, no doubt curious to catch a glimpse of the infamous Fatuus, before scurrying off as he turns, frantically avoiding his gaze. To anyone else, the scene must have appeared to be humiliating. Perhaps they expected him to lose his temper; to strike down an unsuspecting passerby or two in an attempt at unloading some of his growing frustration. To make an example. But he does none of that.

He's no saint, of course. Disappointment swells within him, and he has had to bite back a frown more than once during your meeting. He's only better at hiding it than you. Your upfrontness leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but it's still part of the reason he finds you so fascinating. Maybe you already know this. But you're a clever thing, despite how foolish it may be to try and provoke him. You know when to stop—right before he's completely sick of your disrespect, just as his frustration begins to peak—and reel in the demeanor to something less jarring. You're wholly aware of how cruel he can be, but also of how much power you hold over him as a result of his twisted love.

As he walks on in front of you (never too far ahead, lest the leash begin to slip from your grip), mouth set in a straight line and arms stiff by his sides, you saunter up beside him and fall into step. His hand finds its place in yours, and you take it without voicing out any complaint. It's strange for someone like him, who only knows how to want like he fights, intense and uninhibited—to be satisfied with just this simple gesture. But he stands here, placated with nothing more than a touch.

He ignores any hesitation on your part, tugging you closer until you jolt against him, and your joined hands are pressed in between your figures. He keeps you close to his side, occasionally bumping into each other as you make your way home.

It would be nice if you were so sensible more often. He has offered time and time again to take care of things in your stead. He'd eagerly bring you the head of your enemies and let you wash the blood off his hands, he'd spoil you in luxury and take only a smile in thanks; if only you wanted. Instead, you turn your nose up at him and return to the monotony of work. You brazenly claim, with nothing more than a sideway glance, that you had no need for his help. And to a certain extent, it's true. You're extremely capable. Is the way he trails after you not proof enough?

He's tried to convince you, but limp fingers cleanly removed and blood-red pearls earn him nothing more than a sigh and a mutter about impracticality. Even your initial fear at the sight of something so gruesome is quickly straightened out, though he catches wind about you investigating who they belonged to. He eagerly observes how you stop frequenting the markets after that. He may not have earned your gratitude, but you had developed a wariness he was more than happy with.

It's the last he attempts at gifting you something so morbid—though he likes to remind you that the offer will always be open—and instead sticks to trinkets you may find more use for. Rouge that he insists on applying, pressed up too close all while crooning about how well it suits you, perfumed oil he massages onto your wrists and nape with calloused fingers and delicate glass bowls to hold it all. He finds pride in knowing all his training has made his hands steady enough to carry out such intricate tasks, but your heart hasn't wavered despite his efforts and displays.

The silence, in itself, is comforting. For all he wishes to have you alone, he never knows what to say after. He thinks of nothing as much as he does you these days. Everything revolves around you. But with the quiet atmosphere, he can focus on your subtle scent, the flutter of your lashes, and the shape of your nails. If you were to be speaking, trying to remember the lilt of your voice and the underlying timbre, apart from your words and gestures, would have overwhelmed him. His desire to commit every detail to memory combined with his overzealousness would have exhausted him very quickly.

Instead, he lets himself plan. How else could he draw out more time with you? He could conjure up some reason related to your work and his, or he could stick to his usual plan of 'happening' to be around. He could insist on buying you a meal to make up for something or the other. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to think of elaborate plots to inch closer to you. Strategy in both love and war were surprisingly similar.

Or he could stop thinking so much and just take you. Who would dare try and stop him?

He'd like to have you in his arms, properly, and hold you against his firm figure. Some part of him has always craved the domesticity of such a fantasy, where you might tuck your head under his chin and smile against his skin when he greets you after a long day at work. He could do it if he wanted; take you home, and make you play pretend until it was all you knew to do. Simple signs of affection of the sort might soothe the ache of the wound festering at his side ever since he was handed over to the Fatui. But he wanted more than he deserved. More than your foolish games and his moribund attempts at playing along.

He wanted—needed—sincerity on your part.

Your steps hasten the closer he gets to your lodging, the gap between you widening until only your conjoined hands bridge it. Were you acting without regard for the consequences because you naively believed this little corner was free from his influence?

But tonight, his heart twists as you walk away. How cruel you are to him; who can only yearn.

You peek over your shoulder, mouth set in the slightest downturn as you thank him for escorting you. There's nothing genuine behind your tone, and he pretends it doesn't sting. He's spared nothing more than a blunt goodbye before you enter the building, not even glancing back.

There's always tomorrow. He'd work harder, learn more about your likes and one day...things would change.

[boothillzvhs]

♡ ₊˚ 🫧・₊. ✧ ⋆ ⭒˚

⊹ ׁ݂ ꒰꒰ TW : dub -con, yandere puppy!tartagila , (n)sfw, cursing, angel!ftm!reader (dom/sub dynamics) / daddy kink [?] fingering/ small reader / edging / squirting / bottom male reader / dom tartagila/ use of boy- cunt, boy pussy, pussy, cunt ‼️

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

You met tartagila totally by accident, it’s not like you regret it right? Well.. you kinda did and kinda didn’t, you loved tartagila but you hated him at the same time.., human emotions are super hard for you, hiding your wings were super hard too..

“Ugh.., tartagila? Are you homee?” You shout out for him, “ya just give me a sec!” He shouted back, moments later he comes running down the stairs, with puppy ears and a tail?.. “uh.. Ajax what are you wearing” you were holding back laughs.

“What do you mean?” You honestly didn’t know how to explain it to him, “u-ummm.. ajax your kinda..um just pat your head!” You say blushing hardly, he pats his head and suddenly realized, “uhm..” ….

His tail starts wagging, A angel and a puppy, what a weird combo..

.

..

…

So! That’s how you found yourself face down, and ass up position.. and behind you was Ajax playing with your pussy, but then.. he touched your wings PAUSE ((ok so I didn’t mention earlier but your wings are super sensitive)) ok UNPAUSE “fuwaah!~ ♡” Ajax smiles “hm?~ do you like when daddy rubs you wings?”

“A-aja-nng!~ I-I’m gunna cum!~ ♡” Ajax removes his fingers before you can cum, basically edging you “nng..~?” Tartagila unbuckles his pants, “you only get to cum on my cock (name)” hearing him say your name except saying ‘baby, comrade, angel, or honey’ made shivers go down your spine, before you can even think tartagila thrust into you

“Ah~! ♡ d-daddy~!!” “Mph~.. your taking me so well~ ♡” your wings are twitching, two feathers coming off of them in the process “s-sho good~ ♡” you say wrapping your arms around the puppy’s shoulders

“I-im closee!~ ♡” you whimper “come for me angel~..” a few thrust later you come “fuwahh!~~ ♡ I-im coming!~” you moan loudly “haah…im close too..~” poor you, overstimulated, shaking, “ah~ Fffuck!” Ajax whimpers as he cums, his tail is wagging which means that he’s happy ^^

Ajax Falls on top of you, holding you in his arms, you just now realized how rough his hands are.. “comfortable isn’t it comrade?..” Ajax’s shaky voice says “ mmhm…”

“Sleep well love, you did well..”

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

Childe, Kazuha, Ayato, and Scaramouche when they accidentally hurt their lover during a sparring/duel? :D

Yes my dear. My apologies for the wait, sobbing my panties wet and stuck in my ass crack for this mishap :( and my apologies that your last request got lost in the interwebs of the darks and lights. I love you thought, so I hope you can forgive the internet. And me, but mostly the stupid internet. :)

Childe ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

He wouldn't realize it at first because you mask your pain so well, and he was very into the moment of it. He was in his zone and he was getting more aggressive as the duel went on.

However, he would notice the long pauses and heavy breathing you would do when he struck you, and you blocked. But each block was slipping, as he was getting near to striking you.

He was starting to notice this, but it didn’t fully hit him as of yet. As he was still in his own bloodrush to notice your injuries.

It finally dawn on him when you missed your block, and he accidentally struck you hard, sending you flying back and hitting the wall behind you.

Immediately Childe turn pale, drop everything and sprint to you, as he immediately looked down at your tired and bruised body and panic.

"Hey Hey Hey, why didn’t you say anything?! You have so much bruises! You are bleeding so much! You could have asked for a break, I wouldn’t use that against you!"

Childe scold you as he was panicking, when he looked at your wounds and the state you were in.

You were too tired to respond, but you looked at him and gave him a smile, to show that you were okay.

He sighed in relief, but guilt plagued him, as he felt that he should have never hurt the one he loves. Yet, here he is, hurting the one he loves.

He would kiss your cheek, and pick you up. He would carry you back to the Fatui headquarters and patch your wounds up there.

He became extremely protective of you, he doesn’t want anyone to see you in this state, he doesn’t want anyone near you. He would yell, hiss, and point his sword at anyone who dares to approach.

Kazuha ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

You two were having a sword duel, as Kazuha liked practicing his techniques and trading tactics with you on his style of fighting.

You were blocking his sword perfectly, and striking back perfectly.

You two were laughing and having fun actually, and joking with each other. It was just a friendly battle.

Until he raised his sword in the air and strike down on you, you missed the block, and his sword slashed you.

You immediately coughed up blood and fell forward, as your face fell and planted into the sand.

Kazuha widen his eyes in shock, as he realized...he just did the same move as Raiden Shogun did to his friend.

Immediately he screeched your name and fell to his knees, he turned you over and looked at the sword slash from your left shoulder to your right hip.

Kazuha began to panic, and tear up as he apologies repeatedly to you. "My love, I'm sorry, I am so sorry, I am sorry my love, please forgive me, please."

He cupped your cheeks. You then opened your eyes and placed your hand on top of his, as to let him know you are okay. But you were too weak to talk, and blood was leaking out of your mouth and nose.

Kazuha kissed your face repeatedly, as if he was about to lose another precious person to him again. "I...I don’t think I'll ever forgive myself for this love..."

Kazuha picked you up and carried to back to Beidou's ship where you were patched up and set to rest.

However, at the very night, Kazuha took his own sword, and aimed it to his chest, his hands were shaking, he would never forgive himself, he sighed and looked at you sleeping in your bed.

He then put the sword down, and stayed by your side, at least for now.

Ayato ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・

He would notice immediately and stop before your injuries get worse, either that, or let you win the deul.

He is sharp, so he would notice these things very easily, he would call you out on it immediately.

"Darling, is there a reason why I see so much cuts on your body? Have we not talked about communicating to me when you are injured or need healing?"

He would look after you himself, of course, he would still tease you about it as well.

"Haha why are you blushing at that request my love? I have seen your naked body plenty of times, is it so weird I ask you to undress so I can look at your wounds?"

He would look at each wound carefully, and kiss everyone of them. "My apologies for not noticing how harsh I was being sooner, I didn’t mean to cause such unprecedented harm to you."

He would wrap your wounds lovingly, ask you which ones hurt the most

He would clear his schedule to look after you, and make it up to you by buying you your favorite foods or cuddling you, massing you.

His priority is making sure you are comfortable and healing properly, anything that stresses you out would immediately lead him to be stern.

Ayato is very firm on your boundaries, so if work pops up, no matter what, it can wait. Monsters? It can wait. Archons dying? It can wait. Celestia dropping to the ground? It can wait, there are other people qualified to handle it.

Scaramouche ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・○・●・○・● ●・

This fucking little shit bitch with his ben 10 team umizoomi undies.

He would scold you at first, calling you weak, and scolding you on how the world will crush you.

He would push you to fight a little bit more because he would lecture you on how the world isn’t going to go easy on you, and how the world will crush you whole, like it once did to him.

However, once he strike you and you fell back, he immediately felt guilty. Of course he will be verbally harsh about it.

"H-Hey! Are you stupid?! Watch your surroundings, that is the number one rule in fighting!"

Without realizing, he would see the large wound on your ribs bleeding and immediately go to you and tend to you.

He would lift your shirt and look at the wound, take his outer layer shirt and press against it.

You would look at him surprised as he was focused on tending to your wound. Once he met eyes with you, he would blush and give you an angry face.

"What?! Don’t look at me, fool. Humans are such weaklings..." He would complain but as he spoke, he would lift you up, and push your head against his chest.

He would carry you to Nahida and ask her how to help heal your wound, however, he would refuse to talk about him worrying about you.

He refuses to bring it up, but he would sneak glances at your wound, he would notice you being in pain, and would INDIRECTLY make things easier for you.

You are in pain from reaching something, next day, somehow it's now more reachable to you because its on the lower shelf.

You are in pain because you are cleaning your sword, next day, somehow they are all clean.

He cares about you greatly, unless you were his fourth betrayal, but he cares about you, and he is holding onto you so much. But he is afraid of showing attachment to you as he doesn’t want to be weak in front of you and show you his weakness to you. But he does care for you. He wants you to handle this world better then him, and doesn’t want the world to crush you like it did to him. He would never wish that on you. He will always be there for you.

[justauthoring]

hello! if you’re still doing it and if you’d like to, i want to request 💅🫦😈 with childe please!!

💅🏻 — bridal carry 🫦 — bitten lips 😈 — "sit down and shut up."

word count: 572

you feel your feet leave the ground as arms slip underneath you, pulling you into a warm chest.

a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sudden movement, your axis tilted as you blink, trying to right yourself. you instinctively lean into the warm chest, arms quickly moving to grab onto childe's shoulders as you turn to look at him with wide eyes.

your lips part to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, but the look in childe's eyes give you pause. he's not looking at you but rather straight ahead, his eyes narrowed and darkened with his lips set in a thin, straight line.

overall, he looks pissed. extremely pissed.

heart still racing, you turn away, looking down at your own lap as childe carries you with ease, making his way from where you'd both been talking seconds prior with ease. he doesn't stop until he's upstairs and through the room to your shared bedroom.

he sets you down in front of the bed.

you choose then to speak; "ajax-"

his eyes spin to face you, sharp gaze meeting yours as you still in front of him. "sit down and shut up."

his tone is harsher than his gaze, making your shoulders tense as you blink up at him. knowing better than to argue, you submit; bracing yourself you move to sit on the bed, hands braced by your sides, biting your lip in nerves.

you worry your lip, teeth digging into skin as you watch childe closely.

he paces in front of you - side to side, hands to his face in clear distress and frustration.

it takes him two whole minutes before he stops, facing you.

"what were you thinking?"

his tone is considerably lighter, still sharp and frustrated but it isn't as biting as before which makes you feel a little better. nails digging into the comforter on the bed, you glance at your feet.

"I was worried."

"so you decided to follow me?" he huffs, bluntly making it clear how stupid he thought your explaination was. you bite your lip harder, curling into yourself. "you could've gotten hurt. you know how dangerous my job is... why would you think that's a good idea?"

you bite back the whimper; "i wanted to make sure you were okay."

childe just sighs.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, turning to finally face him as you blink up at him with watery eyes. "i'm sorry, ajax. i didn't mean to... i just wanted to help."

watching you for a moment, childe's face noticeably relaxes, hating the way your eyes water and your red, swollen lips tremble. shaking his head, he knees in front of you, setting his hands on your knees, squeezing.

"you can't do that," he says softly. "you could've gotten really hurt. i can't have that, okay? promise me you won't do that again."

eager to please and not wanting him to be mad again, you nod quickly. "I promise," you gasp, clasping onto his hands, leaning towards him. "i promise i won't. i'm so sorry, don't be mad at me."

"i'm not mad," he assures. "i shouldn't have been so cold. i was just upset and worried. i'm sorry, y/n."

you just nod, blinking your tears away. "i know," you sniffle, "i love you, ajax."

smiling faintly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"i love you too, dear."

[ugly-pickle]

﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟ thinking about tartaglia wrapping his arms around you possessively when teucer claims that hes gonna marry you when he grows up… tartaglia ajax mumbles “mine” while burying his head at the crook of you neck <3

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (some fluff for my distressed baddies xoxo)

“you’ve got a little something there,” you giggle. 

light like the breeze, your fingers brush the fallen leaf from ajax’s hair.

it drops to the ground, joining the growing piles of auburn and brown that rest upon the sidewalks, rising with each breath of wind.

“careful there. you know i wouldn’t let anyone else touch my hair, you better not mess it up,” he grins, holding your wrist in his palm. it keeps you close.

“oh, i wouldn’t dream of it.”

all too easily, your arm slips from his grasp and reaches towards your ankles. with a swift motion, leaves crumple in your fist as you lift them up, up, up, tossing them into the air above.

autumn’s gravity pulls them back down, crowning both of you with their remnants of orange and red.

“you little-”

before he finishes, he’s shaking his head, flashes of ginger dancing across the fall sky. back down, down, down the leaves fall, returning home.

glimmering blue eyes sparkle as he turns to you, laughing.

“you got a little something right there.” slender fingers pluck the remaining leaves from your hair, letting them tumble with your giggles in the wind.

when he smiles at you, it’s warmer than the crisp air turning his cheeks pink.

“you better not mess up my hair,” and your grin is soft and welcome, all cinnamon and spices.

you hold his wrist, freckled skin on skin. fingers intertwine, until you’re breathing the same brisk air. you keep him close.

a/n: needed something to make me smile so here’s two losers in love or whatever :)

[alexihollis]

Jealousy the Funny Disease (pt. 1)

*someone said something about a polycule and it grew in my brain*

There was a time where Rembrandt truly did believe that Ajax would figure it out. It being the obvious attraction Ajax had to Swan. Swan's attraction to Ajax. Rembrandt's attraction to Swan and Swan's attraction to Rembrandt that often involved Swan panicking if she so much as accidentally brushed the back of her hand against Rembrandt's. She thought that, once Ajax figured it out, maybe had a minor freak out about it, preferably chose to not fight Swan about said panic, maybe they could bring Swan into their relationship. Maybe it wouldn't be forever, but...Rembrandt thought it could be nice. At least for a little while.

They got close, in a way. There were many nights spent, just the three of them in the night, Swan and Ajax watching Rembrandt's back as she tagged. Swan might have flinched away from physical affection, but she always listened when Rembrandt went on her tangents and offered her quiet insights. She even went to the art museums with Rembrandt, which even Ajax found difficult, as much as she tried for Rembrandt. They went out to the queer bars and Swan hung around the walls, watching until it was time to go home. And despite the fact that Ajax was willing to wingman pretty much anyone, she never tried to find Swan a girl, not once. So. Rembrandt hoped. She hoped the little thing that existed between the three of them might grow.

Except Ajax never did figure it out. Swan became Cleon's number two and the closest her and Ajax came to talking about their mutual feelings was when they were pummeling each other. And Rembrandt never said anything, because she was painfully aware how badly this could go. How quickly Ajax would sacrifice herself if she thought it would make Rembrandt happy and that was simply not allowed.

Then came the night from Hell and, suddenly, Swan had a girlfriend for the first time. It hurt, a bit. To see Swan and Mercy so happy while Rembrandt stressed over Ajax getting out.

Ajax got out, though, sooner than anyone imagined and also too long - two months.

"Did she even go through initiation?" Ajax grumbled, brow lowered as she all but glared across Cleon's living room at where Mercy and Swan were curled up on the couch. Swan read a book and Mercy pretended to read the same book, but spent much more time slowly finger-combing Swan's hair.

"She did more than enough, be nice," Rembrandt chided, nudging Ajax's shoulder with her own where they leant against the wall.

Ajax's jaw flexed, but she didn't say anything. Well. She didn't say anything, then, and she didn't say anything specific.

"Her jokes aren't that funny," Ajax muttered under her breath later that night when Swan was laughing at something Mercy said.

It caught Rembrandt completely off-guard and all she could do was side-eye Ajax.

"Why the fuck doesn't she just wear her own colors?" Ajax grouched a couple of days later when Swan and Mercy were play fighting over Swan's colors, currently on Mercy's back.

Rembrandt looked down at her vest. Then at Ajax, "I stole your original vest."

Ajax gritted her teeth. "That's different."

"We were initiated at the same time."

"It's. Different." Rembrandt did not push it farther.

She thought it was cute, how Mercy stole Swan's colors. A traitorous thought occurred that it would be really cute if she stole Swan's and then Swan stole Ajax's. Then, Mercy and Rembrandt could watch Swan and Ajax fight over- Nope. Not going there, no, bad brain, baaaad brain, there is a snowball's chance in hell at this point.

"I can't believe Cleon sent them out alone," Ajax griped and, at this point, it had been two weeks of this nonsense and Rembrandt was losing her mind a little bit.

"Uh-huh," was Rembrandt's only response from her and Ajax's bed, sketching in her sketchbook while Ajax got ready for bed.

"She always sends Swan and me," Ajax continued. "Swan and I have each other's backs for gigs like that."

"They're still in Brooklyn."

"Swan's a good fighter, she can take me, but she isn't intimidating," Ajax said. "And neither is Mercy! Cleon's asking for them to get jumped!"

"Oh, my God, will you just admit you're jealous?!" Rembrandt exclaimed, looking up at Ajax exasperated.

"I'm not jealous!" Ajax retorted. Then, after a moment, more forcefully, "I'm not jealous! Why would I be jealous?"

Rembrandt groaned, rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

But Ajax was not finished. "Why would I be jealous? Just because Swan barely talks to me anymore. And now Cleon's sending Mercy out instead of me. I'm not jealous. I don't care that Swan thinks Mercy's funny. Or that Mercy's pretty in that soft, girly way. I don't want to be like that. You're pretty like that, though, so I do think it's kind of bullshit, because Swan should have noticed. And Swan needs other things, too. Swan's always taking care of everyone else and she never puts herself first, ever. Ever. She just met Mercy, there's no way that Mercy knows that Swan does that, so what if she lets Swan do that all the time. Not to mention, Swan never hangs out with us anymore! It's always, 'I'm going out with Mercy' or 'Mercy and I are doing-Oh."

Ajax turned to Rembrandt with wide-eyes. "Am I jealous of Mercy?!"

"Yes. Yes, you are, thank you for finally catching up, you have been driving me crazy for weeks," Rembrandt grumbled as she tried to return to her sketchbook.

"But- I-"

Rembrandt finally took pity on Ajax. "We both liked Swan. Swan liked us. Neither of you figured it out enough to talk about it and now we're here." Then, because Rembrandt knew where Ajax was going to go with this, "Ajax, she really likes Mercy."

"But," Ajax's nose crinkled, the way it did when she was faced with a difficult problem. "Were we dating?"

"No," Rembrandt sighed. "No. Dating implies actual understanding. We were...doing something. I don't know, but...No. It is what it is."

"I don't like that."

"I know. But do you really want to mess this up for her? She's the happiest I've seen her in a long time."

It should have been easy, to watch someone you cared deeply for be happy. Even if it was with someone else.

It would have been easy, if Mercy wasn't Mercy.

Mercy tried so hard and there was something about that effort that made Rembrandt's heart ache as she watched it. She wanted to wrap Mercy up and promise that they had her, it was okay, no one was going to send her away, she was a Warrior now. Instead, Rembrandt had to trust that Swan was doing that.

"Why is Mercy funny?" Ajax grouched at their ceiling one night.

"Because she's fucking perfect," Rembrandt grouched back.

"Why are they both- That isn't fair."

"It really isn't."

"We're funny!"

"I'm funny."

"Okay, well, I'm buffer than Swan."

"I'm at least as pretty as Mercy."

"...this isn't making me feel better."

"Yeah, no, I don't think trash-talking women we like is going to help us."

To be Cont'd

Also if y'all have any prompts, they would be greatly appreciated! writer's block is trying to catch me, but i am outrunning it swiftly!