#ajax genshin impact

[madaqueue]

WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH

a visit to childe's home

pairing: childe x gn!reader

themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)

a/n: nobody look at me

"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves

Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.

Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that it’s him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, you’re used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. It’s still him, of course, but there’s something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.

He doesn’t notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although it’s only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them. 

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. There’s snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that don’t mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers “I love you,” and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.

[strawberryhenisey]

Do you think you'd kill for me one day?

You asking fatui harbingers if they're gonna kill for you one day

Tartaglia

You were very bored lately because your dear boyfriend hasn't been around for weeks!

Then you saw a tiktok video about a trend where'd you'd ask your boyfriend or husband if they'd ever kill for you

The others were lame because some said it depends, that's boring!

So you decided to ask Tartaglia the second he gets back home

"Girlie, are you serious? Do you think I'll be a lame ass and say 'oh but it depends!' no girlie, I'd kill 8 billion people right now if it's for you"

Pierro

He was working in his office

He decided to take a break for awhile, after all lots of papers and etc. is hard to do without taking any breaks

And you decided to ask him the question you've always asked yourself and prolly because you also saw it on TikTok and decided to try it on Pierro who was always serious and calm

He went and smiled, he smiled because he couldn't believe he had to answer the obvious

What a foolish question to ask after all, he's been with you for years

"Never ask me such stupid questions... Isn't it obvious I would?"

Grandpa still has rizz

Arlecchino

You asked her if she would kill for you

Oh gosh that was a stupid question

Arlecchino couldn't believe why you were asking that question

She couldn't help but laugh at your sudden question, when the answer is so obvious

"Ah dear, that's a very stupid question... But yes I will darling"

FATHER IS FATHERING

[mysticmiav]

"So this is how justice is done in Fontaine. What a joke"

[moux-xe]

chiscara (chikabu) tangled au is so important

[leeflms]

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

minors DNI.

warnings: NSFW, FEM reader, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Praise kink

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Childe who loves to spoil you to death with gifts. Because of his status as a Harbinger, he's often gone for quite a long time, probably off to another nation. That's why he sends you gifts and letters.

Childe who loves teasing you in public. And by teasing, that means hand grazing over your thigh and whispering naughty things to your ear. He just can't help it, not when you look so cute with a flustered expression as he tells you how he plans on fucking you later.

Childe who's extremely possessive of you and gets easily jealous. One time he saw you talking to one of his subordinates, laughing and getting touchy with them. The Harbinger approached the two of you, sneaking a hand around your waist and pulling you close to him. He gives his subordinates a small smile, probably a sign for them to kindly fuck off and go away.

Childe who loves it whenever you say his name. Whether it be 'Ajax', 'Childe', or 'Tartaglia', as long as it's you calling his name, he'll start smiling widely.

He loves it even more when you're whimpering and moaning out his name while he fucks you senseless. Oh, he's so mean for pounding into your tight cunt, hips moving at a fast pace as he tries to chase his climax, turning you into a sobbing mess, all the while he whispers sweet nothings to you.

"Yeah.. That's it.. F-Fuckk, my pretty girl is taking me so well.."

Childe who promised he'd be gentle but ends up putting you in a mating press, your legs pressed to your chest, his cock was repeatedly hitting your sweet spot and you could feel you were about to cum.

Childe who gets so needy and whiny when he's about to cum. He starts fucking you hard, leaning to you and nuzzling his face into your neck. "Holy shit— Fuck— Please," He breathed out. Childe doesn't even have any idea what he's saying anymore, he's too fucked out to think properly.

"Please, baby— Please.. let me cum inside you…" He begged.

Childe who has so much stamina, he doesn't just stop at 1 round. You don't know how many times you've come, you're all messed up, there's cum seeping out of your wet pussy. Before you even know it, Childe pushes back in his already hard cock, earning a loud moan from you.

"Just one more, yeah? You're doing so good for me.." Childe cooed, planting a kiss on your forehead as he started to thrust into you slowly. He's said that ten times now. 'One more round' would always end up with him cumming inside you for the 9th time now.

[zxvmp]

FWB (Childe x Fem!Reader)

tags: friends with benefits, unprotected sex, overstimulation, rough rex, use of childes real name, modern au, childes obsessed with you basically, breeding kink(?), childe likes family’s cmon

summary: your late night hook up turns out to be a session of messy feelings for one another

a/n: childe obsession is creeping up on me again…. um message me if you want me to write about anyone 😊

It was a problem. Your late night hook-ups were supposed to be nothing more than fulfilling your needs and wants. You and Childe had been inseparable since elementary school. He was your best friend, and you were his.

You always thought he was attractive, but you didn’t say anything. That was until he made his move on you your sophomore year of high school. The two of you came to agreement that you should keep it unofficial for the time being. Nothing more than fuck buddies. Basically, friends with benefits.

Now, the problem was that you wanted to be more than that. Each time you made love with him, you felt yourself falling deeper and deeper. He was like an addictive drug. You couldn’t get enough of him. It didn’t help it was the same situation from him. He loved you, but not in the way you wanted it.

He loved fucking you.

It hurt, but you didn’t want to loose your friendship with him. Other than fucking him, he was the person you told everything to. The person you cried on. The person you laughed with. He was everything you’d ever wanted.

You couldn’t lose him. Not when you were about to finish high school together. So, when you got your daily text from him asking to meet up, you didn’t hesitate on getting ready. You didn’t bother putting on a bra since it’d be taken off anyways.

As you slid on a hoodie he gave you, his scent filled your nose. A scent you’d never forget. A scent you loved. You didn’t bother dressing up cute, so you kept on your plaid pajama pants and slid on your Ugg slippers. It’s not like you were going out anywhere fancy.

You sent a text to him letting him know you were on your way as you started your car up. The drive was short considering how close the two of you lived.

Nobody Get Me by SZA played, which completely summarized your life with Childe. All of your friends told you it was an unhealthy situation you were in, but they didn’t understand. Childe took care of you and understood you in a way no one else could. Sure, he didn’t have feelings in a way you did for him, but that was okay. As long as you were near him, it’d be okay.

You let out a huge sigh before knocking on his front door. His parents’ cars weren’t in the driveway, so you guessed they went out to dinner. His parents were rich and always went out, which is why the two of you always hooked up at his place.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know?” Childe shot you his signature smirk as he leaned against the doorframe.

You eyed his muscular body that was dressed in nothing but grey sweats. His V-line peaked out of his waistband, already sending a wave of heat across your body.

“When do you not?” You tease, pushing past him. “You’ve been texting more often, something up?”

It was strange on how frequent Childe had been texting you to come over. Usually you’d come over about two times a week or so, but now it seems like he needs you everyday.

The front door closed. Soon after you could feel his hands resting on your hips as his head cradled in between your head and shoulders. He began to plant subtle kisses along your neck and jawline.

“..Ajax?” You whisper his name. Saying his real name always had an effect on him, and you knew it.

He paused and flipped you to where you were facing him. His eyes were filled with lust and need. “You’re on the pill right?”

You nodded.

In the blink of an eye, he was dragging you up the stairs and down the hallway towards his bedroom. Your back met his bed and his lips met yours. His hands were trapping your wrists on either side of your head, making you whine. You wanted to run your fingers through his soft ginger locks, feel his soft skin; you wanted to touch him.

His movements were frantic as he suck and bit on the skin of your neck. With each marking, you felt yourself getting more and more aroused. It was like he was marking you as his. Something you’ve always wanted, to be his.

“You have no idea, (Y/N)…”His hands left yours and traveled down towards the hem of your hoodie, “Raise your arms.”

You hesitantly obliged. You didn’t understand the first part of his sentence. The cold air attached to your exposed skin, making your nipples harden. Your heart was beating out of your chest. Normally you wouldn’t feel so different at your occasional hookups. But this wasn’t an occasional hookup. You could tell. His demeanor and mood was way different.

He muttered things under his breath as he took in the upper half of your body. “So beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead, “all mine.” His hands crept up your stomach, making butterflies form with each inch he gained. Once they reached your breast, he began to fondle them and continue marking your skin.

Your thoughts were all over the place. He was driving you more crazy than he regularly did. His touches became more rough, making you gasp.

“Say it, say you’re mine (Y/N).”

Your panties were beyond soaked at this point. One more move from him and you might as well come undone.

“I’m yours, Ajax.”

What was going on didn’t seem real. Did he mean what he said? Or was he just so horny he was spouting out nonsense.

Your shorts and panties were ripped off of you and tossed to the floor. Childe’s eyes traveled from yours down to your soaked entrance. He ran his middle finger up and down your slit before inserting two of his slender fingers.

Soft moans escaped your mouth from each thrust of his fingers. Childe was enjoying every bit of it. His dick twitched with every sound or move you made. The way you chased your high by grinding against his fingers was what really did it.

Your release coated his fingers as he pulled out of your hole. It was so filthy, watching him lick his fingers clean. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. Your lips were slightly parted and your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace.

Even with the delicious orgasm Childe always manage to rip from you with his fingers, his dick was a thousand times better. You and him both knew that.

He wasted no time in ridding himself of his sweatpants and freeing his cock from his boxers. Precum leaked from his tip as he fisted his erection a couple times. You expected him to get up to grab a condom from his nightstand, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to rub his dick between your folds, gathering your slick.

“You’re not gonna grab a condom?”

He shook his head, “I want to feel all of you tonight. No barriers, yeah?”

Him fucking you raw was always a dream of yours for years. The two of you always used a condom. He said it’d be more safer, even though you were already on the pill.

“Well?” He began to prod at your entrance, teasing you.

“..Yes.” You panted out, overwhelmed with him and your feelings.

His hips snapped forwards. You could feel every vein and muscle of him inside of you. It felt way better this way. Like he belonged there.

The two of you groaned in union at the feeling. Childe was holding on by mere strings from how tightly you wrapped around him. It felt so good. You eventually relaxed, which allowed him to set a solid pace.

“Fuck, you feel so good around me,” His hands intertwined with yours on either side of your head, which made your heart swoon.

His pace increased, and he began thrusting at an even deeper angle. Your interlocked fingers tightened around his as you moaned.

Childe was so focused on the way your expressions changed with each roll of his hips. He loved it. He loved how your nose scrunched up when you were coming close to your high.

Ever since the two of you started fucking, he’d pick up on everything and anything. What felt good and what didn’t, what sent you over the edge, and most importantly, your limit.

You had a high sex drive like him, which made him like you even more than he already did. He didn’t know when he started to develop feelings for you. Maybe they were always there and he just didn’t know it. Whatever the case was, he was unbelievably obsessed. With you, with your body, your voice, your hair, everything.

“Ah—Ajax!”

Your screams snapped him out of his trance. A white ring had formed at the base of his dick and you looked like a complete mess. He made you come without even realizing it. However, he wasn’t done. He wanted to make you his that night. And to do that, he wanted you going dumb on his cock. The only thought that was going to be on your mind was him. Nothing else.

His hands left yours and took place on your hips. Gripping your sides in a way he knew it was going to bruise. The air was knocked from your lungs when his hips snapped forward.

“You’re so perfect,”Childes voice was low. “perfect for me.”

Broken sobs of pleasure was the only sound you could make. Your mind was foggy and your eyes struggled to stay open. You could feel your conscience slip away from you with each thrust.

Childe was in awe. He watched as his dick disappeared into you, how it formed a bulge in your tummy when he was balls deep. It was beautiful to him.

You had lost count from how many times you came. It shocked you on how much stamina he always had in bed.

His pace hadn’t slowed the moment he entered you. You clawed at his back and tugged on his hair as you moaned his name. You knew you needed a break, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. He felt so good ramming his and your release back into you.

Childe leaned down and rested his head on your shoulder, “I love you.”

Your eyes rolled back and for what felt like the tenth time that night, your orgasm took over your body. This one was much stronger than the others. Your body shook violently as your cum coated his cock. Nothing but ringing could be heard. Your vision was blurry and you could feel your body tingle all over.

Another harsh thrust of Childes hips snapped you back awake, “Say it back.”

Tears fell from your eyes from both pain and pleasure, “I love you! Fuck, I love you, Ajax!”

Your words made him feral. With a thrust, he emptied his load into you, coating your walls white. The two of you caught your breaths for a while before Childe pulled out of you.

If you weren’t so drained of your energy, you would’ve gotten up to take a shower, but your entire body was numb. Childe said something to you, but you were too tired to listen. You fell asleep and decided to talk to him about things in the morning.

~~

[nemesh]

A lil hc: Skirk would talk more with Child because he is not that weak child anymore

Aaand I redesigned Skirk a little bc my eyes hurt when I look at her in-game

[bunnyluvx]

how genshin characters react to you being sick! ♡

featuring: razor & gn!reader (platonic). ningguang x f/non-binary!reader (romantic). childe & lisa x gn!reader (romantic). (all separate)

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content. ningguang sexuality discourse will be blocked. death joke on childe's part.

tags: smau | fluff | established friendship | established relationship | pet names | lesbian! ningguang | reader is not the traveler

divider credit: line by @isisjupiter , support by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello all!! a little something special for you while i work through some requests that i have received since yesterday. requests and commissions are very much still open if anyone is interested. please take care <3

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3

[writing-in-glitter-pen]

♡𖠣 patchwork♡𖠣 II childe x fem!reader II mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers, cheery epilouge

Childe needs to see you before he meets his end; a precipice he is very near to by the time you find him miles from your home, crawling through the snow. To his confusion, you've taken him in and dedicated yourself to nursing him back to health. Little did you both know, your love for one another ran deep enough to heal all wounds.

content warnings: Childe is badly injured so there are descriptions of blood, broken ribs, aches and pains. Descriptions of applying medical stitches to close open wounds. Nothing too descriptive. I am not a doctor so do not try this at home. Mutually possessive themes. A suggestive comment in the epilouge. Let me know if I should add anything else!

Also, happy Thanksgiving everyone :) I am so grateful to each and every person who finds my work and enjoys it; these past six months of my blog being up and running has been so fulfilling and magical. I'm so lucky to have this community ♡ I'm sending all my love to you today ♡

“Blow.”

Childe puckered his split, dry lips and let out a weak breath---no power behind the gust at all. The hot steam that rose from the spoon you held to his lips mocked him; such a small opponent, unshaken and uncooled by his efforts.

You sighed; he wasn’t healing as fast as he should be...meaning, he most likely was ignoring your instructions and not adhering to his strict bed rest.

You were straddling him where he lied on the bed in your guest room, propped up by a mountain of pillows---including the ones from your own bed and the throw pillows from your couch; a desperate attempt to make him as comfortable as possible, which was a feat not easily achieved given his broken state. If you’d sat at his side, he wouldn’t be able to face you, since his cracked ribs made any movement excruciating. Even so, he refused to stay put, risking his health every time he got up in the middle of the night to use the shower or the bathroom. You told him you should be assisting him any time he had to exert himself, but he vehemently refused your help with his hygiene---it was simply humiliating that a grown man like him would need help washing himself, especially your help. “Save me my pride.”, he begged, the grim and embarrassed look on his face making you cave. You agreed to his demands as long as he’d let you walk him to and from the amenities, that way he wouldn't risk falling on his way and injuring himself further. But he’d still disobey and take himself there while you weren’t looking. You took to smelling his hair every time you came to check on him, smoothing it back and lifting your nose to his forehead to check if he showered without you getting him there safely. He always smelled clean, bringing that frustrated frown he loathed to be the cause of to your pretty face.

“You’ll kill yourself.”, you’d warn, “And I’ll have to bury you in the backyard.”.

He didn’t understand why you cared so much—why you, literally, dragged him back to your house after finding him beaten and bloody only a couple miles from your cabin, having crawled from a camp in a Snezhnayan forest he had been instructed to collect a debt from the residents of. They'd expected his visit and prepared an ambush of twenty. Normally, he could win a battle such as this with ease, but his exhuastion from the continuous missions he was assigned by the Fatui without breaks became too much for him. Thank Celestia you found him when you did, having fortunately been scavenging for snow berries in the very same forest.

He had been hauling himself in the direction of your cabin, trying to get as far as he could so that he might deliver you the letter he’d been saving in the breast pocket of his daily coat for years. One he’d carried with him always to ensure that, in the event he met his end, that his final confession would reach you.

A letter he’d been too cowardly to send to you in life—his one and only friend, the girl he grew up with in grade school, who he’d chosen to play make believe in the snow and ice-skate with, rather than hunting and roughhousing with the other boys in his class. It wasn’t that those boyish activities didn’t interest him, it was that his interest in you outweighed those hobbies by tons. You were everything, still were.

That’s why it was so mortifying that you had to nurse him back to health; shouldering the consequences of his deadly line of work.

Not only did he almost lose his life to his opponents, but for you to find him at his weakest made the shame burn all the worse.

You leaned over to where you brought the spoon a centimeter from his lips, nose nearly brushing his own as you gently blew on the sip of homemade chicken soup inside. He felt your warm breath on his lips, the feeling of you made his pale cheeks turn pink and weak heart sputter in his chest.

If his ribs weren't broken, if they were still in the healthy condition of a cage they once were, he might believe his chest housed a hummingbird; the pace of his heart mimicking the incessant beating of it's wings. The way just being close to you stirred and electrified him, you could bring him back to life with just a kiss.

Your eyes flicked back up to his, urging the spoon to his lips, indicating you wanted him to open them.

He did, his gaze not breaking from yours as he opened his mouth and let you feed him. It was such an intimate moment that you forgot to breathe, catching your breath as you watched him swallow the meal you'd prepared for him and him alone. Though you were both quiet, it felt like the room buzzed lowly around the both of you. He didn't know it, but the way he looked at you with such deep warmth made you shiver.

“You were up last night, weren’t you?”, you finally asked, already knowing the answer.

Indignity marred his face as he averted his eyes to the wooden floor of your house, but his break from your irritated gaze didn’t last long. You took his chin between your thumb and forefinger and redirected his attention back to your face.

“Tell me the truth.”

He had no choice now. You had him pinned.

“…Yes, I got up…sorry.”

Your disappointed face made him flinch—stinging more than your anger or scorn ever could.

You sighed, closing your eyes and moving your hand from his chin to cup his cheek, worried eyes boring into his and squeezing his heart.

“You’re delaying your healing process. Every time you get up without help—“

“I don’t need a walker like a decrepit, old man”, he spat, instant regret pailing him. He hated that he snapped at you, hated that he couldn't control himself. His embarrassment would overwhelm him---like it always did when you looked at him like a wounded animal. He turned his face away from you once again, but you pulled his attention right back.

“Stop it.”, your stern command sat like a rock in his stomach. Though, the heavy feeling dissipated when your gaze turned soft and fretting. “I’m sorry I’m playing 'demanding nurse', but I need you to work with me if you’re ever going to get better. I don’t want these wounds to be permanent; getting up without help will make your bones heal wrong, or open your stitches back up.".

He knew better than to take his eyes off of you at this point, but the guilt in his expression told you all you needed to know. His late night walk last night had come with consequences.

“You didn’t—"

Without warning, you threw the blankets off of him, only to find a bloody, crudely secured bandage over the deep laceration on his abdomen. He'd popped his stitches.

“Childe!”, your shriek made him wince. “Why didn’t you tell me!”.

“I’m sorry…”, he started, but you didn’t hear him. You were already running off to grab the first aid kit from the kitchen.

He was getting really sick and tired of disappointing you. He'd been in this room for weeks, been your constant source of anxiety and labor for weeks, and he wasn't getting any better.

...but you were never frustrated. Sure, he'd annoy you with his pride, but no amount of effort put into caring for him would ever be a waste, not to you, at least. He'd pop his stitches or worsen a crack in his ribs with a fall or sharp movement, you'd scold him, but no matter how many times it happened, you'd always redo them, always hold ice packs or heating pads over his aches; carefully, gently.

He watched your beautiful, soft hands work while they drew the needle and thread through him---and he wouldn't flinch. It didn't even hurt. It couldn't, when it was a mesmerizing sight; the way you left what would be permanent scars along his body---covering the old ones left by his enemy. Scars that were not made to wound, but to heal. Any mark you left upon him was gratefully accepted, knowing that he'd now carry evidence of you and your care with him at all times, all the way up until his last day in this world.

Like clockwork, the process was quick and painless. The first time you'd sewn him up, you had no clue what you were doing; fumbling and sobbing as you desperately tried to save his life. Tears clouded your view and your shaking hands couldn't safely find purchase on his abdomen. But Childe steadied you, held you close and whispered reassurances and apologies to you while talking you through every step. Now, he was like your personal patchwork doll. You'd sewn him up every time he went and hurt himself again, each stitch made with love and care.

When you were done, you wiped the area with a warm, firewater-soaked cloth, then applied an antibacterial ointment. He'd tried to take it from you, insisting he could apply it himself, but you smacked his hands away.

"You're my patient. Just sit back and let me take care of you.", you said it like it was nothing; a plain fact, your job. But it wasn't your job. He couldn't see why you were so compelled to shoulder this work yourself when you could've had him carted off to a Fatui infirmary the day you found him.

"They won't take care of you like I will.", was all you would say.

You knew the Fatui infirmary would prioritize getting their war machine in working order as soon as possible, rather than giving him quality treatment and time to heal. You also knew that, since visitors were not allowed into the Fatui headquarters, he would be all alone. And you wouldn't have that. You'd gotten letters to your residence that the Fatui knew you had their harbinger and were coming to collect him, but you used every one of them as kindling for the hearth in Childe's room. Soldiers had shown up at your front door, demanding entry or that you send their harbinger out to them, but to their surprise, you fought them like a wildcat. It was incredible how fierce you'd gotten over the subject of Childe's care, not allowing anyone but yourself to touch him. Your shouting startled the agents and they backed off as you swung the wooden spoon you'd been holding at them, warning them to get lost.

"He'll be back when he's healed and not a moment sooner!", you'd hollered as they begrudgingly trudged away.

Childe's gaze on you was proud and soft at the memory; you were the only person that had ever fought for him---and fought Fatui agents two times your size with a wooden spoon, too.

At your request, he greedily accepted your touch, closing his eyes as he let himself be blissfully consumed by the feeling of your kind hand smoothing the ointment over his skin.

When you finished, you sat back and examined him for a while. You did this often---like you were saving the image of him somewhere deep within you, like you were scared to forget him, scared to lose him. Your gaze washed him in warmth, his chest aching from the well of love he harbored for you. It made his eyes glitter and his heart ask questions it was desperate to know the answers to.

"...why do you put yourself through this?", the question slipped from his mouth in a whisper before he had the chance to think it through. It had been eating away at him since the day you took him in.

You tilted your head, the curious pout on your lips making him gulp; you were so very cute.

"Through what?", you asked.

"This.", he clarified, lifting his arms as much as he could to gesture to the situation you'd both found yourselves in. "...you know you don't have to.".

"I want to.", you argued. "The Fatui wouldn'---"

He interrupted your statement, "wouldn't take care of me like you would, I know. But that doesn't answer my question.", he looked into your eyes with furrowed eyebrows and painful confusion in his expression. "I know I'm burdening you. So why would you put yourself through this?".

In all honesty, he was terrified of your answer. He feared that asking would make you come to your senses and finally send him away; though he knew you deserved to get his hopeless corpse out of your house.

What he didn't expect was the lips he was so enamored with curving into a smile.

"You said you were mine; so you're mine to take care of. No one else's."

Now this perplexed him. He'd been yours since the day he met you, when your pretty face and gentle demeanor tethered him hopelessly to you from your first shared smile. And that tether coiled itself tighter and tighter around him with every day you spent at each other's side, every time he observed your unending compassion---building huts for creatures of the forest before snow storms would hit, patiently helping him with the school subjects he struggled in, babysitting his siblings with him while his parents were away...but what was so confusing was, he'd never told you. He belonged to you in silence and silence alone, neglecting to inform you of the hold you had on the heart he'd willingly given to you long ago.

He was at a loss for words, your exclamation hitting the nail right on the head. He was yours, but how did you know?

His wide eyes and crimson cheeks only made you chuckle, pulling his letter out of the apron you wore---the letter he'd saved on his person at all times for you in the event of his death.

"Unless this isn't yours?", you asked, cheekily.

His face paled. You must've found it after you'd taken him back to your house to care for him. You'd washed his clothes, including his coat, and emptied the pockets before throwing them in the wash bin---finding his letter for you safely tucked in the pocket that rested above his heart.

You opened the letter and read aloud your favorite passage to him:

"When you find my body, I ask that you carve out my heart and take it with you; it belongs to you, just as my body, my mind and my soul, though I fear the whole of me is too heavy for you to carry. Carry this, so you may have me and not be crushed by my weight. So you may have proof that I, and everything I am, belongs to you."

The rosy, dreamy smile that bloomed on your lips as you cantored his confession to him like gospel brought his deepest wishes and desires to life; you accepted him and his love with your full heart. His voice escaped him as you made his dreams come true with just a smile. Your perfect, perfect smile.

"Childe...", you said with a sweetness in your voice that rivaled any dessert he'd ever tasted.

His name falling from your lips made his heart jump.

"...yes?"

"...I love you.", the phrase left your throat like a quiet, ardent cry. I love you. It came from a deep, ancient part of your heart; a space carved out long ago for the boy you spent your childhood with, a space whose walls strain against the fullness of it. You'd stuffed it full of so much care for him, it felt like it was just a pinprick from bursting.

Your words made his own heart whine and scrape at the confines of his chest like a puppy wanting out of its cage so that it may find its beloved owner.

"That's why I take care of you. I love you.". It wasn't an explaination, it was a promise. It was a confession that you were just as tethered to him as he was to you.

Without another word, you scooted closer and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, careful not to lean too much of your body weight on him, but enough to envelop him in your warmth. He felt your heart beating against his, a passionate duet between lovers that had gone too long unsung.

He couldn't hold you in return, his arms aching too much to lift, but he buried his nose in the crook between your shoulder and neck, breathing in your scent as deeply as he could, pressing kisses to the soft space. You loved him. You loved him. He'd believe he was dreaming if the soreness from his wounds wasn't all too real---proof that he was living and breathing in the reality that you wanted him. That you wanted him and he was yours without any hesitation. Now, he was itching to heal, prepared to follow any rules you put in place for him as long as it meant that at the end of the process he could hold you like he wanted to---tight and possessive and finally.

He hungrily kissed his way up the column of your neck, just like he'd done in every daydream he had a moment to indulge in and in the periods of wakefulness he spun in before he fell asleep every night. Every waking thought he could spare was spent in dedication to you you you. He made his way up your jaw, to the sensitive spot behind your ear that made you gasp and shiver; spending a long, devoted moment tending to it eagerly. Then he kissed back down your cheek until he hovered right in front of your lips---pausing there. He looked up into your eyes amorously, pleadingly, silently asking for your permission to press his lips to your own. As if he was unsure if he was worthy or not.

Your loving gaze was enough to give him his answer.

So he shut his eyes and leaned into you as you braced yourself on his shoulders, squeezing them as his cracked lips finally met your own. He ardently devoured you, his desperation overcoming his physical limitations---abandoning his need for physical comfort in lieu of his need to taste you, to lick up every sweet kiss you would give him. He leaned forward as you attempted to pull away, his lips unable to satiate their craving. You relented, laughing lightly as you gently pressed him back down onto the pillows to relieve the sharp pain in his abdomen he sacrificed for a moment more of your lips on his. You indulged him, smoothing your hands up his neck to cup his jaw and hold him as you gave him as much as he wanted---which would never be enough.

No matter how much affection you'd give him, it could never fill the well of longing he'd been digging for you since the day he met you.

He'd yearn for you every moment of every day of his life. In this moment, he made a law for himself to follow: After he heals, he'll take care of himself, treat his exhaustion and avoid lethal injuries, so that he may keep coming back to you with his love in tow---offerings of affection he'd lay at your feet and pray you'd accept. He'd keep his heart beating so it would stay warm for you; so that the day you'd pry it from his chest would remain eras away.

· · ♡ · ·

"Childe, I can hold the spoon.", you demanded, attempting to snatch the spoonful of soup from his hand as he chuckled and evaded your swipes.

Your grumpy, flushed face was too adorable for his heart to take, and the sound of your stuffy voice was too funny.

Oh, how the tables have turned since the day you'd taken him into your home. Once he'd started adhering to your treatment plan wholeheartedly, he healed in record time. Your harbinger had grown stronger and livlier than ever, a feat which he acreditted solely to your kisses and love.

"All I'm saying is, I didn't start healing until you started kissing me.", he had claimed, grinning broadly as he brought you into his arms after being able to stand on his own without pain for the first time since his injury.

He'd moved in not too long after he came back from his first mission since his hiatus, favoring your cozy cabin over any mansion his money could buy. He was grateful to be home with you...but you'd caught a bug while he was away. When you opened your front door with bleary, puffy eyes and the sniffles, he couldn't help but pinch your cheeks and laugh, drawing you in for a kiss. You'd argued and tried to push his face away, shouting that he'd get himself sick, but he only captured your wrists and held them against his chest as he pressed his lips to yours.

"No weak little bug can take down a warrior as strong as me.", he'd arrogantly claimed...

...you hated that he was right.

So he got to steal kisses from you scott free while he nursed you back to health, just as you'd done for him.

And he delivered such sweet payback, playing 'demanding nurse' just like you had.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Open up. Medicine's gotta go down the hatch."

"You're not sleeping alone tonight, love. Gotta keep you warm so your cold doesn't get worse!"

"Maybe you shouldn't shower alone...you might faint. Just let me come with you."

You started to pick up on the fact that maybe not all of his rules and regulations were made solely in your interest.

Now, you were fighting him over whether or not you could feed yourself.

"My arms aren't broken!", you bickered, sniffling and pouting like a stubborn child.

"Ah ah ah! But any physical exertion could delay your progress. You wanna get better, don't you?", he argued, grinning like a fox.

"...yes."

"Then lay back and let me handle you. I gotta take care of what's mine, right?".

You only quit your grumbling because he looked so proud of himself. So cheerful that he got to make you feel better and call you his, just like you'd done for him.

He planted a kiss to your hot forehead, tutting as he pulled away.

"Your fever hasn't gone down yet. Let me get you a cool compress."

With that, he trotted off to the kitchen. You couldn't help but smile at his antics, running about without a break and spending every moment of the day doting on you---all for a little case of the sniffles.

And how could he not? You were his one and only love, and like he said, like he'll repeat any time you need to hear it...

You are his. He is going to take care of you.

[hiddencircus]

CHILDE LAYOUTS! ★ @nikkori-kori-kori-kori-koriandaa

[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

[seraphfaes]

Pt. I of a batch of pictures from an animatic that will never see the light of day because I got too insecure in my own art to finish and post it///

Pt. II here

Pt. III here

Pt. IV here

[mysticmiav]

The endless saga of drawing him shirtless under the guise of practicing anatomy continues✍️

If you saw me posting these earlier just now no you didn't

[nifftydeary]

[radi0activelob1ani]

Tartaglia doodle again bc hes a cutie

[nightmarearian]

I want Taru’s family to either be pieces of shit (parents at least, older siblings are debatable), or absolutely the same brand of insane as him.

You thought he was Just Like That cause of the abyss? Maybe, but nah.

His family is Just Like That.

Might be part fae people. Who knows. They live like a 20 minute walk from the actual main village, next to the woods.

The father has myths and stories from somewhere the townsfolk have never heard of.

All of their family get into the weirdest of shenanigans. The youngest traveled across the sea to another fuckin region to see his older brother. They’re ginger.

Who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯