summary: your bond with Satoru has an intricate history together, starting from the former years in Jujutsu High..
wordcount: 1.6K
a/n: g/n reader, I love teen Gojo, and I love friends to lovers, so why not combine the two? this doesn’t have any suggestive just reader and teen satoru bullying each other. I feel like it shows a stronger and more intimate bond. this is mainly about the relationship and funny little shenanigans gojo and reader go through. Live laugh love high school sweethearts <3
dividers : @vesearartistry
TEEN GOJO who pranks anyone and everyone in Jujutsu High, including you. Giggling as he crouches by the corridor; ready to observe your pitiable fate. Poor you falling victim to his stunts, stepping out of your room freshly showered and clean, that is until you step across the threshold. Water collected ina bucket from - as you could guess - the ditches douses your hair, trickling down your shoulders as your frame freezes up. Your ears are pierced with cackles of laughter, looking over to spot the little nuisance responsible for this practical joke. White tufts of hair bouncing as he snickered away. Your response - simply the most mature thing to do - slip a few insects with one too many limbs into his pillowcase. Shrieking with laughter as you heard satoru’s own shrieks with pure horror, followed by thuds and unnerving crashes. The next morning, your sight is blessed with a mattress and a bed frame strewn about in the hallway, a very suspiciously bed-shaped hole in the wall of Satoru’s dorm room.
TEEN GOJO who slams the door to your room open without a care in the world, his stride unnaturally purposeful. You whipping your head around, battle ready, just to see a dumbass dramatically checking your shelf of trinkets. Unbothered by your presence as he snatches your possessions from the shelf. Shuffling through your personal collection of books, picking them out as if in a public library. Satoru strolls out of your room satisfied, his arms cradling several of your belongings. Leaving you staring at the door, wide-eyed with bewilderment.
TEEN GOJO who constantly flicks your forehead no matter where you are, staring at the blackboard as Yaga explained the consequences of overexertion in battle, practicing your cursed techniques in the courtyard, bickering in an abandoned building as you scout out a special grade… Managing to swerve and dodge inexhaustible attacks of First Grade cursed spirit you were able to maim quite competently.. Preparing yourself to land a killing strike, your engrossment in the battle was ruptured. A perfect circular cavity was present in the cursed spirit’s body, making its remaining flesh a simple hollow shell. Your eyes rounded as you peered straight through the sizable hole, a pair of blue eyes glimmering with complacency stared back at you through the corpse; now collapsed to the ground in a flourish of dust particles. Your mouth hung open as he made his way to you, the swagger in satoru’s pace made you grit your teeth. A frown pulled on your features as you stared up at the giraffe standing before you; a smug grin tugged on his lips and hands placed nonchalantly in his pockets. Your mouth flung open to scold him when you were interrupted; a forceful and sharp pain in your forehead made you flinch. You stared at him, baffled. He had flicked you. The twig fingered bastard stole your final blow and then flicked you.
TEEN GOJO, who finds it unfortunate that your sense of emotional development hasn’t matured either. Every time the scamp would flick your head with his boney fingers, you stooped down to his level, reaching up to him to give him a taste of his own medicine. Only for him to veer from your vengeful attack. You made do with punching him in the gut every time he violated your poor forehead. Most times when you get caught up in your dispute, it compromises your mission. Earning a strong scolding and punishment from Yaga.
TEEN GOJO who would constantly wear your clothes, prancing around campus pretending to be you. You would walk into a room and look up to see a sight to behold. Satoru flailing and mocking you with overzealous facial expressions, a high-pitched voice to top it off. You just stand there in the doorway as he performs for Suguru and Shoko, their giggles evaporate as they caught sight of your boiling fury. It takes satoru longer than it should have to notice his audience’s sudden silence, and even longer for him to turn around. When he does he does it with a flourish, halting in his tracks as he locks eyes with yours. Suguru and Ieiri take their leave swiftly as your hands balled up into fists. Not long after, satoru could be seen trailing you - or should I say being dragged by the ear - half naked, your clothes disheveled, assuringly ripped straight from his body.
TEEN GOJO who would use his infinity every time you tried to hit him, he learned the hard way how hard your blows are. He turns his infinity on subconsciously, often forgetting he has such a power, or fearing your deadly blows and might would shatter her infinity somehow. Every time you try to hit satoru, he lets out a deafening shriek, almost inhumane. The first time he did it was during a class ridden with silence, satoru tiptoed from behind you, plotting to tip your chair back. A squeal made everybody turn around, beheld with the sight of satoru on the ground, hands up in frightened defense, and you on top of him, your chair held high over your head. He can never outlive that embarrassment of a moment.
TEEN GOJO who would make unnecessary and stupid scenarios at the most random times. Including the less convenient times too. It annoyed not just you, but everyone else too. Satoru would scan the elders facial expressions contort as he asked about the effects of cursed energy during, uh… A mischievous grin appearing on his face as well as slowly appearing on yours. Respect for higher powers wasn’t Satoru’s strong suit, neither was it yours, although you knew when to shut up.. Satoru on the other hand obviously did not. You couldn’t count the number of times you shoved a hysterical satoru with your elbow - multiple times in fact - as a quite stoic elder stood before you. Yet he wouldn’t shut up, until Masamichi gave you both punishment.
TEEN GOJO who would be weirdly affectionate to you. Coming up behind you and laying his head on yours, casually flopping onto the couch that you were sitting on laying his feet or his head on your lap as if you were merely a part of the sofa, leaning on your shoulder whenever he gets tired of standing. You could call it a blessing, until you had to deal with a lanky piece of dead weight on your back, or bring mercilessly dragged everywhere as repercussion from the leverage he has over you - with his height, leverage over everybody..
TEEN GOJO who would boast and jeer when you got injured, him being nearly untouchable only encouraged his nuisance behavior. He would be walking past the infirmary dangerously slow, purposefully and noisily gloating about how he didn’t earn a scratch on that mission. You just stared holes into the strongest with an unamused roll of your eyes. Satoru pretended not to notice you, snickering as he kept crowing down the hallway.
TEEN GOJO and you who would provoke each other with ultimatums - one would call it childish games. Who can chug the most sake without passing out? Who can take down the most cursed spirits in a limited amount of time? Who can make it from one side of Jujutsu campus to the other without touching the ground or roof? The latter would end up with destroyed walls, startled staff, and a very disappointed and exhausted principal. But none of it ever created a rift between you too, but it developed your chemistry. Competitive delinquency at its finest.
TEEN GOJO who - you never thought would - listens to all your stories and every thought you had to share. Remembering even the littlest things that you forgot about yourself. Years of information accumulated in his head, down to your specific moods that made you fancy certain things. You always thought he tuned you out, or at least didn’t care about what you had to say. After all, your friendship was built off of bullying and smart remarks. You didn’t mind anyhow, you weren’t expectant of that. His mind always seemed busy, yet he recalls the feelings and opinions you had about foods, tv shows, behaviors. It baffled you every time he made a quick remark or joke you just had to stop and stare.
TEEN GOJO who would drag you outside, far away from campus borders in the middle of the night. His hand seizing yours with a grip that makes it hard for you to believe that you could ever let go.. Not that you would ever want to. He takes you to an abandoned park, clear from cursed spirits in which he annihilated before hand, grass and other shrubbery peeking through cracks in the concrete, moss scattered across paths where residents once tread. He led you up a hill and into a clearing, pale moonlight poured into the open glade where a destroyed building had opened up and shrouded over with green, a sight to remember.. That night you didn’t get a second of sleep. Exploring the buildings and making quips at each other, only finally resting on the meadow when the moon departed and the sun bathed the surface.
TEEN GOJO who after a long day, makes himself at home in your room, always seemingly searching for your presence. Helps himself to your cash of snacks hidden behind a cabinet while you’re asleep, he knows you keep a variety of his favourite sweet treats for him like you knew he would be rummaging through the stash. He finds comfort in simply lying with you, whether you are conscious or not, cracking jokes or having deep conversations. Satoru’s arms crossed, propping his head up to stare at the ceiling, his head turns to you. He notices the way your features fall as they sit relaxed, how peaceful your breathing pattern is. Soon, his eyelids feel heavy and he falls asleep with you, arm draped across your shoulders and his snores jumbled with yours.
summary: in which wriothesley wonders what’s so hypnotic about his hands (fluff + teensy bit of angst)
wordcount: 800
a/n: i love wriothesley and i love hands , why not combine the two? but seriously calloused and ruggedised arms and hands have me on the floor, especially if wrio is a boxer and has a backstory. g/n reader , a teeeeeeeny bit of wrio’s backstory , 2nd person (kinda omniscient) , lowercase on purpose , dividers : rookthornsartistry
“did it hurt?” your hands trail over wriothesley's arms, fingers coming to trace the imperfections that littered his forearms. his bandages discarded which allowed you to have a clear view of his arms. strong biceps, he did nothing to stop you, only turning his head sheepishly.
as you lay idly on a small blanket splayed onto the grass, a breeze drifts, tousling yours and wrio’s hair. his eyes met yours as you looked up at him, awaiting his answer.
“well.. of course it did,” his gaze drifted to his hands then back to you, he tagged on, “you get used to it after a while.”
you hummed, your head rested on his shoulder. running you whole palm against his fore arm. you could feel wriothesley heat up, even without looking, you knew he was flushing. dry, his arm felt — not dry like sandpaper, but in a way more.. hardened — a contrast to your soft touch.
wriothesley shivers as you trace a deep scar that hugged along the underside of his forearm, running down from his wrist all the way to the inside of his elbow. your smooth hands were so different compared to his rough and hardened hold, something that, even to this day, wriothesley always seems to be amazed at. you studied the mark, discovering that inside the scars, there seems to always be even more cuts and scrapes near the main body. who knew, something so brute could be so intricate at the same time.
these moments.. where you could study others, every blemish had a story. and with wriothesley, you knew that each scar would have a story, each scar contributed to the man you have come to love today. you treasured it..
while you cherished his imperfections, wriothesley only saw them as such flaws. though he didn’t care if outsiders saw and judged them, he cared dearly about what you think. he tries to pull away every time they catch your attention, afraid something might spark and your feelings may suddenly change about him, or worse, you’d be afraid of him. wriothesley wasn’t prepared to take that risk.
“it’s not something i’m proud of either..” he breathes, just barely — though you caught his utterance. looking away as his hand relaxes in your touch.
“i think all your scars perfect.” you sighed, your palm slid into his, “after all~ they are what made the most handsome and strong man i love today” you smiled cheekily up at him.
your comment made wriothesley crack a smile, along with a deep chuckle. you heaved yourself on top of him, his arms coming up to your waist to stabilise you. despite his cryo vision, he always had warmth emulating from him. like your own personal heater.
“is that so?” he ran his hand through his hair in a mock flourish. “maybe i should show it off in public more often—“
“now hold on, mister,” you pressed a finger to his lips, wriothesley glanced down at you, “i don’t want anyone stealing my husband now.”
“I—“
“but alas—“ you cut him off, straightening your posture but still perched on his stomach. placing a hand on your chest, as if preaching your own monologue in mock rejection “I guess i can’t have everything to myself.. even the duke of meropide himself.”
you got up to make a dramatic exit, still playfully in character. a hand grabbed yours, yanking you back down before you could get any further. planting a kiss sweet on your lips; your facade dissolving as you melted into his hold.
there was no doubt you were a fan of wriothesley’s kisses, they were gentle but firm. your hand flew up to his hair, the only thing separating you two was the need for air. leaving you flushed a bright crimson and him a satisfied smirk, you tried to turn away, but being straddled in wriothesley’s lap didn’t really do any good to hide from him.
a warm hand brought you back face to face, he chuckled. “woah now, no need to be so jealous. i’m not going anywhere.”
“what? i not jealous!” you sputtered out — though it came out mixed with a nervous laugh — shrugging your shoulders.
“no, no it’s okay,” wriothesley let out a sigh mixed with a snort, you caught a scent of earl grey tea, bringing you back to that cup you had shared before he suggested you both leave for a short while to enjoy one moment of sunlight. of course it was only meant to be a brief outing to relax, only at a shore just beside the fortress of meropide.
wriothesley seemed to be in no rush, so were you. even if duty calls — even in that dark and cold fortress with little to no fresh air — you still treasured even the briefest of breaks you had with wrio, and delayed getting back anytime soon.
a nonchalant voice brought you back from your thoughts.
“you should know,” he flashed you a corny smirk, rough fingers intertwined with yours, “this duke is all yours.”
Beelzebub(Record of Ragnarok) x female reader who is like Castorice from Honkai Star Rail
the ceaseless demise of ambition .
Summary: beelzebub spent his life alone ever since the realisation of Satan.. he never made effort to interact, that is, until he met you.
Pairing: Beelzebub x Castorice!Reader
wordcount: 2.1K
a/n: requested by anon! Yay - fulfilling my first crossover fic/request in general!! Reader has gloves because things die when they touch em, thats all the stated info the rest of reader’s description is vaguer. BEELZEBUB WANTS DEATH. The hardest part was finding the right behavior to give beelzebub I hope it didn’t stray from his character. I tried to dig up as much info as I could about castorice, (read every single lore article I could find) kinda HC’S but it’s mixed with story telling kinda writing enough of me yapping go and read!! x
Dividers : @fae-and-wolf
The first time Beelzebub ever set his eyes on you was when he was taking a brief stroll in the enclosed garden of Valhalla. His gaze flicked up from the deep purple of the blossoming buds to your form, sitting poised on one of the marble benches carved. His hand dropped from the stem as his whole body turned to face you, studying your appearance. This is the first he’s seen of you - not that he emerges from his quarters full of research often - at the sanctuary where he would go to clear his mind. There are rotting flowers and dying soil surrounding you, but Beelzebub takes little thought to that, just kind of… blankly staring. He doesn’t approach you though, instead peeking at you from between the leafy stalks.
His intrigue dissipated quickly as he hadn’t stirred from his quarters for days, engrossed in his findings an experiments. Nails dug into scattered papers as Beelzebub grits his teeth with frustration. Sooner than he can fight it, his feet are planted at the threshold of the greenhouse. Beelzebub didn’t expect you to be there again, he hadn’t really given you a thought after that one sighting, though he found himself scanning the controlled foliage for your figure.
You’re there.. Behind an assortment of trees, your back to him as you fondle with something in your hand. Realizing you’re handling a flower. Beelzebub’s jaw clenches as he stares at the flower, its deep blue and cerulean petals withered into dried husks. His eyes widen with curiosity, this is unlike anything he has really seen before; and certainly never expected you to display such power. After that day he cannot stop thinking about you, what he could do with your abilities, what he’d be able to finalize after thousands of years of trial.
Your third encounter was accompanied by Hades. You and the God of the Underworld are well acquainted; forasmuch as Hades holding the title of King of the Dead, and you, the daughter and Guardian of the River Styx.. You two were bound to be familiar with each other, something Beelzebub did not consider. Hades introduced you to him, albeit Beelzebub’s surprise, his face was stony and his lips pursed in a thin line - warranting no real emotion. Not to say your reaction was the same, you were more… polite. Courteously dipping your head in greeting, your features more supple but your gloved hands were intertwined tautly. How strange, the more Beelzebub made brief conversation, the more he wanted to boil over with his questions.
Unexpected but fortunate for Beelzebub, Hades informs the Lord of the Flies with some information with a knowing tone. Explaining your stature as the Embrace of Death, your position of a member of the Chrysos Heir, and your abilities that can make a simple material deteriorate with a touch of your hand. Hade’s tone would edge expectancy as he enunciated the latter.
With this newfound knowledge, Beelzebub would spend days observing you undetected. Surveying you when you sharpen your skills, scanning your types habits and how entities succumbed to your touch, often gathering the corpses if they hadn’t fully vanished into particles. Beelzebub would keep a ledger, full of unfinished studies of your assets and possible capabilities. But blank spaces littered the pages, hours of work still remain incomplete, all because he has just been watching from afar. What he needs to do is get up close, as this is only opportunity. Sometimes Beelzebub stares at the blank - no - unfinished pages with a blank stare, only that his eyes dry out as he peers down at the empty spaces where the truth should lie. His teeth grind as his shoulders squared, ready to throw his records halfway across the room. Why couldn’t he bring himself to talk to you? Was the looming pit overwhelming Beelzebub because he didn’t want to accidentally attach his one, and possibly, only chance at putting himself to rest? No, he had to do something.
You two start talking and having simple conversations, a step up from what he’d been doing anyway. Beelzebub would ask you questions, genuine curiosity sparked in the back of his mind, but never really showed in his tone or expression. You found it odd, but were happy to enlighten such inquiries. Over time you explained what he already knew, sometimes giving snippets of new information, but that wasn’t long lasting enough. He needed to get closer, at least closer enough to allow him physical examination.
You agree to help as Beelzebub asks you to perform an experiment - a way to make a kill switch for his prior experiments after hundreds of malfunctions and failures.. You’re unable to see past his lie as you willingly accept his task, wishing to possess a deeper understanding of your abilities. The ‘killswitch’ he needed was coated in generous lace of deception, yes it was a trigger to end life, but it wasn’t for his experiments. His heart jumps for the first time in eons as he appreciates that this might be the final way that he can meet his demise. This unending curse could be severed.
Beelzebub’s hopes increase as the days decrease. Your embrace was tested on several types of objects, from organic, to inorganic, even substances like liquids or gases. As more time passes, your limits are exerted more than you were used to, Beelzebub stoic and sharp as he attempts to extract your ability, hoping to turn it into a form of drug that welcomes inevitable death. He never fails to notice the tension in your hand, gloved or not, even when it hung limply at you side. He notices the way your wrist relaxes, and your palm loosens as his hands meet yours.
You refuse to touch any person or individual with an ungloved hand, not doubt why. Your hands starved of another beings physical contact. People have always been wary of you, their behaviors and movements painstakingly gingerly as they shift around you. Though Beelzebub was never so delicate with his movements. He made movements in his chambers - turned into lab - with purpose. It’s something you marveled at, later questioning. Beelzebub explained the enchantment that his long-gone friend, Lilith casted on him, he was never allowed to die, it was physically impossible; and every attempt and loophole was halted. You knew Beelzebub had a facade, putting aside his usual flat expression, you could tell this meant a lot to him. You should say, after hearing his explanation to his earnestness, you came more comfortable with your own movements too.
You two share moments Beelzebub never expected to have. You spoke about your duties as the Servant of Death, guiding souls from the underworld to trial. Beelzebub mindlessly paid attention, his library of details of you growing steadily.
You disclose some things of your past, only feeling as it was right, he did for you. Uttering the tragic death that undergo your own foolish mistakes..
Beelzebub’s been in your shoes before, ostracized from other beings for being “cursed by Satan.” Understanding your hesitance to be close to people. Maybe that’s why he feels a magnetic draw to you, and you him.
Beelzebub’s excitement of his passing ebbed away like his indifference towards you. He felt a lot more seen with you, as you did with him too. But like you having your boundaries, he had his too. Objecting letting his guard down too much near you, in case Satan ever took over him again. He did not want to lose or be responsible for another murder of a companion, maybe he was growing to enjoy your company?
Not in a thousand years would it ever appear anywhere but his mind, but, Beelzebub adores you. Your powers, your stature, your calmed personality. You weren’t crazy, but you weren’t too stoic either, the perfect mix that kept him entertained as much. Usually being by himself in his lab, no noise but the fire crackling and slithering through the air, him alone with his thoughts. You could say that the dead silence obstructed his work, his experiments that failed because of one simple mistake caused by the disruption of his thoughts. But now that you are accompanying his presence, Beelzebub feels more at home. He was never one for lively settings, but a. Touch of someone else’s - no - your existence is all he needs.
You enjoy simply watching Beelzebub work. Eyes locked on his features as he organised the files littered on his desk. Brows furrowed and jaw clenched in deep concentration. Or when he adjusts your form, allowing easier access to see the origins of your power. His grip on you firm, and eyes sparked with dedication.
Frequent nightmares are common for Beelzebub. Remembering the screams and chokes of Lucifer, Azazel, and Samael. Beelzebub wakes up from his desk frantically. His breaths are short as he recollects his bearings, nails subconsciously dug into the wood of his desk laden with research. Mind busy with shrouding thoughts and assurance, his mind skips over the hand placed delicately on his shoulder blades, a figure behind him. Then, a voice, Your voice. Ringing through his ears, hauling back into reality.
You’re there standing over his hunched form. Hands softly caressing his broad shoulders, croaking your concern. It eventually calms him down. But the pit of memories and the familiar feeling of them being wiped at the same time brought him back down.
Your soothing touch freezes up in a dreadful realisation. An alarming sight, one you were not used to, your gloves absent from where they would be now. You back away, dread pulled down your features. It took a moment for Beelzebub to catch on, dealing with his own demons.
His mouth gaped with something to say but his thoughts run like water. Maybe this is the way it’ll end- something this neglected… this simple.
Moments pass, nothing happens.
The air was sour with uncertainty. Two individuals who wished for different things. Relief floods over you when his form stays, your hand gripping your wrist. But disappointment wrecked Beelzebub’s final thoughts when nothing happens. He doesn’t speak much after that, but you are still hooked on how he was immune to your deadly touch.
Now everytime Beelzebub has these reoccurring nightmares, you are always at his side at once. He’s fond of this change, always having to wake up breathless, and recover on his own. It wasn’t like he was not used to it, but having you by his side… Made him never want it to change.
When the experiment ends, Beelzebub never mentions it to you again. What he did with the successful vial, if it really worked. also avoiding telling you about the real reason he had you be his companion. Never really the type to explain things, even if it meant a lot to you, if you never know, you won’t need to find out..
Years pass smoothly, staying friends - as if he wasn’t the only person you could interact with properly. Never once have you seen Demonic Destrudo, although you have heard descriptions of it. Unwanted whispers clamour to discuss the horrors of Beelzebub’s doings. You don’t necessarily like the comments, though Beelzebub himself doesn’t care. Merely walking away when he picks up any sign of gossip. You try to avoid causing a scene. A simple frown of a brow and pursed lips worked fine to express your exasperation towards these disdainful thoughts.
But you noticed Beelzebub has been growing a lot more protective.. no— possessive. He seems to always be trailing behind you, at your side, or looming directly over you. Reckless like nothing else but you should be with him, you find it kind of overwhelming..
Beelzebub becomes a lot more comfortable around you physically - but only in private. After a long day, his firm arms leaning on you from behind, his head buried in the crook of your neck. The hungry look in his eyes as he feasts on your sight, your hand in his as you waltz across the research-ridden floor. Emotionally, he makes several comments, some so well worded it eve takes you a minute to distinguish. Most of the time, he lets you drone on. When you two have nothing to say, sitting in silence progressing with your own tasks are just as pleasurable.
Your relationship is knitted with close layers of empathy. Knowing each other’s past, the similarities of your pains, mutual respect. But the differences were what pulled you together. Your status as the Servant of Death, carrying souls to their demise, bringing objects to their inevitable end, Beelzebub with his curse and his unyielding personality. Yet all the peculiarities that others find bizarre, even grotesque, earned a pedestal to celebrate
End notes: sorry kinda got sick of this but was too far in to change it. Mid-way i realise that none of this is related whatsoever to the ragnarok, anon im so sorry.
If you want me to make another that has ragnarok in it ill probably do it. ❤️
summary: in which a very injured adeptus comes across a supreme figure, turning out to have more to do with his troubles than it seems.
wordcount: 1.1K
a/n: i’m in love with the genshin x creator!reader au , trope . it hust seems so cool. g/n reader , implied morax , reader is just touchy , blood warning ? (ig) reader literally kinda does whatever they want cus… creator !! i like this au a lot, let me know if you want more !!!1!!1!&1% .. not revised
a weight lands on the wood of the Wangshu Inn with a noticable thud, disrupting the tranquility of nightfall. black and turquoise particles fading away as fast as they appeared like petals fluttering from a tree.
a slumped figure only — but barely upright by the support of his spear — huddled where the, now few, flecks of colour flickered. seconds came by like heavy, painstakingly slow footsteps; only accompanied with the soft thuds of dripping blood and bated breathing.
xiao clenched his spear, warm light spilled from the opening of the Wangshu Inn as he raised his head. a juvenile grunt escaped the warrior as he staggered to the further end of the balcony, hand gripping the wood harshly. splinters coming loose as xiao held his side, an unpleasant sound came through grinded teeth. the spear fell to the ground, turning to dust before it hit the ground.. no doubt purposefully.
a single minute felt like an hour to xiao, and every hour xiao seemed to spiral. racing thoughts gripped him like the pain that clawed away at him, his karmic debt prodding his mind.
how could there be so many demons? tonight especially?
the more he considered his own thoughts, the more he went back in time to study those particular creatures.
they weren’t like any other demons xiao had come across during his duration as a yaksha. and they weren’t like others, the way they attacked.. they weren’t targeting civilians, but xiao himself.
attacking him sparingly but with ruthlessness, as if they were testing him—
“general alatus.”
the voice was assertive, but tender, as if to prevent provocation; regardless, xiao pivoted around, brandishing his spear toward the voice. there was a tremble in his fixed stare when he turned on his heel, now gone.
a figure stood at the entrance to the balcony, polar to where xiao was planted. their features were obscured by the radiating light that shone from the entrance; abruptly stopped by the looming shadow of the individual.
xiao’s features were taut, that voice.. it felt— familiar, and that presence, it held an enthralling sense of security. but he couldn’t figure out what — who — it was. it’s almost like trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces.
“who are you?” xiao demanded, masking his inner conflict with animosity.
“you don’t remember me?” the figure tilted their head, their tone was one of sheer curiosity. one xiao searched for any hostility or malice, being unsuccessful.
“what—“
xiao stiffened as a hand latched to his face, another face coming close to his. nose almost coming into contact with his own. confused but instinctively bringing his spear up to the figures nape.
the clouds that obstructed the moonlight shifted, as if on cue. cold light glared down onto liyue; xiao’s eyes widened as he recognised the figures face. light came to glistening eyes and sculpted features.
xiao dropped his spear, landing with an unpleasant chime. he felt breathless with astonishment.
“your grace..” he rasped, to best he could attempt in this position. a certain urgency slid into his tone.
you replied with a hush, hand still gripping his face. you turned his head, examining xiao’s features with a turned up chin, like a victor studying his trophy. an action that made his ears heat up and face turn a slight crimson.
“morax has told me much about you, general alatus,” your other hand reached his face, thumb caressing the purple diamond-shaped mark on his forehead. earning a grunt as he attempted to speak. “even still when you were yet to be appointed a yaksha.”
“i deeply apologise for raising my weapon against you, your grace..” xiao stated through gritted teeth, not being keen to have his face grabbed. still, he made no attempt to free himself from your grip, he knew better.
“even after all these years i’ve been curious as to who had he cared such dearly for.” you made no acknowledgement to the xiao’s comment, your grip coming loose, both hands met clasped together behind your back. “but you are much.. smaller than i anticipated. although your speed makes up for your lack of— ugh..”
you cleared your throat.
“and i managed to observe you fighting my creatures, such spear work." you circled xiao, observing him. "morax taught you well, alatus.”
xiao’s eyebrows raised, swinging in your direction to face you. your eyes travelled up to meet his gaze, since surprised now itched with curiosity.
“your grace.. it was you who sent those demons?” he took a step forward, stopping only there. his head tracking your movements.
you slowed your pace, your gaze fixed on xiao’s waist, trailing down.
“i indeed did, alatus.” you quirked a brow, meeting eyes as yellow as the purest of cor lapis. a small smile perked your features, as you added teasingly, “and i see that they did not see mercy in the flight of their task.”
xiao felt blood rush to his face, dismissively clearing his throat. finding the floor to his interest rather than facing the teasing smirk that you had to offer.
he should feel grateful to be in your presence, being one of the few to ever lay eyes upon you, at least in the flesh. the many statues of you carved throughout liyue were no exception.
but xiao was fighting an internal war. discomfort settled in his stomach like a pit, feeling as if he was holding his weight from falling off a cliff.
“my apologies. if i knew those demons were sent by you, i would have considered less recklessness.” he dipped his head, eyes closed. hands felt as if they were latched onto xiao, attempting their best to pull him to the ground. shame felt itself creep throughout the entirety of xiao’s body, accompanied by following silence. apart from the whistling of midnight breeze, you said nothing. “my injuries— are just an inconvenience. it won’t happen again, your grace.”
a moment of silence passed until xiao felt a warm sensation, a hand rested on his shoulder. your hand. the contact made him feel significantly lighter, as if the hands that gripped attempted to drag him to the ground suddenly let go. the sudden lack of pain from his injuries almost made him stumble.
xiao’s head snapped up. there, your eyes closed, a warm smile pulled at your lips. you seemed different now.. you felt warm. such a sweet feeling, a feeling that could cure the worst of injuries.
“i sense that there’s more on your shoulders than your injuries from that battle, alatus.” you leaned in, face barely an inch away from his. fierce eyes bore into his, “there is more at play here, isn’t there?”
xiao’s eyes widened, for the first time in a while, he felt as if words wouldn’t form in his mouth. his jaw hung agape as if he was going to speak. heartbeats passed before he finally got out. “it is my.. karmic debt.”
you quirked a brow, intrigued.
“oh really?” you tilted your head, “tell me more.”
