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azullumi · 2 days

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“of impermanence and devotion to your sacred withering bones” ; sunday

premise — he’ll take pieces out of his flesh to mold into your wounds, bandaging you with his skin; he never liked seeing you hurt.

tags — established relationship, religious themes and metaphors, soft and loving sunday (i advocate), mix of the lovely trio (the fluff, the slight angst, and the comfort), reassurance from him, gender-neutral reader, never proofread, 1.1k ; one-shot

note — my parents chose thought daughter so now i’m writing fanfics on a thursday afternoon.

he’ll love you like religion.

needlessly, tirelessly, with bruised knees and bleeding palms, with blood-shot eyes and clasped fingers, worshiping, devoting, yearning, calling to whoever will listen—to you who will listen. it suffocates him yet he’ll clench at his chest and utter your name even if there’s no voice in his being and he is left like a pathetic, whimpering dog that was made to be abandoned. he’ll dig his own grave with broken nails and wounded hands, a coffin of tender touches, and the earth will fill his lungs and he’ll hope for flowers to sprout from his mouth when he plants his confession into the dirt. can you hear him? do you hear him?

“please take care of yourself more.” sunday says as he reaches for the bottle of disinfectant, pouring enough of it over the cloth he was holding to drench it before gently dabbing the fabric on the area of your wound. it stings and you hissed, clenching the sheets beneath your fingers as you watch him work.

“i only fell and scraped my knee, i don’t think it’s anything that bad.” you say in defense to your clumsiness. sunday was all gentle and careful in cleaning and treating the wound on your knee as if you were a child and he was the nurse tending to your ‘big’ wound.

(a god does not bleed but you do.)

he sighs, “it could have been worse.” and dresses your wound with a gauze, the material pristine white as no blood taints the material.

“but it wasn’t.” you rebut quite quickly, your gaze firm at his yet he doesn’t meet yours. he is kneeled in front of you, an open kit by his side and a chair on his other—and he chooses to be on the cold ground, his clothing slightly wrinkled and its appearance similar to spilled water on the floor beneath him. he never dares let himself appear as indecent with his disordered clothes and unkempt appearance in the form of an unsymmetrical coat and creased pants but here he is, in all his glory and messiness, laid out like the map of a devotee’s heart before you.

(he’ll beg even for a moment of your gaze but his cowardice will hold his head down to the ground—he is never like this, he was never his own when you look at him.)

“what could have happened if i wasn’t there to immediately help you? you’re too careless.” he scolds yet there’s no hint of harshness in his voice, just gentle and sweet worry lacing into his tone. something lies, seemingly dormant, in the still air that embraces you and he finds himself waiting for something to happen.

“sunday, it’s just a small wound. you don’t have to worry, i’m fine.” you assure him, hand cupping the side of his cheek and brushing your thumb over his cheekbone—it’s soft and slow, you feel warm, he feels warm. he leans into your touch, your hand soothing the tension that lies in his bones and his expression softens. silence settles in the room as he basks in the gentle affection that is bestowed on him. he holds your hand he turns his head to kiss the palm of it; his eyes are close and his lips lingered on your skin, comforting, relishing, soft, you.

“i have a question but before that, can you look at me, please?”

“i am,” he whispers, his lips beginning to trace your palm down to your pulse, all the while he keeps his gaze away and shut, “and my love, you never have to beg or plead for anything.” you know he’ll give you everything.

(sometimes—always, he feels like he is undeserving of the divine grace of your attention, of your affection, of your adoration, and you feel like your love is just a meager offering, unable to fulfill him. can you see him each other?)

finally, he looks at you—golden eyes born from the sun meets yours. his halo is situated just right on his head, pierced wings behind his ears, and his hair reminds you of the sky above you that you once gazed into when you were a child playing in the fields, before you were deemed as his, and now your gaze is held on the ground right where he is kneeling down. stray strands of your hair fall over your eyes and the way the light kisses your skin makes you look delicate, ethereal.

“do i love you enough?” you ask. have you ever been enough? have you done enough? is your mere and bare existence enough for someone like him?

“since when have you not?” he answers, filled with gentle affection. his tone is akin of a devout preacher, reassuring like a verse from a scripture.

(sunday never thought of you as lacking, not with the broken and missing pieces of your skin, tainted and muddled by blood and dirt, left to rot in your wake like a sin unrepented.)

“you’re the wine that overflows my cup,” he says, each syllable of his words carrying the weight of his utter and suffocating devotion, “and i’ll continue to consume you even in death.” no grave will ever hold his body down.

you cup his cheeks with both of your hands, his lips leaving your skin yet the warmth of his kisses remains. “you’re too good with your words,” you say, a small smile drawing on your lips, “perhaps you’re only telling lies to please me.”

“my dearest,” he murmurs, lightly grazing his hand against your ear as he pushes your hair aside, “i’ll lay down my life for you, but i will never deceive you.”

(an unyielding faith of a martyr, his commitment is steadfast and his love is a fervent prayer, uttered and spoken only by him. his thoughts are spilled on the carpet, his confession ringing and echoing back to him as he repents like a sinner for loving you too much.)

“i’m a burden.” you whisper, longing for the feeling of his lips on yours. “i’m afraid i’m too much or too little for you to have.”

“i’m okay with that,” it’s a litany of devotion, his words a sacred vow he’ll keep for eternity that will come, “i love you.”

forever become a burden, become human in a fragile and delicate way as if your heart is made to break, so he’ll get to hold you in his hands.

also tagging, the one and only @toorurs !! i am dedicating this to u because u LOVE last day of the week guy A LOT and i’m also too lazy to make another section but yeah this is for you my boo, hi beloved you’re the greatest of the greatest, you’re the sweetest of all (i feel like im singing a song wadahell) and i hope you know that you’re very very cool and very very funny and i’m not the type to laugh while texting but i always do it when talking to you. i try not to do a backflip when u like and reblog my posts (i cant even do a headstand dafuq) !! i hope you know that you’re not loser, maybe a hater, but definitely not a user and you have me as a friend always no matter what questionable and weird things you say 🙏 like okay alpha sigma you’re the boss. this feels like the dedication page on a book or the acknowledgment part in research where you say thank you to whoever you want like damn. i’ll do the remaining words for dedication on upcoming works so that you’re always reminded that you’re somewhat involved in my life even if you’re like 1826725276 fucking miles away

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azullumi · 10 months

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“his habits during it” ; genshin men

warning — nsfw content ahead but nothing that graphic or explicit (seriously i tried my best to not even mention the word sex and the genitals)

summary — there’s one thing he loves to do whenever the two of you get in bed together.

characters — diluc, kazuha, ayato, kaveh, alhaitham, tighnari, cyno, zhongli, and wanderer (w/gender-neutral reader) ; no specified anatomy nor even mentioned parts

tags — kind of fluff, nsfw, not proof-read (wrote this while i was irritated and needed something to pour my attention to) ; headcanons

words — 1265

note — hey siri, how do you say they’re fucking without saying they’re fucking

handholding

DILUC — (i have already said this before) diluc likes, no, he loves the intimacy the simple act of holding one’s hand has even when two of you are just walking together side by side or when his skin is pressed against yours, lips colliding against one another, and he’s whispering words of affection to your ears—a mere distraction and a sense of comfort, grounding you and keeping you with him. it’s just that effortless gesture of intertwining his hand with yours, locking fingers, as he indulges in the way you feel around him. he squeezes your hand in the middle of it all and oh, how he melts so much when you also squeeze his own in return. he could never tell you how much you make him so soft and weak with just the slightest hold.

eye contact

KAZUHA — “don’t look away now,” he coos at you, seeing how you shy yourself and avert your gaze away from him which he obviously didn’t like. he likes seeing you coming undone while you try to remain eye contact with him—it pleases him seeing your features contort into into what you are currently feeling—, likes teasing you every time you try to look away from him and hide your expression, likes saying such remarks that gets you embarrassed most times just so he could see and watch the change of your expressions every single time. he just loves looking at you, adoring you with his eyes, especially more so when you also do the same and keep contact, gaze nailed on each other.

praises and talking dirty

AYATO — he’s a talker, both outside the matters in the bedroom and inside the sheets, so it’s no wonder that he always shower you with praises in every chance that he gets even if you’re not in the right mind to respond or even comprehend what he’s saying. he conveys most of his affections through the words that falls out of his lips, finding it so easy to say such things and teasing you with it, he can’t help it, can he? how could he not when you look so pretty—not only outside the bedroom—or beautiful, or handsome, or lovely, or anything that he could think of right at that moment when he sees you naked? Even if he had held and seen you with nothing to cover your skin so many times, he still gets mesmerized by the sight of you like it was his first time.

playing with your hair

KAVEH — he plays with it, he tugs on it, pulls on it, and everything. and though it gives him some sense of control especially when he pulls on it, it also grounds him and helps him realize the affection and love being shared between you two in this intimate moment. sometimes he only dances his fingers on your head, treating you softly and tenderly with the delicate hold of his hand on your hair, which could often provide a huge contrast to what he’s actually doing, the rough treatment he’s giving you which makes you roll your eyes and see spots in your vision. “you look so pretty like this, my love,” he would say before tugging your hair back to take a good look at your face or to tilt your head in a way that gives him more access to your neck.

lots of kisses

TIGHNARI — gently laying you down the bed? kisses you while doing so. sliding your clothes off your body? presses his lips against yours before trailing down, tracing your jaw, his mouth making its way down your neck, and resting on your collarbone. asking you consent? he kisses you before he speaks. he presses gentle kisses of adoration all over you as he pushes himself into you, your bodies becoming one in the process, providing comfort and easing you as he could feel your nails digging deep into his skin and possibly, leaving marks and wounds but he didn’t mind. his fondness and desire murmuring into you, helping you breath and regain yourself. it was clear that his way of affection was simply just kissing you.

giving orders

CYNO — he doesn’t always take the dominant position but perhaps it was the sense of authority, the power whenever he does it. he has the habit of giving orders and commands whenever you two are spending a passionate moment and seeing you willing to follow him ignites something in him—however, if you disobey him, then that’s a different matter altogether (it’s not like he hates it however. deep in him, he likes it as it gives him the pass to do more things but with your consent, of course). you’re so vulnerable, so obedient to him and it fuels his excitement further when you follow what he says. it makes him wonder, a question pondering his head, how could he have someone like you, someone as lovely and sweet as you, so good to him?

restriction / holding your hands together

ZHONGLI — no, it is not the act of locking your fingers with his as he pushes himself into you just like diluc, this one is completely different. he has big hands, we all know that zhongli’s hands are big and one of it just enough to bind both of your wrists together—he is well-aware of that fact and abuses it. he likes seeing you struggle, tugging your hand against his but his hold wouldn’t budge, at all. although zhongli hasn't explicitly told or mentioned it, he absolutely loves the way you look so helpless and weak whenever he holds your hands together, whenever he restricts your movement. oftentimes, he would have a silk ribbon—it has to be a silk ribbon—tying you up just so he could rest his hands on your hips and hold you.

hands always touching and roaming around your body

ALHAITHAM — he just loves to feel you, in general. he loves the softness of your skin underneath the tip of his fingers as he glides his hand all across your body, the warmth of you seething into his touch and being buried in his bones, and he is obsessed on the way he could feel the sweet trembles of your body underneath his hand, could sense the small shiver when he finally touches you, and he adores it and he doesn’t hesitate in conveying his affections to you, often accompanying his caresses with his words of praises and compliments. perhaps it overwhelms you, not knowing where to focus yourself on, and he loves seeing you in such a state, pushing you more and more further to the edge with his hands and mouth alone.

biting and leaving marks

WANDERER — the line between pain and pleasure soon blurs into one as he bites into you while, and one could say it serves as a distraction but it isn’t, it’s not even close to being a distraction, it’s simply something that adds to the stimulation that you are feeling, overwhelming and effectively bringing you into some sort of space. he takes joy in the sounds that you make once he buries his neck on the curve of your neck, hard but not hard enough to draw blood; he takes pride in seeing the bruises and marks that he left on you, looking at you like you were a work of art carved and sculpted into something more than perfection with his own hands.

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azullumi · 28 days

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"once more to see you" ; aventurine

summary — to him, love was like a religion waiting to be discovered and he’ll find god in the way the sun looks on your skin; alternatively, aventurine thinks he’s rotten work and tiring to take care of but not to you, not if it's him (please get the reference).

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship (but aventurine wants to de-establish it), somewhat fluff, slight angst with comfort, never proofread never what?!!, 1.3k ; ficlet

note — 2.1 broke me (the whole quest knocked at the door of my house, shook my hands, congratulated me, and invited itself into my home before pouring water on my face, slapping me, throwing me around, and left with the door open, all the while, my family watched). this is day 1 of writing for aventurine until i have him.

“you have a lot of moles.” his voice, despite a gentle whisper, tears through the silence of the night like a drop of water that ruptured and disturbed the surface of the pond. “especially here.” he gently taps on your skin; they seem like stars, he swallows the words back down.

you feel aventurine’s finger trace on the back of your neck and the curve of your shoulders, seemingly drawing—or connecting something. it was ticklish, the way he gently drags his hand and ghosts over your skin, a soft laugh slipping past your lips (you’ll capture his touch on your skin as if you were a sinner remembering how forgiveness tasted on your lips). there was something intimate that lingers in the air between you two as you lay in his bed with him, a fleeting moment that will be inked into your mind.

(the both of you leave your titles behind, mixed together with the scattered objects on the floor, laid on the cold ground to be picked up and worn later like a shiny medal even if you weren’t proud to have them.)

“they say it’s where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.” you stir in your position as you speak, coming to face him and meet his pretty jewel-like eyes—how alluring it was, painted with vivid colors yet it never shines. the sound of mirth laughter bubbles from his throat, a pleasant melody to your ears.

he asks, curiosity tracing the tone of his voice, “and from where did you even hear that?” and you shrug, bringing your form closer to him as you seek for more warmth, “i can’t recall. perhaps i heard it from topaz or maybe from one of the members of the ipc? they’re the only ones i often see and talk to.”

“the doctor?” he wraps his arm around your figure, his hand settling on the small of your back.

“that man will only scorn at that idea and call it stupid. he’ll most likely say that ‘only fools would believe such concepts.’” you mimic the way the esteemed doctor spoke, from the serious expression that he always don on his face to the deepening of his voice. your seemingly successful imitation earned a chuckle from the blonde-haired man before you.

“i’m sure he will.”

silence falls between you two and you took this time to adore each and every line of his being. a few strands of hair fall over his eyes—beautiful, captivating, mesmerizing, you could list out every word to describe his eyes but it would never be enough. you had always wondered why he would hide it until you witnessed the reason why he does so.

aventurine seems to study your expression at the same also, a soft look on his face as he did, and you can’t help but be curious. “what are you thinking about?” you ask him, breaking the silence that nurtured itself in the space between you and him.

you, he wishes to answer. how you look at this moment in his embrace: you were wearing one of his shirts, albeit, not exactly to your size but you insisted, saying that you liked it as it smelled like him. how gentle, loving, adoring, you were everything; he looks and thinks of you as if you were his everything (he doesn’t deserve you). but he doesn’t say it—the thought weighs too heavily on his mind, claws at his throat, and suffocates him—, instead he utters something entirely different that creates a shift in the air between you two.

“i don’t think i can do this.” he turns his head to look away from you, staring at the ceiling instead. it seems to extend itself far and far away from him.

the horrible part of being human is the tendency for destruction that lies in your bones. stained palms, calloused pads, despite the gentleness of your touch and the comfort of your caress. the desire to devour flesh and bones, to understand the underlying thoughts and meanings behind words and unexpressed feelings by consuming them. to submerge and drown in the depths of one's despair and desire (too close that the line blurs into one). the horrible part of being him was his tendency to destroy—hesitation and doubt lies in his being and aches at his chest, tugging on his heart’s strings, and settles on his throat—, it’s not like he doesn’t want to hold you, it’s just that he can’t.

“do what?”

“this.” you know exactly what he was referring to, know what he’s afraid of. he has laid himself bare and vulnerable in front of you countless of times that you have memorized the constellations that adorns his skin. you know him, you have known him enough to recognize the fear that tugs on his voice and see the walls that he tries to build up in front of you. you know him enough to know what thoughts are plaguing his mind.

“why do you think so?”

“don’t you think i’m too much to take care of?” he tries not to choke on his words and bite his tongue, careful not to let his voice crack lest he crumbles underneath your caress. i am undeserving of it. worthless. failure. selfish. discarded. coward. loser. nothing. you are bound to leave.

“not for me.” you caress his cheek and guide him to look at you—instead of the ceiling that seems to appear farther than it originally was in each passing second as the walls glean over him like a shadow—, to meet your gaze and see the sincerity that lurks deep within. “never will i get tired of you. so, let me carry your burden.”

he takes a few seconds to answer, uncertainty lingering in his tone: “it’s not yours to have.”

“it may not be.” you answer with no hesitation, “but it doesn’t mean that you must shoulder them alone.”

he opens his mouth to speak but unable to find the words to say, he closes them. there was a moment of stillness shared between you two. comfort, relief, assurance seeps into the ache of his bones and you say something too heavy even for this steady and silent night to hold, the words too much to be held—light spills in like a flood as if it was pouring out from the sun itself.

“i love you.”

“you utter such words as if it’s something easy for you.” as if loving him was just as simple as waking up in the morning and adoring the way the honey-light hugs your form as the dust settles in the corner of your room. when he’s stripped of everything and left with nothing, would you still love him the same? would you still kiss him as gently as you did? would you still hold the shards of his form even if it makes your hand bleed?

you spoke in a gentle yet firm croon, gaze unwavering, “because it is.”

you see the falter in his expression: his face, that once was crumpled, relaxed and so did his gaze soften. and you smile at him with only adoration in your eyes—like a devout follower to a divine being. “are you still afraid?”

“i don’t know.” he whispers.

“it’s alright. you have all the time in the world.” your hand weaves itself into his own, fingers lacing with one another, and you gently squeeze. it was a form of reassurance, a way of telling him that you’re here with him through all of it.

the warmth has settled in your being and you spill yourself into the cracks of his vulnerability. “i love you.” you say once more and you kiss the mark on his neck—lingering and soft as if you wish that it would take all his hurt away. the way he shudders underneath your touch, the hitch of his breath soon followed by a gentle sigh as he cradles you closer to him tells you everything that you wish to hear.

for once, he sleeps as if he had nothing to carry, nothing that shackles him to the stars that forsakes him.

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azullumi · 28 days

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a scripture on having a certain pretty gambler as your boyfriend ; aventurine

summary — radiant and gleaming, dating him feels like basking under the golden glow of the sun, with the promise of the serene and starlit night ahead.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship, fluff, him as your boyfriend basically, there are no spoilers dwww, i never proofread, 1.2k words ; headcanons

note — congratulations to honkai star rail for being the only game to have aventurine!! this is day 2 of writing for this man until i have him.

Aventurine couldn’t abandon the person that he used to be so he carried him in his hands. Always hesitant, afraid, and seemingly detached from everyone he meets—this is why he seems so distant and disconnected from you at first despite being in a relationship with him. Although he lives his whole life gambling, believing that everything happens and the outcomes gained are due to luck, he’s meticulously careful and cautious just to not get too attached to you lest he gets hurt in the end (he has dealt with the sight of people’s backs as they walk away from him multiple times).

It will take time for him to completely warm up and be vulnerable to you. Although there are moments that he lets the facade slip and he lays himself bare, moments where it’s just you and him in the silence, moments where you comfort him after a nightmare that disturbs his sleep; he doesn’t ask for comfort nor assurance often but you always seem to know when he needs it.

Aventurine loves it whenever you gently comb your hand through his hair. Even if he wasn’t vocal about the matter, you’ll know from the way he immediately relaxes under your touch as you rake your fingers through his locks. It just gives him a sense of comfort, finding serenity and affection in such a small act of intimacy; it reminds him of how simple everything could be (oh, how he wishes it was) with just the loving touch of your hands.

He’s not exactly a morning person but would always wake up early, occasionally before you do. It’s either because he has to leave for work early or it just so happens that he woke up just as the sun was rising. If he has to get ready soon, he’ll take a few minutes of his time to admire you as you sleep, to trace the bridge of your nose slowly and carefully so as to not wake you, to draw and follow the outlines of your features with his eyes. But if he has no plans for today, he’ll stay in bed with you and eventually, fall asleep once more. He holds you so close and so tight (but not tight enough to suffocate you) that it’s hard to slip away from his grasp.

You feel a pair of soft lips on your forehead, the kiss lingering for a moment until you flutter your eyes open. “Are you awake now, sleepy?”

“Mmh…” You grumble, your vision adjusts to your surroundings as you blink multiple times. You could see Aventurine getting dressed, putting on his expensive tailored-coat.

“You’re leaving already? Why did you not wake me up?”

“You looked like you were having a nice dream.”

MATCHING PAJAMAS (heck yeah!!). The time when he saw you wearing one of his pajamas, it felt like something had been flipped inside of him and the thought of getting you one for your own that matches his fills each and every corner of his mind. Although all of the matching things you have with him are not just limited to pajamas—it can range from matching jewelry, matching charms, matching clothing, matching glasses, matching everything. God, he goes into a store, sees something that he likes and asks the staff if they have another one but in a different color that you like.

Perhaps you have never noticed (or maybe you have) but he never wears his glasses whenever he’s around you—when there’s only you and him. There was no need to hide anything from you, not when you adore all parts of his being. He melts whenever you compliment him (he’s a sucker for such words of affection) especially when it’s his eyes, loves the way you look at him as if he was everything you wish for.

He’ll often play games with you or initiate a bet but somehow, he has more losses than wins. “You’re cheating!” You’ll say, pointing at him as if you were an attorney from a game that objects to a statement. Aventurine, however, would stare at you in disbelief (though he’s just feigning innocence) and would answer with a raised eyebrow: “How am I the one cheating when you’re winning?” To which you’ll respond with: “That’s because you’re letting me win. You’re not playing fair, Aven.”

SPOILS YOU A LOT and when I say a lot, I mean A LOT. Everything you'll ask for or even just mention in passing, he'll provide. He randomly sends you pockets of money, a notification on your phone lighting up your screen and the text says: You have received 100, 000 credits. You have to get used to it—it’s one of the ways that he shows his affection to you. He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer whenever he gives you something either, so, you have to take it or else you’ll have to deal with a sulky man the whole day.

Don’t worry though as he ensures that everything that he buys and gets for you is something you would like—expensive meaningless gifts will always be meaningless, he would rather give you a cheap yet beautiful charm that is of your favorite color or flower than an expensive shiny necklace made out of gold and adorned with diamonds which you’ll never wear because it’s too heavy on your neck or it’s not your preference.

On that note, he also likes seeing you wear the things he bought for you. Maybe it’s obvious, maybe it’s not, but he likes to dress you up, likes to see you put on the clothes he picks for you. Dates where he brings you to a boutique to pick clothes together (for both you and him), dress up, and ask each other if they look good is not so rare between you two. It’s silly but the two of you would end up giggling like children when the other would strike a ridiculous pose to show off what they're wearing (and also, with the intention to make one another laugh); he lives for and craves these moments with you.

Brings you together with him to casinos and lets you watch him while he plays as he regards you as his lucky charm (when he’s actually the one who is lucky here). Whenever he wins a game or a bet, he asks for a kiss from you—he taps on his cheek as an indication of his request but he will not force you if you don’t wish to express such affections in public, rather he’ll ask for something else instead like maybe a smile or ask that you hold his hand. Sometimes, if you’re curious enough, he’ll teach you the fundamentals of the game and what you can do to win. The look of pride on his face says it all as he watches you win and your opponent falls to the floor (you just put someone in debt).

The amount of endearing names that he calls you. If ever you get flustered whenever he calls you with those affectionate endearments, he’ll take the chance to tease you, to repeatedly call you with such names until you throw a pillow or any object at him—he catches it though but will apologize while laughing, saying that he won’t do it again.

You have to be understanding and gentle with him, careful as you tread the light, lest you fall into the dark and see that the tall and strong walls he built around himself is nothing compared to the broken and fragile pieces that are sewn on his skin, and he will leave (out of fear, out of anxiety, out of grief, out of self-hatred). But it’s alright, everything will be, you’ll embrace him even in the abyss and you’ll guide him back to your warmth.

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azullumi · 27 days

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”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

#aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai imagines #honkai x reader #honkai #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine imagines #aventurine x you #aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #honkai x you #honkai star rail x you #azul.writes

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azullumi · 3 months

Note

trying different types of kissing with scaramouche?💔 like forehead, neck kisses, hand or anything at all....

“say yes to heaven” ; wanderer/scaramouche

summary — ultimately, he really does just want to be loved, behind the many layers of him to hide all that yearning and longing. but how can he say it when love, for him, was a synonym to forgiveness; alternatively, different kisses with him, with each one signifying a progressing relationship.

pairing — scaramouche/wanderer (w/ gender-neutral reader) ; could imagine this with either but i wrote this with wanderer in mind

tags — established relationship, fluff, a little bit of angst, not proofread, 1.1k ; ficlet

note — i needed an excuse to write a fic that is just all about kissing him and also comforting him (but still, i hope u like this nonnieee!!)

i. hand

You hold his hand and press small kisses on his knuckles, a little bit ticklish it was for him but he doesn’t retract. The feeling of it makes something in his chest ache with an unfamiliar sensation, and he knows it’s not his heart because he never had any.

You kiss the back of his hand, an intimate gesture, like devotion, like he was something—or someone—that should be adored.

“I am no god.” He was no deity to be worshiped so why are you so gentle to him? He wasn’t made of glass nor is he fragile; he was born from ashes of a burned home, he was carved out of war and winter storms and everything that you could ever pray against, he was a symphony composed of nothing but bad luck and conflicting melodies—he was not the kind people would choose to be around, much less adore.

And as if you bear a part of him in your mind, you understood what he was trying to say, could hear the questions that tormented him, could see the conflicted look on him as he looks at you with a gaze that seems to scrutinize your being when only he is looking for an answer. He tries to look for a crack, a gap in your expression, so that he can look through it and see what you’re really thinking.

“You don’t have to be one to be loved.” You press one last kiss on his hand just as you finished speaking, looking up to him. Indigo blue orbs met yours in a gentle gaze, eyes filled with affection only for the other to drown in. If he could put all that he was feeling, all that he was asking and seeking an answer to, into a simple word, it all condenses to: why?

“Do you still have doubts?” You ask, despite knowing the answer. He opens his mouth only to close it again, looking for the words that he should say but chose to be silent instead. And you smile—not a beaming grin nor a subtle paint on your features, but something gentle and comforting as if you’re assuring him: it’s okay, I understand you. I know you.

“You’re not unloveable.”

Loving him wasn’t the hardest thing to do, it came to you naturally as if breathing but the man thinks otherwise. A burnt child who loves the fire will only hear the fact that he is loveable, people just choose not to.

“How do you know that?” You know him well enough to hear the way his voice trembles at the effort to allow himself to be vulnerable. Long was the fall of the tall and formidable walls that he built around him.

“You’re not unloveable.” You repeat, taking hold of his fingers to kiss his hand once more. “Am I not enough proof of that?”

ii. forehead and cheeks

You cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead, an unspoken language of tenderness in which he took a long time to understand. When love and affection has finally been given to him after decades of yearning, he’s unsure of how to hold it in his hands—does he gently hold it with both? Every bit overwhelms him to the bone, the gratifying yet intense feeling seeps through his being and settles inside of him in a way that it slowly consumes the crevices of his mind, until all that is left of him is nothing but a starved man who only longs for the feeling of your skin against his own.

There was a flicker of warmth in his expression and he closed his eyes as he relished in your kindness, your hands cradling his cheeks with warmth that coaxed his entire existence, your lips pressing against his forehead softly. Then, you started to pepper his face with small kisses and the man could only surrender to your touch, a dance of vulnerability and intimacy as he crumbled into your hold.

No one has ever come this close to him (a closeness that was a stranger to the pages of his past, a tender note composed solely for him), no one and nothing.

You spoke, murmuring against his skin and close to his lips: “Sunshine.” Humor weaves through your tone, teasing the absurdity of the mismatched title and the man who wears it with subtle grace.

“Don’t call me that.” He snarks yet no bite. It’s ironically funny how you use that nickname on him despite him being the complete contrast of it; he stands as the living paradox of the word itself.

The sound of laughter bubbles up in your throat and you answer, “Why not? It suits you perfectly, don’t you think?”

What else should you call the man who grasps the warmth and tender light in his chest only the sun could give? To be with him was to sit in the autumn sunlight, to sleep in the comfort of your sheets when the rain patters against your window, to walk barefoot on the sand even if it feels like shards of glasses against your sole, to be with him was to simply exist; you’ve never met anyone who had the sun for a soul and he has never met anyone who had the stars in their eyes, and while you had the universe etched on the palm of your hands, he has your name engraved on his.

iii. lips

Your lips ghost against his own, albeit in a tantalizing manner, teasing and quite slow—but he wasn’t a patient man.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” He whispers and you don't waver at his straightforwardness, having been used to this note. There was no hostility in his tone, just pure and raw desperation and desire to feel you.

You could imagine the eye roll he would give you had he not had his eyes closed at the moment, could imagine the frown on his expression while he spoke and could imagine it faltering soon when you finally kissed him, slow as if to savor the softness of his lips and how it reminds you of spring; he could not properly express the warmth on his chest at the thought of how you love him when he still tasted of heartache and war.

You part from him but remained close, foreheads pressed against one another, breathing heavily, and looking into each other’s eyes. You wanted to tell him that you will find him in every lifetime, but the silence between you two was enough to convey such strong affections that you could hear him respond: And I will love you in each one.

(And he somehow finds himself thinking at the same, this is what he deserves. He’d do these, these vulnerable moments where he lays himself bare for you to touch and hold even if you’ll see the scars and cracks on his skin, the falling and getting hurt despite the fear, the burning and constant searching for something, he’ll do it all over again—if it’s you.)

If someone were to ask him what forgiveness tastes like, he would utter your name—everything that he has ever longed for came in the form of you. And he fears that this longing will last forever even while you’re here, that this longing will grow even when he crumbles to dust, that this longing will outlive this body and weave life into the earth that swallows your existence.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche x reader #wanderer scaramouche #genshin wanderer #genshin impact wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer genshin #azul.writes

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azullumi · 24 days

Text

"my love, mine, all mine" ; aventurine

summary — to say the two of you were ‘in love’ was something too vague and weak to fully express how you hold each other.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship, dual pov (his before yours), all soft and yearning and love, mix of the holy trinity (fluff, angst, and comfort), love is such a weak word and adoration is never enough, metaphors (u know me), not proofread, 1.5k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! surprise ?

note — ichiko aoba was my inspiration for this one. anwss sleep took me out three times while i was writing this so it took me some time to finish. this is both day 4 and 5 of writing for him.

aventurine begins to notice the subtlety and learns to love the little things that make up your being.

like how you knit your eyebrows and bite the end of your pen, if not your nails, whenever you are too focused on something to the point that it’s getting you frustrated and how you would often pace the room while in deep thought because it helps keeps your mind running. he, too, takes notice on how you would arrange things in a specific order because it makes you feel satisfied and although he never really understood it all, something in the way you beam with such light reminds him of sunrise and makes his chest swell with warmth.

(you have never told him any of those things but he has eyes that follow you everywhere and threaten blindness when you are out of his sight.)

there are moments where you sleep that you’ll hum and say incoherent words, and oftentimes, he could make out his name in between your mumbles; the thought that you dream of him too comforts him. and perhaps you’ll never know but whenever you’re half-asleep, you’ll cuddle whichever is closest to you and he has to move your hands so that you’ll embrace him instead of the pillow by your side—it’s a secret that he will take to his grave.

or when you’re nervous or agitated, you would resort to biting your lip and fidgeting with your hands—oftentimes you play with your bracelet or the cuffs of your sleeves—and he holds the responsibility of diverting your attention to somewhere else; his voice, like a lull, soothes the storm that forms in your thoughts.

“do you think i can do it?” your voice breaks out into that of the nervous waters, hands shaking as the anxiety settles into your tense shoulders. the feathers of uneasiness sheds into the crevices of your mind as you think of the upcoming event that looms over your being.

“i’m sure you can.” he says and the softness of his tone soothes the unquiet thoughts that spill out of your mouth. he looks at you with a certain light in his eyes (his gaze would tug at the hem of your shirt with the fists of a child that has never known misery).

“it’s scary…” you groan, form crumbling and you bite into your lip, an unintentional habit that you do when everything seems to become so overwhelming. “what if i make a fool out of myself? what if i mess up and make a mistake?”

“there’s no need to let these worries weigh on your mind. you’re capable of doing more so you don’t have to think so little of yourself.” he wasn’t exactly the best at comforting but he tries, hoping that his words would be able to ease you of your burden. “you’ve done this many times, remember? and every single time, you succeed. even then, it’s never about making a fool out of yourself but how you were so courageous and lovely.”

aventurine takes hold of your trembling hands into his and his thumb begins to draw circles on the skin near your knuckles. silence draws between you two and he notices your breathing coming into a steady; expression becoming soft with no lingering trace of worry that bites into your lip.

“you know, i didn’t think you had the knack for comforting.”

“i try.” only for you, he does.

he likes the way the light spills into your form as you sleep, likes the mess you leave behind as your presence lingers in his home—leave the scent of your cologne in his shirt and forget your scarf behind so you can have a reason to come back—, likes the sweetness of your lips as you kiss him and he prays that he’ll taste just as much.

(“you taste like candy and forgiveness.”)

aventurine could list out all of the little things he adores about you and he picks up these subtle nuances then carves it into his hands to call his own; he began to engrave your form in his mind that his thoughts would form into an image of you, he learned how to spell out your name in his dreams in hopes that his voice will reach you in yours, he started to memorize the lines in your palm so that he’ll remember how your hand feels.

how does he tell you that the reason he falls into tragedy and a melancholic state is because he loves you and the words are never enough to tell you how he feels? he tries to in different ways, in the manner of his actions and the way he speaks of you. whenever he holds your hand, he squeezes yours three times to silently say ‘i love you’ even if you’ll never know nor understand the meaning behind his gestures—you’ll never be able to read the words he paints into your skin because you were too busy looking at his.

he never knew what it was like to have something—or someone—to call his own until he stumbled upon your soul. he will desire and look for you like a thirsty man who longs for water, like the shore who dreams to drown in the ocean but could only feel waves of its caress, like a lost child who seeks for their mother’s cradle, like a sunflower who only knew the light of the sun (he’ll search for you in everyone else for the rest of his life and he hopes he’ll never find you).

he thinks he likes you too much, it might be his demise.

aventurine often reminds you of the sun.

it wasn’t about the way he dressed or the way he held himself—so radiant and brilliant as he wears those sparkling jewelry and watch, as he puts on his expensive coats over his tailored shirts and pants—but he was warm in a way that it reminds you of cold mornings and the soft raw comfort that you feel under the blanket with him, he was bright in a way of a sole candle in the dark that guides you back to the light, where you’re supposed to be.

(a burst of sunlight would spill into every room that he walks into and you wouldn’t mind coming close to him even if it will end up burning your wings.)

but sometimes you see him in the reflection of the river as it runs along the rocks and you’ll think of how spring would be so nice if he’s beside you watching the flowers bloom. you see him in the wind that caresses your hair as you walk through the field and you’ll remember how he used to embrace you during winter, stealing all of the warmth that is left of your body as he intertwined his cold hands into your own—you’ll push him away, only lightly, as he holds you closer and snuggles his face into your neck but you never want him to leave; you could never bear the thought of watching his back as he walks away from you.

you see him everywhere, in the morning that you wake up to, the noon that you drag yourself through, and the night that you sleep into. you wouldn’t know what to do if his light would die out, leaving you in the frigid darkness without his presence. you wouldn’t know what to do if his eyes would stop holding your fingers with the neediness of a child who has never known death and cruelty.

“don’t go where i can’t follow.” you’ll let him bring you anywhere—even if it's far from the familiarity of your home, far from the people you love, far from the places you’ve known, as long as he stays with you. you’ll walk with him into the danger and through hell, you’ll accompany him in the rain and the wind, but you will not let him go where you can’t follow. you will never cross the line if it means you’re leaving him behind; you’ll rather let the abyss swallow you just so you could be with him.

“never leave me behind.” you’ll whisper to nothingness.

the simplicity and your adoration for him was the finest feature that composes the puzzle of your soul. there wasn’t a single thing that he’ll do to make you hate him, there was nothing he can do to make you despise him. and perhaps, it may become destructive and pathetic but you’ll do anything for him and he doesn’t have to use the word ‘please’, nor would he have to beg for anything from you; he asked you to call him handsome and you compared him to the stars—and the stars and their glory was never enough in comparison to his shadow.

(you’ll taste his flesh with only gentle hands and soft mouth even if you’ll still be left starving and desiring for more—to say you love him was never enough.)

you like him too much, the affection would spill from your hands and you’ll pick them up with your teeth.

notice how there's no dialogue from aventurine in reader's pov? yeah.

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azullumi · 19 days

Text

“i wanna be yours” ; aventurine

premise — but this is what friends do, right? they slow dance together in the living room while saying sweet nothings ; inspired by this ask (though i never really followed the entire idea, my hands has minds of its own)

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (with a little bit of angst at the end), friends but wanting more type of relationship, all written in reader’s pov, not proofread, 1.2k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs (hi boo)

note — i keep on comparing aventurine to the sun i dont even know why i do it. 9 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER

“care to dance?” the languid, lazy silence draws itself away as the honey-haired man spoke, offering you his hand as he did. the light humming of the music in the background keeps the night awake and alive, the softness of the notes intertwined in the air that settles in your home.

you stare at his hand for a moment, admiring the glistening bracelet on his wrist before you answer, tone meek and hesitant: “i don’t know how to dance.” you expected him to laugh at you for not knowing a simple and common concept; dancing was a form of art known to many and yet, you are unfamiliar with it.

but aventurine simply smiles at you and takes your hand to hold on his own, gently pulling you up from your seat and making you stumble on your feet—however, he catches you and doesn’t let you fall to the ground. you are only met with the warmth of his body and the feeling of his unoccupied hand resting on the small of your back.

“you could have warned me before you did that.” you huffed, although you weren’t exactly reprimanding him.

“i still caught you, didn’t i?” the man answers in a gentle tone as he begins to sway you to the rhythm of the song (the melody wraps itself around your form like the cradle of a warm blanket), a familiar tune that plays in your living room and now you are listening to it as you—no, as he dances and guides your movements. you try to follow him albeit like a clumsy child and silence trailed behind your steps as none of you spoke, only wallowing in this moment between you and him.

(his hand is warm against yours, fingers lacing with each other like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. you have never known how gentle he can be, have never known the warmth of his hands and the softness of his palms up until this moment. maybe it’s the feeling of his touch that’s making you drunk and aeons, you’ve never thought of yourself as a selfish person but something in the way he’s holding you makes you crave for more.)

“focus,” he whispers to your ear, catching you completely off-guard when his breath tickles your skin, “you’re supposed to look at me, not at the ground.”

you compose yourself, bringing your gaze to his face instead of the marble floors that seem to spin as you move, “i was watching my feet so i won’t accidentally step on you.”

“i don’t mind if you do, all i wish is for you to look at me and me only.” he speaks so gently, so delicately as if something akin to despair hangs on the tangled threads of his words. you study his face, looking at the lines on his features and trying to look for the gap of his expression—you could never tell what he was thinking, could never decipher the meaning he skillfully weaves to the words that he utters (you wish you had the ability to look into minds, perhaps you would have known him).

he notices your silence and smiles, “can’t a poor man have their own wishes?”

you take a moment once more to answer, “i didn’t say that.” well, in fact, you weren’t saying anything. the sound of laughter slips past his lips and perhaps, if you didn’t see the way his eyes formed into a crescent and his expression contorts one into amusement, you would have mistook the sound as part of the song.

“you should see the way you look right now.”

you raised your eyebrow at him, confusion evident in your face, “what do you mean? is there dirt on my face?”

aventurine pulled you closer to him, movements coming to a stop as you two stood still. his face is leaning down to yours, lips merely inches away from each other, and your thoughts are in a jumble as if your mind was a library of cluttered and disorganized bookshelves.

“no, i’m saying you look lovely tonight.” he whispers—and you swear, you see his eyes look down to your lips for a moment—, his voice low as if you’re the only one who’s supposed to hear and not the moon that casts its curious glow on his skin, not the stars that watched your every move, but you and just you.

(you’re left with nothing but silence and warmth in your cheeks, not knowing where to focus or even think about—the strong scent of his perfume or his words that repeatedly echoed inside your head.)

the golden-haired man doesn’t speak any further, continuing his slow dance with you in the comfort of your living room as he hums along to the melody. the night is heavy against your shoulders as the silver moonlight laid on the ground like spilled milk.

“it is quite simple, isn’t it? look, you’re able to follow.”

“aven, you’re doing all of the work.”

he slowly spins you around—the world looks slow and messy for you for a moment—before he answers, “barely.” he comes face to face with you and you don’t fail to notice the affection in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you wished he wouldn’t look at you in that way; something tugs at your heart and suffocates you.

“like what?”

“i don’t know.” hesitation follows your tone, broken and unsure, seemingly lost in an empty field full of directions. “like…” like you wanted me like a lover, you keep the words at your throat knowing you’ll choke on it one day. you don’t know how to say it, you don’t even know if you can say it. it was as if the ability to speak has been taken away from you.

the song came to its end and so was the dance.

“you should go to sleep, don’t stay up too much.” aventurine says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss on your forehead. he lets you go as soon as he parts his lips, stepping back to the distance the both of you once had before all of this happened, as if nothing occurred between you two, as if the words whispered against each other, the closeness, the intimacy were all just some silly imagination.

“are you leaving already?” you ask, your hand reaching out to tug at his sleeve as if you didn’t want him to go. you don’t even know what made you hold on to him, what made you want him to not want to leave.

the man who had the universe in his wake answers with warmth in his tone, “i can’t stay any longer.” he holds your hand and ushers you to remove your grasp on his sleeve. everything felt so different now, your thoughts were all so loud but you couldn’t dare to speak nor say something as you watched him turn away and leave—the sound of the door closing echoed throughout the corners of your home and you were left alone, in silence and in the cold.

but the comfort and warmth of his touch lingered on your skin—and you’ll remember it all; it will haunt you, follow your shadow everywhere you go, pulling on the hem of your shirt with the desperation of a dying man and you don’t know how to live knowing the way he held you on this night. how are you supposed to deal with the fact that his hands were as soft and warm as summer?

#honkai aventurine #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai fluff #honkai imagines #honkai #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #hsr #azul.writes

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azullumi · 27 days

Note

Sorry but your thoughts on designer! Reader X Aventurine?

Like, I want to dress this peacock into so much staff, from tailored expensive suits with unbelievably beautiful patterns to the fucking dresses. (Rine in dress Rine in dress *trembles chews on chair*.)

Or maybe make him a living mannequin when he has free time? Like look at this man, the perfect waist. (new art new art omg)

It's like, so unrelated to IPC that maybe Aventurine would even find peace in having a Reader from a simple world (yeah simple fashion world of course yeah...)

Anyways, if it's boring or silly, you can just delete it!! It's okay, place your needs and desires first!

Cheese for you. 🧀

"the way you look tonight" ; aventurine

summary — you just get along with him so well and he just adores you so much.

pairing — aventurine (w/ fashion designer! reader)

tags — established relationship, fluff, not proofread, 1k words ; headcanons

note — i hope u like this nonnieee!! and thank you for the cheese 🧀 hopefully, he wasn't ooc in this one omgosh also this reminded me of the costume i have to make and i haven't started yet hahahaha?? this is day 3 of writing for this man until i have him.

Aventurine likes to adorn himself in expensive jewelry and clothing, to dress himself with extravagant accessories and jewelries (Have you seen the rings on his hands? His watch? The bracelets on his wrists?); that was a well-known fact. So when he met you for the first time as he visited a certain planet whose main trading point was fabric, textiles, clothing, and everything related to fashion, the relationship that will soon blossom will be inevitable. You just get along with him so well and he just adores you so much—it was like a match-made in the universe.

From then on, whenever he has the time to do so, he’ll arrange visits to your planet. It could be surprise visits or ones planned between you two (it’s mostly just him messaging you that he misses you so he’s planning on stopping by soon). Nevertheless, you love seeing him, love the way he always greets you with a hug and a kiss when he sees you. He’ll always bring you presents every time he comes by. Souvenirs from another planet, trinkets and charms that he thinks you would like, and occasionally, patterns, fabrics, clothes, and such.

Aventurine doesn’t mind you using him as your model—he was your muse, after all. He doesn’t mind having to stand still as you take his measurements or see which color suits him better by repeatedly alternating two different fabrics against his skin (it’s like a free color analysis). All the while, he’s entertained by just you talking to yourself and seemingly troubled.

“Hm, I think this one looks good, don’t you think?” You say as you fall into deep thought, holding the fabrics in your hand. You stand in front of the blond-haired man who just watches you the whole time with a relaxed look on his face—his soft gaze follows your every movement and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “No, wait, but this one looks nice too. Why is it so hard to decide?”

You fall into silence, into deep thought, and Aventurine simply waits for your next move. He’s like a living mannequin but he doesn’t complain, afraid that he’ll break your focus if he speaks at this moment.

“What do you think?” Finally, you looked at him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but instead, he smiles and tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Have you eaten already?” He’ll ask, caressing the of your cheek so sweetly, so gently. A lull of a touch and you can’t help but to lean against his hand to seek more of his kindness. You’ll answer him with a hesitant tone, “I wasn’t asking that though…” He could immediately tell the answer with just the tone of your voice and the way you avert your gaze away from him.

“How about we go out and eat first? I have a reservation for the both of us at the restaurant down the street. They serve your favorites.”

He just likes watching you as you work; eyebrows scrunched, eyes focused, and gaze unwavering as you concentrate on what you’re doing. Occasionally, he’ll watch over your shoulder as you sketch a new design. If you have long hair, he’ll tie it back for you so that you won’t be bothered by your strands obstructing your sight. Sometimes, he’ll massage your shoulders as he kisses the crown of your head. However, when it’s already late at night, he’ll ask you to go to bed with him already while peppering your face with kisses until you’ll let go of your pencil and give in to his words.

Aw, you can’t afford to buy the fabric? You don’t have enough money to buy the pattern that you like? Everything is too expensive? Fortunately for you, this man is willing to spend millions—or even trillions—of credits just to get you what you want and need. You just have to ask and he’ll provide without hesitation. You’re worried about how you’ll repay him? Just a kiss will do. A fair and perfect price for it all, right?

While Aventurine brings you to casinos with him, you also bring him to watch fashion shows with you—majority of the whole show, however, he would just be watching you and adoring the way your eyes sparkle and your expression brightens. You’ll ask him how the show was and which one he likes best and he doesn’t know how to answer your question, only thinking of how you looked so lovely at the moment.

PHOTOS OF HIS OUTFITS OF THE DAY!! He’ll randomly send you pictures of him standing in front of a mirror in just a simple pose as he shows you what he’s wearing to work. He likes it whenever you compliment him—tell him he looks good, that he looks amazing in the suit you’ve made, that he looks so handsome and you wish to kiss him. (i’m an avid believer of aventurine having words of affirmation as one of his love languages)

It’s undeniable that he looks good in everything that he wears, much more if it's made by your hands. He wears the clothes you tailored for him or the outfits you have planned for him, seemingly showing them off in a rather subtle yet loud way. He’ll occasionally adjust the cuffs of his wrist, fix his tie even though it’s not even messy, or anything that would grab the attention of the person he’s talking to so that they’ll bring it up in a conversation; “Stop adjusting your coat, Aventurine. I know (Name) designed it for you.” A certain silver-haired girl would say and the man adorned with your work would only answer with: “Aren’t they so talented?”

MATCHING CLOTHING (hello?! i know i already mentioned the matching things in my previous work BUT MATCHING CLOTHING WITH HIM!!), especially ones that you’ve designed and tailored for the both of you. Whenever the both of you are going out for a date, he’ll ask what color you’re going for today or what you’re wearing so that he can match you. Be surprised or not, but the bouquet of flowers he bought for you would also match the palette of your clothes.

The first time you proposed the idea of him wearing a dress, he was baffled and somewhat confused. One minute, you were talking about the design of a suit and asking for his opinion on the matter and the next, you’re asking him what he thinks of dresses. Before he knew it, he was with you, choosing among the many collections of dresses that you have garnered in either your closet or boutique. How could he say ‘no’ to you, eyes wide with expectation and gleaming like the surface of a jewel, how could he ever say ‘no’?

Everything was just so simple with you—a form of escape, a way of running away from the thoughts that binds him. Every moment that he spends with you eases him of the worries, of the stress, of the chains that holds him as if he was a flightless bird born in a cage (you were simply his solace). In your presence, he’ll find tranquility inked into the softness of your skin and he’ll murmur his wishes along the lines of your soul; he wishes everything was this warm and easy.

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azullumi · 21 days

Text

“there’s so many fishes in the sea but i never learned how to swim” ; aventurine

summary — a guide to pining presented by yours truly, aventurine.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, secret pining but like aventurine can be too obvious, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

tagging — @toorurs (sorry boo i forgot to tag 😭)

note — i know i could have done better with this one, my brain wasn’t just working and im also on a trip. this is day 6 and 7 of writing for him until i get him !!

Aventurine yearns for connection yet he erects tall walls of self-preservation, fearing vulnerability, attachment, and betrayals (the shadow of his fear of losing someone dear to him all over again will haunt and follow his steps). He’s always distant, seemingly detached to the people around him like a leaf that never touches the ground as the wind carries it away; his only drive for relationships is due to mutual-benefit or a give-and-take situation. So what happens to him when he falls and yearns for someone?

Love is violence, he knows that but his eyes would stumble after your shadow and he wonders what it feels like to live in it. He’ll lie under your gaze and he’ll dream what it feels like to be seen, what it feels like to be loved by you. He will seek ways to be close to you but not close enough that you’ll know the rhythm of his heart spells out the letters of your name. In each moment of longing, it is all tinged with a taste of bitterness as this yearning, though desired, is a precarious precipice—everything will crumble and fall once he speaks about it.

So he settles with stolen looks with wishful thinking that you’ll cast a glance at his direction, he settles with the small things at first before he begins to become selfish—he’ll make up reasons just to see and talk to you, think of excuses just so he could linger a little longer in your presence. He’ll make up games and initiates bets where he knows he’ll always win but would let himself lose anyways; winning or losing didn’t matter to him in those moments with you.

“Go ahead, guess.”

You fell into a deep thought, staring at the two hands balled into fist that are in front of you. Your eyebrows were scrunched, trying to listen to the voice of your instinct but everything was silent inside your head.

“Take your time. After all, whoever loses has to follow what the winner wants.” Aventurine spoke and you could discern the hint of amusement in his tone as he watched you fall into some sort of predicament—all you had to do was to choose which one of his hands was the coin in. It was just one of the simple games you’ll play with him every time you see each other. Come to think of it, his visits to your department have been quite frequent despite having no particular business, official or not.

“Shh. I’m thinking.” You answer, lifting your index finger to your mouth in a hush gesture. It took you a few moments of silence and thoughtful humming before you pointed at his left hand, “That one.”

But he opens his left hand to show nothing on his palm, his right hand revealing the coin at the same time, and you are hit with a wave of disappointment. A chuckle slips past his lips and you just sighed—there was nothing you could do but to admit defeat. “Well then, what do you want me to do?”

Aventurine, without a single second of hesitation, answered. “Let me take you out to dinner.”

The thing is you could have laid yourself bare to him, you could tell him all of the sins that taint your skin, the words left unspoken in your mouth, the growing mold in your lungs. He’ll see the rot and will choose to stay, he’ll see the cobwebs and dusty bookshelves, and he’ll love you still, he’ll see the torn wallpapers and ruined floors and he’ll still adore you (he’ll find you where you are most ruined and he will love you there).

(His hand would gently tug and hold at the cuffs of your sleeves, letting the warmth and closeness of his touch linger in hopes that you’ll see him in the sun that holds you gently.)

Many people claim that they love you but do they adore you the same way as he does? Would they cross bridges for you when he’ll swim oceans just to see the way your eyes catch the light? Would they traverse the stars just to listen to the sound of your laughter?

(He’ll see the dirt in your hands and will help you wash it off when others would simply walk away.)

He’ll think of you as he laid in his bed, satin sheets all wrinkled and messy as his pillows scattered around his form, and he wondered how nice it would be to have your things among his. to have the smell of your perfume mixed with his, to have you in his arms before he sleeps (he has dreams of his dreams and you’re always in it).

All this yearning, longing, and adoration will turn into a sword that will make him bleed the more he holds on to it and you’ll stay in his thoughts as the blood will run dry on his being. He simply hopes he crosses your mind once in a while so that he won’t feel pathetic for thinking of you all the time.

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azullumi · 6 days

Text

"orion" ; aventurine

summary : he has lived through many lives, has met many people, has gone through many places, but the shadow of your soul follows him wherever he goes and his eyes would search for a glimpse of your smile everywhere. he continues to look for the light that touches him, not the sun, not the moon, but you.

tags : star-crossed 2024, reincarnation concept, established relationship but also not established in some parts, usage of metaphors, fluff with angst and comfort, crumbs of insecure aventurine, snippets of his lifetimes and how he finds you in each one of them, not proofread sorry, 2.9k words ; one-shot

tagging : @toorurs (hi boo)

notes : i had two ideas in mind but the other was too complicated and would be lengthy so i decided to have this one instead. anwss, i hope you'll like this one!!

Aventurine has recurring dreams of you.

(It was a blessing.)

Ones that feel like fleeting moments in the wind destined to be taken away from him as soon as he tries to hold it. It crumbles into dust and falls to the ground he stands on, and he’ll try to pick up your pieces but it doesn’t stay in his hands for long. Perhaps it was meant to leave, not to last, and perhaps, he’ll hold on to what little is left of the particles in his palms.

In his dreams, you’ll kiss the scars on his skin and he’ll adore you, clear vivid eyes painted with vibrant hues that capture all his affection for you in his soft gaze (they say the eyes are the windows to the soul and you’ll see your reflection in his). You’ll tell him of all the worries that plague your mind, of all the thoughts that bothers you, of everything that you’ll think of.

“If you have 3 lifetimes, what would you do in each one of them?” You speak softly, a soft murmur to the night as you look at him with your eyes wide with curiosity. Aventurine will find himself baffled over your question, eyebrows knitted as he falls into his thoughts—he wouldn’t know what to say.

“It’s not that hard to answer, is it?”

“How about you answer first? I’m a little curious about what you’ll say.”

You hum, lips pursed into a smile as if you already know what to say, as if you’ve been waiting for the moment that someone will ask you that question; You recount your desires to him on how you want to be a bookstore owner but also a florist, on how you wish to soar the skies but also travel across the seas, on how you want to be everything and nothing all at once. 3 lifetimes would simply not be enough for your wishes.

He likes listening to your voice as you speak, adores the way the corners of your eyes wrinkle when you think of something you like. But somewhere in the back of his head, turmoil creeps into the cracks of his mind and settles on the sharp edges.

“Your turn.” You say, beaming a warm smile at him yet he falls into silence once more. He feels ashamed, humiliation seeping into the gaps of his fingers and traces the lines of his palms—you were so full of light, embodying solace in your being, you are what is adored and seeked yet he stands beside you, seemingly like a shadow that haunts your steps, hesitation lingers and tugs at his hand even when he’ll try to touch you. He’s unsure of what he wants in this life even more for the ones that will supposedly come. He finds it unfair—perhaps for you—for him.

“Still no answer?” Your voice sounds reassuring, soft as you lightly graze your finger on his skin, your ghosting touch making his lips shudder. It was comforting, the way that you’ll speak to him, the way that you’ll touch him, the way that you’ll love him—it was all warm and comforting. You brush your hand on his cheek, tucking away stray strands of hair behind his ear; “It’s alright, it was a sudden question anyways. Also, something stupid to ask.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not stupid.” He stumbles over his words; he rarely stutters, rarely finds himself tripping on the bumps of the letters that fall out of his mouth but he finds himself staggering on the line of vulnerability and uncertainty. You hum, nodding, seemingly encouraging him to spill out whatever he wishes to say because you’ll listen, no matter how ridiculous it can be.

“I just haven’t thought about it.” Aventurine, though he may not say it, doesn’t like thinking of the future. It just reminds him how everything ahead of him is just empty and narrow, it’s as if he has to walk alone.

“But I…” His voice trails off and yet a thought lingers inside his head, making its way down his throat and clawing the walls of his mouth; the more he’ll keep it in, the more he’ll taste the blood of his perished words on his tongue.

“I’ll look for you in each one of them.”

The wind blows against his and your form and he feels your lips all over his face, pressing delicate kisses all over the lines and wrinkles of his features as if a brush to a canvas. The light would become too bright for him so he closes his eyes, relishing in this moment where you hold his face in your hands as if he was made out of broken pieces carved out of people’s miseries, as if he was something fragile, and the dirt that stains the waters of his mind seemingly dissipates like it never existed.

“Another stupid question, did you know how much I love you?” You’ll whisper against his lips, a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. Your breath tickles his skin and he can’t hide the smile that draws on his face.

“How much?”

“I’ll give the world to you.”

And he’ll wake up.

(Or perhaps, a curse.)

Aventurine stands before the colorful blossoms displayed in pots and buckets of different sizes and colors. The essence of spring dances in the air, filling the place with the scent of blooming flowers and the sight of receding snow that unveils the land below; the sight of it is not unfamiliar to him. He has seen thousands of it—the different seasons that weave its life in his surroundings and has lived through many of them.

He has had many lives and he has been everyone but also no one. He has been a puppet, a poet, a prince, a musician, a gambler. Little pieces of himself merge into the likeness that he sees in front of the mirror everyday. His form is battered, bruised, broken all over, patched and affixed together with nonviscid tape, sewed with delicate threads of fate—there are days that he doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of the reflective glass. Even if has retained most of his features, most especially his eyes, and nothing drastic has changed from what he once was; yet he struggles in seeing himself in the mirror.

“Are you looking to buy a bouquet?” A voice breaks him out of his trance, pulling him back to reality. It must have been weird seeing a man just standing for minutes in front of the displays and staring into space.

“No, not re—” His sentence breaks off abruptly when he turns his head to the sound of the voice and his eyes meet a pair that causes memories to surge like a harsh tide that pulls everything into the depths; it sweeps him under like a fierce undertow as it drags him back to the profundity of what haunts him. His thoughts that seem like old, faded photographs flicker in his mind, and the sound of buzzing fills his ears as the world comes to a still.

It feels as though the ground beneath him has crumbled away. There you are.

“Sir?” It’s you, it’s you that calls out to him and not a random person that he meets somewhere he can’t remember, not a stranger that would approach him and ask for his name, not someone that he thought was you.

“Nothing,” Aventurine shakes his head and composes himself, “I would like to get a bouquet.”

“Of course, which flowers would you like to have?”

“I’m not entirely sure. What do you recommend?” If this was his attempt of making a conversation, he lies between the line of failing and succeeding. He’s not even here with the plans of bringing home a bouquet to give nor decorate his house and he’s not even sure if he has his wallet with him.

You hum as you fall into deep thought and you begin to count tales of different flowers and paint the meanings behind them with your voice, and you come to mention one that made his heart skip like stone in a pond, and his breath hitch. You speak of a certain flower with such tender affection and all he can think of is how you used to adore this very one even back then, and how your home used to be adorned with it.

“Is that your favorite?” The golden-haired man asks, curiosity wrapping around his tone as he speaks despite the fact that he already knows your answer and you smile at him, warmly—and oh, how much he missed seeing it. It’s like he has fallen in love all over again and the colors paint all over his once bleak and mellow life. Even after all this time, all these years, all these lifetimes, he still has you carved in his soul, every part of you etched on the bumps of his skin. As if you’re engraved like a scar on his body, persisting, lingering.

“It’s a lovely flower, how could I not?” The sound of laughter forms in your throat and spills out of your lips. It’s a lovely sound that he has inscribed in the very depths of his mind, one that would muddle his sleep or disturb him in the moments of silence he would revel in, trying to find the wind to ground himself.

You’re still the same as he remembers.

Memories lie dormant like fragile butterflies trapped within glass jars, fluttering and flickering, casting shadows upon the vulnerable walls of his conscience. Remembering, a troublesome thing that weighs heavy in his mind, tugging on his thoughts, and having a tight embrace on his heart. Sometimes he thinks it’s just a dream, one meaningless and lengthy dream that is meant to harrow him every time that he wakes up. But it was real, all of it is real—the laughter, the kisses, the touches, the smiles, you. How could he ever deny your existence?

Aventurine is in his nth life, not knowing how many times he has experienced death and the feeling of waking up to a strange and unfamiliar place, while his memories would flow to him like water in a stream. It comes in slow, steady, he’ll pick up broken shards of it and keep his fingers close—it will stab and make his hand bleed.

His hand, it was yours once. Clasped, held, weaved into the small gaps of your own. You held him as if he was yours to have—and he really is. He’ll walk through the busy streets with a gaze that roams everywhere, holding the anticipation, hope, that he’ll catch you amidst the crowds of people whose face appears to be nonexistent to him.

(He’ll look for you everywhere he goes, in museums, flower shops, bookstores, in the rivers, in fields, on the ground, everywhere.)

“Oh no, I’m sorry!”

Books came falling, papers scattered all over the pavement, and he saw someone in front of him, seemingly panicking as they gather all of their things; Aventurine wasn’t a heartless man nor was he cruel so he knelt to the ground and picked up all the remaining papers before handing it to them—lifting his gaze, to be met by a pair of eyes that he looks for everywhere.

(And he’ll find you.)

There was once a moment where you remember him.

It wasn’t just a, “I passed by you on the streets and you caught my attention since and I think of you everyday,” but it was, “I know you because you existed in my life before this.” It was something he had never expected, a moment where he had to pinch himself on the thigh to see if this was one of his messy dreams but it hurt and his heart ached.

(In this life, you were lost, alone, not knowing what to do nor what you wished to do—you simply stood still as you watched the strangers passing by, as everything before you crumbled. In this life, you were nothing but his friend and he was nothing but yours.)

“I’m sorry?” He says, still in disbelief on what he is hearing. Maybe it was just his ears playing tricks on him, his mind playing illusions for him due to how much he misses you. Oh, if only you knew how tight your grasp is on him; it troubles him with the way he’ll catch you in the corner of his eye but there’s nothing there but dust, he’ll feel your presence everywhere even when you’re nowhere to be found.

“You’re him. The one that is always in my dreams.” Aventurine will open his mouth to speak but nothing would come out; he remains silent, unable to find the words to say.

“Rine.” His breath hitched. Everything faded into white noise and there was only you in his eyes—there was only you and him. He has long abandoned that name, taking on different ones in each passing life but even if he has left it behind, he always remembers how you used to call him so sweetly and gently as if he was the only one that matters to you. “I missed you.”

Your voice breaks and he swears, it felt like something inside him had shattered. How long has he waited for this moment? How much has he dreamt of the day that you’ll remember him? He didn’t think it was possible but he holds on to the thin thread of hope that you will.

“Do you… Do you not remember me?” You look hurt at that thought, your gaze wavering as you look at him with tear-stained eyes.

“I do.” He whispers, broken. “I do remember you.” He always remembers you. It’s a burden that he carries for so long but he will never let go—he wishes he could, he wishes he wanted to. Your voice, your touch, your laugh, your embrace, your eyes, everything about you will always come to haunt him; you are too entertwined with his soul, threads bound and tangled together in knots that can never be undone.

The two of you talk about everything on this night as the stars above you listen, as the moon will become a witness to the words and caresses. You’ll tell him of all the dreams that you had, memories that will haunt you the same way it haunted him.

“I’ll remember you tomorrow and even the days after. I’ll remember you, always, even in the next lifetimes.” You say, certainty and assurance seeps into the tone of his voice and a part of Aventurine feels relieved and broken at the same time.

He smiles, “You will.” (You don’t know it but this too will be buried in the grave of the past and he will come to mourn it in every moment he wakes.)

“Kiss me, please?” You didn’t have to beg for anything, you will never have to beg for anything. He has looked for the shadow of your form, for the sound of your footsteps and laughter, for the feeling of your hand in his. You will never have to beg him for anything—he’ll give you the world if you ask.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He whispers against your lips, his warm breath fanning your skin—a contrast to the cold night breeze that brushes against you.

“You’ll hear me tomorrow. I’ll call you, I promise. So please don’t keep your phone on silent.”

“I don’t. You’re the only person on my phone.”

You laugh at that, short and sweet. “Really?”

He kisses you once more, a fleeting one but the taste of his lips lingered on yours. “I only have you.”

The night draws to a close and Aventurine waits for the sun with bated breath but you weren’t able to fulfill your promise, for on the morning when the sun’s embrace caressed your skin, you remained in slumber’s hold.

It’s his second life, the life where he first remembers everything and when he is still not tormented by the burden (a curse) that he will hold all of the memories and you will remain in each one of them.

“I have a question.”

You lay your head on his shoulder, all the while your hand plays with his own. Your fingers softly dance across his palm and mindlessly sketches invisible patterns and traces the lines etched on it, while he watches, captivated by the ballet of your touch. There’s the fresh smell of shampoo and soap in the air around him, and the warmth of his hands provides a refreshing contrast to the coolness of your skin, still tingling from your recent bath.

In this life, you own a bookstore just like you wish and he’s simply just your lover.

“What is it?” He answers, watching you as you draw what seems to be a flower on his palm. He finds it endearing, every moment that he spends with you is all too sweet and dear for him, no matter how small and mundane it can be. He adores seeing you under this light, cherishes the way you melt into his embrace and how you hold him in your arms (he wishes everything would be this simple).

“How would you know if it was me?” The movement of your fingers comes to a halt as you look up to him to meet his gaze; eyes wide with curiosity and affection, he meets your gaze. Aventurine thinks for a moment before he answers:

“I’ll know if it’s you, always.”

You let out a short laugh, your expression breaking out into a soft one. “What if I was a worm then?”

“You’ll be the first worm to make my heart flutter.” There was no need for such questions—Aventurine will recognize you everywhere, in different forms, in different light.

“What if I was a stone?”

He chuckles, “I’ll know.”

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azullumi · 1 year

Text

“touch starved” ; genshin men

summary — random physical intimacy with them.

characters — kaveh, alhaitham, tighnari, cyno, wanderer, ayato, venti, diluc, kazuha (w/gender neutral reader)

tags — fluff; established relationship

words — 1580

note — hi, sorry for disappearing for some time hahahahahaha

cuddling and spooning

KAVEH — “you’re so warm, i adore you so much—i love you,” he says to you as he cuddles you in his arms, lips spread out to form a smile as he looks at you with so much emotion and tenderness in his eyes—He loves so many things about you, from the smile that you show him upon seeing him, your eyes that shows each and every single one of your emotions, your hair that flutters against the summer wind, from your hands that holds his in every moment, and to your warmth especially when the two of you are close to each other; perhaps that’s why he loves cuddling with you so much because he could get to feel you so close, so intimate, against him as he relishes in the warmth being emitted. Aside from the fact that he gets to have you in the comfort of his arms and body, he gets to bury his face on the crown of your head, inhaling and taking in your scent, It makes him feel real, in a way that it also feels not, like a dream, like a lullaby that gently lulls him to sleep.

comparing hand sizes

ALHAITHAM — If there’s something, something that he loves to do even if it’s just a simple and insignificant thing, something that feels like you could just easily brush off and think of as nothing, it’s comparing the size of his hands to yours—whether subtly through just holding your hand in his and feeling how small yours feel around his own or outright by holding out his palm and making an initiation to place yours against it so that he could compare. Unexplainable, however, he loves seeing the vast difference between your hands and teasing you about it, witnessing the reactions that you make as you banter and respond to him. Though it’s not just the simple act of comparing hands that he loves but also the feeling of your warmth against his, so soft, so small, so gentle as if fire in a fireplace in one cold evening, its flames moving slowly like a motion of dancing.

giving forehead kisses

TIGHNARI — He had never said it out loud but you could tell just how much he loves to give you kisses on the forehead—never was there a day where he didn’t get to give you one. Upon waking up in the morning, you are often greeted by a kiss on your forehead as you flutter your eyes open—“good morning,” he’ll whisper against your skin as he inhaled the scent of your hair and melts in your warmth—, before leaving for work and going out of the door, he’ll swiftly give you a kiss on the brow, and just in every moment that he can. The time and place doesn’t matter because as long as he wants to and as long as he would like to, he will and will continue to show his affection for you through pressing such gentle kisses against your skin. Perhaps, it’s just one way of him saying that he adores you without having to convey it through words.

carrying you in his arms

CYNO — How can he explain this really—this habit of just carrying you out of nowhere or whenever a minor inconvenience, such as accidentally injuring yourself, happens? It’s unexplainable, to be honest, all he can say is that he just loves doing it. Perhaps it makes him appear as a strong and reliable man and that you can rely on him anytime. He had a lot of a reasons but he could never tell you each one or at least a single one of it—how should he even tell you that he likes to hear the surprised yelp you let out when he suddenly picks you up in his arms or the laughter or chuckle that escapes from your lips as he carries you? How could he even tell you that he loves the feeling of you resting your head against his chest as you doze off to sleep while he carries you to your bedroom? How could he even tell you any of those?

pulling away from a kiss, looking at each other, before kissing again

WANDERER — Was it perhaps the silence after sharing a gentle and warm kiss with him or was it from the way the both of you looked at you so fondly, with deep affection swirling in each other’s eyes as you two gaze upon one other? Was it the moment he mumbles “i love you” underneath his breath in a tone that makes it look like he’ll break and shatter in any given moment—and you could see the fragility and softness that he hides in between the cracks of his skin—that made this time special for you? Kisses are something that you often share with him whether it’s in moments wherein you two just need and want each other that it’s burning your throat and clawing at your skin or wherein one's comfort is being asked and the other is just seeking for the tender and gentle warmth of one’s affection. So times wherein the two of you leave the comfort and passion of each other’s lips to stare at each other’s eyes lovingly before molding your lips against one another once again is quite a normal occurrence.

standing on your tiptoes to reach his lips

AYATO — This man is a tease and you know that; even at those romantic moments wherein the two of you are oh so close to each other—he still finds way to get through your nerves, softly ghosting the feeling of himself all over yours, anticipation and expectation everywhere in your jumbled thoughts, as you tiptoe to reach his lips and he’s there holding a chuckle and adoring the way you look so lovely and adorable. He will apologize soon after you shoot him a glare and will make it up to you by either bending down to mold his lips against yours or instead picking you up in his arms to swiftly capture your lips in a kiss as you eventually melt in his cradle. What would he even do without you, when you’re gone and he’s left on his own? He could never imagine living a life where he could never feel you against him, close but not too close for him to hold and cherish.

dancing together

VENTI — There’s something special and precious in those times wherein it feels like there’s only the two of you in the whole world—in moments that you dance around with him, whether slowly or not, as either your surroundings creates a lovely melody for you or he sings a song that he dedicates to you. God, if you manage to get a peek through his own thoughts, you’ll see just how much he wishes to live in this moment with you forever. Your laughter accompanied with the songs of time as his gaze remains on you, eyes observing and adoring each feature of your face until he memorizes each line of it and he gets tired but he could never get tired, how could he when you look so lovely? He holds so much affection and love for you that it’s starting to consume him—his head being tainted by thoughts of you that it feels like his mind was never his own.

holding hands while making love

DILUC — Hot, warm, flushed skin against each other as he murmurs words of love and affection near your ear for you to hear and he holds your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, and you lock yours against his—this small and simple act of intimacy in such a beautiful moment when two bodies becomes one makes his heart flutter and his soul melt. It’s driving him crazy, how your hands bring so much comfort, grounding him, and easing everything, all of his worries, his muddled thoughts disappearing as if it never existed in the first place. Souls intertwined and bound together in a way that your fingers lock with his as he murmurs sweet nothings against your ear. How could a perfect being like you be in his arms right now, holding his hands and soothing him, as the two of you show how deep your affection and love for one another can be? If this is a dream, it is one he will never wish to wake up from it.

cheek kisses

KAZUHA — More and more, as time passes and as you two spend more time together, he discovers sides of himself that he never knew existed. To think that such a small action of pressing his lips against your cheeks or your lips on his skin could bring so much love and adoration to his being. He had never thought that he would be a man that would easily melt in just one kiss on the cheeks, the idea never crossed his mind, but it’s not like he hated it. He occasionally and randomly gives you cheek kisses throughout the day even when the two of you are doing something and he loves it when you also do the same for him—maybe he had told you about that or maybe he hasn’t but you know from the way his lips automatically form into a smile. He has many of ways to convey his affections to you and giving you kisses whether it’s on the cheeks or not is only one of those.

#kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #ayato x reader #venti x reader #diluc x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin wanderer #azul.writes

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azullumi · 13 days

Text

"baby, stay beside me a little longer" ; aventurine

premise — how you spend your day with him.

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — established relationship, fluff, domestic, not proofread, text messages, 1.7k words ; headcanons

tagging — @toorurs (hi, we don't mention the event fics we have to do hahaha)

note — i miss him and i had the urge to write skincare aventurine. 3 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER

morning

As sunlight streams through the window accompanied with the gentle chirping of the birds outside, there’s no guarantee that one of you always wakes up first before the other. Sometimes it’s him that wakes up first and sometimes it’s you—it occasionally depends if one of you has plans later on or has a free day.

“What’s on your schedule for today?” You ask him, watching him as he buttons his shirt. Daylight illuminates the room and the sound of leaves rustling outside as the breeze flies past fills your morning, albeit you are still laying in bed, not having the desire to move. Aventurine is the opposite of your state right at this moment—already fresh out of his bath (the faint scent of his soap clings to his skin), dressing into his work clothes, though his hair is still messy. Honey-dyed locks tousled, with some strands sticking to the back of his neck and some on his face.

“I have a client to interview this afternoon. It was scheduled for next week but they changed it to today.” There was a hint of frustration in his tone as he spoke. You could immediately tell that the reschedule caused some issues with his plans so you didn’t press on any further. “Will you be home late tonight then?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll be home early.”

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” You say, remembering that you had no plans for today so you’ll just be staying home the whole time. Aventurine puts on his blazer, humming as he thought for a moment, before he answers: “I was thinking of taking you out tonight.”

You beam a smile at him, watching as he fixes the mess out of his hair and sprays perfume on himself soon after, knowing that the scent of it will follow you while he’s gone. “Oh, really? Where?” However, he doesn’t answer but instead, walks towards you and bends down to your level to give you a quick peck on your lips.

“You’ll see.”

He’ll often ask for your help in tying his tie. He knows how to do it, even much better than you, but he prefers the messy work of your hands than his own. Some of his co-workers would point out how his tie looks messy as if he did it in a rush and while he may laugh and nod, he won’t do anything about it. To him, it’s a reminder of you.

MORNING LAZINESS. It just happens but it’s not always that it does—you’re there besides him still too sleepy and grumbling on not wanting to leave the bed yet and how could he refuse? Sure, your hold on him is not that tight and he could easily slip out of your grasp, and sure, you may be close to falling asleep again and you won’t notice if he leaves but your skin is warm and close, your hands are soft on his, and the sound of your breathing comforts him. How could he?

noon

Your middays are often spent separately—both of you accomplishing your own sets of responsibilities. Aventurine would occasionally send you messages asking if you have had lunch already, asking what you’re doing, and telling you about how everything is going for him. Although the conversation doesn’t last that long, always being interfered with by either someone or something.

Your phone buzzes and the screen lights up as you receive a new notification. You were expecting a nonsense reminder from one of your apps but instead, it was a message and it was from none other than your lover, Aventurine.

However, on rare occasions that the both of you are at home and have no set plans for the day, he’ll spend his time together with you. You want to go on a spontaneous date? Sure, he was going to ask you out anyways. Feeling lazy and just want to be in bed the whole day? That’s fine, he wasn’t planning on doing anything. . You want to do something together but not want to go out? Perhaps you can bake and try out this new recipe, that is if you have the needed ingredients at your home.

evening

Evenings are saved for the both of you, which means nothing related to work. It’s the only time of the day where you and he are free from any of your responsibilities—unless, of course, he still has some things to do but that rarely happens. He’ll often come home with a gift or a bouquet of flowers that you like; he’ll only answer you with, “Just because,” if ever you would ask him what’s the occasion. It’s just something that he does, something that you should get used to.

However, there are moments where you have to spend your night alone as he has to come home late and there are moments that you’ll wait for him and he’ll come home to find you asleep on the sofa. A pang of guilt hits him as he crouches in front of you, brushing a few strands away from your face and whispering an apology that only the moon could hear. He’ll carry you to bed soon after.

The way you spend your evenings with him can vary—it could be a game night between you two which will become heated due to how competitive the both of you can be, or a movie night wherein looking for what to watch can take a longer time than the movie itself, or just something simple and relaxing for the both of you.

“You always have so many interesting stories to tell.”

“Is it bad?” You answer him, worry lingering in your voice. You were telling him of how your day went and how you saw something fascinating when you went out earlier, and he was sitting behind you, drying your hair since you had just taken a bath. You could feel his fingers run through your hair, the dryer in hand as he pointed the nozzle towards the crown of your head. The air blowing from it feels warm—just enough to not feel like it’s going to burn off your scalp—and combined with the gentleness of his hand, it all feels comforting, soothing.

“No, it’s not. I just feel bad and perhaps,” He turns off the dryer and places it down beside him, “I also feel guilty.”

You immediately turn to him, eyebrows knitted as your expression warps into a mix of surprise and concern: “But why?”

He hesitates, averting away from your gaze, “I don’t have much to tell you, I don’t have exciting or interesting stories to say.” He’s afraid you’ll find him boring, that you’ll get tired of him but what he doesn’t realize is that you won’t, and you never will.

“That's completely okay. You don't need to have something to say all the time.” You’re fine with it—even if you have to sit in silence with him, even if the days are becoming repetitive and tiring, as long as you’re with him, as long as you feel his hand in yours, it will all be fine. You touch the side of his cheek, “I’m just happy to spend time with you and talk about anything, or nothing at all. How has your day been?”

He turns his head to look at you—an alluring pair of vibrant and pristine hues, a pool of clear and vivid richness hidden in the depths of his eyes meets your gaze once more; “Nothing much happened. I met some clients and helped them, had a short meeting, and just did my work.”

“You didn’t go to the casino?”

“I was planning to but I wanted to see you more.”

A soft laugh escapes from your lips: “Is that so?” And he only hums as an answer, leaning forward to snake his arms around your waist and pull you closer to him before he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder. And you swear you hear him whisper the words, “I love you.”

Most likely has a nighttime skincare routine which he does with you (there’s no way his skin is that flawless and fair for no reason like you’re telling me that’s genetics???). He’ll be coming out of the bathroom with a clay mask or sheet mask on his face and he can’t speak because he doesn’t want to mess up the placement of the product and he’ll help you in putting yours on. The both of you on the bed with your robes on, hair either pushed back or tied, and there’s a pair of cucumber slices on your eyes along with a mask on your face.

He has trouble sleeping and it takes a lot for him to fall asleep—he’ll tire himself out, going on late night runs, exercise, drinking anything that could help him feel sleepy, anything. He’ll often spend his time tossing and turning while in bed and perhaps even counting sheep in his mind but somehow, just listening to your voice or the sound of your breathing makes it all easy for him. He’ll listen to you talk and tell stories and he’ll feel his eyes getting heavier in each second, as a warm and soft feeling envelops him like a blanket, and your voice will turn into a distant lullaby that guides him into slumber.

He wouldn’t even notice that he’s falling asleep in each second but maybe you do, maybe you’ll see the way he relaxes as his eyes threaten to close and his breathing comes steady, and maybe that’s why your voice keeps on getting softer until it turns into humming as you stroke his hair gently. He’ll apologize in the morning, telling you that perhaps he was so tired and he didn’t mean to fall asleep but you’ll assure him that it’s all okay.

Through the mundane things, in the boring days and the exciting ones, in days that you and him argue, in days that it all feels unbearable and suffocating, in every single moment with you, he’ll love you (tear him apart from skin to bones, see him for his heart, and you’ll notice your name carved into it).

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azullumi · 19 days

Text

premise — you know those beach arc in a 12-episode shoujo anime? make it with the ip3o !!

characters — aventurine, topaz, and ratio

tags — established relationship, fluff, not proofread, 0.6k words ; headcanons

note — just something quick which i wrote in the beach yesterday before my phone wanted to become a fish and dived into the ocean !! probably not that accurate to their character but hey i just wanted to have fun

AVENTURINE who will write your name in the sand, only to have it being washed away by the ocean’s wave the moment he shows it to you. The dejected look on his face as he watches his effort being flattened and smoothened into sand will just make you want to kiss him (he’s just so kissable no matter what he does).

AVENTURINE who will stay up all night listening to the waves and watching stars with you. He’ll set up a small tent for the both of you to stay in as you wait for the sun to set and the sky to cast its dark blanket to reveal the stars that are waiting to be seen. It’s such a pretty sight, something that you will forever engrave in your mind, but he’s there spending most of his time looking at you before the stars; he ended up missing the shooting star that passed by.

AVENTURINE who will collect pretty seashells with you. He’ll look out for them while he’s on his own and will choose the ones he thinks you’ll love—seemingly seeking your approval, he’ll show the shell to you with expectation drawn in each breath. He adores the look on your face when you get so excited over something small and simple.

TOPAZ who will build play in the sand and build sandcastles with you, along with Numby who’ll watch by the sidelines like a curious cat to their busy owner. You two, in collaboration, would either end up with the tallest and most majestic sandcastle ever made or the most horrendous piece ever seen by mankind—there’s no in between. Bonus points if it also gets washed away by the wave.

TOPAZ who will drag you anywhere and everything. She will take you to several and various locations whether it be a hidden spot with a nice view which she found while she was out walking (she’ll steal a kiss from you once knowing that there’s nobody around) or to areas that are bustling with activities that the both of you can participate in.

TOPAZ who’s probably the most active person you’ll see at the beach. One minute she’s playing volleyball, the next she’s out making kites fly, then the next you’ll see her, she’s setting up the bonfire for later night or either talking with the locals. Best believe that she’ll spend her evening just by your side, leaning against your form in silence as she tries to recover her energy—which would probably just lead to her falling asleep beside you.

DR. RATIO who will most likely spend his time sunbathing or staying away from the water—he wouldn’t want his book to get wet, would he? Although he brings his book during his baths, the ocean is quite unpredictable compared to the still waters of his bathtub. Sometimes, the tide would come in slow and gentle like a mother’s lullaby but it would be followed by a body-slapping wave that would drag you away from the shore.

DR. RATIO who will wake you up early just for the sunrise because he learned that the view would be a lovely sight—also, because he thinks you might like it. He’ll gently guide you through the sand as you force your eyes open, drowsiness still in your gaze and the way you slowly walk to not stumble in your steps; he’ll hold your hand the whole time and you’ll watch the sunrise with him in silence of the cold morning.

DR. RATIO who will look after you and watch you always. He wouldn’t let the opportunity to say something (scold you or tell you off) pass by, however. Most likely would pull something like, “You’re cold, aren’t you? If so, that’s your own problem.” then would proceed to place a jacket or towel over your shoulder.

#aventurine honkai star rail #topaz honkai star rail #ratio honkai star rail #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai fluff #honkai imagines #honkai #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #hsr topaz #hsr ratio #aventurine x reader #topaz x reader #ratio x reader #azul.writes

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azullumi · 9 months

Text

“something about you” ; genshin men

summary — it hasn’t been that long since the two of you became a couple, first time in simple things occurs and how does he react? ; you call him ‘love’, accidentally or intentionally, for the first time, and he’s absolutely whipped for you.

includes — various genshin men (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, they’re very very inlove with their s/o, also might be ooc bcs in not sure if the others fit in one of the scenario ; scenarios/multiple in one

note — finally i got to write something 1! also another one coming later i just need tk sleep

“love, can you give me that?

“sure.” he’ll answer without a moment’s hesitation, handing you what you need and it is only then that he’ll process what you have said before he could even focus back on what he was doing earlier.

“wait.” he pauses, turning to you with a confused look on his face. he isn’t entirely sure if what he heard was correct or just his mind playing tricks on him but he hopes that he wasn’t dreaming. you hum, eyebrows raised at him and he opened his mouth, “can you say that again?”

“say what again?”

“like what you said.”

you furrow your eyebrows, baffed, “...can you give me that?” there was a slight intonation in your voice indicating your confusion in this matter. while he was out here in front of you with a mind completely jumbled and thoughts roaring in the lack of certainty, you were there standing in front of him with a perplexed expression on your features as you couldn’t understand him.

“no, i mean– before that.”

“before what? you’re confusing me.”

“you know what i’m talking about.”

“no, i don’t!” you immediately object. you don’t know what in the world is he trying to say. you’re just trying to finish some of your tasks and he’s trying to make you repeat what you said which you already did. “i genuinely don’t know what else do you want me to say. it’s not like i said something that–” your words from earlier played quickly inside your head, the first one, to be exact.

“oh.” you falter, “oh.”

he notices the realization trickling through your tone and expression, “yeah… so do you know now?”

“i just did that, didn’t i?” he nodded and you sighed. “and what’s the big deal?”

“it’s a big deal! that was the first time.”

“seriously, love?”

“you did it again!” his eyes sparkled, ears perked up as a smile beaming with joy was plastered on his face. excitement was evident on each and every corner of his being.

“oh, dear…”

“was that meant to be me or…” and you only made a small gesture at him for him to shut his mouth in which he did. although, you couldn’t contain the small curve that tugs on your lips.

“but will you call me that again?”

“no,” and he groans despite recognizing the deceitful timbre in your words.

childe, itto, kaveh, heizhou, kaeya

“okay.”

it was just a single word, a four-letter one but you couldn’t ignore how his tone sounded rather… cheery and though in normal occasions, you wouldn’t mind nor even notice but right now, there was some hint of an unfamiliar feeling on it. it’s like he’s plotting something. then he spoke up once again as he brings you what you were asking for, “here it is, love,” adding an emphasis to the endearment that he just called you.

“thank you?” you failed to hide the bewilderment in your expression as well as your voice but he only smiled at you and replied with the same tone as the look on his face, “you’re welcome, love.”

a brief silence ensued between you two as you nailed your gaze at him, trying to decipher his guise and take a loot at the inside of his mind and he seems to find amusement in your attempt; he doesn’t break his demeanor which infuriates you more.

you grumble and he chuckled, “what’s wrong, my love?”

“you.”

he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head for a bit. “why? what did i do wrong, my dear?”

but realization creeps up to you, albeit in a slow manner as if you were still taking it in and accepting it; it was similar to a snail climbing up your leg, uncomfortable and hateful. “did i just call you…” and he nods with the same smile that he has since earlier, an affirmation to your suspicion.

“i really did?”

“yes, you did, love.” and though it’s just one word, a single-syllable one word, with the way he uses it, it feels like a frying pan being repeatedly hit on your head. oh, so that’s why you were feeling off about his air earlier.

“why? is there a problem, love?”

“stop that.” you already feel embarrassed enough and yet he’s here prodding into it and making it worse by teasing you. he laughs, short and soft, then replies sweetly, “there’s no need to be shy now, is there?” he approaches you, hands swiftly wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him, closing in the distance between you two. you couldn’t speak, not like he was giving you a chance to do so.

“it sounds so pretty coming from your mouth.” so you should call him like that more often.

childe, ayato, kaeya, pantalone, wanderer

he stiffened up, processing what you said and you didn’t fail to notice it especially when you had your hand out and empty for almost half a minute–there was no sign of movement from him either–, expecting for him to place the thing that you’ve been asking for on top of your palm. you turned your head towards him, calling out to his name and snapping him out of it.

“the book, please?”

“oh, right.” he laughs rather awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck before proceeding on doing what you had asked him. finally, he places the book in your hand but he still seems to be in a trance, eyes distracted, and you couldn’t help but to worry.

“are you alright?” concern drips from your voice and he hummed, eyebrows raised as he feigned a look on his face that says he’s fine. “oh, yeah. i am, i totally am. i’m just a little bit distracted.”

but you know him all too well that he wasn’t telling you the truth. you didn’t respond, gaze trained at his face in silence, seeking for a falter in his fake expression and he breaks; he doesn’t like how well you can read him as if he’s an open book–not like he hates it, however. sighing, he spoke up once again, “you just called me ‘love’ for the first time,” and it’s probably an accident, those words died out on his throat.

“i did, yeah but it wasn’t an accident.”

astonishment fills his face, “oh?”

you hum, nodding your head before you speak in a soft voice. “does it…” your voice trails out and you fidget with your fingers, “...bother you?”

“no, no, it doesn’t.” he’s quick to protest, shaking his head in a panic as if he’s afraid that he might have accidentally hurt your feelings. “it doesn’t bother me, it will not. i actually love it.”

“really?”

“really.” he spoke firmly but gently and he placed his hand on top of yours, fingers snaking through yours and perfectly fitting with your own as if it were two puzzle pieces. he whispers, “my beloved.”

honestly, you could call him with a sweet endearment or a horrible one and he’ll still get the butterflies.

thoma, kazuha, diluc, baizhu, kaveh

he hums, quick to finish the request you have asked him and giving you what you needed before returning to what he was doing prior. it makes you wonder if he really heard what you said, choosing to ignore some, or a single word or maybe he did hear it and he just doesn’t care. you tried to give it a try, calling him not by his name but by an endearment, a sweet yet simple one but there was no reaction from him.

unbeknownst to you, however, everything was a complete opposite to your thoughts.

he’s thinking, like not just some thinking but deep thinking, deep, deep thinking as if he’s contemplating a decision that could cause the end of the world if he doesn’t think of it properly when it’s literally just a word, 4 letters and 1 syllable. god, you have him on such a tight hold that you have him losing his rationality over a 2 consonant, 2 vowel term.

“you okay?” he was pulled out of the train of his thoughts and he hums, nodding. “i’m fine. i’m just thinking of something.” of what you said. he distracts himself with something else, continuing the task that he left off earlier and trying to finish it–gods above, he just wants to hear you say it again.

“just call me if you need anything.” you say and he only inclined his head as a response. it was quiet once again, a little bit tense but you could manage, in some sense, it was also comforting and peaceful (honestly, you were doing everything you can to not think of what he’s thinking because he’s been oddly silent and you just couldn't understand him).

however, he’s thinking, still. i mean, aside from confessions and simple ‘i love you’s, it’s the first time he had heard you call him in an endearment and that one at that in a rather casual setting: you have asked him for something, that was it. the way you said it sounded so natural, so smooth, as if you have practiced saying it multiple times–in which, you probably did but he doesn’t know of. he just can't wrap his head around it and he fears that his thoughts are going to come out of his mind at this point, it was loud and muddling the insides of his head.

love.

he repeats it inside his head.

you’re going to be the death of him, at this point.

alhaitham, xiao, zhongli, albedo, cyno, tighnari

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azullumi · 9 months

Text

“everyone adores you, at least i do” ; prince kamisato ayato

summary — it was a political marriage between two people for the sake of peace, it was a sacrifice you were willing to take, a role that you must fulfill, however, ayato seems to have different plans, different feelings ; alternatively, the prince you were politically wedded to is pining over you.

pairing — prince!kamisato ayato w/ fem!reader

tags — fluff, pining, sweet and gentle ayato, not proofread, alternative universe ; headcanon

words — 900+

note — i feel like he’ll be the type to say “where’s my wife?” like those books do

It was a marriage to solidify the relationship between two kingdoms, you were merely a princess sold for the freedom of your land, there was nothing more to it.

So when you first met him for the sake of introduction and familiarity before he became your husband, there was nothing but silence in between you two, only a small conversation that would fall apart before being picked up with a different topic as you walked around with him. But no one is to blame here, you were strangers to each other (maybe) and what you two had during that time wasn’t awkwardness, it was just tranquility.

Although it did go on until the first night of such a significant event, the wedding,—the night of passion, or whatever the servants had told you—as it was nothing but stillness. He told you that it’s best to just sleep instead and so nothing happened. He simply laid there on one side of the bed while you were on the other, trying to get rid of your thoughts: it’s alright, you two were strangers that were practically forced into a couple and to bed together.

But, oh, if only you knew the thoughts that raced inside his head during that night as he laid there beside you, if only you knew how much he yearns for you, how much he wants to touch you. He wants you but he could not act on his desires as he was too afraid, afraid that he might scare you, that he might accidentally hurt you in the process. Ayato is a brave and confident person but in front of you, he was nothing, stripped of his title as a noble prince, he was nothing but a man who fell in love with a princess from what once was their rival kingdom.

“Your highness, why—“

“Ayato,” he corrects you with a small smile on his face, there was no malice or sign of annoyance in his tone, just gentleness and warmth, “We’re already husband and wife, we have no need for such formalities. Unless you're still not comfortable or used to it, do not fret, I am not pressuring you.”

He was letting you go at your own pace, to tread on the path that is comfortable for you without anyone ever pressuring you, you can take your time—it was hard to trust and find comfort in a place full of strangers. especially more so when it’s a place that your kingdom once considered as the enemy—, he’s not rushing you, nobody is, and if ever there is someone doing so, he’ll get rid of them. All he wants is for you to feel safe and warm, that you’ll soon grow to trust him; he only wishes that his touch will soon become your peace and this place will soon become your home.

Until you are ready, until you are willing to accept him, he’s not going to make a move on you but he will be there by your side—just like how he sleeps beside you and will be willing to comfort if ever you were to wake up from a nightmare or have a hard time falling asleep—, until then, he’ll settle on a distance.

And though you might think he might have gone crazy—just like what some of the people in the palace have murmured to each other about him—but maybe he actually has, he wakes up and he immediately thinks of you, the corners of his mind and the edges of his thoughts simply form into you, ever since you came into his life, it was all just you—as if he never existed for his own, as if his soul was meant to spell out the letters of your name. He built a garden made out of your favorite flowers, a library filled with books you love to read, servants and maids that swore their loyalty to you, and everything. He professed his love by providing you with such things even if you were to never realize his feelings.

He likes waking up first before you do, loves being able to see and admire the lines etched and carved on your skin, to see and intertwine himself the rhythm of your breath, and watch the way you tangle yourself in the sheets—and he wishes it was all him, the honeyed light passing through the window spilling on you and casting a soft ethereal glow on the bane of your existence. He likes taking walks with you when he needs a break from all his work, likes eating or resting with you, and especially likes going past the walls of the palace to head to the bustling streets and the busy market together with you, pretending that you were simply just people; the scolding you’ll get with him when you two return after escaping is worth it.

He looks at you, in your sleep, in your waking hours, in his dreams, and he loves you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you, and it terrifies him how much he would do for you, what he would do for you. You can say anything and he will not abandon you, no matter what you think, no matter what the words that will come out of your mouth, he’ll love you just the same and perhaps more.

“Because I love you in ways more than one.” He kneels in front of you, eyes with longing and affection in it looking up to you, his gaze warm as well as the smile on his face. He brought your hand that he took hold with his own to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles, he holds you as if you’re the most fragile thing in the universe. Darling, dearest, beloved, he was yours as well as that you were his.

How is it that he holds such feelings for you so much so that it’s spilling into his hands? A complicated question for some but for him, it was easy to answer: it’s simply because you’re loveable. You’re not hard to cherish, to love, you’re simply human in a way that should be treated as one, not because you’re a princess and his wife. He loves you as if he’s meant to do so.

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