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rosedom · 1 day

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"in an open match, 【 🦢 】 has invited KAVEH to play . . . a swan's song: the rhythm of rebirth

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!gn!reader, sub!ftm!kaveh, mentions of alhaitham (you are a throuple), cunnilingus, subspace, semi-public (no getting caught), gentleness + praise + a lot of assurance .

A/N : no ask attached due to it being a thread over the course of multiple asks . . . dt my sweet swan anon <3

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Kaveh said goodbye to his mother, all those years ago. He stood beside the lighthouse—the very lighthouse he designed, all it’s petaled curves and swooping lines—, and he waves until the silhouette disappeared on the horizon. She, in all senses, became swallowed up in the fog of the winding river. He had half a mind to stroll with her, to run, to try and keep pace with the slim boat as it traveled the water, up ‘til it’d reach the falls, ‘til his dearest mother would need to take to land to reach the second harbor of Sumeru.

He wanted to chase her, but he did not. (She wishes she smiled to her boy, that first night she left.

Her boy, who she loves so, so dearly; but who chains her to a past full of only pain.

She loves her boy, and her boy loves her. It is in this love that he tells her to leave.)

Now, Kaveh visits his mother once a year—twice, on special occasions. He brings Alhaitham, on some; he brings you on others. Rarely does he bring the both of you. (He is scared that it would be asking too much.) And Fontaine is beautiful, really, and he loves seeing his mother’s designs dispersed in the streets of the court. And through it all, he tells himself that he does not miss her.

Telling—saying—, however, is easier than believing.

He visits that lighthouse every month, right down in Port Ormos. It’s tradition, seeing the beacon in the sky—the beacon that became the last tether he had of family in Sumeru, where he was born, raised, and where he will die.

It's sad, in a way, that the remnants Kaveh will leave in Sumeru are of a building: a cold, heartless building. He wishes he could leave himself.

(He misses his mother, but he says he does not. This lighthouse is a testament to that fact.)

Tonight is the fifth of May, and tonight Kaveh sits in the silence of a Port Ormos’ night. The lighthouse sits far into the bay, granting him true solitude, a loneliness to match that which seems to haunt him. Pharos’ beacon of light extends through the cold mist, and the bugs which it illuminates are his only companion, here.

Until you come along, that is. (Alhaitham is not here, tonight. You told him to stay home.

After all, if Kaveh is so hesitant to invite you both to Fontaine, perhaps he fears something of the two of you together. You don't want to risk that, here.)

“Thought I'd find you here,” you murmur, steps awfully loud in the quiet. The wooden boards creak beneath your feet before you step onto the stone that surrounds the lighthouse.

Kaveh’s face blends into the darkness, but his eyes do not; and you see them, wide and shimmering, the wet sclera catching on the errant rays from the beacon behind him. He does not say anything, but he lifts a hand for you to take.

His hand, calloused, slips easily into your own, your fingers lacing with his. Even the crooked jut to his pinkie fits perfectly against your own phalanges, the two of you cut from the same clay the archons molded either of you with. You stroke along the back of his hand, thumb gentle in its motions as you take a seat on the hard stone that lines the ground around the lighthouse. Like this, his and your back are pressed against the slate that builds the gate’s wall, the gentle eave blotting out parts of the sky when you gaze upwards towards the moon.

It’s silent, for a while.

Until it’s not. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Kaveh asks, voice meak.

You don’t know what he’s referring to, but you say, “Yes,” anyway.

He shakily sighs. “I worked so hard,” he continues, empty hand dragging along the intricate patterns etched into the stone that makes up the grandiose arch, “and she still left.” (It’s a testament to how long he's been out here, alone, ruminating in his thoughts, the way he lets himself be vulnerable so easily.) Another sniffling sound escapes him, and he’s quick to let go of your hand to cover his mouth. Through his fingers, he says, tries so desperately to convince, “I mean, I—I’m glad she left, she deserves it; but why don’t I?

“Why don’t I get to start over, like she does?”

You pull him into your arms then. Even as he makes like he’s going to pull away—like he doesn’t want your comfort—, he turns into it all the same, burying himself into your shoulder as his arms come to clutch desperately at your back. Softly cooing, you hold him tight, hands making grand sweeping motions across the expanse of his back.

“Because you worked so hard,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to his hairline. “You have made a name for yourself, Kaveh: not many people can say that about themselves.”

“‘m only got some stupid moniker.”

At that, you laugh. “Yeah, ‘Light of Kshahrewar’ is pretty stupid; it hardly highlights your accomplishments.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I know,” you say, curt, even as you keep your lips pressed softly to his forehead.

You only continue once he sniffs, a single time, loud and stark.

“You could leave at any time you wanted,” you say, “and you know that—but you stay anyway. You stay, and you persevere. You are the strongest man I know—” at this, Kaveh’s chest hiccups in a barely-contained sob. You only squeeze him harder. “I am so proud of you, y’know.”

“But—” he shakes his head vehemently against you, hands clutching, pulling, at the front of your shirt, “—but why? I’m nothing special.”

“Nothing special? Kaveh.” You pull him out from your neck, cupping his face in your broad palms. Even as tears slip down his cheeks, he nuzzles into you, eyes fluttering shut. “You are everything to me and Haitham.”

At the mention of the other boyfriend, Kaveh wetly laughs. “He told you to say that, didn't he?”

You only coo again. “Maybe,” you acquiesce, “but he only told me how to say it. What I’m saying is genuine, lion.” The nickname fits, when he blinks open those lion eyes of his, ruby irises managing to shine even in the pitch of night. But then, quietly, you ask, “Do you really want to start over?”

Kaveh is silent for a moment; and then he slowly, oh-so slowly, shakes his head, side to side, right there in the palms of your hands.

“You’re not your mother, Kaveh, and you're not chained down to her. You're your own man, and we are so, so proud of you for who you have become. In spite of everything bad that has happened to you, you have remained the sun in mine and Haitham’s sky.”

He reaches a hand up to wipe his own tears but you softly bat it away, using your own thumbs to catch the errant saltwater that drips. His eyes have gone hazy, far-off and far in thought.

(For Kaveh to be so—so silent, is jarring.)

Trying to reel him back in, you lean forward and gently kiss the swell of his right cheek. “Kaveh,” you murmur, “do you understand me?”

Slowly, he nods.

“Can you repeat what I said, then?”

His eyes go wide, and he shakes his head.

You shake your head right back at him. “Yes, you can, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

All it takes is one word.

It takes one word, and it’s easy, pulling Kaveh under. He admitted to you and Haitham, all those months ago, how, when he submits, his brain becomes cotton-filled, mind pleasantly quiet. It’s how he comes down from stress, and, well—he’s pretty damned stressed, here.

But, “We’re—we’re in public,” he mutters, shaky, even as you can see the reflection of the moon brightening in those growing pupils, even as his legs begin to spread.

“Nobody’s around, sweet thing, and nobody will come around ‘til tomorrow morning.”

His eyes, wide as a pup’s for all the lion that he is, jump across your face, searching for something; and then, suddenly, he falls backwards and catches himself, stands up ‘til he’s looking down at you. “I—I don’t have lube!”

He doesn't have lube, and he’s worried, he thinks he’s going to be pleasing you. (He should know, by now, that your own arousal is your least concern.

Sure: old habits die hard, but still.

Silly boy.)

“Sweetheart,” you murmur, hands coming to take hold of his hips. You move to your knees, lean forward until you can lay a soft kiss to his clothed navel. “We don't need lube for me to suck you off, now do we?” (You’ve learned your tease from Alhaitham. He rubs off on you, and you on him; the two of you a perfect push n’ pull, an edge to an overstimulation, a bad cop to a good cop. You and him make up the stars and the moon and Kaveh the sun.

Alhaitham is his mirror, and you are the frame around its glass all the same.)

The light of the moon falls on the bob of his throat as he swallows heavily. Eventually, he mutters a soft, choked-out “no” that’s more whine than word.

You hum, nosing at his hip, now, even as his legs begin to tremble beneath him.

“The—” his breath cuts into a sharp whimper when you take away the fabric that spills from beneath his belt—the long, hanging cloth covering between his thighs—in order to mouth over the swell of his mound.

It’s a rather ridiculous spectacle that you put on, but, while nobody is around, you're still in the open far too much for you to want to strip him down in, anyways. The bare sight is for your (and, had he been here, tonight, Alhaitham’s) eyes only—not even the moon is privy to the view.

You decide, then, that you need to move him; but you need to hear what he wants to say, first. “The what, sweet thing?” You encourage him with your lips, speaking against the seam of his pants, a whisper of the pleasure you can give him.

“The boxes,” he chokes out, hands coming to brace themselves on your shoulders. “There—there’s boxes just inside.”

You coo, “Smart boy,” sucking once, harsh, at where you know his cock lies, hard and swollen just beyond the thin fabric separating you. You’re quick to stand up, after, arms curling under Kaveh’s thighs to pick him up.

He yelps your name, body curving over your head. “Stop acting like Haitham!” he whines, voice still meak from crying, voice still airy from the headspace he’s fast sinking into. (He’s not in the mood for a tease, you see.)

He's dangerously light as you carry him inside the gate, under the awning, right on ‘til you set him down gentle on the boxes that surround the lighthouse. He squirms when he's sat, blinking up at you slow n’ soft, trusting like that pup, and you find yourself drawn in, leaning down enough for your lips to brush his, to settle warm hands on his hips instead and press him into the wooden lid of the box.

Though his tongue peaks out, anticipating your messy kisses, you merely chuckle against his lips, once, leaving a soft peck on his pout as you ask, “Can I suck you off now, sweetheart?”

He nods, this slow—almost lethargic—up n’ down that disrupts the flow of his hair, smears his bangs into the wet on the apples of his cheeks. Old tears and, now, fog, is already beginning to blur his eyes, cotton filling his brain, and it’s so, so beautiful—seeing the way Kaveh submits to you and finds bliss in it never fails to amaze you. “Please,” he adds, just for good measure, the good boy he is.

You say so, a gentle, “Good boy,” that forces a soft hitch of his breath.

The stone is cooler, here, without so much as a scrap of the moon’s light to illuminate it. It seeps into your skin as you kneel, even through the cloth of your pants, but you pay it no mind; the warmth of Kaveh’s thighs settling around your shoulders squanders any uncomfy feelings.

As you nose back into the apex of those thighs, the skin still radiating that same heat as it did earlier, the fabric still slick with your saliva. You’re grateful for these pants, far less formal than the ones he typically dons, simply because of the loose zipper at its seam. The zipper is loud when you pull it down—but quiet in comparison to Kaveh’s desperate whinin’, “C’mon...”

“I’m goin’,” you say, hot breath fanning over his slicked up boxers. You grin, coy, at the way the seat of them are sticky-wet. His hips lift into you, and you slide a hand beneath either leg, bottom-up... and tug.

“H-hey!” (Even in subspace, Kaveh finds the wherewithal to gripe.

How adorable, really.)

“I have a spare,” is all you say—and you’re not lying. You have another pair of boxers stuffed in your pocket, inconspicuous but revealing your motives entirely. Kaveh’s got hardly the time to mull over the idea, though, half-muddled up as he is, and especially-so when you put your mouth right on the hot jut of his cock. He positively yelps at that, hips jumping enough that you need to press him back down into the box, hold him tight by his hips to keep him there. “Stay,” you murmur, then: “You can put your hands in my hair, okay?”

Tentatively, his fingers come and wrap themselves in your hair. He treats you so gently, so adoringly, even as he’s slicking up your lips with nothing but a soft lick. “There you go,” you continue, leaning further down to tongue below his cock, between his puffy labia, “jus’ like that.” The vibrations from your voice make him arch, but his hands stay perfectly put; they neither pull nor twist, simply there, grounding himself as his mind seems to get lost in that delicate headspace of his, witnessed by nobody but you. (You meant it, earlier, when you said that not even the moon would gaze upon Kaveh’s unraveling; she lays hidden beneath a dusting of clouds, an approaching storm shielding her eyes from the absolute debauchery happening under her waning light.)

Now, you’re not a scholar: hardly such. You don’t have the eye for beauty that your sweet Kaveh has (apparent in the way Kaveh insists he be the one to decorate the home with.

It seems Haitham isn’t the only one with a bad eye in the relationship.)

However, you don’t need to be a scholar to know how absolutely enthralling Kaveh is. From the way he looks—the cute cunt you’ve got your face shoved in, the chubby cock you’re tonguing at—to his sounds, his actions... you may cum in your own pants, you realize, at nothing but the taste of him on your tongue.

“You—mm—” you try to speak, your sentence cut up in a moan, Kaveh’s cock pressed to your lips, “—you taste divine, sweet thing, the absolute sweetest...” For the scholar you claim not to be, you sure are well-versed in lathering him up in praise.

At the lack of response—that is, lack of a legible one—, you look up your eyelashes and are met with a sight that makes you throb: Kaveh, gazing down at you, watching you, looking at you suck him off, eat him out.

Subspace always makes him like this. He’s floaty, sure, but simultaneously honed in, in an odd juxtaposition that makes heat swirl in your belly and sends your tender heart aching in your chest. For all the cotton stuffed in his mind, all the fog covering his lion eyes—he’s watching you, aware only of you and the pleasure you give him.

Each new breathless plea makes you speed up, makes you slide your tongue under the hot jut of his cock and point it, drawing soft but hard circles on where he’s most sensitive. He whines, entirely nonverbal, now, wholly lost to that which threatens to swallow him up—you.

“Close?” you ask, muffled into his slick n’ spit slick cunt, the lewd mix of liquid absolutely slathered across your face, leaking down to his untouched ass. Teasing, you lick at his perineum before returning back to his cock, working fast and efficiently, just the way he likes, desperate to feel him unravel above you.

He nods, vehement, thighs threatening to close had you not held steadfast to them. He’s squirming up a storm—not so dissimilar to the storm you know is coming, the storm that shields you from the moon’s gaze—, sweet moans and whimpers alike falling from his lips unbidden. It’s beautiful—the taste, the sight, the everything, all that which screams, simply, Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh.

Something else screams, too.

“Cumm’n!” Kaveh cries, voice loud. His voice is entirely wrecked, but you pay it no mind; after all, why wouldn’t it be, after so long of nothing but whines tearing at his throat? You bask in his cry, the way his cock pulses heavily above your tongue. At the smear of slick you feel against your chin—which, you notice now, is nudging at his perineum, at his leaking hole, too—, you nuzzle down, giving his cock a welcome reprieve and allowing his cum to dribble into your open mouth.

It’s quiet, after that, save for the lap of harsher waves in the distance. The storm is rolling in as Kaveh sinks back, hands falling limply from your hair. You stand up slowly, massaging his thighs as you rise above him to kiss him gently, to lick into his mouth and spread the sweet taste of his cum between your lips.

He’s slow n’ sweet, now, silent but breathless as his eyes are still welled up wet. You thumb away the tears, his long eyelashes clumped together, noses pressed together. You bask in the gentle silence as you tend to Kaveh; first, using a torn piece of cloth to mop up the mess between his thighs, then getting him in that spare bare of boxers you have. It’s a tussle, getting a spacey (hah) Kaveh to step out of his torn underclothes and his pants only to force him right back in—with a new pair, of course, but the same ol’ pants—, but it’s worth it in the end, when you can get an arm beneath his knees and one supporting his back, carrying him like a bride.

(A bride, huh?

... What a thought.)

“Let’s get you home now, yeah?” You kiss at Kaveh’s temple, even as he buries his face into your throat and hums, still floating, still quiet. “Hayi’s waitin’ on us, and the rain’ll start soon.”

Kaveh nods softly at that, kissing your throat once before his breath evens out, and he’s out like a light. The light of Kshahrewar, snuffed out in a doze—the only way your light should ever be dimmed.

The next time he visits Fontaine, he brings you and Alhaitham, together.

when i said i can't imagine kaveh without haitham, i meant it. i hope that this lil' addition was okay . . . threesome with the two guys when? also, it would be a whole day's trip to get between sumeru city and port ormos, but this is video game logic, and i don't give a fuck. having your boyfriend in ur arms and ur other boyfriend waiting at home with a warm meal can make a guy defy the laws of physics smh. also, i went less heavy on the aftercare, but it's definitely there ! kaveh will be getting pampered when he gets home to you and haitham, where you can spoil him together<33

8 MAY 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#【 🦢 】#i'm so into boys who r so deep in pleasure that they go nonverbal !!#gn reader #gender neutral reader #dom reader #sub kaveh #kaveh smut #kaveh x reader #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #not gonna tag haitham but ! he's mentioned a lot .#sub character #sub male character #i wonder if these tags r any good . . .

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