#to do something for Dain too

[reginrokkr]

do I dare or do I not, that is the question

[yaeggravate]

it's odd that we don't actually know what happened to anfortas alberich when we know the other named schwannenritters either died or got husked. the only clue we have about his fate is the message he left in the ruin guards that spell out "we fought to the last one" which doesn't really tell us much. his supposed last stand was in port ormos, which actually had an active pirate alliance at one point. we're also explicitly told that anfortas lost his left eye.

now, i'm not saying anfortas is kaeya's pirate grandpa but i'm also not not saying it. is it a little weird for a king regent to become a pirate? sure. but if an archon can work at a funeral parlor i don't see why not.

fast forward to the present day and during the pari world quest, we fight a herald named klingsor, who ends up escaping. klingsor found out what happened to the khaenri'ahns and joined the abyss to bring the truth to light. he is the descendant of hadura, one of the schwannenritters who anfortas executed for alleged betrayel.

if they play it smart this could lead to a future kaeya quest in which we learn anfortas' fate with klingsor showing up to act as his narrative foil. ok yeah i'm clowning myself but it just sucks that we always end up learning more about khaenri'ah and the alberichs without kaeya even being involved.

[aromanticasterisms]

yknow i was a little miffed when yoimiya got her second story quest but i can't even be mad that cyno's getting his. he's been around since manga days he deserves it

[laikahh]

thinking about. galaxy theme...

[hellsitedotcom]

### Genshin Men & How They Kiss ###

Featuring Dainsleif, Il Dottore, Il Capitano, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Al-Haitham.

warnings: shouldn't be anything too spicy/nsfw. Dottore bites people, do with that what you want.

english isn't my native language! this is going to flop so bad, but I'm bored; bone app the teeth.

DAINSLEIF

He is someone who - in my humble opinion - kisses you with such...devotion, such unwavering and suffocating devotion that it leaves you breathless and stunned even after the 100th kiss.

Dain has his way with words, we all know that, and as mesmerizing as his compliments and confessions can be, so are his kisses; they are like a beautiful, life-changing poem that leaves you aching for more.

He's not too frequent of a kisser, though - I want to think he's somewhat dramatic with his timing for kisses; before depatures, big battles, when you're apart from each other for longer times & greater distances.

Definitely one for goodnight kisses; he's such a gentle lover, I'd say. There's just something about him that makes it hard for me to see him as an aggressive, obsessive, or extremely passionate/intense lover (I hope you know what I mean).

You know those Princess x Knight stories? Where they finally have that first kiss, and it's described like something straight out of a fairytale? That's Dainsleif, basically. Also, definitely someone who kisses your hand/palm.

IL DOTTORE

Oh, he's a freak, alright. My ''aroace Dottore'' headcanons aside, he's...not your ''typical'' guy, I'd say. Well, he's not a romantic, I think we can all agree on that.

Dottore's kisses are most definitely possessive - they aren't there to show love or anything, but to claim - to ''mark his territory'', sorta.

I think he'd see ''kissing'' as an outlet of sorts; I don't necessarily see the ''real'' Dottore as someone who gets frustrated and lets it out on his lover, nor would he be someone to kiss his lover unprovoked, I think. He doesn't necessarily need it.

If we were to talk about a not-so-sociopathic Dottore (alias, a normal human), he wouldn't necessarily strike me as someone who thinks about kissing you much either. He gives me a rather uninterested vibe in that regard; he probably shows his love/devotion in different ways.

Maybe I'm just really biased because of my other headcanon; he just doesn't care about kisses in a romantic sense, that's it. He'll bite you, he'll devour you, but there's nothing more behind it but exerting power...or maybe he just wants to silence you, because your provocations/teasing is getting on his last nerve.

His kisses (I honestly just see him as a biter) are bruising, and the way he holds onto you during that time leaves bruises, too. And, again, not many of these actions stem from love, but possessiveness or to ''make a statement''.

IL CAPITANO

Initially thought was ''Does he even know what a kiss is'', but let's brush past that...anyway, why can I see him somewhere inbetween the likes of Dain & Dottore? lol

He's not much of a kisser, either. Which, uh, soldier and all, I'd say, but then, he is still capable of care and devotion in a way that others never could.

He's devoted in his kisses, and there's a pledge of loyalty behind each kiss, only solidified by their rarity. He swears fealty to you in that way - a firm, classy kiss on the lips; kissing the back of your hand while kneeling in front of you; a lasting kiss on your forehead before he departs.

Again, those kisses are rare and kept secret from the outside, but they exist and they hold such an incredible weight to themselves; they are his greatest show of vulnerability and weakness. Though, he does not view having a lover as a weakness.

As mentioned further above: His kisses are firm, they are lasting. He doesn't just give you quick pecks in passing, no. Each kiss takes its time, and each kiss is there to repeat the message the first one gave ''I swear fealty to you''. They aren't overly passionate, messy, or anything like that.

Definitely not one for many words, and their all pretty cordial and like some devoted rule-abiding knight would talk, lol. Quality Time and Acts of Service are more of his strongsuit.

NEUVILLETTE

I'm a bit torn here, though he certainly is a gentle kisser. On one hand, I want to say it is a ''lack of experience'' in that prospect, that could make him more hesitant and careful. On the other hand, I just feel like regardless of his experience level, he'd be a gentle lover.

He's more frequent in his kisses - he does not mind showing you love, regardless of where you are, though during important meetings (or trials) you'll never find him kissing you; only afterwards, when you've returned to the privacy of his office, he'll drop that mask again.

He'll pour all his emotions into his kisses - including those tragic, painful emotions after certain trials. Yet, his kisses are never hungry or aggressive. They'll still always keep their lightness.

Most of the time, you'll find him kissing your lips or your cheeks. In your sleep, he'll press a kiss to your forehead, and in public he'll often press a kiss to the palm of your hand.

His kisses are the kind to make you giggle, or smile all giddy. They are exciting, in a way. Though rather light and ''brief'', they leave you at a loss every time; like a beautiful dream. Paired with that soft smile of his? They'll have you melting right then and there.

WRIOTHESLEY

I just let out the most concerning ''hehehehe''; anyway, oh boy, I wanna be indulgent here, but I'll try to be as ''realistic'' as possible.

He's...a wildcard, of sorts. Wriothesley can be extremely passionate & hungry when it comes to his lover, but he can also be more classy & gentle about it, depending on different factors.

Now, focus on the more intense parts of Wriothesley. For anyone needing a visual/example; I'm sure there's fics out there where the reader is sparring with Wriothesley. And that's where I get the more intense version of him from.

He's the kind to pin you against a wall and devour your lips, tongue eventually down your throat as he got you at his mercy. He's not holding back with those kisses - he's hungry; hungry for all of you. His kisses aren't necessarily bruising, but they are suffocating; you'll be struggling for air when he is like this.

You'll find him his filled with desire only in private - and often enough there's something needed to trigger this...almost primal?...version of him; yes, this means he'll leave marks, but he'd never intentionally hurt you to get off.

On other occasions, he's more gentle, though that gentleness can sometimes stem from an absence of mind, too. Fleeting kisses on the cheek, barely sparing you a glance as he's too busy with work. His ''apology'' kisses are also the gentle, yet firmer kind. And you'll get them quite frequently, given...everything.

In conclusion, he's definitely capable of being both extremely hungry/intense and being gentle; it really depends on preference, I suppose, but I can absolutely see him being a perfect balance.

AL-HAITHAM

Definitely more on the calmer side; not necessarily ''gentle'' in the way I have described before, but he's not an aggressive/hungry kisser, unless for certain occasions, maybe.

He's so introverted in his voicelines, he's probably the same with a lover; barely any PDA in public, just because he's not a fan of it (you'll maybe get a peck on the cheek or a kiss on the forehead, but just fleeting).

His kisses are...somewhat distant, quite often. He'll kiss you on the lips, but you'll feel like he's not really present while kissing you. He'll also take your hand and kiss it absently whenever you sit beside him while he's studying.

Other times, he's nearly obsessed with kissing you; he'll be kissing you firmly, one kiss lasting minutes before being interrupted by shorter and lighter kisses, and then he'll go back to a firm, passionate kiss. He'll often have you on his lap during those.

Slow, sensual make out sessions. That's what I was looking for, I think. Lots of cuddling, holding you close, tracing his lips over your skin. That's how I see him sometimes.

Can I actually see him be more intense in his kisses? Maybe, but it takes a lot. A lot of pent up frustration, Kaveh getting on his last nerve, some issues with the Akademiya, etc.; and perhaps, if you provoke him on that day, you'll see a more hungry side...Or maybe he just did it to satisfy you for a while, who knows?

Makes me believe that Al-Haitham does not mind being more dominant, more intense, more hungry during make out sessions - he can if it means you'll be happy about it, but he doesn't prefer it, tbh.

[callsign-rogueone]

keep her safe - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x Marked!Pacifist!Reader  This one is for my fellow tired, chronic pain girls who just want their suffering to serve some purpose, and those who trust everyone they meet, even if they shouldn’t. wc: 4.7k -- the longest work I've ever put on this blog! second chapter is here! 🏷: spoilers for both Fourth Wing books (I’m currently 500 pages into Iron Flame, and y’all... 😭) people refer to you with she/her pronouns, canon-typical violence and torture, mentions of canon character death / death of a family member, bad coping mechanisms, Dain and his memory reading (I tried to make him more tolerable), one (1) reference to sex, I gave you a last name (Avan) and Garrick calls you angel as a pet name, because I refuse to use y/n. Your dragon's name is Tab.

Your stomach drops as your name is called for a challenge. “No weapons today.” Emeterrio adds. “I want you to work on your hand-to-hand.”

The pair of you unsheath nearly a dozen knives apiece, you handing yours to Bodhi. Disarmed, you extend a hand to the boy, as is the Tyrrish tradition before a friendly spar, but he doesn’t take it. No unmarked ones ever have.

He charges first, tangles a hand in your hair and pulls, jerking your head back, and the crowd of freshmen gasp, but you plant your feet and move with him, twisting your spine with practiced ease.

That gives you enough distance to kick a leg out at his right knee, hitting him squarely in the back of it. He releases you. Another swift kick to his legs has them sweeping out from under him. You dig a thumb into his collarbone, finding just the right spot, and he crumples, giving you a split second to wrap your arm around his throat.

He claws at your elbow with blunt nails, wasting breath as he attempts to rise to his feet, but you keep him pinned with your body weight, bearing down as hard as you can. He bucks, and your left boot skids against the mat. 

You bend your knee to brace yourself in a lunge. Your arm is starting to falter, he can feel the muscle straining around his jaw, but he’s tiring too — running out of air. If neither of you moves, he’s going to die.

“Enough,” Emeterrio commands.

You release him, extending a hand to pull him up, but he smacks it away and dives straight at you, clearly not done. “I’m not letting you off that easily, traitor.” 

You squeak in surprise, your back hitting the mat with a thud, and he lands another blow to your jaw. You struggle to take control back, gasping for breath from how hard you’d hit the floor.

He gathers your wrists into one hand easily, the other closing around your throat.

“You are going to die on this mat if you don’t do something, now. Use the failsafe.” 

There’s one dagger you hadn’t removed, that you’d won from Garrick in combat your first year, that he’d let you win, really, and promptly ordered that you never remove it from your reach, for situations like this.

He doesn’t have your legs pinned, so you kick out, catching him in the thigh, and his grip falters. You manage to wiggle one arm free to pull the blade from the inside of your jacket, rolling onto your side and holding the point millimeters away from his chest. “Yield,” you order, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You won’t kill me,” He snarls. “Everyone knows you’re all bark and no bite. That’s why you keep him around.”

You drag it down, just enough to tear his shirt. “Yield, or you’ll meet Malek today and you can explain to him what a cheating coward you are.” The words surprise you, but you fight to maintain the hardened look on your face, trying to convince him you’re serious. 

“Fine,” he spits, “I yield.”

Heart still pounding, you move to lean against the wall with the other marked ones, Bodhi handing you back your arsenal blade by blade. 

“She cheated!” Jason protests as soon as he’s standing again.

“She did what was necessary after you defied a direct order from a superior officer,” Emeterrio says narrowly.

Jason glowers, but returns to his friends without further argument. The rest of the pack takes note of their faces; they’re likely as conniving as him, and as liable to try to kill you, too.

“I’m gonna end that motherfucker,” Garrick mutters, checking you over for injuries as subtly as he can. He hands you a scrap of cloth and you wipe the blood from your nose, wincing, but grateful it isn’t broken.

“He’s been at this for months. One of these days, he’s going to kill you.” Bodhi says quietly, his gaze not moving from the next sparring pair.

“Why not kill him first?” Imogen asks. “You had a knife to his gut, you should have used it.”

“No.” You say firmly. “To kill anyone unmarked, especially an officer’s son, would confirm what everyone else in this army believes about Tyrs; that we are bloodthirsty animals.”

“Let them believe that,” she scoffs. “They’ll never change their mind.”

You sigh. Maybe she’s right.

You don’t see your friends for the next ten hours, when you’re finally excused for dinner.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bodhi asks. 

“Medical wing,” you rasp, sliding into a seat at the end of the bench. “Mending infantry with Carr.” 

“You should eat,” Liam says softly, pushing a plate toward you, but you shake your head no, every muscle in your body screaming. 

You look like your head is going to hit the table, your neck no longer able to hold it up. Bodhi pulls you into his side and you slump against him, boneless. “Her signet isn’t fully developed yet,” you hear him explain to Violet and Liam. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to rest.”

When you wake, it’s dark out, the room nearly pitch black, but you can tell it’s not yours — the furniture is arranged differently.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, gentle one,” Tab greets as soon as you’re cognizant. He can only be this dry about it because he knew you’d pull through. “If he makes you do that again, I’ll eat him.”

You laugh, wincing at the pain in your ribs. Your entire body aches. There’s no way you got up the three flights of stairs here yourself — you didn’t even have it in you to chew food at dinner.

There’s a comforting scent to the room — all the soap and detergent everyone uses is standard issue, but something about the sheets smells like Garrick. Your theory is confirmed when he walks through the door, the hallway light illuminating the hilts of the two swords strapped to his back. “If you want me in your bed, Gare, you just need to ask,” you say in greeting.

He laughs dryly, waving a hand to activate a small mage light. “The damage can’t be too bad if you’re already cracking jokes.”

“I missed physics, didn’t I? Did you carry me up here?”

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about. You can copy Violet’s notes, they’re way better than mine.” He strips some of the weapons off, shedding his flight jacket along with them. It’s something you’ve seen many times before, but it never fails to make your heart flutter.

He sits on the edge of the bed, a gentle hand moving up to lay against your cheek. “And I did carry you. I’d do anything for you, angel. It scares me sometimes.”

He brushes a piece of hair from your face. You’d been freezing cold when you fell asleep, so he’d draped you with every blanket he owned before leaving, and it seems to have worked — your skin is pleasantly warm against his hand.

“Anything, hm?” You ask, a lazy smile on your face. 

His eyes sparkle at the mischief in your tone, but he’s responsible enough to think before he acts. “Not until you’ve recovered,” he says sternly. 

You yawn. “D’you have section leader stuff to do tonight?”

“That’s what executive officers are for.”

You crack an eye to look at him in disapproval. “Gare, you can’t skip duty. Melgren will have your head.”

He sighs. “Fine. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t. Your bed is more comfortable than mine anyway.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, tugging the jacket back on and strapping in the swords.

/////////

Someone is standing in front of your yoga mat. Dain. “No bodyguard today?” He asks.

You’re silent, your gaze flickering between him and the longsword by your side, the one Garrick had insisted you take with you everywhere when he wasn’t there to protect you.

“You may find this hard to believe, but I don’t want to kill you.” He says with a sigh. “I just need to-”

“Quit talking and join me, or leave.” You interrupt, settling into a deeper stretch, eyes closing as you gesture to the floor next to you with an open hand. By the grace of Amari, Carr had given you enough time off to recover, but he’ll likely be making you work another shift in the infirmary today. This will be your only pocket of calm for the next twelve hours. You aren’t going to skip it for Dain, of all people.

He chooses the first option, surprising you as he drags a mat over beside yours, attempting to copy your movements. “Do you really do this every day?” He asks, uncomfortable.

“Even a soldier must take time to be at peace. Clear your mind. Whatever you’re thinking about is so loud it’s distracting.”

He startles, his foot slipping on the mat.

“No, my signet is not mind-reading.” You say, eyes still closed, though there’s an amused look on your face. “Relax. You’re killing the air in here with that nervous energy.”

For the next five minutes, you both stretch in total silence. “Now,” you decide, bringing your arms back to your body, focusing on your breathing, “what was so important that you needed to find me here?”

He cuts straight to it. “Varrish wants me to… practice on you. He thinks you’re hiding something, that all of you are.” He doesn’t need to specify who he means by you. 

You don’t seem to react to the information, instead looking at him with curiosity. “How do you feel about your signet?” 

He blinks. Nobody’s ever asked him that before. “I don’t know.” He says quietly. You shift again, but he doesn’t follow you, folding his legs underneath him instead. Your silence presses him to speak, needing to fill the air. “I used to think it was cool, but now… now I’m wondering if it’s really a gift at all.”

“What do you see when you view a memory like that? Are you living it through their eyes, or from above, watching it unfold? How far back can you see?”

“Through their eyes.” He answers, throat dry. Why is he telling you this? “A day, maybe two. It depends. Varrish wants me to learn to push it farther.”

You weigh the consequences. If he’s being honest, he won’t see anything confidential — at worst, a gathering of more than three marked ones to exercise, but is he really petty enough to tell Varrish about that, when he’s giving you a warning in the first place?

“Okay.” You say, opening your eyes. Better it be you than one of the kids who can’t shield their memories yet, or Garrick or Bodhi, who would rip him limb from limb if he tried to touch them.

“What?”

“I’m going to go about my day now as if this conversation never happened,” you say, looking him in the eye, unflinching, “and you’re going to do what you have to do to satisfy Varrish’s demands — with me and only me. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” he stammers, shocked that you’re letting him do this.

“Good.” You pick up the longsword, strapping it back in along your spine. “Dain?” You call over your shoulder. “I won’t make it easy for you.” You say, and he knows that’s a promise.

“That was an incredibly stupid decision, gentle one. A noble decision, but stupid nonetheless.” Tab speaks into your mind on the way back up to your room. “You cannot always assume everyone has good intentions. It would have been your downfall by now, if not for your mate’s protection.”

“Stop calling Garrick my mate. That’s weird.” You deflect, not wanting to unpack his earlier words.

“Forgive me. Dragons do not have a word for a relationship as trivial as a boyfriend.”

You build up a mental wall like Xaden had taught you, ending the argument. 

When Varrish calls you into his office that afternoon, you already know what it’s for. “Take a seat,” he says with a smile that you know isn’t meant to be friendly.

He sees the way your eyes immediately narrow at the sight of Dain — everyone knows how the quadrant’s golden boy feels about marked ones, and how you feel about him. You’re going to be doing some very good acting today.

The door closes and locks behind you, and your stomach flips as you feel the sound shield form and press up against the office walls. There’s no escape, and no screaming for help, but you know what you’ve walked into. You signed up for it this morning.

“To what do I owe this meeting, Major?” You ask respectfully, lowering yourself into the chair beside Dain.

“Professor Carr has made me aware that both of your signets have been slow to develop. We’re going to spend your leisure time today practicing, in hopes that you will finally improve.” A very convincing lie, you’ll admit. If Dain hadn’t come to you this morning, you might have believed it. “No objections?” He asks, waiting for you to protest.

“No, sir.” You say calmly, Dain answering the same a beat behind you.

“Good. Aetos, you first.”

It takes every ounce of self control not to squirm as Dain stands, stepping toward you. You lift your chin, closing your eyes -- a gesture of consent small enough to fly under the Vice Commandant’s radar.

You may be letting him try, but you’d told him this wouldn’t be easy. You block him out completely, raising your mental shield and barring the gates.

“What do you see?” Varrish asks.

Dain doesn’t answer. He does not push, does not attempt to kick the door down or dig below the foundation. He stands outside, waiting for you to give him something. 

The crack of his nose breaking has your eyes flying open, the coppery scent of blood starting to fill the room immediately as he staggers back into his chair.

“Your turn, Avan."

You stand, laying a gentle hand on Dain’s jaw to tilt it up, stopping the blood from pouring down his shirt. 

He looks up at you, stunned, but lets you touch the broken cartilage with your fingertips, and moments later it feels like nothing ever happened. It’s mind-bending.

“Very good. Aetos, try again. What was she doing this morning?”

Dain stands, angling his body between yours and Varrish’s so that the Major can’t see the apology he mouths before his hands touch your forehead. Whether he can see his conversation with you in the gym is unclear. He lies through his teeth either way. “She was alone,” he answers, “on a run to the flight field and back.” 

“And then?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes not leaving yours. “A shower, breakfast. Eggs. An apple. Toast. She sat with Tavis and two other marked ones.” He leaves out Violet from the group, not wanting to implicate her. Interesting. 

That much is true, but it’s part of your everyday routine — he could have easily gleaned that from watching you across the mess hall. Is he still locked out?

Varrish stands, rounding the corner of his desk. “Let’s make this a little harder, shall we?”

Dain screams as a dagger pierces his arm, thrashing in his chair. Varrish twists the blade as he pulls it out, letting Dain’s blood drip to the floor. This is why he needed the sound shield.

Your eyes widen, and the adrenaline has you leaping to your feet to fix it. You press a hand into the wound, apologizing when he winces. It takes you longer than it should for the muscle to repair itself.

“You care more about him than I thought.” Varrish muses.

You turn to him, anger flickering in your chest. “It is my moral obligation to help the wounded.”

He tuts. “You would have made an excellent healer, had your parents not committed high treason. Aetos, again. Find something older.”

Dain trembles as he stands, and you take pity on him. You push an older memory forward, a happy one, remembering it as vividly as you can.

You watch together as you sprint through the forest, stopping dead in your tracks as you see two cadets fighting. The one losing is a smaller girl in your class whose name Dain can’t remember, a tall, muscled boy towering over her, sword ready to strike.

You spring forward, catching him by surprise and effectively disarming him, and he chooses to abandon the sword and run rather than fight the both of you. You extend a hand to pull the girl to her feet and her eyes widen further, staring up not at you, but behind you.

You feel a burst of heat against your back — not hot enough to be fire. Steam. You bow your head in deference, turning slowly to give the girl time to run… And the dragon bows back. What the fuck?

“You did not kill the boy.” It says directly into your mind.

“I did not.” You answer aloud, not sure if humans can do that.

“Have you ever killed before, gentle one?”

“I haven’t.” Should you be embarrassed? Dragons are violent, surely they would see this as a sign of weakness.

“Not all of us.”

“Holy shit, you can read my mind.”

The girl laughs in disbelief, and you realize you’ve just bonded a dragon.

“In time you’ll learn to control that. But your friend needs to get moving, and so do we.”

You wish her luck before scaling the leg of your dragon and taking a seat.

“Hold on.”

You shriek in happiness like a child as he jumps up, and seconds later you’re thousands of feet in the air, looking down at Basgiath and the valley below. When you return to the flight field, you find Garrick there with a giant brown Scorpiontail, bloodied but happy as he stands next to Xaden and the biggest blue daggertail you’ve ever seen. You pull them both into a hug, just grateful they’re alive.

“Careful, angel,” Garrick warns, grinning into your hair, “we just might make it out of here.”

You cut Dain off there, yanking back the memory before slamming your shields back up. He can have that moment, but only that moment.

“Threshing,” Dain says. Thank the gods. “She helped another cadet who was being attacked. That’s why Tab chose her, for her kindness.”

You both look at Varrish for further instruction. Your shields have been weakening with every injury you repair, but so have Dain’s abilities. You don’t know how many more rounds either of you can take. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” He says, sounding pleased. “I’ll see you again on Wednesday morning, to check your progress. You’re dismissed.”

The sound shield dissipates, the door unlocking. The only evidence is Dain’s blood, smeared across his face and arms, drying on the floor and under your nails. You commit the sight to memory, tucking it into the same folder that holds the death of your parents, and slam the drawer shut.

It takes you five minutes to scrub the blood out of the cracks in your palms and from under your nails. Your fingertips are wrinkled when you step into the gym.

“Why did Tab tell Chradh that you were called into Varrish’s office with Aetos?” Garrick asks, remarkably calm as he toys with one of his smaller daggers.

“Because he’s a meddling mother hen.” You answer, avoiding the question.

“Watch it.”  Tab warns. “Tell him the truth, or we will.”

You know he’s not bluffing. “He wanted us to practice our signets on each other.”

“Dain practiced his signet, his memory-reading signet, on you?” He asks, already simmering with anger.

“This morning, he came to me to warn me about Varrish’s plan, and I told him it was okay. I used my shields, and I only showed him what I wanted to. We’re supposed to do it again Wednesday.”

Your eyes communicate something else you won’t say aloud, not in front of everyone, and not when you know Dain might be able to see this conversation in two days. I did this to take the heat off of the others. You know I was the safest choice.

Garrick sighs. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d like to state for the record that I hate this plan. Literally everything about it. Except for Aetos being stabbed, maybe.” Of course Chradh told him about that. He’d have been delighted by the news, despising both him and Cath.

You give him a look.

“Okay, fine. I take that back.”

He doesn’t. 

By Wednesday, the pain in the bridge of your nose is gone, but your arm is still tender where Dain had been stabbed. Bodhi joins you in the gym, stretching with you for a few minutes before he settles into a plank at your side, his eyes never leaving the door.

Dain does not make an appearance at breakfast, notably absent from the leadership table.

Garrick excuses himself as soon as he sees you stand with your tray, catching you by the doors. “Remember that you’re stronger than both of them in all the ways that matter,” he says quietly. “I’ll find you as soon as you’re done.” You both tap your chest twice before parting ways, as has been your tradition for years -- a reminder that even though you’re leaving, you still hold the other in your heart.

Each step up to Varrish’s office is another reminder of what’s to come when you reach the top. “Cadet Avan,” he greets with another sickening smile. “Just in time. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Your jaw drops at the sight of Dain slumped into the same chair as last time, bloodied and exhausted.

“Nothing fatal,” Varrish reassures. “Not if you act quickly. Go ahead, get started.”

The Vice Commandant’s words have you on edge as you assess him, looking for gaping wounds or broken bones. Dain winces as your hands move over his ribs, and you whisper an apology, pressing in deeper. When your chest starts to ache, you know it’s time to move on. You mend two broken ribs, dissolve a purple bruise on his arm, and fix a split lip, but Dain still hasn’t woken up.

You turn back to Varrish. “One left,” he says. “Use your head.”

Oh, gods. He’d given Dain a concussion, because he knows the migraine it’ll give you will make it harder to shield. You cradle the second-year’s head in your hands, breathing out deeply as you transfer the pain from his body to yours, healing the bruised tissue. Dain blinks himself awake as you stumble, the room suddenly spinning.

“Well done. Aetos?”

You fumble for the arms of your chair, vision blurring at the edges, but you manage to sit back down.

“Say the word, and I get your mate,” Tab offers. He can probably feel your disorientation, concerned you won’t be able to block Dain out in this state.

“No,” you rasp back. “If he shows up, Varrish will have us practice on him instead.”

 You need to pick another memory to satisfy Varrish, something older, but your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. Dain gives you a moment to gather yourself, a small gesture of mercy.

“A moment of pure happiness,” Tab suggests. “Something with the wingleader and your mate.”

You flip back in the book of your life, nearly all the way to the beginning, opening it to the right page to give to Dain and slipping it under the gate with a nod of your head — you’re ready.

Dain’s hands are warm against your freezing cheeks. A boy no older than five that he recognizes as Garrick crouches under a desk across the room, holding a finger to his lips. 

“Wherever could those children possibly be?” Someone muses aloud, and you fight laughter as the voice grows closer, thinking it amusing that this adult has no idea you’re hiding in the curtains.

Footsteps retreat, and Garrick signals for you to move. You make it down the hallway before you see someone searching — presumably whatever parent you’d convinced to play with you. Small hands tug you both behind a plush velvet couch. Xaden. 

You press yourselves up against it, trying to be as quiet as possible, watching as a shadow forms on the wall in front of you, then a head peers over the back of the couch — that must be your father. He looks just like you, has the same warm smile.

“One more, and then I need to get back to work,” He says, already moving to cover his eyes and starting to count to one hundred. You each run off in a different direction, and the scene fades there.

“A childhood memory,” Dain says. “Playing hide and seek in her father’s office with Riorson and Tavis.”

Not good enough for Varrish. “Give me something I can use,” he snarls, a Freudian slip, but nothing either of you hadn’t known already. 

You flip forward in the book, settling on a page you never look at, that you can’t bear to, but that Varrish will revel in. You rip it out, sliding it under the gate. “Bad,” you whisper, the only warning you can manage.

Dain nods in permission, ready to watch whatever memory you’ve pushed forward.

Someone presses a small stone into your hand, an intricate overlap of shapes and lines engraved on one side, the other perfectly smooth.

“Do not put it down, even for a moment,” your father says. He’s aged between now and the last memory, starting to go gray at his temples. “Keep it in your hand until the end. It will protect you when we can’t.”

He looks next to Garrick. “She is everything good about the world.” He says quietly. “Take care of her.”

Garrick promises he will, and your father pulls you into one last embrace before he leaves. Tears blur your vision, Garrick pulling you close. “It’ll be okay,” he soothes. “They’ll come back.”

Hours pass that Dain can’t see, because you don’t remember them. 

There’s an ache in your palm from clutching the stone so hard, the rounded corners digging into your skin. Garrick takes your free hand in his, interlocking your fingers. Then there’s only screaming and fire and rage, heat burning up your arm as it’s marked with inky swirls. Until the end, your father had said. This must have been what he meant.

“Her parents’ execution,” Dain says, a note of genuine hurt in his voice. “They gave each child a runestone before they left, as protection.”

Varrish’s eyes rake over to you. He leans forward, yanking on the leather cord that disappears into the neck of your shirt hard enough to pull your body with it. “A runestone like this one?”

“Yes,” you answer before Dain can, saving him the lie. You shut your eyes, wincing as the cold edge of a knife brushes against your neck and the cord breaks, a single drop of warm blood running down your collarbone. You don’t protest, you can’t, your mind still hazy and eyes wet with tears from reliving the memory with Dain.

“That will be all.” Varrish dismisses. He doesn’t make an appointment for you to come back. He has what he needs.

You stand, relying on your knowledge of the office’s layout to navigate your way forward until the door closes behind you.

“I’m so sorry,” Dain breathes once you’re down the hall far enough to avoid being heard. “If I had known,”

“It’s okay. The rune is long dead, and he has no idea how to recreate it. I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you again.” You blink, trying to clear your head. How are you going to get down all these stairs? You can hardly see.

“Here,” he says quietly, extending a hand. You take it, letting him loop an arm over his shoulders — your right, the one that Varrish hadn’t bruised black and blue on Dain — and lead you one step at a time.

You’re halfway down when you hear heavy footsteps running up the stairs. Garrick. He’d promised he’d find you when you were done. He doesn’t spare a glance at Dain, gathering you into his arms and apologizing when he puts pressure on your not-broken ribs.

Dain watches as the older boy carries you down the rest of the stairs, murmuring reassurances to you all the while. Your father’s words echo in his mind. “Take care of her.”

Garrick Tavis is a man of his word.

[uplatterme]

false god

—sub!dainsleif/dom!amab!reader, priest!reader | reader is called ‘father’, throatfucking, cockstepping, first half is plot and then the other is filth.

—and after posting about writing for dain since january, i actually finally finished one for him!

This isn’t the first time that such a thing had happened to the Bough Keeper.

Such a thing was, accidentally teleporting himself to a place he didn’t mean to, partly due to exhaustion and sleepless nights.

It was often like these that the immortality cast upon him mocked him more than anything. 

Droplets of water started to fall onto his hair, then eventually onto his body. He stares into the dark sky, the coldness of the rain bringing more comfort than it does harm.

Dainsleif sighs, and instead of teleporting away to his right destination, he starts to walk and explore this newfound place.

There isn’t much to say about where he’s landed himself, and frankly, he’s thankful for that. Silence is a gift for him nowadays and even when he’s isolated, it’s rare that he isn’t plagued by awful memories that keep him from just closing his eyes for longer than a few minutes.

His slow steps are halted though, when he sees that he has brought himself in front of a very peculiar building. The rain continues to soak his body as the man stares at the white architecture and the statue that is displayed in front.

He chuckles. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. His luck had never been the one to land on his side, he didn’t know why he expected otherwise.

It’s quite big for a chapel, especially since he doesn’t recognize the figure in front. Still, it’s one of a god’s, nonetheless. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised considering the lengths that devotees had gone to.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he goes nearer the said building, wanting to examine the sculpture. However, before he could even get a closer look, the wooden entrance opens.

The Khaenri'ahn’s first instinct is to transport himself away but finds that to be useless as he meets the eyes of another. What he didn’t expect next, is genuine worry.

“My goodness! Are you alright?” 

He almost gets confused as to why one would react in such horror. He doesn’t have any blood on him, does he?

Dainsleif looks down, not wanting to traumatize a random stranger…and discovers that there’s nothing wrong with him?

He lifts his head back up, only to find you nowhere near the doors of the chapel. He wonders where you are for a quick second until he feels something warm covering his body.

“I hope my robe will make do…Come on, get inside. You must be cold.” His reluctance is evident in his face but before he can even say anything, he’s pushed inside the chapel, much to his distaste.

Him stepping inside such a place was too much for him already that he forgot the fact that he’s wearing a robe, one that he assumed was no ordinary one.

Dainleif wants to take it off and so he tries to, at least.

“Keep it. I apologize I don’t have any spare clothes at the moment.”

He really does not want to wear a priest’s robe. 

“Did you come here for the mass? I’m afraid it ended an hour ago…Ah, but you can still stay until the rain stops.” You offer generously.

“No. I just happened to be passing by.” He explains.

He watches as your mouth gapes, looking for the words to say after you’ve just brought him in here out of his will.

“That makes sense…I was wondering why I haven’t seen you before. Not that it matters, you can still stay. The Chapel of our God is glad to help any troubled souls.”

He takes offense at that. 

“Troubled, you say? That’s quite a big assumption of a man you’ve just met.” His tone is as monotone as ever, yet that doesn’t hide the disdainful look that lingers in his bright eyes.

You muse.

“Ah yes, a non-troubled person that enjoys looking gloomy and letting the rain pour all over them.”

Dainsleif bites his tongue at that.

“I’ll show you around.”

While it does interest him that this chapel worships a god that isn’t of the seven, that doesn’t mean that he wants to learn more about a dead god who was defeated in the archon war just like the others. Although he presumes that the way you tell of their tales makes it somewhat bearable.

Even if it’s not what he expected.

It’s not as overwhelming as he had thought, but perhaps that was due to the lack of nuns he usually sees when it comes to churches.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask fondly, stopping your rambling about your said god just to listen to him.

“Does this place have many attendees?”

“Not quite…but it’s a lot if you consider they’re followers of a God who isn’t one of the seven.”

Frankly, Dainsleif doesn’t get it. It’s not as if all these masses you lead would ever lead to something else. It’s just wasted hard work, if he’s to be brutally honest.

He can tell that there’s a lot of admiration and work you have put into this, but for what reason? What reason is there to keep spreading the word of someone you haven’t even personally met?

Would your faith waiver if knowledge of your god performing deemed evil acts is brought upon you?

“Should we continue the tour?” You ask.

He politely shakes his head, thoughts still lingering in his head.

“We must adhere to these values that our God has specified in their writings…that our way of living as a mortal is something that should be celebrated and not frowned upon…”

The non-believer sits at the last row of the chapel, somewhat half-heartedly listening to your words as you read passages from a book in your hands.

He only watches, observing the entire view in front of him. How people reply in unison whenever you say a certain phrase, an exchange that he finds to be quite strange. 

The mass isn’t that long, yet you still manage to lead that hour with grace, making sure that every part of it goes well without any fault.

How you stand to the side, leaning on the podium with a smile as everyone sings along with the choir.

Dainsleif’s eyes meet yours and he sees you mouth a greeting to him.

…He supposed that he can stay for a minute when everyone has gone.

He sees you grin as you start walking towards him, your robe neat and tidy as ever.

Surprisingly, he speaks first.

“I’m surprised you still have a recollection of me.”

“It’s only been a few months.” You reply, your voice soft and soothing, unlike the way you spoke as you preached earlier.

Most people would choose to forget. “You’re different in person than you are earlier.”

“Perhaps.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence in the chapel, the mosaic windows dim the bright sunlight from the outside but that only results in the colored glass reflecting stunningly on your face.

He takes the initiative and speaks again.

“Is it because I’m not a follower?”

Your breathing catches on his ear. “Maybe.”

He wonders if you know of his lineage and if that’s the reason why you had kept an eye out for him, suspicions rousing through your brain.

“Father.” The change of tone to formality shocks you a little that you were forced to question why he’s suddenly calling you that.

Your awkward chuckle echoes through the building. “What are you calling me that for?”

“Just seeing if your attitude would change. If you’re truly as honest as you present yourself to be.”

You click your tongue. “Is there a reason you came here?”

There it is. A snarky tone. He knew he was right to come back here. 

Why was he sent here before? Was someone playing tricks on him? The Abyss? The gods? He knows there has to be a reason for him being teleported here that day.

“May I ask how someone becomes a member of your church, Father?”

He hears you sigh deeply. Why?

Aren’t more members what you want and need?

“If that’s how you want to do this then…I’ll amuse you. Follow me, troubled one.”

Dainsleif’s fists close at the nickname.

He’s brought to a room that you once showed him the previous time that he was here. You never explained what exactly this room was for as he left just before you got to.

There’s a small fountain, clear and blue flowing through it.

“This is a small tradition we have. It’s based on one of the writings that…you haven’t read, but that’s alright. It’s not that difficult to follow.” You start to explain.

“It’s a symbol of starting anew, to wash yourself of the regrets you have.” 

“And if I do not have any?” He questions.

“You do. Everyone does, even Gods.”

“You think gods regret the things they’ve done.” His patience is thinning inch by inch. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of that sentence.

“That I do. According to one of the passages that—”

“How exactly do I know whether what you’re saying is genuine or just out of a damn book?” He interrupts.

You stare at him with a disapproving look. “You’re deflecting.”

“Excuse me?” 

“What is it that troubles you?”

Nothing. He’s fine. He’s done with everything, there’s no use in pondering over what could’ve and should’ve been.

“Don’t act as if you’re superior to me.” He says, visibly upset.

“So much for becoming a believer.” 

That’s when the grin is swayed off your face in just a few seconds as Dainsleif pins you to the wall, your head slightly tilted up as he grips tightly on your collar.

“Who sent you?” His enchanting eyes cross yours, not even a shade of fear in them.

“What exactly have you gone through that you think everything is out to get you?”

He stills at that. You’re not trying to push him off.

Instead, you’re conversing with him like he’s a lost lamb who’s unsure of where to go. An amenable priest who listens and asks.

He lets go. Your robe is now crinkled, and the mark of his fist is clearly evident.

You sit on the bench near the fountain, patting the empty space right next to it. Dainsleif refuses the offer, choosing to continue standing while he searches for the next words he’d like to say.

You smile.

“You don’t have to apologize or continue this. It doesn’t mean anything anyways if you don’t take it to heart.”

It’s such a strange sentence to hear from someone like you. You’re not..forcing him nor are you trying to sell him your ways by threatening him of what he may face if he doesn’t.

The Khaenri'ahn sighs, the words of apology already at the tip of his tongue.

“I’d prefer it if we were to continue.”

“You would?”

“I can still change my mind.” He jests, seeing you beam from ear to ear.

Dainsleif slowly walks towards the fountain, sitting beside you and laying his head down on your shoulder. The gesture is surprising to the priest but it isn’t turned away.

“I hope you’re quite ready, Father. This might take a while.” He says with his eyes closed.

“Confess your regrets, my troubled one.”

Eventually, it becomes a habit of his to visit you whenever he’s plagued with thoughts that make him anxious and question his choices.

And each time, you’re there to give advice. To lend a shoulder, and sometimes a little more than that.

He will never worship a god, but he’ll sure as hell worship you.

Dainsleif always waits patiently in the last row, watching you and listening to how your voice sounded rather than the message you’re conveying.

It’s soothing, in a way.

He doesn’t say a thing and only waits as you walk down the aisle with a smile.

It’s a silent exchange.

You place your hand on his shoulder and Dainsleif rubs the side of his chin on your hand, his eyes shut. 

“Dainsleif.”

“Yes, Father?” He teases, a smirk forming on his face before opening his eyes.

Your fingers lift his head slightly before bending down to reach his soft lips. He doesn’t pull away, he presses them further as if it’s his salvation. 

It’s somewhat sick that he’s found comfort in someone like you. He contemplates whether he’s walking the path of failure that the gods have planned, if this whole thing will eventually turn over just to punish him even more.

In the end, it’ll all be his fault. He’s the one who revealed secrets that you’ve never asked for.

“You’re making that face again, Dain.” You speak.

“What face?”

“The kind you make when you’re overthinking things. The one I want to get rid of.”

Dainsleif reaches for your hand, asking even if he knows the answer. “Pray tell, how exactly?”

“It makes me wonder if it’s a turn on of yours to get fucked in a place of worship.”

“Like how it’s a turn on for you when I’m on my knees and calling you Father?”

You laugh, caressing his hair as you look down on him.

“You don’t even worship the God of this place.” He looks so sweet like that, his head between your legs. Such beauty ready to kneel for you and do whatever if you ask him kindly.

“What’s the need when I already worship you?” Dainsleif says and takes you in.

Dainsleif never imagined he’d gladly be spending his time inside of a chapel, right in front of empty seats where anyone can walk in through those wooden doors, acting as if the altar is your hips.

And yet he’s letting you use his mouth eagerly, so used to how you taste that sometimes he himself craves for it when you two are separated.

“That’s right, love. Just think of me.” 

He groans as you push further into his throat, his eyes wandering to you despite his breathing getting obstructed.

He loves the things you do. Whether it be hearing you talk so dearly to him, tugging his hair with the right amount of pull, or the way you fill his mouth nicely like this.

It’s yours.

The sound that escapes his throat when your foot presses directly on his crotch is loud and lewd, echoing through the empty chapel.

His cheeks lightly flush, grumbling something incoherent.

“Speak clearly, my lamb.”

He rolls his eyes at the mischievousness of your voice. You know he can’t, and yet you’re still asking him to do so.

He follows still, of course.

“M-Mo—ah!” 

Dainsleif chokes as he tries to speak.

“Too much for you?”

He shakes his head and tries again.

“Mow—Moah-”

It’s not working. He’s stuffed full to even say it.

“Come on,” Your foot steps on his cock again. “There’s another way to plead. I’m sure a smart devotee of mine can figure that out.”

His chest heaves, trying to calm his breathing from the pressure and whining as it stops.

That’s when Dainsleif moves of his own accord, taking you even deeper than you already were. You can feel the vibrations from when he slowly pants, breathing through his nose more so he won’t pass out.

He bats his eyelashes at you, with a face full of sin.

Tears are starting to form in his eyes.

Please.

Dainsleif gags on your cock again, moaning impurely when your foot begins to knead more aggressively on his pants.

Your shoe adds even more stimulation and his cock aches wanting, no, begging for a release.

“Such a sinful body, no wonder the gods haven’t been blessing you.”

Fuck.

He continues to whimper, sucking your cock needily and knowing you’ll stop if he doesn’t do well.

“You get on your knees to be a slut, I wonder if they’ve bruised already.”

They do. They always do when you fuck his throat like this.

His mind is hazy and he’s close, he’s so—

“Hmgh!—”

“Not yet. Be patient.”

His body wants to buck down when you remove the pressure just seconds before he cums, but your hold on his head keeps him from doing that and he’s left to whine painfully.

The tears in his eyes finally fall and he stares up at you to be merciful, to let him have this one since it’s been a month of waiting to finally have you get him off like this.

“You want it?”

He nods and whines, begging for you to hear him out.

“Alright.”

When he gets permission, he sobs out on your cock, cumming inside in his own pants and soiling the floor. You feel how warm his breath is, his body is tired and trembling, but he keeps trying to make you finish as if it’s the only thing he’s made for. Even if he’s barely doing it well, too drunk with his tongue tired already.

The sight of that is enough to get you off.

Dainsleif tries to swallow but he doesn’t do it fully, cum dripping down his chin and coughing on the amount he can’t.

He finds it a waste that he isn’t able to. He stares, wondering if he should clean it up.

“Dain, it’s fine. You did amazing.”

His heart softens.

“Let me help you out, love.”

His head rests on your lap, your fingers playing with his hair. A tradition that you two somehow have ended up doing each time you finish.

He thinks it’s sweet and funny that you act so soft despite the things you say when having sex.

“Tell me.” You say.

“Tell you what?”

“What’s bothering you?” You question.

Dainsleif only snickers at that.

It’s you, Father.

[danikamariewrites]

Could you do a xaden x reader where the reader is Aetos's younger sister and xaden and her have secretly been dating shortly after she got to basgiath. And tairn chooses reader and then that's on dain finds out and xaden will do anything to protect her

Rule Breaker

Xaden x reader

Warnings: none

You’d never been one for following the rules. You always found that being uptight and strict like your father and brother was so boring. It was no way to live life.

When you got to Basgiath you were on a mission to give your brother the biggest headache ever. But you somehow got away with each rule you break. You have your Wing Leader to thank for that.

Ever since Conscription you’ve been shamelessly flirting with Xaden. What made it fun at first was that he was supposed to be off limits. As a Marked One your father looked down on him and your brother didn’t trust him.

At Threshing you bonded Tairn who you later found out is mated to Xaden’s dragon. The two of you started hanging out more since you had questions about what that bond meant for your dragons. Harmless flirting turned into real flirting and before the two of you knew it you had real feelings for each other.

You both decided to keep the relationship a secret. It’s bad enough people were after you for being an Aetos, Gods forbid they found out you’re with Xaden Riorson. Your head would be on a fucking spike. Xaden would never let that happen to you. Something you discovered during your relationship is that when Xaden loves he loves with his whole heart.

He’s very protective and loving of you. That was a new thing for you. Your father only ever paid attention to Dain since he’s a boy. It’s nice to be love and get positive attention.

You smiled to yourself, pulling the hood of your cloak down to blend in with the night. Shadows danced around your ankles in excitement as you got closer to you and Xaden’s meeting spot. You tried to meet every night either for a walk or in one of your bedrooms.

Coming into the alcove the darkness melted away revealing your boyfriend. Your smile widened into a grin as you jumped into his arms. Xaden spun you kissing the side of your face. When he put you down Xaden hugged you closer to his chest, revealing in your touch and warmth.

“I missed you today.” Xaden murmured. You squeeze him around his midsection and bury your face in his chest. Good gods he smelled amazing. Why does he smell so good? Where does he get his cologne? “I missed you too baby.” You looked up at him to see that smile only you see. Genuine and boyish and happy. You love seeing him like this. It makes you ridiculously happy.

Xaden’s smile immediately fell, his body tensing as he looked around. “What?” You turn and see who the victim of Xaden’s scowl is and your heart stops. “Dain!” You whisper shout at your older brother. His face was a rare shade of red with an angry scowl pulling at his lips.

“Get. Away. From her, now.” Dain growled. You held onto Xaden tighter as he moved you behind him. While you could hold your own Xaden didn’t want Dain to hurt you while trying to get to him. The boys looked like they were going to murder each other. And if anyone heard you would all be in trouble for being out of bed at this hour.

Without thinking you jumped between them with your hands out. “Just…stop. Take a breath and just chill out.” You said sternly without your voice shaking. Xaden seemed to listen but Dain just looked at you with disgust. You wish you could say that look broke your heart, but it didn’t even phase you. Dain’s approval never mattered to you anyway.

“What are you doing sneaking around with him?” He spit that last word out like it burned his tongue. That pissed you off. Your hand balled into a fist as you bared your teeth at Dain. “Why are you following me, brother?” “Keeping an eye on you. You’ve been nothing but trouble so I’m making sure you don’t cause anymore.” You roll your eyes at him.

“She doesn’t need a babysitter Aetos.” Xaden said cooly. “You stay out of this.” He hisses. “Just stop Dain. I don’t need you. Just because we share a last name doesn’t give you the right to monitor me twenty-four, seven. Stay away from me and I’ll stay away from you.”

“I won’t make any promises.” Xaden chimed in with a shit eating grin on his face. Dain steps away from you with that angry scowl still plastered on his face. “Dad won’t be happy.” “Colonel Aetos doesn’t need to know everything. Nor will he care, he never has.” Without another word Dain turned and headed back to the dorms.

You felt Xaden’s hands lightly grasp your hips, turning you to face him again. Xaden wrapped his arms around you as you let out a shaky breath. You had never stood up to your brother like that before and you’d be damned if you cried about it. “Let’s go for our walk love. You can sleep in my room tonight.” You nod pulling his face down to yours to leave a soft kiss on his cheek. You are beyond grateful for this beautiful boy.

[wri0thesley]

famous last words - dottore x reader x dainsleif (9.6k)

you can take care of yourself.

cw: dead dove, do not eat. not sfw, minors dni. non-con, drugging, syringes, mind control. yandere dottore and yandere dainsleif. reader is the traveller and has been travelling with dain. bondage, restraints, misuse of the akasha system, reader is traumatised and taken advantage of by dainsleif after being at dottore's mercy. reader wears a dress and has breasts/a vagina, but is referred to by they/them pronouns. please please heed the warnings.

a/n: please please (i am repeating it!) read the warnings on this one. one of my favourite yandere/dark content tropes is actually 'reader has a horrible experience and then a character who is supposed to take care of them takes advantage of them', and i don't think i've ever written it before, so this was super interesting to write!

this was a commissioned work.

Dainsleif has been on edge since the two of you crossed Sumeru’s borders. 

He doesn’t say it out loud - you have learnt, over the time the two of you have spent travelling together, that Dainsleif is a man of very few words even at the best of times - but you know his small quirks and foibles well enough now that you sense it. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, the way his eyes are constantly darting about wherever you go.

It’s somewhat in the way he walks closer to you, his height casting a shadow over your own, as if he can protect you merely by being near you. It makes a muscle in your jaw twitch - you are grateful for his care, of course, but surely he knows by now that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? You have gotten used to the feeling of a sword in your hand over your search for your twin - you have made a name for yourself in every nation you’ve traversed, and only some of the time has Dainsleif been by your side. 

You suppose that the newfound relationship between the two of you is clouding his judgement somewhat too--

Well.

‘Relationship’ might be too strong of a word.

Dainsleif is hesitant with you even now; checks with you, twice and three times, before he so much as touches your shoulder. But you hope you have made it clear he does not need to, with the way you have let your hand entangle with his and the way you have smiled at him when nobody else is looking, the soft confessions to him at camp overnight that he’s one of only two people in this world you would trust whole-heartedly . . .

All of that, perhaps, has made Dain even more protective over you than he was before, despite the truth of the matter being that you are almost equal in swordsmanship and combat ability. And he’s said enough to you, too, that you understand his hesitance. Other people he has loved have been taken from him - a whole nation, in fact. Dain has had to struggle on for years all alone, and walls built over such a long time do not crumble so easily--

But still. You wish he would not fret so when you walk away from him in Sumeru City to investigate an interesting looking fruit and to ask the stallholder some questions about their wares. 

You’re startled out of your reverie - handling the Zaytun peaches that lay in plump piles in round baskets upon this particular stall - by Dain murmuring your name. He has attracted some attention - he is tall and handsome and blond, an air of mystery and exoticism emanating off of him - but he is unaware of the giggles behind other people’s hands, his gaze set firmly on you.

He has always been like that - those piercing blue eyes, even through his mask-like patch - never fail to make you feel as though you are the only person in the world. You have woken up in the night at camp plenty of times, too, and felt safe in the knowledge that Dainsleif is there and his gaze will not falter. 

You toss some Mora to the stallholder and turn to Dainsleif, proffering one of the peaches to him. He takes it like a precious treasure.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, before you take a bite. His brow is furrowed - you sense something brewing in the wind. A kind of unease that lies hot and heavy in the humid Sumeru air. Dain sighs softly.

“I have some things I must do,” he says to you, his voice soft and low. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but . . .”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him, smiling. You wonder what it is that he does not want to take you along with, but you do not push - Dainsleif will tell you in his own time, you are sure. You have no desire to push him too far when his hope seems such a fragile thing still. “I’ll meet you tonight, here?”

His shoulders untense, just a touch. 

“Will you stay in the City?” He asks you, and you laugh.

“Dain,” you say, smiling, just a touch of reproach in your voice. “I can take care of myself, you know! Go and do what you need to do. I will be absolutely fine. You know that! When have I not been?”

Dain does not look entirely convinced, but whatever it is that he has a need to do has a hold on him - he looks at you with those serious, piercing eyes and takes your hand. Your cheeks go hot all over as he bends to press a chivalrous kiss upon the back of it. The crowd of admirers that Dain has amassed are all atwitter over this - you cannot blame them. If you’d seen it happen to someone else you’re sure you’d be swooning. Even now, your heart is beating a double time march against your ribcage as you wonder how you got so lucky. 

“You promise me?” He asks. You can sense he is barely holding back the urgency in his voice; anxiety that tugs at the syllables like it is weighing them down. This errand he has to run . . . your curiosity runs rampant at what it might be that it is so clearly important to him.

“I promise I’ll be more than fine,” you say to him, smiling. There is the slightest snick of irritation, in the back of your mind - have you not fought dragons? Have you not befriended Archons? His concern is sweet, but he does not need to fret about you so. You say to him, trying to make sure your voice is as reasonable and convincing as possible; “You don’t have to worry about me.”

As it turns out, this proclamation will come back to haunt you.

They will become what are referred to in some places as ‘famous last words’.

You notice the earpieces that the Sumeru citizens wear as you wander around; when you ask someone about it, they look baffled as to your own lack of them.

“Usually you’re given one when you come into the city,” the young woman explains, as she kindly guides you back towards the entrance of Sumeru City. This explains it; Dainsleif always prefers to take the least populated way into anywhere, and most of the time you are happy to agree with him. Your exploits across Teyvat so far have occasionally resulted in some notoriety that isn’t always conducive to exploring new nations; you’re not surprised that Dainsleif had avoided the grand entrance of Sumeru City proper. Still, you’re beaming as the young woman brazenly walks up to one of the men standing at the entrance greeting newcomers. 

He has dark hair and a moustache, and is wearing the robes that you recognise as marking him out as a member of the Sumeru Akademiya; as the young woman explains that you two are without the devices - she calls them an ‘Akasha’ - you smile at him, as bright and hopeful and friendly as you can manage. 

He nods thoughtfully, and raises a hand to his own Akasha system.

“Just a moment,” he tells you, “I’m scanning the system for any information on you - just to ensure we don’t go around letting in criminals, you see?” 

As he does that, you ask a few more questions of the young woman - what it is that the Akasha system does, and whether your . . . unusual physiology (a far easier way to explain it, you’ve surmised over weeks of practise, than explaining that you are a traveller from beyond the realms of Teyvat) will effect it in any way. She is effluent with her praise - the Akasha, she tells you with a wide smile and genuine pride in her voice, has truly revolutionised what it is like to be a citizen of Sumeru. 

“This is unusual,” the man says, finally taking his hand from the complicated earpiece of the Akasha system. “I’m terribly sorry, but . . .”

“Is everything alright?”

You hadn’t wanted to mention it, of course - but you’d been afraid when he’d said he was scanning for information on you. Though you have mostly made peace with the nations you’ve travelled through, there have been plenty of misunderstandings too - and there are an unfortunate amount of activities that may be considered criminal in your past. Your heart beats just a little too quickly, as you carry on smiling and hope that your nervousness isn’t written too plain on your face.

You’d hate to get yourself into trouble after promising Dainsleif you would be absolutely fine on your own. 

“I’m sure there’s no problem at all,” the man assures you, as he tries to return your smile. “It’s simply that we do have a record of you - oh, please don’t worry, it doesn’t name you as a wanted criminal or some such thing! It merely asks that you be shown to the Akademiya to meet with one of our trusted scholars, if you are to set foot in Sumeru City.” 

This sounds a little more understandable, you think, as you let loose a small sigh of relief. Your reputation precedes you in several places - and this scholar would be far from the first person who has sought your help with matters. It’s strange that they couldn’t manage it alone with all of the resources of Sumeru behind them, but you are not in a position to judge. 

“Is it just me?” You ask. “I usually travel with another man, a different blond--”

He checks, the vine-like contraption of the Akasha pulsing over his ear, but then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, as he offers you his arm. “The only information we have is on you.” Another smile, clearly meant to reassure. “I really did mean it about not worrying; if you were a danger, I’m certain that this would not all be so civil. Sumeru maintains several forces of Eremite mercenaries to keep the peace, and the Akademiya itself has the Matra . . . If you were about to be in trouble, there would be far more of a guard than simply me.”

You still consider running. You let your eyes flash over the surrounding area to map out all possible escape routes, to see who you might have to fight if you need to - but in the end, you take the proffered arm. No matter how much Dainsleif might want you to lie low and not attract attention, you can’t help thinking that causing a scene like that would be far worse than going along with whatever it is you’re wanted for up in the Akademiya. 

You do not know it at the time, but it turns out to be just another decision that will come back to bite you. 

As the two of you walk, Panah - that is the man’s name, you find out - sends a message up to the Akademiya proper via the system, to let them know that the two of you are coming. He seems almost giddy when he is done, a smile playing beneath the moustache.

“I was permitted to speak to him myself,” he says, and you gather from the excitement in his voice that whatever man it is you’re about to meet occupies a place of high honour within the walls of the Akademiya. You’re impressed by the technology; you can’t help thinking how useful it would be, if you and Dainsleif had such a way to communicate when you were apart.

He’s not going to be happy about all of this - but with any luck, this will be a quick thing for you to deal with and you’ll be able to rake in some glory and reputation in Sumeru so the two of you don’t have to worry so much on your journey. A lost dog, perhaps. A band of Treasure Hoarders who need to be taken out--

If you had one of those Akasha systems, you think, you wouldn’t need to be trailing up all of these steps. You bring this up to Panah, and he laughs, still riding a high from speaking to whoever it was he was permitted to speak to.

“Ah, don’t worry about that! You’re going to be very lucky - he told me he even has an Akasha terminal set aside especially for you, with a couple of brand new features he’s been wanting to test out--”

Later on, you’ll curse yourself for these words not setting alarm bells off in your head. But right then, under the bright Sumeru sun and with the freedom of a day in Sumeru without Dain’s occasionally too protective presence, you just laugh brightly and daydream about the knowledge your very own Akasha will place at your fingertips.

There’s a little bit of pomp and ceremony when you make it to the Akademiya proper; the other staff members and workers and students who have been assigned to help you are all excited and chattering as they wave Panah off and begin to lead you into the labyrinthine halls. It’s a beautiful building, to be sure - but it’s deceptively large, and after going through lifts and corridors and being taken through door after door you begin to lose sense of where exactly it is you are. You feel a brief flare of panic inside; you much prefer to be in places where you have an idea of how to escape, should the need arise--

But everyone around you remains excited about the great scholar you’re about to meet, and their smiles and pats and their wistful proclamations about how lucky you are serve to soothe the fear, just a little. 

“Here we are,” says one of them, stopping outside a great wooden door with a complicated series of locks on it; some of them are easy to understand (you know what a padlock looks like, after all), but others seem to be rather more high-tech than you’re used to. Whatever it is behind this door, you think, it must either be very important or very expensive. “Oh! We have your Akasha terminal--”

He reaches into the folds of his robe to produce one of the vine-like contraptions that everyone in Sumeru wears on their ears.

“This one was designed by him specifically,” the man tells you in awe, as he reaches over and affixes it onto your ear. “It has a few brand new functions that he wants help testing out, and he said that your experience would be a huge boon in working out all of the kinks--”

Ah. So that’s what he wanted your help with. You wonder which of your exploits it is that has made this scholar think you’d be a good fit for this kind of testing; you wonder, too, why Dainsleif wasn’t included in this idea. The two of you have done so much together, after all--

You feel a brief electric zap that seems to flash over your vision and down to your spine. A little noise in your ear, a sense of heat that lasts barely a moment - and then, the man is stepping away from you and giving a strange little bow.

“It’s working, I think,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket to turn a key, swipe a card, as his own Akasha pulses to life and some of the locks upon the door respond in kind. “Ah - I’m afraid we’ll be leaving you. His temperament can be a little unpredictable, and I’m sure he’d rather meet you alone--”

“That’s alright,” you say, smiling. You wonder what kind of brand new functions this Akasha system is going to have; perhaps something for combat capabilities? Wilderness scanning, to be able to identify poisonous herbs and dangerous animals? The big wooden door slowly creaks open, as the entourage who have guided you into the bowels of the Akademiya all disperse, leaving you alone.

“Come in,” calls a voice. 

The voice is familiar; somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you recognise it. A kind of low, smooth drawl of a voice, that shivers with suggestion as it calls out to you. But it is not enough to deter you, now you’ve made it all the way here. 

You step into the room, walking further and further into it to see that it’s a . . . workshop, of some sort. There are a few tables scattered with various tools, deconstructed machinery lolling on the floor and propped against walls. There are a couple of remains of Ruin Guards, but in Sumeru this is hardly a surprising sight--

The door slams closed behind you. You hear the click and the whirr of the locks resetting themselves, trapping you in here, but even then you still do not panic just yet. You are in the Sumeru Akademiya, after all - what horror could possibly befall you at the hands of someone so well-regarded, in such a beacon of wisdom and hope in the nation? 

That’s when you spot the bed in the middle of the room. 

Sterile white sheets, white metal frame, restraints at the head and at the feet. An IV standing proudly beside it; a table to one side that is scattered with, instead of tools and screwdrivers, medical equipment. Needles and scalpels and pill bottles. Your throat goes dry. 

“Ah,” there’s that voice again, and out of the shadows steps a figure. Your brain snaps into action sickeningly quickly; this is indeed a man you recognise. This figure, in his doctor’s coat and long boots, with his hair falling over a masked face-- “You’re just as lovely as I remembered you.” 

You crouch, your body primed, your position ready to jump to attention at any moment. You reach behind you to will your sword into your hand - if you incapacitate Dottore quickly enough, perhaps you can knock him out whilst you search his workshop for tools to help you break the locks--

“Oh, my,” he says. “Such an unwelcome reception, my dear. Still. That won’t be for long.”

“Open the door,” you snarl, through gritted teeth. “Let me out, and I won’t ram my blade through your throat.”

He smiles beneath the mask, the tilt of his lips almost fond. 

“There’s that lovely fire,” he says to you, in a pleased purr. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you for what seems like forever.”

“I’m warning you--” Your fingers wrap around the hilt of your sword. Your breath comes short; your heart pounds. 

You do not truly know if you could take Dottore in a fight - he is ranked second of the Harbingers, after all, and you do not think such a position would be granted without some combat capability. But you have to hold fast to your hope - and without Dainsleif here, all you have to rely on is your own skills. What might happen if he does overpower you doesn’t bear thinking about--

(You’d noticed, the last time the two of you had met, the way his gaze behind the mask had lingered on the shape of your body. The way he had spoken silky smooth, shivering with intent, when he had addressed you. The way his leather gloved hands had felt, on your shoulders, lingering there as if they wished they could be somewhere else--)

“Ah, ah,” he clicks his tongue, chiding. “Now, darling. That won’t do at all.”

You realise too late that the Doctor himself is not wearing an Akasha system earpiece - but you are. 

And as you feel it pulse into life, as bright colours flash against your vision and you stumble, your sword slipping through your fingers . . .

Everything goes black.

“Now,” Dottore’s voice cuts through the blackness, as everything seems to slowly fall back into place like a jigsaw puzzle being re-assembled. “This might hurt a touch. Just a sharp scratch, my dear--”

You’ve been strapped onto the medical bed, just as you had feared. The straps are wrapped around your ankles and your wrists, binding you spread-eagle upon the thin little mattress. You can still feel the vines of the Akasha system wrapped around your ear, and your throat clogs with the fear of it - if it could knock you out stone cold, what else could it do? Your eyes flutter open, and Dottore pauses--

He’s leaning over you with a syringe in his hand, the liquid within glowing with the same blue glow as the earring he wears. As he sees that you’re awake, his mouth opens into a wide smile with just a hint of too sharp teeth.

“Oh!” He exclaims in delight. “You’re finally awake! My, you’ve missed quite the little drama.”

He carefully places the syringe down upon the metal table as he reaches over you and fiddles with some kind of control on the side of the bed. Slowly, it creaks upwards, propping you up a little so you are bent at the waist.

“That’s better,” Dottore coos. “Now we can all see one another. Look, darling. Your knight in shining armour.” 

Dainsleif. 

How long have you been out cold? How easy was it for Dottore to strap you onto this operating table - how deeply did the Akasha knock you out? 

Long enough for Dain to realise you were missing. Long enough for him to track you down - long enough for he, too, to be overpowered by the second Harbinger and find himself entirely at the Doctor’s mercy.

Your travelling companion sits across from the bed you are restrained upon, ropes tied around his broad chest to keep him lashed to a rusted metal chair. A gag has been crudely shoved into his mouth so all he can do is make a soft little distressed noise at the predicament you have found himself in; more ropes bind his ankles to each leg of the chair, just to ensure that he’s fully unable to so much as wriggle in his bindings. He stares at you, agonised. 

“We’ve been talking about everything I’m going to do to you,” Dottore hums - and something hot and sour crawls into your throat as he leans over, and his leather gloves caress your face like a lover and not like a madman. “Ah, sweet little traveller . . . I’ve barely been able to wait to get my hands on you. A pretty face like that, and that fighting spirit . . . Ah! You stick in a man’s mind.” His smile is just as wide and unhinged as ever as he taps your cheek fondly. “I don’t think your poor knight is going to enjoy it, but . . . well. I’m sure you will.”

You struggle in the bonds, as your strength returns to you. You try and use your not inconsiderable strength to see if you can loosen the leather around your wrists, as fear of the undercurrent of desire in Dottore’s words and anger at Dainsleif finding you like this and worry about Dain himself all war at once within you like a churning whirlpool.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you seethe at Dottore, tugging hard. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it would be better for everyone if you just let me go now, and we can pretend none of this happened--”

Dottore throws his head back and laughs. 

“Oh,” he practically purrs at you. “You’re so lovely when you’re enraged. But . . . ah. No, I don’t think I shall. Now, my dear. How shall we start? A kiss, perhaps? Your lips have been haunting my dreams recently--”

“I’ll bite your tongue off,” you snarl, and though you cannot see Dottore’s eyes you can tell from the way that his face moves that he has raised his eyebrows. He lets out a low, silky chuckle.

“Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. Well, if so . . .”

He reaches back over to the metal table, and in his hands now he lifts the syringe once more. He taps the barrel of glowing blue liquid once, twice, that infuriatingly calm and smooth smile returning to his face. 

“This won’t knock you out,” he tells you. “I want you to be aware of everything we do together, darling, so you remember how good it makes you feel . . . how much we belong together. But it shall . . . how should I put this? Take a bit of the edge out of you.” He leans in; finding the crook of your elbow, thumb smoothing softly and almost lovingly over the patch of skin. “I’d hate for all of your fire to go missing, but . . . perhaps we should at least dull your teeth a little, hmm?” 

Dainsleif makes some awful noise; a whimper crossed with a moan, a kind of noise you’ve never heard the stoic Twilight Sword make before, as the needle sinks into your skin with a sharp scratch. Panic flares in your mind white hot at whatever kind of concoction is being injected directly into your veins--

But the panic quickly dulls, as you feel the drug beginning to take effect. 

It adds a muzzy kind of quality to everything. You see Dottore and Dain before you - the Doctor smiling, Dain agonised behind his patch and gag and rope. You know that there is something terribly wrong with this scene, but your mind is too hazy to pull up the specifics. You go to open your mouth and put word to a question, but nothing comes out - your tongue is too heavy, your teeth feeling as though they’re in the wrong place in your mouth.

“Oh, lovely,” says Dottore with relish. “My, you took to that sedative better than even I hoped you would! Sweet dear thing, will you let me kiss you now?”

You know, in that hazy mess of your mind, that you do not want this man to kiss you - but as he leans forward, you cannot remember why. You cannot make your tongue move to say no, and before you know it a pair of lips have firmly pressed to your own, tasting of the smell of antiseptic and peppermint. Dottore kisses you as thoroughly as he does everything else - his mouth working against yours, sharp teeth tugging at your lower lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth and laying claim to the shape of it as if he is an explorer mapping out newly conquered territory.

From somewhere that seems very far away, you hear another angry noise, half groan and half moan. 

Dottore pulls back, his tongue tracing his lips as if he’s savouring the taste of you left on them.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmurs. “But . . . ah, my dear, don’t you want to kiss me back?”

There’s a pulse by your ear. Your mind short-circuits - and then Dottore is leaning in again for another kiss, and without you sending a single signal to your body you are kissing Dottore back, your mouth working against his, your tongues twining with one another as if possessed by an unknown force. Dottore groans into your mouth, at the same time as one of his gloved hands comes to land on your thigh, bare beneath your skirt. 

You realise dully that it is the Akasha, taking control of your body; doing exactly what Dottore tells you to do.

If you hadn’t been drugged with the sedative that the Doctor had used, perhaps this realisation would make horror rise in you - it clearly does in Dainsleif, who struggles desperately against his bonds. But to you, in your current state . . . it is merely a realisation that washes over you like a cool stream. An inevitability. 

“Ah,” Dottore says, and he smiles something horrific and tender down at you. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?” 

Those gloved fingers slide higher and higher up your thigh, the touch remaining soft. You think it would be better if he started pawing at you like an animal; if he ripped and tore at your clothes. Something about the softness of how his thumb moves over your inner thigh, the soft untouched skin there - something about the gentle way his thumb brushes over your underwear . . . that feels a hundred times worse than you could ever imagine. 

He sighs in pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it; your wrists and ankles bound, your entire body prone, your veins numbed with sedatives. Your eyes seek out Dain’s across the room - and he looks at you, so broken that you think you will cry. 

Dottore’s other hand reaches up to the catches down the side of your dress. They are there to make it easier to dress yourself - catches and buttons up your spine are not helpful when you are alone or injured, and since you have found yourself in Teyvat you have been both of those things more often than you’d like to have - but you curse them, now, as Dottore’s other hand gently (oh-so-gently) peels them from your body and you are almost bare before him. Your nipples pebble in the cool air; your cheeks flush hot at how he tilts his head to look down at you. 

If you could see his eyes, what would you see written in them? 

“Oh,” Dottore is quiet when he speaks; appreciation dripping off every syllable. He moves his other hand away from where he’s been constantly petting at your sex through your underwear in order to turn all of his attention to your newly bared chest; you feel the hot flush across your collarbones at the sheer admiration that seems to ghost every movement. “You’re even more lovely than I could have thought.”

His leather-clad palms reach down, taking a handful of the soft curve of your chest; squeezing the half-globes in his hand, sighing happily at how they fit in his grip. His thumb and forefinger find the nub of your nipples, pinching one each until they stiffen and pucker beneath the attention and you squirm, a hot little bolt of lightning going straight from the place Dottore is pinching to the place between your thighs.

“You like that?” He murmurs, not missing the way you shudder beneath the attention. “Ah, sweet thing - has your knight not done this for you? Have you been saving yourself for me?”

Again, you can’t make your tongue form words; all you can do is let out a little whimpering moan of a noise that makes Dottore chuckle. It sounds far too close to affirmation for your liking, but what can you really do, as Dottore continues to pinch and pluck at your nipples and the warm zaps of pleasure and excitement continue to run hot in your veins? 

You can hear the way your breath is starting to come out in little pants; how it shudders in the air, heat coalescing between the bots of you as Dottore’s insistent pinches further cloud your mind. You can’t help the noise that falls from your mouth as he bends his head and applies his tongue just so upon one of the buds; as it swirls around it, suckling the nipple into his mouth, lathing it with attention that makes your back arch involuntarily. 

Dainsleif, still bound across the room, fights against the ropes once again and lets out a muffled noise of anger; words caught in the gag, vitriol spewed at the Doctor as he does whatever he wants to with your body. It is all for nothing, though. 

Dottore’s thumbs are hooking into your underwear. The thin cotton tears at the seams at only the flimsiest tug from the second ranked Harbinger, and then Dottore is looking down at your spread thighs and the folds of your sex on display for him and cooing at you so sweetly that it cloys. 

“Oh, darling,” he says to you. “You’re this wet for me?”

It’s not fair.

Frustrated tears rise to your eyes. In your current state, drugged and confused, under all of Dottore’s touches . . . your body has betrayed you. You know you’re wet; you can feel your own slick, oozing out of you, your folds wet with droplets of arousal. Desire to be touched warring with disgust for the man before you inside of you - frustration that you cannot so much as speak to put voice to your anger. Not even to beg him to stop. 

Hand on your thigh. Two fingers, deftly parting the lips of your labia so cool air hits the sensitive inner folds; the swollen bud of your clit, waiting to be touched, thrumming with excitement. A whine catches in your throat at the sensation of being studied like this; the way that Dottore is looking down at you like a wolf about to thoroughly enjoy his meal. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, again. “So much lovelier in the flesh.” He turns his head without turning his body, catching Dainsleif’s gaze. “Look, Twilight Sword. Ah. Don’t you wish you were in my position now? Aren’t you simply longing to have your wicked way with our sweet little Traveller?” 

Dain struggles desperately, the muscles of his shoulders flexing, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth working at the gag firmly pressed within it. You know that he wants to help you; that Dain would tear Dottore limb for limb for what he is clearly about to do to you, if only he could get himself free. 

But, too, there’s something in his eye that you do not want to admit to.

Shining bright behind the agonised blue is a palpable lust; a desire to be in Dottore’s place. You know that Dain would never hurt you - would never strap you to a table and use you against your will, you’re sure of it - but that look in his eyes makes you shiver. 

“Don’t worry,” Dottore assures him, turning back to you with that wicked smile on his face. “I’ll make sure you get to watch.” 

He eases the way his fingers are keeping you spread apart in order to be able to slowly slide his index finger through the valley of your sex; to wet his glove on all of the slick, to let it gather on his fingertip. He raises that gloved finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you as he tilts his chin back to savour it.

“Ah,” he says, as he tugs his glove off with his teeth. “Forgive me, my dear - I simply must feel you without them.”

His fingertips feel just as cold, as he touches you with them instead of the gloves. Your back arches again, though your own restraints keep you on the bed and stop you from being able to wriggle away from Dottore’s questing fingers even if the sedative hadn’t filled your limbs with honey.

Dottore lets out a soft chuckle at the way your body moves, another chiding click of his tongue. 

“Breathe out,” he advises you, as his finger circles your entrance, as his thumb finds the swollen pearl of your clit and begins to draw slow, firm circles over it. “It will make it easier, sweet thing--”

One of his fingers swiftly presses inside of you, punching the air out of your chest. You hate it, you think - you hate the feel of his slender digits pressing further and further inside of you, the feel of him crooking his knuckle just so that the bone rubs against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars--

It feels good, too. You don’t want it to. You don’t like how the feeling of him inside of you seems to satiate an ache that had started when he had rubbed over the seam of your underwear and kissed you and toyed with your chest. You don’t like that, as a second finger rubs around your entrance in preparation to be put inside of you, your breath catches in excitement at the thought of being stretched further.

“That’s right,” Dottore is murmuring, his own voice a little breathless now as excitement leaks into his tone. “Oh, you’re doing so well, lovely thing. Ah-- you have no idea how good you feel. Like silk . . . Thinking about doing this to you doesn’t at all measure up to the real thing.”

The thought of Dottore having these thoughts about you makes your heart twist. You close your eyes, just so you don’t have to see Dainsleif sitting across from you, watching you with agonised eyes as Dottore’s fingers make you feel a way you didn’t know you could. 

A few more months and perhaps you would have imagined Dain himself doing this to you - something more intimate than the shy, awkward kisses the two of you have so far shared, as Dainsleif silently agonises and worries about his body being tainted and his curse ruining everything that shimmers between the two of you like fragile gossamer. Perhaps then, it would have been slow and careful - Dain waiting for you to give the go-ahead, letting you lead . . .

That choice has been taken from you, now, as two of Dottore’s fingers scissor inside of you to open you up wide and his thumb continues to rub over your clit in firm, sure circles. The way that Dottore touches you would almost be clinical - designed solely to make you feel good, to prepare you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, to make sure that your slickness would provide adequate lubrication for the glide of the same - were it not for the bright mania that fills his grin as he stares down at you, watching your sex swallow his fingers with every wet, slick pump of his wrist. 

That is the look of a man very much enjoying what he’s doing to you. 

“Sweet Traveller,” he murmurs, low and cajoling. “I think you’re going to come for me.”

You have just enough control of your body to toss your head weakly, shaking it from side to side, your hair falling over your face. It does not hide the fact that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright, that your chest is heaving as every rub of his fingers sends brand new sparks of pleasure careening to the middle of your stomach into a hot, tight ball. 

“Oh,” Dottore’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. “That wasn’t me asking, darling. Come for me.”

Another zing; a zap, a pulse, where the Akasha terminal is wrapped about your ear--

And your body twitches and pulses under his command, as the hot tight ball of want inside of you seems to get a signal from the terminal that now is the time to explode. You don’t know how to explain it; the way that your mind seems to contract at the same time as your body, and then you are panting and whining helplessly as shivers rack you underneath Dottore’s twisting wrist, his insistent thumb. 

He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he pulls back, his fingers glimmering wetly with your own orgasm. Again, he lifts them to his mouth; again, you see a sharp flash of teeth as his tongue traces his own digits and he savours the way you taste on his tongue. 

“That’s more than enough,” he says, pleasantly. He looks at Dainsleif, the blond all wide-eyed and desperate and seething with hatred, and gives him another smile that is like the edge of a knife. “Don’t you think so, knight? Ah. Don’t you think it’s time for me to take them fully?”

Dainsleif struggles again, and Dottore laughs like a creaked, rusting hinge on a sharp iron gate.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” he says, syrupy sweet. “Oh, they mean more to me than that. I merely want them to understand how badly I need them . . . and how good I could be for them, too.”

The sedatives in your system do not allow you to fight back; to bare your teeth and growl and tell him you could never imagine how he could possibly be good for you. But though your mind churns with these thoughts, your body is still not quick enough to respond - your veins still weighed down with honey. Too tenderly, Dottore reaches for your face; traces his thumb over your cheekbone.

“We are going to consummate our mutual adoration,” he tells you, and he reaches for his fly. You hear the buttons of his placket undo as if you are somewhere very far away, button sliding through button hole. Dottore sighs happily as he repositions the table and himself, making sure that Dainsleif has an even better view of the way that he slots himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Dottore’s cock slap against the bare skin; the wet, slick head of him, as he rubs it over your own soft inner thighs. You burn with humiliation, as the wet pap of him slapping the cockhead against your cunt echoes in Dottore’s workshop, and the Doctor keeps smiling as if he’s enjoying himself terribly.

“How about,” he says, loud enough for Dainsleif to hear it, “before we begin, you tell me what I want to hear, Traveller?”

You blink at him slowly, as he pushes his hips forward, and the head of his cock catches on the ring of your entrance; as your body clenches and puckers, waiting for him to move further forward. You wish he would just get on with it, but at the same time you wish that this wouldn’t happen. If you were fully in control of your body, you’re certain you would be struggling and sobbing and spitting - but you are not.

“Oh,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet. “You don’t know what I mean? Darling, let me say it a little simpler whilst you’re still all addled from me making you come . . . Loud enough for the Twilight Sword to hear, now. Why don’t you tell me you love me?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

It’s not really silent; there’s a buzzing in your ears, there’s a constant hum from the machinery that surrounds you both, there’s the sound of three people breathing within the room, panting and seething and hating . . . but that’s how it feels.

You would never tell this monster you loved him.

But Dottore is still looking at you, his cock still pressing against your entrance, his head still tilted to one side, his mouth still quirked in a smile - and there’s an eager kind of obsession in his gaze, as if he thinks you might actually get the words out--

The pulsing in your ear. The flash across your brain. You can’t breathe; you can’t think, through anything but the sudden desire to tell the Doctor who’s about to ruin you that you love him.

Your tongue is slow. Heavy. Your voice echoes too loud around the room.

“Doctor . . .” Dainsleif lets out a pained whine behind the gag. “I-- I love you--”

“Oh, good-- well done--!”

Dottore pants in wild pleasure at the sound of your voice, the way it sounds desperate and reedy not with hate, but with feeling. He cants his hips forward, still too wild - and your head falls back, a whine escaping your slow-tongued mouth as his entire cock sheaths itself inside of you in excitement.

It’s easier to close your eyes.

You do not want to see Dainsleif, over Dottore’s shoulder - the disappointment and horror and despair that’s written clear across his handsome face. He must have seen the Akasha pulse, he must know that you would never say such a thing of your own volition - but that doesn’t stop the fact that you did say it, and he did hear it. Eyes squeezed shut, the feel of him inside you is all the worse; the way you can sense your body tightening around him, the feel of being stretched wider than you’ve been stretched before.

Dottore’s pants do not let up; there’s a desperation in him that you would never have thought the Doctor possible of - bringing a horrifying kind of truth to all of those things he had said, all of the ways he had stared at you. Perhaps it is more than just lust--

And that makes it all the worse. 

His hips judder against yours in desperation, his white coat rustling as it rubs against your own bare body. One of his hands explores your chest, even as he keeps rutting into you; thumbs pinching at your nipples, palming at your hips and your waist and your chest, as if he cannot truly believe this is happening. 

He is undone, like this; and you cannot quite believe he is letting you see some of those walls fall down. There is no more the strong, smooth Doctor - the one who could raze cities to the ground if he so chose. There is a man; a man who is fucking into you, a man who wants to have as much of your body as he can, a man who seems to want to devour you. 

You cannot believe he made you say that you love him. The Akasha upon your ear feels like a parasite, worming its way into your psyche, taking complete control of you. You think of Dainsleif, forced to watch, and a juddering sob manages to tear itself from your throat. 

Dottore kisses your cheek, the tears catching on his lips, his tongue tracing the saltwater tracks. 

“Don’t fret so, darling,” Dottore murmurs, against the apple of your cheek. “It’s alright . . . Doesn’t it feel good?”

It doesn’t - and it does. You don’t want to admit to the way that his constant thrusting and the grinding of his pelvis against your still-swollen clit are working together to make your insides churn, your body feverishly hot and confused. Your breath comes out in pants that match Dottore’s own. You can’t come for him again, you simply can’t - it doesn’t matter, you try and tell yourself, that there is heat bursting anew in your stomach. That it is not really because of Dottore, but natural biology--

You came earlier, yes, but Dottore told you to; used the Akasha against you. If you came now, without him forcing you to, it does not bear to think about - it doesn’t bear to think about how Dain might react, if he watched you come of your own volition under Dottore’s fucking--

No matter how sternly you try to speak to yourself, one cannot stop biology in its tracks.

Dottore’s pelvis batters against your clit; Dottore’s cock bullies itself mercilessly into you, as if it is trying to make you mould to the shape of him. With each thrust, it rubs against spots inside of you that your own fingers have never been able to reach; ones you had never realised would feel so good. You try and tell yourself, over and over and over, that you will not let yourself come for Dottore.

But your body betrays you.

Your body betrays both yourself and Dain, a man who you had always thought would be the only one to ever do this to you, though you had not let your fantasies yet get further than a hand over your dress, skimming your bare thigh. You come for the second Fatui Harbinger, as he continues to fuck into you with wild abandon - and this time, you do not even have the Akasha to blame it upon. 

Your wrists are still held either side of your head by restraints; all you can do, as the spasms of pleasure resonate out from your sex and into every other part of you, is dig your nails into your palms. All you can do is let out a heavy, slurred whine-moan escape from your parted lips. All you can do is take it - come for the Doctor, the way he always knew you were going to.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips double their speed, desperately rutting into you. “I didn’t even have to tell you to, that time - you want me just as badly, don’t you? Oh, sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ll give you everything I have--”

His words are slurred too; he is too far gone within the euphoria of finally being inside of you. His hips rock into you, harder and harder, his cock twitching wildly as he hisses out your name.

He comes inside of you with a wild bite into your bare shoulder, grunting and groaning, more animal than scientist - proof that, beneath it all, he is just a man. He remains there, humming into your skin, his cock softening inside of you. His tongue licks across the bite on your shoulder as if he wants to remember the taste of you.

“Why,” he says, a pleased hum in the back of his throat. His cock twitches. “I think I might even do that again--”

There’s a knock on the door. 

You are still too out of it after what Dottore did to you to register much beyond his frustration that he is being called back to Snezhnaya, now of all times. An awkward assistant, unsure of what they’re supposed to be doing, lingers by Dottore’s side as the Doctor grumbles under his breath and pulls your clothes back on over your bruised body, his come still leaking out from between your thighs.

“I’ll see you again,” Dottore says to you, with a smile, as he brandishes another syringe. “Oh, I won’t be forgetting about how much we shared any time soon, darling. You’ll keep me warm many a cold Snezhnayan night.”

The syringe is brought up to your elbow; the liquid injected directly into the vein once again. You barely have time to wonder what he is injecting you with this time before the heaviness of unconsciousness begins to blur the corners of your vision. 

Dottore strides across the room to Dainsleif, another syringe glowing within his gloved fingers.

Before you slip into oblivion, you watch Dottore roll up Dainsleif’s sleeve, and you hear him say this;

“Now, I’m sending them back with you, Knight - but you won’t soon forget, will you, that they told me that they loved me?”

You slip into the abyss.

You wake back up at the camp you and Dainsleif had established, on the edges of Sumeru, as safe as the two of you could find - as if absolutely nothing has happened. 

Oh, there’s the lingering reminder of Dottore - there’s a soreness to your thighs, there are bites on your shoulders, there’s a muzzy headache from the drugs and the way he had used the Akasha upon you . . . but other than that, there’s nothing. The system itself isn’t even attached to your ear any longer.

Dain, too, has reminders of the ordeal upon him - rope burn on his wrists. A burning look in his eyes when his gaze falls upon you that makes your insides crawl in fear, lest he be disgusted by you now - lest he never want to look at you again. Perhaps, you think wildly, he is going to cast you away - say that the two of you can no longer travel together, accuse you of being damaged goods . . .

It does not end that way.

Dainsleif stares at you across the clearing after waking up, as if he is trying to sort all of his thoughts out. His fingers twitch, his eyes raking over you desperately - and then he has moved, lightning quick, and his arms have wrapped around you and you are being crushed against the weight of his chest.

“I thought . . .” He whispers into your ear, his voice so broken it makes you ache. “Oh, I can’t believe he would . . . I’m so sorry--”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” you whisper to him - relieved to find that your tongue and your throat are once more capable of working. You reach up to touch his face, and Dain groans, torn between leaning into the touch and pulling away as he so often does, so worried that he’s somehow going to taint you.

You’re not sure if you could ever feel more tainted than you do right now.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” his voice cracks. Dainsleif is normally so stoic and solid; you cling to him as you journey through Teyvat, relying on him. Seeing him like this makes you ache.

“You won’t,” you reach for his hand, take it gently and place it over your collarbone, shivering at the touch of his glove on your skin. “See? I’m still here.”

Dain sighs again, his lashes fluttering closed against his sculpted cheekbones. He murmurs your name again, so softly you can barely hear it; and his fingers slide along the imprint of that same collarbone, to your shoulder, until they find the place Dottore had bitten into when he had come.

“I can’t bear seeing his marks on you,” he whispers. “I want to scrub you free of every touch.”

You close your own eyes and let yourself be lulled into Dainsleif’s arms; you let your head rest against his chest, you let yourself be comforted by the familiar scent of him. His fingers don’t stop tracing the bite marks, his touch getting more and more agitated. 

“Dain--” You murmur. You’re suddenly so tired. You know you were just unconscious, but that’s not the same as getting real rest. This morning - or was it this morning? How long were the two of you really with Dottore? How long had it been before Dainsleif had come to find you? Whatever the case, it seems a hundred years ago now. 

You wonder if Dainsleif would mind if you fell asleep on him, right here. 

“Please,” Dain’s lowered his head now. His breath flutters against your ear; delicately tickling your ear. “Let me . . . Let me make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, but it clearly means a lot to Dainsleif, and you do not mind the gentle touch of his hands as they smooth softly over the places Dottore has bitten, the places you have bruised. Dainsleif has lost so many people, after all - you do not blame him for wanting to check on you. You nestle your head under Dain’s chin and he takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Do I still smell like myself?”

“Don’t joke,” his voice breaks. You don’t know how else to cope with it; the thought of Dottore’s hands all over you, the reminder of what the Doctor took from you. Dain’s hand slips under the bodice of your dress.

You go all-over cold, all-over still.

Dainsleif doesn’t even notice. His hand gently travels further down, further down, squeezing the weight of your breast in his hand. Your fingers twitch where they lay against him, cradled as you are in his arms - but Dainsleif is still murmuring to himself now, lost in a frenzy of his own thoughts, and for the first time you feel afraid of him.

“Dain--” You try to say, throat clogged. “Dain, don’t--”

“Please,” he repeats, ragged. “I just . . . I need to touch you. I need to know you’re here. I need to know he didn’t--”

You can’t do this. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sickening thumping beat as Dain’s thumb rubs a circle over your nipple and traitorous body, it responds to him just as it had to Dottore.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you,” Dainsleif whispers, broken into your ear. “Let me . . . I won’t hurt you . . .”

His other hand, pulling you further into his lap. Holding you spoon-fashion against him, like a lover.

You wouldn’t complain, ordinarily. 

But now . . .

All you want is for him to hold you. All you want is for him, you think, to kiss your forehead and reassure you and take care of you. The way his hands keep travelling over your skin - the other is kneading at the flesh of your thigh now, his breath coming in those same great shuddering pants as if he doesn’t have full control over his own body right now. You whimper aloud as his hand brushes further, further--

You’re not wearing underwear. Not after Dottore had torn it at the seams. 

Dainsleif sighs.

“It killed me seeing him touch you,” he whispers into your hair, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head, disgustingly tender. His fingers are petting at your folds, his arms iron-tight like the ropes that had wrapped around him earlier. He doesn’t notice that you’re trembling; he ignores the soft little entreaties you do manage to get out. 

“I can’t,” you say, as Dainsleif tugs at your nipples.

“Dain--” you whimper, his fingers spreading the lips of your sex apart.

“Not yet,” you beg, as he drops a kiss over the bruising bites Dottore left on your shoulders.

“I wish I could cover you with myself,” Dainsleif says, as he continues to use his mouth and his fingers and acts as though he does not hear a word. “But . . . oh, I don’t deserve you . . . Not yet . . . Please, let me make sure you never think of him again--” 

It’s too much. Too much, too soon, your body churning with feelings and your mind churning with thoughts that you can’t yet put in place, because Dainsleif is touching you and not listening to you and you wonder if this makes him just like Dottore, in his way. 

You think about yourself, in Sumeru City, your smile bright, laughing off his concern - and you think about Dainsleif now, his touch so possessive and so desperate that he’s going to cover the bruises Dottore left with bruises of his own.

“I’ll be fine,” you had said. I can take care of myself. 

Dainsleif takes care of you, when you cannot; when you are injured or sick or lost. You have always had him to rely on; your travelling companion through Teyvat, as you desperately tried to make sense of the world that you have found yourself in. 

Here, though . . . 

You think, as the tears roll down your face, you could do without Dainsleif taking care of you like this. 

[reginrokkr]

𝐂𝐋𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈. What a banger quest 「Bedtime story」 must've been in order to find out that actually, Celestia had reasons to nuke Khaenri'ah. It can't be said to be a joke anymore that Dain is carrying the lore on his shoulders, little wonder that HYV keeps gatekeeping him— In all seriousness now, it's interesting the thought that what was brewing in Khaenri'ah was so messed up that it could've endangered the entire world's safety, not just that of the kingdom. Not only that, but that it could've been prevented and Dain, alongside the Five Sinners could've done something about it. This gives some food for thought as to how influential the six of them must've been in Khaenri'ah and meaningful each in their respective fields to pull such feats and go away with it.

[sarawritestories]

I Wanna Be Yours Chapter 1

Xaden Riorson X Lydia Aetos

Summary: Lydia Aetos Longs to be a Ballerina, her father has other plans, and has conscripted her to the rider's quadrant with her childhood friend Violet. Reuniting with her brother he only gives her two orders. Do not bring up wanting to dance and stay far away from Xaden Riorson. Both of his orders go ignored.

Content Warning: Violence.

A/N: Here is the first chapter I hope you all Enjoy! 🩰

Word Count: 4.9K

If you want to Read on AO3 click Here

I Wanna Be Yours Masterlist

Ashes. I’m watching my pointe shoes turn into ashes. I can’t help the tears that roll down my face. “Maybe now you will understand that no child of mine will be a performer in a traveling freakshow. My children are riders; they will serve their country with pride.” My Father’s voice grates against my skin as I watch the one thing I treasure most burn my dreams with it. “Come, Lydia, it’s almost time to go.” My legs refuse to move, as the pop of the wood makes me jump.

Hearing Colonel Aetos sigh grates my skin, he’s sending me to my death, with a first-born son like Dain, he didn’t need a second child. Correction he didn’t want one. Yet here I sit to his dismay. His feet move quickly as he places his hand in a vice-like grip around my arm; yanking me from the hearth, I writhe in his grasp as he pulls me away as I see what is left of the pink silk turn black. “That’s enough, Lydia.” He pins me against the wall, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to send a message, “You are going to cross that parapet, and join your brother, you are going to become a rider. Do you understand me?”

I school my face into something soft as if my life isn’t being turned upside down, swallowing the tears. “Yes, Colonel,” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, but my mother’s and my father realizes it too as his complexion pales slightly.

Regaining his composure, “Get dressed, back your rucksack and let’s go we are supposed to be in General Sorrengail’s office in 10 minutes.” I jerk out of his grasp and head to my room, trying to even out my breathing. As miserable as it sounds, I’m glad I will have Violet. The two of us have been inseparable for our entire lives. We are both being forced into the Rider’s quadrant today, at the hands of our parents. I tuck my hand under my mattress and pull out a piece of paper. I sit on the edge of my bed and re-read words I have memorized at this point.

My Dearest Lydia,

My little twinkle toes. I’m so sorry, I had to leave. The life your father leads can feel like a cage. I’m suffocating, little one. I cannot be controlled or maintained like a rabid beast. I’m sorry, I know what this means for you, what your father will make you do when you turn twenty. Just know that not a day goes by when I won’t feel guilty for putting you in that cage to take my place. Just know that I love you and if you get anything from this letter. Don’t stop dancing. Whatever you do, continue dancing through this life. Let dance be your escape from the cruelty Basgiath has to offer. I hope one day we will be reunited, and you will have found a way to break out of the chains that hold you in Navarre.

I love you more than you know,

Mom

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Every time I read the letter of my heartaches; she knew that the father would force me into the Rider’s quadrant. Why couldn’t she take me with her? Couldn’t we both be free? Why couldn’t she have stayed just long enough for me to find a way for me to pursue my dream?  Anger bubbles up in my core, why was she so selfish to fucking leave me here, knowing that I would be sharing the same feelings she had.

Not wanting to keep The Colonel waiting I put on a black, long-sleeved shirt and tightly fitted leather pants from an old riders uniform my father found. I fold the note into a small square and tuck it into my boot, not wanting to risk him finding it. Grabbing my bag, I step out of my room that has been my home for seventeen years of my life and meet my father. As we begin to walk, I shut my eyes and I allow myself one more moment to mourn over the dream I will never be able to fulfill.

Violet and I stare up at the tower familiar with the trek we will have to make to reach the parapet, the first trial we will receive before ever becoming a cadet. Violet takes my hand, “At least we have each other.” 

I give her hand a comforting squeeze as we move up the line. “Name,” The lady calls out not bothering to look up from the parchment. Violet moves to talk to the older gentleman as I heave a sigh.

“Lydia Aetos.”

The woman blinks after scribbling down my name and looks up to meet my eyes and I notice the flinch she gives when she notices that they are two different colors. “Are you related to Colonel Aetos?”

I nod my head, “He is my father.” I see Violet is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, “I turn and look at her. “Have a nice day,” I give her the best smile I can, which in turn might be a grimace as I move to meet my friend.

She is conversing with a taller girl, with dark skin and her hair had been pulled back in small rows of braids. Her brown eyes glimmered with excitement as I came closer. The woman paused and tilted her head at me. “Hello,” I give a small wave, shifting under the weight of her gaze.

“Your eyes.” She begins and my mind starts filling in the gaps with words my father has used in the past.

Ugly.

Disgusting.

Defective.

“Beautiful.” The word shakes me out of my spiral of negativity.

“I’m sorry?” I blinked.

“You’re eyes, they’re beautiful. I have read that some are born with two different colored eyes, but to see the beauty of it in person.” She holds out her hand, “Rhiannon Matthias.”

“Lydia Aetos.” Taking her hand and shaking it a genuine smile creeping up on my face.

“Yeah, yeah, and I’m General Melgren, now move. We don’t have all day.” A man’s voice quips behind us. I turn to find piercing blue eyes and a full head of blond hair; he is wearing a scowl that contorts his face into something heinous.  He gives me a playful wink, that makes my stomach churn, “Let’s go, Princess.”

Not bothering to give him a response, I turned back to my friend and new acquaintance. The three of us begin our ascent up the stairs. The smaller man in front of us- Dylan- keeps babbling about how excited he is to be in the Rider’s quadrant. As he and Rhinannon discuss their dreams and goals, I let my mind wander.

Twirling across the stage, each pirouette clean and precise just as Seraphina has taught me. My tulle skirts billowing around me like a shield. I don’t need to remember the next move, the music seeps into my bones and as if in response my body knows what to do next. I grin as the warmth of all the mage lights, illuminating the stage, kisses my skin. Twirling into a solid form, Large tan hands grip my waist as my partner steps in time with the beat.

We move as one as he spins hoisting me up in the air. I am certain my toes are pointed, and my arms are sharp in an elegant pose. I feel myself being lowered and looked at my partners face, familiar hazel eyes and a toothy grin in plain view, twirling me once more to the crescendo of the music and when my twirls end, He dips me low, my one leg stretched out in between his, the other bent my foot tucked behind my knee cap. His forehead presses mind as my arms move around his neck in time with the end notes of the music.  My eyes close as the smell of Cinnamon, Vanilla waft my nose, as the thunderous applause ruptures through the theater. Lips press against mine and I can’t help the giggle that erupts from my throat.

“Lydia.” His warm voice calls for me.

“Lydia. Lydia.”

“Lydia!” Violet shouts giving me a shove, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look to see that Rhiannon and Dylan are giving me looks of concern. I pressed my hand to my cheek to find them wet with tears. Shit. Violet’s eyes held worry and an undertone of understanding. “You were thinking about him again, weren’t you?” She whispers low enough only I can hear, as our hike up the concrete steps was nearing a close as the daylight was beginning to peak through.

“Yeah. I guess I’m missing everyone a little more today.” It’s a severe understatement that I’m making but Violet has her own things to worry about, no need to add more to her plate.

Violet, Dain, and I grew up together, she is basically my sister in all forms of the word. We have been inseparable, even more so when Brennan died and Dain left last year for the Rider’s quadrant, me, and her against the world we always teased. I never felt that more now, she gripped my hand in hers and gives me a squeeze as if she is thinking the same thing. “Thank you for always being there when I need, you Vi.”

Violet snorted, causing Rhinannon to turn and smirk, I look down at her feet briefly and notice the woman has one of Violet’s shoes and Violet in turn has one of her slippers on her feet. When did they do that? Violet’s voice causes me to face her, “You sound like you’re going to die today.”

“I am pretty sure that was the plan.” I murmur as Dylan and Rhiannon reach the top of the stairs. “He wants me dead, Vi.”

“Too bad. You and I. We are not going to die today, Lydia.” Violet was the first to reach the open expanse of the turret. The breath of fresh air is welcome to the stench of sweat and body odor. The warmth of the sun kisses my skin, a large gust of wind whipping my hair across my face. Violet seeing this her eyes widen. “I almost forgot. In my bag there is a little gift from Mira.” I quickly open her bag and pull out a package with my name on it and a little note.

Hey Kid,

A little gift from your favorite sibling. Don’t roll your eyes, you know it’s true!

Just something that can keep that crazy mane of yours up and to remind everyone not to mess with you.

Mira

Unwrapping package to reveal two long gold hair pins, little gold dragons at one end the pointed end sharp as knives. “I love your sister; did you know that?”

Violet laughs as I shut her bag and quickly put my hair in a tight bun. “You and me both.” There is a pause as we make our way closer to beginning. “I’m looking forward to seeing Dain.”

I roll my eyes, about to retort when a man’s voice, “You ready for the next one, Riorson.”

I pause my movements, my hands still in my hair, looking at the broad chest in front of me my eyes trail up and I am met with a set jaw and alluring onyx eyes, and in the light little gold flecks shine through. I roll my shoulders and drop my hands from my hair. His eyes graze my body and back up to my eyes and shiver down my spine. “Aetos, Sorrengail, you two, okay?” Pulling away from the man’s magnetic gaze, I meet Rhiannon’s stare. I dip my chin in silent confirmation.

“Sorrengail and Aetos?” The low rumble of Xaden Riorson voice pulls my attention back to him. This man is the definition of beauty, his sharp jawline, high cheekbones, even with the scar cutting across his brow that drags down to the top of his cheek bone. His tan skin gleams with perspiration from the midday sun no doubt, and I catch a glimpse a tattoo on the side of his neck that disappears with the neckline of his shirt. The clearing of his throat makes me meet his eyes once more. There is a knowing smirk on his face, and he quirks an eyebrow, “Like what you see, Sweetheart?”

I remain silent and avert his stare. “You’re Fen Riorson’s son.” Violet’s voice sounds from behind me.

“You’re General Sorrengail’s Daughter.” He retorts, “Your mother had my father executed.”

I can feel Violet’s anger bubbling behind me. “Your father killed my brother I think that makes us even.”

Xaden snorts, “Hardly.” That perks my head up, to find his eyes were already on me. He tilts his head his eyes assessing me, like I’m a prize mare, “And you. I wasn’t aware that Dain Aetos had a little sister. He never talks about you.”

I bite my lip the only indication I give that his words bother me, “I can’t say. I’m surprised.”

Xaden takes a step forward and try to focus on the floor once more, “Why’s that, Kitten?” A finger hooks under my chin forcing me to meet his gaze and my heart rate quickens, out of fear or sheer arousal, I’m not sure.

One thing I do know: This man is dangerous.  Yet I fall for his beautifully set trap and answer honestly, knowing I should not give him any of my weaknesses, “No one likes talking about the disappointment in the family.” For extra measure I take a step back, away from his touch and he lets me, dropping his hand.

“Hurry it up. Some of us are becoming riders today.” The ass hole from before speaks, his words grating my skin. A distant scream comes from the death trap in front of me. When looking over to the parapet I no longer see Dylan and my heart sinks. Rhiannon is still moving, and Violet begins to walk across dark storm clouds rolling in followed by a rumble of thunder. Fucking. Wonderful.

Xaden chuckles and I meet his stare, “Good luck, Kitten.” He gestures for me to the entry point of the parapet.

I glare at him, flaring my nostrils, “My name is Lydia.”

He smirks, “I think my name suits you better.”

I don’t know how the dagger got in my hand but the minute I throw it, the steel passing about 3 people before it hits its mark. The dagger sinks into the crack of the concrete a half an inch from the jack ass who has been making smart ass comments all morning’s shoes. Looking back at those gold flecked onyx eyes I give him a wink, “I think you’ll find, it doesn’t.”

The guy next Xaden laughed, “Looks like the kitten has claws. I hope you make it, Aetos,” He nods his head and I begin to walk. The drop of rain pelts my skin the moment I take my first step. When I take the next few steps, the sky opens as rain cascades down. I can hear Seraphina’s instructions in my ears.

Arms out, straighten that back. Get into second position.

I straighten my posture and extend my arms out, placing my feet outwardly giving myself the optimal balance and proceed to move. I focus on Violet’s pack in front of me as I keep moving. I imagine myself on stage, the music once again whisking me away. The low rumble of drums meets the contrasting sounds of the piccolo and various string instruments to create a melody that makes my movements lighter. I trust in my training, my balance, the music that for years kept me rooted. The music drowns out the sound of the rain colliding against the brick. My mind transforms the stage into a whimsical forest, and I am balancing on a fallen tree trunk to reach for my lover on the other side. His smile warm as the lights pressing against my skin. I’m not in old leather, I’m in a white gown with billowing layers that makes it easier to move in when I dance.

I twirl my feet finding purchase on the log once I complete the spin with flawless precision. A smile emerges on my face as I gear up for my flip the finishing move, I need to do before reaching the halfway point to him. I run and leap, my legs flipping over my head with the elegance of a gazelle. Landing with a pointed toe and my arms reaching for the sky my balance slips slightly but not enough to keep me from moving toward my goal. To keep me from returning to his arms. I allow myself a glance at his eyes and his face contorts into something unrecognizable, evil.

“I’m coming to get you, Twinkle Toes.” The voice is not his and I blink as the music abruptly stops and the reality, I am in comes crashing forward. The cool kiss of rain rakes a chill down my body. The voice came from behind me. I turn to find the blonde from earlier coming at me with full speed. The person that was behind me in line is blocking him from me and still is a good distance aways. That does not deter the Blonde-haired menace, as he grips the arm of the girl and throws her off. My eyes widen and my instincts overtake my body and I sprint. I focus ahead of me and try to think of music that would be appropriate for this. Something fast paced with horns and fast-paced drums, trying to keep my mind on anything besides the absolute menace behind me.

I can hear his footsteps thudding over the pattering of the rain and I quicken my base trusting in the traction of my boots. I can see the end and Violet reaching it. The is gaining on me and I have enough distance that I pause, briefly and take the risk I prep for my jump and slip. Regaining my balance and looking back to see he is still far enough for me to recover. I get in position once more and take a deep breath.

I will not die today.

I sprint into a run once more and when I have enough distance I take my leap, my feet pointed, my back arched in perfect form even Seraphina wouldn’t have anything to say. When I land the ground is slick and I lose my footing. Fortunately, Violet is there to hold me still. “Lydia! We made it!”

I nod and turn to the cadet with bright red hair, she smirks, “Name.”

“Lydia Aetos.”

“Welcome to the Rider’s Quadrant, Lydia. That was one hell of a performance.”

I walk further down the steps and notice that Violet winces, “Let’s get you taken care of.” I loop her arm in mine before we are both grip in a bone crushing hug.

“We did it!” Rhiannon beams and she looks at me, “You definitely made a name for yourself, what you did on the parapet was amazing.”

“What did I do?”

Violet blinks, “You’re kidding.” Before Violet could elaborate.

“Name.”

“Jack Barlow.” His eyes meet mine and there is a snarl on his face. The look promises one thing. Trouble. Thankfully he stalks in the other direction

“Lydia.” Only one man’s voice makes me groan knowing a lecture is brewing, I turn and see Dain standing there his mouth formed in a tight line, his eyes shift over to the silver haired woman next to me and his face shifts into shock, “Violet?”

Violet smiles, “Hi Dain,” Dain looked to his left then to his right before he grips both Violet’s and mine’s wrist and drags us away from Rhiannon.

“Dain,” I hiss, “She’s hurt take it easy.”

As if on cue Violet begins to dry heave. “Shit.” Dain mutters as he takes her to a bench hidden in an alcove where no one could see. “What the hell are you doing here, Violet?” As he tucks her head between her knees.

“General Sorrengail, refuses to have a scribe in her family. Like someone else we know.”

“Scribe is a respectable job. Dancing is not.” Dain deadpans and I clench my fist. A hand touches my shoulder causing me to jump.  “What the hell were you thinking, Lydia? Dancing on the parapet like that?”

I blink, and clear my throat, “I didn’t realize that is what I did. I was trying to put myself in my happy place. To keep me from over thinking about what I was doing. My instincts went into overdrive.”

“What you did was showboat and it’s going to cause me problems.” He scowls at me, and I get a good look at him at him, he’s grown a beard since I last saw him. But he still has our father’s brown eyes, and his hair cut short and his curls sitting atop his head. “What?”

“I can’t look at my older brother. I’m fine by the way, thanks for asking.” He rolls his eyes and presses me into a hug.

“Sorry.” He murmurs in my hair as he notices the new pins, “Let me guess.”

“Mira.” Violet, Dain and I say at the same time.

Dain smiles, “They suit you.” His small drops, “You must promise to never do what you did again. There are only two rules that I need you to follow, I expect you to follow them. No talking about dance, or dancing and stay away from Xaden Riorson.”

“Noted.” I rolled my eyes, “Glad to see somethings never change.” Dain sighs and moves back to Violet.

I felt a hand gripped my shoulder causing me to jump, “It’s just me.” Rhi’s voice calms me as she gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze, “I wanted to swap shoes back.”

Dain looks between Violet’s shoes and glares at Violet. “Make it snappy.” He glares at Rhiannon, “Who are you?”

Rhiannon looks between me and Violet, “I am their friend.” She slips off Violet’s boot and sighs in reprieve as Violet removes the slipper from her foot and grabs her boot, which Dain helped her put it on.

“I am a squad leader.” He looks over to me and Rhi. “You two go tell the red head recording names that you three are going to be in my squad. I’m going to help Violet and will be right back.” I nod my head and turn on my heal.

“Is that your brother?” Rhi asks.

“Yup.”

“He is something.”

“Tell me about it.” I sigh

We have been placed in our squads. I’m grateful that Violet and I ended up together and not in Xaden’s Wing. Not a fan of the fact that he is one of my superiors. His eyes meet mine and he smirks, those eyes look at me like a predator watching his prey. He whispers to our wingleader and then. “Second Wing Flame Section, you will be moving to Fourth Wing.” My stomach sinks, avoiding the stare of my new wingleader.

“Cadets, move.” Dain commands his jaw sets the only indication that he is upset. We move to where our new wing is standing as the one that is now apart of Second Wing move to where we were just standing.                 

Once everyone settles Xaden begins to speak. I try to zone him out as best as I can, exhaustion is beginning to take over my body. The adrenaline from crossing over the parapet but his voice rings out, “You all feel pretty bad ass don’t you,” Cheers erupt around me and Xaden nods, “Feeling invincible?” I do not feel that way. “You think you’re worthy of a dragon.” More cheers erupted and Xaden crossed his arms. The sound of thunder erupts.

No. Not thunder.

Wings.                                                                                                                                                

As if on Xaden’s cue a horde dragons’ approach, the noise begins to build as a regal blue dagger tail lands on the edge of the wall as if it’s a perch for them. Her claws dig into the brick, pieces crumbling down under her weight. I notice the cadets around me are frozen in fear. A few were shaking and their pants had dark spots that trailed down their legs. Terror racks through my body but I focus on my breathing.

Thump, Thump

The blood curdling scream of another cadet rattles me as a young man from the first wing runs heading back toward the parapet. The dragons all shift as a few more cadets scatter. I blink and feel hands around my waist tugging me down before the dragons unfurl their tongues and fire erupts from all different angles. The hands around me tug me close to the lean chest and I place my own hands around the mystery person’s, their fingers lacing theirs through mine I squeeze my eyes shut as anguish screams fill my ears and will certainly give me nightmares. The fire ceases and the smell of burnt flesh is left in its wake. The figure behind me moves and helps me up. I turn around hoping I would see Dain’s face behind me.

Thump, Thump

Instead, I am met with warm brown eyes and a goofy grin. A man with tan skin, a curly mop of brown hair and handsome face looks back at me, “You, okay?”

I nod my hand, “Thank you…” I lead of.

He holds out his hand, “Ridoc Gamlyn.”

I took his hand, “Lydia Aetos.”

Before Ridoc can comment on my name Dain turns, “Quiet both of you.” Ridoc Mimics him and causes me to giggle as Xaden continues his speech.

“Anyone still feel invincible now?” He questions his brow quirking as his eyes loom over the entire Quadrant, locking onto mine.

Thump, Thump.

My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. His eyes pin me to the floor incapable of moving. Out of the corner of my eye I see the blue dagger tail moving her head back and forth.  It’s the gasp of the crowd that pulls me from Xaden’s gaze.

Thump, Thump.

 The blues dragon takes a step down and my squad parts to make room for her. Her yellow eyes are looking directly at me as she takes another step forward. Dain’s face paled as he watches on, but its movement to my left that catches my attention. Xaden moves from where he is standing, his face is unreadable. It’s the quaking step of the dragon in front of me and my heart rate quickens as her yellow eyes take me in.

Thump, Thump, Thump

Despite the paralyzing fear, that I may very well die in the next few seconds I take in the creature before me. Her large horns curve on the top of her head. Her scales up close shimmer with various hues of blue and hints of black near the base of her scales, which makes her eyes stand out. Her nostrils flair, it feels like a challenge, as if she is begging for me to turn and run.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

I will not die today. I take a glance at where Dain is and spot Violet right beside him, terror on her face. She knows dragons better than I do, though I know enough, she knows my rate of survival is potentially slim here. I close my eyes and try to keep my breathing even. My heart erupting in my ears.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

I get down on my knees, my hands remaining at my sides. “What the fuck is she doing?” Jack Barlow’s voice carries over the silence that has fell amongst the court. No one else says a word as I bend forward lowering myself until my forehead touches the cool brick, the small grooves pressed against my skin. I close my eyes and I mentally recite different dance positions in my head trying to ease the fear.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

My breathing begins to even out when I feel the warm steam pressing against my neck. I take the risk and lift my head; the dragon nods her head. Is she giving me the okay to rise? Another dip of her head, and I slowly rise to my feet. As I do I meet her gaze once more, it’s just her and I, the world around us since forgotten. The dragon does something to my surprise, she cranes her neck where the tip of her snout touches the floor. She is bowing to me. The message is clear, a sign of mutual respect.

Thump, Thump.

She raises her head but keeps it low as she cranes her neck out for me. I cannot even see her eyes as she comes near and presses her snout to my chest. The chatter amongst the crowd is indistinguishable. I press my hand to her snout, her scales feel like leather under my touch, a smile forms on my cheeks, fear suddenly turning into elation. “Hello, Beautiful.” My voice was unable to reach above a whisper. She huffs in response and moves back to where she was perched before.

Adrenaline must be widdling from my body fast because I grip Ridoc’s shoulder tightly as my world tilts.

Thump, Thump.

I just survived my first encounter with a dragon.

Chapter 2

Story Tags: @milswrites @eve175 @marvelsmylife @sherayuki @misslady246 @thelov3lybookworm @a-frog-with-a-laptop @randomperson1234sblog @garricks4thwingqueen

[anantaru]

AND HIS TEARS FLOWED LIKE FINE WINE

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — dainsleif has been touch starved lately and can‘t seem to figure out a way to get rid of it himself.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ —2.7k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, handjob, m.sturbation, dacry.philia, perv dain but also unexperienced dain, touch starved dain, a lil whiny

dainsleif was growing frustrated, annoyed and irritated— he couldn’t recall on how many times he had nervously cracked his knuckles to distract himself or occupy his mind with simple tasks such as blowing out air from his lungs, rolling his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tumbling blonde hair strands repeatedly poking his eye balls.

he‘s desperate and feels it all— cursoring for a quick relief. Every bump and scatter of his erection would forcibly press against the confines of his tight pants with the pesky material only adding onto the painful ache. it’s all too much and anything would do, really, as long as the big tent in his pants wouldn‘t grow any further. please.

what made this troubling experience even more taxing was that, at the outset, dainsleif tried to please himself through his dense garments, bashing his hips into his large palm and kneading down softly, squashing down on his balls, yet, it didn’t feel as good as when someone else was doing it.

frankly, it made his blood boil, that even he couldn‘t distract himself from his pinching needs, that someone like dainsleif himself could be driven so far up against the wall that he's now thrusting into his hand.

"fuck! fuck, fuck!" he swears in a manifold of phrases and slants into the wall for support, a soft moan falling over his sweet lips when he squeezes into his erection, "ah- curses, why now?!"

dainsleif's face mixes into a cramped expression as he continues while distressfully chewing on the inner surface of his cheeks. his knees were swirling with shakes, on the brink of feeling numb— but then, if this situation wasn't punishing enough, his eyes suddenly grow at the size of saucers, open wide, when he notices how someone in particular was pressing down on the door handle of the closed room, swiftly opening the entry to his chambers.

he doesn't know what to do, what to think, how to behave or what to say— but he's full of fear and fast moving when he pushes himself off the wall while spinning his back so it'd face the door, so the unknown person who let themselves in wouldn't catch the prominent bulge in his pants.

"dainsleif?"

he wonders if this day could get any worse.

why— out of all the people, does it have to be you to find him in such an embarrassing position as this one? "y-yes, what is it?" he exhales heavily through his nose and replies almost a little too swift, as if he had planned out a reply beforehand.

"um, why aren't you facing me?" his awkwardness made you wonder, your welcoming smile flattens as you return with a worrying glare, the subtle shakes in his legs too, most prominently his calfs, had made you think something terrible must've happened to him.

"i'm quite busy."

"busy with looking up at the ceiling?" you awkwardly giggle, stepping closer, "wait don't!" and he stops you with all the required power he currently was in possession of, "are you hiding something from me?"

just as it is not your place to pry or poke your nose all up his damned business, you were still in the mood to further provoke his density. "my oh my." you get closer— enough for him to sense the sweetened aroma of your fragrance.

dainsleif was fixedly averting his gaze from you, determined, "it's almost as if you're mad at me." and you imitate a pained tone now. he couldn't remember the last time he was this dedicated in something while also concentrating to ignore the twinge in his boxers— that was now, growing bigger at nothing but your voice alone.

"i'm- i'm not mad at you." he's squeezing his eyes together, not registering that you took another step closer, "i'd never be—." and he silently yelps when you, in a trice, place your palm on his upper back, taking him by total surprise.

"never be what?" you poke and he makes a mistake— cradling his head a little so he could face you after all, yet in shock and panic on how to proceed with utmost caution without blowing his cover, but also taking into account that he might cum untouched by the mere sight of your beauty.

"i could never be mad at you."

you see the concern in his mannerism, and an ink of a crooked smile, "are you feeling sick?" while now, his eyes had been fixed on you like a type of riveted shadow, you trail down his lower region and suddenly, on an impulse, all of it made sense to you. "oh."

"oh what?" he stares at you curiously but neutral and then realizes what your eyes were looking at.

in all honesty, he could die of embarrassed right now.

"you.." sloping your head to the side, you curse yourself underneath your irregular pants that you shouldn't have pried for once in your life.

"i'm so sorry, i shouldn't have-"

"no wait it's okay!" he cuts you off almost immediately and turns around, frowning, "i don't know how to fix that."

his pre cum had already soiled through the materials, outlining a deep pit in his pants, and you silently giggle to yourself, angling one of your hands to close around his heated cheek, smiling up and kindly brushing away the steamed hair strands bedaubed on his forehead, "why didn't you say anything?" a tentative whisper, nothing less, teasing his hopeful eyes.

as if he didn't think about it for the last ten minutes, he discloses to himself, in secret.

as a matter of fact, he had you pictured in his mind while roughly fucking into his hand.

he‘s truly awful, right? so nasty and lewd.

but dainsleif would imagine you doing it to him— sweetly encasing your smaller hand around his shaft and battering him up with his creamy cum. consequently, did he vulgarly fantasize about how you‘re bestowing him with a masterfully grand twist on the underside of his length, gripping around him and tracing the throbbing vein with your thumb until lingering your digits further into the base of his cock to knead his balls.

he thought about it— the whole time, wincing into the back of his hand at the unmixed imagination about you fucking him harder. and once you had been entering his room, there was nothing that could've torn off this shameful fantasy from his perverted mind.

"i didn't know what to say." he bluntly admits to you and his hand reflexively drew back to his bulge to press down, though you watch him tenderly, swiftly wrapping your smaller hand around his wrist to yank his arm away. "don't."

each word you spoke was making this scenario hotter, was turning dainsleif into a complete fool for you. Your sentencing was swinging in the steamy room, strong enough to have him wholly bleed into your skilled touch.

dainsleif delights into it, willingly, under the reflection of your warm skin on top of his.

he looks at you through puppy eyes, flickering up to watch and see what you're doing next. "let me do it." you purr and he listens, though content with reservations, "you- you really don't have to." but little does he know that you really want to.

you slump over into his chest so he could comfortably rest his head on your neck, silently mouthing over a sensitive spot on the damp skin.

"i don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me."

"i want this." your hand drifts off between his thighs, "i want this really really badly." and rest your cheek on his clothed chest while savoring in his needy, sloppy kisses on your neck and collarbones.

"so leave everything to me."

a low noise— something between a whine and a satisfied hum— blissful, enraptured, he was quite literally transported onto cloud nine. not only was he seemingly getting rid of the problem in his pants, but it was also you, without reluctance, aiding him as well.

he sees you, feels you and peppers you with sweet kisses as your hands eagerly unlatch his belt, the clamping resonate of the leather hitting the ground had his body captured in an involuntarily shake, the loudness spouting through the cold room.

with such loving embrace, you handled him with care, all of him, next— excitedly pulling down his pants and boxers respectively before freeing his aching cock. you spot the redness around it and dainsleif hisses at nothing but the freezing air making contact with his burning shaft.

you lick your lips at the arousing sight and watch his shy reaction through under your lashes, all sweetly and innocent.

dainsleif was cute— and for a moment you indulge and enjoy the view of a characteristically confident man gradually melting under your touch. how his jaw was closed off and his teeth rasped together, how he whined when you playfully ran your dainty finger over his quivering vein.

"dain." this damned nickname, it's homey and cradles a moderate warmth around his heart, "i‘ll make you feel good now."

you enter into it cautiously, as to not hurt him. starting off with unhurried but fitful strokes, placing plenteous attention on the tip especially, quelling the spilled pre cum over the velvety flesh and sleeving your entire palm with it.

as realized, this wasn‘t enough— even though he had a hard time containing himself and unmasked his longing for you, hiccuping when you allow him to bottom up into your hand, his pre alone wouldn‘t make it as pleasurable as possible for dainsleif.

so you did the only right choice in such a predicament— meaning, pawing your hand away while lifting it against your mouth, deliberately spitting into your palm two times.

you lure out a high pitched whine from his lips at the new required memory, forcing him to vocalize his pleasure. he's a panting mess, your mess, and it's more than evident when his hips purposefully push into you— clearly he must've lost his mind the second you stepped into the room, but he couldn't blame himself, you were so astonishingly sexy and beautiful— you can’t be real, you’re playing tricks on him. your contagious smile, or how all your clothes fit perfectly around your plump ass, accentuating your pretty figure.

it's been grueling working alongside you under such conditions and it makes his sizzling heart levitate around his chest that you‘re about to give him the best orgasm of his entire life.

his hands greedily drift over every inch and square of your hips and grab a fist full of your plush ass, heaving you towards him a bit more. Your hand curves around his stiff erection and moves up and down in leisure shifts, up and down, up and down, carefully gesturing your fingers over the sweltering patches he indulged and whined in the utmost.

dainsleif tosses his head to the side and slants into you, his fingers were sneakily crossing into the insides of your shirt to pull and fondle with your nipples while you‘re graciously letting him fuck your fist. He swallows back a whine when you use your other hand to touch his balls, trapping them in your palm to softly squish around them, a little more strength put behind and you massage them again, flattening down quite roughly but with enough observation to his responses— on what pleases him a little more prominent and what didn‘t.

"how does that feel?" you hum into his lips, placing a subtle kiss on each corner of his mouth to tease, "v-very good." he fervently nods and squishes his eyes shut.

"a-ah— good, good." he muses and snaps his rigid cock upward to fuck into you, using your hand as a fucktoy with his milky whites seeping down the sharp edges of your knuckles. It's entertaining, watching him crumble into pieces from your hand alone.

"more.. i need more." fuck, your hand feels so damn good and skilled it‘s bringing him to literal tears, his eyes felt heavy and he alternated between closing and opening them again, but then, they leap open wide when you directly spit on his tip to lubricate him further.

albeit, you can witness it after adding and fluctuating between your strength and the twists of your hand— the first out of his many bubbly tears beginning to trail down out of the corners of his glazed eyes, molars dwelling on his lashes.

you won't lie— but it crowds you with a closed hearing of pride that you were able to turn, the dainsleif, into a crying overstimulated mess of a man, but it makes you wonder how he‘d react with his cock being balls deep inside your puffy cunt, engulfed and dragged in and out of your spongy walls while you‘re constricting around him, milking him for all he‘s worth.

"it‘s okay." you’re smiling up all hot and breathless into his fuzzy eyes and blown out pupils, palming him securely, "just cum on me." and flatten your lips on his to muffle his honeyed cries, harvesting a silent proclamation of assurance.

with your body so close to him, dainsleif grits his teeth and moans out your name, blubbering chatter sewed together in midst the sobbing of his swellings and stings— you touched him in a way that had him whimper delicately, subtle but also hyper sensitive.

at the same time, you trawl over his angry head and feel how his thickened vein would throb and drum against your skin. It‘s absurd on how ridiculously harder he was in your hand and how the strangled moans were escaping him in between each of your enticing slides and seals— into the little tunnel of your hand— imagining it to be your battered cunt he fucks into, while he’s salivating in his mouth, threatening to spill it past his plump lips.

"fuck—im—close." he grunts, so needy, but with a broken tone, "im—close-close-fuck-i-" his stomach constricts, lurching with a closed off twist inside the deepest ends of it. and much to his deserved pleasure, with your last calculated thrusts, dainsleif cums all over your hand, tightening the muscles in his body to release his warm cum on you while still carrying on to drill his cock into your palm, letting you finish him thoroughly and milk him for good.

he exhales thickly, his erratic breathing bumped onto your lips as you peppered him with fleeting smooches around his face, drinking up all the dried up tears on his skin.

your hand was a mess, sticking together and you‘re lifting it up to parade it in front of his glowing eyes— so his cheeks would thrum in a snug enfold, even more wanting than before.

he could plunge head first into this, into the obscene bliss and joy you let him taste— moan at the bestowed vision of you lapping up his salty cum and humming after each gulp, like it’s the best flavor in the world while patiently waiting for it to twist on your tongue and mix with your saliva.

it's hard to remember your surroundings while being engaged in such situations as he almost collapsed on top of you if it weren‘t for the wooden desk supporting your weights from behind. "I'm— sorry." he coughs to hide his embarrassment.

"it’s okay dain~" there it was again, the nickname that made his knees shudder, but only when you said it. "you must be tired." while you had your fair share of fun tonight, you’d never give up on an opportunity to mess with him "yeah.." because, admittedly— dainsleif was adorable, cute and handsome at the same time. you're starting to think that maybe you should visit him more often.

regardless of such, dainsleif was continuously breathless and fucked out even after a couple minutes of resting, he pants, now whines, when you linger your wet tongue over his jawline and kiss the dewy spots. "good job." you coo with a deep self satisfied smirk and group your lips into a well pleased grin for him to see.

he couldn't handle your growing ego, but the clear confidence you showed was maddening and turned him on— he clicks his tongue and humorously shakes his head the second he thinks about the upcoming meet ups with you and how you’d mention this filthy encounter in the worst possible times.

at any rate, he lets you indulge in it momentarily, because maybe— only maybe, there will be a short split in time where he can redeem himself and please you matchless and beyond all comparison, so you could be faced with an equal amount of thrill.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[scara-meow-che]

Dainsleif's dick being infused with abyss energy(?) like his arm-

Like yea Tartaglia's last form's dick, yeah Ito's oni dick, yeah zhongli's dragoon dick,but what of Dain???? That shit must be magical 😩

⦿ 𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗟𝗜𝗩𝗘 ┃ eyes up here princess with dainsleif

CW. NSFW (MDNI), big dick! dain, fem! reader, use of words (princess), established relationship, teasing, first-time sex, implied oral, sex w/out penetration (thigh job and dick job? is that even a thing? idk, just read it to find out), dirty talk, magical dick (i am NOT sorry), mention of abyss princess lumine

AN. the new archon quest 🧍🏻‍♀️ it felt like a fever dream and it's a whole ass year again before we get to see this man so i am making it my mission to let him and his abyss-energy-fused dick live in my mind rent-free. also, if the anon that sent me this is still here to witness me posting this, hello :D this took me by surprise bcs i planned it to be short but here we are ig

it wasn't every day that you get dain's attention all to yourself.

you would often see him somewhere, busy, as always. sometimes, you would find yourself conversing with a few locals when dain tries to do things on his own as he would reason out that it's for your own safety. or you'd be up and about some part of the region searching for the abyss princess as to what he currently puts as his top priority.

these repeating turn of events would, most of the time, make you question whether you really matter to him seeing as he's always invested in things unrelated to you or what interests you. you don't ask too much from him but sometimes, a little attention would be nice, or have him answer all the questions that run inside your head.

yet, when dain would see that familiar expression painting your face as you make your bed for the night, he would put everything on hold and indulge more in what you'd request. he does make up for you, well, you have no complaints when he does because he'd always be there in a heartbeat for every beck and call.

hence why you're laid out on your bed, legs spread out with him toying with your already sore clit.

the idea of having sex had never once danced in between each conversation you'd have with dain. you'd rather spend the time to catch up on each other's day and sort out a route to where you both want to go next. it never fazed you when some people asked how your relationship with dain is going, not even bothered when some old women from liyue dramatically gasped as you've never been that intimate with your lover.

as the tension builds up throughout the months of overhearing people gossiping about their partners or be the victim of a drunk local telling you the tale of their sexual escapades, it draws out some images in your head. would dain be like the same as those oni's you've heard about? or have an impressive length similar to this one tale about a dragon lord? heck, would he have a dick that grows unrealistically big just like with the harbinger that you've heard about?

but who fucking cares anyway? you're about to get the real deal right now.

"what a curious mind you have there, princess." dain mindlessly mused as he press soft kisses along your thighs, leaving you breathless as he presses himself closer to your aching core. you can feel the heat from the big hard tent on his pants as he rubs himself to the dampness of your cunt. "i thought that eating you out could already satiate your pretty little head but you still want... what? what is it that you want from me again?"

he taunts, amused when he hears a cry from your disheveled form. "ah, didn't i say to tell me if you want something?"

"but it's embarrassing to say it!" you can't even fully reason out how humiliating it is for you to casually ask him that you want to see his dick as you let out another moan when he lightly thrusts his clothed cock on your core. he doesn't even let up, continuing his cruel pace in rubbing his aching dick on your already sensitive clit.

"p-please! i just, a-ah, want to see your d-dick!"

"say what again, princess?"

having enough of his teasing, you went to give your best in bending your body just to reach the big tent on his pants. "i want to see your dick dain and... i want you to fuck me, please."

you can feel a rush of heat all over your skin, your eyes quickly darting to the side to avoid dain's amused pair. a chuckle was all you heard before you felt his hands gently laying you down back to bed. in response to his pleased titter, you scoffed and gave him a quick glare.

"i'm sorry but you're just irresistible when you're so honest with me." he paused as he takes a sharp intake of air when he pulls out his leaking cock from the confines of his pants.

your eyes widen at the sight. no, it's not because he's as big as what you heard like the one of an oni or he has that delicious curve like that of the dragon cock but it's because the hue is unlike any other, the dark blue pulses as beads of white litters on the tip. fuck, when dain gave his dick a quick stroke, you can see how it grew a bit larger in his palm.

you drool just by imagining how it would feel inside of you.

"eyes up here, princess." he gave your thighs a light smack, pulling your attention back up before you felt the cockhead rubbing so gingerly on your little nub, smearing your cum on your lower lips.

"you're so eager for me, huh?" he can feel you trembling the more he pays attention to your aching core, gliding the head back and forth your lower lips, enough to push the head inside your hole but easy for him to just pull right back out. he's testing out the waters, waiting for more of your reactions and he could only see you enjoying yourself being please with the tip of his dick.

"just look at you, so wet and ready for me." and you are, feeling your arousal pool and spill right out of your needy hole while dain keeps making a mess out of it. your hips desperately buck right up, chasing for the head but he kept you pinned down on the soft mattress as he continues teasing you.

"dain, please, want to feel more of you." your hand went to grab his arms, giving it a light squeeze that you knew would get him to listen to you.

but it did the complete opposite.

"didn't you say that you want to see my dick?"

before you could argue back, dain had gently straightened both your legs upward, his strong arms locking you in place before pushing the dark blue cockhead in between your thighs. "been wanting to do this for so long," he uttered with a low groan, his body shivering when he thrusts his cock in the middle of your soft flesh, the rushed and hasty movements of the head prods at your clit. "you look so pretty like this, just letting me use you."

you gasped for air when he purposely prods at your puckering hole, angling his abyss-energy-fused cock to dive in and out of your thighs. your eyes caught a glimpse of how each streak of white glow, the nerves pulsing as he ruts himself so needily on you.

"so keep your pretty eyes on me and maybe, if you managed to do so, i might just give you what you want."

and you did, you desperately tried your best to keep looking at dain and just watching how he use your thighs to get off. it was a rare sight to see dain lose himself, tottering over the warmth and softness that covers his dick.

at first, he was scared that he might scare you off, thinking how unusual his cock looks. compared to what he thought you'd prefer to see in between your legs, about to rail the innocence out of you, his was far off the scales.

but when he saw your eyes almost sparkled when he pulled out his dick, hands so damn eager to touch him, and both your lips spilling out how much you want more of him just sends him over the edge. his pace quickened the more he stares at your needy form, enjoying the way your eyes fluttered close whenever he brushed against your hole before proceeding in sliding his cock back on your thighs.

"i'm so close, fuck, you feel so good 'round me like this, princess." and fuck, yes, you can feel more of his pre-cum ooze around the head and coats more of your already slick skin. it felt so dirty, so filthy to watch him fuck himself with your thighs and you felt dirtier when you were enjoying how his large dick, fused with the same abyss energy as his arm, slides back and forth your thighs.

"cum for me please," you whispered, urging your lover to release his load on your skin. within seconds, dain stopped his thrusts as he buried his cock between your legs, pressing it tighter as he shoots his load on your flesh, slowly having the thick globs of his cum drip down on your core.

while dain goes to steady his breathing, you went to open up your legs to see how much cum had covered your body, the scent of sex causing your head to fizzle out that you had nothing in your mind but the need to see his dick filling you up.

dainsleif was shocked when you went to reach out for his cock, the keenness in your eyes captivating as you focused on his dick.

"wanna see how it looks as you fuck me." your request came like a cry, a whimper of desperation. and you can feel the way dain's dick twitched on your hand.

you're going to be the death of him.

⠀⠀scara-meow-che © 2023 ┃ do not copy, modify, or repost ANY of my content

[marvelsmylife]

Ex’s and oh’s

Pairing: Garrick Tavis x scribe! reader, ex!Dain Aetos x reader

Plot: you meet Garrick during Reunification. The only problem? Your ex Dani doesn’t want you near Garrick or the other marked students.

A/n this is my second Fourth Wing post so please be kind. I know Xaden and the majority of the marked students didn’t attend reunification but for the sake of this story they did. 

Garrick was counting down the minutes until he and his friends were able to head back to their rooms. They despised Reunification Day because it was a cruel reminder that they lost their parents, and they were forced to attend.

Since he had nothing better to do, Garrick scanned his surroundings. That’s when he spotted you staring at him with your friends. He thought you were talking shit about him when one of your friends elbowed you in the ribs and whispered something in your ear.

To his surprise, you looked back at him and waved. Garrick didn’t know if you were waving at him or not but decided to wave back. That caused you to smile even bigger and whisper something into your friend's ear before you began walking towards him.

“I’ll be right back,” Garrick told Xaden, who was watching the entire exchange before meeting you halfway.

You felt yourself growing nervous when you were face to face with Garrick that you accidentally said out loud: “Hi, I’m y/n. Wow, you’re even hotter up close.”

Garrick let out a low laugh at your comment: “Thank you?”

“I’m so sorry, can’t believe I said that out loud,” you apologized: “What I intended to say was that I think you and all the other riders are brave for doing what you guys are currently doing for us.”

“I really didn’t have a choice on becoming a rider,” Garrick didn’t mean to come off as a dick with his response: “My name is Garrick, by the way.”

“I know, and I’m sorry about your parents.” You leaned close and whispered: “I thought what your parents did was admirable.”

Garrick was surprised by your revelation, especially on a night like tonight when they were celebrating the victory of the end of the rebellion. “My parents and I disagreed with everything that went down and were going to join the rebellion, but then-well you know what happened,” you added on, and that’s when he realized who you were.

He remembered his and Xaden’s father were in talks with your father about him joining the rebellion as well. They were excited that your father was planning on joining them. They thought if they were able to convince one of the king's most important allies to join the rebellion, there was hope they could convince others. 

Your parents never got the chance to follow through with the plan because they executed all of the rebellion's leadership the day before they were set to leave.

Since your parents didn’t technically join the rebellion, your parents were spared, but the king kept a close eye on your family.

You were too busy taking in Garrick's surprise facial expression that you didn’t notice Dain was storming over to where you and Garrick were standing: “Y/n, what are you doing here?”

“I’m celebrating reunification day,” you replied sarcastically.

“I know that, I meant what are you doing talking to him,” Dain points at Garrick: “You do realize he’s one of the marked ones right?”

Garrick couldn’t help but smirk at you as you rolled your eyes at Dain: “I know that Dain, and I don’t give a shit whether he’s a marked one or not. I don’t even know why you care that I’m talking to him we haven’t spoken in over a year. Might I remind you that you broke up with me a week after conscription day?”

Suddenly, Garrick got more invested in the argument that was unfolding in front of him. “Just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean I don’t care about you anymore, and people like Garrick are bad news.”

“You lost the right to care about me the second you tricked me into becoming a scribe instead of being a rider like I've always dreamed of. You knew how much I wanted to be a rider growing up. I’m glad Violet was smarter than me and didn’t listen to you when you tried the same shit on her.”

That statement caused Garrick to look at Dain in disgust. “Really Aetos?” Garrick looked over at Dain and noticed a guilty look on his face.

Dain sent a death glare toward Garrick before turning towards you: “H-How did you know I tried to get Violet to switch?”

“Did you forget that I was friends with Violet too?” you reminded him: “She also told me about the kiss you shared after threshing. Real smooth Aetos, real smooth.”

Dain grew embarrassed at you exposing him in front of everyone. Garrick would have pitied the man if it wasn't for the fact that he knew Dain deserved what was happening to him. “As much as I’d like to stay and get to know you better Garrick, I’d rather die than be anywhere near my ex,” you spoke to Garrick before you turned and started walking away.

Garrick didn’t know why, but he had the urge to go after you. “Y/n wait,” Garrick called out to you and caused you to stop in your tracks. Once he caught up to you, he asked: “How would you like to meet a dragon? My dragon?”

“Do you actually mean your dragon, or are you talking about your penis?” you teased and managed to make Garrick blush.

“My actual dragon,” Garrick replied: “Unless you want to meet my penis. In that case, I can show you that as well.”

Biting your lip, you shamelessly checked him out: “Unfortunately, I have to go. I have an early morning tomorrow, but I’d love to see your dragon another day. Both your real dragon and your penis.”

“Just say when, and I’ll be there,” Garrick made it seem like a joke, but he was being completely serious. In the short time he spent with you, he found himself smitten.

“Goodbye, Garrick,” you smiled at the dark-haired man one last time before leaving the celebration.

[illshakeyouallnightlong-dean]

Take Me To The Sun

Previously known as In Times Of Flaring: Here is the official Part one to the series! You can also find it on AO3 I finally made an account!

Take Me To The Sun (846 words) by leftmeinwonderland

The quadrant is in chaos. Finding out who is alive, who we all lost - and all I can think about is they aren’t back. He isn’t back. 

I wish I could comfort you, flare. Rathnait whispers to me, and for a moment I feel guilty that I feel so out of sorts for not being able to focus on shielding my emotions from her. Her talons tick nervously on the flight field, vigilant over my every move and breath. All I can do is stare at my dragon vacantly. Streaks of dark copper highlighted her grace, her beauty - running down the length of her neck and down each of her legs. Rathnait was a sight to behold, and I was only grateful to be considered worthy to be hers. Her scarlett colored scales glistened in the setting sun, as if mirroring the sun itself in all its bright glory. Her swordtail flicked in the air back and forth in agitation. We must not get ahead of ourselves, you would feel it if something happened to him. 

I reach out to clutch her nose to my chest, needing to feel the warmth of her breath on my clammy self. She nudges me gently, trying all she can to ground my spiraling thoughts. 

I can’t help but think of the moments I last saw him - the fight, the anger. 

****

“Xaden is already bending the rules with bringing Violet along, I can’t ask him to risk your well being as well,” Garrick murmurs in my ear as we watch the tense showdown between Dain and Xaden. I try to ignore the sting in my chest, having to wrinkle my nose to rid myself of unshed tears. 

“You're not even gonna try, after everything? You just expect me to watch you go? You’ve been keeping secrets, Garrick. This seems like part of one of them” I hiss at him, shrugging my arm away from his hold. Rathnait glowers at both Garrick and Chradh, his brown scorpion tail - the irritation she feels at watching me get hurt is almost enough to make her snap her teeth at them both. Garrick’s jaw clenches, his ever composed features faltering at the anguish I knew he could see in my eyes, could hear in my voice. 

Just say the word, flare. I’ll teach him to treat you with more care. Rathnait snarls at Chradh, snapping as he tries to nudge her affectionately. I don’t want to put her in an uncomfortable position, to push away her growing care for Chradh. You let me worry about that. Chradh knows you are the one I chose, the one I will always look out for.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish we had time to talk more, but right now I would rather know you’re safe with the rest of your squad. Your anger towards me is worth it if I am guaranteed your survival,” I watch as he makes sure his flight gloves are secure, flexing them before flickering those earth toned eyes towards me. My heart cracks a little bit more - all I want to do is scream. To shove him and get him to see that this is hurting me, is crushing me. How much more can I let slide? How much more can I take when all I want is to want him. To love him.

“And what about you? What if you don’t come back?” 

Xaden and Violet make their way towards their dragons. Squads have begun to launch to their respective posts, Dain and I are being waited upon by Second Squad. 

“I’ve survived too much to lose now. I’ll be back and we can talk - I’ll tell you everything,” Garrick promises, stepping forward to plant a soft kiss on my temple. Clutching his flight jacket, I can’t help it as tears fall down my cheeks. 

“It seems like you might lose me though,” Turning around to follow my Squad leader, ignoring the curses from Garrick, ignoring the way in which my Squad watches me with grimaces and pity. All for fucking War Games, all for nothing. 

I make my way towards the group, needing the familiar, needing their constant. Ridoc opens his arms, bringing me in for a brief tight embrace. Sawyer offers a wavering smile.

“Are you gonna be ok?” Rhiannon softly asks, wiping my wet cheeks with her hands. I shakily smile at her, making sure my own flight jacket and gloves are secure. I can’t bare to watch Garrick and Chradh take to the sky, having to believe that he’ll be ok, but at the same time wanting to protect myself from more heartbreak. 

“Let’s go get this over with.” I quickly scale up Rathnait, she chuffs at me, making sure I’m secure in my seat. Let’s go flying, Ray. Take me towards the sun. Sending my devotion to her down our bond. She launches quickly, wings flaring gloriously. The rest of the squad is quick to follow. 

I’ll always make sure you’re near it, flare. The light will never die in you, not even from this pain. 

[callsign-rogueone]

under the weather

fourth wing boys* x gn!partner!reader *Aaric, Bodhi, Brennan, Dain, Garrick, Liam, Ridoc, Sawyer, Xaden! y'all seemed to like excuses, excuses, so here’s something in that style because I don’t feel good rn, but I want to write :( and I added Aaric this time too!  words: 645 🏷: no spoilers. just some thoughts on ways our boys would take care of you when you’re sick 🥰 descriptions of sickness (cough, fever, dizziness, etc.) doctors visits, medication. I've been ripping shots of nyquil all day and I’m not all there rn so I really hope these make sense lol 

Aaric lets you rest your head in his lap while he reads to you, either from a textbook (the grind never stops with this one) or whatever fiction novel he’s reading. the words go in one ear and out the other in your soft delirium, but it’s still nice to hear his voice and feel him stroking your hair as he reads. if you fall asleep on him, he won’t move until you wake up, or unless he absolutely has to — but heaven help the person who makes him move.

Bodhi insists on cuddling you back to health, curling up with you and letting you rest your aching body against his while you settle in for a long afternoon nap, because sleep is the best medicine. he completely ignores your protests that you’ll get him sick too (you do, and then it’s your turn to play nurse next week, but he swears it was worth it). 

Brennan spends as much time with you as he can, bringing his paperwork and things to your shared room so that he can be there when you need him, while still tending to his duties as a leader of the revolution. he checks your temperature and pulse etc. every hour, monitoring you carefully, but he’ll make up for it with lots of forehead kisses. 

Dain excuses you from training until you’re better, insisting that you stay in bed and devote all your energy to recovering. he frequently comes to check on you throughout the day, and you better still be in bed when he does, or you’ll be getting a gentle lecture about the importance of your caring for yourself and how much you mean to him — he needs you to be healthy, okay?

Garrick carries you around whenever you need to go somewhere, because he doesn’t want you collapsing after that dizzy spell you had. he doesn’t care if it’s only twenty feet to the showers and back; he’s scooping you up and walking over himself. he also insists on supervising your shower, but no funny business — you’re sick. once you’ve recovered, however…

Liam draws you a warm bath, letting you soothe your aching muscles for a while before washes your hair and your back for you, being incredibly gentle all the while. he’ll dry you off afterward, letting you pick any of his clothes to wear to sleep if you want, and helping you through the steps of your nightly routine — brushing your teeth, etc., before giving you your medicine and letting you fall asleep on his chest.

Ridoc goes with you to the healers, rubbing your back and making soft jokes all the while to distract you from the discomfort — apologizing when your laughs turn into a coughing fit. he also tries to make you feel normal / less gross when you’re stuck in bed, helping you with basic self-care: brushing and braiding your hair, taking your makeup off if you wear it, helping you do your skincare… 

Sawyer does all the things that you can’t do while you’re sick — goes to class and copies an extra set of notes for you, does your laundry, straightens up your room, etc. that way you can focus on recovering, but also, once you’re back on your feet, you won’t have a huge mess to deal with and you won’t be behind on your studies. he’ll help you review what you missed, as well. 

Xaden is protective to a fault, but when you’re sick, it’s a whole new level. he doesn’t leave your side unless absolutely necessary, ignoring any form of protest. follows the healer’s instructions to the letter — antibiotics every four hours? he’s waking you up at two am, glass of water in hand, helping you sit up so you can take them. he’ll also use his shadows to dim the room so you can sleep through the day.