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lorelune · 8 months

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bathtime

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 5.1k || ao3 || previous + next ->

Even the best bath water will find it difficult to cleanse 'sin'.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c welcome to part 3 of the architect-verse :3cc been cooking on this one for awhile 🙏 yandere blade is such a guy and scummy manipulative mommy kafka is so fun to write :3ccc thank you for beloved @ofmermaidstories for doing a read through on this one 🥺♥!! enjoy enjoy enjoy 💓

CW: dark content, yandere blade, captive/pet reader, discussions of noncon, references to past noncon on blade while he was underage and as an adult, references to past noncon on reader, use of the word rape, violence/thoughts of violence, past yingxing/dan feng, toxic blade/kafka

It’s normal for Blade to return to the Stellaron Hunters’ main vessel covered in assorted types of gore. Scraps of rent flesh, smears of blood, bile, scales— tendons and sinew wrapped under his forearms, clinging from the pressure of impact light-years away. The smell of it clings to him, still fresh, just barely beginning to rot. He stews in it during his typical return in small, covert starships. He half-suffocates with the stench of death.

This is typical. Blade does not carry any opinion about it. If anything, he welcomes the potential of asphyxiation, though it never comes.

Most routinely, Kafka will greet him as he returns and take him to clean up. Occasionally, when she is indisposed, Silver Wolf will be forced to hose him down in the communal gym shower or Sam will dunk him in the bath by the scruff of his neck. Blade does not... particularly enjoy the latter two options. Though he isn't sure entirely why, and he doesn't tend to dwell on it either.

When Kafka collects him, it is easier, if nothing else. Less fuss, less grimacing over the smell of burgeoning rot and complaining that Blade should do this prior to arriving home. Blade doesn't care about the other Stellaron Hunters’ complaints, not really, but it does make the ordeal longer than it needs to be.

(And maybe, maybe, he does not like being drenched in bone-chilling water and soaked clothing. He hates it.)

Kafka will lead Blade back to her own room, strip him, and give him a warm bath. Frequently, she’ll take off her own clothing and join him. She’ll hold him close, his back to her front. Kafka likes when she is able to cow him into resting against her front, cow him into resting his cheek against her breasts while she scrubs away the worst of the grime.

Never mind that they share the same, red-tinged bathwater.

(Occasionally, things escalate. Touch that volleys between innocent and clinical and sexual. Kafka will stroke down the planes of his body, reach for his cock, and bring him to release. It’s— it's nice. He thinks. He can't tell.)

It's hard to tell anything in the steam of the bath. Though Kafka's presence renders his mara mute, proximity makes it writhe regardless. It is not a soundless beast, though it loses its words. Muddy feelings, rather than anything clear cut. It's a reprieve regardless.

This is why Blade prefers to be cleaned by Kafka.

...

This mission, however, Blade receives a text from Kafka during his return journey that she will be out. Along with Silver Wolf. And that Sam is charging and shouldn't be disturbed.

However—

Kafka:

why don't you see if our little stray is up for a bath, bladie?

There's a thought. One Blade hadn't considered.

(There's a whisper of a refusal in the back of his mind. 'No'. Blade is not sure why. It is quiet but sure of itself.)

Blade:

When will you be back.

Kafka:

tomorrow. don't wait up until then. listen, just ask.

Kafka's mind weaving does not work over text. But it is, regardless, difficult to resist her command. This is habit.

Blade idles outside of your room. He has dripped mess across the vessel and left little piles of flesh and muscle in his wake. The quiet sound of blood splattering against the floor (his, maybe, though his regeneration should be almost complete) makes him aware of this.

It feels uncouth to enter your room like this.

Blade shakes himself off and leaks scarlet droplets against the metal paneling. methodically, he releases the five locks on your door. Each clicks when fully disarmed, and by the time Blade enters, you're already looking up at the door, eyes wide.

You're tucked into bed with a soft blanket over your lap. A tablet (a gift from silver wolf at Kafka's behest. For 'good behavior'. Not connected to any internet, but you've told Blade it helps pass the time.)

The device is promptly forgotten as you push yourself out of bed, "Aeons, Blade, what happened? Are you hurt?"

You approach him with no caution. It's reckless. It's foolish, especially with this much adrenaline tumbling around between his eyes and in his veins. He has the distinct urge to shove you away and into the floor. Compress you until you break and bleed and bleed and break.

Blade does not.

Instead, he lets you flit around him. He lets you draw your own conclusions.

You are not foolish. You know he is dangerous; he knows you know this. It is your... good nature that creases the surely-soft skin between your brows. It's your kindness that has you frazzled, shaking in your hands as you hover over him. Searching for wounds that are mostly healed.

"Blade, I said, are you hurt?" You ask, voice strained, bent at the waist while examining a slice in his pants. A lance had torn his calve wide open. It has already healed.

"I'm fine."

"Sure." You don't sound convinced, frowning. "You look like shit. Am I really supposed to believe that?"

"I have already healed. my injuries are no longer a concern."

"... Really?"

"I am an abomination of Yaoshi. This is my nature."

You already know this, yet you look defeated. Your jaw is tight. "Uh-huh. Alright. Fuck, do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine. I need to be clean."

"... Alright?"

"I need to bathe."

"... I see that... Do you want me to call Kafka?"

"She's off ship."

"Oh, fuck." you curse and shake your head. "I-is she going to be back soon?"

"No. Help me instead."

"M-me?" Your voice trembles and you take a fearful step back. Ever the skittish thing. something in him— sort of him— vibrates.

"Yes."

"Can you— not?"

"It's cumbersome to wash on my own."

"I see." You run a hand over your cheeks and adjust the wide collar of your shirt. It’s too big. It’s one of his— probably? A sleep shirt. One that Kafka stole from him to give to you. He knows you own several. "Alright. Okay. Fine. Fuck, I-I can help."

You shoo him into your bathroom.

You turn away from him almost immediately, poking around in a cabinet, plucking brightly colored products and muttering under your breath. Kafka mentioned that isolation is getting to you more than you think. She thinks it's cute.

Blade wordlessly begins to strip. First off is his blood-soaked overcoat, shredded around his ribs and with massive gouges taken out of the back. Then his undershirt. Followed by his pants. One of his belts rings a metallic clink as he undoes it.

You choose this moment to turn around and your eyes go wide.

"BLADE!" You cover your eyes, dropping a bottle. "What are you— you can't just do that."

"Do what?"

"Get... naked?"

"You are going to help me bathe. This is necessary."

"I understand that." You sound exasperated. Your voice is shaky. The tone is pulling something in the back of his mind. The corners of his lips almost want to curl upwards. "But you can't just strip without warning. Aeons, have some manners."

Blade nearly laughs— good-naturedly. The urge to is something dormant and poisonous. Seldom used. Usually it's a sharp impulse, but it's almost warm now. Tepid and pleasant.

(All for you.)

You cover your eyes as you fumble to turn on the tap, "At least go rinse off a little in the shower first, please?"

Doable, albeit difficult. Blade grunts something akin to an affirmative and finds your shower. He turns the water on (hot or cold doesn't seem... relevant) and steps in. The spray pours down from the ceiling, sending the worst of the gore down the drain.

Blade does not move for quite some time.

"Blade?" you ask warily. "You... done in there?"

It takes him a moment to reply. The cold spray lags him, "Yes."

"... Can you come out? The bath is ready."

He idles, thinking about your question. The softness of your voice. The candle that he can smell, lit on the countertop. You yourself, dressed in soft lounge clothes and covered in scars that strangers gave you. He thinks about the way skin and muscle rend under his blade. The way yours could. Under him. Under—

"Blade."

You open the glass shower door, worry-eyed.

He blinks at you.

Gently, you grab his arm. He flinches with it. Has half a mind to slam you into the tile until you pop like an perfectly ripe fruit—

But he doesn't.

"C’mon, bath time," you coax him out, dripping, careful to not look down. It’s a preservation of modesty. It feels useless, Blade thinks, as he pulls away to clamor into the bath.

... There are bubbles. Fragrant and herbal, with a soft oil shimmering on the top of the water. It is the perfect temperature. It feels... good. He forgets how nice warmth is. He softens. You heave out a sigh and settle next to him, outside the bath. There's a dampened washcloth, already in your hand.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" You ask.

"I don't care."

"Give me a yes or a no,” you press him, glaring a little. You roll up your sleeves and rise to your knees.

"Yes, then." He does not care. Do you not understand?

(You probably don't. You definitely don't.)

Your expression is unreadable as you dunk the rag into the bathwater and begin to wash him. First his right arm, then his left. Gently rubbing him down, taking extra care with his hands. The rag is gentle over his stiff fingers. You check under each of his nails individually.

You’re meticulous.

You ask a question or two about how he washes himself, specifically his hair, but Blade can't give you answers. Kafka stocks his bathroom. His bottles are numbered, and he never deviates from their preassigned order. It is easier that way. Even in Kafka’s tub, she tends to use the same order of expensive-looking products that she favors.

The treatment you’re currently giving him is not routine.

The ends of your sleeves dip into the water as you stretch over the tub, toward his legs. Your tongue peaks out from your lips, bitten in concentration. (It’s cute.) Blade feels... compelled to assist you. He raises his leg up at the knee. Just as carefully, you scrub him down, and then focus on his other leg.

The experience fills him with a sense of unease.

(It’s too tender.)

(You treat him too delicately. Even Kafka acknowledges the damage he carries, and her touch is only gentle to punctuate a roughness later on. She toys with him— it’s a farce. The way you touch him is too kind. You are too kind for him. It reminds him— makes him feel the ghost of a touch from hands more delicate and powerful than your own. From a different lifetime, blotted by Mara, corrupted and molten in his mind—)

“Blade—?” Your voice is shaking, shattering. You’re frozen at the side of the tub.

Blade blinks.

He has his hand wrapped around your wrist; his grip swallowing the fragile limb. The force of it is bruising. He holds it under the water, forcing you to lean over the tub. You are submerged up to your elbow. Your expression is pinched, afraid. Your pupils pinpricked.

An animal snared.

His grip tightens.

“Let go, please.” You ask, lip wobbling.

He does not want to let go. He really does not want to let go. Blade cannot trace the feeling, it’s miasmatic. It was a bad idea to have you assist in bathing him. Mara webs itself behind his eyes. His jaw locks and breathes hard through his nose. He wants to sink his teeth into your throat.

“Please, stop,” You whine— whimper while tugging against his hold. You are half bent over the bath. Your eyes water, all shiny.

The tone does something to him. Many people plead around him— for their life, mercy, favor. It’s useless. He does not care. He has no reason to care. There are scripts to follow. However— there’s no script here. Just the warm suds, the blood pumping through your veins, and Blade’s tunneling vision.

With a sharp pull, he drags you into the bath.

You fall in headfirst. Instantly, you clamor at the side of the tub and his submerged legs to get yourself back above water. You scramble. It’s— cute. Your hair is slicked down around your face and forehead, eyes wide as you pant. His legs bracket your body. He tightens his thighs around you.

Your thin clothes are soaked and cling to you. Fabric over curves and folds over your flesh. Blade’s half-hard and feels bad about it.

(He can’t trace why. It’s far from the first time he’s been physically aroused in relation to you. It always makes him feel bad. Not with Mara, but something personal and sour and less mad. He hates it. He’s almost torn out a rib over the feeling.)

You hover, frozen, between his legs. The only sounds in the bathroom are your panting breaths and the drips rolling off your body, into the bathwater. You swallow, trembling, but remaining otherwise unmoving. It occurs to Blade after a few tense moments that you are waiting for him to strike.

Always like a little, frightened animal.

(Something in him writhes.)

He moves quickly, shooting a hand out to fist into your hair. His grip is unyielding, giving you no slack (though, he doesn’t yank and pull as he could. He could tear out chunks if he wanted. He just doesn’t want you to move.) He wants you closer— maybe. He wants you far away, thrown through one of the ship's thick windows and into the vacuum of space and dead.

(Though, it wouldn’t be as satisfying for the void of space to kill you. He’d rather do it. He wants to do it, if you’re going to die.)

You whine and paw at his wrists, babbling something.

Blade feels disgusting as he drags your body to his, his chest to your back, and he curls over your form. His arms wind around your waist and squeeze. You scratch at him, beg maybe— he can’t tell, his ears are ringing. Your fists that slam into his shoulders and skull feel like swats from a declawed kitten. He doesn’t budge despite your protests.

You stop fighting when you realize he isn’t hurting you.

Blade doesn’t... want to hurt you. He thinks. Not really. Not in the way that Mara is screaming at him to. He isn’t content, you’re too warm and too alive to be this close to his body, but it's not bad. Contact both scratches an itch under his skin and aggravates a wound. It’s like a bath with Kafka, but worse—

(Because part of him wants this.)

Blade flinches when you go slack against him, chest heaving out breath. Even this little ‘scrap’ has tired you out. You’ve become weakened in your confined state— even if you really wanted to fight him, you don’t have the physical strength to be able to.

You sniffle, covered in soaked clothes and soap suds.

“Don’t cry.” Blade says without thinking. His voice is shot, dead-pan.

Trembling, you shake your head, “I w-won’t.”

It’s a lie. You’re already shaking in his arms.

It’s— unfair. You’re most used to him, and less wary of him than Kafka. Part of him, a loud but small part of his mind, thinks that a bath together could be enjoyable— if he wasn’t washing blood and filth from his hair, and you weren’t shivering in your soaked day clothes.

(‘This could be nice’, it urges.)

His hands rub over your sides in small circles at the idea.

You gasp and squirm, looking back at him with wild eyes, “Blade, please—”

He stops, but his hold around your waist doesn’t waver. You sigh and lean back into his chest, deflating. Your eyes go half-lidded as you look toward the ceiling. They look— dull. Light and life drained. Like how they did when he and Kafka first collected you from that gilded planet.

Blade knows that look— a dull mind and an active body. Your breath is still a bit too fast. Your heart is the same, running a prey-like rhythm. He assumes that you have left your body, gone elsewhere.

“Hey.” He shakes you lightly, dragging you back to the cooling bath. “Help with my hair.”

“... Hair?” You ask, voice soft and dreamy. “... Do you need me to wash it?”

“Yes.”

“... Okay.” You nod after a moment and rotate in his lap.

Your shoulders sag forward as you fumble for shampoo and squirt a generous amount into your palm. Half of it misses and the gel sinks into the bathwater below.

It’s unfair— part of him says again— he wants to tear it out and shred it between his teeth or under his blade. It screams that it's unfair that you dote on a creature like him. It’s unfair that you must shiver while lathering and rinsing his hair. That your pretty lips tremble with fear.

The Mara writhes. He has not been human in so long. He does not deserve the gentleness you so often give him. Especially now, when he has dragged you closer, made you filthy with the stench of blood, and forced you so close. He wants to bite out your throat as you tip forward to grab a brightly colored bottle of oil and begin to work through the knots in his air.

You are frowning. You are crying.

He wants to eat you.

Blade reaches for your chest, studying the way that the fabric clings to your skin-gone-gooseflesh. He finds the top button of your soft blouse in his own unsteady hands and undoes it. You freeze when he does, breath catching.

You don’t breathe as he undoes another button.

Then another.

And another.

You don’t breathe until the garment is nearly off. Just one button secures the fabric. He can see the peak of your breasts under the fabric, nipples pebbled in the cold. You’re so cold.

(Blade wishes, dead Yingxing wishes, that he were warmer.)

Your hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, and in a small voice, you beg, “Please, d-don’t.”

“You’re cold.” Blade says. He reaches past you, sloshing water, to turn on the spigot for hot water. “You will stay cold if you wear wet clothes.”

You look at him strangely. At first, it’s wounded. Like you’ve been lanced through with Shard Sword, and now bear the gaping wound. It morphs to one of confusion, then you bite your lip. And grab his hands in your own and stare at them.

“... That’s all?” You ask.

“Mostly.” Blade replies. There’s— more. Far more. But nothing that is concrete enough, or important enough, to share with you. It would more than likely aggravate his spitting Mara.

“Okay.” You reply, looking up from your joined hands. Your eyes are round and watery. “You’re not trying to rape me?”

He freezes.

The word ‘rape’ pulls something disgusting and festering up from Blade’s guts. Something he wants to purge. He has the distinct urge to lean over the side of the time and vomit, but he hasn’t eaten in the last forty-eight hours, so there’s nothing to heave up. So instead, he is still.

It’s like he can feel the rot. He’s not sure why. He knows what the word means, he is pretty sure he has been raped. Probably. Either when he was a young child, a refugee fleeing a massacred world, or maybe when he was the bedmate to a dragon. Maybe, probably, from Kafka, any number of times. Maybe last week. His mind is cloudy.

What constitutes rape is foggy.

He knows it would mean that he wants to have sex with you, and you wouldn’t want to have sex with him.

And Blade—

(He— He— doesn’t want to have sex with you? Or he does. Maybe. He wants to be close to you, inside you. He wants to curl around you and make you swear to never leave. He wants— he wants so much. Blade is selfish. But—)

Not like that, he doesn’t think. Others have been, he’s sure— he’s sure.

Mara pours into his mind, and he remembers then. Pieces of times, fragments of old memories, of rape. Of violation of all kinds.

(At the hands of borisins holding him down as he screamed and cried, his body too little to do any fighting in the jaws of an Abundance beast.)

(A tradesman who allowed him to stowaway on a cargo ship, destined for the Luofu. ‘Payment’ — the man had called it. For safe passage and a little sack of rice.)

(Dan Feng, during one of his draconic ruts. He was the Child of a Cosmic Horror, ultimately. That’s all Aeons are, anyways. Yingxing had been split on his cock so many times, so full, he bled for a day, even with Dan Feng fussing over him with his cloudhymns, lucid-in-mind and torn apart by so much guilt for a wildly proud man.)

(Kafka, a few days after she first picked him up from the surface of the asteroid Jingliu had been beating him into. Kafka, a few weeks after that— in a hotel that stank of blue emory roses. Kafka, a few weeks ago, draped over his shoulders between missions. There’s more. Memories drenched in the smell of her rich perfume. They tangle in feelings of comfort and revulsion.)

Blade doesn’t want to do any of that to you.

(He wants something with you— but—)

(Not like that. He doesn’t want you to hurt.)

“I’m not going to rape you.” He tells you. He hardly sounds like himself as the Mara quiets.

He thumbs over your lips. There’s a scar in the middle of them where they had been split, repeatedly, and then healed over. You’d told him once that one of your old keepers used to deprive you of water if he felt like it. Your breath is hot against his fingertip.

You say nothing, but your breath is still fast and shaky. Your eyes are wide. A feral, wild animal.

“I’m not.” Blade tries to reassure you. You flinch with the sound of his voice. “You’re freezing. The bath can be refilled with warm water. Bathe.”

Tears break over your lower lashes as you stare at him. He stares back.

(He wonders what you’re thinking. If you have as much trouble thinking as he does— you probably do. You’ve sustained head trauma. Traumas. You’re both torn-up wrecks, maybe. It could provide him with some solace.)

“... Okay.” You rub your eyes with balled up hands and laugh. “Okay.”

Blade then helps you peel off your shirt. Then your shorts and underwear. When you’re bare, Blade drains most of the water from the, leaving you both with a layer of clinging bubbles protecting the barest bits of your modesty. You cover your chest and center with your hands, keeping your head down. Hiding your throat.

He refills the tub with more soap— too much probably. Mountains of bubbles appear as he dumps in a glug of shimmering, emerald-colored oil. It swirls into the water as it rises. You relax as it rises over your chest. Your eyelids droop. You look so tired.

Blade washes you like you did him.

You face each other as he does. Your gaze never leaves him, though it goes glassy again. Unfocused. Blade can feel your heartbeat through your skin, slowing more and more with each pass of the warm, soapy rag he is using. He massages products into your hair. He thinks that he may be doing so in the correct order. He hopes he is.

This close, he can see all of you. Most of you. Feel you too. He feels ridges and bumps of scars. Chunks of flesh that have been torn from you, replaced by cicatrix, uneven and unnatural under his touch. You shudder when he touches you, shivering despite the heat of the room. You’re sensitive. He doesn’t want Kafka to know.

You feel different like this. Blade is unable to place why.

When he is through with you, steam and bubbles still rising from the bath, you drag him closer. Your fingers dig into his biceps, latching on and scrambling to get closer.

“... You really mean it, don’t you?” You ask. Your eyes are still unfocused. “You’re not going to? You’re not fucking with me?”

“... What are you talking about?”

An unrestrained smile stretches over your face, “You do mean it. You do. You do.”

Blade can only guess what you mean. You clearly will not (or cannot) tell him. You shiver against a full body thing against him. It makes him uneasy. He flips you by the hips, so that your back is to his chest, and he can curl over your shoulders. He cast a shadow into the water.

Indulgently, he presses his nose into your cheek. You smell like fresh soap and skin. He thinks if he licked you, you’d taste like salt.

He doesn’t.

When that’s all he does, you laugh.

It’s a belting thing, the kind of sound that’s punched from your gut with the same force that could break ribs. Blade can imagine the sound and sensation of it obliterating your insides as your laughter bounces around the tile of the bathroom. It’s manic. It’s an unwell sound. You clutch a fist over your chest as you howl.

You don’t stop for a while.

It’s clearly too much. Blade can feel it. The sound echoes in his chest. It must be shredding yours.

His arm wraps around your midsection as you do, and he tries to press you closer— he thinks. He thinks it might help. Your breath starts to shake, each inhale pitching high and sharp. You’re hyperventilating around your laughter. You’re hysterical, but don’t fight his hold. Even as tears drip down your cheeks, splattering into the bathwater.

Blade says your name— it should come out sharply. He means it to.

However, it is gentle. His voice is hushed and rough.

“You’re alright.” He squeezes you until the breath is forced from your lungs, and there’s no fuel for your laughter anymore. “You’re okay.”

With a choked, quiet sob, you reply, “I know.”

...

It’s later— much later. Maybe the next day.

Your room still doesn’t have any way to keep time other than your little tablet, which has been powered off and charges across the room on top of your dresser, so Blade can only guess.

He lays beside you in bed, propped up on an elbow. You sleep next time to him, relaxed and soft-jawed. The soft duvet is pulled up to your collarbones, and you curl into Blade. He’s— warmer than the rest of your room. Even if he does run too cold to be properly alive.

He runs the side of his index finger over your face.

You had been so tired after leaving the bath, you’d hardly been able to dress yourself— you hadn’t been able to. Blade to pick out sleep clothes and help you get into them. He chose whatever he could find that seemed. Soft.

(A flowing, soft teal top and white shorts with golden thread sewn in the seams.)

You fell asleep quickly after that and have been ever since. Blade had only meant to sit on the edge of your mattress.

That did not happen.

Instead, he’s tucked next to you. One of your hands fists the front of his shirt, and your body is angled toward him. Seeking. Wanting.

Blade could take.

He recognizes that.

It’s a thought, though, not a temptation. Not after the bath. Not after feeling the ways in which your body has been torn apart and so painstakingly put itself back together. You are not a creature of Abundance, you are not built to live forever and to repair yourself endlessly like he is. Your vitality is finite. Every scar your flesh must restitch takes something from you and it will not be replaced.

You will end.

Your bedroom door clicks, five times, then opens with a whoosh of air. Kafka stands in the doorframe. A sickly-sweet smile stains her mouth. Her lipstick is the is freshly applied and glossy.

“I see you got all cleaned up, Bladie,” her voice is silken and smooth. He could drown in it. “Was our little pup helpful?”

“... Yes.”

“Good.” Kafka hums. Her heels click against the floor, and she takes a place next to you. Even as the mattress dips, you don’t stir. “You’re so helpful with training them. Good boy.”

Blade pauses his petting of you to glare and grunt at Kafka. She looks delighted.

“I wasn’t aware I was assisting with any sort of training.”

“It’s all implicit. As long as they’re getting comfortable, that’s what counts. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

Blade doesn’t like that answer.

“I don’t want to see them hurt,” Blade says.

“That’s sweet of you.”

“I mean it, Kafka.”

“I know, I know.” Kafka laughs. She sighs and falls into the bed, over the cushy duvet. She spoons you, flattening herself to your back and winding her arms around your waist. Your brow wrinkles and a little whimper scratches from your throat. “I’d like to see our new puppy kept in one piece too, Bladie. I’ve grown quite fond of them. However, we are both beholden to Destiny. If one of Elio’s scripts—”

“I know.” Blade snaps.

He does not want to think about it.

His hand that had been petting you winds tightly into your hair and your face scrunches up.

“Listen, Bladie, everything’s alright. You’re okay.” Kafka soothes, dropping a kiss onto your cheek. It leaves a smear. Kafka works Blade’s hand out of your hair. “Be good and keep them company while I give Elio a mission report.”

“That’s what I have been doing.”

“Then, keep it up.”

Kafka rolls out of bed with a sigh, not a hair out of place. She leaves the room almost soundlessly, the door clicking as it relocks. Five times.

Blade does as Kafka says. He keeps you company, sinking down into the mattress beside you. He wipes away the lipstick left over your cheek and presses a kiss to the spot. He lingers there.

Kafka can have— a lot of him. But, perhaps, he will covet you, all for himself.

(If the Mara in his mind had not been suppressed, perhaps he would have heard:

(FOOL FOOL FOOL! DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU COVET AND CLING? DO NOT FORGET YOUR SINS! DO NOT FORGET HIS SINS—!)

Instead, his mind is quiet. He pulls you closer and sleeps. Space is dead around him, and you are dead to the world in his undying arms.

Blade thinks he likes when you bathe with him.

#lore writes #blade x reader #ren x reader #blade x you #hsr x reader #tw yandere #tw dark content #tw noncon #LETS GO!!!#PLEAAASE mind the tags but otherwise enjoy!!!

640 notes · View notes

akutasoda · 3 months

Text

amongst the star anise

synopsis - a conflicted topic arises again and he can't figure out a proper remedy

includes - jiaoqiu

warnings - gn!reader, angst, slight fluff, confessions?, maybe ooc, wc - 1.2k

a/n: kinda all over the place but whatever, he lives rent free in my head

jiaoqiu was always dedicated to practicing medicine and by extent and association, cooking - it was more of a passion of his per say. although some might consider it a bit forced or dictated seeing as he did come from a prestigious alchemy commission family.

however, the foxian hadn't always been so lucky in terms of maintaining his dedication to his practice. as rumour has it, jiaoqiu once withdrew from practicing medicine due to a broken heart - it was only a rumour spread around the xianzhou yaoqing because nobody knew the truth, the only thing that was true was that jiaoqiu would make sure it remained as a rumour.

however he would admit in secret, if it hadn't been for general feixiao, he doubted he would've bounced back as quickly as he did - he only returned to the field because he was needed, not because he wanted to. nowadays he probably would call his old self weak and over reactive but in everyday life it was obvious to himself that he clearly still saw himself that way deep down.

it was especially obvious when he started avoiding you, by no fault on your end but it certainly felt that way. it became quite obvious that the pink foxian was trying to avoid you at all costs - you'd see him across a crowd but by the time you got there, he would've disappeared or if you managed to catch him when he's talking with someone, he'd finish his conversation and pretend like you didn't exist.

but what confused you most was the fact that he would randomly change and act like normal. you understood the fact that he could be quite frustrating at times but this seemed a tad extreme. one week he'd act like you two friends, which you were, and the next he'd avoid you like you were mara-struck. all without a single explanation or even acknowledgment at any time, and understandably it started annoying you.

all you wanted was an explanation for why he recently started acting like that sonetimes but it seemed impossible as anytime you brought it up when he was back to 'normal', he'd brush you off and smack the top of your head with his fan before walking away. eventually, you started ignoring him aswell. it wasn't really your fault because jiaoqiu had really worn down your tolerance for his behaviour, some were baffled you put up with his antics for as long as you did.

unfortunately, it only really gave him a reason to annoy you further - he could surprisingly brcome more cunning when he realised you were ignoring him. however jiaoqiu wasn't stupid, he knew why you began ignoring him in the first place. in truth, jiaoqiu was scared, over reactive and weak even. he returned to practice medicine because he had to and so he never exactly had gotten over his reason to withdraw in the first place.

a small while after he returned, he met you and it was like he was falling head over heels all over again. except this time he kept his cunning and mischievous facade up and refused to let himself get hurt again. except he greatly overestimated just how much his heart longed for you and your presence. throughout all his years of counselling and practicing medicine, the only solution he could think of was pushing you away. although this solution only seemed to worsen the problem.

everytime he pushed you away and tried to force you out of his life, he'd make a promise to himself that he needed to do so and that it was for the best. but every single time, there would come a time where he needed you or wanted to see you and then he'd go back to normal and refuse to acknowledge his change in behaviour. he knew how it affected you, it was cruel for the both of you - it must be, even if you didn't know why - but he just couldn't get along without you not could he bare to put his heart on the line again.

now more than ever, jiaoqiu realised that his solution perhaps wasn't the best remedy. he'd pushed you away and now you were reciprocating that action, he needed to figure out another solution.

you had come to find a note addressed to you not too long after you started ignoring jiaoqiu, it wasn't signed but you knew very well who it was from. you'd overheard a couple of people complaining avout the increasing spiciness of jiaoqiu's dishes, to the point where the spiciness wasn't even flavourful. you'd also had people comment on the fact that he trailed after you when you ignored him, constantly vying for your attention by trying his best to garner your attention.

so admittedly you were curious as to what he wanted to tell you, and so you found yourself heading to the location detailed in his note. you found it rather comical to see the usually extremely composed jiaoqiu pacing back and forth. as you got closer you noticed how he stopped and waited, although you could still tell he was somewhat anxious about something because his tail was swishing back and forth.

jiaoqiu looked like he had something to say, but it appeared that whatever it was, was something that proved to be difficult for him to say. he kept going to say something but stopping and he hid rhe lower half of his face with his fan, presumably to hide his embarrassment - you'd never seen jiaoqiu so out of character before. he was practically infatuated with you but he didn't like it, not because if you but because he didn't want to risk another broken heart.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

#—stellaronhvnters.#x reader #x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail jiaoqiu #hsr jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu x you #jiaoqiu x reader

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baeshijima · 1 year

Text

— of lattes and dozing generals

in which you're just a cafe employee, and he is the luofu's revered general — the one who can never seem to stray too far from you, no matter how much time passes.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 10.4k wc, fluff, some angst, hurt/comfort, coffee shop!au(-but-not-really-but-yeah-but-also-not), set slightly before current timeline, (old) friends to lovers, (attempts at) humour, pining pining bc they are old..., mentions of death (reader killed a mara-struck for the first time), hints of blade x reader if you squint

A/N : after a month the fic is done... i am so unwell for this man good lord ಥ_ಥ

General Jing Yuan is a cafe addict. That much is common knowledge among the citizens of the Luofu. Spanning from those who have been around for as long as he — and even older — to children and visitors alike, there’s not one person who hasn’t heard of this rumour.

When asked by a few brave (or nosy, depending on how you look at it) souls, the corners of his lips merely quirk up in a display of fond affection as he vocalises with equal sentiment, “They have my favourite there. How can I possibly resist the temptation?”

…Yeah. Whatever that meant.

Unsurprisingly, word spreads fast. News of the Cloud Knight’s general making regular trips to a meagre cafe? Just what in the world did they have to cause the great, beloved General Jing Yuan to return time and time again?

In the end, no one could actually figure out what his favourite item on the menu was. Every time he went in, it would always result in him leaving with something new! The only consistent occurrence, however, was the same employee taking his order with an expression akin to that of exasperation.

Meanwhile, to the regulars who have grown used to his profound presence within the humble cafe, they know better. This so-called ‘favourite menu item’ rumour that’s been going around? Preposterous! Having bore witness to the general breeze through the entrance in a bee-line to wherever it is you may be currently stationed (typically behind the counter) on many occasions, they’re confident the last thing in Jing Yuan’s mind when visiting is the menu.

After all, for what reason would he have to visit other than to converse with and see his favourite employee?

As a Xianzhou Native, you’ve experienced many oddities and menial routines throughout your extensive life. From being a medic-slash-supporter during countless wars and purges to your current job in a humble cafe, your options are beginning to run thin. After all, life is about exploring the new and revisiting the old (in your philosophy, at least), and there’s plenty of time to do so after having lived as long as you have.

Granted, outside of your role in purging the Denizens of Abundance, it’s safe to say your current occupation in the cafe has been your longest one yet! Well, you suppose the citizens of the Luofu — and, by extension, the Xianzhou Alliance — were never really ones for drastic change. At least the outworlders who come to visit bring some semblance of entertainment in your mundane life.

Yes. Your simple, mundane life you have come to appreciate.

“I see you’re busy as ever,” comments a baritone voice — languid in intonation yet you’re no stranger to the power which belies it. Against your better judgement, your eyes lift from the marbled counter to meet the smiling face of the bane of your existence, and the general whom the masses respect and fawn over. “Mind taking another customer?”

Ah. Right. This guy.

Out of everything that has been thrown at you, you’re almost certain this man takes the cake for the strangest experience in your life. And the longest, you suppose.

Although, it seems the same can’t be said for your coworkers, as you practically hear their beams of excitement before they can vocalise it.

“Welcome back, General Jing Yuan!”

You sigh at the enthused greeting from one of your coworkers, the beginnings of a headache teetering along the edges of your conscience.

Ignoring the commotion, you resume your work. What was it you were making again…? Oh, right. One milk tea and a—

“If you keep frowning like that, you’ll drive away customers.”

“Will it drive you away?” you retort, focusing on the last part of the order. After securing the small fruit tart from behind the display case, you pass the milk tea and pastry to a coworker so they can take it to the customer.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he drawls, impish smile magnified by the glimmer in his eyes when you turn to make contact, “but it’ll take much more than that to drive me away.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, unsure of what it is exactly he wants from you this time. Your eyes begin to narrow. “Are you saying a smile will drive you away?”

He feigns an exaggerated expression of hurt. “Drive me away? Oh, how your accusations wound me!” A chuckle bubbles from his throat when you glare at him for his theatrics, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I concede. Would you believe me if I said I’m worried your attention will be stolen away from me if you smile?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m merely looking out for you, [Name],” he says with a sigh, a shake of his head and a light tutting sound. “While I am immune to your smile, the customers are not. I don’t wish for you to be bored due to the lack of customers.”

Seriously, you can’t believe this guy sometimes. If he wants a challenge, then you accept.

And so you close your eyes and present your best century-perfected customer smile (which, to your credit, has been the number one selling point for many of the regulars and returning customers), deciding to play along with his whims. “Welcome back, General Jing Yuan. Would you like your usual today?”

(Granted, he likes to vary his order every now and then but the caramel latte seems to be his most consistent choice as of late. Pretty good taste, if you do say so yourself.)

“…”

…Why is it so quiet all of a sudden? Did everyone just unanimously decide to up and leave?? Is there a minute of silence you’re unaware of???

A meek cough disrupts your thoughts. Relieved at the new sound, you open your eyes only to be stumped by the general in front of you. His prior relaxed posture is now rigid, eyes focusing everywhere but on you. Wait, upon closer inspection, is he… shaking?

“...Please excuse me.”

Huh?

You’re not given much time to process his words. With one swift turn he’s already stalking towards the door.

“Hey! What happened to not being driven away?!” He doesn’t turn back at your shout. No, it seems to only make him speed-walk faster. Barely a blink and he’s gone, the only indication of his presence being the echoing chimes of the bell.

He bigged himself up saying he wouldn’t be driven away but then he goes and leaves you in the dust the moment you smile.

What a hypocrite.

(Unbeknown to you, the regulars who happened to witness the spectacle could only chuckle in fond exasperation at their general’s splutter and flushed skin, the only time they can truly get a read on his thoughts, and your dumbfounded expression.)

“One milk tea, as always.”

“No need to sound so enthusiastic,” Tingyun laughs before thanking you. A satisfied hum leaves her lips when drinking the beverage, and that’s all the indication you need to know you have, once again, aced the recipe.

Well done, me! You deserve a pat on the back and a century-long holiday away from as many people as possible!

Graceful movements snap you out of your fantasies. You blink rapidly to process the flutter of a fan, a disarmingly sweet giggle and a cold, paper-like material pressed into your palm.

“Have fun with your dream man~”

“Wait what—”

And then she’s gone, leaving you to stare blankly at the place she was standing mere moments prior. You’re starting to see a pattern here with people abruptly leaving you in a fit of confusion.

Well, nothing you can do about it now, you suppose. So instead you move your focus to the small, thin object enclosed in your hand. Its now-exposed surface gleams under the cafe lights, the reflection obscuring the details. A picture? But what can you do with a—

Wait. Is that… Jing Yuan… winking at the camera…?

Sure enough, under the pressure of your scrutiny as you hold the picture in various angles and heights, the winking face of Jing Yuan stares back at you in mockery. Somehow, this photo feels slightly more personal than the usual ones Tingyun distributes to the masses. Actually, you’re not sure how she even manages to obtain these photos in the first place and, quite frankly, you think it's best you don’t know.

…The hell am I supposed to do with this?

Just as you were wondering what to do with the polaroid, a familiar voice comes from behind — almost as if the small, glossy image clutched between your fingers had the ability to summon him. “If you wanted my photo, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please don’t misunderstand, general,” you deadpan in response, your head swerving to meet his amused gaze before placing the photocard on the counter. “I was given this against my own will.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” he hums, a melodic sound which serves to speed up the palpitations of your heart. It comes to an abrupt slow, however, when you spot the corners of his lips lift into a smug curve, already dreading whatever it is that may leave his lips. “I wonder why I find that hard to believe.”

“That's not my problem.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

…

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He laughs at your groan, eyes crinkling with joy at the dispense of your suffering. Yeah, why suffer when you can make drinks? Besides, you already know he’ll accept whatever it is you make, so there’s no reason to ask for his opinion!

He follows close behind when you venture behind the counter in search of some ingredients, uncaring for the stares he receives from the customers who aren’t regulars.

When you crouch, you shoot one last accusatory glare at the still-smiling general before disappearing to rifle through cabinets underneath. “For someone in a position such as yours, you sure do have a lot of spare time to be spending it on a humble cafe worker such as myself.”

You’re not sure if he responds, too focused on searching for what you need. After finding the ingredients, you rock back on your heels and stand, the top of your head brushing against something smooth. When you rise, you realise it was the back of Jing Yuan’s hand which you made contact with, as he grips the edge of the counter where your head most definitely would have hit if he hadn’t cushioned the impact.

He merely grins when your eyes travel up the length of his arm to meet his gaze. “Well, what can I say other than you are worth every second of my time.”

…

“Don’t look at me like that, [Name].”

“Like what?” You watch as his smile strains when you repeat his words from earlier, a victorious grin creeping its way onto your lips. “Alright, alright. I’ll make your drink now. It won’t take long.”

True to your words, it doesn’t take long. Within a matter of minutes you’ve prepared a caramel latte. (It was the only thing you could find ingredients for. Perhaps it’s time to go shopping again…)

After securing the lid on the takeaway cup, you hand it over to him. He reaches out, your fingers brushing slightly and—

The silence is unnervingly loud as you both stare blankly at the spilled drink rolling across the counter.

“...I’ll be charging extra for that latte today.”

“Aha…”

You’re no stranger to quiet days in the cafe, and neither are the staff and regulars. After a particular incident way back when, it’s safe to say the establishment has faced many peaceful shifts. Though that’s not to say there hasn’t been any disputes from customers, but they’re usually small, easy to resolve issues that only require a practised smile and a (sometimes threatening) deal before sending them on their merry way.

Today, however, doesn’t seem to be one of those easy days.

“Sir, I’ll have to ask you to leave,” your voice resounds in the quiet cafe, stern and unwavering. The man in question tears his attention away from his phone to glance over his shoulder, his once haughty expression now fallen into a scowl.

“And why’s that?” he asks after telling the other person on the line to wait for a moment. “I’m not being disruptive to anyone.” With the progressively hostile looks he’s been getting since earlier, you beg to differ. Well, even if he clearly is an outworlder unaware of the Xianzhou customs, that doesn’t justify his ignorance.

And you decide to tell him just that.

“Since you seem to be a visitor, let me give you a piece of advice: it would do you well to cease all mentions of seeking immortality when aboard any of the Xianzhou ships, lest you want to make an enemy of yourself to the locals.”

“Oh? And who are you to tell me that?”

Your eye twitches at his haughty tone. Within a second your signature customer smile is plastered onto your expression, an even tone conveying your next words, “A Xianzhou Native, of course.”

And the next thing you know there’s a seething customer causing a disruption in the middle of the cafe. Though not unexpected, you still held onto a fraying hope that the issue could be resolved somewhat peacefully.

How bothersome.

A light weight plops itself atop the line of your shoulder, shifting slightly with a soft brush against your jaw before coming to a still. With a blink, you and the man share a brief moment of confusion, and you find yourself more stupefied at the finch gazing up at you with a slight tilt of its head.

It looks familiar, but that isn’t much to go off of. Besides, the first person to come to mind already said he would be busy this week, so you highly doubt he’s managed to appear at just the right time like always… right? Right—

“What seems to be the issue here?”

Your answer comes in the form of a tender warmth encasing your back, a beguiling voice resounding from behind, and a familiar scent relaxing your tensed muscles. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise who’s standing behind you, but perhaps it’s because you’re so used to his presence that you can identify him the moment he steps into a room.

“General…” you trail off at his unexpected appearance. Jing Yuan does not meet your gaze, however, instead choosing to remain upright behind you and fixate his focus onto the man who kicked up a fuss, expression hardened into that akin of a general.

The little finch is not deterred by the overwhelming presence Jing Yuan now exudes. Rather, it chirps happily and nudges its head against your jaw once more before making itself comfortable along the slope of your neck. Looking at it a little closer you realise it's the one who sometimes greets you when you and Jing Yuan meet up, finding purchase on your shoulder during a round or two of starchess. A smile makes its way onto your lips when it leans into the touch of your finger.

It would seem the small bird did a great job in distracting you, however, for the next thing you know wind sweeps past you, exclamatory apologies spewed out in haste follow and gradually fade in its wake. There’s a faint chime of the bell and a missing presence in front of you.

Oh, you blink, he ran away.

Jing Yuan turns to you then, expression much softer than it was a few moments prior. “Are you alright?” he asks, his hand gently squeezing your free shoulder.

“Yeah, thank you,” you sigh. Your fingers lift to massage away the built up tension in your temples. “I’m sorry you had to see that on your break.”

There’s a small pause. “You shouldn’t apologise for something like that.”

“Huh…?” It was a mistake to meet his gaze, you belatedly realise, for your breath is ceased by the flame which burns molten gold, your heart caught in your throat amidst a gravitas you haven’t seen for a while.

His lips part, tone gradually changing to something more light-hearted; a stark contrast to his current expression. “You were just doing your job. It was that customer who was in the wrong. Honestly, he should have known better than to talk so flippantly about that topic.”

Well, you can’t refute his words.

“What are you doing here anyway?” You cough in an attempt to divert the topic, only to raise a brow at his unreadable countenance. “I thought you said you would be busy.”

Jing Yuan pauses, as though hesitant, before responding, “I sent you a message to send notice of my visit but you didn’t even leave me on read, so I knew there was something wrong.”

“I didn’t even notice…” Without a moment’s haste, you pull out your phone. There on your home screen displays notification banners: 6 unread messages from my headache <3.

my headache <3: I have some free time, so I will be paying you a visit. Don’t mention this to Qingzu though, she doesn’t know I am taking a break. =w=

my headache <3: Are you busy? You don’t usually leave me on delivered for longer than five minutes.

my headache <3: Did I do something to make you mad?

my headache <3: [Name]?

my headache <3: …

my headache <3: I will be at the cafe soon. Wait for me.

A pang of guilt seeps into your conscience. You hadn’t realised he sent so many messages. Did that customer take up that much of your attention? Also, do you really not leave him on delivered for more than five minutes??

“Oh! You kept the heart I put there?” Your thoughts are promptly cut off by the baritone voice resounding beside your ear. His light breaths puff against your skin as he leans against you, peeking over your shoulder to read the messages he sent.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you huff, eyes trained onto the device to avoid meeting his gaze. “I said you could make any changes you wanted to your contact name and this was what you wanted.”

He stiffens at your words, breath stuttering ever so slightly against your skin but quickly catches himself. There’s no response for a while, instead a wave of calm washes over you as you scroll through your phone with Jing Yuan watching from his place over your shoulder, sometimes recalling a particular memory which comes to mind at certain photos in your camera roll.

It goes on like this for a little while until he shifts, strands of silver brushing against the shell of your ear when he releases a light sigh. You glance over your shoulder only to see him already looking at you, the lines of his features soft and gentle.

“You know,” he starts, voice soft with a twinge of nostalgia seeping through, “I’m your first and longest supporter.”

Well, that certainly came out of the blue.

But he’s not wrong, and perhaps that is why you find yourself huffing out a breathy laugh in response. “What? You want me to praise you?”

“Would you?” he asks, an instantaneous response to your lighthearted jest.

You stare at him, incredulous, but he doesn’t falter. His gaze holds weight, seizing your breath and rendering you speechless. Ah, he really isn’t good for your heart.

“Keep dreaming, general.”

Despite the scoff backing those words, you make no effort to hide your smile. And though you don’t catch it, Jing Yuan makes no effort to hide the adoration glistening in his gaze.

Sidestep to the left. Duck. Step back. Parry. Clang! Step to the right. Pivot. Clack! Raise your arm—!

A sword flies up, twirling mid-air as it plummets back down and digs cleanly into the grass. It gleams under the artificial sun, becoming a focal point in the otherwise barren grounds. You straighten your posture, spear at your side and a bottle of water in hand as you approach the worn-out aspiring Sword Champion.

“You’ve improved, Yanqing.” You smile when he looks up, breathing ragged as he mumbles his thanks before guzzling down the fluids of the water bottle now in his hands. You sit beside him, and it’s not long before a refreshed sigh escapes him, setting the near-empty bottle in his lap.

A lapse of silence. A faint breeze. A wave of heat. A shift of gold.

You sigh upon noticing the boy’s gaze switching between you and your weapon. “What is it?”

“That spear,” he starts, “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“How so?”

“It’s different from the spears the rest of the Cloud Knight’s use and, even though it has a similar aura to the general’s Devastator Glaive, it feels like… it was almost made for you. A weapon that only you can wield.”

For a teen yet to explore the larger part of life, he is frighteningly perceptive. He’s quick to pick up subtle nuances and yet retains that innocent curiosity which enables him to ask questions most adults would not. It’s part of a child’s charm, and you can only hope he will never be robbed of that part of him.

“Made for me, you say?” You cast a glance to your side, vision tunnelling into the fine details which adorns the crafted spear. Despite the many centuries the weapon has braved through, it still appears as though it were only crafted yesterday. Its colours are still vibrant and its exterior holds minimal wear. Your breath hitches when your gaze trails down towards the hilt and hones in on the faintly carved names: yours and the one who gifted this to you.

Your mind numbs. There’s a matching bow which sits in your home, you recall, locked away in a spare room deep within the confinement of your walls. There are other accompaniments, too, surrounding it in decorated, bejewelled boxes filled with handicrafts ranging from everyday trinkets to carefully crafted ornaments carved from the purest of jades.

It sits there, collecting dust all year round. All year round except for one single day — a day when your thoughts surge to new heights and can only be tamed when in that room, cleaning off layers of dust and spiralling into seemingly endless nostalgia. It serves as both a commemoration of the past as well as a reminder for what will never again be.

Immortality truly is a wretched thing.

“[Name]?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. Yanqing, who was sitting beside you mere moments prior, is in front of you with a hand on your shoulder. He probably shook you while you were lost in thought, you surmise. How mortifying…

“Your teacher seems to be slacking off,” you cough, swiftly changing the topic. He doesn’t take note of your awkward transition, but, if he did, he’s done a good job hiding it. “Is he busy?”

“The general?” he repeats in a murmur, chin held between his thumb and forefinger with a contemplative expression. He blinks. “Nope! No clue.”

“I see,” you sweatdrop. Worry begins to pool in the back of your mind, but it is quickly smothered when Yanqing jumps up, bouncing on his heels as he shows off his recovered energy and readiness to spar with you for another round.

You cast one last glance at your spear before standing, following close behind an eager Yanqing as he bounds to the middle of the field with his sword in hand.

(You can still recall him; the young man who gave you these gifts way back when, putting on airs of nonchalance in a poor attempt at masking his bashfulness, the furtive glances, the hand raised to rub the back of his neck, the awkward cough he always did before excusing himself after gifting whatever it was he made that time — all of it is practically ingrained into your mind.

You can still recall him; how could you not when he is the same man who haunts you when in your lonesome.)

He’s not here. Again.

You’ve lost count of the number of times your focus darts to the door when a resounding chime of the bell is heard, only to be left with aching disappointment when it turns out to be anyone other than Jing Yuan. His radio silence is concerning, though you suppose any kind of silence from him has that effect considering he always made sure to notify you when he would be busy, therefore unable to visit you due to urgent matters.

Has he been well? Has he been eating regularly? What of his sleeping habits? He’s not overworking himself again, is he? What if he left on an expedition without saying anything?

Your answer appears in the form of Yukong.

“The general?” she repeats, blowing lightly on the freshly brewed coffee before answering you. “While I am not completely in the know, I’ve heard in passing that he has been cooped up in his office. For once.”

It’s practically common knowledge to the Luofu citizens how Jing Yuan tends to be absent from the Seat of Divine Foresight. More often than not, he will appear as a hologram, sometimes choosing to instead give advance notice of his lack of presence. Well, you suppose most have grown accustomed to finding him at the cafe. So for him to now hide away in his office without a word is of course a matter of concern. After all, the last time he did this was years ago, and that was because he didn’t want you to worry about… him.

You pause, fists clenching at your belated realisation. A tinge of frustration begins to creep up, but the concern over his condition is far more prevalent, curling around and constricting your heart as worry clouds your senses. “That guy…”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he comments, voice languid in a valiant attempt to hide the undertone of surprise at your arrival. He quickly recovers with a genial smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your arrival?”

Admittedly, it would have fooled many others. Unfortunately, you have known him too long to be fooled by such tactics. You’re sure he knows, if the slight waver in his gaze has anything to say about it.

Instead of answering, you choose to remain still in front of the now-shut doors. He doesn’t seem to notice though, as he merely resumes his task in a robotic manner. Except for the two of you, the office is void of the usual stationed knights and his few assistants, making the room feel much larger. It’s daunting.

Your unease does not fade after hearing his voice. No, it only heightens, his sluggish movements and voice laden with exhaustion further spiralling you into a state of distress over his well-being. You watch his slow blinks, head dipping slightly only to snap up to prevent himself from falling into slumber before continuing to sign document after document, replacing each signed sheet with a new one in a never-ending cycle.

It would have been comical if you weren’t aware of the fact he’s been neglecting his health to finish these papers.

Typically, he wouldn’t be having this issue, always having been the type to get his work done ahead of time despite his… less than professional demeanour at times, though it seems the papers have been brought in heavy bulk this time around; that, or they contained pressing matters which couldn’t be put off.

“Take a break,” you finally say, unable to stand the sight of him pushing himself any longer. He doesn’t spare you a glance. If it weren’t for the brief pause in his writing before continuing, you would have thought he didn’t hear you. Teeth digging into your lower lip and eyes narrowing into a glare, you try once more. “I’m serious. Take a break.”

Palpable silence douses the room.

And then he lifts his head, meeting your furrowed gaze. His eyes are anything but bright, a dull glaze coupled with dark eyebags signifying his lack of sleep.

“I have to finish signing these papers,” Jing Yuan sighs out, giving what you assume to be an apologetic glance before lowering his head back down to resume the paperwork.

Unfortunately for him, you won’t allow him to succeed in his attempts.

“And I don’t want you to collapse from overwork again!” He flinches at that, and you know you have managed to convince him when he places his pen down on the table’s surface and relents with a deep sigh. When he finally nods, defeated, the building tension dissipates and you’re able to breathe without worry again.

With cautious steps, you make your way over to the large chair. Having been in this room countless times, it’s easy for you to glide to where Jing Yuan sits despite the darkness which now drapes like a veil over the interior.

When you reach his seat, your eyes harden at the scattered documents, staring at them for a few seconds in hopes it will miraculously burn them, before tearing your gaze away and focusing on your weary friend.

“Let’s get you home,” you mutter. You lean down and prepare to help him stand in case he needs the extra support after having sat for too long. It doesn’t go as planned, however, when he tugs you down beside him and plops his head onto your lap. “Hey—!”

“Just for a moment…” he intercepts, voice heavily laced with sleep. The second you lock eyes, you know it’s all over for you. “Just for a moment, stay here with me.”

And you sigh knowing ‘a moment’ will turn into hours. But you’re fine with that. As long as he gets his rest and can finally let his guard down, you would gladly lend him your lap for days on end.

“Fine.” You shift slightly to provide him more comfort. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He responds in the form of a grateful smile and soft squeeze to your hand. Within a matter of seconds he’s sound asleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest soothing the dull ache in your heart.

Cautiously, you raise your free hand and reach out to his peaceful expression. His hair is silkier than you last remember, easily threading your fingers through the soft strands to brush them away from obscuring his features.

‘Than I last remember’, huh…

Your eyes trail to the hand clutched in his.

Thinking back on it, it has been a while since you last relaxed like this with him. Life tends to be busy, the cafe takes up most of your time, and Jing Yuan has his official duties to take care of. No matter how lax he tries to play it off, you’re aware he has his hands full with governmental affairs and conjuring a multitude of tactics to minimise losses. That’s the kind of person he is — to badger you about the happenings in your life, yet hide away and gloss over his with a genial mask so as to not worry you.

You’ve always hated that part of him. Why can’t you worry for him? Why must it always be he who consoles you but not the other way around? Does he truly not know how his evasive tendencies pain you, intentional or not?

Questions, questions, questions; all these questions and yet there’s never a concrete answer.

Is he… really so oblivious to the way his secrecy is what spurs your distance with him?

Your hand pauses.

Perhaps steadily drawing a line between you is a pointless pursuit in clinging onto the past, a fleeting hope for everything to revert back to the way it was before; to deny the happenings of bygones which paved the way for the present.

Things will never be what they once were. You understand that. You accept that. And, perhaps, that is what makes it hurt all the more.

Four familiar faces emerge from deep within the hidden crevices of your conscience, ones you have not physically seen for a long time — too long, perhaps. And yet they appear just as vivid as before everything went up in flames, endlessly haunting you when you’re left alone with the silence of your own mind. No matter how tightly you shut your eyes in blatant refusal of their presence, nor the strength in which you cover your ears to drown out the remnants of their voices, they never leave you alone. They cling to you, desperate; the same way in which you are to be free of them.

But even so, in spite of the hostility and bitterness and hurt which remains in their wake and binds itself to their legacies, you cannot help but to wish they are doing well, wherever it is they may now be.

And maybe it’s the full moon glaring down at you which spurs this wishful thinking but, on the off-chance they return, perhaps those of you that are left can gather at the cafe after closing hours and chat about anything and everything, exciting and menial, you have come to experience in the time spent apart.

(Just like old times.)

But, of them, only Jing Yuan remains, and maybe that is why he doesn’t manifest alongside them as a result of this aching nostalgia, instead resting peacefully on your thighs with steady, even breaths; the only indication that he truly is here with you.

“We will be okay, Jing Yuan,” you find yourself whispering as you gaze down at him. “We’ve made it this far, and we’ll continue on, braving through our fate.”

The image of him blurs, his colours further contorting the more you try to blink it away. It is then you force your eyes shut, lean down towards him, lightly brush away his fringe and press two fleeting, chaste kisses: one against the skin of his forehead and the other atop the mole under his left eye. “If not for myself, then, for you, I’ll be okay.”

Whether that’s to reassure you or him… you’re not sure.

For as long as you can remember, Jing Yuan has always been with you.

It wasn’t merely a matter of staying by each other’s side during the day; no, it’s more than that. Your relationship runs deep — centuries bordering a millennia worth of memories tucked away in the crevices of your mind — and it would be an understatement to say you know each other like the back of your hand.

Together, the two of you have been through it all, in practically every sense of the word.

Despite enlisting into the Cloud Knights, it was far from what you wanted, instead aligning with the demands of your parents. To have that expectation of continuing your family’s tradition, to have that burden of battling for the Xianzhou Luofu’s legacy, to have that constant worry of one day being mara-struck due to your race, to perhaps never be able to do what you want for yourself, shackled to generations of family service… that was the meaning of your existence. Whether you liked it or not.

You eventually gave up, simply accepting your unwanted fate and following the hollowed footsteps carved by your ancestors. That was how you ended up amongst the new recruits for the Cloud Knights and listening to the current general’s speech about glory and honour and pride — all for the Xianzhou Alliance; all for the Xianzhou Luofu; all for the Cloud Knights.

Fate is such a weird thing, you remember thinking to yourself as your gaze swept across many others in the same uniform as you. Because despite you all looking the same, despite you all holding the same make of spear, you knew their passion and dedication to serve the alliance would far outweigh your own.

He was no exception.

Contrary to you, the boy who stood a couple rows in front wanted to be there. It was obvious in the way his eyes glimmered, the way he held himself in an upright posture and focused with rapt attention on the general at the front. Perhaps that was what caught your eye back then — the pure, unadulterated desire rolling off him had rooted you in place and forced your attention to be on him.

With a sigh you averted your gaze. There was only one thought which resonated within you in that brief moment: you would never grow close to that boy.

For, unlike you, he was made to shine under the glow of the artificial sun, while you were a passionless bystander relinquished of your fate.

It wasn’t long before you made a name for yourself amongst the new recruits of the Cloud Knights. It stemmed from a training session-turned-competition. One which you came out on top.

A natural prodigy is what they called you.

A lucky fluke is what they whispered behind your back.

Looking back, you’re not sure why you tried so hard. Did you think you would have it easy if you won? If anything, it probably made your future that much more troublesome with weighty expectations and watchful eyes from those around you.

Well, there went your quiet life.

At least it couldn’t be as suffocating as it would be back at home. The most you would receive are jealous glances from your weaker peers, or urges from your trainers to try a bit harder. But what reason was there to try when the outcome never changed?

“Why are you here?”

“Huh?” When you looked up, hands still gripped tight around the length of your training spear, your unimpressed eyes met pools of gold. They widened upon contact.

“Wait— that’s not what I—!” he had cut himself off with a sigh, pink dusting his cheeks. He quickly regathered himself and faced you once more. “I mean, why are you here when you clearly don’t want to be? I watched your matches earlier, but there was no light in your eyes… Kind of like now.”

Was that the expression you had? You would never know. What you did know was that the boy was persistent. Evading the topic would not work on him and, quite frankly, you were tired.

“I’m only here because of my parents,” you began. Your fists clenched and your eyes hardened as you lowered your gaze to the grass. “I hate my fate. I have no say in what I can or can’t do in my own life. That’s all there is to it.”

There was a moment of silence after your sombre words. Maybe now he would leave you alone and be on his way. Just like it should be. Someone like him who shines above the rest has no business with you, whose passion was extinguished before it could manifest.

“That’s not true.” Your gaze snapped up, words of protest ready to be let loose only for that burst of anger to dissipate the second you locked eyes. “You can escape your fate.”

“Hah! What nonsense are you—”

“Because that’s what I did.” You blinked once, twice. Your disbelief must have been obvious by the way he flushed slightly, the crimson tinge spanned from the tips of his ears to the apples of his cheeks. “I mean, my ‘fate’ was originally supposed to be a scholar or some kind of official in the Realm-Keeping Commission and follow my family’s footsteps, but look where I am now. I’m nowhere near that.”

It was strange. He was not supposed to be someone similar to you. He was supposed to be someone you could only gaze at from afar. He burned brightly; you did not.

And yet, through his next words, you discovered that you, too, were capable of dreaming and hoping, the light suddenly appearing in what you deemed to be an abyssal darkness.

“I’m now a Cloud Knight, and I believe that you can also change your fate!”

A sense of camaraderie formed between you and the golden boy that day, an odd, tingling warmth coiled around your heart. Though an unfamiliar feeling, you found you didn’t hate it.

“Master asked about you today.”

“Tell her my answer is still no.”

“You don’t even know what she asked about!”

“Don’t need to.”

A sigh came from your left at your instant retorts, but that didn’t bother you. The sun was still up and you were set on soaking up as much of it as you could before Jing Yuan had to leave for his training.

It had been a couple years since you first met now, and you somehow became an inseparable pair; where one of you would be spotted, the other wouldn’t be far behind if not already there.

Well, most of the time, at least.

When Jing Yuan had caught the attention of the Sword Champion, Jingliu, he was offered a place in her team. He accepted, of course, and ever since then he began training under her guidance. As a result, those were the only times you were actively separated.

But by extension, you were somehow roped into her interest.

“So this is where you were.” You grimaced at the familiar tone, turning away as Jing Yuan scrambled beside you.

“Master…!”

“You go on ahead, Jing Yuan. There’s something I need to discuss with [Name].”

Although you hadn’t raised your head, the hesitation in Jing Yuan’s movements were clear. The silence stretched on for a long few seconds before he sighed, “I’ll meet you after I finish, [Name].”

And then he was gone, only you and the Sword Champion remained under the tree’s shade. Blades of grass swayed under the faint breeze, but that, too, came to a standstill within seconds.

“I noticed you didn’t take the oath earlier,” Jingliu said, the silence broken.

A humourless laugh escaped your lips. “I didn’t realise the Sword Champion was keeping such a close eye on me.”

“You’re hiding your talent.” You fell silent at her abrupt statement. Your fingers twitched when she continued. “I know you’re capable of more than you let on.”

What do you know? You thought to yourself as your fingers dug into the grass. You know nothing about me, so stop acting like it.

You never understood why she was so persistent. Was it because of how close you and Jing Yuan were? Had your parents somehow managed to contact and persuade her? What did she even gain from chasing after you when it was clearly a waste of her time? Why…

“Why… why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because he worries for you.” Your body stilled at her words. You stayed silent for a moment before responding, albeit weaker than your previous tone.

“I’m fine. There’s no reason to worry about me.”

“…[Name]—”

“It’s probably best if you go. Jing Yuan’s waiting for you.” She faltered at your words, ultimately conceding.

A sigh escaped you when you noticed her fall back and prepare to head to their usual training spot. She lingered however, and cast a glance over her shoulder to regard you once more.

“You should visit our training sometime,” Jingliu uttered, her usual stern expression a touch softer than what you were used to. “It would be nice to train together, and you can spend more time with Jing Yuan. I hope you can at least consider it.” And then you could only watch as she walked away, the hues of the sunset steadily engulfing her form.

Back then you had scoffed at her words, unaware of the bond you would come to form with the members of the High-Cloud Quintet as a result of your wretched curiosity.

“Someone became mara-struck on the expedition.”

“What…?” A soft gasp came from your left. “Is that why only you…”

“Yeah,” you hummed. You had no courage to face your friend next to you, choosing to instead stare listlessly at your quivering hands. “It happened so quickly. One moment we were discussing tactics, the next we heard screaming. It was agonising. And then, in the blink of an eye…” you gulped, drawing in a harsh breath as your hands clenched into fists, “I killed her. I had to. I… I was the only one left from the team and she kept coming after me and I realised then I truly didn’t want to die and—!”

Your words came to an abrupt halt, smothered by an all-too familiar warmth. The beat of his heart against your ear calmed your erratic breaths, allowing you to regain some semblance of composure. Even when you could no longer hear the rapid pounding of your heart ringing through your ears you remained slumped against his chest, the fatigue weighing down your muscles.

“Jing Yuan,” you called in a hoarse tone, “am I a monster now?”

“You’re not,” came his immediate response. You couldn’t find it in you to believe him.

“But I killed someone, Jing Yuan! We were comrades in arms and I took her life!”

“The situation was out of your control and it was the only thing you could do. It was for your survival and to stop her from suffering any longer. You’re not a monster, [Name].” His voice was steady like a pillar of support, a calm sound that could make you believe all the prior happenings were a mere nightmare you’d just awoken from. His arms around you tightened and pushed you further into his familiarity. “You never could be. Never to me.”

That day was the first time you had ever cried so hard to the point you passed out, the exhaustion having finally caught up. That day you were left unaware of the tears Jing Yuan held back as he bore witness to your rare vulnerability, vision blurring and heart aching as he internally vowed to stay by your side — until he no longer physically could.

As you both grew older within this endless spiral of longevity, you could only watch as he became something more than a mere soldier of the Cloud Knights — as he began to be someone out of your reach and unfamiliar against a golden glow too radiant for you to perceive.

It wasn’t long after that you left the Cloud Knights for a placement in a newly opened cafe, having had enough of a life out of your control and dictated by others. You had stayed with the Cloud Knights long enough and you finally found the courage to leave after your numerous contributions.

And while your family may not have been pleased with your decision, Jing Yuan had been supportive, taking it upon himself to visit you when he could despite his limited free time in-between training and expeditions. The other four of the High-Cloud Quintet would tag along as well, sometimes relaying entertaining stories to embarrass the others or to simply catch up with you during your time apart as you readily prepared food and drinks for the six of you to enjoy.

It felt like a dream to still be able to laugh with them.

Unfortunately, all dreams must come to an end. It was a notion that was so glaringly obvious, and yet it never truly occurred to you; not when their visits gradually became less frequent. Not when you began to notice the tension between a couple of your friends. Not when a familiar cold lingered during the moments where all was silent and you were alone.

It was through those moments you foolishly clung to the fraying hope that everything would turn out okay — that all the budding tension would smooth itself out, allowing for you to all converse like it never happened and to move past the hurdle.

Perhaps it was because you had deluded yourself into believing everything would be okay that, the moment your fantasy shattered before your very eyes, it hit you in a way far more torturous than death could ever hope to be.

It hit you in the form of Jing Yuan returning to you on that fateful day in his lonesome, eyes hollow and empty, body battered and bruised; your heart which beat for him shattered when he slumped against you, your world crashing in pursuit. The after-effects of the sobs wracking his battle-worn being reverberated through your slack form, a seemingly endless stream of tears stung the skin along the crook of your neck as he released his unfiltered anguish within your trembling embrace.

You found there was no need to ask how the confrontation with Jingliu went, for his desperate grip and hitched breaths spoke louder than his voice ever could.

At that moment, you believed there was nothing more painful than the sound of his broken cries — your mind, body and soul yearning to take his pain and make it your own at the sheer despair in his eyes as he seeked your comfort. In that moment, you had never felt so powerless, so utterly weak and useless when all you could do in the face of his agony was lend him your familiarity in the confines of the closed cafe.

Even now, seven hundred years later, you still do not believe there to be anything more painful.

During your quiet moments, you’ve always wondered what it would be like to experience some of the scenes penned in countless novels you’ve read. Would they be just as heart-throbbing as the authors depict them to be? Or would they fall flat and lacklustre when put into a real-world scenario?

What about the stories you’ve overheard during your shifts, or the tales the regulars recounted during the slow days? Would they ever happen to you as well? You’ve always wondered about these things, however…

Just what is this situation?? Isn’t it a bit too similar to that one scene in a novel you recently read? Well, it’s not as if you’re hiding away in the middle of an apocalypse, but the setting of an empty cafe after dark where it is just the two of you still remains the same.

Jing Yuan stands before you, his imposing silhouette prominent against the fragmented brushes of moonlight, pools of molten gold stark against the night’s backdrop. He remains still in the face of your racing thoughts.

The pelting rain (courtesy of the alliance’s artificial weather) drowns your thoughts. In all honesty, you can’t recall how you came to be in this situation. One moment you were closing up the cafe, the next a sudden downpour arrived alongside a drenched general. In your haste to bring him inside, you didn’t stop to think about why he was in the rain in the first place, the only objective in your mind being to dry him as soon as possible.

And so that’s what you did. Only, in your attempt to persuade the man to share an umbrella and walk back home, you were pulled back into him, the umbrella rolling helplessly across the floor as he rooted you in place by the presence of his hands on your shoulders.

Which leads you to your current predicament now.

“What is it?” you ask upon noticing his silence. There is hesitation in his silence. It prolongs in the way a void is endless, stretching on for miles upon miles with no end in sight. There’s a flicker of light in the form of his voice as he brings himself to speak, his words firm yet lacking that usual self-assured intonation he always has.

“Am I someone close to you? No, do you consider me as someone close to you?”

“What nonsense are you…” your words die out when you fail to see his usual air of playfulness, a grave countenance piercing you in its stead. “Of course I consider you as someone close to me. I wouldn’t have spent centuries upon centuries by your side otherwise.” He doesn’t seem to take your light jest well, if his darkening expression has anything to say about it.

“Then why are you still formal with me, even when in private and away from prying eyes?”

“Because you’re one of the Seven Arbiter-Generals, while I am a cafe employee. In a realistic perspective, we are not the same and I’m aware of our boundaries. In fact,” you mumble, meeting his conflicted gaze with a blank one, “I should be the one asking you if I’m someone close to you.”

It’s silent for a brief moment, up until a whispered murmur of “And just who is the one speaking nonsense now?” shatters it.

Your patience, too, shatters alongside it.

“Then what else am I supposed to think when you’re always keeping things from me? You’re always asking about what I’ve done in the day and prying into the details of my life, but what about you? Whenever I ask how things are, or if there’s anything troubling you, you just brush it off like it’s nothing and avoid answering altogether! Am I not allowed to worry about you? Am I not someone who can lend you a shoulder?

You always blabbered about sharing each other’s pain, to not keep our hardships to ourselves, but take a look at yourself first. ‘Am I someone close to you?’ ‘Do you consider me as someone close to you?’ You have no right to ask me those questions when it’s you who's been the one keeping their distance this whole time. What…” A shuddering breath escapes you, your mouth running dry amidst your high emotions. There’s a dull pain which spreads through your bottom lip, your teeth digging into the soft flesh just as your nails do in your palms. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you can only hope it's enough to prevent the well of tears building behind your lids. “What else am I supposed to do if you refuse to let me in?”

You’re tired, you come to realise. Tired of his avoidance and tired of his secrecy. Even if you don’t have the energy to voice your other built-up sentiments, you have an inkling he already knows — whether or not he wants to admit it… well, that’s a problem for him, not for you.

The sigh you release is heavy; heavy with emotion and fatigue.

Your gaze drifts to the window behind the silent man. Despite the ripples in the puddles, the previous downpour has begun to let up, now only a faint pitter patter is all that remains. Seeing how Jing Yuan has made no effort to move or speak, you decide it would be best to leave as soon as possible. After all, there is no fight left in you, only a frail shell hollowed by your insecurities.

When you try to move, however, his grip tightens. You’re pulled closer than you were just a moment ago and his fingers dig into the fabric of your clothing — as though he were desperate to keep you in his sights. Your protests die before they can even arise, for the way his eyes glimmer despite there being no light renders you immobile.

“Do you really not see?” His voice comes in the form of a broken whisper, and you try to suppress the suffocating ache in your heart when he gazes at you as though he witnessed you pluck the stars and hand it to him.

“See what?” you scoff, a weak sound that pales against the hammering of your pulse. “All I see is a coward running away from his problems.”

A cold silence. A trembling grip. A shuddering breath.

“You’re right. I am a coward.” You’re taken aback by his ready agreement, though you’re unable to dwell on it for long when his voice gradually begins to rise, his emotions spilling over in pursuit. ��I run from problems I cannot handle. I avoid anything that can be deemed as troublesome. I fear that if I burden you with my pain — with my hardships — you will grow tired of me and leave. You’re already so far away, you’ve always been so far from my reach, and yet…” A strained gulp follows his dying words. “And yet if even your fading silhouette is something I can no longer see, then I don’t know what I will do with myself.”

There’s a plethora of things you want to say, but none can be articulated. No matter how much you try and force the words out, nothing is uttered. Just as you think the words will string together, he laughs, humourless and empty.

“You’re right. I have no right to ask you when I’m the one pushing you away — when I’m the one causing this rift between us. But what else must I do to stay by your side, if not this? Where else can I reach you, if not shadowed by your light? You’re the last person I want to lose, [Name], so please,” his voice trembles ever so slightly, a detail that would go unheard if it were not for the fact it is just the two of you, a desolate silence, and frail streaks of moonlight, “don’t go to some place I can’t find you.”

His chest heaves in tandem with his shuddering breaths, the only sound which punctures the still air. You’re not sure which is louder: that, or the white noise ringing amidst your senses. There is no room for thought, however, as you barely take note of your lips parting and the words which leave them.

“You… make me feel like a fool the longer I stay with you.” Your words are not loud, nor are they particularly harsh. But with the current atmosphere being so tense, you may as well have shouted them from the bottom of your heart with the way the echo ricochets within the empty cafe.

Even if your words are not loud, the silence most definitely is; deafeningly so.

After your… confession, for a lack of better words, belatedly registers in your conscience, you have half a mind to slap yourself silly. After all, who in their right mind responds to such an emotional, heartfelt barrage with… that.

You, it would seem.

(A petty part of you deems it fine considering the inner turmoil he’s put you through for Aeons knows how long.)

“Do you want to know something?” he asks, leaving you with no time to linger on your life choices. “When I’m with you, I feel like a fool as well.” Your surprise must have been obvious as he chuckles lightly with a gaze never straying from you. There’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere, one which lightens your heart without dismissing the emotions woven into the space between you. Before you can even think up a response, he continues. “Even if I rehearse what I plan to say to you, it rarely comes out the way I want. Sometimes the words don’t even come out at all. It’s always been this way, even before we became acquainted with each other.”

You blink at his words, stupefied. “You mean back when we were first enlisted into the Cloud Knights?” His sheepish chuckle is answer enough. “Wait— you mean— since all the way back then— huh??”

“Yeah,” he responds, voice light and teeming with unbridled affection, “since the moment I saw you in the welcome ceremony.”

????? Since then?! All you can remember is not wanting anything to do with him back then! To think you never noticed anything until he said it now, though technically it’s not entirely your fault since he never explicitly said anything… right?

Yeah, no it’s both your faults.

“I’m sorry to not have noticed anything till now,” you sigh, your head drooping. “Is there anything I can do to make up for it?”

(Jing Yuan just barely manages to control himself from kissing you senseless right then and there. Who gave you the right to be so adorable?? Not him, but you won’t catch him complaining.)

“Anything, you say?” he asks after a cough or two. Your eyes narrow at his behaviour before shrugging it off.

“Well, within reason…” you trail off at his pointed look, your mouth instantly shutting at his expression akin to — dare you say — puppy-dog eyes. It’s oddly cute, though you’ve always found his sleepy, cat-like demeanour to be the most endearing and heart-melting of all. (Not that you would ever admit this to him, of course. Well, not when he’s awake, at least.) And so, unsurprisingly, you relent. “Okay. Anything.”

“Then don’t be formal and act distant in public. Just call me ‘Jing Yuan’ familiarly like you used to.”

You blink once, twice. “...That’s it?”

“Well,” he drawls, “considering how you only addressed me as ‘General’ or ‘General Jing Yuan’, which was admittedly closer to my preference, despite being one of the few who were well aware I never wanted to be a general in the first place, I believe it’s the least you can do to show your sincerity.”

You scoff. “You sure know how to hold a grudge, foolish Jing Yuan.”

And he laughs, a breathy melody which sets your heart ablaze. Then you feel his fingers thread through yours, the faint callouses brushing against the back of your hand a testament to his battle prowess.

His lashes flutter shut as your hand is brought up towards his lips. Just as the plush of his lips grazes against your palm, his head dips, instead planting a soft kiss along the pulse point of your inner wrist. There’s a huff of laughter against your warmed skin, and you’re positive it’s because he found amusement in the way your pulse surged and stuttered under his lips.

Smug bastard.

His lashes flutter once more when they open into a half-lidded gaze, your wrist growing ticklish as his lips begin to move against your skin as he murmurs out, “I suppose that makes two of us, my foolish [Name].” When he turns to stare at you completely, his expression is nothing short of soft — eyes filled to the brim and overflowing with tender adoration doused in liquid gold and a warm, gentle curve of a smile that has you clammed up and breathless.

“Yeah,” you mumble after regaining some semblance of composure, unable to stop the smile which blooms on your lips, “I suppose it does.”

if you enjoyed this, then reblogs with/or comments are greatly appreciated !! <33

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hxney-lemcn · 2 months

Text

Falling for Him — Jing Yuan x gn! reader

summery: falling for Jing Yuan was a simple as ever, and falling for you was just as easy.

tw: insecurities (?), mentions of a unfair power balance.

a/n: I swear I'm not a 12 y/o learning about metaphors, a vision just struck me

wc: 0.4k

Master List

Falling in love with Jing Yuan was like falling asleep on a warm sunny afternoon. It's warm, cozy, and you don’t notice until it's too late. Every tender smile he’d sent you was like the sun beaming down on you. Every touch was like a gentle breeze tousling your hair. When Fu Xuan scolded the general for using you as a distraction, that was when the gentle warmth turned into a scalding boil. You tried to ignore the banter between the two, but your mind was overrun with thoughts about the general. You were distracting him? But you were merely doing your job, how could you possibly be distracting him? Your face burned even hotter when you heard Jing Yuan chuckle in response to Fu Xuan’s scolding, not even rebutting her accusations.

It was then that you started questioning your own feelings. Did you love the general? Was that even allowed? You were his worker, that would be unprofessional, and no matter how you looked at it there would be an unfair power balance. The boiling hot summer had now turned into a cold winter as you thought over all the ways it could go wrong. Every smile from the beautiful man now left a cold chill. But somehow his voice still managed to warm you, like a fire keeping you warm from your snowy doubts. Even though he was the cause for your concern, he was also your respite.

For Jing Yuan, falling for you was a complete accident. For a long living lifeform, he was getting up there in age, his friends either rebirthed or nearing mara-struck. He didn’t want to pain someone with his fall, and yet he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Yet instead of burning him, you comforted him, soothed him like balm to a wound. The way you smiled at him melted his heart. When you couldn’t meet his eyes after he flirted with you sent his heart soaring. It took a lot to interest him, he had lived long enough to nearly see it all, and yet you had managed to make him realize he still had much to witness. And as much as he loved teasing you, he noticed it was taking a toll, how your smiles turned strained, how you avoided him as best you could, how you sent someone else to fetch him.

He couldn’t let this go on, he adored you too much to let you slip through his fingers. And so like the general he was, he had cornered you, forcing you to approach him so he could ask you on a date properly. Just like that, the cold winter had thawed into a flowery spring, new opportunities popping up within a blink of an eye. Reaching out to grab his hand, you realized you could get through all the seasons, as long as Jing Yuan stood by your side.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #jing yuan #x reader #ficlet #one shot #imagine

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tragedy-of-commons · 5 months

Text

lay your life down and pretty

various hsr x gn!reader | wc: ~2k

In which you die (or they've already lost you).

tags/warnings: character death (reader), it's implied in dh's part but explicit and semi-graphic in hanya's, descriptions of mara and the insanity that comes with it, hardcore angst, hurt no comfort, there may be Lore Inaccuracies

notes: this was originally supposed to be four parts. i'm sorry it's only two but it's just been uhhh... hope you enjoy & thanks for the incredible support lately <3

Dan Heng makes the best pancakes.

You’ve expressed this undeniable fact to his face multiple times, louder in their progression just to see the tips of his ears burn that endearing red. These declarations are reserved for breakfast. At this time you also chide him for trying to weasel his way out of eating the most important meal of the day!

And he’d sigh, letting you hound him about food options until he’d crack under the weight of your grin and end up mixing batter at 7:30 in the morning.

(“I tried flipping them in the air once and the pancake slapped me in the face,” you’d regaled, head resting idly on your fist.

Dan Heng stared into the black of the skillet. “...Somehow, I don’t doubt it.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” you huffed.

He almost let not-quite laugh slip then, but because of his stuck-uppery, he just managed to look peeved. “I would appreciate it if you passed me the butter.”)

Instead it is around 9:00 in the morning, and Dan Heng is alone.

He’d stayed up late the night before doing some reading, causing him to oversleep and rush the process today. He’s almost burned his hand on the stove eye twice, nearly dropped an egg on the floor, and has just narrowly avoided burning the batch. Dan Heng is not clumsy (not like you were), and he is painfully aware that he is late.

After he plates the food, the oven clock reads 9:19. He gathers everything, including two sets of utensils and one awkward wad of napkins - before setting the table by heart. Your plate goes in front of the chair closest to the window, and his goes in front of the one adjacent to yours.

The rhythm of distributing each item eventually leaves him with empty hands. Everything is ready, but there is still something colossal missing from the scene.

Dan Heng stares hard at your empty seat before taking his own.

The pancakes are blackened around the edges, but it’s nothing a good heaping portion of syrup can’t fix, and the smell that wafts upward is sweet and inviting. The sun’s rays shining in from the outside world paint the kitchen in flecks of light that occasionally catch on his arm when he brings his fork to his mouth.

Resigned, his silverware clatters noisily to the table.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m sorry that I was late.”

Predictably, there’s no response. Dan Heng’s throat feels like it’s closing up on him, and the syrup definitely isn’t helping. He dabs his mouth with his napkin for a good long while.

He is sorry. It wasn’t enough that he’d stayed up late the night before, but that he deliberately kept glancing at the clock and counting the hours until daylight arrived - reminding himself that if he drifted off, the next day would come much sooner.

He isn’t the type to procrastinate either. Even when you’re not here anymore, you seem to have a profound effect on his character. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose. The sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the lonely kitchen is unwelcome. “Happy birthday.”

It’s strained, imperfect, and painful; which only serves to remind him of your insistence on celebrating his birthday as well. You had practically prostrated yourself at his feet, begging him to let you fuss over him - even if it made his vision hazy and palms sweaty. He needs to return the favor, even if the mere idea of another important date passing him up without you makes him want to hide.

So here he is.

Here he is, floundering terribly, missing you terribly, loving you terribly. Dan Heng wrenches his hand from its secure position in his lap to drum on the table.

“I got you something,” he says. “I… I didn’t know which color you’d prefer more, so…”

You’d tease him into an early grave if you were able to see the knitted oven mitt he’d picked out over two months ago. It’s an almost hideous shade of teal that he’s sure you’d love, especially since you forced him to bake with you regularly.

(He was shopping with March 7th when he’d seen it and then reflexively dumped it into his basket. His companion only asked him if he was planning on using it as kindling for the fireplace.)

Dan Heng closes his eyes and slides it over to your placement. For a second, he almost fools himself into thinking you might magically appear to brush fingers when you accept the gift with a bright smile. He has no such luck.

Your breakfast is getting colder, and there’s nothing to be done today; his friends, as much as he can say he appreciates them - also meddle quite a bit. His schedule was mysteriously cleared up and he was gently encouraged to go home and take the day off. The feeling of three pairs of eyes drilling holes into his back as he complied was a bit too potent to be coincidental.

So he sits there and pretends he’s eating with you for as long as he can. The stutters in the familiar rhythm that comes with today are things he can smooth out over time, even if it feels like a betrayal to you. You would never see it like that, which is why he can even live in a home without you in it at all.

(The oven mitt rests beside your full plate until the afternoon, because he cannot bring himself to clean up just yet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to.)

Dan Heng is not a man who can afford to hope, but he’s already been in debt since the moment of his birth. If just one of his prayers is granted, he hopes it’s the one he runs through his mind every night:

In the next life, please let us cross paths again. And if there’s room for it, please let me love you for as long as I can.

He’s never been one for optimism, but it’s all he looks forward to.

Hanya’s hands cradle the expanse of your face.

Her fingers ghost over any healthy glow remaining in your cheeks. You’re slipping, rightfully so, but does it make her a monster if she wants to claw and rifle through the sands of time to search for any universe where you were spared from this cruel fate?

(She thinks it does.)

You can’t get the words out, but there’s a resigned film that glazes over your eyes - one that tells her that she needn’t lie about where you’ll be going. Your mouth forms silent syllables punctuated by wheezes that will surely send her careening under the depths of the unconscious at record speed.

“Han.. ya,” you croak, “Stay.”

“I will,” she promises, because she needs to - over and over, until you remember it always, even when you’re gone. Even when you’re suffering through the last moments of your fledgling life. “I will remain here.”

Her duty as a Judge of the Ten-Lords Commission is to oversee life and death on the Xianzhou. When Hanya drifts aimlessly like a spectre between inky darkness and blinding daylight, it has occasionally struck her that one day she might have to oversee yours.

Presently, your mind is being swallowed by the maw of mara, a madness that she’s all too familiar with; faced with her dull countenance, she must have witnessed thousands succumb to the fate of infernal life.

“D-Don’t cry,” you beseech. There isn’t much time until you’re no longer Hanya’s secret reprieve, but instead a writhing abomination - and she only has herself to blame. Had she not embraced you so tightly, would you be free of this curse? Would you still be smiling and dragging her by the hand through Exalting Sanctum?

“I will not send you there,” she breathes, “You are not deserving of—”

The agonizing cry you let out next is still beautiful. Even now you can mitigate the emptiness that’s dug its claws in her heart so deep that it’s become symbiotic with the organ. However, instead of the empty, Hanya feels its distant relative: the pins and needles. The hollow white noise crackles until she’s pierced with an arsenal of skeletal knives.

She could take it, and she would take it, if it meant that you weren’t about to die and then awaken again as a monster that desecrates the very concept of you.

She releases your now matching tear-stricken cheeks before seizing both of your arms. The thrashing has crept in, meaning that there isn’t much time before you start sprouting leaves and weeds like a statue abandoned by its devotees.

A sharp inhale through clenched teeth. “You have… to. M’gonna hurt—” you convulse in her grasp, “—somebody...”

Of course you’re worrying about others right now. Kindness is a relic of the past that you’ve somehow managed to exhume, restore to its full glory, and gift to Hanya like she deserves to touch others’ lives in the same way you have.

Every shopkeep knows your name, face, voice, and smile. Your warmth is infectious - even before she knew you in person, she knew of you by word of mouth. Xueyi had told her that the reason Huohuo was so resolute in her duties lately was because of “the person who defeated a bunch of reprobate hooligan bullies tormenting her”.

If her big sister held you in high regard, she figured you were one she wouldn’t mind exchanging greetings with if you ever crossed paths. However, the thing about you is that you always give more than you take; you too eventually gave her your smile over tea, your opinion on her writing, and a perspective from the light she usually only smothers upon first contact.

It seems that it was just a matter of time before Hanya extinguished you.

“You are not ready,” she begs pitifully, “You are not!”

She knows it’s never about being ready. Bad things always happen to good people - to sons, daughters, friends, big sisters, and lovers.

Lovers.

The word is foreign on the tip of her tongue. It’s strange to be actualized and even stranger to ascribe that label to your relationship, but Hanya doesn’t know what else to think when the knives stab her over and over to the elegy of I love you, I love you, I love you.

The trek from Fyxestroll Garden to the Alchemy Commission is sizable. The Dragon Lady could see you and do her best, but she’s seen where that’s led; best efforts gone to waste, inconsolable loved ones given false hope because they were too stubborn to let go.

Is that what she is? Too stubborn to let you go, even when she’s brought this karma upon you?

(Yes, something ugly whispers, this is your penance. Now it’s theirs too.)

“I...” you let out a strangled groan, and when your chest jerks upwards, it barely registers that you brush your lips against hers. There’s tears and snot everywhere, and you’re getting stronger - too strong for her to hold. Hanya’s forearms ache with the strain as gingko leaves begin to ravage your humanity and rip you apart.

The transformation process is cruel, but she promised to remain by your side. Twigs protrude from your neck, nestled between thorny brambles that poke and prod. You are not a Cloud Knight, so your screams aren’t muffled by armor - or muted by the numbness she feels when dealing with other cases.

It’s too real, it’s too much, and it’s not enough.

Drowned out by the previous mantra of I love you, the background vocals of I’m so sorry peter off into whispers that are soon lost among the sickening squelch of Xueyi’s blade cutting through you in one clean motion. The tip of the sword rests over Hanya’s heart, stained with your blood.

“...That’s not them anymore,” her sister says. It’s off-kilter, the way her brow is furrowed in a silent apology.

One can only hope.

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee

#—stellaronhvnters.#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #hanya x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr hanya x reader #honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #hanya hsr x reader #hsr dan heng #hsr hanya #honkai star rail #✧ my works

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bladiegfs · 1 year

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it's been a long, long time

➵ hcs + drabbles of being separated from your lover for a while (ft. jing yuan, blade, gepard)

➵ warning(s) applicable: none

➵ wc: 2.3k

➵ they say distance makes the heart grow fonder. but sometimes, you can't stand it.

➵ author's note: hugging (and a kiss on blade's) as a treat...

Jing Yuan

⇢ It had been a while since you two saw one another; you were both far too busy with the threat of the Stellaron Hunters coming to Xianzhou.

⇢ You were busy with matters concerning work; no matter whether or not literal criminals could be walking the streets, the world stops for no one.

⇢ Well, most especially because you were involved with the Realm-Keeping Commission. It kept you ridiculously occupied, so much to the point that you couldn’t even pick up your phone.

⇢ Many things were keeping you occupied: first was the clear issue of the well-hidden secret of Blade’s escape. Second were the strange visitors that Sushang had been lugging around, especially the one carrying around a coffin and… hitting enemies with it. Third was the investigation of the spread of mara within soldiers— the Cloud Knights had been bleeding more men than predicted, which only made it more difficult for them to handle the criminals.

“He’s quite suspicious, isn’t he?” You comment, pulling Sushang to the side. The young knight raises an eyebrow at your words. “Who?” “The fair-haired one,” You explain. “The one with the coffin.” “I thought of that, too,” Sushang nods. She then beams at you, “But I can handle this, [name]! Trust me— you don’t have to worry more than you already do. The Loufu General won’t be too happy to know you’re running on anxiety, you know?”

⇢ And of course, you greatly missed Jing Yuan. At first, it was a faint feeling of sadness that resided in your chest. Then, as the days went by, it only grew in intensity. Somehow, seeing happy pairs of Foxians walking outside left a bitter taste in your mouth.

⇢ However, you had to push those feelings to the side and needed to put all focus on doing your job— the determination of ending all that gets in the way kept you fueled. After all, the sooner you deal with work, the sooner you’d be reunited with him.

⇢ And when all things ceased— finally and for the better, too— you find yourself overly aware of just how much you really missed your beloved. His absence had made your side turn cold.

⇢ Not only that, but worries also started to wander into your head. Where is he? What had happened to him these past few days? He didn’t do anything reckless, did he?

⇢ Those questions, you thought, could be easily answered by the one junior you know you could trust: Yanqing. And there he was, wiping his sword clean of dirt on a pavilion. You approached him, raising a hand in acknowledgment as you call out his name. He looks up at you with a bright smile.

“The General…” Yanqing tilts his head, eyes wandering up as he thinks. Some grime was on the little boy’s cheek as well as his hand, but he paid them no attention, or perhaps he did not notice. Then, his expression lights up and he says, “I last saw him with Madam Yukong! They’re probably at the Starskiff Haven.” “Thanks, Yanqing,” You smile, one hand reaching out to away wipe the dirt on his face as you spoke. Yanqing’s hand quickly darts up his face, replacing yours. With a voice tinged with shame, he says, “You better hurry or you might miss him.”

⇢ When you arrived at Starskiff Haven, the docks were filled with other officials within the Sky-Faring Commission. You peeked between the crowd, looking for him— looking for a hint of that light hair, and straining your ears to pick up the sound of his voice.

⇢ It was difficult to look around. There were far too many people blocking your line of sight, and he was likely right up front, unconsciously commanding attention like he always has.

⇢ And so, you turned around, opting to wait for the crowds to dwindle instead.

⇢ As you turned around, you bumped into someone. Before you could apologize, realization dawned upon you. You open your mouth soundlessly, unsure of where to start.

“Looking for someone?” Jing Yuan says, a playful smile on his face. You quickly rushed in for a hug, engulfing him in your arms. He stumbles back a little in surprise, momentarily stunned before returning the embrace. “Missed me that much?” He teases you as you melt into his arms. “You have no idea.” You reply, holding him even tighter. A laugh escapes his lips as one of his hands combs through your hair. He breathes in deeply and replies in a voice low enough that only you can hear, “I missed you too.”

Blade

⇢ Worries filled your head the moment you heard that Blade was captured by the Cloud Knights.

⇢ Kafka was quick to wave it off when the news hit, laughing as she does so. It did little to dissuade your worries.

“Oh, Bladie’s fine,” She quickly says, her voice a little more gentle this time. “Don’t worry about it, [name]. It’s all going according to plan.” “Plan,” you incredulously echo. Kafka nods as she turns to one of the screens, projecting an image of the planet. “After all, he’s already gotten away.” “Huh?” You stand up, your chair dragging on the floor with a loud noise. “What’s he doing now, then?” The half-grin Kafka gives you answers none of your questions.

⇢ With that, you breathe out a sigh of relief. Kafka had already plotted to go to Xianzhou Loufu herself— something about fulfilling what Elio had foreseen. None of which you’re allowed to know, but the fact that she’d be there reassures you.

⇢ You find yourself resting a lot easier. You return to your duties, significantly less bothered.

⇢ …Until a certain someone lets it slip that Kafka has gotten captured by the Divination Commission’s Master Diviner.

⇢ The entire situation spelled trouble; Blade had a nasty habit of meddling in fights involving any other members of the Stellaron Hunters. Hell, that’s how you met him first. But not only that, you worried about what information the commission could read on Kafka, and what they could possibly do to her.

“I’ll come get her myself,” You grit your teeth. Sam laughs, “Hey, don’t be rash. It’s all going—” “According to plan,” You finish, irritation audible in your voice. “That’s what you’re going to say, right?” “…Going to be alright, then,” Sam offers a sleazy smile. “Better?”

⇢ Right as you were briskly walking to the teleporters— followed by Sam who refused to let you go— a loud noise rattles the headquarters and lights flicker on and off for a second before stabilizing once more.

⇢ You rush to the source of the noise and was met with the sight of him dusting his clothes off, clicking his tongue. Meanwhile, Kafka sat beside Silver Wolf, amused as she watches Blade move.

⇢ When Blade meets your eyes, his expression somewhat relaxes. But he doesn’t spare you a greeting as you unconsciously scan his person; your eyes narrow at the new set of bandages wrapped around his arm. He then walks out of the room, pushing past Sam.

⇢ Looking around and at the three hunters looking at you expectantly, you sigh and turn to follow Blade.

⇢ He quickly walks through the halls and disappears behind the automatic doors of his room. You hasten your steps, and when the doors open for you, he’s seated at the foot of his bed, in the progress of removing his top.

⇢ He silently glances up to look at you and his hands stop working on his clothes. Instead, he leans back a little, propping himself up with one elbow against the bed and his free hand motioning for you to come closer.

⇢ You follow him and find a seat on top of his lap. You wrap your arms around him, breathing out as you feel his warmth once more.

Blade’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you even closer. A jolt of electricity moves through your spine as he moves lower to press kisses on your neck. He murmurs against your skin, “Missed me?” “Yes,” You whisper. You feel his mouth curve up in a smile at your reply. And he leaves it unsaid as he kisses you, his lips meeting yours; I missed you, too.

Gepard

⇢ From the very start, you understood what Gepard’s line of work meant and you admired him for it.

⇢ But there was also the fact that there were days that were truly rough for him. He is a skilled fighter but there were still days when he’d come home wounded and tired. And you knew that he always means to be careful– he hated to see you look so worried and distraught– but his work comes first before anything.

⇢ And with his position in his work, it was all the more riskier. ‘To fight for Belobog is an honor,’ they said, but it sure didn’t feel like one whenever Gepard comes home to you and you’d see him injured.

⇢ Fortunately, those days were sparse.

⇢ But suddenly, there were orders for the Silvermane Guards to be dispatched outside the city. Length of stay? Indefinite. They were to remain there until they’ve completely eliminated the threat of Automaton Beasts— machines that might as well be pests with the way they never seem to never run out.

⇢ You felt somewhat assured that Gepard can handle the threat; he told you things like these were a walk in the park for him.

⇢ It was the distance that troubled you, as well as the intense cold outside the city. You vividly remember your early teen years, when you’d curiously explore the vast, snowy plains and shivered as you moved.

“Be careful,” You told Gepard as his hand hovers over the doorknob. “Stay safe, alright?” Gepard throws a glance behind his shoulder and looks at you with a small smile. “I’ll try.” You give him an unamused scoff, which only makes the smile on his face grow. Then, he gives in and says, “I’ll contact you as much as I can.” Slowly, a tiny smile also appears on your face.

⇢ Days turn into a week. He’d occasionally call you at around dinner time, checking in on you and chatting about trivial matters. You’d ask about how his mission is going, and he’d tell you the same thing he usually does: “It’s going great. Don’t worry, [name].”

⇢ But one night, the clock ticks past dinner time and you stare hard enough at your phone that you could almost launch it flying with just your gaze.

⇢ After a while, you pick up your phone— it works two ways, doesn’t it? But it only rings, and rings, and rings.

⇢ You told yourself to not worry about it too much; he was probably simply occupied for the night. He deserved and earned his rest.

⇢ Until it extends to four nights of silence. Four nights of not hearing his voice, not knowing what’s happened to him. Nothing.

⇢ At this point, you had wanted to march right out of the city walls once more, just like what you had done before. But you snapped back to reality the more you thought about it— you didn’t want to give the guards another thing to worry about, another to look out for.

⇢ Instead, all you could do is sigh discontentedly as you stare into your phone, waiting and waiting and waiting.

⇢ Seven days had passed since you last heard from Gepard. An entire week of waiting for news– waiting for anything at all– to tell you that he’s alright.

⇢ Then, as you walk through the city to quickly shop for more rice, you overheard a conversation between some guards within the city.

“—the captain.” “How long?” “I have no idea. Apparently, they’ve run into one of the biggest ones and sent his subordinates back to camp with one foot in the grave.” “So he’s fighting it alone?” “One at a time, yeah, I think. Chipping away at it. But it has been like, what? A week? Who knows how much longer it’ll be?” “Right,” The guard nods. “It could take him a year if he just kept going by himself instead of mobilizing his juniors.” “You know the captain. He’s not that type of person.”

⇢ You stumble back home, sick to your stomach. Gepard– the sweet, kind, caring man that he is and you fell for– had been fighting alone, all for the sake of his subordinates.

⇢ Right as you were about to get your phone to call Serval, the person you know would understand, you saw some guards and paramedics within the city walk in packs through the window.

⇢ Curiously, you peek out. Suddenly, hope and dread both fill your stomach as you see lines of guards– Gepard’s subordinates– start to litter the streets and go en route to the nearest medical bay.

⇢ You quickly rush outside your home and trail behind them, anxious to see their captain, your Gepard.

You pushed through the other soldiers, determined to make your way to him. He stood there, looking worse for wear. Yet, he stood steadfast. It was as if the wounds all over him didn’t exist. Instead, he ordered the paramedics to take his subordinates first. Your heart aches as you watch him and found yourself unable to hold back any longer— you pushed past another line of soldiers with some effort and broke through. With that, you start rushing toward your lover. When he catches sight of you, his walking first speeds up, until he starts rushing to you as well. And it was as if the world stopped moving when he catches you in his arms, engulfing you in a tight embrace. He cradles your head when you mutter, “I thought… I was so…” “It’s alright,” Gepard replies in a soothing voice. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

#maddie's corner!#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #gepard x reader #! etude

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justblades · 1 year

Text

⌕ SUCK HIM DRY, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : jing yuan x afab! reader WC : 1.7k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, succubus! reader, hypnosis

⟢ SUMMARY : a succubus preys on a luofu general — a battle of wits, who will outsmart the other given that both parties should not be underestimated? perhaps only time can answer.

the mara-struck, the ambrosial arbor— the legends drift to outsiders once they set foot on the xianzhou luofu. almost everything is possible in this setting, it was natural for devils who feed on sins to exist along with these species, and so you descend into the ship undercover, looking for a particular victim.

your interest was piqued by a distinct foxian lady whose ears are tall and in tan color, especially the notable, fluffy tail wagging just behind her. she has a little wooden table set in front of her and atop the birch surface are multiple pictures of a silver long haired male, smile as cunning yet blithe at the same time. the most notable feature however is the angel mark just below his left eye, followed by his long onyx lashes framing his aureate irises.

from the clothing he dons, it was clear-cut he's someone of a high ranking. you were not to be underestimated now that you're running low on your fill, so you opted for unconventional methods: by buying intel about the person and immediately found almost everything the luofu general does. a small price to pay for your deprivation.

apparently his name is jing yuan. it rolls off your long tongue smoothly. his charisma, his aura and his name: he's a perfect target. your adrenaline levels spike as you envision what you'll do to him once you lay your hands on the male, dozen scenarios flashing from one to another.

at present with a remarkable entrance, you finally emerge out from the shadows and make an appearance for your victim. although jing yuan's eyes are heavy lidded as he was a second apart from completely dozing off, he manages to brandish his weapon in an instant, hoisting it at your figure. the indolence he displayed from earlier immediately dissipates into thin air, his masculine voice cuts through the thick ice of tension lingering in the vicinity.

"you finally showed yourself. i've been waiting since earlier." it was just 10 words but he exceeds your expectations. never have your presence been sensed by anybody as that is one of your skills, to be able to conceal yourself and your true identity. jing yuan isn't to be taken too lightly, it appears. but no matter how he was able to anticipate your arrival, he still fell prey on your yearning hands.

he suddenly grunts in struggle as his limbs get pinned down on the sculpted, hazel chair before him. jing yuan loses control of his own body and you continue to stride towards him, a lecherous smile carved on your lips. "general jing yuan . . you're quite an attractive man." you whisper as you lean closer to his face, your hot breath ghosts a caress on the very shell of his ear.

the general was addled at first, trying his best to discern what kind of creature you really are. "you look confused, i'll grant you the privilege of knowing what i am." your words were honeyed as your eyes lock a wary gaze with his golden hues. "i'm just a demon who feeds on people . . the sin of lust particularly, and i'm here to claim your life once i successfully do so."

forcing a kiss on his sultry lips, your fingers grab a hold of his chin, making sure to deepen further your tongue in— making you feel more tantalized than before. jing yuan's brows furrow, continuing to struggle to break free from the curse you laid upon him. quickly breaking the seal of the kiss, you couldn't help but chuckle, "you taste so delicious general! i wonder if it's the same down here."

jing yuan glances at where your other clawed hand trails, his vision landing on his erection, all exposed from how you swiftly ripped his pants open. slowly gliding your digits against his prominent veins of a reddish tan mixed of violet shades, you merit yourself with the general's grunts of arousal as he closes his eyes shut.

he grinds his teeth, "i've heard of such creatures but i never would've imagined they were true." he struggles to speak eloquently like he always does now that he's under your teasing touch. suddenly, a warm feeling envelops his twitching length, only to realize you were sucking his girthy cock. "does it feel good, general?" you query, bobbing your head up and down while making a vacuum like suction as you suck all of him in, your tongue fiddling his dick's folds.

the silver haired throws his head back in defeat, unable to budge a movement as he was stuck in a sitting position. with a succubus pleasuring him, he couldn't deny it was a wonderful sensation. he eventually lets his guttural moans come undone and follow suit one after another, sounding into your ears like awards or prizes for doing your job well. amidst of this, he starts to think of a way to free himself from these invisible restraints but you heeded no mind and continue to indulge yourself in carnal desire.

however as you didn't underestimate jing yuan, the same could be said for you. after all, you meticulously planned to draw away everyone's attention in jing yuan's office just so you can prey on him. time flashes by rather quick and liquids of release sprawl into the hidden depths of your throat as you also toy with your sloppy cunt, growing eager to lap all of him even more.

"one out of three. once you cum thrice, it's a bye bye." the sentence cut off jing yuan's rowdy train of thoughts, but as he was powerless before such specie, you were able to insert his dick in, straddling his thigh, facing the male. he flinches as your tight walls coil around his shape, the head of his dick meeting with your cervix, " . . you're big!" you exclaim, your eyes widening into two full moons, shock coursing through your veins.

resting your hands on his broad shoulders, you begin to bounce on him, raising your ass and push your hips down on his thick, heating dick. your eyes never left jing yuan's, and you swear you could feel how much he's been thinking in spite of the low mewls he lets out— "yes, just keep looking at me like that!" taunting the general even more, his piercing, brazen stare sharpens, almost penetrating right through your soul.

"oh, general . ." you call out to him as you moan his name, "general jing yuan . . xianzhou luofu is such a pretty place!" naughty, squelching noises reverberate inside the vast space, accompanied by you and jing yuan's bit back moans of satisfaction. now locking your hands around his neck and fingers ruffling his long, luscious, ashy strands, you give him another open mouthed kiss, one that is much more gentler than the other, eyes closed to engage with the sensation.

noticing the littlest details of a person's body language, gifted to every succubus or incubus birthed into this universe, you could sense how his dick throbs, signaling for his release soon. the corners of your lips lift, displaying a smug smile once you pick up your speed and add more force on your movements, shaking your hips slowly to earn more sounds from the male's mouth.

"i— i'm—" jing yuan groans and the second round of his climax dawns, filling your velvet walls with his muddy white seed to the point that a good amount seeps into your womb. you feel your body lighten and improve in condition, "i wasn't wrong in choosing you at all. even your cum tastes refreshing— i can also make you do this."

the general's body moves by itself as he bends you over the table this time with one push, your face slapping against the varnished surface. his hand tightly clasped on your shoulder blades, you wiggle your pelvis so his head meets with your lips— and prods through your fluttering folds once more. he heaves deep breaths, more waves of pleasure crashing on him, even though it was against his will, he couldn't deny that he feels good from it.

your head spins as his thrusts were far more powerful than you expected. you didn't take into account how raw power works in these instances but it made the experience hundred times better— you were starting to lose your mind as he fills you with his cock, beads of his satisfaction trickling down past your thighs.

"what a naughty general!" you remark with absolute mockery, "is this what you fantasize about while you keep the luofu's peace, jing yuan?" snickering at the end of your sentence, you were surprised to hear him respond. "yes, and it seems like you're a perfect fit." you were taken aback by his reply.

he proceeds to flip your body around, carrying your figure with his mere two arms. he rises from his position and guides your legs to lock around his waist, his cock reaching deeper than before and rubbing on the other parts of your walls. "what— no! how could y—" jing yuan cuts off your protest with a passionate kiss, you could feel his lips tug into a smirk.

"where's your playful nature now?" jing yuan's words exude of irony and sarcasm: having enjoyment at how confusion washes over your facial features. "i'm not an ordinary being either - i'm afraid to say you only set yourself up for failure." the cocky aura from your stature ceases, jaw falling agape and your lustful eyes' gleam die down.

he speeds up his thrusts, intruding your tight cunt with an unrealistic speed. despite of worry gnawing at your perturbed mind, you couldn't stifle the mewls slipping from your lips. "it only took me . . a while to overcome your binds." the general clarifies and with one last stroke, more strings of milky like substance spring out from his cock, painting your walls white.

as soon as he fills you up, he lets go of your body, making a loud thud sound. you were left there unable to move, even more perplexed as to why. even though it didn't hurt you one bit, your mind was just occupied at just how powerful the general is. he exits your peripheral vision for a while, only to come back with new clothing donned as if the ones you ripped earlier weren't busted at all.

the seat of divine foresight's gates swing open, revealing numerous cloud knights in preparation for combat.

"be careful bringing her to the cell, this one's dangerous. i shall pay a visit later."

my masterlist !

#honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x reader smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr x reader smut #honkai star rail x reader smut

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mm-lurking · 4 months

Text

Your mara brings me pain too - Blade

Blade is the coldest Stellaron Hunter of them all. He is a man of few words and even fewer emotions. One fateful day you get a message from Kafka asking for your help and you learn that behind his cold exterior is a man just like you- and everyone else; he has fears, pain and regrets of his own.

A/N: I don’t understand much about how his mara works but this is how I envisioned it as. Plus, it was about time I wrote something on reader comforting Blade.

ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!! Oh my god thank you for liking my writing >< T^T

Warnings: Blade x fem! reader, angst and pain, fluff, please Blade deserves so much love and affection, idk my writing feels choppy my apologies I’m rusty as hell.

WC: 4227 — Hey are you free right now? It’s urgent.

One day on the Xianzhou Luofu your phone buzzes at night. You weren’t doing particularly much, just cleaning your space and lounging around. You pick up your phone and squint at the sender’s name only to stare at it for a while wondering if you read it right. It was Kafka.

I am available what’s up?

You wondered why Kafka would contact you for help at a time like this. Was everything ok?

Can‘t explain too much but it has to do with Blade. Come over as fast as possible.

You jump upon reading the message. There is a slight elevation in your heart rate as you read his name. Blade was the Stellaron Hunter that had caught your eye when you first encountered him. As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, you started realising that perhaps you were in love with him. The idea of that sounded so stupid that you hated to admit it but it was the truth. Obviously, the 9 million bounty over his head wasn’t discouraging enough to stop these feelings.

Left with no choice, you grab your phone and head out the door, practically sprinting to the hideout where those two resided. You’re breathless by the time you arrive and knock on the door, panting like a dog as Kafka opens it. She looks at you with surprise all over her face.

“You’re here. That was fast.”

“You said it had to do with Blade so.”

“Ah yes, it does. Come inside.”

You follow her inside and shut the door close. Neither of you say anything and you silently follow her to a room in the distance. Right before she enters the room she turns around and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“His mara is acting up again but this time he is wounded pretty badly. While I use my spirit whisperer to calm him down, I need you to help me heal and keep him steady. There is a first aid kit on the table inside.”

You stare at her with wide eyes and blink, taking a minute to process her words. Your gaze flicks back and forth between Kafka and the door, and you take a long pause before saying anything.

“Kafka are you sure it’s ok for me to…”

Your voice trails off. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help him. You were a healer; on expeditions and other occasions it was your responsibility to heal and tend to others wounds. But this was different -you liked Blade and you weren’t sure if he was comfortable with you healing him. You didn’t want to upset him when he was stable again. Kafka notices your dilemma and shakes her head.

“If there is anyone I can trust Blade with, it’s you. Plus, he would be ok with you.”

That makes your heart flutter but you mentally make yourself shut up and nod. She turns back around and twists the doorknob open, revealing Blade lying on the bed with injuries and hyperventilating. His coat has been discarded on the side of the bed and he lies on the mattress with nothing but poorly wrapped gauze on his upper body. There is a lot of blood splattered all over his limbs but the wound on his chest makes your heart twist; it’s oozing with warm blood and the bandages are unable to stop it.

The injury looks painful. The wound looks like a shattered mirror with lots of little cracks and crevices. You’re so shocked by his state that Kafka has to snap her fingers in front of your face to take you out of your trance. You look at her and then back at him again, wondering how to even explain what you were feeling.

“How did he…?”

“He must have over-pushed himself again. The Xianzhou Luofu reeks of his past and even with the lack of memory, the emotions are still present to induce his mara.”

You cautiously take a step closer to the bed. He’s clearly out of his mind as he keeps mumbling things along the lines of “you must pay the price” and “my sins are no different than yours traitor”. A part of you is afraid to approach him as you fear he might accidentally hurt you in this state. But the other part of you aches seeing him in so much pain and there is nothing more you wish to do than to soothe his suffering.

“Be careful.”

Kafka warns you and you nod your head while continuing to take closer steps to his bed. There is an aura around him that you cannot discern; it is an uncomfortable feeling of pain and suffocation. By the time you are right by his bedside, the aura only gets stronger and worse. You

can hear him withering in pain from his wounds as sweat rolls down the side of his face. He turns his head left and right continuously as if trying to ease the discomfort. Judging by his half-lidded eyes, it seems he isn’t aware you’re standing next to him.

Immediately you summon your healing power, first creating a shield around yourself to protect you from the aura and any sudden self-defense movements he might do. Then, you lean closer towards his body and place your hands on his chest, removing his bandages carefully to begin healing.

“I’m going to start using the spirit whisperer now. On my count. One, two-“

You zone out the moment she finishes counting and release all the power you have into your hands to heal him. There is a faint yellowish glow over his chest as you hover your hands over the wounds. It takes a considerable amount of power to work on each wound he has, especially the one right in the middle of the chest that hasn’t stopped bleeding. You hear him groan in pain as you work your way through the different injuries continuously.

“I know…I know…”

You whisper soothingly as he seethes and huffs, presumably from the spirit whisperer. For a moment there is silence in the room until suddenly Blade throws his arm towards you, smacking your shield with a loud thud. The unexpected action makes you stumble a little and your healing abilities dispel from the shock.

You look up at Kafka who gives you a concerned look. She had mentioned that she cannot stop her ability halfway through the process and therefore leaving you alone to deal with Blade. You gaze back at Blade who's starting to stir awake and his groans only get worse as consciousness begins to set in.

With a deep breath, you hover your hands over his chest again and resume healing. Unfortunately for you, he tries to hit you again and the thud on your shield makes you flinch. Despite this, you push forward as you grit your teeth and finish healing his main wound.

A surge of pain takes over you as you exhaust yourself in the process of healing him. He’s trying to throw hands at you again, this time more aggressively as if trying to stop you from healing him. However, based on his constant murmuring and the pain laced in his voice, he’s reliving something and is accidentally taking it out on you instead.

At one point you catch his hands as you tightly grip them and hold them in place to stop him from hitting you. His strength is overbearing even during such a state of weakness. He squirms in your grasp, trying to escape but you hold onto him until he finally gives up and loosens his grip.

“Easy there Blade…”

Who knows if he’s actually able to hear you but regardless, you continue to whisper comforting things to him, trying to ease the pain as much as possible. It hurts seeing him in such a frail state, one where you can’t intervene. The mara is a sickness only those inflicted with it can understand and feel and as such, you’re left to watch him from the outside as he fights the battles in his mind.

The last of his wounds are easier to patch up and it should take no time to heal them. But just as you’re about to start healing again he physically stirs and you watch him twist and turn as his eyes flutter open. There is a momentary silence in the room before he shifts his head to look at you and you swear you see hatred in his crimson eyes.

“You traitor..!”

You gulp. He’s still mara-stricken but just awake. You’re unsure if you should say anything as it might make things worse; what if he gets physical with you? Hesitantly you softly reply.

“Blade, it’s me.”

“You…you must pay the price!”

Before you know it he has grabbed onto your arms once again and tries to wrestle you. The sheer force he exerts on you makes you panic as you try to make him let go.

“Blade…!”

You look back at Kafka whose eyes are closed as she continues her part of the job. A chill runs down your spine as you slightly panic, afraid you will be alone in dealing with his sudden change in demeanour. Another burst of light leaves your hands as you form a new shield and wrestle to contain him.

After what feels like forever, the unyielding grip he has on you loosens and he breathes heavily. You watch as he takes large gulps of air and turns his head side to side over and over. A pang of pain hits your chest as you try to ease his discomfort again, healing the last of his wounds while he seems to be calm.

Silence falls in the room again as you finally finish healing. You take this opportunity to stare at his figure only to notice he has fallen completely silent and looks to be asleep. Confused at his sudden behaviour change, you glance at Kafka again who opens her eyes and looks at you. She gives you a small smile and you immediately understand that she has finished using her spirit whisperer.

“I have suppressed the mara in him. He should be fine now. Thank you for your help.”

Your attention shifts back to Blade, and you gaze at him longingly.

“You’re welcome.”

Kafka nods and smiles at you again.

“I will leave him in your capable hands. I am sure he will need your presence when he wakes up.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that. Yes, you would love to look after him but you were also afraid he wouldn’t be pleased if he saw you. Before you can say anything, Kafka leaves the room and it’s just you and Blade alone together. You haven’t been able to process anything since you arrived. Everything was so chaotic and sudden that only now were you able to think through things. You mentally trace the wounds on his chest, starting from the ones on his shoulder and moving your way down to his abdomen.

The injury on his chest hurts you the most. In your lifetime of getting injured and healing others, you’ve seen it all. You’ve seen flesh burn, knife stabs down to the bone, small scratches; name an injury and you’ve seen it at least once in your lifetime. But his wound was a unique situation. You knew that no matter how much he was stabbed and hurt his flesh would heal over and over on its own. That was the curse of immortality given to him. No matter how grave the injury, it would heal.

That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt right? You couldn’t even fathom the pain he went through everyday, getting hurt in fights and having to come back to his residence to bandage up everything on his own. Each day like clockwork that’s what he probably did, cursing his immortality as he cleaned up his wounds all by himself, all alone.

The image of that brings tears to your eyes as you look at his face. How lonely must it be to live a life like this? To know you could never die, to know that you would have to look after yourself all on your own? Did he ever wish that someone could look after him just once? Or did he think he wasn’t deserving of such love?

Your tears splatter on the bedsheet as you feel an overwhelming amount of sadness from such thoughts. How desperately you wished you could be the woman by his side to assist him in such moments. How desperately you wished that you could love him so dearly that every fibre of his body felt wanted and desired.

It takes you a while to calm down from such depressing thoughts. The tears have dried from your eyes but you continue to sniffle as you grab the bandages and gauze from the first aid kit to bind his wounds. Slowly but gently, you clean up the remaining blood on his body with a clean cloth and sanitise the wounds before sealing the area with the gauze.

You couldn’t help but start tearing up again at the thought of him wrapping the gauze around himself on his own. For how long had he been doing this? How many years? How long and how many injuries must it take for one to become a master at bandaging their wounds?

You cannot contain the tears in your eyes as they accidentally drip onto his abdomen. You attempt to hurriedly wipe your eyes but it’s hard to contain them the more you ponder. What you don’t realise is your sniffling and tears have prompted the man to wake up.

“Urgh….why are you crying…?”

His deep raspy voice makes you jump slightly and you aggressively wipe your tears before smiling at him.

“Goodness, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

You reply, completely ignoring his question. You’re aware he’s watching you as you work on his wounds, bandaging him carefully.

“Urgh…!”

“Ah I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

Worried, you lean closer to him and examine his shoulder carefully. You gently press on it to confirm the pain. He groans again and you give him a small smile.

“It’s a bit tender. Try to relax as much as you can.”

Instead of doing that, he catches your hand and looks at you intently. Your heart skips a beat as you make eye contact with him.

“I need to patch up the last injury on your arm Blade.”

“Stay.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

You reassure him and he nods before closing his eyes and exhaling. It takes a little under a minute for you to wrap up his arm injury and you sigh after you’re done. When you observe his body now, you see more bandages and gauze than his skin and the pang in your chest comes back again.

“…would you like some water Blade?”

You quickly ask since you were afraid you would start crying again. He opens his eyes and looks at you blankly before nodding. As he attempts to sit upright you quickly assist him, placing a hand on his back while the other holds his large one. He observes the shakiness in your hand as you pour him a glass of water and bring it to his lips.

“Drink some.”

The gentleness in your voice soothes him in a way he cannot explain. He complies and drinks the entire glass, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. Suddenly you feel very embarrassed and attempt to distract yourself but when your gaze lands on the chest wound you can’t help but feel sad again.

When he’s done drinking, you place the glass on the nightstand and sigh.

“Are you feeling any better?”

You softly ask as you help him lie down again. He hums and you take that as a yes. Unable to help yourself, you lean closer towards him and brush stray hairs away from his forehead. The proximity between you both makes your heart race but you fail to notice it as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his scalp. The sensation is calming and he finds himself relaxing under your touch. He watches you closely again, observing the tiny frown on your face and your red puffy eyes while you’re busy playing with his hair. He notes that you look exhausted.

“Your eyes are red.”

“Huh? Oh.”

You plaster a smile on your face.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t need to know what you were feeling. It was embarrassing and you didn’t want to make things awkward between you both.

“Are you- urgh!”

He groans in discomfort while trying to adjust himself. It’s the wound on his chest that seems to be the problem now.

“Easy there.”

You quickly help him out, checking the bandages again and readjusting them. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and you grab a cold compress from the first aid kit to wipe them away. His breathing pattern is inconsistent as he huffs and sighs from the aching of his body. You check his forehead and it feels warm to the touch which makes you frown.

“Blade I think you have a mild fever.”

“It’s the side effect of the mara.”

“You need to take medicine.”

“There is no need.”

“Are you sure?”

You stare at him sadly and he sighs. You continue to wipe the sweat off his face and neck as he takes shallow breaths.

“Did Kafka send you?”

He manages to ask in between the bouts of pain.

“She did.”

He sighs and intently looks at you.

“When the mara strikes you shouldn’t be next to me.”

“She said she could trust only me with you.”

He scoffs.

“Even so.”

Silence fills the air before he continues.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

You jokingly reply only to realise he’s being dead serious when you make eye contact with him.

“I’m ok. I am a healer after all.”

You change the cold compress as you speak and look for a new pack. It is then he notices the slight bruises forming on your arms and the redness around them. Without a word, he grabs your arm and you yelp.

“Hey-?!”

He examines your arms and gazes at you with a look you cannot decipher. You gulp at the intensity of his gaze.

“When exactly did you get here?”

“Blade none of that matters, all that matters is if you’re ok-“

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately shut your mouth. There are several ways you want to answer the question but nothing comes out.

“I will take that as a yes.”

“Blade please-“

“Why would you risk being around-“

“Because I care for you!”

A sharp exhale leaves your mouth as you realise what you just said. The tears you had been trying to hide so desperately started to flood your eyes again.

“Please. Let it be.”

You whisper slowly while putting away medical supplies. In your peripheral vision, you see him look at you with wide eyes as if unable to understand.

“I am a healer Blade, I will be fine. But I worry for you.”

You gently whisper as you adjust the bedsheets around him and fix his long hair. This time your tears have nowhere to hide as they freely roll down your face. With nothing left to do, you just awkwardly grip the edges of the bedsheet and hang your head low.

“I will give you some space. Rest well.”

The moment you let go of the bedsheet and try to stand up, he immediately clasps your hands tightly and silently demands you to stay.

“Blade?”

“Stay.”

Hesitantly you remain by his bedside and look at him. He doesn’t let go of your hands and continues to peer into your eyes.

“Stay.”

He repeats himself and you sigh.

“Alright.”

He slowly shifts away from you and pats the edge of the bed. Your eyes widen and you look back and forth between him and the bed.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t reply and instead gently drags your hands towards him until you have no choice but to sit on the bed. He then proceeds to look at your arms and then at you again.

“You…the fate of those I know is never a good one.”

You intertwine his fingers with yours and tenderly smile at him.

“That will change with me.”

You watch how his eyes widen momentarily before he turns his head away.

“You have a long life ahead of you, young one. Don’t waste it on me.”

Hearing that makes you frown.

“You’re going to have to find better ways to get rid of me then.”

“Mm.”

Silence falls once again. To your surprise, he doesn’t pull his hands away from yours as you rub circles on it. You note how calloused his hands are and the amount of scars littered on them. There is warmth radiating from his palms and it feels comforting and protective.

“Are your wounds still hurting?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You shift around to get a better look at his face.

“Do you feel at ease now?”

“Mmm.”

“Let me know if you feel any discomfort, okay?”

“You need to be more careful when the mara strikes me.”

“…”

“It is reckless of you to be around me even if you are a healer.”

He then turns his head to get a better look at you.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair again and sadly smile.

“I hate that you have to deal with this alone Blade…”

You mentally yell at how tears have started forming in your eyes again.

“I hate that you suffer on your own while I spend my days in comfort. I hate that you have to bandage and heal yourself every day all alone. I hate that you’ve grown so accustomed to this life that you do not allow yourself to be loved.��

The tears in your eyes fall on him once again and he grips your other hand tightly. There is a confused look on his face, as if he doesn’t understand why would someone care for him and why would someone feel sorry for him.

“Foolish girl. Why are you crying?”

“Because I-“

You choke on your words and attempt to hide your face by hanging your head but fail to do so. He slowly brings his free hand to cup your face and sighs. His palm completely encapsulates your cheek and you subconsciously lean into it.

“My life is cursed to immortality. It is my sin to bear.”

“Still-!”

“Do not cry. This is a daily affair.”

“Doesn’t it hurt Blade? Even if you’re used to it?”

He takes a deep breath and wipes the tears away from your eyes.

“A sin is a sin. Of five people, three must pay the price. I am one of them.”

You sob harder into his hand, unable to stop yourself from feeling this way.

“Just what sin must one commit to suffer such consequences?” He stops wiping your tears and gazes at you momentarily with an indescribable look in his eyes. You can see how there are thousands of thoughts swarming him as he wonders what to reply. Fearing that you might have overstepped his boundaries, you immediately try to change the topic.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just..”

“It is a long story young one. Should you ever have to face the situations I have, do not make the same choices as me.”

“It must be hard to live with such regrets…”

He stares into the distance then hesitantly replies.

“Even if I have regrets, there is no point in pondering about them. There is nothing that can be done.”

“I am sorry…it should be me looking after you, not the other way around…”

You manage to say in between your hiccups. He continues to wipe the tears from your face and gives you a small smile. Seeing him smile makes your heart skip a beat and you can’t help but give him one in return.

“You need to rest.”

“So do you.”

“I am already resting.”

“I can rest later.”

He sighs at your stubbornness. You giggle a little and squeeze his hand, reassuring him you would be fine. A little chit-chat later, Blade falls asleep from your rhythmic playing of his hair while still holding your hand. There is a large silly smile on your face as you look over him lovingly.

Your tears have dried and the aching in your heart has calmed down. In his lifetime, you may not be able to take his curse away but the least you could do was to be by his side in times of need. If the Aeons were kind enough to you, perhaps in the future you could be his woman. There is a strange feeling of determination that burns in your chest as you hold onto his hand tighter and stroke his hair. You silently stare at his peaceful face, mentally tracing his handsome features as he takes slow deep breaths. The thumping of your heart grows louder with each passing second.

#honkai star rail #hsr x reader #blade x reader #hsr blade #blade hsr #blade x you #blade x female reader #hsr angst #blade angst #blade x y/n #blade fluff #the feminine urge to look after this man #hsr imagines #hsr scenarios

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