[pearlscnt]

citrine, 22, writer, multifandom

A little info to you who’s reading this: this blog contains mature content amongst sfw ones, so by interacting and reading my explicit works you have admitted you’re of adult age. Make sure to have your age specified somewhere visible and a profile picture so you avoid getting blocked should anyone think you’re a bot!

Do not interact with me if you’re hateful, racist, any sort of —phobic and a zio.

link to my writing

[lexirosewrites]

what they don’t tell you about being a writer is that returning to a long fic you haven’t touched in a while means rereading 50k words first because you don’t actually remember your own fics that well

[fellshish]

feeling guilty over not working on your fic is so silly if you think about like why are you stressing over the hobby you do in your free time for fun lol wip not whip

[angelesca]

stoopid doodle doo based off this art i did ft. cas & hya ( ՞ਊ ՞)

flipped phai appreciation bc i almost risked it all

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Foreordained

Pairing: Daeron Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: Daeron avoids his wife after his dreams, until one vision changes everything.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut. Talks of death, alcoholism.

The scent of him always reached you first. It was the smell of the city that clung to his clothes: smoke and sour wine, the faint, cloying perfume of the Street of Silk, and beneath it all, the salt tang of Blackwater Bay. You had grown to know it as intimately as you knew the lines of his face, the particular cadence of his footsteps when he tried so very hard to be quiet. He never was. Daeron Targaryen, for all his dreams of dragons and death, could not move through the world without leaving a wake of chaos behind him.

Tonight, the chaos arrived well past the hour of the owl. You had not waited up for him; you had learned, in the three years of your marriage, that waiting was a fool’s errand. Waiting meant watching the candle dwindle to a puddle of wax, meant listening to the distant revelry of the Red Keep and wondering which pleasure house held your husband tonight, meant feeling the slow, cold creep of resentment curl up in your belly like a serpent. You were in your bed, the heavy drapes drawn against the chill, a book of Seven Kingdoms histories open and unread upon your lap. You were not waiting. You were simply…not sleeping.

You heard him before you saw him. A stumble in the outer chamber. A low, muffled curse in High Valyrian, the words slurred almost beyond recognition. The clatter of something, a pitcher, perhaps, or a cup, knocked from a table. Then the softer, placating murmur of the maids. You could picture it without rising: Daeron, bleary-eyed and swaying, his gold hair a tangled mess, his fine doublet stained with wine and Gods knew what else. He would be leaning heavily against the doorframe of his own dressing room, his beautiful, tragic face slack with drink, while two or three patient servants attempted to undress him, to wipe the grime from his skin, to make him something approaching presentable.

You did not go to him. You had done that, once. You had rushed to his side, your heart a frantic drum of worry and love, your hands reaching to steady him, to help. You had learned that he could not meet your eyes in those moments. That your presence, your kindness, only seemed to deepen the well of his shame, to make him curl in on himself like a salted snail. It was a strange, bitter mercy, you had decided, to let the maids do their work without the added weight of your disappointment in the room.

So you stayed. You turned a page in your book, though your eyes did not move across the words. You listened to the distant splash of water, the low, rhythmic sounds of a body being scrubbed and dried. The maids would be silent, efficient. They were paid well for their discretion.

The door to your bedchamber opened much later. The sound was soft, almost hesitant. The tallow candle on your bedside table guttered in the sudden draft, sending frantic shadows dancing across the stone walls. You did not look up from your book, though you still saw nothing of the text. You simply waited.

His silhouette filled the doorway. He was clad only in a loose linen sleeping shirt that fell to his knees, his feet bare. His hair was damp and pushed back from his forehead, revealing the sharp, sculpted beauty of his Valyrian features. The room was dim, but even so, you could see the deep, bruised hollows beneath his eyes. He looked like a ghost of himself, a pale, sorrowful wraith haunting the edge of your sanctuary.

He took a stumbling step into the room, then another. He did not speak. He never did, on nights like these. The man who could make you laugh until your sides ached with his dry, witty quips, who could debate the finer points of history and philosophy with a scholar’s passion, was now reduced to a creature of pure, desperate need. Words were beyond him. Apologies were a currency he had spent into worthlessness.

He reached the foot of the bed. His hands, long-fingered and elegant, the hands of a musician or a painter, came to rest on the carved oak footboard. They were trembling. They were always trembling. The maesters said it was the drink, a weakness of the nerves. You knew it was more than that. You knew it was the weight of the visions, the fire and blood and screaming he saw behind his eyelids every time he closed them. The drink, you had come to understand, was not the cause but the desperate, failing antidote.

His gaze, when it finally found yours, was an ocean of mute agony. There was no explanation, no excuse, no lie about an evening with the king or a late council meeting. There was only the raw, undeniable fact of him: your husband, returned from his self-destruction, standing at the foot of your marriage bed with nothing to offer you but his broken, wanting body.

You should have been angry. You were angry. It was a cold, hard stone lodged deep in your chest, a constant companion. You were angry at his weakness, at his selfishness, at the whispers that followed you through the halls of the Red Keep like a persistent wind. Poor lady, they’d murmur behind their hands. Married to the dreamer. The drunkard. The whoremonger. You were so very tired of being strong, of being the anchor, of being the one who was perpetately left behind.

You closed the book with a sharp snap. The sound made him flinch. Good, you thought, a petty, vicious thrill running through you. Let him flinch. And yet, you did not turn him away.

Because beneath the anger, beneath the hurt and the exhaustion, you understood the language he was speaking now. It was a crude, desperate, physical tongue, but it was the only one he had left at this hour. It was his way of trying, in the only way his shattered mind and body would allow, to bridge the chasm he had dug between you. It was not an apology, but it was a plea. A raw, humiliating, moaning plea for connection, for absolution, for proof that at the core of it all, there was still something left between you that was just yours.

He moved around the side of the bed, his steps silent now on the carpet. You remained motionless, your spine rigid, your face a mask of neutrality you had perfected over years of practice. He pulled back the heavy duvet, and a draft of cool air washed over your legs, making you shiver.

Then he was on you.

He didn’t crawl into the space beside you. He crawled over you, his lanky, trembling body a cage of heat and the lingering, faint scent of lavender soap. He settled his weight upon you, his hips finding the cradle of your thighs, and you felt the stark, urgent heat of him pressing against your belly through the thin linen of his shirt and your silk nightdress. He was already hard, already desperate. His face, so beautiful it sometimes made your heart ache to look at it, hovered just inches above your own. His eyes, a shade of violet so deep they were nearly black in the candlelight, were wide and wild, pupils blown.

He didn’t kiss you. He just stared, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pants that fanned across your lips and tasted of mint and the faint, underlying sourness of wine. One of his hands found your hip, his fingers curling into the silk of your nightdress. The other hand, his left, came up to your face. His thumb, still trembling, traced the line of your jaw, the curve of your lower lip. It was a touch of such devastating tenderness that it nearly broke your resolve. This was the Daeron you loved. The man who existed in the quiet moments, the one who was, when sober, or almost sober, so achingly gentle it made you weep.

But his sobriety was a ghost in this room.

You remained still and silent beneath him. You were not unwilling, but you were not welcoming, either. You were a fortress, and you made him storm the gates.

He seemed to understand. A choked, desperate sound escaped his throat, something between a sob and a groan. His hand left your face and fumbled between your bodies. You felt his knuckles graze the soft skin of your inner thigh as he rucked the hem of your nightdress up, bunching it around your waist. The air was cool on your exposed skin. He didn’t bother to undress you, nor himself. He simply shoved his own shirt up enough to free himself, the fabric riding high on his lean stomach.

His fingers found you, and he froze.

You were dry. You were, in fact, still angry, your body a locked door he had not even bothered to knock upon.

In the early days of your marriage, this would have been the point of collapse. He would have rolled away, consumed by a fresh wave of shame, and the chasm would have yawned even wider. You would have lain beside each other in the dark, two separate islands of misery, until dawn broke. But that was before. Before he had given up on words.

A tremor ran through his entire body. But he did not stop. He did not care, or at least, he could not afford to care. His need was a tide that would not be turned by a little difficulty. He would make you ready. He would force your body to forgive him, even if your heart would not. It was a logic born of desperation.

He shifted his weight, pressing his forearm across your hips, pinning you in place. It wasn’t a violent hold, but it was an unarguable one. He was stronger than he looked, your drunken prince. He held you still as his trembling, spit-slick fingers returned to you. He worked them against your dry, soft folds, not with the teasing, patient artistry of his sober self, but with a single-minded, frantic devotion. He was a man digging for water in a desert, convinced it must be there.

It was clumsy. It was too much, too fast, the friction a raw, uncomfortable sting. You gasped, not with pleasure, but with a sharp intake of breath against the intrusion. He stilled instantly at the sound, his frantic rhythm breaking. The pressure of his arm on your hips loosened.

For a moment, you thought he would stop. His watery violet eyes searched your face, and you saw a flicker of the man he was supposed to be, the one who would rather die than cause you a moment’s pain. He was in there, trapped, watching himself from behind the fog of drink.

“Please,” he whispered. The word was cracked, a broken syllable from a broken man. It was the first word he had spoken to you since entering the room. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t an excuse. It was begging.

And because you loved the man trapped inside, because you pitied him, because some dark, shameful part of you even understood the frantic, ugly nature of his love, you let your knees fall open a little wider.

It was all the permission he needed. He shuddered, a full-body tremor of relief, and returned to his task with a renewed, though somewhat gentler, urgency. He circled his fingers, slicking them again and again with his own saliva before bringing them back to your cunt, spreading the moisture, coaxing a reluctant response from your flesh. He was a moaning mess, the sounds spilling from his lips low and constant and utterly unprincely. They were sounds of pure, concentrated effort, of a man trying to perform a miracle. His hips, where they were pressed against your thigh, gave tiny, abortive thrusts, seeking any friction.

Slowly, involuntarily, your body began its betrayal. The discomfort lessened, replaced by a growing heat. A slickness that was not just from his efforts began to bloom, a treacherous welcome for the man your heart was so furious with.

He felt it, too. Of course he did. His eyes, which had been scrunched shut in concentration, flew open to meet yours. There was a terrible, hopeful light in them. He pressed one finger, then a second, inside you. They slipped in smoothly now, a fact he registered with a broken, triumphant moan.

“Yes,” he breathed, the word hot against the skin of your neck. “Yes, my love. Yes.”

The endearment, spoken in that wrecked, reverent voice, was a knife twisting in your gut. You turned your head away, staring at the dancing shadows on the wall, focusing on the physical sensation to block out the emotional conflict. This was his act of contrition. This was his prayer. You would let him pray.

He withdrew his fingers, and you felt the blunt, hot head of him take their place. He nudged against your entrance, a sensation that was now slick and wanting. He pushed in. A single, deep, unrelenting slide until he was fully seated inside you. You both gasped, a shared, involuntary sound of connection. For one suspended moment, you were perfectly joined, and it felt like a homecoming, a return to the center of the world.

Then he began to move. There was no apology in his rhythm, as there was when he was sober. No gentle, questioning strokes. This was a fucking driven by ghosts. He was trying to prove something, to you, to himself, to the uncaring gods who sent him his cursed dreams. He fucked you with a deep, pounding intensity that seemed to emanate not from his body but from his very soul.

The headboard began a gentle, rhythmic knock against the stone wall. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath searing against your skin, a continuous stream of panted, broken Valyrian and Common Tongue fragments. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you. Please. I love you. I’m sorry.” It was a litany of despair, timed to the frantic, deep thrust of his hips. His trembling hand found yours on the rumpled sheet and gripped it so tightly your knuckles ground together.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and focused on the climb. The physical pleasure was a strange, detached thing, a bright, sharp peak that rose above the fog of your misery. You chased it, used it, let it build in your core until it burst, stealing your breath and arching your back from the bed. The involuntary clench of your release was what finally unraveled him. He gave a strangled, sobbing cry, his entire body seizing as he spilled himself inside you, his hips giving a few last, erratic jerks.

The silence that followed was immense.

His full weight collapsed onto you, a crushing, welcome burden. The trembling had stopped, for now. You could feel the frantic, panicked hammering of his heart against your own chest, slowly beginning to calm. The expensive linen of his sleeping shirt was damp with both of your sweat. You lay there, pinned, staring at the ceiling, your mind a perfect void.

Then he started to cry. It was a silent thing at first, just the hitch of his breath and the wetness you could feel spreading on your skin where his face was still hidden against your neck. Then his shoulders began to shake. He was weeping, soundlessly, exhaustedly, like a child who has finally worn himself out past the point of tantrums and found only a deep well of sadness on the other side. His tears were scalding hot on your skin.

Your fortress walls, so carefully constructed, crumbled into dust. The anger didn't vanish, but it was momentarily eclipsed by a wave of profound, heart-shattering pity. This was not the triumphant return of a conquering hero. This was the wreckage.

Slowly, as if moving through deep water, you brought your free hand up and laid it on the back of his head. His hair was damp and silken under your fingers. You began to stroke it, a soft, repetitive motion, the same way you would soothe a frightened animal. There were no words of forgiveness you could offer that would mean anything, no assurance that it would not happen again. There was only this. The dark. The silence. The solid heat of him in your arms, and the quiet salt of his tears on your skin. It was, you realized with a dull ache, the most truthful communion you had shared in months.

A couple moons later, his behaviour started to change. His visions still came, unbidden and brutal, flashes of fire and screaming, of dragons dancing and cities turning to ash. They took him at odd hours, and after them, the thirst was a monstrous, living thing inside him. He would still drink. Gods, how he would drink, a desperate, frantic attempt to drown the flames he saw behind his eyes with a flood of strongwine and ale.

But one thing had changed. At first, you didn’t believe it. On the first night, when the knock came on your chamber door not from a stumbling, bleary prince but from a couple of strong-armed Red Keep guards, you assumed they were delivering you bad news.

He’s dead in a gutter, you thought, a cold, terrible certainty gripping your heart. But they were merely holding him upright between them, his head lolling, his fine hair falling over his face. He was utterly, catastrophically drunk.

“Found him in the lower bailey, my lady,” one of the guards said, his voice carefully neutral. “Was trying to climb the serpentine steps. Kept askin’ for you.”

He had not gone to the city. He had not gone to the brothels. He had, in his mindless, sodden state, been trying to crawl home. To you.

That was the first time.

The second time, you were the one who found him. A frantic maid had fetched you to the small, private hall where he and his closest companions sometimes gathered. His friends were gone. He was alone in the dark, slumped in a chair at the head of the table, a single candle burning low before him. An empty flagon of Dornish red lay on its side. He wasn’t unconscious, just staring with glassy, unfocused eyes into the guttering flame. When he saw your silhouette in the doorway, a spark of recognition, a terrible, desperate relief, flickered in his face.

“You’re here,” he had slurred, the words thick and labored. “I came here. Not…not there. I came here. For you.”

He couldn’t walk. You and a page boy had to practically carry him to your chambers. He was heavy and limp, his head resting on your shoulder, his breath sour and hot on your cheek. But he had come here. He hadn’t gone to the perfumed arms of a stranger to lose himself. He had, however clumsily, however pathetically, chosen you.

The third time, he made it all the way to your very door. You had been asleep and woke to a soft, persistent scrabbling at the wood, like an animal trying to get in from the cold. Alarmed, you had risen and opened it to find him on his hands and knees, his elegant clothes soiled and torn, his eyes wide and unfocused. He looked up at you, and the expression on his face was one of pure, pitiful adoration.

“I dreamed you died,” he whispered, his voice raw with terror and drink. “You died, and I was alone. You were gone. I had to…I had to find you.”

He crawled past the threshold, and you knelt down to meet him. He collapsed into your lap, his arms wrapping around your waist, his body wracked with silent sobs. He was a prince of the blood of Old Valyria and the dragon, and he was on your floor, clinging to you like a shipwreck survivor to driftwood.

You were bewildered. What had changed? Why was he no longer avoiding you in his worst moments? Why was he bringing his wreckage to your doorstep instead of hiding it in the city’s dark corners? It was, in a twisted way, a kind of improvement. But the reason for it gnawed at you. Hope was a dangerous, fragile thing; you were terrified to let it take root.

The answer came on a night that was, by all accounts, a good one.

He was almost sober. He’d had a cup of watered wine with the evening meal, perhaps two, but the haunted look was absent from his eyes. He had been reading to you from a dense historical tome, his low, melodic voice tracing the exploits of Volantene and Dothraki Khals. You were curled up on a chaise lounge before the fire, your head resting on his thigh, and his free hand was idly, gently, stroking your hair. It was so peaceful, so achingly normal, that you felt a sense of profound gratitude. This was the man you had married. The gentle scholar, the dry wit, the tender lover.

Later, in bed, he was the same. He was gentle, as he always was on these lucid nights. He fucked you almost apologetically, as if each sigh and gasp of pleasure he drew from your body was an undeserved gift. He let you rise above him, let you take your pleasure at your own pace, his hands resting on the sway of your hips, his violet eyes gazing up at you with a reverence that bordered on religious. He made you laugh with a perfectly timed, absurdly aristocratic quip in the afterglow as you lay tangled together. You felt truly, brilliantly happy.

It was in that quiet, sacred space, the two of you sweaty and sated and wrapped in each other, that the truth finally slipped out.

You had been tracing the line of his jaw with a single finger, a lazy, loving exploration. “Why?” you murmured, the question you had been holding for weeks finally finding voice. “Why do you come home to me now, when you’re…lost? You never used to.”

He went still beneath your touch. The air in the room, which had been so warm and close, suddenly seemed to grow thin. For a long time, he did not answer. His gaze drifted from your face to the canopy of the bed above him, as if he were seeing something else entirely.

“I had a dream,” he said, finally. His voice was distant, hollow, stripped of all its earlier warmth.

A chill chased away the lingering heat of your passion. His dreams were not normal dreams. You knew this. You waited.

“It was different from the others,” he continued, his eyes still fixed on something you could not see. “There was no fire. No blood. No screaming. It was just…a room. A quiet room, bathed in soft light. I was in a bed.” He held his own hand up, frowning at it as if it were a foreign object. “I felt…tired. A deep, bone-tiredness. But peaceful. Like a book that has finally reached its final, well-worn page.”

He paused, and his eyes finally met yours. They were clear, bottomless pools of sorrow and a strange, unsettling joy.

“And you were there,” he whispered. “You were sitting on the bed beside me. You were holding my hand. And you were…still young. Your hair was still the colour it is now, your face unlined. Beautiful. So beautiful. You were crying, but you were smiling at me.”

His hand found yours under the sheets and gripped it, hard.

“I was dying,” he said, his voice cracking. “In the dream, I was dying. And I understood, in the way you just know things in dreams, that you would live on. For a long, long time. You would mourn me, but you would not be broken. You would be…alright.”

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and traced a slow path into his hairline. A smile, the most heartbreaking thing you had ever seen, bloomed on his face. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated relief.

“Do you see?” he asked, his voice filled with a terrible, sincere joy. “I don’t have to live without you. I will go first. Before you. The dream showed me. I will never have to know a world that doesn’t have you in it. I will never lose you.”

He let out a shaky breath, as if a monster that had been sitting on his chest for years had finally climbed off.

“And you…” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a long, tender kiss to your knuckles. “You will be free. You’ll remarry, perhaps. A lord. Someone solid and sane, who does not smell of wine and night terrors. Someone who can make you happy in a way I was never able to. You’ll be happier. Truly.”

He looked at you then, his gaze earnest and bright and utterly convinced. “I’ve never been so happy in my life as I am right now, knowing that. I don’t have to avoid you anymore. I don’t have to hide my worst self from you, because I know how the story ends. And it ends well. It ends with me gone, and you safe, and young, and loved.”

He was finished. He lay there, looking at you with that serene, dreadful smile, waiting for you to share in his joy. He had given you the most romantic, horrifying, selfish declaration of love you had ever heard. His greatest comfort was his own death. His happiest thought was your eventual, happy widowhood.

He knew you deserved better. He was, in his own broken, twisted way, truly happy with that outcome.

The tears that filled your eyes were not only for his death. They were also for the life you were living, right now, with a man who was already half a ghost. You did not speak. There were no words for this. You simply pulled him to you, cradling his head against your chest, and held him as tightly as you could. He nestled into your embrace with a content sigh, his body relaxing completely, as if he had just confessed a long-held secret and been granted absolution.

His breathing deepened into the slow rhythm of sleep. A few moments later, he began to tremble, a faint, constant tremor that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of his bones. Another vision, perhaps, flickering behind his closed eyelids. You held him through it, stroking his hair as the fire burned down to embers in the hearth.

You held him, and you thought of the man you married, the gentle scholar with the laughing eyes, who was still in there, somewhere, buried under the ashes of prophecy. You thought of his terrible, joyful dream of abandoning you to a lifetime alone. You thought of the future: a long, lonely expanse for you, a mercifully short, tormented one for him. He thought it was a happy ending. You stroked his trembling back and felt the faint, frantic flutter of his heart against your ribs, a caged bird. You were not so sure.

a/n: You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3

[ceaseless-edge]

Thinking about Blade’s proclivity for alcohol & happy ramblings so…

Imagine Blade getting drunk one evening and taking your hands and saying, “I love you so much. I am going to bake you a three-tier cake.”

You laugh as he kisses your knuckles fervently, brushing it off as his standard drunken ramblings.

Except. In the morning you awaken to the smell of something warm, buttery and delicious being prepared, wayward cinnamon notes making your stomach growl.

You slink over to the kitchen and find Blade, wearing the ‘World’s Pookiest Chef’ apron you bought him, carefully stacking perfect layers of cake on top of each other with generous dollops of cream in between. Three tiers, as promised.

He’s lost the pep that had come with his tipsy state, his usual reserved aura having returned, but that doesn’t diminish the pompous glow about him.

“I’m almost done making your cake,” he states evenly (Shuhu makes him immune to hangovers). “I would normally oppose eating cake for breakfast, but we can make an exception just this once.”

He’s calmly icing some beautiful flowers on top, and you’re still dumbstruck.

So now whenever he gets drunk and starts to harp on about what grandiose endeavours he’ll embark on, you’re unsure if he really means it or not (you really hope his declaration that he’ll build a monument in your honour is just a figure of speech)…

[angelesca]

@pearlscnt

[pearlscnt]

[angelesca]

hi angel! congrats for 500 followers, you deserve every single one!! i was wondering if i could request some farmer phainon art? he's so stinking cute as a farmer it makes my heart burst every time i see him in those golden wheat fields! you can decide the direction you want to take this, i just love farmnon so much...

HELLO FARM(A)NON TY FOR THE ASK!!! HES SO FOCKING CUTE I WANNA SWING ON HIS ARM weeee (:D)┼─┤i hope the rerun has been kind to you !!

[pearlscnt]

[pearlscnt]

unfamiliar kindness

content: fluff + fem!reader + period cramp + og OLD man zandik + he is very helpful in here hihihi

—

The feeling is getting tighter, turning almost unbearable and it’s hard to miss the nausea creeping up in your throat, which makes you so thankful that it doesn’t get out of your mouth.

Curled up in a fetus position, the cramp in your lower abdomen is a pain that takes up your whole attention, you missed how the bed dips from behind you.

Zandik’s hands creep around your body, feeling like the pain amplified you whimper in pain when he is pulling you against his body. Laying behind you, your back to his chest, his hands go under your shirt and you slightly shudder at the cool touch of his hands on your bare stomach. Which a moment later feels rather lukewarm and you sigh in content.

His hands are working wonders for your cramp. It’s like he knew the in and outs of your body, he can pinpoint where exactly it hurts and the pain slowly starts to feel less unbearable and more soothing.

Your hands go to rest atop his, feeling his movements on your stomach. His slender fingers are moving in circles, before you feel your hands move along with his palms to softly massage your hips and stomach.

“Thank you.” Your gratitude was soft and you only get a chaste press of a kiss on your neck as a response, shaping your lips into a little smile.

It started to get suffocating hearing you whimper and moan in pain, tossing in your bed as if it would lessen the pain. Zandik came to you for one thing and one thing only, but that’s getting pushed back a few days at the mention of your period.

So he had decided to take over your living room, splaying his documents and notes on his experiments all over the table. And he tried his best to ignore your current situation, until unfamiliar feelings started to rise in his body and his fingers twitched and his brain started going haywire with ideas. Ideas on how to make your cramp go away in one way or another.

It’s unbecoming of him to be this gentle, or kind in your own words. That word has never existed his vocabulary if he has to describe himself. This is more like a means to an end, to get this over with. Not an act of kindness.

To see how your body visibly relaxed at his touch, sounds of content leaving your mouth instead of moans and groans of pain, Zandik feels different. Loss of words to your verbal gratitude, he could only imagine to give you a kiss. When he did just that, even that gives you a subtle delighted reaction that sends waves of different emotions through him.

—

didn’t write it but he figured out a way to make periods and period cramps completely disappear FOR YOU!!! isn’t he just so wonderful ugh this old man

[pearlscnt]

warmth

content: sfw + og old man zandik (dottore) + cuddling + gn!reader

—

You’re woken up by your bedroom door opening, and the familiar thudding of Zandik’s cane hitting against the floor and his footsteps relaxes you.

It’s not unusual for him to barge into your home in this way, which you have grown used to. He does that at any time of the day, but at nighttime mostly. You never bothered asking why, knowing he’d refuse to answer or not say anything at all and ignore your question. But there’s a little something in you that knows the reason why, which will never be brought up by Zandik himself.

You turn on the bedside light and illuminating Zandik loosening his tie and throwing his coat on the back of a chair. At least he has the decency to not throw it on the floor.

Sitting up on the bed and your back against pillows, Zandik gets on the bed and crawls closer to you. And his head slumps down on your lap following a low groan slipping out from his lips.

Without a word, you softly run your hands through his soft blue hair. A content sound is heard from the man on your lap before he buries his face further into your abdomen. And he wraps his arms around your waist.

You can’t say anything about this, or do anything out of fear he would stop this behavior completely. While you enjoy Zandik intimately, which is what drew him to you, you like this gentle side of this man who’s too clever for this world.

“Do you think there’s a world beyond Teyvat?” Your voice is low and soft as you slick his hair back before tenderly massaging his head.

“I don’t think, I know.” He is so sure of his answer, you believe him.

Maybe in that world you’d be able to meet this man under different circumstances and get to know him more than you’re able to.

—

posting this while I edit my old fics that I’m gonna post someday, which I hope nobody will recognize me from somewhere…😔 anyways! fluffy cuddly zandik who refuses to admit he finds comfort in you despite the reason behind your relationship GETS ME!!!!

[pearlscnt]

masterlist

genshin impact

varka

marked as mine : nsfw

my heart beats for you : fluff

dottore (zandik)

desires : nsfw

pitiful : nsfw

warmth : fluff

unfamiliar kindness : fluff

honkai star rail

jing yuan

handle things differently : nsfw

sunday

a little push : nsfw

[pearlscnt]

my heart beats for you

With the expedition team finally back home, some feelings are going to be addressed.

content: fluff + fem!reader + varka is a shy flustered mess in front of you + more fluff + kissing

hope you enjoy hehe!!

—

”I’m in love with you.”

His face is flushed with heat, his blue eyes flickering all over the place but on you. He’s fiddling with his hands, clearly nervous. A man of his size, of his grand position is shy and nervous. His hair falls in front of his face, he goes to brush it aside but you beat him to it.

Varka is visibly surprised by your action, but he can’t deny how good it felt to momentarily feel your touch on him. But you still haven’t given a reply to his confession.

Varka is made in a shy mess in your proximity. Longing touches that’s lasting for a second too long and yearning glances filled with nothing but love and the need to be with you. His heart beats for you and inhales the air you breathe. Dandelion wine might best every beverage out there, but you’re the one thing he will never stop having a fill of.

“Crap, this confession must have made it so weird right? I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.” He mumbles the last part, which doesn’t get missed by you.

Varka was about to say something and you as well, before someone from the knights called for his attention. Varka tells them he will be there shortly.

Just as he was about to apologize and excuse himself, you grasp onto his hand and you stop in your actions. It was a spur of the moment thing. A confession has never been spoken to you, you have no idea what to say or how to react. But to make such a good man like Varka, unbeknownst to him, return your feelings so instead of feeling pure ecstasy you’re just made into a surprised speechless mess.

Varka’s hand is warm and large in your grasp, you can feel the callouses on his skin and you softly brush your thumb on the inside of his palm before taking it to your cheek and lean into it.

Surprise is an understatement to what Varka feels right now. He steps in closer to you, heart beating way faster than it usually does.

“Does this mean your feelings are the same?” The nod to his question sends waves of joy through his big body and he puts his other hand around your midsection and softly pulls you in.

“I thought your silence was a rejection.” He breathes out, relieved and happy.

“I’m sorry, it was just hard to know how to react. This is all new to me.” You look at Varka, feeling embarrassed.

“What is new, sweetheart?” Oh damn him, he just had to say that and send you into even more of an internal mess.

“Confessions, relationships—“ you begin and then avoid his piercing eyes on you. “—love.” You mumble and then you feel yourself getting further pressed up against Varka’s body. He’s warm and sturdy, you put your hands on his chest.

“We shall take it slow, if you desire it. I’ve liked you for years now, I can do it for eternities more.” His words make your eyes widen in surprise before letting out a giggle. Unbeknownst to you, the same pair of blue eyes you adore is now longingly looking at your mouth.

“I think I’d like that, yeah.”

—

Then the worst day ever happened.

The expedition has been a talk for days now, but now it’s put into motion and you can’t help the waves of feelings in you. Varka is the one leading the expedition, of course he is, he’s the Grandmaster. He’s doing this for the safety of Monstadt. And Teyvat perhaps.

You watch him amongst the crowd as he greets his bye’s to everyone, giving them big smiles and thanking for their prayers of safety to Barbatos.

You think back to moments before this.

You had been rushed inside his office by Varka and he locked the door. You grew a little worried until you see a little trinket in his hand and he hands it to you in his palm.

“I can’t say how long this expedition will go on, but should it go on for years, I want you to have this.” He motions you to take the trinket and you do.

“Varka, whats going on?”

“I want to say, no, if your feelings stay the same and your heart beats for mine like mine does for you—“ Varka breathes out, he looks nervous. “—give this trinket back to me. It’s something Boreas had given me years back.” Your eyes widens at his words.

“Varka, I—“

“Shall your heart beat for an another in the time I’m gone, you can give this trinket back to Jean.“

You both look at each other for Barbatos knows how long. You feel the slight weight of the trinket in your hand and Varka’s more heavier look on you. This man wears his heart on his sleeves for you. You can’t see anything but warmth and affection in his eyes. Despite telling you to give the trinket back to Jean should you like someone else, it’s as if his love for you grows every second without hesitation.

“Okay.”

Such a short word, but it reassures Varka. You know it cause his tense shoulders are relaxed now.

Back to current situation, Varka is approaching you. He gently holds your face in his bigger palms and looks at you, taking in the image of the one he loves, the touch and warmth of your skin before craning down and pressing a soft lingering kiss on your forehead. You lean into him as he does that, gripping onto the sides of his body.

This was your first act of kissing. Varka was true to his words like he is to his oath as a knight and Grandmaster. He did take it at your pace in your relationship, never did anything to cause you discomfort. He voiced clearly he will never do something without your consent. Your pace is his pace.

Varka steps away then and takes his bag before stepping out of Monstadt soil. But he could feel in the wind, telling him to turn around and he did. And you leaped into his arms. Varka drops his bag and embraces you.

Your feelings is getting out like crashing waves, you bury your face in Varka’s neck and hold onto him so tight you wish were glue and to be at his side at all times.

Varka nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. Taking in the feeling of your arms around his neck and your thighs squeezing his waist. Then you pull your head away, your face stricken with tears and something aches in Varka at the sight of you in tears.

“Give me a proper kiss when you come back.”

—

It went on for longer than you thought. Years.

You hold onto the trinket in your hand, looking at the details. Such a precious thing is in your hands, which shows the amount of trust Varka has in you. You put away the trinket before you felt your feelings come crashing down on you again. You miss Varka.

That’s when you heard the bells and the shouting from outside your home. You look out the window and see the familiar banners of the Knight of Favonius. You immediately run outside and join the ecstatic crowd.

But you can’t find the man you’re looking for until you hear a booming laughter, a sound you could only imagine in your head and listen to in your dreams.

His back was to you, his hands on his hips and his head thrown back as he laughs in the endearing way he does. And as if he could feel you looking at him, he turns around and immediately finds you amongst the crowd.

His eyes zero in on you so fast, you jumped back a little in surprise and you see how he was about to walk towards you when someone else gets his attention, he looks at you and the knight before turning around, his back facing you again.

And all day, you haven’t had a moment alone with Varka. Even during the party at the tavern could make you be able to talk to him properly. Or at the event near the Favonius Headquarters. You could only manage to greet him and he gets swooped away by someone else.

You can’t fault him for that. Being away for so long, work has been piled up, people want to know of his adventures throughout Teyvat, especially the one in Nod-Krai and meeting a trilune goddess.

The scenery on the cliff near the Cathedral never fails to stun you into awe. As you fiddle with the trinket in your hand, you jump back in surprise when you hear a familiar voice. You almost drop the trinket, and Varka sees the trinket in your hand and he can’t help the happiness he feels. There’s hope.

“Varka!” You lightly squeak out his name before covering your mouth, embarrassed at the sound you gave out. Varka laughs a little before taking one step closer to you.

“I figured you would be here, it seems your taste in scenery hasn’t changed in years.” You chuckle at his words, nodding your head as you look at the view before looking at Varka again.

And he looks at you. The exact same way he did the day he confessed, the days leading up the expedition and before he left. Your palms grow sweaty at his gaze and proximity. Your heart flutters at finally being alone with the man you’ve missed for years. And still love.

“We finally have a chance to be alone.” Varka lets out a chuckle and you nod, smiling. Your words lost on you and Varka rubs his hand on his other arm before pointing at the trinket.

“The trinket is still with you it seems.” You nod again at his words, looking at the trinket.

“Have you been doing well?” You look at Varka, he says a yes before throwing the question back to you, to which you nod your head at.

“Got into alchemy a little bit, with the help of Sucrose and Albedo.” Varka nods his head, eyes widening a little in surprise.

“You’ve voiced before how you wanted to try it out, do you still do it?” You smile, especially at the fact he remembers even though it’s been years since you last saw him.

“It’s a little intimidating, but it’s fun. I like it.” You say, still with a smile on your face. You look at Varka and your heart is even more of a mess when you see how his blue eyes flickers down to your mouth. And you see how he slightly licks his lips before gulping down on nothing. You remember what you’ve told him before he left. And you remember what he told you the same day.

“I’ve missed you. A lot.” You voice out and Varka breathes out, in relief.

“I’ve thought about you everyday.” Varka says as he steps in a little closer.

You grip onto the trinket, gathering courage.

“You told me to give the trinket back to Jean should my heart beat for another.” You start off, Varka feels his shoulder tense at your words and he grows nervous.

“But it’s been years and my heart still beats for you, Varka.” And you immediately feel yourself get engulfed in a pair of arms you’ve wished to be in for Barbatos knows how long. To be with the man who made you feel nothing but safe and loved.

“My heart was with you the moment I left Monstadt soil.” You feel your eyes brimming with tears and you bury your face into Varka’s chest, wrapping your arms around him. The trinket in your fist as you hold onto Varka.

“I’ve thought of you everyday and loved you even when I was gone. I had Albedo paint me a picture of you, you know.” You giggle amidst your soft crying.

“Why would you do that? Poor Albedo.” Varka laughs as he grasps onto your head and takes a good look at you. He gently wipes your tears off your cheeks, his gaze soft on you.

“I was going crazy thinking I forgot the face of the woman I love.” His blue eyes are all over your face, his hand on your head is as gentle as ever.

“And I think you might have forgotten something else.” Your words make him ponder until he catches you briefly look at his lips and he figures it out.

“I thought it was a spur of the moment thing, what you said.” Varka’s hands slightly trails down your neck.

“You gave me a kiss on the forehead, it’s only right you give me a proper kiss—“ you stop yourself, feeling embarrassed and nervous at your sudden act of confidence. “—somewhere else than my forehead.” You mumble.

It was quiet for a moment between you two. The wind was softly blowing, and cause of Varka’s body warmth the wind doesn’t send a chill down your body. Then you feel it.

His right hand slips down, wrapping his arm around your midsection and the left is still gently holding your neck, his fingers touching your hair. And you feel yourself get lifted, your feet dangling in the air.

A small sound of surprise lefts your lips, your arms around his neck while your legs are wrapped around his midsection and you feel Varka’s mouth on your cheek.

“Like this?” He asks and you look at him, heart beating too fast for your own good. But you like it. Pressed up against his chest, you can feel how Varka’s own heart is beating in tune with yours. You nod your head.

Another kiss on your other cheek, one each on each eyelid down to your temple before he lifts your head with his left hand. With his thumb on your chin, he presses a kiss on your jaw, close to your pulse point.

A soft press to the corner of your mouth and as if it took as long as the expedition, finally his lips are on yours and you feel like you could finally breathe. You feel how Varka’s own body relaxes against you.

It was a soft press of your lips for a moment, Varka breathes through his nose and then his lips starts to softly move.

Butterflies and tingling sensations is all over your body at his kisses. He kisses like you’re a dandelion flower, careful to not let you fall apart. He kisses like he drinks, with happiness and delight. He kisses like this is not a dream, it’s reality. He kisses like there’s no ending to his love for you.

“This is nothing like how I imagined.” Soft mutters against your mouth, heart beating faster and waves of feelings surging through your bodies.

The kiss gets softly broken apart, tender kisses down your jaw to your neck before he settles there. One last chaste kiss on your neck and he breathes in the scent of you. His right arm is tightly yet gently gripped around you, as to not hurt you.

You tighten your own arms around his neck, you see the trinket, still in your hand and you smile to yourself. Varka’s home, he’s in your arms and your love growing stronger every minute. You nuzzle into his hair as you grip onto the trinket he put in your safekeeping.

—

This is not how it happened in canon I knowwwwww I wrote it before it came out but I forgot I had this in my drafts 😔 but I hoped you enjoyed this nevertheless <3

[pearlscnt]

@mayplekiwi

I POST YOUR ART/ASK LIKE THIS CAUSE IM PRETTY SURE ITS GONNA GET FLAGGED SINCE TUMBLR IS A SENSITIVE B WORD🙄 BUT HOLYSHIT??!!!??!!!!

art below!

DO YOU KNNOW HOW BAMBOOZLED I WAS SEEING THIS???I AM STILL IN SURPRISE IM HOLTSHIT BRO????YOU DREW HIM SO BIG🤤AND HIS SMIRK GAWDDAAYMMM BRO IM SALIVATING BROOOOOO THE ELIXIR???!!!!??!!!!!! AND THE HANDS IN MOUTH HOLTSHIT

literally how i genuinely reacted + my eyes popping out this is insanely good I can’t believe you took time out of your BREAK to draw this😭😭😭🩷 i feel like I must’ve saved the world in my last life to have something this GOOD bestowed upon me 😭

[crowttore]

In which you help the original human Zandik get a little bit of relaxation into his otherwise busy schedule

Notes: The following fic has been in wip hell for a year since I typed this singular sentence at 3am "old man prime zandik being old and getting his dick sucked in the shower and it's so good that he's crying and his soul leaves through his pebis". I'm so horny for this old man I can't even verbalise it. Tags: Il Dottore x reader, established relationship, pet name (darling), implied age gap, reader has hair, smut, oral m receiving, shower sex, irresponsible water usage 2.4k, reblogs and comments much appreciated Minors DNI Do Not use for ai

Doors being slammed shut was nothing new.

The brutal winds that raged outside always found their way into the corridors of the palace, making certain that no matter how gentle the person there would always be some violence to the act of leaving or entering. Still, with the way every piece of glassware and the countless scattered tools rattled, you had no doubt that the vast majority of force came from your lover's annoyance.

"Zandik?"

Not entirely surprising, the call of his name went verbally unanswered, leaving you to wince with every indignant click and scrape of his cane against the tiles. You'd already put your book aside, debating if it would be futile to offer assistance despite how the urge to do so crawled like beetles beneath your skin.

It was truly a terrifying thing how rapidly Zandik's body had decayed over the past few years. Having never fully understood the premise enabling the segments to exist, you could only infer from the state of the man hobbling through the living room and collapsing into an armchair that it was a closed system. There was a finite amount of 'life' to share between them, and the body that truly breathed would suffer the most from having a reduced amount.

Of course, he was also getting old as any human would. For all his brilliance and stubborn temper, there had been little he could do to spare himself from atrophy.

"You're staring again," he grumbles, audibly straining to settle into a comfortable position.

You huff, shaking your head to distract from how right he was, "I was thinki-."

"Judging," Dottore corrects, spreading his arms in a mockery of flamboyance, "tell me then, what is your verdict?"

"You look," the words weighed heavily upon your tongue, yet not nearly as heavily as the guilt for adding to his worries weighed upon your heart, "like someone who would benefit from a week of rest."

The creases around his eyes grew deeper as you spoke, only making him appear all the more worn. Zandik discarded his leather gloves with almost painful carelessness, revealing hands that now bore more bruises and cuts than you could care to count but only longed to kiss. Your chest tightened at the sight, such dexterous tools reduced to a shaking mess.

He tossed the monocle aside to better rub at his eyes. The dark circles beneath only seemed to grow with each passing day despite Zandik now maintaining the healthiest sleep schedule he had in decades. Possibly centuries. Not that he had much choice, unable to keep himself awake far into the night.

"What an astute observation. You know very well I can't do that if I want to keep the rest in line. They're already plotting, I know they are. Perhaps you are as well?"

Your body shifts to face him fully, trying to school your expression before he can spot the look of pity. This was no time for you to feel hurt at the accusation he'd so carelessly tossed into the space between you. Zandik had never taken well to your inquiries about his health, but it was clear that he felt less secure in his position these days, always snapping at and punishing anyone under his authority.

You sigh, giving him a once-over while trying to piece together memories of days that bled into each other. "How about accompanying you into a shower instead?"

Zandik mimics your sigh, his shoulders slumping in what had to be defeat. The subtle nod of his head could easily be mistaken for exhaustion, but you get up all the same to stand between his legs, offering a hand instead of the cane.

There's nothing dignified about how you lead him towards the bathroom, one arm wrapped so firmly around his waist that your bicep starts to cramp up within the first ten steps. Meanwhile Zandik, so used to being by himself that it is more than second nature, hobbles at your side while clearly trying to put as little weight onto you as possible. Absolutely infuriating that for all the years spent together, learning to rely on each other, the moment he truly needed aid with something so tangible as moving about, he pulled back into the shell of that lonely boy he'd told you about.

The child who'd been cast aside and scorned by all.

Who'd set his sight on something impossible, on transcending every rule laid out by reason. Whether to earn the praise and acceptance of his peers, or to prove once and for all that they had been right to think him a monster was something you'd never truly been able extract from him.

Your heart, and the mood, sank further once you'd gotten him undressed. Though aware that it was decades since he could last have been considered conventionally attractive, his body having long been littered with the results of countless experiments performed on himself, it was clear that the sudden turn for the worse had caused him grief. Now, Zandik would shy away from your gaze, curling in on himself as if to shield wrinkled skin and the jarring loss of muscle from you.

"..here," you muttered, helping him step into the shower and down onto the shower stool.

It was quiet while you undressed yourself, the lack of smoldering eyes roaming your form somehow more disturbing than their presence had ever been.

"I can still wash myself, you know."

You hummed, stepping in beside him and turning on the water, angling it away from both of your bodies to let the icy stream heat up. Stepping directly under the water was a mistake you only made once in Snezhnaya, the biting cold akin to millions of glass shards shredding the skin.

"Yeah, but doing it together is more comfortable, right?" A small smirk tugged at your lips while slowly moving your wrist until the freezing water hit his feet, causing Zandik to jerk in surprise. "And it lets me do that."

For a moment, silence and tension choked the air before it was broken by a raspy chuckle. "Cruel monster, kicking a man who is already down.."

Relief bubbled in your chest, the little smile on your lover's lips a treasure more precious than the sum of whatever exotic acquisitions The Regrator had stashed away. And these days at least, it seemed exactly as rare.

"Don't they say cold showers are healthy?"

The look he shot you was almost scathing, but in that fond way where his eyes crinkled at the corners. "I suppose every sane man must have his limits."

You laughed, testing the temperature of the water with your hand. It was warm enough that you placed the showerhead back above you both. "And you draw the line at cold showers?"

"Absolutely."

Silence settled between you, but no longer the kind that could choke you like smoke, this was comfortable. Zandik slowly relaxed a little when you stepped behind him and began rubbing at his shoulders. His hair had gotten messy from neglect, so you took your time slowly untangling the knots before reaching for shampoo.

By the time steam coiled around your ankles, Zandik seemed to have shed his earlier reservations and was leaning against your legs, his head turned so his cheek was pressed against your stomach. If not for the little grunts and groans of pleasure you'd have thought him asleep. There was something about how swiftly his guard had dropped despite everything that made your chest flutter.

You reached for a washcloth and let warm water soak through before leaning down to carefully scrub his shoulders and chest. Both of your arms were draped around him in a near hug as you wiped away layers of grime and dead skin. Every little grumble when you were being too rough was soothed by pressing a kiss to the tip of his ear.

Even sweeter was the little sound of protest when you moved away, one shaky hand gripping and squeezing your thigh for as long as he could reach. Zandik's eyes widened when you sank to your knees in front of him. Any attempt at hiding himself behind his arms was abandoned within seconds when he caught your little smile. You watched him roll his eyes, careful not to let any semblance of pity into your expression.

"Want me to shave you after?"

Zandik snorted and shook his head. "Even if there were infinite parallel timelines, there wouldn't be a single one where I let you close to my neck with a sharpened blade."

Both of you chuckled, memories of countless times where you'd hastily helped him shave spots that he'd missed or forgotten coming to mind. But he always said that same thing. He leaned into the touch when you cupped his cheeks, thumbs running along the patchy stubbles that he insisted on calling a beard.

You released his face and instead leaned forward, pressing a kiss just beneath his belly button and trailing your lips down the thick patch of hair. Zandik jerked and you immediately felt an almost frantic pull at your hair.

"Don't-"

"Relax," you whispered. It didn't do much, but Zandik did go quiet. The interested twitch of his soft length told you what you needed to know. He might still feel embarrassed, but his base desires remained. "Let me remind you how much I love every inch of you."

You pushed his legs open a little further, shuffling forward on the wet floor as water continued to drip down both of your bodies. Zandik shivered beneath your touch as soon as your lips met his inner thigh. A quiet hum left you when he tugged at your hair once more, not as insistent and certainly not to pull you away this time, but impatiently trying to guide you towards his crotch.

That little glimpse of your arrogant and selfish lover made you smile. Another time you might have teased or even scolded him, but now you simply obliged and pressed a kiss to his soft tip.

The skin was soft and a little wrinkled, cooler to the touch than the rest of him. You wasted no time poking your tongue out and licking up along him, water collecting on your tongue and dripping down your chin. Above you, Zandik sighed in pleasure and you heard the little thud of his head hitting the wall behind him.

Breathless sounds soon filled the enclosed space as you continue to lick and kiss while he steadily grew harder. One of your hands gently cupped his balls while the other rubbed at his hip, everything about him having turned soft and pliant where there used to be nothing but hard lines and lean muscle. Perhaps you should make sure to tell him that you appreciated this new development, no longer having to worry about protruding bones pressing uncomfortably against you when cuddling.

Zandik groaned in relief when you took his tip between your lips and suckled, tasting a little hint of tangy pre when you pressed your tongue against the slit. You felt him twitch against your tongue, his hips momentarily pushing against your hand in an attempt to get deeper. Once more you obliged, wanting nothing more than to satisfy the man breathing shakily above you.

Slowly, you lowered your head and took all of him into your mouth, relishing how every muscle in his body seemed to tense up.

"Darling.. careful.."

You wrapped a hand around the base and squeezed before hollowing your cheeks. The pull at his length and your aid in keeping the blood vessels constricted made Zandik hiss out your name in another warning.

It had been a while since he'd let you this close, clearly, he was pent up and hard pressed to keep himself under control. Well, you'd just have to show him that there was no reason to hold back.

You began bobbing your head, small movements at first while your tongue rubbed along the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft. Your movements steadily grew until you were pulling back and leaving just the tip between your lips. Every time, you tried to look up at Zandik and enjoy the way he had brought one hand to his lips to bite down and stifle his sounds.

It didn't work half as well as he undoubtedly hoped, a strangled whimper leaving him when you took all of him into your mouth and swallowed.

"I said careful-.."

He cried out when you did it again, tugging harder at your hair this time. His hips weakly bucked beneath you, thighs trembling on either side of your body.

Zandik's release was sudden and for a moment you feared that he might fall onto the floor with how he was writhing as small spurts of his seed shot into your mouth. You dutifully swallowed, keeping him inside for a while longer while both your hands were stroking along his hairy thighs. Only when you pulled back and turned off the water did you realize that tears had been gathering in his eyes.

It made your heart squeeze with fondness and pride, having reduced him to such a mess so easily. He truly had been pent up.

"You expect me to just-..." Zandik paused momentarily to heave a sigh. "Get up and walk to bed after that?"

You gave his knee a little pat, careful not to put any real force behind it. "Well it's not like I can carry you."

One hand came to rest atop your head and play with the wet strands of hair. Without the water running, the water that clung to your skin was swiftly becoming unpleasant. You knew you should get up and fetch a pair of plush towels before either of you got cold, but perhaps you could both be allowed just a moment longer of this fragile peace.

A devious idea wriggled its way to the forefront of your mind and you perked up, lips pulled into a grin that you couldn't control. "How about this.. if you're in bed within the next few minutes, I'll do this again."

The idea seemed like lightning striking a sleeping body when it registered in his mind. Zandik sat up straight within seconds, too much going on behind those crimson eyes. No doubt he was plotting how to get out and dry as fast as possible.

Masterlist

[pearlscnt]

That old man dottore <3 - you did really good on that one yo. twas verrry nice an i remember you from a sunday fic from a little ago and that was sooo good too, just wanted to send a written kudos! this was a nice break from drawing that wrinkly guy in so many different ways.

THANK YOU SO MUCH! I was actually quite nervous to post these, since old man og zandik is quite…controversial LOL

OMG YOU LIKED THE SUNDAY FIC??? IMSOSHAPPY!!! lucky for you, i WILL write a p in v part for him as well, not sure when tho!

AND YOU DRAW????OG ZANDIK???PLEASESHOW

[hermesays]

Portrait of Us

Jing Yuan x f!reader

Summary: Jing Yuan, otherwise known as the dozing general, wouldn't have imagined meeting you — someone pretending to be infatuated with him, on his casual stroll. What started out as a friendship dressed in comfort soon evolved further until the news of his marriage shook the Xianzhou fleet. Essentially, married and domestic Jing Yuan. Tropes/Tags: Found family (+ Yanqing!), hurt/comfort, fluff Wordcount: 5.5k

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ Falling like the stars - James Arthur / Sienna - The Marias

Xianzhou Luofu’s Arbiter General was a man of many names. He was called the optimistic general due to his serene and bright demeanor. At other times, he had been referred to as the divine foresight, due to his exceptional talent in utilization and analysis of military strategies. The cloud knights who had worked closely with him would occasionally address him as the dozing general — arguably the white hair man’s most prominent unofficial title, besides being the most eligible bachelor in Xianzhou Luofu. 

Thus, Jing Yuan’s marriage was news that shook the whole Xianzhou’s fleet citizens awake. A majority of the unwed ladies were heartbroken that they hadn’t been the one to recite the eternal oath of marriage with the general. Whereas Jing Yuan’s direct subordinates were all ecstatic. They had seen the back of their general remain strong and steadfast centuries after centuries, it was appropriate for the general to also have somebody he could call home. 

His love was rooted back to his first meeting with you — perhaps back then he hadn’t been aware that such a sliver of amusement could grow into such a vehement emotion and adornance for you. The day he met you for the very first time was a mundane day like any other. Jing Yuan had been by his desk all morning, verifying and devising preventative measures for the tranquility of Xianzhou. For every dawn that signified the start of yet a brand new day, the documents on the general’s desk always seemed to pile up taller than the day before. Halfway through the paperwork, Jing Yuan rested the quill he had signed the documents with, and rested the lid of his eyes momentarily. The knights and administrator staffs all shifted at the general’s antic — it was the start of something they had dreaded yet was prepared for everyday. 

For Jing Yuan, the seat of divine foresight that was located in the exalting sanctum was a massive hall. It was massive yet there was a heaviness that made the space feel all too small. And what would be better than to enjoy a moment to stroll around nature in order to recuperate his weariness? Call it a change of view.

As he stood up, the entire room's focus shifted onto the renowned man. “General, we still have quite a few documents to review.” One of the advisors had boldly announced. It was a futile attempt to stall for Jing Yuan’s leave, after all who in Xianzhou had not heard of the infamous dozing general. 

“I’ll leave that for you to review in accordance with the current protocol. As of now, there is an urgent assessment of nature I need to conduct.” The general’s subordinates simply exhaled in resignation. Despite the eloquence of his words, the sentence held a different meaning. It was Jing Yuan’s way of stating that he was off to bask in nature and feed the wild life he had grown to adore, or that it was time for a tea and a nap — both needs could be applicable simultaneously. 

Jing Yuan exited the grand gate of the seat of divine foresight. A few guards stationed to guard the gate bowed at the sight of the general, Jing Yuan merely gave them a pat on their shoulder and a tiny smile. The sky was bright and particularly clear on that day, not many clouds were in sight yet the wind still managed to breeze enough comfort for the skin. It was a waste to sit and be occupied by documents all day long when the weather was such a treat. He knew just where to go — a recent favorite of his, the newly opened teahouse on Aurum Alley. 

The staff of the tea house halted their movements when their gaze landed on the infamous general. In a haste, the staff led the general down to a private room which was connected to the teahouse’s very own outdoor garden. While he was on his way to the room, the sound of bickering caught his attention. Jing Yuan shortened his stride, the momentum at which his feet touched the ground was drawn out. His steps now had a linger. 

He found himself fixating on the direction to which the sound came from. The intricate pattern of the traditional partition door was only partially slided, Jing Yuan took the opportunity to wander his gaze towards the source of his curiosity. 

“Regardless of what my parents had said, I’ve told you from the start that I’m not interested in starting and getting into a relationship with you.” You took a few sips from the steaming cup of tea, eyelashes fluttered at the aromatic flavor and warmth that glided down your throat. The tea was delightful unlike the company you shared.

In his frequent strolls, Jing Yuan had never encountered you before. However, he recognized the man sitting across from you — the guy was a son of a reputable merchant, with a little prestige embedded in his name. 

“If you could just tell me your preference, I’d try my best to accommodate myself.” 

You softly exhaled, brows furrowed at the resilience of the man before you. You had told your family to stop meddling in your affair and they in return had promised that this would be the last time. Who would have predicted that they’d find a persistent guy who had ignored every rejection you had thrown at him. 

Out of all the methods tested and tried, you truly didn’t want to yield to this last resort which Tingyun had advised you on. Sliding your hand over your left sleeve, you pulled out a photograph — one you had bought simply because Tingyun insisted that it was as good as an evidence to help you flee from your current admirer. She had also discounted the photograph heavily for the sake of your friendship. 

“I prefer a man like the general.” You laid the image of the divine foresight out on the table filled with traditional small bites. “The general has all of the characteristics I ever desire in a man.” Call it a stereotype, nevertheless, it was true that the general infiltrated the daydreams of ladies and gentlemen alike across the Luofu fleet. According to Tingyun, everyone had a Jing-Yuan-phase before. You didn’t know what the hell that was about, but if it could bring you away from this unprecedented situation, you’d happily jump into the craze. 

The man in front of you frowned, his face crestfallen for the first time. “But that’s unfair.” He wanted to say more, his mouth agape, trying to find one way in which he best the general. To no avail, the general was the epitome of picture perfect. 

“Well, you did ask.” 

Jing Yuan was conscious of the circulation of his pictures in the market. He was aware that a certain foxian trailed behind him on some days, a camera in her hand. In all the centuries he had lived, he however, had never been bestowed such a sight.  A lady rejecting a prominent man simply because she preferred him? It was full of lies. Yet, the general’s golden hues gleamed in mirth. 

You carefully stood up from the cushion, a hand on your traditional drawstring bag. When the man figured that you were about to leave, he stood up abruptly, knocking the cups of tea that sat stationarily. Water spilled across the table and you narrowed your eyes at the man. 

“May this meeting be our last.” If you had stood up a second later, you would have noticed the shadow cast upon Jing Yuan’s figure which was reflected on the partition door. Meanwhile, Jing Yuan, sharp as ever, foresaw the man’s movement. The man was about to sink his claws onto your wrist the moment you took your glances off him and towards the exit. 

CLACK! Jing Yuan slammed the partition door open, a courteous smile etched in his feature. As if shocked in time, the man and you were frozen altogether. The man weakly withdrew his arm to himself at the sight of the general. 

“If you do not mind, may I steal the lady’s presence? I am in a terrible need for a company.” Jing Yuan held his hand out towards you. You stared at it, wondering how much the man had heard. 

“Of course, g-general!” The man profusely bowed repetitively at a sharp ninety degree angle. He didn’t dare go against the general’s words. In the first place, he had never seen you or the general interact at all! He wouldn’t have known of your relationship with such a powerful individual. 

You accepted Jing Yuan’s hand and you noted that it was warm. Slightly larger, yes, but also rough to the touch. Fortunately for you, Jing Yuan’s presence alone was enough to quell the man away. He stole a look at the portrait of him to which you had left on the table. “Are you not taking the picture with you?” 

You chewed on the bottom of your lip, embarrassment raked up your body towards the flush of your cheek. Tingyun hadn’t mentioned that buying a picture of the general would warrant his presence. 

“It is a misunderstanding, general.” Clearing your throat, you clenched at his hand tighter — a silent plea to drop the topic. Jing Yuan chuckled, the soft timbre of his voice echoed onto your ears in a ripple, as if carried by the wind themselves. 

You hadn’t known him at all, and there was no way he would recognize every common citizen of no importance in the fleet. Within a while, you had assembled the pieces together. The general barged in to offer you a way out of the uncomfortable situation you were under. 

“Thank you for the help, general. Although, I do have it under control.” You didn’t know whether it was the contrast between the armor he wore or the gentle nature to his silhouette, but for a while, it seemed you understood why so many maidens had fallen to a phase of infatuation with the man next to you. 

“I trust you did. However, even a man like me would remain ensnared to hear such a bold confession.” Unconsciously, you squeezed his hand tighter — having realized your action a tad bit too late after you had committed the disrespect. Jing Yuan returned the deed with a light squeeze of his own, quietly leading you towards the private room reserved under his name. 

The snacks he had often inquired about settled in the center of the table. He noticed the softness of your skin — in his eyes, you likely was a young lady with a sheltered upbringing, raised to be soft but lethal, compliant yet steadfast to your own standard. 

“General, you’re mistaken.” He noted the redness of your cheek, the redness had diffused all the way to your ears. Something was not quite right, a tiny detail needed appropriate fixing. 

“Jing Yuan.” He pronounced his name slowly, his sharp gaze locked on your lips, awaiting for his name to be tainted upon your tongue. Jing Yuan didn’t like how you had referred to him by his title all this time. Even as you vouch your admiration for him to the guy before, you had refused to call him by his name. 

“Pardon?” You set your eyes on the expectant general. You had to tilt your face upwards in order to truly lock into his orbs. 

You had let go of his hold, choosing to quietly settle on one of the cushions by the table. Jing Yuan hid the frown intruding his face with yet another unrecognizable smile. “I much prefer to be addressed by my name.” He settled on the opposite end of where you were sitting. Out of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, you squinted at the general’s all too optimistic visage. 

“It’s not what it seems like, Jing Yuan.” His eyelids dropped at the sprinkle of familiarity, the muscles of his face loosened. Jing Yuan leaned one arm into the table, shifting the weight of his shoulder onto said arm. He could hear you call his name all day long. There was this ease you carried yourself in, and it was contagious. It had infected him straight away, and he wasn’t sure if he’d want a cure. 

“Shall we chat over tea?” 

That was the day the man everyone had revered as the mighty general first became Jing Yuan to you. And it was the first of the endless tea sessions for the two of you. Sometimes, a few knights would knock on the general’s private room in the tea house, cutting the rendezvous short. Other times, the sky would lose its tinge. The vibrant orange hues melted into the color of twilight. 

“Same time, next week?” 

Ever so naturally, at the end of the tea party, Jing Yuan would never fail to deliver the promise of a near future. And you’d reaffirmed his promise with one of yours.

 “Same time, next week.”

The Cloud knights who were often tasked to bring the general back to his office saw the way their general lips would linger on the back of your hand a second longer than what was the norm. It was no secret that the general had gotten closer to you — a sweet stranger who had coveted the general’s time and occupied his mind entirely. 

Prior to knowing you, Jing Yuan had a multitude of reasons to flee from the divine foresight seat. It would either be something along the lines of performing a much needed assessment of the fleet surrounding, or to breathe in fresh air on such a fine day. Having met you, the general had grown rather brazen and complacent. To deliberately accentuate your presence in his every word, he’d always inform the nearby cloud knight of his meeting with you.

“I am off to enjoy tea with my dearest companion.” Who else would he refer to with such endearment if it weren’t you? Sure, the cloud knights may falter in terms of strength when compared with the general’s mighty force. But they weren’t blind. They could see how all encompassing the general’s thoughts of you was. 

“Please return by 4, sir.” Behind the general’s back, his subordinates were already placing bets on just how long until the two finally got together.  

True to their expectations, the tea o’clock that had started out spontaneously, eventually evolved into so much more. The progression started small but of significance. Initially, Jing Yuan and you would sit across one another, separated by the tiny table that felt too vast for its size. In the following weeks, Jing Yuan slowly transitioned where he sat, he’d pull the cushion over to sit adjacent to where you were, occupying half of the right angle on the table. And now, he’d always be right next to you, shoulders brushing upon one another, close enough that the sound of each other’s breath could fool for the pulse of each other’s heart. 

What came after was the slip of endearments out of his tongue. Jing Yuan was deep in his nap, the fluff of his hair rested on your lap. With how often the meeting between the two of you had been, you started bringing over business proposals you were in charge of to the space you shared. You hadn’t meant to grumble that loudly, however the issues with shipment were impacting your family’s business greatly.

Jing Yuan rustled in his sleep, cuddling further into your lap before he fluttered open an eyelid. “What’s the matter, love?” You malfunctioned for the entire day. It wasn’t so much about the word itself, it was the gravity in which Jing Yuan expressed the word. His voice hoarse after the nap, an octave lower than the usual volume he spoke in — even so, the tenderness velveted in that single word was undeniable. As if he truly believed that the word love was encapsulated in the form of you. 

You thought it’d be a one-time thing. That it was a fumble in his speech. Albeit, the endearment hadn’t ceased. In fact, it proliferated — so much that one day, you had accidentally used one on Jing Yuan as well. 

“Yuan? I’m sorry for being terribly late, the roads around my house was blocked, and hear me out, love. Every road I went into was blocked, I had to reroute dozens of times to get here!” You exclaimed, plopping down the traditional drawstring bag to which Jing Yuan had gotten you on the wooden floor. 

“My dear, would you repeat it for me to hear once more? The wind seemed to have stolen the melodies of your voice.” You looked at the man in front of you, despite spending an hour by himself, he had appeared radiant with joy. The curves of his lips were testament to the spirits of glee that had taken over his feature. The man wasn’t simply smiling with his lips, his eyes were that of a half crescent moon, the crease on the edge apparent with the rise of his cheeks. 

Oh… the realization struck while you retraced back on your own words. For the remainder of the day, Jing Yuan tried his best to bait you into saying the words of endearment again. He successfully extracted another two from you that day. 

Ever so naturally, the degree of your relationship with the infamous general escalated by the day. The thought of dating hadn’t even crossed Jing Yuan’s mind, he knew what the both of you had, was one for eternity. Without your knowledge, he had gotten your family’s approval and had a custom ring made of the finest jewels for you. The proposal itself wasn’t loud, it was the kind of proposal that involved more sincerity and intimacy — exactly how Jing Yuan was like. 

Jing Yuan knelt down, not in the conventional way in which proposals were done. Both of his knees kissed the cold lamination of the woods, he delivered soft kisses before holding your right hand to his forehead. Jing Yuan glanced upwards, the confusion palpable in your irises. 

“For all the years graced upon me, I had seen seasons pass. I had witnessed the end and birth of eras. I’ve come to know the joy of having companions in the battlefield — companions you would call family. And I have come to learn the despair of having lost it all. The passage of time may be cruel to us. However, regardless of what the future entails. I could not imagine a future where you were not there. Therefore, please do me the honor of being yours eternally.” Jing Yuan pulled out the ring he had hidden and you would have thought that today was a feverdream, until you pinched yourself on your side and the pain bit back harder than expected. 

Vehemently, you nodded. Words couldn’t seem to formulate in your mind, instead you cried — tears of happiness, as others had often coined it for. Jing Yuan slipped the ring onto your finger, his strong arms already on the side of your waist, picking you up in ease and spinning you around. 

Once the aftermath had briefly settled, you were now deep in his embrace. The two of you settled comfortably, with Jing Yuan resting his back on the wall of the room. 

“I kind of want to be yours, like right now.” You said, it was a blurt of the moment, the rush that had run and exploded in your veins. 

“The wedding will be in a few months my love, can’t you bear any longer?”

“No can do.” Jing Yuan chuckled, that impatience of yours was another quality of you that he had adored. 

“Shall we register our marriage then?”

The two of you eloped that day. Your family in disbelief with how impatient you were, and also at how lenient Jing Yuan was with your demand. Despite being formally married, there were still traditional ceremonies to follow through. Both of you abided by the rest of the processes dutifully. Jing Yuan’s elopement was kept a secret with the news of the fairy tale like wedding only being officiated on the day of the wedding reception itself. 

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Having lasted for fifty years now, the general’s marriage was the envy of many men. Jing Yuan had heard of his subordinates' household stories, how they were scolded by their wives numerous times and how often they had fought due to menial issues. When questioned whether the general faced these ordinary issues as well, Jing Yuan simply tilted his head sideways — as if he found it hard to believe.

According to Jing Yuan, his everyday life as a married man was sweet and decadent. He had never had fights which escalated to an outrageous confrontation. Most of the time, it would be his wife expressing worry about the mission he was sent to — and that would be the extent of their crisis. Although lately, Jing Yuan had noticed something amiss from you. 

While Jing Yuan had been more than content with the peace of your daily life together, there was a single factor you had dwelled upon more as of late. You wanted to expand your little family. The two of you had gotten approval to have a child from the ruling commission. Although you hadn’t been successful.

The arrival of the doctor’s letters was the final nail to the coffin. You slumped down next to the couch, hands gripped on the piece of paper, crumpling it so tight you wished the words would dissipate into falsehood. As soon as he stepped into the house he shared with the love of his life, Jing Yuan knew something was ajar. He called your name but the only sound that responded was the echo of his own. 

Jing Yuan dropped the newest tea leaves he had picked up especially for you. Frantic thoughts ran into his mind as he flicked the button of lights on, his eyes searched for your figure. There you were, all slumped up, your back against the armrest of the couch, your hair covered the entirety of your face, and Jing Yuan could see the way you had both palms covering your face. 

He dropped down onto his knees, hesitantly wrapping his hands on your wrist, pulling one arm at a time to unveil the state of your face. Jing Yuan softly collected your hair, tucking each strand to the side. Tears were rimmed on the edges of your eyes, the skin on your face had gotten sticky from the incessant tears, and your lips had gotten puffy, He hadn’t question why you were in such a distress, instead Jing Yuan rubbed away the tears threatening to fall yet again with his thumb, delicately tracing over your skin. He noted that your nose was red and filled with snot. 

Jing Yuan turned away, intending to bring the box of tissue situated by the table to your side. You clung into the tassel he had always worn by his side. “I c-can’t give you a child, Yuan.” Jing Yuan looked at you, your lips trembled and you gasped for air, all while the tears flowed down your neck. 

“All this time, it was me.” Your body heaved for air, breathing had become a struggle when snots formed on your nose and your body refused to accept the news that was now your reality. The sound of your wail for a child that would never come to be was the mighty general’s breaking point. 

“Don’t say that.” You hadn’t heard him, the sound of your cries had drowned every sound that came after. But you could feel him, the way his fingers had steadfastly captured the rivulets that had streamed down your face. 

“Don’t make it sound like you are the problem.” 

“I am, Yuan. This is all me.” Jing Yuan cradled you into his hold, your arms — as a form of habit, wrapped against his neck and your face cuddled into the snug of his comfort. 

“I married you for nothing else but love. Everything I had always wished for was for your health and happiness. With or without a child, I love you all the same.” He didn’t need anything else as long as you were by his side, and if it hadn’t been clear enough to you, Jing Yuan deemed it as his fault. He should have loved you loud and clear. 

“You won’t ever be a father.”

“Being your husband has been the greatest grace in my life.” Gently, he sent soothing strokes down your hair. After such a ferocious cry, he expected you’d find such a touch pleasant for the pounding on your mind. 

“I wanted a child who resembled you.” A child who would be a mix of you and him, you had dreamed of it before.

“I know.” 

“We’d brave through this together.” Jing Yuan kissed the corner of your corner of your eyes that was burnt from the tears, the soreness of the ache made you drowsy. 

He cradled you in his arm, noticing that your movement had gone slack and a steady rhythm now moved your chest. You had fallen asleep, surely you must have been tired from all the tears and grief you had gone to spill. Was that why you had been odd lately? You must have some degree of suspicion in regard to your fertility issue and the doctor’s letter was the storm the apex which resulted your distress. 

Jing Yuan carried your body into the master bedroom you both shared. After he had laid and tucked you underneath the blanket, he pressed a kiss down your forehead. 

“You have me, for eternity.”

Time continued to flow. Sometimes, it felt as if it were going too fast. And on some days, time felt especially slow. Yet time has always been a constant force of nature. Your desire for a little family hadn’t gone with time, there were still days where you’d cry in Jing Yuan’s arms. But there were better days, days where everything was okay as long as he was there with you. The same applied to Jing Yuan. A part of you was apologetic for letting him shoulder your burden alongside with Luofu, however Jing Yuan had smiled it off. “There will never be me, or you. Only us.”

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

On a day where Jing Yuan was dispatched to yet another battle, the sky was crying. Jing Yuan flinched, the sight after a battle had never been pleasant, not even when you had lived as long as he had. A cry broke the dread that was impending on him, Jing Yuan’s vision snapped to the source of the sound. Hidden under the deceased body of a soldier was a baby boy. He didn’t know what had gotten over him then, but Jing Yuan decided to bring the boy back to his home. War and battles had always been filled with the loss of another comrade in expense of victory, this was the only time he ever truly returned with a life gained.

The sight of your beloved, with streaks of blood on his armor and his hands wrapped upon the tiny bundle in a blanket, was unexpected. 

“I found him on the battlefield, and it’s just- could I-” Jing Yuan hadn’t brought the little boy to play family with you, he had developed a unique bond with the sole survivor of the battlefield. In a way, the little baby reminded him of himself — of how he had been the only survivor from the the high-cloud quintet. 

“Together. We’ll raise him together.” You embraced the two jewels of your life, ensuring that you were cautious enough with the baby who would later be called Yanqing. That night, you had drafted your husband a warm bath while he ran to the nearest store to pick up items a baby would require. 

You rocked the little body to sleep while feeding the boy formulated milk through a sippy cup Jing Yuan had bought. Motherhood was a distant dream of yours in the past, but now that you were faced with a child, you were anxious at every detail. Had the ratio of formulated milk powder to water been right? Was the water too warm? The thoughts diminished as Jing Yuan stepped into your shared bedroom, fatigue laced the silhouette of his features. 

Jing Yuan melted into your touch almost immediately. His face was buried on the crook of your neck, and you patted his back, noticing that his hair was still slightly damp from the shower. To be the general was to be a flawless figure, revered for strength. You allowed him to be weak. 

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

With Yanqing’s appearance, time passed by swiftly like the breeze of one season onto another. You took on Tingyun’s hobby, snapping pictures of your little family every time you could. The walls of your home that had been bare once, were filled with portraits you had hung up. You remembered Yanqing’s first step, how his little body had wobbled left and right before falling into a cushion Jing Yuan had set up. The little boy had picked up a toy sword as soon as he could run around, he’d always be chasing after Jing Yuan with his toy sword. 

“Ma, am I allowed to get an actual sword now?” You froze. In the years you had raised the little boy, you had always ensured that he called you by your name — after all, you didn’t want to lie to him. 

“What do Yuan have to say about it?” Surely, you must have heard wrong. That it was a slip of his tongue. 

“That I should ask you, ma.” Yanqing replied, he was aware of what he had called you. For a while now, he had been wanting to call you his mother. He learnt from a book that a mother was someone who would raise children with love — would that not be you?

Emotions choked on your throat and you could simply nod vehemently at the boy’s request. But that hadn’t been the end of it. During one fine day, you had stayed at Aurum Alley later than you’d like due to the expansion of the family business you inherited. As you swung the door of your house open, Yanqing and Jing Yuan stood there with a huge smile on their faces and a giant bouquet on their hands.

“Happy Mother's day!” Yanqing exclaimed, the smile on his face quickly fell the moment he saw droplets of liquid trickled down your face. You’d remember that day for the rest of your life — Yanqing had panicked so hard that he ran around the house looking for a cloth to wipe your tears with, and Jing Yuan had led you into the house, fingers entangled with one another. 

Once every other day, you’d sit on the patio while Jing Yuan trained Yanqing. Jing Yuan would saunter over to steal a place in your lap. 

“Yanqing’s developing your habits, my dear. The boy is impatient and highly ambitious.” Jing Yuan said with a sigh, although the hint of adoration was palpable. 

You ruffled your husband’s hair, fingers tenderly massaging his scalp — just how he liked it. “I’d say, he’s more like you, the two of you smile the same.” 

“He’s ours, isn’t he?”

“Our miracle baby.” You confirmed. Once dusk had begun to engulf the golden sky, Jing Yuan would carry an exhausted Yanqing home — the boy had fallen asleep after the intense training, and you’d walk right next to them, Jing Yuan’s fingers always entangled in yours. 

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Even after years had passed, your family remained the same. Ever so loving, ever so precious. Jing Yuan was still known as the dozing general. Today, in particular, was such a blissful day, clouds had mostly halted the scorching ray. While on one of his casual escapes, he saw you sleeping against the trunk of a tree — guards were stationed a distance away to not perturb your sleep. 

As the dozing general, he couldn’t miss such a perfect opportunity to laze. He sat himself next to you, beckoning your head to rest on his shoulder, and his would rest on top of your head. Sleep came to him in an instant, you were his home after all. 

Yanqing caught sight of his parents not long after, both serene in their sleep, both tired from carrying the world on their shoulders. He was on his way to train, but just today, a short rest would do him good. Yanqing positioned himself to your left, leaning into your shoulder. Sleep came to him as easy as it did with Jing Yuan. 

CLICK! CLICK! Hiding amidst the bushes was Tingyun and her camera. She had captured the family’s intimate moment — the citizens of Luofu would surely feast to see such a domestic sight! As she was about to flee, Jing Yuan cleared his throat, his eyes were still shut tight. 

“How much would it be to own the exclusive rights to my family’s portrait?” 

Tingyun smirked, she could imagined the sound of credits cashing into her bank. “Well, if it isn’t the generous general. How much would you be willing to offer?” 

A/n: It ended up being longer than I thought. Hope you guys enjoyed it! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated ᥫ᭡

© Hermesays .☘︎ ݁˖ masterlist

[flytaco]

Daddy caught dinner while you were drooling on my gear.

[danijaci]

take that everybody

[pearlscnt]

GAWDDDAAAYMMMM BRO????