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musings-of-miss-j · 21 days ago

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wings of jade, eyes of amber

a xiao x gn reader fic

notes: enough fluff to fill every mattress on earth, gn reader, strangers to lovers, is it a meet-cute or a meet-awkward? who knows

author's notes: i need everyone to know that i titled this fic 'the newly documented effects of adeptus temptation' in my files and i think im absolutely hilarious for it. again in bafflement about how to write romance. oh and im totally a fake fan i forgot his karmic debt existed and by the time i remembered i was 7k words in so uh. excuse my skill issue

word count: 10179 (everyone pretend to be shocked please)

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

If Xiao had been asked about his plans for that day, he probably would’ve driven whoever had the gall to address him in the first place away with a stony glare. If the question had come from someone of more important status, say, Rex Lapis, he would’ve truthfully answered that his evenings often consisted of loitering on the balcony of Wangshu Inn and staring unseeingly at Liyue’s beautiful scenery, lost in thought.

He wouldn’t have imagined in any timeline or universe that an angel would topple from the sky onto the wooden floor and startle the wits out of him.

In your defence, how were you supposed to know that the wind currents would be particularly tempestuous that day? Everything else had been perfect; your glider was in top shape, as usual, being one of your prized possessions, the slowly darkening sky was free of birds that may have interfered with your path, stars just barely starting to glimmer amongst the bold streaks of the sunset…

All in all, a perfect night for gliding, and when you strapped on your wings and leaped off the edge of Wuwang Hill the familiar rush of exhilaration spread through your fingers and toes. The view never failed to amaze you. You revelled in the cool breeze and gentle ambience of the night’s sounds; rustling leaves, a distant bird’s call, and as you flew across Bishui Plains where there were more people you caught snatches of their chatter in the air. Wangshu Inn came into view, and you adjusted your angle to carry out a slow, spiral descent that you’d been working to perfect for the past few days. It seemed like you’d score another perfect landing; the radius of the circle you made was just wide enough to slow you down, you could taste success on the tip of your tongue-

The gust of wind was sudden and strong, completely throwing you off your path and sending you hurtling down, the wings of your glider snapping and the straps tugging at your arms. Weightlessness lasted only a second before you tumbled down, picking up speed and struggling to readjust the wings against the wind’s resistance, and oh Archons the ground is getting closer shit shit shit-

You landed with a crash on a wooden floor, your legs giving out and causing you to trip blindly forward and collide with something that felt significantly less hard than a wall. A muffled ‘oof’ sound came from above you, and when your ears stopped ringing you opened your eyes and saw the most beautiful golden gaze peering down at you, and registered the feeling of hands on your shoulders. You stammered out an apology, stumbling backwards and unstrapping your glider with shaking hands.

“I’m so sorry, really, I didn’t mean to crash into you like that, it- it was an accident please forgive me-”

“You fell from the sky,” the stranger interrupted, watching you fold away your slightly battered glider with his arms crossed. You laughed awkwardly, rubbing a sore spot on your neck that would no doubt develop into a bruise later along with a tapestry of bumps across your back and ribs. Not the worst accident you’d ever experienced, but not exactly the best, either.

“Y-yes, I did,” you agreed sheepishly, prodding your jaw. Last time you took a fall from this height, you’d managed to dislocate it. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. “Sorry for bumping into you.”

The stranger huffed, frowning and staring down at you. You were clearly one reckless human, barrelling around in a glider without a single precaution and crash-landing on balconies. Still, Xiao was rather intrigued, though he couldn’t for the life of him decide why. Maybe it was your bravado, or your off-handed attitude, or your mesmerising eyes-

He shook his head to dispel the thought.

“You should be more careful.”

“You’re absolutely right, I should,” you agreed with a slight laugh, running a hand through your hair in a mostly futile attempt to tamp down the permanently windswept locks. “Is there any way I can make it up to you for disturbing you? What’s your name?” You asked as an afterthought, tugging off the leather gloves that connected to the wooden joints of your glider. You were met with a long silence and a scrutinising gaze that left you a little flustered from its intensity. You cleared your throat and glanced away. “Not that you’re obligated to introduce yourself, of course, I just-”

“My name is Xiao.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Xiao,” you replied with a brief, relieved grin, bowing your head slightly as you’d seen citizens of Liyue do when greeting one another and reciprocating with your own name. It was a nice name, he thought. He gestured vaguely towards the folded glider in your arms.

“Is it ruined?”

You glanced down at the tear in the leather and a splintered joint, hiding a wince.

“Well. Hopefully not, I’ve had worse falls than this…”

“You do this often, then?” He prompted, tilting his head curiously.

You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “Gliding or getting into accidents?”

“The frequency of one implies the other is also a common occurrence.”

“Right you are,” you agreed with a lopsided grin, glad that this strange young man didn’t seem too pressed by the accident you’d caused. “I do glide a lot. And get into accidents equally as often.”

“I’ve never met a human with such a penchant for flying,” he remarked, curious about you and confused at his own interest. He’d never been so willing to hold such a long, relatively useless conversation with a mortal before. You stared at him, perplexed by his wording. Clearly he wasn’t a human himself; everything from his golden eyes to his pointed teeth and unnervingly graceful movements indicated supernaturality, but his confirmation was surprising nonetheless.

“It’s a more popular sport in Mondstadt,” you conceded.

“So you’ve been there, too?” He didn’t think you lived in Liyue; years upon years of protecting the land meant he could quite distinctly recognise its people, and you didn’t elicit any familiarity whatsoever.

“Yes, I have,” you confirmed with a nod. A yell of your name from below snapped you from your thoughtful reverie, and you twisted and leaned over the railing to see who called. Xiao had to restrain himself from yanking you back from the edge; just a natural instinct born from centuries of upholding his contract to protect humans, he reasoned. You peered down below, catching sight of Aether’s golden hair, Paimon waving her tiny hands up at you frantically.

“Ah, I have to leave,” you said, turning to face Xiao again. “My travelling companions are calling for me. It was nice meeting you!”

He nodded, moving aside to let you pass through the entrance to the inn and watching you bound down the stairs with reckless abandon, leaping across the last flight. He marvelled at your energy even after falling from the sky.

“Who was that you were talking with?” Paimon demanded the moment you descended the stairs, hovering around your head. Aether took one look at the battered glider in your arms and the bruise purpling on your jaw and figured out what had happened, tugging you along with a sigh. You’d been travelling with him for some time now; since before he entered Mondstadt’s gates and saved the entire nation, and now you’d arrived in Liyue barely a few days ago. Paimon, indignant at being ignored, began to poke your cheeks and tug your hair, demanding a satisfactory answer while Aether dragged the two of you back to camp.

“His name is Xiao,” you told Paimon.

“And why were you talking to him?” She pestered.

“I, um… I crash landed into him,” you admitted sheepishly, dodging a child running across the docks. Paimon shrieked with laughter, and even Aether cracked a smile.

“That’s so embarrassing!” Paimon gasped between fits of giggling, turning somersaults in mid-air above your head.

“We got here barely a week ago and you already managed to make a scene,” Aether agreed. You huffed indignantly, swatting Paimon away.

“At least I didn’t lose six thousand mora betting on jade,” you shot playfully back. Aether dug his elbow into your ribs.

“That’s a damn low blow and you know it.”

You took to visiting Wangshu Inn every few days to chat with Verr Goldet and sort through the paperwork you tended to accumulate when accepting odd jobs around the city. That’s how you and Aether got by, for the most part; commissions from the Adventurer’s Guild and strangers in the wild, and the occasional monetary reward from winning a gliding contest or something of the sort. Usually the two of you went your separate ways throughout the day and met up in the evening to review what you’d earned and how you’d spend it, and today was no different; you’d settled on Wangshu Inn’s balcony, cross-legged on the floor with an array of letters in front of you that you were sorting into stacks so you could efficiently deliver them to various corners in Liyue and a textbook about ley lines propped open in your lap. You were an odd case of an Akademiya student; having passed the entrance exam you decided on a whim to take, you became one of the ‘far-flung fledglings’, as the faculty called you; students who learned through their travels and reported findings back to their supervisors every month, named as such to reference the rather lacklustre grades many of them got. Such a degree took several years longer to complete than a traditional one, but you didn’t mind. On the contrary, you wanted to travel as much as possible, and if you just so happened to get a certificate for it too then that was just another added benefit.

A breeze ruffled your hair and paperwork, sending several pages spiralling off the balcony and down to the ground before you could snatch them back. You stared at the fluttering sheets in dismay, resolving to never sit there again, when Xiao appeared in front of you out of thin air with some paper in his hands. He gave them to you without meeting your eyes.

“You dropped these.”

You jumped to your feet, accepting them and thanking him profusely. “Oh, Xiao! Thank you ever so much, you saved me a boatload of trouble.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, crossing his arms. You wondered if you’d disturbed him somehow, given his short replies, and quickly gathered up your things.

“Thanks anyway,” you repeated with a smile. “I’ll leave now to give you some peace. Verr Goldet said you like to spend some of your time up here…” you trailed off. Xiao glimpsed one of the bruises you’d sustained from your rocky landing on the balcony just above your collarbone, and realised with an odd clarity that he wasn’t particularly eager to see you leave.

“You can stay,” he said shortly. “It makes no difference to me.”

Your smile could’ve replaced the sun, he thought. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

“It’s no disturbance.”

“Alright,” you replied cheerfully, resetting your things and plopping back down onto the floor. For a moment you were silent, poring over the documents in front of you until you reached the end of the proposal you’d been editing.

“You’re not a human, are you?” You asked absent-mindedly while shuffling through the paperwork. “...No,” Xiao confirmed after a pause. After a moment of intense deliberation, he sat down across from you. “I am an adeptus.”

You abandoned your pen, staring at him in surprise. “Oh. Are… are you the Conqueror of Demons, by any chance?”

He stared at your writing on the page. “I am.”

This was the part where he warned you to keep your distance from him, he dimly realised. Now was the time to push you behind the wall that separated humans from his inevitably harmful presence. His tongue felt heavier than any weapon he’d ever wielded.

You hummed thoughtfully, the sound distracting him for a moment, and rummaged through the basket at your side for a handful of berries before pushing it towards him in a silent offering. “I’ve heard the adepti have a contract with Rex Lapis that binds them to Liyue. Is that true?”

He relaxed slightly at the genuine curiosity in your voice. He’d drive you off later, he reasoned. It’d be easier if your curiosity was sated and you didn’t have any more questions to bother him with.

“What you’ve heard is correct. You don’t hail from Liyue, do you?”

“No,” you said. “It’s my first time visiting. The mountains here are lovely, perfect for gliding.”

“Did your glider recover from the less-than-subpar landing you performed the last time we met?”

“H-hey!” You laughed, caught off-guard by his casual dig. It was supposed to be a harsh rebuke, not that you noticed. “That was a rare moment of shame, okay? It was an easy fix!”

Xiao said nothing, marvelling at how differently you seemed to view the world from him. You all but exuded passion and excitement, as though you were glad to be alive, while Xiao’s every action had become a product of his sense of duty. The concept of doing anything for his own enjoyment was a long-dead one; what pleasure did a sinner like him deserve? Even then, your enthusiasm was… not quite infectious, not to him, but it was almost calming. If there were people out there who had the luxury of delighting in such frivolous activities as gliding then his endless battle to purge the land of evil must have bore fruit; for the idea of having wings being to take joy in the act of flying rather than to gain an advantage over one’s enemies had to be some sort of indication. Still, you were a strange human. A good sort of strange, he thought, unbidden.

You’d fallen almost silent, weaving a soft tune into the symphony of rustling leaves and birdsong as you hummed under your breath. He stared intently at you. Yes; a good sort of strange for sure.

The next few days brought about a similar encounters. After bidding Aether and Paimon goodbye, you headed to the inn, embarrassed at first when you realised you were hoping to see the strange yet handsome adeptus again. You’d gone around the harbour, Qingce Village and even the mountains of Jueyun Karst in search of a proper house to stay in; you resolutely refused to keep camping outside, especially considering the Rite of Descension was months away and therefore you’d be in Liyue for some time to come. After a long morning of knocking on doors and asking around, you’d accumulated a list of possible residences and their locations; some in the harbour, some in the further villages and even one or two places nestled deep within the mountains. If it were up to you, you would’ve gone to assess the latter option within a heartbeat, but you had to take your traveling companions’ wishes into consideration too. So you unrolled your trusty map on the floor of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, hunched over the aging parchment as you marked out the exact locations. Xiao soundlessly teleported behind you, crouching and leaning over until his chest nearly brushed your back. You were startled out of your skin when you heard him mumble a “what are you doing?”, whirling around to face him and letting out a surprised laugh.

“Xiao, you can’t just sneak up on me like that,” you berated, shuffling to the side to give him space to sit next to you. A perplexed expression crossed his face.

“It was not my intention to sneak up at all.”

You raised your eyebrows with a teasing smile. “Is this an adeptus thing?”

He huffed, bristling at your teasing. “Have some respect, mortal.”

His voice wasn’t quite as stern as he would’ve liked, though. He briefly pondered why he wasn’t admonishing you or giving you the cold shoulder for your overly friendly attitude; he repeatedly shunned attempts at friendship in the past and refused offerings from humans. What made you so different? He hoped you wouldn’t notice.

“Well, I’d appreciate some sort of indicator that the Vigilant Yaksha, Conqueror of Demons and adeptus of Liyue found it fit to grace this foolish mortal with his presence,” you replied, bending over the map to straighten one of the corners.

“Fine,” he conceded after a pause. You offered him a zaytun peach from the basket at your side, and he wondered how you got your hands on fresh fruit that wasn’t native to Liyue. “What are these markings?” He asked, gesturing towards your map.

“Well, you see,” you started, reclining back on your palms and giving him your full attention, tucking your pen behind your ear. “I’ve been looking for suitable lodgings for my travel companions and I. We could be here in Liyue for months, maybe even a whole year, since he’s waiting for the Rite of Descension. Usually we just camp outside, but since we’re going to be here for so long I’d rather not spend all my time in a tent, not to mention the fact that Liyue’s countryside isn’t as empty as Mondstadt’s. There’s a lot more monsters out here at night.”

Xiao nodded. Your reluctance to expose yourself to the elements day in and day out fit his knowledge of humans being rather fragile; it made sense that you’d want some shelter.

“Reasonable,” he remarked, taking a bite of the peach.

“Say, Xiao. Would you mind coming with me to a few of these places?” You asked with forced nonchalance.

“Why?” He countered, blunt as ever.

You toyed with your Vision, a sheepish smile pulling up the corners of your lips. “I’m not very familiar with the mountains yet,” you explained hesitantly, avoiding his gaze. “And I know Aether’s busy with commissions… but I’d rather not go alone, I heard there’s lots of monsters in the area,” you finished hurriedly. You already regretted asking. He definitely had better things to do than escort a tourist, for Celestia’s sake, why would you ask that-

“What time would you like to go?”

You looked up at him, your shocked expression quickly morphing into an elated one as you beamed up at him. Xiao wondered why his face felt so hot all of a sudden.

“How about right now?” You suggested, deftly rolling up your map. “If you’re free, of course.”

He nodded, rising from the floor. “Yes, that is suitable.”

“We’ll have to stop by the camp so I can grab my glider, though”- you were abruptly cut off when Xiao lifted you up, one arm hooked around your legs and the other looped around your shoulders. A surprised yelp left your lips, immediately swallowed by the wind as Xiao teleported away from the balcony in a cloud of wispy black and turquoise smoke. You squeezed your eyes shu until you could feel the sun’s warmth again. You’d emerged between the two peaks of Mt Tianheng. After a moment of admiring the view of the harbour below, you realised you’re still very much in Xiao’s arms; with a flustered cough, you disentangled your limbs from his and stumbled into the grassy garden of the cabin.

“This place is nice,” you said, mostly to distract yourself from the situation you’d been in moments prior. “Although it does look rather old…” you added, trailing off as you made your way to the front door, gesturing vaguely for him to follow you. The door squeaked on its hinges and one of the windows was cracked, but the owner had seemed rather eager to get rid of it, hence the ridiculously cheap price he was willing to rent it for. You relayed this absent-mindedly to Xiao, who nodded, peering around the perimeter of the cabin and attempting to see it from a human’s perspective. He wondered what factors you would take into consideration. You stuck your head through the doorway, and immediately reeled back with an alarmed shout; Xiao’s head snapped in your direction, his spear already materialising as he rushed towards you.

You slammed the door shut.

“Forget this one,” you announced, turning to face a very battle-ready Xiao with his spear in hand and the Vision at his wrist glowing faintly. He marched towards the door.

“What is it?”

“A revolting number of spiders,” you replied with a shudder, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him away. He stopped dead, shooting you an incredulous look and ignoring the way you tugged him.

“You shouted loud enough for Morax himself to hear your voice because of a few insects?”

“Spiders are arachnids, not insects.”

He let out a disbelieving sigh, finally relenting and letting you drag him away.

“You are all but cowardly, (Name),” His words were sharp, but you took them in stride.

“Why, how dare you!” With an indignant laugh, you let go of his sleeve and shoved him playfully away. He didn’t even falter from your push. Not fair. “And you have the nerve to preach to me about respect!”

Xiao turned his face to hide a tiny smile.

The next house was crossed off the list because the view wasn’t nice enough for your liking. Xiao marvelled at the specificity of your requirements, and then proclaimed the cottage at the edge of Mingyun Village unfit because he could sense a demonic spirit lurking within.

“A demonic spirit?” You repeated, brows furrowed. He glared at the seemingly innocent cottage, resolving to return and deal with the issue once he finished escorting you.

“Yes. Living here is out of the question, you’ll find yourself with a slit throat before Morax can declare the end of the night.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Alright then, Mingyun Village is a miss,” you said, crossing it off your list. “Hmm… only two more options,” you remarked, folding away your list and looking back up at Xiao.

“Then let’s make haste,” he replied, moving to pick you up and no doubt teleport.

“Why don’t we walk?” You suggested. He paused mid-motion, contemplating the idea.

“Sal Terrae is close enough,” he agreed, then to your surprise, advanced towards you again and went through with scooping you into his grasp. He began walking away from the village and the haunted cottage.

“Xiao, you don’t have to carry me,” you pointed out after a moment of silent, warm-faced embarrassment.

“I thought humans were known for their deplorable stamina,” he said without pausing his stride. “Who’s to say whether you’ll be able to make the trek or collapse from exhaustion halfway through?”

“You’ve got a pretty bad impression of humans in general, don’t you?”

“It’s merely a statement of fact, not an insult.”

You poked his chest. “Hey, it’s not fair of you to be irritated because we can’t keep up with adepti.”

He gently pulled at a strand of your hair in retaliation, an act you were prone to when he was a little more dismissive than the situation called for and one he’d been copying from you as of late. “I’m merely following your pre-established example and complaining even when it’s fruitless.”

You laughed long and hard at that.

“You win this battle of wits,” you said with an exaggerated sigh, draping the back of your hand across your forehead in a gesture of dramatic surrender. “Now put me down.”

“That would significantly reduce our speed.”

“It’s not like I’m slow,” you huffed, poking his chest again to regain his attention. “Besides, it’d prevent you from tiring out too quickly.” Xiao scoffed at that, gripping you a little tighter as he hopped across a lake from one stone to another.

“You insult me by assuming my body would be as weak as a mortal’s,” he replied, wishing he could properly harden his voice and actually sound offended rather than this adopt wretchedly soft tone.

“Well you insult me by assuming I can’t walk on my own two feet!”

“And just like that, we’ve become sworn enemies,” Xiao deadpanned.

With a half-hearted grumble, you let him carry you the rest of the way. At some point, to annoy him into putting you down, you asked him to lift you a little higher so you can reach the sunsettia you glimpsed in the uppermost branches of a tree. He didn’t even bat an eye, shifting his hands to your waist and lifting you above his head so you could grab the fruit; you were left thoroughly baffled with his patience. At least you had a snack for the way.

You decided that Sal Terrae was lovely, if a little cold due to its proximity from Dragonspine. You hadn’t expected to like the little shack by the waterside as much as you did, but the cool breeze, swaying grass and rippling water made for a charming scene. You could even glimpse the glittering of a crimson agate on the ridge of the nearby mountaintop; no doubt Aether would be kept busy collecting all the ones he’d missed. You spun around in the grassy outcrop, admiring it all.

“It’s a little far from the harbour…” you lamented, planting your hands on your hips as you contemplated the matter. “Maybe I’ll take it for myself, even if Aether isn’t interested,” you remarked. “What do you think, Xiao?”

“I don’t know what circumstances mortals may have to consider when choosing a place of residence.”

You huffed amusedly. “So you have no opinion on the matter whatsoever?”

Xiao had several opinions on the matter. The place was free of monsters, for one, and he’d be able to see the shack from the top of Wangshu Inn and it was close enough for him to visit without having to explain himself.

“It is not unpleasant,” he allowed.

“That’s significant praise coming from you. Hm…” You circled the building, assessing it for any potential flaws. “I’ll talk to the owner,” you decided. “If I can strike a good bargain then I’ll take it.”

Xiao hummed in acknowledgement. “It is a safer place to live than the mountains.”

“Why would I worry about safety when the ever-diligent adeptus Xiao is guarding the lands?” You teased, skipping back to the edge of the lake. He blushed to the tips of his ears, clearing his throat and looking away as you tugged off your shoes to dip your feet into the cool water.

“Foolish mortal. You shouldn’t rely so heavily on my protection.”

You just laughed, unapologetic and unrepentant. Xiao willed himself to be annoyed by your carelessness; he couldn’t. He liked that you thought he was so reliable and strong. He wanted you to think positively of him. Utterly ridiculous.

You loitered on the plains of Sal Terrae for the day, relishing the sunlight and crisp wind from the mountains. Xiao stayed with you, ‘to make sure you didn’t encounter any trouble,’ and you shared berries and apples plucked from around the island with him, chattering absent-mindedly until stars appeared in the sky.

You ended up buying the shack after the owner hastily told you to take it for a price so cheap it was almost theft; he’d seemed nervous and jumpy the day you spoke to him, constantly looking over his shoulder and practically begging you to buy the place. You wondered what had gotten into him as you signed the contract to transfer ownership; Aether had shrugged and more or less stated it didn’t matter as long as you got a bargain, an opinion that Paimon eagerly seconded. Xiao had muttered something unintelligible, looking away and dismissing the topic. Odd.

A hesitant sort of friendship formed between the two of you; you enjoyed each other’s company and Xiao would listen to you chatter over the basket of fresh fruit you never failed to bring, occasionally contributing to the conversation and silently encouraging you to keep it afloat. You sometimes worried that you were bothering him; he sometimes worried you’d grow tired of his lacklustre responses and stop visiting the inn altogether. Even now, on the odd days you couldn’t stop at the balcony for even a moment, he felt strangely annoyed by your absence. How dare you wriggle into his daily routine and then ruin it by not showing up when you were supposed to? The audacity of humans…

Sometimes you invited him to Sal Terrae. He rarely accepted; that would be too great of an indulgence for an adeptus like him. At least when you were the one coming to see him he could chalk up his tolerance for you to a desire to uphold his contract, nothing more (never mind the fact he’d never given humans the time of day before). On the rare days you did manage to coax him out of Wangshu Inn, you taught him card games and let him win when you discovered just how terrible he was at them, and swam in the cool waters of Sal Terrae while rambling absent-mindedly about whatever happened to be the subject of your thoughts at that time. Xiao secretly liked these instances best; when you completely let your guard down and allowed him a glimpse into the intricacies of your thoughts and your routine. Aether and Paimon teased you relentlessly for spending so much time in his company, while Xiao found himself plagued by similar treatment from Madame Ping and other adepti. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Morax, his master, wouldn’t concern himself with such matters. Meanwhile, the aforementioned Morax chuckled over his interactions with you from Celestia.

You sometimes brought your glider to the inn if it was in need of repairs, other times you appeared with stacks of paperwork in your arms that he’d ridicule (“Incorrigible, mortals’ insistence of writing every damned thing down as if it’ll make a difference when all becomes ash.” You just laughed as you so often did, and the sound dispelled any ideas of cinders and fire, bringing images of an end bathed in sunlight and birdsong instead) and always with an enormous book or two about your studies tucked beneath your arm. You rambled, long-winded and with no clear link between your sentences as you carried out whatever task you’d dragged along with you that day; sorting through your commissions, writing drafts for your academic papers or polishing the wooden frame of your glider and plucking out any bent feathers. You once gifted him one of the feathers, perfectly straight and intact, and tied it to the jade ring on the sleeve of his left arm.

“A charm for good luck,” you told him with a smile. He wanted to tell you that such things were impossible for a human to procure, that true good fortune could only be in the form of a divine blessing, but he found he didn’t believe his own words enough to speak them aloud.

You wrote a lot of letters, he noticed, envelopes filled to bursting with sheets and sheets of parchment that you explained were the reports required of you by the Akademiya, which you’d send to your mentor with a feather of the latest pattern you’d taken to using. He felt an odd stab of bitterness somewhere in his chest the first time he saw you sealing a feather into an envelope with such care, even as you went on about your genius mentor whose supervision you were lucky to have, considering how they were currently at the other side of the world in Snezhnaya continuing their studies at the Fatui’s Zapolnary Palace. Xiao couldn’t care less about this mysterious teacher who was privy to so much of your praise, though the uncanny sting was easily pacified whenever you’d bring him a platter of the almond tofu he so fancied, or invited him to go on a long, meandering walk through the Liyuen countryside.

Regardless, this teacher of yours found themselves on the receiving end of his ire when you arrived at the inn well into the afternoon rather than late morning as customary for you, and looking a little less lively than usual. Like a flower drooping on a hot day, he found himself thinking as he took in your more-dishevelled-than-normal hair and the dark shadows beneath your eyes. You weren’t making an effort to fill the silence, either, instead methodically and sluggishly working through a stack of paper covered in lines of your handwriting, crossing out sentences and scribbling things in the margins before copying the whole thing onto another sheet.

“You look sickly,” he stated matter-of-factly, watching you frown at something you’d written and vehemently black it out with your pen.

“I feel sickly,” you grumbled back, sticking then pen behind your ear as you skimmed through the index of the book open by your side for a reference you needed. He frowned. Even a simple bout of tiredness could so quickly deteriorate into something life-threatening when it came to humans, and the thought of you, boundless and free, becoming the prisoner of a grave because of some measly ailment didn’t sit right with him.

“Then rest.” It came out as more of a command than a plea, and you sent him a pointed look.

“My mentor’s requesting an article on the elemental anomalies within Dunyu Ruins and how they affected the standard model of a society’s evolution.” You stifled a yawn, stretching your back. “I’ve been working on it all night, if I don’t finish it now I’ll be too worried to sleep.”

He fell silent at that, pondering how to convince you with a frown as your pen scratched away.

“But what if you get sick?”

“From what, Xiao? Studying?”

He grumbled under his breath. “From overexertion, mortal.”

You waved him off with a non-committal sound, and Xiao sat down next to you on the balcony floor, helping himself to bulle fruit from you wicker basket and continuing to deliberate on how best to make you take a break.

In the end he didn’t have to do anything at all; less than an hour into working you dozed off while leaning over a detailed diagram of some ruins. Xiao quickly caught you before your head hit the floor, tentatively holding you upright and expecting you to jolt awake at any moment. When you didn’t, he carefully set you down against the balcony railing, then grabbed you again when your body slumped to the side. At this point he was rather mystified; what did one do with a sleeping human unable to support their own weight? While mulling over the perplexing question, his eyes wandered over your face, upturned and relaxed, a far cry from the usual ear-to-ear grin you so often sported. You were pleasant to look at regardless of your expression, he decided, then shook his head as if to dispel the thought. The motion nudged you slightly off his shoulder, and he froze at your quiet murmur of protest. Maybe a bed would be a more apt resting place, he realised belatedly, and after a moment of intense deliberation lifted you from the floor and carried you awkwardly down the stairs to where Verr Goldet was manning the counter as always. Upon seeing him standing at the landing of the stairs looking so thoroughly confused, holding you so gingerly as though afraid you’d shatter or slip from his grasp, she had to stifle a laugh that would no doubt wake you and cause him to prickle with embarrassment. Still, though, she felt as though at least a little teasing was in order.

“Prince Charming has found himself a sleeping beauty, I see.”

Predictably, Xiao bristled like an irritable cat, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Do not mock me, human.”

“Not even a little?” She persisted, then chuckled to herself at his glare, relenting. “The upstairs bedrooms are empty.”

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, the light of the sun well on its way to disappearing beneath the horizon and a jar of just-blooming glaze lilies on the windowsill that looked as though they’d been picked by a rather heavy hand. You blinked up at the ceiling, then rolled out of bed. A quick glance at the window revealed the view from the top of Wangshu Inn you’d come to recognise so easily; put at ease by your familiar surroundings, you made your way towards the door and upon opening it, came face to face with Xiao. His fist had been held aloft, as though about to knock on the door (you taught him that after he almost walked in on you changing) and his look of surprise morphed into one of embarrassment, which then deteriorated into a frown.

“I told you. You needed to rest after all.”

“What happened to ‘good evening’? ‘How are you?’ ‘Did you sleep well?’”

He clicked his tongue in a show of impatience at your teasing, but nonetheless he relaxed and offered you the barest hint of a smile. You swiftly beat down the butterflies taking flight in your stomach.

“Fine. Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you confirmed with a grin, patting his shoulder appreciatively as you walked past him. “All thanks to you.”

He said nothing in response, turning to follow you down the stairs.

“Are my things still on the balcony?” You asked him over your shoulder as you leapt down the last flight of stairs and gave him a fraction of a heart attack in the process. He could never seem to get used to your penchant for getting into some form of danger. “No,” he replied when your safe landing calmed his nerves. “I took them back to your home while you were sleeping.”

You beamed up at him as he descended the stairs, and his heart hammered anew, though for completely different reasons than a few seconds prior.

“You didn’t have to.”

“There’s very little I’m obligated to do.”

“You can just say that you wanted to do something nice for me, you know,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes at that, then conceded: “Alright. I just wanted to.”

“Well, I offer my most sincere thanks to you, oh mighty Alatus,” you replied with a laugh, picking up your glider that he’d left on the table Verr Goldet usually manned. He took your playful jab in silence, watching you with a tiny smile. You paused in the process of tying the glider to your wrist, your face abruptly falling as you remembered the paper you hadn’t finished.

“Damn it,” you muttered to yourself, straightening a few ruffled feathers and experimentally flapping one of the wings. Xiao waited until you’d gone through your usual routine of getting the glider on before addressing the matter he knew was worrying you.

“That… article you’d been so fussed over,” he began as he followed you to the balcony. “I sent it to an acquaintance of mine who’s well-versed in Liyuen history. She was quite impressed by it, and left a few – what did she call them – ‘alternate resources’ for your perusal.”

You paused at the railing of the balcony, no doubt about to launch yourself off it, to shoot him a surprised look, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. The longer you didn’t say anything, the more self-conscious he felt under the weight of your gaze.

“You- Xiao, that’s so sweet!” Your surprise turned into elation, and you bounded over and threw your arms around him. He could withstand blows from deities and immortals, but a hug from you left him a little winded, and it was a long moment before he awkwardly patted your back in reciprocation. You pulled away, your smile now tinged with embarrassment and your cheeks tinged with pink, and cleared your throat.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he all but choked out, avoiding your eyes. Even after you waved goodbye and dove off the edge of the balcony and headfirst into a wind current that carried you up and out of sight, Xiao stood there, red and frozen in place, struggling to get the memory of the way your hair brushed his cheek and the press of your arms around him out of his mind.

He insisted on accompanying you to domains and ruins whenever Aether was unavailable, claiming you’d ‘made yourself his responsibility’ and ‘such are the terms of his contract.’ You were unnerved by his sheer strength at first. It seemed no enemy could best him, and he cleared ruins and domains without breaking a sweat leaving you to solve mechanisms, rootle through treasure chests and search for Geoculi. The day you headed to Lingju Pass to investigate the debilitated structures without telling him, he was livid.

“You could’ve been hurt, you fool,” he snarled, kicking the remains of a mitachurl off his jade spear. You buried the point of your sword into the ground, leaning on its hilt and breathing heavily.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, wiping the sweat off your brow with the hem of your shirt. Xiao scoffed.

“Lies,” he hissed, stalking closer until he towered over you. “Next time you decide to explore a place infested with filth, tell me.”

“Or what, oh mighty Alatus?” You bit out, shooting him a glare. It wasn’t your intention to feed the fire, but Archons, it had been a long day and the last thing you wanted to deal with was his fickle temper. These spats the two of you were so fond of having really could be emotionally laborious at times; his unwavering discipline and your carefree, adventurous outlook were bound to clash every now and then.

“Or I’ll make a point of following you everywhere from the shadows.”

His utter lack of hesitation caught you off guard. You tugged your sword out of the dirt and sheathed it with a sigh. The spike of anger had completely left your body, leaving nothing but the ashes of exhaustion.

“Let’s go back to the inn,” you grumbled, unfolding your glider. “Damn these ruins. Aether can bloody well explore them himself instead of chatting up the perfume lady.”

“No,” he interjected bluntly, grabbing your wrist before you could strap on the glider. “Walk with me. Clearly I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, what with you barrelling into dangerous situations without a second thought.” He didn’t leave you much of a choice, slotting your hand in his and pulling you along. They fit quite nicely together, he thought. Perhaps he should do that more often.

“Why walk when we can fly?” You protested, stumbling after him.

“The complaints of a mortal unconcerned with their own safety mean nothing to me,” he snapped without any real bite. He couldn’t stay angry at you. It puzzled and infuriated him no end; theoretically speaking, everything from your carelessness to your unwaveringly beautiful eyes should get on his nerves, but it never did.

You decided to take the opportunity to tease him. It wasn’t as if you were upset at him, anyway; you took the liberty of dragging him places he had no business visiting all the time. “But you’re concerned with my safety, even if I’m not. Were you worried, Xiao?”

“Yes.”

You blinked. Stumbled.

“O-oh.”

You didn’t say much else until he stopped at a mountaintop dotted with qingxin flowers and motioned stiffly for you to sit down. A gentle breeze blew, ruffling your hair and sending the qingxin swaying back and forth. Too flighty a wind for take-off, but gliding off the mountain would be fun. Quarrel forgotten, you rummaged through the pouch at your hip and procured a lavender melon, offering it to Xiao. He stared at it for a moment before accepting.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten the idiotic stunt you pulled today.”

You chuckled, laying back on the grass to admire the sky. “Well, I haven’t forgotten your unnecessarily overbearing attitude, so we’re even.”

He huffed, staring resolutely at the cluster of qingxin to avoid your teasing smile.

“I am upholding a contract. I have reason to behave the way I do.”

“Oh, of course. I forgot about your eternally noble intentions.”

“How can you be so irresponsible?” He demanded, finally looking at you. “Humans are fragile. Breakable. You shouldn’t be so lax when it comes to your own life.”

You shifted, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Not this again,” you complained with a bemused smile. “I already told you, if I’m going to die anyway I might as well do it style.” You giggled. “Go out with a bang, y’know?”

“Your reasoning is absurd,” he grumbled, irritated by the idea of you dying at all. Incomprehensible; human mortality was hardly something that he could afford to be shocked by anymore, and yet… “I won’t let you die in some senseless way.” You’d made yourself his problem, as far as he was concerned, and the statement was more of a vow than a chastisement.

“I won’t,” you replied, far too cheerfully for such a morbid topic. “There’s still so much of the world to see, and it’d be a shame to miss it. I’ll be around for a good long while yet.”

“You’d better be,” he muttered under his breath, watching the slight flutter of your lashes as the sun emerged from behind a cloud and shone into your eyes, lighting them ablaze. He tore his gaze away, chest strangely tight.

The day you arrived at the balcony in a flurry of feathers and enough confidence to overflow a giant’s teacup, announcing that you were going to make it the Qingyun Peak or die trying, Xiao was less than pleased.

“Too dangerous,” he said with a shake of his head, knowing his dismissal wouldn’t be enough to discourage you.

“Aether descends into the Spiral Abyss every month and comes back non-fatal injuries every time, a bit of hiking can’t be that dangerous!” You countered with a grin, knowing that you’d get him to crack eventually and come with you.

“The Traveller isn’t human,” he replied with a pointed look in your direction.

“So I even have an advantage over him!”

Xiao sighed, already half-resigned to accompanying you to the towering mountain range. “Only you would think mortality is an advantage,” he mused, pushing himself off the balcony’s railing and walking towards you. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to dissuade you in any case.”

Your grin only widened triumphantly. “Nope! Are you coming or not?”

“I don’t trust you not to come back with a broken leg,” he deadpanned, stopping in front of you and staring you down in a last-ditch effort to convince you to spend your day doing something a little less hazardous. When you didn’t relent, meeting his stare head-on with a victorious twinkle in your eyes, he gave in with a sharp exhale. “Yes, alright, fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll come with you.”

You headed out not a moment later, and almost immediately began bickering over the best route to take.

“The Jueyun Karst route is faster.”

“But I want to go through Tianqiu Valley and Nantianmen,” you protested, tracing the road on your map as you walked.

“And waste all that time? Don’t be absurd.”

You shot him a playful grin. “The day is young. What do we lose other than a few hours?”

He levelled you with an unimpressed look, grabbing you by the hood of your cape to steer you around a puddle you’d failed to notice. “Only our limbs, if the Geovishap that lives in the valley is feeling generous.” Recovering from the stumble that came with Xiao’s dragging, you replied with a maddeningly sunny tone, “As if some dragon could be a match for you anyway.”

“So that’s your strategy? Your ulterior motive for bringing me along?” His sternness quickly devolved into reluctant, subtle amusement. “To have me act as a glorified bodyguard?”

“No, of course not!” You cried, clutching your chest in a show of exaggerated horror and teetering to lean against him as if on the verge of fainting. “You’re so much more than that, Xiao! I need someone with an Anemo vision to activate the wind current mechanisms up in the mountains, too.”

He pushed you off him gently - more gently than you deserved - with a roll of his eyes, your laughter carrying across the plains while he grumbled about “the disrespect of mortals” and “foolish reliance on others’ strength.” It didn’t aggravate him as much as it used to, though. It was nice, being someone you relied on.

In the end, after much squabbling, you and Xiao ended up taking the long, meandering path through Jueyun Karst, on your condition of exploring the Stone Forest as well. You couldn’t even pretend to be miffed that he’d won the argument; each step you took revealed a view of the towering mountains more picturesque than the last, the grassy slopes on either side were scattered with wildflowers and every now and then you caught sight of a white crane circling the sky.

“Look, Xiao! There’s that crane again,” you said, tipping your neck back and shielding your eyes from the sun to watch it cleave through the air with slow, methodical flaps of its wings. Xiao made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement, and with his trademark lack of subtlety attempted to drag you onwards.

“Oh my Gods it did a flip,” you declared, completely unconcerned by his strange behaviour even as you stumbled on an uneven patch in the road.

“I’ve seen even you do a flip before. It can’t possibly warrant that much amazement.”

You twisted in his grip to land a punch on his shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘can’t warrant that much amazement’? Are my talents in the flipping mid-air department not good enough for you?”

“Passable at best,” he replied, shooting a strangely apprehensive glance up at the sky. You followed his gaze to the crane still circling above you.

“What, don’t tell me you’re scared of the bird?”

Xiao bristled, looking very much like bird himself, all indignant and puffed-up. “I am not scared of the bird.”

“No?” You grinned, falling back into step beside him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Anything could fool a mortal mind,” he huffed, still smarting from your jokes at his expense.

Slinging a placating arm around his shoulder, you resolutely ignored his immediate protests and pulled him into your side, sending you both stumbling along the road. “Don’t be all grumpy, Xiao,” you cajoled. “It’s alright, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I was afraid of dogs for most of my childhood.”

“I’m not- you-” Spluttering indignantly, he wrestled your arm off him. “For the last time, the damn bird doesn’t scare me!”

“Hey, look! It’s back!” You exclaimed, pointing upwards.

“Where?” He demanded, whipping his head around and quickly realising he’d been played at the sight of an empty, bird-less sky. You dissolved into a fit of laughter, the sound carrying across the mountains and echoing in his head for the rest of the walk.

By the time you’d reached the Statue of the Seven, the heat of the afternoon had firmly established itself, the sun hovering directly in the middle of the sky as though suspended from a thread and casting a layer of warm, golden light over the mountains like silk thrown over a table. The Stone Forest towered around you, their peaks wreathed with clouds and the river below a winding blue ribbon, glinting in the late sunshine from where it weaved throughout the landscape of the valley. Contentment settled in your veins, warm and reassuring, even as a gust of wind swayed you precariously close to the lip of the jade platform and Xiao instinctively seized your arm and dragged you back. You sent him an amused look, pulling him down to sit next to you at the edge.

“Relax,” you told him, bumping his shoulder with yours and letting your legs swing. “I can fly, remember?”

He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, with a tone that you’d learnt to distinguish as the doubtful, ‘yeah right’ one. You ignored it, leaning your weight against him and sighing as you took in the view. He grumbled, but made space for you regardless.

“Tell me the story of these mountains,” you said, breaking the silence.

Xiao shifted to raise an eyebrow at you. “Not everything has a story.”

“The epic tales you’re always telling say otherwise,” you replied with a laugh.

“You never cease with your ridiculous demands,” he complained, failing to sound anything other than slightly bemused and just a little fond, his usual curtness softened with the warmth of the afternoon, the tranquillity of the moment. He hoped you didn’t notice. “First I’m a bodyguard, then a wind current activator, and now a storyteller. Make up your mind, you fickle human.”

“You forgot ‘personal jester’.”

That drew a rare laugh out of him, and your chest warmed with the satisfaction of it.

“Disrespectful little mortal.”

“Aloof, haughty, holier-than-thou adeptus,” you countered without missing a beat.

“The adepti of yesteryear would never tolerate such insolence.”

“Lucky for me, you tolerate it just fine,” you remarked with a grin, pushing yourself away from him. Xiao watched you stretch, silhouetted against the sun, rimmed in gold, caught in the world’s embrace as if it, too, knew how precious, how radiant you were. He’s staring, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to stop a pang of envy from twisting his stomach; did the sun’s rays know how fortunate they were to caress you so lovingly, to paint your skin aglow?

Seemingly unaware of his scrutiny, you shield your eyes with your hand, squinting up at a Waypoint just above the two of you.

“I’m going up there,” you announced, shucking your bag and preparing to jump. Resigned to your constant need for adrenaline, Xiao simply looked on as you snapped open the wings of your glider in preparation.

“And then what?” He asked instead of trying to fruitlessly convince you otherwise. He already knew you’d never stop chasing the next thrill, the next most dangerous thing. You flashed him a grin over your shoulder, devilish and laden with challenge.

“You’ll head over to Mount Aocang and catch me,” you said, as if it were a simple matter, a walk through the park. Xiao felt his heart rate spike.

“You’re going to jump from up there, towards me, and I’m supposed to catch you,” he repeated, deadpan.

“Unless it’s too difficult for you,” you replied with a raise of your eyebrows. He exhaled sharply through his nose. You were going to be the death of him.

It took you a disturbingly short amount of time to scale the enormous rock upon which the Waypoint rested, scrabbling quickly up to the top despite the lack of footholds, graceless yet undeniably efficient. Xiao could see you from his place at the peak of Mount Aocang, a you in miniature, your glider a burst of colour against the sky. He’s jittery, from the apprehension of you being in such a precarious position and the knowledge that you’re both in Cloud Retainer’s territory; the memory of seeing a snow-white crane follow you up the mountain trail only worsened the feeling. And yet, every thought was pushed from his mind as he watched you step towards the edge, waving energetically at him before leaping off with a holler of excitement and a flurry of feathers. Heart in his throat, his eyes tracked your rapid descent, arms tucked in and wings flattened against your sides as you performed what you called a nosedive; he hated it, the way he couldn’t tell whether you were falling deliberately or had simply fallen victim to something as inescapable as gravity, moments away from proving the inevitability of death. But as always, you never did fall without intention, without control; within moments of you disappearing below his line of vision, he heard the swoosh of your glider unfurling and you shot upwards with the suddenness of the air filling your wings, a flock birds taking flight as your shout of delight pierced through the silence. Xiao relaxed despite himself, your joy so unmistakable, so obvious, that he couldn’t help but be put at ease by it. You were back above him, and he could tell you were preparing to descend from the way you angled your body to the side, tucking one of the wings into your side to make wide, lazy turn in his direction, and then you were hurtling towards him, maniacal grin flashing, hair streaming out behind you. Just as quickly as the tension left his muscles, it returned, and he braced himself; when it became clear you’d overshot the landing he took off running until you were directly in front of him, eyes shining and hair wild and mouth pulled into a grin-

You tumbled into him with a whoop, and his arms immediately tightened around you, sending you both spinning with the momentum of the collision though he didn’t fall. Your cheeks stung from the wind, pulse dizzyingly fast as you laughed breathlessly into Xiao’s ear, the sound making him a little giddy and the brush of your feathers tickling his cheeks as you pulled back to look him in the face, stun him with the full force of your delight.

“Did you see that?” You panted, exhilarated, as though he could’ve done anything except watch you raptly in those few minutes.

“I did,” he confirmed instead of saying so, feeling his own lips pull into a smile entirely against his will. You were safe now, no longer subject to the whims of the sky, but his heartbeat still hadn’t calmed in the slightest; if anything, he felt even more agitated than before, finding himself suddenly hyperaware of all the places you were touching, the perfect way you fit against him, the weight of your arms around his neck, the brightness in your eyes, your parted lips as you gasped for breath… What in Teyvat is this feeling?

He murmured your name, helpless, enamoured by your joy.

You blinked up at him. “What’s wrong, Xiao?”

It was the way you said his name that tipped him over the edge; sweetly concerned and whispered like a secret only you were privy to. All of a sudden seeing you, hearing you, touching you wasn’t enough; overwhelmed by the need to find out what you tasted like, Xiao tipped your face upwards and kissed you.

You tensed, let out a little noise of surprise. He panicked, already formulating an apology, appalled at himself-

Then you slowly relaxed back into his hold, bringing one hand up to the nape of his neck, and Xiao thought that this was probably what you felt like whenever you flew; weightless and floaty, everything a blissful haze. He could feel your pulse, fluttering against his hand where it cradled your jaw, and he was painfully certain that this was the slice of heaven, the sliver of ecstasy sinners like him were allowed; more than he deserved but too wonderful to even consider letting go. He could’ve stayed there forever, until the mountains around you flattened and every stream ran dry; even then, when you resurfaced to breathe, the lingering delight and the creeping shyness you shared was just as magnificent. He would’ve slaughtered thousands for the coy little smile on your face, if only you’d asked-

“One is rather shocked by your scandalous display, Conqueror of Demons.”

The bubble shattered.

Startled, you whipped around; impossible though it seemed, the voice came from a crane, an elegant thing of white and blue and a sloping arc of a neck, beautiful and familiar.

“W- what- ”

“Fret not,” the crane continued with a startlingly human-like wave of its wing. “I shall not impart any punishment upon either of you. Despite the rather indecent nature of your offense,” it- she?- added.

You wondered if you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. But stranger yet, Xiao seemed to know her; he bowed his head in a show of deference.

“Yes, Cloud Retainer. You have my thanks.”

The bird nodded, then disappeared with a flap of her wings. You stared at the place where she’d stood, dumbfounded.

“A fellow adeptus,” Xiao told you, still fiercely mortified at being caught. “We… This is her territory. Mount Aocang.”

Understanding dawned on your face. “So that’s why you were so nervous about the bird!” You exclaimed, turning back towards him with a grin. “Because you were planning this the whole trip and you didn’t want to get caught, like a scoundrel-”

“I don’t appreciate your implication,” he interrupted in what should’ve been a warning tone but instead came off teasing and light-hearted.

Your grin sharpened. “Seems like you do appreciate some other things of mine, though.” Xiao hummed in agreement, pressing a thumb to the corner of your mouth and watching in unabashed fascination as your lips parted under his touch.

“Perhaps I should convey my appreciation once more,” he mused, leaning in closer. “With as much… enthusiasm as I can muster.”

⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘ ⸝⋆ .* ⚘ ⋆*⋆⸜ ⚘

#i nearly added the nrftw taglist to this lmao #if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a genshin fic where the reader has symbolic ties to birds-#anyway this was very fun :] hope everyone likes it #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader fluff #xiao x reader #xiao x you #genshin impact xiao #genshin xiao #genshin scenarios #genshin xiao x reader #genshin xiao x you

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leviscolwill · 1 year ago

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rúben blurb — #1

you can all thank dilara for rotting my brain with dad!ruben thoughts, also i think this singlehandedly cured my parents issues

you hated loosing your patience with your daughter, but tatiana drawing on her bedroom wall was your last straw after a long day of terrible news. you always felt awful for screaming at her, especially after the big brown eyes she got from her father welled up with tears.

you let her stay with rúben while you tried to distract yourself with grocery shopping. when you opened your front door still guilty about the whole screaming fit, your house was nothing like when you left it. it was now filled with laughter and a divine smell was luring you to the kitchen. but before you could take a step inside and find out the object of your craving, rúben's tall figure blocked the entry.

“no, no. you take a seat, i have a special chef cooking something for you.” he added a little wink, a silent ‘don't worry, i got this’. you sat down waiting for your little surprise, that revealed itself soon enough, in the shape of a lovely 6 year old girl covered in flour, her tiny hands full of a big plate of pancakes.

“i'm sorry mommy, i didn't want to make you mad.” her little voice, made you forget about every other trivial matters of today. you immediately took tati on your lap, and stroked her hair.

“i wasn't mad at you meu anjo (my angel), mommy just had a bad day. i shouldn't have screamed at you, i'm sorry tati.” you covered your daughter's face and hair of little kisses when rúben joined you two and placed a kiss on both your heads, before taking a seat next to you.

“did you cook these by yourself baby?” you asked to your daughter pointing at the perfect pancakes, she laughed a bit and shook her head.

“no daddy helped me, but i cracked the eggs myself!”

“did you now? i'm so proud of you my little chef, you might have to replace daddy soon.” you knew tatiana was over the moon with the little tasks that were handed to her, and you took the opportunity to tease your husband as well.

his large, flour covered, hand, squeezed your cheeks together, “i'll always be my girls' chef, but i can take a little rat under my hat.”

#if i had a nickel for every ratatouille reference i wrote #i'd have two nickels #which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias #ruben dias blurb #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias fanfic #football one shot #football x reader #football fluff #football fanfic #football imagine #footballer imagine

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pparacxosm · 28 days ago

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hunger is ugly

(blue-eyed son 3 !! which, as any third and final installation of a franchise ((back to the future and spiderman withstanding !!!)), is obviously the best one; i’m only half kidding; homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; see parts one and two; tw eggnog; tw coworkers; cw smut but nothing crazy; if you’re seeking closure don’t hold your breath; i’m sick of these two; they clearly don’t know what they want; and i refuse to take blame; tw fitted sheets; tw cocaine talk)

He once told you he couldn’t wear a suit. I couldn’t, he’d said, I’d look ridiculous in a suit. But he cleans up quite nicely, actually.

In fact, he looks good, and you’re not above admitting that. He looks better, actually. Healthier. And he looks handsome in his casual blazer and charcoal linen slacks. Oh God, are you gonna look frumpy beside him?

“I’ve always wanted to go to an office Christmas party,” he says.

You’re on the floor before him, straddling your full length mirror, and all your tumbledown, halfway gutted makeup products are strewn wildly about you.

Your bed, behind you, is a skeleton state, too. When he’d come over, he’d nearly laughed at the fact that you’ve apparently been so busy, your clean bedding is still sitting in a laundry hamper in the corner of the room, and you’ve been sleeping in the inserts on a bare mattress for who knows how long.

Patrick doesn’t pass judgment on the mess in your apartment. He still feels he owes you in some weird, kiss-the-hand-that-fed-you sort of way.

You’re not a slob. You always look put together when you leave the house. You’ve just had to focus on work. You can’t stumble at the finish line. Or… the glass ceiling. Or the penultimate rung on the corporate ladder. Whatever. If you can successfully execute this next product launch, who knows what other doors might open for you. Probably doors in buildings very similar to the one you’re already working in. But that’s nothing to sneeze at. Every morning, you see your reflection in those immaculate windows.

So anyway, it shouldn’t matter. Things just get away from you sometimes.

Patrick’s standing above you pensively reflecting how many undone buttons says Corporate Shindig Eyecandy (Please Give My Date That Promotion) as opposed to Reformed Tennis Heartthrob. His shins are sort of bracketing your hips.

“Well, it’s half an office Christmas party, and half—like—a congratulatory… thing. For Deirdre’s successful proposal,” you murmur, leaning forward, tugging your temple to flatten your eyelid and flick on your liner.

“Aw, what?” he frowns, “Deirdre? We fucking hate Deirdre.”

You laugh. You try not to delude yourself, not to let these moments exist in some flowery vacuum in the eye of your mind, not to ask him to fix your bedding for you. But it’s hard.

Whoever let Sam replace the DJ halfway through the party was either a genius anarchist or too drunk to care.

You know it’s probably the latter. You down the cognacheavy eggnog from your glass and make a disgruntled face. You don’t know what you expected. Shania Twain is belting from the speakers while Sam wiggles his headphones in a dumb, awkward dance.

He’s pretty funny, all things considered, but you’d still like nothing better than to whack him up the head with an ink cartridge.

One of the blousy interns from your department is haplessly flirting with Patrick, pretending he bumped into her and made her plash some eggnog on herself, but she’s trying to be selfaware about it.

“Oh gosh, isn’t this such a cliché: the boss’ plus one wiping a dairybased drink from the subordinate’s—… oh no, I know she’s not technically my boss, but she’s sort of my senior within the company, like on the general corporate ladder, argh, I know, I hate it!”

She could’ve said superior, you think, instead of senior.

You’re feeling too pissy to go and save him from that failed interaction. You turn your back to the crowd and look out of the glossy black windows. That chorus keeps stomping its pointed heels over your fragile nerves.

The best thing about being a woman is the prerogative to have a little fun!

Do you have a little fun? Are you a Good Time? You have to laugh. It’s just a stupid song. But you need the validation.

That’s why Patrick picks the wrong moment to come and talk to you.

“Hey, this chick is chasing me with a napkin around the room.”

You snort. “Not my problem.”

Patrick leans against the buffet, delivering a wry salute when Sam points at him from the DJ booth and winks. “That guy’s something,” Patrick chuckles, “He asked me to sign his dick.”

“Did you?”

Patrick hums like he’s ambivalent and places a large hand on the small of your back. “Would that be good for you, if I did?”

“I’m fun, right?”

You swirl the remains of eggnog in your glass. You ask the question like he’s been holding out some big secret from you.

Patrick blinks. He scoffs in disbelief, but also smirks pointedly at your glass. “You’re asking me?”

You stare at him through the briar lace of your eyelashes. Everyone who’s met him today has had their own lashes drenched in laughter. You hadn’t realised it first. You’d figured those were mutually exclusive things, downandout charm and the breathing room of comfortable success. But no. He’s charming, anyway. It’s just that he’s not haggling for scraps of generosity anymore so much as he’s lapping at the fleeting dregs of likability. And you hate that you notice that, and you hate that you notice him, that you know him, in a sense. Because what are you supposed to do about it?

“Everybody loves you. Just… be objective.”

Patrick still laughs. He rubs his stubble. He should’ve shaved this morning. He thought he was doing something for you, something nice, by coming with you to this thing and wooing everybody’s pants a little tighter, but maybe he’d missed the mark. “You know I can’t be objective.”

“Why not?” You sound petulant, leaning angrily against the buffet. You’re old enough to know what he’s saying, of course. He’s being nice. He’s telling you he thinks you’re fun, that the rest shouldn’t matter, but then he doesn’t need anything. Even when he had nothing. So he wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t notice.

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes in that way he does when he’s vivisecting you, then clears his throat. “You’re drunk.” He laughs again, a little gratuitous. Then, after a while, “I have fun with you. You’re engaging.”

“Engaging?” you echo, frowning. “Seriously? What am I, an essay?”

“No, I just— Jesus, what do you want me to say?”

You clench your jaw. Okay, you are drunk and you’re at this office party from hell and a hard rain’s a-gonna fall, so goddamn it, he will call you fun.

So you get right into his face. You’re good at that, even if you barely reach his shoulder. “Tell me I’m fun, because I am, and you think I am.”

You try to swat his hand away, but his palm stays put, a hot magnet just above your tailbone, and he doesn’t even look like he’s doing it on purpose. It’s just that he feels an emptiness in his stomach, depressing but also thrilling. Like taking a hit. Like you’re a little bag of white powder. Beyond the dark windows it starts to snow. He used to do a bit of coke, when everything around him dropped dead and started to rot, and he couldn’t stomach the smell. He doesn’t seem like the poster kid for moderation, but the coke was good, and he didn’t let it be any more than that. In fact, at times, the coke was great. The coke was fun. But he couldn’t live with the coke. You understand? He couldn’t settle down in New England and raise a cat with the coke.

“I don’t think I can win with you,” he murmurs, and, for his part, he at least sounds like he needs to change that.

It’s supposed to be a comfort fuck—and you call it fuck in your head dismissively—but it’s too raw and unknown. You’ve spent so much time in this questionable relationship with existence in his life. In and out. You thought you’d learned him, or at least learned the both of you, but his hands on you, his mouth on you—it’s frightening, finite, foreign. Somehow divorced from this man who, for all his egofueled casual mania, doles out intimacy like free samples.

This is what it feels like to watch him unravel, but it’s not just beggar’s desperation. No, he’s making room for someone else beside him in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He keeps touching every part of you, frantically, trying to feel all of you, sinking his head between your thighs with a groan of relief, immersing himself in another body. But not just any body, because he keeps mouthing your name. As if to remind you that he is here, and you let him in. Because it matters that it’s you, that someone who knows him is letting him in. He’s humming to himself as you come against his fingers and mouth.

... hunger is ugly... souls are forgotten... I’ll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it...

You like his full weight on you, sinking you into your undressed mattress, trapping you, suffocating you under his bottomless gloom. He has one hand on your thigh. He lifts it at an uncomfortable angle, sinking his cock deeper into you, making it ache. How does he know you like that, anyway? He doesn’t. He noticed.

You want to resent what he’s doing here, which is trying to ‘win with you’. Because he’s been on a winning streak, and you’re not about to spoil that.

And these demeaning, mechanical thoughts probably aren’t reflective of his inner monologue at the moment, but it’s easier to believe he doesn’t respect you than to contend with this whole thing.

You want to tell him, you don’t know what I like, but he starts talking about this tournament. There’s a match in Boston, for real this time. You’re having trouble paying attention.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, head on your chest, and you, crushed comfortably by his weight.

You wake up before him. He must have rolled off you in the middle of the night. He’s sleeping next to you, one hand stretched towards you, head on the pillow at a strange angle.

You turn away quickly.

You sit on the edge of the bed, breathing in and out, staring at the heap of his cocktail wear on the floor. You feel sore and stupefied. You feel cramps in your muscles. You feel weak in the best and worst way possible. You keep breathing in and out, hoping you’re keeping quiet.

But he wakes up anyway.

You can feel his gentle eyes on the slightly hunched line of your back.

“Hey.”

“Morning,” you mumble, throat dry. Why does it have to be morning? Why does it always have to be morning?

“Come back here,” he says, as if it weren’t morning.

You shake your head softly.

His silence is edifying. It goes on for too long.

“You’re not gonna stay, are you?” you ask, serious and formal, gripping the edge of the mattress. You clench your jaw, body taut.

You can hear him swallow, throat working to get the syllables out.

“I’m not, like… leaving you.”

You close your eyes.

“No, I mean—yeah,” you chuckle miserably. “You’re probably doing the right thing. The best thing for you.”

You feel the tears slide out one by one, and your shoulders shake slightly.

“Please don’t cry.” He’s using that soft and primordially tentative voice he uses with your cat. “I’m not worth it.”

You look over your shoulder at him. “Then why is it so fucking hard to watch you go?”

It’s only recently you’ve started getting angry with him. You used to get grudgingly amused, perhaps vaguely reproachful, but now his stupid face just makes you livid.

His eyes tremble pensively. “I don’t know. But that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You turn your head away, rolling and wiping your eyes at the same time. “I just don’t see how it could work.”

And there’s a door he could open for you. There’s something he could say at this juncture to reassure you, momentarily, that it could. But he can’t bring himself to lie, because he cares about you too much to take a bump of that powder.

He hangs his head and looks at the beautiful line of your back, memorising it.

Then he gets up.

“I’m gonna make coffee, then we can get that fucking fitted sheet on, alright?”

You nod absently. You don’t turn to look at him as he puts on his clothes.

He comes up to you before he leaves. He runs his finger under your chin and lifts it up. There’s a kitten scratch on his cuticle.

You could come watch the match.

But he doesn’t say that. You haven’t seen him play since New Rochelle. “I’ll fill the demon’s bowl. I think she’s starting to like me.”

You laugh, wiping more tears.

Patrick takes that hand, your hand, wet with tears, and brings it to his mouth. He kisses and licks the salt away. He keeps it there for a moment longer than he should. You gently pull away.

You only exhale when he’s gone.

Toby slinks out from behind your mirror, swishing her tail back and forth in contempt.

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, shut up,” you whisper.

#challengers #challengers fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig angst #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig fluff #i mean barely #if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a fic about having sex with patrick zweig during christmas season #i’d have two nickels #which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice right?#bitchy coworker deirdre #toby the cat #shania twain is team tashi #and i can’t believe this is the first time i’m tagging this but #bob dylan is team tashi

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tang3r1n · 6 months ago

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cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.

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unknownperson246 · 4 months ago

Note

Hi!! could you do a Kelly Nickels X Fem reader fic where Y/N is one of his bandmates’ sister and they hook up right before they’re formally introduced to one another? very smutty! thank you! <3

hii im very sorry its late but here it is ❤️❤️

So Tight

Words: 1,112

Warnings: *smut* *cussing* *cheating* *cum play* *cum eating* *p in v* *teasing*

✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ:*

Kelly Nickels was in your garage with your brother. Kelly Nickels was there to form a new band. He had fun with L. A Guns but they decided to quit so Kelly formed another band. He still didnt know all the supposed member's names and he didn't know anything about them. He was there to test the chemistry with all of the people who were chosen by him to be in his new band. They didnt have a name yet either. No one had any idea who anyone was. All the men knew Kelly from L.A Guns. It was like the forming of Velvet Revolver except no one knew each other. Kelly wanted them to be interested in the band instead of using Kelly.

“So why do you guys want to be in this band?”

“I am here to have fun and to test how I like being a rockstar” one of the men spoke up.

“I love rock and roll and want to be a guitarist,” Your brother said.

Kelly gruffed and he got frustrated.

“Do you have any drinks?” Kelly asked your brother.

“Yeah there in the fridge. You can go up there and grab whatever you want” Your brother says calmly trying to show excitement that a rockstar is in his home asking for something to drink.

Kelly went up the stairs and saw your thongs along the stairs. He grabbed one and threw it back on the ground. He walked up to your fridge. He saw 6 bottles of beer neatly placed on the inside of the fridge door. He grabbed one taking the top off with his teeth. He closed the fridge door. He jumped when he saw your face. You hear the beer bottle cap fall on the ground. It makes a klink sound when it collides with the tile floor.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry I thought you were my boyfriend. You must be my brother's bandmate. I’m Y/N. He said he formed the band but I know thats bullshit. He is not that bright” You say smiling not knowing you scared him shitless. He introduces himself before speaking to you.

“I’m Kelly,” He says before he speaks again

“He told you that?” Kelly asks you raising his eyebrow.

“Yep,” You say.

“I mean I formed the band. He might remain in the lineup” He tells you putting his beer bottle down on the countertop of the kitchen.

His back faces you. He takes small sips of his beer.

“Well, it was nice meeting you Y/N,” Kelly says as he walks towards the stairs that lead to the basement which leads him to your garage.

“Wait. Kel” A nickname for him slips out of your mouth.

“Can I call you Kel?” You ask him.

“Sure,” Kelly says

“Do you have a wife?” You ask in a flirty voice.

“No.” He answers trying to leave.

“I saw you hold my thong.” You say.

He turns around and looks at you. His cheeks turn red. “I’m sorry” He immediately apologizes.

“You can make it up to me,” You say flirting with him.

“How?” He asks you.

“You know where this is heading,” You tell Kelly.

You approach him. You throw your arms around Kelly's back. You sink your teeth into Kelly's lower lip. You can low and soft groans from Kelly. Kelly holds your legs and you wrap your legs around him. He watches your thong with thin straps peek out from your v-line that are covered by your low-rise jeans. He holds your sides just above your hips which causes your crop top to show more of your upper body. He puts you on the countertop and undoes his pants. He grabs your shoulders and he takes you off. He turns you around so you're bending over the countertop. Your tits and stomach are pressed on the harsh marble countertop. You feel yourself getting wet by the second after he smacks your big ass unexpectedly. His hands go to the hem of your pants and he tugs downwards. He sees your thong. He pulls down on it. He removes his pants halfway making sure he has enough time to pull them back up in case anyone comes into the house. He looks over his shoulder anytime he heard a creak paranoid that someone was about to find them fucking in the kitchen. He tries to hide what he is doing. He puts his cock on your entrance.

“You ready?” He asks you to make sure you're prepared to take him.

“Yeah,” you whine for him to hurry up.

He slowly slides his cock in teasing you. He feels your tight walls and starts to thrust inside of you quickly trying to make you both come quick. He holds your hips. You're too weak from him being inside of you so he holds on to your hips making you both collide with each other. He quickly slides in and out with ease.

Your fingernails scratch the countertops leaving several heavy and noticeable marks. He kept looking over his shoulder while thrusting.

“Kel” you moan as your moist lips part.

“I’m going to come” you shriek.

You feel your orgasm take full effect on your body. You try your best to not get knocked over by Kelly’s heavy movements. You feel him panting on the back of your neck. You purposely clench his cock with your pussy.

“So tight” he pants.

He takes his final thrusts. His head goes back and his legs shake as he holds your hips tight. He feels your come dripping on his cock. He withdraws and his come squirts on the kitchen floor.

“Shit” you both laugh.

“Get a napkin,” Kelly says to you.

“There is no need for that,” you say while he watches you go on the floor and clean it all up with your tongue.

You pull your pants up while cleaning his come on the dirty kitchen floor. He watches you in amusement.

“You ate my come!” He says smirking while pulling his pants up.

“If I had the dick that had the come in it then I can eat it off the floor,” you say making eye contact while cleaning his come.

You hear footsteps from the basement stairs and you quickly get up acting normal. Your brother watches you talking with Kelly.

“I see where you’ve been,” your brother says to Kelly.

“Kelly this is Y/N and Y/N this is Kelly,” he says smiling having no idea of what you both just did on the kitchen counter.

You both smile and shake hands as if nothing happened between the two of you.

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youremyonepiece · 10 months ago

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salty afflictions

sanji x gn!reader (no pronouns used), reader's pov

your powers come with unique dietary restrictions, but sanji's not one to back down from a challenge (especially not if it's you).

warnings: none, light fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)

word count: 1.9k

"okay," sanji says, tone verging on exasperation, "let me get this straight." he peers at you through his furrowed curly eyebrows, but there is no malice in his stare-- only disbelief. "you can't eat salt?"

you laugh uncomfortably at the question. the rest of the straw hats have their eyes fixed on you as well, waiting earnestly for your answer. most of their plates lie forgotten in front of them; only luffy is moving, shoveling food into his mouth with both hands, but he too is staring directly at you. sanji is standing in front of you, a matching plate balancing on one of his hands. your own grip tightens around your carrot as you shift and shrink under the weight of everyone's combined gazes before taking a small chomp to hopefully diffuse some of the tension.

it doesn't work.

it makes things worse.

the carrot feels like dry mulch as you chew and swallow it loudly. everyone else simply continues to stare, the moment dragging on as they wait for you to respond.

you let out another uncomfortable laugh once your mouth is empty before clearing your throat. "um, yeah," you finally manage to say. you resist the urge to slam your head into the dinner table at your eloquence and continue, "the salt content in my body would get too high. i'd be no different than a puddle of sea water. which would, um-- which would be bad."

you can't stop another laugh from defensively bubbling through your lips. sanji notices and moves away to put your plate in front of luffy (with him around, no food would ever go to waste). "well," he says, pointedly nonchalant as he takes his seat and leans back to take a drag from his cigarette. "i love a good challenge, and you certainly are a lovely one." a smirk forms around his cigarette and just like that, the tension in the room shatters. you throw a grateful look in his direction as the crew's attention turns away from you and back to their dinners.

"typical sanji," usopp says with a playful roll of his eyes before shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth. "still, that must suck."

"yeah," you say in response. "i mean, i'm used to it, but i definitely miss some foods. it saved my life, though," you say with a shrug, "so it is what it is." you take another bite of your carrot, larger than the last in hopes of deterring anyone from asking you any more questions.

you feel someone's eyes on you again and turn your head to see sanji staring at you. there's still a smile on his face and in his eyes-- you can't help but hold your breath as you meet his gaze. he's looking at you as though he’s just discovered a new type of fish, you think to yourself. like he can't wait to experiment and discover the best ways to filet, bake, fry you up.

unlike with the others, being under sanji’s gaze doesn’t make you squirm in your seat. instead, you find yourself feeling comfortably warm-- you’re always comfortable with sanji. he’s been nothing but considerate and thoughtful from the start, and you knew he would never do anything to hurt you.

well, he would never do anything to hurt any woman, not just you.

you ignore the turning of your stomach-- get real, he would never feel the same way about you-- and instead avert your eyes to take great interest in your carrot. wow, it sure is orange--

"you'll have to allow me to borrow some of your time later, sweetheart," sanji says, interrupting your riveting thoughts. "we'll figure out what i can cook for you. can't have you going hungry, now can we?" he winks at you and you feel the heat creep up your neck and into your cheeks.

“um-- sure,” you say, and you're sure your face is bright red. gosh, did you have to be so awkward?

to your relief, though, franky starts talking excitedly about his ideas for new upgrades on the sunny, and with that the flow of the conversation is thankfully diverted away from you and the side effects of your hydro-hydro logia devil fruit. you finish your carrot as quickly as you can before quietly excusing yourself from the group and scurrying out onto the deck.

and though you don’t dare look up to confirm it, you swear you feel sanji’s eyes on you the entire time until you’ve left the room. but no-- there’s no way. you’re imagining it, letting your fantasies get the better of you. he wouldn’t have watched you leave, not when nami and robin were still in the room with him.

(if you had looked up, though, you would have found you were right.)

you’re sitting on a bench by nami’s tangerine trees the next morning after breakfast, absentmindedly flipping through a novel you borrowed from robin. it’s an unusually calm, placid day, the weather perfect and the soft breeze refreshing. the kind of day you want to spend outside and doing nothing. it’s easy to zone out the various noises from your crewmates: luffy’s joyful yelling followed closely by chopper’s worried shouts, zoro’s rumbling snores, nami’s playful teasing at usopp’s desperate rambling, sanji’s... footsteps?

you look up from the book to find the blond man walking calmly towards you with his blazer slung over his shoulder, an easy smile gracing his lips. it grows as your eyes meet, but he doesn’t speak until he comes to a stop a few feet away from you. “hello, gorgeous. got a minute? i wanted to get your thoughts on a few dishes i whipped up earlier for you.”

be cool, you tell yourself. be calm, casual-- “yeah, of course! i’d love to!” great job.

but you can’t feel upset for too long, not when sanji’s face lights up at your response. not when he’s holding a hand out for you to take. your cheeks grow warm (surprise, surprise) as you pause, taking in the sight of the kind man in front of you and his breathtaking smile, before reaching out to take his hand.

you’re hyper-aware of his fingers against yours as he gently guides you to the kitchen and can’t help the wave of disappointment that washes over you when he pulls away to drape his jacket over a bar chair and roll up his shirt sleeves. he motions you over to the table before turning away to grab a couple plates from the kitchen counter.

“so,” he begins as he places various dishes in front of you, “i normally use salt in just about every dish i make. it’s a flavor enhancer-- without it, most foods would taste flat and bland.” he places the last dish in front of you before straightening and flashing one of his brilliant smiles at you. (if you were in a cartoon, your heart would have just doki-doki-ed out of your chest.) “but there’s other ways to bring flavor into food, and there’s beauty in simple foods, too.”

you take in the various foods in front of you; each plate contains no more than maybe five spoonfuls of food, but there are so many. salads and soups and stews and snacks-- so many foods you hadn’t eaten since getting your powers. sanji pushes one of the plates closer to you-- a colorful pile of leafy greens and veggies, topped with what looks like olive oil and a freshly squeezed lemon wedge-- and takes the seat across from you. “salads, of course, are an easy answer. the best salads use fresh vegetables and high quality oil, and as long as you balance the flavors well, you won’t even miss the saltier ingredients like cheese.”

intrigued, you bring a forkful to your mouth, and-- wow. you never had been a huge fan of salads, especially since they now consisted of the majority of your meals, but this is easily the best salad you’ve ever had. you clean the plate within a couple seconds, much to sanji’s apparent delight.

and so he continues, explaining his reasoning behind each dish and watching intently as you practically inhale the food. “sanji,” you say in between dishes after what must have been over half an hour of food tasting, “this is amazing. i don’t think i’ve had food that tastes this good ever-- not even before i ate my devil fruit. i can’t believe you did all this for me.”

it’s his turn to blush at your words, and for some reason his bashfulness makes you feel embarrassed as well. you shut your mouth and look back down at the plate in front of you: cauliflower chunks he had coated in a spiced batter before frying and coating in a sauce made from nami’s tangerines. it’s true, though-- every single dish you had tasted had been phenomenal, so clearly made with kindness. you had resigned yourself to eating raw veggies for the rest of your life, and the fact that sanji had come up with a whole slew of meals that you could eat despite your power-induced diet, that too within a day of learning about it... no one had ever done something so thoughtful for you before.

your thoughts are interrupted by an unexpectedly acrid scent-- is something... burning? you look up from the plate, frowning, and almost immediately spot the smoking pan on the stove. “sanji! the pan!”

sanji, who had been staring at you with a dazed look in his eyes, seems to come to his senses with a few blinks. he glances backwards towards the stove and does a double-take in shock before leaping to his feet and rushing over to the burning pan. “merde! so sorry, love-- i must have forgotten to turn it off-- i was so excited to see your reaction--” he hisses suddenly, pulling his hand back with a jerk.

“sanji! did you burn yourself?” you’re on your feet, too, reaching his side within a blink of an eye. you take his hand in yours without hesitation, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“darling, you should stay back, the fire--”

within seconds, you’ve doused the stove in water using your free hand. you then turn your eyes back to sanji’s burn, frowning in concentration as you coat the reddening skin with your cold water. “it doesn’t look too bad,” you murmur, eyes locked on his wound, “but you should still have chopper check it out.”

“will do,” he responds softly, and you freeze-- his voice is so close. you were so close.

you look up, throat dry as you meet his eyes. you feel your cheeks heat up yet again, but you can’t bring yourself to step away-- you can’t bring yourself to move. “you should--” you stop to clear your throat-- “you should be more careful.”

“i always am, but something about you makes me forget where i am.” he must see the question in your eyes, because he quickly adds, “in a good way, of course.”

“yeah, um-- same,” you say intelligently.

he laughs at your response, eyes full of affection as they remain on you. “c’mon,” he says, softly tapping your cheek with his uninjured hand before stepping slightly away from you, “we still have a few dishes to go.”

gosh, you think, stunned in place as you watch him move back towards the table. this man is truly going to be the death of you.

#one piece #sanji x you #sanji x reader #sanji fanfic #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #if i had a nickel for every sanji fic i wrote where sanji takes you to the kitchen to eat his food #id have two nickels #which isnt a lot but its weird that its happened twice #i have so so many fics that are 80 to 90 percent done #hopefully there'll be a lot of posts coming soon 🤞🏽#my writing #youremyonepiece

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idyllcy · 6 months ago

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doomed to fall, doomed to love

word count: 10.8k || banner art by @/retired-peach on insta

warnings: game-typical violence, mild eerie descriptions

summary: just how far can luck get everyone?

Fate is decided from birth, the Moirai weaving and threading the life of each one born, including the gods — something far preceding the existence of all, warmth and existence of night around the fates as she lets go of her daughters and her son.

There is no moving fate, and unless you were wise enough, there was no threading through the holes of life to abuse your aforementioned fate.

Moros understands the fates the most, his sisters raising him from youth, understanding that once a thread was cut, there was no way to restore it. Death would claim the soul, and they would live the rest of their days in the underworld. There is something far more concerning through all of it, his eyes curious as a child, watching as his sisters would tell him the fates of all those determined by it. The entire world would be in his hands as he watched his sisters thread and weave the fates of the world, strings twisting amongst each other to symbolize a meeting.

He had been shown his own string, one that could not be cut even if his sisters tried.

"Gods can not be cut, only threaded." Lachesis hummed.

"May I thread my string with someone else?" He blinks up, staring at the first thread of his life, the way it split from night's.

"Perhaps if you show us the desperation we seek."

Moros has no need to speak to anyone other than his assignments. When he approaches, someone is aware that their time is up. When he steps close to humans, most know that it is not far from the time that they will meet death. When he brushes his hands against a string, his sisters know that they do not have much time left. Even for Odysseus, when his fingers finally pinched at the string, the inevitable was coming, and it was more than apparent that there was a touch of doom to his skin, a touch of demise burned at his fingertips — fitting for the god people referred to as doom.

Even when he had doomed an entire family, his brother's assignments stacking until his own brother stopped functioning, he had not much of a reaction. Human emotion is fickle. The need to feel something specific was fickle. When his sisters threaded and weaved human lives like tapestry, he had no say or need to feel for the souls he would never meet. His portion was not in the house, but with his sisters, whom he both adored and feared, fingers reaching for strings when he deemed them fit. When he would bring the doom of one, then there would have been no say otherwise. Shortly after one's doom was always one's demise — death. Though, his younger brother had been out of service from the doom of his beloved. Perhaps he should not have messed with the string in the first place. Lachesis had felt bad, though Clotho had rambled about how amusing it was to her. There was no sibling relationship where unnecessary. Had night truly wanted them to feel for one another, she would have not sent everyone so far from one another.

Moros does not have time to stutter and stumble over fickle emotions.

"We have a small assignment for you," Atropos speaks. When she spoke, it always meant something important.

"Is it another thread?"

"No." She shakes her head, eyes closing. "Perhaps, you will find this one matters. Just let us do the weaving and do not touch the thread of this one."

Moros nods slowly, understanding his sisters as he is told where to go.

In the deep depths of the underworld, Moros is sent to greet someone in the depths of the underworld, a shade with something akin to charm that could have rivaled Helen of Troy. It did not matter to him, for all he was there to do was supervise. The shade had tried to escape the clutches of the underworld too many times, and it seemed that death himself could not stop them anymore, and perhaps doom could keep them in place and kill all hope that they would be able to slip onto the surface of the world. Moros finds it ironic that a person who could escape the fates would be left to his hands. Perhaps, this is fate as well.

So, your strand is tied into his hair, fastened to hide the existence of your fate in his hair, forever embedded in a part of him, perhaps. He knows his sisters have a plan for him, and he trusts that the most they would do is perhaps play a harmless joke, so he sits there as Clotho chatters about, detailing the shade and their life in Greece, fastening his hair into a delightful design as he stares at himself in the mirror, blinking slowly at the singular silver strand that reflects the light deeply hidden in the strands of his hair. He does not give so much of a reaction, thanking his sister instead, lips curled upwards sweetly that he always had, even as a child.

"Ehem." He coughs as he catches you sneaking to follow the prince through the gates to the temple.

"Oh... are you my new bodyguard? Doom?" You raise a brow, lips quirked up cheekily as he recalls the description given by his sisters. The prettiest human to have ever graced Greece. The person who had been so dazzling that perhaps they could lead nations to demise and countries to ruin. To him, such beauty was pointless. To him, his sisters will string the fate of the people around him, and there was no reason for him to care or attend to such pointless things. In such a way, perhaps he is apathetic to such things, but only a fool would be able to resist such a situation.

"Come on." You lean in to bat your lashes at him, grinning cheekily. "Please? Just one chance. I die to the lord each time anyway. Please?"

"No." He stares down at you through his own lashes, heart unmoving as you huff and stand straight.

"It's so boring here!"

"And the overworld is more entertaining?"

"Oh, gods, no." You wave your hand. "I prefer watching the young prince destroy the king in battle instead. Also, it is quite a sight to watch. Have you seen such?"

"I am afraid I am not in contact with neither the prince nor the king."

"Hm." You tap your chin, fingers reaching for Moros as he flinches back out of reflex, refusing to let you doom yourself in such a way. "Woah, woah. Formalest of apologies, doom. I was not aware you disliked being touched."

"No, that is not it." He sighs. "Do not touch me for the sake of yourself."

"Will I be cursed?"

"Perhaps there is a fate that is worse than death. Do not wish to find out."

"Hm..." You tap your chin again, leaning against the railing of your place as you stare down at the bull and king return to their original positions, willing to fight whomever had the guts. "Say, Doom."

"Yes?"

"If I defeat the bull man and the king, may the fates grant me a small wish?"

"I am not the fates."

"But surely, they sent you here?"

"I can not change fate."

"Surely, you can convince them?"

"I can not. They are far less forgiving than I."

You shrug anyway. "How about from you?"

"I do not gain much from watching you seek thrill, young soul."

"Perhaps you will. If you are entertained, shall you grant me a small wish?"

"And what might this small wish be?"

"I wish to meet the fates."

"That will not be possible."

"Then how about some knowledge about you? It does not need to be related to the fates. You are my new guardian, after all."

He blinks twice — which you take as a confirmation, hopping over the ledge of the seats in the colosseum, weapon forming in your hand as the king laughs at you for challenging the two. Moros settles in the crowd of shades, hood thrown over his head to cancel his identity, watching as your axe swings and swings, spinning in circles as you cut and tear at the other two shades, your laughter growing manic by the moment as you strike down the bull first, the shield clamoring as you strike again and again, aiming for his head. Doom sees the death of mankind often, though not the mania that was moreso visible on your face.

He ponders over just what he should tell you about himself. Perhaps that he was raised by the fates? Or that he knows not much of his mother? Or perhaps, he should tell you that the horns on his head are fake. He is not accustomed to getting to know others, so perhaps, your curiosity was warranted. For the doom of mankind himself to force a shade to stay still was more than entertaining enough. Perhaps he was sent here for the entertainment of his beloved sisters. Thus, when your axe finally slices through the king while he shifts, victory hangs over your head as you wink up at Moros. The crowd gasps as another shade swoons, and Moros understands perhaps why you were so valued even during your time alive.

"Help me up, would you, dearest doom?" You wave your axe to work as leverage, and Moros towers over instead, leaning down to grab your wrist to pull you back up. You flip back up with ease, the weight of your body long gone after you had become a shade.

What would he say in a situation like this? Well done? Good job? "Well job." He pauses. "My apologies. Good job."

You laugh, mouth open as your body shakes, hunched over as Moros collects himself and grimaces at his own awkwardness.

"Is that your fun fact? That you can't speak around people that even the gods are jealous of for their visage?"

"That is not, brave shade. There is no amusement in revealing such things at such haste."

"Then what would such a fun fact be?"

"The horns on my head," He hums, leaning down to tower over you. "Are not part of me."

"So they are part of your accessories?"

"You could frame it that way." He hums.

"Okay, well, fun fact about me." You point at yourself, axe dissipating as you hum. "You found the wrong shade, quite unfortunately. The fates did not send you to me."

Moros raises a brow.

"My sister recently broke out." You pause, glancing at the rest of the shades as you close your eyes. "There are two runaway shades, and quite unfortunately for you, it just so happens that my sister is the prettier of us two."

"And you, brave shade?"

"The distracter." You grin, hopping on your feet as you shift around him. "She'll be back in a little! Looks the exact same as me!"

Moros finds that there is another shade with the exact same visage as you, and she huffs when Moros approaches, stuck in place as she meets eyes with him and blinks rapidly.

"Fuck." She huffs. "Let me through, won't you? I only wish to fight the lord..."

"So you are the shade." He hums.

"Did my sibling tell you that?" She huffs. "I only wish to fight the lord. They are content with the bull and the king, but I am not. If I defeat him, then I would be granted immortality, no?"

"That is not how it works." He sighs. "You are no Odysseus nor Heracles. You can not escape the clutches of the fates."

Your sister only grins at him, knowing something that it seems he does not.

"Four slipped past the hands of fate and left the underworld." She points. "One controls the fates the same amount. Though, worry not. I am not that one."

"The fates will make sure you do not escape. My fingers will brush through your thread." He hums, pinching at the strand in his hair. The shine and luster fade immediately with the pinch of the strand, and your sister huffs, finding that her weapon has been removed from her hands and she is officially bound to Elysium. She grumbles, sulking on the side as the king and the bull return to fight the prince.

"Ah, would you look at that." She grins. "The prince got a helper."

The prince's blade slices through the bull as you spin, knocking again and again against the king's armor, bloodthirst visible even from where Moros is standing. If there were a personification of him to the people, it would have been you. He does not have the luxury of questions, watching as you finish the king as he turns around, the prince grabbing you as the two of you storm off. It is not his place to interfere. He has doomed your sister to stay in place forever. That is enough. His assignment is over, it is that simple.

He returns to his sisters, their fingers delicate as they discard of the string in his hair.

"I met the young girl's twin."

"We know." The smile.

"Do tell, sisters, who might they be?"

"A shade that is not to be worried over." Atropos is the one to answer. "It does not matter what that shade does, since their string has long been absent."

"Was it stolen?"

None of his sisters reply to his question.

"It is fine," Lachesis hums, rethreading your sister's string into the tapestry. "We only needed you to take care of that one."

"And not the one I met?"

"No." Clotho stares up at the remaining threads. "However, since you there is not much to do in the time being, feel free to visit the shade."

"That would not be possible. I would interfere with the young prince's day to day excursions." He recalls the way you had joined the prince so simply, almost as though it had been a normality.

"Is that so?" Lachesis grins, almost knowing something he does not.

"It worries me when you smile like that." He blinks.

"It does not hurt to visit the shade. We will summon you back for any needs."

"Can the human race live without doom?"

"Not if you doom everyone at once." Atropo points at a section of string. "Brush."

Moros brushes their strings with his hand, pinching some, brushing down others. The darkness that imitates death seeps into the strings of the living.

"Halt." Lachesis panics. "Moros, young child, that is quite enough."

He stares at the soldiers in war that he has just doomed.

"I wish he would have picked up some of my kind sentiment." Lachesis mumbles. "Off you go now, brother."

Moros ends up back where your sister is — in the stands in the final room of Elysium, watching as your axe mutilates and mangles the shield of the king, switching with the young prince of the underworld when he delivers a final blow to the bull. Your sister catches him up on what has happened since he left, and he watches as the prince takes you to lead you outside. You are not bound to Elysium, but you are bound to the underworld. A shade could not escape no matter how many attempts it took. Or, perhaps you were simply a shade that would die against the lord.

Moros nods at your sister as he follows you to the temple, staring at the prince as he blinks.

"Why, hello? Who might you be?"

Moros nods his head, holding out a boon for you instead, watching as you observe it.

"What happened to no shade leaves the underworld?"

"Perhaps it is the simplicity of being given free reign over you."

"Wow... your sisters must really love you." You mumble. "It is doom, your highness. Moros."

The prince nods. "Honored to meet you."

"Honored to meet you as well, your highness." He nods.

"Will this let me one-shot the lord?" You twist the boon into your axe, watching as the blades thread with the purple of doom's eyes.

"No, but it works similar to death." He takes a step back, bowing at the prince as he disappears from view.

"So... 9999 damage?"

"Your summon only does 3500, does it not?" You raise a brow.

"Yes. Perhaps you will escape unscathed this time from the underworld." The prince grins.

Moros watches as you kill the ruler of the underworld, the prince watching in awe as you accidentally snipe the lord himself with a concerned look on your face. To inflict doom on someone it different to the person, so the doom of the ruler of the underworld would have simply been to die without getting to fight. You glance at the boon on your axe, taking two steps back as you watch Moros appear before you.

"Doom."

"Did you enjoy the boon?"

"It is rather sly, you are aware? I may be punished for it." You speak, waving goodbye to the prince as he rushes to tend to his mother's cottage.

"Nothing the fates can not fix."

"That is a shame, dearest doom." You shake your head. "I am the determiner of my own fate."

"Is that so?" He raises a brow. "When your string resides with the fates?"

"Perhaps."

To Moros, it does not matter — he finds that it is just how you are. You thank him for the boon, offering to return it to him, but he shakes his head, following you as you rush into the overworld, settling yourself in the queen's cottage to tend to the plants with the young prince before he returns to the styx. You, on the other hand, make no move to return. Instead, you call the boatman to return you to your place, thanking him with a couple of obols as you wave goodbye to him.

To the fates, it only mattered when their conflicts were in conflict with their brother. They have no problem with the young one deciding his own fate — a benefit of being raised by them, perhaps.

Atropos notices the way Moros' string starts fraying ever so slightly.

"Should we worry?"

"No. If it falls, then it would simply belong to him. After all, he is our dear brother."

Moros glances at the threads of color in your hair reflected under the sun one final time before he returns to his sisters. Color, reminding him of something far too familiar for comfort. So, he listens to the order from his sisters, fingers brushing the correct strands, pausing when he goes to check on his own string. His own string is fraying, and although he would not die, it was still worrisome.

"Atropos, did I do something?"

"No, child." She shakes her head, continuing with the tapestry. "It seems there is something else causing it to wear down."

Moros stares at his string, watching as it frays further.

"Is this someone else's work?"

"That is for you to find out, dear child."

Moros returns next to you, boon still in your axe as you slam the bottom in the ground, the young prince landing a particularly lucky hit as both the bull and the king die, grinning at you with a thumbs up as he throws you over his shoulder to bring you with him. He lingers close to you, watching as the lord falls to your blade again, and you stay behind to greet him. Perhaps, you find it a formality — something he wonders if you would ever consider to be a routine to you. Perhaps he could weasel — no. To have such thoughts is not possible. He is moreso curious to know who just this interferer with fate is.

You tilt your head. "Much on your mind, dearest doom?"

"That is not the case. Why do you stay behind each time?"

"I prefer to spend as little time around the garden as possible when the prince is present." You glance at the fish that shows up, stabbing down with the bottom of your axe as you fish out a sturgeon. "Ever had fish?"

"Gods do not need to eat to survive."

"Doesn't stop the olympians from feasting and partying all day." You shrug, glancing at the fish. "I should get to the prince soon."

"Is that not a rare fish?" He raises a brow.

"Not sure." You hand the fish to him, the river denizen dying in his hand as you do, his brows pulled together in a furrow.

"Guess that fish's worst fate was to die." You step past the entrance to the underworld, pausing as you wait for Moros to follow after you.

Moros finds comfort in the strange silence you offer him, watching as you take over the garden as the young prince falls to the ground and returns to the Styx, your work only a short while after before the boatman comes to bring you back. His older brother does not care for the lord, it seems. Much like the Moirai, Chaon does not care whether or not the lord of the underworld cares for such small matters. You step onto the boat, him following after shortly, watching as you stab at another fish in the Styx, tossing it onto the boat as the boatman groans in disapproval.

"No fish in the boat?"

"Haaarhh."

You toss the fish back into the river, watching as it comes back to life.

"Shade."

"Yes, dearest doom?" You tilt your head, raising a brow.

"The strand snaking around your handle." He glances at the way a string shimmers from the inside. "What is it?"

"Oh?" You grin. "Surely you know, dearest doom."

"Is it the string from the Moirai?"

You grin. "My string has always been for myself."

"I was not aware that the fates gave shades their own string." They do not. Moros wonders if he can pry the truth from your lips so he does not need to break the trust he has established with you so far. Perhaps, he is hoping you'll be honest and truthful with him, telling him that you had stolen the string. Perhaps, he was foolish to think of you as a thief. Perhaps, he had just not wanted to acknowledge you as anything else.

You laugh instead, refusing him an answer.

Moros finds that it's a little worrying, but as he steps out of the boat and offers you his hand, he wonders if he could just play dumb.

You take his hand, thanking the boatman as you hand him the obol once more.

"Doomed now, are you not, brave shade?"

You glance at his hand, laughing. "Perhaps my doom is to fall in love with you."

Moros flushes with color at your words, cheeks warming and skin darkening with your flirty remark. "You worry me, brave shade."

"Am I interrupting your work?"

"I am but my sisters' helper." He hums.

"Mm. I see." You step foot back into Elysium, sliding down the cliff to find your residence. Moros follows after you, uncertain of how to go about all of this. Perhaps this is what his sisters meant when they had told him to visit you. It is not a visit, but a stay, perhaps. He is stuck by you, returning only on occasion, spending his days with you as you fight your way out of Elysium with the prince. He takes notice of the way you deactivate his boon while fighting on occasion, the prince's boons taking over for the most part, watching as it seems that there is always some higher deity playing the cards perfectly for the prince to win.

Moros wonders if you are some sort of deity since your thread is missing from the fates.

"Brave shade." He tilts his head, watching as you send the prince down the river.

"Yes, dearest doom?"

Perhaps there is a sense of realization at the name that you have given him, but he fights every single part of his body that reddens and flushes at the name that he should have grown used to by now. "Would you tell me how you received your thread?"

"I was born with it, dearest doom." You glance at your axe, waving as the prince returns with the satyr sack for the guardian. "I am not a thief nor a genius. I am simply lucky."

Moros wonders where he has heard that before.

"Will you take me to meet the fates?"

"I can not do that." He shakes his head, still, following you as you follow the prince to the fight with the lord. The prince wins without much aid, and you wave goodbye to him as he rushes off to the cottage, leaving you alone with Moros once again.

"Not at all?"

"There is no chance, brave shade." He hums.

You sigh, stepping past the gates of the underworld to the queen's cottage, helping out the prince before he passes. Though, this time, Moros finds that you do not leave.

"Are you not returning?"

"Mm..." You hum, lying down in the grass, eyes closed. "Just a little longer."

"And how much longer is this... longer?"

"Just lay on the grass. It is the queen's domain. There is no doom for the grass."

"Every other footstep of mine killed the grass, brave shade."

"The float." You yawn, closing your eyes. "Dearest doom, entertain my thoughts, would you?"

"And what might those thoughts be?"

"If I cut my own string, would I pass?"

"Only Atropos can cut the threads."

You sigh, reaching for his hand in the grass, lacing your fingers with him.

"You'll—"

"It is fine." You hum. "I will be fine, I assure you."

"Brave shade, pray tell, why do you not call me by name?"

"I fear that you will get attached to something fleeting." You hum, turning to your side to grin at him. "Just as I do not refer to you by name, you do not refer to me by name."

"And if I wished to?"

"That is a shame, dearest doom." You grin. "The fates would not allow that."

"And how would you know?"

"Call it instinct."

Atropos notices first — Moros' thread falls completely down, broken from both night's and their own threads, on the ground as Clotho picks it up to hold on to. Lachesis notices shortly after, watching as Atropos ponders over what to make of Moros' thread. They do not bring him back just yet, curious to see just how desperate he was to continue the arrangement with you, fingers laced with yours in the grass, his ability to doom torn away from him for the time being.

"I wonder how desperate he is." Atopos hums. "Let us start."

It happens all too fast.

Moros is called back, watching as the underworld falls to time, although safe with his sisters, he is unsure as to whether or not you are safe — and when he retrieves the list of minor prophecies, his sisters disappear as well. He is alone, he realizes. He stays at the crossroads with the young princess, stumbling and stuttering over his words, cursing himself when he remembers that he is no different than from when he first met you. Perhaps you are doing well elsewhere, but he can not help but think of you while at the crossroads.

It is until the princess brings back an axe that is eerily similar to yours as her weapon that Moros wonders if perhaps you are alive.

"Is this a different aspect, princess?" He tilts his head at the axe.

"Oh, why it is." She agrees. "The aspect of Tyche. It seems to help me dodge, and the weapon feels much lighter. Is there something wrong, Lord Moros?"

Moros shakes his head. "It looks familiar, that is all."

"Well, uncle gave me the awakening phrase."

Moros hums, tilting his head as the princess hands the weapon to him, letting him observe the axe as he notices his boon is still there, just dull.

"Do you wish for an enhancement?"

"Hm?" The princess tilts her head. "Is that possible?"

Moros reaches for his boon, purple glowing once more, threads reweaving across the blade, stopping when the boon glows and the princess tries swinging again, accidentally breaking something in the process, pursing her lips.

"Lord Moros, do tell... how much damage does this do?"

Moros averts his eyes. "You may want to ask war of such."

The princess blinks at him, jaw hanging before she closes her mouth. "Will I kill time?"

"I am unaware of how much health time has, thus I am unable to answer."

The princess returns much quicker, this time around, Moros glancing at her and bowing as she holds the axe and grins, almost wincing.

"How was the weapon, princess?"

"Who wielded it before me? It seems you know of its previous owner."

"The wielder was a shade I knew." He hums. "They were not bound to the underworld."

"Then, perhaps they were not a shade at all." The princess offers. "Perhaps, they were Tyche herself."

"There is no confirmation for such. Had it been such, I would have known." He pauses, brows furrowing as he notices the strand still wrapped around the weapon. "May I see it once more, princess?"

"Of course." He hands him the axe, watching as he forces his finger into the wrapping around the handle, expression darkening as he notices the lack of string. You are dead. Unless you had wrapped and stolen your own string embedded into your axe, there was no way you could have survived if someone else held onto your string.

"Is something wrong, Lord Moros?"

"There used to be a string of the fates embedded in the wrapping." He hands it back to the princess. "If the goddess contacts you through the weapon, do tell."

The princess nods. "Were they important to you, Lord Moros?"

Moros is quiet, closing his eyes. "A brave shade, they were."

"And you, to them? If I am not prying."

Moros goes quiet, averting his eyes instead.

"My apologies, Lord Moros."

"Do not fret, princess." He smiles. "May you defeat time once more."

"Thank you."

In a way, Moros wanders through the crossroads and wonders just how you were. It is unsafe to be in the house of the lord, but perhaps you are caught there. Or, perhaps as the other shades are, you are stuck where they are. He is unaware of if there is ever a possibility that you could have survived if you had not been a shade. The Olympians armed themselves relatively quickly, though failing again and again to defeat time. It is not an easy feat, he believes. While he is sure that the princess will succeed, he wonders if the princess will have the same luck that the young prince did in the days that he had fought alongside you.

When the princess returns, she is ecstatic.

"Lord Moros!" She rushes, and it feels a little strange to see the princess so overjoyed.

"Yes, princess?"

"The goddess contacted me!" She notes. "She sends you here greetings. Do you know her, perhaps?"

"Did she leave a message?"

"No, she had only mentioned your boon and to thank you. Perhaps the brave shade is none other than the goddess?"

"That would be quite the predicament, princess." He hums. "Though, I am sure there has to be a better explanation."

"Surely. I shall ask if I see her again." The princess hums. "Shall I convey some words?"

"I would like to meet the goddess, if possible."

"Oh, how surprising! I will convey such words. All the best." She waves, rushing off as Moros ponders over just what that greeting could mean.

Moros wanders about the crossroads, taking note of a handful of things, pondering over the things that you had once told him when you were with him. You adore the color of his eyes — finding that he looks best with longer hair, and despite your hatred for how his horns looked at times, you always helped it back on his head when he finished laying in the grass. When he catches reflection of himself in the waters, he ponders just for a moment whether you were lucky enough to escape the grasp of time.

When the princess returns, she brings news of the weapon.

"The one who provided the weapon is still alive." The princess reports.

"Alive? Provider?" Moros senses some strange sense of hope snake up his back. Perhaps, you are... alive. Perhaps, you... escaped. Perhaps, you were spared the cruelty that the rest of the house received from time. He wonders if he could ever recall the name of your beloved weapon that the princess now wielded. Hope, you had called her. He does not recall the goddess of whom had blessed it prior to holding his boon. It is a predicament, he finds.

"Yes." The princess hums. "I had run into a shade near the surface."

Moros frowns. It could be you, but he doubts that time would have given anyone the grace to flee or transform.

"The weapon has a name, according to the provider."

"Do you know of it?"

"No, I was not informed." The princess mumbles. "Though, the axe used to be a shield, according to the shade near the surface."

"A shield..." Moros mumbles. "Thank you, princess. I wish you luck on your next run."

Moros ponders just where his sisters might be. They had disappeared, leaving behind the threads in the room — all of them turning into webs for arachnids rather than strings that would resemble the strings of life. Perhaps, they had been restricted willingly rather than out of surprise. In order to throw off time, they had taken the sacrifice, and it bothers him to no end that perhaps they too are stuck in time. The human world must be in shambles at the moment. It must be exhausting to deal with so much at once.

"Lord Moros."

"Yes, princess?"

The princess pauses before asking. "What were the fates like?"

"Lachesis is kind, Clotho speaks often, and Atropos is the cutter."

"Mm." The princess nods. "Have you gone to the springs? They are good for relaxation."

"I suppose I am due for one, princess, but I am unable to do so at the moment." He smiles. "Shall I save the salts for some other time?"

"Up to you, Lord Moros." The princess smiles. "Best of luck."

When the princess returns to the shade, she finds that they are a person this time. Perhaps not the goddess, but similar in appearance, similar in beauty. The princess greets the goddess on the surface, coughing up blood and fighting every last doom in her body to be able to stay just long enough to invite the goddess back with her, the symbol of her boon replaced with a full moon as the princess coughs.

"Oh, dearest, what has happened?"

"Oh, goddess, I ask of you, would it be possible for you to return with me to the crossroads? Lord Moros has requested of your presence."

"It is a shame, I do not know how to get there without the boatman. Are you able to take us both, goddess?"

"Yes, I am." The princess offers, holding her hand out. "Though it will hurt since I must die for it."

The goddess laughs, taking her hand. "What is godhood if not a death every once in a while"

The princess returns, catching her breath as she blinks, squeezing her hand a little to see whether or not the goddess had come with her, pleasantly surprised when she has. She had not tried it before, but she supposed that

"You know, it's a real pain to travel like this all the time, princess. Why don't you just do it the olympian way and teleport?" They raise a brow, squatting down to catch their breath from the aftereffects.

"Unfortunately, this realm is only accessible by magic."

"Ought to hurry up and beat the life out of time, then." They sigh, standing up as Moros locks eyes with them.

"Dearest doom?" Their lips quirk up, stepping towards him as he blinks twice to confirm he's not as so desperate as to start hallucinating you. They do the work for him, fingers reaching for his bicep as their palm smoothes against his skin, his heart shaking as he stares at you, blinking slowly. It is an attachment. He does not have your string, nor does he have his own, yet he is here, heart rattling against the bars of his chest, staring down at you as you beam. "Dearest doom."

Moros knows it is not you. Your hands are warm and your body is the same, but he knows it is not you. To him, it is not you, it is someone else in your skin.

"... you are not the shade." Moros frowns, yet making no move to recoil from their touch. Your touch is the same, but you are not the same person. There is an uncanny feeling in his body as he takes a step back, blinking a second time. "I sealed you to Elysium. Did the Moirai send you here?"

"Ah, it's a shame. It seems you recognize our differences immediately." Your sister sighs. "Alas, a nymph can not imitate a god."

"There is no way they are a god."

"Perhaps." Your sister shrugs. "Though, I am unaware of their presence either. I only received the luck of fleeing with their weapon."

"And the shade?"

"Your brave shade is missing, doom incarnate." Your sister grins at the princess instead. "Apologies, princess, but I am not the one doom is looking for."

"Whom are you looking for, Lord Moros?"

"A brave shade." He hums. "They will recognize the name."

"Perhaps, once the underworld is restored, you will find them." The princess hums. "Nymph, do you know of said shade?"

Your sister shakes her head, turning to stare at the axe instead. "I may not be of help in finding the shade, but do grant me the honor of blessing their weapon, if you would."

"Of course." The princess watches as the nymph presses her hand to the weapon, blue swirling down the handle of the axe, water replacing where the thread of fate had once been, swirling up and down the weapon.

"It is not much, but it shall enhance the boons you receive from other olympians." She hums. "May your battle be smooth, and your wins be bountiful."

The princess nods, rushing off as your sister spares a glance at Moros.

"Do you miss them?"

"Miss is perhaps not the word."

"Long?"

"Along those thoughts." Moros hums. "Did you see them before the underworld was taken over?"

"I did not. I was handed the axe along with a blessing, and next I knew, I was in Olympus with the gods." She hums, watching as the princess leaves. "They are not as stupid as to vanish without a plan, however."

"Surely, they are alright." Moros pauses. "At the very least, still around."

"They are around. We are weakly connected by the same source, after all." Your sister hums.

"Pray tell, young nymph, of our brave shade?"

"Well, I do not know much of them." Your sister is frank. "All I knew was that they had found me in the underworld and adored smothering the prince in battle due to his hard-headedness. Perhaps they found the untameable tempting. To them, the prince was just another entertaining character in their life."

"Much like the fates, no?"

"I'm afraid not." Your sister pauses to think of her next words. "Similar, but not the same. There is nothing you can do in the face of luck, after all."

"The face of luck... surely they had blessed the prince with it?"

"Perhaps." Your sister quirks a lip up in the sneakiest of smiles.

And Moros wonders, just perhaps, you had loved her too.

When the princess returns, she greets the two with a bow, before starting with her report, bringing to light that her father was still alive, though chained. The two listen, eyes focused on the princess as she asks for aid of your sister.

"I can not help you with such, princess." She shakes her head. "Though, our brave shade did indeed mention noticing the cracks in the walls. You are never sure of what creeps between the tiles of the residence."

The princess takes note of watching the cracks in the wall, defeating time again and again, wondering as to which crack in the wall that shade could have been referring to. Though, near her fourth time, she takes note of the crack on the mural being larger, just enough for her to peek through the debris, seeing the same glow of doom and her magic behind, noting a singular shade stuck in place, unmoving. Dead. The shade does not move nor act, and it is stuck in place, staring into seemingly nothing as the princess continues observing for as long as she is able to.

Then, a snap of the neck, a meet of the eyes, and the princess leaves.

It is eerie. The shade does not look real, pupils dilated, missing a soul. The stare lacks life, though it seems as though the depths of the underworld were reflected in its eyes. It is a shade that keeps its human form, though not significant enough for the princess to actually note who they are. Perhaps, she would ask around, but she would not get the time.

"There is someone behind the mural in the main hall." The princess notes, glancing at your sister. "Is it them?"

"Do you remember the way they looked?"

"It is hard to describe, but those eyes... lacked a soul." The princess looks down. "It is a shame. I shall see if I may get a better look."

When the princess defeats time once again, she takes note of the crack in the wall, peering behind it as he spots the shade once more. That enough is an incentive, her magic blasting through the wall as she steps through, staring as the shade mutters quiet nothings to themselves, pupils dilated, quiet mumbling heard by no one. The princess stares, watching as the shade takes a step forward, eyes widening further at the sight of their weapon. The princess takes another step back, staring at the webs across the room, webs of what she can only assume as string similar to a spider's weaving across the room with the shade in the center.

"Elpis... Elpis." They scramble, reaching for the weapon as the princess jumps back, ready to attack. Rather, the axe does not listen, halting as the shade steps forward again, chains around their feet stopping them as they drop to their knees and stare at the weapon in the princess' hand. The princess stays still, hearing time tick behind her as she is forced to flee, trying to pull the weapon with, only to realize it has started making its way towards the shade.

"No!"

"Elpis." The shade cradles the weapon, forcing the princess to flee without it.

In her final glance, she notes the way the block around the shade seems to shatter, and the mural rebuilds itself — the princess wondering just who the shade was.

Once returned to the crossroads, your sister seems unimpressed.

"I lost my weapon." She stares up at both your sister and Moros, dejected, brows furrowed.

"The weapon must have heard its name." Your sister hums. "It is unknown, as only the owner of the weapon, in this case, our brave shade, can call for it."

"It must have been a bad memory." The princess mumbles.

"I doubt it." Moros watches the summoning grounds of the crossroads. "I shall keep an eye out for them. They have always been lucky."

When the princess returns a second time, she enters once again, noting how the webs have disappeared and the shade has started threading with the string.

"Dear shade."

They continue to mutter to themselves, pupils dilated as they continue knitting with two of the hardened strings from the weapon, the axe now discarded to the side.

"Dearest shade, may I retrieve the weapon?"

They do not spare her a glance, fixated on the weaving of the tapestry in their hand.

The princess retrieves it anyway, watching as the shade looks up to stare at her, unbothered, unimpressed, a stare unnerving the princess.

"Dearest shade... are you bound?"

They stand up, shackle around their ankles worn out from time, and they pull along the thread, following the princess with her weapons as they pull and pull, pulling until all of the threads weaved across the roof of the room are in their hands, rushing after the princess as she brings them to the crossroads. The threads all follow them through the magic, landing on the ground with a heavy thud as they settle themselves in the corner to continue weaving.

Moros recognizes your soul at an immediate glance, leaving his place to help you untangle the string in your hand, stopping when he remembers he knows not of whose thread is whose and who he is dooming.

"Brave shade."

You are not a brave shade anymore, pupils far too dilated to be safe, hands brash as you untangle the threads, coverings on your hand as you pull and pull, laying each thread to the side as you continue searching. You are looking for a thread, and whether it be yours or his, he is unaware, but from the few threads weaved through your hair, he finds that perhaps you are not searching for either of your strands.

"My sisters." Moros rests on one knee, glancing at you as you do not react to him. "Are they safe?"

You ignore him, continuing with the string, work frantic and paced as you continue threading through them.

"Who are you searching for?" Your sister helps you sort, and you glance at her, voice scratchy, barely a whisper, as you speak.

"T-time." You start again, discarding thread after thread as your sister sits down to help you.

"Whose threads are these?" She hands you another one, pausing when you barely muster an answer once more.

"N-non." You continue, reading the threads between your fingers as Moros is forced to stare. He finds himself glad that he did not rush immediately to help you out. If all creatures other than the humans' threads were in your hands, then surely there could have been bad news had he doomed the wrong one.

"Go on." Your sister stares at the princess. "You must continue to fight while we continue with this. May Elpis guide your way."

The princess takes the axe, rushing back towards the underworld as she takes one final glance at the three of you.

"Do you have Atropos' scissors? You can destroy one's godhood with one pair."

You glance at Moros, baring your teeth as he blinks.

"You have become the scissors."

He notes down who you have found, watching as you bite certain strings and rip them. In a way, you have become someone he does not recognize. You bite and tear at certain strings, and he wonders if it is to help the princess or to destroy the trouble in the underworld, but as you find that golden string of time, he watches as you hand it to him, eyes wide as he blinks.

"I am not able to doom a titan."

You shove it at him once more, watching as he takes it from your fingers, the parts that he holds turning dark.

"Keep it." Your sister stares at the way he holds it.

You stand up, holding your hand out for his, wrapping the string around his fingers as though it were some sort of decoration. He wears it, glancing at the way your fingers seem so much softer than during the times that you wielded an axe, almost as though you had been forced to regress in time and become someone who knows neither him nor anyone else. Perhaps, this is who you simply are now. Perhaps, you will return once time is broken.

"Doom." You blink at him, reaching back for your project as you thread and thread again.

"Dearest, doom." He tries, and you blink at him, unreceptive of his words.

"Doom." You point at the decoration on his fingers, staring as the entire string turns dark.

"My time is up," Your sister stares at her fading fingers. "Stay safe. I must return to Olympus now that you are here."

You nod at her, waving as she disappears. Perhaps deep down, you are still aware of the bond that you shared with your sister. While he is not family to you, she is — so it is really not all that much for you to remember that she is your sister, trust placed in her so much more vivid than the one placed in his hands. It is deserving, he finds. You have forgotten all of the time that you spent with him due to the regression in time. Rather, you still trust him enough to brush your fingers against his skin and understand that his doom will not hurt you.

"Brave shade."

You stare up at him, batting your lashes as he stares.

"Brave shade." He tries again. "How are my sisters?"

You tilt your head.

"The fates. The Moirai. How are they?"

You blink at him. "Safe. Moved. Safe."

"Moved." He exhales. "Then why do you hold the strings?"

You stare at him blankly, going back to weaving. It is as though you are possessed, but it reminds him of someone his sisters once had mentioned to him. Someone who had weaved the fates during the times that they had been raised by mother night. Perhaps, you have become them. There is a sense of uneasiness as you settle down next to where he typically stands — next to the prophecies as you thread and weave, fingers making quick work, only greeting the princess with a quick nod while you listen to Moros speak to the princess.

"Lord Moros, how long do you suppose I am stuck fighting time?"

"Twenty four." You speak instead, still working on the paper. "Every hour."

"Once each hour?" She blinks, horror written all over her face.

"Cycle. Rotation." You go back to weaving, going quiet as the two ponder over your words.

"Princess, how many times has it been?"

"Well over twelve."

"Then, twelve more times." He closes his eyes. "We are the closest you can be to the fates at the moment."

You thread another string through, watching as the princess leaves.

"Brave shade, do you believe she will succeed?"

"Must."

Your words are more than enough comfort for Moros as he watches the princess return again and again. Must. Not yes, nor no. You have just enough faith in the princess that she will succeed, even if it kills her. The gods can not die, you seem to be aware. Even while brushing your own hair, covering of your hands missing at times of such, strings in your hair glowing with each brush of your fingers.

"Lucky shade." He hums. "Dare I say, lovely shade."

You pay no mind to his words, tugging at the string and throwing the tapestry out to check the design.

"For someone?"

"No." You go back to it, focused the entire time through as Moros continues to greet the princess. She reaches her final leg of the run, close to ten, though, you stop her before her final run, staring up at her as you offer her the tapestry in your bare hands, marks from the weaving and threadwork visible on your hands as you try to get up — only to stumble from your lack of muscle.

"You're alright, lovely shade." Moros catches you, steadying you as you hand it to the princess.

"Cover time." Your instructions are simple, and it makes Moros wonder just who you were. The princess leaves her axe with you, leaving with her weapon. Perhaps, you knew the fates similar to the way he did. Though, as you settle back onto the floor, threading your fingers through your hair with a closing of your eyes, waiting for the moment that the princess would follow your orders, and you would be freed for enough time to give her proper instructions you had learned on pure chance while collecting the threads of fate in the room.

There is a sudden strike of the bong of doom as the princess follows your orders, and you waste no time racing through the underworld — gone in a blink of the eye as you steal the axe, Moros feeling every slash of your weapon as a result of his boon, your summon of him too quick for him to react, only arriving once you enter the residence. He dooms the shades that would have attacked, standing guard as you reach the princess.

"Stay still, princess." You tie the bottom of the orb, axe striking down as his soul shatters, body no longer capable of hosting his soul as you tie the pieces into the threads of the tapestry. There are never enough sacrifices — never enough people with a soul as shattered as time's. You order the princess what to do, and for the first time, Moros wonders if he is the servant or you. It seemed that you always knew how to outplay fate just by a slight step.

The princess listens surprisingly well to you, following your orders as you hand Moros the tapestry you wove.

"Take this to the fates. They have returned."

"And you are certain, lovely shade?"

"Certainly, my Moros." You turn to stare at him. "Drop not even a single piece."

"You can not order the Moirai as such."

"Tell them the brave shade ordered it. Go on." You bare all your teeth at him once more, teeth no longer metal to cut life, eyes back to the familiar look that Moros had grown so used to. He takes note of the lack of threads in your hair this time, finding them in a satchel instead. Moros takes everything you instruct him to, returning to where his sisters once resided.

His sisters are back, surprisingly. They waste no time in glancing at the thread of time woven around Moros' fingers, chuckling as they put everything back up, staring at the tapestry of dead strings and fragments of time, wondering if there was something their sweet brother had wanted them to do with it.

"The brave shade." He pauses. "Mentioned you would know what to do with such."

Lachesis laughs, taking the package from Moros as she kicks open one of the boxes. The package is dropped within and sealed away.

Moros blinks at how even Atropos cracks a smile.

"Should I know something... of the shade?"

"Worry not of them." Clotho hums. "They are the sly one, that shade."

"Did you employ their help?"

"No. Though, it would be best for you not to know."

Atropos places her scissors down, retrieving a string as she places it in his hands.

"Mine own?"

"We have seen that desperation that so wracks through your body." Lachesis hums. "You asked us once, if your string could be in your possession."

Moros takes it, staring at the thread of doom in his fingers, pondering just what he could do with it.

"Now, go on. You have little time while we reorder everyone's fate." Clotho hums. "Go on."

"Much obliged and appreciated, dearest sisters."

Moros makes his way back to you, watching as you break the constraints of time with your axe, luck perpetually on your side as everyone comes out unscathed, even as far as barely missing the feet of the lord himself with the breaking of his chains. You do not give instructions to any of them, only bowing and staying quiet as you lead them back to the hall, eyes glued on the prince as he reunites with his lovers and family. A gentle nudge from you is enough for the princess to join them, a smile on your face as you grin.

"What is after this?"

"Nothing much, my Moros." You glance up at him, grinning. "Death is restored."

"It shall take some time for them to be able to rest."

"We are aware. Shall we return to the meadows?"

"Perhaps in time." You meet eyes with the lord, bowing as he nods.

"Olympus seeks thee."

"I will be there, your majesty." You bow. "I trust you shall do well with the fates for the time being."

"I suppose." Moros nods. "I have a gift for you, from the fates and I, lovely shade."

You stare up at him as he loosens a thread from his hair, placing it in your hands as you stare at it. You hold onto it, loosening a thread from your hair as well, grin on your lips as you twist the two together, letting your axe fall as you wrap the handle once more. That enough has you pleased, lips curled upwards as Moros watches the string replace the water once more. Now, rather than the string of your own fate from long ago, it is both of you entwined for eternity.

"Now, you are with me all the days, wherever I go."

"Do not break it, lovely shade."

"I would not dream of it, my Moros."

You assist the princess in the overworld, letting the princess last as long as possible with the blessings from Olympus, on the final stretch now that time itself was destroyed. His loyal subjects and the dead struggle more now that their ruler is gone, falling in greater numbers and failing to get up as you back the princess up. In a way, it almost reminds you of the prince and his runs again and again. Perhaps, you were simply fated to take care of the two. You had long forgotten your age, after all.

"Princess," You glance at her, offering her a hand as she catches her breath. "Take a small break here."

She heaves, grumbling to herself as she reasons with you that she must go on."

"There are no reinforcements coming from time's side." You nod. "I assure you. How is your weapon?"

"I am alright. Thank you... shade?"

"Brave shade is fine." You nod.

"Pray tell, if I am not prying, of your relationship with Lord Moros?"

"It is hard to describe." You hum. "I am not too certain of it either. Perhaps the answer will find us both eventually."

The two of you work your way up to Olympus eventually, helping clear out the remainder of the troops and breaking through the siege with ease, laugh on your lips as the bong of doom rings again and again with each swipe of your axe. You become something akin to a sign of doom despite the nature of your presence for certain people. Are you violent? Perhaps. You prolong the ability of the princess to stay on the surface and Olympus, fingers smoothe against your axe as you cough up the grime from all of the blood on you. You smell of metal.

"We have arrived, it seems, good shade." The princess stares at the gates, and you grin.

"Shall we?"

"If you would." She pushes open the gates, blood following where she goes, gunk around her as she grimaces at the attacks. You find that she is stronger than her brother in that sense. She is capable of undoing the incantation of the fates — fighting even up to Olympus. It is commendable, you find. You are sure the prince would have liked to have been able to break free of the fates in such a way. Though, as the princess finishes the rest of the forces alongside the Olympians, you find that there is not much to worry of.

"I wonder if the prince could do the same." You open your arms for your sister, a relieved cry on her lips as she sighs.

"You're back."

"Yes. Time has been restored."

"Restored or destroyed?"

"Something akin to that." You hum. "Worry not. The fates hold time now."

The concerned look on your sister's face is more than enough to make you laugh.

You leave the princess with a bow, returning to the underworld, back to Elysium where your cottage is, lips pulled into a grin as you find Moros waiting for you. He stays outside your door, almost as a guard, though not quite one. You stand there, waiting for him to take notice and open his eyes from a moment of rest. You find it amusing that what the mortals feared so much was resting simply outside of an abode that you reside in.

"My Moros." You raise a brow as Moros looks up at you, getting off his knees. "Join me for a little? It appears both the princess and prince are fighting their way out at this time.

"Has Elysium been restored?"

"It appears so." You grin. "The princess had returned shortly after I had."

"How long had you been watching me?"

You grin.

"Then, I suppose if that is what you will for, I shall comply. I have just a handful of time before I am to return to my post."

"May I join you after?"

"Perhaps another time."

Thus, Moros finds himself back in the colosseum where he first met you, watching as you glance at both the prince and princess fight the bull and king. The colors remain the same, and in a way, time has been restored, back to how things should be. Had he not been there for it, perhaps he would have thought of the fall of the house as something that could have been written in the myths. He is sure the princess would have told Homer to be quiet in such a situation, but he finds that she is too occupied with dealing with the king, trying what her brother had done so many times.

"Say, my Moros." You turn to glance at him, his own heart racing as you grin at him. To him, there is no greater luck than to be able to spend time with you. Even when his sisters call him every now and then for the doom, he finds that he prefers spending time in your presence, staring at the threads in your hair as he reminded of his own sisters, some strange sense of familiarity deeply embedded in your own souls and threads as he stares at his thread entwined with yours, always. "Moros?"

"Yes, lovely shade?"

"Will you grant me some knowledge of you if I were to defeat the bull and king?"

"Not to meet the shades this time?"

"No, my Moros." You grin. "Knowledge of you."

"You possess the thread of my fate, why fight the king and bull for something I can give you?"

"So you would tell me well job again." You hop down, axe forming in your hand much like the first time you fought in Elysium while he was present — except this time, Moros is aware of what to tell you. Even if he does not profess it, he is sure that you would know better than anyone of such emotions. He is certain that you would not turn him down — your own emotions embedded deeply in the acceptance of his fate with yours. To him, perhaps you will spend eternity beyond together, his hands only warm against your skin and not harming. He has little to worry of, yet he offers you the choice anyway because he loves you.

You finish both the bull and the king, waving at Moros as you wave your hand for a lift upwards, his hand warm against yours as you settle next to him, grin on your face indicating and awaiting an answer to your request. You blink up at him expectantly, wondering just what it was that would take him so long to answer you to. Though, as his skin flushes with warmth from the time you had spent together, he hums.

"Knowledge of me, lovely shade?" He holds onto your fingers, thumb brushing your knuckles as he closes his eyes to think.

"Nothing left, that I do not know of?"

"That I adore you to the ends of the fates, perhaps." He hums, clumsy smile on his face as you blink at him.

"Truly?"

"Truly, truly, do I adore you." He smiles. "Until time itself dies, do I adore you."

"Enamored, even?" You tease, watching as his skin darkens from embarrassment, words still coming out nonetheless.

"Why of course." He hums. "After all, you are stuck with me for eternity now."

"Then eternity it shall be."

#☾.fics #SURPRISE MF GUESS WHO'S HERE TO KICK OFF THE TAG WITH A BANGGGG (two nickels now HAHAHAHA)#moros x reader #moros hades x reader #hades 2 x reader #hades x reader #hades 2 #hades #reader insert #hades game #hades game x reader

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marvelobsessed134 · 2 months ago

Note

can i request a kelly nickels smut where he absolutely rails the reader please 💗ྀིྀ

(idk if your meant to put gender but female!reader please)

Down Bad

Pairings: Kelly Nickels x Fem!Reader

A/n: Ahhhh Kelly makes me so fucking feral I’m so glad you requested me to write for him 🤭 also sorry this took so long to get out & sorry if it’s short. idek if you even read my stuff anymore 😭💀

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, praise, degradation, dom!kelly, sub!reader, breeding kink.

Kelly had a rough day at the studio with his new band, L.A. Guns. Getting into a new band has always been kind of hard and stressful, getting used to new peoples ideas and all that. So it’s no surprise that when he came home he demanded you to strip in the bedroom and wait for him.

Now you’re in doggy position, clinging to the sheets as he rails his large shaft into your tight hole. “Fuck, that’s it.” He moaned, gripping your hips so tight, you knew there was going to be bruises in the morning (ones that will only make Kelly want to fuck you again). The bassists’ tip repeatedly hit your g spot as tears slid down your face in both pleasure and overstimulation.

“Such a good fucking whore. My fucking whore.” His words only made you impossibly more wet. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside this cunt, baby. Gonna make you pregnant with my child.” You rolled your eyes back, his words making your brain short circuit.

“Please, Kelly! I’m about to cum please cum inside me!” You begged.

“Such a needy little slut, always needing to cum all over my cock, huh?” Kelly sped up his movements and snuck his finger down to your clit to rub it in tight, hard, and fast circles making your vision white and turning your brain off for a moment. You clenched around his cock and squirted all over the length, while he released his seed inside you.

“We’re definitely doing that again.”

#kelly nickels smut #kelly nickels x reader #la guns smut #la guns x reader #la guns #glam metal

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lewkwoodnco · 9 months ago

Text

Be More - George x Reader

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response.

a/n: am soooo salty i fell sick in the middle of my 12 days of fics '23 for xmas last year :((( so im giving myself a lil treat by doing a short series of valentine's fics! i SO don't know how souffles work if you can't tell so pls don't come for me, and a special special thanks to lisa @neewtmas for the apron idea heheh. all fluff, which is why I got all my angst fics out of the way beforehand if you'd like a lil palate cleanser :) also totally didn't make this a songfic cuz i was struggling to find a title :} btw I headcannon that george randomly zones in and out in everyday life and this has nothing to do with how much I may or may not do this myself ALSO was strongly influenced to post this earlier by the multiverse of George aka @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29@bobbys-not-that-small heh

warnings/tropes: lockwood and george bromance supremacy!!! baking, lots and lots of valentine's day fluff, awkward georgeeeee

word count: 2.8k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lucy handed George a steaming cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. The three of them were having breakfast as usual, and with the last strains of winter fading, Portland Row's kitchen was entirely too bright. He closed his eyes, pretending he didn't see the way Lockwood's hand lingered on Lucy's when taking his mug. They were bad enough on any normal day, but even worse nowadays, with Valentine's Day drawing achingly closer. He felt himself begin to nod off again from the gentle and comforting steam.

He felt a mild rap against his cheek, which he turned to see is from a well-aimed sugar cube launched from across the table by Lucy. He looked up to see her staring hard at him and Lockwood poorly concealing a snigger with his cup of tea.

"George. Have you or have you not got any plans for Valentine's?"

He takes his time wiping his glasses on his shirt sleeve before responding. "Nothing much. Though I've promised Y/N I'd spend the day with her."

He watched Lucy's expression carefully, and she seemed to be watching his. Truth was, with Valentine's drawing closer and closer, George was going into a mild panic. He hadn't exactly arranged it intentionally. They had been having a quiet chat on a morning when George had been too tired from the previous night's case to strictly follow, and suddenly she was waving goodbye, promising to see him next on Valentine's Day.

He had no idea what kind of a Valentine's Day he had agreed to, or how much of a filter he had had, and he had been dropping Lucy desperate cries for help, with decreasing subtlety. Was it a date? Was she expecting a date? Sure, they had went to that play together after Lucy fell mysteriously ill, and maybe they met up for lunch once a week. But she never referred to

His eyes slowly drifted close as Lucy and Lockwood's conversation morphed into gentle white noise, enjoying the warmth of the little sun streaming through their kitchen window. It felt nice to have a little break from his intense week of baking -

Baking! George snapped wide awake, clumsily climbing out of his chair and feverishly counting the stacks of meticulously wrapped, frilly pastry goodie bags lining the kitchen counter. It had become an annual Valentine's Day tradition for George to construct these small goodie bags of baked goods for a sizeable chunk of his extended family. He even roped in Lucy and Lockwood, and as Valentine's Day approached they'd all gather around the kitchen table at night, even if it was after a case, packing the delicaices George had spent the day baking, until one of them started dropping off.

It was tedious work, but they enjoyed it and were well invested in it - Lockwood fiercely so. When a cousin had remarked that perhaps the tradition was becoming a little tired at a family gathering last Christmas, Lockwood had accidentally-but-not-really smacked his head. George relaxed as he neared towards the end of the pile - just one more day of baking, and he'd be ready to send them off.

Lucy and Lockwood were mostly finished with breakfast anyway, so he chased them out of the kitchen and got to work. Once George had his first batch of cookies in the oven, he started planning for the supplementary baked goods. For instance, he was going to make a chocolate souffle for the three of them to share over a midnight supper tomorrow.

So when the kitchen door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air, George spun around scathingly, ready to threaten Lockwood with deflated souffles. But the hiss at the tip of his tongue withered when he saw who it was.

"...Y/N?"

"Hello. Baking, are you?"

George suppressed the urge to shield the vast volumes of confectionary goodie bags littering the kitchen's surfaces.

"...yes." With some difficulty, he slowly resumed his movements, explaining how this was something he did every year. In a way, he was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because the last minute or so reminded him that he had no idea what he normally did with his hands while standing.

"Oh. Need any help?"

It took George another half-minute to process her question. "With what?"

"With the baking, obviously."

"Uh...s'alright, I've got it all handled."

"No, please, I'd love to help."

George paused mid-stir, looking comically perplexed with a smidge of flour on his nose. "What for?" He bit his tongue, hastily back-pedalling since his tone sounded aggressively suspicious. "What I mean is, you wouldn't want to spend your day here, sweating like a pig - not that you sweat, and definitely not like a pig, no - I'm the one sweating like a pig..."

What he wanted to say was, their oven was ancient and so made the kitchen stupid hot every time he baked, but failed miserably. He set down his mixing bowl in defeat. Almost instantly, she stifled a giggle, trying to pass it off as clearing her throat, and George followed her gaze to his apron in horror. What the mixing bowl had previously been hiding was the horrendously cheesy 'kiss the cook' graphic on his apron.

It had been a ridiculous gag gift from Lucy, one that he had never intended to use but was forced to after his last apron caught on fire from one of his experiments with the skull. Bursting into flames would have been more useful now, He stood there, eyes watering from the heat, determined in his refusal to acknowledge both the apron and the smile she was doing a poor job of suppressing.

"Fine. You can start with the cookie batter."

About a minute or two later, it occurred to George that perhaps it would have wise to ask how much experience she had with baking. Not a lot, he soon discovered, when her bowl nearly flew off as soon as she switched on the egg beater. He dropped his mixing bowl instantly, waving away her apologies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't expect it to be so powerful."

He cautiously adjusted her grip on the bowl, gently guiding her fingers to a better hold.

"No, no, it's my fault. Not much of a baker?"

"...no."

"Okay, so what you do is, use one hand to hold the - other hand - hold the bowl, and the other holds the egg beater like - no, not quite."

He took a step closer, placing his hands over hers, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her body, and the smell of her shampoo.

The last time they had been this close was on their way home from that play. With Lockwood out of town for a client meeting, and Lucy developing a mysterious case of the flu, it was only the two of them crouched under a tiny umbrella as they walked home after the play. George would have been more than happy to walk in the rain, but she was the one holding the umbrella, and was firm in her resolve to not send him back to Lucy with a head cold. With the little space between them, their cheeks brushed against each other occasionally, sending a jolt running through the side of George's face.

"Well...this is me."

George nodded dumbly, staring hard at the chips in her front door's paint, agonisingly aware of her looking at his face. He didn't dare turn to meet her gaze; they were far too close.

"I had fun today, George."

He sighed and briefly zonesout. As short as their chat was, he remembered very little, his focus only returning when she pulled her key out.

"We should do this again sometime," she was saying, as she turned the key in her lock. When he finally looked at her, there were the tinies raindrops on her eyelashes. There was something so pure and unassuming about the sight that it tugged at his heart. It made him want...more. More with her. With a brief smile, she disappeared into her home, leaving him standing alone in the rain. He stood there for a minute, prolonging the moment for some unidentifiable reason. It was a nice door. She had a nice smile.

It was as though she had read his thoughts from his eyes, for a faintly embarrassed air hung in the kitchen after that. For the next better part of an hour, they engaged in this delicate dance as they floated through the kitchen, carefully staying out of each other's way, never in the same area for long. It wasn't until she was sifting the dry ingredients that they next spoke.

"Hang on, that might be too much flou-"

As George touched her elbow, her hand jerked, sending a sizeable chunk of flour into her mixing bowl, along with a cloud of it directly in her face. He was sorry, of course, but as she spluttered and tried to blink through it, he couldn't stop the amused twist to his features. When she caught his eye, she rolled her eyes and sent a fistful of flour into his eyes. Now it was her turn to laugh as George groaned through the smarting.

"You're right, Mr. Cook, it IS hilarious!"

George scoffed, struggling to maintain his sanctimonius, above-petty-acts front as he wiped his glasses clean with as much dignity as he could muster. But on the inside, his defences were crumbling fast.

"You're acting like a child."

She looked mildly apologetic for a moment, and George felt a flash of truimph, before she raised both her flour-coated hands and resolutely streaked them across George's face.

"Egg on your face. Or should I say, flour?"

With that, all pretenses of civility were thrown out the window. The both of them swept up as many ingredients as they could and migrated to opposite ends of the kitchen table, pelting each other with everything that could be pelted. George landed a few well-aimed chocolate chips into her hair. She soaked the front of his apron with half a jug of milk, which was nearly enough to send him into hysterics. So it went on and on and on, until they ran out of supplies in their immediate reach, before resorting to shoving each other's faces into bags and tins of baking soda and powdered sugar. This, it occurred to George as he was rubbing cornstarch into her red, wheezing face, is strangely intimate.

Again, there was this tugging sensation in his chest, the kind that made him want to sit in his armchair for anywhere from half a minute to half an hour. The kind of sensation that could not be held in words. The closest he could get was the wish for a never-ending summer, or perhaps orchards full of cherry trees as sweet as the first pick. But even that fell short.

Just as she raised two fistfuls of sprinkles, the kitchen door swung open. Lockwood wandered in, looking sharp as ever in his too-small suit. The two of them smoothly parted, their faces burning under the flour, and George suddenly became very interested in the pastry dough he was kneading. He felt rather than saw Lockwood looking back and forth between the two of them, wishing that he'd just take whatever he needed from the kitchen and got out. But of course, he knew better than to engage in wishful thinking, especially with Lockwood's mildly gormless smile plain as day. "Hang on. George, you do realise that-"

Whatever it was that Lockwood was wondering if he had realised was cut off by the jam tart George shoved into his mouth, because the answer was probably yes, Lockwood, of course I realised that completely inane observation.

"Out. Out. I won't have you compromising the integrity of my kitchen." With a little difficulty, George wheeled a spluttering Lockwood littering soft pastry flakes all over his clean kitchen floor out into the hallway. He shut the door firmly and turned back apologetically, only just seeing the flour in her hair as she watched on amusedly.

"I sure hope I'm not starting up a ruckus - or was it compromising the integrity? - of your kitchen."

George felt his cheeks warming as he returned to the kitchen table. "No, of course not. You never know where Lockwood's been, is all. You're different."

Had he been standing this close to her the whole day, he wondered, close enough to see the pretty flakes in her eyes, softer than any pastry he could make? How was he supposed to look away? And how did he stand it?

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response, embarrassedly muttering something along the lines of how there was no need for any of that. As she got absorbed into getting the strips of dough just right, George glanced at the kitchen door, to see Lockwood silently making exaggerated kissy faces at him. George picked up his rolling pin and Lockwood fled immediately, without so much as a creak from the floorboards.

Now, they finally returned to their baking with proper focus, now that they were all tired out. She seemed to have picked up some skills pretty quickly, though he still kept an eye out in case she might do something that would, say, set her hand on fire.

An hour or so later, the phone started ringing obnoxiously in the hallway. With some difficulty, George peeled off one of his disposable gloves on his way to it. When he picked up the phone, he almost wished he hadn't, because it was that same cousin from last Christmas' gathering. As his voice wore on and on, George started wishing he had let Lockwood give him another punch or two, just to set him straight.

Suddenly, he picked out a few startling words from his cousin's nasally voice, which made his heart plummet, as the calendar in the hallway came into startling focus. He wandered back to the kitchen door, numbly hearing his cousin's complaints of why no one's goodie bags had reached yet. He blankly stared at her, and she stared back confused, slowing down her cutting of the strips concernedly. After a second or two, he hung up the phone, but was in too much shock to lower it.

"Today's date," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Today's date. It's not the 13th. I thought it was the 13th. Today is the 14th. Valentine's day was today, not tomorrow."

Even as he was saying those words, the calm look on her face told him exactly what he had feared - that she had known all along.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought this was what you wanted to do!"

"Unpaid labour."

"What?"

"You spent your Valentine's Day doing exhausting, difficult, unpaid labour." He clumsily placed the phone down on the kitchen counter, struggling to find the right words as he fought against the embarrassment. "I am so sorr- just a minute, I might have some loose change somewhere here-"

"Don't." George was spiraling with shame, kicking himself for his oversight, and she still had the gall to look that pretty and kind. "I didn't mind any of it one bit, I promise."

"I promised you something fun."

"George, this is the most fun I've ever had baking, and I've been making pineapple upside down cakes since before I could - oh."

She broke off when she finally looked up to see the growing shock on George's face. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek nervously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"So you do know how to bake."

"Only a little?"

He took in the sight of her apologetic smile, the careful dusting of flour on her face and her suspiciously clean clothes. "You could have said."

"Oh, but I was having so much fun." George rolled his eyes. "I spent the day learning how to construct the most adorable pastry goodie bags I have ever seen, and I did it all with my boyfriend. Believe me, it doesn't get more fun than this."

Not for the first time that day, George stared at her in wonder, like he couldn't quite figure out how she was real. Even now, when all she was doing was merely existing, words failed him. He had a feeling he'd spend lifetimes chasing shadows, trying to pin what was gone before it bloomed, and he still wouldn't be able to find the right words. There was no other way to put it, or colour it - he wished they were more.

He hesitantly extended his hand, brushing just a speck of the huge handprint of flour on her face with his thumb. He turned, walking out into the hallway, but then just as immediately wheeled back.

"Your WHAT?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#if i had a nickel for everytime i wrote a george x reader fanfic where pastries were a siginificant part i'd have 2 nickels #which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice LMAO #also in case its not clear i meant the your WHAT to be referring to the reader calling him her bf sdfhajfalskf #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfic #george karim x reader #george cubbins #george karim imagine #george karim x you #george x reader #george karim #valentines day #fluff #Spotify #be more #stephen sanchez

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