HAHAGA I LIVE FOR THIS

xiangli yao — ‘ THE ULTIMATE TRUTH ’

Genshin Impact 2.5 - Anime Version

ive been thinking of them lately…

FINGERS TWISTED BEHIND MY BACK (DON'T LET IT BE YOU I LACK) ── aventurine x gn!reader, 862

aventurine hates fighting with you.

he does not even remember it—not clearly, at least. through the memories mudded by the buzz of soulglad and whatever alcoholic beverages he'd guzzled down the night before, the exact expression of your face when he stumbled back into your hotel room is a blur (a pretty blur, he is quite sure, though no doubt a disappointed one) and the sentences you'd spat out at him were jumbled into words that grate in his eardrums when he tries to recall what exactly was said. aventurine tries to echo it to himself, but even the incoherence sounds bitter on his tongue, and all that comes out an indistinct, asthmatic gasp that he's quite sure is some sort of equivalent of his heart aching. or breaking. somewhere in between, perhaps.

he rolls over in your bed, damp from the shower and tears. aventurine is thankful veritas hasn't stormed in to nag at him; he would not be able to stomach being seen like this by anyone else but you: his sweet safe haven, his little eden. you've gone now, stormed off somewhere to cool off. aventurine leaves you be (even if he spent the first two hours alone relentlessly spamming your phone with messages, pleas to come back and return) but he is still alone.

the thought occurred to him somewhere between hour three and hour five, that you'd never come back. aventurine doesn't let it linger. his stomach roils, mouth tasting of bitter alcohol and sweet dreams where you are still there and he'd never upset you.

the hours he spends there without you are hellish, a parody of a bleak, grief-stricken painting of some woman whose husband has gone out to fight in an intergalactic war—draped over the bed, numb and miserable to everything but the thought of you he has to conjure every now and then to keep himself sane. the air is cold and never seems to adjust, even though the reverie's rooms are specifically designed to tailor to the guest's tastes. they clearly did not consider the factor that is a hopeless, lovesick man suffering from withdrawal.

the door creaks open.

aventurine darts up in his your bed, instantly whipping myself up into such a nervous, edgy frenzy that he almost forgets how to breathe. his lungs shudder, the cogs in his brain turning the wrong way, and nothing is working fast enough, right enough as he stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping over the carpet as he finds you toeing off your shoes at the door, so pretty it hurts.

"welcome home," aventurine manages to choke out, still tripped-out and dizzy, heart pounding loud in his fingertips and ears. he watches you glance up at him, your eyes meeting his own for the first time in hours that feel like centuries, and the burden on his lungs alleviates—just a little bit.

"…aventurine," you sigh in this throaty, broken voice that cuts right at his chest. he winces as if he's been struck, eyes flitting to the dizzying pattern of the carpet in effort to hide the glossiness of his irises.

he hears your feet padding across the room to him, the footfalls soft and slow and not at all violent, though he cannot help but fear. there can always be a finality to the softest, gentlest of mercies. not that aventurine has ever experienced it before, but he knows it is possible with you: you who holds his heart in your hands, and you may very well tear it apart if you so wished.

aventurine will let you, if that is what you want.

but instead he swallows, too loudly; finds his fingers instinctively twisting behind his back. "are you going?"

"i just arrived," you whisper, endlessly gentle, endlessly soft—forgiving.

"i know," his voice breaks, and you reach out to touch him—palm against cheek, thumb brushing over the slope of his cheekbone. something cold and damp trails over the flesh of his face, fair marble streaked with a single rivulet of a tear. he does not tell you why he wants to cry. you know anyway.

aventurine thinks pretending would be easier with you, but here in this room, at the end of the day when everyone else has escaped into their own dreamscape, he is tired of saccharine sweet lies, the twisting webs that he pulls around without even understanding the final result it will conjure. it is easier, he thinks, to let you keep his heart and do with it as you wish—and aventurine can only hope that you will be merciful.

are you going? the second set of three words, that single question that he truly wants to ask is caught in his throat, because you may hold aventurine's heart in your palms, but if you will not use your own bloody fingers to pry it open, he must do it for you—and he can't. not for this, at least.

but you know anyway. of course you do.

will you stay?

"i'm right here," you murmur, sweet and godly against his lips, swallowing the sob that he almost lets out. "i'm staying right here."

© trappolia 2024

Aquamarine Hoshino “Aqua” (星野 愛久愛海) - “Oshi no Ko” - Episode 2

Drew my friend's oc Izzy! ❤️❤️❤️

𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

-> pairing: aether x reader

requested? yes .. no

cw: nsfw ( minors dni ), dumbification, dacryphilia, edging if you squint, multiple orgasms, sir k., no prep, ahegao, degrading, begging

please note this has not been proofread and there may be grammatical and spelling errors.

as a member of the knights of favonius, you knew about the "hotshot" of the knights. kaeya's stories about him made you excited. lisa said they were a 'cutie', and you knew then and there you had to try them out.

you asked jean to call them to her office, telling her it was important. she did so, assuming you were just excited to meet the new honorary member. as he arrives, jean takes her leave, allowing the two of you to have some 'private time' together.

"so, has kaeya told you about my endurance training?" it was a genuine question. you had 'trained' some of the knights, and you wondered if any of them had taken the time to warn him.

"no." aether's reply was curt, firm. you licked your lips, he would be fun to break. in a swift motion your lips were on his, savouring his taste. you forced your tongue onto his, exploring his wet cavern whilst you hear him moan. as you pull away, he opens his mouth to retort, but you pinned his body against the desk.

"this can go one of two ways, aether. either you make this easy for me, or i can some fun trying to break you," you tease, lifting his shirt to play with his nipples.

"f-fuck off..." he moans, trying to push you off of him. "don't touch me."

"your body seems to say otherwise," you reply slyly. "i can see your erection through your pants. you're suck a whore."

hearing aether pant as he struggles to get you off of him eggs you on further. you get onto your knees, slipping his pants down as you take his throbbing erection into your mouth.

"st-stop, please..." he moans, but his body betrays him as he bucks his hips into your touch. "we shouldn't be doing this... i don't want this."

you ignore him, feeling him hit the back of your throat. the high-pitched, breathy moan he releases as you do so is palatable, satisfactory. "stop... if you keep doing that, i'm- ah- m'gonna cum!"

as those words leave him mouth, you stop. he whines, placing a hand in your hair as he begs you with his eyes to continue to suck him off. you chuckle, turning him around and forcing yourself inside.

"s-sir, fuck!" it stings, you weren't even fully in and yet you were still hitting his prostrate. "i-it hurts... please stop..~"

"let's see how long it takes for you to cum, hotshot." and without warning, you're thrusting in and out of him. his ass clenches around you as he screams out slurred yeses and fucks. sloppy tears are falling from his eyes as he feels himself cumming, velvet walls clenching tightly around you as he reaches his orgasm.

"that's not very long," you tease. "you still need a lot of training, but don't worry. that's what i'm here for." listenimg to his incomprehensible, slurred babbles arouses you to no end. "listen to you, such a whore. being so slutty when you asked me to stop before."

"hah ~ s-sir! fuck me harder, please! feels, hnng, feels so good!" you do as he asks, speeding up your pace as you feel his walls clench around you again. "yesh, m'gonna- m'gonna cum!"

you stop, and aether whimpers as you smack.his ass. "why'd you stop..."

"you asked me to. if you want me to fuck you, beg for it. tell me how much a whore like you wants my cock," you tease, thrusting into him and watching as he arches his back.

"please, sir fuck me. i want you pound me with your cock, please~ destroy me, fuck me so hard i can't walk. milk me dry, please. i need it."

before he can say anything else, you're pounding him into oblivion. his face is pressed into the desk, and he's crying out your name repeatedly like it's some sort of holy mantra. saliva is dripping down his chin as his tongue lolls out, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"m'gonna cum! fuck yeah~ pound my ass, sir!" aether screams out as you constantly hit his prostrate, feeling his orgasm wash over him as he cums again. his hole clamps down on you, pushing you over the edge as you cum inside him, filling him with your seed.

"i expect to see you here tomorrow," you coo, but aether's mind is long gone.

♡ ALBEDO ♡

˖  ݁ . ࿓ DROWNED IN REALITY’S GAZE ( AVENTURINE. )

🎬 premise. in his reflection, he saw eyes harboring secrets, and lines mapping tales of triumph and struggle. in our reflection, he saw shared laughter, whispered promises, and the unspoken language of devotion. in his reflection, he saw a man of solitude with stoic resolve, a man that has truly — lost everything. [ late bday gift for @aventurne :D ]

In a pool of water, Aventurine stared into the depths of the substance — watching as he combed back his unruly blonde hair. His eyes loomed over as he witnessed another “him” in the azure liquid performing the same action.

Despite others' inability to perceive a difference between the two, stating that it's merely a copy of himself lingering in the waters, he disagrees with that statement wholeheartedly. Even when decorated with the finest fabrics and leather shoes, his eyes narrow at the sight of himself, scoffing before walking in the opposite direction. A mockery of the person he’d become is what puddles of water resembled to him. A harsh reminder, a cold greeting, the feeling is worse than chains binding him to the ground — worse than hands creeping onto his skin only to scar it.

A lost man in rags, dirtied hair filled with sin. It is a lost man in expensive clothing, drowned in gold, with his hair combed and high-quality items adorning his person, yet he is still filled with sin. Keeping one hand behind his back, he could feel it trembling as he grasped it. The twitching of his fingers would forever remain a hallucination, the hesitation to move them anymore clouding his brain before he stopped clutching it into a fist. He released the tension from his joints — allowing his hand to rest on his side.

That same hand rested in yours, a choice between left and right — yet you chose the one that almost flinched on instinct with every contact. “Is something wrong?” you would inquire in a mellow tone, caution evident in your voice. Every syllable was full of vigilance, a gentle rub of the back of his palm.

“Of course not, what made you think otherwise?” he’d do a dramatic wave of his hand, stare at you with a cunning grin full of falsity — intertwine your fingers as a sign of assurance, and hope you believe him. He’s okay, he’s fine — the hole that swallowed him spit him out a long time ago, he’s free.

(Don’t let it shake, don’t flinch, don’t allow anything that could indicate that you’re not fine.)

“Are you.. certain?” your gaze was one he would fail to understand, what could he have possibly done to earn it? He was scarred, buried under sand, lacking the certainty you craved desperately. Your hand reached out to cup his cheek, watching as his eyes slowly shut.

An alleviated smile graced his lips, not even you could discern what his inner voice was muttering — was it tormenting him? Screaming to allow him a moment of having a loose tongue, even? “I’m certain.”

(You’re such a liar.)

You felt him lean his head downwards until his cheek was fully against your palm. The skin was slightly rough, for your knowledge that the not-so-presumptuous man’s external battles allowed you to swipe your thumb across his cheek.

I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours, Kakavasha. You sighed, before pressing a chaste kiss to his nose. Will you ever allow me to peek into your bridled mind?

Adjusting his clothing during early mornings was one of your favorite activities, lighting and brushing the fabric to ensure the lack of wrinkles — making sure the collar of his shirt was neatly folded, all while sneakily snatching his hat and placing it onto your head.

“How do I look?” you’d stand proud, gripping the edges of the hat until you found a comfortable position.

“Wonderful, you likely outclass me wearing it.. not something I’d ever willfully admit.”

The chuckle that escaped your lips wasn’t too mellow or too boisterous, containing the sweetness of your voice that he sought after every morning. “That so?”

A gentle kiss to his cheek, a reminder that your presence was the soothing medicine he never thought he’d acquire. You gently grabbed hold of his hands, bringing him towards you until the mirror captured both your positions. Your very essence would never be able to be captured, not even by your other “self” shown in the glass.

The longer his gaze lingered on the surface, the more his mind felt as if it would shut down. His emotions were a complexity not even you could solve, your love was the greatest treasure he’d ever found — but was it enough to relieve the ache in his chest at the sight of the other “him”?

Perhaps if he held onto you tighter, that ache would magically fade. It was a gamble, one he was all too familiar with — his hold on you tightened, only slightly. Are you afraid to let go?

(No, that can’t possibly be it.)

You took it as a mere loving gesture, unaware of how he swallowed his words at that moment to make sure he could breathe properly.

(Breathe, everything’s fine — it will all work out in your favor.)

Everything did not work out in his favor.

The next time he saw his reflection in the mirror, it was shattered — pieces of glass fell and landed on the wooden tiles. A representation of the shape of his soul, battered and bruised, shattered and unable to be repaired even with all of the pieces. A few would eventually get lost in due time, the smallest shards would be required to complete the entire puzzle.

He clutched you tightly to his heaving chest, crimson stains on his gloves and clothing. Gaiathra, did I truly deserve this? Is this the “luck” you’ll continue to serve me?

(You deserve every last drop of their blood.)

There was a feeling of freedom in his hands, as restraints were ripped into quarters and he was robbed of his breath. A knot formed in his throat, until a weak sob escaped from it. There was nothing he could do to stop the tears from flowing from his eyes, as they no longer glowed brightly - blocking the sights of the sun, the broken mirror, and your lifeless body, as well as himself. The wretchedest of all beings, the supposed luckiest soul in the universe, the one who loathed to see his other self, was the most miserable of all beings.

"I failed you," he declared with a firmness that almost stopped his heart from beating. It was habits such as biting his lips until they bled, habits that he had promised himself he would not allow himself to revert to in the future. “I lost.”

The next time he walked through the streets of Penacony, he found himself looking at a lonesome puddle - where his reflection was once again, mocking him for what he had lost, for what he had become, for what he could've had. He knew that his other self would follow him wherever he went, a curse in disguise that would follow him until the day he drew his last breath.

© YVNAOLOGY 2024. all rights reserved. no reposts · plagiarism · edits · translations.

WHERE CRIMSON MET IVORY.

a kaedehara kazuha x gn!reader oneshot.

SUMMARY    ▏he was crimson, you were ivory, and you never had looked good in red.

WARNINGS   ▏angst; major character death; mentions of violence; death; blood; swords / blades.

WORD COUNT   ▏1.8k words, 10.2k characters

AUTHOR’S NOTE   ▏introductory oneshot to tumblr!! how r we feeling >:D also it had to be angst, sorry i think. i specialise in this shit

Kaedehara Kazuha was no stranger to the colour red.

Red surfaced in the scarlet tint of his clothing, the soft blend of sunset and evening sky, the streak that shot through his hair. It reminded him of the bright glow of pyro visions, autumn leaves flitting about the wind, the dark passion that came to life in battle. Red was love; red was hate; red was something fierce and bold.

Red was the vividness of his eyes, red was the paleness of his lips, red was the flush to his skin. In a way, he was red as well, with his hair and eyes and clothing. You glance at him and your vision would flood with red. But there was something else, too—a kind of red embodied something both beautiful and gruesome. An elixir of life.

Crimson was also the colour of blood.

Blood, the essence of the living and the liquid of the dead. It flowed through the veins of humans, monsters, gods, and nearly every living being on Teyvat was powered by red.

And as Kazuha is to red, you were to ivory.

To you, ivory was fallen snow gracing the peaks of high mountains; it was the delicate petals of cecilias, where white descended into pale green before reaching the gentle, green stem. Ivory was the seafoam that washed ashore when cerulean waves would visit land, the shine of smooth marble, the quiet wishes whispered to the wind and lost to the loud whistling in your ears. You saw ivory in the sun, the moon, the stars; the clouds that drifted lazily along the high breezes.

Ivory was something born anew, a life blooming into existence. And you, with your tendency to be much too kind for your own good and an air of purity and kindness, were ivory.

And that was the thing. That was how it had always been. You had always been ivory; he had always been crimson. That was how it was meant to be.

So why were you choking on red?

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