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writing-in-glitter-pen · 4 months

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ what I know to be true ⋆｡˚ ೀ⋆｡˚ ༘

Childe wasn't a big fan of the Tsaritsa's demand for him to find a wife, until he'd come upon the perfect girl for the job. You—a lady he knew in his childhood to be a horrible nuisance and demon on Earth. Not only would this marriage fulfill his duty, but would let him settle a long-time grudge as well. Little did he know, he stood more to gain from this partnership than he thought.

Childe x fem!reader II arranged marriage, angst? to fluff, childhood enemies to lovers, romance!

Childe was never one for romance, and especially not for commitment.

He just had so much else on his plate, much bigger dreams than that of settling down in a household and abandoning his place on the battlefield.

He was always looking ahead to a future of bloodshed, of power, of someday ruling the world.

That wasn't going to happen if a distraction stood in his way.

He would sometimes muse about having kids, loving the idea of continuing his lineage and watching a bunch of mini-me's run around, but ultimately, he decided his duty to the Tsaritsa would stand in the way of him being a good father. So he'd just have to settle for being an amazing uncle to the children his siblings would eventually have, spoiling them with presents at Christmas time and teaching them how to protect themselves out in the wild.

So when he was called into the Tsaritsa's throne room and received the news that a harbinger of his status was to be married, in order to keep up with regal airs the nobles of Snezhanaya, he was, respectfully, very unhappy.

"You'll be seen at balls and lead battalions. Your role must be carried with honor. Nobody will respect an old lonely man.", she claimed, then drew out a long, thin arm to hold his chin with a bony hand—long pointed nails pressing divots into his skin. Though her touch was frigid, she looked down at him with a certain fondness in her eyes, though the sincerity of it was undistinguishable. "You need a pretty thing by your side to elevate your status. You know I only want what's best for you.", she cooed, like she was addressing a child.

He new better than to disobey her commands, and something about the smoothness of her voice assured him that this was the right choice. He only nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides in dismay.

Childe read over the listed names of eligible young ladies for him to marry with contempt; scrolling through the meaningless last names and accompanying statures, ordered from top to bottom by how highly they stood in the totem pole of nobility. Like he cared where the girl would come from.

He felt guilt for the miserable thing that would have to marry him; though he could care less about who these women were, he believed that they deserved a partner that loved them, or at least a good man that could stand to take care of them. All they would be to him is a nuisance, a label which they had done nothing to earn.

Though, when he neared the end of the list, a section devoted to common folk who had certain merits like striking beauty or some sort of fame, that he found a name he recognized.

Your name.

Oh, how he remembered you.

You were the daughter of good friends of his parents. Your families would often gather for holidays or dinner parties, sharing what little they had in the name of kinship. The gatherings were lively, full of happiness and cheer...

But you had a certain countenance that stood out to him and branded your name into a special part of his brain to be remembered for the rest of his life.

You were a little brat was what you were.

Though you were only a toddler when he met you, having only just taken your first steps while he was already halfway through being eight, he found you to be the most insufferable little human he'd ever met.

Your parents would always gab and brag about what a good little girl you were; how you never cried or screamed, how you were sweet and patient and loving—a wonderful surprise for parents preparing for the "terrible two's.".

They had to be lying, because every time Ajax would come into view you'd immediately throw a fit, wailing and swiping at his face with a kind of rage an entire army of men could not match.

He had no idea why; he never touched you, or spoke to you, all he did upon your first meeting was draw back in repulse.

You weren't a pleasure to look at; with your beady little eyes and thick eyelashes that lined them, your thin eyebrows and piercing gaze. You looked like some haunted porcelain doll. And there was a certain consciousness behind your eyes that children your age were not supposed to have.

His little siblings were much cuter.

And he did not hesitate to say that.

"Tonia was a prettier baby. What's wrong with her?", he piped up, humiliating his mother and father who immediately scolded him for his rudeness. Your mother only laughed.

"Trust me, she'll be a beauty when she grows up. I won't be surprised when you come around here in sixteen years asking to marry her."

This started a little musing session between your mothers, giggling about the possibility of their children being wed and how wonderful that would be for their friendship and their families.

Meanwhile, Ajax was dwelling on how that would absolutely never happen—if the look on your face was any indicator.

You were red as a tomato, nose scrunched in distain as your eyes pierced his. Like you'd understood him.

How was he supposed to know babies could take offense?

Whether or not your infant brain could comprehend his words, your hatred was clear, and before he could react, your soft little hand went flying towards his face and landed with a resounding THWAP!

Even though you struck him, you immediately burst into tears, bawling crocodile tears that ran down your face and dripped off of your chin.

All of the adults in the room immediately ran to your aid, hushing and petting you while scorning Ajax for "tormenting the poor girl."

Never before had he felt so cheated.

That begun his feud with a two year old.

Your detest for one another ran deep. So much so that every gathering between your families ended in you receiving plenty of sneaky pinches to your fat baby skin and him risking a bald spot with the amount of hair you'd rip out of his head.

It was a nightmare you could walk too, since you'd often seek him out just to babble in annoyance and tug at the knee of his trousers.

"See? Look at how much she likes you!", his mother would coo, but he knew better. Your grappling with his pants was your pea-brained strategy to get him to bend down and remove you so you could bop him one on the nose.

He swore you were such a strong baby. He'd rather take a hit from a club than suffer the force that your tiny fists could bring down on his head.

That's why you were the perfect girl to be his wife

If he were to marry any other woman, the guilt of leaving her alone at home for long stretches of time, depriving her of having the good husband she deserves rather than a man who could never love her, would be overwhelming.

Sure, he was a monster, but he wasn't about to let some innocent bystander be collateral damage.

But you? The evil, horrible little wench you are? You more than deserved it.

In his mind, he'd actually be doing his fellow man a favor by saving an unsuspecting bachelor from accidentally marrying a grisly thing like you.

So, although his retainers were already in the process of scheduling meetings with his potential brides, he plucked your name from the list without hesitation.

"Set the wedding date. I'll have that one."

The organizers looked between themselves warily, deciding whether or not they should challenge him on this monumental decision.

"And nothing too grand—it'll just be family.", he cooly added, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet upon his desk and crushing the list of names under his dirty boots.

In the end, the harbinger always gets what he wants, so his retainers retreated with quiet nods and quick steps.

Though Childe acted aloof towards the decision to have you as his bride, when the day of the wedding actually arrived and he found himself standing at the altar of a small church in Mosepok—his home town, his palms were sweating and eyes darting around nervously. He shifted his weight on his feet as the congregation waited for you to enter; this was supposed to be a small ceremony, but leave it to his mother and father's proud announcements to their friends and neighbors to draw a crowd. As his eyes scanned the faces of those who'd known him in his youth, he realized near all of the small port town was packed into the pews. He wracked his brain for the answer as to why these people would want to watch their old town troublemaker's union, but he supposed it would be the most interesting thing to happen in the town since his era of delinquency.

It was a miracle that the budget the Fatui gave Childe for this wedding greatly superseded the amount he'd needed for the original plan of a small gathering; it was more than enough to feed the whole town for a night, which actually brought a flicker of joy to Childe's chest.

He was pleased that he could give back to the community that handled him like a family in his childhood.

But that flicker was immediately quenched when the creaking sound of the heavy oak doors that led into the chapel reverberated through the room—revealing the silhouette cast in white of his bride.

His stomach turned with anxiety. Childe had led battalions into what could be considered suicide missions if not for their miraculous victorious outcome, and yet, somehow, the fear he felt standing in front of a girl that, though she may not be small by definition, definitely looked so standing next to him, significantly surpassed that of which he's ever felt.

His cold body shook like he stood inches from death.

Suddenly, he remembered the fury your little body had when you were only a baby, and it dawned on him that you've only gotten bigger, smarter, stronger. A little arbiter of the apocalypse couldn't have grown into the meek woman he imagined, if anything, her bloodlust grew with age.

What did he get himself into? Was he an idiot? Did he, blinded by his scheming for revenge, land himself in a lion's den?

With a light tap on the shoulder from the priest, he jolted out of his stupor and found you standing in front of him already, suddenly remembering that he was now to lift your veil.

His hands shook as he reached out, bracing himself for the hideous face he'd been forced to associate with at every friendly gathering between your parents in childhood, and now, due to his own brashness, would have to associate with every time he returned home or attended public events.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he took the fabric between his white-knuckled fingers and threw the thing up and over your head. The procession hummed with awe and approval—some more boisterous men from the docks whistling, to which their wives jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

The sounds of adoration resounding from the audience perplexed Childe, drawing his interest and encouraging him to open one wary eye and peek at you.

But his cautious peek grew into an owlish gawking and dropped jaw when the woman before him shined like an angel.

This couldn't have been the girl he knew in her infancy; her once-beady eyes now twinkled like stars, her red puffy face was now sculpted and the only remnants of her discoloration resided in dusted pink pigments on her cheeks. They were so perfectly placed that they could be mistaken for a painting by an artist with a keen eye. He pried his gaze from your enrapturing eyes to ogle your lips—plushy and inviting. He'd give anything to kiss a gorgeous woman like you.

And he remembered with an unexpected delight that he would by the end of this ceremony.

Before he knew it, the soft ring of your voice settled upon his ears. Having been caught in a trance, he hadn't realized the procession already arrived at your vows.

He only tuned in after the opening sentences of your declaration had passed, your words blurred by his reverie.

"I promise to wait for you when you go and embrace you when you return; to make a warm, solace of a home for you that you can always come back to, whether there be a roof over our heads or not. I promise to follow you through this life and meet you in the next, to be by your side when you need me, no matter how far apart we may be forced to exist. I promise to love you and only you, to be true as long as your ring encloses my finger, and promise to keep it there forever. I will take your family into my arms just as you will me, care for them—as they are an extension of you, to love them just as I do you. I'll hold you ever close to my heart, speak to you with nothing but kindness, recognize your face as that of my partner in life, my one and only, and..."

Childe jumped when he felt your warm hand sneak up on his and gingerly intertwine your fingers, to which he did not resist, nor want to.

"I promise to love you as you are; no matter how much the years we spend together may change us."

To his puzzlement, Childe felt a certain wetness roll down his cheek, causing him to look up at the skylight above the both of you to check if it was raining. When another droplet ran down the other side of his face, he realized he was crying.

Childe never cried, he couldn't even remember the last time it had happened; maybe it was sometime when he was a boy, but the memory simply did not exist. These were not tears shed in misery, they were spurred by your words of devotion, words he'd never been blessed with before. He truly wondered now if you may be divine, but all he beheld of you told him you were, in fact, human, and not a vision of absolution sent from the heavens above.

You tilted your head to the side and blinked your dollish eyelashes at him, obviously waiting for something, to which he remembered that is was now his turn.

He had neglected to write vows beforehand or memorize the traditional vows spoken by couples bound by marriage as an arrangement. He had, in fact, planned on skipping the process altogether, but your profession of love caught him off guard and incentivized him to speak his own.

So, with a blank mind, he resorted to letting the few truths he knew spill from his mouth.

"I'd only known you during our childhoods, but how you've blossomed and changed has..."

He had never been one for words, so making something up on the spot in front of quite literally a hundred people was daunting. His voice seized with trepidation, but he took a breath and moved forward.

"Has...left me speechless. My mind is empty, and all I can think of now is...that I am blessed."

He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, struck by your endearing gaze on him—it made his voice quiver as it resounded from his chest.

"I'd assumed I knew you, but it's clear to me now that I have so much more to learn."

He unconsciously squeezed your hand for comfort, and, with a gentle smile on your face, you reassuringly squeezed back; making him sigh and yearn to feel more of you—imagining that you felt like warm cotton, soft and homey, something he could bury himself in and happily stay there for eternity.

"And I want to learn it. I...want to spend my whole life in awe of you, discovering as much as I can, knowing you like I know myself."

He could not hesitate before he blurted his next statement, his voice getting carried away from him and spilling his most personal beliefs.

"And loving you as you love me."

Your cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, and your eyes glimmered as your perfect lips stretched into an even more enticing smile. He could hear your soft, happy sigh, a sound that not even the priest beside the two of you could catch, almost like a secret meant just for him.

Your sweetness enthralled him like nothing he'd ever experienced— slowly convincing him that you very well may be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"I'll take care of you.", he promised, and meant it. "I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. Despite what you promised before, I will always put a roof over your head. You'll be forever warm and safe. I will fight for you, die for you, do anything you ask. You will want for nothing as long as you're mine."

His vow had come upon its conclusion with one final promise he all but growled, like it was somehow in danger of being broken—that he would go to any length to protect.

"And you will forever be mine."

His pause at the end indicated to the priest that the his vow had ended, and the way your lips parted in wonder and your wide eyes remained locked on his made him want to lean in and kiss you like every inch of his body burned to do. But he had to, begrudgingly, wait; hoping the ceremony would end as soon as possible so he could finally have you to himself and ask you all the questions he was dying for the answers to.

Did you really mean what you said? He sure did, and he didn't even know he had the capacity to not only promise, but want, desperately so, the fulfill the oaths he had declared to you.

Soon enough, the priest announced it was now time for the bestowing of the rings—a symbol of the bond you will share for eternity.

As the ring bearer, Childe's dear brother, Teucer, brought the rings resting on a white silk pillow over to the altar and held it over his head while he balanced on his tippy toes so the two of you could reach the rings with ease. Childe immediately felt awash in shame. All he'd purchased for you was a simple silver band—no precious gems, no original detailing, just a band. He didn't expect to want to take pride in the symbol of his loyalty you'd wear for him on your finger. He'd get you a new one, a better one—one he could admire as he kissed your hand, held it with adoration and smoothed his fingers over it.

But although the ring fell below expectations, there was no disappointment on your face. You barely glanced at it, your eyes trained on his face with a fondness he'd never received before. Your gaze had his heart spilling over with exaltation.

You took his hand in yours and slipped the perfectly fitted ring around his finger, giving it a small squeeze when you were done—as if to brand your affection deep into his hand.

He returned the gesture, taking your other hand in his and, carefully, securing the ring around your finger as well; he breathed a sigh of relief and felt a weight he hadn't known was resting on his shoulders alleviate. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to leap out in a desperate attempt to be ever closer to yours.

The priest spoke, but his voice was drowned out by Childe's inner voice, wailing for you.

All he could register was the sound of your silver bell-like voice, piercing through the fog in his head like a star's light in the void of the night sky above.

"I do.", you said.

He couldn't tell if he'd rushed ahead of the priest's announcement of his turn or not, but he followed your statement blindly.

"I do.", he whispered ardently, brushing the backs of those precious hands of yours softly with his thumbs.

After the final blurb recited by the priest, a sentiment he couldn't bring himself to listen to in his anticipation, he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Without a moment of delay, he brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks, a look of ache in his face as it felt like you had reached an invisible hand into his chest and gripped his heart, and kissed you.

Fervently, passionately kissed you.

It took your breath away, left you panting when he finally pulled away after remembering he was, in fact, in front of his parents and broader community.

But cheers sang from the crowd for your union as he led you back down the steps of the altar and out of the church, eyes trained on your feet with your hand secured in his—watching carefully as you descended to make sure you wouldn't fall. He treated you as if you were sculpted from crystal glass.

After the two of you crossed the threshold out of the church as one, Childe gently tugged your hand to draw you closer so that he could whisper in your ear.

"Could we take a walk in the garden?"

While the guests made their way to the reception hall for their lavish dinner, you and Childe strolled through the church's garden together, hands still intertwined as the two of you gazed at the various winter shrubs and evergreen trees sprinkled with snow. It was beautiful in its own kind of way; the way life persevered through otherwise uninhabitable conditions, how even the bear oak trees existed as intricate silhouettes against the grey sky—providing cover as the sun sank down and gave way to a grim dusk, it was wonderful, and in this moment, it was yours to share.

The two of you came to a halt at a marble bench next to a large, frozen fountain, adorned with swirling details and moulding from an older, more fanciful era. He swiped off the snow that had built on top of the bench, then removed his large, fur-lined cloak to rest on the surface. He led you down to sit on it, having fashioned a dry, warm seat for you as he stood.

"Won't you be cold?"

"I'll be fine.", he assured you. He'd grown used to the frigid air of his home country, having entered various conflicts with nothing but thin linen to cover him for the sake of his movements not being burdened by thick, heavy fabric.

"Thank you.", you spoke, softly, and the words warmed his chest more than any coat could.

He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you. He just couldn't believe you were real, and couldn't believe you were his at so little a cost—he'd done nothing but bellyache and pluck your name off of a paper, and somehow the situation ended up being the best decision of his life. He'd found someone that claimed to truly, deeply love him by sheer chance.

And that thought brought him to the question that had been weighing on his mind since your vows.

"Did you really mean what you said?", he asked, quietly, hesitantly. After the words left his mouth, he wished he'd never said them. He didn't want to know the answer; if he could live in a fantasy where a miracle like you truly adored him, he'd seize the opportunity and hold it close to his heart for the rest of his life. He felt like such a fool.

"Of course I did.", you chuckled, like the question was ridiculous.

"I thought you hated me.", he confessed, his curiosity for your change of heart getting the best of him when he knew better than to ask too many questions. You only quirked your head and blinked at him, indicating that he needed to clarify. "When we were younger, you acted like you wanted my head on a stick."

To that admission, you laughed heartily. It was a lovely sound, one his mind would no doubt play on repeat in his darkest of times, sending sparks to his heart that would keep him moving forward—back to you so he could hear it again and again. "I was a toddler, dear. I didn't understand my feelings! And you were pretty nasty to me, too.", you said with a playful, pointed look.

The term of endearment made his heart bubble, craving to hear you say it again, but his mind was desperate for more answers. "But...how did you...", he coughed awkwardly, "fall for me?".

His carefully spoken question only made you giggle once again, but you could understand his confusion.

"Oh, Ajax. You were the most entertaining person I've ever met. I know we fought, but I remembered your presence in my life so fondly. And I'd look at pictures of us from our old gatherings, where our parents would force you to hold me on your lap and smile, or take candid shots of us chasing each other around, and I'd wish for you to come back so we could fight again.", you laughed at the memory. "I thought of you all the time, you know. And, as I grew older and life passed by, I'd keep looking back on those photos and...", your cheeks turned even redder than the chilly air had already done, flushing your cheeks and nose. After this conversation, Childe would make sure to rush you inside so you could warm up by a hearth. "Well, my heart would beat for you. And I wished you would come back for different reasons...so I could see you again and fall in love with the man you've become."

Childe gulped in shame. He knew the man he'd become was...cruel. Wicked. He'd never thought so little of himself than when he stood before you, your glorious, pure eyes assessing him like Celestia would upon the day of his death.

But how you looked on at him was not in judgement, but affection. "And when I met you at the altar, I did. I truly did."

He was so swayed by your words, so caught up in your devotion, that though he knew he was undeserving, he leaned down and connected your lips with his once again; his large hands warmed you where they caressed your cheek and the side of your neck, his lips thawing your frozen ones. The flavor of you was intoxicating, but as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, your icy skin pushed him to get you inside immediately.

So he drew back, drawing the most angelic whine of protest from your lips. It made him grin in pride.

"Let's warm you up, huh?"

Though you wanted to stay in the privacy of this isolated garden, continue to live in this moment that only existed for the two of you, you couldn't deny how you shivered and your stomach growled. It was time for your reception, and you couldn't keep your guests waiting.

So you, albeit reluctantly, let Ajax pull you up into his arms and throw his cloak around the both of you before taking you back to the church where he married you, now entering sharing one heart, one life, one love. Forever.

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mooishbeam · 8 months

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『♡』 Losing Game

♡ featuring: ajax x f!reader

♡ summary: simmering feelings boil over as you're confronted by the man you hate the most; tartaglia, your boss. wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: afab, degradation, humiliation, creampie, squirting, light choking, sadism, throat-fucking, cum play, fingering, overstimulation, brat taming, mind break, pet names (doll, baby)

notes: hiii, the positive response from the last one motivated me to get this done just in time for Fontaine. kinda long this time so sorry abt that. ajax my beloved <3 art by sonomi_rap5 on twitter comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Working for the fatui wasn’t easy in the slightest, especially when you aren’t on harbinger status. You were sent on long, grueling tasks only to be met with loose interpretations of gratitude and sometimes silence from the higher-ups, in which most wouldn’t even glance in your direction. Pleasant beginnings became a sour afterthought, and your perception of the fatui changed drastically. Your grievances, however, weren’t helped by your quick-witted snappy attitude and competitiveness; Presumably why you ended up under the division of Tartaglia. You assumed a binding contract from the capricious redhead wouldn’t mean much, but that was quickly proven false.

You'd rather climb every mountain in Snezhnaya than spend a minute talking to that airhead. He was instructed to keep a watchful eye on you during missions despite the competence you demonstrated. It was insulting. Anything he did you could do better. It’d been proven multiple times from the petty challenges you created. How much water you could drink, how long you can stay up. You won every time. How could you not hate him? His feigned ignorance and careless flirtations were enough to drive you mad. “Please, call me Ajax” he’d say, winking. The simpering smile he gave you after every comeback shot daggers in your pride. What made you particularly furious was the incessant drum of your heart whenever he was near you. The warm autumn morning that was his hair. The cool still waves his eyes sent to your core. You couldn’t fall for him, or else he’d have one up on you. You had to be stronger than that. You quelled your stress in a tattered journal gifted years ago.

“Hey, comrade!” His bubbly tone makes knots in your stomach, and you choose to stay silent. You’re hoping this mission will go without a hitch, as long as he doesn’t get in your way. Ajax lets out a teasing whistle.

“Yeesh, tough crowd.” As you’re collecting the items needed for the deal, he rocks back and forth on his heels directly in front of you, absent-mindedly watching.

You whip your head to face him, “You can’t see I’m doing something right now?”

“Oh, I see what you’re doing. But this isn’t entertaining.”

“Unlike you, your majesty, I have no choice but to be perfect. I apologize if that’s not exciting enough for you.” You retort with sarcastic curtsy.

“Haha! You’re always a pleasure to be around, (Y/N). My faithful, kind-hearted companion.” he said with a taunting wink. You're beyond flustered, haphazardly stuffing the remains in your bag and lugging it over your shoulder.

“Let's go.” You say lazily. He follows closely, arms crossed behind his head. “Calling me like a dog, how romantic.”

“If you don’t want to be called like a dog stop acting like one.”

“You could at least give me a treat if I'm gonna be your dog.” He looks at you, making his best impression of puppy-eyes. You bite back a few choice words, and glare at him instead. He isn’t fazed by this and flashes a beguiling smile that makes your ears warm. Glancing at the weight you’re shouldering, he comments, “You sure you don’t need any help with that?”

“No. The last person I need help from is you.”

You and Ajax regroup in an alleyway deep in Fontaine’s bustling city. You are assigned to retrieve a rare gem for one of Pantalone’s elaborate schemes, and you quickly prepare yourself for this interaction. Ajax studies you, leaning against one of the walls.

“Can’t you be a little nicer to your superior? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be in a lot of trouble half the time. You’re welcome.” You scoff. “I don’t know why you’re here in the first place, I have no problem doing this on my own.”

“I’m sure. Don’t mind me, Ms. Independent.” A sly smirk crawled up his face. “Fucking asshole” you mumble under your breath. “I didn’t catch that. Can you repeat it?”

“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” After a few moments of silence, Ajax grips his chest in feigned agony. “Ouch. I’m gutted!”

Just as you're about to leave, he snatches your wrist, now only mere inches away from your face. His hand gently brushes away the strays of hair on your forehead. “There you go, doll. Gotta be perfect for your debut.” A whirlwind of emotions strangles your ability to think clearly, you pull your wrist away and start speed walking, attempting to gather yourself before you get to the jewelry store.

You enter the empty store and are immediately confronted by the jeweler.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Do you have an appointment?” You proclaim your business and appointment under a fake identity, posturing yourself as wealthy. “May I see identification please.” Of course, you say. As you’re looking through your purse you notice something: there’s no identification here. Surely you weren’t that negligent over something so simple. You rummaged through the other compartments, trying to stay calm in front of an increasingly concerned jeweler. But it’s not there. How is this possible. Your nerves are heightened and the anxiety of failing the mission starts to creep in. “I made an appointment with Lottie; she’ll be able to provide reference. I believe I left my passport at home.” The jeweler seems slightly disappointed. “Unfortunately, ma’am, I am not allowed to present any gems without identification.” Your heart beats faster. “Well, sir, I’m very busy and I’m afraid this is my only chance to close on this item. You wouldn’t want to push away a well-paying customer.”

“I have no choice in the matter. If you have no proof of identification, I must ask you to leave.” Should I take it by force? You thought, thinking about the next possible option. As you’re about to handle the rest physically, the door swings open. Ajax comes up to you, placing his arm around your waist.

“My love, were you able to get the gem we were discussing?” You’re annoyed, but you improvise and look at him as if he’s the love of your life. “Not yet, dear.” Suddenly, he places a plush kiss on your lips. You’re stunned and speechless, filled with anger and wanting.

The jeweler interjects. “And are you the husband? Would you happen to have any identification.”

“Yes, sir.” Ajax pulls out a passport and fake birth certificate unbeknownst to you and begins to close the deal. The rest of the meeting you sit speechless.

“Thank you for your patronage.” are the last words you hear as you leave the store, Ajax guiding you with his hand. You’re silent the whole way back to your room.

You turn your bag upside down and begin looking for the mismatched documents. All while Ajax stares at you expectingly. You ignore his presence.

“So... how about a ‘you’re welcome?’”

“For what.”

He lets out a mocking laugh. “For what? I don’t know, maybe saving your ass back there? You froze, and you were unprepared, Ms. Independent.”

“I wouldn’t have forgotten it if it wasn’t for the obnoxious bullshit you did this morning.”

“That’s dishonest, I wasn’t even talking!” he pretends to be hurt. “Admit that you need me.”

“Fuck off.”

“No.” His light-hearted inflection vexes you and makes it hard for you to focus as you read through the mountains of pages in your folder.

While your head is down, Ajax comes across the tattered notebook just peeking out from under the bed. Storing the months—no years—of feelings you had regarding the fatui. Regarding him. Some time passes and you finally raise your head, met with the horrifying reveal of him skimming through the journal, mischief coating the deep void in his eyes. You spring up and reach for the book but he’s faster, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head.

“This is really good stuff... really good.” You shout profanities over and over, anything to get his attention away from the book. But he continues to read as if you’re not there. When he’s done reading, he lets you go, and you instantly try to swing at him. Before you can land a hit, he grabs you by the throat and stares into your soul, almost as if he’s trying to swallow your being.

“You’ve been acting like a little fucking brat all over a crush? Not very big girl of you.”

“I know you think you’re beyond charming, but I promise you don’t have that effect on me.”

“Really? Let’s play a game then.” He knew you’d accept just to beat him at anything.

“If you don’t cum by the end of this journal, I’ll apologize for everything. I’ll do whatever you want. But if I win-” he steps closer to you, “You have to do everything I say.”

You almost burst out laughing. Such an easy challenge, how hard could it be?

You're panting, trying your hardest to focus on the words that seemed to melt off the page. Your back lays comfortably against his chest, with his legs keeping yours spread.

“Next page, baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” Your words are lenient and breathy. Your underwear is still on, but Ajax’s fingers are covered in your slick, playing with the erect nub just enough to make you fuzzy. “You look like you’re tapping out.”

“This? This is nothing” You respond meekly, continuing the reading.

“I can’t help but have fe-elings for himph.”

“There’s some nice things about me in here, why aren’t you always like this?” He says, circling and dipping into your gushy folds, smearing the glossy mess all over your vulva. You try so hard to read the letters, squirming from his touch. The sensation pulsing from your clit to your brain made you incoherent; the more you move, the more he moves. The contents of the journal are humiliating, detailing your romantic and sexual attraction towards Ajax, and your attempts to stifle these feelings. He was getting a kick out of seeing your flustered face stammer over his appearance. He plays with the precum glazing his fingers, widening them to watch the trail it left. Only two more pages left.

“I-I-” You couldn’t get through the first sentence on the last page. Your thighs are trembling, and your pussy began to twitch. “Uh, s-shit. Ajax, wai-.” He trails his fingers over your clit spelling his name, then pushes two inside, fighting back an amused grin. “You’re almost done” Teasing in your ear. You bite back the moans threatening to escape; at the very least you couldn’t give him that satisfaction. He watches you fall apart, shaking more aggressively before your body gives in and you cum on his fingers.

“Uh oh, that’s unfortunate.” You try your best to catch your breath, but he rides out your orgasm, making you subconsciously grind yourself into his palm. Then you’re struck with the reality of losing. He licks his fingers clean, eyes rolling back from the taste. “So fucking good, does being a bitch make you taste better?” You were too embarrassed from the loss to retort. “You won.”

“I did.” He lifts you off the bed and onto the floor, your legs still recovering. He hikes your shirt up, trailing kisses up your stomach until he gets to your nipples. He flicks and sucks one while kneading the other one, occasionally biting the slightly bruising flesh. “Not gonna moan for me, huh baby?”

“Not in the slightest.” You rasped. He smiles and blows cool air on your tits, sending a rippling feeling down your back. “That’s okay, you’ll give in.”

Ajax unbuttons his pants, and they drop in front of you. Unsheathing his thick throbbing length, drooling with desire. His balls are full and heavy, and as you look up at him his eyes are clouded with lust. The pretty freckles that dotted his arms and chest are much more visible now, and so are his battle scars. He breathed in deep, "take care of this for me, yeah?” You wanted to say no and say fuck this; but there was another side that wanted him desperately, that needed this.

You force your jaw open to accommodate his size and push yourself halfway on his girth, feeling his cockhead hit the back of your throat. Once you feel like you got it in, you slobber all over his cock, dampening his balls and begin to bob your head. You stroke with one hand and massage his sack with the other, leading to a breathy whimper from him. “Ah fuck, feels good. Suck it slow, slut.” You begin to move faster while cupping his balls, obscene noises leaving your sopping mouth. You have tears running down your sweating face trying to keep up with the vigorous movement of your tongue. You feel him throb a few times, his moans and grunting getting progressively louder.

“Need more” is all he says, putting one of his legs on the bed and grabbing both sides of your head. Before you can register what’s happening. Ajax pushes your head onto his cock until your nose reaches his pubes. He lets out a breathy sigh and starts throat fucking you with an animalistic grip. The gagging and spit noises echo off the walls, along with his continuous whimpering. You wanted to hate him, but your blood was buzzing, and your panties were drenched. “Shut up and take it” followed by broken fuck’s and yes’s. He threw his head back, hair slicked and torso gleaming with sweat, “look at me.” You reluctantly look up, addicted to his passionate expression. “I want you looking at me when I cum.” You grip his thighs, and he twitches a few times before spurting white, thick cum down your throat. He pulls out slightly to drag his semen over your lips and then taps it on your face, holding you in place.

“What are you doing? Clean me up.” he husked. You clean him up without complaint and lick your lips, forced to maintain eye contact with him the entire way.

In one swoop, Ajax picks you up and throws you on the bed, eager to get your underwear off. “You proved your point, stop being an ass" you slurred out. The room was intoxicating, all you could smell and feel was him. He takes your panties off, spreading your pussy to watch the slippery puddle dribble down your thighs. He shoves your panties in your mouth, “Fucking liar, I know you like it. Can’t taste how wet you are?” He aligns himself with your aching hole, keeping your arch steady with you bent over. Shoving his cock in, moaning from the feeling of your body perfectly molding for him. Ajax starts moving at a rapid pace quickly, his big slender hands tightly gripping your ass. The sound of wet sticky skin slapping together and the squelching from your core made you shudder. It was all too much; you have been teetering on an orgasm since you went down on him, and the way his balls thump your clit make you quiver.

“Whiny brat. Just needed to be fucked good to shut up, yeah?” he groaned through his words. Tears were coming down your eyes now, you can’t tell if he’s edging you by accident or on purpose. But right now, you’d do anything. He turns your head to face him, gazing at your tear-stricken face. “Aww, you cryin’ for me?” He stops to kiss and lick your tears, delighted by your tenderness. Taking the panties out your mouth, he brings your body flush with his and continues to pump inside with you looking at him.

“So sweet all of a sudden, where’d that attitude go?” The morals you had for moaning went missing and mewls and soft whimpers began to leave you. “Let it out, baby.” You’re suddenly babbling please’s begging for him to let you have it. “Pathetic, can’t even get off on your own. You need me that bad?” You nod repeatedly, dangerously close to your release. He had a dark look in his eyes and a sinful smirk. “Yeah? Okay, you’ve been so good.” He reaches down and starts to rub your clit ceaselessly, kissing your cheek. Your whimpers become loud shaky moans and he finally lets you have it, shockwaves going through your body as you’re dissolved into pleasure. You pulsate through the explosion, jello-brain and boneless as your cum leaks down his thighs. Just as he pulls out and flips you over. You’re dizzy and drunk off him, legs shaking indefinitely from the intensity. Then he puts it back in. “You can take one more, yeah baby?” Your overstimulated and violent shaking wasn’t enough for him to stop. He wanted you ruined. He keeps going, grabbing your face to kiss you deeply, tongues intertwining with each other. He feeds you deep strokes, tip prodding your spot every time and watching as your tits bounce. You throw your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. You have no thoughts, only his name rings in your head. You can feel the coil inside you winding up, pleasure beyond the searing pain of your swollen pussy. He looks down at you and smiles.

“Look at me." You can’t hear anything at this point, not even the sound of your own voice. So, it’s a pleasant surprise when your voice carries his name, “Ajax, Ajax”, chanting as if he’s your god. “Fuck. Gonna cum. Let it out. baby” he says grinning. You’re clamping him so tight and throbbing until you ultimately shatter with him, releasing a stream of squirt onto him and the sheets. He bucks into you, letting out thick spurts, panting heavily as he watches you in disarray. You instinctively hold on to his arms, trembling uncontrollably as you try to search for breath and ride it out. You’re completely hysterical and sobbing from the emotion it ripped into you. You were in shambles and Ajax couldn’t help but smile out of happiness for what he caused. “I’m so sorry.” you say repeatedly, eyes shut and lined with tears. He got closer to wrap you in his arms, and you cling to him for stability. “It’s okay, I’m here for you.”

You didn’t want to talk about it when you woke up. You were hoping he’d be gone, and therefore wouldn’t have to deal with the humiliation. But there he was, watching you sleep just as the sun rose. His ginger hair danced with golden flecks of light, and he looked at you like you were the only person on Teyvat.

“Creep.”

“Good morning to you too, baby~.”

#childe tartaglia ajax #ajax x reader #genshin ajax #genshin smut #childe smut #tartaglia smut #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #ajax smut

4K notes · View notes

mysticmiav · 10 days

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"So this is how justice is done in Fontaine. What a joke"

739 notes · View notes

callibee · 1 year

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goodluck to tart & miko wanters!!! 🦊💕

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wrixthesley · 8 months

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𝑮𝑨𝒁𝑬 | 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑨

warnings: dubcon, stalking, yandere childe, alcohol consumption, facial, blow job, fem reader, degradation, cum eating(?), snowballing, breath play

wc: 4.1k

a/n: im baaaaack, also this is for @jozhenji ily bitch mwah

You hate Snezhnaya.

The cold that bites at your cheeks, the way your bones ache if you stand outside too long, and how blinding the snow can be on the days where the sun is the brightest. You hate holding onto candle light to maneuver your way down the hallway of your house, only to hear talk of the Fatui growing in size and manipulating more people into joining under the harbingers from the neighbors that stop by to chat in front of your door late at night.

“They each have their own agenda.” One of them says, as if that’s supposed to justify their actions, like they’re not all connected in some way.

“Did you hear Ajax got into another fight?”

“Again?”

You hate him. Ajax. You hate how he always needs to be the center of attention.

You hate his laughter, his gaze, the way he starts fight after fight and how he doesn’t care if his father cries or threatens to send him to the military. You hate how he knows so much, how he thrives off of the adrenaline that runs through his veins when he knows he’s won, when he can taste it, feel it in his hands and configure it so that it adds fuel to the fire burning brightest in his chest. It’s the one of the only times his smile reaches his eyes.

You hate that it’s the same smile when he looks at you. When he thinks that he can barge in on your walks to get firewood, or when he finds one of your siblings and walks them home. He only wanted to make sure they would get home safe, he swears.

If Ajax could put his pride on a pedestal, he would. He would bellow in letting people watch as it grows and swallows everything in its path to take up more space, thriving on the marvel painted on people’s faces who pass, who watch as he leaves the small village of your hometown to join the Fatui. It shouldn’t have come as a shock when he was recognized because of his ability to fight.

You think about the time that he went missing for three days causing a search party that grew so rapidly in size because his father is a respectable man, it hurt to see how little he slept. It hurt your community to see him attempt to console his other children.

It hurt even more when you were the one Ajax showed up in front of first.

You were looking out to the horizon, the firewood that had been collected by your side, stopping to enjoy the hot stew you had prepared for your siblings in the thermos that had been carefully wrapped to protect it from the bitter temperatures. It wasn’t exactly as hot as you expected but you welcomed the few seconds of warmth brought to your lips. It’s comforting and while looking out to the horizon, you make a silent promise to yourself to move to a nation that is always sunny, where the winds are warm, and the waters are blue. Something that would help your soul feel weightless in contrast to your current surroundings.

When the forest is covered in snow you can hear everything, the branches that fall under the weight of the ice, the crunching of footsteps when someone passes by, and even the curses of the men who were fetching more wood for their wives; tired, exhausted, and numb.

That day he came back, you didn’t expect to hear him, much less see him.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” You knew his voice, whipping your head around so fast because you never heard his footsteps approaching. His nose was bleeding, staining his mouth and shirt. “It’s nothing compared to you.” He smiled after wiping the blood off his nose and mouth with his sleeve, watching you in awe of how relieved you must have been when he showed himself to you.

He stumbles forward a little, laughs, “Hey, I lov-I’ve loved you from the moment we met.”

You’re the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

Years have passed since then. You watch when Teucer and Tonia come running by with their new toys, how much easier it gets for his father to take care of himself when he’s promised that Ajax is okay and the financial hardship doesn’t consume his very being. It’s hard not to smile when Teucer looks up at you with a toothy grin, begging you to play with him again.

You’ve never been able to tell him no, even though he has the same eyes as his older brother.

You feel uneasy when Pulcinella knocks at your door one evening.

It’s routine for him to visit Ajax’s home, he is the one who offered him the position in the Fatui, you knew he had good combat skills but never would have guessed it was enough for him to be recognized as one of the harbingers. His name is no longer familiar, replaced with Tartaglia. He erases the name given to him, fully accepting his role.

You open your door for him, it would be rude not to answer when the mayor comes to your door.

He smiles gently at you, it does nothing to relieve your nerves, makes goosebumps run down your spine and you will yourself to meet his gaze and return a smile that you would never call your own.

“For you.”

You let him place the box in your hand, it's rectangular, flat, and wrapped beautifully. It makes your stomach drop when his hand touches yours, you can feel a letter slip in between your hand and his, it reminds you of when your grandmother would place chocolates in your hand when you were a child.

“Thank you.” You mumble, mouth dry and lips chapped from the unexpected visit. He nods, leaving you and waving goodbye at Ajax’s family.

You set the box down next to the fireplace, you can hear the crackles from the wood engulfed in flames, it makes you feel less lonely at night. Now that your siblings have gone and left, you’re left to take care of the house your parents had left behind.

You carefully unwrap the bow that sits on top, folding it neatly beside you. Your palms are sweaty when you peel back the wrapping paper. The outside is revealed with the name of an expensive boutique known for the intricate patterns of beautifully displayed lingerie.

You stare at it in disbelief, the measurements are your size down to the millimeter, you feel like screaming. Like locking yourself in your home, blocking out the windows and doors so that no one, no one else could ever invade your privacy the way that he has.

The black lace is decorated with hints of glitter and the satin lines it feels so, so fine. If it were from anyone else you would be enamored, delighted to wear this for someone that you held feelings for, but the only thing you feel is fear.

You remember the letter that was placed in your hands.

You wish you hadn’t opened it. He only speaks of the past, how he never got to tell you how grateful and happy he was to see you after he had been missing for so long.

When you returned home with Ajax, he was different, asking how many days have passed to everyone that came to visit him during his recovery, contemplating how time passes differently where he was in. When you would see him, you had reassured him over and over that it was three days, though he argued it had been three months. He used to make you retell the story again, and again, and again going over the most miniscule details until you were in tears telling him that it’s all you can remember.

You throw the box and letter into the fire, watching the flames consume it all. You spend the remainder of the night fitting whatever parts of your life that you could in a suitcase.

You leave the next morning.

Your life in Fontaine is calmer than back home, you’re near the ocean and you bask in the warm windy hills during the day or dive into the ocean once you’ve finished your work at the small little dress boutique in the middle of the city.

Your boss teases you about one of the Gardes that have caught your attention when he patrols, you even sparked up a conversation about your favorite flowers you’ve encountered in Fontaine.

“Romaritime flowers!” you exclaim, “They’re beautiful. They look so pure in and out of the water.”

He places one in your hands the next time you meet, promising to take you on a proper date when he finishes patrol.

You assume the bouquet of them at your front door was from him, assume that you would see him that night when you closed the boutique and assume that he would ask where you would like to go next.

You spent that morning getting ready for work. Donning one of your favorite dresses, it compliments you well enough to make you stand out, but still allows you to work comfortably. It’s something your boss had given to you when you first arrived in Fontaine, the excuse was that you also needed something when you would go out. How else would you fit in?

You cried at her kindness, something you had not encountered in years.

You finish work that night, assuring your boss that you would close up. She gives you a hug, tells you that she wants to hear all about it when you come back after your day off.

The clouds start to darken when she leaves. You hope it’s only temporary.

You imagine this is what heartbreak feels like.

To trust someone with your feelings so easily only to be faced with the hard realization that they didn’t seem to care about that trust to begin with. The rain, which you hoped was short lived, only rubs salt in the wound. It’s pouring, your shoes are in your hands and your dress is stuck to your body. You waited for two hours after the boutique closed for him to come by, you waited another hour after his patrol ended. You finally left after ten more minutes, when a young woman knew the look on your face and offered you her umbrella. You politely declined, assured her that you would be okay.

In the end you’re left disappointed, cold, and wet. It reminds you of the numerous times you would come home from the harsh snowfall in Snezhnaya, greeted with silence when you stepped foot into your house shivering and attempting to start a fire. You hated it.

You ignore the stares from couples strolling the night, instead focusing on the cool pavement beneath your bare feet, how the rain feels somewhat cooling to your face and how you can hide your tears.

It’s better this way, to only rely on yourself. You’re all you have after all.

When you return home, you toss your shoes outside to dry. Slamming the door behind you and begin struggling to peel off your dress because the fabric is soaking wet and it’s stubbornly sticking to your skin. You curse when it doesn’t come off, panting and pulling it over your head, you step on something sharp, cursing again when you finally throw your dress off and the tears threaten to spill. You curse and throw the dress into the corner of your living room.

You’re left cold, shivering, and only in your bra and panties when you look at the blood from your foot. You begin to cry.

Your gaze then follows the trail of broken glass on your floor, the pool of water leading up to the broken vase of the Romaritime flowers.

“Do you let others stare at you like this?”

Your blood runs cold. You remember the same feeling back when he found you staring out into the horizon all those years ago.

He places a hand over your mouth, holds you flush against his chest when he sneaks up from behind you. “Shh, s’kay.”

You can’t scream, you squirm in his hold, kicking and clawing at his arm holding your face. He thinks it would be fun to allow you to think he’s off balance.

You shift all your weight onto him, hoping that in the fall you’ll have enough time to run, to hide, to fight. You could run to your neighbor’s house, the nice little old couple that lives behind you and hide in their garden until you’re safe. You wish you were safe, you wish you were home sooner. Oh fuck, if only you hadn’t waited for so long into the night.

He grabs your wrist before you’re able to move, bringing you back to him. You force yourself to find strength to move, to be able to turn around and face him. He anticipates this, he spins you around like a dancing couple would.

He laughs once and you stop.

You no longer want to look, you can only see the boy who was missing smiling and complimenting you with blood running down his nose, you remember the lingerie he sent when you were still in the village, how your stomach dropped when the mayor knocked at your door.

Nothing compares to this, to the goosebumps littering your skin when he peers down at you, blue eyes that don’t ever leave your gaze and make you feel like you’re drowning in the sea waters that surround Fontaine.

“I was waiting for you” he whispers, peppering your face with kisses while you stand there, frozen. It’s similar to the time when he collapsed in front of you, only this time you can’t find the words to scream.

It’s funny how this time he’s found you. Your poor attempt at hiding from him is amusing.

“Missed you so much” he continues to kiss you, makes his way down to your collarbones and doesn’t hesitate to get on his knees to kiss the softness of your stomach or the tops of your breasts that are exposed to him.

“Should have locked you up you know? You ran from me, took me forever to find you.”

“Ajax” you whisper, the tears that sting your eyes are threatening to spill. “Why are you here?”

You hold in a sob, you know why. You’ve always known why he was enamored by you.

“Does it matter?” he breathes, shifting his position so he is behind you again, kissing the tears off the side of your face, watching how your breathing shifts when his cold hands touch the bare skin exposed to him.

“Had to pay that Garde off really well. He wasn’t cheap, you know?”

Your heart breaks further, the sob you were holding building into your throat. “You’re so worth it though, pretty little thing. Look at how I found you, fuck, you missed me too didn’t you?”

He’s guiding you to your couch, laying you down while he towers over you. You feel nauseous when you feel his hardening cock through his pants, “look at you, look at you!” He laughs again, another bout of tears flowing down your cheeks, hot and heavy.

He leans down to kiss you, you turn your head but Ajax isn’t opposed to using force to get what he wants, you know this. You’ve always known this. He takes your face into his hands again, squishing your cheeks together like he did before except his gaze is demanding, icy, and bitter.

“Kiss me back”

You oblige, letting him press his lips against yours and slipping his tongue into your mouth. You flinch at the roll of his lips, clutching at his shirt when he groans into your mouth. He mistakes this as want, giving you more until you’re consumed by him, his presence, his scent, his touch.

He breaks away to let you breathe, smiles at the string of spit that connects both of you and how your eyes are hazing, even though he can’t tell if it’s from crying or from how dizzy he’s made you when he kissed you.

“Let’s celebrate” He’s off of you before you can register what he said, grabbing a bottle of one of Mondstat’s best wines. He’s unceremonious, rogue even, when he pops the cork off and takes a drink straight from the bottle before dipping back down to kiss you.

He didn’t swallow much to your surprise, he let the wine pass from his mouth to yours. Pulling away to watch your face scrunch up at the taste, “s’good” he slurs, taking another drink and swallowing this time.

“Here.” He’s pulling you to sit up, he’s so fast it’s hard to follow what he’s thinking, what he’s doing. He’s taking another drink again, it’s smaller this time, more like a sip that he thinks is adequate for you.

He doesn’t let you pull back, his hand is on the nape of your neck making sure you can’t escape his intensity. You try to keep up, letting his tongue enter your mouth and swirl with his. It’s so sloppy, so hot, and sticky that it makes your head spin. He only gives you a break to drink more wine, to make you both drink more.

He keeps giving you more and more, loves when you get weaker and you don’t protest as much anymore. When you whine and start anticipating the alcohol from his mouth to yours, it makes the taste more bearable and your thoughts aren’t as loud in your head.

The wine keeps spilling from the corners of your mouth, leaving a little trail of purple-red for him to lick up to. He’s sucking at the skin of your neck, finding your pulse point so easily. His teeth nip at your skin, you don’t mean to lean into him, the alcohol is making you slow to react. He swears he hears a small moan escape your lips when he nips at the sensitive skin again.

His hand slides down your chest, feeling your tits through the fabric of your bra, it’s still wet.

“Ajax” you slur, “wanna wait” you say. He looks at you, he notices the tears again. You feel them spill, you’re cold. You cling onto him because at least he’s offering you that sliver of comfort.

“Wait?” He repeats, licking a tear off of your cheek.

“Why would I wait when I know you want me too?” He whispers in your ear, his hands unclasping your bra in one go. His touch is cold, similar to how it feels when you first go into the sea. Your body has to get use to it, it starts to warm up and you feel like you could swim and float for hours.

It’s the same with his touch, the cool tips of his fingers warm up the more he squeezes. He likes the sound you make when he pinches at your nipples, he takes one into his mouth, sucking and licking. Groaning when he hears the little whimpers you try to hold back.

He makes his way back up to your lips again, grabs your hands that are clutching at his sides to guide them down to palm the shape of his cock through his pants.

He’s dreamt of this for so long.

“Oh fuck” he pants, his breath hitting your lips before he’s kissing you again, his tongue feels like he’s lapping into your mouth getting as sloppy as possible as if you’re going to vanish again. His tongue rolls over yours until he’s aching, cock throbbing for attention.

“Hey, feel me here.” He pants, eyes red rimmed and the blue of his irises brighter. You feel like you could drown in them.

He takes your hand and holds it in his, tossing his vision on your table. He’s undoing his belt & pulling his pants down enough for his cock to spring free.

He wraps your hand around the base, guides you in how fast and how much pressure to place around him, when he lets go of your hand you can feel him looking at you. You’re focused on the length of him, how heavy and hot he feels against your hand.

You feel like crying again. You oblige him because at least he’ll leave you alone sooner, you’re just another thing for him to win over, to declare victory before he gets bored with you and moves on to this next challenge.

“More fuck, please more” he pants, hips stuttering into your hand. You can feel the sticky, hot precum that coats the tip of his dick and now your hand. You look up at him and see that he’s got his head tipped back, moaning about how hot you are, how good you are, how he’s thought about this since you saved him. Since you found him, how he’s been in love with you since he found you looking out into the horizon. Even before, he’s been in love with you since the beginning, since he saw you.

“You owe me this.” he breathes.

“What?”

He laughs again, the same one that haunts you.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know. I had you watched wherever you went, I made sure your siblings got into the school they wanted, fuck I even followed you here.”

He takes your hand in his, knows that your hand is coated in his pre cum, takes one of your fingers and licks it up the length. His eyes ever leave yours as he does.

“You should thank me.” He deadpans, cock still throbbing and hard when he stands up at full height.

“Thank me.” He repeats the length of his dick is on your face, rutting against your cheek until the tip meets your lips.

“Yeah, that's how you should do it.” He smiles, the one that meets his eyes. The genuine one.

He’s holding on to the back of your head before you can move. He doesn’t care if your hair is messy, it's almost dry now. He takes your hand again, planting it onto his thigh for leverage.

His grip returns to the base of his cock, tapping the tip on your lips again.

You don’t open your mouth, new tears building up in your waterline. He shows no remorse for what he’s doing, no concern, he thinks he deserves this. It’s the least he deserves for what he’s done for you.

He pinches your nose, catching you when you part your lips to shove his length into your mouth.

You cry, struggling to breathe at the pace he starts at.

“Woulda been so gentle to you if you would have been good, fuck.”

He seethes, eyes rolling into the back of his head when both of his hands are holding your head to match his hips. Your nails are digging into his thighs, your strength unmatched for how you try to push yourself off of him as he pulls you forward on his length. He can’t handle the hot, wet, tightness of the back of your throat.

“Fuck yes, more, more, more” he chants, pinching your nose again to see you panic when you look up again, he loves you like this. When your chin is covered in spit and tears and his balls hit you with every rut of his hips.

“God, gonna paint your fucking face, slut. Gonna cover you in my cum so you can never forget who you belong to”

You can feel that he’s getting close, he grants you grace for only one second before he’s holding your jaw in his hand again.

You take in gulps of air, coughing, and crying while he forces you to look at him.

“Don’t run from me again.” He seethes, forcing you back down on his length.

He’s ruthless this time, uncaring for the way your eyes can’t focus, or how you look like you’re going to pass out. You’re vision keeps going in and out, you can hear yourself. How you choke and gag around his length how he curses with each “ack. ack. ack” of his dick hitting the back of your throat.

“Gonna cum—shit”

He pulls you off, using one of his hands to keep you in place while he jacks himself off with the other.

“Say it, say who you belong to.”

You can’t understand, hazy vision threatening to go black.

“Fuck, say it and I’ll cum. I’ll cover your fucking face and never leave you. You understand? You’re mine. “

You don’t know what he’s rambling on about. You want to plead with him, talk this out and let him know he could pursue someone else.

“Ajax” you rasp.

“Yeah? You belong to me don’t you? Oh fuck—“

He groans, doesn’t hold his voice back, calling you all sorts of names but mostly that you’re his, his, his.

His cum on your face should be enough to prove it. He looks at you like a masterpiece, taking his finger and dragging it through his cum and putting it into his mouth before kissing you.

“Don’t let anyone else see you like this.”

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zephyrinx · 5 months

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ajax never emerged from the abyss.

november 29 - 2023

#genshin impact #genshin #childe #tartaglia #ajax #genshin tartaglia #genshin childe #genshin ajax #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact ajax #genshin fanart #genshin impact fanart #QUEUE

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maladaptivedaydreamers · 10 months

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1) Pent Up Marriage (Arranged Marriage! Ayato x Reader)

Synopsis: You desperately want to make this marriage work, and after he cheated on you multiple times, you made the numbing decision on how to save it. It works! However, you’re now like a puppet to your husband, growing numb and emotionless. Ayato, on the other hand, seems to enjoy it.

Direct Quote: “Yeah, so…whenever you need it, just…tell me, you know. It doesn’t matter if you’re mad or frustrated or just needy, if you need to exert some kind of stress, just let it out on me.” You say, looking at him in the eye. He stared at you, not knowing what to say, but…kinda turned on. “…"I'll keep that in mind, then. Just be prepared in case I get violent or something. I can be...brutal."

TW: Non-con, Dub-con, Harsh s3x, Abus3, Groping, Somno, Forceful, Manipulation, Cheating

2) Love Hate Relationship (Actor Kaveh x F!Reader)

Synopsis: You and Kaveh are co-actors, made to be a “love team”. One day, you were both filming for your new movie and after a long day of work, you both settled in to your new hotel room…only to find out that your luggage was missing. Now, you’d need the help of your co-actor, who secretly enjoys you in this situation.

Direct Quote: “That shirt doesn’t fit you.” He grumbles, seeing how the shirt drapes down your shoulder. “Put it up.” He demands, looking away. “Can you blame it? It’s your shirt so of course it’ll be big.” You complain.

TW: Groping, Staring, Perv Behavior(?), BJ

3) BITE ME!~ (Guitarist Childe x F!Reader)

Synopsis: After you made a stupid decision when you were 18, you’re now left with a very BOLD tattoo. A few years later, Childe, the lead guitarist of DICKZ, seems to find it (and you) interesting. In fact, he wants you to make a couple more stupid decisions with him tonight. Are you up for an adventure with him?

Direct Quote: ”Alright, the sketch is done. Have a check at it before I tattoo it on.” The tattoo artist called out to Childe. He looks down, seeing it. “That. Looks. Amazing.” he chuckled as he sees the sketch of the tattoo on you. “Ready?” he asks, giving you a playful smirk as the artist preps the tattoo gun.

TW: Exhibitionism, leaving marks, dub-con (?)

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popponn · 5 months

Text

a bit of red. [childe x reader]

summary: your nose was bleeding. all while Tartaglia never once looked away.

notes: childe is a feral battle maniac but has traits of a genuinely good husband material. the mix is a funny fatui guy. those are the only thoughts that exist as i write this down. warnings: light blood and injuries, sfw, blood licking, reader and childe’s relationship is best described as "complicated frenemies with something going on", reader’s gender unspecified.

“Oh, they got your face, huh?” Tartaglia asked, cheerful in a very wrong manner as he put a hand on your shoulder.

Without sparing him a glance, you could already feel the taunting smile in his tone. You gave him a muffled grunt as a reply, your hand still busy rubbing your bleeding nose as you glared at your own feet. You really should have paid more attention to that one guy with big wood.

Also, why didn't Traveler tell you she also asked for the Eleventh Harbinger's help for today? You really weren’t in the mood to spend alone time with him for—

“—are you listening?”

A hand grabbed your chin—rough and quick, yet not harsh enough to hurt you—pulling your head to turn to your side where Tartaglia had already stared at you with an unamused frown plastered on his face. You knew, logically, you should have slapped his hand away and gotten ready for combat—you have enough brain to remember that Tartaglia is a seasoned fighter and a shady person meshed into one no matter how friendly he acts towards you. Yet, at the same time, you found yourself blanking out the moment you met his eyes.

“Really, don't you at least know that you shouldn't rub your nose when it's bleeding? That's common sense, you know,” Tartaglia said to you. It felt like he was scolding you like a child.

You, whose head was still filled only with empty statics, could only reply to him with a dumbfounded blink. “Huh?”

Tartaglia raised an eyebrow, his face still wearing the uncharacteristically serious expression. “Come on—they didn’t hit your head that hard, did they? It was only a wood to your face, I had hit you with something harder than that.”

Which wasn't wrong. He pretty much already threw lightning bolts and hydro blades to your face numerous times during your regular scuffles with him.

“I…” you opened your mouth. You wanted to defend yourself, but you had to acknowledge the fact that what you did was indeed pretty dumb. “…I was not thinking.”

Hearing your response, Tartaglia looked at you exasperatedly. It should be insulting, considering it's Tartaglia—but seeing the obvious fondness in his face, you found yourself once again being unable to react much. Or perhaps, it was because of how you had come to notice that his hand had moved away from your chin, when he pressed his thumb lightly and softly against the skin above your lips, wiping off the blood that still trickled down from your nose with a lopsided smile befitting of his charming, youthful face. A few moments passed, and you continued to let him without any chirp of complaints.

Then, slowly, at some point, that smile shifted into a different one—wider, sharper—as his eyes darkened without moving away from your profile. “…well, the blood does suit you though.”

“Hu—?!”

Within a second, there was a mouth and a pair of lips on your face, right above your lips and below your nose, as you felt a hand forcefully drag you forward by your collars. It happened so quickly, sparing you not even a second to react as a tongue—Tartaglia’s—slithered out and licked a few droplets of blood off your face, smearing out some of them in the process. Your eyes were wide open as Tartaglia pushed his face against yours and dragged his lips down. Ending whatever the fuck he did with a light peck on your lips.

And when you finally find it in yourself to breathe and blink once again, Tartaglia’s face was already somewhere further away from yours. You still tried to process what just happened when you spotted the self-satisfied look he wore—not too full of his brand of odd brightness, all while the way he licked at his lips and wiped the leftover red away with his fingers told you enough. Faintly, you could still feel the heat of his hand from the tight grip he let remain on your clothes.

Tartaglia looked at the almost invisible red on his gloves for another moment. Silent with a look you were not quite ready to decipher just yet. Your whole body still stood stiff, frozen by something that was both surprising and pleasant that crawled through from the insides of your spine.

This was not the first time for the both of you to have your lips smashed against each other—but this would be the first time Tartaglia wore a look like that when doing so.

Good Archons.

“What the fuck, Childe.” You snarled at him, almost spitting in every syllable. You glared harshly at him, deciding to focus more on the stunt he just pulled instead of humoring the stupid thoughts your head was starting to come up with. You were not dealing with that when there were unconscious treasure hoarders laying around you in some foreign nation’s wilderness.

Tartaglia, hearing the way you angrily called him by his title, finally seemed to be back from whatever odd trance he just had. Within a blink, his expression switched into one that was far more innocent. A few creases away from confusion, but at least he still had enough decency to manage out a nervous laugh as he let go of your clothes. Still carrying his usual air of confidence, he rubbed the back of his head and offered you his usual smile—secretive and untelling no matter how sweet it looked.

“Wow—okay. I mean, sorry. I don’t know what suddenly got over me—ha ha ha!” Tartaglia apologized as if he was some adorable first date who got too much into the heat of the moment and kissed you. It would have been much cuter if he was not some rascal who just licked the blood on your face. As if it truly was something out of adolescent impulsiveness, Tartaglia took out a handkerchief and offered it to you. “Here, here—let me wipe that blood off you for a bit. Want me to press on your nose for you too? Oh, wait, do you need to sit—”

“That was disgusting. That's common sense,” you spat at him without making an attempt to stop him from dabbing his expensive silk handkerchief on your face, letting the young Harbinger step into your space once again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I really am! I really wanted to help you—I didn't mean for it go to like that!” Tartaglia insisted nonchalantly, repeating his apology as he swiped the fabric across your nose and cheeks. “But, yeah.”

You glared harder at his sudden pause, “But, yeah—what?”

“It really looks good on you,” Tartaglia said, breathlessly and honestly, never once stopping from tending your face as if he was caressing you. A sincere smile—resembling a loving one yet not quite one—etched itself on his lips as a shadow of something flashed along with it. Once again, it nearly stunned you again.

If only it wasn’t about you having a nosebleed.

Trying your best to not take a sharp, angry deep breath, you decided to grit your teeth instead. There were certainly many different thoughts that heat up your whole head for many each their own reasons. However, first thing first—

“Okay, we are done!” Tartaglia loudly cheered as he pulled his hand away from you, taking a few steps back away whilst looking at you like some proud handiwork.

“Thanks,” you blandly said, before turning and walking away, “now, let's go. We still have a few more camps to do for Lumine.”

Following your steps easily, Tartaglia returned to his place beside you prior and nodded enthusiastically at the thought of more fight. “Right! Aah—hope the next one is—”

Coldly, you cut him off, still walking calmly beside him, “Tartaglia.”

“Hm? What?”

“For the next camp, go get injured or something.”

Tartaglia made an offended noise at your suggestion. “Hey, I said sorry already! No need to—”

“I will make sure to return the previous favor when you bleed,” you said, cutting him off again without a hint of joke in your tone. Your eyes stared straight at his startled ones.

Tartaglia held the look of rare surprise for another few seconds. He seemed to be truly caught off guard—but not for long, as with a barking laugh, he returned your words with a wide grin you had seen he wore numerous times in every battle the two of you shared. “Is that so?”

You silently cursed at Lumine once more for making you keep working together with him. Many times enough that you could reply unflinchingly. “Of course. So go ahead—do something funny.”

“Will bleeding from any place work? Is it only for one wound or is it for every wound I get?” he asked, interest displayed clearly in his tone. Of course, the battle maniac had started to treat this like some recreational excursion. “I’m quite sturdy, you know.”

You didn't even try to humor whatever he truly meant by those. As the next camp and chest came into view, you spared him a glance, eyeing him through your peripheral.

“I wonder,” you said. “Depends on my mood and how funny you were, maybe.”

“Oh, really,” Tartaglia mocked out a swoon, readying his blades as they formed in his hands. “You truly are the best sometimes.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin scenarios #childe #tartaglia #genshin ajax #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #genshin childe #i love you since 1.1 and i still wonder why is your name so many #this wasn't how i plan to debut a genshin man but here we are. this is a warm up piece that got a bit out of hand #anyway i miss him so much already ue ue ue

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cryo-locket · 2 years

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You cannot tell me Pantalone wouldn’t have put Childe in a separate account being a kids account just to mess with him on purpose-

#locket of brainrots #yes I did the dumb idea #tis my dumb idea #wwwww #childe #genshin #genshin shenanigans #genshin crack #genshin memes #childe genshin impact #genshin impact #pantalone #fatui harbingers #the tsaritsa #genshin harbingers #tartaglia #genshin ajax

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writing-in-glitter-pen · 8 months

Text

II Childe’s Anger II

There's a darker side to Childe that he never lets you see. The wild temper he struggles to keep under lock and key in your presence. You were his everything, his one and only, his family---so when he almost loses you, that temper snaps forward like a venemous snake.

childe x fem!reader II angst, hurt/comfort.

word count: 2,865 cash money

content warnings: Descriptions of anger (mention of throwing things but not at reader or in reader's presence), descriptions of injury.

It doesn't matter how angry you make him or how horrible what you've done is, Childe can always be swayed by you. You could tear off his right arm then sell it for pocket change and he'd still only be able to resist your honeyed words and doe-eyed pleas for about a minute. He just turns into a goofy-faced pile of mush at any hint of romantic attention you give him, no matter how long you’ve been a couple. Usually, if you've pissed him off, all it takes for him to forgive you is a couple sweet cooings about how he's your favorite man in the world and that you'll only ever belong to him. Hearing those promises from you lights his skin on fire, and he just can't help himself from taking your wrist and tugging you up to his lips. But this time…this time you've really done something unforgivable…

You put yourself in danger.

The night before was a good night; you’d made dinner for Childe, you two snuggled on the couch, you watched a movie on the television he’d gotten from a trip to Fontaine—it was sweet and romantic and relaxing…

Until you brought up a sore subject.

While snuggled up in his lap, cheek resting on his chest, him all but purring in content and happiness, you found it the appropriate time to bring up your intentions for tomorrow.

“Ajax…", they way you sweetly say his birth name never fails to make him melt, "There’s a commission up for grabs at the Adventurer's Guild…someone is lost in the chasm and they want an adventurer to conduct the search.”

“Hmm that’s nice.”, he hummed absentmindedly, resting his chin on the top of your head and hugging you just a little tighter. He has a habit of getting too absorbed into movies; it’s actually quite cute—watching his awe-struck face and twinkling eyes on the screen. He’s like an excited little kid, lost in the movie and the feeling of you in his arms.

“I’d like to take the job.”

Silence.

You almost thought he hadn’t heard you until he stiffly reached for the remote beside his thigh and shut off the TV completely.

“…what was that?”

Something you’ve come to learn about Childe after dating him for so long is: beyond his charming, flippant character in the face of danger, and beyond his unserious approach to dire circumstances…When it comes to the protection of those he loves…he has a temper.

An easily struck temper.

“Childe. I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry abou—“

“Absolutely not. You’re not going.”, he said with that edge of finality to his voice you’ve come to be very familiar with, before standing from your shared seat and walking to the kitchen. Putting distance between you two.

Leaning over the back of the couch to look at him---not letting him escape this conversation, you argue, “It’s not your decision. I wasn’t asking. I was letting you know.”.

Normally, you’d be more gentle with your reasoning—carefully explain the safety measures you’ll take and advocate for your skills as an adventurer. But, after playing out this scene with Childe a countless number of times…

No, you can’t go there. No, you can’t do that. Treating you like a toddler that can’t handle herself...

You had, understandably, grown tired of it.

Even from the meters of space between you two, you could see the telltale signs of Childe’s unsavory, protective side rearing it’s head. The set of his jaw, the way he white-knuckles the edge of the counter he’s leaning on…the way he won’t look at you.

There was a long silence between you two—Childe a menacing statue in your kitchen. You weren’t sure if he was even breathing.

You sat there for what felt like ages—starting to get worried about if Childe was ok…would his knuckles break from how hard he’s holding onto that counter?

Finally, he spoke, his voice caught between a breathy exhale and a rumbling growl.

“If you try to go…

…I will keep you in this house until the commission is over.”

You knew he would.

Even with his demanding job, he’d find a way.

So you had no choice but to relent.

“Ok…I won’t go.”

Childe hated being like this—he hated imposing on you, hated the way he reacted to these sorts of things. He couldn’t keep his cool.

But it’s your safety. You're his family now, the most precious thing in the world to him—if anything happened to you…he’d lose himself. He’d go mad and burn every inch of this world down. It would be worthless garbage if you weren't in it.

So he had to be like this. He had to protect you. At any cost. Even if it upsets you, even if it makes you hate him, he’ll keep doing it. As long as he lives, he’ll put himself right between you and any threat—even if it displeases you. Even if he knows you can handle it yourself. Childe doesn’t take risks when it comes to you.

He felt guilty. And when he feels guilty he goes quiet, and distant. His vices are embedded within him—even if he apologizes, they won’t go away. It’s hard to apologize for...yourself. And it’s even harder for him to apologize for himself to you—the beautiful, endlessly loving, perfect person...who made the mistake of wandering into this controlling monster’s life.

You didn’t believe that, but he did.

So he went to his office.

And stayed there the rest of the night.

———

He wasn’t in bed with you when you woke up, when you turned over to reach for him only to get a fistful of cold sheets.

He wasn’t there when you checked his office, either.

...so he didn’t notice when you left to take the commission.

He may be your boyfriend, but he wasn’t your warden. He couldn’t control your actions or tell you what to do. Especially after losing his cool and leaving you to sleep alone last night. If he was just going to disappear on you, then you could disappear on him.

…you knew it was horrible reasoning, but you were too stubborn to turn back.

And what do you know? Horrible reasoning leads to horrible outcomes.

You got hurt. And not hurt like the usual cuts and scrapes you get on your dailies. No. Real hurt. You-could’ve-lost-your-life hurt.

All you had to do today was a quick check in with the search party, a little reconnaissance, and then you’re back before Childe knows it.

But during your reconnaissance, your glider was torn by a stalagmite, obscured by the darkness of the cave, causing you to land on an unsteady wooden mining structure that collapsed beneath your weight. You fell along with the rubble to the bottom of the pitch-black tunnel—your arm crushed by a wooden beam.

And you were lucky. If you hadn’t landed in a pile of corrupted muck, you could’ve died from the blunt force of the fall, but it was still killing you. Slowly. Painfully.

You were stuck, thousands of miles from the man you loved, dying, and he had no idea where you were—wondering if you’re safe. Worse, he could be out looking for you. You can picture his expression clear as day; Childe never shows terror, but when it’s you in danger, his mask falls faster than you did to the bottom of this mineshaft. You can see the fear in his wide, blue eyes. You can hear the desperation in his voice, bordering on a scream as he calls for you—his throat raspy from how long he’s been yelling for you. You can feel his heavy, labored footsteps shake the ground as he clamors around every inch of Liyue harbor in search for you. He would rather die than lose you, so his expression is that of a dying man as he searches desperately, despairingly for you. The image you know is playing out layers and layers of earth above you breaks your heart a million times over—this is your last regret. You left Childe in anger, and now he’ll never see you again.

Your vision finally faded as the corruption overtook you.

———

Childe is one to give the silent treatment, because he doesn't want to fly off the handle and say something he can't take back---so when you wake in your shared bed, your back pressed up against his chest as he holds you securely, you'll have to live through his hard gaze, his set, flexed jaw, and his silence.

“…Ajax?”

Nothing.

You try to shift but he holds you in place like a splint. And after you blink the sleep out of your eyes, you see why.

Your heavily bandaged arm is splayed out to the side of the bed; the bandages cover the various screws and other work put in by healers to preserve what they could of your arm. In your rest, Childe had been holding you still so you wouldn’t roll over and harm yourself further by moving it.

“…they don’t know if you’ll be able to use it again.”, he says, grimly. The first thing he’s said to you since you woke. He said it like it was a personal slight against him—like you broke something he loved with all of his heart. And you did. That’s exactly what you did.

“Childe…I’m so sorry.”, your voice cracks as you speak, tears quickly welling up in your eyes.

He’s silent again. His jaw looks like it might break from how hard he’s biting down on his words. You’ve never gotten the full brunt of the vitriol he’d spit if he didn’t strangle it down—but you’ve heard him give it to others.

He didn’t know you were just beyond the door of his office when he was chewing out his subordinates for a careless mistake that jeopardized an important shipment; you never knew how unforgiving and cruel you boyfriend could be before that day. The way his voice came out in a terrifying snarl, he sounded more animal than man—to the point that you couldn’t believe it was him, considered that maybe you had the wrong office, until you peeked in and saw. His wild eyes, his sharp, chaotic gesticulations, the way he threw the contents of his desk onto the ground in frustration—apathetic to if anything or any one broke. He’d always been so sweet and understanding with you, you’d never even seen him frown, but the way he spoke to those Fatui soldiers…it revealed something fundamental about him to you.

It took you a lot of time to make sense of it, a lot of thinking and insecurity and fear but you realized…the Childe you knew really was jubilant and kind, he was caring and attentive and generous…but he also really was the man you saw and heard in that office that day. The only difference was who he was talking to.

He was still your Childe. He always would be. But he was only yours. So the rest of the world got to see the ugly he hid from you. The ugly that would seep out of him—clouding his gaze in a menacing, red mist, that would turn his grip from gentle to an inescapable vice…that made him say things he didn’t mean.

So no matter what honest and loving words you utter to him, he is unresponsive, and will remain so until he's cooled down enough to organize his thoughts and deal with you.

But you don't want to wait. You don't want to go to bed with only a rigid "Goodnight." from him. After what you’d done today, you weren’t sure if he’d ever speak to you again—what if, once you healed, he’d leave? The thought horrified you. So you had to get him to speak. You had to.

Gently resting the fingertips of your working hand on the white knuckles of Childe's harshy closed fist securing your waist, you say—your voice shaky with tears but still sweet and considerate of him, "Sweetheart...would you open this for me? I'm worried you're going to hurt youself...".

From how hard he was squeezing, it was possible his nails were digging into his palm. He didn't relent at your touch, his gaze averted to the wall just past your head. That was your fault, of course, because no matter how upset you make him, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes. His gorgeous little girlfriend, the one he works so hard to keep safe and happy, the girl he’d do absolutely anything for. If he were to look at you, look into your beautiful doe eyes, and see those eyes full of tears? He’d lose his resolve. He’s angry with you. You did something unforgivable today. So he just couldn’t look. From the pink dusting his cheeks, you could tell he was fighting not to ogle you. Since he doesn’t open up, you slide your hand over his fist to hold it—he doesn’t stop you.

“Childe…talk to me…please?”. You sound so helpless calling out to him like that. Every instinct in his body screams to run and protect you, to respond and give you anything you need. But the only response you get from him is how he tightens his grip around you ever so slightly. Like he’s assuring himself that you’re fine—you’re safe in his arms.

“Childe…please.” the sob that caught in your throat at that please finally broke him. Brought a crack down the middle of the dam of anger and panic he had reinforced and reinforced again while you were asleep.

His voice came out in a quiet, but dangerous rumble. You felt it in your chest before you heard it.

“I don’t see why you think it’s ok to needlessly put yourself in danger like this.”

If he would’ve said anything else, you wouldn’t have argued. You knew you were in the wrong for telling him you wouldn’t go and going anyway. You knew you were in the wrong for getting hurt in a place where he couldn’t find you. You knew you were in the wrong for how you handled the whole thing.

…but you weren’t in the wrong for doing your job.

“It’s not needless, it’s my job…”, you said, gentle as possible. You weren’t going to snap at him, but this was important to you. He had to understand, “…you do the same thing…”

“You’re my girl. You don’t need a job.”

“I can’t just sit alone in the house all day.”

“Then get a safer job. Start a flower shop. I’ll pay for it.”

“Adventuring is what I’m good at. It’s what I love.”

“You’re supposed to love me!”

And there it was. He raised his voice at you.

The way you flinched did not escape his gaze.

He was a monster and he knew it. He knew he didn't deserve you but he couldn't let you go. No matter how much he told himself he only exists to your detriment...he couldn't. let. go.

Like a dragon that stays atop it's hoard even as the walls of it's cave collapse around it. Like a raccoon fishing a coin out of a small hole---no matter how hard he tries to pry both of you out, knowing you're both stuck in his grip, he can't let go.

With that, he clamped down on his jaw again, drawing his arms back from around you and getting out of bed. He broke for the door but your helpless cry cemented his feet to the floorboards.

"Please, Ajax...please don't leave me."

You were used to how Childe would run from you in guilt--the monster, Grendel, fleeing from Herot to his cave, but this time, you just couldn't brave it. You needed him right now.

He just couldn't understand how you could bear to have him in your presence.

He felt ugly, embarrassed and ashamed, but the desperate tambre in your voice told him you wanted him. Even in his worst moments, you wanted him.

So he returned to your side, kneeling at the side of the bed like a devotee, his face just before yours and his rough hand reaching our to cup your cheek---so gentle, like he was convinced you'd shatter in his grasp. His lips were held in a firm line, but his eyes were wells of love and devotion for you.

Only for you.

"Ajax...I love you."

With his deep sigh, the pressure in the room was alleviated--fresh, new oxygen renewed into the space. The tension in his knuckles, his shoulders, and his jaw was finally released. With those three words, he had melted into the Ajax you knew, your Ajax.

"I love you too."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are."

There was a moment where you two were just, you two. Where he stroked your cheek with his thumb and gazed into your beautiful eyes--his own held that special little sparkle that was typically lost in the void. The sparkle only you get to see.

With a hum, he let's go of you and stands.

"I'll get you some food."

And with your simple nod, he left. But this time, you knew he'd be back.

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flan-tasma · 1 month

Note

(If you're uncomfortable with this ask I sorry, you don't need to write it!)

How about genshin men (your choice) who are "straight" ( ;3 ) reacting to accidentally getting hard while fighting m!reader

💖~ I couldn't wait to write this. I think you already know who it starts with ;3 omg when I was making the images I forgot that the fucking Nobile in english is Childe kdhkdhd /cry

Warning: suggestive, Male!Reader, Kaeya is a scoundrel | English is not my native language, so if I have made any mistakes in the translation, I am open to corrections | Content in spanish and english!

Spanish:

Sobretodo, sabe que es bien parecido y usa eso a su favor, probablemente haya joteado contigo en broma en alguna ocasión, pero es porque ustedes son amigos y nada más. O eso dice él.

Este hombre ama batallar tanto como necesita respirar, es el primero en pedirte una pelea para medir sus habilidades en combate.

Entonces en una pelea amistosa que tuvieron, apostaron que el perdedor sería quien pague la cena. Y no estabas dispuesto a pagar esta vez.

A Nobile le agradó ver tu determinación para romperle la cara y se puso al tú por tú contigo. La adrenalina de golpear sus cuchillas contra tu espada, dar tres pasos atrás y tratar de tirarte fue tanta que su respiración pesada lo obligó a soltar un gruñido cuando por fin pudo atraparte contra el suelo.

Ahora tenía un problema nuevo: te veías glorioso debajo de él. El sudor que resbalaba por tu frente, tu ceño fruncido y tus ojos que lo miraban como si desearías matarlo en ese mismo instante. Sus pantalones se apretaron alrededor de su entrepierna.

Dudó de su sexualidad por primera vez en su vida, y eso lo golpeó duro como un roble. Más duro que él en ese momento. Bromeó un poco acerca de cómo tendrías que invitarlo a una buena comida por perder y una patada tuya en su pierna lo alertó para volver a ver tu majestuoso rostro.

“No debería ser justo si te abalanzas contra mi.” Te habías quejado y él casi quería gritar cuando tus ojos iban bajando. Te ayudó a levantarte para que no vieras su problemita y no dejó de actuar raro por el resto de la cena.

Mantenía tus ojos en cualquier parte menos en su cuerpo por debajo de su pecho, bromeando con que te lo estabas comiendo con la mirada.

Definitivamente tenía en mente comer algo más, pero ahora debía pensar bien acerca de sí mismo y sus gustos antes de cortejarte oficialmente.

Itto y tu son amigos, compadres y camaradas en las peleas de bichos y casi que hermanos. Eres parte de la pandilla Arataki, tienes bien conocido al oni como a ti mismo.

La única razón por la que lo puse es porque sería una situación divertida.

Precisamente porque la amistad de ustedes dos es tan fuerte es que pueden darse el lujo de molestarse entre sí, hay veces en las que tiras de los cuernos de Itto para bajarlo a tu altura y él simplemente se queja para que lo sueltes y se vuelve como un toro mecánico.

Te sube sobre sus hombros y tú sostienes al toro por los cuernos para no salir volando, y entre más pelea da Itto, más puedes escuchar sus risas y sus quejas hasta que te hace caer por accidente.

Culpa suya, pero se disculpa.

Se apresura para sostenerte y ambos acaban cayendo, y el juego del toro mecánico pasa a ser unas pequeñas luchas en las que te retiene por los brazos para que no lo golpees, solo parejas el aire.

Algo dentro de la cabeza de Itto se enciende, algo extraño dentro de su estómago da un vuelco cuando su rostro burlón pasa a uno de sorpresa al verte realmente sonriendo mientras te quejas con que es un hombre gigante y no puedes aguantar su peso.

Se queda en blanco un rato cuando nota que su amigo se asoma para seguir viendo lo lindo que resultas ser, pero el gran Arataki Itto decide que es suficiente diversión por hoy y debe ir a hacer otras cosas por la pandilla. Lo que se traduce a que va a buscar a Kuki para decirle que cree que está enamorado y su pito es la prueba.

No te sorprendas si empieza a ser más gentil contigo, él espera con ansias pelear contigo otra vez, pero no puede evitar pensar en que solo quiere dejar marcas de sus manos en tu piel de una manera no agresiva.

Él era un romántico, por lo que siempre hablaba y buscaba consejos para tratar de conseguir pareja, pero nunca se daba la ocasión con nadie. Eso lo hacía un poco triste, pero tenías formas de hacerlo olvidar las cosas por un rato.

Ya han habido veces en las que los confunden con una pareja, aunque lo suelen negar de inmediato porque obviamente a Lyney le gustan las chicas y se puede ver cuando te contaba cómo una chica que fue a uno de sus shows le pareció linda.

Encantador y dulce mago, realmente no le gustaba la idea de pelear contigo hasta que la propuesta fue para mejorar en el combate. Lyney se considera un luchador capacitado, pero pasar tiempo contigo jamás va a ser negado si se trata de ti.

Esquivas sus flechas y te acercas a él con una espada lista para tocarlo, él se aleja lo más rápido posible para hacer distancia y asegurar una flecha en su arco mientras calcula tu siguiente movimiento. Pero claro, no estaba muy al tanto de tu mejora en batalla estos últimos días para cuando te acercaste lo suficiente para tirarlo.

No querías que se lastime, por lo que sostuviste su cabeza antes de que chocara contra el suelo, manteniéndote sobre él y sin ninguna otra escapatoria. Tu respiración por encima de él, tu pecho que subía y bajaba de forma errática y la cercanía en general hicieron que su corazón casi se le salga por la garganta al ritmo de su sangre llegando a sus mejillas.

Casi sintió que temblaba debajo de tu toque, y por alguna razón eso le gustó.

Sus shorts simularon una carpa en sus pantalones y cuando lo notó casi quiso llorar. La imagen de tu pierna entre las suyas, tan cerca de sus muslos, casi lo mata. Sintió que moriría en ese mismo momento hasta que notaste su cansancio y lo ayudaste a levantarse.

Lynette tuvo que soportar el pánico de su hermano, que chillaba mientras trataba de explicarle de manera sana que no le gustaban las chicas y que lo había descubierto de una manera… distinta y no planeaba hablar más a fondo de ello.

Luego de que su pánico pasa, él empieza a avergonzarse más fácilmente cerca de ti. Y qué extraño, te empiezan a llegar flores Romaritimas a tu casa sin explicación.

Carajo, me lo imagino quejándose contigo porque hay alguien más que te coquetea, todo como una maldita broma.

Con este sinvergüenza ya tenías tensión sexual disfrazado de jotería. Son amigos que salen a emborracharse cuando se juntan, hablan y te has sentado en su regazo más de una vez como una broma.

Pero pasando al asunto importante. Ustedes dos son amigos, por lo que cuando tuviste que irte a una expedición, Kaeya te deseó suerte con una botella en la mano y te dejó ir.

Luego se da cuenta de que le falta su compañero de copas favorito, al punto en que Rosaria lo empieza a llamar una esposa desesperada por su esposo. Y en cierto modo tiene razón.

Cuando llegas y eres recibido en mal estado, se preocupa como lo haría con cualquier amigo, y cuando te abres con él acerca de haber perdido el toque para la batalla, él se ofrece a descubrirlo y ayudarte, por lo que ahí lo tienes, enseñándote cómo lo hace un verdadero caballero. Palabras suyas.

Lo haces bien, pero Kaeya lo hace mejor, y es un recordatorio de su posición como tú superior. Sabe blandir su espada mejor, sabe esquivar más rápido y da estocadas más precisas. Por lo que te frustras y empiezas a luchar contra él como si fuera un enemigo real.

Le gusta verte así, tanto que siente su excitación crecer. Y Kaeya es un hombre que conoce sus placeres, por lo que no tiene reparo en por fin dejar todos los juegos y te acorrala con facilidad contra el muro más cercano. Su objetivo no es provocarte o amenazar, sino que sientas lo que está pasando en su cabeza y en sus pantalones.

De ti depende si aceptas o no. Pero si lo haces, no te va a soltar hasta desquitar todas las verdades que soltó como una broma. Cómo ya deseaba que fueras suyo, que lo tuvieras a él también.

Mira que suerte, tienes nuevo maestro y novio. Kaeya piensa que es lo mejor que te ha podido pasar en tu vida.

English:

Above all, he knows that he is good looking and uses that to his advantage. He has probably joked around with you on occasion, but it's because you are friends and nothing more. Or so he says.

This man loves to battle as much as he needs to breathe, he is the first to ask you for a fight to measure his combat skills.

So in a friendly fight you had, you bet that the loser would be the one who paid for dinner. And you weren't willing to pay this time.

Childe was pleased to see your determination to break his face and he went toe-to-toe with you. The adrenaline of slamming his blades against your sword, taking three steps back, and trying to throw you off was so much that his heavy breathing forced him to let out a grunt when he was finally able to pin you to the ground.

Now he had a new problem: you looked glorious underneath him. The sweat that ran down your forehead, your frown and your eyes that looked at him as if you wanted to kill him right then and there. His pants tightened around his crotch.

He doubted his sexuality for the first time in his life, and it hit him hard as an oak. Harder than he was at that moment. He joked a little about how you'd have to give him a nice meal for losing and a kick from you on his leg alerted him to see your majestic face again.

“It shouldn't be fair if you lunge at me.” You had complained and he almost wanted to scream when your eyes were lowering. He helped you up so you wouldn't see his little problem and he didn't stop acting weird for the rest of the dinner.

He kept your eyes anywhere but on his body below his chest, teasing that you were ogling him.

He definitely had something else on his mind, but now he had to think hard about himself and his tastes before officially courting you.

Itto and you are friends, compadres and comrades in bug fights and almost like brothers. You are part of the Arataki gang, you know the oni as well as yourself.

The only reason I put him in this was because it would be a fun situation.

Precisely because your two friendships are so strong that you can afford to annoy each other, there are times when you pull on Itto's horns to bring him down to your height and he just whines for you to let go and becomes like a mechanical bull.

He lifts you onto his shoulders and you hold the bull by the horns so you doesn't fly away, and the more Itto fights, the more you can hear his laughter and his complaints until he accidentally makes you fall.

It's his fault, but he apologizes.

He rushes to hold you and you both end up falling, and the game of the mechanical bull turns into a small fight in which he holds you by the arms so that you don't hit him, you just hit the air.

Something inside Itto's head lights up, something strange inside his stomach flips when his mocking face turns to one of surprise at seeing you actually smiling while you complain that he's a giant man and you can't stand the weight of him.

He goes blank for a while when he notices his friend peeking in to continue seeing how cute you turn out to be, but the great Arataki Itto decides that's enough fun for today and he should go do other things for the gang. Which translates to him going to find Shinobu to tell her that he thinks he is in love and his dick is the proof.

Don't be surprised if he starts to be gentler with you, he's looking forward to fighting you again, but he can't help but think that he just wants to leave his hand marks on your skin in a non-aggressive way.

He was a romantic, so he always talked and looked for advice to try to find a partner, but he never took the chance with anyone. That made him a little sad, but you had ways of making him forget things for a while.

There have already been times when you are mistaken for a couple, although you usually deny it immediately because Lyney obviously likes girls and you can see it when he told you how a girl who went to one of his shows seemed cute to him.

Charming and sweet magician, he didn't really like the idea of fighting you until the proposal was to get better at combat. Lyney considers himself a trained fighter, but spending time with you will never be denied if it's about you.

You dodge his arrows and approach him with a sword ready to touch him, he moves away as quickly as possible to make distance and secure an arrow in his bow while calculating your next move. But then, he wasn't very aware of your improvement in battle these last few days by the time you got close enough to throw him.

You didn't want him to get hurt, so you held his head before he hit the ground, keeping you on top of him with no other escape. Your breathing above him, your chest rising and falling erratically, and your general closeness made his heart almost jump out of his throat at the rhythm of his blood reaching his cheeks.

He almost felt him tremble beneath your touch, and for some reason he liked that.

His shorts simulated a tent in his pants and when he noticed it he almost wanted to cry. The image of your leg between his, so close to his thighs, almost killed him. He felt like he would die right then and there until you noticed how tired he was and helped him up.

Lynette had to endure the panic of his brother, who screamed as he tried to explain to her in a healthy way that he didn't like girls and that he had discovered it in a... different way and he didn't plan to talk about it further.

After his panic wears off, he starts to get embarrassed more easily around you. And how strange, Romaritime flowers start arriving at your house without explanation.

Hell, I can imagine him complaining to you because someone else is flirting with you, all as a fucking joke.

With this mf you already had sexual tension disguised as jokes. You are friends who go out to get drunk when you get together, talk and you have sat on his lap more than once as a joke.

But moving on to the important matter. You two are friends, so when you had to leave on an expedition, Kaeya wished you luck with a bottle in his hand and let you go.

Then he realizes that he is missing his favorite drinking buddy, to the point where Rosaria starts calling him a desperate wife for his husband. And in a way she is right.

When you arrive and are greeted in a bad state, he worries as he would any friend, and when you open up to him about having lost your touch for battle, he offers to find out and help you, so there you have it, teaching you how a true knight does it. His words.

You do it well, but Kaeya does it better, and it's a reminder of his position as your superior. He knows how to swing his sword better, he knows how to dodge faster and deliver more precise thrusts. So you get frustrated and start fighting him as if he were a real enemy.

He likes seeing you like this, so much that he feels his arousal growing. And Kaeya is a man who knows the pleasures of it, so he has no qualms about finally giving up all the games and corners you with ease against the nearest wall. His goal is not to provoke or threaten you, but to make you feel what is going on in his head and in his pants.

It's up to you whether you accept it or not. But if you do, he won't let you go until you get even with all the truths he let out as a joke. How he already wanted you to be his, to have him too.

Look how lucky you are, you have a new teacher and boyfriend. Kaeya thinks it's the best thing that could have happened to you in your life.

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