⊹₊｡˚₊⊹ Small Girl Gets Overstimulated On Her Stepdaddy’s Cock !! (3:28)

[ playing doctor with my sweet little sister ]

helping her up onto the table, sneaking a peek at her little pink undies below her skirt as she crawls up~

“That’s it, sweetie. Okay, are you ready for your checkup? Good, good.. now it’s important you listen to everything the doctor says, okay honey?” making sure she’ll play nice when the ‘doctor’ needs to take a closer look.

taking my time, inspecting every pretty part of her body. hand on the soft skin of her cheek, fingers tracing her dimples and jaw.

“You’re so pretty, sis. You know that?” I mumble, edging closer so that I stand between her parted thighs and legs dangling off the table.

my cock throbbing incessantly in my pants, desperate to grind against her and feel her sticky wetness bloom through her cotton panties.

“Now, I need you to take off some clothes, okay sweetie? The doctor needs to be able to get a closer look-“ unable to stop my breath from hitching as I consider seeing her bare skin, soft and supple.

starting with her top, lifting it over her head and stifling a gasp when her perky little breasts come into view. Instantly reaching out to take one into my hand, despite doing my utmost to take it slow

rolling her soft nipple between my index and my thumb.

“This all-.. looks good..” *I mumble, trying to stretch out the time I can touch her tits without her catching on.

a shiver runs down my spine in anticipation for the next inspection. my eyes flick between my pretty little sister and the kitchen door (it was the only place we had an ‘operating’ table!) nervous our dad might walk in, might hijack my checkup!

“Now- uh-“ clearing my throat, almost surprised by my own boldness.

“Can you.. pull down your skirt for me?” I ask as the anticipation inside of me wells up to a bursting point.

watching as she obediently drops her skirt, it’s soft pink fabric falling to the floor over my black leather boot.

the feeling of my big-brother-cock tenting against my pants. seeing my perfect little sister exposed, only her tiny undies preserving her dignity.

getting down on my knees, eyes level with her sweet little covered cunt. my hands running up and down her thighs. knowing exactly what I am doing as my hands dance towards her inner thigh, waiting patiently as that perfect wet patch begins to form on her panties.

glancing up at her constantly, checking her expression as I grow bolder and bolder in my advances.

fingers stretching ever nearer to her most sensitive spot on each pass of her thighs, finally, letting my fingers push past the hemline. the perfect little blush on her face telling me all I need to know, telling me this is exactly what she needs.

and I’m so ready to provide, just as a good big brother doctor should.

“I’m gonna get a little closer now, ‘kay sweetie?” I ask, not waiting for a response

I hook my index under the hemline of her undies, pulling the wet fabric to the side to expose her slick little cunt. feeling her shiver as as the cool kitchen air hits her wet slit.

‘p e r f e c t i o n’

“Cold, baby? Don’t worry, don’t worry, pup. I’ll fix it. Leave it to big brother.”

not wasting another moment as I bring my lips to her cunt, kissing sloppily with an open mouth. drinking her essence greedily as I listen to her pretty noises and whines.

pushing forwards as she leans back on the table, her legs instinctively coming up over my shoulders. lacing my fingers with hers, thumb stroking reassuringly over the back of her palm.

my tongue pushing deep into her untouched slit, my freehand slipping down to rub my aching bulge, desperate thoughts to whisk her away to my room at conflict with those that just want her to feel good and love her big brother~!

“Hey it’s ok… its ok. Let’s just sit down.”

Dad settled you back in his lap, gentle, heavy hands running down your thighs, his palms big enough to cover each of them. He sighed quietly, tilting up a little, and you whined as you felt him press even deeper into your cunt.

You’ve been having lap time like this for awhile. Usually he just rubbed you, one thick finger dragging down the front of your shorts, over your little cock and squishing between your folds through the cloth. He’d get you all wet while he rocked up against you, and then he’d hug you close when he slipped a finger inside and his jeans chafed as he humped harder.

But tonight was different.

It started the same, he offered to watch your favorite show with you, and you crawled up on the couch with him in excitement, but then, after the theme song, he said you were going further tonight. He pulled out his cock—his big adult cock that you had only seen close up when you went pee together—and had you rub against that instead. Without your shorts. And with your underwear pulled to the side, too.

He just had you slide along it for a bit, the TV playing in the background, his slow breathing warm in your ear, and you made the little sounds you always did and your toes curled as your little cock ran along the hard, thick, outside of his. You could see the plump veins twitching beneath his skin, and watched as he reached around to stroke his tip a bit, the foreskin pulling down when he thumbed at it.

But then Dad moved you and rubbed against you himself. It was just like his finger, he said, he was going to press in just the same, and he did, but when he started going, it was so much bigger, too much bigger for a kid like you. And you tried to get up. And he stopped you. And he pulled you back down. And now you could feel his fly scraping against your ass and your hole—young and wet and dripping—was stretched too-wide over his too-big cock.

“There we go honey, isn’t that nice.” Dad’s voice was low, so low and heavy as he nosed into your neck and rolled into you that it almost sounded like a growl. “That’s it. That’s it.”

He didn’t rock much, just kept you there. Hands on your sides, moving slightly but mostly just rubbing over your smooth little tummy, pressing on the bulge there and making you squirm.

It did get better after a bit, especially when his hand slid down to run slowly over your kid parts. Smooth and sticky and steady. You whined again, toes flexing where they couldn’t touch the floor, twitching down onto the girth of him as heat slid down to your ankles. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Dad keened quietly, fingers pressing flat over the little nub of your cock.

Then, all at once, he hissed and went still, and everything inside became warm. You moaned, all quiet, and he panted in your ear, tensing and untensing as his hand pressed hard over your cock, making it light up and tightening your whole body up hot.

You screwed your eyes shut, hands coming up to grip on one of his arms as your hips ground down of their own volition, confused and fuzzy and desperate to feel more of that thick, pumping, warmth inside you.

When you blinked your eyes open again, there was a bigger bulge in your belly, and your skin felt stretched even further. Dad’s hand ran over your tummy again, pushing ever so slightly, and you felt something hot gush out around his cock. He kept playing with your kiddo parts idly, even though you were tired.

“Go to sleep hun,” he murmured, petting your hair. He was still hard inside, you could feel it. He seemed to wait a moment, letting your breath even out, before one of his rough, wet, fingers left your cock to drag down around your entrance, feeling where you were still connected. He tugged at it a bit, breath stuttering, and the touch made your whole brain buzz.

“Rest baby,” he whispered. “Poppa’s got you.”

tartaglia post please............. my ginger princess.......... stop posting abt genshin and start writing.......... 😔

+ love, ‘su: smth smth tar-tar-taglia lover of snezhnayan queen ﾉ childe insists you like being called ‘doll’

“seriously, you’re fucking dead.”

“no, i’m fucking ajax—ouch!?”

a firm kick to his shin was all it took to shut him up. it’s to be expected that even a crazed battle man like him couldn’t resist the pain of heels. well, to be precise, being kicked by someone wearing heels.

you’re familiar with childe, much to your dismay. you’ve always gotten into squabbles with him when you two were younger. it’s extended to your adulthood. as if your fathers being the best of buds weren’t enough, they mistook your hate for the boy as young love. elder people and their beliefs will soon bring the nation into shambles.

“you must bully him because you like him, right sweetie?” your foolish father would tease you, nudging your mother’s arm.

childe also wasn’t free from the teasing. his younger sisters would often sing a song, suggesting romance between him and the girl he swore to believe is a man.

see, you two aren’t enemies, but you aren’t friends either. you both just happened to have a dislike for the other. if you were good at something, he’d be better. if he were good at something, you’d be better. to him, you’re like a roach that refuses to die. to you, he’s like a fly that won’t stop buzzing.

perhaps this is what both your families saw. you two were so similar that it caused rivalry. the fathers, however, saw this as an opportunity. what better way to connect the best of buds than to become in-laws? it’s a picture-perfect plan! a plan that didn’t require the consent of the two parties involved because they foresaw the fat “no.”

that is how you were left with him in a room alone. you’re not sure if you’re going crazy because of the annoyance, but you are pretty sure you heard a chair being dragged to lock the door from the outside.

you rushed home from an outing with friends due to an emergency call from your father. next time, you’ll remind yourself to not answer any of his calls. your outfit is now being wasted in the guest’s room.

“what?” raising an eyebrow, childe looked at you up and down, observing your appearance.

“oh, did you get dolled up for me? how sweet of you but i’m not— fuck.” he held his tongue, hissing at the pain of yet another kick.

“i did not get “dolled up” for you, okay? don’t be an asshole,” you spat, crossing your arms.

childe laughed the pain off, stretching his arms as he turned his back to you, walking to the lovely bed your mother prepared for him.

once he got comfortable, he turned on his side, propping his head up with his hand.

“you can stand there if you want, or join me.” patting the space beside him, he teased you. childe’s aware of how annoying heels can be to stand in. he has sisters and a mother — he never hears the end of it.

unfortunately for you, your pride bested you. you held your head high, refusing to lay on the same bed as him.

...unfortunately for you, childe’s also an asshole that can turn people’s words and their meanings around.

“so you’re standing there because you don’t want to ruin your outfit? my, you really got dolled up for me.”

hook, line, and sinker. you took the bait. thanks to his provoking, you kicked the heels off, practically stomping to the bed. you laid on your back, keeping your arms folded across your chest.

“hi, doll.” a sickening voice laced with honey spoke.

“fuck off.” a fitting response.

“no. i don’t want to.”

however, childe will always be childe. he cannot “fuck off” because you want him to. he will continue to fuck on and bear the consequences later.

“but if i fuck off, who’s gonna see you dolled up again? how cruel, doll,” he faked a cry, wiping the invisible tears.

“stop calling me that!” you ordered, furrowing your eyebrows at the nickname.

“haha, no.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you closed your eyes. maybe some sleep will help.

or maybe not.

bold of you to think you of all people can get even a minute’s rest when he's around. he’s not childe if he doesn’t extend an arm to poke your cheek — multiple times.

you refused to yield, so he carried on. since the poking won’t work, he fiddled with your earrings.

that, too, didn’t work. he’s running out of things to do with his hand. perhaps it’s time to up his game.

shuffling closer to you, he leaned in to your ear, readying himself to whisper nonsense to disrupt your so-called slumber.

“psst, i’m gonna tell everyone you like being called doll.”

“don’t you fucking dare.” your eyes shot open immediately, looking at the perpetrator with disgust.

“look at that, you woke up!” he cheered, smiling at you. “my, my. you really do like being called doll…”

you took a slow blink, coming to the realisation that he’s going to do whatever he wants. whether it’s calling you “doll” or becoming the bane of your existence.

I'm feeling nice today soo here

I wanna groom this little girl so badly😔

bed peace ⊹₊⟡⋆ j.sc

୨୧ pairings｜stepbrother!sungchan x reader

୨୧ wc｜1.9k

୨୧ warnings｜noncon touching turned duncon kinda，stepcest，soft dom sungchan，forced kissing，big dick sungchan ofc 😞，praising，crying，daddy kink，lowkey ddlg，choking，non-penetration sex TO penetration，"just the tip"，teasing，little sister big brother talk，yn's sensitive

inspired by this <3

"channie?" you whisper softly, tugging the comforter down to reveal even a sliver of his face. his breathing is shallower than usual, and he's still, but you were unsure if he's already drifted off to sleep. he never sleeps early. at least not when he's staying the night at your parents house. you repeat his name, but silence greets you, and you can't help the disappointment in your stomach. you sigh, reluctant to walk away and surrender to sleep. you lingered for a minute longer in his room, still hovering over him, too scared to turn around and leave. the walk to your room was long and dark. you mustered up all your courage just to run down here, and you don't know if you can make yourself do it again.

this was all your fault. you had a scary dream, and it was hard laying in your big room all alone with nothing but your thoughts to torture you. you feel like a kid again, close to the brink of tears, thinking of facing this fear. It's always been better for you to let sungchan face it for you. that's what big brothers are for! you would rather snuggle up in his bed and cling to his arms wrapped around your waist like he was a border to shield you. even if sungchan teased you for still getting scared this easily, you know you could count on your big brother to protect you. but he can't protect you when he's sleeping.

you reach out and push on his shoulder outside the cover one last time. when he stirs a bit at the touch, you call out for him again, “channie... I need you.” this time, you see his eyelashes flutter, his eyes squinting as he peers at you. not even turning to look at the time on his phone, he just lifts his cover, looking back to you standing pitifully with your lip tutted out. “you okay? scary dream?" you take his actions as a gesture to slip into the bed with him. climbing to the side closest to the wall and lying directly in his arms, he drops the cover on both of you.

"mhm, had a bad dream," you finally respond, closing your eyes at this newfound warmth. he leans forward, kissing your forehead, words rumbling against your back. "I'm sorry, baby. I have you now." you smile at his words, feeling so safe and content.

a lot of people say your relationship with sungchan is weird but you never understood.

this was just sister-brotherly love. sungchan knew you better than any person ever has, even your mom. since your mom married his dad, you were forced into this new lifestyle with a new sibling with a very different personality from yours. It was hard at first, but you and sungchan clicked, and you never hid who you were with him and he never hid from you. sure he made your guy friends and boyfriends uncomfortable but they're just weird. there was nothing weird if you liked the affection and attention from your brother. the hugs, holding hands, occasional kisses on your forehead, and especially cuddling. he's your favorite guy! told you over and over again how happy he was that you were his sister, that you were the best little sister, and that he loved you more than mom and dad.

sungchan's hands roamed your hips, tugging you closer, and you let him in. his room smells of vanilla like him, and you don't think about how it has you falling deeper into him. too distracted by the goodness you feel, you don't think about the weird feeling filling your tummy when he presses himself against you, firm and hard behind you. barely thinking about how much bigger and stronger he's gotten and how he's grown into your type. you stay like this for thirty minutes and almost think sungchan had fallen asleep. but after a while, his hands slowly smooth down your stomach until he's pressing on your panties.

you gasp, turning to look at him, but he's already staring at you, big hand pressing against your mouth. "shhh... just let me." you can't comprehend what's going on. he's way too strong for you to fight back properly. "you make me so hard, baby," sungchan groans, pushing his hips to rut against you. "so sexy.. my little sister is so sexy,"

the tears in your eyes have already started flowing down onto his hand. you're confused and conflicted with what happened to make sungchan have such a direct change. you hate that your pussy clenches when he works his fingers inside your panties, fingers dragging against your folds. he circles your clit, and you feel heat rush through you for the first time. your body is trembling and tears are nonstop. "baby— baby, you have to calm down—" sungchan's voice is deep and dripping with concern, but you don't know how to calm your body.

"you know I won't hurt you," he whispers, "your big brother loves you." but you can't listen. your hips are bucking up into his hand, and you feel icky. his hand falls from your mouth, and everything breaks loose. "this– this is wr–wrong, channie," you sob. "we're not supposed to do this."

Instead of answering, sungchan kisses you, tongue running messily over your lips, and when he intrudes your mouth, it all feels so foreign. you don't know how to react, just letting him abuse your mouth until your lips are bitten red and swollen. the kiss slows your thinking down, your legs clenched around sungchan's hand tight, and your eyes rolling back. when he pulls away, spit trails, and his fingers start circling your clit again. "see baby," he huffed out, forcing your legs to spread, "not that bad, huh?" you sniffle and pout, pushing back against him subconsciously.

"channie—" "call me daddy." it was phrased so softly that if it wasn't so lewd, it could be ignored. and it should terrify you. It should be grossing you out to be this close to someone you grew up with, especially someone you thought was your real brother, but your tongue hangs out like a puppy for him anyway. like you're giving yourself away. his mouth drops open ever so slightly as his eyes follow the motion of your tongue, and then he lets out a low hum. "say it."

"sungchan..." you pause when he gives you a look, finger prodding your hole. you start wiggling again. "not there daddy... please... know we can't!" your lip tuts out, fingers digging into his arm in an attempt to distance you two. "don't worry, baby daddy's gonna make you feel good, don't you love me?" his question comes out as more of a statement like he doesn't doubt that you do love him. "I love you, daddy! I–I do, but–" sungchan scoffs at you, pulling your panties down to your knees, and the stickiness makes you shy. you gasp, covering your mouth with both hands, when something odd presses against your pussy.

"never done this before?" you shake your head no, hips seemingly rocking on their own. "never felt this before... don't—don't think we're supposed to do this, daddy..." when the words leave your mouth for a third time sungchan comes to a halt. "I love you. you're my little sister, and I'm supposed to show you these things." his breath against your skin makes you shudder, goosebumps popping out all over your skin. he kisses down your neck, sloppy and slowly till hes pressing kisses on your shoulder. "I won't put it in."

you don't understand what he means until he's dragging his cock between your slit, collecting your slick to use as a lubricant, and instead of going inside, he's spreading it. your vision nearly blanks feeling him on your pussy. he's so hard and heavy, and your cunny is aching the slower he pushes his hips forward and slides his cock on you. "fuck... baby, you feel so good for me." he works to circle his tip on your clit, feeling you writhe under him.

"nnng daddy daddy daddy!" you whimper. this is so embarrassing. your pussy is clenching and pushing out more wetness, and you feel like you'd rather die than let sungchan know how sensitive you are. your nipples are hard poking your shirt, and when he uses his hand to push his fat tip so deep inside your lips you can't help but curl and wiggle. "please—" "yeah? big brother making you feel good?" you swallow and try to talk, but he instead slides between your folds deeper and the words get trapped in your throat. you can’t handle having him like this. It was too hard to even look at him. "feel—feel you—" he nodded, his cold hand planting itself on your cheek, fingers dipping to wrap around your throat. "I know, baby. can feel me in you." the air was thick between you two, getting even more tense when you tried to push his hand away in panic. "n–no! no no daddy–" your mind is bleary, voice breaking.

theres this strange shift in his demeanor when he looks into your eyes. not unexpected, just more— intense. when you blink back tears and sniffle, it's almost like his face hardens. eyes flickering over your expression, lingering on your swollen lips again before it drops down between your legs. It's like he’s got more to say or something left to do. you whimper the longer he continues to put pressure on your throat and pull on his wrist a little. "d—daddy— gonna—gonna cum...!"

"I'm so sorry, baby. I need to feel you," he said, closing the gap between you and lining up at your entrance. he finally sank his tip into your needy little hole, his lips barely grazing yours. you feel weird again. not being able to stop your eyes from fluttering shut when he stretches you out. your mouth is open and wide from the painful sensation filling you as he starts slowly thrusting, sliding deeper with each thrust until he bottoms out. "no! no sungchan—” you try to warn, but he tightens his grip to silence you, and your body starts to feel like it's breaking down.

the pace he sets is menacing, enough to have you whining and arching your back into him. the tip of his cock is nudging your cervix with every deep thrust. you can't hear him cooing anymore, just the sounds coming from your bodies meeting. “oh no... did I lose you, baby?" he whispers in your ear, letting go of your throat so you can breathe. your heart is fast hammering against your chest as he fucks you into your very first orgasm. "close for me, baby?" you nodded, tears spilling again. "hurts—feel—feel big brother in—in my tummy..."

sungchan's hands slid down your stomach, firm hand pushing your abdomen as he bruised your pussy. "mhm?" your brother smiled, "feel me here" your words are incoherent when you start twitching against him. "come on. cum for me, baby. cum for your big brother." you shook your head, clouded and lost in thought as you pushed your hips to meet his sharp thrusts. "gonna fill this pussy up," that’s all you need to make your walls clench even tighter, pulsating with the euphoric shocks of your orgasm. Your moans are high-pitched, and you repeatedly hear weak mumbles of his name.

“there you go, get me all messy, baby.” he praises, leaning forward to press a long kiss to your forehead. "my favorite little sister.”

© KISSPURINS 2024 ✿

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ what I know to be true ⋆｡˚ ೀ⋆｡˚ ༘

Childe wasn't a big fan of the Tsaritsa's demand for him to find a wife, until he'd come upon the perfect girl for the job. You—a lady he knew in his childhood to be a horrible nuisance and demon on Earth. Not only would this marriage fulfill his duty, but would let him settle a long-time grudge as well. Little did he know, he stood more to gain from this partnership than he thought.

Childe x fem!reader II arranged marriage, angst? to fluff, childhood enemies to lovers, romance!

Childe was never one for romance, and especially not for commitment.

He just had so much else on his plate, much bigger dreams than that of settling down in a household and abandoning his place on the battlefield.

He was always looking ahead to a future of bloodshed, of power, of someday ruling the world.

That wasn't going to happen if a distraction stood in his way.

He would sometimes muse about having kids, loving the idea of continuing his lineage and watching a bunch of mini-me's run around, but ultimately, he decided his duty to the Tsaritsa would stand in the way of him being a good father. So he'd just have to settle for being an amazing uncle to the children his siblings would eventually have, spoiling them with presents at Christmas time and teaching them how to protect themselves out in the wild.

So when he was called into the Tsaritsa's throne room and received the news that a harbinger of his status was to be married, in order to keep up with regal airs the nobles of Snezhanaya, he was, respectfully, very unhappy.

"You'll be seen at balls and lead battalions. Your role must be carried with honor. Nobody will respect an old lonely man.", she claimed, then drew out a long, thin arm to hold his chin with a bony hand—long pointed nails pressing divots into his skin. Though her touch was frigid, she looked down at him with a certain fondness in her eyes, though the sincerity of it was undistinguishable. "You need a pretty thing by your side to elevate your status. You know I only want what's best for you.", she cooed, like she was addressing a child.

He new better than to disobey her commands, and something about the smoothness of her voice assured him that this was the right choice. He only nodded, though his fists clenched at his sides in dismay.

Childe read over the listed names of eligible young ladies for him to marry with contempt; scrolling through the meaningless last names and accompanying statures, ordered from top to bottom by how highly they stood in the totem pole of nobility. Like he cared where the girl would come from.

He felt guilt for the miserable thing that would have to marry him; though he could care less about who these women were, he believed that they deserved a partner that loved them, or at least a good man that could stand to take care of them. All they would be to him is a nuisance, a label which they had done nothing to earn.

Though, when he neared the end of the list, a section devoted to common folk who had certain merits like striking beauty or some sort of fame, that he found a name he recognized.

Your name.

Oh, how he remembered you.

You were the daughter of good friends of his parents. Your families would often gather for holidays or dinner parties, sharing what little they had in the name of kinship. The gatherings were lively, full of happiness and cheer...

But you had a certain countenance that stood out to him and branded your name into a special part of his brain to be remembered for the rest of his life.

You were a little brat was what you were.

Though you were only a toddler when he met you, having only just taken your first steps while he was already halfway through being eight, he found you to be the most insufferable little human he'd ever met.

Your parents would always gab and brag about what a good little girl you were; how you never cried or screamed, how you were sweet and patient and loving—a wonderful surprise for parents preparing for the "terrible two's.".

They had to be lying, because every time Ajax would come into view you'd immediately throw a fit, wailing and swiping at his face with a kind of rage an entire army of men could not match.

He had no idea why; he never touched you, or spoke to you, all he did upon your first meeting was draw back in repulse.

You weren't a pleasure to look at; with your beady little eyes and thick eyelashes that lined them, your thin eyebrows and piercing gaze. You looked like some haunted porcelain doll. And there was a certain consciousness behind your eyes that children your age were not supposed to have.

His little siblings were much cuter.

And he did not hesitate to say that.

"Tonia was a prettier baby. What's wrong with her?", he piped up, humiliating his mother and father who immediately scolded him for his rudeness. Your mother only laughed.

"Trust me, she'll be a beauty when she grows up. I won't be surprised when you come around here in sixteen years asking to marry her."

This started a little musing session between your mothers, giggling about the possibility of their children being wed and how wonderful that would be for their friendship and their families.

Meanwhile, Ajax was dwelling on how that would absolutely never happen—if the look on your face was any indicator.

You were red as a tomato, nose scrunched in distain as your eyes pierced his. Like you'd understood him.

How was he supposed to know babies could take offense?

Whether or not your infant brain could comprehend his words, your hatred was clear, and before he could react, your soft little hand went flying towards his face and landed with a resounding THWAP!

Even though you struck him, you immediately burst into tears, bawling crocodile tears that ran down your face and dripped off of your chin.

All of the adults in the room immediately ran to your aid, hushing and petting you while scorning Ajax for "tormenting the poor girl."

Never before had he felt so cheated.

That begun his feud with a two year old.

Your detest for one another ran deep. So much so that every gathering between your families ended in you receiving plenty of sneaky pinches to your fat baby skin and him risking a bald spot with the amount of hair you'd rip out of his head.

It was a nightmare you could walk too, since you'd often seek him out just to babble in annoyance and tug at the knee of his trousers.

"See? Look at how much she likes you!", his mother would coo, but he knew better. Your grappling with his pants was your pea-brained strategy to get him to bend down and remove you so you could bop him one on the nose.

He swore you were such a strong baby. He'd rather take a hit from a club than suffer the force that your tiny fists could bring down on his head.

That's why you were the perfect girl to be his wife

If he were to marry any other woman, the guilt of leaving her alone at home for long stretches of time, depriving her of having the good husband she deserves rather than a man who could never love her, would be overwhelming.

Sure, he was a monster, but he wasn't about to let some innocent bystander be collateral damage.

But you? The evil, horrible little wench you are? You more than deserved it.

In his mind, he'd actually be doing his fellow man a favor by saving an unsuspecting bachelor from accidentally marrying a grisly thing like you.

So, although his retainers were already in the process of scheduling meetings with his potential brides, he plucked your name from the list without hesitation.

"Set the wedding date. I'll have that one."

The organizers looked between themselves warily, deciding whether or not they should challenge him on this monumental decision.

"And nothing too grand—it'll just be family.", he cooly added, leaning back in his chair to rest his feet upon his desk and crushing the list of names under his dirty boots.

In the end, the harbinger always gets what he wants, so his retainers retreated with quiet nods and quick steps.

Though Childe acted aloof towards the decision to have you as his bride, when the day of the wedding actually arrived and he found himself standing at the altar of a small church in Mosepok—his home town, his palms were sweating and eyes darting around nervously. He shifted his weight on his feet as the congregation waited for you to enter; this was supposed to be a small ceremony, but leave it to his mother and father's proud announcements to their friends and neighbors to draw a crowd. As his eyes scanned the faces of those who'd known him in his youth, he realized near all of the small port town was packed into the pews. He wracked his brain for the answer as to why these people would want to watch their old town troublemaker's union, but he supposed it would be the most interesting thing to happen in the town since his era of delinquency.

It was a miracle that the budget the Fatui gave Childe for this wedding greatly superseded the amount he'd needed for the original plan of a small gathering; it was more than enough to feed the whole town for a night, which actually brought a flicker of joy to Childe's chest.

He was pleased that he could give back to the community that handled him like a family in his childhood.

But that flicker was immediately quenched when the creaking sound of the heavy oak doors that led into the chapel reverberated through the room—revealing the silhouette cast in white of his bride.

His stomach turned with anxiety. Childe had led battalions into what could be considered suicide missions if not for their miraculous victorious outcome, and yet, somehow, the fear he felt standing in front of a girl that, though she may not be small by definition, definitely looked so standing next to him, significantly surpassed that of which he's ever felt.

His cold body shook like he stood inches from death.

Suddenly, he remembered the fury your little body had when you were only a baby, and it dawned on him that you've only gotten bigger, smarter, stronger. A little arbiter of the apocalypse couldn't have grown into the meek woman he imagined, if anything, her bloodlust grew with age.

What did he get himself into? Was he an idiot? Did he, blinded by his scheming for revenge, land himself in a lion's den?

With a light tap on the shoulder from the priest, he jolted out of his stupor and found you standing in front of him already, suddenly remembering that he was now to lift your veil.

His hands shook as he reached out, bracing himself for the hideous face he'd been forced to associate with at every friendly gathering between your parents in childhood, and now, due to his own brashness, would have to associate with every time he returned home or attended public events.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes as he took the fabric between his white-knuckled fingers and threw the thing up and over your head. The procession hummed with awe and approval—some more boisterous men from the docks whistling, to which their wives jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

The sounds of adoration resounding from the audience perplexed Childe, drawing his interest and encouraging him to open one wary eye and peek at you.

But his cautious peek grew into an owlish gawking and dropped jaw when the woman before him shined like an angel.

This couldn't have been the girl he knew in her infancy; her once-beady eyes now twinkled like stars, her red puffy face was now sculpted and the only remnants of her discoloration resided in dusted pink pigments on her cheeks. They were so perfectly placed that they could be mistaken for a painting by an artist with a keen eye. He pried his gaze from your enrapturing eyes to ogle your lips—plushy and inviting. He'd give anything to kiss a gorgeous woman like you.

And he remembered with an unexpected delight that he would by the end of this ceremony.

Before he knew it, the soft ring of your voice settled upon his ears. Having been caught in a trance, he hadn't realized the procession already arrived at your vows.

He only tuned in after the opening sentences of your declaration had passed, your words blurred by his reverie.

"I promise to wait for you when you go and embrace you when you return; to make a warm, solace of a home for you that you can always come back to, whether there be a roof over our heads or not. I promise to follow you through this life and meet you in the next, to be by your side when you need me, no matter how far apart we may be forced to exist. I promise to love you and only you, to be true as long as your ring encloses my finger, and promise to keep it there forever. I will take your family into my arms just as you will me, care for them—as they are an extension of you, to love them just as I do you. I'll hold you ever close to my heart, speak to you with nothing but kindness, recognize your face as that of my partner in life, my one and only, and..."

Childe jumped when he felt your warm hand sneak up on his and gingerly intertwine your fingers, to which he did not resist, nor want to.

"I promise to love you as you are; no matter how much the years we spend together may change us."

To his puzzlement, Childe felt a certain wetness roll down his cheek, causing him to look up at the skylight above the both of you to check if it was raining. When another droplet ran down the other side of his face, he realized he was crying.

Childe never cried, he couldn't even remember the last time it had happened; maybe it was sometime when he was a boy, but the memory simply did not exist. These were not tears shed in misery, they were spurred by your words of devotion, words he'd never been blessed with before. He truly wondered now if you may be divine, but all he beheld of you told him you were, in fact, human, and not a vision of absolution sent from the heavens above.

You tilted your head to the side and blinked your dollish eyelashes at him, obviously waiting for something, to which he remembered that is was now his turn.

He had neglected to write vows beforehand or memorize the traditional vows spoken by couples bound by marriage as an arrangement. He had, in fact, planned on skipping the process altogether, but your profession of love caught him off guard and incentivized him to speak his own.

So, with a blank mind, he resorted to letting the few truths he knew spill from his mouth.

"I'd only known you during our childhoods, but how you've blossomed and changed has..."

He had never been one for words, so making something up on the spot in front of quite literally a hundred people was daunting. His voice seized with trepidation, but he took a breath and moved forward.

"Has...left me speechless. My mind is empty, and all I can think of now is...that I am blessed."

He swallowed a lump in his throat and continued, struck by your endearing gaze on him—it made his voice quiver as it resounded from his chest.

"I'd assumed I knew you, but it's clear to me now that I have so much more to learn."

He unconsciously squeezed your hand for comfort, and, with a gentle smile on your face, you reassuringly squeezed back; making him sigh and yearn to feel more of you—imagining that you felt like warm cotton, soft and homey, something he could bury himself in and happily stay there for eternity.

"And I want to learn it. I...want to spend my whole life in awe of you, discovering as much as I can, knowing you like I know myself."

He could not hesitate before he blurted his next statement, his voice getting carried away from him and spilling his most personal beliefs.

"And loving you as you love me."

Your cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, and your eyes glimmered as your perfect lips stretched into an even more enticing smile. He could hear your soft, happy sigh, a sound that not even the priest beside the two of you could catch, almost like a secret meant just for him.

Your sweetness enthralled him like nothing he'd ever experienced— slowly convincing him that you very well may be the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"I'll take care of you.", he promised, and meant it. "I'll spend the rest of my life ensuring your safety and happiness. Despite what you promised before, I will always put a roof over your head. You'll be forever warm and safe. I will fight for you, die for you, do anything you ask. You will want for nothing as long as you're mine."

His vow had come upon its conclusion with one final promise he all but growled, like it was somehow in danger of being broken—that he would go to any length to protect.

"And you will forever be mine."

His pause at the end indicated to the priest that the his vow had ended, and the way your lips parted in wonder and your wide eyes remained locked on his made him want to lean in and kiss you like every inch of his body burned to do. But he had to, begrudgingly, wait; hoping the ceremony would end as soon as possible so he could finally have you to himself and ask you all the questions he was dying for the answers to.

Did you really mean what you said? He sure did, and he didn't even know he had the capacity to not only promise, but want, desperately so, the fulfill the oaths he had declared to you.

Soon enough, the priest announced it was now time for the bestowing of the rings—a symbol of the bond you will share for eternity.

As the ring bearer, Childe's dear brother, Teucer, brought the rings resting on a white silk pillow over to the altar and held it over his head while he balanced on his tippy toes so the two of you could reach the rings with ease. Childe immediately felt awash in shame. All he'd purchased for you was a simple silver band—no precious gems, no original detailing, just a band. He didn't expect to want to take pride in the symbol of his loyalty you'd wear for him on your finger. He'd get you a new one, a better one—one he could admire as he kissed your hand, held it with adoration and smoothed his fingers over it.

But although the ring fell below expectations, there was no disappointment on your face. You barely glanced at it, your eyes trained on his face with a fondness he'd never received before. Your gaze had his heart spilling over with exaltation.

You took his hand in yours and slipped the perfectly fitted ring around his finger, giving it a small squeeze when you were done—as if to brand your affection deep into his hand.

He returned the gesture, taking your other hand in his and, carefully, securing the ring around your finger as well; he breathed a sigh of relief and felt a weight he hadn't known was resting on his shoulders alleviate. His heart thundered in his chest, threatening to leap out in a desperate attempt to be ever closer to yours.

The priest spoke, but his voice was drowned out by Childe's inner voice, wailing for you.

All he could register was the sound of your silver bell-like voice, piercing through the fog in his head like a star's light in the void of the night sky above.

"I do.", you said.

He couldn't tell if he'd rushed ahead of the priest's announcement of his turn or not, but he followed your statement blindly.

"I do.", he whispered ardently, brushing the backs of those precious hands of yours softly with his thumbs.

After the final blurb recited by the priest, a sentiment he couldn't bring himself to listen to in his anticipation, he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Without a moment of delay, he brought both of his hands up to cup your cheeks, a look of ache in his face as it felt like you had reached an invisible hand into his chest and gripped his heart, and kissed you.

Fervently, passionately kissed you.

It took your breath away, left you panting when he finally pulled away after remembering he was, in fact, in front of his parents and broader community.

But cheers sang from the crowd for your union as he led you back down the steps of the altar and out of the church, eyes trained on your feet with your hand secured in his—watching carefully as you descended to make sure you wouldn't fall. He treated you as if you were sculpted from crystal glass.

After the two of you crossed the threshold out of the church as one, Childe gently tugged your hand to draw you closer so that he could whisper in your ear.

"Could we take a walk in the garden?"

While the guests made their way to the reception hall for their lavish dinner, you and Childe strolled through the church's garden together, hands still intertwined as the two of you gazed at the various winter shrubs and evergreen trees sprinkled with snow. It was beautiful in its own kind of way; the way life persevered through otherwise uninhabitable conditions, how even the bear oak trees existed as intricate silhouettes against the grey sky—providing cover as the sun sank down and gave way to a grim dusk, it was wonderful, and in this moment, it was yours to share.

The two of you came to a halt at a marble bench next to a large, frozen fountain, adorned with swirling details and moulding from an older, more fanciful era. He swiped off the snow that had built on top of the bench, then removed his large, fur-lined cloak to rest on the surface. He led you down to sit on it, having fashioned a dry, warm seat for you as he stood.

"Won't you be cold?"

"I'll be fine.", he assured you. He'd grown used to the frigid air of his home country, having entered various conflicts with nothing but thin linen to cover him for the sake of his movements not being burdened by thick, heavy fabric.

"Thank you.", you spoke, softly, and the words warmed his chest more than any coat could.

He stood there for a long moment, just taking in the sight of you. He just couldn't believe you were real, and couldn't believe you were his at so little a cost—he'd done nothing but bellyache and pluck your name off of a paper, and somehow the situation ended up being the best decision of his life. He'd found someone that claimed to truly, deeply love him by sheer chance.

And that thought brought him to the question that had been weighing on his mind since your vows.

"Did you really mean what you said?", he asked, quietly, hesitantly. After the words left his mouth, he wished he'd never said them. He didn't want to know the answer; if he could live in a fantasy where a miracle like you truly adored him, he'd seize the opportunity and hold it close to his heart for the rest of his life. He felt like such a fool.

"Of course I did.", you chuckled, like the question was ridiculous.

"I thought you hated me.", he confessed, his curiosity for your change of heart getting the best of him when he knew better than to ask too many questions. You only quirked your head and blinked at him, indicating that he needed to clarify. "When we were younger, you acted like you wanted my head on a stick."

To that admission, you laughed heartily. It was a lovely sound, one his mind would no doubt play on repeat in his darkest of times, sending sparks to his heart that would keep him moving forward—back to you so he could hear it again and again. "I was a toddler, dear. I didn't understand my feelings! And you were pretty nasty to me, too.", you said with a playful, pointed look.

The term of endearment made his heart bubble, craving to hear you say it again, but his mind was desperate for more answers. "But...how did you...", he coughed awkwardly, "fall for me?".

His carefully spoken question only made you giggle once again, but you could understand his confusion.

"Oh, Ajax. You were the most entertaining person I've ever met. I know we fought, but I remembered your presence in my life so fondly. And I'd look at pictures of us from our old gatherings, where our parents would force you to hold me on your lap and smile, or take candid shots of us chasing each other around, and I'd wish for you to come back so we could fight again.", you laughed at the memory. "I thought of you all the time, you know. And, as I grew older and life passed by, I'd keep looking back on those photos and...", your cheeks turned even redder than the chilly air had already done, flushing your cheeks and nose. After this conversation, Childe would make sure to rush you inside so you could warm up by a hearth. "Well, my heart would beat for you. And I wished you would come back for different reasons...so I could see you again and fall in love with the man you've become."

Childe gulped in shame. He knew the man he'd become was...cruel. Wicked. He'd never thought so little of himself than when he stood before you, your glorious, pure eyes assessing him like Celestia would upon the day of his death.

But how you looked on at him was not in judgement, but affection. "And when I met you at the altar, I did. I truly did."

He was so swayed by your words, so caught up in your devotion, that though he knew he was undeserving, he leaned down and connected your lips with his once again; his large hands warmed you where they caressed your cheek and the side of your neck, his lips thawing your frozen ones. The flavor of you was intoxicating, but as much as he wanted to prolong this moment, your icy skin pushed him to get you inside immediately.

So he drew back, drawing the most angelic whine of protest from your lips. It made him grin in pride.

"Let's warm you up, huh?"

Though you wanted to stay in the privacy of this isolated garden, continue to live in this moment that only existed for the two of you, you couldn't deny how you shivered and your stomach growled. It was time for your reception, and you couldn't keep your guests waiting.

So you, albeit reluctantly, let Ajax pull you up into his arms and throw his cloak around the both of you before taking you back to the church where he married you, now entering sharing one heart, one life, one love. Forever.

WHILE WINTER HOLDS ITS QUIET BREATH

a visit to childe's home

pairing: childe x gn!reader

themes/content: fluff. mentions of his family, violence, blood, he gets called his birth name, basically just a character study i guess. 18+ MDNI (wk: 3.4k)

a/n: nobody look at me

"Winter collapsed on us that year. It knelt, exhausted, and stayed." - Emily Fridlund, History of Wolves

Ajax smells different in Snezhnaya.

Coming from the shower on your sixth morning in his home, steam fading from his skin, it takes a moment for your mind to register that it’s him standing in the doorway, to connect the neurons and cells that know him, the ones that would recognize his curves and muscles draped in a burgundy towel. In Liyue, you’re used to the heavy scent of metal hanging on him, mingling with spices and clove, musk and sweat. It’s still him, of course, but there’s something else here, something closer to the earth that bore him.

He doesn’t notice the way your thoughts stall, already rambling about what his mother is planning to cook for dinner, where Teucer wants to go in town today. His steps fall the same, though, as he moves through his childhood bedroom, the floorboards barely creaking under his familiar weight. This house seems to remember him, although it’s only ever known this version of him, the one who smells like pine and rosemary, who loves to ice fish and hike and laugh, the one whose shoulders rise easily, whose eyes crinkle and flutter when snowflakes land on them.

Truthfully, the thought of asking you to join him on his journey home made his stomach ache. When it finally came time to make the request, he had returned only a few hours ago from some far-off city you’d barely remembered the name of, one with too many vowels in it, you think, one that took him away from you for too long again, his freshest scars already beginning to heal.

“My mother wants to meet you,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Tonia, too.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, and you were just as glad his eyes had strayed from yours to hide the way warmth began creeping up your neck. “They know about me?”

“Of course they do, silly” he pulled away, grinning. With a pinch of your cheek, he rubbed his nose against yours. “Who do you think I write all those letters to?”

When you didn’t respond, he hid his face back in the den of your shoulder.

“Would you come with me when I go back to Snezhnaya? To meet them? Just for a week.” Tightly, he closed his eyes, afraid of what your eyebrows or the corners of your mouth might say, things he didn’t want to hear. The journey is too long or I’m needed at work or I don’t love you, Ajax. But the words never came.

“Of course I’ll go,” you whispered instead, sweet like the honeyed wine you served with dinner. The waves crashed softly outside the open window, carried by the other sounds of the harbor, ones of labor and ships and travel.

In the haven of your skin, his lips curled into a smile.

The first day you arrived, his family greeted you behind the thick wooden door. Teucer lugged your bags upstairs, each thud as they collided with the old wood came with a giggle. His mother hugged you, and she smelled like cinnamon.

“Is that the only coat you brought?” she asked, rubbing the worn leather that draped your shoulders.

Before you could respond, she was already turning away, rummaging through the closet. Inside, you caught glimpses of old brooms and half-patched stockings before she thrusted a piece of cloth into your arms.

“Here! It’s not perfect, and it’s certainly not new, but this should treat you much better.”

She smiled with her teeth, like the grin that slips from Ajax on nights when the two of you sat outside and counted the stars. Devoid of second meanings, of control or deceit.

Unfurling the item, warm wool rubbed against your fingertips in the shape of a soft grey outer-jacket. The buttons held on by single threads, and the pockets had holes, and you pulled it into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, and you hugged her.

Later that evening, his father showed you where they stored wood for the fire as Ajax swung a rusted axe, each crack echoing against the silent trees.

“It gets cold here at night, so make yourselves comfortable,” was all he said before ducking back inside. You slept in Ajax’s childhood bed under three layers of blankets, his limbs intertwined with your own.

On your second day in Snezhnaya, Tonia insisted on going into town.

“You’ll love it,” she promised, dragging Ajax by the wrist out the door. “You have to see it.”

He huffed some retort, but his eyes glimmered when he looked to you, reflecting the sky that seemed almost too blue here, unsoiled by humidity and sweat.

The city itself was busy, or at least, busier than you expected for a place known for its unforgiving climate. The worn-down cobblestone lended itself to easy steps, the sound of chatter bouncing off the brick buildings. Everyone moved easily past one another, like salmon in the harbor, all traveling back to the depths of the sea.

Suddenly, Ajax turned to you. “I have to run some errands. Don't get into any trouble, you two,” he winked, glancing down at Tonia who only giggled in response.

“We won’t!” she reassured; as he faded into the crowd, she looked up at you. “Now, I can show you the really cool stuff.”

With her hand clasped firmly in yours, she led you through narrow alleyways until you emerged under the bright, cold sun. Tall glass panels greeted you, lining the storefronts. Behind each one, layers of gold and jewels were carefully displayed, reflecting spots of light onto the marble like small fish eyes watching your every move.

“That one’s my favorite,” she stated, pointing through the window that fogged under her breath. An icy sapphire sat in the center of the arrangement, nestled into rich black velvet.

Just as you opened your mouth, a firm hand landed on your shoulder. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to these, or do you want me to go broke?” Ajax chuckled from behind you, his sudden presence making Tonia squeal in delight.

As the three of you made your way home, Tonia clinging onto his back and resting her head in the fluff around his coat, a light snow began falling, and without wind, it hung in the air. Ajax stuck out his tongue, pink and warm, to catch them; Tonia followed, opening her jaw as wide as a child could to capture the melting crystals.

That night, around the fire, Ajax quietly pulled something from his pocket: a small, black velvet pouch. Without a word, he handed it to Tonia. Her eyes widened, and with careful fingers, she pulled a bright blue gem from inside. She screamed and leapt towards him, rosy cheeks pushed high.

“Now, don’t you go losing that, okay?” he said, pulling her into his chest.

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed, encircling his neck in thin arms and knobby elbows.

In bed that night, wrapped in blankets, he held his hands to you. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Gently, he placed something cool in your palm, metal. “And, open.”

A silver ring nestled itself into your skin, glowing under the flickering candlelight, a wire-wrapped opal held in the center that sparkled like the moon.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally got to say.

“It reminded me of you.” Like the sun and the clouds and the stars and anything that shares the pleasure of orbiting you, he thought.

His lips are warm and soft when you kiss him, like melted snowflakes, and the ring fits perfectly around your finger.

His hair falls differently in Snezhnaya, too, you realize. It dries lighter after being dampened by wind-carried flurries, less heavy than the unfiltered city water of your home, where the shower always ran red as it circled the drain. Even the sea would leave its own mark when he swam in the harbor, salt and brine adding crisp edges.

But here, he’s all fluff, and you wonder if he ever feels like he’ll get blown away with a strong enough gust. Maybe that’s why his parents said he seemed too mature for his age - when his hair lets him stand two inches taller, it’s easy to say he must be older, larger, wiser.

By your second day, you noticed he never lets Teucer go into the woods alone, in spite of his little brother’s incessant begging, in spite of how he stepped through the front door just moments ago and his fingertips ached from the walk back from town. He always redressed, pulling on his jacket and buckling his boots. He always put Teucer’s hat on for him, too.

On the third day, a blizzard tore through the woods and blinded everything in white. The children played upstairs with their father, and the wind howled through the window panes, a whistling and lonely sound. There was no sun, so instead, candles were lit in every corner, the warmth of the fireplace beckoning you to its hearth. Bottles of firewater made their way through you, poured with a heavy hand into ceramic cups, ones with paintings of trees and a child’s handprint.

“You know, when Ajax was four, he tried to fight a bear,” his mother began from the silence.

Ajax, in turn, groaned, rolling onto his side and resting his head in your lap. “Mama, not this story again.”

“Hush, hush,” she giggled, taking another drink from her mug. “He was out by the lake, and his father had gone back to the house with the fish. He heard something in the trees, and so he grabbed this tiny little fishing knife.” With her free hand, her fingers drew out a three-inch space in the air. “Just as his father returned, he saw his little boy facing the woods. ‘Papa, run!’ he called. ‘There’s a bear!’ But what kind of father would he be to let his son face that danger alone? So, just as he began to run towards him, this-” she laughed, liquid nearly spilling from over the top lip of her cup, “-this teeny bunny hops into the clearing! The terrifying bear Ajax was ready to fight was just a little rabbit!”

Burying his face in his hands, Ajax once again groaned. “It was scary for a kid!”

“I know, I know,” she hummed, wrinkled hands patting his shoulders. “And you were very brave for a kid, too.”

The fourth morning you awoke in Snezhnaya, the bed was cold. Your muscles shivered and you reached for him, but found only empty sheets and blankets bundled around your shoulders.

The stairs still creaked under your weight, not yet used to the way your feet landed on them, stepping on tired and aching bones. In the kitchen, his mother greeted you with a soft, “Good morning.”

Without another word, a warm mug was placed before you, its steam rising into the wooden rafters.

“I hope it wasn’t too cold in that old room last night,” she began - words seemed to flow easily from her, some motherly instinct to comfort, to keep out the silence. “Yesterday was one of the chillier days we’ve had. I’m glad you two didn’t have to go anywhere.” She sipped from her own cup - tea, you presume from the bergamot hanging in the air. “Have you been sleeping well? I can bring up some more quilts if you need.”

You took a drink, letting the liquid scald your tongue, and stifled a wince (the burn isn’t too bad after this long in the snow, you suppose). “Yes, we’re sleeping very well, thank you.” Your fingers tapped on the wooden countertop. “Have you seen Ajax?”

“Oh, yes! I think he’s out by the lake.”

Grateful, you hummed into your hands, letting them be warmed through the ceramic.

“May I ask you something?” she suddenly spoke. It was so unplanned, no hint of the trickery or underhandedness you were accustomed to - when someone in Liyue asks a question of this sort, one must think on it, must contemplate their intentions and how to use it against them - you couldn’t help but nod. She blurted, “Does Ajax seem happy?”

Her gaze fell to the table, tracing its familiar knots and veins. “It’s just…” her thumbs twirled around the handle, nails clinking, “you see him more than me. I mean, at this point, you certainly know him better than me.”

The only thing you could think to do was reach your hand to hers. It was warmer than your own, more wrinkled and crooked, a tree with a life well-lived. “I do. I do think he’s happy.”

That morning, you buttoned your coat yourself, careful not to rip the remaining buttons from their threads. It was a slow task, one that required more precision than you were used to, but it got done all the same.

The walk itself was pleasant, the wind having settled and only dusting the occasional batch of flurries from the trees that danced under the morning sun like birds. You wondered if there were many nests here, if the fledglings could survive these winters. Beneath your boots the fresh snow shifted, and at the edge of the whitened path, a small flock of red flowers poked through the frost.

The lake was still beneath the ice. Ajax sat with his back towards the trail, but didn’t flinch as you approached. He didn’t speak, either.

Instead, he let you sit beside him on the old tree stump, his fingers clutching the fishing rod as its invisible string delved into the icy abyss below.

“Have you caught anything?” you asked.

”Not yet.” He didn’t look at you, he didn’t move a centimeter, not even to breathe. “You know, after so long doing this, you’d think I’d be better at it by now.”

”Is fishing something you can really get better at?”

His lips parted in a grin. “I suppose not. It’s mostly waiting.”

“Are you good at that?”

“No,” he laughed.

“Do you like it?” You leaned onto his shoulder, letting your hair spill over the fur of his coat. It used to smell of salt - now, it was all smoke and wool.

“You aren’t wearing a hat,” he observed.

“I must have forgotten.”

He nodded, a leather-clad hand reaching up to cover your ears. In the wind, the branches shook, and his lure left the water’s surface as smooth as glass.

“Do you think my family is alright?” he finally asked, to no one in particular - perhaps the trees would have answered if they could. But in their stead, you’d have to do.

In the distance, a bird called out its tune, a lilting whistle, and the snow danced in time. “I think they are.”

Beneath your weight, his shoulders relaxed.

“Your mother loves you,” you continued. “Tonia and Teucer, too. They all do.”

Silently, he reeled in the line before placing the rod upright in the snow. When he looked to you, he was smiling. “Let’s go back home.”

The longer you stay, the softer his skin seems to get, in spite of the way the frigid air digs cracks into your own. With each move of your wrist a new crevice makes its way to the surface, rubbed raw and dry. And yet, his fingers still trail lightly over them, soft lips ghosting over bloodied ravines.

“The cold never really bothered me,” he told you years ago, and you thought it strange, but here’s proof: warm, smooth hands, unfrozen. Each joint moves freely, each blood vessel pumps easily, as though they were made for this. He fidgets less here - maybe he always ran hot in Liyue. The heat makes people jumpy, you know.

Yesterday, on your fifth day in Snezhnaya, the snow crunched below your feet as he led you through the woods. You had asked to see the trails that led around the house, and although silently, he nonetheless helped button the grey coat his mother loaned you, tugging a hat over your ears.

He spoke too much while you walked, the sounds bouncing off the frail and peeling bark. “And there are animals out here, if you know where to look,” he rambled. “Rabbits, and bears, you know, and deer, too. You can trace them by their footprints, and it’ll lead you to their dens. Sometimes you have to seek them out, but it’s easy once you know what to look for.” His eyes closed, and you realized his boots left no indentations in the hardening snow. “Some people think the animals are dangerous, but they won’t hurt you, not while you have me here.”

Off in the distance, a branch cracked. Ajax flinched.

Wide eyes scanned the horizon, frenzied. A gloved hand reached for yours, and he pulled you behind him.

The air in his lungs burned cold, and he held it there for three seconds.

“Oh, must just be an old tree,” he laughed, and he took a few steps to hide the way it shook in the wind. “The snow is heavy, especially this time of year. It gets wet and icy, like a hard shell. Sometimes the older trees can’t take it anymore, and they fall.”

You hummed, the breath in front of your lips foggy. The walk continued, and he spoke and spoke and spoke, and the trees listened. You tried to listen half as attentively.

The questions began to stick in the back of your throat, ones you wanted to spit out, ones that tasted thick and bitter and burned your esophagus, ones about the abyss: if it was dark, if the moon shone down there, if he could see the stars or feel the snow. If he remembers where he fell, where the earth opened beneath him and swallowed him whole. If he’d been back there (he hadn’t), if he’s still afraid (he’d tell you he’s not).

He knew the woods well, even though he was only a child in them. 

When you returned home, his cheeks were pink, and he smiled as you unbuttoned the coat bunched up around your neck. In the kitchen, meats and vegetables stewed over the stove, their scents drifting as his mother stirred with her wooden spoon. The logs in the fireplace shifted, sending sparks into the air. His shoulders relaxed, and he hung his own scarf next to yours. It was harder to pick out his freckles through wind-reddened skin, but they’re always there, of course: you know where to look.

You wondered if this is how he carried himself, how he felt, how he smelled, when he was young. If the fourteen-year-old boy who went into the woods was chased because the wolves could smell the smoke and spices and fear lingering on him.

He sounds different here, too.

You’ve rarely heard him speak his native tongue: “It’s a rough language,” he always said; and yet, each consonant that falls from his lips is soft like wool; “You wouldn’t even understand anything I say,” and yet, when he turns to his mother and says “спасибо,” as she hands him his morning tea, the love it carries is enough.

She always smiles and pulls him into a hug, and he always laughs, bright like the crackling flames in the fireplace. She never calls him Tartaglia or Childe; here, he’s always ‘Ajax’ or ‘my son’ or ‘my precious boy’ (he says he hates that one, but he lets her preen his hair, and fidget with his coat, and tell him he looks too serious for his age, too angry).

Here, he has no titles, no violence or conflict or nobility to stare over his shoulder. Here, he’s not a Harbinger, he’s not a killer, he’s just Ajax: a kind boy who wears knit scarves and catches snowflakes and likes to ice fish.

Today, on your sixth day, the mattress shifts under his weight, and his warmth spreads across the bedding as he blankets you, still damp and smelling like the earth, like the trees and the herbs and his childhood. Fresh from the shower, one where the water ran clear instead of red, where there were no crimes or sin to wash away. Droplets land on your cheeks and he giggles as you try to shoo him away with a gentle shove to his shoulders; he lets you push him back onto the quilt his mother made for his tenth birthday, one with images of heroes and swords and the sun. There’s snow falling outside the frosted window and landing heavy on the trees, the ones that don’t mind holding it. Soft hands cradle your skin, and he whispers “I love you,” and his breath is warm, and he smells like pine and rosemary.

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Talkative big bro who constantly teases sis for how filthy she is especially while fucking. Oldest bro walks in and they try to explain she wants this bc they think he’ll stop them but instead he tells them to keep going and he’s even nastier than the other brother and sis should be fucking losing it hearing her composed big bro talk about breeding her

Her breath hitched as his hands tightened around her hips, pulling her back against him with a force that made her knees buckle. “God, you’re so filthy,” he muttered into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. “Always begging for it, aren’t you?” She could feel the smirk in his voice, the smugness that always seemed to accompany his teasing.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the moan that threatened to escape as he thrust into her again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. “Shut up,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the effort to sound defiant. But even as she said it, she arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, unable to resist the way he made her feel.

He chuckled, low and deep, his breath hot against her neck. “You love it,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You love being called out for how dirty you are. Admit it.” His hands moved up to her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples just hard enough to make her gasp.

“I don’t—” she started, but her words were cut off as he thrust into her again, harder this time, making her cry out. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, her hands gripping the edge of the bed for support.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let it out. Let everyone hear how much of a slut you are.” He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “You’re mine, and you always will be.”

She shivered at his words, her body responding to the possessive tone in his voice. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but she couldn’t. Not when he was fucking her like this, not when he was making her feel so good.

The door creaked open, and she froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Oh god, no. She turned her head, her eyes widening in horror as she saw their oldest brother standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched them with a raised eyebrow.

“What the hell…” he muttered, his voice calm but laced with a hint of amusement.

She felt her face flush with embarrassment, and she tried to pull away, but her brother’s hands tightened around her, holding her in place. “Don’t stop,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation. “Keep going.”

She blinked, her mind struggling to process what was happening. “What? No, we—”

“I said keep going,” their oldest brother interrupted, his voice firmer now. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I want to watch.”

She felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, her body betraying her as a small moan escaped her lips. This can’t be happening.

Her brother behind her chuckled, his hands moving up to her hips as he resumed his thrusts, slow and deliberate now. “You heard him,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “He wants to watch his little sister get fucked.”

She could feel her face burning with embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny the way her body was responding to the situation. Her breathing quickened, her hips moving on their own as she pressed back against him, seeking more of the pleasure he was giving her.

Their oldest brother stepped closer, his eyes never leaving them as he watched with an intensity that made her shudder. “You’ve been holding out on me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I had no idea you were this much of a dirty little slut.”

She whimpered, her body trembling as she felt his eyes on her, his words sending a jolt of arousal through her. “I’m not—”

“Oh, you are,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through her protest. “Look at you, taking it like a good little whore.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek before moving down to her lips. “You’re even prettier when you’re getting fucked.”

She felt her brother’s thrusts quicken, his breathing growing heavier as he listened to their oldest brother’s words. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his voice husky with arousal. “You like hearing him talk about you like that.”

She couldn’t answer, her mind too fogged with pleasure to form a coherent thought. All she could do was moan, her body trembling as she felt herself getting closer to the edge.

Their oldest brother stepped closer, his hands moving to her hips as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “You look so good like this,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. “But I think you’d look even better with my cock in you.”

Her eyes widened at his words, her body shuddering with a mix of shock and arousal. “What?” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, his hands moving down to her ass as he gave it a firm squeeze. “You heard me,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I want to see how much of a slut you really are.”

She felt her brother’s thrusts slow as he processed their oldest brother’s words, his hands tightening around her hips. “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Dead serious,” their oldest brother replied, his voice steady and filled with a dark intensity. “I want to see her take both of us.”

She felt her body tremble at his words, her mind struggling to process what was happening. This can’t be real. But as she felt their oldest brother’s hands on her, his lips brushing against her neck, she knew it was.

“You want that, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice sending a shiver of arousal through her. “You want to be filled up, to be completely and utterly claimed.”

She couldn’t answer, her body betraying her as she pressed back against him, her hips moving on their own as she sought more of the pleasure they were giving her.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his fingers moving down to her clit, teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes. “Let us take care of you.”

She moaned, her body trembling as she felt herself getting closer to the edge. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling with need. “Please, I need—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “We’ve got you.”

She felt her brother’s thrusts quicken, his breathing growing heavier as he listened to their oldest brother’s words. “You’re mine,” he growled, his voice filled with a possessive intensity that made her shiver. “Mine to fuck, mine to claim.”

Their oldest brother chuckled, his hand moving up to her breast as he pinched her nipple, hard enough to make her cry out. “And mine to breed,” he added, his voice dark and filled with a possessive hunger that sent a jolt of arousal through her.

She felt her body clench around her brother’s cock at his words, her mind too fogged with pleasure to process what was happening. All she could do was moan, her body trembling as she felt herself getting closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” their oldest brother murmured, his fingers moving faster against her clit. “Come for us, little slut. Let us see how much of a whore you really are.”

She couldn’t hold back any longer, her body shattering as she came with a cry, her brother’s cock buried deep inside her. She felt their oldest brother’s lips on her neck, his fingers still working her clit as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction that made her shiver. “You’re going to be taking care of us from now on.”

She felt her body tremble at his words, her mind struggling to process what was happening. But as she felt their hands on her, their bodies pressing against her, she knew she couldn’t deny it.

She was theirs. And there was no going back.