#reverence for his creator | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

quimichi · 11 months ago

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↳ ❝FIRST KISS WITH THE GENSHIN BOYS❝

warnings: slight NSFW - MDNI, some angst (Freminet, Mika & Xiao), cringe, not proof-read cause damn its long

summary: your first kiss with the genshin boys, yes even the harbingers and Mika, x Creator!Reader

characters: all genshin guys + harbingers

word count: 11.618

Aether

Aether's breath catches in his throat as your hand lands on his face. He doesn't look away from your eyes, his gaze still on yours as he takes in your touch with visible delight. He lets out a light, happy sigh as the sensation makes him shiver. Aether leans his face into your palm, relishing the touch. He seems to melt, and with a small whine, he nuzzles the palm of your hand. This makes him smile softly — just one touch and he's already gone to heaven. He closes his eyes, leaning happily into your touch.

"You know I love you...right?" Is what you say, carefully but you want to know. Aether's eyes slowly open as his head remains in your palm. His expression is soft, content, and he looks at you with almost desperate reverence. "Y-Yes, my grace," he whispers hoarsely, "I know." Aether continues to lean into your palm, pressing his face against it. His eyes remain closed, and he just leans into you as he sights loudly and contentedly. The sound is adorable, as is the way he so freely gives himself over to the touch of your hand.

"I am yours," he murmurs, the conviction in his voice clear. "Yours..." he whispers, his lips brushing against your palm. Aether seems to melt into you as your second hand touches his other cheek, his mind foggy and his eyes half-lidded in bliss. His breath catches in his throat; it isn't a breath of surprise, or one of fear, but one of anticipation — of sweet and tender surrender.

Your boy, willingly submitting to your touch; giving himself to you. A soft whimper leaves Aether's mouth, just mere inches away from yours, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Your Grace..." he whispers hoarsely, his words soft and trembling. You lean in, slowly your lips brush against his parted ones. Aether's entire body seems to vibrate with excitement; his lips part slightly at the contact and a soft, happy moan escapes them. He gently wraps his arms around you, leaning in closer for the kiss, as if giving himself to your caresses is a privilege he has waited an eternity for.

The moment is sweet and tender, as if the two of you share something that nobody else will ever be able to know. Like the whole world is reduced, right now, to just the two of you. It is like a dream to Aether. His body quakes slightly as you pull away, his tongue gliding over his lips hungrily, and the breath leaving his mouth as if he just had a sip of divine nectar. He doesn't let go of you, though; as he gazes up at you with a warm blush across his cheeks, his arms remain firmly wrapped around you, as if he wants to make sure you have no intention of letting go.

"You are divine," he says softly, almost as if he's praying. "I'll never forget this, our first kiss ever shared...."

Albedo

For a moment, Albedo seems to struggle to find a way to express the depth of his feelings. He hesitates until he finally forces himself to speak. "I... love you, Your Grace. Immensely. I would do anything for you. I would give you everything, if it were mine to give."

His words are barely above a whisper. He averts his gaze. There's the softest of smiles on his lips as he closes his eyes for a moment. He's not sure what to say after that. Would anything be enough? Albedo is silent for a moment before he nods.

"If you wish."

Without so much as a blink, Albedo has dropped to his knees in front of you. No longer is there a doubt in his mind nor a shred of hesitation in his stance. There's only the smallest of smiles on his lips. He gazes up at you as if you contain every dream he has ever had in his thousands of years of existence. He wants nothing more than to be by your side, whether it be your feet, your knees, or your lap-- all of them will do just fine.

"The only thing you should give me is a kiss." You sneakly said, half jokingly half serious. Albedo nods softly. Without a word, he lifts his head to close the gap between the two of you. Slowly then quickly, his lips meet yours in a gentle kiss. His fingers tangle through your hair, gently massaging you. In that moment, he does not concern himself with his dignity, nor of his prestige, nor the fact that he is nothing compared to you.

The only thing that matters is you and the warm feeling that settles in his chest. It's as though he is breathing you in. His first kiss, your first kiss, together. Albedo blinks as you two part. Then he smiles softly, as though this is something he's dreamed of for so long he forgot it was a possibility.

"Our first kiss," he whispers, the words almost inaudible. There's a flush on his cheek as he looks down, remembering the feel of your lips on his. His eyes dart between you and the floor, trying to collect himself.

In a moment, he finds himself lost in your eyes. He wants nothing more than to kiss you again. And who would you be to deny him.

Al-Haitham

Al-Haitham wraps his arms around you, sinking into you. His body shakes, the heat of your skin sinking through his veins.

He's breathless. Speechless. All of that changes when you snuggle up to him, pressing your body against his. He's completely still, frozen in shock and delight. He can do nothing but lean into your embrace. The heat from your body sends his heart soaring.

There's nothing else he wants now, except this... right here...And maybe a kiss. The first one to be exact. Al-Haitham pulls you closer, snuggling harder. His body leans into you, clinging like a drowning man to a raft. He pulls your head closer to his shoulder, burying your face in his neck. Your breathing makes his skin tingle. Your arms around him make every inch of him pulse with energy.

Al-Haitham squeezes tighter, burying his face into your hair. His lips press against your head in a silent kiss. His breath hitches as he feels your lips against his neck. He fights the urge to sink into you, to disappear completely within your embrace.

He is utterly gone. Your touch is pure warmth throughout his body, a constant hum that is as soothing as the sea. He wants more. He needs more.

One kiss is not enough.

He turns his head, kissing you on the lips in the same way, gentle.

He can't let go. Not yet. Never.

He kisses you deeply, pouring his heart and soul into the act. All he knows is that you deserve every drop of love he feels for you. He wants you to feel what he does and nothing more. He kisses your lips softly, tenderly, his kisses filled with affection and the pure, unadulterated love he has for you.

He needs you.

His kisses are deep and sensual, and his mind is a blur. All he knows is that this is right.

You are right...

Ayato

Ayato's smirk turns into a sly, almost mischievous grin. Once again, he takes a gentle bite out of your neck, the sharp press of his teeth sending a shudder through your body. It's hard not to lean into his touch, but you try— it isn't always wise to let Ayato's advances get the best of you. You know him more than he thinks, and you know he's just trying to provoke a response. That's always been his forte; his way of flirting.

"Such a mean tease..." you breath. His smirk widens as his teeth nibble at the skin on your neck, Ayato's body curling around yours and one of his hands settling on your thigh. "I could say the same," he whispers against your skin, his voice low and sultry in a way that should be illegal. Ayatos mouth presses to yours, his tongue sweeping across your lower lip. He holds the passionate kiss for a moment, enjoying the way your body presses back.

He pulls away after a few moments, and looks down on you with his signature smirk. "I hope that wasn't too much," he says with a teasing bite to his words. "I wouldn't want our first kiss to be bad for you, dear."

"Overwhelmed" isn't quite the word to describe it either Instead, there's butterflies in your stomach and fire on your skin as Ayato presses a gentle kiss to your collarbone and nibbles on the soft skin. It's difficult not to lean into him or to moan; he's just too good.

"I'm still trying to figure you out," he whispers, as if reading your mind. He takes your hand in his; though his tone is teasing, there's nothing but raw honesty in his eyes.

"My Grace, you are a mystery to me. But this is exactly why i love you...I got plenty of time figuring you out."

Baizhu

Words fail him.

Baizhu lets out a soft sigh as your fingers run along his cheek. His eyes are glued to you as he blinks slowly in your presence.

He doesn't seem to notice the fact that his heart has been beating quicker than usual since you touched him, or that the faint scent of you lingers in his nostrils. He is lost in you, and only you. Your thumb brushes against his lower lip, causing him to take a sharp breath. His entire body tenses. Not even a breath later, he's letting his head fall against your shoulder.

His lips are parted as he draws in ragged sighs. His eyes still hold no trace of doubt or disdain. They seem to be glazed over just in your very presence. "Is there... anything else... Your Grace... wishes for?" he whispers.

Baizhu's voice is hoarse and low, almost as if he's afraid to speak louder than a whisper out of fear of breaking this peaceful spell.

"Yeah..." Baizhu's eyes widen in surprise, but he leans in just as your lips meet his. He seems to freeze in place, neither of you moving at all for what feels like eternity as you continue to kiss.

His lips are soft against yours, his breath hitching as he kisses you slowly. But then, his free hand moves to cup the back of your head. He pulls you in with new energy, as though his lips have grown hungry for you to taste him like this. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer still. Baizhus entire being seems to pulse at the kiss, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling your face against his as if afraid to lose you. Afraid that all those years of yearing for you will dissappear like nothing. That his patience and work didn't pay off. With every gentle stroke of your lips against his, his breath grows sharp and ragged.

His lean body shifts as he opens up his mouth against yours once more. Your tongues dance together as he kisses you deeply, his lips parted to let in your breath.

"Bai-..zhu" His body jerks. Even you speaking his name is enough to break his focus. His tongue pulls away from yours, and his breath catches in his throat. His fingers still clutch at your hair, almost as though he's forgotten how to let go.

He tries to speak, but for a moment, his words seem trapped in his throat. It takes him many, many moments before he manages to speak again.

"Yes...?" he whispers. "We...we should've done this sooner" you say out of breath, this completely made your brain stop working for a good minute. Who knew Baizhu could take someones breath away with only one kiss.

"Yes." He chuckles, "We should've...now...shall we continue?"

Bennett - aged up

His eyes go wide as your fingers begin to softly caress his face; but his expression slowly softens as he looks into your eyes. Suddenly, he feels utterly safe. Like, anything done withing your presence will forever keep him unharmed.

His breathing grows sharp and heavy, as he finds himself unable to keep still, but he forces himself to control his movements, his body trembling with pent-up anticipation. Is this going where he thinks it is? After a moment, Bennett whispers, "You're so beautiful," his voice hoarse and barely audible. He gazes up at your face, his cheeks flushed and his expression rapturous. He seems almost drunk with bliss; every word you speak feels like a gentle caress to him, and he can hardly believe this moment is real.

Bennett's eyes begin to slowly close, as if he's allowing himself to slip into an almost dreamlike trance; allowing himself to feel you and your hands so thoroughly, and to worship you with his touch at the same time. You can't help but softly kiss him. Bennett's eyes snap open at the sensation of your lips against his, and he instinctively leans forward, embracing you deeply. His hands clutch the fabric of your robes, and tears begin to well in his green irises.

His embrace begins to tighten further, as if he's holding on for dear life, terrified that you'll slip away again if he doesn't keep you close.

"I'm-I'm so sorry i shouldn't have-" you hastly apologize. You dont know what came over you, and although you know the kiss was accepted, it was still wrong. "You have nothing to apologize for... " Bennett whispers, his voice breathless and his expression soft with adoration.

"In fact..." he continues, his voice growing more confident, "I'd like to have another kiss, please." He looks at you, his voice cracking slightly and his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Capitano

Capitano drops to his knees, lowering himself until his forehead is pressed against the ground. His arms go limp at his sides, the only movement coming from his shallow breathing.

His eyes snap shut, and he does not dare to open them. "I am yours," he whispers without prompt. His breath is warm against the marble, his words muffled by the floor. The muscles in his legs ache. His head is pressed against the cold stone, but the cold is a comfort. He knows that he deserves to be beneath you. Like no one else.

"You're deserving of a kiss, come here and lets share our first." His eyes fly open, his lips already parted. He stares up at your face, his emotions raging inside of him. His breath is heavy as he swallows. He doesn't dare to ask for permission, but it's written all over his face that he yearns to experience this moment.

He is not allowed to speak up unless it is to obey. His eyes plead. Please, he silently begs.

Capitano stands up and a breath leaves him as your lips press gently against his. You take his first kiss as a matter of course, never bothering to ask if this is what he wanted, because his expression told you enough.

His heart flutters, his cheeks flushed as he pulls your head closer. He kisses you back, his hands holding you close to him. His lips move against yours in sync, his breath coming back to him. It's not even a question. Of course, he's going to kiss you.

He needs to kiss you.

Your lips are soft against his own slightly chapped ones. Capitanos breath catches in his throat, his mind whirling. For a moment, he forgets where he is and why he is here.

It's just him and you.

He holds you even closer, his lips brushing against your neck. He takes in your scent and swallows it down. His heart is thundering in his ears as his fingers dig into your skin.

His heart is racing against his own will. He wants this more than anything in the world. He wants you.

And he has you.

Childe

"You deserve a reward."

His chin tilts upward in hope, his gaze focused on you. "Your Grace is too kind." He doesn't move, and his eyes are fixed on your face. "May I know what reward I might receive? Is it in my power to accept?"

You find that he is almost trembling, and as he looks up at you, his cheeks flutter. "Would you accept a kiss?" His breath catches in his throat, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. His cheeks become a bright red. Childe seems to be on the verge of tears.

"I, um... your kiss... I... yes, Your Grace. I would be honored, but... I'm not sure my lips would be worthy." His voice is breathy, but it sounds sincere. He truly believes this, and it seems he fears that his lips are too rough or too calloused to be worthy of you.

You can only roll your eyes at him again, he's never going change, wil he? So what is left to do was to pull him in out of the sudden and give him his well deserved reward. Childe flinches when you pull him closer, but not because he is resisting you. Rather, it appears that he is completely enraptured by you and your every move. His cheeks are glowing bright, bright pink, and his eyes are fluttering shut.

He melts into you as your lips press firmly against his. His mouth is supple and his lips soft. He kisses you back, eagerly and hungrily. His hands clutch your jacket for support. It seems that you have completely stolen his heart and soul. He gasps when you let go, his eyes fluttering open to find yours. His expression is agape. "Your Grace," he whispers. His breaths are ragged. He touches his lips, like he's trying to feel something after you let go.

He blinks, as if he's still seeing flashes of stars in his vision. His lips are slightly swollen from the kiss, and his blue eyes are bright, like sapphires.

"That... was glorious." His voice is a whisper, "Do it again."

Chongyun - aged up

Chongyun is curled against you, his head resting gently against your chest— his breathing is slow and regular, like the beating of a heart, and his limbs are wrapped tightly around you in a hug.

He is relaxed, but he is still intensely aware that you are the only with him right now. His heart races in his chest— having your warmth and comfort and nearness— makes him happy. Chongyun trembles at the contact of your lips against his forehead, and a soft whimper leaves his mouth. He leans forward slightly, pressing his face tighter against your chest. This is all he could ever want. You are the only one that matters.

Chongyun speaks softly, his voice quiet and trembling, "All I want is to be in your arms for all eternity, Your Grace." "I don't mind that..." and to seal the deal, you give him a gentle kiss. Chongyun responds eagerly, letting his lips linger against yours. His entire body trembles and blushes at your touch, and he can feel his lips burn with a fierce fire.

Your lips press against his with a desperate, almost painful tenderness; he wants to give you all that his lips can offer, and for once, he doesn't mind the awkwardness that comes with it. There are no insecurities, only heat, only fire, only you.

All that was missing in his life was your lips, and now, he will never let go.

Cyno

At your command, he does as told. Cyno sits down beside you, not needing any further instruction than that. He sits facing you, so you can see him in all his glory. You are everything to him. And so is he to you, and you're about to show him.

If he had his way, he would never leave your side again. He would stay by your side forever and make sure you would never feel unloved again. Cynos and yours connection is one of a kind after all. And he is deeply aware of your loneliness. His breath hitches in his chest as you take his hand in yours. He looks at you, his eyes gazing up at you with reverence and love that would make the moon itself envious.

His every breath stops in his chest at the contact of your lips against his knuckles. His hand trembles in yours. He leans into the touch, wanting nothing more than to be with you.

He turns his hand so that the inside is facing upward, hoping you will kiss it again. But instead you place his hand against your cheek.

"Cyno...kiss me please." His mind seems to shut off. All that matters is you and your question. He leans forward, and as he does, he lets his hair fall forward to curtain his face from view. Then his lips are soft against yours— a gentle pressure, followed by a light brushing of skin before he pulls away again.

His breath is short, quick. He blinks, seeming shocked that he just did that, but the surprise quickly melts away as he leans in again. His kisses only grow in intensity. He lingers there, his mouth against yours, breath mingling as if he wishes to absorb you, to make you his, before he reluctantly pulls away again.

He whispers something as if it has come from his soul; something only you could ever hear.

"I love you from my head tomatoes."

"....."

Dainsleif

Dainsleif lowers himself to the ground before you, the very image of respect and devotion. He sits perfectly poised, his hands clasped together neatly in his lap. All the weight of eternity seems to rest upon his shoulders, as if even in this moment he is a protector, a guardian. Despite this, his heart races at your command. He feels alive for the first time in weeks, as if everything he's ever wanted is finally here.

You.

"I missed you Dain..." you pout, "you were gone for weeks." "I'm here now." Dainsleif smiles warmly. "I'm here with you, my everything." His words are sweet as honey on the tongue, but there is no mistaking the passion behind them. "Were you lonely?" He asks. There's a slight note of concern in his voice. Dainsleif could not bear the thought that you suffered even a little because he wasn't by your side constantly.

"Yes!" Dainsleif's smile widens as you race towards him, one hand lifted slightly, as if ready to receive your impact. As soon as you reach an embrace, he wraps both arms around you, pulling you close as if there's nothing else in the world.

Dainsleif doesn't mind the pressure of your grasp. If anything, he seems to welcome it. Your embrace is the sweetest thing he has ever known.

He holds you tight, face buried against your shoulder. His breathing quickens slightly with joy. Your soft lips press against Dainsleif's and for a moment, time itself seems to slow.

This is where he belongs. This is where he was always meant to me. His lips press against yours, and he kisses you passionately, as if it might be his last kiss ever. The world could be ending and all Dainsleif cares about in this moment is you. He melts into your kiss, his breath ragged as if he has been drowning and has finally found air.

He's home.

Diluc

Diluc sits across from you, gazing at you over a candlelit dinner. "Shall I pour some grape juice, Your Grace?" he asks, already reaching for the bottle beside his place setting. He wants you to be comfortable. After all, you deserve only the best.

"Yes please." Diluc pour you the perfect glass. There is no room for error when he is pouring you your grape juice, and the dark ruby liquid pours without so much as a drop spilled. He was to shy to mention that this was created with you in mind..."For our love." His words are more than a toast.

They're a prayer.

He raises his glass again, drinking a little of the red liquid. His eyes are on you, watching closely as you match his sip, then watching the way your throat swallows as you enjoy the drink. You're everything to him.

But one thing is missing, and you can't help but get it for yourself. His heart skips a beat as you lean across the table, his lips parted and breath quickening in anticipation. It's only the two of you at this table. You're his entire world. And all that matters is your love.

The beverage forgotten, his lips find yours, and Diluc's body melts at your touch. He is nothing but love in this moment. "I love you," he whispers as he pulls back.

His forehead rests against your own. "Please— tell me you love me too, Your Grace." He waits for your answer, his heart on his sleeve, open to you.

He wants more than anything to be loved by you in return. He waited his whole life for this moment, please make his dream come further true.

"Of course I love you too silly."

Dottore

His lips curl into a sly smile. "I was certain you would be pleased." Dottores arm drapes over your shoulder as he shifts in his seat, bringing your body closer to him. His fingers run along your hair as he stares into your eyes. "And now I'm here to please you," he whispers. Your stomach flutters at the words, and he seems to realize it, because his eyes light up. His fingers trail down your arms. "I can show you what I mean, if you'd like."

"Please do..." You're breathless, he took the air out of your lungs by just his words alone.

His lips curl and he closes the gap between you. His breath is hot against your face, and it makes your heart beat faster. The tip of his mask caressing your cheek. "I know you wish to be worshipped," he murmures. His red eyes seem to dance in the light. "What I can offer you cannot be described with words," he whispers. He leans down slowly, letting the sensation of his lips on your skin sink in.

"But that doesn't mean I can't show you exactly what I mean." Dottore's eyes flicker as his lips brush yours, lingering just long enough to let the sensation sink in. He kisses you hungrily, his fingers gripping you tighter, as if terrified to let you go. His lips are soft, but he keeps his hold tight. His breaths are quick and shallow.

He pulls away finally, but his mouth is parted slightly and his eyes are still on yours. He seems breathless, eager, completely devoted. And maybe a tiny bit horny too.

"Shall we continue?" He leans in, whisper in your ear, voice raspy, "or was it to handle for my little grace~?" His hand slips under your clothes, brushing against the skin underneath.

Freminet

A shudder runs through Freminet, and he trembles. It seems like he's trying to resist crying, but the painful emotions are overwhelming him. He wants to bury his face in your chest— but he doesn't dare to move. He just stares straight ahead, his breath hitched and his expression so full of pain.

"Please, Your Grace," Freminet finally whispers, breath hitching, fighting back tears. "Please...make it stop. I...I-can't handle it anymore..."

He wants you to do something— but he doesn't know what he wants. He only knows he needs you now, more than anything. Usually in moments like these he would handle it alone deep down in Fontaines waters, but he found other comfort. Freminet shifts as you offer your arms, his eyes locked on yours. He wants to feel the warmth and safety of your embrace, and the only thing that stops him is the fear of disrespecting you or angering you in some way.

His muscles tense, his heart beating faster and his throat catching on every breath. But the feeling of your open arms and your eyes is just too much. Slowly, almost tentatively, he rises, crosses the distance between you and him, and falls into your embrace. Freminet buries his head in your chest, his sobs muffled into your neck. He leans his entire weight against you, needing your warmth and your arms to soothe him.

He clings to you, his muscles tense and trembling. His whole body shakes as he sobs wildly, clinging to you, needing you— needing to feel safe and loved.

"Don't worry, you will have me with you forever." Freminets eyes fly open like a struck deer. He stares at you in the pale light, tears rolling from his eyes. He trembles against your embrace and your words.

The kiss is all it takes for him to melt. He leans into your touch, trembling in your arms. There's a faint flush on his cheeks and he leans into your touch, his body soft and relaxed.

Then Freminet lifts his eyes to yours, his pupils flared. He leans towards you again. His lips are already parted, his eyes burning with emotion. He wants to kiss you again.

You're the only one he trusts 100%.

Gorou

Gorou leans into your touch as his breathing softens; he seems completely and utterly at ease. He closes his eyes as he takes in the sweet embrace, and his mind drifts to thoughts of other things he would like to do with you. Like kiss you

He nuzzles into your lap, content to be held but also eager to please you. His tail wags slightly, he seems at ease withing your presence.

"You must be tired, hm?" You whisper as you gently scratch his ears. "No, my grace. You... You are my energy," Gorou whispers softly, his eyes still closed, his thoughts wandering with curiosity.

"I haven't felt this alive in ages. I don't want to leave you, not yet at least. It may not seem like it, but I'm wide awake."

Gorou opens his eyes and glances up at you as he tries to maintain that aloof expression, but if you look closely enough, perhaps you'll see the slightest of blushes spread across his cheeks. Gorou's eyes widen in surprise at the contact of your devine lips against his, but he doesn't back down. His heart threatens to leave his chest and he smiles into the kiss, his hands coming up to caress your face as he savors this moment of first-time passion. If you could hear the thoughts in his head, you'd hear a silent scream of delight.

This was what he'd been waiting tons of years for, Gorou thinks, his mind racing with excitement as he eagerly returns the kiss, tail wagging excitedly.

Heizou

He leans back into your embrace, pressing himself into you. It's clear how comforting it is for him to be in such close proximity to you, his eyes closed and his chin on your shoulder. He seems utterly content to melt in your arms, his arms wrapped around your waist. He's so small in comparison to you, but so utterly precious. Heizou breathes heavily against your neck, his arms squeezing slightly as he kisses your skin. His fingers dance down the side of your neck and shoulders, his eyes gazing up at you lovingly from where they are tucked against your shoulder.

He continues to kiss you, gently nibbling at your neck as he does so. He seems determined to express as much affection as possible when he's so close to you. Heizou looks up at you softly as he gives you his first kiss; his fingers lightly brushing your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. His heart is pounding against his chest, adrenaline rushing through his limbs, and the rush of blood to his head makes it all the more difficult for him to concentrate.

His kiss is gentle and tender, and he lingers for a moment before pulling away to breathe some air. He looks up at you with eyes filled with love and adoration, the expression on his face clearly showing how much you mean to him. Heizou stays silent for a moment, his cheeks flushed and his heart still skipping a few beats. He bites his lip and looks away from you nervously.

“…that was my first kiss,” he says softly, as if admitting some sort of personal failure.

After a beat, he looks back at you directly again.

“…I hope you didn’t mind.”

"I'm so glad you trust me enough to share this with me." Heizou's cheeks deepen into a shade of red, if that is even possible. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, his eyes staring at you nervously from beneath their lashes.

"Yes... I trust you enough to share it. I'm happy that it was you."

There's another long quiet pause as Heizou gathers his courage and gazes up at you. "…Can we do it again?" he asks.

Itto

He tells you everything.

Your presence makes him chatter endlessly, and he feels more alive when he is in your presence. He speaks about his day, and the antics he has been up to. He talks a lot about his gang members, and how proud he is to be their leader.

He speaks so much that he forgets to breathe and has to take a moment to catch it again. You notice him catching his breath more than once.

In his lap, you can feel his heartbeat. It's faster than usual. "Catch your breath, we don't want you fainting do we?" hes to adorable, acting more like a puppy than a oni sometimes. He tries. He tries to speak more quietly, to pace himself and not speak so fast. But just you sitting in his lap is making him so excited that he can't hold it back.

Your presence is overwhelming him, and he wishes to show you how happy you make him feel. Itto just wants you to know how much pleasure it brings him to be by your side.

Soon enough, he's about to lose his breath again, and you're not going to have it. With one quick motion your lips touch his to make him stop talking completely. There isn't a thought in his head anymore. When you kiss him, he closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side slightly.

He is at your will, completely. The only feeling that surges within his body is the fire that's burning his cheeks, the heat in the bottom of his stomach, and the quickening of his heart.

No matter how much he wants to do something for you, he is helpless right now. Itto is in a state of utter bliss, and he feels like the weight that has been so heavy inside of him has been lifted.

"Whoa-! That was awesome your Grace! Of course you're gonna kiss the one and oni Arataki Itto hahaha! I have the best lips around, no one can compare to me. And i just kissed you! You just kissed me?! This is grea-"

"Itto shut up-"

Kazuha

Kazuha stares intently at you as you consume your tea, his gaze soft like sunlight in the middle of a dark night. With you, he is content. He seems hesitant to say anything first in fear of disturbing the peace he treasures so deeply. Instead, he sips his tea, glancing at you every now and then while keeping his body pointed away from your gaze.

It seems he's simply too embarrassed to look upon you directly, as if your beauty would blind him the moment your eyes meet.

"You know my taste Kazuha. Thank you for gifting me this tea." "Anything for you, Your Grace." The words are spoken so softly that it almost seems like a whisper.

Kazuha's eyes trail around the room but always seem to come back to you. He still seems to have trouble meeting your gaze, but it's undeniable that he's relaxed in your presence. He takes another sip of tea, nodding. "Anything else you need?"

"A kiss...Kazuha you have been gone for several weeks and I...I missed you." The tea seems to catch in Kazuha's throat as he glances at you. He almost flinches away from you, as if you've caught him red-handed. In reality, there is nothing he could be hiding. He is yours and only yours. His cheeks flare from pink to red, but he doesn't look away. He stares at you, almost hungrily.

"Your Grace..." His voice seems to catch in his throat and his body suddenly tenses up.

"May I...? May I please kiss you?"

You nod. Before you can say anything else, Kazuha leans in, meeting your lips almost desperately as he presses his body against yours. He seems hungry for your touch, as if he hasn't been able to eat in days; starved. At once, all tension and shyness melts away as Kazuha simply holds you close, his mouth moving like a hungry beast's.

His every move seems to be like that of a man famished and his lips against yours are like a man dying of thirst. He seems almost desperate in his need to prove your love to you. As you moan, he seems to become more energized. His lips move faster against yours. The force behind his kisses almost makes you worry he'll suck away your soul.

He whispers softly in between kisses, "Yours..."

Kaeya

The wound isn't major, but it bleeds enough to warrant attention. Kaeya watches in fascination as you patch the mark, his breath shallow. It's easy to tell how much he craves this attention from you.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he murmurs. He's not quite looking at you, but his eyes can't help but trace your lips as you tend to the wound. God how needy he is. Kaeya glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours. He can't help the feeling that he's trying to memorize your features: the lines in your face, the subtle pinkish hue on the skin of your lips, the dark lashes that grace your eyes. You're so close, close enough to kiss. He's not sure he can keep his eyes on you, but it's too much of an effort to look away.

"You should be more careful next time. You can't always run into danger like this...You worry me..." Kaeya only smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He knows he needs to be more cautious. He'll be more cautious.

"Next time," he mutters. "I will be more careful...Your Grace." He leans forward, making sure his promise reaches every fiber in your body. You have to believe him now.

Kaeya's kisses aren't quick. He lingers, making sure you're aware of his affection. You can feel his care in each touch, the way his fingers grip you as he kisses back. His desire for you is apparent, and the ferocity of his kisses only proves it. Time stops when you pull back. Kaeya's breathing is shaky, a smile lingering on his lips. He almost wishes you'd never stopped.

"I..." Kaeya trails off. He almost wonders if it's appropriate to say what he means to say, as it feels out of place somehow.

"Your Grace," he says softly, trying to hide the catch in his throat, "I love you."

The words feel like a foreign language coming from his mouth, but at the same time, it's something Kaeya has wanted to say since you first met.

"Oh, i know."

"Oh...."

Kaveh

"It's outstanding! The new room for studying in the library is...amazing. my words fail me!" "Really?" Kaveh brightens upon hearing this, and his heart skips a beat.

"Thank you, your Grace," he replies softly. He had worked very hard on that piece and he's delighted that you have noticed the effort he has put into it. "I just wanted to do a little different, i wasn't sure if everybody would like it but you and Nahida really helped my confidence..."

He smiles and looks up at you. "You deserve a reward!" Kaveh's breath catches in his throat at your words. All of his worries vanish the second that you mention a reward; he looks up at you eagerly, his gaze focused on you as if he were expecting magic.

"A reward?" he asks softly. "I—"

His breath grows deeper and his heart pounds faster at your promise of reward. A gift from you would be far more than he ever deserves, yet he would cherish it for all time.

"Come closer and get it~" kaveh complies instantly, scooting closer to you as he looks at you expectantly. His eyes are wide and fixed on you as his breathing grows louder. Whatever you're about to give him, he's excited for it. Kaveh's breath catches in his throat as you move your hand over to stroke his cheek, and he freezes. His lips part slightly as his breath deepens, but still he manages to hold back.

You give him a gentle, romantic kiss on the lips, and Kaveh feels the heavens shift. His whole life, all of his experience, every moment, and every emotion has built up to this moment. His heart hammers against his chest, his entire being is set aflame. The taste of your lips on his is a drug, one that he is now addicted to.

"Was the reward to your enjoyment?" What a stupid question, of course it was for him. You just like to tease. Kaveh's head spins for a moment, as he's left breathless by your kiss. He manages to blink several times, blinking away the tears in his eyes, and nods frantically.

"Y-Yes, your Grace. It was wonderful."

He licks his lips and gazes at you intently, his expression one of longing and adoration.

"I would like more rewards, please."

Lyney

"Aha! I see you're impressed, your Grace~" Lyney says cheerily. "You may be powerful, but I still have my tricks...tricks that might put a smile on your face. Would you like to see another?"

Lyney smiles cheerfully at you, "I hope the public will enjoy those tricks as much as you."

"Well... I'm nothing if not a showman. But before that, I should inform you; this magic trick of mine is a little... flashy," Lyney says with a bashful blush. "Would you still like to see it?"

He looks up at you eagerly, his tone a mix of anticipation and worry. He can tell you have no idea what's coming.

"Yes!" Before you can register what happened he dissappeared, you look around, he's nowhere to be seen. And then out of the sudden, poof! There he is beside you, giving you a gentle kiss. You're startled at first, but you quickly lean into the kiss, your cheeks growing hotter and your heart begin racing as you feel the soft weight of his lips against yours. The feeling sends your mind spinning, and even the tiniest sensation of Lyney's breath upon your cheek is enough to set your head spinning.

You lean back slightly from the kiss, a soft smile teasing the edges of your lips. "Lyney— you little scamp," you say in the tiniest, most adorable tone. "Was that really necessary?" He laughs lightly. "Absolutely."

You smile sweetly at him. "It was a lovely kiss, I must admit," you say with a small blush, still smiling at Lyney as he looks down at you with twinkling eyes. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," Lyney replies with a small smile, still glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he fluffs up his feathers.

"Would you like to see another one of my tricks?" He asks, his tone playful.

Mika - aged up

"No need to be nervous, Mika" you giggle

Mika can't suppress a tiny, nervous laugh as he tries to relax in your presence. He's never been more self-conscious in his life, but he's willing to endure that if it means satisfying you.

Oh dear...they way they giggle...if they keep doing this i--might even blush.

His gaze flickers to your hand on his cheek. He considers nuzzling against you, before thinking better of it. He'd risk humiliating himself by doing something so bold— but if you were to touch him again, or even just look at him, he knows his composure would break and he'd become a trembling, needy mess.

"You're my favorite..." Your words strike him with a sharp impact. He freezes, his heart racing. In a breathless, raspy voice, Mika whispers, "Really, Your Grace?"

Your approval causes the tension to melt away from his face; it's now clear how much your words have affected him. "I don't deserve to be your favorite," he says, his voice shaking.

"I'm...nobody's favorite."

"But you're my favorite..." you lean in slowly, you don't want to startle him after all. He stares, frozen in place, as the realization of your intentions hits him. He's never kissed someone before— but he wants to kiss you. He has always wanted to kiss you.

His heart thunders in his chest as you bring your face closer, and his face glows bright. The world spins and time slows down, and suddenly the only thing that exists is the two of you, alone in a bubble of intimacy and trust.

As your faces meet, he hesitates. It's terrifying, but he wants it just as much as you do. He closes his eyes, and leans in. He touches his mouth to yours in a tender, careful kiss. His lips are soft and yielding, and he leans closer, wanting to be as close to you as possible. He kisses you again, the sensation of your lips making his head spin and his body tremble.

He can feel you smiling, almost laughing, in the way you kiss back. It feels like an intimate secret between the two of you— and in that moment, all he knows and wants is you.

He draws away, breathless and trembling.

He's your favorite...

Neuvillette

"You look tired..." "O-Oh, it's nothing serious, Your Gr-" Neuvilette's sentence is cut off. He glances up at your face. "Your Grace... I haven't slept in six days."

"SIX DAYS?" You can't help to be concerned for his health, his organs. Simply everything. Neuvillette flushes deeper, almost red enough to be mistaken for a tomato. "Y-Yes, Your Grace... I've hardly slept lately. You see, there has been much work to be done and-- I just, a-anyways, it's nothing to worry about. I'm not tired. Truly."

Yet, his eyelids seem heavy. There's almost a flicker of worry in his eyes. "Come here and take a nap, now!" "Y-Your Grace. I'm-" Before he can continue on, Neuvillette leans forward and presses his forehead against your chest. There's a moment of silence; only the rise and fall of your breaths breaking the stillness. His eyes are closed.

He seems so tired now. "Your Grace..." he whispers, already beginning to drift off. Neuvilette's eyelashes flutter over his shut eyes as he's kissed. For a second, he is confused at first, not quite knowing what happened to him. He would never admit it, not to himself, but something about your touch stirs his heart. His lips purse as if to let out some sort of soft noise, but it doesn't leave him; a single sigh escaping instead.

It seems he too enjoys your touch. He is not a stone. Neuvilette's lashes flicker over his eyes once more before he finally slips into a deep slumber.

(I am not proud of this one---)

Pantalone

"Oh....this coat...so beautiful! Thank you so much!" "I was worried… you might not like it. I did so much research, looking for the perfect fabric, to make sure the fit was perfect," he rushes to explain. He has been worrying all day; your smile, hearing your satisfaction with his gift is the greatest thing in the world. Its so unlike him but he's proud

"I'm glad you like it. It costed me a million Mora but it was worth it." A smile breaks out across his face, as if the sun itself has risen before him. Pantalone holds back a smile. This is a moment he has been waiting for. You put the coat on. You look absolutely stunning. The coat compliments your figure, your frame, and makes your complexion look radiant.

You don't even notice the heat that comes to Pantalone's face. All he can do is take it in; you're perfect. Absolutely perfect. "I have to say," Pantalone's voice is soft, almost reverent.

"You look absolutely stunning." He reaches out and caresses the fabric of the coat, as if he is unable to keep from touching you in some way at all times. "It was a perfect choice." He leans in closer, unable to contain himself. "I'm really proud of myself."

Pantalone's lips meet yours. His heartbeat comes to life, quickening with desire. He wants to be closer, to never let himself leave your side. He wants to touch you again and never let go. And spoil you, how you deserve it. His hands caress your cheek. Your hair. Your neck. Your shoulder blades. He tries to be tender, to be gentle, to savor every moment; but he wants so much more than a simple kiss.

His hands trail down, running over your back, your curves; finally, his palms grip your hips. He pulls you closer, wanting nothing more than to be pressed against you. The whole world disappears. All that exist are the two of you, the way you fit together. The way you want, so desperately, to be one.

"I'll bring you new jewelry next time if i get kisses like this again." He chuckles.

Pierro

He kisses your hands, the feeling of your skin against his own almost breaking Pierro's composure. Only the fact that you are here, alive and well and in his presence stops him from melting into a puddle at your feet.

He's been waiting for this. You're everything to him. "Your Grace." He whispers again, not caring if anyone should come into the room. He kisses up your arm, his lips warm against your skin. The act feels sacred, divine. You don't know if you'll ever be touched like this again for as long as you live.

"Your Grace," Pierro whispers again, voice breaking. He tries to compose himself, but he can't. The emotion of the moment feels too real, too raw.

He's waited for this moment for so long, never quite daring to believe that it might happen, and yet...here you are. You're here.

"May I please...kiss your lips." "Yes..." Pierro needs no further encouragement.

His face is close to yours; the heat of his breath is enough to send shivers down your spine. His arms wrap around your body, pulling you close as his lips meet yours. The feeling is heady, almost overpowering, and it's as if he's holding his breath as he waits to see if you will pull away or push him away.

But you don't.

Pierro pulls back, only to kiss you again. He's kissing every inch of you— your eyes, your cheeks, your neck, your collarbone.

Eventually, you find yourself pressed against a wall. His body is so close, he's pressing against you. Not hard or with any aggression. He's just close enough to feel your body against his, and to feel your skin breathe with each passing moment.

Pierro's hands are on your neck, touching you just enough that every part of him craves to be closer.

"Y/n...."

Razor - aged up

Razor's cheeks tinge pink at the realization that's he's still never actually... kissed anyone before. Damn Bennett for asking if he had ever kissed someone. The fact that his first kiss will be with the person he's been in love with all this time is simultaneously daunting and sweet, he thinks to himself.

Razor nervously leans forward slightly, his lips parted. He hesitates. Razor can do it. Just like lupical Bennett explained.

Slowly, he starts to lower his head towards yours, his eyes still trained on yours. His heart is pounding in his chest, his cheeks still bright pink as he prepares to finally touch your lips for the first time. After countless hours of practicing in head, it's finally actually happening.

Your breath hits Razor's face, warming it as if he had been cold for centuries. *Now... or never.* In a flash, Razor closes the distance between you and him. His lips softly touch yours, the gentle brush against yours making him feel weak at the knees. The sensation of touch... your taste... your very being… are completely new to Razor, he never had the chance to experience such things. It's completely, and utterly, intoxicating.

He keeps the kiss going ever so slightly longer than he’d thought he would, his eyes eventually fluttering shut and his hands slowly raising to hold your face, his touch becoming softer than ever. Razor doesn't let you answer, instead immediately leaning down towards your neck for a series of rapid, soft kisses. This time, he doesn't stop until he has to take a breath for himself. He looks at you, breathless, then looks down at his hands, as he caresses your cheek.

"Do you think....we can do it again?" he asks hesitantly, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. "Razor really....really liked it, your Grace."

Scaramouche

He leans in, inching closer toward you. You can see the muscles in his arm tensing as if pushing him forward. You can see the way he bites his lip and averts his gaze, the way he hesitates but is unable to break away.

Then, all at once, he is close. Too close.

He can't feel anything but your breath on him— only your warmth against his throat.

He can't feel his own breath, but he's sure yours has left him utterly breathless. Scaramouche's lips brush against yours. They linger there for a second, for two, but that's all you need before his lips have sealed with yours. He tries to resist but is unable. His tongue meets yours, and you know you are his first kiss. He's clumsy, but so are you.

You're both a mess. His fingers grasp the fabric of your robes, squeezing hard as if to keep himself there. He can't stop himself; he can't stop his eyes from fluttering shut or his lips from parting slightly in a soft sigh. His lips against yours feel as though they belong there. His tongue against yours feels like the greatest thing. The way his body presses up against yours; the way his hands wrap around the small of your back; the way his eyes open and gaze into yours with such intensity— how could this ever be wrong?

His lips finally part and he pulls away. He gasps for breath, his cheeks flushed and his hair in disarray.

And now *you* don't know what to do. Scaramouche looks as if he's a few steps off fainting.

"Fuck....You're mine now, got it? Mine."

Thoma

He was unaware— or maybe, he just didn't care— how exhausted he actually was. Maybe he'd been like that for quite some time without realizing it. In his exhaustion, he didn't even try to sit up, and instead, he only leans back even more. It's comfortable...in an odd way. He doesn't know why you'd worry about him, but he can't find a reason to argue back against your judgement.

"Okay," he whispers. Your touch is welcome, and so he does nothing to stop you. He closes his eyes as your fingers move through his hair, and as you sit next to him, he even leans slightly against you. He isn't a particularly heavy man, for his muscles are mostly show and not all that practical.

Even in this position, he looks so weak to the point that you could snap him in half like a toothpick. But he doesn't care; right now, he has no care for his pride — just you. And for once, he even doesn't care about any work.

"Now, sleep ok?" You give him a good nights kiss so he can finally take his well deserved rest. He relaxes entirely, his mouth hanging open as his eyelids grow heavy and he slumps against you. And, if he had had any energy left, he would have blushed furiously at how forward you were in the kiss.

As you say, he rests. He does not fight sleep, despite how unusual it was to just... lay down like this. But if it meant to be closer to you, he would do anything like this again and again.

He remains like this, his body limp, head on your shoulder but his fingers grasping at your lap. And dreaming of more kisses.

Tighnari

Tighnari's eyes flutter shut. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, tail swishing back and forth as you stroke his ears. His face is a mask of utter relaxation and peace. His words sound like they're being spoken through honeyed syrup when he says "Do that again, please."

Tighnari's eyes stay shut as you pet his ears again. He sighs loudly and leans into you, his ears pressing into your hand. "Good boy." You giggle as you give him a soft kiss in return.

A deep blush covers Tighnari's face. His tail waves faster as your lips touch him. He's clearly loving every moment, and he can't bring himself to break the contact.After a moment, Tighnari's lips part and his voice leaves his throat. "Your Grace… I think I love you."

His eyes are still closed, but he's blushing madly. He doesn't know what that means, but if all these intense feelings and emotions are what love is then he wants you to know, and quickly. After all, this confession means eternal love.

"I love you too." "I love you… more than I could ever describe," he whispers, leaning closer, lips brushing gently across yours. "I love you with every breath I take. I love you with every thought in my mind. I would love you with my last, dying breath. I love you, with all that I am." His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, nor does he ever let his hands leave your body. His every word is a vow of loyalty, a love poem, the purest expression of devotion and adoration.

He is the most beautiful sight you have ever seen, and he is yours alone.

Venti

"You wrote a song for me?" The smile is almost too much for Venti to contain. "Yes... yes I did, your Grace," he whispers, his tone so quiet that any other voice would have called it inaudible. "I-if you don't like it, y-you can say so," Venti says, his voice quieter than ever. He can't quite bring himself to meet your eyes as he extends a folded sheet of paper to you.

"I could never not like anything you give me." Venti's expression grows even more precious as you tell him the sweet, sweet words he's always been dying to hear, so much that he can barely keep himself upright as he offers the paper to you. His hand is shaking; the song, he worries, might be too basic, too ordinary..."Here, your Grace," he offers to you, with all of his adoration and respect in a single gentle gesture. "Please... please read it, for me?"

You will, you take the paper carefully and read it with pure excitement. "Oh Venti..." You're struck, struck by his words. You know Venti has his way with words but this...The wind god's eyes grow wide at your words. You make him feel more seen, more known, even than the world he has known for millennia! He smiles softly, a gesture that you can almost swear brings the whole world light with its beauty.

"Your Grace? You like it?" he whispers, almost afraid to hear your answer. "Like? I LOVE IT!" Venti lets out a soft gasp as you grab him in your embrace. You let the sheet slide out of your hands and clatter to the ground as he throws his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder as he kisses you back.

He clutches you tightly, holding onto you like you're the only person in the entire world— the only person whose approval— whose affection— means anything. It's hard to keep himself quiet; he wants to let out all those centuries of held back emotion in some sort of yell or scream, but he keeps quiet for you.

Venti kisses you back again and again, and the moment your lips finally break apart, he clings on more tightly, burying his face into your shoulder.

"You truly like it?" he whispers. "It took me so long to write it— I did it just for you— I made it so that you could feel what I feel for you. I wanted you to know me as I know you. I don't want to be a mystery to you. I want you to know me. I want you to be a part of me.... I want you to be the world to me and the air I breathe."

Wriothesley

"Were you ever kissed before?" Surely he has been, look at him. You were so sure of it. But no. His cheeks are flushed a bright pink. "No, Your Grace," he says, but he looks away instead of meeting your eyes. The faint scent of cherry blossoms wafts about him as he looks at you for a moment, and then looks away.

"I've never... I've never had a reason." He mumbles, as if trying to justify it to himself and not you. "No one could compare to you." Wriothesley's voice is quiet, but his words are a declaration of his obsession. Before you can answer, he says, "Oh, Your Grace..." His voice is breathless, almost a murmur. Then he looks at you— and suddenly, he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. His lips are soft and warm, pressed against you with no reservations, no hesitation. His entire body is leaning against yours, as if he wants you to know that he is devoted to you, and you alone.

His lips are still pressed against your own, and his eyes are closed. Wriothesley's fingers curl in your hair as he kisses you hungrily, greedily, as though it is something that he has always wanted. His lips move quickly, passionately, and his breathing grows more frantic as his body is pressed against yours. His passion seems to burn, as though the temperature in the room has suddenly increased. He is completely lost in you, forgetting the world of Teyvat.

"That came...unexpected." His lips move away from yours, and he opens his eyes, slowly. He's close enough to your eyes that they're practically touching, and yours are open too. He blinks, and it seems to finally dawn on him that he's probably just kissed you. His face flashes bright pink once more.

"Oh." He says, and then quickly leans back. His cheeks are flushed. "Apologies. Your Grace."

"....nah you're good, keep going."

Xiao

"You are deserving." Xiao's heart swells with appreciation and awe. His chest is a tight-knotted ball, writhing with emotion at your praise. He nods, feeling unworthy. In his heart, he knows that he isn't, but his humility runs so deep that he simply can't believe that he's deserving of the love you offer him.

"A-am I, Your Grace?" he whispers, tears pooling in his eyes. This isn't the response he expected, and the weight of it fills him with gratitude. "Yes." The single, one syllable response is enough to move Xiao to tears. He nods, blinking back his tears. He raises his gaze, and his heart thumps in his ears as his eyes focus on you. He struggles to swallow his pride and speaks, his voice hoarse.

"Thank you," he whispers, "thank you so much for choosing me." "I will always choose you, no matter what." "You will...?" The words leave Xiao breathless. His heart fluttering in sync with the sound of the wind fluttering in the trees outside. "Y-you're..."

He blinks away the tears filling his eyes, staring at you like a deer at headlights. A million words are caught on the tip of his tongue, but he hasn't the courage to speak them. Instead, he nods. "I will always choose you too, Your Grace. I will always be yours." His eyes flicker to meet yours, for only a moment, then avert. Xiao's eyes go wide with disbelief, his breath catching in his throat as he registers the kiss. His face turns red, and his heart beats against his chest with such force that he feels his head throbbing with each strike.

The kiss lasts only a moment, but his mind is filled with an electric thrill. He can still feel the heat and tingle of your lips, and even as you pull away, his brain is filled with your taste on his tongue.

"Was I deserving of that, Your Grace...?" he whispers, breathless.

"...we need to work on it, yes, yes you were."

Xingqiu - aged up

"I see you brought me a new book!" "Ah..." Xinqiu nods as he turns his head back towards you. In his arms is a book bound in ivory leather. "I thought you might enjoy it, Your Grace...It's name is 'A song for the dead'."

"I... thought its stories would suit your interests." Xingqiu's voice is soft, though clearly nervous. Nervous he might picked the wrong one. "I thought its stories of betrayal, and vengeance would captivate you. That is all, Your Grace."

Xinqiu is careful with his language; speaking slowly and deliberately. Despite his efforts, it's clear that he is anxious and eager to see how you receive the gift. "Thank you." And you thank him with a gentle kiss. The sound of Xinqiu's breath catching in his throat. He is stunned by the gentle kiss, completely unprepared to offer any sort of response. After a moment, he leans into the kiss.

He does not press himself onto you, but allows you to dictate the movements. In his mind, he thinks, You deserve someone greater than him; it's only natural that hed seek to please you. He offers no resistance to your will. Xingqius eyes close as he seems to sink deeper into the feeling. He has had these fantasies, but always dismissed them as impossible.

He does not dare say as much, instead his breathing becoming deep and steady. His eyes remain closed. After a moment of silence, he speaks again, his voice soft and hushed. "Your Grace..." "Yes?"

"I..." Xingqiu difficulty finding the right words. His eyes open, though they don't meet yours. He seems to be searching for the right thing to say but only ends up stuttering. "... Your Grace... I... I would ask you to accept my vows as your loyal devotee. I would ask that you'd allow me to be by your side, until the day you tire of my company and wish to be rid of it. I would ask that you would allow me to serve you, and fight for you. To honor you and your word..."

Zhongli

Zhongli stops short once he hears your words. For a moment, he seems not to understand their significance towards him. Once he does manage to decipher the meaning, however, his heart flutters in his chest.

"You... You love me?" There. The words hang between you both, as though they could be blown away with the slightest gust of wind.

Zhongli is frozen for a moment, almost afraid to breathe for risk of shattering the quiet. But yet... even though he's petrified, he doesn't seem to wish for it to end.

"With every fiber of my body." A light breeze passes through the courtyards, almost like the flutter of an angel's wing. Zhongli takes it a sign for him to follow his impulses, to throw caution to the wind.

In a singular instant, he leans forward, his hands clasping your face. His thumb caresses your soft lips as though tracing a holy scripture. Zhongli has waited six-thousand years to feel this moment. The moment that would change everything. He leans in and presses a light kiss to your warm, pink lips. "I love you...I..." Zhongli's words are cut off as he leans in, his lips pressing against yours.

His heart threatens to burst out of his chest. His mind is swirling with a thousand thoughts. The moment lasts only a second but feels like time itself has come to halt. Even as he breathes, it feels like every air his lungs take is sacred... as if this could be his last moment before his final curtain.

Zhongli clings to the kiss as if it's the only thing keeping him in this world. As if he could disappear without your words, your touch. Zhongli kisses you once more with just as much passion as before. He doesn't want to let go, yet you both need to breathe. Once you pull apart, his hands remain on your neck, gripping your skin as if he will never let go.

Zhongli is unable to speak. His vision is swimming with tears of joy, yet his breath is shallow and his heart fluttering.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice so soft that you must lean in simply to hear it.

"I love you too."

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dogbites-puppylove · 8 months ago

Text

Devil Sins

The Batfam and the deadly sin that colors their life, and the virtue of their darling

TW: Yandere behavior (obsession, possessive behavior and unhealthy ideations), mention of suicide ideation and s/h as well as gore

Tags: Yandere! Batfam x reader

Bruce Wayne: Pride

Within Gotham, it's common knowledge that when crimes wretched hands come down to slit your neck you do not clasp your hands and pray to God, no - you whisper your tears into a puddle of blood and give your reverence to hold out for Batman. It is under no exaggeration that divinity in the cursed city leaves justice to crumbled bones and puddles of teeth and tongue, and its cruel master in the form of a man with no face. It's fitting, for a city of corruption and bile. Gotham’s god is its dark knight with steel for bones and scripture of flesh, man made Godhood with flawed creation in its wake. But man has never been meant to hold godhood, the pathway of immortals too cruel and demanding, even with those who have wielded its deadly blade of eons it rips into them. Tearing at seams and breaking into them until their pieces can be glorified in the stained windows of churches.

Batman is divinity within mortal confines. There have been prayers and hymns in his name, retribution in his name and the painful dependency of creator and creation waged on him. Batman is an entity that is nothing but iron and brimstone, unbending and unfeeling, but Bruce Wayne, the man who created this creature whose only split from being a monster is a bloodied and beaten code, is painfully human. He feels each failure weigh on him, aging him past his own casket and decaying him even as he still breathes, it cradles his head during the night and whispers the screams of those he has watched fall.

Every time Batman stands tall, Bruce can feel something small and young turn decrepit and vile in his stomach until it erupts from him like bile from the back of his throat. He thinks it must be the humanity of a son who in truth, died with his parents in that alley. It slices his open, cutting his flesh to ribbons, and gorges itself on his organs only to fill him up with something inhuman. It's with bated breath with lungs that have been clouded with smog, that he waits for Batman to finally rule Bruce Wayne unfit and strangle him entirely.

Darling: Humility

The Darling acts as the humility to his pride, dragging him to his knees so archaically Batman shrivels in your presence. You are his humanity given form, the antithesis to his claim of being the perfect hero. You lead him by the nose, walking him on a leash so flawlessly he thinks you might have been born just to keep him grounded. Every scrape or bruise seems to repel the mission Batman strives for and replaces it with nothing, but a man stricken that he hadn’t done better. Each burn or scrape, even a paper cut drives guilt into him and brings a physical ache to his body like you had beaten him with a bat. Each mark burns the shame of a failed hero and leaves only the pathetic begs and whines of a man that can only be human.

If he could, he would spend his days by your side, affected by the intrinsic need to provide for you, leaving you physically and mentally unable and robbed of the ability to want. It's a desire that burns molten in his chest and drips down his limbs, it burns and aches at him as if trying to rip out of his chest and lick at your hand like a depraved dog. He would do anything for you, would render the world silent, bring you a heart on a platter, violate himself so terribly he could not know anything but his adoration of your presence and yet it still feels inadequate. A simple compliment from you leaves him bereft of ambition and scorn, leaving him on his hands clasped in prayer.

Batman may have been his creation, but Bruce Wayne is your own tool, use him to get what you want, change him for your own needs just keep him at hand. He'll be loyally and wholly (obsessively and blindly, almost rabid) yours. God bends to nobody's will, but Bruce Wayne knows down to the electrons snapping in his synapse that his place in this world is by your side, whether you point, whenever you deem fit. You’re his god, and himself nothing but a faithful follower.

Richard Grayson: Lust

Perhaps born from watching his parents, who should have been a constant, die in front of him a painful death filled with tourists' eyes and misplaced faith, right outside of his fingers grasps Dick has an inherent need to feel. For him, want runs in his skin like a conscious, whispering what he craves, giving voice to a voracity so impossible that it turns physical. He has known denial from the start, whether it be the blood of the man who stole his parents, a want that made his tongue ache and crawled at his ribs until his bones crackled, or the sweeter craving of a relationship, something that watered at his mouth. Want is something that has haunted him, growing obsessively until it reached lust.

Though sexual desire, of course, is something that is often attributed to it, it's not the only way lust presents itself. For Dick, it appears when he closes enough to reach out and feel flesh on his own, something tangible and it shocks him like a bad dog until he reaches out to soothe his skin. It appears in the dead of night when he can feel no other warmth than his blankets, even as he arches out and reaches pathetically into the air. It is a call of pathetic loneliness, so strong that when his younger brothers are cuddled drowning within him it is to try and get rid of the sudden echo, to try and merge them into one, until he is no longer Dick Grayson, and somehow a part of them. Somewhere in between the heat of a lover and the loyalty of a son, he realizes that being a part of a couple isn’t enough.

He wants like a man starved, all instinct and need, like a child who has been ripped out of his mother’s grasp before she has fed him fully, there is always something he’s not quite satisfied with. What he truly craves is a constant, a union, melting himself, and another so they can be poured into the same mold and make something new, indistinguishable from the other. And despite the carnal behavior of his want, he knows how to get it. He smiles full of charisma, grins with the sun and serenades with the moon to get his fixes, but each one leaves him starved, stricken for more. Like a bad addiction.

Darling: Chastity

The darling brings a chastity in his life, though not to say he wants less, but in the way a husband will fully devote himself to their wife. It’s the deceptive nature of a couple announcing a pregnancy and accidentally alluding to nights spent in bed. The darling hits a spot for him that leaves him mind numbingly euphoric, like a high that is reached after weeks and weeks of suspension. Every kiss has him feral, no better than an animal and chasing after you, every negligence has him whining by your feet, clinging to you. He grows incredibly dependent on your presence, on your touch and everything beneath.

With you his sharp mind bleeds into instinct, and the charisma he wields to pry himself into others good graces is left uselessly at the door. It’s a delusional dreamy trance, every hug sends him tumbling down further and further until his panting against your neck and thinking of nothing but you, you, you. He can feel himself slipping into your existence, swearing he can taste the coffee you drank in the morning, and can feel every cut or bruise you get without him present. His want for you is wet, sticky and binding, threatening to pull you over until you lose your mind along with him.

It’s almost laughable how pliant he is with you, a touch to his arm can have him following you over a cliff, a peck to the cheek and suddenly his on your lap whining for more. For all he is hard and angry, full of vigilante fights and bruised skin you wouldn’t even have to hurt him to kill him. With you, he can indulge himself fully, so much so that he wants no other. In fact any other touch leaves him lacking, so utterly entranced by you that he can no longer feel another’s skin unless it’s yours. To him, his darling and himself cannot be separated, they won’t go down in history but their names, but by the title for lovers. Nothing to define themselves but their own love.

Jason Todd: Wrath

Anger, to Jason, is an old friend that lives in his bones and whispers in his ears with every movement. He has used it well his entire life, a melting anger of forged iron against his father to keep him defiant, a indigent anger filled with a son's tears for his mother, the roar of inequality and social class that steals from the batmobile and the blinding and rash rush that leaves him as robin. It’s at first a soft motivation that keeps him alive, any good street rat knows, or any street rat still breathing that to stop means you’re as good as dead. He covets his rage, it's youthful and idealistic and keeps his heart beating.

Of course, after the pit (after being beaten to death in a warehouse of gasoline and gunpowder, watching his own blood relax as he’s robbed of his own, coming back ripping from his own skin and drowned in green only to find out his father-father-had left him unavenged. Left him replaced and gone) his anger has grown into something primordial. Too old to be Jason’s but so familiar he leans into it. It grows from his bones like ivy and twigs, poking out against his flesh and sewing itself under his skin so that the slightest breach sends it out to take root. Jason’s wrath is something that threatens to leave him choking blood, and yet it keeps him alive with the threat of keeping him running forever. It is the anger of a child on the poster who has never been found, and their stomach full of worms that burrows into his own. The tears of a case under the corrupt policeman’s file, and the ghosts scream in a house empty of their future. It’s all those who have ever been a statistic (as he has been) boiling over under his skin. Because Jason knows the wrath of the dead and unavenged intimately, it burns his memories in green and leaves his chest heaving with permanent mourning of mothers whose children were robbed and never found. It threatens to scratch away from the inside of his ribs until its nails finally rip him open in a mocking autopsy and wail into Gotham’s plugged ears.

Jason's violence, his actions and words, the bullets in his guns and glare under the hood are all reactions to this. As long as the world spins, as long as humans turn a blind eye to victims, and allow the injustice of the world to mold them, he will move. All his actions are an answer, a bullet through a man's cranium, the vengeance of a young girl with a ripped dress, a severed head, the relief of a child who watches their family bleed out for powdered death. Each and every shout of Red Hood, every puddle of blood he coats the ground on proof that he is still moving. Because Jason’s wrath is old and an answer, to the boy in the warehouse, to the boy in the ground and mounted not as a son but a soldier. It’s a solution to the fear that manipulates his chest that should he stop moving he’d be buried again.

Darling: Patience

Jason is a man of action and violence, fear turned into anger because above all he is a man cursed with empathy. With his darling the fear that curdles his insides soothes, like a mother rubbing her child’s stomach and singing a special song to keep the pain away. The world will keep moving regardless of him taking a break, and he has the blinding panic of staying in time, and yet his darling is a perfect encapsulation of time. Something preserved beautifully, a painting stuck in motion, the words on his books that are remembered through words and tongue. The tint of red becomes a pastel pink, and suddenly he’s so, so weak.

With his darling he closes his eyes without fear of waking up decaying. A sweep of your hand against his cheek will pull a sigh of pleasure from his throat suddenly free of phlegm and blood, even a harsh hit will feel divine. His darling functions as a sort of “moment” , something trapped in time and solely for Jason. Much like opening a book, the story is forever clashing but the words stay all the same, waiting for the reader. It’s with you the anger that has kept him moving for so long, washed away, like the dirt clinging to his skin under water. It's freeing and leaves him shakily bare, with you he weeps, with you he grows and stays forever yours. You are life itself, something ancient and timeless at the same time. The nostalgia of losing a tooth and excitement of a birthday party wrapped into tender song and softer skin.

It’s a common sight to see him cry when with you, prayer in the form of tears that are just for you. He spends his days in a lovestruck haze, almost as if he’s been drugged. For Jason there is no constant, no surety but you. He would do anything to keep you perfect, safe and just as you always are. He'll care for you much like a beloved heirloom, of course he loves you with a severance that would scare most, but you are something he seeks to preserve. Nothing can hurt you, will hurt you, you’ll remain untouched until you reach out yourself. Your presence alone is enough for him to intoxicate himself with, bask in forever. But should you give I’m a sliver of your attention, allow him to enter your perfect little world? He’ll be lost forever.

Tim Drake: Gluttony

The most intimate feeling Tim knows is hunger, perhaps not for food but for anything and everything else. Obsession is his most familiar form of companionship, stuffing picture after picture of his object of affection until he can drown in them. In his house of echoing walls and emptiness he comes to emulate it. He feels hollowness in his soul, some nights he wonders if he took a knife to his own side what he would find. Would it be organs? Perhaps a heart? Or would it be the void that has eaten all that made him and left him with a constant hunger to fill himself with? For a time, he manages to satiate himself with Batman and Robin, stalking and drinking them in over and over until one day it's stolen and left him with nausea so terrible. (And Tim still remembers the rawness of his skin as he is thrashing in his room, his throat bleeding from his wails of a boy he never met)

The more he gets the more he hungers, it’s something horrific and apathetic that leads him to chasing after his own fill. Case after case solved, fact after fact filtered and sorted through, Tim is insatiable. Like a well oiled machine, the fuel that keeps him going only works to find more fuel, it's a never-ending cycle of something that can no longer be deemed as human. Half of this can be attributed to the fact that it’s all the same to him, an angelic charity to a garish murder eh takes them and feasts on them all the sometime efficiency is more of a hook then anything, pulling others in so he can feast on them, devouring their mannerisms and habits, licking up and chewing on their thoughts until there nothing left of them.

One could blame this on the fact that the identity of “Tim Drake'' has never really been sought out, so there’s no substance to him. Something useless will obviously stay shiny, clean and unused, it's logical in all the ways it makes Tim want to throw a tantrum. It drives his mouth to salivate until he’s drooling over another function he can consume, another person he can mirror, another morsel to disappear within himself. And yet with each new meal he can only feel the void echo back louder, as if he had never eaten at all. Like a fire consuming too much wood that it withers out in anger, as if the trees that had been cut never existed in the first place. It threatens to force Tim to disappear forever.

Darling: Temperance

The temperance his darling offers is in the form of a craving rather than actual fulfillment. After just his first taste of you, Tim has been enraptured for you, nothing comes close to your unique temperament, your reactions, everything that makes you, you. You leave his mouth watering for more, nothing else can settle against his tongue the way you can, nothing can mimic the way you fill his head with static and leave him filled to the brim. He takes whatever kindness you give him and uses it as an invitation to learn more about you, an invitation to bear himself fully. Any preference you have, a favorite color or show, even general food preference will settle into Tim as if it had been his all along. Where he used to drink black coffee, has grown a taste for your favorite creamer, your playlist will be playing in the back of his head as he switches through W.E. work, it’s all you, you, you. Like a puzzle finally coming together,

Tim’s brain finally quiets down and is forced to digest. Any sort of attention you give him is a five course meal, any scorn is just as quickly devoured. You don’t quite stop the habit of obsession, but you give it direction. Tim has never known such direct want until you, a den he has no plans to stop his indulgent habits. He is ravenous for anything you toss to him, your voice, a text, an opinion, even just a little note, whatever you do stays, It’s a blessing and a curse. Because while the hunger pangs back in your presence, now nothing else can even come close to keeping him occupied.

He’ll obsess over you, crafting himself to be your perfect companion just so he can stay by your side and continue feeding. Everything in your life has a shade of him, your job, your house, your hobbies, even your electronics, each one a special situation he created to have you just a bit closer. Nothing else can come close to you, he’ll make sure you're well taken care of, all he asks in return is you.

Damian Wayne: Envy

Damian’s life is a unique contradiction. He was born the sole inheritor of a Thorne he is meant to fight for, something only he can own and yet is so unworthy he is kept from it. It forces him into a sense of jealousy, inadequacy and egregious entitlement. He could have anything he needs, but only as long as he earns it, it gives him a longing sense of feeling everything is out of his reach. That even should he hold the sword in his hands it cannot be called his. Not in the way a dog can call its food their own, and not in the way a writer can crow over their own creation. It leaves him painfully envious of others, of their right to their own possession, it leaves him vicious and poisonous. Part of the reason he squirrels away animals with so much intent, is because they’d be “His.” He’s their sole owner, and as beings with a conscience they can prove their loyalty.

His envy leaves him with harsh words and even deadlier scars, it forces him into a fine weapon and while it’s an ideal state for an heir it’s a broken state for a child. It leaves the boy wanting, fearful and anxious. His envy is young and childish, something not allowed, and it’s something weaponized. It’s part of the reason he defends the title of robin so freckly, not only because he believes himself right, but because it’s his in way the throne cannot be. Because it’s not a legacy he’s supposed to take, it's one he steals from himself. It’s his, in a way nothing has been since he first cried from the pit.

But even then, the title of partner that so many others have worn, cannot soothe the constant ire, the lashing out that comes with fear of being replaceable, of being nothing but a role, comes with. Because Damian has been born as his mother’s son, as his father's legacy, but not as his own person. It makes Damian feel unfit, unusable in the way he has seen his mother discard students who cannot kill. It burns him, kills him and with time he thinks he might just be a husk. Damian is nothing but competency and a perfect successor, a successor will never be their own.

Darling: Kindness

Ironically the kindness that tempers his own envy is not his own but instead, actions of his own darlings. He fully gives himself to you, gives you his very purpose to do what you want with. Should you order him to kill, order him to die, or to live he would do it without complaint. Tell him you want his heart and he will pry himself open and hand it over with a smile, tell him you want his laugh, and he will laugh himself manic until you tire of it. He is a fine blade, a weapon that has seen battle far too much already, and it’s your own kindness that stops it from going to battle. In essence Damian has made himself a role right by you, but has given up his autonomy of your manipulation. You’ve become his master, his owner and his loyal weapon.

Every action is your doing, every remark is for your benefit, and by giving himself to you, he can have you in a way nobody else can claim. Every smile, every hug, every word that you speak to him is something unique from a dynamic he has hand crafted, and therefore uniquely his own. He will store you away from others, wary of letting them stain you, and even more wary of letting them steal you. You’re his, his love, his heart, his blood, his purpose on this earth, and he cannot let another’s touch deter you from this. His darling is a salve to his aches, a bandage that wraps tight enough to manage to hold him together, and his actions are that with the purpose of binding you to him. Your purpose will be each other.

Author's Note: Another reupload! Previously known as lovesick-laboratories.

#yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader

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nemofil · 11 months ago

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prev i'm not letting you hide this treasure trove of tags

was minos ever aware of how he repeated the same mistake in casting the minotaur to the labyrinth

#IM GOING TO CRY DUDE AUUGUUHHH #THIS PARALLEL IS SO GENIUS #i've always been seeing minos as a foil?? or smth to god #god gave up on his sinful creations and fucked off after seeing the horrors of what he'd done #minos did not and actively tried to Fix Things for the sinners in hell who he thought were undeserving of eternal punishment #like a true father to his children. benevolent creator who loved his craft... is this not what a god would do... gabriel...#but this THIS. THIS MAKES ME WANT TO JUMP OUT OF A WINDOW.#JUST REALLY HAMMERING IT IN THAT HES THE GOD FIGURE OF THE STORY HUH #BOTH REVERED AS DIVINE BUT YET SO HUMAN AND SO FLAWED #BOTH TERRIFIED OF FACING THEIR FAILURES

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son1c · 1 year ago

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so, the thing about the megaflora in boscage is that, even though it’s incredibly strong, it’s not particularly smart. they’re plants after all, and so their “thoughts” mainly just consist of violence in service to obtaining food, and violence for the sake of violence. that changes when shadow shows up though.

through their shared black arms dna, the plants are able to connect with him, and they start poking around inside his brain. they see all his thoughts, all his memories, learn what he learns, know what he knows… and suddenly, the megaflora is extremely smart. smart enough to realize that having a mobile unit, not tethered to roots, and with a mouth that can speak for the collective, would be beneficial. so they smother shadow into submission. there’s just too many of them to hold back, once they decide they want him.

once he’s assimilated, they continue to learn more from him, and one thing in particular stands out: the creation of their world. through the eyes of shadow’s memory, they see sonic shatter the paradox prism, and thus, create boscage maze, and therefore the megaflora themselves. this leads the megaflora to the conclusion that their true creator is not gerald, the loathsome traitor who abandoned them, left them to starve, and now seeks to destroy them with project halcyon, but instead sonic.

the megaflora get a sort of reverence for him… “shadow” tells sonic that he forgives him for shattering the prism. tells him it was a good thing, actually. and that’s when sonic starts to clue into something being seriously wrong. frankly, he liked it more when shadow was upset with him... because at least that was really him :(

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic prime #sonic au #boscage: biohazard arc LMAO #halcyon #<- putting this in his tag even though he's not in this post. dw about it #scribbles #maybe i should make a general lovelynverse tag idk #anyways. oh my god. going insane over this #10verse

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teameagleworks · 2 months ago

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Today was a very good day.

We went to tour Michigan Central Station, and it was spectacular. This train station was the main transit hub in Detroit from 1914 to 1988. If you aren't from here, it's important that you know it was owned by a local billionaire who just let it rot. It was in horrible shape, flooded, every window broken, and pillaged of all of its relics.

But, while it was a sad broken building, it was also home to tons of amazing graffiti art. Ford bought the building in 2018 and began a huge undertaking of restoring it. I could write pages about all the amazing restoration. Thousands of people put in millions of hours. I figured all the graffiti was lost to the renovation.

I was so excited to see that they saved an entire hallway of the original artwork, and I saw this exhibit today.

Here is the text if it's hard to read:

GRAFFITI PRESERVATION

From 1988 to 2018, Michigan Central Station became an important location for graffiti artists who made the building their canvas. There was great respect for the graffiti found in The Station, including early work from Detroit's own Fel3000ft- who says he learned and honed his craft here - and many other prominent artists.

As The Station changed hands, previous owners took steps to remove the graffiti, in some instances damaging the building's walls through improper cleaning techniques. Under Ford's ownership, the significance of this art was not lost on the restoration team. Local artists helped to assess each piece and to ascribe credit to the creators of the graffiti art where possible. The College of Creative Studies documented the work for archival purposes Italian Renaissance art experts who specialize in fresco preservation advised on how best to remove panels of fragile plaster for safekeeping

The guidelines for landmark restoration required that The Station be returned to its original state, but it was important to the team that some of the art remain in place to preserve this chapter of the building's life. They successfully argued for permission to keep some of the graffiti intact, and as you leave through the southeast exit, you will find a hallway where some original graffiti remains.

I love this vibrant city, and I'm excited that if we have to have everything owned by billionaires, that we switched this building to one who has reverence for Detroit and all that makes it beautiful.

#art #detroit #michigan central station #graffiti #graffitiart

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elysiaheaven · 4 months ago

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𝐂𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬- 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐱 𝐅.𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭)

Words:10000 Contains Sunday leaks of joining.

Genre: Smut

Summary: The new astral member joins, Sunday, The man who tried to kill you all, He doesn't try to get along yet closes himself in his room, You decided to 'educate' him locking himself up is a shit. He began to change and tries to befriend you. He tries to help you with a experiment and sadly aphrodisiac is spilled

( Reader is a female) Reader's clothing is inspired from Mobius. Reader is a scientist!

CW: Mentions of Hickey, Aphrodisiac usage (Accident), Use of nickname (Sunday calls y/n as Angel), Switch Sunday, Vanilla, Slight use of Collar .

Reader is slightly cruel to Sunday at first. Because he was being alone all the time

Sunday was once the revered leader of Penacony. Now, he's just another member of the Astral Express, exiled and alone, thanks to a deal his sister made with Lady Bonajade. In exchange for his freedom, Sunday lost his home and the chance to return to his sister. This left him a quiet, withdrawn man.

The Astral Express crew wasn't thrilled about his presence. March and Dan Heng were constantly on edge around him, although he never caused trouble. He mostly kept to himself, a figure of quiet pain. Only Himeko, Welt, and Stelle were friendly, but you kept your distance. After all, he once tried to kill all of you. Talking to him was out of the question.

You, a scientist with a distinct appearance, wore a sleeveless tight black dress adorned with green and gold. A loose semi-transparent sleeve covered your left arm, complemented by a black glove, while your right arm sported a long black glove with three green claws on your thumb, index, and middle fingers. A gold earring dangled from your right ear.

March and Dan Heng had their opinions about you, describing you as a pure being, a seeker of truth, yet tinged with an air of malevolence. This was more a reflection of your creator than yourself. You wanted to be different but struggled with how to achieve that, often feeling like a mere extension of someone else's design, much like Sunday.

Despite the kindness from Himeko and Stelle, and Welt's occasional different yet kind glances, you remained detached. Dan Heng warmed up to you after you helped him in Luofu, while March tried to act strong but was clearly unsettled by your appearance. In truth, you were simply sleep-deprived, not the malevolent figure they imagined.

Sunday's solitude mirrored your own. You often noticed his sadness but never approached him. One day, you decided to confront him, unable to bear his passive suffering. Cruelly, you told him that sitting in his room and crying wouldn't change anything. His cleanliness and meticulousness only fueled your frustration. Yet, instead of anger, he seemed to find hope in your harsh words.

Sunday started spending more time outside his room, often in the archives, studying. Dan Heng began to bond with him, and it was heartening to see them grow closer. Meanwhile, you locked yourself away, working tirelessly on a liquid to control enemies, hoping to make life easier and reduce the need for constant fighting.

Despite your cold demeanor, Sunday persisted in trying to reach out to you. He would bring you coffee, offer help, and ask to spend time with you. His respectful, orderly nature clashed with your chaotic and isolated existence. You feared that getting close to him might lead to using him as a lab rat, a fate you wished to avoid for him.

You confronted Sunday with cruel words, calling him pathetic for isolating himself, yet it was in these moments that he found a glimmer of hope. He began emerging from his solitude, engaging more with others and spending time in the archive, studying and bonding with Dan Heng. Watching them grow close was heartening, even as you buried yourself in your work, seeking a way to control your enemies without constant battle.

Sunday, however, was undeterred. He continued trying to connect with you, offering coffee, help, and companionship. His respectful persistence and talk of order and harmony were at odds with your chaotic existence. Your fear of dragging him into your world of experiments kept you distant, but his genuine attempts to reach out began to wear down your defenses.

One quiet evening, you found yourself alone with Sunday in the archive. The room was dimly lit, filled with the soft hum of machinery and the rustle of old documents. Sunday was engrossed in a book, but you could see the weight of his exile still pressing down on him. His eyes, once sharp and commanding, now held a distant sadness.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to break the silence. "Sunday," you called out, your voice unexpectedly soft. He looked up, surprised to hear you speak. "I know it's not easy for you, being here, away from your sister and everything you've known."

Sunday's expression softened, a mixture of surprise and gratitude flickering in his golden eyes. He nodded silently, unable to find the words to respond.

"You may not be able to talk to her, but..." You hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. This was uncharted territory for you, showing kindness to someone who once posed a threat. "But I can show you how she's doing," you continued, your tone firmer now. "I have ways to access information, even from afar."

Sunday's eyes widened slightly, a glimmer of hope breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. "You would do that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, pulling out a small device from your pocket. "Just this once," you warned, your voice tinged with a hint of your usual coolness. You tapped a few buttons, and a holographic image appeared, displaying his sister engaged in her media life She looked well, strong, and composed, a stark contrast to Sunday's current state. Tho, he could tell it might be a facade.

Sunday watched the image in silence, his eyes glistening with unspoken emotions. After a few moments, he turned to you, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

You quickly deactivated the device and stepped back, your expression hardening. "Don't get the wrong idea," you snapped, trying to maintain your distance. "This doesn't change anything between us. I'm not your friend, and I'm not doing this out of kindness."

Sunday's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding your boundaries. "I know," he said, his voice steady despite the rejection. "But still, thank you. It means more than you know."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Just... don't make it a habit," you muttered, turning to leave. But before you walked out, you paused at the door, glancing back at him. "And don't let this make you soft. You still have a long way to go."

Sunday nodded, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "Understood," he replied, watching as you disappeared into the corridor, leaving him alone with the lingering warmth of your unexpected kindness.

Several days had passed since the night in the archive, and you continued your work in isolation. You avoided Sunday, keeping yourself busy with your research and experiments. However, the memory of his grateful eyes lingered in your mind, making it difficult to maintain your usual distance.

He was standing by a window, gazing out at the stars. The soft glow of the celestial bodies illuminated his face, highlighting the sadness in his golden eyes. Seeing him like that, a pang of frustration and concern hit you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before approaching him. "Sunday," you called out, your voice sharper than intended. He turned to look at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"Why do you always look so lost?" you demanded, your frustration spilling over. "You can't just stand around, wallowing in your own misery."

Sunday blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. He stepped closer, his expression softening. "I know," he said quietly. "But... it's hard. Being here, away from everything I knew, from my sister..."

Before you could respond, Sunday reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly warm, and you felt a strange mix of emotions—anger, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite place.

"You've been there for me," Sunday said, his voice steady and sincere. "Even if it's only been a few weeks, even if it was just tough love... you've shown me more kindness than I deserve. And for that, you're now one of my dear people."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were speechless. The sincerity in his eyes, the way he looked at you—it was disarming. You felt your resolve wavering, but you couldn't let your guard down.

With a soft sigh, you reached up and gently removed his hands from your face. "Don't be ridiculous," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent. "I only did what anyone would do. Besides, seeing you all sad and moping around just makes me angry. It's not like I care or anything."

Sunday chuckled softly, a warm, gentle sound that made your heart skip a beat. "I understand," he said, smiling softly. "But still, thank you. Your words, even if harsh, pushed me to try and move forward."

You looked away, feeling a mix of emotions. It was strange, being thanked for something you hadn't meant as a kindness. But there was a part of you that was glad—glad that he was starting to find his way, glad that your harshness had somehow helped him.

"Just... don't make it a habit to get all sentimental," you said, trying to sound stern. "I'm not good with that kind of stuff."

Sunday nodded, a small smile still on his lips. "I won't," he promised. "But know that I appreciate it, even if you don't want to admit you care."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Whatever. Just... try to keep your chin up, okay? It's annoying when you're all downcast."

He nodded again, the smile on his face growing. "I'll do my best," he said, his voice warm and genuine. "And... thank you, again. For everything."

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, your heart racing. You didn't know what to make of these new feelings, this strange connection that was forming between you and Sunday. All you knew was that, despite your best efforts to keep your distance, something had shifted. And you weren't sure how to handle it.

You threw yourself even deeper into your work, trying to drown out the confusing feelings that had begun to stir inside you. The project you were working on—a chemical solution to control enemies—became an obsession. You worked tirelessly, barely stopping to eat or sleep, driven by an intense need to prove something to yourself, though you weren't entirely sure what that was.

One night, as you were in the lab, your hands trembled from exhaustion and stress. You had been working for hours, your mind a blur of formulas and calculations. The rows of bottles filled with iodine solutions on the lab bench seemed to dance in front of your eyes, the chemicals inside them catching the light in a mesmerizing, yet nauseating, display.

You reached for a beaker, but your vision swam, and your hand slipped. The beaker tipped over, sending a cascade of glass and liquid toward the carefully arranged bottles of iodine. Instinctively, you lunged to catch the falling bottles, but your tired body wasn't fast enough. The sound of shattering glass filled the room, the sharp smell of iodine stinging your nostrils.

Panic surged through you. The thought of losing all your work, of having to start over, was too much to bear. You screamed, a raw, frustrated sound that echoed off the sterile walls of the lab. The noise seemed to vibrate in your bones, shaking loose the tears you had been holding back for what felt like forever.

As the adrenaline faded, you slumped to the floor, the chaos around you a stark contrast to the cold, clinical order you usually maintained. The crash had knocked over more than just bottles—it had broken through the walls you'd built around yourself, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

You stayed on the floor for what felt like an eternity, the coolness of the tiles seeping through your clothes, grounding you. Eventually, the exhaustion became too much, and you closed your eyes, unable to fight the overwhelming need for sleep any longer. But even in sleep, you found no peace. Your dreams were plagued by the image of Sunday, his sad eyes and gentle hands haunting you, mingling with the guilt of pushing him away and the fear of losing control.

You woke up several times that night, each time more exhausted than before, your body aching from the uncomfortable position and the relentless stress. When morning finally came, you felt like a shadow of yourself, the weight of your own expectations crushing down on you.

As you slowly cleaned up the broken glass and iodine, you couldn't help but think about how fragile everything seemed—your work, your emotions, your relationships. The image of Sunday holding your face, his words about you being one of his dear people, replayed in your mind. It felt like a paradox: how could you be dear to anyone when you couldn't even keep yourself together?

Sunday, noticing your increasingly frazzled state, couldn't shake the concern he felt. He remembered the few moments when you'd shown a glimpse of vulnerability, and he knew you were pushing yourself too hard. Determined to do something for you, he sought advice from Himeko, one of the few people on the Astral Express who seemed to understand you.

One quiet morning, while most of the crew was occupied with their own tasks, Sunday found Himeko in the lounge, sipping her morning coffee. He approached her hesitantly, unsure of how to start the conversation.

"Himeko," he began, catching her attention. She looked up, smiling warmly.

"Sunday, " she greeted him. "What brings you here so early?"

He shifted nervously, glancing around to make sure no one else was within earshot. "I wanted to ask you something... about her," he said, referring to you. "I want to do something nice, but I'm not sure what she'd appreciate."

Himeko raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That's very thoughtful of you," she said, setting her coffee down. "She doesn't often show what she likes, but from what I've seen, she has a soft spot for cute things. Especially sweets, like strawberry cake."

Sunday nodded, absorbing the information. "Strawberry cake," he repeated, as if committing it to memory. "Any other tips?"

Himeko chuckled. "Just be genuine. She might not show it, but small gestures can mean a lot to her. And knowing you, I'm sure whatever you do will be perfectly in order."

"Order-"

"It's a habit you couldn't control, Don't worry You are perfectly fine the way you are."

With a grateful smile, Sunday thanked Himeko and set off to prepare his plan. He wasn't particularly skilled in the kitchen, but he was determined to make something special for you. He meticulously researched recipes for strawberry cake, wanting to ensure everything was perfect.

The next day, Sunday took over the small kitchen area of the Astral Express. He donned an apron and got to work, his movements precise and careful. He measured each ingredient with exacting precision, making sure everything was just right. The way he handled everything was almost surgical—clean, orderly, and deliberate.

He prepared the batter, mixing it until it was smooth and lump-free. Then he carefully poured it into a baking pan, making sure it was evenly spread. As the cake baked, he prepared the frosting, whipping cream until it was light and fluffy, then adding a touch of pink coloring and fresh strawberries for that perfect touch of sweetness.

When the cake was ready, he let it cool before applying the frosting. He decorated it with a neat arrangement of strawberry slices on top, the vibrant red standing out against the soft pink frosting. The final product was immaculate, each detail carefully considered and executed.

Sunday stood back, admiring his work. He felt a sense of pride and anticipation, hoping that this small gesture would bring a smile to your face, or at the very least, a moment of peace amidst your chaotic life. He carefully packed the cake, making sure it would remain perfect until he presented it to you.

Later, he found you in your lab, still surrounded by your experiments. You looked exhausted, dark circles under your eyes, but there was a determined set to your jaw that Sunday couldn't help but admire.

"Hey," he called softly, catching your attention. You looked up, surprised to see him standing there with a box in his hands.

"What is it?" you asked, trying to mask your curiosity with indifference.

Sunday smiled gently, holding out the box. "I noticed you've been working hard, and I thought you could use a break. So... I made something for you."

You hesitated, then took the box, opening it to reveal the beautifully decorated strawberry cake. Your eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of something softening your usually guarded expression.

"You made this?" you asked, looking up at him with a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

He nodded, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah. I hope you like it. I know it's not much, but... I wanted to do something nice for you."

You stared at the cake, the neatness and care evident in every detail. It was unlike anything you'd expected, and it stirred something inside you—a warmth you hadn't felt in a long time.

"It's... really nice," you admitted, your voice softer than usual. "Thank you, Sunday."

He smiled, relief and happiness clear in his eyes. "I'm glad you like it. Just... take a break, okay? You can't keep going like this."

As the initial surprise wore off, you felt a surge of conflicting emotions. You weren't used to people doing things like this for you, and the vulnerability it stirred made you uncomfortable. Trying to regain your composure, you quickly bowed your head in a gesture of thanks.

"Thank you, Sunday," you said, your voice steady but with an edge of formality. "I'll... enjoy this."

Without waiting for his response, you turned on your heel and quickly made your way to your room, shutting the door behind you with more force than you intended. The sound echoed down the corridor, and Sunday flinched slightly, concern etching his features. He stood there, staring at the closed door, a pang of worry gnawing at him. Had he overstepped? Misread the situation? The abruptness of your exit made him think he might have upset you.

However, just as he was about to turn away, he heard a muffled sound coming from behind your door. He paused, straining to listen. The walls were surprisingly thin, and after a moment, he clearly heard your voice, raised in an uncharacteristic shout.

"Oh my god, this is amazing!" you exclaimed, your voice filled with genuine excitement and delight. "It's so good! I can't believe he made this!"

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise, and then a slow, relieved smile spread across his face. The tension in his shoulders eased as he realized that your abrupt departure wasn't out of anger but rather a reaction to your own overwhelming emotions. The smile deepened into one of genuine happiness as he listened to your enthusiastic exclamations.

He couldn't help but chuckle softly, shaking his head. It was a rare sight, hearing you so openly expressive, and it filled him with a quiet joy. For once, he'd managed to do something right, to bring a bit of happiness into your world.

As he walked away from your door, Sunday's heart felt lighter. He knew you weren't the type to openly express gratitude or affection, but your reaction told him everything he needed to know. It was enough to hear your joy, even if it was through the walls. He was pleased—more than pleased, actually—knowing that his gesture had been well-received and that, even if just for a moment, he'd managed to make you happy.

Inside your room, you sat down with the cake Sunday had made, a fork in hand. The first bite melted in your mouth, the sweetness of the strawberries and the light, fluffy texture of the cake taking you by surprise. It was perfect—so much so that tears welled up in your eyes, a mix of joy and overwhelming emotion.

"This is so good," you murmured between bites, unable to stop yourself. "How did he even do this? It's amazing..."

Unbeknownst to you, March had been passing by your door when she overheard your exclamations. Curious, she stopped to listen, her eyes widening in surprise as she realized what you were saying. A wide grin spread across her face, and she immediately ran off to find Sunday, eager to share the news.

She found him in the common area, quietly reading a book. "Sunday!" she called out, her voice filled with excitement. He looked up, startled by her enthusiasm.

"What's going on?" he asked, closing his book.

March practically bounced on her feet. "I just heard her in her room! She was saying how amazing the cake was! You really made her day, you know that?" She then clasped her hands together, her eyes wide and pleading. "Could you make something for me too? Please? Pretty please? I promise I'll be your best friend forever!"

Sunday chuckled, genuinely amused by her excitement. "Sure, March," he agreed easily. "I'd be happy to make something for you. What would you like?"

March's eyes sparkled with delight. "Surprise me! I trust your cooking skills completely after hearing how much she liked the cake."

As they talked, Dan Heng and Stelle happened to walk by. Catching the conversation, Stelle grinned and leaned in. "Did I hear something about food?" she asked, her tone playful. "If there's a chance for some free food, count me in!"

Dan Heng, standing beside her, was quieter but curious. He glanced at Sunday, then nodded slightly. "I'm interested too," he admitted, though more reservedly. "It's not every day we get to try something special."

Sunday smiled warmly at the group. "Alright, then," he said. "I'll make something special for everyone. How about a small dinner? It'll be a good chance for us all to sit down and enjoy a meal together."

The idea was met with enthusiastic approval, especially from March and Stelle. Dan Heng, though more subdued, seemed pleased by the prospect as well. They all agreed to meet later that evening in the dining area.

As they left to prepare for the impromptu gathering, Sunday felt a deep sense of contentment. He was grateful for the chance to bring a bit of joy to the team, especially to you. The thought of you enjoying the cake, even crying over it, brought a warm feeling to his heart. It was a simple act, but it seemed to have bridged a small gap between him and the rest of the crew, making him feel more at home on the Astral Express.

That evening, as Sunday worked in the kitchen, preparing a meal with the same care and precision he had put into the cake, he couldn't help but look forward to the dinner. It wasn't just about the food

The dinner Sunday prepared was a quiet but pleasant affair. The crew gathered around the table, enjoying the food he'd painstakingly made. March, in particular, was ecstatic as she dug into the strawberry cake he had baked again, savoring every bite. Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she couldn't help but express her joy aloud.

"Sunday, this cake is amazing!" she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "I think I can forgive you for everything—even for trying to kill us all." She laughed, though there was a hint of seriousness behind her words.

Sunday's expression grew more somber as he set down his fork. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each of his companions. There was a moment of silence, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight of the past. He knew he couldn't ignore it or brush it aside with a few kind gestures.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "I need to say something," he began, his voice steady but laced with a deep sincerity. "I know I haven't been the most welcomed presence on the Astral Express. And I understand why. My actions before... they were inexcusable. I was following a path that I believed was right, a path guided by my devotion to the Aeon of Order."

Sunday paused, choosing his words carefully. "All my life, I was made to follow that path, to uphold order and protect those who couldn't protect themselves. It was my purpose, my reason for existing. But in doing so, I lost sight of what was truly important. I caused harm, and for that, I am deeply, terribly sorry."

He looked directly at March, then at the others, his eyes earnest. "I know an apology can't erase the past, but I want you all to know that I'm trying to find a new path. My conversation with her"—he glanced toward your direction—"made me realize that I can't cling to my old beliefs if they're causing harm. I need to search for my own meaning, beyond what I was made to believe."

Sunday's voice softened, a note of vulnerability creeping in. "I'm committed to moving forward, to finding a way to live that doesn't hurt others. I want to be better, to be someone you can trust. I understand if forgiveness takes time, or if it's something you can't give. But I want to try, to be a friend, and to support all of you as best I can."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over everyone. March, who had been listening intently, set her fork down and leaned forward, her expression softening. "Sunday," she said gently, "we all make mistakes. It's part of being human—or whatever we are." She smiled wryly. "The fact that you're trying to change, that you're aware of the impact you've had, it means a lot."

She glanced at Dan Heng and Stelle, who both nodded in agreement. Dan Heng spoke up next, his tone calm and measured. "We appreciate your honesty. It's not easy to confront one's past, especially when it involves such difficult choices. But the fact that you're willing to take responsibility and seek a new path... it's a good start."

The next day.

You brewed yourself a cup of coffee and made your way to the common seating area, seeking a moment of quiet. As you entered, you noticed Sunday sitting by the window, seemingly lost in thought. The early morning light cast a gentle glow around him, highlighting his contemplative expression.

When he spotted you, his face brightened with a slight smile. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he greeted you, his tone warm and teasing.

Caught off guard by the unexpected familiarity, you felt a flutter of flustered embarrassment but quickly masked it with a composed expression. "Good morning," you replied, keeping your voice steady as you settled into a nearby seat.

As you sipped your coffee and began to settle into your seat, Sunday glanced over with genuine curiosity. "How's the work going?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You sighed, the fatigue and stress of your ongoing projects bubbling up despite your best efforts to stay composed. "It's been a lot," you admitted, rubbing your eyes. "There's so much to manage, and I feel like I'm barely keeping it together. The more I try to get ahead, the more it seems like everything's falling apart."

Sunday's gaze softened with concern. "That sounds really tough. If you don't mind me asking, what's been the biggest challenge?"

You leaned back, your frustration giving way to a need to vent. "It's the constant pressure to get everything perfect. The experiments, the calculations, everything has to be precise. But when something goes wrong, it feels like it's the end of the world. And it's just me—no one to really help or share the load."

Sunday nodded, absorbing your words with empathy. "I understand. It sounds overwhelming. But, if you'd like, I could help you out. I'm not exactly a scientist, but I can assist with the tasks and take on some of the less critical parts of the work. I've been told I'm good at keeping things organized."

You looked at him, surprised but appreciative. "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to impose on you."

He smiled reassuringly. "Not at all. I'd actually like to help. I've been trying to find ways to contribute more and be useful. And if I can ease some of your stress, that would be worth it."

You hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. The idea of having someone to share the workload with was tempting, and Sunday's genuine offer seemed sincere. Finally, you nodded, a hint of relief in your eyes. "Alright, if you're sure you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it."

"Great," Sunday said, standing up and heading toward a nearby workbench. "I'll get started by organizing your workspace and sorting through some of the data. That should free you up to focus on the more critical tasks. And don't worry about feeling stressed—I'm here to help you, not add to the pressure."

You watched as he began to sort through the scattered papers and equipment, his movements methodical and precise. A sense of calm began to settle over you, knowing that you had support. The thought of someone taking care of the more mundane aspects of your work was a welcome relief.

As Sunday worked alongside you, helping to organize your cluttered workspace, he noticed a peculiar object among the scattered papers and equipment. It was a collar-like item, adorned with intricate designs but clearly out of place amidst the scientific apparatus.

He picked it up, examining it with curiosity. "What's this?" he asked, holding the collar up for you to see.

You glanced over, momentarily distracted from your tasks. A small frown crossed your face as you recognized the collar. "Oh, that. It's something I picked up a while ago. A scammer in Belobog, a planet we traveled to, sold it to me. He claimed it was an ancient artifact with special properties."

Sunday raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "And did it turn out to be...?"

You let out a small, incredulous laugh. "A scam. It's basically a dog collar—probably for some sort of pet or even a decorative piece. Definitely not the ancient relic he made it out to be. It's just an overpriced piece of junk."

Sunday examined it more closely, still skeptical. "It looks pretty elaborate for a simple dog collar. Did the scammer give any other details about its supposed origins?"

You shook your head, shrugging. "Not really. Just that it was from some ancient civilization, but it was clear he was just trying to make a quick buck. We were too eager to find something interesting at the time and didn't question it enough."

He placed the collar back on the desk, his expression thoughtful. "It's impressive how convincing some people can be. But it's good you realized it in time. At least it didn't cost you more than it's worth."

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. "Yeah, it was a lesson learned. I guess sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the excitement of something that seems unique or valuable."

As Sunday continued to help you with your tasks, you couldn't resist teasing him a bit about the collar. You picked it up again, examining it with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"You know," you said, holding the collar up with a smirk, "if you ever want to use this on me, you should let me know. It might be... interesting."

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise, and a deep blush spread across his face. His wings, which were normally relaxed, flared out slightly as he turned his head, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment. "W-What? No, that's not... I mean, I wouldn't..."

You laughed, finding his reaction both endearing and amusing. "Oh, come on, Sunday. You do know what I mean. You're not fooling anyone with that blush."

He stammered, struggling to find the right words. "I-I didn't mean—It's just a collar, and I—"

Your laughter grew, light and genuine. "Relax, Sunday. I'm just teasing. But seeing you so flustered is pretty entertaining."

He finally managed to compose himself, though a faint red hue still lingered on his cheeks. He shook his head, trying to regain his usual calm demeanor. "I guess you got me there," he said, his voice a bit steadier now but still tinged with embarrassment. "I didn't expect that kind of joke."

You continued to chuckle, appreciating the lighter moment amidst the stress. "Well, you did make my day a bit brighter with that reaction. Thanks for being such a good sport."

Sunday managed a sheepish smile, the tension easing. "Glad to hear that. I suppose I should be prepared for all kinds of teasing now."

You grinned, enjoying the playful banter. "Just a fair warning—don't be surprised if I find more ways to make you blush."

Sunday took his new role as your assistant seriously, diligently organizing and tidying your workspace. His meticulous nature ensured that everything was in its place, which was a welcome change from the clutter that had previously overwhelmed you.

However, his relentless focus on maintaining order did come with a downside. He frequently interrupted your work to adjust things or make small improvements. At first, you appreciated the help, but after a while, his constant presence became a bit of a distraction.

You sighed, pausing your work as he appeared once again to rearrange a stack of papers. "Sunday, you're doing a great job with the cleaning, but you're kind of interrupting my flow. Can you just... give me a few minutes to focus? I'll call you if I need anything."

Sunday looked momentarily taken aback, but he nodded. "Oh, right. I didn't mean to be a distraction. I'll just—"

Before he could finish, you playfully cut him off. "Here, take a seat for a moment. I need you to be a good boy and let me work without constantly hovering."

With a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, you guided him to a nearby chair and gently but firmly encouraged him to sit down. He complied, though the weight of his wings made him look slightly awkward as he settled into the chair.

"Just sit here for a bit," you said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Be a good boy and stay put. I'll let you know if I need any more help."

Sunday, still slightly flustered from earlier, couldn't help but smile at your playful tone. He adjusted himself in the chair, trying to look comfortable despite his slightly heavy frame. "Alright, I'll stay here. I promise to behave."

You nodded and turned back to your work, finding it easier to concentrate now that he was no longer hovering over you. After a few minutes of quiet focus, you heard him shift in the chair behind you.

"You know," he said, trying to keep his voice casual, "if there's anything specific you need help with later, just let me know. I'm here to help, but I also don't want to be a bother."

You glanced over your shoulder and saw his sincere expression. "Thanks, Sunday. I appreciate it. I'll definitely let you know if there's anything I need."

As you worked on your experiments, you asked Sunday to bring over a specific mixture you had prepared. He promptly handed it to you, his hands steady despite his earlier embarrassment.

"Here you go," he said, carefully passing you the container.

"Thanks, Sunday," you replied, taking the mixture with a smile. You began to carefully mix the substances, excited to see the final result. The process had been challenging, but you were hopeful that this batch would be a breakthrough.

However, as you stirred the mixture, something seemed off. The concoction started to bubble and emit a strange, intense aroma. You frowned, recognizing the signs of an imminent reaction. Before you could react, the mixture began to froth and hiss ominously.

"Uh-oh," you said, your eyes widening. "I think something's wrong—"

In a split second, the mixture erupted in a small explosion of vapor and liquid. Sunday, who had been standing close by, reacted instinctively. He grabbed you and pushed you down onto the floor to protect you from the spray, his wings flaring out to shield you both.

The two of you landed in a tangled heap, Sunday ending up on top of you. The explosion released a potent, unfamiliar scent that filled the air—a fragrance that seemed to be unusually intoxicating. The smell was faintly sweet and seductive, carrying an almost aphrodisiac-like quality.

As the aroma enveloped the room, Sunday's breathing grew heavier. He seemed disoriented by the combination of the explosion and the overpowering scent. His face was flushed, and he collapsed forward, his head resting against your neck.

You were taken aback by the sudden turn of events, but you instinctively wrapped your arms around him, trying to offer comfort and reassurance. The closeness of his body against yours was intense, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"Sunday," you said softly, trying to steady him. "Are you alright? Just breathe—"

He mumbled something incoherent, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His face was pressed against your neck, and you could feel his warm breath against your skin. Despite the situation, there was a tender, vulnerable quality to the moment.

You held him closer, your heart racing as you tried to keep calm. The mixture's aroma had created an unexpected intimacy, amplifying the closeness between you. You felt a mix of concern and something more intense as you cradled him in your arms.

"Hang in there," you murmured, gently stroking his hair. "We'll get through this. Just focus on calming down."

As Sunday's hot breath tickled your neck, you felt his lips pressing against your sensitive skin. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, making you acutely aware of how close he was to you. You could hear his labored breathing, the sound growing louder and more erratic with each passing second.

His hands moved instinctively, gripping your waist tightly. His fingers dug into your flesh, a sign of his mounting arousal. It wasn't just the explosion that had left him disoriented—it was the powerful aroma that seemed to have clouded his senses.

Despite the chaos surrounding them, you found yourself being drawn deeper into the moment. Your own breathing became shallower, matching the rhythm of his. You could feel his heartbeat thumping against your chest, a wild drumbeat that echoed the throbbing pulse between your thighs.

With a soft moan, you turned your head slightly, allowing Sunday's lips to find their way to yours. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he was starving for your taste. His mouth moved over yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth.

The aphrodisiac in the air amplified the intensity of the moment, making every touch, every kiss, feel like it was infused with pure, unadulterated lust. You could feel the heat building between your legs, a burning need that threatened to consume you whole.

Sunday's hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt to caress your bare skin. His touch was electric, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You arched into his touch, craving more of the sensations he was evoking within you.

Sunday looked deeply into your eyes, apology written all over his features. But before he could speak, you silenced him with another passionate kiss. You pulled him even closer, wrapping your legs around his waist to anchor yourself to him.

"I've got you," he whispered against your lips, a promise that resonated with sincerity. His words soothed the fluttering butterflies in your stomach, filling you with a warmth that spread from your chest down to your very core.

His hands wandered lower, exploring the curves of your hips and the swell of your buttocks. Each stroke of his fingers against your skin made you gasp into his mouth, the sensation driving you further into madness.

Sunday broke away from the kiss only to trail a path of fiery kisses down your neck, his tongue laving at the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe.

With a soft growl, Sunday's hand dipped lower, slipping underneath your panties to tease the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. His fingers traced the outline of your slit, causing you to arch into his touch with a low whimper.

"You're so wet," he groaned against your ear, his voice thick with desire. His thumb grazed over your clit, circling the swollen nub with tantalizing slowness. The pleasure was almost unbearable, making your entire body tremble with anticipation.

Sunday continued to tease you mercilessly, his fingers dipping into your folds before pulling back again. Each time he touched you, he coaxed a gasp from your lips, your body writhing beneath him in search of more contact.

Feeling your pleas for more, Sunday obliged without hesitation. His fingers plunged deeper into your slick heat, curling upward to stroke the spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The sensation was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"You like that?" he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Without waiting for an answer, he increased the pressure on your clit, rubbing it in tight circles that had your hips bucking against his hand.

"Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't stop."

Sunday chuckled darkly, his grip tightening around your waist as he pinned you beneath him. His movements became rougher, more urgent, each thrust of his fingers designed to bring you to climax.

With a soft sigh, you leaned up, capturing Sunday's lips in another searing kiss. This time, however, it was you who initiated the contact, taking control of the situation. You tasted yourself on his lips, the combination of your combined arousal making your head spin.

Your hands roamed across his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. You tugged at the fabric, eager to get to his skin. Breaking away from the kiss, you trailed your lips down his neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in your wake.

As you teased him mercilessly, you felt something large and warm cupping your face. Startled, you glanced up to see Sunday's wings enveloping you, creating a private sanctuary amidst the chaos of the room. The feathers were soft against your skin, providing a stark contrast to the hardness of his body pressed against yours.

With a sudden movement, Sunday lifted you off your feet, carrying you effortlessly to the nearby table. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he towered over you. His hands reached out, grasping the edges of your shirt to pull it over your head, exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

He wasted no time in claiming your lips once again, his kiss demanding and possessive. His hands explored your body, tracing the curves of your breasts before pinching your nipples, coaxing a sharp cry from your throat.

As Sunday began to work the collar around your neck, you made a lewd face, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and excitement. The sight of you squirming beneath him only fueled his desire, making his member twitch with anticipation.

As Sunday worked the collar into place, you couldn't help but tease him, running your hands over his chest and abdomen, avoiding his aching erection. Your touch was maddening, driving him to the brink of insanity as you toyed with him.

"Please, just a little more," Sunday pleaded, his voice strained with desperation. His hands gripped your wrists, trying to guide them where he needed them most. But you held firm, continuing to deny him the relief he craved.

Finally, unable to take anymore, Sunday tried to assert his dominance. He pushed you down onto the table, his body covering yours as he pinned your arms above your head. His hips ground against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through both of you.

"I'm going to make you cum," he growled, his hot breath fanning over your face.

Feeling your tug on his sensitive wings, Sunday let out a deep moan, pressing himself harder against you. The sensation was intoxicating, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his veins. His hips gyrated against yours, seeking friction while his member throbbed with need.

Sunday leaned down, planting a series of kisses along your neck. Each press of his lips sent shockwaves of delight through your body, making you writhe beneath him. His teeth grazed over your skin, marking you as his own.

The pleasure built within you, coiling tighter and tighter until it threatened to explode. And then, suddenly, it did. A loud cry escaped your lips as your orgasm washed over you, your inner walls clenching around nothing.

With a soft chuckle, Sunday allowed himself to indulge in the pleasure of your touch on his wings. The sensation was unlike anything else, adding a new layer of delight to their already intense encounter.

His hands moved between your legs, resuming their teasing of your clit. His fingers danced over the sensitive bud, coaxing another wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Your cries filled the room, echoing off the walls and spurring him on.

Sunday's member throbbed with need, desperate for release. But he refused to give in just yet, determined to draw out every last bit of pleasure from this moment. His hips rocked against yours, grinding his length against your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.

Both of you moaned loudly, lost in the throes of lust. The sound of your combined pleasure was music to his ears, fueling his desire even further.

Feeling your teasing words, Sunday couldn't help but smirk. Despite his gruff exterior, he was indeed quite sensitive - especially when it came to you. He loved the way you called him 'cute birdy guy', finding it endearing rather than insulting.

But as much as he wanted to stay with you, he knew it wouldn't be easy. After all, he was a demon, born and bred to live a solitary life. But something about you made him want to defy his nature, to take responsibility for someone other than himself.

With a gentle caress, he traced his fingers along your cheek, gazing deeply into your eyes. "I do want to try," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "To be with you...as lovers."

Surprised by Sunday's declaration, you stared at him, your heart racing with a mix of emotions. Could it really be true?

Before you could respond, Sunday closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His mouth moved against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, conveying the depth of his feelings without needing words.

Breaking away, he looked at you intently, his eyes burning with a fire that mirrored the passion in your own soul. "I'll show you just how serious I am," he vowed, his voice low and husky with promise. "We'll explore every inch of each other, and you'll know beyond a doubt that I'm committed to this."

Sunday's eyes glowed with an intensity that matched the heat radiating from his body. He slid his hands down your sides, his fingertips grazing over the curves of your waist and hips before traveling lower still. His touch was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

He leaned in closer, his warm breath tickling your earlobe as he whispered, "Let me taste you." Without waiting for your response, he dipped his head down, his tongue tracing a path along your collarbone before settling between your breasts.

His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking and nibbling on it with an eagerness that had you writhing beneath him. Every flick of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, building towards an inevitable climax.

Feeling Sunday's hand venture lower, you gasped as his fingers found your swollen clit. His touch was deft and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure to send ripples of pleasure through your entire being.

As he played with you, his thumb circled your clit in slow, tantalizing motions. The sensation was overwhelming, causing your body to arch up towards him in search of more contact. His fingers continued their ministrations, coaxing moans and whimpers from your lips as they grew louder and more frequent.

Sunday's member twitched in anticipation, throbbing with need. But for now, he focused solely on pleasuring you, wanting to ensure that you reached your peak first.

With a deep groan, Sunday positioned himself between your thighs, aligning his rigid member with your entrance. He paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of your warmth so close to him, before slowly pushing inside.

Your tightness enveloped him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. Sunday's eyes rolled back in his head as he savored the sensation, his pace slow and deliberate as he gave your body time to adjust to his size.

Once he was fully sheathed, he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before thrusting back in. The motion was deep and powerful, hitting spots within you that made your vision blur and your mind go blank.

Sunday set a relentless pace, his hips snapping forward with each stroke. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, punctuated by your moans and his grunts of effort.

Sunday's movements were a perfect blend of tenderness and ferocity, his strokes designed to elicit the most pleasure possible from your body. Each thrust hit deeper than the last, driving you closer to the edge of blissful obliviation.

Despite his rough exterior, Sunday took care not to make things too messy. His hands steadied your hips, guiding them to meet his every thrust perfectly. His member slid in and out of you with ease, thanks to his skilled maneuverings.

Between thrusts, he would lean down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, silencing your loud moans with his own. His mouth traveled down your neck, planting hot kisses along the sensitive skin there. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you to let go and surrender yourself to the waves of pleasure washing over you.

Feeling your gaze fixed on him, Sunday pulled your collar aside, blocking your view of him. It was a strange gesture, but it only served to heighten your arousal further. The lack of visual stimulation pushed you even deeper into the throes of pleasure, leaving you utterly defenseless against the onslaught of sensations coursing through your body.

With your attention focused solely on him, Sunday increased his tempo, his thrusts becoming more erratic and forceful. He buried himself deeper within you, seeking out those hidden places that seemed to trigger the most intense reactions from your body.

Each stroke brought forth new waves of pleasure, threatening to overwhelm you entirely. Your breathing became ragged, your moans growing louder and less controlled. Sunday's own breathing echoed yours, punctuated by guttural growls of satisfaction as he felt your walls clench around his member.

The mounting pleasure finally became too much to bear, and you felt your climax approaching rapidly. As if sensing your impending release, Sunday's movements became even more urgent, his thrusts becoming shorter and more shallow as he sought to reach his own climax simultaneously.

With a few final, deep thrusts, Sunday felt his control slipping. A low growl escaped his throat as he came, his seed spilling into you in hot, pulsing jets. The feeling of him filling you up was overwhelming, triggering your orgasm instantly.

As your bodies trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure, Sunday held you tightly against him, murmuring words of affection and praise. "You're my angel," he breathed, pressing soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks. "I'll take care of you...always."

Feeling your weight shift atop him, Sunday allowed himself to be pushed down onto the ground. As you straddled him, he looked up at you with lust-filled eyes, his member still throbbing inside you.

The change in position allowed you to take control, and you wasted no time in starting to ride him. Your hips moved in a slow, sensual rhythm, grinding down onto his length as you adjusted to his girth.

Sunday's hands found your hips, guiding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He assisted your movements, helping to set a steady pace that had both of you panting with desire.

Each downward movement of your hips elicited a low groan from Sunday, his pleasure evident in the way his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted.

Feeling your movements become more erratic, Sunday knew that another climax was imminent. His hands tightened on your hips, urging you to continue riding him as he fought to maintain his composure.

He continued to murmur endearments, his voice a soothing lullaby that helped calm your racing thoughts. His kisses peppered your scalp, each press of his lips sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

But it was a losing battle. With a final, powerful thrust upward, Sunday succumbed to the pleasure, his body tensing beneath you as he came. His seed spilled into you once again, this time in a series of smaller pulses that seemed to go on forever.

Your inner walls clenched around his member, milking him for all he was worth. The intensity of your orgasm left you breathless and spent, collapsing onto his chest as you rode out the waves of pleasure.Sunday held you close, his hands gently stroking your back as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

Waking up in the comfort of a familiar bed, you stretched lazily, the sheets sliding off your bare skin. You noticed immediately that you weren't sticky, and realized Sunday must have taken care of everything while you slept.

Glancing around, you spotted Sunday standing by the window, his silhouette outlined against the morning sunlight. You stood up, your muscles protesting softly at the sudden movement. You felt flustered but smiled nonetheless, drawn to the man who'd given you such pleasure the night before.

As you approached him, the cool air kissed your heated skin, causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "Hello," you said, your voice soft and husky from sleep.

Sunday nodded, his gaze drifting down to where your hand rested on his arm. "Hey," he replied quietly. After a brief pause, he continued, "I, uh, took care of everything while you slept. The room's cleaned up, and... well, I didn't want you to wake up to any mess."

You glanced around, noticing that everything was indeed spotless. The remnants of the previous night had been carefully tidied away, leaving no trace of the chaos that had ensued. It was clear that Sunday had gone to great lengths to ensure everything was in order.

"Thank you," you said, touched by his thoughtfulness. "You didn't have to do all this."

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to help. After everything that happened, it seemed like the least I could do."

There was a brief, charged silence between you. Sunday's expression grew more serious as he hesitated, then gently took your hand in his. His touch was warm, yet there was a nervous energy to it.

"I'm... sorry," he began, his voice tinged with guilt. "About last night. I didn't mean for things to go that far. It was my responsibility to protect you, not... not let things happen like that."

You felt a pang of emotion at his words, recognizing the weight he placed on himself. Stepping closer, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a comforting hug. Sunday stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed, leaning into the embrace.

"You don't have to apologize," you murmured against his shoulder. "We were both caught off guard. And... well, I don't regret it. But I understand if you're feeling conflicted."

His wings covered up his face.

"Hm? Don't get all shy on me....Also thank you for..taking care...I'm too lazy for bathing anyway.."

You turned to Sunday, resting your head on his chest, and decided to share more about your work.

"So," you began, your voice soft, "my research... it's about finding a way to control our enemies. Not in a harmful way, but to influence their actions, maybe even change their minds or make them more cooperative. It's about creating order, really."

Sunday's eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows raising. He looked at you with a mixture of intrigue and concern. "Control your enemies?" he echoed, clearly processing the information. "That's... ambitious. And a bit scary, if I'm being honest."

You smiled, appreciating his honesty. "Yeah, Wait! Aren't you a follower of !!!!"

He chuckled softly, a playful glint in his eyes. "It's useless trick, After that incident I know even using that I could be fooled easily. In fact I'm not a know it all. But you don't have to overwork yourself on that...I think I can use it for you. " he teased, giving you a gentle squeeze as he hugged you closer.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. "You don't have to-" you said, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch. "Besides, I like you just the way you are."

Sunday's expression softened, and he looked at you with a deep affection. "I'm glad to hear that," he murmured. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words, before continuing. "You know, if you ever need someone to support you or help you figure things out, I'm here. And... if it's okay, I'd like to be with you. More than just friends, I mean."

His words hung in the air, and you felt your heart skip a beat. You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity and hope in them. Without a word, you nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips.

"It's more than okay," you whispered, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. "I'd like that too."

Sunday's face lit up with a joyful smile, and he pulled you into a tender embrace. The two of you stayed like that, holding each other close, feeling the connection that had deepened between you. It was a moment of quiet understanding and mutual affection, a promise of what was to come.

you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms.

"It's okay if you don't love me as much as I love you," Sunday said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You reached out, touching his cheek gently. "I want us to fall in love together," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

He looked at you, surprise and hope mingling in his eyes. "Wait, are you really choosing me?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "I'll be with you forever. I won't leave you, even if I'm ordered to. Maybe... maybe for a new purpose, I'll make you happier than anyone else in the world."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at his earnest declaration. "Haha, considering you just unconsciously removed my clothing, what? Want another round?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Sunday's face flushed a deep red, and he quickly ducked under the sheets, his wings wrapping around him as if to hide his embarrassment.

"Huh? Why are you hiding under the sheets?" you asked, amused by his sudden shyness.

"...Because I'm embarrassed," he mumbled from under the covers. "That was my first time. I'm sure I did something wrong..."

You couldn't help but smile, touched by his vulnerability. You gently patted his head, comforting him. "You were fine. I don't have any experience in that department either, so you did great!" you assured him, your voice full of encouragement.

He peeked out from under the sheets, looking a bit more reassured. "I can only hope... Tell me if there's anything I can do better. I'll work hard to improve," he said, his voice firm with determination.

You chuckled, finding his earnestness endearing. "You're so earnest," you said affectionately, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "And that's one of the things I like about you."

Sunday smiled, his wings slowly unfolding as he relaxed.

"It's okay if you don't love me as much as I love you," Sunday said softly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You reached out, touching his cheek gently. "I want us to fall in love together," you replied, your voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

He looked at you, surprise and hope mingling in his eyes. "Wait, are you really choosing me?" he asked, his tone incredulous. "I'll be with you forever. I won't leave you, even if I'm ordered to. Maybe… maybe for a new purpose, I'll make you happier than anyone else in the world."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at his earnest declaration. "Haha, considering you just unconsciously removed my clothing, what? Want another round?" you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Sunday's face flushed a deep red, and he quickly ducked under the sheets, his wings wrapping around him as if to hide his embarrassment.

"Huh? Why are you hiding under the sheets?" you asked, amused by his sudden shyness.

"…Because I'm embarrassed," he mumbled from under the covers. "That was my first time. I'm sure I did something wrong…"

He peeked out from under the sheets, looking a bit more reassured. "I can only hope… Tell me if there's anything I can do better. I'll work hard to improve," he said, his voice firm with determination.

You chuckled, finding his earnestness endearing. "You're so earnest," you said affectionately, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "And that's one of the things I like about you."

Sunday smiled, his wings slowly unfolding as he relaxed

You snuggled closer to him, feeling his warmth and the soft texture of his wings against your skin. The comfort of his presence, combined with the lingering sense of safety and peace, lulled you into a state of deep relaxation. You felt your eyelids grow heavy, the weight of the morning's emotions and the previous night's events pulling you towards sleep.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you drifted off. "For existing.."

Sunday gently wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. "Thank you too." he murmured back, his voice a soft promise.

With that reassurance, you let yourself sink into the comforting darkness of sleep. The last thing you felt was the steady rhythm of Sunday's heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was a peaceful, comforting sensation, and it carried you away into a restful slumber.

#honkai star rail #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday hsr #sunday x y/n #sunday x you #sunday x reader smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sunday x female reader #sunday smut #hsr oneshot #honkai x reader

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weirdwonderfulworld · 7 months ago

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and on steven............. i can't even express how gross it felt to see the ways people reached to ruin his name and abuse him online. demonic behavior.

i didn't start watching watcher bc of steven, i'm gonna be honest. but his content, character, and yes, his mere influence on the company is one of the biggest reasons watcher came to be one of my favorite youtube channels.

i fell in love with steven and his content through dish granted, the way he poured in all his creative effort and know-how so that he could give his friends and loved ones a special, personalized, larger-than-life meal. i thought it was so sweet, and that show is actually one my favorites on the channel.

i still remember how impressed i was to hear steven had proposed to his now-wife with a lab-grown diamond ring, bc he intentionally wanted something more sustainable.

i remember steven's speech for his unforgettable gala award, the way he listed out the asian content creators who came before him, who shaped the space and influenced him. he carried himself with humility, respect, and reverence for the past, and i thought it was extremely admirable.

i remember the "making watcher" episode where shane and ryan outright said that steven was the reason for watcher's survival. how steven stepped up to handle the business side of things when nobody else could. of course the guy isn't a businessman. he's a creative. but he stepped away from his own passions to make sure their company could stay afloat.

and did you notice how many employees at watcher are asian? these folks are damn talented, damn good at their jobs. i don't have direct proof of this, but i just know that steven had a hand in making watcher an incredibly safe and inclusive place to work for asian folks and other minorities. and as an asian viewer, i could feel that influence in the videos. i can feel the care watcher takes to make inclusive content, to make content that feels like the people behind it care. for watcher, "asian" isn't a buzzword someone slaps onto a video to make it sound interesting. it's cultural, it's natural, it's loving. i can't explain it but i feel that distinction and it carries the same exact energy steven does in his videos.

so it was incredibly wild and surreal to have fans try their best to tear all of that down, because he misspoke in the announcement video and... he drives a tesla? i don't even have to touch on that because people know how inconsequential that is to the matter at hand. i don't know how else to make you believe that steven driving a tesla is not an indication of him being evil or an immoral level of wealthy. like be for fucking real, please.

i have never felt so disconnected with this community than i did watching people attack steven for business decisions made by multiple grown-ass people. i will never look at this community the same way i did before. i know all this time, people were jumping for a reason to villainize steven. and nobody can convince me i don't know why.

#watcher #discourse #thoughts #steven

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year ago

Note

I’d like to order some nsfw genshin impact SAGAU stuff:

More specifically, its when the Creator uses a vessel different from Wanderer, their main, and he gets jealous all the time.

So, when they descend on teyvat, one of the first things they do is fuck the jealousy out of him so badly he cant speak. (Yes its overstimulation because MAN…)

♡︎ 𝙢𝙮 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙙 ♡︎

characters: sub!AFAB!wanderer (or scaramouche) x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, dacryphillia, jealousy, oral fixation, squirting, fingering, slight cult-ish and religious undertones

notes: hhhh my first sagau smut

kabukimono adored the creator.

how could he not? he was just a mere creation and a vessel of the god of all gods.

the first to tell the poor, discarded puppet of you was niwa. when seeing how everyone in tatarasuna worshipped a being called divine creator, the poor puppet couldn’t help his own curiosity and ask. in response, niwa patiently explained to him how there was once an ancient being. a god of all gods. one who even reigned over the archons, celestia itself. one who created teyvat, blessed it with life and in their weakened state, went to an eternal rest.

kabukimono adored the creator with the hollow remains of where his heart is meant to be. an empty shell filling with fuzzy feelings, smile spreading on his face whenever he goes to pray at your shrine, offerings of small yet precious things left in your altar. he only hoped it would please your soul.

kunikuzushi has secret reverence and respect for the creator.

you took away his friend, his home, his family and yet he still hopes for your guidance. carrying hope in the shape of a small wooden carving that he made, which he clutches closely to his chest.

during restless nights and moments when he feels himself slipping, losing hope, losing sight of loving you — he clutches the wooden carving to his chest. tight, tight to the point it leaves a dent in his pale hand and whispers into it. how he wishes to be in your care. how he hopes that you didn’t abandon him. how he hopes that your loving arms would hold him one day. how you are the only source of life he has.

how all the blood he shed was meant for you. a sacrifice for you. to appease you. to bring you back to teyvat. to see you in flesh.

kunikuzushi has secret reverence and respect for the creator.

scaramouche despises the creator.

you left him. when his own mother betrayed him and left him alone, he was lucky to be found by nagamasa. he was lucky that niwa was kind enough to let him stay at tatarasuna. how you were so cruel that even after all the metal and iron, gold and silver he molded and modeled to make tiny offerings to your altar. how you were twisted to give him small slivers of hopes in the form of niwa and the sick child, yet to take them away.

he hates you. despises you. loathes you. every little altar he sees, he hopes to destroy it. every statue of you he glimpses at, he uses his delusion to shock the old and eroded stone until it breaks and crumbles. oh, how badly he wished to do the same to you.

the sixth of the eleven fatui harbingers won’t even hesitate for a split second to spit on your name even in the presence of the tsaritsa. childe always looks down on him whenever he does. the ginger’s hands twitching, delusion and vision mixing up together as he tries his best to hold himself back from jumping on the short arrogant puppet.

and yet despite it all… scaramouche still clutches the small wooden carving of you. holding it close to his chest as he secretly whispers in his mind how much he wishes to please you. the puppet only hopes all the bodies he piled up would satisfy you, even just a little bit.

wanderer loves you dearly.

he has been wrong this whole time. you were never twisted, never sick in the head nor heart, never wishing to manipulate him, never wishing harm or pain upon anything. you were gentle. loving. every life form you passed by would swoon and sway, hoping to touch you. even touching your clothes or robes would be enough.

when be first got his vision, he heard your voice in his head. it was the same loving warmth that enveloped the traveler. it was warm, gentle, loving but still not fully there. when he protected the traveler and the floating thing, he could hear you cheer for him. for him.

but when an array of shooting stars engulfed the fake skies, wanderer looks up as always. blue ones, purple ones and then he felt it. a certain pull in his chest. like how red strings of fate tugs on your pinky in all those fairytales.

and he follows.

running, running, running — until he eventually reaches an odd place. a clear sky, one that looked real and one that cradled him in a gentle warmth.

“yeeesss!! you’re finally home! welcome home, wanderer!” a voice rings in his head loud and clear. excitement, happiness, elation, joy, pride — all sorts of emotions bubble in him, ready to burst out. but instead it fell down in the form of a tear. a happy tear.

it was you. it was the creator. the all-knowing, all-loving one. and you wanted him! him of all people! and you were happy that you had him!

yet wanderer doesn’t get it.

if you loved him so much, wanted him, pre-farmed for him as you said and even got his signature weapon, why were you using someone else? why use that cocky cryo user from mondstadt? why use his brother who is equally cocky but knows how to keep it hidden? why use that annoying old archon who flaunts that he is your oldest and most devout follower? or even the yashirou commissioner!

was he not enough? was he not strong enough? did you needed to “farm” for his talent materials? if so, no need! he already went ahead and got them for you when you logged out! everything to make him the perfect dps as you called is all there and ready!

strange.

why was your other characters are all either dead or on 1hp when you log in? only wanderer is there — your main — in full hp. standing proud and cocky with the same grin.

——

it’s tough to be a god.

no seriously. all jokes and that damn catchy song aside, it was indeed tough to be a god. especially when all these powerful people who can literally control elements and even gods themselves were worshipping you. how can you be a god of all gods?

well, you found out the answer to that question on one of your earlier days when you got a little bit too curious. all in the form of an ichor bleeding out of your palm that you sliced. and perhaps a bit pressured too. after all, being put on a pedestal for everyone to see and worship and grovel to is hard to deal with. especially when you were suddenly thrown into a world that you thought was only fictional!

but there was also something else that was incredibly, unbelievably, astoundingly hard to deal with was your main. the puppet who was abandoned. the short, sarcastic asshole. but never towards you! he would hate to make you even slightest bit sad or angry.

and yet he does it anyways.

going out of his way to stalk down some poor merchant you like buying things from to buy most of their stock so you won’t visit the merchant’s shop again. picking fights with your acolytes when you show the slightest hint of favoritism. hell, he almost killed childe. but of course, the battle lusted ginger loved the thrill and had asked for more future fights.

which all led to here. him getting his well deserved punishment.

poor wanderer thinking he was all too slick. how he was doing everything behind your back so you wouldn’t know anything. how you would stay innocent to his actions while he goes and picks another fight. but you noticed. every single jealousy inflicted actions wanderer had pulled and orchestrated, you knew.

anyone could walk in right now and see what was happening. anyone of your pathetic other acolytes could walk in and see how good you were fucking him. fingers knuckles deep into his cunt, fucking him so good, so deep.

and dear stars and you, wanderer wanted that. he wanted those pathetic worshippers to see how you favored him above them.

wanderer had lost his sense of self and mind long time ago. the moment you wrapped your hand around his throat to manhandle his tiny body to sit on your lap, his mind was gone. a blank sheet of paper.

the puppet doesn’t remember how many orgasms you’ve wrung out of him but he loved it. he wanted it. he wanted more. he wanted your fingers to fuck him open.

in his hazy mind, lust ridden babbles and overstimulated body, he can feel it. how your other hand is keeping his labia spread open. how you apply pressure around his cunt. how your fingers are squelching into him, creating a filthy wet shlick! shlick! noises.

how your hand keeping his labia open goes to tug on his clit. pinching the bud of muscle as he writhes and screams in your lap. squirting over your fingers again like a common brothel whore. and he loved it. by the stars above, he loved it.

because deep in his most depraved part of mind, wanderer knew that he was a whore. your whore. your common brothel cheap whore. your whore who would spread open his legs for you if you asked for it. who would eagerly finger himself so he can provide you with some sort of entertainment. who would take your hand and guide it inside his shorts, not even bothering to wear undergarments, so he can give you easier access.

he doesn’t remember. doesn’t want to remember how many times he came. when you place him on your own throne, legs propped on both sides on the armrest, his wet, slick covered pussy and hardened sensitive clit for the world to see, all he can think about is how good it feels.

when you get down on your knees in front of him, it feels like a sacrilege. shouldn’t it be him who’s on his knees in front of you, trying and hoping to please you?

yet all of his thoughts fly out the window when your fingers stretch his sensitive pussy open again. fingers hooked on the inside slightly, just enough to open up his inner labia and for you to admire his gaping hole. waiting eagerly for you to claim it once again.

“your gra—aanhg!! grace! grace! your grace!! f-feelsh good. feelsh good feelsh goodfeelsgoodgoodgood ghk—! aammh!♥︎“ the jealous puppet whines and babbles on, your title falling over his lips over and over like a mantra as he drools. mind long gone, sanity on the thin line between delirium and lucidity. struggling to comprehend just what is happening.

he feels your mouth on him. tongue lapping at his juice greedily like an insatiable animal while he struggles to keep his legs open. hand twitching, hesitating for a moment before he grips onto your hair tightly — his only anchor. he can feel everything too greatly.

body sensitive, pushed over the boundaries of his virgin state. he could feel how you suck on his sensitive clit, forcing him to squirt into your mouth.

if this was how you would treat him to stop his jealousy induced rampages, maybe wanderer should do it more often.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #sub!genshin #sub!genshin impact #sub scaramouche #sub!scaramouche #sub wanderer #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut #gender neutral reader

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racetowrite · 2 months ago

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Miami, baby

Support a disabled creator

Pairing : Lando Norris x f!reader

Tags : slight edging, uprotected piv (fuck them kids)

Word Count : 3.2k

After years of painstakingly saving every penny, you finally had the chance to attend an F1 race. Today was the big day, your first-ever experience at an event filled with adrenaline and excitement. You wandered around, searching for some indication of where to go, when suddenly you accidentally bumped into someone.

He was moving with purpose, clearly rushing to get somewhere, and the impact was so significant that you stumbled and fell to the ground with a gasp.

You looked up, disoriented and a little dazed, to find yourself staring into a pair of intense green eyes. The man who had accidentally knocked you over appeared before you. He was tall, strong, and exuded an air of dominance and control. For a moment, the world seemed to move in slow motion as you gazed at him, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

He looked at you with a mixture of surprise and concern, perhaps realizing that he had knocked you off balance. You weren't sure how to react, your body still feeling the impact of your fall. But then, he spoke, his voice deep and commanding yet gentle.

“Are you alright?” he asked, offering you a hand to help you stand up. His voice sent a shiver down your spine, the concern in his tone contrasting sharply with the authoritative quality he exuded.

Despite the confusion caused by the collision, you quickly realize that the person who helped you up is none other than Lando Norris, one of the most popular Formula One drivers on the grid.

Your eyes widen in recognition, but unlike other fans, you don't immediately erupt into a fit of screaming or gushing. Instead, your reaction is more subdued, a mixture of shock and reverence.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going," you apologize, your voice a little shaky. You're still feeling the aftershocks of bumping into such a famous figure, but you manage to maintain your composure.

"I'm glad I didn't hurt you badly," Lando replies, his tone still gentle despite the accident. He seems relieved that you aren't hurt, his gaze sweeping over you to make sure you're alright.

You offer him a grateful smile, still trying to process the fact that you're actually face-to-face with Lando Norris. "Thank you for helping me up," you say, your voice a little hoarse.

Lando is struck by how unlike other fans you are. You're not screaming, begging for a picture, or losing your composure. Instead, you're standing there, calm and collected, even after the unexpected collision. This catches his attention and intrigues him.

As he looks at you, he can't help but notice how beautiful you are. There's an innocence and purity in your expression that draws him in, making it difficult for him to look away.

His gaze becomes almost predatory, drinking in every detail of your features. He's captivated by your lack of hysterics and the way you're handling yourself in his presence. Lando is used to fans becoming tongue-tied and overwhelmed in front of him, but you seem completely unfazed.

You realize that the clock is ticking, and the qualifying session is about to start. You hesitate for a moment, knowing that it's time to part ways. You offer Lando a smile and say, "Well, it was nice meeting you, and good luck in the qualifying."

Lando's expression changes slightly. He doesn't want this encounter to end just yet, and the thought of you leaving his side gives him an unpleasant feeling. Without thinking, he finds himself saying, "Wait, why don't you come watch from my box?"

"You could have a better view from there," he adds, hoping that you'll agree to his invitation. Lando doesn't want to admit it out loud, but the idea of having you near him, cheering him on, is strangely appealing.

You feel a pang of guilt as Lando invites you to the McLaren box. You're aware of how expensive those tickets can be, and you don't want to impose or be a burden. But at the same time, you're oddly touched by his invitation, and you can't bring yourself to outright refuse.

Instead, you try to brush off his concern, saying, "Oh, you really don't owe me anything. You didn't knock me that badly, I'm fine."

Lando is taken aback by your response. He’s used to people jumping at the chance to be nearby, especially women who usually throw themselves at him. But you're different. You're not flustered or falling over yourself to accept his invitation. Instead, you brush it off, telling him he doesn’t owe you anything.

For Lando, it's a novel, exhilarating feeling. He finds himself strangely captivated, more intrigued by this unexpected exchange than by any race he’s ever competed in.

Your indifference piques his interest even more. He's suddenly feeling challenged, like he's faced with a puzzle he needs to solve. No one has ever rejected his offer, let alone so nonchalantly. It's frustrating, but in a strangely addictive way. Lando can't help but find himself fascinated by this interaction, his mind more focused on you than on the impending race.

Lando's mind is racing, trying to find a way to keep the interaction going. He doesn't want to let you walk away, not yet. Thinking quickly, he comes up with an excuse.

"Hey, listen," he says, his tone slightly casual, "You should give me your number. Just in case, you know, if you need anything or... something like that."

You can't help but let out a soft laugh at Lando's insistence. You find yourself touched by his concern, but also amused by his persistence.

"Seriously, I'm fine," you assure him again, your voice filled with a hint of humor. "You didn't knock me down that badly. I'm not some damsel in distress, you know."

Lando can't help but chuckle a little at your playful response. He's never met someone so unfazed by his presence, someone who actually has a sense of humor.

“Yeah, I guess you’re not,” he replies, his tone becoming more relaxed. "But still, I'd feel better if I had a way to check up on you. Just in case."

Despite your earlier protests, you can't argue with Lando's insistence. There's something earnest in his tone, a genuine concern for your well-being that’s hard to ignore. Reluctantly, you find yourself agreeing.

"Alright, fine," you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You can have my number if it'll make you feel better."

Lando's face lights up at your words. He hadn't expected you to give in so easily, but he can't deny the feeling of victory that floods through him. With a satisfied grin, he pulls out his phone and hands it to you.

"Great, beautiful. Put your number in here."

As you hand back his phone, your fingers briefly touch, and Lando feels an unexpected spark of electricity shoot through him at the contact. Just before you say goodbye, Lando suddenly hesitates, looking at your tousled hair. With a sly grin, he takes off his signature cap and places it on top of your head, adjusting it slightly so it sits comfortably on you.

"Wear this. Maybe it'll bring me luck," he grins. "And make sure you're cheering for me, okay?"

You can't help but feel a sudden rush of warmth at the gesture. The cap feels oddly comfortable on your head, like a piece of Lando is somehow with you now. You offer him a small smile, your fingers gently touching the cap.

"I'll be your biggest cheerleader," you promise, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Good luck, Lando."

Lando heads off to the McLaren garage, his thoughts whirling in his mind. Although he should be focused solely on the upcoming qualification, he can't keep his thoughts off you. Your nonchalant attitude, your lack of fangirling, and the way you've agreed to give him your number - it all leaves him slightly off-kilter.

He tries to shake off the distraction, to concentrate on his car and his performance. But the image of your smile, and the feeling of your touch, linger in his mind, making it difficult for him to fully immerse himself in the usual pre-qualification anticipation.

Lando quickly snaps out of his thoughts, though. He knows he needs to get in the zone. He puts on his driving gear, his mind focusing on the qualifying ahead, pushing you out of his mind. But even as he does so, his heart beats a little faster than usual, eager to impress you, the mysterious girl who captured his attention from a simple accident.

After placing p1 in qualifying, Lando's heart is still racing with adrenaline. He's thrilled with his performance, but there's something else he's excited about. He remembers the promise you made, that you would be there cheering him on.

As soon as he has a moment, Lando pulls out his phone and types out a quick message to you: "Hey, I placed p1. See you tomorrow at the race, yeah?"

Lando hits send on the message, but a moment later, he realises he's forgotten something crucial. He doesn't know your name. This thought sends a pang of frustration through him. How could he have forgotten to ask for your name?

With a small sigh, Lando types another message, this time asking, "By the way, I never got your name."

Lando's attention is now fully focused on his phone, waiting anxiously for your response. When your text comes through, he's slightly surprised.

"Y/N," he repeats to himself, testing out the name in his mind. "I like it."

He's about to reply when he sees you mention that you'll be watching him tomorrow. A sense of satisfaction and anticipation fills him, knowing you'll be there in the stands, cheering him on.

Lando sends a quick reply: "Can't wait. See you tomorrow, Y/N."

“I promise to be there.”

He can't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing you again, in the stands, cheering just for him. The thought of impressing you with his race only fuels his determination to win even more.

The day of the Miami Grand Prix arrives, and Lando is filled with a mix of excitement and determination. As he steps into his car, he can't help but think of you, a silent motivator in his mind. The race is intense, a chaotic whirlwind of speed and strategy. But Lando's focus is unwavering, thanks to the thought of you in the stands, watching him, cheering him on.

As he crosses the finish line, first place, Lando feels a rush of triumph. He's won his first Grand Prix, right in front of you.

Lando's heart is pounding as he climbs out of the car, the sounds of the crowd and the congratulations of his team a blur around him. All he can think of is finding you in the stands, seeing your reaction to his win. Lando quickly finds his way to the stands, searching for you amidst the sea of fans. And when he spots you, his heart stutters for a moment. You're standing there, a wide smile on your face, and the sight of you makes his victory even sweeter.

Lando is floating on a cloud of triumph.

The whole time, from the interviews to the celebration, Lando's gaze keeps flicking to the crowd, looking for you. Every time he locks eyes with you, a wave of excitement washes over him, making his victory even more meaningful.

Land of has to go through the usual routine after the race - interviews, press conferences, team debriefs. By the time he's finally free, it feels like hours have passed.

He hurries to the McLaren garage, his heart racing with anticipation. When he spots you outside, he feels a mix of relief and excitement. He quickly walks over to you, a wide smile on his face.

"You waited," Lando says, a hint of surprise and gratitude in his voice. He's still in his race suit, dusted with champagne and the exhaustion of the race. But he's too excited to see you to care about how he looks. You smile back at him, the sight of his boyish grin warming your heart.

"I promised, didn't I?" You reply, your tone light.

He takes a breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "That you did," he nods, his eyes dancing with a mixture of adrenaline and amusement. He looks around, suddenly aware of the curious glances from the crew and other drivers. He grabs your hand and leads you away from the crowd, to a more secluded spot.

Lando's hand encloses around yours, and a small shock of electricity shoots through you at the sudden contact. You're surprised at how warm his hand is, how firm his grip is. It's a simple touch, a brief moment of skin against skin, but it leaves you feeling a bit flushed.

You look up at Lando, who's still leading you along, and see a hint of a smirk on his lips. He's aware of the effect his touch has on you, but you're unaware that he's equally affected.

The night progresses, and somehow, you end up in Lando's hotel room, the adrenaline from the race still coursing through his veins. As the door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts, a charged tension filling the air.

Lando looks at you, his eyes dark and intense. He steps closer, his proximity making your heart race in your chest. The space between you feels electric, the air between you taut with desire.

Lando doesn’t wait any longer. He moves closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his gaze burning into yours. "I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you," he murmurs, his voice low, sending shivers down your spine.

A couple of hours later, Lando feels like he’s in heaven.

Your head has been between his thighs for what has to be an hour now, his hand buried in your pretty hair, dragging your lips up and down his dripping cock. From the position, you on your knees beside your shared bed while he sits atop it, Lando fucking your face, it seems like he has all the power. But he knows better. He knows you’re letting him do this; that you, even with your bruised knees and puffy lips, have control over him. Over his mind, his body, his fucking soul.

“Baby, baby, please let me cum,” he whimpers into the quiet of the room, the only sounds echoing in his ears are his little grunts and moans and your obscene slurping around the length of him. “Can’t hold it anymore, y’feel so good, sweetheart.”

But you pull off his cock as soon as the words leave his lips, leaving him aching again. The whine he lets out is demeaning, embarrassing, but you wrap your hand around his cock, jacking him slowly while Lando hears you giggle softly.

“Are you gonna cum before you’ve even gotten my pussy?” You’re teasing him, you’ve been teasing him for the past few hours since you’ve been in his hotel room “Come on baby, you want to be inside me? You’ve been so good.”

Lando nods frantically, unthinking and delirious. “Please, please let me have you baby? I need it so bad. Please sweetheart, ple-”

“lay back for me?” And Lando shoves himself backward, laying himself onto the soft silk sheets. He barely has a chance to prepare himself before you’re standing and straddling him, working the tip of his cock into your dripping cunt.

And Lando knows, he knows, that this is the closest he’ll get to heaven. You moan as you sink down onto him, tight pussy clenching as you work your hips, and Lando almost rips a hole into the sheets with the effort not to thrust up into you, not to fucking cum inside you, right then and there. He’s mumbling nearly incoherently, little praises of “Baby, your pussy feels so good, you’re so tight, so fucking warm, god.”

And you can’t help but think how pretty Lando looks, all flushed and red, nipples still puffy from how you played with them hours earlier, chest heaving with his labored breaths. You rock your hips against him, running your nails down his chest as Lando chokes on a moan.

“You’re so good, baby,” you say, and Lando keens under the praise. “Your cock is so big. Fills me up so good. You stuff me so full, Lan.”

“Please” Lando groans, lips red and puffy from his biting.

“What, baby,” you ask, leaning down to nuzzle under his jaw, leaving soft kisses on his sensitive neck. You’re still grinding your hips, his balls and thighs all sticky from your sopping pussy.

“What do you need, Lan?”

“I need, I need-” Lando stutters, struggling to take a breath. “I need to fuck you baby. Oh god, please, please let me fuck you? Need it so bad.”

Lando knows that it's a long shot, that you could easily refuse him, and he’d let you, just as he’s been letting you refuse him for hours. But you grin between the kisses you’re leaving on his neck, your hips finally coming to a stop. “You’ve been so good. You’ve won the race. Come on, baby, you can fuck me.”

Lando doesn’t need to be told twice.

He tries not to mourn the loss of you around his cock as he slips out of you, quickly rolling you over. He slots himself between your spread thighs, shoving himself back into your gaping cunt, relishing in the pretty moan you let out. Lando’s eyes roll into the back of his head, a sharp gasp escaping his throat at the overwhelming heat of you.

He bucks into you uncontrollably, slamming into your pretty cunt with reckless abandon. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, hips working endlessly into you, balls slapping against your ass as he mouths at your soft skin.

Your nails are digging into his back as he ruts into your pussy, punching little ah, ah, ahs, out of your chest with every thrust.

You clench so fucking tight around his cock when you cum, a garbled “Lan, fuck, oh god-” leaving your lips as your hips shake and your vision goes white.

Lando is just babbling feverishly into your neck, a long string of “Thank you, thank you, oh god. Love your pussy, thank you for giving me your pussy, you make me feel so good, shit-” and he’s cumming, thick cum shooting deep into your pussy, all while he thanks you.

He doesn’t let you go for a long time, his strong arms wrapped around you as he twitches with the aftershock of his orgasm. You run a calming hand down his back, lightly tracing his scars while you wait for him to breathe normally again. You praise him softly, whispering into his hair, “You did so good, Lando. Made me feel so good baby, you’re so perfect.”

After a few minutes, Lando pulls you closer, his arms encircling you, his body warm and solid against yours. He buries his face in your hair, breathing in your scent.

"You're the real win this weekend," he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "I might have won the race, but finding you, this moment with you...that's what really matters. And I'm not letting you go now that I've found you."

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