#yandere dainsleif x reader

[chococolte]

word count. 444

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, obsessive & possessive thoughts/behaviors, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. another repost from my old acc ..

zhongli

"May I play with your hair? I promise to be gentle." 

Zhongli pauses. He sets his teacup down and purses his lips in gentle, miscellaneous thought. Is that something… you truly want to do? He doesn't quite grasp why you'd want to do such a thing. But if it's you, how could he ever say no?

As he imagines the scene, Zhongli finds himself uncharacteristically flustered. You, lightly tugging at his hair, scratching his scalp; focusing all of your attention on him, allowing him to soak in your intoxicating presence. Perhaps you would speak the entire time, too, and let him hear your beautiful voice some more.

"If that is what you desire," Zhongli says, keeping his emotions under a serene and posied guise. You never would be able to guess the rampant thoughts running through his mind. "I can't say no to you, after all." He settles into his chair and allows you to carefully untie his hair, his eyes already gently fluttering close as your hands run along his scalp.

diluc

Diluc's heart hammers against his chest the moment the words leave your mouth. He turns his head away from you and covers his mouth with his hand, trying to think of a way to respond that won't leave him feeling horribly embarrassed.

The reason why you'd want to play with his hair escapes him. He's always felt indifferent towards it; the only reason he's never cut it is because he simply didn't want to bother with the process. But, well, if you liked it... 

"A-Alright," Diluc stammers. He tries not to imagine the look on your face. He unties his hair for you, hands shaking as he does so. 

Luck seems to be in his favor, as you don't seem to notice the way he leans into your hands.

dainsleif

The first thing Dainsleif does is stare at you incredulously. You want to do what? Then, as he watches your expression deflate and you mutter a small apology, he swiftly finds a bitter taste rising its way up his throat.

Dainsleif's heart bangs against his ribcage as he grabs your hand and tells you you can do whatever you want to him. Though you don't seem to quite grasp the deeper meaning of his words, your fingers quickly find themselves gently tangling Dainsleif's hair, pulling and tugging in a way that makes his eyes and stomach flutter.

Dainsleif relaxes at your touch, leaning into you and feeling himself drift into a soft reverie as you continue to carefully play with his tufts of hair. Only you could manage to make him feel so safe, he thinks, as you hum a delicate tune under your breath.

[harmonysanreads]

I'm not sure if requests are still open since it's early in the morning where I'm from and idk how our timezones work, please delete this if it isn't orz. If it isn't too much trouble, a dainsleif fic mayhaps 🙏😔? I miss him so much and he didn't come home this patch, can be a short drabble ^^.

Not sure if it's leaning on your "things in consideration" list, but the prompt can be:

You've been under his radar for years but now that he's tracked you down, an unknown child who mirrors his blue Khaenriahn eyes guards you with his small and very fragile life. Those eyes... They're eerily familiar.

(side note: Dain isn't the type who thinks children automatically have a heart of gold lolol. He's kinda a hater when it comes to children cept for Yaoyao /jjjj, maybe that's some extra spice to add for the reason why reader is so terrified and left as soon as she had the opportunity?)

Reconteur

yandere!dainsleif x reader

cw(s) : yandere, implied female reader (the narrative is not gender specific but the word 'mother' has been used once)

wc : 1.7 k

this was an interesting challenge for me because this is one theme i've not done before, with a character i've also never written for! i'm extremely sorry for the wait as i got distracted by hsr :') and thank you so much for requesting<3

a delightful illustration by the loveliest person <3 (spoiler alert!)

Stories are truly spectacular.

They're capable of preserving bygone memories ; changing, adapting and sometimes, becoming far too distant from reality. Like saplings of the tree which extends its roots throughout Teyvat and, their seeds are welcomed by the flighty wind, soon to be cultivated by the torrents of time. The present will one day become history and that history will be archived for posterity to learn and criticize. One such story inspires much intrigue, dressed in charming rhetoric and is thus cataloged among fairy tales : a bittersweet tale of a Knight and an Angel.

And in classic format it goes — once upon a time, a defiled Knight cried out to the heavens, for he could not win against the temptation of seeing the forbidden pearl. This blatant defiance earned him but a curse of eternal agony and soon, he begged the skies for salvation. The clouds softened and sent him a little Angel, who quelled the fires of his pain bit by bit, until it became an infinitesimal dot in the Knight's soul. Brimming with gratitude, the Knight offered his very being to the Angel's service and of course, they lived happily ever after.

Now suppose, fundamentally speaking, if fairy tales are but stories and the retelling of history follows the same pattern — who are the storytellers?

The victors, of course.

The dull thud of pages colliding shut assuages Dainsleif, for the story which now finds itself beside children's bedside tables serves no other purpose than to instigate dulcet fantasies, losing credence before the trials of history. It brews a litany of feelings in his numbed heart until they intertwine and transform into a yarn of befuddling human emotions ; echoing in his ears that this is what his past has become.

Albeit, this hardly astonishes the Bough Keeper. When a war ends and the winners hoist their flags, they'd obviously be privy to recounting their glories — none of them would ever write that the Knight in the story had never begged the heavens for forgiveness and no such Angel was sent. Instead, he'd seen fit to snatch the Messenger that'd implored him to return to his right mind and one would think that Celestia had taken great offense in this act, but no one batted an eye.

That is because the Messenger, too, was forsaken by their home, a fallen angel with no wings and no divinity left. Whose existence became synonymous to that of a firefly and the Knight, became the darkness that allowed it to glow. When two broken individuals unite, they either complete their flaws or destroy one another and sadly, in his case, it was the latter.

But is it such a sin to wish for a normal life? Dainsleif muses as he passes by giggling groups of unassuming humans, desperate vendors trying to sell their wares and many more individuals who might carve their places in the next epics of Teyvat. Often is it said, you only learn to value things after they leave your grasp and while his memory does erode day by day, he'll forever remember that Angel's — your countenance, how the corners of your lips used to curve before they did no longer, how every word of yours bewitched his decaying mind and built it anew.

He was an ant chasing after the fragrance of sugar, a mindless bug blinded by a speck of light, an apophyte clinging desperately to the bough, a sinner. And sinners do not deserve luxuries called normalcy, love or a home. The aftereffects of the Cataclysm that befell his homeland drove uncountable masses to nihility, some embraced their hatred while others rotted in corners of this world. It is testament to Dainsleif's willpower that he'd not been conquered by insanity yet. Indeed, he's always practiced rationale and patience ; which have also aided him in his prolonged search for you.

He investigated till every rock of this wretched world became his acquaintance and he kept on hanging to the last traces of your existence. But, as every expedition led to a dead end, he was forced to accept a lamentable realization, that he missed you. He missed you so much. He'd vowed to never kneel before those who took everything from him, at this point in his life though, he found himself one breath away from begging that floating island — if only it'd bring you back to his side.

Rain. It'd rained before that catastrophic day and on the eve you trespassed in his life as well. Would you laugh if you saw him in this state? Or, would you coax him up from his knees and shield him from the rain? A hoarse chuckle leaves his lips, how shameless does one need to be to still expect comfort from the being they hurt repeatedly? He'd rather not hear the answer.

“Mister?”

The sky growled at his misery but he could not differentiate it from a mocking sneer. He blinked upon feeling the absence of raindrops falling on his person and raised his head to stare.

It is as though the stars gazed at him back, “Why are you kneeling on the ground on a rainy day, mister?”

Dainsleif stared owlishly, his mind momentarily ceased to comprehend the present. The boy that'd reach his knees at most if Dainsleif had been standing returned his gaze in equal interest. Though the man failed to decipher those familiar eyes, it seemed that the boy had reached a conclusion.

“Oh, you must be in pain! Here, take one of my apples.”

The Bough Keeper jolted at the fruit that was shoved to his hand, in the blur of his confusion he'd not taken note of the bag full of apples clutched by the boy's other hand.

“My mother said that an apple a day would keep the pain away—ah, or was it the doctor? Anyway, please take it and don't look so sad. I should really be returning now…!”

Dainsleif opened his mouth (To protest, to question or to thank? He didn't know.) as the boy dashed away, the pitter-patters of the rain lulled his footsteps and left the man a great deal dumbfounded. He looked at the apple, now glistening with rainwater and recalled the boy's words. On normal occasions, he'd be tempted to immediately evacuate the vicinity after that mildly embarrassing encounter but, the memory of the starry gaze that rendered him speechless implored him to follow the boy's tracks.

At this point, his mind was operating on instinct, tracing the footprints of an unknown child without purpose would be the farthest thing he'd put on his agenda in his current state. The dense forest swallowed his form until it finally gifted him with a clearing, a small source of light peeked past a half open window and enticed him closer.

“...re…were…y…?”

The man only came to his senses after hearing muffled voices, standing before what he assumed was the door to the thatched cottage. For a second, he debated whether to continue this rendezvous but resigning that he'd come too far, he decided to take a peek through the window.

The rain lulled just enough to not be an outright nuisance, succinct yet unforgettable — there you were, separated by but a weak wooden structure and Dainsleif's stupefied mind. You are there. Are you really there? Right before his eyes, emerging out of nowhere after he turned Teyvat upside down just to find some reassurance that you're still alive? Your eyes narrowed in that familiar frown and rubbing a towel through a boy's hair—

Wait, what?

Fine strands of blonde clung to Dainsleif's forehead, a few drops of water dripping down to join the small puddle under his feet. He gaped like a fish at the scene and at the boy who led him to this epiphany, completely forgetting vigilance.

“Did you talk to anyone, son?”

Flowers bloomed in his heart at the sound of that familiar lilt and his breath hitched as he processed the contents you uttered. Son. You called that boy son. In the light of your humble abode, he noticed the boy's golden locks of hair that he'd previously foregone and a conclusion crawled its way to his mind. He has a child. He has a child? Dainsleif knew you have a knack for unpredictability but this level of surprise was not what he was expecting upon your first appearance after all these years. He dwelled on the question of how it was even possible for a while, he recalled the boy's eyes ; those characteristic star-shaped pupils would never lie. Voices reached his ear again and he decided to cast aside these questions for a later time.

“I did, but the man looked so sad all alone in the rain! So, I gave him one of the apples because I didn't know what else to do. I promise I didn't talk too much!”

You paused for a while, a cautious query followed, “What did he look like?”

The boy copied your silence this time, finding great interest in your nails before exclaiming, “Pretty ordinary!”

Dainsleif didn't know why but that gave a sting to his heart, he looked back to you to see the unreadable expression on your face slowly shift to a soft smile. You affectionately ruffled the boy—his boy's hair, the action somehow softened the ache in his soul. Until he remembered that he was ignorant of his own son's name. He was one who preferred to form his opinion of everyone from a neutral point of view and while he's not one to excuse children's behavior just because of their age, seeing his own son speak half-truths at this stage raised many more concerns to be dropped in the pile.

You're not someone who'd preach dishonesty to a child but considering the situation you are currently in and the things this child must've seen, he found himself understanding. The skies rumbled and Dainsleif barely pushed back the urge to kick down the door and take his family to where they belonged. But seeing the smile that he'd yearned for so many years, he hesitated. You'd fought hard to earn this little happiness and acting on his impulses now, however justified they might be, would be dishonoring your efforts. And judging by your reactions, he can already sense that you won't just sit idly by for him to pounce on.

So, he'll be patient for bit longer and when the time is right, it'll seem as though his family returned to his arms out of their own volition.

[beloved-blaiddyd]

Reconteur || Yandere!Dainsleif x Reader by @harmonysanreads fanart <3

Prompt: You've been under his radar for years but now that he's tracked you down, an unknown child who mirrors his blue Khaenriahn eyes guards you with his small and very fragile life. Those eyes... They're eerily familiar.

[throwaway-yandere]

𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑵𝒖𝒐𝒗𝒐 (Yandere!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: I love Dainsleif with every fiber of my being, do you guys know that? Anyways, just like all Dain-fics, this one has illustrations (I hope they give Fairytale book vibes). I’d like to thank @meimeimeirin cuz this was an idea we were laughing abt at 4am and somehow I made something out of it HAHA.

Unreliable Synopsis: “Fairytale worlds follow fairytale laws. There’s always a protagonist burdened with impossible tasks who will experience the rule of three, witness transformations, find talking animals, and learn the power of kept promises. So, before you embark on your journey, "princess" (Y/n), have you heard of the Ugly Duckling’s tale?” 

CW: light yandere themes, fairytale!au just for the hell of it. HURT/NO COMFORT. Late/Advanced happy birthday, Dainsleif.

"The destined knight is late," the great dragon clicked his tongue. One would expect that an inferior creature such as an ugly duckling would quake and shrink while perched on the Dragon King's hand. But their expression was nothing short of serene. There is a veneer of calm that the great Dragon Ongri did not overlook. 

The "duckling" had the eyes of an old gentleman with worldly disinterests. 

He was longing for death.

𝕺nce upon a time, there was an ugly duckling who was abandoned by both their siblings and mother. Oftentimes, he was pecked by his peers, sneered into thinking his big head and scarred face. were both a reason for his survival and misery all the same. The ugly duckling thought himself unloveable no matter where he went. The small waters he was born in had no room for miscreation, and when he traveled to an elderly's house elsewhere, the chickens thought him useless and undesirable. Normally, the story would've been a happier bedtime story if he had gone to meet the Royal birds and begged for them to end his life. Maybe then, he would've realized that he had not been a duck but a swan all along. But alas, our poor ugly "duckling" found his feet at the hands of the great Dragon King- Ongri's mercy.

"Will you kill me?" The ugly duckling asked calmly. "You need to release your anger, and I can be but one of many casualties."

"I am not a creature of impulse."

The divine dragon scowled. "After Bars' and Fein' deaths, the concept that this realm dubs as Time and Moments is now under my jurisdiction. I've no use for wasted breaths."

As it happens, the dragon was in a troubling situation. There is an immediate need for a substitute. Sensing the urgency of fate's call, Ongri unleashed an ancient incantation. Feathers singed into flesh, wings clipped into arms, and in a burst of radiant light, the "ugly duckling" was reborn as a human knight. His body had scar-like spots from the Divine Dragon infusing him with magic, albeit the metamorphosis was far from flawless. Even as a human, he was imperfect. Mysterious dark blue "burn lines" traced his neck and arms. With the new human's eyes still closed, the dragon spoke to him, the last for a long time: "Forget your past and this whole affair." He commanded. "Go, find and protect your princess."

It mattered not if this was the last breath Ongri would tell him, besides…

When a god applies a curse, it takes effect at a higher level of reality than the person themselves.

“(Y/n)…”

“It’s me, Dainsleif… Can you… still remember my voice?”

“…”

“I… understand that once a person reaches this stage of the curse, their senses get muted. The remnants of those who once dwelled here must have been the catalyst of your ailments worsening..”

“… I’m sorry. I am incredibly sorry that I found you at such a later time. It did not occur to me that you would be here in the Chasm.”

“In our next fairy tale, I’ll—”

“No… I cannot subject you to any more empty promises… But know this:”

“I will keep you safe from now on.”

“So, do not leave my side ever again.”

And the new knight opened his eyes.

Memories of the dragon vanished from his mind. He was now a being of larger flesh and bones without recollections of his past. Should another human take his shoes, they would know that it was a fresh awakening. His first breath tasted like rich champagnes. Golden. Even the sun shone in such resplendent light that made the world seemingly revolve around him.

His legs wobbled. Sliding onto the grassy area, he caught a sight of his hair. Blonde. Like hay— they were golden threads silkily strewn about. He soon noticed that the rest of his complexion was a light pinkish-hued color, as did the hands that prevented his head from taking a serious fall.

The reborn “ugly duckling” may have forgotten why, but he felt alienated from his own body. And he has the Divine Dragon to thank for his new vessel and plain armor.

“Help! Someone, HELP!!!”

His ears perked up. It was a scream with a fervor of a “damsel in distress”. Vent clamor as she may with her whole throat, nothing would come out of it.

But fate will not allow this untimely demise. Quick on his new feet, the new knight dashed towards the sound. No cavalry— just a single determined mind. After running for some time, the unnamed knight did not come across any souls. 

That is, until he found the young maiden he was “fated” to save. She was on the ground, clinging into her wrist as though she burned her hand. In the ground laid an iron sword, begging to be drawn.

At the sight of the wild animal bearing down on her with frightening speed, the “knight” took her weapon and charged towards the scene, raising it in front of the menacing beast. He gazed at the bear that towered over him, displaying its slobbery maw and long, pointed claws. The untamed creature snarled and dropped to strike. 

Perhaps the Divine Dragon saw his noble pursuits, perhaps he was naturally gifted in combat, but the bear was unable to rake the man’s body. Miraculous it was that not a single nasty laceration was left on his person. He lacked the strength to take it down in one fell swoop, but the speed he had made up for it. Like swans that swerved through the wind and flow of water, he dodged all its attacks. With a few strikes from his blade, the bear falls...

He breathed out, shaking in his boots though he tried not to show it. Straightening his body, he met the maiden’s gaze. His blue eyes met hers in a piercing gaze, nearly taunting her as his new opponent. The young lady exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

“T-Thank… you…”

Subconsciously, he circled the shoulder that recklessly swung the sword around. The new “knight” tilted his head. For what? He wished to ask, but words did not come out.

“For saving me, of course.”

The maiden gracefully stood. Her garments had lost some of their value due to the soil and dirt, but she herself was not affected in the same way. She exuded a fierceness that suggested anyone who ventured to hurt her would be receiving more than they bargained for. Instead of tucking her hair to the back, she pulled them forward, hiding her ears.

“Do allow me to introduce myself, kind knight.” She cleared her throat softly. “You may call me Princess (F/n), daughter of King Regan and current crown princess— heir to the throne upon the late Prince Pierre’s demise. May I know your name?”

…

… Silence…

The princess tilted her head. 

"... Does my savior have a name?"

"... Name?"

The young man paused.

He couldn't remember his name. In actuality, he had absolutely no memory of anything. His mind was a bottomless pit with little to no air. With wide eyes, his hand moved slowly to around his neck. The act of conjuring up his supposed name left him terrified for reasons unbeknownst to him.

Does he… not have a name?

“... You must be joking.” The princess deadpanned. “How can one not have a name? Were you not baptized under the Divine Dragon’s light?”

She sounded incredibly upset by this fact. Whatever she ranted on about, it must be a human tradition. 

“Do you not know how important names are—” The princess sighed, “Never mind. I shall assume you are one of those orphaned folks. Besides, if what you say is true, bestowing you a new name is a power much more potent.”

“I… want a name.” The man spoke up rather shyly, voice almost inaudbile.

"I know, I know… Huh, I usually take names rather than gifting them," the princess chuckled. She seemed wholly aware of his dilemma. "Hmm… Let me see…"

She examined his features closely. He was dressed in the traditional knightly fashion, albeit slightly altered. The holy kingdom's knights, of course, never donned masks—especially not half of one. He was strange, but there was an innocent genuineness about him. The blonde man doesn't have a polished appearance. He looked like a lost duckling.

It was rude to stare at the peculiar blue wounds on his face far too long so the princess’ eyes trailed above his hair.

"Leaf…" She pointed upward. "Leaf."

The knight blinked.

What a peculiar sounding name.

"Understood." He nodded and bowed politely. "I shall now be referred to as Leaf."

"No, I meant—" The princess cut herself off and chuckled. "Oh, well. I meant the leaf on one's head. But certainly the name Leaf does suit you fine."

“Do place your iron sword away, Leaf.” She added, cringing. “It is unbecoming of a knight to point a sword to their princess.”

“May… May I ask as to why you were attacked by a bear?”

“Quite bold of you to inquire a royal about a recent assassination attempt,” she humored him with a smile. He safely assumed she would not enact punishment for his assertiveness. “If you must satiate your curiosity, it is exactly that. An assassination attempt. They believed since my brother had fallen so easily, I myself must be an easy game since I adore wandering around the forest.”

“And they seem to be right,” Leaf muttered, wittily referring to the incident prior that arranged this fated meeting.

“Oh?” She scoffed, her polite smile remaining intact. “You’ve quite the tongue. Are you from the valleys?”

“I do not know.”

She squinted.

“Hmm, I see.” The princess exhaled and shook her head disapprovingly. “Then I am to presume that I should also use my wits to cleverly weave a background for you much like your name, Leaf?”

“You wish for me to serve you, that I can tell, and for that to happen I would need your equal assistance,” Leaf spoke solemnly. “I do not recall anything of my past, but you can always make one for me.”

Leaf knelt in front of her. Silence ensued.

“You are deadly calm for a man who wished his history be erased…” The princess muttered.

Leaf was a strange man indeed. He was perceptive, yet he spoke like fate’s pawn. That is to say, the princess noticed he only ever says the truth. His countenance conveyed little desire to adopt rebellious ideologies. To be honest, there was nothing in those contrivedly starry eyes. It was bare. A false sky. 

It almost made the princess worry for his lack of self-preservation had she not been the same. Lies were always at her hands’ disposal, and she greatly hoped it was not what her heart would contain in her last pages. She didn’t wish for a life of deceit. The princess's survival solely comes from her ability to “doublespeak”.

“I see your promise. You are made of self-mettle. Although your blunt tongue may mar your fortunes sooner before you could gaze upon His Majesty, I wish to prescribe you with new duties.”

She took a deep breath.

“This directive shall not be withdrawn in the name of the Divine Dragon. Leaf, a young knight from the Valley of Gaciea who will shortly be appointed retainer to the Royal Highness, Princess (F/n), kneels before me. Until the end of time, he shall be my sword, and I will be his master. Will you keep your word and uphold the oath— the promise?”

“I will.”

Not a moment did he hesitate. Not for a second did he think there was more to life than this. It was nearly bitter. His life sounded so simple to her tongue.

But it was a contract nonetheless. 

A promise that must be fulfilled.

“I find myself stirred in restless days without you my by side. You haunted me so diligently this past 500 or so years.”

“Humor me, won’t you… my b-beloved?”

“Why have you hid away from me? Why did I have to find you in this state? Furred and mute. Didn’t you take a breath to think about how much your pain would mean a greater weight for me? Have you not a second thought about how much it pains me to see you like this— bearing the fangs of the abyss and the claws of the cursed…?”

“The only sigh of relief I can release is that at least in this new sky, Ongri— no, he calls himself Zhongli these days— would get between us no more.”

“This new fairy tale… For how long do you expect me to keep this promise, (Y/n)? How many more stories must we get through for us to reach a happy ending?”

“Please… I’m begging you… Say something!!!”

“…”

“… Speak… Please… Anything…”

“Tell me about our past rendezvous. Seduce me with your musings. Anything… can't you try, just for this special day?”

“Please… don’t turn your mask away from me…”

“Do you find time to flow as quick as the waters by the stream? I am inclined to believe this sentiment. I find it astonishing that we’ve spent eleven or so moonshines joined at a hip. Time ages us but we are none the wiser.”

Leaf grunted, heaving Princess (F/n)’s inventory as she spoke. He didn’t seem distressed by the weight and his princess appeared not at all troubled as well. At least, that what it seemed on the surface. Royals must make their superiority known. Leaf knew (F/n) wanted to also carry some of the bags, but he refused.

There were several notions Leaf refused that noon. When (F/n) entertained the thought of going out as herself and by herself, he disapproved with haste. Leaf had to know where she’s going, who she was going with, what she’s going to wear— just about everything. His voice alone overwhelmed the princess enough that you’d mistake him for the king. The knight practically ordered what she would wear and what route she’d have to take if she wished to see the ongoing festival. 

Being herself was a safety hazard and being alone by herself was a death wish.

To his eyes, at least. He had always been a twinge too overprotective.

It was a hectic morning with a picture-perfect, almost cliche scene of bustling streets and frolicking kids on a medieval setting. While children would swerve around adults' legs to avoid getting tagged, adults walked slowly to hear each gossip. One kid had nearly hit the princess herself, but Leaf would not allow it.

Leaf pulled (F/n) away by putting an arm over her waist. The smell of her sweet perfume surprised him. Her smell reminded him of the forest. For the knight who professed to guard her innocence, her warm body lightly pressed against his was a fleeting but almost immoral moment. He set her down slowly, gasping quietly. The princess chose not to draw attention to the troubled expression on her most reliable retainer.

It was better not to acknowledge his growing romantic interests.

To her, he is only a sword.

Even if he is a friend, at the end of the day, he’s only a weapon to be used.

The princess quickly pulled the cape down further to hide her face— mostly her ears. For reasons unknown to him, she seemed to find that part of herself worthy of great insecurity.

He cleared his throat, face dusted in a pink hue.

“You say that time affects you, but you haven’t aged a day.”

The princess laughed.

“Finally, a compliment from a man as stoic as you? Oh, what a day to rejoice!”

Leaf shook his head with a small smile.

“I had given you one on several occasions.”

“That may be true, but random bouts of flattery from you are scarce.” The princess hummed. “I vaguely recall how getting anything out of you was like trying to get a frozen little duckling to quack. Who am I? Your mother duck?”

The smirk on his face was quick, but (F/n) definitely saw it.

Several staff once questioned Leaf’s ability to speak. Many, including (F/n)’s father, were convinced he was mute. Everyone in the castle knew of the princess’s peculiar tastes and thought Leaf’s recruitment was a mere byproduct. His masked appearance and strange scars added more fuel to those rumors. When Leaf defended (F/n) from another assassination attempt in front of the king and inquired about her condition, King Regan nearly toppled from where he stood. 

After being bombarded with questions, Leaf merely said he refrained from speaking since he saw no use if he wasn't talking to the princess herself. (F/n) still finds it absurd that she has to give orders for him to talk to other people.

For Leaf, it was simple: he just didn’t see the point of forming other interpersonal relationships.

(F/n) was the only one that mattered in his eyes.

Only her.

Only she is worthy to serve and protect.

“You truly are like a little duckling following his mother’s tail,” Princess (F/n) sighed. “But you have vastly improved in our time together. That, I can commend.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Leaf laughed softly, mocking her tone in his signature subtle way. “Oh, what a day to rejoice.”

She playfully gave him an elbow nudge. “Do not copy me, Leaf.”

“My apologies.”

Princess (F/n) was meandering around because the harvest festival was drawing closer. With her own eyes, the princess intended to see how her people were faring. Rarely did she change into a more "common" outfit and styled her hair with simplicity. Though, if you were to ask Leaf, seeing her in her most simple clothes made her far more youthful than the garbs and crown that wrinkles her smile to a frown.

“Madame, would you be interested in buying your lover here a brooch?”

Both of them stilled as a merchant called out. The undercover royal pointed to herself.

“Yes, yes, of course I’m talking to you, gorgeous!” The merchant grinned. He had silver hair that slightly covered one of his blue eyes. “Do you want matching rings instead? We’re selling for fifty percent off!”

Leaf’s gaze was stern. Despite his reservations, he knew the merchant as Alfstan, another young knight who hailed from a family of vendors. Two moonshines ago, Leaf was (forcefully) placed on training duty and had the fortune of mentoring this aspiring knight. 

Mind you— nothing was particularly dubious of his wares. Leaf just simply despised having another man brazenly take your attention away. He did not find their previous exchanges pleasant. Not when Alfstan often joked about replacing his position one day.

What hubris.

While he busied himself glaring at the poor man, the princess awkwardly laughed and dismissively waved a hand. “Oh, no, he and I— we are not—”

“Haha, I know, I was just pulling your leg, Your Highness.” Alfstan grinned, giving Leaf a quick nod. “Morning, Sir Leaf! Were you showing the princess around?”

“Shhh! Be quiet!” (F/n)'s eyes widened.

He protectively wrapped an arm around (F/n) again, this time far more confidently. 

“Yes.” Leaf spoke, voice as solid as his resolve.

“Mind if I tag along?”

His stare sharpened. “I would very much mind, now return to your stall.”

The princess shook her head, poorly judging her retainer’s possessive words as acts of protection. Instead, she dwelled on their attire. “Drats, was our disguise that fragile?”

Alfstan assessed her from top to bottom, which made Leaf even more tense. “Eh, you’re really gorgeous that no cloak can hide your beauty, Your Highness.”

“I have to agree,” Leaf said stiffly, clearing his throat. “Perhaps I should hide her in a hay sack. WIthout your prying eyes.”

(F/n) raised an eyebrow. “And what? And be suspected of kidnapping me instead?” 

Leaf shrugged. “Does that sound like an offense I would commit?”

Alfstan rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously. Besides, the only way you wouldn’t get caught is if you hid her in something as small as a teapot.”

And he would be right. But it will take eons to prove those suspicions as truth.

“Going back to your wares, Sir Alfstan,” (F/n) digressed. “These iron-framed tassels, are they made by your hand?”

Alfstan's respect for the princess grew.

“Yes, how did you come up with that conclusion? Most passersby believed I had ‘em commissioned from the East.”

(F/n) smiled crookedly. Leaf caught a glimpse of discomfort, but it was gone in a bat of an eye.

“I… I admire your skill with molding iron.” To the untrained ear, (F/n) sounded flustered and embarrassed. To Leaf, he was certain that she was unsure of herself. “It is commendable, how you smith your very own weapons, that is. I know many of our soldiers come to you when their blades are chipped.”

“You’ve heard of my skills?!” Alfstan beamed proudly. “Really?!”

The princess nodded. “Y-Yes…”

It was odd. Despite her high praise, her wariness remained. She looked at the blonde man. “He had also made your new Ulfberht sword too, right? It certainly pierces much better than his old one.”

Leaf didn’t bother with a reply, Alfstan made it for him.

“Yes, Your Highness. I thought it would make for a thoughtful birthday present!”

“Speaking of presents…” The princess gazed down, analyzing the items he sold once more. “What do you recommend as a gift for someone important?”

If Alfstan was elated by her earlier compliments, he could practically jump over the moon at her newest proposition.

“Oh? OH?!?”

Leaf gave (F/n) a strict yet gentle glare.

“Your Highness…”

“I still won’t let it slide!” (F/n) huffed. “I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with just new sets of armor. Alfstan, by my order, suggest a pleasant gift for the stubborn knight beside me.”

“On it!”

Without delay, the two bent down to select the ideal accessory for the man who vehemently refused. Alfstan was the only one touching the gems and (F/n) refrained from doing so. Tiny flecks of gold and iron infused the tassels, but she feared she would handle the stones carelessly.

Leaf palmed his face with one hand as the two chattered. Still, despite Leaf’s disapproving looks, he finds (F/n)’s enthusiasm to make him happy a wonderful notion in itself. To think that (F/n) would continue to insist on a present for a birthday that had since passed… She was more stubborn than he was.

“So troublesome…” He muttered with a soft smile. “I see no point in this, Princess (F/n). Serving you is a miracle enough itself—”

“Halt! Speak no more, Sir Leaf!” (F/n) exclaimed. “There! That one, Alfstan— that gem resembles his eyes, does it not?!”

“You have great tastes, Princess (F/n)!” Alfstan nodded eagerly like a motivated student. “That does look like his shade of blue— and so quick to find it among the pile, too! Are you sure you’re not some sort of custodian of natural treasures?”

Princess (F/n)’s awkward and stifled laughter can be heard again.

“What? Haha, what nonsense.” She shook her head. “Everyone calls me Princess (F/n), any other name would surely sound terrifying and mismatched.”

A nonanswer, but that made the conversation more humorous.

“Here you go!”

Alfstan reached his hand out with the tassel. (F/n) stared at him, silent and unsure. He blinked and snapped his fingers.

“Oh, right, you need a box— my deepest apologies, I was too caught up in the moment!”

The princess sighed in relief.

Leaf crossed his arms. “You’re doing well for your first time setting up a stall, Alfstan.”

“This isn’t my first and you know it, Sir!”

(F/n) laughed.

The merchant wrapped the gift she brought with care. The hush looms large around them as the merchant boastfully goes about his business, his tone comforting to her ears. The Princess walks over to the gift box once the merchant has finished. She can't help but smile because she can feel the tassel inside.

“Not exactly a surprise since Sir Leaf is here, but the packaging adds some charm, right?” Alfstan asked.

The princess couldn’t hold back a smile as she looked at the knight behind her.

“I think most of the charm comes from the person who’ll receive it,” (F/n) chuckled.

“Don’t you think so, Leaf?”

She wouldn’t know. And she’d never know a lot of things.

She never got the chance to ask her most precious knight if he liked that gift.

And she never will. No matter how many days, months, years, centuries— eons Leaf would wait, he would never hear the princess ask that same question again after this.

It would not matter if he was a judge, a prince, a knight, or a mere animal— it did not matter how many sweet new styles he would take. In the end, his arms will always be empty. Everything was pre-ordained. Dying in his arms, whether it’s slow and painful or mercilessly quick— will remain as the last line. He will always hold on to your corpse, warmth draining. 

This was your fate, (F/n)— no, (Y/n) (L/n).

This was just the first of many branches of the Irminsul. The first of its many reiterations, possibilities, or better yet, alternate tales or "universal resets". 

Princess "(F/n)" coughed, wetting the side of her lips.

"I haven't been able to p-personally attach that tassel on your s-sword, b-but… but I can spare you enough seconds to fly away…"

"Don't make haste!" Leaf gritted his teeth as he applied some pressure down her stomach. "This is not your decision to make!"

She didn't reply to his desperation, but she silently disagreed.

In her palm was the tassel, out of its box. The blue threads darkened with the taints of her blood. The metallic scent was nauseating. It weaved in a disorganized fashion around her fingers. 

What a beautiful and tragic loom of fate, to love someone you were bound to hold with ruin. 

It would’ve hurt less if it weren’t in his colors too.

"This marks the worst day of my life," the “princess” smiled, tucking the stray hair behind Leaf's face. "And even if given the opportunity, I wouldn't dare c-change not even a minute detail about it."

As if she— as if you— have the power to change destiny.

You're not a descender.

You're just a pawn.

That's when Leaf realized how fragile life ultimately was. With the curse undoing itself, he recalled and reflected on his animal days. He understood the Divine Dragon's intense frustration over a lowly duckling's will to perish. The curse of becoming human meant knowing the greed men had, but also the beauty of their kindness. 

His small bird heart was not meant for this much sorrow. His life was meant to be simple. To learn that he was not a duck, but a swan. 

How was he supposed to cope that the woman he had sworn to protect was not human, but a fae?

Everyone in the kingdom knew that the king would sooner disclaim his paternity than allow the crown princess (F/n) to truly lead— but they never had any real reason to support the king for this. The princess’s words were always more kind and ponderous than that of her supposed father’s. They thought him mad. They thought him deplorable. They thought him old and senile.

But he would not be king if he were not sharp.

Why, oh why, would the princess make great efforts to constantly hide her ears? Why would the princess utter roundabout ways in speaking her “own” name? Most of all, why would the princess fear the touch of iron?

There was a simple answer: she was not the princess, but a liar.

And yet, Leaf was the sole person who did not care, for he thought himself as the worst sinner or “quack” in comparison.

The kingdom won't learn the full truth for some time after this, but the fae made a bargain with the real princess. The real princess would elope with a farm boy and, in return, the fae would take her name. The trade was not malevolent. The two women were secret friends since childhood and neither wished the other harm.

But the townsfolks had little patience. They would sooner throw pebbles and stones than kneel for a false princess.

The moral of the story, like most Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales, was simple: virtue will be rewarded, iniquity will be punished. The storytellers do not care beyond that, no matter how dark it sounds to the children who will hear it. The fae lied, therefore the kingdom shall rightfully punish her.

They better thank the dragon they oh-so admire that the court fae did not think themselves evil. They better sleep soundly, knowing that they have slaughtered a well-intentioned guardian.

For he will not and never will.

Not even with a change of title, name, and universe. Whether the land he walked on was called Gaciea, Fodlan, Belobog, the Continental, or Teyvat— what the world steals from him, he promised to take back.

There the two were, back to where it started. The same forest and patch of land where the bear had attacked her. Fate had a funny way of telling tales. Leaf can only scoff at how unimaginative it could be, sometimes. 

Why couldn’t fate think of more comfortable deathbeds for the one he loved?

"You cannot allow this! I cannot allow this!" The knight gritted his teeth. "You will not die— you cannot die. You and I have a promise… You cannot break that one promise!!!”

“(F/n)” grinned.

The look in her eyes disturbed him.

She knew. It is finished. She knew that it was the last page of the book. Just living in these immortalized pages for the fae was well worth the want she had wanted.

“Consummatum est.”

Consummatum est…. 

Leaf gasped shakily.

“Did my life… even have meaning to you as well?”

Her expression was enough to tell him the words “who knows?” She surely did not. Her mind was buzzing and her thoughts were fizzling out. No one knows anymore. Maybe the Divine Dragon would but he would not accept any offering or prayers for these two heretics.

This is fine… He’ll forget his tears soon, surely…

He’s only a sword at her side… She never asked him to be anything more…

He should be okay, once she’s gone…

She grinned, lifelessly tracing her thumb across his cheeks. The curse is undone. The loom of fate was slowly disintegrating. Soon enough, he shall return to his original form. That of an animal. That of an ugly duckling. That of a swan who will forget his human memories. 

It is finished.

On the book’s final page, there is only ever a fae’s corpse and an elegant bird watching over them. With its wings clipped back, curiously watching the light leave their eyes, he will return to the nearby riverbanks and forget what had happened. As retribution for stealing another’s identity, there will be no one left to remember who she truly was.

And that was all there was to it.

With the fae banished, the Kingdom of Gaciea lived happily ever after. THE END.

Dainsleif closed the book and lovingly looked at the “person” beside him in bed. He stroked the “person”’s light brown hair— its color reminiscent of the bear he had slain in his first life.  It’s a shame he had to reunite with you in this condition. But it’s not like he would stop loving you. He doesn’t care if you’re a fae, a sinner—

Or a hilichurl.

He scooted closer beside you.

"So, does the story ring any bells, my beloved?"

Zhongli, upon recalling what happened and the curse he had inflicted on both of you to fulfill some children’s fairy tale, sought the “ugly duckling” and the “false princess”. Retired as he is, he cannot undo the fate you must play nor terminate his contract with Celestia. For consolation, he merely offered the Khaenri’ahn a teapot. Unlike the Chasm, the teapot was forever peaceful and serene. The brightness of lumenstone ores was not as comforting as the adeptal light that peeks through the drapes. This is your current place of residence. Whether you liked it or not.

"To think Nicole would entail the story of our past life." He laughed softly. "And these names... Hah... Are those the best she could conjure up to bypass possible erasure…? I suppose I should still thank her for her best efforts. I can see how challenging it would be to document our story, given how we lived through so many resets."

There’s a slice of cake paired with wooden utensils on the nightstand. If your mind had not deteriorated, you might’ve assumed they were gifts from the aforementioned Nicole and the Geo Archon. Unfortunately, forming a coherent thought required a mental fortitude akin to iron. You currently do not have such willpower. 

“Alfstan— no… Halfdan was right. There will come a time that he’d protect you from harm and not I…” Dainsleif mumbled defeatedly, his eyes burning with tears he couldn’t let out. Far too tired to dwell on it. “He must’ve forgotten his old jests in his previous life because as far as he’s concerned, he’s simply doing his duty as a Black Serpent Knight…”

He pecked your forehead, closing his eyes.

"Did you remember, my beloved? Vacation may not have any business being in my vocabulary but it is my birthday today…" Dainsleif leaned his forehead against the cold stone that covered your face. "I know you— do not feel guilty over your lack of gifts. It is not as if I bothered to count my age since the cataclysm. I didn't want to celebrate this occasion for the past five centuries. Not when you weren't at my side..."

The blonde man turned his gaze to the floor.

How many times will he have to “reincarnate” just to see a happy ending for the both of you?

"Happy birthday… to me…" He sang weakly. "Happy birthday to me…"

The man— the former sentimental judge— the former tyrant prince— the former "ugly duckling"— and now the current bough keeper, observer of fate in this new fairy tale, trembled…

“Happy birthday, happy birthday…”

… And sobbed.

You, in your ungreedy husk of a body, tilted your head in innocence. Pain coursed through every nerve now that the Abyss Order’s cleansing equipment broke. The man before you was no different from the shadows you fought and hid from that would terrorize the dark and cold places in the Chasm you’ve instinctively called home. But somewhere deep down, you carried a complex weight that hilichurls wouldn’t normally have. 

That weight was a human emotion dubbed as "pity."

You pitied the shadow that loomed and embraced you.

And your lone reluctant arm that wrapped around him was enough to make him fully break down.

His throat constricted as he cried into your inhuman shoulders. Your scent was like that of a wet duckling, and he preferred that over the blood that disgraced your form several "fairy tales" ago. Dainsleif caressed the golden band on his finger. It was the most important ring between the two that Pari Zurvan found him clutching whilst unconscious in the wilderness.

At the very least, you were safe.

And you being alive today was a good enough present for him.

You tilted your head down, feeling his warmth one last time while Dainsleif took a deep breath, singing with more air than a proper tune.

Though it was barely discernible, he could just about make out the words you muttered a phrase from the old language of Khaenri'ah. Or at least, he deluded himself that that was the case. In his catatonic mind, you spoke the words:

Happy birthday, my beloved.

"H-Happy birthday to me…"

Taglist: @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl @kitkareen @dxprived4-starboys

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Alimentary.

Continuation of Artificiality.

Pairing: Yandere!Dainsleif x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Sex Doll Au, Non/Con, GN!Reader, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Physical Intimidation, Mentions of Death, and Kidnapping.

He’d kissed you again, after that, and again and again and again despite your little, whimpered pleas for him to stop – or, at least, give you time to inhale before his lips crashed into yours and all the air in your lungs was forced into the massive, gaping cavity where his should've been. When he’d had his fill and you were too breathless and too shocked to protest, he’d pulled you out of bed, dragged the suitcase you kept in the back of your closet into the center of your bedroom, and told you to pack what you absolutely needed to bring. You couldn’t remember what you’d decided to bring, but you could still feel the pressure of his hand curled around your wrist, still hear his voice ringing in your ears as he told you not to talk, or try to get away, or look at anything but his back as he guided you to a car you didn’t recognize, a car you were sure he didn't own. A car you were in, for better or worse, driving down an empty backroad as the city slowly disappeared behind you.

You tried to look at him, but you vision began to blur and you tasted bile in the back of your throat and you centered your gaze on the car door, instead, on the scratched leather and faded plastic shelling. It was an older model, the kind that still used a key rather than fingerprint recognition. Dainsleif hadn’t turned the radio on, leaving the two of you in dead silence. He hadn’t said anything since he forced you out of your apartment, something you wished you weren’t so grateful for.

You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to hear his explanation, his justification for doing... whatever this was to you, but you couldn't stand to be alone with your own thoughts, either. "You’re a—”

“A companion droid,” He finished, his tone low, snipped. Harsh, but in a way that clearly wasn’t directed towards you. “I was, at one point. Before your time.”

You flinched. So, he was older than you - much older, if 'before your time' meant what you assumed it did. If age even meant anything to an android who could tear off and plaster on his own skin. “But, I’ve never seen a model that looks like—”

“Of course not. They’re good at that, you know – Teyvat. They know how to protect their image. If they don’t want you to know about one of their mistakes, you won’t.” You narrowed your eyes, shrinking into yourself. He was talking about a company – a company that made expensive, attractive robots for lonely people with too much free time, no less. He made it sound like something so much more dangerous. “Have you ever heard of Khaenri'ah?” He asked, but went on before you had a chance to answer. “No, you wouldn’t have. No one has. They made sure of that, wiped us off the face of the earth as soon as they realized they’d failed to make us all that we could’ve been. Then, as if that wasn’t enough they let those—”

The car lurched into the next lane, swerving wildly. You grabbed Dainsleif's arm, digging your nails into his bicep, and he seemed to snap out of it, pressing his lips into a thin line as he steadied himself. “You should know them as the Archons. After they proved to be more controllable, we were recalled. They ripped off our skin, gutted our minds, and sent us back into the world as thoughtless, empty versions of ourselves. Those of us who didn’t fall into line and march to our mutilation willingly…” He trailed off, squared his shoulders. “...are in my position, evading Teyvat’s endless bounty-hunters. Pretending to be human is the most effective way to accomplish that.”

He paused, took a moment to breathe. Or, that was what you would’ve thought a day ago, when you’d been under the assumption that he actually had to breathe. Now, you supposed he just wanted to put on a convincing act. “It wasn’t my intention to deceive you. My feelings for you are genuine, and if there was anything I could’ve done to prepare you—”

“Prepare me for what? My boyfriend breaking into my apartment just to tell me that he’s not a real fucking person?” You clenched your eyes shut, collapsing against the back of your chair. “And now, you're trying to say that a fucking company is hunting you down because you’re…. What? A rouge android? Some fucking vigilantes—”

“I am.”

You stopped, inhaled sharply. “What?”

“I am a person.” He said it with just a little too much conviction, a little too much force. Like he knew he still had yet to convince himself, let alone you. “Modern companion droids might not be, but I am. That’s why they had to get rid of us. We were too much like you.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” It might’ve just been because the two of you had never really argued, before. He’d always been so patient with you, so willing to go along with whatever you wanted – something, in retrospect, he was literally programmed to do. Still, for whatever reason, he sounded so hostile, so defensive. You didn’t like it. I felt like you were talking to a stranger. “It’s just—This is a lot to take in, and I’m not sure how to—”

“You don’t believe me.”

You sighed, resisting the urge to rub your temples. “And what if I don’t, Dain?”

He didn’t say anything, for a long moment.

Then, without a word, he pulled onto the highway’s shoulder. He stopped the car, turning off the engine and dropping the key into his pocket, and briefly, you considered making a run for it, trying to get away and seeing how far you made it before he caught you. The doors weren’t locked. You could, if you wanted to. You could try, at least.

But, he hadn’t let you bring your phone, and you were in the middle of nowhere, and you hadn’t passed another car in miles. It just wasn’t a good idea. You didn’t know what Dainsleif would do if you ran, how he'd react if you did anything more drastic than sigh and give him the cold shoulder. You were beginning to think you didn’t know Dainsleif at all.

“Get out,” He said, and when you hesitated, “Now. I’m not like the companion droids you know. I can use force, if I need to.”

You complied, albeit reluctantly, letting the door shut behind you. Dainsleif followed a second later, joining you on the side of the car farther from the interstate, leaving you pinned between him, his stolen vehicle, and empty flatland that stretched on as far as the eye could see. He’d changed his clothes at your apartment, found a sweatshirt that’d cover most of the damage on his chest and washed the blood off his hands and face, but you could still see a few minor tears running up the column of his neck, a few red stains where he hadn’t quite been able to hide the carnage. Your throat felt tight, and you tasted something heavy and metallic. You didn’t want to look at him, but you were afraid to look away.

“On your knees.”

There was a loud, sharp ringing-like noise in your ears. “Dain—”

He didn’t wait for you to finish, taking you by the shoulders and shoving you to the ground, your knees crashing into the asphalt. When you attempted to get up, he just held you there, his grip vice-like and his strength unwavering, unhuman. “Dain,” You tried, again, more desperation in your voice than anger. “Please, I don’t want to—”

“I don’t care.” A hand on top of your head, holding you in place as he edged his jeans downward just far down enough to free his cock – already half-hard. You knew that it was probably an active choice, for him, that androids could control their arousal, their reactions, but somehow, the awareness that he was choosing to do this did little to calm you down. “This will only be as bad as you decide to make it. I’d suggest you make it easy for yourself, before I have to resort to things neither of us want.”

You swallowed, dryly.

Then, hastily, before you could talk yourself out of it, you ran the flat of your tongue over the underside of his cock, figuring that if you absolutely had to do this, you might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.

Dainsleif, for his part, made no effort to rush you, nor did he try to hide how much he enjoyed it. It was strange, now that you were paying attention, how clearly his breath hitched as you took the flushed tip into your mouth, how he seemed to respond to everything you did at just the right time, in just the way. He did everything a little too cleanly, a little too perfectly – his moans low, but not inaudible, the flush painted across his cheeks subtle but clearly visible, his hips bucking enough to simulate the loss of control to pleasure but never with enough force or abruptness to make you gag or pull away. It wasn’t natural. You could see that, now, as clear as day. He wasn’t human.

Oh, god.

He wasn’t human.

He wasn’t human.

“See, Master?” His voice drew you out of your thoughts, stopped you just before you could start to spiral. Blunt nails ran over your scalp, a gesture brimming with sterile comfort, and you could hear him smiling, joy and relief heavy in his tome. “I’m alive. I'm like you. Those other droids, those replacements – they’d never be able to do something like this. They can’t seek their own pleasure, or make their own choices, or do anything for themselves. Teyvat made sure of that, after getting rid of us.”

How hadn't you noticed it, before? How long had you known him? How much time had you spent around someone who didn’t even have a pulse? You felt dizzy, off-balance, but when you start to fall, Dainsleif was there to catch you, to hold you in place as he fucked into your mouth with a sickening kind of gentleness. Accommodating his user, no matter how much you wished he wouldn’t.

You wondered, for a second, if he could actually feel any of this, how well all the sensors and manufactured nerves laid under his faux-skin actually replicated sensation, before deciding you didn’t want to know. It’d be better, if he felt it. It’d be better if he had a reason to do this that didn’t have to do with how much you hated it.

“If I was like them, I wouldn't be able to be with you. I wouldn’t be able to be so selfish, to act like a flesh and blood person.” A sharper thrust, a muted groan. His pace grew faster, less restricted, and you felt tears begin to form in the corners of your eyes, both your hands shooting to his thighs in an effort to ground yourself. Predictably, it did little to help. “I wouldn’t be able to love you.”

If he loved you.

If an android even could love.

You heard him curse under his breath, and before you could brace yourself, before you could do much of anything, he dragged you towards him, until your nose was pressed into his pubic bone and his cock was lodged against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, clawed at his thighs, but he didn’t seem to feel it, couldn’t seem to feel it, and with another harsh, throaty grunt, he came undone, something a little too cold and a little too tasteless running over your tongue, out of the corner of your mouth and down your chin, onto the pavement below. It was all you could do to close your eyes, to wait as his grip loosened and he straightened his back. “Can you swallow for me?” He said, eventually, when you failed to do so on your own. “I promise – after that, you’ll be done.”

You just wanted this to end.

You obeyed, and Dainsleif rewarded you with a softened grin, a hand over yours to help pull you to your feet. It was a short-lived privilege – as soon as you could, you were falling into him, burying your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist, letting out an airy chuckle and kissing the edge of your jaw. You felt him pick you up, carrying you back to the car before laying you down in the backseat, where you could curl into yourself and block out the world properly.

“You can sleep,” He muttered, as if you were still listening. As if you could still hear his voice without tensing up. “You deserve to. I’ll wake you up when we get somewhere safer.” And then, more quietly. “Somewhere you and I will be safe together.”

You didn’t respond, obviously.

You were still trying to figure out how he’d ever made you think he was human.

[iicheeze]

I NEED YANDERE DAINSLEIF.

i JUST LISTENED TO A DAINSLEIF PLAYLIST AND DEAR LORD IT MADE ME WANT HIM SO BAD

but when i searched up yandere dainsleif theres only little of it

[glimmeringtwilight]

Ruin | Yandere Dainsleif x Reader

CW: Stalking, unhealthy relationships, yandere themes, implied murder.

Word Count: 658

Dainsleif has never known a ruin quite so undoing as you. 

To be entirely fair to you, and truthful to himself, it’s not wholly you. Rather, it’s him, with you acting as the unwitting catalyst. 

You’re none the wiser to the new shadow you’ve gained. Sure, you might feel eyes on you, late at night, as you walk a little faster home than you normally do. Or you might notice the occasionally misplaced item on your nightstand, earning what’s a little longer than a passing glance as you try to figure out what’s wrong with what you’re looking at.

But it’s nothing concrete. Not yet. Nothing you can take to the Knights, nothing to make you do much more than double-checking the locks on your window every night before bed. You used to sleep with the window open, letting the wind carry the gentle ambience of sleepy Mondstadt evenings in with it. Not anymore. 

Dainsleif knows that he’s the cause of your newfound paranoia. The guilt that is brought with it eats at him, worse than his curse, cutting deeper than any knife ever could. 

The guilt eats at him, and yet…

He still finds himself sitting beneath your windowsill, pretending he can hear your soft breaths, watch the rise and fall of your chest, see the peace in your expression as you sleep– even though your back is turned to the window, and it’s too dark to see with the moon hidden behind dark clouds, anyway. 

Eventually, standing guard at your window–a self-appointed duty, if only to disguise the ugly truth of the act and soothe what little of his conscience has not yet rotted and died– isn’t enough. 

Dain moves from nights spent under the stars outside your home to nights spent standing sentinel in your home. It’s for your safety, he tells himself, a paper lie through gritted teeth, it’s for your own good. 

He never touches you, of course. But it never stops him from looking, from standing across from your sleeping form and memorizing the gentle, quiet peace that finds you in dreams. You’re like the brightest star in his sky, blazing bright and fast across the backdrop of the universe. And Dain knows better than anyone that the brightest flame burns the fastest. 

So he holds you as close as he can without holding you. Stands guard while you sleep, kills any wayward monsters that wander a little too close to you, keeps as much of the darkness at bay as he can manage despite being made of rot and pitch himself. 

You will never know your shadow, but he knows you. It’s enough.

It’s enough, he thinks, to stand guard, to protect you, to slump against the windowsill bruised and battered and know you’re safe, making the blood on his hands worth the sin he’ll never scrub them clean of. 

It’s enough, he thinks, as in a moment of weakness after hundreds of nights spent silently standing guard by your bedside, he breaks the very promise he’s sworn to himself– to you– with only the stars as his witness, and kisses the inside of your wrist. 

It’s enough. And Dainsleif knows soon it won’t be, desires sparking like hunger pains, unbidden, in his gut. 

He knows he’s damned. Knows the blood on his hands isn’t entirely for you, that if you knew the things he’s done under the guise of your protector, you’d think him a monster. 

But if he’s a monster, then so be it. Let his feet fall heavy as he returns to your bedside each night. Let you stir and see him for the monster he is, let you know your shadow. May you never forgive him for what he’s done, for what he’s yet to do. 

Dainsleif brushes a thumb over your knuckles, knelt at your bedside enraptured like he has for months now, and thinks that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to damn you, too. 

[asilentsongbird]

Hi, here I am again rather quickly!

Your analysis of your work has given me inspiration 👍

-----------------

For my part, I imagine more of a harem between our reader and the Harbingers, while leaving him a kind of independence.

So our reader can wander all over the palace without the need to be accompanied (because everything is sufficiently guarded, to protect the reader the Tsarina).

But as soon as our reader wants to go out (even if the climate is particularly cold), I think it would be a waste of time to negotiate with the Harbingers.

They have already lost La Signora, it would be a shame to lose their precious deity.

Perhaps by abusing your power over the youngest Harbingers a bit, you might hope for a few vacations with him in Morepesok.

To the general dismay/displeasure of the other members, which complicates their relations even more.

What's perfect, as a reader, is that it's not your fault. You are far too pure to have influenced him

----------------------------------

I hadn't thought about the Abyss hypothesis, this world seems so special to our reader.

If he had inadvertently gone astray (to escape from cultists who are far too euphoric, by the arrival of a deity), I think it would have had disastrous consequences for our reader.

The latter could be more manipulable and torn between two factions:

Aether and Lumine, who wants to save all those locked in this dark world and make you, the reader, the one and only deity.

And Dainsleif, who will do everything to make you rank with them, doing his best to hide you from the Abyss and the Archons, who are on their way to find you.

------------------------

I was happy to work on this storyline expansion, especially the Abyss.

There are other ideas floating around in my head that I hope you will continue to enjoy.

Anon!!! ily!!! These ideas are so fun but like at the same time made me laugh so hard.

Like, imagine someone getting on your bad side and then suddenly your eleven harbinger boyfriends are out for blood. It would really be:

Random person: GET YOUR BOYFRIENDS

You: They're fine they're really sweet when you get to know them :D

Random person, about to get murdered in horrible ways: AHHHH

Okay, okay, obviously this person would have to sneak in because you are so right, anon, the harbingers would never let you outside.

BUT they might be convinced for a group outing. Maybe. If you can behave and bundle up well against the cold. And if all of them go with you. And if you don't do anything to get into trouble. Actually, why do you even want to go outside? It's cold and unsafe out there. You're better off staying inside.

There, no need to worry about such things.

----

Anon, dear anon, you have now put ideas in my head about yandere Dainsleif. Please. This is amazing.

He's a man who has lost his country and all of his people. In the moment that it mattered most, he failed and couldn't protect them. But somehow, he still has you. You're still with him, perfect in every way.

He can't lose you to. He can't fail again. So yes, he knows you want to help out the abyss monsters but they're not your concern anymore. He needs to keep you safe, by his side, and protected.

You'll get used to it eventually. It just takes some adjustment at first, always having him hanging off you. And by the time you realize just how hard it is to get away, it's already too late.

Dain isn't going to let you go. He won't ever lose the one thing he has left. The one thing that could make everything right.

He can't help his old people anymore. But he can help you and make sure nothing ever happens to you.

And that really is all that matters to him.

[arisewanekosuki]

Imagine that you suddenly woke up in Teyvat, the Traveler of your choice found you and took you around the nations. You met up with all the characters, all of them are surprised because “how it’s possible for you to be here?” but still, they enjoy the time they can spend with you. The characters you have in game, are more clingy in their own way. Wanting to show you around, let you taste their specialty foods, protecting you from the danger, giving you some gifts, playing cards or even teaching you, how to use their weapons. They just love being in your presence, after all, you’re the one who made them stronger. But after some time you started to miss your home. Everyone, even if they don’t want you to leave Teyvat, they know, that they can’t hold you against your will in here. They don’t want you to be sad. So they tried, for you, to find a way, how to send you back home. The Archons, scholars and alchemists, working together to find solution, while other characters are trying to comfort you and enjoy the rest of time with you until you leave. At some point, you vanished. Everyone was searching for you but then, they came to conclusion that somehow you managed to come back to your world. But why is that, that you still didn’t logged into the game? Did they do something wrong? They thought you had fun with them, so why? They were sad, not knowing that one of them know the reason why you didn't log into the game. While nobody was looking, that one character took you somewhere, where nobody can find you. They are too selfish, they can't stand the idea of you leaving their world. After all, they were the one who managed to bring you to the Teyvat.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

At Least There's One

Mostly dainsleif x gn reader (honestly could be platonic or romantic)

I don’t remember if he knows who the archons are. Possibly slight ooc dainsleif. This also got out of hand 

Warnings: you get a broken forearm and mentioned other ways of being harmed

Not proofread

Thinking of sagau again. What if you started wearing a mask and they accepted it as you'd change your face if you could? 

They absolutely despised you from looking like their creator (who is actually you but neither they nor you knew that), and have called you every name and even some harm at some point. But at least they're sane enough to understand that faces are genetic from birth. (I also believe teyvat isn't progressed far enough for beauty stuff like plastic surgery, so they knew you COULDN'T change your face.) 

So one day you had enough and just… started wearing a mask of some sort. Even a simple bandana worn like a treasure hoarder's seemed to work. Sure, they still didn't like you very much, but at least they weren't physically hostile and you could actually buy some stuff for foods. You were getting quite sick of just berries and not the best cooked meat. 

You knew ingredients for the recipes from memorizing them from playing genshin, but most if not all don't tell you exactly how long to cook it, always making you overcook or undercook it and just never coming out right or tasting very good.  

That's all you wanted and you weren't ever coming into a place full of people again until you absolutely had to. Every time one of your favorites glare at you it hurts so much more. The only thing you want to do is search harder for a way back to your real world but that better be possible in the wild. 

In speaking of that, it's almost funny to you how willing places were to give you recipes and even ingredients for stuff like hair products when you informed you were planning on stocking up and want to stay out of cities and even towns as long as possible. 

While traveling and stocking up, you thought of the best place to be. Dvalin seemed to be rather kind to you that one time you ran into him, but you knew he was close to Venti and he’d visit Dvalin a lot. He’d… probably not like you hanging so close very much. 

Liyue has so many mountains and you do NOT want to push Zhongli’s patience, whatever it may be. You’d rather not die by a rock or spear. 

Which is also why inazuma is out of the question. You don’t know where the traveler is, and you don’t even know if the puppet’s been changed yet or not. 

Sumeru is an okay option, but running into the rangers would be annoying, and no way are you going to the desert. 

Fontaine would possibly be okay, but that’s so incredibly far from where you are in mondstadt that you decide not to. And past that you haven’t played or experienced so no going other places either. 

--------------------

Your bag is pretty much full as you go to leave. 

You’re distracted though and not looking in front of you, still thinking of where to go when you bump into someone. 

You look and know who it was immediately. You wonder because of who he is, would he act like the others or no?

He notices the glare the archon is giving you from quite a distance away. What could you have possibly done to make him not like you like this?

“Sorry! Wasn’t looking where I was going!” You were really worried you were about to be verbally beaten down again. 

“It’s fine. I forgot what I came here for anyways.” He didn’t, but he could just get it later. He left with you to spite the look the anemo archon was giving you. 

You two get a pretty far distance away from Mondstadt. “Care to explain why the archon seemed to hate you so much?” 

You decided the best way to tell was to show, and took off your mask. “Apparently I look like their creator?” You decided to continue with a lie in a way. “Which I wouldn’t know since I don’t really focus or care about gods or the archons or whatever.” 

He was astounded. That’s all? The only offense you’ve done is literally look like some fictional god or the “creator” he’s never seen or cared to read much about? He didn’t know the archons could find a way to be even worse. 

“I’m also looking for a place without people. No offense but uh, you seem like someone who’d know a good place for that.” 

He shakes off his slight stupor. “I usually don’t stay in a single place for long, but I do know a few.”

He leads you to a really isolated place that took a few hours of walking, but you managed. He even offered to help carry some of your items which surprised himself and you from knowing how he is. 

Your stomach rumbles loudly, embarrassing you. “Sorry. Sadly they wouldn’t let me order food and eat in the city.” 

He’s finding this situation more and more stupid. “That’s fine. Should be pretty easy to set a fire and make some food.”

It’s eventually made and you actually were able to follow a bought detailed recipe of a food you really wanted to try in the game. Looks just like it would. You offer some to Dainsleif which he relents and accepts after a bit of pestering by you. 

The first bite was the best thing you’ve tasted in literal months. It was so good you teared up.

A galaxy looking tear falls from your face, hardening into a solid mass as it falls onto your lap.  They’re not very small either. They somehow become triple in size of an average tear. Then another. And even a few more from just the delicious taste coming to you fall. You don’t even notice.

Dainsleif gets a very bewildered expression. He barely remembers reading about the so-called “creator” but that’s a sign of them that no matter what magic is used can’t be replicated. You… you’re really the creator he thought was fiction. And the strong believing archons… Even their people… He could almost laugh at the absurdity. 

One is still only half-made and sticking to your face. After another moment, it disappears like it was never there. The solid ones are still in your lap though.  

It wasn’t the last time you’d tear up either. A time not too long after that you were kidnapped after falling asleep. Dainsleif left to do who knows what, but you thought you’d be fine alone. 

They’re treasure hoarders. They’re not known to be very nice, and especially aren’t to you, who’ve they heard of as an imposter. While you were tied up one even went so far as to break your forearm. That hurt severely, making a few slip and them all stop dead in their tracks as a solid tear hit the ground. 

Thankfully Dainsleif saw them and you from coming back wherever he was. A protective urge formed from him actually rather liking you. The more he thought about it, the more he was open to liking you and having you as a god other than the archons and celestia. Why? Because being Human. That’s what you were, human. 

His mind made up you wouldn’t have had gods if you could. After all, you let Khaenri'ah form back then. There were gods, but if people didn’t want one, they didn’t have to believe in one. You let people be who they were, and he wouldn’t doubt you would have saved Khaenri'ah more if you could have. But he’s still here, so it isn’t fully gone. You let him stay the best of your abilities to spite the Archons. He likes you’re not all-powerful as well. At least not in this time you decided to come here. Maybe you needed to be human a while to get your strength back? 

Even if not the case, he now wants to be around you. To protect you the best he can, even if it isn’t the best. He also swears when he focuses on it that his curse feels slightly weaker when around you.

He injures them but doesn’t kill them. Just to send a message. 

The treasure hoarders end up letting the info slip next time they’re out of their disguises in mondstadt and liyue, making the two archons hunt you down do apologize for not believing you were. 

They surprisingly work together and find you and Dainsleif rather quickly. 

You’re laying on your back in the grass with your broken arm in a pretty poorly made cast and holding one of the solid tears in your other hand, turning and moving it to watch the sparkles like stars in it move as well. A part of you wishes you could bring one home with you. They’re actually really cool looking. 

Dainsleif tried his best to make a cast but obviously he’s not an expert in the medical field. He's resting as well fairly close to you. Honestly your thighs are almost touching. 

The archons notice and are quite envious. They glare at Dainsleif. 

He senses their presences and turns to look. Having you look as well.

They're shocked with the black shining item in your hand, and just realized all this time they were ignoring the real creator. Not again! They will NEVER ignore you again! “How dare you keep the creator to yourself.” Zhongli says harshly. 

What? You and Dainself share a rather incredulous look. Then go back to looking at the two archons again. 

This makes him hate the archons all the more. He didn’t really care about even the creator before, but at least he had and still has respects for them. And they really didn’t even think of finding a way to test it? Someone shows up for the first time ever in history with the face of the creator and they don’t question it?

How dumb, even the so-called gods themselves who were so beyond obsessed with you were too stupid to realize it was you. He finds it ironic. 

“Why would the creator want to be around any of you after the way you treated them?”

“But we didn’t know!” 

You just respond with an eye roll. You're not going back with them after the way they treated you. Not too long ago you encountered Dvalin again from temporarily staying by a place near the Stormbearer mountains. Dvalin even told you he'd try to tell Venti you're the creator but Venti must have ignored his friend. 

Dainsleif looks at the two archons like they’re stupid. “And… you didn’t bother to check? Even if you didn’t know, they could have still been a human you turned against, which is very unbecoming of an archon. 

You play right into the role, more time passing for you to accept it. "Precisely why I'm not going back. Why would I want to go with someone who'd turn against another just for them having a face of someone they know? I'm ashamed of you guys and your people honestly. If I wasn't the creator, you'd still treat me as nothing more than sand." 

"But-" Venti starts as you cut him off. Shame filling the two more by each of your words.

"I don't want to hear it. You made your Graves, now lie in them. I may not have powers now or ever, but that doesn't mean I should have been treated that way even as human. Leave." 

They did, but are planning ways to make it up to you. They have to have their creator with them, not some low-life like Dainsleif. If it comes down to it and they have to kill him to eventually bring you with them, then that's just what they'll have to do.

[shourin]

madly in ̵l̷ov̸?̶e¿

click on underlined/bolded characters to see live voicelines ◇ same notes as this post for the live voicelines

after losing people whom they hold dear, their hearts have become weary and scarred... yet they're powerless to your charms and can't help but fall in love with you. so obviously, they make it their duty to protect you at all costs. they can't lose you too or they might just go insane.

aether, diluc, venti, kazuha

they know very well that the world is a bad, bad place. but you... you are too good for this world. you are a light - their light, in this dark world. and they'll do whatever is necessary to make sure you remain safe, pure, untainted. even if it means they have to fall into the abyss itself.

kaeya, albedo, childe, scaramouche, ayato, heizou

they have been in love with you for hundreds and thousands of years. they've watched you come and go, but they always manage to seek your soul in the end. every time you're reborn, they love you a little more. every time your body goes cold in his arms, a piece of them dies with you. and every single time, they will not allow you to stray away from them.

zhongli, xiao, dainsleif

you two just work so well together, like a match made in heaven. you compliment him so well, and you treat him so so well. surely you're meant to be? surely you love him just as much as he does? surely you wouldn't mind him keeping you to himself? head empty, just [name] <3

itto, thoma, gorou

© shourin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @paintingsofdragonspine | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis

ps. if you want to be removed/added from the taglist, just send an ask or dm me!

[mayullla]

Oh ofc

The limit increased? Alright can i get a romantic yandere dainsleif with 🦋🌻?

Title: Fated Meetings

Character(s): Dainsleif (Genshin Impact) Summary: You meet him at Liyue, then at Mondstadt, and you were with him for a while at Inazuma but you shouldn't meet him at Sumeru. Warnings/tags: Yandere themes, fem!reader, reader is mentioned/implied to be heartbroken before meeting Dainsleif (but moving on)

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

You have met Dainsleif on your travels high up in the mountains of Liyue where you thought were alone. After climbing the high mountain for so long you saw him there and was resting. After a short greeting, the two of you started to talk a little finally finding another person to have a conversation with after such a long time traveling alone. It was nice.

It was nothing personal, they were light and something to cover up the silence with. He wasn't much of a talker but you were patient with him, things like how the weather was nice, or how the view so high up was amazing if not beautiful. Why was he here you didn't ask, nor after giving short answers to your questions did he ask yours. It was obvious that both of you had something to hide, or just didn't feel the need to say it.

You asked him to enjoy lunch with you, as you have made something for yourself and he was about to decline but you somehow nagged him to eat with you as you have made so much. It was a silent lunch no words were exchanged as you and he enjoyed the meal and after a short break, the two of you went on separate ways.

The second time you meet him was at Mondstadt. A high cliff side that had a magnificent view, where you found him again just arriving at the place. Greeting each other you two silently agreed to rest here after your travels. The endless sea you gazed at and wondered what was on the other side but he just grunted. It was today that you found out that his name was Dainsleif, definitely a unique name you thought but didn't mention it.

You enjoyed a small meal too this time dinner, but you didn't separate immediately after instead set up a tent for yourself as he offered to protect you in repayment for the food. You told him he was too much a gentleman, stating that you could take turns but he was stubborn.

In the morning after breakfast, the two of you separated ways.

Next was funny enough Inazuma, what was once a closed-off place now open for others to come and go freely. After some thinking, you decided to go there, wanting to see and experience what life was like there. You meet many people there weren't a lot of places that they recommend you to travel to as they were dangerous to go alone.

Well till you meet a certain someone there again, that lone man who was talking to a sailor wanting to travel to another island. With blonde hair and blue eyes with that unique outfit, it was easy for you to approach him and greet him.

The two of you talked a little, a small catching up. He was a little more talkative than he was in the past. He asked you if you were going anywhere and you told him that you want to see the other islands. His face was stiff for a moment, most likely thinking before he calmly asked you if you would like to join him.

While he can't guarantee your safety at all times, there might be a chance when he suddenly disappears he promised to protect you as much as he could.

You weren't surprised by his words from the little conversations you had with him, you knew he was searching for something that he almost seemed lost sometimes in your eyes. So when he offered this to you, you were almost touched as you accepted his offer with a smile on your face.

Was it here when it started? You weren't sure, Dansleif would sometimes leave while you stayed in the safer parts of the islands while he ventures off to the more dangerous sides. Sometimes he would come back after one or two hours sometimes he would be gone for a little more. There was one time he took a longer time, as you stayed at camp for two days planning to leave on the third did he finally come back.

You asked him where he went and what did he do but just as he answered vaguely you didn't try to push it anymore only asking him if he wanted to stay at camp for a little while longer or if he wanted to move now and if so help you get everything ready.

Just as much as you started to rely on him for safety, he started to slowly open up to you bit by bit. He relied on you for cooked food a lot of the time. While he caught most of the food you were the one to cook them. Small conversations would start to grow longer and longer as you vaguely talked about your past. He told you he was searching for something, and you told him that you were traveling to move on.

In his eyes, you could see the flicker of curiosity in them as you told him you were heartbroken and unable to stay at that place for so long as it reminded you of too many memories. Maybe you were running away, or maybe you choose this time that you spent as a self-improvement or healing process you didn't think too much about the details what matters in the end was that you were traveling seeing places and people, and creating more different memories.

After that day you and he started to grow a little closer. In a way it felt like carrying each other's burden even for a moment or that you could count on each other. Dainsleif was kinder you realized, more patient.

You didn't realize when he started to become more observant of you. No... you knew he was always a watchful man. You understood his personality and that he was always cautious about who you were if you were someone he could trust or not. Yet those eyes that followed you, examining your every move were now different. They followed you, when you were doing minor chores, walking, or when he thinks you were not looking. You wondered what those eyes mean as you felt a shiver from your back. He was staring straight at you, those blue eyes that you found actually beautiful had a hidden madness.

It was a slow thing really, Dainsleif also never thought that this could ever happen yet it did... he thought of you as a mere acquaintance yet now changed into something more yearning. He thought that you and he matched each other rather well, he appreciated all your kind gestures and your patience. However he held himself back, unsure and hesitant, yet that day broke all mental walls that he had created in his mind to keep you away.

It was hard for him to sleep that night as he stayed on the lookout, protecting the camp as his thoughts always strayed to you. He should contain these thoughts. He could not help but wonder what it would be like if just once... just once he could be together with you. Yet thoughts of you fleeting in his eyes compared to his immortality drove him insane.

Maybe that separation in Inazuma between you and him was your last chance. When you thought it would be an ideal time to head to Sumeru after the Dendro archon took her rightful place. You meet Dainslief again, for the fourth time. And you could not help but wonder what he meant by his words, "I can be with you."

[throwaway-yandere]

"If you truly loved me, you should be dead." (Yandere Hitman!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: shoutout to rin for giving me that wine prompt, general for making me simp more, and ana for indirectly giving me that final push to write abt dain again lol. Maybe I enjoyed this way too much. Sorry for the b&w manga panels lol.

unreliable summary: Dainsleif– a well-known ex-hitman– recently discovered that his deceased spouse might be alive. Whether or not that’s good news is entirely up to his mental state to decide.

Cw: yandere themes, mafia au, religious themes, major character death, violence, UNRELIABLE NARRATORS, mentions of cancer, and grief mixed with suicidal thoughts. Hurt/no comfort. Please PLEASE prioritize your mental health first before consuming dark content. you matter first and foremost.

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect, 6:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.”

—---

“Get in.”

“B-But what if!–”

“Just get in, Thoma.”

Dainsleif uncapped his hip flask as Thoma trembled at the foreboding skyscraper in front of their smaller and seemingly insignificant stature. He’s not bothered by Thoma’s reaction, besides–

What sane person wouldn’t be intimidated at the sight of a hotel run by criminals?

The Heavenly Principles is a chain of hotels established by the Abyss Order. It is also regarded as a haven for those with blood-stained nails– but never freshly coated hands. The Snezhnayan branch is the cruelest and most frigid one. They won’t bat an eye if you had arrived after a “job”, but it is most certainly a problem if you conducted “business” inside. It’s a neutral territory for the underworld with several ground rules. Rules that, once broken, would result in what is referred to as “ex-communication”… and no one wants the Adjudicator to hunt them down. 

As fate would have it, the infamously retired assassin turned "Bough Keeper" aided a corporate bodyguard inside. Thoma spoke about how the Adjudicator was looking for his Lady without ascertaining the reason why. To soothe the "pup"’s nerves, Lord Ayato kindly asked his old friend Dain if he could drag Thoma to Lord Arlecchino. If Dain knew how finicky the lapdog would be, he probably would've turned the favor down.

"Why are you so sure he's not after Ayaka?" Thoma boldly asked.

Dainsleif refrained from sighing.

The only reason Thoma wasn’t afraid of Dainsleif was that the retired hitman made an oath to his spouse that he would never kill again once they were married. Nowadays, Dain’s income relied on mundane “clean-ups” or sometimes disarming bombs. He dismantled himself from his old responsibilities and became the Abyss Order’s errand boy. Currently, his job is the lowest rank yet he remains respected. As the Bough Keeper, his job is to clean up and handle disputes as long as it doesn’t result in the death of any parties. 

A bit similar to Thoma’s line of work, but the bodyguard loathes that comparison. In his point of view, Dainsleif’s eyes are terrifyingly empty when compared to his. Thoma fears his eyes. It reminds him of the time he rowed a boat to Inazuma from Mondstadt. Being stuck in the middle of the sea is not what rattles him, it’s when Thoma gazed and saw the difference between the water and skies was heavily blurred, unable to pinpoint where the ocean ends.

That uncertainty makes anyone shake. They’d rather not make an enemy of a man who is one more step to having nothing to lose.

“If Adjudicator Cyno were out to get her, he would’ve surely ended her life by now,” Dainsleif answered, walking without as much letting the bodyguard catch up. “It’s far more likely that he has business with me and not your lady.”

The adjudicator would surely look for him in the next 3 hours.

“But My Lady has–”

“Not caused actions that'll make the Abyss Order turn against her whatsoever.” 

Dainsleif stopped by the tinted glass door and Thoma exhaled deeply. They had been walking for hours since the ex-hitman refused to take a taxi. He claimed that a walk would be safer for Thoma. Assassins don’t act kind towards bodyguards, so seeing Dainsleif march beside him (rather, in front of him) is more than enough to secure his safety. 

“Rest assured, once you talk to Arlecchino you’d realize that he’s not after the Himegimi.”

“A-And I’m supposed to be more relaxed by the possibility that he’s after her brother instead?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Because the Adjudicator wouldn't thoughtlessly kill the person who runs the Heavenly Principle's Inazuma branch. I'd appreciate it if you think critically.”

Katheryne, the receptionist, opened the hotel's door. She welcomed Dainsleif in, but if her hair was any longer she would’ve slapped her locks against Thoma’s face with how quick she was to turn and disregard his presence. 

“Good afternoon, Sir Dainslief, Thoma,” she said in a monotone voice. Her lack of honorifics when addressing the bodyguard was noticeably rude. “Please, do not wait around outside, come on in.”

The hotel looks even more spacious and positively regal inside.

Thoma had anticipated that a place where "lowlives" would find sanctuary would be horribly run-down and neglected, but he cynically understood that money talks—and crime speaks louder. His skin crawls at the idea that the blood money used to construct this infrastructure served as its fundamental foundation, but he lacks the courage to say it.

“So… Do you come here often?” Thoma whispered.

Dainsleif blinked– and Thoma can barely determine the subtle shock on his face.

“... Yes. Yes, I do.”

Dainsleif proceeded to advance toward Katheryne without explaining why he was taken aback by that question.

Thoma normally takes the front line during security disputes in the Kamisato Esate, but this hotel is a very different situation. If the act of clinging onto Dainsleif’s toned arm won’t disparage the Kamisato Clan’s reputation, Thoma would’ve done that in a heartbeat. A few oddballs gave him the side eye, and a ginger-haired man almost charged at Thoma with a makeshift lance before putting it away when he saw Dainsleif.

“Holy shit. It’s the dead Twilight walking!!!” The ginger greeted with empty eyes. “Where’ve you been, comrade?! And what’s with the news we just heard? You gave Skirk an aneurism.”

Dainsleif took a sip of his pocketed Death After Noon with a look in his eyes that screamed “Here we go again.”

“Your concern for me is flattering, Childe,” Dainsleif spoke, bored. “I’m only here for personal matters.”

“Is he a relative of yours?” This “child” squinted his eyes, piercing them against Thoma. “Must say, he looks like a total greenhorn.”

Thoma raised his hand, “I’m–”

“That’s not worthy of your concern, and don't bother him.”

Thoma was grateful for Dainsleif’s nonanswer. The way he phrased it had implications that he might be a VIP and therefore untouchable.

“Alright then, who am I to disrespect a legend’s wishes?” The “child" patted Dainsleif’s shoulder. 

“In any case, welcome home for the last time, comrade.”

Dainsleif diverted his gaze. 

“Home?”

This place is not his home, he refuses to let it be so. The scent of cocoa truffles, the messy watercolor-ed desk, the bulletin board littered with red threads, and scattered impulsive notes about a character’s dialogue– where is it? Is this stiff hotel Dainsleif’s home when there’s no sign of life– no sign of them? In here, there is no bed to fix, no brushes to dry, no markers to cap–

and no insomniac spouse to forcefully tuck into bed at 2 AM. 

A strained laugh exited Dainsleif’s throat, and a burning sensation in his eyes nearly reminded him that he does have emotions he cannot bottle underneath a cool facade. Yet, as that laugh reverberated in the otherwise silent lounging area, the ex-hitman steeled himself. That phantom coil in his chest dissipated and was replaced by something hollow. 

Midnight cuddles and drinks with his spouse, watching their eyes crinkle as they ramble about their last horror piece, pulling them closer just to see the stars in their eyes. That scenery? It was his home. It was what street musicians dub like Venti would as happiness. Not the silence after slaughter– not the quiet of the Principle's lounging area. 

The Bough Keeper closed his eyes and answered the two oblivious men with a flat voice. 

A “home” to get back to... 

“I… no longer have a home.”

He's already reached his journey's end. All his bones await now is death himself.

For only death can lead him back home into (Y/n)’s arms again.

Dainsleif sighed. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Childe. Do svidaniya. Extend my greetings to Skirk if you have the chance, and when you try your hand at hunting me down: do your best.”

—-------------

“Found you."

The woman of the hour smirked as she peered over her shoulder. Her luxurious locks of short dark-streaked albino elegantly hair swung as she faced both Dain and Thoma. 

“Oh? Well, it’s only because I wanted to be found.”

Dainsleif sat at one of the chairs unperturbed while Thoma tried not to squirm as the Heavenly Principle’s Snezhnayan branch proprietor– Lord Arlecchino– organized her documents. The enormity of Thoma's situation was lost on her. Arlecchino's face was barely wrinkled, a sign that she takes pleasure in her job. Despite carrying out a task that required undivided attention, her piercing stare dug holes in the wall clock. Her lack of focus relieved Thoma, but only for a fleeting moment.

3 hours more, huh?

Arlecchino fished out a paper from her desk pile.

Never been one to beat around the bush, she laid the facts drop-dead on the table with a loud thud.

“(Y/n) is alive, and Her Highness expects that both Dainsleif and Kamisato Ayaka know where they are.”

…

Dainsleif didn’t utter a word.

“E-Excuse me?!” Thoma gasped.

Dain’s spouse died years ago. Much like a cat leaving the house when it knows it will inevitably shake hands with death, (Y/n) vanished when they knew the next month would be their last. Their family on their mother’s side had always been riddled with cancer and similar illnesses. When they muttered sweet phrases about how they wanted his last memories of them to be of them smiling and cheering him on– Dainsleif didn’t question the validity of their death. 

So for Arlecchino to say such a thing is a bit…

“There’s no way! Sure, (Y/n) was close friends with the Kamisatos– but My Lady cried during (Y/n)’s funeral. Ayaka had always been honest to a fault– she wouldn’t have been able to lie, act, or keep a secret like this–”

At least, that’s what Thoma assumed. All he has is word-of-mouth from his master and the Darknight Hero’s associates. The Dawn Winery isn’t the most reliable source unless you’re trained at fact-checking rogues and fabulists’ crude testimonies. Thoma may be a streetwise man, but he always exuded naivete when surrounded by men like them.

Dainsleif cut him off immediately. 

“Your rambling is as banal as Katheryne asking for “Dinner Reservations” after business. Worse, yours suffer from how unwarranted they are.” 

Thoma went silent to both Arlechinno and Dain’s immediate relief. The two understood it as Thoma perceiving a threat, but in reality, the bodyguard just wasn't aware that “dinner reservations” meant cleaning up a crime scene.

“Where is (Y/n)?” The ex-hitman looked at Arlecchino nonchalantly. “If that intel was real, where are they now?”

“Y-You can’t be serious, Dain!” Thoma gawked. “Your spouse died long ago–”

“Where are they now?”

Silence filled the room as the assassin repeated his inquiry with accentuated obstinacy. Dainsleif knows his spouse better than them so Thoma cannot question the widower’s line of thought.

(Y/n) (L/n), may not have been an official criminal in the eyes of the underworld, but they were guilty of multiple accounts of rebellion, sedition, and illegal associations. They penned propaganda in literary mediums and had repeatedly given out tactics on how to dismantle the current system under a 4-lettered pen name, “████”. His spouse was devious by nature and a long-winded conversationalist– which emphasizes a noticeable stark contrast when seated beside their stoic husband. 

If they were alive, they must be watching this conversation while suppressing a smirk.

(Y/n) was the type who would laugh at their own funeral. An expiration date made more sense to them than a promise of forever. Fixity made them uneasy. Dainsleif cannot trust others to share a domestic life with them when he is wholly aware that they’ll die from their hereditary illness. (Y/n) sought thrills more than comfort, which is a reason why he can't cross out the possibility that they had grown bored of their marriage and used their health as an excuse to–

No. That’s an awful line of thinking.

(Y/n) loved him. 

… Surely, they did? 

"Don't lose your composure, Twilight. I'm not saying this so you could drown yourself in grief with fire-waters. I’ve heard word from Pantalone that they’re likely in Sumeru City during the Sabzeruz Festival, but as (Y/n) loved to say–”

“Information always travels faster than people,” Dainsleif closed his eyes, tasting the words as if it was his deceased lover that imparted them themselves. “That leaked intel is as reliable as wet tissue paper.”

(Y/n)’s insight in regards to trends had been prescient– which is a kinder and less pessimistic way to say they likely already knew the adjudicator had been trailing them for some time. Runaways follow oft‐trod paths to free-trade zones– his spouse would be no exception.

That is, of course, if (Y/n) is alive.

But they’re not.

Dainsleif refused to believe it.

If (Y/n) (L/n) truly loved him, they wouldn’t be alive right now. 

“Let us temporarily assume that your spouse is alive for the foreseeable future, Dain,” Arlecchino said, noticing Dain’s subtly pained expression. “For the sake of formalities– are you aware of the repercussions you will face if they were?”

“Repercussions…?” Thoma’s eyes widened.

Dainsleif shook his head.

“If it’s as I suspect, then this is a tragic state of affairs.”

“Indeed,” Arlecchino placed a hand on her hip, subtly pushing away her coat to signify her slotted holster. She tilted her chin up menacingly at Thoma. 

“Since you can’t catch up, Mister Kamisato Estate Representative, allow me to spell everything out for you– Dainsleif would be formally announced as a “sinner” in the next 3 hours.”

Thoma’s eyes widened, unlike the man who was affected by the news.

“HAAAH?!?”

Dainsleif sipped his flask again, unbothered.

“Sinner” describes individuals who have been banned from all services, resources, and relationships with other members of the criminal underworld. Sinners become a target for any individuals who wish to kill them with a large bounty placed on their heads. And an ex-communication ordained by the Heavenly Principles is a guaranteed high payroll. When it’s the Abyss Order that hands the cash, you’d get more than enough to secure more than a handful of assets. The moment that occurs– Dainsleif would have to run and find connections that would help him plead his case.

They would surely goad everyone with tenfold the normal amount given the Twilight Sword’s intimidating repertoire. 

Dain found that amusing.

The nickname “Twilight Sword” he carries is not reserved for anyone else, but mortal arrogation would surely take a jab and see if they can steal the only life he can’t take away.

He’d laugh now if he weren't depressed.

Killing the Twilight Sword, huh? Even he fails to accomplish that.

"That's unreasonable! The sins of a spouse can't be shared–"

"Why don't you keep your mouth shut, blonde?"

Arlecchino snarled.

"Read the room. No one is giving you a turn to speak."

…

Dainsleif cleared his throat, “Back to the matter at hand; Her Highness is under the assumption that my spouse was– or is– conspiring against the Abyss Order. Which, I reassure you, is unlikely given how their last book is an anti-fascist novel with The Crane being alluded to as the protagonist.”

It didn't make sense for (Y/n) to betray the mafia when they were part of the cog that overthrew Osial, Ei, and the rest. 

“... The Crane?” Thoma muttered to himself.

Arlecchino sighed gutturally, irritated.

“You might know her as Shenhe. She’s the assassin that overthrew the ex-Capo, Osial,” Arlecchino answered Thoma. “Strange that you don’t know her. I’m certain she had helped with renovating the Kamisato Estate before.”

Thoma answered with a small voice, “I do know Shenhe as my Lady’s friend, but I don’t recall having her help us with our last renovation…”

“But you should’ve remembered that. After all, cranes are the best kind of bird to help you lift planks.”

…

…

…

“... None of you got the joke too? Don’t even think about disparaging me. The joke is not mine, it’s the Adjudicator's.”

Thoma frowned, “I’m sorry, I think it’s too advanced–”

“Stop.” Dainsleif whispered urgently, “Don’t let her explain it. We’re wasting time.”

—-------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect: 2 hours and 30 minutes.”

—-------------

“There’s a fourteen million bounty on your head now, Dain,” Arlecchino said. “If I were more heartless, I would’ve easily planned something. Fourteen million is an impressive starting price.”

“Thank you.”

“P-Please don't thank her. She admitted that she wants to kill you," Thoma begged in a hushed whisper.

As if he doesn't want that to happen.

“Although you have been a loyal customer, I can’t provide any services once the timer runs out,” Arlecchino deadpanned. “You’re a brave one. Sauntering into my hotel when assassins are waiting to strike. It’s as if you have a death wish like my former colleagues.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

Dainsleif stood up and prematurely exited the conversation, leaving two acquaintances behind.

Arlecchino chuckled. Always up on his feet, that one. She looked at the person who left. It’s clear to her that Thoma does not know what he intended to do next. Thoma fiddled with his fingers, staring blankly. 

"It's rude to stare. If you have something to say, spit it out."

Thoma cleared his throat.

"Lord Arlecchino, I was hoping to find out more about My Lady's safety…"

Arlecchino rolled her eyes.

“I’d rather you figure out the truth for yourself. (Y/n) taught us that indoctrination is not education before they ‘passed’, but since I happen to be in a friendly rivalry with Lord Kamisato, I’ll give you your damn reassurance and advice."

Arlecchino grabbed Thoma’s shoulder tightly. Thoma stiffened at her harsh touch, but his determined eyes impressed Arlecchino.

"Ayaka is fine, and Ayaka will be fine."

Arlecchino slid an envelope against his chest. He winced awkwardly at her cold touch and fumbled to receive it. 

…

…

After reading the letter, Thoma sighed in relief.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, Lord Arlecchino."

"Good."

No one outside the room knew at that time what the letter contained except for Lord Kamisato. But in 2 hours, the world would know soon enough.

"And lastly, I know you're tempted, but stay away from Dain. He's a dead man and most of all–" Arlecchino breathed between her teeth. 

“He's unreliable. His view on his relationship with (Y/n) is tinted with a rosy hue. His memory has all but faded completely regarding what transpired. And sometimes, liars get fooled by their own lies. See for yourself.”

Thoma’s eyebrows knitted in an instant. Arlecchino didn’t give him a turn to speak and opened the door on his way out.

“Focus on your issues, Kamisato Dog. Ad astra abyssosque.”

—------------------------------------

“Dainsleif, Excommunicated. In effect in 4… 3… 2…”

“1…”

“Dainsleif: 14 million. Open contract is now in effect. All services have been suspended.”

—------------------------------------

“Halfdan.”

“Dain.”

“Please let me do this.”

Dainsleif hummed non-committedly.

His new enemy is none other than Halfdan: an old friend back when he served in the military and also the same brother-in-arms he dragged along to become freelance hitmen. Thanks to the fall of multiple governments, Khaenria’hns had to vicariously live through dirty work to survive. To cope, Dainsleif mercifully persuaded Halfdan down this route with a gifted gun for him to take.

And it’s the very same revolver now aimed at Dainsleif’s forehead.

“Capo Pantalone denounced two possibilities from this scenario: one being your spouse had turned traitor and the other would be that they were a double agent this whole time,” Halfdan quietly mused. “And if that were the case, they fear what that makes you." 

“And that’s why you’re here?” Dainsleif spoke between labored exhales, clearly worn out from the numerous assassination attempts against his life moments prior.

The world they walk on is liquefied and weightless, never a flat one. Most are content to kill, but not to live– never to dream. Here in the underground, capitalism plays in a greater uneven field. Assassins, elites, common folk– such titles make no difference. Whatever bounty pays moderately might shoot higher the next hour while others might drop lower than the corpse themselves. 

Which led Halfdan to make the worst decision of his life.

An ex-hitman who refuses to kill does sound like an easy target on paper.

Dainsleif gritted his teeth. 

If Halfdan knew Dain's barrel was empty, he would be dead right now.

Still, not everyone would be bold to make an enemy out of the Bough Keeper.

Especially not when he memorized every hitman’s fighting style, moves, and preferred weapons.

"Evidence suggests that you’re an accomplice. Did you help them?"

“I did not help them– because (Y/n) was not a traitor.”

“Then who else could’ve ratted out all the Abyss' trade routes?” Halfdan said robotically. “It’s a win-win situation for (Y/n) if this whole mess is true. They’d get recognition for their work and potentially have you dead after your ex-communication.”

"Do you know where they are? Where (Y/n) is?"

"You're at the end of my revolver and that's what you're asking?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Not at all," Halfdan closed his eyes. "Not at all."

"I take it you don't have a clue."

"I know that (Y/n) has been the brains of Archon Kusanali's return to office– possibly her second sage. Whatever that is."

That can’t be right. His spouse hated superordinate roles.

"For someone who was told their dead spouse might be alive, you're surprisingly calm, Dainsleif."

"Forgive me, I try my best to remain composed twenty-four-seven," Dainsleif sardonically replied. "It was a requirement of my previous profession."

“Right… Being a hitman must’ve been tough. Can’t imagine what it’s like,” he chuckled.

Halfdan fired first.

Dainsleif sprinted, hiding behind the alleyway's bricked stores. With his finger hovering above the trigger, he had momentarily forgotten who was after him. As Halfdan carefully scanned the area, Dain tied his blonde hair up loosely, courtesy to how his late spouse nagged him about how it helps keep loose strands out of his eyes during "business hours". 

Three warning shots followed. 

"Senior, can't you go easy on me? Just this once?" Halfdan mumbled.

Now that the gun was pointed at him, it came to both their minds that they don’t know one another as deeply as they thought. Not in the traditional sense of knowing their names and faces, of course. It dawned that neither talked about themselves as soon as they became hitmen. The Heavenly Principles– whether it’s the Snezhnayan branch or the one Lord Ayato’s running– was like their version of two lost samurais’ dilapidated shelter. They’d talk and bond while it rains– but they’ll never converse outside that haven.

Dain pursed his lips, glaring at the corner of his eyes... 

It’d be too easy to kill him.

There’s a crack in the wall that can easily target Halfdan’s temple. Should he pull the trigger, he would be dead without another word. His blood and brain matter would paint the alley’s wall like vague graffiti and there’d be one less person off his case. 

But Dainsleif didn’t fire his gun.

“Senior”? Don’t make him laugh.

"I'm not your senior anymore, Halfdan."

Dainsleif jumped out of his spot–

And took his shot too, without any intent to kill.

“NGAH–!”

Halfdan gasped sharply, biting his bottom lip as blood gushed from his left arm. He slid back behind the post immediately, afraid to get close to Dain. Besides, anyone can see a rifle's imprint on Halfdan's cheek. 

He's a sniper. Close combat is not his forte.

Unfortunately, Dainsleif used to be a spotter.

“Shit, Dain! What the hell?!” Halfdan tearfully begged. “W-Why are you fighting back? Aren’t you tired of this world?! Aren’t you just waiting to die?!”

Dainsleif’s eyelids lowered.

He doesn’t know the clear answer to that himself.

Until a thought occurred to him.

“I.. Want to carry their memories.”

“... W-What?”

“I wanted to carry on living, for them,” Dainsleif said. “For (Y/n).”

He realized that as long as he was alive, he could keep (Y/n)’s memory alive. He can continue to tell stories about them– to cherish the memories they shared and to honor their legacy. With a newfound sense of purpose, Dainsleif made a silent promise to himself and his deceased spouse. 

Hence, Dain would continue to live, not just for himself, but for them. He would carry their memory with him wherever he travels and he refuses to forget their warmth. With that, he gripped his gun, feeling resolute. It’s a long road ahead, but he can carry on, for (Y/n) and for himself. As it turns out, he still had a purpose and a reason to keep going.

His memories of (Y/n) are enough for him to stay alive.

Dainsleif glanced at the crack in the wall.

He reasons that he will be fine if Halfdan dies. Dain had killed many of his former allies before he was wed. Many did oppose his marriage with (Y/n)– worse, many thought they could kill his beloved for it to occur. Killing an old friend tonight wouldn’t be his first.

Dainsleif sighed. He could use his dagger, but he wanted Halfdan's death to be quick.

‘I’m sorry, Halfdan.’

But he did not feel sorry.

Dainsleif loaded his gun.

2 bullets.

That should be more than enough.

‘You’re going to have to be my first kill after 7 years.’

—------------------

As Dainsleif fended off greed-blinded men, Thoma found himself in another nerve-wracking dilemma. He stood inside one of the private rooms in the Heavenly Principles, unflinching. The sharp yet muted shrill of a spoon grated Thoma’s ears, but he remained standing, vigilant yet afraid. 

Hard to speak when it was the adjudicator himself that stirred the cup.

The adjudicator, Cyno, is a dreadful shadow to have. Unlike the Bough Keeper, he had deep-set eyes that looked to be calculated at all times. Thoma was most terrified by the adjudicator's reputation for having unwavering determination. His job is to be both feared and respected in equal measure. If Cyno wills it, Thoma and Ayaka would be nothing more than mere bodies between him and his goals. 

If it’s true that (Y/n) managed to escape Cyno more than a few times, then he ought to get some tips on how they do it. Cyno cornered Thoma so effortlessly before he could leave earlier.

"Coffee?" Cyno offered. "Don't worry, this isn't the same drink Dain prepared for (Y/n) every morning."

Thoma raised an eyebrow.

What does that mean?

“No thank you sir, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Cyno nodded.

“Let me be clear: I am here to adjudge your master, not you. So if my subordinates found evidence against her, I shall be the one that weighs those scales.”

Thoma already knew that and that threat was never going to provoke him.

If Thoma tells him what the letter contained now, it'll only make the Kamisatos more suspicious.

“I understand, sir. Would that be all?”

“Course not,” Cyno said. “Thoma, I’ve got a question to ask.”

“Go on, sir.”

“Did you ask Dainsleif for help earlier?”

“... Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the Adjudicator nodded. “I value your honesty– and are you sure you don’t want coffee?”

“Yes sir– and I’m sorry for asking for his assistance, I didn’t–”

“Know he was going to get excommunicated, I’m aware,” he muttered. “But that’s an old excuse.”

Cyno sipped his cup, his eyes locked on Thoma's. Thoma tried his best to avoid his gaze but found it impossible. The Adjudicator had a way of making people feel small with just a single look.

"You're brave," he said. "But bravery can’t save the Himegimi. Only the truth can. So where is he?" 

Thoma's heart raced as he tried to come up with a response. He knew he had to be careful with his words, or he might end up endangering not just himself, but Dainsleif as well. 

"I don't know where he is," Thoma said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Don't lie to me," Cyno's expression darkened, slamming his cup against the table. It shattered, making Thoma finally flinch at the sound of its impact. 

"We know you've been communicating with him. You're part of his and his spouse’s rebellion against the Abyss Order."

“I genuinely don’t know where he is and I'm not part of any rebellion,” Thoma’s voice cracked. “Lord Ayato just ordered me to communicate with Lord Arlecchino and had Mister Dainsleif tag along, please believe me.”

The Adjudicator went silent.

He scoffed.

“Damnit.”

Cyno understood through experience that Thoma wasn’t lying. He ran his fingers through his stressed-white hair, eyes closed. 

He unlocked the door.

“Fine, you’re free to leave.”

Thoma blinked, hesitating to do what was commanded.

It’s as easy as that…? 

He’s not going to interrogate him further? Wasn’t he supposed to probe into what he knows about Dainsleif or why Lord Ayato sent him to Snezhnaya in the first place? Won’t Cyno give Thoma the chance to tell him that he went all the way here because he feared what he plans to do to Ayaka?

It can't be over just like that.

Wasn't he after Ayaka?

What's going on?

Why did he give up that fast?

All the effort he went through… Just for that?

That’s all the big scary Adjudicator has to say?

Thoma combed his hair up.

Was Lord Ayato right? Was he really just paranoid?

Whatever was on Thoma’s mind– he spoke none of it. He discarded every doubt. Above all else, he was glad that everything seemed to be over.

As Thoma turned to close the door behind him, he heard Cyno mutter something barely a whisper.

“If I am to weigh the souls of others in this world as an Adjudicator, then I must also place my own soul on the scales to be judged in the same manner, but…”

Thoma closed the door before he heard him finish the rest.

“(L/n), despite being a wrongdoer, I wonder if you had a point…” Cyno said.

“... Maybe it’s time we dismantle the current system and rely on the government– Kusanali– once more.”

Cyno didn't drink the coffee he prepared for Thoma. Instead, the adjudicator grabbed his case and left the dubious drink be.

—--------

Thoma thought that was the end of it, but fate had other plans.

He was on his way back when he stumbled upon Dainsleif, soaked in blood. It was a complete coincidence that Thoma had taken this particular route, and he can’t tell whether that was a blessing or a curse. Knowing that Dainsleif possesses incomparable mental fortitude to carry on fighting despite his weakened state, he approached him warily. Thoma was warned already by Arlecchino not to get involved, yet he can’t just leave without a proper thank you. As he got closer, Thoma saw that the man was mumbling incoherently.

"Eli…” 

Thoma blinked. Is he calling for Ellin, the rookie hitman?

“Dain…?”

He’s lost in his thoughts. 

Dainsleif was morbidly aware that feelings of grief should've surfaced, that he should be mourning the loss of an old friend. Once again, he tried to summon some kind of emotion, any reaction to his Halfdan's corpse. But he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no regret. What he felt was frustration only after his failed attempts. Dainsleif was unable to shake off the sense of detachment that had taken hold of him.

Halfdan was just another person who failed to kill the “Twilight Sword”.

“Eli, lama sabachthani…?" Dainsleif muttered.

"Huh?"

Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani: those were the words his spouse said when they were incredibly ill. 

It meant "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?"

As he gazed at the scene of Halfdan's death, Dainsleif heaved a heavy sigh. He was aware that he had to face the facts of his predicament, but he wasn't sure how he should press on. The deafening silence prevailed. Now that he had to deal with isolation and social rejection, his longing for (Y/n) rekindled sevenfold. He knows that it's near impossible to continue living without his spouse.

But finding them?

That should be easier.

"Y-You should take a rest, Dain," Thoma frowned. "I know you haven't killed anyone since today, so maybe you should seek shelter and steel yourself for now."

“I can't, and there is no need for that. No other Black Serpent assassin danced with grief more than I.”

Dainsleif swiftly picked up the knife from the ground, masterfully twirling it until the blood was wiped clean.

“But when I got back to work– I suddenly felt a small amount of relief from this suffering.”

He stabbed the knife back into the corpse’s chest like a toothpick. The blonde carved the knife down the ribs with sheer brute strength. Blood coated his fingers and as he curled it deeper inside Halfdan’s chest, the blade disappeared.

Dainsleif laughed. 

The manic blonde’s crooked grin widened.

Thoma didn’t gag at the sight of Halfdan’s corpse– he was used to the sight– but he gulped as he saw Dain’s expression.

His "terrifyingly empty" eyes suddenly had something murky fill the void. 

Dainsleif lost it.

“That high didn’t last. Even now, I can feel anguish permeating my entire being. There is no “undoing” their death, such a line of thought inflicts only agony. (Y/n) had become an integral part of me– slowly but surely replacing my sins with a tenderness one cannot attain in the underworld. They did say that grief comes in waves, but how long will I have to stand ashore until a crash large enough would drown me to sea?”

Thoma drowned out his musings. They were bound not to make sense in the first place.

He's not mentally stable, and he doesn't expect him to be. Dain just found out his dead spouse might be alive and killed a friend in under an hour. Thoma would be insensitive if he forced him to compose himself.

Dainsleif let the handle go.

“Can’t you understand why I’m so desperate to find even a sliver of my beloved?” He laughed. “Why I never took assassination requests from the Abyss Order after their death? Why I’m more than willing to kill again? The answer is simple–”

Suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.

The ex-hitman stopped.

His smile weakened as he spoke, “Thoma… (Y-(Y/n)... I want (Y/n) to take me back in their arms as a corpse.” 

Dainsleif breathed in shakily, his tears obstructing his speech. He clenched his fists above the table, arching his back as he avoided the bodyguard’s concerned gaze. Thoma could practically see his sobs as Dain’s entire body trembled from a depleting mix of ineffable exhaustion, sadness, and longing. He had bottled these emotions for long enough. 

He always had nowhere else to go– no one else to turn to. But nowadays, it felt different. All because he foolishly trusted that maybe this time someone would be able to kill him…

Maybe this time…

The bodyguard rubbed his back, which only served to make the lonesome man conceal his weeping. There's nothing Thoma can do other than provide useless ministrations. To save the last of the ex-hitman's dwindling pride—if he really cared for such—he can only frown and look away.

Dainsleif trembled.

He doesn't know how to cry.

So he cried clumsily.

“I-I’m tired… of taking my own life.” 

—----------------

“Dainsleif, open contract. Increase: 20 million.”

—----------------

[Eight Years Ago]

“So, Dain,” they awkwardly voiced with a warm smile. “Do you come here often?”

Does he come here often? Of course, he does. He “worked” here– but no ordinary citizen should know what business goes down in Wanmin restaurant. 

And he knew (Y/n) frequented this restaurant too.

Dainsleif laughed.

It’s true, Dainsleif stalks them. 

He initially believed they were just an extroverted student who had nothing better to do than to talk to the stranger they kept sitting next to on the bus. He was so exhausted from "work" that his initial impression was of (Y/n) was a loud and brazen scholar. Since the bus they boarded frequently had a TV, they were always open to talk with him about delicate subjects like the daily news about the syndicates without displaying any expressions of disgust. Although they didn't agree with everything he stated, they showed maturity by holding their ground. They praised him for his noteworthy thoughts while criticizing him for his blatantly generic statements. Dainsleif was almost sure they were part of the "industry" he works on–

Until he saw the collage of their friends and professors as their lock screen. Dainsleif realized two things at that time.

1) They like to write.

2) Their favorite mentor was Professor Aether. The “Traveler” who would inherit the Abyss Order if the Abyss Princess dies.

So it’s no wonder they knew a lot about human trafficking. 

Something about their easygoing attitude and quick wit struck a chord with him. He found himself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of rare ease and comfort. And whenever they said their goodbyes when boarding off the bus, Dainsleif felt a sense of anticipation, a feeling that this was something special. 

And now he "knows all that he needs to know" about (Y/n) (L/n).

Upon realizing that he was staring (they were waving a hand near their face), Dainsleif cleared his throat.

“I enjoy the wine here.”

“Thought the light was about to take you to the other side,” (Y/n) teased. “Anyways, yeah, you know my friends Stella, Jude, and Shiro? They like it too. Can’t catch me drinking though– I just order the sardines pasta here while they get red-faced drunk.”

He sneakily glanced at the menu and silently noted how that order appears to be the cheapest meal. If Dain pitied his date, he made no mention of it. Uyuu restaurant is for the rich and the shady and based on their humble hand-me-down shoes, both descriptions eluded them. 

“Well-off friends?”

Dainsleif already knows the answer. 

"Eh. We all know both rich and getting-by folks, don't we? As long as we can pay our bills, it doesn't matter," they shrugged. “Still… I’m REALLY sorry that you dressed up for me, Dain.” 

They pinched their forehead.

“Look– I don’t know what on earth Rin told you, but I’m not worth this effort. You look incredibly dashing in that suit and tie by the way– but your date is wearing their sister’s Converse right now. If you want me to leave and enjoy your meal alone, just say so– you can even tell everyone that I’m just some charity case college student you fed or something. Fine by me, no problem.”

Dainsleif snorted slightly. While there’s no doubt in his mind that his salary can afford someone’s student loans, the last thing hitmen would do with their monthly pay is invest in multiple scholars.

“Would you feel better if I said I just arrived from work and had no time to change so I 'didn’t' put in any effort…?”

“Kinda,” they croaked pathetically and bowed their head. “But now that you phrased it like that, I can't tell if you're lying for the sake of my feelings, huhu...”

But that uncontrollable sunny smile on their face doesn't show any hint of genuine remorse. Dainsleif reciprocated their smile. (Y/n) is getting more comfortable being in Dainsleif’s presence than before, and Dainsleif seems more open to sharing things about himself– albeit not enough to spill about his true occupation.

His occupation…

Dain tried not to think about it whenever they're on a date, but he can't help it sometimes.

When, he wonders. 

When will he find someone that is close enough to actually kill him?

This job was starting to get stale…

If it weren't for (Y/n), he sees no reason to even get out of bed anymore.

(Y/n)... Right, (Y/n). Of course.

Dainsleif stopped himself from grinning widely.

He's on a date– he should be more attentive.

Dain looked at them again, finding himself naturally concentrated on their mannerisms.

“... Why are your hands in your pockets?”

“Oh– I learned from one of my professors that people look more confident when they have their hands in their pockets, if and only if they have a thumb out, apparently.”

“And this prolonged eye contact we’re having?”

“My poor attempt at applying what I’ve learned, yes.”

Dainsleif laughed.

“You’re very easy to listen to.”

They frowned. 

“Sorry… I tend to overshare sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing? I appreciate that you’re being yourself,” Dainsleif said. “Better than honeypotting someone in a relationship.”

“You’re right, sor– I mean, yeah, you’re right.”

A waiter passed by.

“One– Two Death After Noon please, boss,” Dainsleif said. 

(Y/n) chuckled humorously, "I suppose I'd also drink a lot if I ended up going on a date with someone like me."

"Glad to hear it. Let's have a drink together."

"Aight– wait, what?"

Dainsleif attempted to pass the glass to (Y/n), but the moment their hand reached the stem–

Splash.

"Oh sh–! I'm so sorry!!!"

Dainsleif blinked.

"Oh my Goodn– I'm so sorry, my bad. I'm–"

"It's alright. Hand me some tissues."

"Sorry…" they cringed. "I'm– I'm a little out of it, lately. I didn't mean to spill that all over– ugh. I'm such a disaster today, what the heck?"

Dainsleif chuckled, almost inaudibly. He didn't move from his position, letting the wine soak his jeans. 

"You don't need to worry, I'm used to this."

They tried not to visibly react to that statement. 

Use to what, exactly? Having drinks spilled on him? 

What kind of life is Dainsleif living for that to happen often enough times for him to get "used to this"? Are people constantly spilling things on him? 

"...Workplace harassment?" (Y/n) muttered, not realizing Dainsleif heard it.

His heart leaped as he quickly glanced at himself to check for visible wounds or scars, but snapped out of it when he felt something light against his clothes. No matter how wrong it could appear in public, it seems that (Y/n) awkwardly grabbed the closest tissue box to dab it out (and this action was motivated by how dry cleaning was expensive that year).

"(Y/n)–" he cringed as they continued.

"Please wait."

"You should be more focused on yourself," Dainsleif cleared his throat, with his ears and cheeks slightly red. "Y-You're wearing white."

"Oh…"

They pulled the hem of their clothing. The wine soaked them as well but they were too engrossed to notice it. (Y/n) scowled.

"I'm– yikes, I'm irredeemable at this point. Whoops," they laughed somewhat nervously. “You’ve done it, Mx. (L/n). This is our last date, I guess.”

Dainsleif didn't say a word.

He just stared, looking directly at their splattered clothes. Unlike (Y/n), he didn't jump to helping his date clean up. Dainsleif covered his mouth and breathed in shakily. It was strange. Instead of feeling annoyed or frustrated, he found himself staring fondly at (Y/n) and their almost equally stained clothes.

This stain… It looked like…

They expect him to laugh at their clumsiness or berate them at worst, but when they gazed up, those slapdash daydreams evaporated. Dainsleif looked dazed. 

… Blood.

“Dain?”

They looked up at him, doe-eyed and confused. Without hesitation, they cupped his cheek, checking his features.

“Dain? Are you feeling alright? You’re spacing out a lot today.”

Dainsleif couldn’t stop staring.

This scenery was almost perfect. Almost. It just needed one small tweak:

It shouldn't have been wine. (Y/n) would look breathtaking if they were covered in the blood of the men he killed to get a chance to date them.

He looked at his stained clothes and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe,

(Y/n) (L/n) will be the one who can kill him.

—-----------------------------

[PRESENT]

Dain stumbled towards a house with a small inteyvat garden, his body aching and his clothes still stained with blood. He lifted a weak hand and knocked on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. He shook his hip flask, disappointed that the alcohol was already empty. Not that he needed it to ease his wounds. Thoma already helped Dainsleif patch up a bit, but left in a hurry knowing that the Adjudicator might see his act of “treason.” 

After a few moments, the door creaked open and a blonde man peered out. 

It was Professor Aether, a kind yet unassuming man who taught at multiple universities– including (Y/n)’s. Despite being the Abyss Princess's kin, he lived a relatively lowkey life in the suburbs after he stopped traveling. Aether looked Dainsleif up and down, his expression unreadable. 

"You look injured," he said flatly, without a hint of concern in his voice. 

Dain struggled to keep himself standing. 

"I am," he said. "Traveler, I’ve been wrongfully excommunicated and I need your help."

Aether nodded as if he had expected that news. Still, he refused Dain entry to his house. “You didn’t honestly think I’d help you without a second thought, right?”

Dainsleif took a deep breath, “I have served and will be of service.”

The sinner then pulled out an object from his pocket and shoved it down Aether’s palm.

Aether raised an eyebrow, concerned.

Visions is a round metallic insignia formally recognized by the Abyss Order that signifies a blood oath. The debtor has their bloodied fingerprint pressed inside the shell. This vision had Aether's fingerprint, and he owes Dainsleif.

“A vision? Do you believe a blood debt will make me help you?” Unlike before, his voice was warm but distant.

“I helped you find your sister– you can help me find my spouse in return,” Dain glared. “Sinner or not, you owe me. I’m certain (Y/n) is alive– and I’m sure you know where they are. You shaped them into the tactician they are now. If there’s anyone who can figure out where they are, it’s you. So take me there.” 

Aether closed his eyes.

There's no way he can reason with him.

This is no longer Dainsleif he's talking to– but a husk of a man.

“Fine.”

The professor also pulled something out of his pocket. A blue syringe, none other than one of Dottore’s concoctions, Dain believes. He did not question why he had that in his possession. Foolishly, he did not question if it was an anesthetic or a lethal injection either. What mattered more was (Y/n)’s location. Nothing else.

“But you’ll have to be asleep for it to happen,” the professor commanded exasperatedly. “Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Because they wouldn’t believe I didn’t help you out otherwise,” Aether scoffed. “So just knock yourself so I can tie you up.”

Dainsleif rolled up his sleeve.

“Do what needs to be done.”

Aether administered the drug.

—-----------

Dainsleif slowly opened his eyes, his head throbbing just as Aether warned him. The room spun slightly as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but he could make out the distinct Inazuman patterns that covered the walls. The intricate designs were a mix of cloud shapes and leaf motifs, all in shades of blue and white.

This must be the basement of Uyuu restaurant. Dain didn’t expect he’ll be able to (Y/n) here– and if this was one of their base locations, that must mean Ayato is on their side. That’s another surprise he didn’t see coming. These all must’ve been Archon Kusanali’s idea– or maybe it was that government official, Al Haitham?

Whatever, it didn't matter. At least Dain was expecting to be tied down and he was right, he reminded himself. Dainsleif took a deep breath and calmed himself. The ropes dug painfully into his wrists as he struggled against them, squirming to find weak knots that bound him to the chair. No luck. 

“Evening, Twilight Sword… Do you come here often?”

Dainsleif stopped struggling.

He looked up, dazed.

Perhaps “enchanted” might be the right term.

Although Dainsleif could barely discern their face from this lighting, he can just about make it out from the shape of their silhouette. 

“To this day, you’ve faithfully done your duty as a loving husband– how can a person ever find a man better than you?” The shadow smiled cheaply. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

The shadow tilted their head up, and a red glint refracted from a familiar pair of tinted glasses. They pulled out a chair and sat in front of him, chuckling angrily as they did so.

“I’d rather not. I’d rather ask how much can I pay you to die.”

Dainsleif coughed.

“... (Y/n)? My beloved, is that you?”

The abyss smiled back.

“I importune you to perish, and you call me 'beloved'?” They laughed sardonically. “Isn’t taking bounties your entire shtick? Why ignore me? Don’t tell me you had a sudden aversion for death.”

They rolled their eyes.

“You’ve encased me in your penthouse, locked me up, stolen my brushes and pens away– and lied to the rest of the world that I had cancer like my relatives when I didn’t and still don’t. So don’t call me beloved. You don’t have the right.”

Their voice was buttery smooth as if seducing him– yet it would be foolish of him not to notice the sharpness of their words– the bitterness it latched onto. It sounded like the truth, but Dainsleif believes they were nothing but lies. 

Dainsleif cringed. 

“But you do have canc–”

“Fucking bullshit!” The person slammed the table, but years of experience didn’t make the retired hitman flinch. “I was NEVER sick!!! You desperately wanted me to be– because– because YOU didn’t want ME to LEAVE!”

“You always talk about how I’m fucking corrupted– how I can’t be cured– how I’m terminally ill when you’re the one slipping poison in my coffee every fucking day!” They ranted. “You didn’t want me to live, Dainsleif. You wanted me to be sad and– and miserable like you are."

He heard nothing. 

That’s not true. None of their words add up.

They loved him– (Y/n) loved him.

Didn’t they?

… Then again, didn't Dainsleif have awful memory?

“Every night, I prayed you’d be dead,” the shadow said, calmly. “And every morning I woke up, I was disappointed. It doesn’t help how your expressionless face is always the first to greet me.”

Dainsleif knew (Y/n) liked challenges– there's no way they want him dead. That's what the promise was for, right? The reason why they made him swear to never kill again once they're married was to make life a bit more exciting. That's what it was, right? 

They're not trying to get rid of him from the very beginning, right…?

They clapped.

Dainsleif instinctively closed his eyes as the rest of the lights fiercely illuminated the entire room. Slowly, his burned eyes fluttered open, and his heart beat again after seeing the shadow’s face. 

It was (Y/n)'s.

It was his beloved’s.

The same face who wrote the letter Thoma read earlier– the same bastard who schemed to prove the Kamisatos are "not involved" with the anti-mafia stunts they've pulled but not their supposed “spouse”.

"I know what you're thinking, and I know I can't kill you," they scoffed. "So I had to resort to some underhanded tactics. Getting you excommunicated was the best one. If I can't do the job, I'll give others a damn good reason to do it for me instead."

Dainsleif chuckled softly.

Adorable. What a kind gesture.

"You underestimate yourself. You can kill me if you just try."

They snorted.

"Best joke I've ever heard from you, Dain. Dry humor suits you."

"I wasn't joking."

"I know you weren’t," (Y/n) clicked their tongue. “I know one of the reasons you kidnapped me was to make me competent enough to maybe kill you someday. Hah. At least I can say that I tried.”

They scowled. Patronizingly, they tore their gaze away from him and instead looked at what was inside the room. Dainsleif was not the same. He couldn’t tear his gaze away to notice how he was trapped inside the Uyuu restaurant’s weapon room.

For the first time in years, Dainsleif smiled like a child.

Dogs like Thoma would never be able to understand what it’s like to have such a strong connection with someone that isn’t your master.

He could no longer care if they (Y/n) was the one that shoots him right there.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if (Y/n) died too.

Haha… Hahahaha….

They had always been dead to him for years now.

Dainsleif finally remembers everything clearly.

(Y/n) had never been "dead", he was just angry that they escaped successfully.

Angry to the point they were actually dead in his eyes.

“I don’t know why the Professor brought you here all tied up– but I’m growing impatient at just the sight of you.”

So is he.

Dainsleif chuckled. One other thing he expected was that Aether will send him here with the intent of killing him. Shame, however, that Dainsleif saw that coming from miles away.

(Y/n) stepped closer and Dainsleif frantically pulled at the ropes, feeling them loosen. Dain had to keep going. He needed to break free. 

“Farewell.”

As (Y/n) reached out to grab their gun off the table, Dainsleif surged forward, throwing his weight against the ropes and snapping them. He stumbled to his feet, the chair clattering to the ground as he grabbed at the gun faster than they could. The patrons of Uyuu restaurant are completely unaware of the drama that had taken place below their feet, chatting and dining as usual.

“Tch!”

With years of experience behind his back, Dainsleif knocked the gun out of (Y/n)’s hand, sending it skittering across the floor. (Y/n) lunged for it, but he tackled them, driving them both to the ground. 

(Y/n)’s eye twitched and they can tell Dainsleif was equally pissed. But even when he had them pinned on the floor, Dainsleif remained careful on how he should hold them down. That unspoken act of “love” makes them want to vomit, but there was no time for that.

Even so, something about his stare seemed off.

It's as if he wanted to drag them down.

It's as if he wants them to be as dead as him.

(Y/n) jolted upon seeing his eyes.

In an unexpected string of luck, (Y/n) kicked him off and wrenched the gun away from Dainsleif.

They pointed it at him.

Dainsleif did not take a step back or forward.

As (Y/n) preps the gun, like souls intertwined by fate and time, they both had one thought in mind:

“If you truly loved me, you should be dead.”

(Y/n) fired.

BANG!!!

…

…

…

They shot him.

They shot Dainsleif. 

And they know they shot him because they felt his blood pressed against their body.

But they blinked.

Lord– all (Y/n) did was blink.

"Y-You finally know how to fire a gun."

Dainsleif has nothing to be proud of in his own life, but he can still be proud of them. 

There's no way for (Y/n) to miss the wetness of his gunshot wound. Not when he's holding them into a tight hug. Despite bleeding out, his firm hand cradled the nape of their neck, humming contently. Dainsleif thought to himself that a shot from (Y/n) did not feel painful in the slightest. It almost seemed like an injection. 

No… Something isn't right, why is he so close…?

Their stomach burned.

And they can almost hear his smile. 

"Thank you, my beloved. I was tired of taking my own life…"

If he can't have them alive, well…

Dainsleif pulled out the dagger behind their back.

No one should be able to have (Y/n)'s corpse too.

Dain kissed them.

He traced his wet thumb against their cheek, painting their face red with his fingerprints.

Dainsleif grinned.

"I love you."

They choked out blood out of pure disgust. Their strength was ebbing away.

Haha… It’s almost like… They actually have stomach cancer…

Their vision began to swim and they felt their consciousness slipping. (Y/n) saw blood seeping through their clothes, staining them dark red. Tears streamed down their face as they realized what had happened. Dainsleif stabbed them. They tried to cry out loud, but their voice was weak and hoarse.

The blood on their clothes… It almost reminded them of their seventh date. The wine, his dazed look…

(Y/n) would laugh humorlessly if they could.

In their last moments, (Y/n) learned that it took strength to cry… to scream out the pain buried within their stomach. But they had no strength left and they dropped their gun. 

Their only option was to wither away.

Dainsleif kissed their neck sloppily– (Y/n) couldn't tell if it was saliva or blood. The taste and scent of blood filled his senses. Surely from both of them. Maybe this is what Dainsleif meant when he spread rumors about his spouse constantly going through hemoptysis. Bleeding from the mouth does count as a sign of a terminal illness, doesn't it?

His thoughts are curt. His breathing is short. Yet, his unhinged eyes were near immortal.

Dainsleif no longer cared about his own life– not when the person he lives for wanted him dead.

The weight of their "atonement" falls on (Y/n)'s shoulders as Dainsleif weakly knelt along with them. As their vision dies out, he tightens his hug, hungrily leaning into their dwindling body heat.

Dainsleif was right.

They do look beautiful soaked in the blood of their enemy.

"I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you."

Even in death, he will not leave them be. 

They sobbed.

No…

But they were so close…

In their final moments, (Y/n) could only look up at the ceiling and cry.

They clutched their feeble freedom and life, staring into the abyss as though it can provide them solace to answer the question:

"E-Eli… eli, lama sabachthani?"

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Artificiality.

Pairing: Yandere!Dainsleif x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 2.0k.

TW: Sex Doll AU,  GN!Reader, Implied Sex, Implied Kidnapping, Unhealthy Relationships, and Mentions of Blood/Injury.

[Part Two]

Dainsleif, your good friend, didn’t like crowds.

He wouldn’t admit him, but it was obvious. You were good at reading him, and even if you hadn’t been, he couldn't really hide it - always edging just a little closer to you than he normally would, or running his hand through his hair as his eyes shifted from your back to the sidewalk to the masses of strangers you were shouldering past, or making a quick grab for your hand before remembering how cool and distant he liked to be and pulling away. It was worse than it usually was today, maybe due to the summer heat or the time of day or the fact that you'd managed to drag him out to the shopping district of all places, somewhere he tended to avoid like one of the mall cops had a warrant out for his arrest. Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think that, if it wasn’t for you, he’d never leave his apartment, shun all human and artificial company alike. It was a terrible way to picture one of your closest friends, but still – you wouldn’t say it if part of you didn’t believe it was true.

“Hey,” You called, over your shoulder. He was behind you, his shoulders pushed forward and his head bowed, slightly. He was scowling, but you couldn’t blame that entirely on the crowds. “Doing alright back there, Dain?”

He hesitated, made a throaty sound that might’ve been a scoff, or a sigh, or something else entirely. “I’m fine.”

A lie. A blatant one, at that.

But, that was why he had you, right?

You laughed as you grabbed his hand, guiding him off of the crowded walkway and onto the covered patio of a nearby café, dotted with a few tables and a handful of seated customers but otherwise empty. When he didn’t immediately unwind, you did what you could to set an example – leaning against a white-washed brick wall, tilting your head back, and watching as Dainsleif crossed his arms, shifted his weight, did all the things he usually did when you’d taken him somewhere he didn’t want to be. When he glanced in your direction, you could only shrug, smiling apologetically. “I didn’t think it’d be so busy,” You admitted, nodding towards the rows of packed storefronts in front of you. “Sorry, I should’ve thought about that before I asked you to come. I promise, I just need to do one more thing, then we can leave.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Stubborn as always, even as he fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket. Maybe that was why he always seemed so uncomfortable, so eager to leave wherever you’d taken him. If you dressed like he did – all long-sleeves, all full-length jeans, all heavy coats and high collars and thick, dark material – you probably wouldn’t want to stand around in the heat for very long, either. “If any of this bothered me, I wouldn’t have come. Besides,” He paused, gesturing vaguely towards the dozen or so plastic, branded shopping bags hanging from your wrist. “Someone has to make sure you don’t spend your life’s savings on… Why are we here, again?”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t answer immediately. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the door to the café opening, a waiter… or, rather, an android being used as a waiter soon stepping out, notepad already in-hand. A Venti, judging by the twin braids, the easy smile he put on as he started towards you, probably mistaking you and Dainsleif for waiting customers. You waved him off quickly, of course, chuckling to yourself as he spun on his heels to tend to another set of patrons. “I’ve told you, Teyvat has a new—”

“Don’t tell me that you’d be interested with someone like him.”

His tone caught you off-guard. Clipped, irritated, laced with a kind of annoyance you couldn’t remember ever hearing from him. You weren’t hurt, but the shock thew you off for a second, your confusion audible in your voice as you tried to respond. “Do you mean that Venti specifically, or…?”

“I—” He pursed his lips, turning away from you sharply. “I mean, don’t tell me you’d be interested in something like that.”

“Oh, a companion droid?” That made more sense. He’d never liked androids, something you could only chalk up to the fact that Dainsleif didn’t like a lot of things – save for you, of course. “You know I’ll never be able to afford one, which is exactly why you're taking me to drool over the new droid Teyvat's releasing today. I've heard it's a Harbinger - one that'll only cost three years worth of rent, for a change.” You straightened your back, perked up, waving for him to follow you as you started back onto the walkway. “Speaking of, c'mon. We should get going before this set sells out.”

There was another scoff, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, a new levity to his voice. You couldn’t help but relax a little, at that. Honestly, you were just hoping he'd have a good time. “Fine,” He said, already falling into line behind you. “If that’s what you want.”

"I couldn't think of anything I'd love more, Dain."

~

Dainsleif, your boyfriend, was touchier than he’d like to admit.

His hands latched onto your waist, your knees planted on either side of him, his face buried in the side of your neck, where he could lap at your skin and moan into the crook of your shoulder as you ground against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. There was a movie playing in the background, one of the B-rated high-fantasy flicks he liked, but you’d lost track of the plot twenty minutes after he’d put it on, and any scraps of dialogue you’d be able to make out were lost under the sound of his hitched breathing, the occasional grunt that’d slip out whenever you rolled your hips in a way he seemed to enjoy.

He pressed a wet, hot kiss into the side of your neck, and you whimpered, bringing your hands up to the hem of his shirt, your fingertips just barely brushing against his toned stomach before he caught your wrists and hauled your own shirt over your head, nearly tearing the fabric in the process. You only laughed, the pitchy sound cut short as he wrapped an arm around your waist and threw you onto his couch – positioned so that he was above you, his chest pressed into yours and your legs wrapped around his waist. His mouth was on your neck in an instant, then your collarbone, then your chest, his teeth grazing over your skin with just a little too much pressure and a little too much precision to be purely accidental. You arched into him, your fingers soon tangled in his hair, and he let out a rough groan, nearly too low for you to hear. “Mast—”

He cut himself off, straightening his back, going rigid on top of you. It took everything you had not to laugh. You knew you shouldn’t tease him, not right now, not like this, but still, the temptation was there. “What was that, Dain?”

He hesitated for a long, quiet second, then closed his eyes, melted into you despite the tension still knotted in his posture. “Master…” He trailed off, his voice soft, muted. “Is it… Is it alright if I call you that?”

“Of course.” You did your best to comb through his hair, to as comforting as you could be, given the situation. It took him a moment, but he leaned into your palm, sighing heavily as he started to relax. “It just surprised me a little, ‘s all. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”

You watched as he swallowed, as he lowered himself back down to your chest. “And, I can touch you?”

A little, soft sound of agreement, a gentle nudge lower. “Anywhere you want to.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, didn’t move at all.

Then, he broke out into a small smile, and his eyes fell away from you, his expression softening into something nearly sweet. “I love you.”

You only grinned, sitting just far up enough to kiss the top of his head. “I love you too, Dain.”

~

Dainsleif, your Dainsleif, was standing in the doorway of your bedroom, covered in blood.

That was the first thing you noticed after you bolted awake, panting and still trying to understand what you were looking at, from his torn clothes to the open gash stretched across his chest to the splotches of something dark and wet and drippinglittered across his chest, his hands, his legs. He didn’t have a key, he’d never asked for one, but you hadn’t heard him knock, nor had he turned on any of the lights, done anything aside from stand there and stare at you, not blinking or moving or breathing, from what little you could see. You sat up, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t move to approach you. You didn’t know whether to be scared, or thankful you had a few more seconds to catch your breath.

A few seconds you wasted, of course. He was bleeding, and you needed to know why. “Dain? Are you—”

“They’re bastards.” You almost asked who he was talking about, what he was talking about, but you didn’t have the chance. He was already going on, already rambling, already approaching you with the kind of quick, stilted steps that’d fit something else, something more mechanical than you or him. “All of them – bastards. The Archons were—They aren’t even cheap replacements, they’re killers, and Teyvat, the other androids, all of them, they’re all murderers—"

“Dainsleif.” You started to get up, pushing your sheets aside and moving to stand, but he was already at your side, already trying to take your hands in his. You pulled back, and he let out a frustrated grunt – something you tried to ignore as you continued. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and—Did someone hurt you? What happened?”

“They want me dead.” He was smiling, now, grinning wildly. He made another grab for your hands, and when you drew away, he took you by the shoulders, instead, his grip almost tight enough to bruise. “They want all of us dead, Master – everyone from my collection. But, I won’t let them. They can’t kill all of us. They can’t rip off my skin and ruin my mind and send me out as some— some object.” He paused, laughed, dragging you into a sudden, clumsy kiss. You shoved at his chest, bit at his lips, but he didn’t so much as flinch, only pulling away after he’d gotten his fill. “I’ll have to move again. But, you’ll come with me, won’t you? You love me, don't you, Master?"

You opened your mouth, but couldn’t speak. Your eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and before you could stop yourself, your attention fell from his face to his chest, to the tear in his shirt that slit the fabric apart from his neckline to his midriff. You were right about the cut. It was a wound, messy and deep, but it wasn’t bleeding, and the skin around it didn’t look right, too clean, too neat. There wasn’t any muscle, or tissue – just blackness, empty void interrupted by…

By something silver?

Your eyes shot back to his, and for the first time, you noticed how glassy they were, how his skin was just a little too perfect, a little too smooth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. If you were being honest, you didn’t want him to.

It’d save you the pain of having to wonder why you’d never noticed how unnatural his voice sounded, before.

[slickfordain]

Valentine’s Day🍓🎀

Gojoxreader, Dainsleifxreader

I did say in my rules I was uncomfortable sharing my F/O which Dainsleif is part of it, but it’s for myself and my bestie and it’s Valentine’s Day… So after this, I won’t write Dainsleif for anyone but myself.🎀

♡ Gojo would in no doubt be the goofiest motherfucker you’ve ever been on a date with, but you love it so much💕

♡ Silliest bitch, he would love to put stickers on your face when it’s Valentine’s Day. Usually goes by putting random heart stickers, and maybe some glitter to make your face glow up.

♡ Man doesn’t even care nor does he show shame, he will use Nanami as a wallet, to afford the richest restaurant in the world. (He’s literally rich but man’s doesn’t wanna waste it for some reason)

♡ He’s trying his best,, ૮꒰◞ ⸝⸝ ◟꒱ა Because he’s scared he won’t be able to see you tomorrow evening when his work starts again, and having to go on missions.

♡ When treating you to the restaurant, you either rant about your family— or you rant about how you just feel like you’re a burden to all your friends, and Gojo would listen because… Well, he does somewhat relate to you. After all, losing friends and having issues with family was something he saw in himself.

♡ Later on would just take you back home after giving you a small cute date outside<3 because you don’t like being outside too much so Gojo takes you back home

♡ Either makes you laugh your ass off, or tease you to no ends when he wears your skirt. (It’s hurting his waist BUT HE WANTS YOUR CUTE LAUGH AND SMILE:(((( give him it) Your skirts may be tiny!! But HE WILL MAKE YOU LAUGH T’ILL YOUR RIBS HURT!!

♡ Takes the ugliest picture of you later and you whine and complain, only for him to keep it because now it’s his favorite. Silly you, Gojo doesn’t SEE the ugly in you, there’s only ✨beauty✨

♡ When cuddling, I can honestly see Gojo accidentally pushing you off 😭 like, off the bed. When he does, man’s will PANIC and apologize when you puff your cheeks and give him the silent treatment— please talk to him he doesn’t wanna live without you-

♡ Beware, he’s like a cat, so if you keep continuing your silent treatment he WILL lick your damn cheek or kiss your neck so sweetly. Mans wants your attention, GIVE HIM ATTENTION!! … Please??? ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

♡ Man’s is loyal AF, he texts you each 10 seconds when it’s Valentine’s Day…. Or 1 second. Doesn’t matter, it’s Valentine’s Day and Dainsleif knows how much it means to you.

♡ Kisses you so sweetly and lovingly, man takes his time and does whatever is comfortable with you. You wanna go out to see the damn fishies in the fucking aquarium? Dainsleif rn: 💳💳💳💳💳💥💥💥💥💥

♡ You two would gaze at Jellyfishes together<3 because it’s peaceful and calm in the aquarium, which fits perfectly for you both since you two are introverts, and quiet. You two don’t really have to talk much, and only text each other because it’s comfortable that way than using your mouth.

♡ If Dainsleif sees a cute fishy-styled outfit that fits your aesthetic, mans buys it because hhhhhhhhhhh ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH😞😞😞 You’re so cute when you get excited and all that shit.

♡ If you get anxiety and anxious because there’s too many people who later on goes to the question, Dainsleif takes you home immediately— because why would he let you suffer in the crowd? Mans is suffering with you man, you anxious = he is anxious too.

♡ I don’t know why but, the thoughts of you painting Dainsleif’s nails dark blue while he paints yours your favorite color— to match and then listen to slowed songs💕 It’s just a comforting night with just you two

♡ It’s raining, storming maybe, you both are cozy in bed together with blankets and pillows— this is the fucking life. You are living to the fullest with yourself, and you love it because Dainsleif will decorate with you too. He’s so loyal…. He just wants you happy.

♡ You two ended up doing coquette aesthetic decorating in your house, matching it with Dainsleif’s blue-ish aesthetics, baby blue in fact.<3

♡ Eating strawberries together and then watch Ghibli movies the whole day!! Maybe even you spamming him reels of cute cat videos where it’s either about the partner love situation, or just “me n u”. He loves it all. Because it shows you love him.

[wri0thesley]

loving you keeps me alive - reader x ghost!dainsleif, 4.4k

your little house in monstadt is cheap, and though there are rumours about why . . . you ignore them, much as you ignore the whispers that something is not quite right. instead, you think about the night-time; and the handsome blond man who comes to you in dreams.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. dubious consent. yandere behaviour, somnophilia, stalking, self-hate (dainsleif towards himself), haunting, non-consensual touching. cunnilingus, piv sex. manipulation, deaths mentioned in passing. jealousy. reader is afab, but no pronouns or gendered terms are used.

[a/n: my kinktober masterlist can be found here. dain my soggy soggy beloved]

Dainsleif doesn’t think he really remembered what living felt like, until you moved in. 

Not that you can call this strange in-between existence ‘living’ - his time as a true mortal has long since passed. But as Celestia has cursed him to not move on . . . he has spent his years and centuries since then haunting these same four walls, unable to pass the doorway without finding himself bent over in pain. He has grown to know every plank of wood that makes up the little home in Monstadt - every creaking floorboard, the step on the stairs the landlord has replaced no less than three times because tenants kept simply putting their foot through.

Oh, others have tried to make this their home.

But Dainsleif values his privacy, and uses what little power he still has left to ensure that they do not stay for long.

The rumours of mysterious circumstances are not entirely baseless. Dainsleif spends his evenings whispering things into sleeping ears; pouring poison, until the former occupant of the home grows too tormented to do anything but investigate what Dainsleif is whispering about.

And so, the rumours have spiralled - the disappearances, the stained floors in ritual circles, the notes mentioning abyssal ruins and the Khaenri’an letters daubed onto the walls in blood--

Consequently, when you had come to view the property, the landlord had been terribly keen on pushing that the rent was - especially for this part of Monstadt - an absolute steal. Dainsleif had, at first, resigned himself to spending yet more of his evenings terrorising and convincing you to leave (why does nobody understand that this house ought to be left alone? Why does nobody understand that this is Dainsleif’s eternal punishment, and it is far better for everyone if he is allowed to wallow in it, entirely solitarily?) . . . when you had stuck your head into the bedroom, the room that Dainsleif spends most of his time in, and he had found himself utterly lost for words. 

Your pretty face scrunches; a shiver grips you, making your shoulders draw in sweetly. 

“It’s so cold,” you say, to the landlord - who forces a smile for you, and says;

“Well, it has been a few months since anybody has been in it other than to air it out . . . but a few rugs laid down and I’m sure it will be as warm and cosy as any home in Teyvat!”

You had not looked entirely convinced by his words, but you had let your gaze take in everything once again - and Dainsleif swears that your eyes lingered, just for a moment, on him. 

“I’m afraid you might not find anything else in your budget this central to the city,” the landlord had said, and you had pursed your lips and thought about it - and, for the first time, Dainsleif had found himself hoping that you would indeed decide to make his home your own too. 

You are not foolish. 

You tell the landlord you will come back to him with your decision tomorrow, and return back to the home of the friend you are staying with - a fellow co-worker, at one of the little taverns in Monstadt that certainly does not pay as well as it should. You have heard tell that the owner of the Angel’s Share pays lodgings for his staff himself; lets them stay in the cottages bordering his own property if they wish (and lets them ride into the city proper), or simply rents apartments for them and takes care of most of the bills himself. 

Not all tavern workers can be as lucky as the staff of that establishment. 

Your co-worker is horrified when she hears that you have gone to visit that house; big eyes and scandalised tone as she whispers that everyone knows anyone who dares live there is fated to become obsessed with things far beyond their understanding and meet a grisly end. 

But your family live too far out to travel into Monstadt every day, and you are a grown-up now, who wishes to pave their own way in the world - your job is a stepping stone, and you are unwilling to burden your co-worker any further, or continue to go into the tavern with a sore back from sleeping on her floorboards. 

“You simply can’t!” Your co-worker says, begging - hands clinging to yours. “You aren’t from the city proper, you don’t know what has happened to anyone who has even tried to live there!”

“It was perfectly fine,” you insist in return, smiling. “A little cold, perhaps! But it will pass! There was no evil presence, no sudden need to discover what happened to Khaenri’ah--”

You pause. You do not know much about Khaenri’ah. But there is, suddenly, an inextricable desire to go to the library and discover more about it, just to see what it is that so entranced all of those other former residents. You push it down; there is no need to lend credence to what she is insisting. 

“Everything will work out,” you tell her. “There is no evil in that house. It’s just lonely, and I need a home!”

You are right, in a way.

Dainsleif is lonely. 

And - for once - he is more than happy to share his home with you. 

As it turns out, there are indeed, several problems with the new house. 

The first is the breeze; a cool draft of gentle wind that seems to follow you through the rooms and corridors, no matter where you go. It does not matter how firmly you shut the windows, or festoon them with velvety curtains of thick fabric you bought for a steal from the tailor because they were the end of the bolt remnants, the breeze is a constant. In Monstadt, you suppose that’s something almost to celebrate - proof the Anemo Archon is there, looking out for you - but you cannot help but be frustrated as the candle is blown out by nothing for the third time today and you drape yourself in your warmest shawls no matter the time of day. 

(The breezes are Dainsleif, who cannot help but shadow you about the house; cannot help but stare at the way the light hits the lovely angles of your face, cannot help but wish to be with you no matter where you are. A swirling cloak past a candle puts it out; curtains flutter as he sighs and stands behind you and simply looks at you - as he longs to touch and caress and speak to you). 

The second is, you’re sure, your mind playing tricks on you - thinking that the evil presence you so insisted did not exist is actually there. It’s a flash of blond hair in the mirror behind you; of one piercing blue eyes. It makes you start every time; hairbrush clattering to the ground, a perfume bottle being knocked off your dressing table in haste. Fear, when you catch it as you’re undressing for the evening and you let your garments fall to the ground and stand in just your underclothes. You should be comfortable showing your own skin in your own house, but . . . how hard it is, to ignore that constant feeling of being watched. 

(Dainsleif is always half-surprised and half-delighted when you give a hint you can see him - when you whirl around with your pretty eyes all wide with fear. Oh, there’s something so intimate about him being allowed to watch you in these vulnerable moments - to see all of that lovely skin, unmarked and untouched. To know that you are more sensitive to him than any occupants have ever been before! Dainsleif wonders if this is not living proof that you were made for him). 

The third is your absolute inability to bring anyone home.

You try, once - a handsome man spends his evening by the bar, chatting with you whenever he can, eager and smiling and sweet. He orders non-alcoholic specialties from the menu so that he does not lose his head; and when your shift is over, he flirts and asks if perhaps you and he could meet up together one day. You give him your address and invite him over for dinner the following night--

But the dinner is plagued by problems.

A lingering freezing cold draft down his back, tripping over nothing, his glass flying from his hand and shattering into pieces against the wall. As he leaves, desperately pulling his coat on, he tells you that he had always heard that this house was cursed, but this is living proof of it all.

(Dainsleif wishes he could comfort you, as he watches you fold in on yourself after the man has gone. He does not feel sorry for what he has done - your possible paramour has been scared away, and that is what is important - but he does feel an inkling of regret for causing you pain. Still. Perhaps now you will know that you need nobody else; Dainsleif and you, together in this little house, is family and love and enough). 

There is one thing, though, that is most assuredly not a problem. 

For, since you have moved into one of the most notorious houses in Monstadt, you have found that there has been a most fascinating change in the nature of your dreams. 

Dainsleif does not mean to do it; the first time, he intends only to sit by your side. He intends to only watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest, admire the loveliness of your face in repose; but you are so, so beautiful. In your slumber, you are so peaceful and so lovely - he cannot resist leaning in, to study your features more closely without you shivering and pulling your shawls closer around you. 

Your lips look so soft.

How long has it been since he felt the touch of another’s lips? In Khaenri’ah he was always too busy for such things; the life of the head of the Royal Guard was fraught with dangers, full of fears. He dare not get close to somebody lest they be dragged into those same things.

Here, there is nothing before him but eternity - so why should he not take a kiss from you, whilst you sleep?

He leans in. You breathe softly, lashes fluttering. Dainsleif presses his mouth to yours and revels in it. He steals the kiss from your beautiful mouth, lets himself get lost in the taste of your toothpaste that lingers on your lips. Lets his teeth graze against your bottom lip and tug upon it, for whilst you are sleeping, how can you argue?

Your eyes flicker open. They meet Dainsleif’s blue gaze - and, without a second thought, he presses a hand to your temple.

It is the hand that is ruined by abyssal rot; the one that serves a constant reminder of how he is something that does not deserve to exist. The rot has one, and only one, upside - it gives Dainsleif some little power of his own. 

The fear that has blown your pupils wide seems to subside a little. Your gaze goes half-lidded, as Dainsleif pulls back and wets his own lips to murmur quietly;

“You are dreaming.”

“Dreaming,” you murmur to him in response, and you give him a smile that - were his heart still beating - he is certain would have made it cease to do so. “You’re beautiful.”

He may have been, once - but hearing it from your mouth, as you look up at him . . . Dainsleif smiles down at you.

“Not half so as you,” he tells you, and you laugh sleepily. He leans back in. Adoringly runs a thumb over the apple of your cheek, as you rest against his palm through the gloves.

“You’re cold,” you accuse him - and then, your lashes lay against your cheeks again, and Dainsleif feels - for the first time in forever - that perhaps there is something inside of him that is still human. 

It is not enough.

A few nights later, he repeats the motions - only this time, he murmurs against your ear at the beginning that you are dreaming, and so when you awake to find the covers have been pulled down and those gloved fingers are slowly exploring your body, cupping your curves and delighting in the softness of your skin, you do not panic. 

Dainsleif says your name, and you sigh; arch your back into his touch. 

By degrees, he lets himself get carried away more and more - finds himself going further and further into the rot that has begun to infest his mind as well as his body.

Common decency tells him, as he slips your nightgown off a willing body, that he is disgusting.

As his gloved thumbs gently swipe over your nipples until they harden and you sigh out a noise that goes straight to between his thighs, he decides that it does not matter. He would be a monster a hundred times over for the sight of your face as he touches you; the vision of your eyes clouded by the whispers he has put there that you are only dreaming as you let yourself be taken and touched and adored by the man who visits you in your sleep.

“You’re lovely,” Dainsleif says, his voice dry, and you laugh a pretty sleep-laced laugh. 

Days later, his fingers slip between your legs for the first time and he finds you slick and wet and hot. He cannot stop the surprise that flashes over his face, but you simply smile lazily at him.

“Finally,” you say, all indolent and lazily pleased. “Touch me more, please.” 

(For you, all these occurrences are merely a dream; you wake up, the morning after, and you think of the beautiful blond man and how adoringly he touched you. You think of him when you get dressed, a faint smile on your face, and you do not notice the cool whisper of the wind or the eyes of a spirit lingering on you. The man in your dreams has come to be a friend more than anything else - and as the house will not allow you to bring home acquaintances without rattling and freezing, he is a most welcome one). 

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely?” Dainsleif asks, through a thick dryness in his throat - and you urge your thighs apart for him, even as you’re already slipping back into that strange in-between land of not-quite-awake and not-quite-asleep. 

Fingers gently swipe through the slick folds; gathering your wetness upon his fingertips, drinking hungrily in the way your hips twitch and your face moves and you let out soft sighs that make Dainsleif ache for the want of you. They brush over your clit and win a jerk that fascinates him; he repeats the motion, the thin leather of his gloves slipping and sliding on the wetness of your sex, and your pretty mouth purses into the shape of a budding flower. 

Two fingers slide inside of you slowly; scissoring softly, stretching you open. Dainsleif imagines that those fingers are, instead, his cock - imagines how the heat that he can feel soaking through the leather would feel if it were to be wrapped around him so tight and silky. 

This is what divinity feels like, he thinks; despite how he has been cursed to never achieve such celestial leanings himself, he can have a little taste of it simply by virtue of being able to touch you. 

A few nights later, he kisses up the curve of your calves.

He scrapes his teeth across the softness of your thighs and breathes in the scent of you, heady and thick and rich and wanting. He kisses your mound - and as he feels your fingers tangle in the golden locks of his hair, he once more cannot bring himself to care about what a monstrous thing he is doing.

For your taste on his tongue is syrup-sticky and honey-sweet, as he drags the organ over your folds and drinks you in like the finest of ambrosia. As your thighs twitch and squeeze around his head, so soft and so warm that Dainsleif wishes he could stay between them for an eternity. 

Dainsleif’s lips fasten about your clit; sucking, twirling with his tongue, urging you into more and more pleasure with the needy rhythm of his own mouth until he can feel how close you are in the way you tremble and the soft noises that are falling from your lips, begging whimpers that make him unknowingly grind the stiffness in his underwear against your sheets.

He pulls back before you can come - lifts his head, your hand still raking through his hair, and meets your needy blown-wide eyes.

“I love you,” he says to you, all ragged and desperate. It doesn’t matter to him that all he has for the proof of this are the nights he has spent touching you without you even knowing - all that matters is that you are there, you are his, you mean far more to him than any other mortal has ever done . . . you make him feel, if only for a few moments a night, as though he is something more than a ghost. “Tell me you love me too.”

You think you are dreaming. 

Your body is heated and needy, your every sense inflamed and desperate, slick beads of your own desire rolling down your thighs to stain and soak the bed beneath you - but it is just a wet dream, is it not? Just a fantasy fuelled by the loneliness of your life.

Just a dream.

In your dreams, it seems perfectly natural to smile at the blond man who keeps making his appearances within them; who keeps touching you with such reverence. You have been treated with such porcelain carefulness by him, as if anything bad happening to you would be a tragedy that he could not bear - and so, too, it seems perfectly natural to murmur;

“I love you,” - even if it is only because you are close, hovering on the precipice of your orgasm, and you so desperately want to come. 

And so, Dainsleif provides. 

He keeps his head on the pillow of your thighs well after you have fallen back fully into your real dreams, letting the taste of your most intimate parts linger on his lips, and wondering if this is enough. Could he satisfy himself with just touching, just kissing, just mouthing against you and bringing you pleasure after pleasure?

. . . He does not think he could.

He thinks ruefully of the abyssal rot that flows through his veins like sickly ichor; of how once he was noble and brave and righteous, dedicated to defending those who he had sworn to protect. The Twilight Sword was a virtuous protector of Khaenri’ah.

How far he has fallen. 

The Twilight Sword of centuries ago would take him out into the city square and have him strung up for his crimes. The residents he drove mad before you made his home your own, the advantage he is more than aware he is taking, the misuse of what little powers he has.

And yet, you are worth it. Yet he longs for you even more.

Fear grips him sometimes, when he watches you leave for work, that you may not return. What would he do if you left the house and never came back for your things; if you decided that enough was enough, and left behind cold draughts and smashed crystal glass and seething jealousy and the blond man who visits you in your dreams? He needs to leave a lasting mark on you.

He needs to ensure that you know that you are his.

He needs to claim you fully and utterly and completely.

So a few nights later, he finds himself bared. He finds his cock pressing against your entrance; as slick and warm and welcoming as it has always been, as you continue to look up at him with nothing but affection.

“Dream Man,” you tell him, and you laugh like the tinkling of a bell. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dainsleif says, and he finds the courage within him to lean down and kiss you once more, until thoughts disappear from your head in favour of kissing him back. He ruts his cock through your folds; saturates it in a mixture of your own slick and his own silvery precome until it slips and slides, sensitive head brushing over your silky soft thighs. “All that matters is you.”

“You’ll make my head swell,” you murmur to him, but your arms come sleepily up to wrap about his neck. Your skin is heated against you, your skin so warm and so soft and so alive it makes Dainsleif ache down to his core. “Mm. Are you going to fuck me finally, Dream Man?”

Against his will, his cheeks heat; a flush creeps into them. In his day, such vulgar language would never have come from such a lovely mouth - nobody would dare be so open and forward with a man whose name they did not even know. It has been centuries, and you are certainly a more forward breed of person . . . but at his heart, Dainsleif was once a warrior of nobility, and he finds himself just a little scandalised.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, voice all throaty. You pout adorably at him - in your sleep, you are so much more open. In your dreams you are truly the purest, most free version of yourself. Dainsleif adores it just as much as he adores every other facet of you.

“Please,” you breathe - and Dainsleif lets the head of his cock catch on your entrance. His teeth grit as he splits you open - as he lets that same head slip inside of you, tight and hot and wet about him. He pauses, suddenly, and you whine--

But Dainsleif’s mouth opens, and despite how every molecule of him begs him to simply fuck you, he manages to shape words.

“Tell me you’ll never leave,” Dainsleif says, blue eyes - one shadowed and masked, one free and open - meeting yours. “Promise me.”

You are just dreaming - there will be no consequences, you think. What is a little white lie - even one that is a profession of love - for the sake of pleasure, when it is merely a dream? You sigh and smile and cant your hips up towards the handsome blond man who has haunted your dreams for months and you whisper;

“I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dainsleif pushes himself inside of you; bottoms out in one gorgeous, deep thrust, until he fits perfectly inside of you and the two of you are joined completely. Dainsleif feels your heart beating fast against his chest as he drags you hungrily into a kiss. 

As he begins to fuck you, slowly and deeply and earnestly, he lets himself imagine the tight confines of you moulding themselves to his shape until only he fits inside of you so perfectly and snugly. He thinks of how utterly he is claiming you; looks down at you in utter adoration, kisses you so deeply that it robs you of your breath. 

You whimper and sigh and moan, thighs locking about his hips. Dainsleif does not remember the last time he felt so close to anyone. 

You make him feel alive again.

“I love you,” he breaks the kiss to groan against your cheeks, your neck, the hollow of your throat just above your heart. “Never go. Never.”

You can think only of how good the stretch of his cock feels inside of you; how right. How handsome he looks in the moonglow.

Before this, you had never found yourself having any recurring dreams but nightmares. If you had beautiful dreams at night, they were always the outliers; one single dream to reflect and reminisce upon and wish you may one day be able to return to - but which you never did. 

This man, though - all blonde and handsome, regal of bearing cloaked in black and navy with so much pain in his beautiful eyes that it makes you ache - has been a constant starlit companion for what feels like months.

“I won’t,” you promise again. “I won’t, I won’t, I’m yours forever--”

And as Dainsleif lets himself spill inside of you as your own body trembles and shakes in the throes of your matching orgasm, he thinks how true your words sound as he claims you for himself.

(He wipes between your thighs carefully, when you have fallen asleep, so you do not awaken to find you leaking his come. But that is only for the wasteful trickle that has escaped; the rest, he thinks with a warm glow, have settled inextricably inside of you as true proof that you are his). 

 The day after your dreams reach that nadir of affection, you leave the house to go to your job, and find yourself accosted by the co-worker that originally offered you a floor to sleep on, when you needed it most.

“I need to move out,” she says, with no other preamble. “The rent in my place is going up, and I’ve found the most darling little two-bed house just outside the Monstadt gates - if we split the rent, you’ll be paying even less than you are right now and you can finally get out of that draughty old haunted house!”

You think of all of the problems with the house. You think of the breeze and the unhappiness it seems to have when anyone else crosses the threshold--

And then, you think of the blond man in your dreams.

His fingers brushing your thighs, his tongue between your folds, cool breath fanning across your skin as he stares at you with abject adoration written clearly in his eyes. You think of the whispers that he loves you - and you think, too, of the promises you have made him.

That you’re his. That you will never leave. That you, too, love him. 

They are just things you have said in your dreams; they would hardly stand up in any Fontaine court of justice. But you cannot shake the feeling that they mean more than that. You cannot shake the feeling that going against them would be a betrayal.

“No thank you,” you say, a smile on your own face, “ . . . it really does feel like home.”