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tamrielic · 1 hour

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“we’re just friends but…” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

aka the moment genshin boys realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not “just friends” and maybe, just maybe, they’d like to be more. perhaps some day in the future they’ll tell you. part two of confessions here!

contains: female reader in all (nicknames such as madame and my lady), fluff, pining and realizing of feelings, wriothesley: mentions of fighting, blood, and injuries (pankration ring), reader is a doctor, neuvillette: mentions of being a mother figure to melusine’s (lots of melusine features!), reader works at the palais and can bake, alhaitham: drunk alhaitham, reader can cook, ayato: implied assassination attempt (canon typical yashiro commissioner life lol), reader wears a dress in and is very minimally attacked by an assassin while with him, ayato is as unhinged and low key crazy as ever, these all end with unresolved pining but they’re all very fluffy and hopeful i pinky promise

“we’re just friends, but when i see her touch anyone else, it makes my skin crawl. shouldn’t she only touch me?” — WRIOTHESLEY

you’re just doing your job, he tries to tell himself. wriothesley knows that with your line of work, not touching anyone would be next to impossible. the fortress is blessed to have such a dedicated and knowledgeable doctor to help out the head nurse, and it’s admirable that you’ve given up broad daylight and a position at any respectable hospital in fontaine to tend to patients down here.

it’s admirable, and wriothesley appreciates it more than anyone else.

but the mind thinks what it thinks, and his can’t help but think how wonderful it would be if the only shirtless man you had to cleans wounds of was himself. not that he gets many wounds—he prides himself in his ability to knock an opponent out before they land a hit, but if someone were to be shirtless on the examination table with your delicate hands dabbing at small cuts, it should be him.

he stares daggers into the small gash his gauntlets seem to have made in his former opponent, watching as you gently clean the blood with careful precision. a part of him faintly registers that he should feel bad—as the duke, it’s his responsibility to make sure he never injures anyone in a good natured tournament, but this time was an accident. and he does feel bad. just not worse than the unexplainable weight at the bottom of his stomach that makes him feel almost nauseous. why does he feel nauseous?

“you’re all good to go,” you hum softly, “i would tell you to be careful next time, but i don’t think this has much to do with you as it does with other factors.”

you shoot wriothesley a pointed look as the man shrugs on his shirt, a dazed look on his features as he thanks you over stumbled words. wriothesley’s jaw tightens—it’s clear as day this patient of yours appreciates much more than your talents as a professional.

“it was an unfortunate accident,” wriothesley mumbles, “i’ll have to be more cautious next time, my apologies.”

“all good, boss,” the man waves off, and with a polite nod to you, he’s off. finally—wriothesley doesn’t think he could’ve left any faster.

“how can you hope to lessen patients in here if you’re the one sending them over?” you turn to him, making wriothesley fight back a small frown.

it must show anyway, because you giggle and poke his cheek as you walk over, speaking in between those melodious laughs as you tell him to stop pouting.

“i’m not pouting,” he scoffs, like the sentiment is preposterous, “and it was an accident. honest.”

“yes i know, your grace,” you tease. hearing such a title doesn’t usually do anything to him, but hearing it from you makes his heart flutter a tiny bit, in a way that makes the ends of his nerves tingle and the palms of his hands sweat just a bit. “but you should be more careful with those gauntlets next time, you know.”

and then, against his every expectation, there’s a gentle and steady hand on his face, cradling it ever so slightly as you tilt his head and inspect the small bruise forming on his jawline.

“you’re hurt too,” you say in concern.

wriothesley, if he wasn’t so busy trying to still his beating heart, would have laughed at the way your face seems devastatingly worried. he would have teased you at the way the sight of blood didn’t manage to crack your steady and firm composure, but somehow, the sight of a small patch of discolored skin has.

“nah, it’s just a small thing,” he waves off, “he caught me off guard after i noticed the blood. nothing i can’t handle.”

“let me ice it,” you insist, “i don’t want it swelling.”

“i’ll be fine, doc,” he chuckles—but he finds himself pausing when you look at him almost upset. has he really upset you? he’d never want to, especially not over something so trivial.

so he sighs, walking over to the table before letting himself take a seat.

“you should take care of yourself more,” you sigh, “i see now what sigewinne means when she says you don’t look after yourself like you should.”

“ah,” he grins, trying to avoid your knowing look when he winces a little at the action when a dull ache builds in his jaw, “i suppose my refusal to drink her…unique beverages have caught up to me.”

you laugh, a sweet and innocent sound that makes something under his ribcage tickle. your hand is back to gently cradling his cheek as you tilt his head again, angling it to hold a small ice pack to the small bruise.

“you seem tense,” you say thoughtfully, “don’t feel so bad. i’m sure those guys give themselves worse in the ring here and there.”

wriothesley feels bad, he really does. he would never purposely injure someone when he’s meant to be the warden that keeps things peaceful. the memory of you tending to the man sitting in his place just a few moments ago brings back another wave of bitterness, one that’s much more fleeting this time when he tells himself that now that he’s replaced the man with himself, things aren’t so bad.

it hits him then—with your hand on his cheek and an ice pack to a comically small bruise that you fuss over, that something in him craves more than just your touch when he’s injured. it hits him that anyone can be in his position, sat in front of you as you treat minor wounds with delicate care. he doesn’t want to be like anyone, he thinks.

he wants more—something he can only have for himself. something that’s crossing the line of this comfortable friendship you’ve seemed to build.

“hey,” you say softly, pulling him from his thoughts. your thumb traces the scar under his eye as if to ground him. something tells him you don’t do that for other patients, something a bit more intimate than a doctor would be with a normal patient. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing, doc,” he hums lowly, eyeing you softly before he closes his eyes and lets out a soft breath. “you think my injury will be okay?” he asks with exaggerated concern.

you snort, shaking your head as you quip, “you’ll live. i hope.”

he chuckles at that. one of these days, when he’s a bit braver and a touch more in tune with his emotions about you, he’ll tell you how he feels. maybe he’ll have your touch outside of the clinic that way, something more personal, something more intimate.

“we’re just friends, but she makes me wonder what it’s like to have my own family with her. is that normal?” — NEUVILLETTE

melusines are beautiful creatures. innocent and kind by nature, and certainly small enough that it only makes them seem that much more fragile. neuvillette has always had a soft spot for the species, from the way they cheerily call him monsieur neuvillette, to the way they happily skip over to him each time they approach him.

the people of fontaine are fond of melusines too. he’s happy with the sentiment—he knows more than anyone else that things weren’t always this way. but somehow, watching you like this, smiling endearingly at the melusines in front of you as you let them pour more water into your cup, he can’t help but find more solace in this moment than any other one.

“madame,” sedene calls, “it’s lovely you could have joined us today.”

you chuckle, sweetly petting her head and taking a sip from your glass as you murmur, “it’s certainly a pleasure. though, i hope i’m not intruding, monsieur,” you look at neuvillette with a polite smile.

“no, of course not,” he returns the gesture, “on the contrary, we’re delighted to have you today.”

neuvillette regularly allows the melusines in his office in the afternoon. it starts one day when they insist he take a break, entering his office and pulling out sweets and tea to enjoy (he only drinks water, but they happily finish what he does not have.) the tradition is born ever since, a daily routine to allow himself a short break, one filled with the excited chatter of small creatures he so fondly looks over as they snack away surrounding his desk.

you happen to walk in today, with files in your hand meant to be dropped off to the iudex, pausing as you take in the sight of tiny paws reaching over his desk to grab madeleines as they chat happily. suddenly, there are one too many small voices insisting you join among the chief justice himself, and soon, you find yourself with a chair pulled over for you, sitting between sedene and neuvillette.

it’s nice, he thinks, having you join. your company is refreshing to witness as you happily indulge the melusines in their chatter.

“madame?” blathine calls, pulling a soft hum from you as you turn your gaze to her, “would you join us tomorrow as well?”

you giggle fondly, taking a small bite from a madeleine as you think for a moment. “perhaps if my schedule is free and monsieur neuvillette is not too busy…”

“i assure you it’s of no trouble to me,” he insists, “this is a bit of a…routine activity,” he chuckles as he eyes the gathered crowd around his desk.

“then i’ll certainly make time,” you grin. he feels himself soften, an unrecognizable twinge of excitement settling into his bones at the words. of course, neuvillette looks forward to the company of the melusines daily, but the added news of you joining seems to make his heart swell in a way he doesn’t normally find happening.

before he can ponder why that is, another voice captures his attention.

“madame, will you make macarons again if you join us? it’s been a while since we’ve last tried them,” kiara asks excitedly.

neuvillette watches as something brightens in you at the question, your lips tugging into a wide grin as your eyes crinkle at the edges. you nod, looking affectionately at the little heads surrounding you as they stare at you hopefully.

“if you would like, of course. i’m happy you enjoyed them.”

“you’ve baked for them before?” neuvillette asks curiously.

you open your mouth to speak, but it’s hardly possible to utter a word when so many excited voices cut in before you can.

“oh yes, madame brings us sweets whenever she makes them!” aeval chirps.

“the strawberry ones are simply divine!” he turns to elphane as she tugs his sleeve, “you must try them, monsieur.”

“the chocolate ones are my favorite. madame, would you bring those too?” liath looks hopeful, brightening as you nod sweetly.

“i hope it’s not too much trouble,” sedene looks up at you, and with another chuckle, you pat her head once more as you shake your head.

“of course not,” you say fondly, “it’s a wonderful pastime, in fact. i’ll certainly bring them tomorrow.”

“be sure not to bring too many sweets yourselves then,” neuvillette says seriously, taking a sip of his water, “you don’t want to have too much sugar and make yourselves sick. and drink plenty of water. it’s good for you.”

you look at him amusedly at his words, tips tugging wider as you say, “it seems as though you’ve taken over a fatherly figure, monsieur. it’s unexpectedly endearing, i must admit.”

“madame! madame! would that make you like a mother figure too, then?” veleda’s words make you choke on the sip of water from your own glass, pulling a surprised blink from neuvillette himself.

you both fleetingly stare at each other from the corner of your eyes before you look down, chuckling nervously as he clears his throat, hoping the flush he seems to feel coating his cheeks is not too apparent.

“well, if you would like to consider me as such, i don’t mind,” you say carefully.

the melusines giggle—for such endearing creatures, neuvillette finds they can be mischievous in their own right as well.

“monsieur, what do you think of madame being a mother figure?” blathine asks innocently, blinking up at him through doe eyes.

“i, well…it’s certainly wonderful you find comfort in her to feel—”

“does that make madame your wife?” aeval squeals, “oh, monsieur, i thought you’d never find someone!”

this time, he’s certain there’s a dust of red coating his cheeks as you laugh softly, eyeing him in a mix of sympathy and amusement.

“now, now,” you call, “monsieur neuvillette and i get along, but our relationship is strictly professional.”

he watches as the melusines giggle behind their tiny paws. he’s certainly aware of their playful schemes, but perhaps…perhaps a small part of him doesn’t mind the thought of you in a romantic light—he’s certainly not practiced in such emotions, but there’s a squeeze in his heart as he thinks about how easy it is to feel like a family with you.

his hand itches to reach and squeeze yours under the table as you laugh happily with the creatures, and faintly, he wonders if this is normal—your words are true, are they not? the relationship between you is strictly professional isn’t it?

he takes a sip of his water, unsure of what the rapid beating of his heart indicates anymore.

“we’re just friends, but i show up to her house every time i’m drunk. that doesn’t mean anything though, does it?” — ALHAITHAM

you open the door before he can even knock. his muddled brain should register that he should be embarrassed by that, but he’s too busy trying to keep his balance as he looks at you.

“oh haitham,” you chuckle, shaking your head, “i was wondering when you’d show up.”

“’m late?” he slurs, making you look at him in amusement as you gently grab his wrist and pull him in.

“did you have fun? you never stay out this long even at the tavern,” you murmur, gently helping him settle down on your couch.

there’s a glass of water waiting for him, one you delicately place to his lips and help him drink from as you sit next to him. even drunk, alhaitham can feel the searing burn of your thigh pressed against his—a heat he doesn’t mind, but it fogs his senses even more than they already are.

“beat cyno in tcg,” he says between sips, “i won.”

“good job,” you snort, “did he take it well?”

“no,” he laughs—it’s a giddy thing, one he lets out a bit more freely than his normal self would.

alhaitham is like that when he’s drunk: free and loose and something on the edge of vulnerable in a way you never get to see him. you smile at him, watching as he slumps back and sighs softly, rubbing his eyes.

“’m hungry,” he murmurs, making you roll your eyes fondly.

“i know,” you nod in amusement, “you practically eat my fridge whole every time.”

in the morning, alhaitham will be embarrassed. he’ll wake up on your soft couch and register that he’s done this again (most couches break his back, but yours somehow feels homely. soft and warm and smells like you to the point that he thinks it’s better than his own bed). he’ll tell himself that it won’t happen again next week, and that he’ll drink in moderation and force kaveh to bring him straight home—but somehow, just like the week before, he lands himself on your familiar couch, waking to the smell of coffee hitting his nose as you make it the way he likes.

it’s not a bad thing to get used to, in all truthfulness. but he’s no fool, he knows exactly what’s slowly developing in his stoic little heart, and he doesn’t think this build up of familiarity is helping his case any further. he doesn’t know if the build up exists for you either—maybe you’re just a nice enough person and good enough friend to let it all happen every week. just happy to give him a safe place to sleep the alcohol out from his system.

if he had a rational thought in his brain, maybe he’d ask you. blunt and to the point as he always is. but then again, even blunt and rational alhaitham gets bested by emotions every once in a while. especially the kind of emotions that are dangerously possible of being unrequited.

but regardless, rational alhaitham is out of the equation for now. right now, drunk, tired, hungry, and irrational alhaitham has taken over. he’ll have to worry about what drunk alhaitham does tomorrow when he’s sober, not right now.

“did you make my favorite?” he asks hopefully, almost childlike in the way his eyes peer at you as they wait for your answer.

they brighten when you nod, grinning as you say, “yes, i did. i always do, don’t i?”

“yeah,” he sighs contentedly, closing his eyes as he pulls the soft blanket you keep just for him over his body, a half-hearted attempt at covering himself as you slowly rise from his side.

the phantom linger of your thigh against his makes him realize he misses the touch, even if it clears his mind from the fog just a little to not be so near you.

“wait,” he says suddenly—you pause. he doesn’t know what’s compelled him to say that (he doesn’t know what compels him to do anything he does around you, but he’s here in this situation for that very reason, so there’s not much to be done there).

“yeah?” you say softly, waiting for him to speak.

“just…” he pauses. why did he stop you? is it because he has something to say? or is it simply because he knows as soon as you feed him dinner, he’ll pass out on your couch, and you’ll retire to your room for the night, and there will end the fleeting moment of having you all to himself? “just stay, that’s all,” he ends up saying.

archons know he’d never say that sober. it’s surprising enough as is when he’s drunk, but you don’t let the shock settle for long—endearment is quick to take over.

you snort before shaking your head, settling back down beside him as you whisper, “you’re the one who said you’re hungry.”

“i’ll eat later,” he frowns. you’re laughing at him, aren’t you? he should be embarrassed, maybe. but that touch of your thigh is back, and he can’t think straight enough to keep his sense of humility in tact.

“you know,” you murmur, delicately pushing back slightly sweaty hair from his flushed forehead, looking at him with enough care, he might think you feel the same if he wasn’t so drunk—but he’s simply too out of it to really understand what emotion your gaze holds. “if only you were as bold sober as you are drunk.”

he leans into your touch, closing his eyes and pressing into the warm embrace of your palm against his skin. it lingers—you don’t pull away any quicker than him, and the result is just a step closer that will only be two steps back by the morning.

still, the both of you enjoy it all the same.

“i’m bold all the time,” he insists.

“i wouldn’t say that,” you huff in amusement. “you don’t really speak your mind around me.”

“i do,” he argues, “i like coming here to you. you’re warm. and so is this couch. and your food’s good.”

“yeah?” you giggle, letting your fingers brush over his hair some more. he hums, nodding as he closes his eyes, yawning.

“mhm,” he barely gets out, “it’s the best part.”

“of what? drinking?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “of…of…i don’t know. just the best part.”

it’s the best part of my week, he’d tell you, if only the words could form on his tongue. he’s too blanketed by the embrace of your warmth and sleep to actually say them.

“tell me all this when you’re sober,” you whisper, tracing a thumb delicately over his cheek before you pull away, pulling the edges of the blanket along to cover him properly. he protests at the loss of your touch with a quiet sound, but sleep pulls him into its clutches quick enough that it doesn’t last too long. “maybe then, i’ll believe you when you say you’re bold all of the time.”

“we’re just friends, but i’d kill just about anyone for her if they so much as look at her weirdly. i can get away with it, can’t i?” — AYATO

ayato thinks if anyone manages to assassinate him one day, then they should be allowed to get away with it with no consequences. by now, he’s confident enough that he’s honed his abilities to be sharp. so sharp, that anyone who manages to so much as touch him is an opponent who has earned to get away with their crimes.

you, however, do not apply to this sentiment.

anyone who so much as touches you, in his eyes, is worthy of far worse than just consequences. he thinks the shogun herself could not hope to save them from his blade.

but for now, there are other pressing matters than to pursue the individual who has managed to attack you on your evening stroll with him—he’ll have the shuumatsuban swiftly investigate and handle the culprit accordingly. for now, he’s more concerned with you.

“are you alright?” he asks gently, helping you stand as you slowly take his outstretched hand. there’s a small quiver in your hand as it clasps his, and his jaw grits slightly at the fact.

“yes,” you breathe quietly, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. ayato can detect it instantly, however. he’s good at reading anyone, but especially you. “i’m alright, my lord,” you reassure.

he frowns, for more reasons than one. “ayato,” he corrects, “no need for formalities.”

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle softly, despite the earlier distress in your features, “as much as you don’t care about appearances, i mustn’t be caught addressing the yashiro commissioner so…improperly. what would people think?”

“that you’re deeply familiar to the yashiro commission,” he says simply, “as you are. it’s only the truth.”

you hum, dusting off the dirt from your dress as you inspect your clothing of any tears. ayato keeps his hand securely on yours, and it doesn’t seem as though he’s looking to let go in the current moment—you don’t necessarily take it upon yourself to remove yourself from his grasp, either.

“well, that was quite the surprise, wasn’t it?” you try to poke fun at the situation, a light attempt to diffuse the clear tension in his brows and shoulders.

ayato doesn’t answer, only taking you in carefully himself, running his eyes up and down your figure as if to make sure there are no injuries for himself. he’s still as pristine as ever, you note—although, it’s not as though the attacker was even close to touching him. he’d retaliated faster than you had even registered there was someone else in your vicinity.

the thought makes you realize how accustomed he must be to assassination attempts—a thought that makes your face drop.

and it must be apparent too, because he asks, “why the long face, all of a sudden?”

you flush in embarrassment. he’s cunning as always, that one. always one step ahead and so good at reading you, you might think he himself holds the pen that writes your every move in crisp, clear scribbles.

“nothing,” you mumble, sighing softly as you shrug, “i suppose it only just dawned on me how effortlessly you evaded such a fate. it must be a normal occurrence for the yashiro commissioner if you’re so…prepared.”

“ah,” he grins, slightly amused as he chuckles, “i suppose it is, yes. nothing to concern yourself over, on the contrary. i am very well prepared, indeed. however, i hadn’t prepared well enough for this stroll it seems, my lady. you must forgive me—next time, i’ll have the shuumatsuban keep an eye out as well.”

“i feel safe enough in your company alone, my lor—ayato,” you correct yourself as soon as you notice the smile drop from the corners of his mouth, “but i can’t help but feel regretful that it’s normal for you to assign additional help to ensure the safety of those close to you. it shouldn’t be necessary for you to be so cautious simply for holding people dear.”

“and do you feel as such?” he teases, “that i hold you dear?”

your face feels hot to the touch, you think, heat creeping to your ears as you look away and clear your throat. ayato is a quick witted man, his words as sharp as ever, meant to apply pressure to the weakest of points.

you’re no exception, it seems. though, he has a bit of a softer approach with you.

“w-well, we’re certainly not strangers,” you huff, “if someone as busy as the yashiro commissioner sets aside time to take an evening stroll with me, i would hope it’s safe to assume we’re quite dear friends.”

friend is starting to seem like a generous word. ayato is a good man, respectable and compassionate enough that he can maintain such a powerful position free of any corruption. but he realizes that respect and compassion are difficult to maintain when it comes to someone harming you.

he wonders, for a brief, fleeting moment, if he could be trusted to keep a calm composure if he were to come face to face with whoever attacked you in the future.

he thinks there’s a large chance that the answer is no, and he’s oddly not bothered by the idea at all.

“i do hold you quite dear,” he says kindly, voice softening an octave, “it is why i must ensure your safety. rest assured, events like today’s won’t happen again.”

“i hope you put as much energy into your own safety,” you counter, “i think inazuma would suffer more greatly if anything were to happen to you, rather than me.”

“i would disagree,” he says with an amused grin, “what disarray the nation would befall if the yashiro commissioner was grief stricken, don’t you think? unable to perform his duties.”

“would you grieve me so deeply, ayato?” it’s your turn to tease, stepping closer as you eye him with playful mischief, “would my absence alone call for the downfall of the nation? then it would only be proper of me to look after myself more carefully, if that’s the case.”

“yes,” he says softly, hesitant for a moment as though admitting as such is enough to admit the more…complicated feelings in his heart. “there is nothing i wouldn’t do to ensure your safety.”

he says the words a touch too seriously—it shocks even him. surely, if limits simply don’t exist if it comes to you, friend is not a term deep enough to truly describe what you are to him.

he wonders if friend feels as much of an injustice to your relationship to you as it does to him.

“i would grieve you too, ayato,” you admit, squeezing the hand he never pulled away, “would you keep yourself safe just for me?”

“do you doubt me?” he chuckles, raising an eyebrow, “i’ve never failed thus far, have i?”

“perhaps not,” you hum, stepping closer, “but just to be sure.”

“then for you,” he carefully pulls you along, falling back into step with you as his hand keeps yours still firmly in his grasp, “i will ensure my own wellbeing just as sacredly as yours.”

someone revoke my access to the word “fond” this instant. i think i got whiplash from how often i used it but i literally don’t know what other word describes “fond” as good as “fond” 😭 anyway!!! kamisato “i would draw my blade to the shogun herself for my love” ayato!!! what a man!!!

#𖹭 – wriothesley.fics #𖹭 – neuvillette.fics #𖹭 – alhaitham.fics #𖹭 – ayato.fics #𖹭 – queue!

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tamrielic · 9 hours

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as a writer, it is SO motivating to read tags and comments on my own fanworks. Please don't ever hesitate to leave something for your favorite writer/artist/gif maker/etc etc etc. one kind word really does go a long way

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tamrielic · 9 hours

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thinking about how rarely gojo asks for what he wants he simply just hints and teases and smiles surreptitiously and chuckles until you finally give in because you always know what he’s doing

#kendy this got me shhdjsbdsjdnsk #𖹭 – satoru.fics

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tamrielic · 9 hours

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minors and ageless blogs dni

f!reader, aged up characters, reader is sae's assistant manager, sae is a little mean, suggestive, mention of collars, reader gets pinned against the wall, sae puts his hand around reader's throat, unresolved sexual tension.

“Itoshi,” you snarl. “You cannot keep doing this!”

Sae doesn’t slow for you—he never does—leaving you doing a humiliating little skip-step to keep up with him in your heels.

You just need one interview to go well. Just one. Instead, you're chasing him down the hallway after he's walked out.

Not for the first time, you consider sinking a hand into his perfectly coiffed hair and yanking his head back, making him expose the column of his throat, pale and vulnerable, just to make him listen. Still, even with annoyance flooding your veins, a tributary feeding the ocean of your rage, you know better. Sae outclasses you in almost every way.

He never fails to remind you of that.

He turns the corner and pushes a door open, the hinges squeaking. It’s a delicate touch, but everything always seems to give way before him.

The door shuts in your face.

“Sae!”

You push through the door like a tidal wave, slamming it open, caught up in the ferocity that Sae always brings out of you. He’s a magician of the worst kind, digging deep behind your professionalism and pulling out your rage like a rabbit from his silken hat.

Humidity billows around you, the air sticky with heat, like a summer storm ready to burst. You’re just realizing where you are when Sae’s hand wraps tight around your bicep, a manacle of fingers.

He pushes you back quickly, matching you step for stumbling step, a dangerous dance that only he knows the rhythm of. You’re against the locker room’s wall before you know it, with his hand against your hip to keep you in place.

You think briefly of the butterflies your mother used to collect, their beautiful wings held down with silvery pins, laid open like a show.

“You’d follow me anywhere, wouldn’t you?” he says, his pretty face unreadable, a still, serene pond.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Sae!”

“You followed me,” he points out, dipping close enough to breathe against your lips. His fingers flex against your hip, his grip almost painful, a sharp bite of pressure. “Do you want my attention so badly?”

You hiss out a breath. Shift under him, your thighs pressing together briefly as the heat of him settles into your core.

“It’s my job,” you snap, meeting his apathetic gaze. “I’m supposed to keep you collared, whether you like it or not.”

His eyes flash, an emerald flicker like the northern lights, there and then gone. If nothing else, you can take pride in your ability to get a rise out of him.

Sae settles a big hand against your throat, his fingertips against your rabbiting pulse. A little smile, smug and awful, settles secret in the corner of his lips. “Collar me?” he muses.

He tilts your head up with his grip on your throat, an unyielding command, and presses closer still. His lips brush against yours.

“The only person here with a collar around their neck,” he says, flexing his fingers for emphasis, “is you.”

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tamrielic · 8 days

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just so y’all know i have received your requests and i definitely plan on writing them! but my health hasn’t been good and i am currently in a not–so–great headspace in addition to experiencing a really bad flareup of my autoimmune diseases so it may take quite a while!

#𖹭 – kayleigh.speaks #but rest assured that i have gotten them and i will be writing them; no guarantees how long it’ll take however 😅#i’ll be closing requests starting now just so i can be sure to get to the ones i’ve already gotten 👍🏻#i’ll re–open requests when (or more likely if) i start feeling better! ✨

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tamrielic · 11 days

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thinking about the first date with satoru gojo, who's all smiles and blushes, a bouquet of flowers behind his back as he waits for you to arrive.

you're early, he's even earlier, not able to contain his giddiness. he gives you a big hug upon your arrival and you can feel his heart ready to burst out of his chest. he shyly takes your hand into his (embarrassingly) damp one to lead you through the park to where he had set up his picnic for you.

right underneath the blossoming cherry trees, the scent filling your nose delightfully. he helps you sit on the soft blanket, fitting in your favorite color. he seems flustered, constantly stuttering and stumbling over his words. he's trying to woo you with bad pickup lines ('did it hurt when you fell from the sky?' and the like) but little does he know that there's no need for him to be doing all of that. the second you saw him, turning every direction to look for you, you fell and you fell hard.

"satoru," his first name still feeling a little foreign on your tongue, "i went on this date because i like you, the pickup lines are not necessary. i'm already wooed."

his ears go pink when he hears you giggle and he fiddles with his fingers, trying to pick up a piece of fruit to feed you. his hands are shaky, you notice, there is a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. is it the humidity or because he's actually nervous to be around you?

why would The Strongest be so flustered around you?

"sorry, you just make me really nervous." he speaks very quietly, almost uncharacteristically for him. "i didn't think you'd actually agree to this date, so i hope you like it."

"like it? satoru, i love it! this is all so beautiful, you didn't have to go all out like this but i'm not complaining at all. i'm very happy you brought me here," you retort, taking his hands into yours. they barely fit, fingers sticking out everywhere.

he watches as you look at him with adoration and he can't help the stupid comment that leaves his lips. "not as beautiful as you, though."

you laughed heartily, jokingly slapping his arm. "stop it!"

he continues watching you as a gust of wind comes by, making the petals dance around you. he can feel his pupils changing their shape into little hearts and he knows right then and there, while you're watching nature do its waltz around you – he has to make you his.

he knows he's a little over the top, maybe even annoying, a little obnoxious and quite loud. but he also knows that he would let the world burn if it meant seeing you this happy.

and if you'd let him, he would do his damn best.

@lxnarphase @staryukis @teddybeartoji @satorena @satoruwiki @neptuneblue @strawberrystepmom and all the other gojo babes i am kissing you, i hope i did your blue eyed king some justice <3

#𖹭 – satoru.fics

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tamrielic · 13 days

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rules for requesting —

〔 REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY CLOSED 〕

⤷ that being said, i am always happy to receive thirsts and/or hear about your own headcanons re: characters that i write for! or just to tell me about your own selfships!

be polite・be as specific as possible if you’re requesting something more than basic headcanons・please understand that i am a neurodivergent and chronically ill human being, therefore it may take a while for me to be able to write your request 〔also, i’m unfortunately a perfectionist, so if i’m not satisfied with my writing i probably won’t publish it yet〕

what i WILL write —

male character × gender–neutral reader・female character × gender–neutral reader・male character × female reader・female character × female reader・angst・hurt/comfort・hurt/no comfort・headcanons・fluff・platonic・suggestive・nsfw

what i WON’T write —

character × character・male character × male reader・female character × male reader・pregnancy・cheating・yandere・alternate universe・abusive relationships・headcanons with kids or parent character/reader (unless the character canonically has kids)・suicide・adult × minor・pedophilia・incest/stepcest・gangbangs・ extreme fetishes (ie: watersports, scat, age play, etc)

fandoms that i am comfortable writing for —

genshin impact・honkai: star rail・wuthering waves・jujutsu kaisen・haikyuu!!・demon slayer | kimetsu no yaiba・attack on titan | shingeki no kyojin・inuyasha・naruto・love﹠deepspace・final fantasy vii・fallout 4・the elder scrolls・baldur’s gate 3・mass effect・dragon age・cyberpunk 2077・resident evil

updated — may 29th, 2024

#𖹭 – request rules #𖹭 – kayleigh.speaks #〔 this is the first time i have ever had to come up with one of these so i may add things as i think of them etc 〕#〔 it occured to me that i should definitely have something like this oops 〕

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tamrielic · 13 days

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feeling super duper soft and clingy today so i’m just imagining the various ways jing yuan kisses.

he’s absolutely devoted; think gomez and mortician addams. and while those two usually are, uh, very enthusiastic, jing yuan would take a more... relaxed approach. he’d gently take you by the hands and pull you closer before lifting one of your hands up to his lips and while maintaining eye contact, his golden eyes adoring and sparkling with amusement, he’d press a kiss to each finger before trailing soft kisses down your arm and up to your shoulder, finishing by nuzzling his head against the crook of your neck with a contended hum.

but also... kisses that are in the heat of the moment, when he’s got you pinned on his bed, his frame over yours, your hands pinned to the bed on either side of your head. he’s peppering your face with kisses, murmuring soft praises against your skin as he moves down to your jawline, his kisses getting hungrier. he’ll press slow kisses along the column of your throat, perhaps leaving a few faint love bites in the process, his tongue soothing over the marks.

speaking of; he absolutely worships you. he will gladly take his time, making sure to kiss every single inch of skin on your body, lingering to pay special attention to whichever parts you’re most insecure about. it isn’t even sexual sometimes, sometimes he just desperately want to worship his one and only, and all it will lead to is cuddling and falling asleep in each other’s arms.

he absolutely never leaves your presence without stepping close and gently tilting your chin up to brush his lips against yours softly, smiling into the kiss and lingering for a moment before pulling away and going about his business after murmuring a quiet “i love you”.

i could go on and on and on but, ugh, this man is one thousand percent his significant other’s biggest simp and he certainly isn’t ashamed to show it. thanks for coming to my tedtalk; i hope my silly little words made you smile!!! ‹𝟹

© kaeyaphile | tamrielic – please do not modify, repost, plagiarize and/or claim any of my work as your own and please do not promote any of my works on other social media platforms (tiktok, facebook, wattpad, etc.)

#𖹭 – thoughts on: jing yuan #𖹭 – kayleigh.writes #〔 listen: he’s my hsr husband! i am down so bad horrendous for this man 〕#honkai: star rail #honkai star rail #hsr #jing yuan #honkai: star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai: star rail x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x gender neutral reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you

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tamrielic · 15 days

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⟣ tartaglia

notes: based off the fact that i am indeed a sleepy drunk, and also inspired by diluc’s lore with firewater, also childe lore. he can smell when something is done cooking?

warnings: self indulgent, childe is referred to by his birth name, russian pet names, suggestive themes, fluff

it’s always a beautiful sight to see your boyfriend, ajax, when he cooks in the kitchen.

second to the battlefield, this place is his domain. the sound of soft music plays in the background, and he’s completely in his element. the ginger moves his hips to the rhythm, swaying ever so gracefully while mumbling the lyrics to the current song under his breath. he’s always been a great dancer, so you’re not surprised. it makes you wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at.

you always adore seeing him in atmospheres such as this one, especially with how much he loves to cook. his lips are pursed in concentration, a cute crinkle to his nose on display from the small frown on his face. all of his movements are skilled and dexterous. his knife abilities—albeit ignoring the fact that he’s a harbinger—are precise and quick, almost like everything he’s doing is a second thought.

it may be the alcohol you had talking, or the everlasting love you have for him—or maybe both that gets you feeling extremely soft. the urge to kiss away the expression on his face is high, but you hold back on distracting him and starting something else entirely.

and speaking of distractions, your handsome boyfriend is sporting a v-neck crew shirt and some sweatpants. much different from his sharp work attire. and although loose, the material of his clothes are still somewhat form fitting. his back muscles had been flexing every so often in a way that makes it hard to peel your eyes away. you silently curse his lean muscular self for looking so soft and domestic. just really, how shameless—

“hey! you’re supposed to be helping, not slacking off!” ajax scolds, pointing a wooden spoon at you in a chastising way. but the playful lit to his tone suggests otherwise as he cocks his head, smiling. “mila, what are you daydreaming about from over there?”

you giggle, “sorry, i’m just admiring the view.”

he hums, his smile growing. “and is the view to your liking?”

“it’s likely.” you answering padding over to him.

“i hope so. i don’t look this good for nothing.”

once in his radius, he pulls you into his side, swaying you both as he stirs the food. he quietly tells you it’s his mother’s recipe and his favorite thing to make.

“may i try some?” you ask.

wordlessly, your boyfriend holds out a spoonful for you, and you happily eat off of the utensil. the juices and flavors evade your mouth, beating the rich aroma you’ve succumbed to long ago.

you close your eyes in bliss, blinking them open happily. “wow! it’s delicious, ‘jax!”

“it’s not done yet.” he explains, humbly. “almost, but not quite.”

“okay, perfectionist.” you laugh, going back for more. “still good enough to me.”

he pushes your hand back. “you’ll spoil your appetite.” he warns, frowning.

“i promise i don’t want a lot. just a smidge more. please?” you look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster, and he falters, trying to look away and focus back on what he’s doing.

as uncharacteristic as it may seem, ajax does not put up very much of a fight. not that he could ever say no to you anyways.

he sighs, “alright…fine.”

while you sit and eat (after clearly giving up on helping), your boyfriend starts to ramble about some theater performance he wants to take you to in fontaine.

“so what do you think?”

you hum quietly in response, your cheek on your hand. “mmh that sounds nice…”

ajax glances over at you, concerned. you had grown awfully quiet.

“are you alright?” he asks, inspecting the rest of you for any strange signs. “we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“i want to, yes!” your thoughts are jumbled. “and m’fine. why?” you add to reassure him, “just tired.”

‘tired? you were fine just fifteen minutes ago. so full of energy, actually’ he thinks, watching the way your eyes are suddenly drooping.

“well don’t worry, i’m almost done.” ajax assures.

“hey. did you put this in the food?” you hold up the open bottle of white wine, and some of the contents spill out. however, your boyfriend is quick to grab it once seeing how you’re swaying.

suddenly it all clicks in his brain. “ahh, i might’ve put in too much.” he chuckles, now noting the smell of the food a little bit different than usual. stronger and sharper like the wine. “that explains things. plus the firewater we had from earlier.” he recalls you taking an impressive amount of shots, trying to out beat him.

“didn’t you once say something about sharing firewater with someone in the cold makes them trustworthy? i’ve done half the battle!” you say with pride, albeit wobbling a little. “let’s go sit outside later! we’ll see who freezes first!”

ajax stares at you in awe before laughing—loudly.

“milaya, you always surprise me with just how cute you can be.” he pinches your cheeks before moving his hand to your lower back, steering you towards the couch. “now come on, sit down. you’re going to fall over at this rate.”

“‘kay.” you mumble, letting him guide you. you don’t really feel yourself moving until the plush cushion under you meets your bottom.

“i’m just going to clean up and i’ll be right back. i promise.” he reassures, squeezing your hand before releasing it.

you jump back up eagerly, “i’ll help!”

“no, you’ll stay here.” he pushes you back down gently before standing up himself. there’s a stern look on his face as he says, “you’ve had too much to drink. that’s my fault.”

a small huff leaves your mouth and you pout. your eyes start to water. “then…at least sit with me!”

“the kitchen has to be cleaned up, lisichka.” he reminds gently.

your eyes grow wetter. “the kitchen is more important than me?”

he gives you a look. “nothing could ever be more important than you. you know that.”

“then…you’ll stay. it is your fault after all.”

he laughs, scratching the back of his head, “alright then. but only for a little bit.”

the minute he sits down, you promptly slide yourself onto his lap, wordlessly making yourself comfortable.

“oh? what’s this?” his heart swells. you’re usually too shy to initiate something like this, often leading him to pulling you onto him.

there’s a confused look on your face. “you said to sit down and stay here, so i’m doing that.” you blink slowly, head tilting. “did i sit wrong?”

“no, of course not.” he answers, kissing your forehead. thankfully you’re too out of it to tease him, or he’d never hear the end of it.

he shifts you so your legs straddle his lap. your face is buried in his neck, breathing in the smell of his aftershave and the pinewood scent of him. one hand reaches up towards his soft locks and mindlessly plays with it.

ajax feels his entire being burning with exhilaration. while he knows how to handle his alcohol way better than you do, he is not immune to your touches. he could get intoxicated and drunk on any little thing you do.

a satisfied exhale leaves the man and he closes his eyes for moment, his nose nuzzling your cheek. the feeling of your warm palms sliding across his face pull him out of the moment before your eyes meet.

you hum, staring at him closely. “have your eyes always looked like this?” you ask.

he blinks. “like what? and why?”

“they’re so blue. i’ve never seen eyes like yours before.”

“no, they haven’t.” he answers honestly. he tries to avert his attention away from you, but your hands grab his face again.

“they’re so pretty…like the ocean…” you breathe, now poking at his freckles. “you’re so pretty…”

the man is pretty sure he’s blushing right now when you speak, rambling and comparing him like the sea. of the comforting warmth and unpredictability of the weather, all comparable to his nature—which you love.

you must be trying to kill him, because what he doesn’t expect next is for you to kiss him on the nose, and then his cheeks.

by the time he’s chasing your lips with his own, you’re pulling back, giggling quietly.

“hey, you can’t just tease like that—“ you slump against him, and he freezes, eyes widening.

“milaya?”

“…”

pulling your face back from his chest, he notes that you’ve passed out.

ajax tugs you tight in his hold, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. the smell of your hair makes his heart grow even bigger and fonder.

“by the tsaritsa, my cute girlfriend can’t hold her alcohol well,” he laughs to himself, absently tracing shapes into your lower back, “i’m sure glad this happened at home, or god knows what would happen out in public.”

he doesn’t really know if he’d be more worried about your own safety, or the things he’d do if someone dared to take advantage of you.

either way, his endless vow to protect you couldn’t be broken anyway anyhow. not even in death. he’d be loyal to you for a thousand life times.

bonus:

waking up groggily, you rub your eyes, shield them from from the unavoidable brightness of the sun.

while warm light hits your face, it only makes you feel hot and cold all at the same time. a feeling that should be welcoming only suffocates you instead as an ache converges the nerve points in your head.

“rise and shine sleeping beauty.”

you turn limply, eyes widening at the sight of ajax standing in the doorway.

“i was really hoping on you waking up soon.” he says pushing the door open further. he holds a tray of food in his hands. padding over to you he nods to the water and ibuprofen on the bedside table. “once you eat some, you should really take that.”

maybe its the sleep in your eyes or the fact that you’re not fully awake yet, but you tear up. “you’re always taking care of me.”

“yep, that is my job.” he places the food down, leaning over to kiss away any stray tears.

“thank you.”

he clicks his tongue. “what did i tell you about thanking me for things like this?”

you roll your eyes. such a stubborn man.

you quietly tell him that your brain is foggy, and while you partially don’t want to know, wish that he recall what last happened when you were awake.

“you should’ve seen how cute you were while drunk. i don’t think i could ever forget it.” he laughs once he’s done recapping.

blood rushes to your cheeks, your face aflame. “i’m not going to be able to live this down, am i?”

ajax laughs again, “don’t think so! although, being passed out for pretty much the whole day is alarming, so i don’t think we will be letting you near any alcohol anytime soon.”

your shoulders droop, “i guess that’s fair…”

“don’t be so sad! here, let me feed you!” he moves behind you, sitting down on the bed so his legs are on either side of you. his chest presses into your backside as he reaches for the food.

“‘jax i can feed myself just fine.” you say, going for the spoon, but his reflexes are faster.

“please?” he looks down at you, hoping his ocean hues favor him.

you sigh. “fine.”

the two of you sit in comfortable silence as he feeds you, and you being hungrier than you realize, finish everything quickly.

“i almost forgot! you owe me something.” he says coyly.

you frown, “huh?”

“after all that teasing yesterday…you left me high and dry…” he sniffs.

you blink, and suddenly it’s clear what he’s insinuating. “a kiss?”

“so you remember?” he asks.

you shrug, “just barely…”

“well, know that you’re aware—“ he scoots towards you, knees bumping your own before he’s pulling you towards him.

a yelp leaves you. “b-but i just ate food! and…and i need to brush my teeth!” you protest, but he’s still hovering close over you.

“so?”

there’s no use, because the minute you open your mouth to reply, ajax swoops down, kissing you wordlessly and hungrily. his tongue brief swipes over yours before he soon pulls back.

there’s a mild grimace on his face, “yeah, go brush your teeth.”

you shove him back on the bed, making him holler with laughter, “i told you!”

“it was still worth it, mila!” he shouts after you.

“fuck you.” you spit.

“with pleasure.” he smiles.

notes: my mom added too much white wine to food she made, so she’s the running inspiration for this. shout out to her!

#𖹭 – tartaglia.fics

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tamrielic · 15 days

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Wriothesley is so husband shaped; those big shoulders for sleeping on snuggled in bed, thick forearms to bite when he’s fucking you down into the mattress, capable hands for kneading dough when you don’t want to, beautiful kind eyes that are the first thing you see in the morning, big wide hairy chest for leaning on in the bath, such a strong back for hoisting furniture around when you want to change the sitting room around, legs heavy and wide enough to sit on as you arrange flowers you’d both bought from the farmers market, fingers weathered from work and age sitting pretty between your thighs.

#𖹭 – wriothesley.fics

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tamrielic · 16 days

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〔i’m almost deliriously tired right now but i’m very stressed and i can’t stop thinking about jing yuan so have a super duper mushy self–indulgent and likely not even at all eloquent or coherent thought regarding him because i love him a ridiculous amount〕

being in a relationship with jing yuan can be complicated in multiple ways, but one thing is for sure: the way you always know that he is devoted to you and only you. it’s you that he thinks about during his long meetings, rather uneventful 〔and dare he say it; boring〕 in this time of relative peace. it’s you that he thinks about while sitting at his desk at the seat of the divine foresight, signing off on document after document for hours on end. it’s you that he thinks about when he’s training yanqing; none of you may be biologically related, but he can see hints and reminders of you in the glimmer of the young boy’s eyes, the cadence of his laughter and speech – the time you’ve spent with him 〔a lot; you’re basically his other parental figure〕 clearly having caused some of your mannerisms and idiosyncrasies to rub off on him. it’s you that he comes home to after a long day of doing his duties as the general of the luofu, the sight of you and the bright smile you greet him with making his chest ache with adoration and his golden eyes soften with affection. jing yuan is loyal to a fault; he never even looks at other people even though they certainly seem to do everything short of throw themselves at him in order to get his attention or garner his affections. he can’t help but think, curled up with you as you drift off in his massive bed, his war–calloused fingers lightly brushing along the curve of your cheek, of how incredibly lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. he has lost so many loved ones throughout the years, and he’d almost resigned himself to being alone as far as romance goes... but then you miraculously appeared, not unlike lan did when they showed up and turned the tide of battle so long ago, and you came into his life and brought genuine joy into his existence once more.

#𖹭 – thoughts on: jing yuan #𖹭 – kayleigh.writes #honkai: star rail #honkai star rail #hsr #jing yuan #jing yuan hsr #hsr jing yuan #honkai: star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #honkai: star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #jing yuan x gender neutral reader

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tamrielic · 16 days

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Neuvillette doesn't know his own name. Or rather, he doesn't quite remember his own name.

He knows it. He's sure of that. But it, like all the other memories of his previous life, have been locked away. Stolen, diluted, and muddled in the centuries between his death and his birth. Placed inside the gnosis, that damned symbol of the usurpers, and held just out of his reach. Close enough for him to feel the ghosts of his unclaimed authority emanating from its surface. Close enough for him to see watercolor memories behind his eyes and hear faint whispers of his name in the back of his mind. But not close enough for him to make out the words; not clear enough to show him who he was then.

All he's had, all that was allowed to remain with him, is his intended purpose. A purpose he would not be able to complete - a goal he would not be able to achieve - with just half of his authority. Half of his memories.

Celestia mocks him. He who ruled this world alongside his kin before the Primordial One came. He whose authority over life itself should have been enough to dissuade an usurper from attempting to take his throne. Killed by a puppet of the false gods, robbed of his authority. Robbed of his original form. Of his name. Forced to bear a new one; a new form, a new name. A shadow of what he once was - who he once was. Made to stand alongside an Archon, feel the power that was his by birthright so closely yet too far in the distance for him to reclaim.

500 years has tempered him; wrangled (never tamed) that deep seated wrath within him. Duty and patience have allowed him to regain his senses. The slow drawling of time has turned that rumbling rage into simmering anger. His hate for humans, creatures that thrive in the light, has turned to curiosity, care, and something...deeper. An abject fondness he never expected to feel. A newfound appreciation of their endeavors. An...acceptance of the name and roles which they gave him.

And yet he cannot help that gaping, gnawing desire to know - to remember. Never as intense as it once was, but always so slightly present in the back of his mind. The need to destroy that false throne, reclaim what is his. Remember. Hold it close. Never lose it again.

#𖹭 – neuvillette.fics

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tamrielic · 17 days

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lovers ノ aventurine . boothill . sunday

ৎ୭ ₊ ˙ ⊹ . 1.3k ノ fem reader — weirdly poetic thirsts with hcs imbued in prose ノ it’s more suggestive rather than explicit . i was just vibing with their personalities idk ノ briefly mentioned rough treatment ノ secret affair . implied situationship ノ petnames — little doll . baby

aventurine ノ

if you know him by his alias “aventurine”, he’s most likely not showing his true self to you. no, not by chance — he knows well this isn’t something you would overlook. he is hesitant to be sincere around you, as if only your presence alone could compel him to abandon his deceit and masks altogether…

maybe, just maybe, there’s a possibility that he will reveal his secrets between heated kisses and desperate squeezes your sides, almost melting into his desire, and his purple gaze is filled with an insatiable fire. but when everything’s all done, you wonder if he can still remember the thing you two share behind the door.

with laughs and playful rolls of his eyes, he tells you that it’s a non-committal relationship, satiating your pouts with expensive gifts and golden compliments. and yet, and yet, when he’s away from you for too long, he dives back into your embrace like a famished man, just to lap on your lips for hours after, in those nightly escapades full of pleasure, lust, and saccharine promises.

“will you love me? will you stay with me?”

“please, stop lying. i want you close. always.” when he hears how your breath catches, when your knees grow weak and wobbly, and when the tiny pants fill the air between you two, he never lets go, making sure you feel how his fingers dig into your hips, pressing his palms to the warm flesh beneath, creating marks of red and purple that disappear when morning comes.

seemingly lost in thought until a certain sound snaps him out of his stupor. he realises that you’re crying, holding his face with shaky hands, but there’s also a gentle smile gracing your features. his body stiffens, chest tightening so suddenly that it seems suffocating, just by seeing you cry and ask for him.

but there is nothing you can say, even if you want to pour your heart and soul into him. if he could only do the same in exchange…

his laugh rings, coming straight from his stomach and ending deep, rich, and hoarse in his throat. his hand snakes up to ruffle your hair gently as his lips kiss your forehead in a brief peck before falling down to plant another one on your jaw, then another, another, until he reaches the tip of your nose, where he lingers longer than before, covering you in even more butterfly nibbles.

“is this the gift you want the most? to know my name?”

boothill ノ

with a pearlescent smirk of spikes like death itself, he smiles upon you. he greets you in his arms, his shirt barely shielding you from the hard surface of the metal plates. the cyborg presses himself against you, trapping you within his embrace, until you push your bare front against his chest — warming the artificial body and breathing in his scent as you look up at him.

when he notices you whimper his name so sweetly, he can’t help but bring up his right hand and hook his fingers beneath your chin to guide your eyes to his own. has he forgotten how soft love can be, not burning like regret and hunger for revenge.

“hey,” he hums in that low, raspy tone, which sends shivers running across your back. “baby, does it feel good?” he whispers into your ear, letting you hear each syllable forming on the tip of his tongue. “do you think you’ll be able to handle all of it?” he adds, emphasising the last two words as he runs one of his fingers down until it taps your entrance, slipping into you again just to tease you, to see how you squirm within his grip and react to every brush of his lips against your neck.

he uses his free hand to pull your leg up, circling your thigh around his waist for good measure, imagining how it must feel when such a soft creature drapes over his synthetic form.

the way your knees clench against his torso makes his systems overheat, he believes, but perhaps it’s just because of the excitement flowing through his, what he still likes to call, veins, and the rush of heat shooting right between his legs, where he wishes he still could sense the thrill of getting aroused for real.

even if the man who is now nipping at your sensitive spot isn’t quite human, he doesn’t seem to be any different to you — his frame quivering from anticipation and something much, much deeper than that, something primal. fake blood pumping mad, sparks going along the wires from the mental exertion, and it seems like his lips melt into yours, just as wet and hot as the slick dripping from your folds and slathering his fingers.

he shifts to press your asscheeks flush to his groin, moving slowly, smoothly as his mouth lingers over your collarbone, savouring each gasp and shivering whine you offer him. he murmurs praises right into your skin.

“just like that, baby. i don’t remember when i was this happy… so keep showing me those expressions of yours.”

sunday ノ

he is careful not to mark you, because hickeys would immediately give the affair between you two away. the ones right under the edge of your clothes are quite inconspicuous, so unless someone pays special attention, they will remain undiscovered. you’re not allowed to tell anyone — this love is even sweeter when engulfed in mystery. he keeps things discreet for your sake and his own, knowing that a scandal would damage both of your reputations irreparably.

if you want to indulge the young leader of the oak family by playing the innocent, cute type, do so in moderation. this isn’t because he gets off on purity fetishes — quite the opposite. becoming more frustrated than anything, because your image goes against the reality he sees and the desires you stir within his soul.

when it comes time for him to act, he shows no grace to such an imaginary concept. whether you’re begging him for relief or whimpering beneath him helplessly, he finds joy in denying you just to make you writhe in sweet agony.

it’s not unheard of for sunday to hurt you during the shared nights, but he prefers to be gentle most of the time. still, if you ever tempt him into treating you rough, you’ve opened yourself up to being left unable to walk without feeling sore.

“my little doll, you asked for it yourself. don’t whine now that you can’t take any more of it…” he coos with a click of his tongue at the view before him — legs parted and his thumb flicking against your clit just right next to his cock parting your incandescent folds.

the very tip of his shaft remains lodged inside while his hips grind hard into yours, ensuring that he feels every wet stroke and inch of heat clenching around him as you struggle to contain it all. one hand grabs onto your waist, digging nails in enough that they leave impressions, while the other arm secures itself under your shoulders as he lies atop your chest and takes what he wants from you.

even in this position, sunday makes sure his lips never part from yours. he could easily place them anywhere else to get off — his neck is flushed a pretty pink with your desperate marks all over it, your nipples erect and sore from him rolling them between his fingers — but your mouth is all he desires. every thrust inside you brings the two of you closer until the kaleidoscopic ecstasy intertwines your bodies in perfect harmony.

#𖹭 – aventurine.fics #𖹭 – boothill.fics #𖹭 – sunday.fics

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tamrielic · 19 days

Text

just a little self–indulgent drabble thing because i’m experiencing a nasty flare–up right now due to stress and i am so exhausted and miserable but i honestly can’t stop thinking about how gentle and wonderful and perfect jing yuan would be to me; this is my first time writing for star rail at all whatsoever so. oof. i wrote it in first–person first without thinking so if i missed changing that somewhere i’m sorry but i gotta go lay down and rest

fandom | media – honkai: star rail

pairings – jing yuan × gn!reader

word count – 1,206

tags﹠warnings – uh??? excessive amounts of fluff・soft jing yuan・chronically ill reader

“baobei, are you still asleep?” the gentle, deep voice cuts through your half–asleep state, making you groan softly as you roll over and blink your eyes open to find jing yuan knelt beside your bed. he’d clearly just gotten back from his official meetings, still looking regal in his general uniform, though his boots and cape had been discarded at the door.

you stare at him for a moment before you reply, your voice rough with both sleep not having spoken in a few hours. “just dozing. i’m sorry, i’ll get up now.”

you shift to pull back the blanket and move to sit up, but are stopped by a large hand resting on your shoulder, jing yuan having stood up to lean over you.

“that is not what i meant. it was a simple question, not a demand that you must quit resting,” he murmurs as he gently guides you to lay back down, sitting on the edge of the bed as he reaches out to brush a few stray curls from your face. his warm golden eyes search your expression, scanning over your body briefly before meeting your gaze once more, his voice softening even further with concern. “be honest with me; are you experiencing a flare–up of your illness?”

you stay silent for a moment, eyes focused on his face, head subconsciously tilting to lean into the touch of his fingers. your voice is hardly more than a whisper when you speak, your eyelashes fluttering.

“you know that i hate to let you see me like this, jing yuan.”

a deep, warm chuckle leaves him, his golden eyes softening even further as he leans down over you, his fluffy white hair spilling over his shoulders as he nudges his nose against yours gently while he hums thoughtfully.

“mmm, perhaps. but have you considered that i relish every opportunity that i have to treat you like royalty; to wait on you hand and foot? you’re so very stubborn, baobei, and you never want to accept any help,” he leans down further, brushing his lips against yours as he whispers. “how about you let this old general dote upon you today, hm?”

you immediately blush, feeling your face and ears grow warm as you squirm a bit, lips parting to brush against his own as you mutter.

“i can’t– you’re busy enough as it is– this isn’t something that the general of the xianzhou luofu, an emanator of the hunt, should be dealing with. especially not from his significant other.”

unable to stop the hitch in your breath, the tears stinging as they begin to well up in your eyes, your hands clench into fists on the bedsheets as you turn your head to the side to avoid those intense golden eyes that are peering into your soul.

jing yuan is silent for a moment, the quiet of the room only making your discomfort and anxiety skyrocket, before he lets out a sigh and moves to climb onto the bed, gently pulling you up and into his lap; the ease of which he does so always startling. he buries the fingers of one hand in your hair and pulls your head to his chest, wrapping his free arm around you and leaning back against the headboard. he holds you in silence for a moment before his deep voice breaks it as he starts to slowly and gently rake his fingers through your curls.

“those are indeed the fancy titles i have been gifted in my life. but i must remind you, fancy titles and immortality or not, i am still just a man. a man who happens to be head over heels in love with a lovely, wonderful individual. an individual whose laughter makes my soul alight, a person whose love for me burns brighter than any sun in the universe. a person who, in my opinion as well as many other’s, is far too hard on themselves.”

you can’t help but to curl into him at that, the tears spilling from your eyes as you cling to him and sniffle.

jing yuan laughs lowly, a laugh that can be felt more than heard, and he turns his head to press his lips to your forehead before murmuring.

“baobei, you must stop being so hard on yourself. or else i shall have to resort to drastic measures...”

he slowly trails his free hand down to gently squeeze the plush curve of your hip, wiggling his fingers and chuckling when you immediately squeal softly and squirm against him.

you pull back from him, your face hot and wet from tears, sniffling as you glare half-heartedly at him. you open your lips to rebuke him, but he slips his fingers from your hair to press a shushing one to your lips, his eyes sparkling with amusement and affection.

“shhh, none of that now, though it is good to see that fire in your soul that i find so endearing,” he shifts, leaning down and resting his forehead against your own.

your eyebrows furrow as you glare at him silently, reaching up and grasping his wrist to pull his hand away so you can speak.

“jing yuan, you... you’re an infuriating scoundrel.”

his lips part in a wide smile as he laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“ah, so you agree with lady fu in that regard, hm? interesting. tell me, what is so infuriating about a man being so deeply in love with someone that the effects of illnesses that are out of their control only make him love them more?”

you are silent as you process his words, truly pondering them as your gaze inevitably softens and you slowly melt against him. you reach your hands up to cradle his face, brushing your thumbs against his high cheekbones.

“i don’t deserve you, jing yuan, but... i’m selfish. i love you, and i need you. i don’t know why you tolerate me when i have such inconvenient chronic illnesses, but...” you trail off, tilting your head as you lean in and brush your lips against his. “... thank you.”

he smiles against your lips and hums contendedly, murmuring a soft “no need to thank me, baobei” before his lips coax yours into a slow, loving kiss.

closing your eyes, you finally allow yourself to relax into him fully, pressing soft and tender kisses to his lips between soft breaths, your hands still cradling his face.

after a few more moments you part, a tiny yawn escaping you as you curl up on his lap and rest your head on his shoulder while whispering.

“can we just... stay like this for a bit?”

jing yuan chuckles quietly, shifting you both so that you’re lying down on the bed as he wraps himself around you, nuzzling his face against your neck and mumbling tiredly.

“i would love nothing more, baobei; a nap is exactly what i need right now, honestly.”

you sigh softly before wrapping your arms and legs around him, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours and the comforting scent of him as you both fall asleep, the bitter and negative thoughts plaguing your mind evaporating as his presence and gentle reassurances ease your worries.

#𖹭 – icymi!

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tamrielic · 19 days

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smitten!aventurine who would bring you coffee every morning, saying he made a mistake and bought two, when you point out that he said that last time, he'd say he's clumsy and always messes up his orders

smitten!aventurine buying something you've been eyeing for the last couple of days, saying he just felt like buying it for you

smitten!aventurine who's so proud and giddy when he sees you wearing the bracelet he bought for you

smitten!aventurine who can't help but smile widely when you laugh at something he's said, happy that he was the one who made you laugh

smitten!aventurine who would drop by your desk and listen to whatever gossip you had, pretending like he's really into it but in reality, he's more focused on your smile, the way your nose scrunches up adorably when you speak about someone you don't like

smitten!aventurine who is over the moon when you give him a gift, it doesn't matter if it's expensive or not, what matters is that it was from you and you thought about him

smitten!aventurine who would talk about you to others almost non stop, even when you're not with him, he would point out something he saw that reminded him of you and go “that'll look cute on them”, “i'm sure they'll like this”

smitten!aventurine who would tell topaz about you so much that she would just tell him to confess already, that he was a gambler, right? why not take the risk and tell you what he felt?

smitten!aventurine who, despite appearing smug and confident when it came to gambling, is actually scared of losing you if you actually didn't reciprocate his feelings

#𖹭 – aventurine.fics

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tamrielic · 19 days

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Imagining kissing Jing Yuan.

He pushes into you and backs you up onto the bed, your lips never disconnecting as you lay back and he climbs over you. You reach up to run your fingers thru his hair and they catch on his hair tie, which you gently tug until it comes undone and his hair falls around you. It's the first time the kiss is broken, you open your eyes to see his golden ones staring back at you, filled with love and desire, as his hair frames his face and tickles your cheeks.

You wake up the next morning with nothing but the red hair tie laying across your open palm.

#𖹭 – jing yuan.fics

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