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writing-in-glitter-pen · 1 year ago

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ what I know to be true ⋆｡˚ ೀ⋆｡˚ ༘

Childe wasn't a big fan of the Tsaritsa's demand for him to find a wife, until he'd come upon the perfect girl for the job. You—a lady he knew in his childhood to be a horrible nuisance and demon on Earth. Not only would this marriage fulfill his duty, but would let him settle a long-time grudge as well. Little did he know, he stood more to gain from this partnership than he thought.

Childe x fem!reader II arranged marriage, angst? to fluff, childhood enemies to lovers, romance!

Childe was never one for romance, and especially not for commitment.

He just had so much else on his plate, much bigger dreams than that of settling down in a household and abandoning his place on the battlefield.

He was always looking ahead to a future of bloodshed, of power, of someday ruling the world.

That wasn't going to happen if a distraction stood in his way.

He would sometimes muse about having kids, loving the idea of continuing his lineage and watching a bunch of mini-me's run around, but ultimately, he decided his duty to the Tsaritsa would stand in the way of him being a good father. So he'd just have to settle for being an amazing uncle to the children his siblings would eventually have, spoiling them with presents at Christmas time and teaching them how to protect themselves out in the wild.

So when he was called into the Tsaritsa's throne room and received the news that a harbinger of his status was to be married, in order to keep up with regal airs the nobles of Snezhanaya, he was, respectfully, very unhappy.

"You'll be seen at balls and lead battalions. Your role must be carried with honor. Nobody will respect an old lonely man.", she claimed, then drew out a long, thin arm to hold his chin with a bony hand—long pointed nails pressing divots into his skin. Though her touch was frigid, she looked down at him with a certain fondness in her eyes, though the sincerity of it was undistinguishable. "You need a pretty thing by your side to elevate your status. You know I only want what's best for you.", she cooed, like she was addressing a child.

He new better than to disobey her commands, and something about the smoothness of her voice assured him that this was the right choice. He only nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides in dismay.

Childe read over the listed names of eligible young ladies for him to marry with contempt; scrolling through the meaningless last names and accompanying statures, ordered from top to bottom by how highly they stood in the totem pole of nobility. Like he cared where the girl would come from.

He felt guilt for the miserable thing that would have to marry him; though he could care less about who these women were, he believed that they deserved a partner that loved them, or at least a good man that could stand to take care of them. All they would be to him is a nuisance, a label which they had done nothing to earn.

Though, when he neared the end of the list, a section devoted to common folk who had certain merits like striking beauty or some sort of fame, that he found a name he recognized.

Your name.

Oh, how he remembered you.

You were the daughter of good friends of his parents. Your families would often gather for holidays or dinner parties, sharing what little they had in the name of kinship. The gatherings were lively, full of happiness and cheer...

But you had a certain countenance that stood out to him and branded your name into a special part of his brain to be remembered for the rest of his life.

You were a little brat was what you were.

Though you were only a toddler when he met you, having only just taken your first steps while he was already halfway through being eight, he found you to be the most insufferable little human he'd ever met.

Your parents would always gab and brag about what a good little girl you were; how you never cried or screamed, how you were sweet and patient and loving—a wonderful surprise for parents preparing for the "terrible two's.".

They had to be lying, because every time Ajax would come into view you'd immediately throw a fit, wailing and swiping at his face with a kind of rage an entire army of men could not match.

He had no idea why; he never touched you, or spoke to you, all he did upon your first meeting was draw back in repulse.

You weren't a pleasure to look at; with your beady little eyes and thick eyelashes that lined them, your thin eyebrows and piercing gaze. You looked like some haunted porcelain doll. And there was a certain consciousness behind your eyes that children your age were not supposed to have.

His little siblings were much cuter.

And he did not hesitate to say that.

"Tonia was a prettier baby. What's wrong with her?", he piped up, humiliating his mother and father who immediately scolded him for his rudeness. Your mother only laughed.

"Trust me, she'll be a beauty when she grows up. I won't be surprised when you come around here in sixteen years asking to marry her."

This started a little musing session between your mothers, giggling about the possibility of their children being wed and how wonderful that would be for their friendship and their families.

Meanwhile, Ajax was dwelling on how that would absolutely never happen—if the look on your face was any indicator.

You were red as a tomato, nose scrunched in distain as your eyes pierced his. Like you'd understood him.

How was he supposed to know babies could take offense?

Whether or not your infant brain could comprehend his words, your hatred was clear, and before he could react, your soft little hand went flying towards his face and landed with a resounding THWAP!

Even though you struck him, you immediately burst into tears, bawling crocodile tears that ran down your face and dripped off of your chin.

All of the adults in the room immediately ran to your aid, hushing and petting you while scorning Ajax for "tormenting the poor girl."

Never before had he felt so cheated.

That begun his feud with a two year old.

Your detest for one another ran deep. So much so that every gathering between your families ended in you receiving plenty of sneaky pinches to your fat baby skin and him risking a bald spot with the amount of hair you'd rip out of his head.

It was a nightmare you could walk too, since you'd often seek him out just to babble in annoyance and tug at the knee of his trousers.

"See? Look at how much she likes you!", his mother would coo, but he knew better. Your grappling with his pants was your pea-brained strategy to get him to bend down and remove you so you could bop him one on the nose.

He swore you were such a strong baby. He'd rather take a hit from a club than suffer the force that your tiny fists could bring down on his head.

That's why you were the perfect girl to be his wife

If he were to marry any other woman, the guilt of leaving her alone at home for long stretches of time, depriving her of having the good husband she deserves rather than a man who could never love her, would be overwhelming.

Sure, he was a monster, but he wasn't about to let some innocent bystander be collateral damage.

But you? The evil, horrible little wench you are? You more than deserved it.

In his mind, he'd actually be doing his fellow man a favor by saving an unsuspecting bachelor from accidentally marrying a grisly thing like you.

So, although his retainers were already in the process of scheduling meetings with his potential brides, he plucked your name from the list without hesitation.

"Set the wedding date. I'll have that one."

The organizers looked between themselves warily, deciding whether or not they should challenge him on this monumental decision.

"And nothing too grand—it'll just be family.", he cooly added, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet upon his desk and crushing the list of names under his dirty boots.

In the end, the harbinger always gets what he wants, so his retainers retreated with quiet nods and quick steps.

Though Childe acted aloof towards the decision to have you as his bride, when the day of the wedding actually arrived and he found himself standing at the altar of a small church in Mosepok—his home town, his palms were sweating and eyes darting around nervously. He shifted his weight on his feet as the congregation waited for you to enter; this was supposed to be a small ceremony, but leave it to his mother and father's proud announcements to their friends and neighbors to draw a crowd. As his eyes scanned the faces of those who'd known him in his youth, he realized near all of the small port town was packed into the pews. He wracked his brain for the answer as to why these people would want to watch their old town troublemaker's union, but he supposed it would be the most interesting thing to happen in the town since his era of delinquency.

It was a miracle that the budget the Fatui gave Childe for this wedding greatly superseded the amount he'd needed for the original plan of a small gathering; it was more than enough to feed the whole town for a night, which actually brought a flicker of joy to Childe's chest.

He was pleased that he could give back to the community that handled him like a family in his childhood.

But that flicker was immediately quenched when the creaking sound of the heavy oak doors that led into the chapel reverberated through the room—revealing the silhouette cast in white of his bride.

His stomach turned with anxiety. Childe had led battalions into what could be considered suicide missions if not for their miraculous victorious outcome, and yet, somehow, the fear he felt standing in front of a girl that, though she may not be small by definition, definitely looked so standing next to him, significantly surpassed that of which he's ever felt.

His cold body shook like he stood inches from death.

Suddenly, he remembered the fury your little body had when you were only a baby, and it dawned on him that you've only gotten bigger, smarter, stronger. A little arbiter of the apocalypse couldn't have grown into the meek woman he imagined, if anything, her bloodlust grew with age.

What did he get himself into? Was he an idiot? Did he, blinded by his scheming for revenge, land himself in a lion's den?

With a light tap on the shoulder from the priest, he jolted out of his stupor and found you standing in front of him already, suddenly remembering that he was now to lift your veil.

His hands shook as he reached out, bracing himself for the hideous face he'd been forced to associate with at every friendly gathering between your parents in childhood, and now, due to his own brashness, would have to associate with every time he returned home or attended public events.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he took the fabric between his white-knuckled fingers and threw the thing up and over your head. The procession hummed with awe and approval—some more boisterous men from the docks whistling, to which their wives jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

The sounds of adoration resounding from the audience perplexed Childe, drawing his interest and encouraging him to open one wary eye and peek at you.

But his cautious peek grew into an owlish gawking and dropped jaw when the woman before him shined like an angel.

This couldn't have been the girl he knew in her infancy; her once-beady eyes now twinkled like stars, her red puffy face was now sculpted and the only remnants of her discoloration resided in dusted pink pigments on her cheeks. They were so perfectly placed that they could be mistaken for a painting by an artist with a keen eye. He pried his gaze from your enrapturing eyes to ogle your lips—plushy and inviting. He'd give anything to kiss a gorgeous woman like you.

And he remembered with an unexpected delight that he would by the end of this ceremony.

Before he knew it, the soft ring of your voice settled upon his ears. Having been caught in a trance, he hadn't realized the procession already arrived at your vows.

He only tuned in after the opening sentences of your declaration had passed, your words blurred by his reverie.

"I promise to wait for you when you go and embrace you when you return; to make a warm, solace of a home for you that you can always come back to, whether there be a roof over our heads or not. I promise to follow you through this life and meet you in the next, to be by your side when you need me, no matter how far apart we may be forced to exist. I promise to love you and only you, to be true as long as your ring encloses my finger, and promise to keep it there forever. I will take your family into my arms just as you will me, care for them—as they are an extension of you, to love them just as I do you. I'll hold you ever close to my heart, speak to you with nothing but kindness, recognize your face as that of my partner in life, my one and only, and..."

Childe jumped when he felt your warm hand sneak up on his and gingerly intertwine your fingers, to which he did not resist, nor want to.

"I promise to love you as you are; no matter how much the years we spend together may change us."

To his puzzlement, Childe felt a certain wetness roll down his cheek, causing him to look up at the skylight above the both of you to check if it was raining. When another droplet ran down the other side of his face, he realized he was crying.

Childe never cried, he couldn't even remember the last time it had happened; maybe it was sometime when he was a boy, but the memory simply did not exist. These were not tears shed in misery, they were spurred by your words of devotion, words he'd never been blessed with before. He truly wondered now if you may be divine, but all he beheld of you told him you were, in fact, human, and not a vision of absolution sent from the heavens above.

You tilted your head to the side and blinked your dollish eyelashes at him, obviously waiting for something, to which he remembered that is was now his turn.

He had neglected to write vows beforehand or memorize the traditional vows spoken by couples bound by marriage as an arrangement. He had, in fact, planned on skipping the process altogether, but your profession of love caught him off guard and incentivized him to speak his own.

So, with a blank mind, he resorted to letting the few truths he knew spill from his mouth.

"I'd only known you during our childhoods, but how you've blossomed and changed has..."

He had never been one for words, so making something up on the spot in front of quite literally a hundred people was daunting. His voice seized with trepidation, but he took a breath and moved forward.

"Has...left me speechless. My mind is empty, and all I can think of now is...that I am blessed."

He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, struck by your endearing gaze on him—it made his voice quiver as it resounded from his chest.

"I'd assumed I knew you, but it's clear to me now that I have so much more to learn."

He unconsciously squeezed your hand for comfort, and, with a gentle smile on your face, you reassuringly squeezed back; making him sigh and yearn to feel more of you—imagining that you felt like warm cotton, soft and homey, something he could bury himself in and happily stay there for eternity.

"And I want to learn it. I...want to spend my whole life in awe of you, discovering as much as I can, knowing you like I know myself."

He could not hesitate before he blurted his next statement, his voice getting carried away from him and spilling his most personal beliefs.

"And loving you as you love me."

Your cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, and your eyes glimmered as your perfect lips stretched into an even more enticing smile. He could hear your soft, happy sigh, a sound that not even the priest beside the two of you could catch, almost like a secret meant just for him.

Your sweetness enthralled him like nothing he'd ever experienced— slowly convincing him that you very well may be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"I'll take care of you.", he promised, and meant it. "I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. Despite what you promised before, I will always put a roof over your head. You'll be forever warm and safe. I will fight for you, die for you, do anything you ask. You will want for nothing as long as you're mine."

His vow had come upon its conclusion with one final promise he all but growled, like it was somehow in danger of being broken—that he would go to any length to protect.

"And you will forever be mine."

His pause at the end indicated to the priest that the his vow had ended, and the way your lips parted in wonder and your wide eyes remained locked on his made him want to lean in and kiss you like every inch of his body burned to do. But he had to, begrudgingly, wait; hoping the ceremony would end as soon as possible so he could finally have you to himself and ask you all the questions he was dying for the answers to.

Did you really mean what you said? He sure did, and he didn't even know he had the capacity to not only promise, but want, desperately so, the fulfill the oaths he had declared to you.

Soon enough, the priest announced it was now time for the bestowing of the rings—a symbol of the bond you will share for eternity.

As the ring bearer, Childe's dear brother, Teucer, brought the rings resting on a white silk pillow over to the altar and held it over his head while he balanced on his tippy toes so the two of you could reach the rings with ease. Childe immediately felt awash in shame. All he'd purchased for you was a simple silver band—no precious gems, no original detailing, just a band. He didn't expect to want to take pride in the symbol of his loyalty you'd wear for him on your finger. He'd get you a new one, a better one—one he could admire as he kissed your hand, held it with adoration and smoothed his fingers over it.

But although the ring fell below expectations, there was no disappointment on your face. You barely glanced at it, your eyes trained on his face with a fondness he'd never received before. Your gaze had his heart spilling over with exaltation.

You took his hand in yours and slipped the perfectly fitted ring around his finger, giving it a small squeeze when you were done—as if to brand your affection deep into his hand.

He returned the gesture, taking your other hand in his and, carefully, securing the ring around your finger as well; he breathed a sigh of relief and felt a weight he hadn't known was resting on his shoulders alleviate. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to leap out in a desperate attempt to be ever closer to yours.

The priest spoke, but his voice was drowned out by Childe's inner voice, wailing for you.

All he could register was the sound of your silver bell-like voice, piercing through the fog in his head like a star's light in the void of the night sky above.

"I do.", you said.

He couldn't tell if he'd rushed ahead of the priest's announcement of his turn or not, but he followed your statement blindly.

"I do.", he whispered ardently, brushing the backs of those precious hands of yours softly with his thumbs.

After the final blurb recited by the priest, a sentiment he couldn't bring himself to listen to in his anticipation, he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Without a moment of delay, he brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks, a look of ache in his face as it felt like you had reached an invisible hand into his chest and gripped his heart, and kissed you.

Fervently, passionately kissed you.

It took your breath away, left you panting when he finally pulled away after remembering he was, in fact, in front of his parents and broader community.

But cheers sang from the crowd for your union as he led you back down the steps of the altar and out of the church, eyes trained on your feet with your hand secured in his—watching carefully as you descended to make sure you wouldn't fall. He treated you as if you were sculpted from crystal glass.

After the two of you crossed the threshold out of the church as one, Childe gently tugged your hand to draw you closer so that he could whisper in your ear.

"Could we take a walk in the garden?"

While the guests made their way to the reception hall for their lavish dinner, you and Childe strolled through the church's garden together, hands still intertwined as the two of you gazed at the various winter shrubs and evergreen trees sprinkled with snow. It was beautiful in its own kind of way; the way life persevered through otherwise uninhabitable conditions, how even the bear oak trees existed as intricate silhouettes against the grey sky—providing cover as the sun sank down and gave way to a grim dusk, it was wonderful, and in this moment, it was yours to share.

The two of you came to a halt at a marble bench next to a large, frozen fountain, adorned with swirling details and moulding from an older, more fanciful era. He swiped off the snow that had built on top of the bench, then removed his large, fur-lined cloak to rest on the surface. He led you down to sit on it, having fashioned a dry, warm seat for you as he stood.

"Won't you be cold?"

"I'll be fine.", he assured you. He'd grown used to the frigid air of his home country, having entered various conflicts with nothing but thin linen to cover him for the sake of his movements not being burdened by thick, heavy fabric.

"Thank you.", you spoke, softly, and the words warmed his chest more than any coat could.

He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you. He just couldn't believe you were real, and couldn't believe you were his at so little a cost—he'd done nothing but bellyache and pluck your name off of a paper, and somehow the situation ended up being the best decision of his life. He'd found someone that claimed to truly, deeply love him by sheer chance.

And that thought brought him to the question that had been weighing on his mind since your vows.

"Did you really mean what you said?", he asked, quietly, hesitantly. After the words left his mouth, he wished he'd never said them. He didn't want to know the answer; if he could live in a fantasy where a miracle like you truly adored him, he'd seize the opportunity and hold it close to his heart for the rest of his life. He felt like such a fool.

"Of course I did.", you chuckled, like the question was ridiculous.

"I thought you hated me.", he confessed, his curiosity for your change of heart getting the best of him when he knew better than to ask too many questions. You only quirked your head and blinked at him, indicating that he needed to clarify. "When we were younger, you acted like you wanted my head on a stick."

To that admission, you laughed heartily. It was a lovely sound, one his mind would no doubt play on repeat in his darkest of times, sending sparks to his heart that would keep him moving forward—back to you so he could hear it again and again. "I was a toddler, dear. I didn't understand my feelings! And you were pretty nasty to me, too.", you said with a playful, pointed look.

The term of endearment made his heart bubble, craving to hear you say it again, but his mind was desperate for more answers. "But...how did you...", he coughed awkwardly, "fall for me?".

His carefully spoken question only made you giggle once again, but you could understand his confusion.

"Oh, Ajax. You were the most entertaining person I've ever met. I know we fought, but I remembered your presence in my life so fondly. And I'd look at pictures of us from our old gatherings, where our parents would force you to hold me on your lap and smile, or take candid shots of us chasing each other around, and I'd wish for you to come back so we could fight again.", you laughed at the memory. "I thought of you all the time, you know. And, as I grew older and life passed by, I'd keep looking back on those photos and...", your cheeks turned even redder than the chilly air had already done, flushing your cheeks and nose. After this conversation, Childe would make sure to rush you inside so you could warm up by a hearth. "Well, my heart would beat for you. And I wished you would come back for different reasons...so I could see you again and fall in love with the man you've become."

Childe gulped in shame. He knew the man he'd become was...cruel. Wicked. He'd never thought so little of himself than when he stood before you, your glorious, pure eyes assessing him like Celestia would upon the day of his death.

But how you looked on at him was not in judgement, but affection. "And when I met you at the altar, I did. I truly did."

He was so swayed by your words, so caught up in your devotion, that though he knew he was undeserving, he leaned down and connected your lips with his once again; his large hands warmed you where they caressed your cheek and the side of your neck, his lips thawing your frozen ones. The flavor of you was intoxicating, but as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, your icy skin pushed him to get you inside immediately.

So he drew back, drawing the most angelic whine of protest from your lips. It made him grin in pride.

"Let's warm you up, huh?"

Though you wanted to stay in the privacy of this isolated garden, continue to live in this moment that only existed for the two of you, you couldn't deny how you shivered and your stomach growled. It was time for your reception, and you couldn't keep your guests waiting.

So you, albeit reluctantly, let Ajax pull you up into his arms and throw his cloak around the both of you before taking you back to the church where he married you, now entering sharing one heart, one life, one love. Forever.

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allfearstofallto · 7 months ago

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Devout

Yandere! Childe x Fem,Nun! Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

TW: 18+ MDNI, Noncon, lots and lots of mentioning of religion, reader is a virgin, yandere, obsession, unprotected sex, finishing inside

Heavenly. What an on the nose way to describe you. Dressed head to toe in loose fitting, religious garb, your hair covered. All he could see was the skin of your hands and that heavenly face.

Such a sweet, welcoming smile and gentle voice was befitting of a nun. He could only imagine how many men you'd lured into your trap of giving donations with those assets of yours. Kindly praising them for whatever they could give like an owner to a dog. And he was another willing victim.

Your eyes went wide when he dropped the large bag of mora into your little basket. Your grip wavered a bit as the heavy coins weighed your little arms down, and all he did was smirk. He'd made himself known to you.

“What a generous donation!” You exclaimed. That pretty smile of yours, the way your eyes lit up. He resisted the urge to lick his lips while thinking about what he could do with that mouth, a lewd gesture to be doing right in front of a nun, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

He felt himself cock an eyebrow at your words. Pleasure? He supposed he gave pleasure to receive it. He eyed you up and down, he could see so little of you. The skirt down to your ankles left plenty to the imagination and imagine he did, “I suppose I'm trying to be new to the faith.”

A little white lie, but your smile growing wider made it worth it. If all nuns were as pretty and tempting as you were, he'd join the commune immediately.

“Lord Barbatos accepts all,” You said, holding the basket back out to him and implying that you wanted him to take his money back, “Don't give because you're new to worship. All that is given is accepted, but we will still take you with open arms.”

“I want to give you this much,” he said, a firm hand pushing the basket back, “and I want to give you so much more.”

Going to the city of freedom, a city known for its drinking and partying, just for the cathedral was quite the story amongst his subordinates. But Childe didn't care. The things he wanted to do with you weren't holy, but that was much better than a glass of wine and a song. If they knew the treat that stayed praying in the church day and night, they too would take to the faith.

Walking into the chapel, the first thing he was greeted with was the sight of you on your knees, praying to the statue of that absentee god. Filling that pretty mouth of yours felt like a better use of this time, you were already on your down there after all. But he decided against it. Not yet at least. Not when you were smiling at him so sweetly, motioning him closer to pray next to you.

Childe mentally asked the Tsaritsa for forgiveness, but still kneeled next to you. The Tsaritsa was a forgiving woman, he hoped that she would understand why he was praying to a false God. The way you were sitting on your knees, your round behind pressed against the heels of your feet, it made the fabric of your skirt press against your body. The curve of your ass, it was the first time he's seen it and he sucked air in through his teeth. He truly was being tempted, wasn't he?

“It's such an honor to see you, Ajax. Wasn't it?” Even the way you tilted your head in confusion was adorable. Typically he'd be upset if someone had forgotten his name, he didn't feel forgettable, but he was going to make you remember. Those plump lips of your would be calling his name over and over again, until it would be all you could say.

“Yes, it's Ajax,” he dropped the clasps of his hands and stood again, holding out an arm for you as well, “I was in the area again and decided to stop by for a prayer.”

A look of hesitance danced across that pretty face of yours as you debated whether or not to take his hand, before deciding against it. Instead, you chose to stand by yourself, a move that made him long for you even more. So he couldn't even feel the softness of your skin? Yet another ache in his groin, you were honestly trying to get him, weren't you?

“Forgive my rudeness, but we're discouraged from touching those of the opposite sex. Especially those who haven't taken vows, better to not tempt provocation,”

Vows? He'd assumed as much, but hearing you say it his pants grow even tighter. Temptation was you. You were such a pure soul, but you were sin. That body under all those clothes, he knew that it was erotic. He knew you felt lustful thoughts, that even you had ideas and thoughts that went against your virtue.

“I understand,” he spoke in a strained whisper, gripping the legs of his pants tight, “Do you think we can go somewhere private? I have a few confessions I need to make.”

You perked up once again, large eyes filled with enthusiasm, “Our father is holding a confessional if you'd like-”

“No,” he cut you off quickly, “I want to talk to you alone, do you think that's a possibility?”

There was a look of aversion in your eyes, clearly you were thinking about it. You looked like you wanted to tell him no, but your good natured heart and kind ways were fighting against what was right and what you felt like you needed to do as a nun.

“I'm…I'm not meant to take confessions, brother Ajax,” you said sweetly.

He stepped a bit closer to you, trying not to intimidate you, but also trying to press the importance. His length was hardening even more, his pants growing tighter. If you noticed, you didn't say anything, but of course, how would you?

“Please, it'll just be for a moment,”

Fearful eyes looked around the church before you motioned for him to follow you. Going against your God while in his home, you felt like you were committing a crime. But you couldn't leave a person in need behind. You're sure Barbatos would find it in his heart to forgive you.

“Please, make yourself at home here, dear brother,” you said while leading him through the door.

It was a simple room. An altar at the other end of the room, with a few candles and offerings and dim lighting. The room was scented with incense, a sweet smell that reminded him of the dandelion wine that Mondstadt was known for.

You lowered yourself onto your knees and motioned for Childe to follow you, “Please, kneel next to me, confess whatever you feel necessary,”

He sat down next to you, close enough to where his shoulder brushed against you. You flinched from this contact, but didn't say anything. A thought crossed your mind, so much space in the room and he chose to be right against you.

“Forgive me, I have sinned,” he said, but he never closed his eyes, never clasped his hands together, never lowered his head.

“Confess to me your woes,”

He sucked air in through his teeth, trying not to jump on you. Not yet. Not while you were looking at him so hopefully. So much trust. It only made him want you more.

“I've been having sinful thoughts,” he began, his eyes not leaving you, “Sinful to the point of being debilitating. They wreck my mind constantly.”

“Are these thoughts of harming others?” You asked, this didn't seem like the question of a clergy, but rather one of genuine curiosity.

He didn't look away from you, while his hand slithered down and he began palming his length through his pants, “They used to be. But now they're more deviant in nature.”

“Br-brother Ajax, such actions are- they are unbefitting for the church,�� you said quickly, turning your head away to not see him as he defiled sacred ground with his actions.

“I need you, sister,” he leaned closer to you, whispering his words right into the shell of your ear. You squirmed at the feeling of his breath, such a cute reaction it was, and the yelp you let out when his hand gripped your ankle was even cuter. He tugged at your leg, pushing your back against the ground and leaning over you.

He'd seen fear like this before. Many times before. When he plunged a weapon into someone's chest, watching the life fade from their eyes, it was similar to the one you were making now. The tears, the muttered begging, even the way your lips quivered, it was all the same. So why now did it make his cock even harder in the confines of his pants?

Where would he even begin with you? Quite honestly, he didn't even know how to take your garb off. Instead, he took to ripping it, right at the neck. Pulling it apart straight down the middle until every inch of your torso became visible to him. Your breasts were covered in a basic bra. Normally he was the type to prefer more intricate lingerie to entice his urges, yet something about the simplicity of your undergarments made him hiss air in through his teeth. It was like you knew for certain that nothing was happening, yet he still was forcing you to show him.

“Stop! You can't do this!” You cried, trying to cover yourself in what scraps of your dress you could find.

He was gentle as he touched you this time, fingertips stroking your cheek, but his words following were harsh and deathly serious, “Don't fight me, I wouldn't want to hurt you,”

“Heavenly father, I ask that you forgive me…” you began to mutter to yourself in prayer. Laying there, hands clasped and teary eyes shut as you felt him trace up and down your thigh with his tongue. The feeling of his saliva, going up to your stomach, one of his hands cupping your breast before ripping the fabric of your bra away, it made you sick to your stomach. Your pebbled nipples hitting the cold air were quickly sucked into his mouth, a pleasure never experienced before washing over your body. You shuddered, much to his approval.

He wanted to go slower. He wanted to tease you for hours before taking you. He wanted to make you cum over and over, proudly showing how lewd you truly were to your false God, but even he has grown impatient. Trying to win you the right way just wasn't working and he needed to feel you, as deeply as possible, the girl he'd fantasized about night after night.

The way your eyes widened when he dropped his pants was cute. When you tried to look away from his hard cock that was dripping precum onto your cunt, still begging with those sweet lips, it was even cuter. But the way you went silent, the way the world seemed to stop from you the second you felt the head of his cock against your opening, that was the cutest. He loved the look in your eye. The look of visceral fear. It was a look of knowing. Knowing that after he was finished with you, you'd have nowhere to go, but to him.

You only began truly fighting him off when he began pushing the head of his cock into your warmth. So tight and soft, no matter how hard you hit him, you couldn't make him leave your insides. When he bottomed out inside you, feeling your walls clench around every inch of his cock, he hissed. Face to face with you now, nestled deep within you, he kissed your wet cheeks. Childe wasn't one for love making, but he couldn't help but to be tender with you. His thrusts were slow, but deep, making sure you tasted all of him.

“Hush, little angel,” he cooed softly to you, while wiping away more of your tears. Your little sobs were agonizing to his heart, yet his cock only twitched harder, “It'll be over soon.”

And you nodded. Such a sweet thing. You nodded and let yourself go to him. He didn't take this as a sign to be rougher though. No. He couldn't. Not to you. He continued his same pace, softly humming to you and shushing you when you got too loud. He wanted to pound your insides, to fuck you brutally, but that would be for later.

Little sobs left your lips as your nails dug into the carpeted floor beneath you. He was still going slow. Thrusting in and out skillfully, his hand tenderly gripping your face and making you look him in the eye, any time you tried to look away, he'd just force your head back.

“I'm cumming soon, okay?” He muttered against your lips, kissing you gently afterwards.

With your mouth engulfed in his, you couldn't beg him to please not finish inside you. Instead, your body flailed beneath him, trying to get him off as you felt the thrust of his hips speed up and become more greedy. You felt him grip you tighter, you felt his moans grow louder against your lips. And all you could do is sit in horror as you felt his hips falter, his pace slow down, and his cock twitch even more as it pumped hot cum deep inside your.

Childe pulled away from the sloppy kiss, your lips covered in saliva and he smiled. You'd never seen such evilness until you looked into his eyes, proudly looking down at your cunt where the cum was seeping out. I'm your mind, you were saying another prayer, but you weren't sure if anyone was listening.

“Guess I have to marry you now,” he chuckled with a playful pat against your thigh. But despite the smile on his face you knew he wasn't joking.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere x reader #yandere genshin #yandere x you #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere #yandere childe smut #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #childe smut #childe x reader #childe x reader smut #genshin childe x reader #18+ mdni

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deathbxnny · 4 months ago

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Genshin men and their dates with you. | Neuvillette, Alhaitham, Childe, Kinich x Gn!Reader

The genshin men brain rot is real-

Content: Fluff, established relationship, dates, Ajaw is his own warning, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》Neuvillette

He wants to experience the finer and simpler things in life with you. Whether it's you having dinner in one of Fountaine's most prestigious restaurants or just a calm walk along the beachside, it was all the same to him. Seeing the happy and content sparkle in your eyes left him deeply satisfied with each outing you had. And they were always very special to him, since he rarely had a lot of time to spend with you due to his highly demanding position in the court.

This, therefore, motivated him to plan most of your dates as a way to make it up to you. He felt happy whenever you expressed your excitement to him about them, pride filling his chest at your glow. But he enjoys you surprising him too after long, hard weeks of work. It makes him feel loved to see you put so much effort into him as well, no matter how grand or small the date is.

Being in your presence is more than enough already.

》ALHAITHAM

Alhaitham is very subtle about his affections for you. He doesn't ever outright proclaim his love for you outloud and instead simply settles on showing you the extent of it through his actions. He is very analytical regarding most things, especially you, and therefore is quick to note what you like and don't like to do date wise. He doesn't generally care for what it is, as long as it's private and between you two away from prying eyes.

This often ends with dinners at home, where you cook together or visit the Akademiya's library for new books you could enjoy reading in silence, whilst you cuddle on the couch or in bed. He sees your dates as a way to wind down after a long week of his tiring work, in which he unfortunately barely sees you, if at all.

Your dates are often very simple and quiet, but you both wouldn't have it any other way.

》CHILDE

Dates with him, of course, often end up being very lavish and grand. He wants to impress you and see that happy smile on your face that made his dead eyes glint. But after a while of dating, he would probably start having more calmer and wholesome days with you, that don't make him feel like he has to wow you at any moment. You have to reassure him that he is doing great a lot and also take over planning dates as well. You two essentially just rake turns and go along with whatever the other one has arranged for the day.

It made him feel good to know that it doesn't actually matter what exactly he does with you, as you'd always be happy to spend time with him. It takes a lot of pressure off his shoulders.

With that said, your dates eventually become wholesome baking events with his younger sibling, who absolutely adore you! It warms his heart to watch you laugh and talk to his family like it was your own, and he finds himself unable to look away from you. They may not be the most private or traditional "dates" at that point anymore... but seeing you all together in one place, being happy and content with life, made a part of him heal at last.

》KINICH

He loves spending all of his free time with you, no matter what exactly you do. If you want to go on a walk, he'd lead the way without a moment of hesitation. If you want to go for a swim, he'd be quick to take you to a secluded area only he knows of. If you just wanted to stay indoors and enjoy a nice cuddle session with him, then he'd gladly agree to that, too. He's a man of few words and just lets you take the reigns when it comes to date planning. On special days like anniversaries or birthdays, he'll try coming up with nice activities too, ofcourse.

Unfortunately, however, a certain someone always has to tag along one way or another. Ajaw has a personal vendetta against everyone and everything, so he attempts to sabotage your dates at any chance he gets, just to get back at Kinich. This often gets him banished for a time out until you are done, much to his absolute dismay.

Kinich is just glad that you take it all so lightly, considering how his unwilling partner can be at times...

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fangdokja · 11 days ago

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Yoo, can I ask a question? - yandere (of course) tartaglia, wanderer (or scaramouche) and kazuha, with a reader who has.. a slightly interesting temper, that is, the reader has an unconventional, sarcastic, extremely cynical sense of humor) humor is the reader's protective reflex, maybe.. The reader is constantly trying to turn everything into humor,often makes sarcastic little comments even if at the wrong moment.. (but reader still manages to make people laugh) Maybe this is a bit of a strange request, but why not? (I just often see how in yandere fics the reader is assigned almost the same behavior, I would like to read something new, and besides, you are one of my favorite yandere writers!) I hope my request complied with your rules, because there are SO MANY OF THEM.. I don't even remember some of them lol.. I'll be glad if you accept my request! thank you 💋

Too many thoughts, not enough brain cells. Let’s see what happens.

❤︎ Synopsis. A chaotic whirlwind of sarcasm and unfiltered humor, you—channeling the energy of Gojo Satoru—navigates life like it's a comedy show. Nothing is too serious, and everything’s an opportunity for a joke—even when the world’s falling apart.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Genshin Impact Males (Tartaglia, Wanderer, Kazuha) x Fem. Gojo (?)! Reader (separate?)

♡ Headcanon. Humor First, Consequences Later - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 12,339

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con + manipulation, angst + tragedy, sexual themes

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N #1. This turned out longer than it was supposed to be......... but it was necessary for the build-up. So waha. And, this definitely has a different formatting and plot development style from all my other works (especially formatting), but that was done on purpose. And, yes, I'm putting this story in WITD, despite it's length, because of the formatting. Well, either way, hope you all enjoy :))

♡ A/N #2. Thank you for the support and reading so far, I appreciate it and also for taking the time to read the RULES. But, I have to inform you all on some important rules especially. As mentioned in my rules, requesters aren’t allowed to assign behavior towards the reader. For only MY works particularly, I agree that most of the behavior of reader is generally the same. Why? Well, simple, I hardly encounter self inserts with apathetic, actually not emotional readers. I lack book food. There are SO MANY emotional readers inserts. And even sarcastic sassy ones. I have no food. So I cooked my own food instead. I’ve read so many over the years, that honestly? The ones close to my personality are ALWAYS original novels with male characters. Literally Fang Yuan from Reverend Insanity cooks hardest, and even then there was that stupid part in almost Chapter 3k mark that I hated. Because they added emotions and shiz. And here I thought I found a true villain character. Small rant. But even then only he cooks really, both intelligence wise and even personality wise. No one has even beaten Fang Yuan in terms of strategy and intelligence from books that I haven’t created.

♡ A/N #3. I get it. Females are emotionally built, even biologically. But, I’m not overly emotional. I can act it, but feeling it? No. I can create other personality readers. I’ve literally written a lot of OC’s from thinkers to feelers so I can. But. Guys. I also self-insert myself in these stories whahaha. It’s not exactly my personality, but it’s still part of me. However, I’ll make an exception this time since I just released a new book, “Whispers In The Dark” for short stories. Since I’m actually a person who dislikes reading self inserts with mean readers of any kinds. This does not sound humble at all, but I’m not a mean person at all if it comes to commentary. I just keep to myself or keep my mouth shut. And I also HATE reading main characters with tempers. Probably because, I have a very mellow personality in reality. And emotions? Hardly feel anything tbh.

♡ A/N #4. Anyways so I won’t get mad when writing this, here’s basically a Gojo inspired Reader. Most ENTP’s (especially 8w7 and 7w8) are relatable to me, and I relate to Gojo a lot. Never simped, but I relate. But, next time, to anyone. I will NEVER be writing content that assigns a personality to reader. It’s one of the few things I have freedom in to just enjoy writing. I would honestly just get really irritated if I had to follow a set personality to reader. Yeah, I may write consistently the same reader, but that like genuinely makes me happy to write a reader that I can finally relate to. I hardly find stories like that. Much more in reader inserts. I hope you all understand. Kind of pathetic to say “I just wanna have fun”. But, it’s true and foundational to me. I have a difficult time writing if I’m not having fun.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia (Childe) who first noticed you in the midst of a chaotic battlefield, blades clashing and blood splattering in all directions. He was there for his own mission, but your laughter—loud, sardonic, and downright inappropriate—caught his attention.

You’d just disarmed one of his men with a sarcastic comment and a flashy spin move, only to remark, “Well, that’s one way to make him stop talking.” Tartaglia’s first thought was: This one gets it.

The two of you had crossed paths before, but this was different. You fought with a ferocity he hadn’t seen in a long time, and the fact that you seemed entirely unfazed by the danger surrounding you only intrigued him further.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who you clashed blades with in the middle of a chaotic battlefield. The air was thick with violence and the sound of metal, but there you were, laughing through the chaos.

"Well, this is fun! Is this your idea of a date, or should I try harder?" you joked, dodging his ruthless strikes with a grin that could only be described as wicked. Tartaglia couldn’t stop himself from grinning back, impressed by your chaotic energy and your apparent lack of fear.

"You're bold, I'll give you that," he quipped, flipping his spear expertly. "But I gotta ask—are you always this insufferable, or am I just lucky?"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who first noticed you during a chaotic battlefield where chaos was your language, and you spoke it fluently. You both crashed into each other mid-fight, swords clashing in a brutal rhythm, but the moment his eyes locked with yours—amidst the blood, the screams, and the madness—he felt a jolt of recognition.

Not of fear, no, but of pure chaotic understanding. "Well, well, well, looks like you're not just another pretty face—you're a disaster in the best way possible."

You didn't miss a beat, "Flattery will get you nowhere, buddy. But I’ll take it. You really should work on your aim though."

Despite being enemies in that instant, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way you threw yourself into battle—your sarcasm as sharp as your blade. Every strike was a witty remark wrapped in bloodshed. You were an unfiltered storm of energy, and he couldn’t help but think, “This is the kind of chaos I want in my life.”

After the battle, despite the blood and sweat, you both shared a laugh as if you had just finished a light sparring session, not a life-or-death duel.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who being the chaotic soul he was, immediately clicked with you, and your shared irreverence made it impossible for him to hate you, even if you were technically enemies.

Tartaglia spoke with a handsome boyish grin, "I’m gonna need a drink after that, how about you?"

"Nah, you’ll need a bottle, pal. But we both know you’re a lightweight."

"You wound me."

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer (Scaramouche) who hated you immediately. The moment he met you, you gave him the most obnoxious smirk and made some comment about how “intense” he looked, like a lost kitten trying to be menacing. You couldn't help it—his dramatic aura was begging for a punchline.

“Oh, look. A robot with an existential crisis. What’s next, a lecture on how you’re misunderstood by the world?” The sheer audacity of your sarcasm sent a shockwave through him, one that made him freeze for a split second.

“I’d ask you to smile, but I’m pretty sure that would crack your face,” you quipped, and the cold, calculating expression he wore only made it worse. He stared at you with thinly veiled contempt, his distaste for your flippant attitude and sarcasm immediate.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who hated you even more when you opened your mouth. During a tense moment of political intrigue, Wanderer was deep in a conversation with some high-ranking officials, trying to manipulate them for his own advantage, when you interrupted with a perfectly timed comment.

"Wow, these people talk more than my grandmother at Christmas dinner. Do they even hear themselves?"

The room went dead silent. Wanderer’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at you, trying to figure out who this... jester was. Your irreverent attitude was a sharp contrast to his own cold, calculating nature.

"Are you always this... unbearable?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain.

"Well, only when I’m surrounded by such charming people like you," you replied, not a hint of fear in your voice.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who didn’t know how to handle your complete lack of respect. He saw you as an irritating fly—one he couldn’t just swat away because of your sharp tongue and unpredictable nature. But that didn’t stop the twisted curiosity that started to bloom in him. Maybe he hated you, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching you twist every interaction into a dark comedy sketch.

“Do you always treat people like this?” he sneered, but you only shrugged.

“Nah, just you,” you replied with a wink, “but don’t feel too special. I hate everyone equally.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who, unlike the others, didn’t immediately form an opinion about you. You met him on a peaceful evening, sitting by the fire as you shared a drink.

"Nice music, but tell me—do you ever sing songs about decapitations or revenge? You know, the classics," you asked, leaning against a tree with a mischievous grin. Kazuha blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by your unexpected question.

He chuckled, albeit nervously. "Ah, well, I do tend to favor more peaceful melodies. The world has enough violence, don’t you think?"

You shrugged dramatically. "Sure, but I think it’s just a matter of perspective. You’ve never heard a good ‘revenge ballad,’ have you? Something with blood, guts, and a sweet vengeance story?"

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who was calm, collected, and in no hurry to make judgments about people.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue," Kazuha remarked with a soft laugh, sensing the tension you carried beneath your humor.

"Sharp enough to cut through all the nonsense in the world," you replied with a smirk. "It’s a survival tactic, you know? Get too serious, and people start thinking you’re a threat."

Kazuha chuckled, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. Unlike Wanderer, who despised your sarcasm, Kazuha found a strange comfort in it.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who spent hours talking with you—half serious, half joking—and by the end of the night, you couldn’t quite tell if Kazuha had warmed to you or simply found your humor amusing. He was neutral, calm, but there was something about your cynicism that tugged at his heart. Not in a romantic way—more like a curiosity about the darkness behind your jokes.

Despite everything, Kazuha found himself oddly protective of you, even if you were too much of a loose cannon for his liking.

"You really know how to push people’s buttons," Kazuha mused with a faint smile, sipping his drink.

"It's a gift," you replied with a grin, letting the conversation fade into the night.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who didn't dislike you. It was more that he didn’t quite understand you. He found your humor bizarre—borderline morbid, really—but at the same time, it made him appreciate the way you could maintain your composure in the face of things that would send anyone else into a frenzy. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something magnetic about your wit, your sharp tongue, and the way you saw the world.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who couldn’t get you out of his head after that battlefield encounter.

At first, it was your audacity that stood out��who cracks jokes while fighting for their life? But as you two clashed more often, he found himself genuinely entertained by your wit. Each fight became less about winning and more about trading barbs.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia purposefully pick fights with you just to hear your comebacks. One time, mid-battle, you yelled, “You gonna twirl that spear all day, or are we actually fighting?” He almost dropped it because he was laughing so hard.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who invites you for drinks post-battle as if you’re not enemies. “Come on, you’ve earned it,” he’d say with a grin. “I’ll even let you pick the bar. But if you poison my drink, we’re gonna have a problem.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia becomes your unofficial sparring partner. The battles become a game of who can outwit the other with sarcastic comments.

“You call that a strike? My kid brother could hit harder,” you’d say, dodging his attack.

“Oh yeah?” he’d reply, smirking.

“Maybe I’ll let him fight you next time.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he eventually starts treating you like one of his comrades. He shares stories about his family, asks about your past (you deflect with humor), and even brings you snacks during downtime. “You fight better when you’re not hangry,” he claims.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer despises your existence but can’t seem to avoid you. Every time he’s working on some secretive plan, you pop up with a sarcastic comment.

“Wow, plotting world domination again? Don’t forget the evil laugh—it really sells it.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer tries to ignore you, but your presence grates on his nerves. “Do you ever shut up?” he snaps one day, glaring at you.

“Not if I can help it,” you reply with a smirk. “What’s the point of silence when your misery is so much fun?”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer reluctantly teams up with you during a mission. It’s strictly business, but you make it nearly impossible for him to stay professional.

“You know,” you say, “if you smiled more, people might actually like you.” He glares, but the faintest twitch of amusement betrays him.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when for the first time he lets his guard down, it’s accidental. After a long, grueling day, you find him staring at the stars.

“So, what’s the brooding about tonight?” you ask, sitting beside him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually, he mutters, “Nothing you’d understand.”

“Try me,” you challenge, and for once, he indulges you.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer begrudgingly respects your intelligence. Despite your flippant attitude, you have a knack for solving problems in ways he wouldn’t consider. He won’t admit it, but he’s impressed.

“You’re not as useless as you look,” he says one day.

“Thanks, I’ll embroider that on a pillow,” you reply.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when your sarcasm starts to grow on him.

When someone else insults him, you’re the first to step in with a cutting remark. “Hey, I’m the only one allowed to call him insufferable, okay?”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha meets you on a quiet evening, and your energy is a stark contrast to his calm demeanor.

“Do you ever stop being so mellow?” you ask after he recites a haiku. “What’s life without a little chaos?”

He smiles faintly and replies, “Perhaps you bring enough for both of us.”

Traveling with Kazuha feels like a comedy routine. You constantly try to bait him into arguing, but he just humors you.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you enjoy this,” you tease.

“Perhaps I do,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha is the only one who sees the cracks in your humor.

Late one night, you sit by the fire, unusually quiet. “Even storms have calm moments,” he says softly, offering you a drink.

“Don’t get used to it,” you reply, smirking, but there’s gratitude in your eyes.

Your dark humor doesn’t faze him; if anything, he finds it endearing. When you jokingly suggest writing a song about a gruesome battle, he actually considers it.

“A ballad of bloodshed and bravery?” he muses. “Sounds poetic.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha subtly encourages you to open up. He never pries, but his quiet patience makes it easier for you to let your guard down.

“You’re oddly calming, you know that?” you admit one day. “Like a weirdly wise fortune cookie.”

He laughs and says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, despite his gentle nature, doesn’t hesitate to protect you. When a fight breaks out during your travels, he steps in without hesitation.

“Don’t worry,” he says, drawing his blade. “You’re not facing this alone.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who realizes he’s falling for you during one of your sparring sessions. You’d taken a hit—nothing serious—but enough for him to notice. After the match, he grabbed your arm, inspecting the wound with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“Relax, Childe, it’s just a scratch,” you said, smirking through the wince.

“Stop joking for one second,” he replied, a little sharper than usual. As he wrapped the bandage around your arm, his hands were surprisingly gentle.

You tried to lighten the mood. “What, worried you’d have to explain this to my ghost?”

He didn’t laugh this time. “No, I just—” He stopped himself, his usual cocky grin faltering.

“You’re reckless, you know that? I can’t always be around to patch you up.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who finds himself watching you more carefully after that, his playful facade slipping every time you brush off an injury or laugh in the face of danger. It’s in those moments he realizes your humor hides something deeper—a pain he’s desperate to understand.

When you finally catch him staring, you raise an eyebrow. “What’s with the puppy-dog eyes? You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you?”

His grin returns, but there’s a softness behind it. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

For once, your usual quip dies on your lips, and the silence between you is louder than the battlefield.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who starts noticing your distant stares during quiet moments. He catches you gazing into the horizon, your usual smirk replaced by an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“What’s wrong? Forgot your punchline?” he asks, his tone biting but not cruel.

“Just thinking,” you reply, your voice softer than he’s used to.

“That’s new,” he mutters, sitting beside you. When you don’t snap back with a retort, he frowns. “What’s going on with you?”

You shrug, deflecting with humor. “Guess I’m out of jokes for the day. Mark your calendar—it’s a historic moment.”

But he doesn’t let it go. “You can’t fool me with that act. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t push you to open up but finds himself frustrated by your reluctance to trust him. He hates that you make him care this much, but the thought of you being hurt—physically or emotionally—makes his chest tighten.

When you finally let out a small, dry laugh and say, “You really don’t know when to quit, huh?” he feels an odd sense of victory.

“Someone has to keep you in line,” he replies, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who finds you one evening, hunched over a journal he gifted you long ago. You’re scribbling furiously, completely absorbed, and he can’t help but smile softly at the sight.

“You’re quite the writer,” he comments, startling you.

“Geez, give a person a warning next time,” you grumble, closing the journal instinctively.

Kazuha tilts his head, amused. “What are you hiding in there? Plans for world domination?”

You smirk. “Nah, just embarrassing poetry about how much I love chaos.”

But when he gently reaches for the journal, you hesitate before handing it over. Inside, he finds sketches of places you’ve traveled together, snippets of conversations, and little notes about your adventures.

“You kept all of this?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah, well, don’t get a big head about it,” you reply, trying to downplay the sentiment.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the way your humor becomes softer, almost shy, when you talk about the memories you’ve shared. It’s in those moments he realizes how much you’ve let him into your life—even if you don’t fully trust him yet.

“You’re more sentimental than you let on,” he says with a gentle smile.

“Don’t spread that around,” you reply, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes that he treasures.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who catches you off guard one evening after a particularly intense sparring session. You’re both sitting on the ground, exhausted but grinning. He hands you a flask of water, and as you take it, your fingers brush.

“Careful, Childe,” you tease. “I might think you’re getting soft on me.”

He chuckles, but his eyes are serious. “Maybe I am. Around you, anyway.”

You pause, your usual smirk faltering as you look at him. “Don’t joke about that,” you say, your tone unusually soft.

“I’m not joking,” he replies, his voice steady. “You’re more than just a good fight to me. I care about you.”

For once, you don’t deflect. Instead, you lean back, staring up at the stars, and mutter, “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

But the way your lips twitch into a small, genuine smile doesn’t escape his notice.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he’s walking you back to your camp, and you stop abruptly. “Hey, Childe?”

“Yeah?”

You turn to face him, your grin replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. “Thanks. For putting up with me.”

The warmth in your eyes is something he’s never seen before, and for the first time, you seem completely unguarded. Before you can say anything else, he cups your face with his hand, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re worth it,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. And when you don’t pull away, he closes the distance, his kiss surprisingly tender.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who finds you sitting alone under a tree, the sun setting behind you. There’s an unusual stillness in your demeanor, and he approaches cautiously.

“What’s with the brooding hero act?” he asks, sitting down beside you.

You snort. “Maybe I just like the dramatic lighting.”

But he notices the way your fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve, a telltale sign of your unease. “You’re terrible at lying,” he mutters.

“Only to people who can’t take a joke,” you quip, but your usual bravado lacks its usual spark.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer who doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you until the silence becomes comfortable. Eventually, you speak again. “Do you ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

The question surprises him, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to respond. “All the time,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual.

You glance at him, your eyes searching his for something you can’t quite name. Then, with a small sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder. “Guess that makes two of us.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when the gesture catches him completely off guard, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts slightly to make you more comfortable, his hand twitching at his side as though debating whether to touch you.

“You’re warm,” you murmur, your voice tinged with amusement.

“And you’re annoying,” he replies, but there’s no bite in his tone.

For the first time, there’s a genuine warmth in your smile, and he can’t help but feel like he’s finally starting to understand you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who notices the change in you during a quiet evening by the campfire. You’re holding the journal he gave you, flipping through its pages with a soft expression.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.

You glance up, startled, and then shrug. “Just… how far we’ve come, I guess.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who smiles, sitting beside you. “It’s been quite the journey, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice unusually quiet. Then, after a pause, you add, “You’ve been… really patient with me. I don’t think I ever said thanks.”

“You don’t need to,” he replies, his eyes searching yours.

“No, I do,” you insist, looking at him with an intensity that takes him by surprise. “I’m not… easy to deal with. But you stayed anyway. That means something.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when the vulnerability in your tone is something he’s never heard before, and he feels his chest tighten.

Without thinking, he reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. “You mean more to me than you realize,” he says softly.

You stare at him for a long moment before lacing your fingers with his. “Maybe I’m starting to get that,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

For the first time, your smile is free of sarcasm or deflection. It’s warm, genuine, and utterly disarming.

“I’ll take that as a victory,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Don’t get used to it,” you tease, but there’s no bite in your words.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when the firelight dances in your eyes, and he looks at you, he knows he’d follow you anywhere.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who surprises you one evening with a quiet dinner set up near a cliff overlooking the ocean. When you see the setup, complete with lanterns and freshly caught seafood, you raise an eyebrow.

“This is new,” you say, smirking. “What’s the occasion? Did someone die?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Can’t I just do something nice for you?”

“You? Nice?” you tease, plopping down onto the blanket. “You’re setting a dangerous precedent, Childe.”

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere becomes more intimate. The way he looks at you, with a rare softness in his expression, makes your usual bravado falter.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, at one point, he leans closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You snort, your cheeks warming. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

But when he cups your face and kisses you, slow and deliberate, your witty comeback dies on your lips. His touch is both tender and possessive, a silent reminder that he’s already decided you’re his.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer drags you out of bed one morning, much to your annoyance. “I promise, if this isn’t life-threatening, I’m going back to sleep,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes.

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of your wrist. “Just shut up and follow me.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where he leads you to a secluded hilltop just as the sun begins to rise. The view is breathtaking, but you’re still half-asleep and unimpressed.

“You woke me up for this?” you ask, stifling a yawn.

“Ungrateful as always,” he mutters, crossing his arms. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Despite your sarcasm, you sit down beside him, the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours. After a moment, you glance at him and say, “Thanks. For this, I mean.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer smirks, but there’s a faint blush on his cheeks. “Don’t get used to it.”

Later, when you’re lying back in the grass, the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable. He leans over, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilts your face toward his.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Good,” you reply, grinning. And then he closes the distance, his kiss as intense and consuming as his feelings for you.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha invites you on a late-night stroll, the two of you wandering through a quiet forest illuminated by moonlight. He stops at a clearing where fireflies dance in the air, their glow reflecting in his crimson eyes.

“You sure know how to set a mood,” you say, half-joking.

He chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s not the fireflies setting the mood.”

You raise an eyebrow, your trademark smirk in place. “Kazuha, are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, when he takes your hand and pulls you closer, the teasing remark you were about to make dies in your throat. His hands rest on your waist, his touch featherlight yet grounding.

“You’re the most captivating person I’ve ever met,” he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Instead of replying, you pull him down into a kiss, slow and deep, the world around you fading away.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when It’s been a year since he first confessed, and while you’ve spent most of it poking fun at his intensity, tonight feels… different. He’s pacing around your shared campsite after a mission, looking oddly nervous.

“Spit it out already,” you say, lounging on a log and stretching like you don’t have a care in the world. “You’re giving me secondhand anxiety.”

He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s time we made this official.”

You blink, sitting up. “Official?”

“You know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Us. Together. Permanently.”

“Oh, that kind of official,” you reply, your smirk widening. “You really know how to charm a person, Ajax.”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, before he can get defensive, you saunter over, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Relax,” you murmur, your voice dropping an octave. “I’d be stupid to say no, wouldn’t I?”

The relief in his eyes is quickly replaced by something darker, more possessive. “You really mean that?”

Your grin is wicked. “Why don’t you make me prove it?”

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia who doesn’t need to be told twice. Before you know it, you’re backed against a tree, his hands roaming your body with an urgency that sends shivers down your spine.

“You’re mine now,” he growls against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Completely, utterly mine.”

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already,” you quip, though your voice trembles as his hands slip under your shirt.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous. “Oh, I’m going to make sure there’s no doubt left.”

The next thing you know, you’re stripped bare, pinned between him and the rough bark of the tree. His mouth is everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your hip—leaving marks that scream possession.

“You look so perfect like this,” he mutters, his voice thick with need. “Completely at my mercy.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” you manage to say, though the tremor in your voice betrays your bravado.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when he finally slides into you, slow and deliberate, your sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement he needs. His pace is relentless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge as he whispers possessive promises against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, over and over, his grip on your hips bruising. “No one else will ever have you.”

And as your nails rake down his back, pulling him impossibly closer, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, when It’s late, and you’re lying together in his makeshift tent. The air between you feels heavy, charged with something unsaid. Finally, he sighs and sits up.

“You know,” he says, his tone uncharacteristically soft, “it’s been a year.”

You hum, not bothering to open your eyes. “And?”

“And I think… maybe it’s time we stop pretending this is casual,” he says, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Your eyes snap open, and you prop yourself up on your elbows. “Wanderer, are you seriously confessing again?”

He glares, but there’s no real bite to it. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you reply, sitting up fully. “I didn’t think you were the type to get sentimental.”

“Only for you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing.

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop teasing—for tonight.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist as his lips crash against yours. There’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses you—it’s desperate, hungry, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“You’re infuriating,” he growls, his hands sliding under your shirt to explore your bare skin.

“Good,” you breathe, grinding against him. “Wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you.”

His response is a low groan as he flips you onto your back, his body pressing you into the soft fabric of the bedroll. His eyes are dark, his expression utterly unguarded as he looks down at you.

“You’re not getting away tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you reply, smirking.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer when he enters you, it’s with a roughness that steals your breath, his movements erratic as he chases both your pleasure and his. His hands pin your wrists above your head, his lips tracing a heated path down your neck.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with intensity. “No one else.”

And as your moans fill the air, his grip on you tightening, you realize there’s no point in denying it.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where he's sitting beside you by the fire, the two of you wrapped in a comfortable silence. Kazuha leans toward you, his gaze soft yet intense.

“You’ve stayed with me for a year,” he says quietly. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have someone like you by my side.”

You roll your eyes, though your smile is genuine. “Are you trying to propose or something?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Maybe I am.”

The teasing remark dies on your lips as he reaches for your hand, his touch featherlight. “I want this. Us. Forever.”

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Well, I’m not exactly in the habit of saying no to you, am I?”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha who kisses you then, slow and deliberate, his hands cradling your face like you’re something precious.

When he lays you down by the fire, his movements are unhurried, each touch a silent declaration of his devotion. His hands roam your body, mapping every curve as his lips press heated kisses along your skin.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Show me,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

And he does.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha when he finally joins with you, it’s slow, almost reverent, his movements guided by the need to make you feel every ounce of his love. His hands never leave your body, his lips pressing soft kisses against your neck, your shoulder, your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with sincerity.

And as the firelight dances across your intertwined bodies, you realize you’ve never felt more adored—or more his.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as he stands on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, his mind races. He’s been with you for over a year, and it’s been nothing short of perfect, even if you’re still your usual teasing self. But he knows, deep down, that he can’t wait any longer. He’s made up his mind.

Marry me, he thinks, the words swirling in his mind. It’s not a question, not really. It’s an inevitable conclusion. You’re his. You’ll always be his. The only thing left is to make sure you understand that—completely.

“You’d be the perfect wife,” he mutters to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. He envisions you, sitting next to him by the fire, laughing, living, thriving beside him. He imagines it all, and it feels… right. It’s what he deserves.

But the question is: How?

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, as his eyes scan the horizon, searching for inspiration. The right setting, he thinks. It has to be memorable. Something personal, something only the two of you can share. Not just some grand spectacle that’ll make you feel overwhelmed—something that’ll make you want to say yes without hesitation.

Or maybe I should take you by surprise, he contemplates, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. A more intimate, private moment. No distractions. Just the two of you, alone, with nothing but his love wrapping around you.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his mind races through countless scenarios—by the water, under the moonlight, with nothing but the sound of the waves crashing at your feet. Or maybe in the heat of the moment, when you’re both caught up in your passion, when the connection between you two is raw and undeniable.

But one thing is clear: Tartaglia knows you’ll say yes. You’ll have to. You’re already his.

He just has to make sure you see it, too. That you realize how deep his love goes. That you understand the intensity of what he’s offering. This isn’t just a ring. It’s a lifetime of devotion and passion.

After a long silence, his eyes harden with resolve. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you mine forever.”

The plan is set. Now all he has to do is wait for the right moment to make you his wife.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where two months have passed since that night in the tent, and Wanderer can’t stop thinking about how perfect it is between you two. It’s a strange thing, this feeling in his chest that grows stronger with each passing day.

You’re mine, he thinks, but now, it’s not enough to just claim you. He wants more. He wants you by his side forever. He wants you to carry his name, to have no other but him in your life.

There’s something about you, the way you challenge him, the way you fight him. It stirs something inside him, something primal, something that says, this is the person you’ve been waiting for.

“Marriage,” he mutters to himself. The thought comes to him like a sudden revelation, like the answer to a question he didn’t know he was asking. He doesn’t even blink. It just feels right.

But how? How can he make sure you understand that this isn’t just a casual decision? That he’s serious?

♡ Yandere! Wanderer rolls over in bed, staring at the ceiling. A ring? A symbol of ownership, of course. Something that marks you as his. But how does he make it clear to you that he wants this—wants you—forever?

His thoughts are a whirlwind. He knows that he can’t just come out and ask you. Not like that. You’re too clever, too observant for something so simple. No, he’ll have to make it special.

Perhaps somewhere secluded, just the two of you, far from anyone who could interrupt. He’ll show you his commitment, and then, in the silence of your shared space, he’ll make his declaration. A vow, a promise.

The problem is, he doesn’t trust himself not to just take you right then and there. The idea of you in a white dress, standing beside him, gives him a rush of desire so intense it nearly overwhelms him. But he knows that’s not what he wants.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer wants you to want this, too. Not out of obligation, but because you feel it, because you understand the gravity of what he’s offering.

But how can he make you feel that way? How can he show you that, even though he’s never been one for sentimentality, with you… he’s willing to change?

Wanderer sits up, his eyes narrowed as he thinks it over. He’ll need to be patient, let the moment come naturally, and then when it does…

He’ll claim you forever.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where it's been two months after that night by the fire, his feelings for you have only deepened. He’s spent hours thinking about how to make the moment special, wondering how best to express his love. The idea of forever with you fills him with a warmth he can’t quite put into words.

You’ve been his muse for so long, and now, he wants to make you his in the most meaningful way he can think of.

The problem is… he’s never been good at this. How does one ask for someone’s hand in marriage without sounding cliché or desperate? How can he ask you to be with him forever when everything about him feels so transient?

♡ Yandere! Kazuha watches the wind rustle through the trees, lost in thought. The answer isn’t obvious, but it’s there, in the quiet moments he shares with you. He needs it to be personal, a reflection of the time you’ve spent together, of the bond you’ve created.

A small, intimate setting—a secluded beach at sunset, perhaps. The two of you alone, just like the first night you truly opened up to each other. He’ll ask you when the moment feels right, when the connection between you is so palpable it fills the air.

A simple question, but with everything he is.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha chuckles to himself softly. It doesn’t need to be grand. What matters is that you’ll be his, and he’ll be yours, forever.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia when the world slows, and his heart stops for just a moment, realizing that the blow meant for him has fallen upon you instead. You stand between him and the Abyss, your eyes wide in pain as the deadly weapon pierces your body. His breath catches in his throat.

"No..." he whispers, his voice broken as he crawls toward you, blood seeping from your wound.

Your lips curve into a sad, knowing smile, but it’s sharp. "Go," you command, every ounce of strength focused on keeping him safe, even as the life begins to drain from you. "Get out of here. I’ll hold them off. You have to survive. It’s not your time yet."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia where his entire world crumbles. He can’t think. He can’t breathe. "I won’t leave you," he growls, trying to rise, but the weight of his own failure pulls him back down.

"You will," you say, your voice steady, but you can feel the darkness creeping in. "You will, Ajax. I love you... I always have." Your eyes lock, your gaze filled with such quiet resolve that it nearly breaks him. "I’m yours... but you have to keep fighting... For us."

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia before he can protest, before he can beg, you make your move. With every ounce of your strength, you grab the closest enemy and pull them down with you into the depths of the Abyss, dragging their weapons into the chasm alongside you. You force them all to fall, ensuring they can’t escape with you, ensuring that Tartaglia gets the chance to survive.

"Go!" you scream one last time. "Now!"

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, with every fiber of his being, refuses. His body trembles, his heart splintering into pieces as he watches you disappear into the darkness. He screams your name, his voice thick with despair and rage.

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, when you’re gone, when you’ve been consumed by the Abyss and he’s left behind, alone with the silence, he’s never felt more hollow. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since you vanished—days, weeks, or mere minutes. Time has no meaning when you’ve lost the only thing that has ever mattered to you.

But he will find you.

His eyes darken with madness as he stands, his entire body burning with fury. He will never stop searching for you. You think you can escape him? He will tear apart the world, the Abyss, and everything between him and you. If it takes years, if it takes an eternity, he will find you.

The ring in his pocket feels like a weight he can’t carry without you, but he will find a way to make the promise real. The promise he made to you. To love you, forever.

He stands, his fists clenched. The hunt begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, as his eyes narrow. "Stay close," he commands. The two of you fight side by side, effortlessly synchronizing your movements as you’ve done countless times before. You’re unstoppable—until today.

Suddenly, the world tilts. A strange force pulls at the very air around you. The weapons they wield are like nothing you’ve seen before. A barrage of magical projectiles rains down from every direction, each one more powerful than the last, each one seemingly tailored to exploit your weaknesses.

You’re fast, but not fast enough. Your energy wanes. Wanderer's face flickers with concern as he fights to protect you, but the odds are overwhelming. Then, one of them moves too quickly, too precisely. They strike at Wanderer with a vicious blow that sends him flying back. His body crashes to the ground, and you’re the first to rush to him to take the killing blow.

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where you’ve fallen, your body slipping into the darkness to protect him—Wanderer watches in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest as you’re consumed by the Abyss. His voice is raw, lost. “No… no, this can’t be happening.”

He rushes toward you, but the wave of enemies, their weapons tearing at the air, blocks him. His hands are shaking as he tries to reach you, but the moment is slipping away, too fast, too cruel. His mind is screaming for him to do something, anything, but the power of the Abyss pulls you further from him.

As the last of the darkness claims you, you look back. Your eyes are filled with pain, but also love, and the last words you whisper are enough to break him.

"Live, Wanderer," you say. "Live for us…"

♡ Yandere! Wanderer where his knees buckle, his world imploding in on itself as he screams your name. There’s no escaping the agony that claws at his heart. His mind turns dark, fueled by rage and desperation. How dare they? How dare they take you from him?

He grits his teeth, his hands shaking as he rises to his feet. “I’ll kill them all,” he growls, his voice hoarse with rage. “You won’t be forgotten. I swear on everything… I will make them pay.”

♡ Yandere! Wanderer stands, a man possessed, and the hunt for vengeance begins.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where, just as he’s about to finally put his plans into motion, to ask you the question that’s been burning in his mind for months, everything shatters. The campfire crackles behind him as he watches you, your eyes catching the last light of the setting sun. He’s so sure, so certain. The ring hidden in his pocket, the words ready to spill from his lips—but then the ground shakes.

A flash of darkness tears through the sky, and Kazuha's instincts scream that something’s wrong. He turns to find you, standing beside him, your hand brushing against his as if fate has already decided. But the moment is shattered, ripped away by the sound of swords clashing, the sudden pressure of cold, calculated death.

A figure in the shadows, their weapon gleaming with deadly precision, lunges at Kazuha. A dozen more emerge, surrounding you both, their weapons crackling with malicious energy. Their presence feels wrong. Their faces are hidden behind cold metal masks, and their movements are unnatural, almost mechanical.

Everything goes wrong too fast, too quickly. You don't hesitate to protect him with your very life, shielding him from a fatal blow, from an injury that could've killed him.

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the moment he sees you fall—your body consumed by the Abyss—he’s frozen, unable to move. He’s never felt fear like this before, the way it twists his insides, cold and sharp. You, the one who’s been his light in the darkness, the one who’s made him believe in something worth fighting for, are now gone.

His eyes are wide as he reaches for you, his heart breaking in his chest. “No… No, this can’t be real. You… you promised…”

But the Abyss has claimed you, and he’s left standing in the dark, the world crumbling around him. His hands tremble as he drops to his knees, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’ll find you,” he vows. “I swear I will. I will bring you back. I will make them pay for this.”

♡ Yandere! Kazuha stands, a storm brewing within him, his resolve hardening into something unbreakable. He will find you. And when he does, there will be no place that will ever be able to hide you from him again.

The hunt has begun.

────────────

The world feels like it’s crumbling around him. His heart pounds in his chest, and his hands tremble as he moves through the shadows, eyes searching desperately for any trace of you. He’s been hunting for days—no, weeks—losing himself in the search for the only person who’s ever truly mattered to him. The Abyss took you. They took his light, his love.

He’s driven, possessed by the desire to find you, to bring you back to him, to make everything right again. No obstacle is too great. No danger too perilous. Every step, every breath, every heartbeat is a reminder that he’ll stop at nothing to have you back.

And then, there he is. The Abyss Prince.

His blood runs cold, as he sees Aether standing there, his icy gaze locked onto the battlefield. And in the distance, he sees you—slumped, bloodied, barely conscious. His heart skips a beat.

“No,” He growls, his voice low and dangerous. His every instinct screams to run to you, to hold you, to protect you, but there’s a force that stops him. Something deeper, darker, something unnatural. He knows who’s responsible. It’s him. The Abyss Prince.

His hands curl into fists. His fury surges, but before he can make a move, a chilling, unbearable presence stops him. The world seems to slow.

Suddenly, a blade pierces his chest from behind.

He gasps, his breath catching in his throat as pain explodes through him. His hands shake as he tries to reach for the hilt, but his vision blurs. He looks over his shoulder and sees a familiar face—a face he never thought he’d see in this moment.

It’s you.

A mad gleam in your eyes, a cruel twist to your lips. Your posture, your expression, everything about you has changed. You’re no longer the playful, teasing soul he once knew. You’re cold, calculating, your emotions absent, as though the person he fell in love with is gone. All that remains is someone dangerous.

His heart shatters. His voice trembles as he gasps, “No… No, you—”

But before he can finish, the Abyss Prince steps forward, his cold gaze locking onto him. “You’re not allowed to kill him,” Aether says softly, the command in his voice undeniable. “Not yet.”

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia, where his confusion swirls into a storm. He stumbles back, watching as you step away from him, the blade still lodged in his chest, before the Abyss Prince gestures for something to happen. You don’t just leave him wounded—you restrain him, binding him with chains, powerful and unyielding, until he can’t move, can’t even see. His head is tilted back, his vision completely restrained completely by the thick, suffocating darkness of the chains.

He struggles, his breaths shallow, his heart racing. He can feel the cold weight of his situation—the desperation, the helplessness that’s taken root inside him.

“You…” Tartaglia’s voice is raw with fury, with disbelief, and with pain. “What did you do to her? What have you done to my wife?”

But you say nothing. You only scoff, as though the situation is beneath you, as though the man you once knew no longer matters. There’s no playfulness, no warmth, just a chilling, vacant emptiness where your love once was.

Tartaglia’s mind races. This can’t be happening. His wife—his wife—has been manipulated. He knows it. This is all the Abyss’ doing. You’re not like this. They’ve broken you, twisted you, made you into something else. They’ve taken you from him.

His frustration boils over, but he’s helpless. “I’ll kill him,” he growls through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill the Abyss Prince for what he’s done to you.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong—everything is wrong. He can’t focus. His mind is too clouded, too confused. All he wants is you back. And he’ll stop at nothing to have you again. Even if it means destroying everything in his path.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer, where the madness is overwhelming. It’s all so much—the pain, the frustration, the confusion—as he watches you in front of him, cold and emotionless, blade in hand, ready to kill. His thoughts spiral in a frenzy. This can’t be real. He refuses to believe it. You… you’re supposed to be his. You’re supposed to be with him. Yet here you are, ready to snuff his life out.

The Abyss did this to you, he knows it. They’ve taken his love and turned her into something else—something cruel, something empty. Something unrecognizable.

His hand shakes as he tries to reach for you, but the chains binding him keep him stuck. His vision is obscured. Every move he tries to make is futile, a cruel reminder of how powerless he is in this moment.

“Why?” he chokes, his voice thick with emotion. “Why are you doing this? I know they’ve manipulated you. I know you’re not like this.”

But you don’t speak. You just look at him, your eyes cold, devoid of any warmth. He can’t reach you, can’t get through to you.

The Abyss Prince stands by, silent, his eyes as cold as ice. He’s watching this—he’s letting this happen. The rage within Wanderer swells to a point where he can hardly breathe.

“No,” he snarls, pulling against the chains. “I will kill you. You will answer for this.”

But you just smile at him, that same cold, emotionless smile. And all Wanderer can do is watch as his love slips further from his grasp, bound by the chains of the Abyss.

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha, where the world shatters around him as he watches you fall, as he watches you change into something that he no longer recognizes. The blade that once threatened his enemies is now raised to him, your eyes cold, indifferent to the pain he’s in. He’s unable to stop you, even as he feels the weight of the chains binding him, constricting him. You’re too far gone.

“Kazuha…” you murmur, but the words don’t feel right. They sound empty, distant. His heart cracks as he watches you, the woman he loves, standing before him, her emotions stripped away. You are a stranger now.

He gasps, trying to break free, trying to make sense of the situation. “What happened to you?” he whispers hoarsely. “Please, just… just come back. This isn’t you. This isn’t who I fell in love with.”

But you don’t answer. You only watch him, the gleam in your eyes nothing like the playful light he once knew. It’s cold, calculating, and it freezes him to his core.

And then Aether steps forward, his voice a soft command that stills Kazuha’s frantic mind. “You’re not allowed to kill him, not yet,” Aether reminds once more, his presence suffocating.

Kazuha’s breath catches, and his thoughts spin wildly. This can’t be real. You—you—you’ve been twisted. But Aether has the control here. The chains bind Kazuha tighter, his vision clouded by darkness, and all he can do is sit in silence, trapped, powerless.

“Why?” Kazuha chokes, frustration and fear flooding him. “Why are you doing this?”

Still, you don’t answer. You only step back, leaving him to face the Abyss alone, the chains around him tightening with every heartbeat.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield is chaos, Tartaglia’s vision locked onto you. Aether stands at your side, the Abyss Prince exuding an otherworldly menace. Yet, Tartaglia doesn’t care. He’ll cut through anything and anyone to save you, his beloved, from the darkness that has ensnared you.

“Let her go!” Tartaglia snarls, voice cracking with desperation. His body screams from the injuries sustained in his relentless pursuit, but his heart burns hotter. His eyes flick to you—the source of his pain and salvation. “You don’t belong here! Come back to me!”

For a moment, his words seem to falter against your icy gaze. He knows you hear him, knows that somewhere in your heart, the person he loves still exists. But instead of the warmth he longs for, a cruel, mocking smile spreads across your lips.

“Come back?” you repeat, your tone dripping with false innocence. “Oh, Tartaglia, you poor, stupid fool.”

His breath hitches, confusion flashing across his face. Aether glances at you, silent but visibly amused, as though he’s watching a particularly entertaining performance. You turn to the Abyss Prince, patting his shoulder with an air of camaraderie that shatters Tartaglia’s world.

“He’s SO dumb,” you say with a cackle, tilting your head back to laugh. “Did he really think he was that special? That I cared? Oh, this is too good.”

Tartaglia stumbles back as if struck. “What… what are you saying?” he whispers, voice trembling.

“Everything, from the very beginning…” you start, pacing in front of him like a predator toying with its prey. “The teasing, the affection, the nights we spent together, the ‘sacrifices’ I made to protect you. All of it. A lie.”

He shakes his head violently, refusing to believe it. “No! You… you almost died for me! You saved me!”

You roll your eyes, brandishing the very blade you once used to fight by his side. “Please, Childe. That was just part of the plan. You were so much fun to manipulate, though. I’ll give you credit for that. Getting through your walls wasn’t easy.”

Tartaglia’s hands clench into trembling fists. His heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart. “You’re lying. This isn’t you. This is the Abyss! They’ve done something to you!”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, stepping closer to him. Your blade tilts his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I’ve always been like this. You were just too blind to see it.”

Aether’s voice cuts through the tension. “Enough.” The Prince’s command is calm, almost bored. “He’s served his purpose.”

You sigh, turning back to Aether. “Fine, fine. But can we please kill him now? This melodrama is getting tedious.”

Tartaglia’s vision blurs as the weight of betrayal crashes over him. He can’t reconcile the love he felt with the monster before him. Even as his body fails, his heart stubbornly clings to the hope that this is some cruel illusion.

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer’s indigo eyes are wide with disbelief, fixed on you as you stand beside Aether. The Abyss Prince’s presence is oppressive, but it’s your cold smirk that steals the breath from his lungs.

“Why are you doing this?” Wanderer’s voice cracks, his usual sharp wit replaced by a trembling vulnerability. “I trusted you. I… loved you.”

You tilt your head, feigning surprise. “Loved me? That’s sweet. But did you really think someone like me could love someone like you?”

The words hit him like a blow, but you’re not finished. You twirl a dagger in your hand, your movements lazy and confident. “Let me guess. You thought we were kindred spirits, two broken souls finding solace in each other? How… adorable.”

Wanderer’s rage flares, his chains rattling as he strains against them. “You liar! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill the Abyss Prince and get you back, no matter what it takes!”

Aether chuckles softly, and you laugh along with him, the sound grating against Wanderer’s raw nerves. “Kill him?” you echo. “Oh, darling, you couldn’t even touch him. And you think I want to be ‘saved’ by you? Don’t make me laugh.”

Wanderer freezes, the weight of your words sinking in. He studies your face, searching for any trace of the person he thought he knew, but all he finds is a stranger wearing your skin.

“Why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Why would you do this?”

You shrug, tossing the dagger into the air and catching it effortlessly. “Because it’s fun. And because Aether needed a little help with a certain someone.” Your gaze sharpens, and for a moment, Wanderer sees the madness in your eyes. “You were just a pawn, dear. A very entertaining pawn, but a pawn nonetheless.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels, his hands bound by unyielding chains, his soft crimson eyes filled with betrayal as he looks up at you. The gentle breeze that usually follows him is eerily still, as though the world itself mourns his heartbreak.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “How could you… why would you do this?”

You sigh, as if exasperated by his naivety. “Oh, Kazuha. Always so poetic, so trusting. It’s almost endearing how much faith you put in people. Almost.”

He flinches at the derision in your tone. “You saved me. You risked your life for me. Was all of that a lie?”

You kneel before him, cupping his face with a mocking tenderness. “Not all of it,” you admit. “Some of it was necessary. After all, how else was I supposed to gain your trust?”

Kazuha’s breath hitches, his heart shattering into pieces he can hardly comprehend. “You used me,” he says, more to himself than to you. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

“Bingo!” you chirp, pulling back and spinning on your heel. “Took you long enough to figure it out. Honestly, I was starting to think you’d never catch on.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow that looms over Kazuha. “Are we done here?” he asks, his tone bored.

You glance at him with a pout. “Almost. Just let me have this moment. Watching him break is the best part.”

Kazuha’s head hangs low, his spirit crushed beneath the weight of your betrayal. Yet, even as despair overtakes him, a small ember of hope remains. He vows, silently and fiercely, to free you from the Abyss’ clutches—no matter what it takes.

You, however, have other plans. As you turn away, a cruel smile graces your lips. The game has only just begun, and you’re already thinking of your next move.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The battlefield reeks of blood and fire, the aftermath of Tartaglia’s relentless pursuit of you. His breaths come ragged, his body battered, yet his gaze remains locked on you. Aether stands beside you, radiating the chilling authority of the Abyss Prince.

“You think this is over?” Tartaglia spits, his voice raw with determination. “I’ll tear apart this entire Abyss if I have to—just to bring you back.”

You laugh—a sound that is anything but warm. It’s a sharp, maniacal cackle, filled with scornful glee. “Back? To what, exactly? Your pathetic little life of lies and delusions?”

He flinches, but you’re already closing the distance between you. Your hand shoots out, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off the ground with unnatural strength. His vision swims, yet he refuses to look away from you.

“You’re nothing without me,” you hiss, your grip tightening as his struggles grow weaker. “Do you honestly believe your love could save anyone, Childe? That I needed saving? How quaint.”

He gurgles something incoherent, but you only tighten your hold, leaning in close enough for him to feel your breath against his ear. “The only thing you’re good for is bleeding. Look at you, all this power, all this loyalty, and for what? For me to spit in your face?”

You release him suddenly, letting him collapse in a heap at your feet. He clutches at his throat, gasping for air, but you’re not done. Your boot presses against his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t look so shocked,” you sneer, tilting your head like a predator savoring the kill. “Did you think I was some damsel in need of rescuing? No, darling. I’m the monster your nightmares warned you about.”

Tartaglia’s eyes blaze with despair and determination as he chokes out, “I’ll… I’ll kill him… take you back…”

Your laughter erupts again, wild and unhinged. “Kill him? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t even stand. You’re nothing but a pitiful fool—a fool who thought love could conquer someone like me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Wanderer thrashes against the chains binding him, his indigo eyes burning with fury and disbelief. His usual sharp tongue fails him as he stares at you, standing beside Aether, a wicked grin plastered across your face.

“You’re insane,” Wanderer growls, venom dripping from every word. “Let me go, and I’ll make you regret this.”

You clap your hands mockingly, the sound echoing in the cavernous Abyss chamber. “Regret? Oh, sweetheart, regret is for people who make mistakes. I’m having too much fun watching you squirm.”

He lunges against the chains, his strength formidable but useless against the Abyssal restraints. “You lied to me!” he snarls. “Everything—you lied about everything!”

“Of course I did,” you say with a sing-song lilt, stepping closer. Your hands trail lazily over his face, your nails scraping just enough to hurt. “Did you really think someone like me could ever care about someone like you? A discarded puppet, a useless little doll?”

His expression twists with rage, but the vulnerability behind it is unmistakable. “You’re wrong,” he bites out. “You cared. I saw it. I felt it.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo mockingly, before your voice drops, sharp as a blade. “Feel this.”

Your knee slams into his gut, forcing a pained gasp from his lips. You grab his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look at you. “I never cared about you. You were just a stepping stone, a toy for me to break when I got bored. And guess what? I’m bored now.”

Aether chuckles behind you, his voice cold and amused. “You’re cruel,” he observes.

You flash him a wicked grin. “Why, thank you, my prince. I do aim to please.”

Wanderer’s voice is hoarse, filled with hatred and anguish. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill you. You’ll regret this.”

Your laughter is pure insanity, ringing out like a bell of doom. “Try, little puppet. Try and fail, again and again. It’s the only thing you’re good for.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Kazuha kneels in chains, his crimson eyes filled with sorrow as he gazes up at you. The stillness of the air is suffocating, the calm before a storm that will never come.

“You…” he begins, his voice a broken whisper. “You were my compass. My home. How could you betray me like this?”

You crouch in front of him, your eyes alight with malevolent joy. “Betray you?” you echo, your tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, Kazuha, don’t flatter yourself. You were never that important to me.”

His breath hitches, but you don’t stop. You lean in, your lips brushing his ear as you murmur, “You were just a convenient tool, a way to pass the time. A pretty little plaything for me to use and discard.”

Kazuha flinches as if struck, his spirit cracking under the weight of your words. “You don’t mean that,” he says, but the tremor in his voice betrays his doubt.

You laugh, the sound a haunting melody of madness. “Oh, but I do. Every word. And do you know the best part? Watching you break, piece by piece.”

Your hand grips his chin, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You thought you could save me, didn’t you? That your love could heal whatever darkness you saw in me. How utterly pathetic.”

He trembles under your touch, his chains rattling as his hands ball into fists. “I’ll find a way,” he vows, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll free you from this darkness.”

You burst into laughter, throwing your head back in pure delight. “Free me? Oh, Kazuha, I am the darkness. There’s nothing to free me from.”

Aether steps forward, his presence a cold shadow beside you. “He’s done,” the Abyss Prince says. “Let him wallow in his failure.”

You stand, casting one last mocking glance at Kazuha. “Goodbye, my little storm. Try not to drown in your tears.”

As you walk away, Kazuha’s head hangs low, his heart shattered—but the fire of his resolve burns on.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Tartaglia — The Fool's Heart

The kiss you share with Aether is cruelly deliberate, a deep, searing display of mockery meant for the man crumpled at your feet. Tartaglia’s battered body trembles, his fists digging into the scorched ground as he watches, his chest heaving with a suffocating cocktail of pain and rage.

“Don’t look away,” you taunt, your lips still wet with the evidence of your betrayal. “This is the truth, Childe. This is all you ever were to me—something to laugh at.”

Aether scoffs, shoving you away, irritation flashing in his Abyssal gaze. But you only laugh, twirling back to face Tartaglia, your grin stretching wider as your gaze locks with his. Gone is the warmth he clung to, the person he thought he loved. In its place is a madness so stark, so twisted, it shatters whatever hope remained in his heart.

The realization crashes into him like a tidal wave—you never cared for him. Not once. Not even in the smallest, fleeting moment. His breath hitches, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips.

“I see it now,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but laced with a dangerous calm. “You don’t deserve kindness. And I’ve been far too kind to you.”

Your grin falters, if only for a second, as he rises to his knees, his gaze blazing with something new—something unhinged.

“It’s too late to turn back,” he says, his tone eerily even. “I don’t need your love, or your lies, anymore. You’ll be mine, no matter what I have to destroy to make it happen.”

As Abyss subordinates drag him away, his eyes never leave yours, his smirk dark and foreboding. “Run, hide, laugh while you can. I’ll be coming for you. And when I do, you’ll regret every breath you ever stole from me.”

———

♡ Yandere! Wanderer — Shackles of Betrayal

Your lips crash against Aether’s, an act of derision that sends a violent shudder through Wanderer’s restrained form. His chains rattle as his whole body tenses, the burning in his eyes consuming what little humanity he’d clung to.

“You’re a fool,” you whisper against Aether’s lips before pulling away, your laughter slicing through the silence. The Abyss Prince wipes his mouth with a look of disdain, but your amusement only grows. You whirl around to face Wanderer, your grin a feral slash across your face.

“You never saw it, did you?” you sneer, your voice dripping with venom. “All that time, all those stolen moments—and you never noticed the madness in my eyes. You’re not a victim, Wanderer. You’re just another broken thing for me to play with.”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then, the corners of his lips twitch upward, forming a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his tone soft yet laced with something chilling. “You think this is over, don’t you?”

You tilt your head, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor.

“Go ahead,” he continues, his voice gaining strength. “Laugh, mock me, pretend you’ve won. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The Abyss soldiers begin to drag him away, but his eyes stay fixed on yours, unyielding and terrifying.

“You’ve taken everything from me,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “So now, I’ll do the same to you. Love? Hate? It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll strip you bare, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but me.”

And as he’s pulled into the shadows, his final words echo like a curse: “You’ll never escape me, not even in death.”

———

♡ Yandere! Kazuha — The Storm’s Deceit

Your kiss with Aether is theatrical, exaggerated, designed to carve deeper into Kazuha’s shattered heart. The Abyss Prince shoves you away, muttering something under his breath, but you laugh, spinning to meet Kazuha’s gaze.

“Did you think you were special?” you ask, your voice lilting with mockery. “That your poetry and promises could bind me to you? Oh, Kazuha, you were always chasing a storm you could never tame.”

Kazuha doesn’t respond, his crimson eyes fixed on yours with a quiet intensity. But the light in them has changed, twisted into something unrecognizable.

“You’ve lost,” you declare, turning away, but his voice stops you cold.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his tone so calm it sends a chill down your spine.

You glance back, and the sight of him—the once-gentle warrior now smirking with a darkness that rivals your own—sends your pulse skittering.

“You think you’ve won,” he continues, his voice soft but deadly. “But this isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

The Abyss guards move to haul him away, yet he doesn’t resist. His gaze remains locked on you, his smile growing as he speaks his final words.

“I’ll break you,” he says, his voice like a whispered promise carried on the wind. “Not with anger, not with hatred—but with love twisted into something you can’t escape. And when you’re mine, when you’re begging for the freedom you so carelessly destroyed, I’ll remind you of this moment. I’ll remind you who truly holds the chains.”

And as the shadows swallow him, his presence lingers, a storm on the horizon waiting to strike.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

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reshinless · 3 months ago

Text

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"

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odoraful · 11 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒

⟡ content: diluc/wanderer/childe x gn!reader; sfw; modern au; established relationship; fluff !! ⟡ a/n: i was scouring pinterest looking the most fitting inspo rooms for each of them hehe

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

DILUC ⟡

Your shared home is an old-fashioned but charming house with a tiled roof and a brick archway leading to the entrance of the door. Diluc has a good eye for style — all the furniture pieces you select together are warm and elegant, perfectly matching with the vintage style home.

He’s a bit of a craftsman, and when you moved in he custom built bookshelves just for you. Your house has traces of Diluc’s handiwork: a wooden tissue box cover, tile coasters, a ceramic chess set.

Being a peak acts of service man, if he notices that there’s something inconveniencing you that can be mended, he’ll try to find a way to fix it. That wooden chair that wobbled yesterday when you sat down on it? The next day, it’s miraculously levelled. Always struggling to find your keys before you leave the house? There are now little hooks on the wall where you can easily hang them. He doesn’t make a huge show of it, but you’ll always kiss him on the cheek and say that you should repay him with something.

“There’s no need. Seeing you happy is more than enough for me.” He replies, running a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning red.

The house is IMPECCABLY cleaned — the chores are shared out between the two of you, and the both of you work like a well-oiled machine. He’ll insist that you shouldn’t carry anything too heavy though! He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself :(

One of the things that Diluc wouldn’t ever trade is getting the chance to cuddle with you in the evening on the couch. He’ll let you play with his hair and try out different styles, comforted by the feeling of your fingers running through it.

Sometimes, he’ll come home late from work tired and perhaps a bit grumpy, but the sight of you will change his mood completely.

At the sound of jangling keys and the front door creaking shut, you rush out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

“(Y/N), I’m home!” You hear Diluc’s voice call out to you.

The day had felt far too long for him, and with far too many headaches for him to deal with. The only thing that he looked forward to at the end of it all was to see you again.

Hearing the patter of your slippers, he looks up. It takes everything within him to keep composed at your appearance. Having just gotten out of a hot shower, your cheeks were tinted pink, hair still damp and slicked. Diluc’s eyes trailed to your clothes, a matching pair of flannel shirt and shorts. He loosens his tie, suddenly finding his breath stuck in his throat. It baffled him how gorgeous you were even in pyjamas.

Wordlessly, he reaches towards you. You look down at his hands and see as they fasten the remaining top two buttons of your sleeping shirt. In your hurry to greet him at the door, you forgot to dress properly.

“I can’t believe I missed that...” You sheepishly say, observing his hands as they linger on your shirt. Your senses told you something was off. “Did you have troubles at work today?”

The worry in your eyes melts his heart. Of course you were the one to peer through him and know exactly how he was feeling.

“A few clientele at the bar today were-” He sighs, still fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt, recalling the events of the day, “-difficult to manage to say the least.” He lifts his head to meet his gaze. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

Your arms instinctually wrap around him and he collapses into them. Tightening your embrace, he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Diluc, I just took a shower.” You say with a light giggle, trying to pull your hair away from his face.

He feels your breath close to his ear and he wishes he could have recorded that laugh for himself to hear it over and over again.

“I could tell.” He breathes deeply. “Is this a new shampoo?”

“Well yes, but what I meant from that is that my hair is still wet!”

You feel him smile against you. “It doesn’t bother me. Just a few more seconds, please. I need to recharge.”

WANDERER ⟡

You share an apartment together since you travel to and from the same university. Although you’re studying different degrees and have different schedules, you’ll both make an effort to spend time together at home during the weekdays.

You and Wanderer leave little notes cheering each other on and stick them to the walls or the fridge before you leave, or sneak them into pencil cases or onto laptop screens. He has a small box on his desk where he collects all your notes, neatly folding them up to preserve them.

Wanderer enjoys having the home quite minimalist. Just the essentials will do, but the two of you do splurge a bit more on your study space — the comfiest chairs, wide desks, tactile keyboards — anything to liven up having to do assignments all the time.

When you’re feeling too tired or distracted from your own studies, you’ll walk over to his desk and try to sit on his lap while he works. He’ll attempt to exert some self-control and reject your wishes, but eventually gives in after seeing your pout.

“Just because you’re distracted doesn’t give you any right to bother me.” He grumbles, resting his chin on your head.

He warns you that if you do decide to put plants in the house, you are responsible for them. Little do you know that he’s secretly also invested in their health. On mornings when you’re in a rush and forget to water them, he’ll spritz them with your spray bottle thinking to himself: If you died (Y/N) would be devastated, so don’t even think about it.

His favourite room is the bedroom. It’s a place for both of you to escape the stresses of being a student and relax together.

The alarm clock beeps and you wiggle in bed, reaching over a hand to quickly silence it. Bright sun filters in through the curtains, its light diffusing into the room.

You force your eyes open and sit up, your body bent over like a crooked branch. Movement beside you pulls your attention as Wanderer shifts in his sleep. You can’t deny how pretty he looks even at rest. His long lashes fanned out under closed eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath. His expression is that of pure peace. You know that’ll soon disappear when you both need to properly wake up and prepare for classes.

“Hey, it’s time to wake up,” you whisper, carefully coaxing him from slumber.

Wanderer opens his bleary eyes ever so slightly, then immediately closes them. He mumbles something of refusal. You roll your eyes in resignation. When it comes to sleep, he acts like a child sometimes. You turn to get out of bed.

Two arms wrap around your waist and yank you back. You stumble into the sheets with a yelp. Wanderer adjusts the blanket over you and pulls you closer to him with one hand.

“Not yet.” His voice is low and scratchy, his words slurred. “Want more time in bed… with you.”

You sigh softly, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair to detangle it. “You do this almost every morning. You’re never going to attend your lectures on time.”

He replies by nuzzling into your neck, and you hear nothing but his slow breaths. His peers would have sooner called identity fraud than believe the stony and scholarly Wanderer to be this clingy and affectionate in the morning. However, in the privacy of just you, it’s become easy for him to let down his guard.

“Don’t try to get out of this by pretending to be asleep.” You say, deadpan.

There’s a stutter in his breathing as you catch his obvious charade.

“Stop worrying. I’ll just watch the recording.” He finally responds.

You realise in a fluster just how close your faces are, barely inches apart. As if sensing this, Wanderer opens his eyes once again, this time there’s a glint of mischief in them.

He taps his forehead lightly against your own. “And besides, why would I want to spend my mornings in a noisy lecture hall when I can be with you in peace and quiet?”

CHILDE ⟡

You’ve been living together for a while now, and your home has transformed into what can only be described as organised chaos.

If Childe kept up with his interior designing eagerness, it would have been complete maximalism, but you were there to contain his excitement and still ensure your home was still practical.

The two of you love collecting pillows, plushies and blankets, which adds even more to the cosiness! However, one day you tried to sit down on the couch and realised it was more pillows than actual seat space. In a fit of laughter, you and Childe ruled that you would rotate between different cushions every so often so you could get your couch back.

Childe will still come home with flowers or sweets (sometimes both) as gifts for you on random nights. He’ll stand on the doorstep looking like a lovesick teenage boy asking his crush out on a date. Taking them from his hands, you’ll ask what the occasion is.

“Well, there isn’t a particular occasion.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Celebrating you should be an everyday thing.”

Board game nights are taken very seriously. You have a bookshelf filled with different types of them. Whether it’s a classic game of UNO or Jenga, or something a little more strategic, he's always hyper-competitive. You also have special punishments for if one of you loses, which are harmless but maybe a little embarrassing (One of his favourite punishments for you is ‘For the entire day tomorrow, Childe will only call (Y/N) by the cheesiest pet names’).

MASSIVE kitchen since he loves to cook. He keeps a book of recipes from his mum and has since added new ones of his own that he has shared with you.

“Could you come over here, baby?”

You follow your partner’s voice and the scent of something freshly baked into the kitchen.

Childe is standing behind the counter, his face in deep focus. He takes one of an array of heart-shaped biscuits and dips half of it in a bowl of chocolate before placing it on a lined baking sheet. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, exposing his forearms. His muscular build is sharply juxtaposed by the cream-coloured apron tied around himself, which has a little teddy bear embroidered in its centre.

You approach the kitchen bench, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are they ready yet? Can I try one?” You eagerly ask.

“Not quite, I need help dipping the rest of these into chocolate.” He stretches his arms out in front of him, shaking the tension out of them.

“That being said,” he grins, extending a hand towards you across the kitchen bench as an offer, “would you do me the honour of being my baking assistant for a little?”

Chuckling at his dramatics, you delicately place your hand in his like royalty. “I’d be delighted to help.”

Childe guides you to his side and helps you put on your apron. As he ties the strings together, he relays the instructions to you.

“You just need to dip half of the biscuit into chocolate, and then add some sprinkles on top before it sets.” He tightens the bow around your waist to secure it.

How hard could that be? You think, nodding along to his words.

Demoing an example, Childe deftly coats half of the biscuit. Angling it just right, the chocolate drips off and evens itself out, leaving a perfect covered half. After placing it on the tray and adding the finishing touch of sprinkles, he gestures for you to try it yourself.

You confidently take one biscuit and dunk it.

“Ah!”

Underestimating its consistency, when you lift the biscuit, the chocolate slowly spreads onto the other half of the heart and drips onto your fingers. You quickly place it onto the baking sheet. Childe stifles his laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“My one looks so much worse compared to yours…” you mutter, licking your fingers to remove the evidence of your unsuccessful attempt.

Seeing the frown on your face, he gently bumps your shoulder with his own in encouragement. “Don’t say that! I think your one has a lot more charm.” He says, adding the sprinkles onto your heart. “I’ll run some extra baking classes with you to build up your skills, how does that sound?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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decayedgloria · 2 years ago

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sundress szn pt. 2

pt. 2 ft. scaramouche, sandrone, pantalone, and childe

Summer’s finally come, so you decide to wear something that fit the occasion- much to your lover’s excitement.

tags: nsfw under cut, public/semi public sex in almost all of these, I got carried away during pantalone’s, harbingers x afab! Reader (minus signora this time bc I genuinely cannot think of smth for her rn but I can promise in the future that she may be in one of these.), slight ooc maybe? mdni.

word count: ~2.2k, I wrote these half asleep on a nine hour flight these are not going to be proofread

Scaramouche

This was a good idea. Totally. Sumeru’s just much, much more humid than Snezhnaya, which was something you were willing to get used to. You were absolutely fine.

How you wished you were right.

Even in the shade of the Grand Bazaar you could still feel the light sheen of sweat begin to form on your skin as you hastily fan yourself, occasionally observing your surroundings for your boyfriend. As a newly-inducted Vahumana student, he was bound to get busy, so it left you with a lot of time on your hands. Too much time. But hey, it got you a new dress so who are you to complain?

It reminded you of when you were both in the Fatui, the Harbinger and his loyal partner, who were too busy to really see each other until he whisked you away to Sumeru. You assumed it would be different this time, but it had dawned on you recently that it would take quite a while to get there (not that it wasn’t deserved, he had a lot to atone for after all.)

But it still disheartened you. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t. You missed his hugs and his presence, no matter how much you annoyed each other you always seemed to find a way to touch each other. And on nights he would be up in the Akademiya studying, leaving you alone in your shared bed, your thoughts wandered to those scarce intimate moments you shared- nights where his chest was pressed against yours, with that stupid smirk on his face as he fucked you silly. Just thinking about those nights made a familiar heat rise in between your legs, making you curse as your cheeks reddened.

Archons, first the heat, and now this? Scaramouche had better hurry, you felt like you were going to be torched alive at this rate.

Thankfully, you did not need to wait long. Looking into the crowd again, your eyes met with a familiar pair of tired purple ones, much to your delight. You hopped off the bench you sat on and beelined your way to the grouchy purple boy, a smile blossoming on your face as you get closer to him. He doesn’t return the same excitement, content to just catch you in his arms like he always does. You don’t seem to mind, though, as you were too preoccupied with burying your face into his chest.

“Scara…” You whined, pouting your lips. “What took you so long? Do you know how hot it is in here? I almost died.” Expecting a smart retort from him, you were thoroughly surprised at the next words that came out of his mouth.

“What on earth are you wearing?”

There was no malice and spite in his voice, just irritated confusion. Which, in turn, confused you, prompting you to release your position against his chest and stare at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Do you not like it? I got it a while ago.” You hesitantly let go of his embrace, spinning once to let him see the whole dress. It was perfect for a hot day- light and airy, revealing as much skin as possible without spilling everything out. When you turned back to him, his face had gotten redder, but his eyes stayed on you- more specifically, your figure.

“Aw, what’s got you blushing, Scara?” Your teasing tone was met with a glare, and a pathetic attempt to hide his face by looking away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So you don’t like my dress?”

“That’s not the problem.” Suddenly, he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him again, lowering his head so he could murmur into your ear, “I like it too much. Fix it. Now.”

With that, he dragged you to the nearest concealed spot- behind some crates that barely covered the both of you. When you emerged, all that was left of your dress was the tattered skirt that barely hung on to your body as Scaramouche placed his jacket over your top, that same stupid, hot smirk on his face.

Sandrone

Sandrone tried. Really, she did. But she could not help it in the slightest.

The seventh harbinger has a reputation for being a recluse, cooping herself up in her lab toying with her automatons all day. On the rare occasion she did speak to someone, her tone only seemed to indicate annoyance and malice- she didn’t mind since it drove people away. However, things changed the day you were assigned to work under her; suddenly, she didn’t hate the world that much anymore.

Certainly not when you’re dressed like this.

A quick trip to the ruins of Liyue, both as a break and to gather intel, made you a bit… adventurous, with your outfits to say the least. The entire time you had walked around Qiongji Estuary, Sandrone could not help but linger her stare just a little bit longer than usual. Your outfit consisted of a short dress, loosely clinging around your body, but it made you look so alluring in her eyes. A perpetual blush seemed to occupy her face, which you had innocently chalked up to the heat.

As her automatons roam around in search for whatever she had told them to find, Sandrone busied herself under a makeshift tent inspecting what seemed to be an artifact encased in cor lapis, tinkering with the ore as if it were a toy. You were by her side, head on her shoulder, observing your lover with loving eyes. Your subtle touches combined with your warm breathing had already put her on edge, but she continued nonetheless.

However, the last straw came when you stood up a little to grab something on the other side of Sandrone, aptly placing your bosom right in front of her face. So, forgive her for breaking her composure and pulling you back onto the ground, dirtying your dress as she straddles you eagerly while crashing her lips into your own before you could react.

“You’re so fond of distractions…” She said breathlessly, hands all but dying to get your tits out of your dress for her nimble fingers to play with. You moaned in response, a bit taken aback at her suddeness. Looking up at your blushing, desperate girlfriend, you decided to tease her just a little bit.

“I was just trying to help, Sandrone.” Your tone feigned innocence, which only fueled her frustration. She caught your lips with fervor as one hand pinched your nipple, and the other tugged on your hair, all while grinding down on you.

“Shut up and fuck me, please.”

Pantalone

Pantalone was a man of many talents. One of those talents happens to be spoiling you rotten. Too rotten sometimes. But who were you to complain? The richest man in Teyvat was wrapped around your finger, and you couldn’t help but be a little cheeky and take advantage of that sometimes.

What should’ve been a business trip to Liyue to check the Northland Bank’s activities turned into Pantalone emptying out every boutique in the harbor so you can get a new wardrobe for summer. At one particular store, where there were no other customers besides you and your husband, you had decided to try on some dresses that caught your attention. On one hand, you really did want a few more relaxed additions, but on the other hand, well…

You had emerged from your dressing room not long ago, and yet you were already sat firmly on top of your husband, head in his neck as you try to brace yourself against the waiting room’s couch. Under you, Pantalone only gave you his usual, sly grin as his hands firmly hold you in his lap, keeping you in place as you grind on his ever-growing erection.

“I think this dress looks lovely on you dear.” He whispered, taking in the sight of you writhing on top of him desperately. Chuckling, his hand makes it way all the way to your ass, hiking up the long dress before giving it a smack. You moaned in response, hiding your face in his neck, hands raking over his toned chest.

“You simply look ravishing in it.” He continued his assault on your body, propping you up just a little bit so he had a clear view of your chest, kissing you quickly before delving in between your tits. Archons, he was impatient- he made you impatient. You confess, you did think the dress would get a rise out of him, which was why you picked it first when trying clothes on, but to think he would be this roused by it filled you with a titulating thrill only he was capable of causing.

“Ah- Does the dress make you- ngh… this excited, love?” Despite your teasing words, it was clear that you weren’t the one in control as you rocked your hips to feel even a little bit of relief from the growing ache in between your legs. Pantalone didn’t say anything back, rather he took off his gloves and positioned his fingers over your mouth, commanding you in a husky tone.

“Open up and suck them, darling. I’ll have plenty more for you.”

Childe

“Fuck you mean no?”

“You just aren’t going out like that.” Childe deadpanned, crossing his arms. “It’s a pretty dress for sure though.” The contrasting grin on his freckled face made you want to punch him, though it also illicited some questionable butterflies in your stomach.

Nobody quite knew what you and Childe were. On the surface level, one could assume that you two were just close friends; however, if they took the time to observe how Childe’s touch always lingered for a little too long, or how you stared at him with such bold adoration in your eyes as you smiled at him- it would be quite obvious that there were unspoken feelings for each other somewhere there.

It was quite common for you to visit his office in the Northland Bank like today. You really just wanted to show him the new dress you made for yourself, and figured you could flirt with him a little bit- not that he’d catch the hint. He always did treat you just like a good friend, something that disappointed you a little bit.

Because as it stands, right now, with him towering over you with his arms crossed, a grin on his handsome face- somehow, you’re horny because of this smug bastard. You imagine how good it would be to just smash your lips on his just to shut him up because Archons, is it tempting.

“I’d like to show off what I’ve made for myself,” you huffed at him, pouting. “I’ll go ahead and stroll the streets as I please with or without you then.” You try to turn and leave, expecting him to just laugh and go back to work. However before you could even step towards the door’s direction Childe’s strong hands snaked around your waist, pulling you firmly back.

Without much warning, you fell back into his chest letting out a small yelp. Once you realize the position you were in, you froze- your cheeks heating up an unbearable amount as you try to wriggle away from the (much) stronger man. It only became worse when he placed his lips right on top of your ear, chuckling lowly.

“C’mon… I can’t have all of Liyue see my girl this good.” He remarked lowly, trailing his lips down until they settled on the base of your neck, to which he then placed a gentle kiss. “They might be tempted to steal you away from me, and we can’t have that, can we?.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t turn you on so fucking much, trying your best to hide it by pulling your legs closer together.

“We aren’t dating though? What do you mean-“ You let out a moan as he started sucking at the same spot, his lips forming a smile as they worked. Your hands flew to his arm on your waist, turning yourself around to meet his gaze. He lifted his head, lips puffy and blue eyes glazed over with lust.

“Everyone in Liyue knows that we want each other. Why not give in?” He pressed his forehead against yours, lips deliciously close to yours as he placed his hands on your waist.

“Only if you want to.” Was your sheepish reply, slightly embarassed to be this close to the man you’ve been covering for months. Was it really this easy? Is it just another one of his pranks? You weren’t sure, but at this point you didn’t care much, especially after he launched his lips straight at you in a fervent kiss. His hands lifted you up, haphazardly swiping away everything on his desk and placing you on it while your fingers tangled in his hair.

Both of you fumble with each other’s clothes, but Childe took extra care in taking the sight of your dress halfway off your body, admiring the view. He suddenly brings his hand up to your chest, flicking your nipple. You moan in both surprise and pleasure, burying your face into his bare shoulder.

“Be as loud as you want girlie. I want everyone here to know who’s finally got you.”

pt 2 is finally out yall i can rest

i wrote these on my way to and from london on the plane and i am sick bro i just wanna sleep (jet lag and chugging redbulls prevent me from catching a break tbh)

hope yall enjoy, this did take a little bit longer to make tho so i apologize for that.

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xxgoldie · 27 days ago

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thinkin abt childe since im visiting my like entire family in poland bc yknow. big family vibes n snezhnaya being slavic-based (+its been snowing like crazy here the last couple days). like, childhood friends to lovers w him where u were absolute besties as kids but then u moved away from snezhnaya and he joined the fatui and ur visits never seemed to coincide with his and suddenly its been fifteen years and you haven't seen him once. he surprises his family when he's back early from a mission and walks in to find u at his kitchen table having coffee with his mother and sister (your families are friends, of course you always visit them when you're in the country), and it should be awkward but you're honestly both so happy to see each other, it's been so long that teucer wasn't even born yet last time you saw each other! and then they bring out the old albums and you're poring over photos of the two of you at age five playing in the snow and he invites you out for a drink to catch up properly and his parents are nudging each other and not-so-quietly whispering about how they "knew those two would get married one day". idk. is that anything?

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redheadloverr · 2 months ago

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how they react to you asking for a child

gn!reader x genshin males

there will be longer post to these!

cw; fluff, enjoy :D

he asked first.

he’s definitely asked and teased about it for months, years, now. begging you to let him become a father to your child. when you ask him for a child he’s overjoyed and happily accepts, enthusiastic about the thought of being a father.

albedo, kaeya,tighnari, zhongli, aether

he’s joked about it before

he’s joked about it with you before, even bothered you about it for practically the entirety of your relationship. when you finally give into his ‘joke’ and say you actually want a child, he laughs, and then asks if you’re serious. you say you are and he’s overjoyed, a hint of light red blush appearing on his cheeks as he picks you up, swinging you around in excitement.

cyno, ayato, lyney, heizou, venti, scaramouche

he’s flustered, surprised, but nods in agreement.

“i.. agree, Y/N, we should have a.. child” his face a bright red, holding onto your hand rubbing it lightly with his thumb, smiling at you endearingly.

diluc, xiao, dainsleif, kazuha, kinich

he runs a mile in excitement.

my boy deadass runs for his life once he hears those words come out of your mouth, he’s never been more excited to hear someone say the word “child/baby”. he smiles and hugs you, kissing you over and over again repeating “i’m so happy!” over and over and over again. he’s so cute.

childe, ayato, itto, thoma, wriothesley

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10diamondz · 4 months ago

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Interrupted things

Summary: You and childe finally got an alone time after Childe came home home from an exhausting work. Just when you two get all intimate, your little one wants to show his work!

The gentle sound of rain hitting the window filled your comfortable home.

The evening had settled into a comfortable quiet, and for once, it was just you and Childe. No Fatui business, no battles—just a sweet moment where the two of you could get an alone time.

Childe leaned back on the bed, his signature grin playing on his lips as he glanced at you. There was always that spark in his eyes, the one that told you he was up to something, even when he wasn’t saying a word. He reached out, fingers grazing your wrist before sliding up your arm, his touch light, teasing. “Y’know, y/n,” he murmured, voice low and smooth, “I think we’ve earned a little time for ourselves. Don’t you agree?” You smiled, feeling your heart race just a bit faster. Childe always had a way of making things feel... electric. You nodded, leaning into him slightly, your fingers tracing over his chest. "I do," you whispered back, the tension between you building as your bodies drew closer.

His grin widened as he closed the distance, pressing his forehead against yours. "Good," he whispered, voice dropping to that rough, almost dangerous tone he used when he was fully focused on something—or someone. His lips brushed against yours, just a hint of a kiss, before pulling back. “Because I’ve been waiting for this.”You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks as your hand rested on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

His lips met yours again, this time deeper, more intense. His hand slid down your back, pulling you against him with a strength that was both gentle and commanding.

Just when things were about to go further, the door burst open with a loud thud. “Mom! Dad! Look what I drew!” Both of you froze.

Childe’s lips were still barely an inch from yours when his eyes shot open, the tension evaporating in an instant. He blinked, then slowly turned his head to the doorway, where your child stood holding up a crayon drawing, oblivious to the situation they had just barged into.

There was a pause—a beat of silence—before Childe pulled away from you with a dramatic sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Ah, timing. Perfect as always.” His voice was laced with both amusement and frustration.

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, quickly sitting up and straightening your clothes, while your little one bounced over to the bed, completely unaware of what they had interrupted.

“Look! I made a drawing of a monster, but the hero beats it!” Your child held the paper out to Childe with all the pride in the world.

Childe chuckled, his usual confidence returning as he sat up and took the drawing. “Well, well, let me see this masterpiece.” He leaned in, inspecting the paper with exaggerated interest.

“Now this is what I like to see—a hero that takes down the monster with style. Just like your old man, huh?” Your child giggled, climbing onto the bed between you both. “Yeah! Like you, Dad!” Childe smirked, ruffling their hair. “That’s right. Takes a lot of practice, though. Maybe when you’re older, I’ll show you a few moves.” He glanced at you, his tone teasing, but there was that soft glint of affection in his eyes.

You smiled, watching the two of them together. Moments like these made your heart swell—despite Childe’s reputation as a fierce warrior, he was always so tender with your child. The earlier tension was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of your little family.

Still, when your child ran off to show their drawing to one of their toys, Childe leaned back on his elbows and shot you a look—one full of mischievous intent. "Guess we’re going to have to be a little quicker next time, huh?" His tone was light, but there was that edge of playfulness, like he was already planning the next time you’d have a moment alone.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. "Or we could just lock the door next time, Ajax. "Childe let out a soft chuckle, his eyes narrowing with a glint of mischief. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides,” he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, “you know I like a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. “You and your battles…”He shrugged with a smirk, clearly pleased with himself.

“Hey, it’s what I’m good at. But don’t worry, snookums,” his voice dropped lower, “this one’s not over yet.” Before you could respond, your child’s voice rang out from the next room. “Mom! Dad! Can you help me find more paper?” Childe groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. “Well, looks like we’ve been called to another mission.” You laughed, resting your head on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

#10diamondz #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe #genshin impact childe #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin childe #genshin childe x reader #ajax #tartaglia

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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

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Hi! I had this idea a few days ago so I was wondering if you could.

The hsr characters (Aventurine, Sampo, Childe and Scar) have a child with the reader, the detail is that their child is quite attached to them both, so they cry if not both with him or he will grab his manga with teary eyes so he doesn't leave. Is this a funny scenario? I created it, take your time for this request!

{💤🩵} anon

“I want my Daddy!”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Childe x Reader, Scar x Reader, Family Bonding, Fluff, Domestic Life, Parental Love, Comfort, Reunion, Emotional Scenes, Tender Moments, Father-Child Relationship, Slice of Life.

Warnings: Light Angst, Mentions of Separation, Child's Fear of Abandonment, Emotional Vulnerability.

A/N: BRO WHY AM I GETTING SO MANY DAD AVENTURINE REQS ALL OF A SUDDEN?! LIKE I JUST FINISHED WRITING THE DAD AVENTURINE FIC!! 😭 I guess, time to cry fr 😕💔 Also, I changed it a bit since I had hard time understanding the req(I'm dumb sorry) so I hope you don't mind!

The soft light of your shared apartment filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks over the plush carpet where your child, a tiny bundle of energy and love, sat cross-legged. Their favorite manga rested in their small hands, though the pages were blurred by the teardrops welling in their wide eyes mirroring Aventurine’s. They hiccupped, looking at you pleadingly.

“When’s Daddy coming home?” they asked, voice trembling. You crouched down, smoothing their hair, identical to their father’s, and offered a warm smile.

“Soon, sweetheart. He’s just working hard to bring us something special.” You knew Aventurine’s job often meant long hours and the occasional high-stakes gamble, but he always made time for family.

As if summoned by your words, the door clicked open, and Aventurine’s charismatic presence filled the room. His coat swayed dramatically as he stepped in, eyes lighting up when he saw your child launch toward him, manga forgotten on the floor. “Daddy!”

He caught them mid-leap, twirling them before placing a soft kiss on their forehead. “Did you miss me already, darling? You’re going to make me think I should quit the IPC and stay home all day.” His teasing tone belied the genuine warmth in his voice. He shot you a wink, and together, the three of you melted into a laughter-filled embrace.

The marketplace bustled outside, but the cheery noises of haggling merchants were drowned out by the soft sniffles of your little one. They sat curled up on the couch, clutching their manga as though it could conjure Sampo back from wherever his latest “business deal” had taken him. Their eyes peeked up at you tearfully.

“I know Daddy promised to be back,” they murmured, burying their face further into the book. “But what if he got lost? Or—”

“Hey now,” you interrupted gently, brushing their dark blue bangs aside. “You know your dad’s the slipperiest guy in the entire Belobog. No one’s catching him—he’ll be home soon.”

Right on cue, the door creaked open, and in waltzed Sampo, his jacket swinging. “Did I hear someone missing their old man?” He grinned, arms wide as your child bolted toward him. “Ah, there’s my little business partner!”

He spun them around before collapsing dramatically onto the couch with them in his lap. “What’s this? Reading manga without me? Betrayal!” he cried, only to be silenced by their joyful giggles.

You watched from afar as the two reunited, your heart full at the sight of Sampo’s humor and charm seamlessly calming your little one’s worries.

(Header credits)

Your child’s muffled sobs echoed through the quiet of the living room. The little one, with hair that matched Childe’s, sat curled into a ball on the couch, clutching their favorite manga against their chest. Tears rolled down their cheeks, but they were trying to be brave, just like their father always taught them.

“Mommy/Papa, when’s Daddy coming back?” they asked between hiccups, their eyes wide and glistening with tears. You crouched beside them, pulling them close and wiping their tears away.

“Soon, my little warrior,” you promised. “Daddy’s out doing important work, but he’ll be back before you know it.”

As if on cue, the front door opened with a creak. Childe’s tall frame filled the doorway, his bow slung casually over his back. His eyes softened instantly at the sight of your tearful child.

“Daddy!” They leapt from the couch, manga forgotten, and ran into his waiting arms. He scooped them up effortlessly, holding them close.

“Hey there, my little fighter. Have you been holding down the fort for me?” he teased gently, ruffling their hair. “Missed me that much, huh?”

They nodded furiously, their tiny arms clinging tightly to his neck. “Don’t go away again, Daddy.”

Childe chuckled, shooting you a warm smile over their shoulder. “I’ll always come back to you, I promise.”

The quiet hum of the room was broken only by the soft sniffles of your little one, their small hands clutching a manga as though it could summon Scar back. They sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, their mismatched eyes—just like his—glistening with unshed tears. They looked up at you, their lips trembling.

“When’s Daddy coming back?” they asked, their voice barely above a whisper. “It’s too quiet without him.”

You knelt beside them, brushing their hair back gently. “Soon, my love,” you murmured, your tone soothing. “Daddy’s never gone for long. He’s just working on something very important, you know how he is.”

They hiccupped, clutching the manga tighter. “But what if he gets hurt again? What if he doesn’t come back this time?” Their wide-eyed gaze pierced you, filled with an innocent fear that only Scar’s reassurances could truly soothe.

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and Scar’s voice filled the room, low and melodic. “Hurt? Me? Never. You know your old man is indestructible.”

Your child’s head snapped up, their tears momentarily forgotten as they bolted toward the door. “Daddy!” they cried, dropping the manga to the floor as they threw themselves into his waiting arms.

Scar knelt to catch them, his dramatic flair shining even in this tender moment. He twirled them once before cradling them close, his mismatched eyes softening as he pressed a kiss to their forehead. “Did you think I’d stay away from my two favorite people for long?” he teased, his usual wide smile gentler now. “I told you, didn’t I? No force in this world can keep me away.”

Their tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck as they sobbed into his shoulder. “Don’t leave again, Daddy. Please.”

He glanced at you over their head, his gaze meeting yours with an unspoken promise. “I’ll always come back,” he said softly, more to you than the child. “I’m not going anywhere.”

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ahnaiee · 2 years ago

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Pretty Boy

[📃] when you call your boyfriend pretty boy as a way to call him over.

[🖇️] Multiple Characters

[🖋️] Some would be in like, in the first months of your relationship? They would react differently if you've been dating for a while imo

Kaeya | Ayato | Heizou

He's smug about it.

Like, really really smug. He goes to you with the most smugest grin ever.

He immediately knew it was him you were calling, and the way he turned to you made you regret (slightly) what you called him.

"Pretty boy?" He grinned, tilting his head to you and raising a hand to your chin. "Im flattered you think of me like that, dear."

You grimace at his smug grin, and he notices, his smile only growing more.

"Darling, why the grimace?"

You huff at his teasing tone. "I shouldnt have called you that."

"Awe, am i not pretty?"

"Well, no— stop grinning like that. Shut up, stop being smug!"

He will never let you live it down and you will have to hear him brag about you calling him pretty more than once to the people close to him.

(If its Kaeya, Diluc nearly threw him out of the tavern once)

(Ayato has run Thoma's ears off into oblivion about it, despite his "subtlety" in bringing it up)

(and Sara wishes to fire Heizou everytime he brings it up)

Childe | Itto

Beams.

You can see his whole body light up and the way he runs to you with so much excitement.

He picks you up and spins you, earning him a squeal of surprise then a giggle.

"I'm your pretty boy!" He loudly proclaims, putting you down to grin at you.

"Yes, dear, my pretty boy." You repeat with a laugh, and the way he puffs up with pride makes you smile.

"Good, now start calling me that more, baby." He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to your lips.

"Im your pretty boy :D!"

You can only laugh at his reaction.

You should call him like that more.

They, just like the other characters however, would brag about it to anyone who would listen.

Scaramouche once summoned lightning at Childe when he won't shut up.

Thoma | Diluc | Gorou | Xiao (slight)

Looks behind him, then at you, then looks behind him again.

He points to himself, blinking in surprise.

"Oh, you mean... me?"

You could only laugh, nodding your head at him.

"Yes, babe. You're pretty boy."

He's red, hurriedly walking towards you. Theres a small, shy smile on his face and although he tries not to show it, he likes being called that.

He wraps his arms around you and brings you to him.

"I like that. Can you call me that more?"

He asks you, muffled and hiding his red face from you by burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You just let out a fond laugh and hug him back.

"Of course, love. I can call you that how many times you want me to."

Should you do it again after that, he would beam, either a big grin or a small, fond smile and immediately head over to you.

He would hug or press a sweet kiss to your forehead or cheek.

He very much is your pretty boy.

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allfearstofallto · 11 months ago

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PLS CAN YOU FEED US MORE hero of the nation knight!childe ON MY KNEES I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I SEARCHED EVERYWHERE FOR A FIC LIKE THIS

This took FOREVER to write, but here you go!!

Blessings Be to The Hero of the Nation

Historical AU

Yandere Hero of the Nation! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: yandere themes, stalking, minor character death, blood, threatening, forced marriage/engagement

He kept one of your hair ribbons wrapped around the hilt of his sword. It billowed in the wind constantly and would draw watchful eyes to it. That pastel pink fabric didn't match a single thing on his brutish, usually bloody exterior, but he still kept it regardless. You tragically didn't give it to him in a blatant display of affection and well wishes for him on his journey, instead, he found the little ribbon after it'd blown off your head and up to the wind. A little pout formed on your lips realizing you'd lost it, but you decided against retrieving it. He didn't though. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking it home to clean off the dirt and grime.

That same ribbon was clenched in his hands when he arrived at the gate of your manor, along with a few other gifts that he would give to you. He'd just slayed the dragon, the wretched menace that was terrorizing the nation, now and only now did he feel worthy to ask for your hand. Cleaning off all the blood and gore that was on his armor, polishing it into light metal that could blind anyone who looked directly at it, he was certain that this would charm you off of your feet.

When he was invited into your home by your parents who were surprised to see the hero himself at their door, he didn't care about the tea or the cakes. The praise meant nothing coming from them. He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. He wanted your hand in marriage and he wanted the wedding to be soon.

A skittish expression crossed your father's face as he gritted his teeth, “We've decided to leave that decision up to her.” Childe smirked, that was even better. He'd never met a woman who wouldn't fall for his charms.

You were called down from your room, eyelids heavy and half open, still in your thin sleeping gown with a robe over it. You were rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as you walked down the stairs, your other delicate hand gripping the banister. And when you saw him, you bowed. A deep traditional bow, given to those of a respectable higher status.

He kneeled down on one knee before you. The male kneeled for only one person, the queen herself. His sword pulled from its sheath, he laid it flat against his palms, offering it up to you. That knocked the sleepiness from his body and suddenly your eyes were wide open. Genuine shock was making your body stiff as a board and you looked back and forth to your parents who didn't say a word.

“Your visage has danced around my heart non stop since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wish to use this sword only to fight for you. Won't you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words spoken in honor, with him meaning every bit of it. You were meant to take the sword from his hands, tapping it gently upon each of his shoulders, but you didn't. You just stood there, lips trembling, but not saying anything.

A marriage proposal via a letter was easy to ignore or reject, you didn't have to see their reaction. But never had you had someone be so bold as to propose to you in person. And not only that, the very hero that saved the Kingdom. Rumors told you he'd be marrying the first princess, she obsessed over him before he became the hero and those feelings seemed to only grow stronger after he waltzed into the city with the bloody head of the beast. Yet here he was at your feet, patiently anticipating your answer which he was positive was going to be a yes.

“I-'' you began, trying to think of the easiest way to let him down gently, “I fear that I'm not ready for marriage yet.” You said hurriedly. That wasn’t entirely a lie. You spent countless hours looking at the list of marriage candidates and scoping them out at balls and parties, but quickly realizing that none of them suited your tastes in that way. The entire idea of being wed barely satisfied you. You wanted to push it off for as long as possible.

“I'm willing to wait for you until the world crumbles. I'd even accept being your fiance until the day we die, as long as I can say you're mine,” he was persistent, you'd give him that.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously. Time felt as if it had stopped and this moment would never end. No matter what you did, he was still going to be there, “I thought you were to be wed to her highness, the princess?” You questioned him.

A scoff fell from his cherry pink lips, eyes looking you up and down, drinking in every inch of your body in that thin nightgown, “She does not interest me. Not the way you do.”

“There is really nothing interesting about me,”

“Won't you let me be the judge of that?”

Your shoulders slumped as you looked to your parents. They seemed as surprised by his persistence as you did, but weren't going to step in to help you, they always affirmed that it was your decision, they wanted you to be independent.

“Forgive me, hero, but I can not accept your offer,”

For just a split second you saw that princely expression slip. His eyes grew dark, lips in a deep frown, a rage you'd never seen before. But he was back to his usual expression in less than a second, that charming smile forming on his lips again as he stood from his knees and sheathed his sword a little too slowly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he'd mutter softly, hands still conveniently tight around the hilt of this sword, “Won't you please accept my gifts? And if you are to begin considering marriage, I hope that my proposal will be remembered fondly.”

Childe showed himself out, a little too quickly, but you didn't dare tell him to slow down. It was only once he was out those large double doors, did the air in your home feel breathable, you finally felt safe again. You watched his carriage leave from a window, watching as his eyes went dull again, losing all shimmers and feeling like a hollow mimicry of what humans were supposed to look like.

You were quite embarrassed to say you fell in love after that. Not with Childe, of course. You mentally tried to push the man from your mind after the way he startled both you and your family. Instead, your feelings developed for a commoner boy. You found yourself eyeing him when he'd deliver produce to your home, his face being one of pure beauty despite his messy exterior. As months went by, you'd catch yourself stealing bashful glances at him, locking eyes only for both of you to look away shyly. When the engagement was announced, Childe was one of the first to hear about it.

You twirled around the house in your wedding dress. Something plain and basic, but it was what your family could afford, and quite honestly, you loved it. You didn't want to take it off. Your fear of getting it dirty lessened as the days went by, until the wedding was only a week away.

“A guest for you, my lady,” one of your maids had said. Typically, when the employees of the house saw you dressed in your white gown, they'd smile at you, overjoyed as well. But she didn't. She looked worried, even a bit tense as she made the announcement to you.

“I hadn't arranged to meet anyone today,” you said a bit quietly, going to you closer to pick out something to change into, “Please tell them to wait in the day room.”

She stood stiffly for a second, then opened her trembling mouth to speak again, “I tried to, my lady. But he insisted on seeing you right now. He's just outside the door,”

A part of you wanted to ask who it was, who would be so disrespectful as to barge right up to a lady's room without her permission. But you already knew. There was a sense of unease sinking into your stomach. Unease and recognition. All the gifts and letters he'd sent weren't enough, were they? The man you were ignoring just had to come see you in person.

“Let him in,” you told the maid. She seemed confused at the ease at which you allowed such a thing, but still opened the door, revealing Childe who stood still in the hallway. He stepped past her, eyes only trained on you, “You're dismissed,” you said quietly, with a reassuring smile to the maid. Hesitance danced across her face, looking back and forth between you Childe, but she still did as told, bowing before leaving.

“You look lovely,” he said breathlessly, taking in the sight of you in that pure white dress.

“Thank you,” was all you could think to say back. Now that he was here before you, your mind was growing blank, all the things you wanted to say suddenly getting lost in fear. You tried not to notice the tension in the room, the way he was eyeing you like a predator about to pounce on a rabbit, but even your tough exterior was easy to see through.

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” he speaks softly while taking slow steps towards you. The terror of this situation made you move backwards, until your feet had made you press your back against the wall, “I fear that my haste might've made me do something…irrational.”

His dominant hand seems focused on the sword at his hip, making you look at it. It was only when you saw the red speckles all over his hand, hilt of the sword, and the oddly familiar pink ribbon he kept tied around it, did that coppery smell fill your nostrils.

With a trembling voice and a fake smile, you tried to assure him, “Any mistake is fixable, Sir Childe.”

“Not this one,” his hand continued to hold the hilt of his sword, squeezing it a few times as of testing the weight of his blade, “Do you know the best part of being the hero? The dragon slayer?” He asked, waiting for your response which was just a slow, forced shake of your head, prompting him to continue, “It's not the riches or the praise. It's not even the women.” As he speaks, one of his hands slides down from your cheek, to your neck, to the bodice of your dress. Tearful eyes look down to see him smearing that red liquid, that blood onto you white dress, staining it.

“I don't understand,” you mumbled, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“The best part of being the hero, is the freedom to do what I want. With no prosecution. Who in their right mind would stand up to the man who saved our failing nation? The answer is no one. Not the king, nor his workers, and especially not your weak little fiance,”

The sight and smell of blood, Childe's deep, hollow blue eyes, the way your heart felt as if it wanted to lurch out of your mouth. All things you tried to focus on as his words pounded their way into your skull, understanding washing over you like a wave that was trying to drown you where you stood.

“Wh-what did you do?” Your voice, so high pitched and breaking as the weight of the words forced through your body.

His hand, cold, soft, wet with blood rubbed your cheek, while his face never faltered, those dead eyes never changing, he had no remorse. It made you sick to your stomach, images of your fiance flashing through your head as you tried to imagine what he looked like, the hopeful ones saying that he was at least still alive.

“I'm going to ask again, nicely this time,” he began while pulling a ring from his pocket. Much more intricate than the one your fiance had given you, seeing as he had the hero's budget. But that didn't make you feel any less light headed when it was slipped onto your ring finger, freezing cold against your warm skin, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

#mai<3 answers #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #genshin childe x reader #childe x reader #historical au

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deathbxnny · 2 months ago

Note

Ooh ooh i love your headcanons, would it be possible if i request some headcanons of Capitano, Baizhu and Childe with a Jingliu!Reader please?

Genshin men with a Jingliu!Gn!Reader. | Capitano, Baizhu, Childe

Here you go, Anon!!<3

Content: Angst, Reader is a bit unhinged, battles, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》CAPITANO

He knew you from way before your nation fell. You were a legend. A well-known and respected warrior who carried themselves with pride at all times. Your blade never rusted nor dulled. You were strong. And he looked up to you for as long as he could remember you.

But alas, the curse had even gotten to you. It didn't rot you from the inside out but instead corroded your mind permanently. Nothing you did was as clean or precise anymore. You were unpredictable and near unhinged at times, your bloodlust a tragic insult to your previous legacy as you yearned for battle. He entertained you in such moments often, just to keep you from hurting others.

Your memories have faded even for him, but that doesn't mean that he isn't willing to remind you of anything you want to know when asked. He's patient and calm, knowing that deep down, you were still stuck in a never-ending battle, but this time against yourself.

Since there is no cure for either of you, you've become content in eachothers company. You are kind and soft whenever you aren't lusting for death and carnage, so life isn't all too terrible. You lead troops at his side and train them to perfection naturally.

Capitano is thankful for every moment you decide to spend at his side, as that way, he still at least has one good thing going for him in this cruel world.

》BAIZHU

He met you in terrible condition, as you were suffering from severe side effects from your condition. It took him a while to figure out how to heal you the best he could and eventually settled on simply blindfolding you to alleviate the pain and sudden outbursts from you. You didn't leave after you got back onto your feet and stayed at his side ever since.

You made his life a lot brighter and warmer than it previously was. You were kind and patient with his condition, even visibly concerned for him on days when he could barely stand. You both know that his end was near, yet yours would eventually come too. In a way, you both found yourselves to be equals in that sense, which made your bond grow stronger.

Your bloodlust and need for battle make you very unpredictable and even dangerous at times, but he has learned how to deal with it perfectly over time. He's in fact the only one that can make you snap out of it when needed.

With that said, neither you nor Qiqi are permitted to run around Liyue alone together. One of you would always forget what you even went out for to begin with, whilst the other would ponder about life philosophies and completely derail your quest of getting the thing you were even sent out for. It was a mess every time, and he decided that the chaos was just not worth it...

》CHILDE

You had met during one of your unpredictable outbursts. A violent battle ensued, and by the end of it, he felt a connection to you that left him breathless. He could tell that you were a warrior, a very skilled one. And so, he stuck by your side ever since, never letting you shake him off until you've accepted his place at your side.

He's perhaps the best person to end up with due to your need for battle and blood. Your outbursts are handled with concerning ease every time, as he enjoys the thrill of it. He loves the way you don't hold back, never the one to acknowledge that you truly didn't have control over it to begin with.

Childe begs you to train with him and to teach him everything you know. He's very much obsessed and doesn't hide it either, to say the least. Daily hard-core workout sessions that last far into the night are definitely the norm for you both... but what he begins to eventually enjoy the most is how kindly and lovingly you treat him afterward. Your patience and gentle self were deeply appreciated by him.

He brags about you to everyone and everything that his ears, his family, friends, and colleagues become near sick of him by the end of it. But he is just so thankful to have you and wants to make sure you know this.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin childe x reader #childe #childe x reader #genshin capitano x reader #genshin capitano #capitano x reader #capitano #genshin baizhu #genshin baizhu x reader #baizhu #baizhu x reader

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fangdokja · 21 days ago

Text

The predator never leaves empty-handed.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a dangerous game of wits and desire, you face a relentless predator who revels in breaking your icy facade—one kiss, one bruise, one twisted taunt at a time. But as his obsession deepens, the line between captor and captive begins to blur, leaving you to wonder who’s really in control.

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Childe (Tartaglia) x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Blood and Salt - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 10,626

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, rough play, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, descriptions of gore, medical malpractice

♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have yet to complete the required full story (hence, why the proof of request isn't present at the moment). This will most likely have 3-4 parts in total (of course, assuming people don't ask for sequels, but that's unlikely based on my experience...). This first part serves mostly as an intro, the following parts will have more NSFW yandere-centric content.

The Fatui base reeked of damp stone and iron, the stench of blood mingling with the sterile tang of antiseptic. Tartaglia—No. 11 of the Harbingers, Childe to the outside world—dragged himself through the winding corridors, his bloodied boots leaving a crimson trail on the cold floor. His breath came in ragged bursts, his body screaming in protest with every step. Yet his grin was maddening, all sharp edges and dangerous delight, a testament to the high of the battle still coursing through his veins.

When he reached the infirmary door, he kicked it open with a violent thud, collapsing onto a nearby cot with an exaggerated groan. The chaos he exuded seemed almost calculated, like a wolf throwing itself into a den of lambs just to watch them scatter. But here, there was no panic—only your unflinching, cold stare as you emerged from the shadows.

“Number Eleven,” you said, your voice devoid of warmth. It wasn’t a greeting, merely an acknowledgment of his presence. Your white coat rustled faintly as you approached, a scalpel glinting in your hand, more an extension of your being than a mere tool. “Still alive, I see. How tedious.”

Childe’s grin widened, teeth flashing like a predator who’d found something intriguing. “Don’t sound too excited to see me, Doc. I might think you care.”

You didn’t respond, instead peeling away the layers of his blood-soaked uniform with methodical precision. Beneath the fabric, his skin was marred by deep gashes and burns, the aftermath of his clash with the Traveler and the betrayal he’d been unwittingly ensnared in. Your gaze lingered on the wounds, but not out of sympathy. No, your interest was clinical, as if dissecting a particularly perplexing specimen.

“You’ve sustained second-degree burns on your left flank, a puncture wound dangerously close to your liver, and a laceration here that’s…impressively idiotic. Did you aim for the blade yourself?”

Childe chuckled, wincing as the motion tugged at his injuries. “You’re sharp as ever. Maybe that’s why they keep paying your absurd fees.”

“They pay because I’m competent,” you corrected, pressing a cloth soaked in antiseptic against his side. The hiss of the disinfectant biting into his flesh drew a sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t waver. “Hold still, unless you want me to accidentally sever an artery.”

“You say that like it’s not intentional,” Childe muttered, watching you work with an unsettling fascination. There was something almost hypnotic about your precision, the way your hands moved with unerring certainty. It was as if you operated on instinct alone, devoid of the emotional tremors that plagued lesser medics.

But it wasn’t your skill that intrigued him most. No, it was the way you refused to flinch under the weight of his presence. Even now, as he bled all over your pristine floor, his very existence a storm of chaos and carnage, you treated him like an inconvenience. Like he was nothing.

“You’re a curious one, Doc,” Childe said, his voice softening to a murmur. “No Vision, no extraordinary strength…and yet here you are, holding your own among the likes of us. Tell me, what keeps you going? What makes you tick?”

You didn’t answer immediately, your focus remaining on the sutures you were threading through his torn flesh. When you finally spoke, your tone was as icy as ever. “Gold and knowledge. Nothing more, nothing less.”

His laughter echoed through the infirmary, low and almost mocking. “That’s it? No grand ideals, no hidden motives? Just greed and curiosity? How dull.”

“And yet you’re still here,” you countered, your eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. In that instant, something unspoken passed between you—a clash of wills, a silent acknowledgment of the chasm that separated you. “Perhaps you find dullness comforting. Predictable. Unlike your life, which seems to be a perpetual spiral of self-destruction.”

Childe’s grin faltered, his expression hardening. For a moment, the playful veneer slipped, revealing the abyss lurking beneath. The bloodlust, the hunger for chaos, the undeniable truth that he thrived on the brink of annihilation.

“Careful, Doc,” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You’re starting to sound like you know me.”

“I know enough,” you replied, tying off the final suture with a practiced flick of your wrist. “Enough to understand that people like you only survive because of people like me. Now, if you’re done bleeding all over my floor, get out. I have more important things to do.”

Childe sat up slowly, testing the limits of his freshly mended body. He winced but didn’t complain, his gaze lingering on you as you cleaned your instruments with the same detached efficiency as before.

“You’re cold, Doc,” he said, his grin returning, though it was tempered now, quieter. “But I like that about you. Makes me wonder what’s hiding underneath all that ice.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, turning your back on him as you prepared for your next patient. For all his bluster and bravado, Childe was just another Harbinger—a cog in the Fatui’s relentless machine. And you? You were the blade that kept the cogs turning, sharp and unyielding.

As he left the infirmary, his footsteps fading into the distance, you allowed yourself a single thought:

“Nothing hides beneath the ice. Because there is nothing left to hide.”

────────────

The Fatui base had always been your world. Its cold, labyrinthine halls seemed endless to outsiders, but to you, they were a map etched into your very being. You had grown up here—an anomaly of sharp intellect and colder disposition. From the moment you were brought into this machine of violence and control, you had known your place. Not a soldier, not a pawn, but something altogether more useful: a scalpel, precise and unyielding, in the hands of a master.

That master was Pantalone.

Even now, years later, you could recall the first time you met him. You had been a child, barely old enough to comprehend what survival truly meant. Yet, even then, your eyes had been sharper than most—quick to discern the falsehoods in promises, the flaws in logic, and the danger that dripped from every word spoken by the Fatui. But Pantalone? He had been different. Not warm, not kind, but steady. His gaze had swept over you with the same calculating precision you’d later adopt for yourself, as if weighing your worth in coin.

And you had passed his test.

He had taken you in, molded you into something far greater than the sum of your small frame and deadened eyes. He taught you not to fear the dark but to wield it, to recognize that knowledge was not only power but currency, and that currency could buy anything—even safety. You became his tool, his protégé, and, in time, his shadow.

People whispered about the two of you, calling your relationship “off,” as if they could fathom the intricate balance you shared. Pantalone was both protector and architect of your existence. You owed him everything, and you had never questioned it—not even when he had sent you to the medical sector, claiming your talents could serve the Fatui better there. You hadn’t argued, though the move had felt like being severed from the foundation of your being. If Pantalone willed it, you obeyed. Always.

———

The infirmary door swung shut behind Childe, but his presence lingered like a toxin in the air, a reminder that your life in the Fatui was never free from chaos. You cleaned the blood from your hands with practiced efficiency, the motion automatic, mechanical. The crimson stains washed away, but your thoughts did not. They lingered on the Harbinger’s grin, the predatory glint in his eyes, the way he spoke as if he were unraveling you with every word.

He wouldn’t be the first to try.

You were younger than most of your peers in the medical sector, but none of them questioned your authority. Your skill had silenced the skeptics long ago, and your unflinching demeanor had done the rest. You had no need for their approval, no use for their camaraderie. You worked for coin and knowledge—nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, as you dried your hands and prepared for the next patient, your mind wandered to Pantalone. He had always been your constant, the one unshakable pillar in a world of shifting alliances and blood-soaked deals. Even now, when you were technically independent, you found yourself drifting back to him. After every shift, you would seek him out, trailing in his shadow like a phantom. You never spoke unless spoken to, never imposed. You simply existed in his orbit, waiting.

Waiting for what, you didn’t know.

———

Pantalone was waiting for you when you returned that evening. His office was immaculate, as always, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. He didn’t look up as you entered, his attention fixed on the stack of ledgers spread before him. But he didn’t need to acknowledge you; he knew you were there. He always did.

“Busy day?” he asked without looking up, his voice as smooth and calculated as ever.

You didn’t answer. You never did unless the question required it. Instead, you stepped closer, your hands clasped behind your back like a student awaiting instruction.

“You’ve been spending more time in the infirmary than necessary,” he continued, finally raising his gaze to meet yours. His dark eyes were unreadable, his expression carefully neutral. “Is there something—or someone—keeping you there?”

It was an innocuous question, but you felt the weight of it like a blade against your throat. Pantalone’s words always carried an undercurrent of calculation, as if every syllable was part of a grander equation only he could see.

“No,” you replied, your voice steady. “I go where I’m needed.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “Good. It would be… unfortunate if your priorities were to shift.”

The unspoken warning hung in the air, a reminder that your loyalty to him was not only expected but required. You nodded, accepting it without question. Whatever else you were—doctor, tool, scalpel—you would always belong to Pantalone.

———

Later that night, as you lay awake in the sterile confines of your quarters, you found your thoughts drifting once more.

To Childe, with his maddening grin and unrelenting chaos.

To Pantalone, with his icy precision and the unspoken bond that tethered you to him.

Two men, as different as fire and ice, yet both carving their marks into your carefully constructed world.

You closed your eyes, but sleep did not come.

Instead, the shadows pressed in around you, whispers of something darker, something inevitable.

You had always thrived in the cold, but now, for the first time, you wondered what it would feel like to burn.

────────────

The smell of blood and ozone clung to Childe like a second skin, a testament to the carnage he wore as naturally as his smile. When he entered the infirmary this time, the tension that followed him wasn’t just from the wounds he carried but the weight of his relentless curiosity. He wanted something from you—something more than stitches and silence—and you could feel it in the way his gaze burned into your back.

You didn’t look up as he stepped inside, your gloved hands deftly arranging a tray of sterilized instruments. His boots scuffed against the floor, leaving faint streaks of dirt and blood in their wake.

“Back again so soon?” you said, your voice devoid of emotion, a monotone laced with quiet disdain. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being carved apart.”

Childe’s laughter was low and almost melodic, but it carried the edge of something darker. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s accused me of that, Doc. But hey, if it means seeing your lovely face—”

“Sit down.” Your words cut through his like a scalpel, sharp and unyielding. You turned toward him, your expression unreadable beneath the cold veneer you wore like armor. “You’re wasting my time.”

His grin faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, sprawling onto the nearest cot with a theatrical groan. He tugged at his shirt, revealing the gash across his ribs that oozed crimson with every shallow breath. The wound was jagged, messy, and fresh, though your eyes flicked over the faint scars crisscrossing his skin with a precision that missed nothing. Some of them were old, but others—fainter, more deliberate—were far too recent.

Self-inflicted.

You said nothing, your hands moving with mechanical efficiency as you began cleaning the wound. The antiseptic hissed against his skin, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t pause. Your focus was absolute, your hands steady as you worked.

“You know,” Childe said, his voice lilting as he tried to draw you out, “most people would at least try to make conversation. Ask me how I’m feeling, maybe. Offer me a lollipop when it’s all done.”

“I’m not most people.” Your reply was clipped, your gaze never leaving the sutures you were threading through his flesh. The needle pierced his skin with a precision that bordered on inhuman, the thread weaving through the torn muscle like the strings of a marionette.

“That much is obvious,” he muttered, watching you with a fascination that bordered on unsettling. “You’re like a ghost, you know that? Always here, but never… there.”

You didn’t respond, your silence as sharp as the scalpel resting on your tray. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to unnerve you with idle chatter, and it wouldn’t be the last. But Childe was persistent, his curiosity gnawing at him like a dog with a bone.

“Come on, Doc,” he pressed, his tone turning almost playful. “What’s the harm in a little small talk? You could at least tell me your favorite color. Or your name. I’m dying to know.”

“You’re not dying.” You pulled the thread tight, tying off the suture with a finality that left no room for argument. “Though, at the rate you’re going, that may change.”

He winced as you pressed a bandage against the wound, your hands moving with a swiftness that left him no time to react. “So cold,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous. “It’s almost like you enjoy this. The blood, the pain… the control.”

You straightened, peeling off your gloves and tossing them into the waste bin with practiced ease. “I enjoy being paid,” you said flatly, turning away from him. “As long as your mora is good, I’ll keep you alive. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And if I stopped paying?” he asked, his grin returning, though there was a sharpness to it now, a glint of something feral in his eyes. “Would you let me bleed out on your floor, Doc? Would you even blink?”

You paused, your hand hovering over the tray of instruments. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the faint hum of the infirmary’s ventilation system. Then you turned back to him, your gaze meeting his with an iciness that froze the air between you.

“Try it,” you said, your voice soft but laced with steel. “See how far your charm gets you when the mora runs out.”

His laughter echoed through the room, low and almost mocking. “You’re fascinating, you know that? I’ve faced gods, monsters, and everything in between, but you? You’re an enigma.”

You said nothing, your silence more damning than any reply. You had seen men like him before—thrill-seekers, chaos incarnate, desperate to shatter anything they couldn’t understand. But you weren’t something to be broken. You were the scalpel, the blade that carved through the chaos with ruthless precision.

And Childe? He was just another wound to stitch shut. Another patient to patch up and send back into the fray.

As he slid off the cot, testing the limits of his freshly mended body, he flashed you one last grin. “You can’t stay silent forever, Doc,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “One day, I’ll get under that icy skin of yours.”

You didn’t reply, your back already turned to him as you cleaned the instruments. His footsteps echoed as he left, the sound fading into the distance. And when the infirmary door swung shut behind him, you allowed yourself a single thought:

Some wounds weren’t worth healing.

———

The first time Childe tried to woo you, he began with something grand—fireworks in the desolate tundra of Snezhnaya. The sound cracked through the frozen air like gunshots, brilliant bursts of red and gold illuminating the oppressive gray skies. It was loud, jarring, beautiful, and utterly wasted. You didn’t even glance at the window. Instead, your focus remained on the gory mess of a Fatui soldier who had botched a mission and returned in shreds, your gloved hands threading sutures through his mangled flesh without a flicker of distraction.

“Really?” you’d muttered, your tone laced with quiet irritation as the walls rattled from the explosions outside. “Do you think this is the time or place for such nonsense?”

Childe, standing in the doorway, had grinned. “Come on, Doc, don’t you think it’s romantic? You and me, blood and fireworks. What could be better?”

Your only response was a glare colder than the frost creeping up the infirmary windows. It wasn’t disdain; it wasn’t even anger. It was complete and utter disinterest, as if he were nothing more than a shadow on the periphery of your world.

But he wasn’t deterred. Childe was nothing if not persistent.

———

The next week, he tried subtlety. He left small tokens for you, each more thoughtful and intimate than the last. A book of medical texts older than the Fatui itself, its leather cover worn and cracked. A jar of rare herbs cultivated only in the depths of Enkanomiya, their use obscure but undoubtedly valuable. Even a delicate scalpel forged from Orichalcum, its blade so sharp it could slice through bone as easily as paper.

You accepted each offering with the same detached efficiency you applied to everything else. The book was shelved without comment, the herbs labeled and stored in your inventory, and the scalpel placed neatly among your tools.

“Do you like it?” he’d asked one day, leaning casually against the doorway as you cleaned instruments. His tone was light, but there was a razor edge beneath it, a hunger for validation that he masked poorly.

“It’s adequate,” you replied, your gaze never leaving the bloodstained tray before you. “Thank you.”

That was the first time he saw your lips move in something resembling politeness. But the faint spark it ignited within him was immediately extinguished by the icy void in your tone.

———

When subtlety failed, Childe turned to extravagance again. He stormed into the infirmary one day with a wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, its fur as white as freshly fallen snow. Behind him, a Fatui recruit dragged the hulking carcass of the creature, its size dwarfing that of any normal beast. Its eyes stared lifelessly into the void, its jaws frozen in a snarl even in death.

“For you, Doc,” he said, his grin feral, the blood of the beast still splattered across his face. “Thought it might make a nice rug. Or maybe a coat. Something to keep you warm, since you seem so damn cold all the time.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. You simply looked at the beast, then at him, and said, “Dispose of it. You’re contaminating my workspace.”

For the first time, he faltered, his grin slipping into something closer to frustration. But he recovered quickly, chuckling as he signaled for the recruit to haul the carcass away.

“Playing hard to get, huh?” he muttered, half to himself. “Fine. I like a challenge.”

———

By the third week, his persistence had taken on an edge of desperation. The gifts became more frequent, the gestures more elaborate, and his presence more intrusive. He appeared in the infirmary at all hours, sometimes with fresh wounds and sometimes with none at all, just for an excuse to linger in your space.

“You know, most people would’ve fallen for me by now,” he said one evening, lounging on a cot as you stitched up yet another gash on his arm. His voice was smooth, but there was an unmistakable tension in it, a crack in the facade. “I’ve got charm, looks, power… What’s your deal, Doc? Are you even human under all that ice?”

Your needle paused for the briefest of moments, so subtle it was almost imperceptible. But Childe noticed.

“You’re wasting my time,” you said, resuming your work with the same detached efficiency as always. “If you have nothing useful to say, keep your mouth shut.”

His grin turned sharp, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re good at shutting people out, aren’t you? Makes me wonder what you’re hiding. What’s so broken in there that you won’t let anyone in?”

You tied off the suture and stood, your gaze meeting his for the first time that night. There was no anger in your eyes, no hint of offense. Only an emptiness so profound it was almost suffocating.

“You misunderstand,” you said, your voice as cold and unyielding as the Snezhnayan winter. “There’s nothing to hide. Nothing to break. Now leave.”

For a moment, Childe said nothing, his grin frozen on his face like a mask. Then he laughed—a low, bitter sound that echoed through the infirmary.

“You’re really something, Doc,” he said, standing and rolling his sleeve down over the freshly stitched wound. “But I’m not giving up. Not yet.”

As he walked away, the air seemed to thaw in his absence, but you felt no relief. You knew he’d be back. Childe was like a storm—relentless, chaotic, and impossible to ignore.

But storms could be weathered. And you were the unyielding mountain in their path.

────────────

The infirmary was silent, save for the rhythmic drip of water leaking from somewhere in the cracked stone ceiling. It was late—too late for anyone but the most desperate to seek your aid. Yet there he stood, leaning against the doorway, his grin wolfish and unsettling in the dim light.

“Doc,” Childe said, his voice a soft murmur, edged with something dark and teasing. “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

You didn’t respond, didn’t even look up from the scalpel you were meticulously sterilizing. His antics had long since become white noise, something to endure rather than acknowledge. But then the sharp, metallic scent of blood hit your nostrils, stronger than usual, and the faintest flicker of curiosity crossed your features.

When you finally turned your head, you saw it.

The corpse was slumped in a wheelbarrow, its flesh discolored in ways that defied the natural progression of decay. Greenish-black veins spiderwebbed across its chest, branching out from a festering wound that pulsed faintly with some unholy residue. Its face was twisted in agony, frozen in the grotesque contortion of its final moments.

“This one,” Childe said, gesturing toward the body with a dramatic flourish, “wasn’t easy to find. Some poor bastard from the Abyss, infected with something… interesting. Don’t ask me what it is—I figured I’d leave that to you.”

He stepped closer, dragging the wheelbarrow into the center of the room. The corpse’s arm flopped out limply over the edge, leaving a wet smear of blood and ichor across the pristine floor.

For the first time since you’d met him, you froze. Not in disgust or revulsion, but in something far more profound. Your cold, unfeeling mask cracked—just a little—as your gaze locked onto the body. Your eyes lit up, faint but undeniable, with something akin to excitement.

Childe’s grin widened, sharper now, predatory. “You like it, don’t you? I knew you would. You’re not like anyone else, Doc. You see beauty in things that’d make most people vomit.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you approached the wheelbarrow, your footsteps slow and deliberate, as if drawn by an invisible force. You knelt beside the body, your gloved hands ghosting over its mottled skin.

“This… decay pattern,” you murmured, your voice almost reverent. “It’s… unusual. The infection—it’s accelerated, but localized. Post-mortem processes are suspended in some areas and hyperactive in others. This isn’t natural.”

Childe leaned against a nearby table, watching you with a mix of amusement and fascination. “Took me days to track him down. Thought it might be worth your while.”

You glanced up at him, and for the first time, your expression wasn’t entirely empty. There was no smile, no overt display of emotion, but the faintest glimmer of gratitude lingered in your eyes, fleeting yet unmistakable.

“This… will require thorough examination,” you said, your voice steadier now. “It’s rare to encounter something like this. You’ve done well.”

His grin faltered, just for a moment, replaced by something softer. But the feral edge returned quickly, his satisfaction bleeding into his words. “That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve ever gotten from you. I’ll take it.”

You ignored him, already lost in the intricate web of disease and decay before you. The scalpel in your hand gleamed under the flickering lamplight as you made the first incision, your movements careful and precise.

Childe didn’t leave. He stayed, watching as you dissected the corpse with a surgeon’s grace and a scholar’s fervor. There was something hypnotic about the way you worked, your focus absolute, your cold detachment melting into something closer to passion.

“You know,” he said after a while, his voice softer now, “you almost look happy.”

Your hands paused mid-cut, but you didn’t look at him. “Happiness is irrelevant. This is… intriguing. That’s all.”

He chuckled, low and almost smug. “If this is what it takes to make you intrigued, I might have to start raiding morgues more often.”

You said nothing, but the faintest tilt of your head suggested you’d heard him. For Childe, that was enough.

As the hours stretched on, he remained a silent observer, his usual bravado muted in the face of your singular focus. The corpse became a canvas, each incision revealing new layers of mystery and horror.

And for the first time, Childe felt like he’d won. Not completely, not yet—but he’d found a crack in your armor, a weakness to exploit.

In the end, it wasn’t charm or extravagance that piqued your interest. It was the grotesque, the morbid, the unknown.

He could work with that.

———

The first time he brought you a corpse, you hadn’t spoken, but your gloved hands trembled faintly as you reached for the scalpel. He didn’t miss it, the subtle shiver of anticipation. Since then, Tartaglia had made it his mission to unearth the macabre, dragging the dead and the dying to your doorstep with an unrelenting grin.

And you let him.

It wasn’t that you encouraged him. You never spoke more than necessary, your tone clinical and stripped of anything personal. But Childe was a hunter, and he recognized the thrill of a chase when he saw it. Each corpse, each grotesque offering, became a challenge. How far could he push? What limits could he break to see that faint flicker of interest in your otherwise impenetrable gaze?

He started small—a soldier infected with a rare disease, his body a roadmap of bloated veins and necrotic flesh. You dissected him with mechanical precision, but there was a spark of intrigue in the way you lingered on the abnormalities, your fingers tracing the patterns of decay like a sculptor studying a masterpiece.

Then came the elders, their bodies twisted by experiments gone wrong, their deaths soaked in cruelty and despair. When he placed the first one on your table, your fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. He swore he saw your lips part as if to speak, but the words never came.

“Not enough?” Childe asked, leaning against the doorway like a specter, his voice low and dripping with mockery. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll do better next time.”

And he did.

He brought you a man who had died screaming, his throat raw and his eyes bloodshot from ruptured vessels. He brought you a corpse riddled with scars—self-inflicted, deep grooves carved into flesh by hands trembling with desperation. He brought you a woman whose limbs had been twisted and reshaped into something monstrous, her body a canvas of agony.

Each time, you remained silent. But your actions betrayed you.

You rearranged your office with meticulous care, creating more space for the specimens you insisted on keeping. Your tools gleamed under the harsh lamplight, organized with obsessive precision. Chests appeared, their contents locked away and guarded like treasure.

When you thought no one was watching, you would pause to run your fingers over the edge of a scalpel, or linger just a second too long over a particularly grotesque dissection.

Childe was always watching.

“Death,” he said one evening, his voice soft but laced with something unhinged, “is what makes you tick, isn’t it? You don’t care about life. You care about the end of it.”

You didn’t look up from the corpse on your table, its chest cavity split open to reveal the mess of rotting organs within. But your hand faltered, the scalpel freezing mid-cut.

He grinned, sharp and triumphant. “I knew it.”

The next day, he didn’t bring you a body. Instead, he brought you something… alive.

The man was barely breathing, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven gasps. His skin was pallid, his lips tinged blue, and his eyes—wide, bloodshot—darted around the room like a cornered animal.

“I found him in the Abyss,” Childe said, his voice almost conversational. “Something about the air there eats away at the lungs. He’s got maybe an hour, tops. Thought you’d enjoy figuring out why.”

You turned to him, and for the first time, he saw something that wasn’t cold indifference. There was a faint, almost imperceptible light in your eyes—a glimmer of hunger. Not for the man’s suffering, but for the knowledge buried in his dying body.

Without a word, you moved to the table, gesturing for Childe to lay the man down. Your hands worked quickly, methodically, cutting through flesh and peeling back layers with a precision that bordered on artistry.

“You don’t say much, do you?” Childe murmured, leaning against the wall as he watched. “But you’re fascinating, Doc. You think I don’t notice, but I see it—the way your eyes light up when you’re unraveling the mysteries of death. It’s almost… cute.”

You didn’t respond, but your fingers tightened briefly around the scalpel.

The man died less than thirty minutes later, his body convulsing as whatever toxin the Abyss had left in him completed its work. You didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, as you cataloged every detail of his death.

When it was over, you turned back to your tools, your face unreadable. But as you reached for the next specimen, Childe caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

For anyone else, it would have been horrifying. For him, it was victory.

He kept going, kept digging deeper into the grotesque and the morbid, searching for the perfect gift to draw out more of those fleeting reactions. A cursed artifact that reeked of death. A vial of blood that wouldn’t clot, its origins unknown. A severed hand that twitched on its own.

Each time, you accepted his offerings without a word. But your actions spoke volumes.

You started locking your office door when you weren’t there, a sign that the items inside were too valuable—or too personal—to be left unguarded. You began staying late into the night, the faint glow of your lamp visible from the hallway as you worked in silence.

And when Childe brought you a corpse so riddled with death that the very air around it seemed to decay, you didn’t hide the way your hands trembled as you reached for it.

For the first time, you spoke without him prompting you.

“This is… adequate.”

It was the closest thing to praise you’d ever given, and Childe’s grin widened, feral and triumphant.

“You’re welcome, Doc,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Anything for you.”

────────────

The room reeked of formaldehyde and rot, a scent so cloying it seemed to stick to the walls like tar. Instruments gleamed under the sterile glow of the overhead light, sharp and surgical, reflecting faint silhouettes of the monstrosity on the table. The corpse was extraordinary—a tangle of twisted limbs and decaying flesh that almost pulsated with the remnants of a life steeped in agony.

Your gloved hands worked with meticulous precision, slicing through cartilage and peeling back tissue as though unwrapping a gift. Every movement was mechanical, devoid of hesitation, and yet, your voice—low and steady—cut through the silence.

“Why?”

It was the first word you’d ever directed at him unprompted, and Childe, leaning against the far wall, froze. His usual grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of something darker, something less rehearsed.

“Why what, Doc?” he asked, though the rasp in his voice betrayed him.

“Why are you doing this?” You didn’t look up, didn’t pause in your work. The wet squelch of flesh beneath your scalpel filled the air. “Your motives don’t align with anything rational. It’s not charity. It’s not loyalty to the Fatui. So why?”

It wasn’t suspicion in your voice, nor curiosity, but something colder—an analysis, a dissection of his intentions as sharp as the blade in your hand.

He chuckled, a sound too light, too rehearsed, for the weight of the question. “You think I need a reason to spoil you? Maybe I just like seeing you happy.”

“You’re lying.”

His grin faltered again, but you didn’t give him time to recover.

“You’re a harbinger. A soldier. A predator. You don’t invest time and resources into something unless you expect a return. That much is obvious. So what return do you expect from me? What does someone like you want with someone like me?”

Childe pushed off the wall and took a step closer, his boots echoing against the cold, sterile floor. “Maybe I just find you interesting. Ever think about that? You’re not exactly easy to impress, Doc. It’s a challenge.”

You finally paused, your scalpel poised mid-air as you turned to face him. Your gaze was unreadable, cold, and clinical, like a microscope zeroing in on a specimen.

“A challenge?” you repeated, the words slow, deliberate. “Challenges are fleeting. This… obsession isn’t.”

Childe tilted his head, his grin sharp and fox-like. “Obsession, huh? Big word for someone who doesn’t like to talk.”

You ignored the jab, your tone unchanging. “Let’s enumerate the possibilities, shall we? One: this is a power play. You want leverage, perhaps to undermine Pantalone or someone higher. Two: it’s a trap—an elaborate game meant to sabotage me in the future. Three: it’s personal, though your reasons for targeting me specifically remain unclear. Four—”

“Doc, you’re overthinking this,” he interrupted, his voice laced with mock exasperation.

“I don’t overthink,” you shot back, your words cutting through his like a scalpel through flesh. “I calculate. And you don’t fit any predictable pattern. You’ve given me resources, specimens, and opportunities that no one else would, and yet you’ve asked for nothing in return. Why?”

He took another step closer, the dim light catching the sharp edges of his face. “Maybe I do want something in return. Ever think of that?”

“Then state it plainly,” you said, turning back to the corpse on the table. Your hands resumed their work, steady and unbothered. “I’m a scientist first, an entrepreneur second. I don’t play games. If there’s something you want, say it. If not, leave. I don’t have time for irrationality.”

Childe was silent for a long moment, watching you as you worked. The sound of the scalpel slicing through sinew filled the air, almost rhythmic.

Finally, he laughed, low and humorless. “You’re something else, Doc. You really think I’d try to sabotage you? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”

“Precisely my point,” you said, not looking up. “You’re not stupid enough to waste time on something pointless. So why?”

He stepped closer, until the scent of blood and steel mingled with the faint trace of ocean salt that clung to him. “Maybe,” he said, his voice soft but edged with something dangerous, “I just like you.”

You didn’t pause this time, your scalpel slicing cleanly through a tendon. “An irrational answer.”

“But not untrue.”

Your hands stilled for the briefest moment. You didn’t look at him, but your voice softened, just slightly. “If that’s your reason, then you’re more unhinged than I thought.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “Maybe I am. But you’re still keeping the gifts, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But the faint glint in your eyes as you focused on the corpse before you spoke louder than words.

────────────

The metallic tang of blood was faint in the air, masked by antiseptics and the sterile chill of the room. Childe sat perched on the edge of the examination table, his shirt hanging in tatters around a freshly bandaged wound that seeped sluggishly through the gauze. The injury was deep—slashed through layers of muscle—but it didn’t stop the faint smirk pulling at his lips.

“You know,” he drawled, tilting his head to watch your hands as they methodically wiped down your instruments, “for someone so cold, you sure know how to bleed a guy dry.”

You glanced up, your expression unreadable, though your eyes flicked briefly to the absurdly large stack of bills he’d laid on your desk. “A fair price for the quality of treatment,” you said flatly. “Unless you’d prefer a hospital’s guesswork and subpar sutures.”

“Fair?” he scoffed, though his grin only widened. “I’ve paid assassins less than this. What’s next, Doc? You going to charge me for breathing in here?”

You didn’t look at him as you packed away your tools, your tone calm and clinical. “Considering how much oxygen you waste talking, it’s not a bad idea.”

The laugh that burst from him was sudden and sharp, echoing off the stark walls. “You’ve got a sense of humor under all that frost, huh? Cute.”

You ignored him, stepping to the side to retrieve a sealed vial from your supply cabinet. “Hold still. The last thing I need is you bleeding all over my floor.”

“Careful,” he teased, leaning closer as you prepared a syringe. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.”

“I’m worried about pathogens,” you retorted, plunging the needle into his arm with mechanical precision.

Childe winced, though the smile never left his face. “See? Always so gentle with me.”

“Hold pressure on that for ten minutes,” you ordered, handing him a sterile pad before turning back to your desk. “And don’t touch anything. The last thing I need is your germs contaminating my workspace.”

He watched you, his blue eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “You’re all business, huh? No time for pleasantries? Not even for this?”

The sound of something small and metallic clicking against the edge of the table drew your attention. You turned, your gaze locking on the object he held—a small, unassuming box, worn but intact, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the low light.

Your composure shifted imperceptibly, but he caught it: the faintest widening of your eyes, the slight hitch in your breath.

“You recognize it,” he said, his voice softening into something almost triumphant.

You stepped closer, reaching for the box, but he pulled it back, holding it just out of your reach.

“Childe,” you said, your tone neutral but firm, “don’t play games.”

“Games?” he echoed, his grin turning sharp as he looked down at you. “This isn’t a game, Doc. It’s a gift. But I think I want to see you work for it.”

You frowned, narrowing your eyes. “You’re bleeding out and still find time to play childish tricks. Hand it over.”

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Hmm, let me think about that… No.”

Your frustration was palpable, though you refused to show it. Instead, you straightened your posture and regarded him with cold calculation. “If you want me to analyze it, delaying only prolongs your ignorance. And if you’ve damaged it in the process of acquiring it, there’s a high likelihood it’s already unstable. Do you want it studied, or do you want it destroyed?”

His laughter was sudden and sharp, filling the room like a jagged blade. “You really are fun, Doc.”

When you reached for the box again, he held it even higher, forcing you to step closer, your fingers brushing against his arm. He smirked down at you, clearly enjoying the contrast between his towering frame and your smaller stature.

“You asked me once what I wanted in return,” he said, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Do you really want to know?”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “What I want is irrelevant to this transaction. If you want something, state it plainly. Otherwise, leave.”

His grin softened, but the intensity in his eyes only deepened. “What I want…” he trailed off, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “…is to see what happens when someone finally breaks you.”

You stared at him, unblinking. Then, as if his words were nothing more than static, you extended your hand again, your tone clinical. “The box, Childe.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as though expecting some hidden reaction. But when none came, he let out a low chuckle and finally handed it over.

The moment it was in your grasp, your demeanor shifted ever so slightly. You turned it in your hands, your fingers ghosting over the intricate runes with a reverence you hadn’t shown to anything—or anyone—before.

“Careful,” Childe said, watching you with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Wouldn’t want you to fall in love with me, now.”

You didn’t respond, already engrossed in the artifact, but the faintest ghost of a smile flickered across your lips. Not for him, not even for the jest, but for the promise of discovery in your hands.

———

The air hung thick with the faint hum of restrained energy. Your hands moved with practiced precision, fingertips ghosting over the etchings on the artifact’s surface. Its texture was cold and alien, the runes faintly pulsing beneath your touch like a dying heart. You had already spent hours analyzing its composition, mapping its structure, tracing its origins in the decayed husk of ancient civilizations. And yet—no matter how you probed, no matter what tool or technique you applied—it would not open.

Your patience, like the artifact, was wearing thin. You sat back, your fingers pressing into your temples as if to physically suppress the rising irritation. The solution hovered just out of reach, taunting you like a phantom, and it infuriated you.

“That’s a new look on you, Doc,” Childe’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, sharp and teasing, as he leaned lazily against the doorway. His bloodied shirt hung loosely around his waist, exposing a web of bruises and neatly bandaged cuts. His smirk widened when you didn’t respond. “Frustrated, are we?”

You ignored him, your focus locked on the box. “It’s not frustration,” you said evenly, though the edge in your voice betrayed you. “The mechanism is deliberately obscured—hydro-based in nature, reinforced with a layer of delusion energy. It’s intricate. Too intricate for brute force or conventional methods. I need—” You stopped abruptly, realizing your mistake.

Childe straightened slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. “You need… me?”

You looked up, fixing him with an icy stare. “I need you to deactivate the hydro lock.”

He stepped closer, his smirk softening into something almost boyish, though the mischief in his eyes remained. “What’s the magic word?”

You blinked, deadpan. “Deactivate it, or I’ll find someone who will.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, feigning a wounded expression as he closed the distance between you. “Don’t be like that. You’re always so formal with me, Doc. What happened to sweet-talking your favorite patient?”

“You’re not my favorite,” you said, your tone clipped.

“Ouch,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “You really know how to hurt a guy. But seriously—” he leaned over, his voice dropping into a low murmur, “—you’ve got to give me something in return. You’ve been running up quite the tab on me lately, you know.”

You straightened, glaring up at him. “You’re already compensated.”

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head in mock confusion. “You charge me a fortune to fix me up, and now you want me to hand over this for free? Doesn’t sound very fair, does it?”

“Fairness is irrelevant,” you snapped, your patience thinning dangerously. “If you don’t deactivate the lock, this artifact is worthless. And if it’s worthless, so is whatever leverage you think you have.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that reverberated through the sterile room. “Oh, Doc, you’re adorable when you’re desperate.”

Your expression darkened, but the heat behind your irritation only seemed to fuel his amusement.

“You’re always so cold, so composed,” he continued, circling you slowly. “But now? Now you’re practically begging. It’s cute. Like a little kitten swiping at something it can’t reach.”

“I am not begging,” you said sharply, though your tightly clenched jaw betrayed your simmering impatience.

“Not yet,” he teased, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer. “But you’re getting there.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, but you forced yourself to remain still, your voice sharp and cutting. “If you’re not going to help, then leave. You’re wasting my time.”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to stay out of your reach. “Fine, fine. I’ll help. But—” he held up a finger before you could speak, “—only if you give me something in return.”

You frowned. “What do you want?”

He grinned, his expression turning wolfish. “Oh, I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”

“Then we have no deal,” you said curtly, turning back to the artifact.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could pull away. His grip was firm but not painful, his tone playful yet edged with something darker. “Easy, Doc. I’m not here to cheat you. I just want a little… cooperation.

You yanked your hand free, glaring up at him. “Cooperation implies mutual benefit. I fail to see how indulging your whims benefits me.”

“That’s because you don’t trust me,” he said, his tone mock-solemn. “Which is fair. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

“Then prove yourself useful,” you said, your tone colder than ever. “Deactivate the lock.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening as he stepped closer, until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he said softly. “I like seeing you like this. All that frost finally cracking.”

You stared at him, unblinking, your voice low and dangerous. “If you’re trying to provoke me, you’re wasting your time.”

He smirked, leaning in until his lips were inches from your ear. “You sure about that?”

———

The silence stretched, charged and crackling like static between you, his smirk still curling at the edges of his lips as his eyes bore into you, sharp and glittering with something dark and unrelenting. Childe stepped closer, the faint scent of blood and salt clinging to him, a predator inching into his prey’s personal space.

“Tell you what,” he murmured, his voice low and playful, a dangerous lilt underscoring his tone. “I’ll deactivate the lock if you give me something first. Let’s say… a kiss.”

You stiffened, the cold detachment you clung to like armor flaring to life in the icy glare you shot him. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all.” His grin widened, toothy and unapologetic. “Come on, Doc. It’s a fair trade. One little kiss, and you get what you want. Or…” He tilted his head, the faint glow of his delusion sparking faintly at his fingertips. “I could just walk out and leave you with this unsolvable puzzle. Your call.”

Your hands clenched into fists, the frustration pooling in your chest threatening to spill over. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice mockingly sweet as he leaned in, the heat of him a sharp contrast to the coldness you tried to exude. “Or are you just afraid you might like it?”

“I won’t indulge your games,” you snapped, shoving him back, though it was like trying to move a boulder.

“Oh, but you already are,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he caught your wrist in a firm grip. “And that’s what makes it so fun.”

Your glare could’ve cut glass, but Childe only found it endearing, his eyes alight with a predatory glee. “You’re cute when you’re mad, you know that?”

“Let go,” you growled, yanking at your arm, but his grip held firm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a way that sent an unwelcome shiver skittering up your spine.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that curled like smoke around your ears. “Not until I get what I want.”

Before you could retort, his lips crashed against yours, hard and unyielding, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck and pull you closer. The kiss was hungry, almost brutal, his teeth catching on your lower lip and tugging just shy of pain.

Your initial shock froze you in place, but when his other hand slid down, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him, your instincts kicked in. You shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge, his strength a wall against your resistance.

“Stop—” The word barely left your lips before his mouth was on you again, his tongue sliding past your defenses to taste you, hot and invasive. His hands roamed, one trailing up to tangle in your hair while the other slid lower, gripping the curve of your hip.

“You’re so tense, Doc,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and teasing as his teeth grazed your jaw, trailing down to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. “Relax. I promise I won’t bite—well, not too hard.”

———

Childe’s lips descended on yours again, this time with an aggression that bordered on feral. He shoved you back against the cold metal of the vivisection table, the force of his body pinning you down as his mouth claimed you. The taste of copper bloomed between your lips—a mix of his split lip and the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and ragged, his hips grinding down against yours in slow, deliberate movements. “Always acting like you’re untouchable.”

Your protests were muffled as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with an almost punishing fervor. He tasted of salt and blood, the metallic tang mingling with the faint scent of iron that clung to the room. His hands were everywhere at once—one tangling in your hair, pulling your head back to expose the vulnerable line of your throat, the other gripping your waist with bruising force, his fingertips digging into your flesh as if to brand you.

The vivisection table’s sterile, cold surface pressed against your back, amplifying the heat of his body on top of yours. He shifted his weight, pressing his knee between your legs to force them apart, his hips grinding down against you with a primal urgency that sent shockwaves through your body. His breaths came hot and ragged against your neck as he pulled away just enough to trail his lips and teeth down your jawline, his tongue lapping at the blood he’d drawn from the bite marks he left in his wake.

“You don’t even realize, do you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he licked the streak of blood from your collarbone, his teeth scraping against the delicate skin. “How damn irresistible you are like this—cold, detached, thinking you’re above everyone else. It just makes me want to ruin you.”

You squirmed beneath him, your body stiff as you tried to push him off, but he only laughed darkly, catching both of your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head. “Ah, ah,” he teased, his free hand tracing the line of your hip before sliding under the hem of your shirt. “You’re not going anywhere, Doc. Not until I’ve had my fill.”

His fingers brushed against the bare skin of your waist, his touch both searing and possessive as he explored every inch he could reach. The contrast of his rough callouses against your unmarked skin made his blood sing. He’d expected resistance, of course—anticipated the cold glare you’d level at him, the sharp words you’d try to cut him with. But what he hadn’t expected was the sheer thrill that surged through him at the realization that you were so inexperienced. Untouched. Pantalone hadn’t even laid a finger on you.

It made him feral.

“You’re so pure,” he murmured, almost reverently, as his teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his hips grinding down against you again, harder this time, as if he couldn’t contain himself. “So perfect. And all mine.”

Your sharp intake of breath was the only response you managed as he pressed his full weight against you, his movements becoming more frenzied, more desperate, like an animal in heat. His lips found yours again, his tongue tangling with yours as he kissed you with a hunger that bordered on violent, his teeth biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He pulled back just enough to admire his handiwork, his thumb swiping across the bead of blood that welled up before he pressed it to your lips, forcing you to taste it. “See that?” he said, his voice rough and dripping with satisfaction. “That’s what you do to me.”

You glared at him, the fire in your eyes only fueling his desire as he leaned down, licking the blood from your lip before trailing his tongue down your chin, your neck, and lower still. His hands roamed with abandon, one sliding beneath your shirt to cup your chest, his thumb brushing over the sensitive skin with a pressure that made you gasp despite yourself.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he muttered, his voice low and almost reverent as his fingers explored further, memorizing the curve of your body beneath his touch. “You try so hard to hide it, but I can feel it. The way your body reacts to me, no matter how much you try to fight it.”

The metallic tang of blood filled the air as he bit down on your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the flesh just enough to leave a mark but not enough to break the skin. His hips ground against yours again, harder this time, his breath hot and heavy against your ear as he whispered, “You drive me insane, you know that? I’ve been holding back for so long, but now that I’ve got you like this…”

He trailed off, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was as much about possession as it was about desire, his hands tightening on your wrists as if to remind you that you were completely at his mercy.

You bucked against him, anger and desperation flaring in your chest as you tried to twist free, but it only made him chuckle, his voice low and almost affectionate. “Go ahead,” he said, his breath brushing against your ear, nipping and sucking at your earlobe. “Struggle all you want. It just makes it more fun for me.”

His tongue darted out to lap at the blood from the bite marks he’d left on your neck, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine despite the fury burning in your veins. His hips moved against yours with a rhythm that was almost punishing, the weight of him pressing you into the table as his hands continued their relentless exploration.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice raw and filled with a dark kind of satisfaction. “Every inch of you. Mine to touch, to taste, to ruin.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, the raw intensity in his voice making your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge. But the irritation bubbling beneath the surface finally boiled over.

———

Your body tensed, muscles coiled like a spring, your mind rapidly calculating trajectories and weak points as his weight pressed you against the cold steel of the vivisection table. The air around you was thick with the scent of blood, copper and salt mingling with the sterile tang of antiseptic. His breath was hot against your ear, words teasing and playful, but there was a weight beneath them—a hunger that set every nerve in your body screaming.

You bucked against him, your movements sharp and purposeful, but he didn’t so much as flinch. His hands were unyielding, his grip ironclad as he laughed softly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Is that the best you’ve got, Doc? I thought you were supposed to be clever.”

Your lips curled into a snarl, your calm composure cracking like thin ice under pressure. “Get off me,” you hissed, venom dripping from every word.

But your resistance only seemed to spur him on, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Why would I, when you’re finally letting me see the real you?”

With a sharp twist, you freed one hand and reached for the blade you’d hidden beneath the table—a weapon forged in desperation, its edge honed to lethal precision. The movement was fluid, seamless, the blade slicing through the air toward his neck in a blur of silver.

He caught your wrist effortlessly, his reflexes honed by years of bloodshed and battle. His eyes gleamed with a predatory light as he pinned your arm back down, his smirk returning, sharper and more dangerous than before. “Really? You’re trying to kill me now?” His voice was filled with mock disappointment, but there was a spark of something darker beneath the surface, a flicker of genuine thrill. “I’ve got to admit, Doc—that’s kind of hot.”

You glared at him, chest heaving, your mind racing as you struggled to find another opening. But he simply held you there, his weight pressing down on you like a predator savoring its prey. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low and almost affectionate as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. It was slow and deliberate, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that was as much about control as it was desire.

When he finally pulled away, your breath hitched—not from lack of air, but from the sheer audacity of it. He chuckled softly, his gaze raking over you with a lazy, shameless intensity. His fingers brushed against the marks he’d left on your neck, his expression turning almost reverent as he took in the sight of you—hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, lips swollen and tinged with blood.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice filled with dark amusement. “All messed up like a common street whore. And it’s all because of me.”

Your eyes narrowed, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. You clenched your fists, willing your composure to return, but it was like trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, but your voice lacked its usual sharpness, the words trembling ever so slightly as you forced them out.

“And you’re beautiful,” he countered, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “Especially like this. Messy, flustered, and pissed off. Damn, I could keep you like this forever.”

You shoved at his chest, finally managing to put some distance between you. He stepped back reluctantly, his hands raised in mock surrender, but the way his eyes lingered on you made your skin crawl. He looked at you like a starving man gazing at a feast, his breath coming faster as he debated something silently.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, your voice low and dangerous as you grabbed one of your smaller inventions—a compact firearm designed for precision and lethality. You leveled it at him, your grip steady despite the whirlwind of emotions raging beneath the surface.

He whistled low, his grin widening. “You’ve really got a thing for sharp little gadgets, don’t you? That one’s new, isn’t it? Packs quite a punch, I bet.”

“Do your part of the deal,” you said coldly, your finger hovering over the trigger.

He held up his hands, his movements slow and deliberate as he stepped toward the artifact. “All right, all right. Don’t shoot, Doc. I’ll play nice—for now.”

You watched him warily as he placed his hand over the artifact, the air around him shimmering faintly as he deactivated the hydro lock. The runes flickered and dimmed, the mechanism clicking softly as the artifact opened at last.

“There,” he said, turning back to you with a grin. “Happy now?”

Your eyes remained fixed on him, your gun still trained on his chest. “Leave,” you said, your voice as steady as the weapon in your hand.

He tilted his head, his grin turning almost wistful. “You really didn’t like it? The kissing, I mean. I thought we had something special.”

Your glare was answer enough, but he only chuckled, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. But don’t miss me too much, Doc.” He stepped toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and by the way,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, playful drawl, “you look even sexier when you’re ready to kill me. Makes me want to stick around and see what else you’ve got.”

Before you could respond, he slipped out of the room, his laughter echoing faintly in the air behind him. You lowered the gun slowly, your hands trembling as you tried to process everything that had just happened.

The artifact sat open on the table, its secrets finally laid bare—but your mind was anything but clear.

────────────

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