Xiao x GN Reader - Romantic - Oneshot - Fluff - SFW
Word Count: 1.2k
Note: Loved loved loved writing this, my favourite writings are always secret character analyses lol (hope you enjoy!)
Perhaps Xiao had always wanted to love you.
Maybe he could admit that whenever he looked at you from afar, something deep within him would light up at the way you smiled, and then recoil as he reminded himself that he could never allow you to smile that way for him. But that was as much as he could ever admit.
Xiao took pride in his ability to stamp out any desire, any traces of mortal consciousness in his heart that made him yearn for worldly comfort. He did not need such frivolity. He was a Yaksha for Archon's sake; a creature of battle, an instrument of war. His heart had no room for simple temptations. He had no room for his heart.
So what was the tightness in the chest he swore was hollow? How could you fill him with more air than even his vision? Maybe Xiao had always wanted to feel. Perhaps he never let himself stray too far from his position of duty because he couldn't know how. However gruelling it was to slay and strike and punish, it was almost comfortable. Xiao knew all of this well.
He knew not of how to speak to you.
"Which tea would you prefer Xiao?"
What kind of question was that? Why would a weapon like himself have any preferences? Was this a test of some kind? A cruel joke? How should he know what tea you'd like best? Of course you would make this difficult, you always found a way to make things difficult for him. Why was it always so hard to breathe around you?
"Does it matter?" He settled into his usual scowl. What he knew couldn't hurt him, right?
"Well, I guess not," You smiled warmly. You were always so warm. "But isn't it nice to indulge in little things that make you happy now and again?" Xiao clicked his tongue.
"Adepti do not indulge. Why would we ever have a need for such insignificant things?"
You took a moment to ponder the question, taking it as the genuine misunderstanding of someone who was used to an outsider's perspective rather than as criticism. You knew Xiao well enough by now to understand what he truly meant when he said such things.
"Well, I think that it's important for everyone to have things that bring them joy, no matter how insignificant they are. It makes living a little easier when you can rely on even the smallest things to make you happy,"
"Ease has never been the goal of my existence," Xiao argued, though the soft croak in his voice revealed what his words could not.
"Maybe not a goal, but you surely still need rest and recuperation?" Deciding Xiao was not going to pick a tea flavour, you plucked the one closest to you and began to brew it. "Like right now, we're having tea and chatting, even if it's not classically productive,"
"It is not... this... I would not call this an insignificant thing." That made you smile wide, your head tilting affectionately.
"Well for the record, you make me happy too Xiao,"
Maybe Xiao would never know if the racing in his chest was normal.
It was not uncommon for you to visit Wangshu Inn, but it felt as if the frequency of your visits had increased as of late. You would always start by greeting Verr Goldet, but the boss never kept you long before she ushered you upstairs, sneaking a knowing look toward the balcony.
For your first few visits, Xiao had not always been there, often out attending to his eternal duty. When the vigilant Yaksha returned to find you waiting on the balcony for him, it took him a moment to unfreeze.
“You need not waste your time waiting,” Xiao huffed.
"Well I come here mostly to see you, I would think it a bit useless if I left without even accomplishing a hello,"
"You-" Xiao's reflex rebuttal caught in his throat. You came to see him. Maybe he would never figure out why that made his whole body feel light. "Then, the next time you come, call my name. I will arrive."
Now, you visited what felt like every other day, and each time you climbed to the tallest point of the inn and called the name of the Conqueror of Demons, he would dutifully appear. You both learnt to expect each other, and neither would dream of breaking the silent oath of commitment. Perhaps Xiao was pleased with the synergy you had created together.
It was a regular visit for you when Xiao asked that fateful question.
"Why do you persist?"
The night air was cool and crisp, the light breeze from the north still carrying some of the sweetness from its birthplace in Mondstadt. The two of you stood leaning against the railing of the balcony, savouring the time together. You blinked at the question, staring openly as if your gaze would be able to permeate the Adeptus’ mind.
“I’m sorry?”
“You endlessly approach me with conversation, as if I am like you,”
“And what am I like?”
“Mortal.”
You knew that Xiao had trouble accepting friendship; he had once told you that he was a weapon as if it was a fact of the world. But did he honestly still believe himself nothing more?
“Xiao,” you breathed softly. “I come to you because you make me happy, because I want to, because I desire your companionship. Is that not reason enough?”
Xiao turned his head away just enough that you couldn't see his face, but it did not do much to hide his ebbing emotion.
"It was never a good idea for you to interact with me, let alone so casually. I warned you as much." Xiao's head bowed slightly, as if his mind was tired from attempting to comprehend you. "And yet you persist. You come and you make me feel this way, and then you go and you make me feel even more. So why? Why are you doing this to me, to yourself?"
Xiao finally turned back to you, brow furrowed and eyes searching, maybe even hoping. You stepped closer, not wanting to scare him but wanting desperately for him to understand.
"Because you deserve to be loved, Xiao,"
His eyes widened in response, his whole body alight with confusion from the foreign thought. But somewhere just below the panic sat an old desire, a desperate part of him that craved the tenderness in your voice.
Perhaps that was all Xiao had ever wanted to hear. Maybe you were the only one his waking heart would ever allow to speak it. You, with your soft tones and gentle sincerity, your understanding nature and your persistence. Maybe your love was all he had ever dreamed of.
When you carefully opened your arms and stepped a fragment closer, Xiao was surprised at his willingness to accept the gesture. For a rare and incredible moment, he did not feel the weight of the world upon him. Only the comforting weight of you around his soul.
Perhaps you were all Xiao ever needed to feel free enough to love.
I literally haven’t posted anything in months but holy shit i doubled back to the “he had no room for his heart” line because it was so beautiful :(:( thank you for this it’s so lovely
Info: Characters included are Albedo, Diluc, Kaeya, Tighnari, Cyno, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Kaveh, Alhaitham, Thoma, Ayato, and Xiao. Headcanons! That's it! Reader is GN when rarely mentioned. Reference to Tighnari's namecard.
Warnings: Mentions of blood (non-graphic), cigarettes
A/N: Just my personal headcanons, feel free to add your own thoughts!
Diluc would smell of the dense woodlands surrounding Mondstadt. The fresh cedar wood, the aromatic pine, the earthy scent that rain brings. Occasionally, if he mans the counter at Angel's Share, he'll have a faint smell of wine as well. This is rare, though, because even that tinge is often lost when he goes out as the "Darknight Hero." He'd never want anything but to smell like home. Mondstadt is his dearest beloved (besides you, ofc), so to carry around it's familiar scent even as he lays his head to rest is a lovely thing.
Albedo smells like...a slight hint of coconut. More often than not, he smells like...well, nothing. (Sorry Albedo lovers.) He's not human, so he doesn't even have his own natural scent. On top of that, he's rarely seen the appeal for scented fragrances, colognes, or perfumes. They simply aren't necessary. On the rare occasion he indulges in them, coconut is his go-to. It's subtle, and it doesn't draw too much attention. The last thing he'd want is to choose a scent so overpowering it distracts from his experiments. Coconut is pleasing to him, a good midway choice. You'd know he was trying to smell and look nice for you (perhaps for a night out) if you embraced him and smelled nothing but that familiar aroma.
Kaeya smells like cheap cologne. Sorry, but it's true. Sweeter than your average cologne, the kind of scent that lingers even as he takes his leave. Even if he merely takes one step past you, so swift you don't even see it, you would know him by smell alone. If he's spent a late night at the tavern (again), he'll smell like the strongest stuff they have. The aroma of a drunkard, hobbling home half-conscious. Perhaps drowning your problems in alcohol isn't worth the scent.
Tighnari has the smell of the rainforests he adores so deeply. Of course, why wouldn't he? He lives deep within them, has dedicated his very life to them, of course he carries that around. He crafted an essential oil using only native Sumeru flowers, and mixed them attentively until it had produced a soothing scent. He massages this oil into his tail and ears, preventing them from becoming course and dry. The scent was truly only a byproduct of the main goal. Nonetheless, the effect is the same. Who wouldn't want to smell faintly like flora, anyway?
Cyno has very contrasting scents when he is and is not working on a long case. Tighnari burns incense frequently for a variety of purposes (purely aromatic, medicinal, meditative), and since Cyno can often be found wherever Tighnari is present, you can guess he would pick it up. Occasionally, Cyno smells like the smoke of any regular old campfire. Others, myrrh or Sumeru roses. But, if he's been away in the desert for a long time, hard at work... Well, he carries the smell of blood and sweat. The acidy smell of dried blood can be hard to wash out, so he'll need your assistance on occasion. Help him out, won't you?
Wanderer takes very good care of himself now that he's under the watchful eye of Nahida. She insists that he follow at least a semi-decent self care routine, and who is he to deny her? Still, he despises sweet scents. Many perfumes, and even colognes, have floral-based aromas, so he steers clear of those. Perhaps sandalwood, citrus, or sage would be more to his liking. He'd choose lotions and shampoos based around these more earthy scents. Don't make him wrinkle his nose by wearing some fruity perfume. Or do, he might just remember you better that way.
Scaramouche contrasts greatly to his future counterpart. He'd never seen the point in trying to soften his skin, or smell a particular way for mere aesthetic purposes. Unless it could help him achieve his goals, it was of little use. As a result, he would pick up the scents of things around him. My personal headcanon is that Scara indulged in smoking as a coping mechanism and stress relief. (Nahida rid him of that habit quickly). So, Scaramouche often had the burnt, almost chemical smell of a cigarette lingering from any attire he wore. It rarely had the time to sit around long enough to be acrid and completely unpleasant, but it was there nonetheless. Always there, and especially noticeable if you were to cozy up beside him.
Kaveh takes very good care of himself. He has an extensive self care routine and you can't convince me otherwise. I'm talking face masks, 2 hour long showers daily, lotions, serums, the whole shebang. Alhaitham threatens to kick him out frequently for the hot water bill (he doesn't mean it). I actually imagine he has somewhat of a eucalyptus scent or something similar. Not too sweet, not too subtle.
Alhaitham is, contrary to Kaeya's cheap cologne, an avid wearer of extremely expensive cologne. It SMELLS like money. Well, not literally, but you catch my drift. It's the scent of luxury. His humble living quarters is the only thing humble about him. (I mean, the 2 million mora he gave? he's filthy rich on the down low) The smell itself is very aromatic, but only if you're close enough. An intoxicating concoction of grapefruit, patchouli, amber, and cinnamon. He gets frequent compliments on his cologne; there's a reason he keeps spending such lavish amounts on it, after all. Makes you wanna bury your face into him.
Thoma smells like soap and chemicals, actually. He's an obsessive, borderline compulsive cleaner. It's within his job description after all. When he's not scrubbing at the floor with several different cleaners, he's spritzing a window or countertop. If he doesn't smell like cleaning products, then he smells like whatever he made for dinner that night. Pastries, spicy noodles, freshly baked bread, steak, you name it. Whatever the case, it will often drown out the lingering smell of "I just deep-cleaned my house, hello!"
Ayato smells like money, very similarly to Alhaitham. However, the main difference is that I feel Ayato would lean more towards a sweet or floral scent. Something about him. The depth of aroma would remain, because he isn't spritzing just anything onto himself. No, it's got to be elegant. A rich vanilla, maybe, if he's feeling in the mood. But smoked cherry might be his go to. It's sweet but spicy at the same time.
Xiao might be controversial but...I don't think he smells like almond tofu. It's a cute idea but, in reality, it's far more likely that he smells like the fields of Liyue! The qingxin, violetgrass, and glaze lilies. The fresh grass. The brisk wind, carrying a subtle hint of the great salty sea. He probably smells sort of like meadows of lavender, and the smell alone can transport you a time long ago where you may have rolled and played in the fields as a child. And maybe, just maybe, if he's over-indulged a bit...a tinge of that sweet almond tofu.
✧.* a/n: sorry i haven't posted in forever teehee i had to use all of my effort to squeeze this out of my brain ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა
try as you might, it’s impossible not to notice the new customer perusing the bookshelves in the old, worn down shop you’ve taken a job at over the summer. compared to the aged shelves and creaky floors, it’s like seeing a shiny new car in the middle of a junkyard, pristine and vivid against the washed out backdrop.
it’s pleasantly cool inside away from the sweltering july heat so for a moment you’re sure he only ducked in to cool off, but he actually appears to be looking for something as he approaches one of the towering displays.
you watch discreetly from the counter as the boy slides a book out and opens to a random page, little specks of dust floating up from the pages and around him, visible only because of the sunlight from the window in the back that casts its glow right above him.
you cringe a bit at the sight. no matter how often you dust, it never seems to go away, which you suppose is to be expected of such an old little shop. he doesn’t seem to mind though, hardly even seems to notice it as his violet eyes stay fixed on the words in front of him.
he’s beautiful, so much so that you almost wonder if you’re hallucinating the first time he pushes through the door and takes in the towering shelves lined from wall to wall. he has an air of grace that shows through his calculated movements, almost like a robot that’s programmed to be perfect.
but he’s very much real when he finally finds what he’s looking for and brings it up to checkout.
“borrowing or purchasing?” you ask automatically, praying silently that your voice doesn’t sound weird. up close, you realize he can’t be much older than you, and that somehow makes him all the more intimidating.
his eyes are sharp and cold as he meets yours, practically the textbook definition of unapproachable.
“borrowing.” he replies. his voice is a bit softer and higher pitched than you were expecting, but there’s a hint of roughness to it that almost makes your skin prick with goosebumps in a way that you try to ignore.
as you turn away to find the notepad for him to write his information down on, his eyes drift to the whiteboard next to the counter. ‘book of the week’ is written at the top in blue marker, with the title of a novel underneath.
there’s a half written annotation on the board that you were in the middle of jotting down before he walked in. in your opinion it’s messy, unorganized, and impossible to understand. just a jumble of thoughts that you scribbled down as they came to you.
you’re the only one who ever adds anything every week and most people coming in hardly spare it a glance, but when you find what you’re looking for and slide it over to the customer you notice his eyes flitting over your scribbles.
it almost makes you feel self conscious of what you’ve written. it could be worded so much better, and your handwriting looks so much nicer when you slow down a bit, but you hadn’t anticipated anyone actually bothering to read it.
he shifts his attention back to you as soon as he realizes you’re looking at him and he takes the notepad and pen from you without a word.
you fidget with a stapler while he fills it out, suddenly becoming aware of how fast your heart is pounding behind your ribcage. when he’s done he hands it back to you, you hand him the book, and then he turns to leave without another word.
your usual ‘have a good day’ gets caught in your throat for some reason so all you can manage is a small, awkward wave that he doesn’t even notice as the door swings shut behind him.
when you glance down at the ‘borrow’ list, the first thing you notice is his handwriting, somehow equal parts neat and messy. the tops of his letters nearly loop together but blunt angles prevent it from being considered neat. the other thing, is his name.
‘kuni.’
he seems to have chosen not to write his full name, which technically isn’t allowed but also isn’t really that big of a deal at the end of the day, because his phone number is still written where it should be and your boss never checks the list anyway.
the entire thing was such a normal, boring interaction that had it been anybody else you probably would’ve forgotten about it by the next day—but this lingered on your mind throughout the rest of the week.
the following week when he returns the book, he exchanges it for another one. there’s a new novel listed this week, and you don’t even process the fact that kuni pulls his phone out to write down the name of it because your eyes are glued to the red eyeliner lining his lower eyelashes. it’s stark against his pale jade skin, so perfectly drawn that you once again find yourself questioning whether or not he’s even real.
you almost choke on your spit when his gaze flicks up to meet yours and you quickly slide the ‘borrow’ list over to him, completely missing the way one of his eyebrows quirks up in mild amusement at your reaction.
it takes him a bit longer than last time to write his information down because he pauses to skim over your annotation for this week's book, which is much more presentable this time around.
if you weren’t awkwardly staring at your feet still caught on the fact that he looks like he walked straight out of a painting, you would’ve noticed the flash of an impressed expression on his face, but you keep your eyes pointed down until he sets the pen back into the tin cup to the side with a clink.
when he grabs the book and silently turns to leave, you take a grounding breath.
“have a good day.” you blurt out to his retreating form, internally thanking the heavens that the words come out even and not too quiet.
kuni doesn’t stop walking towards the door, but he turns his head to the side and lifts his hand up in acknowledgement.
“you too.”
you don’t work fridays and the shop is closed on the weekends, but when you return on monday, kuni’s book is already filled out as returned, meaning he must have stopped by on your day off.
you feel a bit bummed out at the fact that you missed him when he came back, but he had replaced it with another so all you can do is hope he’d show up again sometime before friday.
much to your surprise, when you turn around to erase last week's book and change it to another, there’s something new written on the whiteboard.
just off to the side of your previous annotation are notes, scribbled in a slightly familiar somewhat elegant chicken scratch. it takes you a second, but when you realize it’s kuni’s handwriting your heart jumps into your throat.
his notes branch out from what you have written in response, taking in your thoughts and then challenging them with a counter argument that has you thinking from a perspective you hadn’t been able to see before.
after being frozen on the spot for a bit longer, you grab and uncap the marker and start scribbling a response to his response, trying to ignore the excitement thrumming in your limbs.
to think that someone else would take an interest in the featured books, and even bother to pick apart your annotation and invite you to think harder about the story was almost hard to believe.
especially because it’s him.
anyone else might feel a bit bothered having their opinions countered so bluntly, but you’re so stuck on the fact that you have someone to indulge you in this interest that it never even crosses your mind.
when you finish and stand back, an entire half of the whiteboard is taken up by two people’s handwriting where it once would have been nearly empty. instead of erasing it to add the new one, you move to the other side of the board and add the new week’s novel, as well as your thoughts on it that you had organized over the weekend.
still feeling elated by the unexpected happening, the rest of your shift goes by in a flash until an hour before the store closes when kuni finally shows up again, all intimidating sharp gracefulness.
it’s not until he walks up to the counter after wandering off to find something to check out that you finally realize it’s not the featured book he’s returning, and he had actually never even checked out the book that was listed on the whiteboard last week.
you had wanted to say something about the notes, but the way he doesn’t even acknowledge that they exist has you clamming up and doubting whether or not he was even the one who wrote them in the first place. out of the desperate desire to not embarrass yourself, you decide it’s best left unmentioned.
“thanks,” you say almost hesitantly as you add the book to the return pile to put away later and pass him the clipboard so he can cross his previous entry off the list and add a new one.
if only you had been paying attention instead of being lost in your own doubt, you would’ve seen how he eyed the whiteboard and the way a corner of his lips turned up a fraction at your messy reply, but his back is turned and he’s already leaving by the time you look up again.
and you would never know it, but a while later across town a boy with the pretty red eyeliner walks into a library and checks out another book, one that had been hastily written down on an old whiteboard where a pretty person that made his hands sweat with nervousness works.
this continues for another two weeks and another two books before you finally muster the courage to mention it to him. one of the things he had written under your annotation didn’t make any sense to you, and you can’t help but ask the next time he comes in.
he clearly wasn’t expecting you to know that it was him, because he looks absolutely taken aback when the words come out of your mouth.
“what did you mean about the protagonist's actions mirroring the dialogue in the first half?” you try to say this as casually as possible, but your hands are wringing each other behind the counter as you speak. “i mean, i noticed that the emperor almost perfectly predicted what would happen, but it was still super vague.”
it takes kuni a few seconds to gather his bearings before he responds in stride.
“it was in the story one of the elders told.” he explains. “the one that describes the man who had to pass three trials before he could figure out how to lift the curse.”
“oh!” you gasp, finally understanding what he had written. it was such a small section that you had completely overlooked it so you can’t help but feel a little amazed by his attention to detail. “i never caught that, good eye.”
“mn.” he responds stiffly.
in the silence that follows afterwards, neither of you know what to say for a moment. the annoying fluttering is back in your stomach and even though you want to say a million things, not a single word forms on your lips.
“did you know it was me the whole time?” kuni eventually asks, eyes burning holes into the counter.
“yeah, pretty much.” you admit sheepishly.
if you didn’t know any better you would think the tips of his ears looked a little red as you slid the clipboard in his direction, but you decide not to point it out and instead clear your throat and give a pathetic attempt at pushing the conversation forward.
“so did you read the new one?”
you don’t realize how stupid that question is until it’s already out of your mouth given the fact that it’s monday and you had just added the new one to the whiteboard about an hour ago, but he pretends not to notice that and glances behind you to see the title.
“not yet.” kuni replies. “i’ll get around to it tomorrow.”
you can’t stop the smile that takes over your face at his words as a rush of warmth and anticipation fills your chest.
as soon as you begin to internally debate whether or not to ask him where he’s been getting the weekly recommendations if he’s not borrowing them from here, it’s almost like he knows you’re waiting to bring that up because he’s already halfway to the door after he scribbles his information down on the list.
“do you already own all of these books or-“
“see you next week.”
you can’t stop the tiny pfft that slips out as the door swings shut behind him. and just like that, the store is empty again.
content: mutual pining, ROMANTIC TENSION, aggressive pining on the reader’s part, do they kiss or do they not, social anxiety (can u TELL), embarrassing situations, comedy (maybe) (hopefully) (maybe you’ll get a little giggle out of this and swing your feet around), so much build up, the slowest burn you could possibly get in under 5k words
notes: oh HEY guys so i went crazy again and i don’t think i’ve ever written so much in one sitting. this is insane. look at what this game has done to me.
this is kind of a companion piece to my last sebastian fic linked HERE!!!! you can probably read this without reading the other one but idk if u want more sebastian content i encourage u to read the other one first… just saying… OK ENJOY AND THIS IS NOT BETA READ OR EDITED SO SORRY FOR ANY ERRORS OK BYE!!!!!!
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All you need to do is drop off these stupid eggs in Gus’s fridge. That’s it. In and out and then you can go home and pretend that you did not stare at Sebastian for almost an entire straight minute in the doorway of the saloon.
He’s too busy playing pool, you think, and from the brief (many) glances you’ve taken at them, it looks like he’s pretty close to beating Sam. Your heart goes out to the blonde. One day, for sure, he’ll be able to get more than three balls in an entire game against Sebastian.
✦ synopsis : in the end, the gods were the gods and humans were human. but what is dichotomy without it's shades of grey, and what were gods without the humanity that lingers in their hearts?
NOTE(S) : characters included ; ei, venti, wanderer, xiao & zhongli. bittersweet bs, maybe some angst, they're all old and tired your honor, title is taken from richard silken's 'war of the foxes' . NOT PROOFREAD.
# masterlist
&& . ei | raiden shogun · ( between the raging storm ; your face lingers )
& WHAT COULD SHE CALL ‘hers’ in this world? The morning glory nestled in her hair, the tatami mats of the Tenshukaken, the titles she holds are heavy with the weight of another’s memories and their tears and their love. Ei’s hands were calloused, her skin was scarred and her eyes bore none of the softness Makoto had. She was but a mirage, a similar face but different in the shape of its jaw and the slant of its eyes.
( Makoto was elegant, Makoto was kind, Makoto was loved, by foolish Ei with all her foolish heart and by the people of Inazuma who celebrate her gentle showers on their parched fields and pray to her at night. )
What could she call ‘hers’ in this world? Inazuma was not hers, not anymore. Inazuma was a child that grew a pair of wings she tried to tear apart in her grief. Inazuma wiggled and squirmed between her desperate hold till it wrenched free and ran off far, far away into the cloud hazed distance, where the rays were tipped with gold and the shadows hardly lingered forth and smothered it in the dark.
( Eternity and its teachings were not of Ei’s either. Eternity was a word, an ideal, and Ei could fight as hard as she could but flounder at the face of transience. She was a god with no power to halt time, to halt change and now she knows. )
What could she call ‘hers’ in this world? Her heart? Ei once thought it so; her heart, her cold distant heart that was rough around the edges and bore no similarity with Makoto’s. Her heart, which was broken and stained and bruised through agony and through battle and through her strife. But it was hers and in the nights of solitude, she vows to keep it close.
Then she sees you.
You, you, you, you — how strange it was, Ei thinks, how strange and wonderful and terrifying love was, how she watched you gather the last of what was hers in your gentle hands and cradled it so tenderly. How you smile her way and Ei feels weightless, like the sky, with how the storm inside her calms into a drizzle and she thinks she could be softer.
She could be softer.
There was happiness in that thought, in the tiny fragments of Makoto’s touch that still linger in her and her own trembling fingers cradle and caress your face like they beheld old treasures from times long past. You were important, you who quelled the cyclone’s face and calmed it down with your touch and your words.
“My Ei,” you’d laugh and she would melt.
( You were important, for you bore her bruised, broken heart, with all its rough edges and saw the gleam of gold beneath it. And Ei, foolish, smitten Ei would let you keep it.
She was yours now, wholly. )
&& . venti | barbatos · ( the song of the winds ; speaks of a love )
HERE WAS HOW mortals gain their immortality ; through parchment and ink and ballads so old even Venti strains to remember their crafted beginnings. There was soul in the music of his people, of old friends and new and of the faintest wisps of a soul whose memories were all but forgotten ( but the essence persists, it is there and Venti sees it ).
He sings songs of faces whose features were blotched by time — faded frescos from old books with legends larger than their names. He stays up at night and immortalizes them in the stars, and christens constellations after them as he drifts off to sleep; Venessa, Himmel, Dvalin, Andrius and they would chant over and over in his mind as the winds settle and carry them on to ears that would listen.
But his poems fall short when it comes to you.
Venti remembers that stark realization, when nothing did you justice. For what words could ever describe all that was you? Capture every bit in its entirety and leave little to be forgotten? How does he describe your laughter, or your voice, or the warmth in your hands or the way you look at him and he looks at you?
( And this was love; it twists his heart and it muddles his words and his cheekiness gives way to stunned silence. )
He wants to laugh at the sheer irony — of the god of music finding his poems obsolete in the presence of his muse. “Perhaps I was too busy staring to pay it much mind.” he decides, his eyes slipping shut as he sits himself atop Starsnatch cliff and listens to the songs of old yore.
He won’t let it bother him. Venti was a spirit unbound and music was freedom embodied; to force it meant bearing bitter fruit and an angry gardener. One day, he thinks, he will find a way to immortalize what was you in his ballads, to sing to his children till erosion creeps away at his memories. One day, he promises himself this singular task.
Human lives were fleeting after all. They were the cecilias that dipped their heads down to touch their reflections, with petals easily crushed between time’s fingers and roots that could be torn away with a rough sweep or a clumsy shake. Human lives were fleeting and fragile and Venti knows the time he has with you was short.
“Come along now.” he’ll sing impertinantly, taking you through Mondstadt, through the meadows, through every sight he’d know would change. “The youth are gifted with nimble feet, it’s hardly fair to admit defeat!”
Your own wry smile meets his. “Rich, coming from an old man — ”
“Hey!”
He couldn’t be offended. Not when you laugh in a way that wrinkles your nose. Not when you look so happy, happy here with him.
( It was for you, he would do anything for you. )
&& . wanderer · ( i dare to hope ; to look you in the eye )
HE WAS A STUBBORN MAN, the one who once called himself Scaramouche. He digs his heels into the ground and he bares his teeth like the feral dog he calls himself. He was a stubborn man, brandishing a fragment of his pride and cruelty, something that carried over in essence to his new name and life ( it was diluted, watered down and a far cry from what it once was — but it was there ).
But when The Wanderer looks at you, his arrogance stills to pensive silence, and his fingers would stroke that small doll he hides away within his hat alongside another. That tiny caricature of you, with its button eyes and soft body slumped against its teary eyed companion. He thinks of you, you invading his mind and body and soul and old feelings would resurface after months of stagnation and that old bitterness comes as well.
His pride and cruelty — as persevering and as dogged as it was paled in comparison to the twinge in his chest, where there was null and void. It did not meld in with his new memories and slowly fade out ; for it stung and burned with vigor, like salt upon open flesh ( and there were times in the dead of night when he’d wake from a slumber and he’d think of you.
You, you, you, you. )
It was the breathlessness of new love, and it was the agony of heartbreak and it rested like a crackling storm within the hole inside. It was the trembling at the tips of his fingers that drove him to make that doll, to make that small piece of you, to hide it away and bring it out when he missed the warmth of your arms and the roughness of your hands worn down by labor and love.
The doll was fragile, easily malleable, easy to rip apart ; and in a way, The Wanderer does see the likeness of humanity to it. Dolls with their porcelain shells and cloth skin and humans — reckless, ambitious humans with their short lives and their bones and flesh and steady, beating hearts. Mortals who withered away and broke easily and left him with not but ash and dust slipping over his palms.
He was a stubborn man and while that traitorous side of his mind sings louder and louder to run to you, to seek your comfort, to let go of the snide reminder of Scaramouche with his guarded shield and fortified walls and love you as you were — he stops.
When Nahida told him to find you again, he shut the idea down immediately.
“I won’t.”
And it should have ended there. But it did not, for the Dendro Archon was as dogmatic as he was when she wished for it ( he knew for he held that begrudging respect for her ) and her words would persist till his resolve crumbles.
“The life of a human is like a crystalfly.” She states and there is a knowing sadness in her voice when she speaks to him, her small hands folded over her lap. “They flutter about and shine as bright as they can, and sometimes they’re plucked away from their flight or carried and crushed by the winds…but in the end…they always fade out.” A pause. “Do not wait till that light leaves their eyes.”
The Wanderer falls silent.
He knows of the ephemerality of mortals — it was an old friend, this thought and it haunts him every day. He thinks about finding your grave during your travels, when the seasons come and go and the months and year blur into incomprehensible nonsense.
It makes him sick.
And when The Wanderer finds you again, you with the smart tease at the corner of your mouth, your rough hands, he feels that wholeness and he approaches, his breath shaky and his stomach subjected to that damned fluttering and buzzing.
It’s unusual, how you speak to him with the unfocused gaze and the weariness meant for a stranger.
“Are you a traveler?” you ask him, handing him some water from your canteen. He falls silent.
“I am…of a sort…” he replies. A period of awkward quiet follows and The Wanderer wonders if these old wounds could ever be mended. Finally, you speak again.
“...There’s something familiar about you…” His head snaps up and he looks at you daring to hope, to hope after years and years of sinking his feelings down below and into the mud.
There, he sees your warmth.
He smiles.
&& . xiao | alatus · ( and there is a danger ; to feel what is felt )
IT WAS A LONELY EXISTENCE, Xiao’s life, from his conception to what he is now, his wings of gold torn apart and the light in his eyes tarnished with age and with violence.
Xiao knew not what beauty was, for blood coats his vision red and paints the world in the hue of death, for the stench of rot was a constant, and the tug of his karma was a reminder ( that yakshas would never know that beauty and never know that happiness ).
He made peace with this when the last of his people fell to the earth and he watched their souls depart their names on his lips as he sang his mournful song.
Yaksha, the word was a curse and the word was Xiao. It was the muscle binding his bones, the ichor seeping beneath his skin, the beat of his heart. Yaksha, that word held weight and it was a weight he bears on his back, letting it scar his hands and knees, letting him fall over and get back up and feel despair and loneliness clog at his throat like seized flowers.
But Xiao sees you one day playing your flute, and the winds itself seems to shift and play it with you. He lingers longer than he should have, watching you, watching the moon and for once, scarlet didn’t pervade his sight ( he wanted to dance, he realized, as he did when he was young, when innocence lit his eyes ).
There was a rise of messy confusion in his chest, an ache, like the splatter of paints from Bocasius’ paintings — with their colors cascading into marbled pools. Xiao’s very breath was ensnared within this trap and when the music ceases and you look at him, his thoughts are as well.
Love was a spear, Xiao learns, blunted on one end and sharpened at the other. The staff itself hardly breaks into his skin till the blade swings and slices it apart. Love was a spear where it was a gentle flutter and a stabbing ache, wielded by a human who meets him with such little self preservation and recklessness ( and he worries ). Where he could feel a distantly familiar tenderness before that pining ache fills his chest and he long and longs and longs after you.
What Xiao feels, he realizes, this entropy in his head that makes him feel, do and say things he must not — was dangerous. When he was apart, he was who he knew he was, the hum of battle lighting his veins as it did with every warrior. Around you, the edges soften, the sharpness of his words even out to a gentler whisper.
( Xiao was in love and he was afraid. )
Because these feelings were like him, unexpected, unpredictable and it makes him feel something that walks the fine line between kindness and cruelty. It was the fire and the flood all at once, the burn and the ointment and these feelings were raw and visceral.
What was this agony? He asks himself as it pulses strong and heart, sweetly and cruelly. What have you done to him?! What have you torn him down into? The longing Xiao had kept locked away in a box was sleeping out, screaming, shouting, demanding his attention. It rises up and spills over the edges as you play your flute or look his way. It’s the terrible fluttering in his chest, the horrible, breathless whispers.
( Xiao was in love and he was afraid. )
His divinity was stripped down. Adepti could feel no wordly emotion — their hearts were distant creatures who lived above the clouds, and yet he feels what he feels completely, irrevocably. Your persistent visits and your conversations beneath the stars took a sledgehammer to his walls and Xiao now stands bare backed with a new vulnerability that leaves him to be torn down so easily.
You have destroyed him.
And Xiao would let you do it again and again if he must, once, twice, thrice, so long as he could spare those fleeting touches and those quiet conversations. So long as he could preserve that singular kiss. So long as he could finally tuck away what he could, of that knowledge of beauty that escapes him ( and it was you, you were a part of it ). It was madness but it was a madness he would allow.
Xiao was in love.
&& . zhongli | rex lapis · ( child of the moon ; you start your hunt )
HUMANS ARE LIKE QINGXIN, Zhongli was told a long time ago, with snappable stems and delicate petals. They were as fragile as dust, easy to pluck from the earth, easy to tear apart. But Qingxins were flowers that persevered, sprouting forth where the air was scarce, the ground was hard and the terrain was steep.
And humans were creatures that persevered, within caverns and tundras and the heat of the desert sun and sand. They bloomed and burgeoned and spread and built and they had their battles and ended them and started new customs after ending old and they live out their short lifespans knowing their mortality.
Zhongli has lived a long life, that was obvious. There was nostalgia that dappled his eyes and longing that lined his heart. He recalls a life that wasn’t so idyllic, when his heart was captured by another. He was a different man back then, Zhongli, with his fettered empathy and his shadowed gaze. He was not kind. He thought little and fought more and when the fight dragged on, he thought even less and fought even more.
( When he opened his heart for the first time, he tasted the nectar of love and the bitter sting of grief. That was enough and he tried to close it away again. But the chink in his armor remained, a glaring crack hidden away but still present.
Morax never truly told her he loved her, did he? )
There was now too, where the war room was frequented no longer and Zhongli beheld art rather than weaponry. He learns that even time ages the gods, at a pace far slower than the humans he lives alongside; and the anger and violence soon crumbles away and the embers are spread thin across the pit.
( After he came to realize this, perhaps that was when Zhongli finally understood Guizhong’s veiled words and old teachings. To know his limit, to know his own heart could never be hidden away from the world. Not truly. Not for long. Not if he sought to live his life – for life was not without it’s trials or those moments of intensity unlike any other? )
Then he meets you, honeyed rays of gold in his eyes, a Qingxin in its entirety but he loves you still in your mortality ( it was a foolish act, but love you he did ). Zhongli feels his heart open again and he shows you that tenderness he cultivated, a tenderness unlike a warrior god’s and it shines forth in those moments easily forgettable — in the breath you take, the softness of your skin, your frame leaning against his.
Zhongli drowns in it, for death lingers close and he knows his time with you runs short. A Qingxin may hold strong, but its petals stay delicate, its stem weak and its roots easy to tear. He loves you when he can, and he loves you as much as his ancient heart could ( for Zhongli has lived long, and for every mistake named, action gone undone and word left unsaid, he shall repeat not with you ).
“Zhongli…” you whisper in the dead of night, when his mind lies half asleep and he listens to your heartbeat in your chest. “Love, are you still awake?”
“Mostly…” he replies as he wraps his arms around you. He feels you breathe out a sigh, he feels your chin rest on his shoulder. He shuts his eyes just as your hands cradle his face with the gentle caress, like a feather on stone.
When he opens his eyes and his hues of gold and gilt land on you, he sees the tired smile on your face. A voice whispers in the back of his mind, and it sends that familiar jolt of fear down his spine, that every birthday brings the inevitability closer. The voice is stamped out immediately.
“And here, I’m subjected to your persistent lecturing on a healthy sleep schedule while you make the same mistakes.” you joke.
Zhongli feels his cheeks warm. “It came from a place of concern. Sleep is hardly a necessity for one with my constitution…I shall be fine, little love.”
You tilt your head. “You even made a presentation.” you continue. He utters your name in teasing warning. You laugh and Zhongli finds himself smiling with you. “Ah sorry, sorry.” you relent, tugging his shirt closer to you. “I jest love. I jest. I swear it.”
“You jest far too much.” He mutters but his voice is steeped with all the raw affection he feels as another moment is burned into his memory ( the tremble of your chest from your withheld laughter, the kiss he leaves on your neck with the delicacy of one handling a glass doll ). “Go easy on this old man’s heart.”
“Old.” you snicker. Zhongli sighs and leaves it be, his fingers lacing into yours.
He will remember this, as he always does.
Always.
❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;
brain went brr for a moment, i wrote ei and venti's part then never touched this draft till a few days ago. bUT HEY THE WINNER OF THE POLL RESULT IS HEREEEEE!
i will get to working on the genshin men and your cat headcanons as soon as i can. that would be a nice dosage of fluff and crack i think XD. till then, thank you for reading, loves!!!
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♡ — Synopsis: After all he has been through, Kunikuzushi finds it difficult to trust. However, a single push causes his indifferent façade to shatter.
♡ — Content: Scaramouche is referred to as Kunikuzushi, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending, nightmares, clingy Scara, vague spoilers for Scara’s backstory, established relationship (but it's in its early stages)
♡ — Word Count: 883
Kunikuzushi has a strange tendency of edging his way around intimacy. He has his back to you each night as you fall asleep beside each other in your shared bed, and whenever you ask to hold him, he rejects your advances without hesitation.
Sometimes his words hurt. They drive venom-coated daggers into your fragile heart with the utmost precision, never failing to make you wince as the pain of your lover’s refusal sows seeds of doubt within your mind. However, after pursuing Kunikuzushi for what feels like eons, you know better than to take his harsh remarks at face value.
Deep down, he’s still afraid — afraid of love. Despite the fact that your gentle touches and reassuring words have acted as remedies to the illness that afflicts his heart, he still can’t help but fear losing you. Loving you just to lose you is the last thing he would ever want, so he keeps his distance, not ready to fully commit just yet.
There are still moments where he’s softer — showing the side of him that you have come to adore through touches as fleeting as autumn leaves and bashful compliments spoken in a voice as soft as a calm zephyr, but it always feels like there’s an invisible barrier that Kunikuzushi is too afraid to shatter. For now, you are nothing more than casual lovers, and while you are awaiting the day Kunikuzushi will finally break the wall and give you his entire heart, Kunikuzushi is trying his best to ensure that you won’t get too attached to him.
To him, the pain of abandonment is an old friend. It lurks in every shadow, every moment of silence, and every intrusive thought, perpetually bringing up the question of what he would do if you ever left him. He doesn’t want the hurt of your betrayal to sting, but above all, the feeling of being forsaken by someone you love is something he would never wish upon you.
So whenever he has to reject your requests to pull him close while you fall asleep, he reminds himself that he’s doing it for you. After all, if he stays away, then you’ll love him less, and if you love him less, then it won’t hurt as much when you inevitably part.
Despite his intentions, he is blind to the suffering that he is making you endure in the process. You, the innocent, courageous, and patient soul that somehow learned to love someone as abhorrent as him. If his heart was honest, he would admit that he wants nothing more than to keep you close to him, but Kunikuzushi cares not for verity in the face of loss.
However, everything changes one morning when you awaken to the feeling of breath tickling your skin. You feel arms wrapped around your waist and a comforting warmth pressed up against you. When you open your eyes, you feel as though the air is knocked out of your lungs by the endearing sight before you.
Your face is mere centimetres away from Kunikuzushi’s. His eyes are closed, and he looks as though he is suspended in a state of pure bliss. Sunlight tints his pale skin a golden shade, making him appear the liveliest you have ever seen him. It’s all breathtaking beyond measure, but what makes your heart seize up the most is the small smile that adorns his visage. It’s subtle — barely noticeable, but it’s there. He’s angelic.
Kunikuzushi begins to stir far too soon for your liking. You try your best to pull away, fearing rejection in spite of the fact that he is the one holding you, but to your surprise, Kunikuzushi’s grip tightens as he whispers a subdued, nearly-inaudible, “stay.”
He’ll never admit it, but he had a nightmare the night prior. Darkness spun of his deepest insecurities and anxieties tormented him for hours on end, and in the midst of it, all he could think about was how he needed you by his side. When he woke up, his first course of action was to frantically search for you. He only managed to calm his breathing and brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away after confirming that you were still beside him, sleeping soundingly without a care in the world.
After reliving his worst fears, he lets himself admit that the thought of you helps him overcome the worst of them. In you, he is able to find solace, even in the midst of perturbed moments, so he finally allows himself to succumb to his desires.
Kunikuzushi breathes in your comforting scent as he buries his head in the crook of your neck and pulls you even closer to him. He closes his eyes, sighing contently as you make no move to get up or question him. The puppet now knows that in your presence, he can be his true self without fear of abandonment; you understand him — all his hopes, all his fears, and all his deepest wishes, so for the first time in centuries, he allows himself to trust.
As he drifts into an enchanting slumber filled with the most joyous of emotions, the tension in Kunikuzushi’s body alleviates ever so slightly. Everything feels like an exuberant dream when he is with you.
I mostly speedran this, so I'm not 100% sure if it's decent. Thank you for reading, and please take care and have a nice day!
you're so pretty (it hurts) w/xiao
cw: some fluff, some angst
“you’re pretty.”
xiao looks up at your words, staring at you blankly as if he can’t imagine those two words could ever be directed towards someone like him. he doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes and turns back to the view in front of him. he ignores the way you stare at him, so warm, so gentle, as if you view him as the most wonderful being in teyvat. he doesn’t believe it.
xiao is pretty, and he knows this. he’s an adeptus for archons sake. he’s lived with thousands of years of experiences and memories upon his shoulders. they have built this figure, with golden eyes and soft hair. he adorns the accessories with pride and cares little for how old they may be. he is well aware that there are people who stare at him in awe, whether for his looks or the simple fact that he is an adeptus, he doesn’t quite know. what he does know, is that you stare at him longer than you should. you shamelessly let your eyes trace over the outline of his face, taking in the design of his clothes and every little emotion that flickers across his features.
you’re able to read him better than most anyone else, and the thought of that scares him.
“don’t roll your eyes,” you sigh and reach for him. “just admit that you’re pretty.” you let hands trace across soft skin, drawing delicate shapes and swirls that make goosebumps erupt in their wake. he isn’t startled no, nor is he unused to your touch, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get over the fact that you are so comfortable with touching him so gently.
when xiao looks down at his hands he sees that they are stained with blood. he can see through the gloves that he has washed over and over until they’ve started to tear at the seams. his hands are red. a bloody red and no matter how many times he scrubs his skin raw, seems to stain his skin. he wears those gloves so that he never has to see his hands.
and yet you take his hands so gently as if afraid that he might run, that he will run. you don’t try to tug his gloves off, you don’t ask for more, you simply request that he stays by your side. you call it a selfish request but he silently disagrees. because in his mind, he vows to stay at your side no matter what. sometimes he wishes you would be more selfish, because he thinks you deserve to be. you deserve all the kindness in the world, the sun, the moon, and the stars. you deserve a world where he is not bound by the memories he is unable to let go of. you deserve a world where he is just xiao, no titles, no bloodshed, just him. and he would have you. just you, all to himself to love.
you’re pretty. the words echo in his head. he looks away, how can you think a monster is “pretty?” do you not see the blood, the miasmic remains, the karma that haunts him like a cloud? you dare to call him pretty with such gentleness in your tone that it makes xiao want to run.
you’re pretty. perhaps he is. but only from a distance. because he doesn’t believe that he’ll ever deserve to be near someone as kind as you.
notes from tori: hello all, i haven’t written in so long nor have i been active for a reason. i have no excuse for the first, but the second!! i saw taylor swift last weekend and then when i got back from my trip i got covid :( so yeah, very busy fortunately and unfortunately, but i’m back now! this isn’t very good, but i hope you enjoy anyway!
warnings/info: fluff, kissing, short, that’s all, i am obsessed with the floral swing furnishing in the teapot
kazuha.
“Can’t we stay in here forever, Kazuha?” You breathed, melting into the pillow-soft cushions of a floral swing, your head pressed into the man’s legs. The swing pushed and pulled beneath you like the lull of ocean waves brushing up against the shore. Kazuha’s fingers did the same, weaving through the crisp wind that tickled your skin and stroking over your cheeks, your fluttering eyelashes. He hummed, and the sound harmonized with the chirp of nearby birds.
“It certainly eases the mind,” The words blended pleasantly in your mind as another cool breeze washed across your face. In the traveler’s teapot, life was devoid of tribulation. All that existed was the sun, unerringly warm against your skin, Kazuha’s fingers dripping through your hair until you were just on the precipice of blissful sleep, and—
The press of something firm against your lips, ambrosial granules flicking onto your tongue. A fruit.
“Zaytun peaches, have you had them?” Kazuha always knew what was on your mind. His voice had to be a lullaby, and you welcomed the offering, the peach’s skin velvety against your tongue, it’s flavor sweetened by flecks of sugar. “With a sprinkle of sugar, how you like.” The follow up statement was laced with self-satisfaction, and you smiled against his fingers, chewing thoughtfully and letting your drowsy eyes flick open to gaze at his features leering over yours. The sun cast a halo around his hair, and your hand rebelliously reached for the scarlet strand nearly brushing against your nose.
“Do you want a taste?” You murmured, watching a range of emotions flick through his ruby eyes. First: him attempting to read your intentions, your feelings. Second: confusion. Third: realization, and finally, a soft desire that burnt against his cheeks. Within a few seconds, you were wrinkling your nose at the ticklish sensation of his hair finally brushing the tip, swallowing thickly before feeling his words on your lips.
“I suppose a taste wouldn’t hurt,”
xiao.
You could only think one thing as you gazed upon the adeptus in your lap, his lashes fluttering, his cheeks flushed a soft, docile pink.
“You’re so lovely, Xiao.” You charmed, words softer than wind chimes. Xiao was favorable to compliments if you whispered them lowly and fervently. He was much like a bird that way, needing to be carried gently into affection, perhaps out of fear that something disastrous would happen if he indulged too much.
And gentle you were; it was hard to coax him into relaxation regardless, and you strived to keep his peace as long as possible.
Xiao hummed, a sign he’d heard while you leaned and pressed yet another featherlight kiss to his nose, moving leisurely to his cheekbone to plant another. His trust in you was intoxicating. Just a few months ago, and the action would’ve made him recoil. Now, however, he barely flinched when you dragged your lips to the bow of his, kissing his upper lip like a breeze. As if to soothe the action, you traced your thumb down his round cheek as you withdrew, scouring his face for any unfavorable reaction. Instead, you earned a pleased sigh, one which you echoed.
The silence enveloped your pair like a warm blanket, the cool grass between your toes, the weight of his head on your lap, the tickle of his hair against your thighs. Your seat — a cushioned floral swing — rocked back and forth, draping vines framing the scene before you, embroidered with white petals. Pressing your lips together, you smiled quaintly, eyes drooping closed at a blissful breeze wafting over your sunkissed cheeks, pretending like the sliver of time was eternal, like Xiao would never leave your side, like he’d be between your fingers until the stars fell from the sky—
The worn fabric of Xiao’s glove against your cheek pulled you from your reverie, and your eyes fluttered open as his thumb smoothed a growing wrinkle between your eyebrows.
“Are you troubled?” The somewhat archaic lilt to his speech, the concerned glow to his golden gaze: it immediately softened your disposition, and you offered a smile, plucking his fingers from your face and bringing them to your lips, adorning each one with its own kiss.
notes from tori: hello all, i haven’t written in so long nor have i been active for a reason. i have no excuse for the first, but the second!! i saw taylor swift last weekend and then when i got back from my trip i got covid :( so yeah, very busy fortunately and unfortunately, but i’m back now! this isn’t very good, but i hope you enjoy anyway!
warnings/info: fluff, kissing, short, that’s all, i am obsessed with the floral swing furnishing in the teapot
kazuha.
“Can’t we stay in here forever, Kazuha?” You breathed, melting into the pillow-soft cushions of a floral swing, your head pressed into the man’s legs. The swing pushed and pulled beneath you like the lull of ocean waves brushing up against the shore. Kazuha’s fingers did the same, weaving through the crisp wind that tickled your skin and stroking over your cheeks, your fluttering eyelashes. He hummed, and the sound harmonized with the chirp of nearby birds.
“It certainly eases the mind,” The words blended pleasantly in your mind as another cool breeze washed across your face. In the traveler’s teapot, life was devoid of tribulation. All that existed was the sun, unerringly warm against your skin, Kazuha’s fingers dripping through your hair until you were just on the precipice of blissful sleep, and—
The press of something firm against your lips, ambrosial granules flicking onto your tongue. A fruit.
“Zaytun peaches, have you had them?” Kazuha always knew what was on your mind. His voice had to be a lullaby, and you welcomed the offering, the peach’s skin velvety against your tongue, it’s flavor sweetened by flecks of sugar. “With a sprinkle of sugar, how you like.” The follow up statement was laced with self-satisfaction, and you smiled against his fingers, chewing thoughtfully and letting your drowsy eyes flick open to gaze at his features leering over yours. The sun cast a halo around his hair, and your hand rebelliously reached for the scarlet strand nearly brushing against your nose.
“Do you want a taste?” You murmured, watching a range of emotions flick through his ruby eyes. First: him attempting to read your intentions, your feelings. Second: confusion. Third: realization, and finally, a soft desire that burnt against his cheeks. Within a few seconds, you were wrinkling your nose at the ticklish sensation of his hair finally brushing the tip, swallowing thickly before feeling his words on your lips.
“I suppose a taste wouldn’t hurt,”
xiao.
You could only think one thing as you gazed upon the adeptus in your lap, his lashes fluttering, his cheeks flushed a soft, docile pink.
“You’re so lovely, Xiao.” You charmed, words softer than wind chimes. Xiao was favorable to compliments if you whispered them lowly and fervently. He was much like a bird that way, needing to be carried gently into affection, perhaps out of fear that something disastrous would happen if he indulged too much.
And gentle you were; it was hard to coax him into relaxation regardless, and you strived to keep his peace as long as possible.
Xiao hummed, a sign he’d heard while you leaned and pressed yet another featherlight kiss to his nose, moving leisurely to his cheekbone to plant another. His trust in you was intoxicating. Just a few months ago, and the action would’ve made him recoil. Now, however, he barely flinched when you dragged your lips to the bow of his, kissing his upper lip like a breeze. As if to soothe the action, you traced your thumb down his round cheek as you withdrew, scouring his face for any unfavorable reaction. Instead, you earned a pleased sigh, one which you echoed.
The silence enveloped your pair like a warm blanket, the cool grass between your toes, the weight of his head on your lap, the tickle of his hair against your thighs. Your seat — a cushioned floral swing — rocked back and forth, draping vines framing the scene before you, embroidered with white petals. Pressing your lips together, you smiled quaintly, eyes drooping closed at a blissful breeze wafting over your sunkissed cheeks, pretending like the sliver of time was eternal, like Xiao would never leave your side, like he’d be between your fingers until the stars fell from the sky—
The worn fabric of Xiao’s glove against your cheek pulled you from your reverie, and your eyes fluttered open as his thumb smoothed a growing wrinkle between your eyebrows.
“Are you troubled?” The somewhat archaic lilt to his speech, the concerned glow to his golden gaze: it immediately softened your disposition, and you offered a smile, plucking his fingers from your face and bringing them to your lips, adorning each one with its own kiss.
This oneshot will refer to Wanderer as “Scaramouche”. Feel free to replace this with the name you chose for him as you read!
Summary: Every gesture, touch and action that you share with him is something that you will always treasure. From the way his eyes securely lock onto yours, like two puzzle pieces falling into place, to the fingers that interlock with yours, like threads of an interwoven tapestry of adoration that perfectly weave together; it simply just isn’t enough. But what you always desire for are the kisses that are oh so characteristically him. You yearn for the invigorating way it nourishes and rejuvenates the ardour that blooms in your heart whenever he conveys his endearment through a loving and intimate embrace.
Word count: 2900
Author’s Note: Happy belated White Day everyone! (I meant to post this earlier but I had a presentation and a mock exam. Sorry for the wait!)
(PS: I named Wanderer “sayang” [“love” in Bahasa Malaysia] because I couldn’t think of a name that would fully reflect his personality and what he means to me. I will always refer to him as “Scaramouche” so, I gave him a cute pet name! Though I was extremely compelled to call him baby girl. Haha, let me know what you named him!)
blakekathryn
stormborns
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