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throwaway-yandere · 1 year ago

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And The Sun Is Silent (Yandere!Wriothesley/Reader)

Unreliable Synopsis: You, a former writer, received a fan letter. Truly a curious thing, for the contents appear more personal than what it should be.

A/n: I am not back. I posted this cuz first off, I adore Joe Zieja and all his works and I was so hyped when I saw he voiced Wriothesley and second, mfer gave me C4 qiqi. i love my daughter but cmon wrio, I literally got the same haircut as you do now-

CW: nothing really. Just a lil mind frick ig

“When I saw his hands wrapped around his dearest new spouse, cutting that vile wedding cake together, I wanted nothing more than to take that knife and slit his throat.”

(Y/n) was a serialized author in Fontaine whose works were primarily geared towards detective novels. However, their words were less laced with objectivity and “irrefutable facts” as the heavy pockets do when spinning their tales. Unfortunately, they weren’t meant to fill their coffers with hit-release masterpieces. (Y/n)– pen name “Maestro Justiniano” – was more engrossed in the perpetrators' psychology like the barkeeps and magicians do. They were the main characters– the sung hero of the tale. The glorified violence thrived in each passing page for the only mystery to be solved was “who will they target next?”

If young fans of other authors were seen as aspiring detectives or law enforcers, those who were known as fans of the Maestro were unjustifiably labeled as “future degenerates.” For (Y/n), it was funny. Overhearing grandparents waste their already fleeting energy to scold their grandchild’s love for their sinful work was their source of joy.

But (Y/n) (L/n) was not Maestro Justiano in public.

They were Duke Wriothesley’s spouse. Maestro Justiano is but a shade and (Y/n) is a human. The maestro does not feed on earth nor mora, but (Y/n) is obliged to. He bought his title, and he bought his spouse.

Gone was their free fourth finger. With a golden shackle, they sealed their fate to a wealthy man for table scraps. Perhaps it is fortunate that he is generous with his pockets, but to (Y/n), they would rather starve themselves writing than sit through another seminar about the nation’s ever-changing laws.

The Maestro’s life used to be so full of thrill; the “pelf” they received for each writing commission was a life worth their breaths.

The Maestro’s life used to be coated in moonlight; sneaking out and running gigs was their bread and butter.

But now the sun is silent, and (Y/n) stands with a tail behind their legs.

“(Y/n), do you need anything?”

Wriothesley asked even when he could guess the answer. Lazily, (Y/n) shifted from the covers, peering over with half-closed eyes.

“Nothing, Your Grace.” (Y/n) yawned. “Close the door.”

The Duke nods, understanding their fatigue. He silently shuts the door, and nothing of interest is to be noted afterward.

This has been their canned script every Wednesday to Friday without fail for the past 3 years.

In (Y/n)’s eyes, Wriothesley is a mere animal with whom they mate for survival. Barely any true emotional trysts occurred in their first two years of marriage. They’re a “friend” of fortune. With him always away from home, (Y/n) is left with nothing but their thoughts.

The nights were warm, but the mornings were cold.

And the sun is silent.

Their husband has never been quite the same after an incident during their 2nd year of marriage.

On the night they were attacked in the comfort of their shared home, a gear in his head was stolen.

Wriothesley held them, audibly more alarmed and broken than (Y/n)– the victim– was. He shook, afraid of what you must’ve gone through in his absence. Robbery, that’s what the records say. An armed man entered their home with the intent to steal. Black were his gloves and hair. The perpetrator thought they had been away on a business trip and pulled the trigger by surprise when they emerged from the kitchen.

That thief had failed to steal material possessions, but their husband had lost his good of intellect. He cannot stand the notion of leaving them alone. What is a collector’s item if it’s not in great condition? Wriothesley has locked the gates and kept (Y/n) in, and he’ll continue to do so to preserve their value.

“I want to meet you somewhere someday, in a place where the sun is no longer silent. I want to crawl and bury myself under your skin where I can read through your mind. The house is too quiet. I want to trace your collarbones. I want to bite into your flesh, and I need you to look into my eyes as I tear myself apart. I am in love with you, (Y/n). It’s unbelievable, but it’s true. I live within these walls. I am what keeps you grounded with a golden ring. But why does the sun hide from me?”

Despite how much closer the couple are now, (Y/n) feels more distant than before. Not that they had the right to say "The duke was not the man I married" when they rarely talked— but it surely felt that way.

And in one Sunday night, the forcibly retired author used their words not to immerse readers, but to intimidate guards to grant entry to their "beloved" husband's office.

"You fucking bitch…"

"Lovely to see you too, honey."

"You made me lose my job!!!"

"Here I thought you refer to it as a side-line."

"Are you fucking for real right now?!" They screamed and slammed a fist down on the table. The pain hasn't hit them yet as their unbridled shock and rage hit overdrive. "Since when did you have the right to just take my–"

"Your hobbies away?" Wriothesley placed down his chamomile tea and shrugged. "Honey, I'm not doing anything like that. No, I'm only protecting you."

"Oh, great!" They waved a hand around dramatically before slapping it back to their thigh, rolling their eyes. "Let me guess, there's a biiiig explanation that fits into one giant puzzle."

"You know me too well for someone who never initiates conversation." He smiled mockingly.

"You're right. Court Dense Publishing House is being investigated for numerous allegations. Toxic working environment, which included stalking and superiors leveraging pay for sexual favors might I add, and tax fraud. The details of the latter will bore you." Wriothesley continued.

He sighed. "Can't you tell? I'm just being a decent husband. What if you were being harassed and you were afraid to tell me?"

"Like hell, I was–" They took a sharp deep breath in. "Listen. Let me get back to my work and we won't have any problems, Your Grace."

"No can do. You're an ex-Maestro now."

“And you're an ex-con.” They quickly retorted.

…

“... You're calling me an ex-con?" Wriothesley laughed dryly. The lone sound made them inch their heels slightly backward.

His eyelids lowered as his dull gray eyes peeked behind underneath his tilted glare.

They had never seen him this serious.

"Who do you think turned me into one?”

…

They blinked.

His words– though not making sense without context– carried a heavy weight they had unfortunately missed.

His gaze and words were accusingly pointed.

At them.

…

Wriothesley laughed.

"I'm kidding, of course. Don't be so tense."

(Y/n) didn't laugh.

He smiled. They can't tell if it was fake or not. He's been too good at pretending to be nice that they never knew when he genuinely dropped the act.

Like Maestro Justiniano, that argument is history now.

And maybe that's why (Y/n) first thought it would be a comforting experience to read a story written by an avid fan.

It was a long manuscript. Sigewinne claimed it came from a fellow Melusine who wanted her favorite author's thoughts on how to write a criminal male lead. When asked for the writer's name, she refused to say it. (Y/n) respected it since they too posted anonymously…

But this reading sounds less like a professional job and more like a stalker's confession…

“When I first finished a book of yours in two sittings, I had formed a vague fantasy on how you looked like. You were a tall man, thin, long-necked, sharp-nosed, with a body slightly bent forward. Needless to say, I was stoked to find that description failed to perfectly describe who you were in person. I hope that with my new appearance, my description perfectly describes how your husband used to look as well. These black gloves just don’t fit me right.”

These black gloves…?

"Honey, I'm home!!! Oh, and Sigewinne's here too."

As soon as they heard the door open, (Y/n) shoved the fan's manuscript inside their drawer. Wriothesley hates seeing any semblance of creative writing inside the house.

"Can you brew two cups of tea for us?" Wriothesley asked as he removed his jacket, placing it recklessly on the sofa. "We're exhausted."

(Y/n) nodded. They never tell him how they make his tea. For a bottle weighing 8 fl oz, they'd take a rounded scoop of sunsettia powder to the pitcher and pour steamed 2% milk to whatever was the appropriate line. Once aerated for 3 seconds, they fill it with their macha mix with ¼’’ foam and ¾’’ more below the rim for the aesthetic.

The process is not as difficult as it sounds, but they like withholding information. Why else won't friends and family know that they're a prolific writer, right?

"Sure. I'll be right back."

They left.

Their “husband” picked up the letter they hastily hid, a faint smile playing on his face.

Were you frightened after reading it?

How did his favorite author react?

He wished he knew. But he’s no detective– he’s a present “degenerate”. He won’t find clues just by looking at the parchment. "Wriothesley" placed it back to where it was earlier and adjusted his black gloves to fit just right.

“Wriothesley” glanced at Sigewinne with a giddy smile.

“So, do you think they liked my writing?”

"(P.S: I finally figured out how you make your coffee. It's 3 pumps of Fonta, 1 shot of espresso roast, chilled milk, and stirred with ice. This unique combination would've perplexed me if I didn't find out you made it out of spite.

But it does taste good. I promise. After all, in the cold solitude of your sunless prison, I'll be the one brewing you coffee. May each sip be a reminder of my affection. The sun may be silent too in the Fortress, but maybe in there, you'll finally appreciate my warmth.")

#ansy-writes #tw: yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere male #yandere wriothesley #yandere wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #genshin #yandere wriothesley x you #wriothesley x you #sigewinnie

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argisthebulwark · 8 months ago

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All Emotion Dripped Away

summary: skyrim men and their red flags <3 gn reader, no gendered terms or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Cicero, Mercer warnings: some unhealthy relationship dynamics.

Brynjolf's inability to commit is maddening. The worst part is that you understand exactly what led to him acting this way - losing Karliah and Gallus at such a young age, Mercer effectively ruining every positive moment they've shared, thinking that he's lost you. You can understand his aversion to committing himself to another person but the knowledge doesn't make it any easier to handle. "Must we put a label on it?" He groans, dragging your chair closer to his. He leans closer, lips only a few inches away - he knows exactly what he's doing. It's his most common maneuver - kiss you until you can hardly think, distracting you from anything deeper. "It's difficult to think with you so close." You breathe, attempting to resist his charm. "Aye, as you've said." "Don't you want more?" You ask, allowing his fingers to creep under your armor. "Why ruin a good thing?" His kiss is full of heat, a promise for more to come if you're willing to forget this conversation.

At first, Miraak's protectiveness was sweet. He accompanied you on missions far from home and fought at your side. Losing Mora's power had only caused him to become more focused on retaining the skills he had. Over time, it grew. You noticed him tagging along on shorter trips, soon finding that even a quick visit to a nearby village for supplies was a two person job. You'd faced dragons and giants, climbed High Hrothgar and aided in the resolution of a Civil War - yet it seemed you couldn't be trusted to walk a few miles from home. "I don't want to risk you, my love." He insists, falling into step at your side. "What if you were harmed? What if you're hurt and no one is there to aid you?" You don't like this almost childish way he seems to view you - once he'd doted on you, though now it almost seems as if he doesn't trust you to walk without some grievous injury befalling you. He's coddling you.

As an outsider, Vilkas had always appeared confident, headstrong, willing to tackle any problem. He's strong and intelligent and well spoken, of course he can handle things. As a partner, you've been surprised by his avoidance. When you were a recruit he had no trouble voicing your many faults, even as his Harbinger he's been critical - but not his partner. Those problems remain firmly within his own mind. You know he bottles them up, stewing on these emotions until he talks himself out of being upset, rationalizing everything. "If you don't tell me what it is you need, I cannot give it to you." You've pleaded with him, desperate to make this work. "I love you more than I can say - please, all I need is for you to talk to me." "There is nothing to talk about."

Farkas' recklessness had saved your ass on many occasions, but as his spouse it left you a nervous wreck. He'd often laugh off your worries before leaving for days, unable to communicate due to clearing out some bandit camp. His lack of self preservation reduced you to a mess of nerves, trying to work through it but unable to stop your eyes from wandering each time a door opened. "It's not a big deal." Farkas pouts, kneeling before you. His armor's all strapped into place and a pack of supplies hangs over one shoulder - he's about to leave again. Your heart kicks into overdrive, fingers shaking when they clasp the sides of his face. "I always come back safe, dear." He reminds you, that easy grin on his face. "Do you not trust me out there without you?" "I'd feel quite a bit better if I were at your side." You admit, staring pointedly at the sword slung across his back. "We do work well together." He agrees, a kiss planted on your cheek before he stands. "But you're the Harbinger, you have more important duties." Of course you did - your duties included paperwork and worrying, both of which were beginning to wear on your nerves.

You can't fault poor Cicero for his inexperience - he spent far too many years alone, no one but the Night Mother to keep him company. Isolation had changed him, left him lacking the knowledge many others took for granted. Of course you love him, you'd fallen head over heels for the fool and never looked back, but your relationship didn't come without it's own trials. He'd never learned the common things to do in a relationship; little things many couples did like dates were nonexistent and he had no clue how a normal relationship was paced. Falling for each other was easy, why hold back? Why not go all the way? It didn't help that his relationship with the other assassins was strained at best - some were friendly, others shut him out entirely. You were the only one he could turn to, the only one willing to share a meal and a laugh with your beloved Keeper. "Listener, will you teach poor Cicero how to love you?" He coos, gently combing the hair away from your face. Your first instinct is to refuse, to tell him that it's too much - but the peaceful smile melts your heart. "I want to love you the right way."

Often, you find yourself what Mercer likes more - being with you or keeping secrets from you. He omits things that don't even matter which only heightens your anxiety on the topic; if he's willing to lie about something as trivial as who went on what job or which client he's meeting with, what else could he be hiding from you? You tell yourself that it's nothing, just a survival trait he's picked up over the decades of leading the Thieves Guild, but it's impossible to ignore. He doesn't seem to enjoy the jealousy it incites within you but you can't quite puzzle out what he gets from it. In the end, it's easier to accept that he merely enjoys keeping secrets. Only the gods knew how long it had been since he'd last opened up to anyone and you were afraid that prying would make him snap shut the little window you've carved out in his heart.

#skyrim #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #writing #brynjolf #miraak #vilkas #farkas #cicero #mercer frey

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lathepoquerose · 1 month ago

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I have a Daedra OC and before you label me as cringe and take me out back to give me a quick and painless death HEAR ME OUT

So controversial take, but I don't think Tiber Septim/Talos is an Aedra, because he didn't make the core sacrifice that the original Eight did. However, I do believe he achieved CHIM and ascended because he was, at his core, a child born of Akatosh. And because of that birthright, I believe when Tiper Septim ascended as Talos, he became a Patron God beneath Akatosh.

I don't think it's a stretch to say that any Dragonborn could theoretically achieve CHIM. The requirements of achieving it are committing an act of love for Nirn and its people so great that it changes the landscape of time. As a Dragonborn, with a soul bestowed by Akatosh, like Tiber Septim, if one stayed a pure course it might even be the ultimate culmination of their service.

Gear switch: we know that the Daedric Princes, specifically Hermaeus Mora & Mephala, are frightened by entities that can fundamentally re-weave the Aurbis: see Ithelia. It's been suggested by ESO that Mora kept Miraak sanctioned for similar reasons: he was simply too powerful. His return would unweave critical threads of fate. Why?

Miraak's return would be an act of great hatred that would fundamentally change the landscape of time. If he had returned in the second era, he could have and likely would have killed Tiber Septim. Of course Mora would be afraid of this, because if an act of timeless love causes one to ascend, an act of timeless hatred could cause one to descend.

Do I think this descent would grant the descendant the same power as a Daedric Prince? No, just like Talos is a lesser Aedric God, this would be a lesser Daedric God, and what level of power and influence they hold would entirely depend on what method was used to descend.

For example; my OC Naome was created from fragments of its origin's soul shattered across thousands of time loops. Because of this, it's not a conscious descent of its origin, more so a mass of energy, similar to a poltergeist. It has a plane of Oblivion, but this plane is an extension of Mephala's sphere. It has little to no influence over the mortal world.

But that's not to say that more powerful methods could not be used. Taking my Miraak example, killing Tiber Septim would almost certainly cause a Dragon Break. An act like that could theoretically produce an entity closer to Talos in nature.

This is all mostly theory based, but I wanted some actual lore behind it if I was going to create a Daedra character. Hopefully this kinda makes some sense.

#lathe rambles #skyrim #oc: naome #miraak #tes

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caramelstarlight · 5 months ago

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I’m not sure if your request are open but I was wondering if I could get a Tighnari x reader who acts like a housewife to him

No worries! It’s open as long as I’m active.

Late as heck reply, sorry about it! 💚 Anyways, here’s the story! Might be rusty, super sorry. 😭

The Fox and the Sunshine

•Green=Tighnari

•Purple=Y/N

•Setting: Teyvat, no AU. (Y/N isn’t Traveler)

——————————-•💚•——————————

You’d always take care of any chores that Tighnari couldn’t have the time for, as a result of his work and constantly needing to plan or write down to reports. Despite just dating, you both have already lived together in Gandharva ville. He’d oversee majority of the tasks and jobs, whereas you helped around the house and the occasional job or errand from him. Unable to refuse, you always accepted, not just because you felt bad, but he always needed an extra hand with work.

Today was another regular day, you’d focus on the chores at home. While carrying the laundry basket, you passed by his room. Eager to take a peek, opening the door slowly and moving up to him to see what he was doing.

Not much to your surprise, he’d be focused on documents, scribbling down with the occasional tail or ear flick. His attention primary on his work before answering you. “What do you need Y/N?” Unable to look up from his papers, instead, letting his tail gently rub against your leg with a slight smirk of happiness.

“Oh umm…I just wanted to know if you needed any extra help? I just finished with laundry and was about to fold it.” You’d tell and ask him politely, gently petting his tail while waiting for a reply.

“Oh I see. Could you lend me a hand and go check the bulletin board? That’d be helpful, I need to know what requests are there.” He’d let his tail unwrap from your leg, allowing you to be free to go check on the board.

You’d nod your head in reply, quickly touching his ears before going back to do the laundry, folding it and placing them in the appropriate spots. Mentally checking it off your list and quickly going to the bulletin board outside to see if anyone had asked about something.

“Oh?” You’d murmur softly, gently lifting a newly posted paper, taking an interest in it and beginning to read. Skimming through before letting the edge you held drop back down. ‘That was interesting…I’ll go tell him while it’s still fresh in my mind.’

His ears would perk, hearing your return and continuing to file or work on documents. When he smelt your scent in the room, he’d nod as a way to acknowledge your presence and to start talking.

“There was a new one, it was talking about a dude who was supposedly an acknowledged and renowned adventurer, did you hear about them?” The voice echoed through his ears, still as sweet as he remembers. “You have to be more specific for an answer. This could be anyone.” “Oh right. Well, they’re blond and have sunshine eyes, they’re called the Traveler? Does it ring any bell?”

His ears would perk with a flick of his tail, trying to come up with an answer as well as focusing on his work. “I’ve heard of them a few times, Amber has told us about their heroic deeds and everything.” The pen / quill (whatever u prefer for him to use.) quickly moved across the paper, effectively and efficiently filling it out before reading and working on another document.

“Hm.” You’d reply with a nod, watching him work from behind and leaning on the chair. Wrapping your hands around what you could cover on his body, observing with a smile. “Don’t worry my dear, I’ll make time for you today. Just give me about half an hour or so?”

After finishing all the documents, turning and looking up at you. “Can you go place them in their respective slots?” He’d referred to the baskets or trays he had with certain labels on them for whatever the papers were about. Handing them in piles for you to place before stretching.

“Oh! That reminds me, I have to go make us lunch! Hold on I’ll be right-“

“No need.”

“Huh?”

“No need, I’ll go buy us something with Mora. Any preference? It’s as a thank you and a sorry for being unable to spend time together.” He’d respond while looking at you, waiting for your response.

“Oh anything’s fine!” You’d respond in a heartbeat, low-key interested in what’d he’d buy. “I’ll focus on the rest of the housecleaning and chores for you!” Tighnari would nod his head before bringing you closer for a hug, wrapping his tail around your thigh and burying his face in his neck. The tip of his tail wagging after inhaling a bit of your iconic scent.

“Thank you, my Sunshine.”

#tighnari fanfic #genshin tighnari x reader #tighnari genshin #x gender neutral reader #dendro #tighnari x yn #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #tighnari

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glassrowboat · 9 months ago

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Silken Shadows (Pt.1). Pantalone.

Summary: You had many customers, many clients. Regulars even. They dragged you along to dinners, to drinks at bars as they chatted about something you couldn't care less about, and to parties of all sorts. All something that came with the job. What you weren't expecting, however, as you stood on the corner of a side walk cursing the chill in the air as you waited for the latest job to come pick you up was a Fatui Harbinger. Well, you were told it would be a big money job.

Word count: 4300+

Authors note: I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but probably less than fifteen chapters? But someone had to give this old man some love, so I took it upon myself.

Also, the reader is a hired date for anyone who needs specifications.

Link to series

Shards of glass sat around him like glistening stars as a pale light streamed in through the large windows of Pantalone's office. Nonexistent constellations were to be found in what was scattered around him in his own personal galaxy. Bits and pieces are as large as one's finger and others as tiny as diamond inlaid in a ring. The only difference being: it wasn't gold encasing a jewel that shined under every twist of the wrist as it reflected a candle's flame, but a wooden floor. One he had taken great pride in picking out once upon after first receiving this office.

Time had scratched its lacquered surface.

How typical.

Another thing he can't control. Just like the natural instinct to grit his teeth so tight, Pantalone can hear them grinding against each other in protest, crying out for some form of mercy.

It made his jaw ache. Yet his lips still twisted into a smile.

They had to.

Even if Pantalone couldn't help but want to physically recoil at his own image, his reflection in the glass at his feet. An aged label with yellowed spots attached to what was left of the bottle, an 817 vintage from Fontaine, the only thing blocking where his narrowed eyes would be in this warped copy.

All the while, one thought kept replaying in his head, repeating like a broken record slotted on a gramophone: that damnable woman.

Signora canceled on him.

Right before a banquet that was supposed to be quite the occasion at that.

It would have given him just the perfect chance to introduce the frosty diplomat, his fellow Harbinger, to a colleague of his. A man just as like minded as Pantalone when it comes to the exchange on mora. A fellow businessman, to put it in simple terms. Someone who also speaks in the turnover of gold from one hand to another.

A man who could prove beneficial to Pantalone had the right opportunity to familiarize himself but man but all the ‘Fair Lady’ had to say, in as arrogant sounding voice as she could muster, for that Pantalone was sure, was that she's being shipped away to Inazuma soon. For the gnosis in accordance with the last meeting's conclusion, of course.

That, however, didn't change the fact that she wasn't leaving right away.

There was time she could use, to leverage if she so wished, but now he was left with a tree that wished to bear no fruit. There would be no sweet taste of a win today, of another deal secured at this rate. What a wasted opportunity.

Not to mention, he was still expected to show up with someone on his arm in accordance with the invite marked with a check right on the box for a plus one.

All that right after La Signora didn't even bother to sit down, to go through the proper greetings and laybe even have tea with him to share this bit of information. Rather, she stormed in as Pantalone was drafting out a contract, unfortunately startling him in the process as the door slammed against the wall behind it. It was enough to have the ink scrawled out under his hand smudge as his hand curled around a black fountain pen at the idea that her uncaring actions would leave a dent in the drywall.

Surprise. It was never an emotion he cared for, but it was all he was being given today. Or at least that's how it seemed.

The floral scent of the ink he specially ordered to refill this pen the last time it emptied out from pages upon pages of tireless work that had led to an ache in his hand was the only thing to sooth Pantalone's otherwise swirling mind as he figured out where to go from here.

That here has led him to Columbina.

Her saccharine smile when he slipped into the music room was familiar, something he was as used to as a well-worn book as she held up a singular finger. Asking for one moment more.

The song on her lips quelled only when she was ready.

Besides, it would be unbefitting to ask her to stop with the nonsense already as her voice rose to the heights of the pure white room. One never cuts off the star of a stage, on or off of it. Columbina had a way of bringing the notes to life, of making any eye believe you could see the sheet music she had long since memorized to the point someone might just believe they could see those ever perfect lines of five weaving around columns all up until Columbina took her final bow.

Pink and black hair covering her face still as his hands clapped together, the metal bands wrapped around his fingers, causing a small ring each time they collided. “Wonderful as always, Damselette.”

“I am always exultant to have a proper audience.”

Her head rose from its low hang with a grace only she could have. Every action she took was akin to a bird flapping its wings to soar among the clouds. Fitting for a dove.

“As much as I would like to sit down and show you proper respect and courtesy, Columbina, I am afraid I am too short of time for such a luxury.”

The event is, after all, tonight at 8 o'clock sharp, and while Pantalone has always heard it's fashionable to arrive late, it was never a practice he appreciated others participating in. He wouldn't deign to be the outlier to such a basic rule when there was no need for such.

He didn't need to arrive late to get anyone's eyes to fall on him in rapt attention. The citizens of Snezhnaya knew what his time was worth. As for those who did participate in such boorish behaviors? Simply put, they were not worth the precious minutes that could be delegated elsewhere.

“First and foremost, are you otherwise preoccupied this evening?” Pantalone asked.

Columbina turned her back to him with ease, fingers fiddling with the sheet music before her as she scribbled something down he could not see. Not that it mattered. If it wasn't the very notes she was just singing, it would be an indent on the piece written in a language far older than he.

“Now, what would you want of me that requires I not be ‘preoccupied'?”

“That Marquess in the West, you and I both know the one, has come to the main city for a short reprieve and is holding an event.” As Pantalone spoke, he stepped further into the room, taking care not to scuff the white floors with his own black shoes. “One that does not require a show of a song, but I'm sure they would not deny it if you offered.”

A gentle series of clicks continued until he was standing beside her.

“So, you want me to act as your substitute plus one since the one you originally planned to invite canceled on you at the last minute. Is that it, Regrator?”

Her tone had Pantalone wanting to click his tongue, but he resisted the urge.

“A regretful circumstance I shall have to amend in the future. If you agree to my proposition, that is.”

“The Fair Lady truly pulled that lavish rug under you. Something I do not see often.”

Pantalone kept from looking down at her, instead keeping his eyes instead fixed on the musician's stand, his gloved finger ran over. It would be lace covered eyes and ribbons galore as usual. Nothing he hasn't seen before at every harbinger meeting or the times they cross paths through the ornate halls of the palace, most of which have him catching the sight of her scuttling into this very room.

The faintest layer of dust now coated his finger that had Pantalone itching to grab the handkerchief tucked away in his pocket to wipe it off.

The Damselette always did tend to scare the maids off.

“As stated before, I am currently lacking time. Your answer would be most appreciated.”

“Oh, right, that.” Columbina mused. “Steak dinners, champagne, maybe even chatter amongst people who are delightful company. Just like my plans for tonight with Arlecchino.”

Of course she didn't lead with that.

That means two possible options off his already lackluster list of those to invite along.

The last words Pantalone was given before he walked out with a bow of his head to the higher ranking harbinger was “I hope you find someone to fill the empty seat beside you tonight.” Only for the song to continue on like nothing happened, like nothing interrupted, like he didn't even come in at all.

He made sure to leave the door cracked open on his way out.

Sandrone was all the same, giving him a no. The only difference was she spit the words out like venom the moment his fist knocked on her workshop's door and she flung it open with a flourish, covered in oil and the finest grinds of aluminum that flew in the air. It had him cleaning his glasses off as he walked away.

Lenses punched between the fine fabric of his handkerchief as he went over what to do from here.

If it wouldn't reflect poorly on his image, Pantalone would just show up alone. Wave it off and say his date was busy. Yet here he is, arm twisted. Social expectations are truly the bind that holds us all as he couldn't simply message the Marquess on the fly with something along the lines of ‘I couldn't dain to bring a date after my plus one canceled on me.’ Signed the Ninth.

If it wouldn't come across as poor care for attention, bringing his most trusted secretary along would be a viable option. That is if that very employee wasn't a married man who was only just rambling about plans to take his partner out for dinner earlier this very day. It was their five year anniversary being married, as he recalled. He had even given the man a gift in congratulations.

The other two under his care were off dealing with some less than stellar business Pantalone couldn't afford to take them away from. At least not at this given moment in time.

Dottore would at least prove to be an entertaining option. One segment or another would likely get stuck along his side, maybe even the one with the pink bow tie, and it looks like he's ready to bite the finger off anyone who approaches.

No, best not.

Little options left. If any.

At this rate, his arm would get stiff as it's tugged and twisted into position.

Well, there's always the place a certain man, a debtor, mentioned last time. His whining was just the perfect pitch that made it hard to ignore as Pantalone's guards tore apart his shack of a house apart in an attempt at finding the funds he was due. Only a measly fifty mora that would prove no use in taking. One can not pay if they can not work as starvation tears them apart from the inside out. (or at least that's what Pantalone will say when the man stops showing up to work out of the blue). The excuse? He went to one of those houses in the area.

Exchange time for a woman's company. Nothing he hasn't heard before. Nothing he isn't familiar with. The Northland Bank served customers of all walks of life.

The name, however, was one that rang a bell in Pantalone's head. One that sold a woman's time over her body.

This is what he has been backed into? Truly?

Still, he called the guard that was stationed by the doors he just walked though, fingers snapping to get this individual's attention as Pantalone told them to find a messenger. The need to tell them to be quick about it would be nothing short of an unnecessary addition. They knew that well enough by now.

Steps filled the hall just as the creaking of loose floorboards did. They had long since needed to be replaced but actually getting around to hiring someone to do that had been waved off time and time again that everyone had since learned to simply live with being woken up in the middle of the night by someone trying to get a cup of water.

Loud and clear with each echo.

Making the hand that wrapped around your arm and pulled you up off the stool, just another thing you expected as a shrill voice cried out to get your attention. Scratched and broken from what was no doubt the cigarettes The Madame might as well switch out for her meals filling your ears while she jabbered about whatever had her coming to you this time.

That being: a job.

It was no wonder then why a wet rag was being shoved into your face, trying to wash- or better yet- scrub off the powder on your face. Messy blobs of green and pink having been painted on your eyelids the same way a crayon would a child's coloring book, only becoming more of a mess to handle at this treatment as your nose scrunched up as the fabric rubbed against you.

“Wash this shit off your face and give it a real try, kid. Don't know why you keep letting the bucket girl apply makeup on you.” That old hag barked out. In as good of a mood as any as she pulled her hand back to finally give your skin some reprieve. “And try to keep yourself lookin’ real good. This client has some big bucks to spend, and I don't need you messing it up like last time.”

“You always know just what to say.” You retorted as you snatched the rag away from her to wipe the eyeshadow off your face properly. Gently.

Even going so far as to lean down to get a proper view from the vanity and its cloudy mirror to make sure there wasn't a speck of makeup left.

“This ain't your usual crowd, kid, but you're going to high tail it out of here in your best dress and meet this guy two blocks from here so some carriage can pick you up.”

“Ahh, one of those guys. I'm on it. And do me a favor and don't bully the ‘bucket girl' while I'm out.”

It wasn't a surprise when the Madame threw a quick “no promises” over her shoulder as she left the room, leaving you to get ready. Brush already in hand as the door slammed shut. Most likely her doing, but you chose to think of it as a simple draft of wind as the bristles brushed through a soft pad of pink.

The same pink of the gloves you currently dawned. Fingers twitching with each passing minute to keep blood pumping through the digits you were breathing on, trying your best to keep yourself as warm as possible while standing at the usual spot for clients that needed to pick a girl up a few blocks away from the Marmeladova house.

Sure, they had their reasons, but it always came across as the clients having no sense of decorum for a freezing lady. A frozen tundra of a nation, yet they still expected you to stand on the street like a hooker trying to call in her five hundred for the night.

How charming.

Not.

It was when you were pacing back and forth, kicking up bits of powdered snow with every step, did the rolling of the carriages passing by on the street lead to one stopping right before you. Wheels turned stock still as the lines behind painted a clear path right to you. It's not an accidental pullover by some temperamental horses then. Though if you only looked, such a thought wouldn't have even crossed your mind in the first place.

A carriage with golden accents, horses with shining leather straps, a coachman in clothing that looked actually weather appropriate, and a Fatui symbol stamped right before you. Like the sign to a haunted house as the other girls drag you inside, claiming it will be fun, only for you to walk out annoyed and grouchy at the lackluster experience.

Something told you this wouldn't end that way.

A footman, or at least you assumed that's what he was when he was wearing the Fatuus emblem and one of those masks you see the soldiers wearing so openly while walking around without a single care in the world besides holding their heads high pulled the ornate door before you open.

A hand held out to help you up along the steps that had a nice coat of snow dusting them only knocked away by the heel of your boot while ducking inside the red velvet walls. Instantly, you could tell it was warmer in here from the moment you sat down. The thing probably insulated for what reason would you put yourself through the agony of the cold when you can simply buy your way out of it?

At least, that felt like a fair comparison as your eyes met those of a man you've only ever seen in the newspapers. Most of which were fished out of the trash from nicer neighborhoods to use as kindling, but that face was unmistakable.

“Lord Harbinger.” You found yourself saying as you greeted the figure before you. Your own words sounded like they were coming from another's mouth as they were drowned out by the curses flying across your mind. Faster than any bird in the sky or whizzing bullet as he greeted you back.

The shock of it all had you a reeling mess, but not enough so to miss the ice tune of Pantalone's voice as he said “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”

In the very least, this would give you a decent idea of where you stood in this dynamic.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Your hand was held out between you both on instinct, hanging there for a moment under the small lantern that lit the carriage with the curtains closed shut. Like a barrier to the outside world.

The shake was strong, sturdy, and his leather gloves did little to help you figure out anything about this man the public didn't already know.

An example being how he'd surely have a writer's bump. A man whose bread and butter is contracts surely knows how to hold a quill. How curious. Not as much, however, as the Lord Harbinger wiping his hand off on his jacket the moment yours left his. A folder occupying the other he was holding out to you.

“Read this over and try your best to memorize the names inside.”

With little to no choice otherwise, you took it from him. The folder failed to bend back under your touch as you opened it, not even when your gloved fingers rubbed the material between them as the names were run over again and again in your mind. Good quality, as he expected, as you took in the long list.

Far too long actually.

“I expect you to remember as much as you can, but I'll be there to assist you all the while.”

Your eyes flicked up to look at him, meeting his gaze over the folder. “Assist me all the while?”

“I am to be attending an event tonight. Do I need to piece out more for you, or can you truly not ascertain things for yourself?”

Something about his smile rubbed you wrong. You were once taught that if someone was truly smiling, out of joy, or some bull along the lines of being a happy person naturally, their eyes would have wrinkles creasing at the sides. His lacked that. Though it was hard to tell exactly if that was the case when they were closed.

But could a smile so freely given from a Harbinger be…? It's best not to finish that thought. He's still your client.

“Don't doubt me just yet. I haven't even had the chance to prove myself.” You said, matching his smile in turn.

“Then please, don't disappoint. First, however,” you could barely catch his eyelashes moving when the wheels started to turn again at the simple rap of his knuckles against the carriage roof.

Whatever that meant would prove little to mull over as you leaned back into the cushions.

You later learned that was him giving you a look, or as close to one as Pantalone could manage behind those thick spectacles of his you were tempted to break as he walked into a dress store, picked something off the rack, and stated it would be what you were going to wear tonight. No input from you, no double checking to see if it fits. Not to mention, the fabric had been irritating you from the moment it adorned your skin.

How you wanted to claim it rested upon your body like silk, but it was more like that one scratchy blanket you always get stuck with as everyone else steals the nice ones.

At the very least, it was pretty. Had a decent range of movement, too, as the Lord Harbinger dragged you along by the arm he interlocked with his as you were met with new face after face.

Some of the names you could recall reading only an hour prior, others not so much.

Giant grins.

Pretty women with ornate hair styles.

Champagne glasses.

The moment you picked one up, Pantalone plucked it from your hands and hissed as low as possible for only you to hear “I am not paying you to drink.”

This was nothing unusual, the event, that is. Pantalone is a whole other story, but you have been to many parties of all sorts during your time. This was just another rich boy party with underhanded remarks and fancy cheeses.

One that dragged on far too long for anyone's liking.

At some point during the night, you just barely caught the richest boy himself telling someone who asked about you that you were just a friend. One that he met through your father, a fellow businessman he had worked with shortly before the man unfortunately passed. How you're only back in town visiting. That he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring you along.

And it kept like that until the point you were tempted to peel the bandages off the back of your heels after they had been slipping on you the past hour. Peeling from your skin like a piece of string on a fine shirt just begging to be pulled. The thought of them still plagued your mind as Pantalone bowed to the same man you were first introduced to that night again, an individual who took no shame in the jewels hanging from his tailcoat and the golden ring with some odd emblem on his pinky. Wishes of a splendid night on both their tongues as the two of you departed.

It was only when you were both back in that carriage, you suddenly have a lot more appreciation for as it gave you a chance to rest your aching feet, did any words pass between you two again.

Pantalone, a man who was short and concise with you, but had plenty to say to those folks in the hall as they stuffed their faces with meat as they all sat around tables covered in cloth the same thickness as the blankets you use every night. Who made it clear before you even stepped past the threshold of the mansion (though it looked more like a cheap attempt at copying the opera house's architectural style) that you would speak only when spoken to. Interrupting the few remarks you did say when it was just the two of you during those sliver of moments someone wasn't coming up to sing his praises.

It's not like you weren't used to being treated like arm candy. Maybe that's why you truly couldn't care less as he sat in the seat across from you without daring to break the silence, to say anything, until you did.

“I was right about you. You are a rather smarmy individual.”

His hand that had been messing with the fabric of the curtain blocking you both away from any prying eyes trying to peek inside the windows came to a stop with a soft sigh from his lips. Pantalone's hands still pulling it taught, the same way you did on a wrinkled shirt to see what it would look like perfectly pressed and ironed when he spoke.

“How does an escort like you even know that word?”

“How does a Harbinger like you end up with no options for a date besides one you have to hire?”

The second the question left you Pantalone's head tilted towards you in such a slow, deliberate manner you knew you should have kept your mouth shut. Unfortunately, knowing when to do that isn't a trait that comes as easily to you as it does others.

“What's your name again?”

You told him, shared it without second thought before you could take a moment to step back and recall he had been the one introducing you to everyone all night. He had known your name but asked anyway.

Well, you'll have to remember that trick for later use.

“It is an honor to properly be introduced to you, Lord Harbinger.”

With a smile, you held your hand out to him, repeating the same action as before. Two can play at this game, you thought as you waited for him to comply, to play along, and take it. And like a fool, even if it was just in good humor, he did.

If he was going to wipe his hand off again this time, you'll give him a damn good reason.

Your grip turned tight, unyielding, to ensure Pantalone couldn't simply pull away. Making sure, just as he might with each mora coin, he pinches between those fingers, that there's no possible chance to let it slip away as your lips pressed to one one of his silver rings.

It was cold against your skin, but no more biting than the words you were expecting as you silently dared him to say something.

Between the rocking of the carriage and the low light of the lantern between you two you couldn't help but notice that was the first time you've seen his eyes all night.

#Pantalone x reader #pantalone #genshin x reader #x reader #hoyoverse #genshin impact #fem reader #genshin impact x reader #regrator x reader #banner by cafekitsune

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trincketbox · 1 year ago

Text

Jason Todd as a Trans (ftm) allegory

Written by me, a trans man

[this edit was made by me, original picture it's Dan Mora's sketch]

TW gender disphoria, (implied) transphobia.

Im not saying his story was written with this perspective in mind, Im saying *death of the author (*the reinterpretation of artistic creations by the public both as a community and aa individuals, and how this goes far beyond the creator's original message on mind) is a very real thing.

This narrative resonated with me, a trans man, and my experience as such. Maybe out there is another transmasc person who caught themselves invested in this character the same way as I, and maybe they'll read this post and be happy to found out they're not alone on these feelings.

Without further addue, let's begin.

The second Robin, and the feeling of not fitting

Every trans person first memory of perceiving oneself as somehow different (and how) it's particular to each.

Some realize pretty young, some older. Some always have this lingering feeling of not belonging but become conscious of it later in life.

This feeling its present trough all of Jason's life. First, when he first arrives at the Manor. Later, when he starts operating as Robin. Then when Tim "replaces him", and so on.

Usually labelled as the black lamb of the family.

Tragedy is always, first, born off love

Jason's death and resurrection is written as a tragedy (no shit, Sherlock). But there, to be a tragedy, there has to be hope first. There has to be love.

Now, this varies from version to version, but a general consence is that Jason Todd was loved by Bruce Wayne, regardless of how much their relationship might change and twist on the future; Jason Todd was a good kid, regardless of how he might be portrayed as recless. He was a traumatized, angry kid who wanted to make things better. Who wished for bad guys to not hurt people anymore. Who wished to change the system for better, and took the matter on his own hands both as a child and as a young adult.

This

This right here

Was a loved, brave, bold, sensitive, mischievous, smart child who would latter come back like this:

Demanding justice, demanding damnation for al the pain he went through, demanding retaliation to the monster that set him off this world.

And all these requests fell to the ears of Bruce Wayne, Batman. The man who took him in as a scared, bold litte child that beated him in the cold of the night in the alley where his parents died. He stole his car tires, he's a child and he stole his car tires and he made Batman laugh.

That Perception doesn't change with his rise from the dead.

What changes is Bruce's view of him now.

Now, this depends on the writer, but on the start of Jason's "coming back to Gotham to fight Bruce" arc, there is the accusation of him coming back wrong.

Of him being better before

Of something being wrong with him since the start.

The implications of his physical change as wrong in comparation to his younger self.

I find Jason's body dismorphia due to The Lazarus Pit™ very interesting,but in this case Im not referring to it as a comparation with body disphoria (even through, he does get the feeling of your body changing in ways out of your control and the trauma that surrounds it).

Im talking about Bruce's view on all of this.

Luckily, if you're trans and had supportive parents, you won't know these things by first hand experience, but many, many people do.

And Jason gets it.

Jason Todd its womanhood™ coded

This is, partially, one of th main reasons why his fanbase consists on a large part of fangirls.

Repressed rage upon the injustices you go through all your life, and once the last drop falls, said rage is weaponized. Seen as dirty, as over the top, as dangerous.

Your older self being compared to your younger self, being asked (directly or indirectly) where that sweet child™ went.

Being striped away from your body autonomy (murder, torture, resurrection against his will, whatever is going on in Batman Gotham War).

Being labeled as the most sensitive. Sometimes in a good light, sometimes not.

The burning weight of still loving parental figures that hurted you.

Topping it all, it's implied through many instances he's a feminist (yes, Im aware this is also heavily influenced by fanon interpretations of the character, but you can't deny it's still heavily implied).

All of these issues almost universal (however not exclusive) to AFAB people life experience.

There is this recognition in these wounds. "He gets it", you feel, he gets it.

He gets it in a similar way transmasc individual have an undeniable insight of these issues. He gets it in a way that feels genuine, familiar, personal.

Lastly but nor least important,

He gives me gender™ vibes. That's it, that's the argument

Over all, Jason Todd its a multifaceted, complex character. He's morally grey, his temperament ranging and mutating with each reinterpretation. Some core issues stick, others don't.

I do not hold the one and only right interpretation of this character.

We can al agree, nevertheless, that even through he's not canonically trans,

Jason todd would be a great trans ally, fighting by our side, in name of our rights, our pain but also our pride.

For that's what heroes do.

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yaekiss · 1 year ago

Note

#MailroomOpen! hi hi my darling qi this is the promised letter to my Special Little Guy!! letter delivery for yandere tartaglia with a nsfw reply back and also a meme reference for number 25 if it's alright? pet names are a-ok, encouraged even. ok here goes, thank you so much for doing this!!! i am cringe but i am free ♡

(The letter that arrives is black with gold borders and purple ink, with a purple lipstick kiss mark on the back of it. There are doodles of stars, moons, skulls, and hearts in the margins. The penmanship is neat and playful, every i and j dotted with either stars or hearts, depending on the subject matter. A small box of the same color as the letter comes with it, inside is an ocean-blue collar with a tag that says "My Ajax". It looks expensive.)

My lovely Ajax,

It's only been a few weeks since you left, but in my opinion, any time away from you is too long. I miss your presence, your conversation, your cooking, and some more...intimate things. I'm sure you feel the same. I really wish you didn't have to leave so often, sometimes I think you might care for your Tsaritsa more than me~ Hehe, I'm only joking, of course. I know you're very loyal, and love me very much... (There's a furious scribble over the next words, but you can just barely make out that it says "maybe more than you should") Anyway, moving on, this letter should arrive with a collar. I picked them out special just for you; blue like your eyes! There's a matching leash, but I kept it with me so we can use it when you get back, hehe ♡. Make sure to show me how pretty you look with it on, okay puppy~? ...And come back safe. I'll be patiently awaiting your return, hopefully soon.

~Your darling

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Tartaglia, no gendered terms for reader, Tartaglia calls you "dearest exalted", mentions of blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Tartaglia, worshipping (reader receiving), collar and leash (used on Tartaglia), masochistic Tartaglia, mentions of mirror sex, Tartaglia calls himself puppy once, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Weird, as soon as he handed his parcel to me, he started booking it to your address, like damn it's not a race?! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

A medium-sized parcel finds its way into your possession, placed in front of your doorstep. The box is made of smooth varnished timber and the intricate details are inlaid with gems and shards that match the stunning shade of your eyes. Judging by all the elaborate carvings and the overall quality of the trunk, it must have cost him a pretty penny, especially if it was commissioned just for you.

Flipping the lid of the box open at its hinge, your eyes are greeted by the sight of the sheer amount of items he sent to you. Ajax is nothing but a generous lover and it's definitely evident with all the gifts he prepared for you this time. Starting out, there are a few neatly packed food containers imbued with a charm that helped to preserve their contents perfectly over the lengthy delivery trip. Each one is labelled with the name of the dish it holds and after looking through the various containers, you realise they’re all your favourite dishes, lovingly made from scratch by Ajax.

To a side, there’s a hefty drawstring pouch. Tugging the bag open, a large pile of mora shimmers back at you. You should’ve known he would spoil you like this even if he were away. Tucked underneath the bag of mora, is his letter.

The envelope is a version of the one typically used for fatui matters, except this one is a lot gaudier than usual. …It’s the kind used for letters addressed exclusively to Her Royal Highness, the Tsaritsa. Just the look of it is expensive: A frosted gold border lines the front of the envelope and his wax stamp seals the letter shut at the back, away from prying eyes. Surely using an envelope reserved for the Tsaritsa for you is more than a bit… blasphemous. Nonetheless, you try not to think too much about it and gingerly open the letter up to read his reply.

His handwriting is scrawling and slightly messy as always but you know that it’s just from the eagerness that he seems to constantly have while around you, like some sort of oversized puppy. Present is a tangible tenderness in all his words and you can just about picture the silly little smile he had on his face while he wrote this letter to you. Additionally, there are hearts blotchily drawn in a rusty red around in the margins to match your love letter sent to him. His response reads:

“To my highest divinity, my owner,

It’s so so so good to hear from you, dearest exalted! Ah, I can’t believe you’d miss me, I’m swooning, at least now I know I’m not the only one left longing. I saw you mention that you missed my cooking so to remedy that, I prepared some of your favourite dishes, I didn’t quite know which one would be the best to send to you, so I just sent all of them, haha. Please let me know if they’re to your liking, dearest exalted. Regarding missing my presence… there’s only 1 solution for that which you’ll see soon enough!

I saw your scribbled-out words. ‘Maybe more than you should.’ My reverence for you must not be enough, and that’s why you still doubt me, doubt my love for you, right, dearest exalted? Although the Tsaritsa may be important to me, however, even the loyalty I have for her cannot hold a candle to the utmost adoration that I have for you. Far, far, far from it. What you see right now is but a mere glimpse of my endless devotion and love for you, dearest exalted. There is so much more that I would do for you. Just say the word, that’s all you’ll ever need to do, and I’ll carry out any of your orders till the end of my days. Even in death, I’d still be yours to command. Beyond the grave, that’s how much you deserved to be loved, dearest exalted. (His paragraph drips with festering lovesickness in the way the ink looks to be redder than the one in his inkwell.)

Ahem, moving on! Thank you for the collar, it sits wonderfully around my neck and fits like a glove. Really brings out my eyes too, was that intentional? And the tag… oh, the tag. I must confess, I’ve imagined what it would be like, to have you attach the leash to it and tug me in front of the mirror, making me watch through the reflection as you have your way with me. I would let out all the sounds you said you liked hearing from me, my moans or whines or screams, I’d give you anything you want. You could be as rough as you’d like to too, pulling harshly on the leash as you take your frustrations out on me, you know I love whatever you grace me with, dearest exalted.

I’ll end my letter here, my remaining words can be relayed when I’m back soonest, I promise! Remember to tell me if anyone has wronged you, I’ll gladly rid you of them, dearest exalted. Can’t wait to be under you again!

Your most devoted puppy,

- Your Ajax -”

That’s certainly… a reply worthy of your contemplation, to say the least. Inserting his reply back into the envelope, you wonder what else he could’ve left unsaid in a letter that’s already chock full of the rawest form of veneration towards you. Sitting in pensive silence, your mind reels. Fortunately for you (or perhaps it’s the contrary), your answer arrives frighteningly fast, disrupting the stillness.

There’s a knock at your door, a familiar keening whine bleeding through the wood.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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magicalbats · 11 months ago

Text

By Candlelight

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7708

Warnings: rimming, cunnilingus, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, squirting

A/N: A birthday present for the lovely, amazing, talented, utterly priceless @chickenparm I'm so glad Genshin brought us together and we've been able to make so many fun memories together 🩷🥺🩷

⭐

The two of you sit in amiable silence while you listen to the clock chime the hour. Twelve sonorous gongs to signify the end of one day and the start of another. His heartbeat remains steady against your back as Childe gathers you somehow closer to his front than you already are, strong arms giving you a tight squeeze, and you let him do it because you’d long since set aside your differences with the rascally Harbinger in favor of more … intimate pursuits. It would have been a surreal feeling, being there with him like that, had it not been so damn gratifying.

“Happy birthday, comrade.” He presses a firm kiss to your cheek from behind. Trying and failing not to smile, you lean your head back to rest against his shoulder so you can look at him. The space separating your nose from his is so scant your breath intermingles and becomes one, sharing the oxygen between yourselves in turns.

When your ribcage decompresses on the next exhale he breathes in, like he was trying to pull your very essence deep into his own body. In the following moment when he lets it out with a barely audible sigh, you do the same and suck in a deep breath to taste him on the back of your tongue. There’s a symbiotic quality to the way you occupy each other's space and you can’t imagine it being any other way now. Your stand off with him in Liyue felt like a far distant dream, one you would rather not revisit or dwell on too much, rather than a very real thing that had happened many, many moons ago.

It seemed almost implausible at this particular juncture, given your close proximity and the vulnerability both of you showed one another. But Childe, despite his faults and flaws, and what he now laughingly called ‘past mistakes’, was not someone who’s loyalty you could ever doubt. You’d earned his respect just as much as he had slowly earned yours. Whatever this was, regardless of how you decided to label it, you knew it was genuine. You may have bested him in battle once (and by the skin of your teeth, if you were being honest) but in the grand scheme of things, looking at the bigger picture as a whole, it was he who had won the war.

The smile you give him is but one of the many spoils he’d earned for himself.

“Thank you, Childe. I’m glad you talked me into this.” You say, referring to how he’d incessantly pestered you about taking off together to celebrate your birthday in the blissfully private seclusion of the Fontaine countryside. He hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer no matter how many times you’d said it but he very rarely ever did. It just wasn’t in his nature. All the better for you, considering your eventual compliance had clearly pleased him a great deal and you very much enjoyed seeing him grin the way he did. Big and boyish, and unrestrained. Like being able to do something special with you meant the world to him.

There’s a small part of you that is certain it does. It must. He was surprisingly sentimental and tender hearted for someone who seemed so unapologetically troublesome to everyone around him, and that very much included you.

But there were facets at play here and you were now nestled in a clawfoot tub with him, as normal as any couple that may or may not have tried to kill one another at some point in time. And although Childe had tried to insist that he wasn’t made of mora and that the seemingly limitless funds he’d thrown around in Liyue were not his own, the villa he’d rented out for the two of you appeared to tell a different story. It was a lovely place, fully furnished and already stocked with everything you might ever need during your stay when you’d arrived with him earlier that afternoon. He’d really gone the extra mile and it did not escape your notice. Not by a long shot.

You were eager to show him your gratitude for the thoughtfulness, and you happily tip your face up to accept the kiss he bends close and presses to your mouth. He takes his time with it, kissing you slowly, savoringly, as if his thoughts on the matter were the same as yours. That didn’t make sense though. He was the one who’d orchestrated such a romantic getaway and you had much more to be thankful for in that regard than he did. But if he was going to turn this into a competition to find out who could best the other then that was fine with you.

You’d come out on top one way or another.

Finally pulling back after a long moment, Childe looks at you through the dark thicket of his lashes. You want to keep kissing him but instead you quickly find yourself lost in the deep, deep blue of those depthless eyes. They reflect nothing at all of the flickering candles dotted around the room, casting everything in a low flickering glow, and yet they are not the empty voids you’d once thought them in idle passing. There’s something behind all that azure now that seems to make them twinkle from within and it’s decidedly fascinating to observe.

“You are very welcome, mój rybeńko. I’m glad you like it here.” He tilts his head slightly, as if to regard you from a different angle. Whatever he sees in your face makes his mouth split in a wide grin and he gives a quick, teasing pinch to the meat of your hip, making you jolt. “If you keep staring at me like that I’m going to get impatient, you know.”

“As if you’re not already the most impatient man I’ve ever met?”

“Hey, now. It’s not even five minutes into your birthday and you’re already throwing insults at me? That doesn’t seem very fair.” Pretending to be hurt, Childe breathes out a rather dramatic sigh as he slumps to dock his chin against your shoulder. The tousled mess of his hair brushes your cheek in the process and it tickles enough to make you laugh.

“There, there,” You gently soothe him. Bringing your hand up out of the water, you reach back to run your fingers through that coppery brown mop and he hums a soft sound of appreciation in response. “You’ll get over it. I didn’t say it was a bad thing, did I?”

“I’d hope not.” He murmurs. “You can be just as impatient as me with the right incentive.”

“Oh?” You carefully close your fist at the root of his hair, giving it a faint yet no less suggestive tug. It was no mystery what he was referring to and you knew he was right about that. Childe did tend to make you feel restless in a way that was unique to him and him alone, and you couldn’t always tell when it was annoyance at his boyish antics or when it was the pure, unfiltered desire you couldn’t deny you harbored for him. Sometimes it seemed like they were one and the same.

Even now there’s a spark of challenge in his gaze when he nudges his face up to peer at you from your shoulder. The scales always seemed as likely to tip in one direction as the other, and you never could be totally sure if you were about to fuck or fight. But in this particular instance though, sequestered away in the quaint mountainside villa he’d rented for the two of you, the outcome felt like it was already predetermined. There was only one way this could end. You were greatly looking forward to it, if you were being honest, after dancing around each other for the half a day you’d already been here.

It looks like Childe is in full agreement of that as he rather possessively reaches down to squeeze his hands around your waist under the water. Your breath comes a little quicker at the gesture and you secretly delight at the soft way your skin pudges under his long fingers. He wasn’t an overly large man by any stretch of the imagination but his hands were big. His feet were quite sizable too, and his cock …

You can feel it stirring against your backside now. A small suggestion of movement that excites you a great deal and prompts you to loose a quiet groan when he drags his hands higher, palming over your ribs until he finds your tits a heartbeat later. Arms sliding forward, Childe cups them with a savory squeeze and a low, anticipatory sound of his own. The masculine vibration seems to compliment your feminine sigh in near perfect harmony, as if his vocal chords were perfectly tuned to match yours on the opposite end of the spectrum.

“Do you want half of your birthday present now, sweetheart?” He presses his lips to the jut of your shoulder in a soft, lingering kiss. “Or would you rather get out of the tub and let me spoil you some more first?”

It’s not really necessary to think about that too deeply. You were most partial to having your cake and eating it too, and past experience told you that Childe would be more than willing to oblige you in that sense. He always did, even if he gave you a hard time about it on occasion. It was just another angle to the game.

Giving his messy hair another slow motion tug, you pull until his head comes up and you can look him in the eye. Oh, how he loved when you did that and his reaction doesn’t disappoint. The inner twinkle behind his matte irises morphs into a full blown bonfire, smoldering something hot and unnameable that makes your body lock up with fast mounting tension. You’d thought you were ready for him before, when you first decided to climb into the bathtub together, but this … the two of you were just stoking each other's flames at this point.

“Now. I want you now, Childe. Please.”

The soft inflection in your voice has its intended effect. A certain edge creeps across his face and darkens his expression with the first real pangs of true arousal. It leaves him looking much less like a boyish scoundrel and more like a man in his prime considering how best to lay claim to your body.

You wonder, too, how he’ll decide to proceed from here even as you shift slightly to better observe him. Still nestled between his legs, your hip brushes against his stiffening cock when you move. The sensation makes you tingle all over and burn even hotter for him, your eyelids becoming heavy when he offers your tits a muted squeeze. It would be all too easy to start making demands and you were tempted. Given your status as the birthday girl (his words, not yours) you were certain he would do anything at all you asked of him for the next twenty-four hours but you were far more interested in finding out how he wanted to shower your body in attention first.

There would be plenty of time for you to take the lead later, after your curiosity had been thoroughly sated. He always enjoyed a little power play so it would be a treat for both of you anyway.

“You’ll have me now, if that’s what you want.” He tells you with a hint of confidentiality lacing his tone. “Do I get to call the shots?”

“For the moment you can.”

Childe snorts a quick laugh but he doesn’t argue the point. Instead, he gives your chest one final, kneading pinch and then drags his hands back to hold you around the middle. “Get on your knees for me, pretty girl?”

You send him a slow, considering look before deciding that you didn’t have enough information yet to figure out his angle. There were a few different things he could do with you in that position and the only way to narrow it down would be to find out for yourself firsthand.

So you rock forward, making the water slosh around you and lap at the sides of the tub as you get repositioned with your legs folded under you. The porcelain basin is comfortably big enough for two — further proof that Childe had gone above and beyond in picking out where you were to celebrate your birthday together — and you have plenty of room to maneuver around. But before you can get fully settled like that, he gently nudges you forward with his hands around your waist.

“Scoot down to the opposite end. Keep facing that way.”

Your pussy flutters in unmistakable excitement as you comply, going up on your knees so you can shuffle forward. Wet nipples strain against the cool air and it takes every ounce of willpower you possess not to simply turn on him right then and there. Wrestling with Childe for dominance didn’t seem like the best idea in a tub filled with bath water though so you refrain from acting on the impulse. You would have him exactly how you wanted him later on, in the comfort of the large bed the villa boasted. Or on the floor. Or the kitchenette counter. Archons, maybe you’d even take him out on the balcony attached to the bedroom and ride him out there. You were relatively certain he’d enjoy that.

For now, you try not to let your mind wander too much as you bring your hands up to brace along the rim of the tub, giving it a good squeeze to ground yourself. Childe moves around behind you, much less careful about it than you'd been, and some of the water sloshes over the edge as a result. You think to chide him for it but then his hands are on your hips, blunt fingers digging into plushy flesh hard enough to bruise. Your mind goes delightfully blank at the sharp pressure and you offer up an inviting arch of your back when his palms start to drag higher. Over the feminine curve of your waist, squeezing love handles along the way, across your ribcage and then back down again until he finds your ass.

Taking two pinching handfuls of your cheeks, Childe allows himself a moment to simply knead the flesh and jostle it as if in fascination. He likes watching the meat of your behind jiggle and bounce, especially when it was clapping back to meet the hard thrusts of his pelvis tit for tat. You knew this very well. He didn’t exactly try to hide it. You had an idea where this was going now, and you breathe out a quiet exhale when he finally spreads you open some moments later.

“Such a pretty pussy. Every time I see it I can’t help but think I must be the luckiest man in all of Teyvat.”

You look back at him over your shoulder, not at all surprised to find the appreciative, almost sappy expression on his face while he admires your cunt from behind. It certainly pleases you though, and you give your ass a playful shake to taunt him. “I’d say you’re probably right about that.”

Childe shoots you a quick, heated look that speaks volumes and belies his feelings on the matter. It was true. Perhaps not on an objective level but for him, for the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger, the man from Snezhnaya, it was very much a fact. The no doubt expensive villa was only a very small portion of the evidence he’d already provided to prove that.

The way he roves his attention back down and hungrily regards you is much more substantial. He resembles a half starved man now, and your breath reflexively catches in your throat when he stoops over you without another word. A quick, wet pass of his tongue over your asshole startles a jolt out of you. You’d expected him to dive straight into your cunt but you’re certainly not complaining about this turn of events.

Knuckles creaking, you grip the edge of the tub tightly while he kisses at the puckered hole for a brief moment before giving it another swipe with his tongue. It almost seems to tickle and you arch to better present yourself to him. He carefully prods over every wrinkle and crease, using just the tip to tease along the rim until he at last sets his sights on the vulnerable center when you start to fidget in impatience.

“Ooh …”

Your eyes slip shut as his tongue worms inside you and just penetrates your body. It’s a somewhat odd sensation but a decidedly pleasant one. Your pussy tingles in response, as if in phantom pleasure shared between them, already growing uncomfortably wet to match your need. Childe staunchly ignores it for the time being though and just continues to eat your ass like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. He slurps and sucks, swirls his tongue around for good measure and mouths at you with his lips until you can feel the tight muscle gradually relaxing under his insistent ministrations. It softens for him, obediently relaxing into the encompassing warmth, and you shudder faintly when he flicks over the raised rim with a fleshy nudge.

His hands squeeze where they’re latched onto the swell of your cheeks, keeping them spread and your defenseless little hole vulnerable to his attack. He’s relentless with it even when you gingerly rear back to grind yourself on his face. His responding groan, thick and muffled, assures you that he was enjoying this almost as much as you were. It wasn’t enough though. You needed a bit more friction than this if you were hoping to find release any time soon.

“Childe … if you’re going to do it then just do it. Don’t keep teasing me like that.”

He barks a quick, breathless laugh as he pulls away behind you, leaving your spit coated asshole to weakly twitch against the rush of cool air that comes in to replace his mouth. “And you had the nerve to call me impatient? What a joke.”

One of his hands abruptly retreats only to swat across the meat of your behind, making you yelp in surprise. Chuckling faintly, he slides the other inward to tease the blunt of his thumb over your puckered hole. Whatever sharp remark you’d been forming on your tongue immediately fizzles out and morphs into a low, heady groan. He was still taunting you with it but at least he was headed in the right direction now.

“Bastard …”

“Hah. I love the pet names you give me, mój rybeńko. Mine seem so dull and drab in comparison.”

It takes quite a bit of effort for you not to snap at him to quit being a smartass but you manage, somehow. Twisting your upper body, you instead look back at him again and pin Childe with a pout that you hope is more imploring than it is needy. If he interpreted it as the latter there was a very good chance he would just keep dangling what you want out of reach and never give it to you unless you begged him for it. You’d rather not stoop to that level — not because you were above such things but because he would consider it yet another win for him to tally up and it would rush straight to his head. His ego didn’t need any further inflating.

He just looks at you though, a small, sly smile playing at his rogue's mouth. The steady pass of his thumb over your asshole doesn’t retreat but he does increase the pressure enough to make you subtly twitch. There was nothing you wanted more than to feel him penetrating you in that moment.

“Childe …” You intone, making him laugh.

“It looks like you’re about to ask me very nicely for something, pretty girl. Of course under normal circumstances I’d wait to hear you out first but … it’s your birthday, sweetheart. You don’t need to ask me for anything today.”

You feel it then. His thumb curls down and finds the vulnerable center of your entrance, slowly pushing in on the muscle until it gives with a gradual stretch. Your mouth hinges open but nothing comes out other than a faltering, threadbare sound of pleasure. The resistance he meets is cursory at best and a surge of white hot static floods your system at the same time he pops past the barrier. It feels especially good when your sphincter weakly contracts around the intrusion and pinches at the thick column of his finger in a pulsing spasm, trying to suck him in deeper. Then, surprising a gasp out of you, he hooks his thumb to catch on the interior rim and gently starts to pull, further loosening the tight ring of muscle.

Your need for him growing by the second, you eagerly rear back to feel the press of broad knuckles digging into your skin. Childe’s lopsided grin is victorious as he watches you watch him finger your asshole open. It's getting harder to keep your eyes focused and fixed upon him when every fiber of your being wanted nothing more than to give itself over to the pleasure and simply bask in it, but you force your gaze to follow the motion when he bends down again. Oceanic eyes stay locked on yours as he opens his mouth and bites into the fleshy curve of one cheek. He doesn’t do it hard enough to break the skin, just enough to hurt and make your sphincter clench around his thumb. You felt like you were going mad.

Retracting his teeth a moment later, Childe replaces them with a soothing tongue. He laps over the dental indents he’s left behind and then kisses the tender spot before working his way lower. His lips trace a path over the delicate back of your thigh before angling inward to find your cunt. You outright seethe at the first brush of his mouth against your lips as you push back to meet him. His thumb gives a muted wriggle inside of you, teasing the nerve endings with the suggestion of something much more substantial stretching you open. He has to stoop quite low to reach like this, and all you can glimpse of him now is a shock of messy copper and the pale expanse of a scar littered back just beyond.

He stays true to his word though and he doesn’t make you ask for it. Nuzzling his face right up against you, he slots his mouth to your slit and starts to work you open with the tandem use of his tongue and lips. The voracious way he groans, hot breath puffing against sticky creases and folds, makes you shudder for him.

“Oh, fuck.” Finally losing the battle, you face forward again and let your head hang between your shoulders. Just let yourself focus on the satin sensation of having your pussy lips spread, the flick of a wet tongue soon following to drag through the accumulated slick inside. He gives his head a dull shake to better settle against you, and you bite down on your lip to stifle the frazzled sound that tries to crawl up your throat.

But it’s an effort in futility. The sound rips right out of you when Childe finds your clit, tongue swirling around the sensitive pleasure button to knock it back and forth. You keen, softly at first, and then with more harried conviction as he relentlessly batters the fleshy nub until you involuntarily quake. Your asshole just keeps squeezing his thumb, either trying to milk him for all he was worth or milk your own orgasm, you couldn’t be sure which. It doesn’t really matter though because he eats you from the back only long enough to make sure you were ready for him and then he pulls away to look at you again with a loud, wet smack of his lips.

“You’re already such a mess for me, sweetheart. What am I gonna’ do with you, huh?” Crooning softly, he brings his other hand close to hook that thumb into the meat of your labia. He pulls you open gently, admiring the sight of your cunt spread for him and your ass stuffed with his finger for a savory moment before loosing a stilted sigh. “Ready to be a good girl and take me?”

“Yes,” You practically hiss. “I want it.”

A quiet groan of satisfaction filters behind you, as anticipatory as it is laced with approval. He wasn’t always the smoothest operator. Some of your first disastrous intimate exchanges were fond memories that still brought a smile to your face even now. But sometimes, in the process of incessantly running his mouth, Childe could occasionally strike upon gold and this was decidedly one of them. Just the thought of taking him in deep, of having him pound you straight into a shaking orgasm, has your body sporadically clenching as if in faux release. You weren’t just ready, you were primed for it.

He shifts behind you then and starts to slowly pull his thumb out of your ass. You whine at the loss as much as at the sensation of your interior gripping at him, flesh clinging desperately to flesh, but he doesn’t appear to pay it any mind. His digit comes out with a barely audible pop to leave your sphincter weakly contracting around nothing. Directing both hands to your bottom, he sinks battle hardened fingers into the cushiony give and spreads you open again. You can feel the loosened ring of muscle winking up at him expectantly and you brace for the slide of his thick cock.

It doesn’t come though. Not where you’d expected it to.

You’d been so sure he was building up to taking you up the back that the abrupt press of his cock head into your pussy catches you off guard. A shrill, startled sound erupts out of you as Childe shoves himself into the palpitating sleeve of your body, sinking deep on a single thrust. Clutching at the edge of the tub hard enough to make the joints ache, you throw your head back and blindly keen at the ceiling. He merely grunts behind you, the tremor in his voice evident as he gives his hips another push to bury himself further within you. The stretch is immaculate for as unexpected as it is and it drives you crazy.

Childe keeps pushing, pushing, pushing, forcing your cunt to make room for him until you feel the unmistakable weight of his ballsack settle against you from behind. You’re dizzy with it and you rock forward on your knees, bleating like some wounded little thing. Then you eagerly push back on him, grinding yourself on his length, and it punches another sensitive groan out of you. He mirrors the sound in the same heartbeat, the vibration of that low, masculine rumble rushing straight to your cunt. It may not have been what you’d expected but god, it felt good.

“Archons, you’re perfect.” He sounds about as frazzled as you did in that moment. This knowledge doesn’t do much to calm the erratic rhythm of your pulse but it does fill you with a helium sense of swelling pride. Even for all his cocky surety and self confidence, he was still a man with all the same weaknesses as any other. Getting his dick wet with some regularity hadn’t yet changed that.

“Fuck me, Childe.” You groan, for his benefit as much as your own. “Fuck me hard. Please.”

Letting out a slow, faltering breath, he obliges you and starts to move. Angles his hips back in torturous slow motion to ensure both of you felt the gradual drag of his cock against your interior in stunning high definition. Your guts try to cling to him again but the fleshy glide is smooth and sticky with arousal, and you whine low in your throat at the loss. Then he pushes back in with one long, drawn out thrust that slowly fills you up again. The tight press of his balls against your labia makes you shudder, and the involuntary reaction seems to bleed right through you into him. He trembles stiffly as well, gripping your ass cheeks so hard you were sure to find blooming splotches in the shape of his fingertips come morning, but the dull pain just excites you even more. You were soaked and only getting wetter.

That fact becomes even more obvious when he starts to thrust in earnest, working his way up to settle into a fast, steady pace, and your pussy loudly squelches on each rapid fire plunge. The way he continues to hold you open while he fucks you doesn’t exactly help, and the resulting noise is almost enough to embarrass you. If it had been anyone else, anyone who was not as unapologetic and loutish as he was, you probably would’ve been wilting in shame. But Childe actually seems to enjoy it on some level, for he groans hotly in response when your cunt noisily slurps around his cock and the rhythmic plap of his hips meeting your skin quickly grows even sharper.

Sliding one of his hands inward over the bouncing swell of your ass, he finds your abandoned hole again and starts to worm his thumb inside. Your already strained breaths catch at the penetration but he slips in past the ring of muscle just as easily as before. You feel indescribably stuffed now, your body singing in fast thrumming ecstasy while you wildly clench around both intrusions.

“Fuck.” He hisses. “You get so damn tight when I do this.”

Your cotton stuffed head is a little too shot to formulate a response now, so you just wail your pleasure for the whole villa to hear. That he’d likely planned for this to happen and picked out a rental destination with privacy at the forefront of his mind was obvious, and you couldn’t have been more grateful for it in that moment. You weren’t sure if you could have kept your volume in check even if you’d wanted to.

Especially not when you already felt so sickeningly close to the edge that the weight of your impending orgasm very nearly chokes you up. You weren’t just going to cum. It felt like you were going to implode.

“Ooh! Gods! Ch - Childe! I … oooh, shit, mm’gonna’ cum!”

The sound he barks out in response is like something between a laugh and a groan. Like he couldn’t quite decide which he wanted to do more. To your stumbling surprise, however, he doesn’t keep fucking into you. Doesn’t speed up or go harder to shove you over into the waiting abyss below, just out of reach and only getting further away when he abruptly stops instead. The sloshing water continues to move even when he doesn’t and it laps at your heated skin in a taunting caress. Failing to keep your reaction under control, you whip your head around to look back at him incredulously.

“What are you doing!” You demand, a little more shrill than you’d intended.

Childe pins you with a relatively steady yet still pained look from where he remains hunched over your bottom half. The way his battered knuckles seem to be turning white from how hard he’s gripping your ass does not escape your notice but it also does absolutely nothing to placate you.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m giving you exactly what you want, moja miłość.”

“What —“

His rumbling groan and the way he screws his eyes shut for a brief moment makes it clear that it’s just as difficult for him to fight the urge to keep rutting into you as it is for you to accept it. You don’t understand it though, why he would stop like that when you were so close, and you fix him with a wide eyed question as he gingerly rocks back to ease his cock out. You’re not sure if you should be pissed at him or not when he carefully stands up behind you, leaving his thumb stuffed in your ass for the time being, but you bite your tongue to stay any of the sharp remarks forming there. He had about ten seconds to make his next move and then you’d be taking matters into your own hands. Literally.

Bending over you now, Childe curls his hand to push down on the inner rim of your asshole as if testing the give. You moan at the pressure, very softly, even though you try not to. Something clicks into place in your mind, and your gaze frantically darts between his darkened expression and his stiff cock where it dangles between his legs. Just the warm flicker of the candles is enough to make the wet skin glisten, so thoroughly coated in your slick that it almost looked like he was lubed up with sticky grease. It probably wouldn’t have been enough for your first, second or even third time but … he’d fucked your ass enough that your sphincter was well trained to accept him now. It was often the safer choice when an unplanned pregnancy could mean disastrous results for the both of you.

But your pussy weakly contracts around nothing, missing the stretch and the weight of him inside of you. It wanted to be stuffed and filled, and pounded almost as much as your ass did, and you can’t stop yourself from whining when he pokes and prods at you some more before finally sliding his thumb out again. Feeling needy and desperate enough that you think you really might just cry, you plaintively shake your bottom at him in humble supplication.

“Childe, please …”

“Hush, pretty girl. I’m going to take care of you, don’t you worry about that.”

Shuffling forward a pinch so that his feet bracket your knees, he reaches down to grip his cock at the base and then lowers himself in a wide legged crouch. He guides his cock straight to the center of your waiting, puffy hole, using his other hand to squeeze one of your cheeks and spread it from the other. You practically blubber at the first press of his blunt head even as you give a tiny little push to more easily accept the insertion. Childe takes it slow and easy though, giving your entrance a chance to adjust and accommodate him. Inch by tortuous inch, he slips inside until you feel the unmistakable pop when he fully breaches that fluttering ring of muscle. The rest of him comes much quicker after that, and much smoother. Your sphincter can’t close like this and it also can’t work to push him out. It tries, valiantly clenching around his thick length as if to find purchase along all that smooth skin, but it’s useless. He slides in right down to the hilt and seats himself inside you as far as he can go.

The sound that finally rattles out of you is wild and stretched paper thin. Some sort of wordless animal noise that makes your eyes vibrate in their sockets.

Heaving a deeply bothered sound of his own, Childe seems to hesitate a moment. Like he was finding his bearings and making sure he had a good grip on his own self control before starting up. His large hands squeeze around your waist, making love handles pudge up between his fingers, hard enough to make you wince. But it’s nothing compared to the intense drag along your guts when he at last begins to angle his pelvis back, using those long, somewhat gangly legs to pull out until only the glans remains wedged inside you. Your asshole eagerly spasms around the mind numbing penetration before he pushes back in, stretches it back out to the full width of his cock, and you outright shriek in delight.

He settles into his pace much slower than he had when he was stuffing your cunt but it doesn’t take long for him to have a good rhythm going. Your ass isn’t half as noisy either, and the solid plap, plap, plap of his pelvis meeting your bouncing cheeks almost completely drowns out the sounds of soft, wet flesh clicking into place. Much to your groaning relief, the thrumming tension from before comes rushing right back up to the surface almost immediately, making you writhe underneath him. It was a slightly different sort of pressure but it was just as good. Just as potent. Hell, it may have even been better, considering how the deep plunge of his cock makes every single nerve ending in your lower body light up like a firework. Suddenly you didn’t mind so much that your drooling cunt was being neglected.

“Harder.” You gasp, clutching the tub so tight your fingers hurt. “Fuck my ass harder, Childe!”

Groaning, he hunches further over you and does just that. With his front almost flush against your painfully arched back, his range of movement is much more limited and he can’t quite achieve those long, drawn out thrusts anymore. But to make up for it he ruts into you faster, humping you so enthusiastically it makes your tits bounce. The burning stretch rapidly becomes overwhelming and you simply allow yourself to ragdoll between him and the side of the bathtub, moaning loudly in ecstasy.

His hands sliding off your sides with one final, possessive squeeze, he reaches one of them up your body to cup a swaying breast in his palm. Blunt fingers fumble to find your nipple, giving it a quick pinch and a tug to make you wail. The other slides down and dips between your thighs. Calloused digits brush over the apex of your mound, briefly caressing your swollen clit to make you judder and shake for him, before reaching further back. You’re so punchdrunk on fast pumping endorphins that you almost don’t even realize what he’s doing until it’s too late. At the last possible second it slams into you like a sack of bricks and you lurch under him with a frantic, startled shriek of pure joy.

All at once, Childe shoves two of his fingers into your waiting cunt. A third quickly joins them and although the stretch is not nearly as satisfying as his cock, it still has you seeing damn near double while you sway inside the tub. His reach is quite limited from this angle so he can’t bury them in you straight down to the knuckle, but he insidiously curls them to press hard into your upper wall. Stars erupt across your vision at the intense pressure as your pussy absolutely floods with sticky slick. The throbbing pulse in your ass doubles and then triples, toeing the line of being unbearable now, but there was no escaping it. He had you so completely trapped under him that you couldn’t have scuttled away even if you’d tried.

The only thing you can do is cry out and helplessly rock against him, pushed forward with each quick, piston-like thrust and then pulled back against him again with his hold on you. It was overwhelming in the best possible way. You’d never felt quite so fucked out as you do in that moment with both holes stuffed and aching, Childe’s cock relentlessly carving out a space within you for himself while his fingers attack that tight cluster of nerves just on the other side of your inner sleeve. His seemingly limitless energy reserves had never felt as much a blessing as it does right now. You weren’t sure how many other men could have kept up the effort in this, frankly, awkward position long enough for your orgasm to build up again but he does it with ease. His pace doesn’t even so much as falter when you start to shake in earnest, warning tremors tearing through your body faster than you can comprehend. He just tightens his hold on you and keeps going, slamming into your ass too quickly for you to brace against it.

It felt like you were going to shatter into a million little pieces.

“Ooh, sweetheart … you’re really soaking my fingers.” He manages to huff out, barely heard over your own mindless bleating. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Huh?” Pausing, Childe turns his head to press a brief kiss to your trembling shoulder and then he laughs, breathless and thin. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you? I can feel how hard you’re squeezing me … ahh, fuck. I’m gonna’ cum too. You feel so damn good though, how could I not?”

A wounded, highly undignified sound bursts out of you as your orgasm starts to really bear down on you now. The tension running through your body like a livewire is suffocating in its potency, and thinking about him shooting his load deep into your ass just makes it even worse. It felt like you were drowning in it, and you helplessly buck underneath him. His hold on you is as good as iron though and he keeps you clutched against him no matter how wild you get.

The first trickle that comes out of you almost goes unnoticed, but you realize what’s happening the second time your pussy eagerly squirts all over his hand. Even in your fucked out state you’re acutely aware of it running down his wrist and dribbling down your inner thighs in warm, very noticeable rivulets. Childe groans when you do it a third time, as if the slick was being forced right out of you thanks to the building pressure in both holes, and you screw your eyes shut with a strangled scream. You almost couldn’t believe it but there was no denying the obscene amount of fluid coating your skin, and it only becomes all the more obvious when you at last tip over the edge.

It’s the sound of his gruff, half strangled groan right next to your ear that finally does it. You cum with a lurching gasp, shaking so intensely he has to readjust the way he’s holding onto you to keep you in place. Your pulsating cunt erupts, shooting slick everywhere while your ass contracts around his cock in an uncontrollable series of spasms. You judder and writhe, twisting through your release even as he continues to fuck into you from behind. It’s as much to ride you through it as chase his own, and you let out a weak, thoroughly dazed mewl when Childe grunts his own pleasure just a short moment later.

His cock eagerly twitches as it pumps your ass full and he goes still over top of you with a harried little whimper of his own. You can’t help the way you jolt at the sound, so sweet and vulnerable that it rushes straight to your well used cunt. You’re a bit too satiated in the aftermath to think about round two just yet though, so you focus on trying to catch your breath while he recovers enough to pull out. It takes a prolonged moment for him to get his bearings straight but, eventually, he carefully works to untangle himself from you, and then plops back to sit in the water. You didn’t doubt that that had been quite the workout on his legs and you almost start to feel sorry for him — but when you gingerly shift around to glance back at the troublesome Snezhnayan, he looks nothing if not pleased. Quite proud of himself, actually.

“Are you sure that was supposed to be a gift for me?” You ask rather sweetly, offering him a knowing smile. “Or were you just challenging yourself and hoping to get a good workout in while you were at it?”

“It was a treat for both of us.” He tells you candidly. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t like it. Just look at how pruned my fingers are!”

He holds his hand out and you squint at the three middle fingers, noting that they were indeed rather wrinkled. You quickly reach up to shove at his wrist though, pushing him away so you can get turned the rest of the way around and fully face him. Your body throbs slightly as you get settled again, especially your stretched asshole, but it is a decidedly good kind of ache. The distant sensation of his cum sitting hot and heavy in your guts brings a dopey smile to your face, even when you try very hard to keep it at bay. For better or worse, Childe seemed to have that effect on you more often than not.

“Alright, alright. We both enjoyed it. Me especially. Happy?”

He positively grins from ear to ear. “Very.”

Comfortable in the afterglow, you carefully draw your knees up and wrap your arms around them, just looking at him. He was much too charming for his own good, you decide for the upteenth time since you’d met back in Liyue. How you’d gotten here, sequestered in this quaint Fontaine villa out in the countryside, was probably anyone’s guess at this point but you were glad it had turned out this way. It was hard to imagine your life without him in it after he’d already wormed his way in. He wasn’t the sort of man one could easily forget, after all.

“So what’s next on the itinerary?”

Childe hums in thought, his wide smile taking on a sly, mischievous edge now. “Wanna’ go into the bedroom and sit on my face for a while, girlie?”

Your body stirs with immediate interest. You’d thought you were well sated for the time being but, well … Childe tended to have this effect on you too. It would have been incredibly frustrating had he not been oh so very fun to fool around with.

Now you’re grinning too, an almost perfect mirror to his expression. “Is that even really a question?”

⭐

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe #tartaglia #self insert bullshit

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