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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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Ms. Tee you have to follow up rich boy Gojo with him getting to experience the first morning together. With reader in his arms 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and reader finally caves pls Tee I'm dying over here - dabitee anon

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

it’s late in the afternoon when gojo opens his eyes, and for a moment, he wonders where he even is. there’s the warmth of a body snuggled into his side, there’s the feeling of legs tangled with his under the sheets, and there’s numbness in his arm from a head resting on his bicep the whole night—all things he never wakes up to.

and then he’s horrified—sickened even. he couldn’t have possibly stayed the whole night after a one night stand, could he?

he jumps, pulling away, hearing a soft groan before quiet grumbles are muttered under a breath, but he��s not too concerned about that right now. who is this? and where are his clothes? and why does the room suddenly feel oddly familiar—

“satoru, what the fuck?” you grumble, glaring at him through bleary, sleep hazed eyes. he blinks once, then twice, and then he tilts his head to the side in confusion. and soon, he grins as he realizes, and it’s bright and ecstatic and just a little bit smug before he tugs your body against his quickly—a little too quickly since it causes you to huff and deliver a light smack to his chest in irritation.

“so, you stayed the whole night with me, huh?” he wriggles his brows, smirking at you as he presses a gleeful kiss to your forehead. you purse your lips as you stare up at him, and you wonder if it’s too late now to back out of whatever this is you have with gojo.

“after you begged me to, yeah,” you spit, and he clutches his chest dramatically, as though your words land a harsh blow to his ego. in all realness, he’s too giddy to care, but gojo satoru is not gojo satoru if not without at least some theatrics.

“i wasn’t the one drooling on your chest, was i?” he asks, chuckling as your eyes narrow at him. your gaze is almost enough to pierce through him, and if he’s being honest, he loves it. gently, he reaches, pinching your nose affectionately as his arm curls tighter around you. “see? ‘m not so bad,” gojo mumbles, and your expression softens as he lets out a happy sigh, pulling the sheets up to cover you better.

“you’re a clingy sleeper, did you know that?”

“i distinctly remember my arm being the one to fall asleep because you were laying on it—”

“and then you rudely woke me up when you pulled away,” you huff, grumbling the word asshole under your breath as you shuffle out of his arms and shift to turn with your back facing him.

gojo pouts, inching closer until his chin rests on your shoulder, molding his body around yours as his finger prods at your side repeatedly. you smack his hand away, but it does little to deter him, and his finger is back to poking at your hip not long after.

“did you have dreams of me, at least?”

“satoru,” you warn.

“did i look hot?”

“no.”

you can practically feel his pout deepen as his arms wrap around you again, face burying into the crook of your neck. but as he plants a soft kiss into your skin, you smile to yourself, bringing your hand to lay on his and rubbing over his knuckles with your thumb in slow circles. he pulls you so your back is flush against his chest—and for once, you lean into him.

and gojo feels the same giddy feeling bubbling up again, the one he feels when he envisions mornings together as you make pancakes, and steal each other’s last bites, and argue over washing dishes, and splashing water in each other’s faces. because now, there are no more empty hookups and lonely mornings—because now you stay, and you snuggle into his chest, and you latch onto his arm, and you give him a chance to live out those daydreams.

“c’mon, i was a little hot, right?” he whines, digging his nose further into your neck. and you want to yell at him for ruining your sleep, but there’s nothing but fondness blooming at the way he holds you near, bodies pressed so closely together, you almost don’t know where one ends and where the other begins.

“nope. not even a little,” you tease, a grin spreading on your face as he sulks against your skin. your fingers lace with his, slowly entwining as your eyes open, and maybe you can get used to mornings like this—even if it’s technically noon by now.

“we’re dating now, you know,” he grumbles, “so that means you have to be nice to me. it’s the rules.”

“i have to humble you,” you correct, giggling lightly, “and since when do you ever follow rules?”

“since i’m the one who makes them,” he chuckles, and then you’re being turned around, being shifted to lay on your back as gojo hovers over you, biting your cheek playfully. you can’t help but squeal, laughing as you try to shove him off—and there’s warmth in his chest, eyes bright and heart full as he stares down at you while the rays of sunlight kiss your skin.

gojo thinks that after this, if he has to spend even a single morning without you by his side, it’s a morning wasted—and even if the clock ticks one pm, and the birds are no longer chirping, and it’s a tad bit late to be making pancakes, this is probably still the best morning he’s ever spent.

“i was promised an excellent breakfast last night,” you remind him. your hand reaches to cup his cheek, thumb tracing over the soft flesh gently, and he follows the touch like a moth does a flame. leaning down, gojo presses a delicate peck to your lips, then another, and then another—and soon, it’s deepened to a kiss, both of your eyes fluttering shut as your arms wrap around his neck.

hesitantly, he pulls away, and you wonder to yourself if his eyes have always been such a vibrant shade of blue.

“only the best for you,” he winks, and then he dips back down, lips pressing themselves against yours once more.

here’s another rich boy gojo drabble fjsjfjsjf why is this basically a series now help

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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# BEST FRIEND’S BROTHER ‣ GOJO SATORU

✰ — author’s note i’m losing my mind over gojo please help me ….

✰ — cw / tags sfw, gojo being annoying, f!reader, enemies to lovers, suggestive i guess.. + you’re best friends with gojo’s brother (that i invented)

gojo doesn’t have a brother canonically (i think?) so i had to make do. didn’t think of a name so i just kept referring to your best friend as him so sorry if that’s confusing!!!!

also i barely proofread this Sorry

✰ — playing see you soon by beabadoobee.

“little y/n.”

it’s been a hot minute since you’ve been over at the gojo house. a hot minute being 2 years — your first semester break of college had finally begun and the first thing on your to-do list was… well, visit your best friend.

you knew he always preferred staying close to family. it was a bit of a hassle trying to call him from across the world — always preoccupied with something.

well, it didn’t matter now. you were here and you had a good long break to spend with him — you’d been best friends since middle school and inseparable since. your mother was so accustomed to him that whenever you were alone, she’d question where he was. that’s how close you two were.

of course, you knew visiting the gojo household had it’s own set of problems — his parents were rarely home, so he would often have to cook for you two (which wasn’t very edible), and his annoying older brother exists.

satoru. you couldn’t stand him. ever since you were children, he’d constantly poke fun — call you his girlfriend, tease you about having a crush on his little brother: you swear it was only a week long thing, and you didn’t even tell anyone!

that alone wasn’t enough to hate his guts. he’d constantly pick at your features, say the meanest things about the most random parts of you — he once said he hated how your eyebrows were angled. apparently, he had a problem with how one of your eyes has less bottom eyelashes than the other.

it was hell. every single afternoon you spent at your best friend’s house after school was an invitation for satoru to bully you: forcing you to realise the tiny, initially unnoticeable mistakes in your appearance. what torture.

you suppose you’ve stopped caring so much now that you don’t spend much time with him — and as a result, satoru — anymore. the last time you saw him was 4 years ago.

you’ve grown into your features now. satoru can’t ridicule you now that you’re an adult, even though you’re still younger than him; but you had small hopes on the plane here. you thought he would be a little more mature than his high school self and treat you with a little more respect.

well, reality has it’s ways of hitting you hardest — and this time it punches you right in the gut.

“little y/n.”

his voice rumbles through the living room. it’s low, much lower than when you last heard it. the mocking tone is still the same, though — that’s how you knew it was none other than him.

you walked into your friend’s house with the spare keys he gave you a few years back. he’s not even home, and that only spelled trouble for you: satoru is alone, with you — under the same roof.

you grit your teeth. you’re facing the open door, you were trying to close it quietly in order to surprise your friend (who was nowhere to be found) — but your thoughtful gesture has gone to waste now.

you turn your body around, slamming the door behind you. you put the keys down on the table in the entryway — meeting eyes with the tall and rather huge figure in front of you.

maybe huge isn’t very specific — more like buff. or jacked. ripped. gojo satoru is very muscular. you register that almost immediately because he doesn’t have a shirt on: he’s got plaid pajama pants that pool over the floor. his bed hair is extreme, and it’s clear he’s just woken up because of the bowl of cereal in his hand.

“hello.”

“i knew it was you!” he takes a spoonful of his cereal as he continues staring at you, clearly oblivious to the fact that he’s half naked — or maybe he just doesn’t care. that seemed very like him. never caring about his image. “know that eyebrow angle from anywhere.”

you notice he’s taller, way taller than he was at high school age — his shoulders have gotten broader, his jaw is chiseled, and the muscles in his arm flex as he scoops milk and cereal into his mouth.

“that’s not funny, gojo.”

you’re quick to notice all these changes. he wasn’t this big back then. he wasn’t any of this. you wonder where he gets the time to hit the gym with college classes taking up most of his schedule — he must be really dedicated.

“what’s with the formality?”

his eyes are piercing. they always have been. that god forsaken combination of white hair with that shade of blue. strands of his thick, snow-shade hair stick to his forehead — it’s getting a little long, so they frame his face too. it’s annoying how much it makes you stare.

you remember when it used to be grown out — he’s got an undercut now, but it’s barely noticeable with how unkempt his hair is.

“we’re not friends,” you mutter under your breath, almost between gritted teeth. “i’m just here to see your brother.”

he smiles, as if he knows you’re lying — when you really aren’t. satoru gojo is an eyesore. maybe not to other girls, but to you… he makes your head spin and blood pressure rise. that will never change.

“come on, don’t be like that.”

it’s an annoying thing. how satoru can act as if you two had been the best of buddies since you were born — when he’s really done nothing but make you and your best friend’s life a tad more miserable — just because time has passed.

you don’t bother saying a word to him, instead making your way up the stairs and purposely shoving his arm in the process. he almost stumbles — except not really, considering how big he was compared to you. he only looks at you with curious eyes as your footsteps fade away.

you looked different. much different. your hair suited you now, instead of those pigtails you used to wear all the time — he never let you live that down. gojo thought you were the weirdest girl he knew, wondered why his brother even bothered talking to you; but he supposes his brother was a little weird, too.

you weren’t wearing that stupid make up style you used to do back in middle school — with the bright pink lipstick and thick eyeliner. he thought you looked like a clown and he did as much as tell you that. you went home crying and his brother never forgave him for it. instead, satoru notices you’re not wearing any makeup at all.

you look strange. at least it wasn’t what you used to wear, it’s nothing at all now — but he thinks you look decent. not worse. a bit less of an eyesore than what you used to be.

hm.

gojo satoru is conflicted.

he doesn’t know why he even bothered looking at you. he doesn’t care about the makeup you wear or if you wear it at all. he doesn’t care about the way your voice has changed from an annoyingly high pitched one to a smooth velvet. he doesn’t care that your hair looks so good in the lighting of his house, because you know how to style it now.

he doesn’t care about you and how much you’ve changed to someone he could tolerate standing in the same room with.

at least that’s what he’s repeating in his mind.

perhaps it’s the smell of your perfume — or perhaps it’s just you, because it’s too mild that even he almost missed it — that makes his heart race. or maybe it’s the static he feels when your skin brushes against his.

or maybe he just needs to get more sleep. yes. that’s what it was: so he goes to his room and naps it off, except he wakes up feeling the exact same and still thinking about you.

—

it’s a bit later into the week and you’ve been hanging around the living room, thankful that gojo hadn’t disturbed you that much that day.

he’s still in college. he’s only a year older than you — that only meant he was on break as well. a wonderful holiday it was turning into; shouldn’t he be busy with a girlfriend of some sort? a fiancée? anyone at all?

friends? you always saw him playing video games with a long haired man in his room.

you switch channels, legs crossed on the couch. you don your favourite sweater, the one that drapes over your knees. everything on television seemed to bore you.

5 channels later, you start to hear footsteps getting louder — you turn to your left and see no one. the front door was left locked and unopened.

you remember the stairs still exist, so you turn your head towards it — there he is. your favourite person.

“hey, didn’t know you were still here.”

“we can do this without talking to each other.”

“that would be awkward, wouldn’t it?”

he jumps over the back of the couch, settling down next to you. the skin of your thigh brushes his and he feels that dumb static all over again.

he notices you’re wearing his shorts. it must’ve slipped into his brothers closet. he wonders why you’re even wearing his sibling’s clothes — are you two that close?

satoru rolls his eyes at the thought. it’s always been that way with you two. always so close. he’d never been able to have a single moment with you without his brother interrupting.

“are you dating my brother?”

“are you serious?” you groan, stopping your browse on the netflix catalog. “i thought we stopped this years ago.”

he clicks his tongue out of annoyance, insanely irritated at the fact that you can’t just answer one simple question without being so defensive.

“just answer the damn question, will you?”

“i’m not.” you reply, “i’m not seeing anyone.”

he laughs and it’s a bit too fake to convince you.

“i can see why.”

you know exactly what he’s trying to do. your hopes of gojo satoru being a better man to the people around him had been thrown into the ocean, and it’s sinking to the bottom of the sea floor.

“…can we stop with the ugly jokes?”

“i never said anything about ugliness.” he defends.

you ignore him from that point on. you have learnt from a young age that arguing with him will lead you nowhere helpful — only to a wall spray painted with the words ‘gojo satoru is always right’.

a few minutes pass in silence, except for the loud previews playing from the netflix app on television. you scroll and scroll.

“i could call you ugly if i wanted to.” gojo says. “but i don’t want to.”

“i don’t want to call you insanely fucking annoying, either, but you’re acting like it.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues. “you’re not that ugly.”

you don’t know if you heard that right. you might be hallucinating. it’s the jet lag — perhaps you needed some sleep.

“that ugly?”

you don’t know why you even bother asking. he is still calling you ugly. gojo satoru is still a bit mean. that hasn’t changed — nothing has changed. clarification is only an invitation for him to further reiterate his point: you are ugly, just not that ugly.

“i’m saying you look okay.”

“whatever.”

your angry tone is much more evident in this moment. for the first time in his life, he’s worried.

no, of course he’s been worried before. just not about you.

he’s anxious while wondering if he took his words too far this time, considering if he should apologise to you for once in his life: but then he’d have to explain why he’s sorry — and that can’t do.

he cannot admit to you that he’s lying through his pearly, perfect straight rows of teeth. lying to you that you look okay, and apologising for the fact that he called you ugly the first time when that was far from the thoughts swirling in his mind.

gojo satoru will not admit to you that he thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s seen in a while.

sorry — gojo satoru does not want to admit to you that he thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s seen, but he does anyway.

“i take it back.”

you roll your eyes again. you were in the middle of reading a very lengthy description on IMDb about a movie you saw on netflix. now, you’re distracted and have no idea where you stopped reading. you think he’s going to say something stupid, and you’ll regret even looking away from your device to divert your attention to someone like him.

“…just stop talking, satoru.”

gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of his first name.

he curses at himself mentally. even the way it rolls off your tongue sounds pretty. he thinks the syllables of his name match perfectly to your voice — pretty name, pretty girl.

“gojo. sorry.” you mutter a bit too softly. he wants to hide his face in his hands. he knows the tips of his ears are reddened, because his face feels like it’s burning.

“‘sokay,” he replies in a voice much more inaudible than his usual loud and confident tone. he’s definitely fucked himself over with the way he’s acting right now. “i think you’re pretty, y/n — middle school you would be proud.”

you shift your gaze from the television screen to the man next to you. even in a loose t-shirt, his biceps stretch the fabric of his sleeves: the cotton crinkles trying to accommodate to the size of his muscles.

“funny joke. ha ha.” you try to put on a front, that you’re not flattered at all — but your lips quiver and your cheeks burn, and gojo sees it all.

“i’m not kidding,” he chuckles, and his smirk is sickeningly charming. “really.”

the pretty peach colour of his lips clash with the various shades of white on his face. his hair, eyelashes, teeth. it’s nothing you weren’t used to. after all, your best friend inherited very similar features.

“are you sure?”

yet, you look at gojo satoru and you feel nothing but nervousness and tension — sprinkled with a little urge to stare at his regrettably pretty face for just a bit longer.

your heart races when he draws closer to you. he notices the flush of your skin: but he thinks you probably notice how his hands tremble when he lays them on yours, and how his movements hesitate as he inches his body closer.

you’re frozen. you feel like you’re floating with the nonexistent space between you two. the expression on his face is one you want to burn into your memory, because he looks so good like this — his lips slightly parted, his eyebrows raised just a little, his eyes locked on your lips.

he looks like a man who hasn’t eaten, in front of his first meal in 5 days — gojo satoru looks at your lips as if he needs to taste them. taste you.

his body language is screaming confident — but he isn’t going to lean in. he can’t. he doesn’t know if he should, and even if he wanted to: he’s much too afraid.

you want to scold him for thinking he could just swoon you like this after all these years; after all the mean things he’s said. you were sure you despised him, hated his guts, disliked every fibre of his being —

but he looks too good.

gojo hovers as you lean against the arm rest of the sofa. his hands are at your side to support himself so he doesn’t drop all of his weight on you.

“i’m sure.”

well, he’s already so close. it would be awkward if you didn’t do anything, wouldn’t it?

that’s all it takes for you to wrap your arms around his neck, and he almost falls off the couch with how fast you are. the tiny space between you two is closed as he lowers himself, your legs making space for his torso to squeeze between.

your lips are soft, just as he expected. they’re like pillows he wants to lay on forever, and the way you run your hands through his hair drives him insane.

you feel lightheaded.

maybe it was because you can barely breathe, but you’re appreciative at the fact that he pulls away to let a bit of air enter your lungs before taking it all away again — all while flashing the most cocky smile in between: he knows no guy will be able to have you like this.

gojo is irritated at the fact that he can’t have your expression in this moment printed and framed — you look breathless, eyes looking up at him and needing more — so tries his best to savour every detail of it. a mental image that he will never forget.

you swear you hear him say your name between kisses, ever so softly that you think you weren’t meant to hear it: but you do. he says it as if he’s starstruck, like he’s thanking you.

when gojo pulls away for the final time, you feel your heart pound in your chest and knock violently against your rib cage: his hair is a mess from your fingers intertwining with it. his lips are slightly swollen and redder than what they were minutes ago. his entire face is blushed.

what a sight, you want to say it’s even better than kissing him — actually, no. a close second.

“you taste like berries.” he chuckles, trying to catch up on his breathing. he thinks he would’ve continued if he didn’t have the need for oxygen — bad day not to be a plant.

“what kind of berries?” you smile. you never thought you would ever smile at gojo satoru.

“the really good ones.”

“i clearly meant what type of berries,” you roll your eyes. still as stupid as ever. “strawberries? blueberries?”

he sighs, thinking for a bit. “actually, i don’t even know.”

“then how do you know they’re berries?”

“cause i love berries. i eat all types of berries. they’re sweet.” gojo tries to explain.

10 minutes later and the banter still goes on.

satoru has his hands on your waist after shifting you to a position where you’re on his lap. his back leans comfortably against the sofa pillows while your chest is pressing against his.

his eyes sparkle in the living room light. gojo’s pupils are dilated as they stare into yours, and he’s smiling — it’s not the charming one he does to get his way. it’s one of affection.

your hands feel every dip in his muscles as they slither around his neck once again. “i just don’t know what type of berry you taste like.”

“i could check my lip balm flavour,” you suggest. “will you shut up then?”

gojo shakes his head, pressing you impossibly close to his chest. “no, i think we should do some trial and error. i’ll eat different berries and kiss you after each one.”

“that’s gonna take forever, satoru.”

“satoru?” he snickers. “are you my wife, y/n?”

“i would rather die.”

he gasps dramatically. “that’s a bit mean —“

“oh my god.”

you both turn your heads towards the front door.

“hey,” satoru greets, his grip around you tightening as you struggle to let yourself free. you’re mortified. “you’re back early, little brother.”

261123 — writing abt make out sesh with satoru gojo got me giggling.. also i think i’m gonna stop doing small text for my works because i find it hard to read

#gojo x reader #jjk x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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DON’T FORGET WHO’S TAKING YOU HOME (and in whose arms you’re gonna be).

pairing(s). kaeya, childe, ayato, kaveh, neuvillette x gn!reader

genre. fluff + kaveh calls you pretty btw

wc. 200-400 for each character

an. AND SING WITH ME 🎤🎤 SO DARLING SAVE THE LAST DANCE FOR MEEE michael buble literally left no crumbs with this song i had to write about it omg + ALSO happy valentines day everyone !!! i may not have a valentine this year but im happy to post this for anybody feeling a little lonely today !! you are so so loved okay ?!!! come and collect a kiss from me before reading on 💋 MUAH have a lovely valentines day !!! <33

kaeya alberich

you’re really good at hiding, kaeya thinks to himself with a huff and a smile on his lips. searching all over the plaza for you was making him break a sweat in his navy blue tuxedo. with another turn around the corner he decides to remove his tuxedo jacket for the time being, folding it over his arm to carry instead.

“no, no, no klee! stop it! you can’t play with your things here, if you blow things up-”

“-master jean will put me in solitary confinement…”

oho, kaeya recognises these two voices very well. he finds it so hilarious that at the end, his feet lead him right to you! not even a single thought was processed as he turned the corner two seconds ago but here you are.

he hides behind the large potted plant, listening to the conversation you and the beloved spark knight share. he stays there until it becomes quiet between you two.

“kaeya, you peacock, i know it’s you.”

kaeya lets out a baffled noise, finally showing himself from behind the plant, offended by the ridiculous nickname you gave him. “snowflake, how dare you?”

“klee, don’t eavesdrop on people like this man when you grow older, yeah?” you point animatedly at your lover, who’s folding his arms and scoffing at you.

klee only giggles, nodding her head. “i gotta go find albedo now!” you watch as she skips off towards the plaza, waving goodbye.

you then turn towards your next problem that stands behind you. “i thought you were out dancing?”

“i was, but they’ll start playing the last dance soon and how can my last dance not be with you?” your lover walks towards you, pulling you closer by your waist with his free arm. you immediately wrap your arms around his neck, smiling softly at his intentions.

you hear an announcement echoing from the plaza before you can reply, and you figure it might have been mika because of how timid the voice sounded.

“good evening everyone, please bring all your friends and company over for the last dance of the night!”

“sounds like our queue.” you slide your arms off his shoulder to grab his hand, pulling him with you without warning.

“oh snowflake, hold on-” kaeya almost trips on air and the sounds of your laughter bounce off the concrete floor and walls as you drag him down the staircase leading to the plaza.

childe

you can never refuse ajax’s request for a dance, because he won’t take no for an answer. especially when it comes to dancing. your feet hurt so much. you’re so ready to just fall on top of your bed and go to sleep. but the only thing that keeps you wide awake, heart pumping and everything is the look on your lover's face.

his gaze usually has this inhumane and dull look to them, but you find that whenever he looks at you or when he participates in something he loves, his gaze finally twinkles. it works so miraculously too. like all of a sudden life was returned to him and he could see.

the smile on your lips grows when you think about this. you think it’s sweet how you’re one of the reasons that the life in his eyes returns.

ajax notices the tighter grip you hold on his forearm, making his lips curl in curiosity. “what’s going on in your head, baby?”

you zone in on the situation, you’re still dancing, and you shake your head in response. “nothing, ajax.” you want to keep your thoughts to yourself but when ajax smiles at you like that, with the most expectant look on his face, you can’t help yourself. “actually, i just thought about the dance.”

he twirls you around to the music before connecting arms with you again. “you just thought about the dance?” his brow quirks in amusement.

“no, no not like that,” you say with a sheepish chuckle before continuing, “i just thought that this number is the longest one so far.”

“well of course,” ajax responds with an eye smile. “it’s the last song.”

“it… is?” you look up at ajax while trying to fight the urge to look anywhere else.

if this is the last song… and you’re dancing with him… then that can only mean-

when the choreography allows ajax to pull you against his chest, he leans down so he can whisper in your ear, “you will be my final dance partner tonight.”

kamisato ayato

these few days at fontaine have been strumming the strings of your heart like a guitar—ayato has been spending so much time with you that you’re beginning to think of such ridiculous conclusions. his eyes that linger on your face, his hand that hovers on the small of your back when leading you out of a hall and it’s just these little things that he does with you that makes you want to claw an entire curtain off its rod. one time he even poured you a glass of wine before taking a sip with the same glass—it’s like he’s forgotten he’s the yashiro commissioner!

thoma and ayaka barely bat an eye. but also, they’ve known ayato for much longer than you have since you were a recent (and lovely) addition to the little family. so… perhaps this is just how he acts?

“uh-huh, when he’s courting someone that is.”

the sentence that thoma said offhandedly is the only thing that rings through your mind. but your thoughts must’ve shone through your expression because ayato is quick on his feet to smoothly guide you off the dance floor, gloved hand still holding yours as he brings you to a less crowded area—the balcony.

“you appeared to be distracted, that’s why i pulled us away,” ayato breaks the silence and your train of thoughts.

he’s still holding my hand—is what you’re repeating in your head. your eyes can barely focus on a single object within your field of vision. your bottom lip quivers at the revelation you’re carefully starting to uncover.

“i am not distracted,” you inhale sharply when you accidentally meet ayato’s gaze. “i…” your brows crease as you try to get words out of your mouth.

ayato brings your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand and you can physically feel the blood rush up to your fingertips. “would my lady like to return to the hotel?”

your voice leaves your throat in but a hoarse whisper, “what did you just call me?”

you hear a chuckle from ayato and it makes you snap your head around in embarrassment. this new term of endearment rolls off his tongue way too easily, the rascal must have been practicing!

“oh no, no, no, my lady, you must look at me,” a grin appears on ayato’s face at your attempts to hide your expression and when he finally gets you to look at him, you’re caged between his arms.

“why would you call me that?” you whine at his teasing.

“well i just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore,” ayato murmurs, a dust of pink decorating his cheeks. “will you allow me to call you that?”

kaveh

three hours. it’s been three hours since you and kaveh decided to learn a cute couples dance routine ‘for funsies’. whose idea was this again? weren’t you two supposed to be just friends? doesn’t kaveh have a client meeting tomorrow that he should be preparing for?

“so we do this—then this and then we’re supposed to oh—!”

the silence is deafening. the song playing in the background fades as you both stare at each other, even mirroring the same expression. eyes as wide as saucers. lips just inches from connection.

kaveh’s breath fans over your lips and you can hear the audible gulp he makes at the closeness. he’s also entirely aware that the red in his cheeks has reached his ears by now. while you, on the other hand, have started hearing the percussion of your heart in your own eardrums.

“o-oh…” your legs are frozen in place and hang on a second, why haven’t either of you let go?

his hand is respectfully sat on your waist, while the other is occupied holding your hand. you hear him inhale and it grabs your attention before you can get anymore lost in his gaze. his gaze observes your lovely face, eyes flickering from one feature to another as he whispers, “has anybody ever told you you’re pretty up close?”

you shake your head ever so slightly. “no.”

kaveh likes this answer, humming as he ponders for a moment.

your eyes sparkle when that handsome smile of his appears on his lips. he chuckles shortly at your expression, your palm feels so warm when connected with his.

“i’m glad i’m the first to tell you.”

neuvillette

“oh dear, neuvillette,” you chuckle softly, walking towards him as he takes another sip of his water. he stands in a more secluded corner of the hall, briefly greeting guests with a nod of the head. which is why he stands out like a sore thumb—arctic white hair, designer blue suit and a piercing gaze.

but that gaze doesn’t fool you. the dragon sovereign is probably pondering on retiring for the night and is only still present to keep up with appearances.

“yes, lady y/n?” it’s to nobody’s surprise that he heard you from metres away.

when he turns around, your eyes immediately land on the problem you’ve sensed since you returned from the dancefloor.

“your tie,” you reply, standing in front of his figure, nonchalantly raising your hands in preparation to adjust the garment. “will you allow me to fix it?”

the gears in neuvillette’s mind pause abruptly at your question. he certainly has no problem readjusting his own tie. his hands aren’t holding anything else other than his cup of water—which he can definitely put down on a nearby table!

but why can’t he bring himself to say no?

the ‘of course’ leaves his lips faster than he would have liked, but that’s no matter, your expression shows no sign of displeasure. instead, he watches your sweet smile brighten.

when your fingers reach the tie, neuvillette notices how you tiptoe to reach him. so he does what any normal person would do—he leans down.

it catches you off guard, the tips of your fingers just slightly grazing against his neck in the process. you profusely apologise in whispers to which neuvillette can only chuckle at.

“it is no trouble lady y/n, i appreciate the kind gesture.” the corner of neuvillette’s lips curve, his hands neatly tucked behind him as he allows you to redo his tie.

neuvillette’s lips only seem to further break into a smile as he watches you pat on the tie in completion.

“there, all finished.” you look up at the iudex, chuckling, “you ought to learn how to do this yourself.”

neuvillette hums, “perhaps you could teach me.” he takes your hand, gently brushing his lips against your knuckles before kissing it. “but for now a dance shall suffice, would you care to join me?”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

931 notes · View notes

ajaxctrl · 3 months

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— boyfriend texts from alhaitham

Featuring— alhaitham x fem! reader | smau ⤀ college (university) au, established relationship, a little suggestive ⤀ a/n: yeah this is so self indulgent but it was fun to make

Part 1 (here) - Part 2

Bonus—

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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jealousy, jealousy (?)

synopsis: asking them for someone else's number. pairing: diluc, childe, al haitham, wriothesley x gn! reader fandom: genshin impact genre: fluff warnings: mentions of cheating, insecurity(?) a/n: my first smau :o definitely have something big planned, but this is me trying. hahehwehwjehjehe.

bonus: kazuha !

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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fluff. reader is wearing a dress but is otherwise gn.

You’re touches were too soft—too gentle, too fleeting, too careful.

You treated Wriothesley as if the softest touch from you could add to the barrage of scars littering his body. His skin was thick, hard, and calloused from years of a life that wasn’t all that kind to him, yet you ghosted your fingers along his skin as if it was wet paper, ready to tear and rip at the slightest bit of pressure.

It was new to him, a tad strange, too, but not unwelcome.

Not in the slightest.

A cotton ball soaked in antiseptic lightly dabs at the scrapes and cuts on the side of his neck, courtesy of one of the newer inmates that had gotten a bit squirrelly on the long elevator ride down and chose to lash out at the welcoming committee. Tch.

He had been anticipating the sting that often came when the cotton ball got its time to shine, but you had made sure to grab the bottle that housed the no-sting variety, which was typically used for the more whiny patients.

Your face is screwed up in concentration as you dab at his skin, and Wriothesley breathes in deep through his nose, your scent crawling up his nostrils and wrapping around him in a vice-like grip.

You’re close … so close that he can count your individual eyelashes, see the dark freckles that decorate the skin underneath your eyes, smell the tea on your breath (Earl Grey, a gift from him) along with the biscuit you must have had for breakfast along with it (also a gift from him).

He can feel the heat from you radiating off of you and warming him, and he can feel the weight of your dreas (a colorful, frilly thing gifted to you by Sigewinne. It was abominable on its own, but when you wore it, it seemed like everyone else paled in comparison) swishing against his tensed calves.

“You’re tense. Does it hurt?” You fingers smooth the bandage over his injuries, and then you’re lifting your head so you can meet his gaze. There’s a tightening in his chest, and his fingers itch to try and smooth the uncomfortable feeling away.

“No, it’s fine.” He cranes his neck from side to side, joints popping in response, and his eyebrows pull in at the stinging that results from the fresh cuts pulling.

“Are you sure? I can prescribe you a mild sedative - Ms. Sigwinne just mixed a new batch.” You go to, presumably, get the sedative, and Wriothesley moves before he thinks, hand darting out to gently grab ahold of your wrist. Your skin is warm underneath his, and there’s a tingle on his palm from where his skin meets yours. “Your Grace?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m fine, really.�� He gives you a reassuring smile, a part of him touched that you care so much. “These are kitten scratches compared to the rest of me.” Your eyes flit about the deep scars littering his body, and a foreign stroke of insecurity starts simmering in his gut.

He had always been somewhat proud in all the scars etched into his skin, their presence showcasing all the fights he had made it alive out of, and had never once thought to cover them up out of shame. But now, with your gaze sweeping over him, he struggled not to slip on his discarded coat and button it up to his chin.

You would never judge him —Gods, never. You were the sweetest thing under and above the sea— but insecurity always had a way to riddle you with paranoia.

“Kitchen scratches..” You repeat, eyebrows burrowing, and he can’t help the way his hand lifts so he can smooth his thumb over them. “You’re a very strong man, Wriothesley.” The sound of his name had never warmed his heart until you began to say it. “But I really wish you wouldn’t brush off your injuries so easily.” You gently fuss, fingers moving to trace over an old scar that peeks out from his shirt collar. “But I guess I shouldn’t scold you too much, you did come to the infirmary this time, after all.”

“Of course I did, you threatened to throw me out into the sea the last time I got hurt and didn’t come to see you.” He chuckles at the memory of your threat, and you bashfully look away and begin fiddling with the tray of medical supplies on the side table.

“Y-You gave me no choice!” You defend. “It worries me when you get hurt and lock yourself away in your office.” Wriothesley tries and fails to subdue a smile. “Why’re you smiling?”

“No reason,” you worry. You huff out an ‘I’m serious!’, and he reaches out to place a steadying hand over your fidgeting ones. Your eyes snap up to his, your lips parting on a soft exhale, and there’s a heat at the tip of his ears. “I’m sorry for making you worry about me.”

“It’s fine… it is my job, after all.”

“Even so,” you don’t move to pull your hand from under his, and he holds onto it just a bit tighter. “I suppose I should be a gentleman and compensate you for all the worrying.”

“It’s my job—”

“The off the clock worrying.” He clarifies, and your mouth shuts when he gives a pointed glance to the empty infirmary.

“…I guess I could use a few coupons.”

“Oh please, I think I can do a bit better than a few measly coupons - we’ll have dinner together.” Your eyebrows nearly shoot up into your hairline. “If that’s alright with you.” He fumbles.

“Oh, uh, yes! It is, of course it is!” A wide smile spreads across your face before you quickly dim it down, gaze trialing off to the side before finally coming back to meet his. “I mean, sure, that’d be fine.” He covers up a laugh with a cough, a smile that would have nearly rivaled yours blooming on his face.

“Great. I can’t wait.”

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio missed his wife, and she missed him just as much. two simps in love.

[cws] fluff. fem reader -> wriothesley’s wife. reader is a mondstadt native. kissing.

Wriothesley’s cup of tea pauses halfway to his mouth as there’s a knock at his office door. His fingers tighten unconsciously around the handle, that incessant throbbing at his temples that had been dying out suddenly tapping into its nth life.

He contemplates ignoring it; pretending he didn’t hear it and indulging in his fresh brew, but he’s never been one to shirk off his work, no matter how inconsequential the task.

He sets the cup down rougher than necessary, and the legs of his chair scrape loudly against the floor as he pushes it back from his desk and stands to his feet. Someone better be dead or on the verge.

It was an unspoken rule that Wriothesley wasn’t to be bothered at this time -a quarter after five until six- because it was official tea time, a very, very important time in his day that let the inhabitants in Meropide see his most agreeable side… although he had heard talk from a few gossipy guards and prisoners that his ‘pissy attitude’ this past month had nothing to do with his interrupted tea times, but rather that his wife had gone back to Mondstadt to visit family.

“You know how he gets when he doesn’t see her after a while—downright scary. I’ve never seen a man look so enraged and distraught at the same time.”

“He put me on pipe restoration duty —don’t laugh, it isn’t funny! Worst job in the whole place, I swear— for the next six months all because my wife dropped by with a bento on my break. Apparently no one can be happy when his missus is away.”

“I caught him staring at her picture the other day, y’know the one he keeps in that chain around his neck, and sighing like some schoolgirl. I nearly thought my daughter had somehow gotten herself arrested and thrown down here when I heard all those lovesick sighs.”

It was all hearsay and speculation, of course. Wriothesley could manage just fine with you away - he was a grown man, a weathered man, a man who could function fully without the company of his wife.

That’s right, he thinks to himself. He’s been doing just fine in your absence, a bit quicker to anger than usual, but with the looming threat of being turned into a big, sopping puddle right below his feet, could you really blame him?

The door is wrenched open, strands of black and gray flying back from where they rested against his forehead due to the strong gust of wind he created.

“What is it now?” He nearly hisses out, but he manages to get a reign on it last minute, the words coming out a bit strained instead. He eyes the guard standing in front of him, their eyes flitting between the crease between his brows and the floor. “Spit it out before I—”

He stops abruptly when he hears a voice that he knows intimately well, and had he possessed any shame when it came publicly displaying the love he harbored for you, he would have been a touch embarrassed at the speed of which his frown smoothed out and the throbbing in his head disappeared, a sparkle in his eyes as his shoulders lose a bit of their tension.

“Oh? He has? Thank you for telling me, Sigewinne. I’ll get right on that.” You come rounding the corner with the small doctor at your side, a knapsack in your hands, and had Wriothesley been any less sane, he would have swore that he could feel the rays of the sunshine beaming down on his skin and fresh air filtering into his lungs when you turned your gaze to him, scornful as it was.

You’re fitted in a dress that’s customary for the women in your homeland to wear, and flowers are weaved into your hair, and the ring on your finger seems to shine a bit brighter.

“Wriothesley.” You march up to him, eyebrows knitted together, and push your finger against his chest. “What is this I hear about you acting like a tyrant?”

“You look beautiful.” He breathes out.

“And going to the Pankration ring? You know those poor people don’t stand a chance against you. That’s just bullying.”

“Let me take your bag, it looks heavy.”

“And you haven’t been eating right, either! Look at your face — you’ve lost weight!” He transfers the bag from your hands to his, and when his fingers brush against yours, he finally lets a smile bloom on his face, being met with a huff. “Don’t smile at me. I’m mad at you.”

“Can’t help it, happy to see you.” You falter a bit, corners of your lips twitching, but you hold strong, choosing to save face in front of the onlookers—always put up a good fight, especially when others are looking, is what he had told you once upon a time. “I’ve missed you so much.” It comes out in a low murmur, eyes locked onto yours and refusing to stray, even when you decide that his gaze is a bit too heavy for the setting and avert your own.

“I-well-you…just get inside your office.”

He’s nice enough to hold back a chuckle, instead stepping to the side so that you can shuffle past him and inside. Before he shuts the door, his gaze turns icy and his smile thins out as he lets his eyes sweep over everyone present. A resounding groan is heard, the unspoken promise loud and clear, and then he’s pushing the door shut and turning on his heel.

You’re on him in a second, arms wrapped around his waist as you bury your face into his chest. He returns the hug just as quick, thick, burly arms circling around your shoulders as his head dips down so he can stuff his nose into your hair and breathe your scent in.

Your voice comes out muffled as you try to speak, and he loosens his hold on you a bit, allowing you to pop your head up so you can look up at him. There’s a halfhearted pout on your lips, and his response is a reflex as he leans down to give you a peck once, twice, three times before moving on to place one on the tip of your nose.

“You were supposed to let me scold you out there, birdie. Now everyone’s gonna know that I let you off easy.”

“Let me off easy? I’d say this is the meanest you’ve ever been to me,” he gives an exaggerated expression of hurt. “You haven’t even told me you missed me, or that you’re happy to see me, or that you’ll never leave again because you couldn’t stand being away from me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You smile despite yourself, and he kisses you again, scarred hands moving to cradle your cheeks. You part with a gasp for air, and its his turn to smile when you stretch up to reconnect your lips, the lack of air not deterring you in the slightest.

“Breathe, sweetheart…” He rasps against your lips, and you suck in a breath, eyes slowly blinking as you tug at the material of his shirt. There’s a rush of emotions that washes over him at the unspoken confirmation that you missed him just as much as he had missed you, and he lets his hands wander down to settle on your waist, fingers flexing as they squeeze at the flesh there through the material of your dress.

“Well, well, well,” he starts, and you blink out of your stupor to don a guilty expression. “Looks like you haven’t been eating right, either, hypocrite.” He lightly pinches at your side, and you squeal out a laugh as you lightly bat at his hand.

“Have I told you that I missed you, and that I’m sooo happy to see you, and that I’ll never, ever leave again because I can’t stand being away from you?” You flutter your lashes up at him, direct that heart-stopping smile up at him, and for a split second he thinks that the primordial sea has broken the seal and reduced him to nothing but a puddle at your feet.

“Careful now, words like that are liable to kill a man, and this place isn’t fitting for a sweet girl like you.”

“Oh? Then maybe I should leave earlier than I intended t—” He quiets you with a kiss, and you laugh into it, earning a gentle nip on your bottom lip. Your teasing smile settles into something sweeter, tender, vulnerable, and it mirrors him perfectly.

You both speak your next words in unison.

“I missed you.”

#wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio’s spouse winds up in prison. special treatment ensues.

[cws] gender neutral reader. fluff.

“What you did was incredibly stupid.”

“I’d like to think it was very brave, actually.” You quip back, lips pursed as you turn up your chin. “You should be proud of me, really.”

“I should be proud that you got yourself thrown in prison?” You don’t have to look up to know that Wriothesley is sporting an incredulous expression. “Did they knock your head around a bit before bringing you down here?”

“You’re acting like I murdered someone.” You finally meet his gaze, and you resist the urge to sink down into your seat at the clear disapproval in his eyes. “All I did was—”

“Break into the Opera Epiclese and destroy government property.”

“That’s such a trumped-up charge!” You huff and roughly cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing as you think back on the charges that had been slapped down onto you by that damned archon. “You trip in the dark and accidentally fall into the oratrice and all of a sudden you’re a criminal. Hmph!”

“Yeah, exactly. It also doesn’t help that you broke in—”

“—I left my bracelet in there after the trial! Was I just supposed to leave it behind and potentially lose it forever? The condition of the lost and found in that place is downright terrible—the guards pocket all the good stuff.”

“You could have bought another one.”

“Not like this one.” You look down to the gray bracelet encircling your wrist, and a warmth spreads in your chest as you gently twist it around, finger rubbing over the messily written engraving on the inside of it. “This was a gift.”

“Hardly.” He sighs, and your eyes flick up to watch as he runs his hands through his already messy hair. “It’s just scrap metal I bent up and welded because I couldn’t buy you proper jewelry back when I was a prisoner.” It’s his turn to look at the bracelet.

“You were so creative back then.” You smile a bit wider. “I remember you used to have something new made every time I came to visit you. What was that one thing you made? The one that we painted together?”

“The ballerina music box.” He groaned, looking a bit embarrassed, and you snapped your fingers.

“The ballerina music box!” The ballerina was a bit oddly shaped, and the box had sharp corners on one side and rounded on the other, and the song the box played was distorted and sounded more creepy than relaxing due to some disfigured cogs, but you loved it nonetheless, and had even sobbed in thanks when he had first presented the gift to you. “I love that little box.”

“It looks like a child made it.”

“A child in the throes of eleazar, yes,” you nod, and his mouth opens a bit in surprise before he huffs out a laugh. “But I still love it… because you made it.” You give him a sweet smile, and you can see him soften up before your very own eyes; broad shoulders losing that rigidness, lids lowering, crease between his dark, thick brows disappearing.

“You’re tryin’ to butter me up.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Is it working?”

“Not at all, jailbird.” He gives you a smile of his own, and despite the clear sarcasm in it, you can’t help the little flutter your heart does at the sight. “No special treatment for you.” So he says, yet he had placed a cup of tea down for you the moment you were brought to his office, and had even tried to inconspicuously nudge the basket of cookies in your direction, pretending not to notice when you reached for one. “Spouse or not.”

“What a mean man.” You slouch down in your seat. “I treasure the gifts that my lovely, amazing, strong, handsome, and so so so incredibly smart husband gives me and what do I get in return? A criminal record and unfair treatment! I’m suing the entire nation the moment I’m free!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand in the air as if fanning away the conversation, and now it’s your turn to huff. “For the few days that you’re here, you’ll be working directly with me in exchange for coupons.” He takes a slow sip of his tea, adams apple bobbing as he swallows, before gently setting the cup back down onto its small plate. “I’ll make your first job real easy to get you in the swing of things.”

“How kind of you.”

He just barely contains an amused smile. “Very. Now…” He shifts in his seat. “Give me a kiss.”

“I’m married, Your Grace.”

“I’m sure your husband won’t mind. Kiss. Now.” He taps a finger against his lips, and after a moment you stand up and round his desk, hands finding his shoulders as you bend at the waist so your noses brush.

“My husband is a very good fighter, by the way. When he finds out you twisted his spouses’s arm like this, he’ll pummel you.”

“I can handle him.” A hand snags you by the waist, forcing you down into his lap, and you only have time to let out a quiet yelp before Wriothesley’s lips are on yours. The kiss is slow, sensual, and it brings a warmth to your cheeks and covers you with a bashful cloak when he pulls back to let his eyes roam over your face. “I’ve gotta say… your husband is a real lucky guy to snatch up someone as cute as you.”

“Hmph. Seems like you’re trying to butter me up now.”

“Is it working?” He presses his face into your neck, his lips pulling into a smile against your skin, and you have to fight back one of your own.

“Not at all, jailbird.”

#wriothesley x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

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# ONE BED + MORNING AFTER ‣ GENSHIN MEN

✰ — author’s note clearijg up drafts (that i like), expect more soon :7

✰ — cw / tags genshin men & one bed trope, includes zhongli diluc childe thoma. f!reader implied. sfw.

✰ — listening to nothing revealed / everything denied by the 1975

DILUC’s face is almost as red as his hair. he hoped to get this trip over and done with; considering how the friend group had just dragged him on this adventure when he had better things to do. however, he found the silver lining he didn’t expect; you.

he had always found you attractive, sometimes stealing glances at you when you’re talking to his friends or secretly hoping you would ask him to hang out (without your annoying friends tagging along, as they had always done)—so when he finds out he’s stuck with you for the night, he has mixed feelings. he sticks himself to the wall, feeling too awkward to even sit down, and you’re combing your hair in the mirror.

“i’m gonna go to bed soon. you gonna stand there all night, luc?”

god, the way you said his name. “no, i’ll be on the couch.”

“don’t be silly.” you put the comb down and turn off the bathroom lights, then getting on the bed to make yourself comfortable. you pat the empty space next to you to signal that it’s okay, that he could sleep next to you if he wanted. “don’t be scared. it’s not that big of a deal.”

of course it wasn’t, to you.

diluc reluctantly gets on the bed, and he’s as stiff as a wood plank. you turn and look at him, on your side, and he fights his urge to look back at you; he knows he’ll just make a fool of himself. “goodnight, luc.”

you expected diluc to be sleeping, facing the ceiling—as if he didn’t move from the night before. but your eyes flutter open and you see diluc facing you, his face only inches away; sleeping peacefully. the sunlight is seeping in through the curtain gaps, and the air is cold.

diluc wakes and he doesn’t jump in surprise, instead he opens his eyes and stares lazily at you—as if you were a sight he saw every morning; natural, like you were meant to be there with him. his morning voice is rough as he speaks, “good morning, y/n.”

your heart is merciless that morning, diluc swore he could hear your heartbeat pounding.

CHILDE doesn’t realise how troublesome it is to have such a tiny bed to two people. he had always slept alone, in a queen, his sleeping positions almost always bizarre as he had space to spare. your friend group didn’t think to consider whether making him sleep in a small hotel room with only one bed would trouble him— but as soon as he was told that he was sharing a room with you, his face lit up. childe didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, though, but it would be a lie if he said he didn’t want to be stuck with you for a whole 8 hours.

“did you hear?” he leans against the counter at the reception desk, on one arm, looking at you with a smirk on his face. you’re guessing what it could be—what prank he’d be pulling on you this time.

“we’re sharing a room?” you guess, voice monotone and bored; it was 12 in the morning and all you wanted to do was sleep—entertaining childe’s nonsense was not going to be a part of your nightly routine. you expect a big “no!” from him, but he keeps quiet instead.

after a few seconds of awkward silence, he reaches for the keycard in your hand and grabs hold of it. “i guess i’ll unpack first, then.”

there wasn’t any point in fighting the receptionist for your own room, since she told you they were packed for the week and reservations had already been made.

you’re on the far end of the bed while childe is comfortable. the pillows smell like his shampoo. you can’t sleep, and he notices that. childe snickers at how you’re trying so hard not to fall off the bed.

“c’mere.” he offers, “there’s space.”

“there isn’t.”

“trust me, i don’t like this either.” what a liar, he thought to himself.

you reluctantly shift closer to him, yet thankful he offered—you were close to moving anyway. “this is so stupid.”

when you wake, you find yourself facing the wall—childe’s arms are wrapped around your waist, his chest pressing against your back. he’s still asleep, his light snores being the only thing you can hear. you tell yourself this is not what you wished to wake up to, but the blush creeping up on your face says everything.

ZHONGLI finds it completely normal. he cannot take a hint. it was just a business trip, and he didn’t want you (his secretary) to sleep uncomfortably. you had much to do the morning after and a sore back would do you no good—he was just being a responsible boss. just that, nothing else. he doesn’t notice the blush on your cheeks when he tells you to get in bed with him, and when he tells you goodnight when his face is only inches away from yours. it seems like you don’t notice how he gets a little nervous when you move closer—or accidentally brush your hands against his under the sheets, either.

zhongli takes off his slippers, then throwing the towel on his neck onto the chair next to the nightstand. you’re already in bed, laying down like a mummy—afraid to make a bad impression.

“busy day tomorrow.” he says. “goodnight, y/n.”

you muster the courage to say it back, but the heartbeat pulsing in your ears make it hard. “goodnight.”

“why are you laying down like that?” he suddenly says, just moments after you close your eyes. you jolt awake, surprised he would ask.

“i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, mr. zhongli–“

“don’t be ridiculous. come.” this is not normal. superiors are not supposed to be in the same bed as their secretaries. you’re not supposed to be in the same bed as your superior. nevertheless, he’s your boss. if he wants you to come closer, who are you to disobey?

you move closer to him, letting out a sigh of relief because theres much more space on his side of the bed. you hope it won’t be awkward at tomorrow morning’s meeting, and you hope no one catches you leaving his hotel room as soon as the sun rises.

your eyes open and the sun is rising. the sky is a pink-orange colour—the air is warm, but not too warm. you turn your gaze to your side and see zhongli, sleeping peacefully, and it hits you that you’ve never seen your boss like this. you’d just assumed that he never slept; such a workaholic he is. with his position, who has time to get shuteye?

you don’t realise he’s awake until he says something. you’ve been staring at him for a few minutes now.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer, miss y/n.”

you’re too tired to feel embarrassed, but the red on your cheeks show it anyway. “good morning, mr zhongli.”

“first time i’ve slept so soundly,” he smiles, “we should do this more often.”

zhongli was always blunt and straightforward, though it never bothered you. in fact, you admired that about him—something about the morning air and your boss waking up next to you stirs something in your chest.

THOMA was the shy classmate you always wanted to befriend. he was often seen reading books in the corner of the classroom, his head down and his eyes scanning pages. you were the popular kid, always being approached by those who are interested in you—but thoma was the only one who could catch your attention. you end up making friends with him, and spontaneously invite him on a trip outside the city. a small hostel was all you two could find, and even then, the prices were… outrageous.

“i could pay for two rooms, if you’re not comfortable.” you offered him, but knowing thoma, he’d probably decline and say—

“no, that’s a lot of money.” he shakes his head, “we came all this way. we still need money to head home.” of course, thoma was too sweet to make you do such a thing for him.

when you enter the room, you’re surprised to see only one bed. you’d just sleep on the floor, you thought—you dragged thoma out here, it would only be polite to do such a thing for him.

“so you wanna face the wall or..”

“what?”

“oh, you’re not sleeping on the floor, are you?” he questions, and you think he must be going crazy. what kind of guy asks a question like that? “we walked a lot today.”

your confidence is nowhere to be found now—with thoma, it’s hard for you to find the right words to say because you’re always so nervous; it’s a curse, especially during times like these. you decide to just suck it up for the night. thoma was a deep sleeper; and you knew this because of the train ride here—he was snoring so loud the whole cabin could hear him, and your pokes and shoves did nothing to wake him. it wouldn’t be much of an issue to sleep next to him, you hope.

it’s surprisingly easy to fall asleep next to thoma, his body warms the bed up and you find yourself inching closer to him as the hours pass—it’s comfortable, regrettably, but you can’t help yourself. it’s 4 in the morning when your head is buried into thoma’s shoulder, warmth encapsulating you; and the air is quiet until he speaks.

“it’s so cold tonight,” he’s complaining, though his tone sounds awfully happy, and you feel him hold your hand under the covers. “this hostel is so shitty.”

“isn’t it?” you’re smiling so hard you swear your cheeks are going to fall off. thank the stars it’s pitch dark in the room.

you wake hours later, thoma’s arm under your neck and holding you close. it’s no longer cold, you realise. you hear snoring in your right ear, and you’re once again thankful he can’t see your expression—a bright red.

160323 — lmk what yall think of this one :1 not proofread btw… when is it ever. requests are open by the way, drop by my inbox

#genshin impact #childe x reader #genshin x reader

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ajaxctrl · 3 months

Text

❊ shootin' hoops! - childe . . ajax can't get enough of you. meanwhile, you've definetely had it with him.

ajax is 19 when he falls in love with you.

he meets you in his second year of college, in a stupid, annoying, lame sociology class which he's only in because it's a requirement to his major. why else would he be in a dank room at 8 in the morning? oh, he hates it. the class is slow-paced. his professor is even slower. an old, little man. ajax bets that he could bench his weight. and maybe a little more than that, too, without breaking a sweat.

the class sucks, and it's not even hard, and he would probably skip every single one and pass with a hundred and ten percent. and he really, really considers this course of action, too. until, he sees you in the back of the classroom. he doesn't think he's seen you before. he'd remember if he did.

wow, you look pretty. wow, you're cool. and wow, maybe he'll stick around for the lecture tomorrow after all. ajax grins to himself. and maybe he'll bench his professor, too, if you'd think that was cool. would that make him look strong, and show off his muscles? then he might really try.

after the class lets out (which takes light years, he's convinced) he makes a beeline to where you're packing up your notebook and stationary. "lame class, huh?"

you turn at his words, eyes wide as you take him in. ajax smiles with his teeth, and he can imagine all the girls and guys in the class swooning, he can practically hear their thoughts; 'oh, who's that cute guy? his dimples are so adorable! oh, wow, i should ask his number. he looks like he would be the star player of our college's basketball team! so muscular, and cool!'

and if they're all thinking that, oh, he can't even conceptualise what you must be thinking. he feels butterflies, and a little dizzy, and a lot anxious— but in a cool way, of course— when you open your mouth to respond.

"i thought it was cool, actually."

he's breathless for a second because wow, woah, oh god, your voice is just as nice— no, it's better, than he'd imagined it. and then he registers what you'd just said and it takes everything in him to stay composed as his brain short-circuits looking for something to say in response. so-long to his ingenious plan of bonding over mutual hatred of your professor. hm. he's kind of backed himself in a corner. oh, well, it seems like he'll have to rely on his massive charm to get him through to you. not a problem!

"really? you've got awful taste."

your face sours. his heart thunders— oh, you're so, so cute. he likes it when you look at him like that. actually, he likes it when you look at him in general. he likes the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you're irritated. the way you look like you've tasted something bitter makes him think— would your lips taste sour, too? like lemons, and limes? like biting into a cardamom pod?

before he can think about it too much, you speak again, and he's entranced— again. "just my thoughts."

"well clearly, you don't think much."

you blink at him. your eyelashes frame your eyes so nicely, too. he wonders if there's a colour that encapsulates the shade of them. ajax thinks that your eyes are like the rest of you— indescribable. and then you scoff, and walk away with your bag slung over a shoulder, and he can't wait to see you tomorrow.

three weeks go by. ajax doesn't think he could be more in love.

he's showed up to sociology every single day, just for the sake of seeing you. lighting up like a match the second you show up in the doorframe, and going out in a similar fashion once you're gone. he relishes every single second in your company. he carves every half-smile and every grimace, and every time you purse your lips in confusion and every time you nod along to the professor when you understand. oh, he's in love. and it's bad. it's so bad.

"don't tell me you're actually doing the extra credit work," he says, staring at open laptop on your desk. it's work time, and while ajax could hypothetically leave, you're staying, so he's staying too.

you glance up at him. lord knows how you've put up with him for so long. he's annoying, he's bothersome, he does not leave you alone, not for a second. the only time he sees you is sociology so he's got to make the most of it. "i've got nothing better to do, ajax."

oh, he loves, loves, loves it when he says your name. it might be his favourite sound in the world. "you could leave. it's a free class."

you raise a brow— "you could leave too."

"i could. but what'd you do without me?"

you laugh the littlest bit, and he feels a dozen times lighter. maybe your laugh is actually his favourite sound, he can't decide. "probably be a lot more productive."

he likes what you have. he likes this friendship-ish kind of thing. he likes that you only hate him sometimes, and that you can stand to be around him other times. that's not to say he's satisfied. oh, not even close. 3 weeks were enough for ajax to imagine it— a lifetime. he imagines holding your hand at graduation. and he imagines movie nights turned sleepovers, and he imagines what colours you'd choose for the bedsheets of your first house together. he imagines lists of names. he imagines forever. but this is a good start. you're 50-50 now, he's just got to work on that hundred percent.

and, in his opinion, 3 weeks is a long, long time. that's 7 whole days of 24 whole hours. and only god knows how many minutes are in those hours. way too many, he thinks. he's smart enough to know that good things take time, but he doesn't think that he can be only your classmate-sometimes-friend for any longer. he wants more. needs it.

you speak before he can reply, "you really have nothing to be working on?"

he probably does. a lot of business homework, something math related undoubtedly. but that wouldn't take him too long. so he opens his mouth to say as much when he remembers— he likely wouldn't have time later tonight. oh, but he's already not been doing his work— would it be embarrassing to start now? would you think he's stupid? he's so cool, and he'd hate if you didn't agree. in any other situation, he'd pop open his notebooks and get to work. but you make him all conscious, and nervous, and hot in the face. and how long has it been since you asked? he should probably respond. you stare expectantly and he feels warm all over, maybe almost as hot as he looks. (you'd agree. right? you would.)

"maybe just a few small things," he grins at you, "but i can squeeze them in before my game tonight."

you hum in response. "i forgot there was one tonight. against our rivals, right?"

his heart warms— you remembered who it was against. you might've forgotten about it in general, but you remembered it. that must be a good sign. oh, he's got this in the bag.

"yeah. at 7."

you smile at him. he thinks he might die right there. "well, good luck. i'm sure you'll do great."

he beams at the compliment, heart thundering like a caged bird between his ribs. compliments always meant more from you. he could probably definitely recall every single one you've ever spoken to him, if he tried. (and probably even if he didn't.)

ajax doesn't miss a beat, this time. "i'd probably do a lot better if you were there cheering me on."

he doesn't miss it. he doesn't miss the way your mouth twists a little bit in surprise, because this was really not what you were expecting. and he definitely, doesn't miss the way your eyes slide over to your hands, and your fingers which are suddenly all too fidgety. he's embarrassed you. his boyish grin grows tenfold. "don't tell me i've got you going shy on me."

you roll your eyes in mock annoyance, and he knows you well enough at this point to know you're trying to hide your bashfulness. "oh, you wish."

"you're right. i do."

you freeze. he doesn't think he could hide his joy at your embarrassment even if he wanted to, even if he tried. it's hard for ajax to pinpoint his favourite one of your feelings— he thinks you're cute all the time. he thinks it's funny when you're disgusted, or annoyed. he thinks you're adorable when you're happy, and especially so when you're sleepy. but he's beginning to suspect that he's especially fond of you when you're flustered like this.

the professor speaks. ajax's mood is instantly a little more sour because god, even the man's voice is slow and boring. the free class was officially dismissed, and students were free to go. under any other circumstances, ajax would be happy about this. but he really does have to go. he wishes you could come with him. he wishes you could come with him everywhere, really.

"are you serious?"

your question catches him off guard. you're looking at him again, with those pretty eyes, and you have a familiar expression on— it's one he recognises as confusion. you're confused. he softens, more than he thought possible. it takes everything in him to resist pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek, the crease of your furrowed brows, the corner of your lip where an unconscious pout makes itself known. and he realises he might've been unclear with his advances. so he meets your eyes and says, "of course i am. i'm serious about you if you are about me, yeah?"

it's some kind of consent, or acknowledgment. that what you both have can and probably will evolve. you're smart enough to know that he knows, and he's smart enough to know that you know. and you nod softly, and smile like flower petals, and he decides he'll never get over you. he'll never need another.

"i'll see if i can go tonight. but if not, i'll text you."

he thinks he's the happiest person alive. he could kiss you right then, right there, but your wrinkly old dustbag of a professor is still in the room and he won't entertain the geezer. "i'll see you."

he doesn't see you until the final quarter of the game, but you've been there the whole time.

his team is winning, of course, because they have him, but he's been out of it all game. any moment he can, he's scanning the stands with a watchful eye. it's one of the biggest games of the season. he knows he should be laser-focused, but he's not and it's all your fault. there must be hundreds of faces pressed together and he can't seem to find yours. until he does.

you're closer to the ground than he thought you'd be. hiding in plain sight. and when he sees you, he swears he might start floating. there are flowers in his chest, blooming an ache deep inside. something so disgustingly sweet, so addictingly sickening is awoken at the sight of you in his team's colour. he thinks you'd look beautiful in his spare jersey. he smiles, and it's all teeth. a vicious kind of adrenaline fills him as the next play is called to begin. he thinks he'll give it to you after he wins.

and wins he does. with flying colours, really— the other team didn't really stand a chance to begin with, not as soon as he saw you there cheering him on. his teammates flock to him like sheep, piling on him and shouting things he can't really hear over the general public's applause of the home team's victory. and everything is happening; his coach is slapping his back, his teammate is dragging him somewhere, someone's handing him water, people are screaming his name, yelling about his winning shot, and all he hears is his breathing, and all he sees is you, standing with your hands clasped and lips pressed together in a smile. all he sees is you, so you're the first person he runs to.

since you're in the first stand to the bottom, it's easy for him to clear the guard rail and get to your side. someone in the background shouts his name. he doesn't care. the people who were previously next to you are shoved aside— he doesn't care at all. he's right there with you.

"you came," his breath comes raspy, dry. "you came to see me."

you shrug nervously, "i guess i did."

so he kisses you. ajax is 19 when he falls in love, for the first and last time. ajax is 19 when he kisses you, and he's young, and he's stupid, and he will never regret this, not ever, not when you kiss him back almost instantly, pulling him close by his jersey. it feels so right, it feels too real to be true. he's got to be dreaming. any second now, he expects his daft old professor's voice to scold him for falling asleep during a lecture. but the voice never comes, and you really do taste like lemons and spice, and he hears phone cameras clicking and cheering grow tenfold and he doesn't care because he gets to kiss you.

at some point, you break away. your face is red-hot and he can feel the warm blood flooding your cheeks with how close your faces remain. he ikes it when your lips are swollen because of his. he likes it when your eyes are fixed on him. he likes you. he thinks he was doomed to like you from the start.

when the background finally fades back in, he sees his teammates cheering and ooh-ing like stupid junior high boys. you seem a little disoriented, so he laughs and pulls you away from the stands, helping you climb down the safety rail with a hand in yours and another on the small of your back.

ajax hates his sociology class. he hates the lectures, his professor, the subject— but something good came of it. because he really loves you. with your cardamom tongue and smile lines, and the crease of your eyebrows when you're annoyed, and all of it, and more. he loves you the most. more than anything.

flowers chosen: small sunflower & pink camellia . . adoration & longing for you

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#childe x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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