#genshin long fic

[hannahlovesluca]

Morning Dew

| warnings: spoilers, archon quest theme

| genre: even i dont flippin know

| summary: …

| part: 1

| extra: credit to @brisquad-unit-4402 for the title

Your fists clench hardly at your sides. The anger burning inside of you is hot and intense, as it always is before a battle.

But tonight, the rage is deeper, fiercer than before. It is an all-consuming fire that has driven you to this place, at this time, before a crowd of thousands.

The roar of the audience is deafening, even over the heavy beating of the music. Their voices chant your name in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The beat of the music, the stomping of the feet, the clapping and shouting—all combine to drown out almost every other sound.

Furina sits on her throne, watching the duel from her throne, the hydro archon watching intently. Her face is hard, and unreadable. 

The crowd's attention is divided, as the two combatants take their places at the far ends of the arena, their eyes locked, their stances ready for battle.

As the clock ticks down, you take a deep breath, and let the tension and fear melt away. There is nothing left but the fight, and the will to win.

And the will to live.

With that thought in mind, you begin your final approach, stalking towards the arena like a predator closing in on its prey.

You know this feeling well, this calm before the storm. It is the calmness that comes with the knowledge that you are going to survive this battle. That you are going to live to fight another day.

You are a champion duelist, you and Chlorinde being the most well known in all of Fontaine. The hydro archon knows this, as do the other archons (even if they’re not from Fontaine) and they would never dream of interfering in a match between two champions,  even if they are archons, their life could still be at stake.

Chlorinde approaches you slowly, a grin on her lips, her sword at the ready.

"It seems you are a lot smarter than I thought," she says, her voice dripping with mockery.

"I'm not one for words, so how about we make this quick?" you reply.

She raises her sword in a salute.

"As you wish," she replies, her voice dripping with disdain.

The two of you meet in the middle of the arena, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

A moment passes. 

You are staring into the eyes of the woman who has killed so many, and who now stands before you, ready to kill you as well.

Furina stands up from her throne and leans against the railing separating her from the arena.

“Wait!”

She shouts above the roar of the crowd. The whole arena quiets instantly, their attention now focused on the hydro archon.

"This duel was brought about because of a personal disagreement," she continues.  "And as much as it may pain me to see it end, I must ask for a truce."

The crowd begins to murmur in confusion.

"There is no need for bloodshed here tonight," she says, her voice carrying across the arena.

“I, Furina, Focalors, your God, demand that you two end this duel!”

The two of you stand there in silence, as the crowd waits to see what will happen.

Finally, Chlorinde breaks the silence, her voice dripping with venom.

"Very well," she spits. "If that is what the Hydro Archon wishes."

She sheaths her sword, and walks away, leaving you standing alone in the center of the arena.

The crowd erupts into cheers, and you are carried out on the shoulders of the masses, your heart heavy.

————————————————————

Your dreams are filled with a strange voice calling out to you, as if asking you to come home.

[Ŗ̛̖̳̭̍̓̂͆̈́_̶̑ͤĘ̶̢̧̛̦͖̯͇̗̝̩ͨ̆̈ͮ̎̀͐̈́ͯ̇̀͊͠D̬̣̖̱͙̩̠̳͆̇ͣ̀͊̑́ͦ͛̌̆͑̋͘͝Ả̜̪̙̒̚_̹͎̯̾̔͋́ͦ͆ͭ̓͗́͘͢͟Ç̴͈̹͓̺̮̜͎̺͋͑̓͊͆̒́ͨͧ͂̕͢͟͢͟͟͝_̶̳̼̣̱͊̇ͩͩͭ͊͊̚͟͡T̸̻̳̭͍̳͍̭͚ͦ͛̊ͨ̌ͦ͂ͧͭ̉ͯͯ͢͡E̷̵̢̛̛͕̝̝̰̪͇̼̳̬̊̓̀̐̊ͦ̒̄̑ͦ͋͗̄̊̽̀ͮ̌̆̇̿̀̎̍̚̚͢͢͞͡͡ͅD̸̢̢̡̬̣̗̟̥̪̙͉͕͓͉͓͉͐͐̐ͥ̎͒͆̇̀̏ͨ̋̏̿͊ͥ̉̽͗̋̀̐̄͟͞͞ͅ]

1. A Familiar Face

You awake with a gasp, sweat running down your face. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, trying to clear the fog of dreams from your mind.

A nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

You take a deep breath, and try to remember the details of the dream, but all you can recall is the voice, and the feeling of dread it filled you with.

What the hell was that?

You suddenly remember the duel that ended too early with Chlorinde yesterday. It must have been the stress of it that triggered the dream.

You look out the window of your small room, and see that the sun has not yet risen. You sigh, and lie back down, trying to get back to sleep.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of knocking at the door.

You roll out of bed and slip on a robe before opening the door.

"Hello?"

A familiar voice answers you.

"Sorry to bother you so early," the person says.

You open the door wider, and the person steps into the room.

"Good morning, Chlorinde," you say.

"I couldn't sleep last night," she says. "Too much adrenaline. So I came to visit. I hope that's alright."

"Of course," you reply.

She walks over to the window and looks out, her hands clasped behind her back.

"I can't believe how fast the world moves now," she says. "we have so many options, and yet, it feels like there is always something missing."

You walk over to the window and lean against the wall, looking out at the city of Fontaine.

“The water levels are rising again,” Chlorinde starts, “you know what that means.”

You nod.

"The prophecy," you reply.

"Exactly. This is it," she says, her voice trembling with emotion.

"The beginning of the end."

You stare out the window at the water.

“I heard rumour that the legendary blonde Traveler and her mascot, Paimon, are making their way to Fontaine,” Chlorinde mentions.

You look over to her.

"I haven't met them yet," you say.

"I've heard of the Traveler," she replies. "She is very powerful."

"And her companion, Paimon?"

"She is a fairy, a being made of pure light and energy. They say she is as powerful as the stars themselves."

"They sound like quite the team."

"Indeed. If they can end the prophecy, perhaps there is hope."

You look at her and smile.

"Perhaps."

Chlorinde sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

"Well, I should let you get back to sleep. I just wanted to talk."

"Thanks for coming by," you reply.

"My pleasure."

She turns and walks to the door.

"Sleep well," she says, before stepping out of the room.

You close the door and sigh.

Maybe things will work out after all.

————————————————————

A few weeks pass, and you are still unable to shake the feeling of dread that haunts you.

You find yourself thinking about the prophecy more and more, wondering if there is anything you can do to stop it.

[fridayth13]

Could I request Zhongli reuniting with his wife after the two had a falling out 500 years ago?

crushed cor lapis.

↳ zhongli × gn!immortal!artist!reader

↳ part one, part two

↳ genre: soft angst at the beginning, but it's mostly bittersweet | wordcount: 1.6k | warnings: none

↳ notes: i ended up with less angst than i thought i would have. but i did want to explore the thought of time passage and fighting for people who are going to live forever, even if it's subtle; reader is immortal and implied to be an adeptus or a god, but the kind isn't very important; ive had an idea for zhongli and an artist reader for a long time so i tried to combine it i hope you don't mind; as with the gender. i did write with a fem!reader in mind as per the request but in the end, the gender didn't need to be specified for anything so i left it gender neutral; i tried to give reader a more divine disposition about them so the writing ended up really flowery, but in any case i hope you enjoy! i really did have fun writing this one

You were a painter.

In your old life, as you liked to call it, however, you were a god. Your domain of influence laid in artistry and beauty.

Or rather, that was what Morax used to tell you. Archons like him were the only beings in Teyvat with real domains of influence. But you wouldn't really stop him if that was his way of calling you pretty.

That was about five hundred years ago. Nowadays was a very different story.

You crushed the yellow berries in your mortar and pestle to turn into paint for tomorrow's commission.

You liked your job in Liyue Harbor. As quaint and.. human as it was, you thought there was divinity to be found in the painstaking recreation of the things around you. Though a painting couldn't rival a Kamera in terms of accuracy, you were certain it completely surpassed the device in most other things.

You slowed your movements, surveying the consistency of the paint and the color. That would probably do. You'd collected quite a lot, so you supposed it was time to head back. All you were really lacking earlier was yellow.

And so you trekked on home from the terraces, skipping over stumps of cor lapis and sunset-painted grass along your way.

As you finally reached your home in the harbor, the sun had fully gone down. The lanterns lit, casting the entire city in a soft, warm glow. The neighboring waters reflected the deep blue of the sky and the speckles of rust and gold adorning every building in sight.

You opened your door and you thought of Morax, wondering if he knew five hundred years ago what beauty would settle upon his previously war torn nation. Leaning on the doorframe, you watched over it for a while. Children playing, kites flying, dinner being prepared, laughter and joy running amok.

You don't like to think about him too much, or how his silence is present in every part of the city that was all him, despite having nothing to do with him any longer. No matter how much time had passed, you seemed stuck in the first night he decided not to apologize.

Still, five hundred years was a long time. Although it felt like the blink of an eye, even immortals had to move on eventually.

You gathered your materials inside and closed the door behind you.

—

The mountains may erode, but they will always be mountains.

You recalled his own words as you saw him again for the first time in five hundred years.

A human-sized Rex Lapis stood before you, hands behind his back, dressed to the nines, pristine, and put together, and perfect, and not at all like he ought to have seemed like at your first meeting in several centuries. Though at the very same time, you couldn't imagine him looking any other way.

You bitterly savored the way he avoided your eyes in front of his boss.

"So this is him!" She said. The lively Director Hu Tao of the local funeral parlor was Rex Lapis's boss. You tried not to laugh. "Our new consultant, Mr. Zhongli."

You set your canvas down onto its easel, then the bulk of your dyes and paints on the floor. You did this without averting your eyes, as if trying to burn him if he ever had the nerve to look back at you.

He did not. And to her credit, it seemed Hu Tao noticed it as well. So as not to make your client too uncomfortable, you decided to take a step towards them.

"Mr. Zhongli." You said. With the proximity you put between you, he had no choice but to look back at you. Not a lot changed about him in human form, but by far, his eyes were the most the same. Down to the hard, intense stare, and the set of his brows. You wondered how many other people in Liyue he'd enchanted with them while he was busy avoiding you.

"Mr. Zhongli?" You repeated, a little less amused. Though you somewhat enjoyed how stupefied he looked at your appearance, you'd endured his silence long enough. "My name is Y/N. It's an honor to meet you here."

This seemed to regain him his senses. That, or Hu Tao's suspicious back and forth glances between the two of you.

Zhongli cleared his throat.

"..The honor is mine."

Hu Tao nodded, seeming satisfied for now. She clapped her hands together in excitement, turning to you.

"Alright! I suppose I'll leave you to it then. I have complete faith that you'll be able to depict the poise and elegance of my esteemed consultant."

You gave her your best half smile.

"Well, I'll try."

"No need to be modest! I've seen your work before. You're one of, if not the best, painter in Liyue. Just ask Mr. Zhongli! He's been very taken with your paintings even before we first met. He speaks very highly of you."

You crossed your arms. "You don't say?"

Five hundred years or the blink of an eye, you could still see his embarrassment without him having to say a word.

—

Director Hu Tao had business to take care of for the funeral parlor, and so left with a flourish, and a "Make sure to get his good side!" as she ran off.

You both continued to speak as civilians for a little while. He sat down at a table on the porch, a steaming pot of tea on said table between you. Your face was obscured to him through the thick white canvas.

Avoiding conversation was easy, but not. Comfortable, but not. Natural, but not. It shouldn't have been. As such was the nature of a marriage to the Geo Archon, you supposed. Or rather, the current lack thereof. But even that was up in airs.

"How.. How have you been?"

Your responding glare was unseen to him, but he heard it in the vitreous tone of your reply.

"Fine." You said. "Something must've happened to you though. Your eloquence seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"..You are still upset. I see."

"In what world would I be upset, Mr. Zhongli?" Your use of his mortal name created a crease in his brow. You gently brushed over it on his painting.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me."

"You still could've asked." You muttered, momentarily leaning sideways to look him in the eye. "For someone so revered for his wisdom, your brain still seems to be as hard as rocks."

You caught his surprised expression as you turned back to the canvas. You didn't allow him another word.

"Honestly, who ghosts their own spouse after an argument like that? You'd think the best time would be after.. five hours. Five days. Maybe five weeks after. Not five centuries—"

You caught him mumble, "Well, it's not as if you tried to talk to me either."

"I didn't think I needed to. You made it very clear you wanted me to leave you to die in the Archon War all on your heroic lonesome."

When he didn't respond, you snuck a glance.

The sun's rays were at the precipice of turning gold in its descent into the sea. The glow smeared his porcelain cheeks in amber, his eyes in glitter, the metallic components of his suit in light. He looked like a monument. Tall, statuesque, and lonely. Almost like his mountainous true form. More beautiful than even his numerous statues across Liyue could capture. More than you could capture. Though you did certainly try.

Annoyed and angrily pining as you were, you still tried to get his eyes right. The little flecks of rust against gold. Like cuts of cor lapis crushed to shimmering powder in the Archon's hand. A man of his own making.

You looked at Zhongli as the golden hour faded, slowly turning dusky pink. His eyes swam in wistfulness as he stared out at the harbor. You couldn't help the dull twinge of sorrow deep in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

You didn't know how to follow up. You weren't entirely sure what you were apologizing for. But it felt nice to hear it back from him.

When he finally looked back at you, you were tracing the rich scarlet of his eyeliner onto the canvas.

At some point, he turned on the lamp and set it down beside you while you worked on the finishing touches.

"You're better than I remember." He whispered like he thought you couldn't hear him.

You weren't sure what to say to that either. You just kept painting.

—

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still angry with you."

"Of course."

Zhongli never seemed to run out of tea. Despite not having brewed a new pot throughout your stay, the one on the table continued to steam, its aroma wafting leisurely throughout the room. When he offered you a cup after you left the canvas out to dry, you let yourself take it. You allowed him a calmer response when he spoke.

"This may upset you a bit more, but I am also somewhat bothered you never tried to talk to me."

"So we are at an impasse."

Of course, it did occur to you that you were both being hardheaded and moronic. But you were comforted by a few things.

"It would seem so." Zhongli nodded.

"Or maybe not." You quipped, glancing pointedly at an old painting on the wall. "You seem to have been stalking me, Mr. Zhongli."

"I think stalking might be a slight exaggeration."

"Oh, really."

Even as the mountains erode over the centuries, from the dust, they are fated to reform anew.

dividers from @clutteredfun

[keicordelle]

I know I've seen fics of Zhongli and Neuvillette meeting, either antagonistically or to solve some quirk of draconian biology (or because Zhongli has to come bail out his stupid husband from prison), but I want to see Zhongli and Wriothesley together, just sampling tea and exchanging notes on prefered brewing methods and blends. Both of them just sitting there contentedly, getting on like ducks in a pond, while Neuvillette just stews in the background. Childe's at the next table over just grateful someone else is occupied drinking the leaf water instead of him for a change

[lovesickeros]

☆ glimpse of divinity

{☆} characters lyney, neuvillette [ separate ] {☆} notes cult au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 0.8k

× neuvillette

The first time he sees you strolling the streets of Fontaine with a glint of wonder in your eyes, he thinks he must have finally lost it. He has to rub his eyes and check a few dozen times before he's certain that you are, in fact, real and not some figment of his imagination conjured by a lack of sleep and overdose on caffeine.

..Though now that he gets a better look, it's not quite the same. Like a smudged painting, he thinks. Still, the uncanny resemblance to the visage of the Divine One has him lingering around the area just to stare a little longer, a deep, devoted sense of affection bristling beneath his skin.

And then you turn sharply on your heel, staring directly back at him, and he feels a sudden wave of embarrassment and something akin to shame.

Archons, he'd just made a fool of himself, hadn't he?

He quickly turns away, clearing his throat and hiding his embarrassment behind his hand. Though it does not seem to deter you, the soft tap of your shoes growing closer until you were peering up at him with wide eyes.

"..Hello." He offers awkwardly, a little too stiff and a little too formal, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest. He knows that your appearance, your vague similarities to the Divine One are mere coincidence, but it does not stop his heart from skipping a beat when you smile up at him. "I– apologize for being so uncouth and staring, it's just.."

His voice trails off into a breathy exhale, his hand twitching on his cane as if he wanted to reach out and touch you..but he restrains himself in time. He could not make a bigger fool of himself – he would never hear the end of it from lady Furina.

"You remind me of someone."

He decides, readjusting his hands on his cane as he bows his head for a moment is a show of genuineness, though it must look awkward with how stiff his body feels.

Yet he cannot help but want to get closer anyway, to hear the silky lilt of your voice grace his pointed ears. This is as close as he will ever get to the Divine..he is a weak man, he finds, as he offers a hand to you.

"I understand if this is a bit..forward, but would you mind joining me for tea?"

× lyney

He is a master magician – his entire work is built on keen misdirection and sleight of hand, but even he stumbles for a minute thinking he'd seen an illusion in your warm smile and striking features. Almost an exact copy of the Divine One, yet not quite..

Still, it's enough to pique his interest – enough, too, to give him the confidence to slip into your conversation with ease, all smiles and the slip of a card between his fingers.

"Hello, stranger – I don't think I've seen you in Fontaine before," He laughs, his hand reaching around to rest gently on your opposite shoulder, his voice a ghost of a whisper in your ear. "Say, could I interest you in a bit of magic?"

He perks up at the way you seem to light up like fireworks at his offer, a spark almost like recognition in your eyes he brushes aside – he's quite well known, after all.

"Good! Now, if I may just borrow your attention for a minute.." He grins, stepping around you and turning sharply to face you, his hand outstretched with a deck of cards in his hands, face down. "Let's start simple, shall we? I shan't overwhelm my audience – pick a card."

He holds the cards out again, his features twisted in something like awe, though he hides it well.

His heart flutters at the briefest of glances of your hand against his as you pluck a card from his hand, and he quickly retracts it, reshuffling the deck with a broad grin and a wink.

"Do your best to remember it! If you could return it to the deck.." The card is placed back in it's place amongst the rest, and the magic begins!

"Now then, let's see..hm," He hums for a long moment, the silence filled by the constant shuffle of cards until he suddenly plucks one from the deck, flipping it around for you to see. "Is this your card?"

He frowns when you shake your head, almost pouting, before he lights up again and steps forward.

"Ah! How foolish of me, I missed it..it's riiight here, see." He winks, reaching behind your ear..and pulls free a card from seemingly thin air. He flips it around for you to see again, and when you tell him it is, in fact, your card, he flips it around again.

And before you can see it, he's holding a rainbow rose between his fingers, his hand outstretched as he bows.

His eyes glint with a sort of wonder as he looks at your features, his smile widening a fraction.

"Well, dear stranger? Did you enjoy the show?"

[baeshijima]

u know what would be a cool genshin fic idea? isekai/transmigrated reader, but instead of appearing within the general timeline, you come into the genshin world 500 years prior to the start of the storyline in khaenri'ah.

honestly it could be either a little before the cataclysm, giving enough time to delve into some relationship building + explore some world building with characters like dainsleif, traveller's sibling (which would probably be lumine bc i actually do like her as abyss sibling & aether as traveller), and npcs like halfdan (still crying over him to this day ;w;) and possibly the khaenri'ahn royal guards (assuming you either join them or have a good enough relationship with them), OR it could be you appear during the crisis, completely and utterly lost as to why you were brought amidst the chaos and bloodshed as you watch everything you barely knew about this nation crumble before your very eyes.

either route will still result in reader's existential crises and constant "why am i here? just to suffer?" monologues because really, who would be fine after going through that after coming from /our/ world? and not to mention you've had to endure the next 500 years wandering with no real set path because you don't know this world— this era of teyvat or of genshin. you're merely stuck, unable to die, and forced to live a life of uncertainty with no clear direction for you to go to.

despite it all, you've at least been able to see dain during this course. while your meetings pass far too quickly for your lonesome, and his solemn demeanour is something you're yet to be accustomed to after having been with him before the fall of khaenri'ah (assuming it's the route where you appear before the cataclysm), you're glad to see a familiar face every now and then. after the messy departure with the lumine who left for the abyss order, you've come to appreciate his quiet presence more and more each time.

and then you decide it might be time to settle. you soon realise it's difficult to do so when your lifespan has become far more than that of a human's — of a mortal's — and so you find yourself becoming used to staying in one place for a few years before setting off for the next. rinse and repeat. over and over. it's come to a point where you've witnessed the nations undergo various changes each time you visit. you know change is inevitable, and yet your heart stings each time you witness it; a testament to how the world is ever-changing, yet you're stuck in place as a bystander.

one thing you're grateful for, however, are the bonds you've established amid your back-and-forth over the centuries. from archons like zhongli and venti to long-life beings such as neuvillette and the adepti to regular mortals who have showed you kindness as if one of their own... you've grown to cherish those memories, often reminiscing them when the nights get too long and surroundings too quiet. it was difficult at first, and still is, but you've become used to the inevitable change and the passing of those you once knew.

and after 500 years, you find yourself face-to-face with one you haven't seen since before you appeared in this world; the protagonist of this world, and the one you eventually join in hopes of finally finding a means to an end, aether.

little side notes/extras:

from /our/ world, you would probably know the storyline from up to around current (5.0) or maybe a little after the fontaine aq conclusion. it gives a lot to work with, but you definitely won't remember a lot of the lore after so long other than some main events, especially since most of your knowledge is pretty irrelevant for the next 500 years,,,

i think it would be cool if you had an inteyvat on your person as a little homage of khaenri'ah, which may or may not invoke some opinions from certain characters (*cough* aether immediately being reminded of lumine and having an existential crisis *cough*)

post-cataclysm you would go through a, uhm, long phase of helplessness, wondering why you were even brought to this world so far back if you couldn't even make any contributions. it does eventually morph into a resolution to do what you can to help those you come across if it's within your capabilities, but the nightmares and helplessness come back every now and then as a reminder for what you can't do :D yippee :D

honestly i'm on the fence whether you would have a vision or some other type of abilities (think on the similar lines of aether/lumine's and dain's), but i think having some type of purification mechanic would be a must in your arsenal !! would definitely lead to some moments between you and characters like dain or zhongli who suffer from the erosion as you give them a slight reprieve from what rages within and corrodes them

a little self indulgent, but i'd like to think your first /proper/ meeting with zhongli happens during a lantern rite festival, wherein you're admiring the lanterns in the sky after making a wish of your own and he comes up from behind with "they're beautiful, wouldn't you say so?" and !!

also as for love interests, as much as i would love for human/mortal characters, a part of me feels like this story would be better suited for the immortal/long-life characters as love interests?? idk i feel like considering that 500 years is, well, a long time, the bonds you would have with them compared to characters like, say, alhaitham or diluc would be way too different ?? though i would definitely still add them as love interest bc i am a sucker for so many of the human characters ;w; it would also add to the angst and hurt/comfort ahahha...

anyway thank you for reading this massive brain dump of a fic bc i absolutely would put this as a long term project, and if u made it this far then i would like to say that dain solos—

[undermine-the-instinct]

Can't Sleep Love

CW: Somnophilia(F! receiving), Oral(M! and F! receiving), Knotting (M), edging/orgasm denial(M! receiving), multiple orgasms( M! and F! receiving), FLUFF, NEUVILLETE IS SWEETHEART, Petnames ( love, dear, dearest,my love, etc), reader is called princess once, Smut (obviously), Husband!Neuvillette, AFAB reader, fem reader (Reader wears a dress and heels, and has a vagina and breasts), dirty talk, praise, Neuvillette is a service top leaning towards a sub, reader is a switch, Neuvillete is prim and proper--so he's clutching his pearls, sorta scandalized when reader talks nasty. Inexperienced(??Neuvillette hasn't had anyone else as a bed partner so he's still kinda new?), Reader calls him 'Villette'.

Wc: 5.3K Likes and reblogs appreciated!

Cropped art. Original art belongs to @sviteer . Support the artist please.

Neuvillette cherishes the quiet moments, like these, more than anything else.

You're both tired, you moreso, from a date night out. A lovely candlelit dinner followed by a play at the opera house. And though he held your hand through your sniffles and nodded his head sympathetically throughout the play, you knew immediately what was up when you both stepped out of the opera house to a light sprinkle.

You smiled at him, knowingly, charmingly, reaching forwards to press your lips to his cheek. And just like that the stars were out again.

And now you're home, in the bedroom, on the master bed. You fell down onto it as soon as you entered the room and haven't moved yet, even after he's exited the bathroom. It's late, after all.

Half asleep and dozing, your hands are half curled by your head, and a smile paints your face, sweet and blasé.

You are so beautiful.

He's going to take care of you.

The heels unclasp with hardly a sound; pretty little blue things you bought to match him, you had said. The dress and everything else however, he bought for you.

It makes something in his chest curl, as he carefully shimmies off your heels, as he drags his hands under the hem of your skirt to unclasp your garter belts, rubbing away the indents left there. Old, possessive feelings he thought he'd outgrown long ago.

But you are in his bed, wearing the clothes he bought for you, looking so soft and sweet there, as he rests his head on the soft plush of your thighs, breathing you in and trying not to shake with the urge to just grab you.

You always evoke these sorts of emotions from him. Something he once thought he could never understand, something to be repressed, for its unsightliness; You hold it all all up to the light and don't even flinch.

You give a little half sigh, and Neuvillette relents.

He slides your thighs apart, slowly, nudging closer to your core, swiping his long tongue over the fabric of your panties. Smooth silk and a lace pattern, the seam of your womanhood he can all  feel, but he wants to taste.

They slip off easily like they are meant to, and soon enough Neuvillette is lapping at you, smooth wet glides along your inner folds. Slick gathers under his tongue while you sigh and gasp above him, and he groans into your skin, pressing himself closer, spreading your thighs further.

"Neuvillette…? What are you, oh, archons ...." Now that won't do, he lifts his head from your skin, mouth smeared in slick, and clicks his tongue at you.

"I want to hear only my name from your lips, dear. I'm the one here with you, after all." And just the thought of them hearing; Focalor would act smug and pester him to no end, so no need. This was none of her concern nor business.

"How long have I been asleep?" 

"Not nearly long enough. I was hoping I could get you to climax whilst you still slept. Alas," he lowers himself back down, "I guess I can try another time."

He takes off his gloves, spreads your folds with his fingers and spits on your cunt, once, twice, spreading it with his tongue, before slipping a finger into your tight hole. He groans into your pussy when he feels how you flutter, the moan that leaves your lips as you fall back into the covers.

You taste sweet. It must be from the desert you had earlier. 

He thrusts his finger, feeling you clench around it, and he opens his mouth wider to have more of you, alternating between slipping his tongue in your hole alongside his fingers and sucking on your clit. Your hands fly to his hair and tug; the scalp by his horns sensitive, and heat curls in his stomach, hips twitching into a half thrust. He moans deeply, like a rumble around your clit, and you come with a cry.

He doesn't let go. He thrusts his fingers in deeper, sucking harshly around your clit, swallowing everything you have to offer. Your hands are buried in his hair, and he's practically wearing your thighs like earmuffs; the soft, thin fabric of your stockings tickle his ears, the points no doubt flushed like the rest of his face.

You came quickly, you must have been pent up. He presses a last kiss to your clit before he rises, smoothing his fingers out of you slowly– his composure threatens to snap with the happy, flushed look on your face, the way his fingers are almost pruned with how wet you are.

He licks his lips and he can still taste you, the tang of your orgasm something he could rip people apart for.

Hm. He should act with more restraint. This is not very becoming for the Chief of Justice.

But rather fitting for your husband.

Your legs snake around his hips as you draw him in, he lets you, your hands reaching to cup his face, pressing him into an open-mouthed kiss. Your tongue laps up the mess you made and he chases it with his own, you smile at the mess of it all.

"You're supposed to close your eyes when you kiss," you murmur sweetly, opening your eyes.

"And miss those precious few seconds of seeing you? I could never."

"Oh love, come now, you're going to make me blush if you keep teasing me." Yes, tease that you are, he gives a sharp nip at the thumb you swipe over his bottom lip, a pleased hum in his chest as he looks at you and you giggle.

"Good. I'd like to do much more than that."

"Oh, but of course, I'm all yours." His large hands smooth over your thighs and hips, inching the lace and ruffles of your skirt higher up.

"It's not too much?"

"I'll let you know if it is. Come now," and you tug him closer.

"I want you to make love to me."

You unbutton his top half, untie his cravat, slip the fabric of his suit over his shoulders till his skin is bare to your touch. Cool blue lines, some bold, some thin, breaking waves over the planes of his body. 

He stops your hands as you start to undress, half exposed you are already.

"It's fine. Leave it on."

"Oh? Does the Chief of Justice have a thing for half dressed debauchery?"

"Perhaps I do. Would you be willing to indulge me?" Your smile stays yet your blush deepens when he tugs down his pants and briefs, his member hard and dripping already.

"Surely you'd allow me to remove this much, it's so hot already," you whine as you strip, just enough that the fabric is over your shoulders and bunched under your breasts, nipples half hard in the low lamp light. 

His mouth waters. He mouths at your shoulder, nipping marks onto your collarbone. He feels the hitch of your breath when he slides his cock through the slick folds of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs.

"Hm? Do you like this?" He makes sure to slide his cock all along your walls, smearing himself with the fluids of your orgasm, catching himself on the rim of your hole.

"Is this good enough for you Princess?" He pulls back, taking himself in hand, slapping the fat head of his cock against your clit, a slight growl in his chest when you cry out.

"No…"

"No? How greedy. What else can I do for you, my love? Hm?" He slaps your clit again, and once more, and you whimper, delicious.

His other hand moves, cupping your breast, squeezing and massaging, pinching the hardened nipple.

"Or do you prefer this, my love?" He breathes before popping the other breast into his mouth, gently suckling, rolling the bud in his mouth.

You groan, hands coming up to his hair and pulling him face to face with you, stroking over the ponts of his ears and making him shiver.

"I prefer it when you're inside." You kiss him, silky smooth, and he shudders into your mouth, slipping his tongue inside of you. 

He slides his cock along your puffy, petal soft folds, and starts pressing himself inside. You can probably feel the stretch because you groan again, telling him to hurry the hell up.

But he's not going to hurt you with his…considerable length. He ruts into you, one slow inch at a time, till you're softer and he's seated fully. He doesn't stay still though, he grinds into you, slow enough you can open up more and get used to the feeling.

He feels the skin at the base of his cock tighten, a telltale sign of his knot beginning to swell. He has to remind himself to breathe, and focus on you.

He thrusts, but stops when you wince, feeling you tighten around him, slick and hot, so tight he's not sure whether you're clamping down on him or trying to push him out. 

"Relax,relax my love, or was it too soon?" You shake your head, sighing as you try to force your walls to soften. You must be worked up, extra sensitive from your last orgasm. 

"I-I'm fine…"

"Are you sure?" He moves again, tentative. Your eyes roll at the stretch, hands scratching at his arms and chest. He can feel how slick you are and sighs, tossing his head back.

"Yes, just go, move, please, please…"

He starts to move, fucking himself into you, hissing when you clench around him. His hands fall to the soft fat of your thighs, dimpling in his grip when he slides them further apart, angling his hips to reach deeper.

You whine, and he can feel how slick you are, feel you gushing as he slides over that spot that has you cringing away.

He lifts a thigh, over his shoulder, so he can fuck into you harder, hitting that one spot so he can feel you gush around him. He thrusts and you breathe in time, your pretty face flushed and your pretty tits bouncing with how he's fucking you, deep and fast. His cock jumps when you whine out his name.

He feels a bit stupid like this. Or rather, undone. His mind stalls, thoughts dripping slow and sweet like molasses. Your tight, warm cunt pulling him in, squeezing like a vice around him. He can't help thinking about anything else, can't help the harsh snap of his hips, the way he grinds into you.

You cry when as he does so, the length of him is no longer a problem with how wet you are, his cockhead just kissing that spot that will no doubt have you seeing stars, the slap of skin on skin loud and wet.

Your hands scramble in the sheets so he holds them down for you, entwining his fingers with yours. It helps ground him. And you smile up at him, tilting your chin up for a kiss. He indulges you, as he always has, sweet thing you are.

He's looming over you, fucking into you, deep and eager. You sigh, the drag of his cock, a hot rush of pleasure every time he fills you up. He gasps your name and you whimper in reply.

"Doing so good…Fucking me so well love." The air stutters in his chest, and he can feel his knot swell, the praise going right to his dick.

"You're so beautiful." You hum in reply, the sound so smooth and pleased it's almost a purr.

"Yeah? I am?"

"Yes, you are," he chuckles, dark and low.

"So beautiful. I'm going make you cum again, just like this, okay? You deserve it."

He's not…very experienced at this, but, for you he tries. The bulb at the base of his dick is thick and inflated, half slipping inside your cunt with every snap of his hips.

"I’m gonna cum, I'm gonna cum soon…"

"That's good, you can cum. You can cum darling, I've got you." His knot doesn't fit inside you just yet exactly, but feeling your cunt try to to take him still has his mouth watering, hips twitching out of rhythm.

His teeth drift along your collarbone, before he bites down, and you clamp on his cock and cum around him. He fucks you through it while you make a mess of the sheets, hands scrambling at his back. A growl rips itself out his throat, his teeth still buried in your flesh, marking you.

Your leg kicks out, and Neuvillette lets you yank yourself away, curling into yourself with the force of your orgasm. His hand holds his cock, his knot throbbing almost painfully, firing a heated rod in his belly. A hiss escapes his gritted teeth, while he reigns himself back in. it would’ve been nice if you could’ve taken all of him, but this was about you, not him.

His hands move to your belly, your legs and sides, soothing you and reminding you to breathe through your cries. You gasp out his name in soft pants, brow furrowed and thighs trembling. 

Slowly you uncurl from your little ball, like a flower, Neuvillette thinks, as you open yourself up to him. Your skin is blushed, from your face to your chest, ruddy and ruined.

Beautiful.

"Are you alright dear? Anything you need at all?" With a hum and a soft 'no', you wrap your arms around his neck so he can pull you up and into his lap. He tries to pay no heed to his still hard cock between the both of your bodies, thick and dripping.

"Are you satisfied, dearest?"

"Mhm…" You press lazy kisses to his jaw and he smiles, smoothing a hand over your hair.

"That's good then."

"Hmm…but what about you?"

"I'm alright dear." You roll your hips down and he groans, hips twitching up. He has to grab your waist to stop you from moving, ignoring when you whine.

"I said… I said it's alright dear." 

"But you didn't get to cum. Please?"

"Making love is not about reaching an orgasm." You pout, teary eyed and pitiful. 

"But I want to make you feel good, you do this far too often as is."

He smiles and noses your jaw, the soft skin beneath your ear and the marks he left lower.

"I'm satisfied just pleasing you dearest. I don't need much else."

You try to wiggle your hips down onto hips but he still has that steel grip on you; You whine and paw at his chest.

"Villette–!"

"You don't have to worry about pleasing me love," he pulls you down as he lays back, pulling you flush against him. Affection is warm in his chest, making his words honey and humored. 

"I'm more than fine with just this. Pleasing you is enough for me."

"Well not for me," you grumble. You pout, but then your eyes light up in a realization. He trails his hand down your spine while you think, undoing a few buttons while he's at it to feel more of your skin.

"You know…"

"Yes, love?"

"I like it when you make love to me like this Villette."

"I do too." He kisses your cheek, feeling you smile.

"You always make sure I'm satisfied."

"Of course."

"But you know what I like better?" 

"What is that, love?"

"When you cum." He sighs in exasperation, but fond when you turn his face back towards you.

"I'm being serious! That's when I'm most satisfied." 

"Well, it seems we're both in the habit of preferring to please the other."

"Hm…no. It's more selfish on my end."

"Oh? How so?" He swipes his thumb over your soft cheek, feeling you melt in his hands, putty. Your smile is more mischievous and sultry than sweet, however.

"Well, I just love it when you cum inside me, when you fill me up and fuck it all back into me when it spills out."

Your voice goes low and he swallows thickly, frowning.

"Don't be so crude dear."

"Who else am I to share my desires with if not my husband? Would you rather me go to someone else?"

"Of course not." Don't be daft, he wants to tell you. Just the idea has his hands tensing, his mouth twitching, ready for a snarl. How possessive he feels over you. How right it feels to be so. But, he knows you're just teasing him. 

And you know it's working. Your smile is coy, as you move to take off your dress. He helps you and soon you are as bared to him as he is for you. 

You make a sight, sitting in his lap with nothing but your stockings and mussed hair, his cock stiff along your thigh.  Your earrings catch the light, twinkling like stars.

You take the hands he has on your hips and draw them up your body, drawing them up to your face where you kiss into his open palms, sighing.

"I love you." His breath catches in his throat, sticky and thick.

"I love you. And I want you. I want all of you."

"...You have me dearest." His voice goes low, soft enough that it's just a rumble in his chest. You slide your hands down his torso, lightly dragging your nails and he trembles.

"Then let me make you feel good? Please?" Your hands go below his hips, rubbing circles into his skin when he shudders.

"Love, love you don't have to–"

"Please? I want to." You lean, to whisper in his ear.

"I want to feel you. I want all of you. I want you to cum inside me and I want your knot and I want you to fuck me, Villette. Please?"

"...You are so vulgar."

"But you love me anyways?"

He groans, covering his eyes, tossing his head back and you grin at the surrender. 

Your hands come around his cock, and he gives a little half-aborted thrust into your hands. He had swelled down some in the aftercare, but he felt the growing heat in his groin and sighed, a mutter under his breath.

You have to use both your hands to wrap around his girth, your thumb just under the head of cock, pressing down on a vein there. He snarls, softly, and moves to cover your hands with his own.

"...Tighter. And faster. Like this." Your hands are so small compared to his, as he shows you. Soon you’re stroking his length, wet clicks every time you pump down, squeezing around his knot and twisting your hand around the red head of his cock, digging the pad of your finger into his dripping slit.

He bites down on his lip, tossing his head back onto the pillows. His thighs shake, and he can see the dark red tip of his shaft, wet and shiny. He wondered how much of the slick is leftover from when he was inside you. How slick it'll be when you're finished with him.

"You are so pretty, you know that?" You catch his attention with a harsh pump, twisting your hand down around his knot. His breath catches.

"When you're like this, with your pretty face and your pretty thighs and your pretty cock making such a mess in my hands. I love it." His dick jumps in your hand and he clicks his tongue at you.

"Sweet talker."

"But you like it! You're blushing, look," and your mouth curves dangerously. 

"Even your cock is blushing." He hisses your name but you laugh, moving off his lap to lay between his thighs. 

You open your mouth and let your tongue loll out. A thick bead of spit falls, right onto his tip, and you quickly gather that and spread it over his cock. He has no time to wonder what you're going to do, because you duck your head, taking one of his balls into your mouth.

You run your tongue over the delicate skin, suckly softly, before slurping the other into your mouth. His hand comes and twists into the hair of your nape and you hum, just to feel him shudder.

You move up, to the thick vein on the underside of his shaft. You drag your tongue slowly along the path of it, taking just the tip of him into your mouth. You make sure he's looking at you as you suckle softly, and when he tugs at your hair you start in earnest.

He's too big for you to take him in one swallow, so you work yourself, inch by inch. He helps you, using your hair as an anchor and rocking into your mouth, slowly, till his knot slips inside and you can feel him twitching at the back of your throat. 

It's a stretch, as usual. He's so big and so good you can't help moaning around him, high and needy, and he breaks.

His hips snap back and he slams into your mouth with a growl. You moan again and he curses under his breath, tilting your head for a better angle when he thrusts again.

He picks up rhythm, and the smooth glide of his cock on your tongue has you moaning and rubbing your thighs together, slick gathering. You want him inside, you want him to fuck you again, but more than that you want him to cum. Hard.

You don't think he's going to last long, anyways. He never has, the few times he's let you do this. Even now, his rhythm is sloppy as he fucks into your mouth, his moans going breathy and high. But that's fine, you want him like this, so you meet every thrust, sucking harder, hollowing out your cheeks and taking him as far as he can go. 

He tugs at your hair again, and you look up, meeting his eyes,the  pupils blown out and mouth open in a pant.You make sure yours are wide in faux innocence; Even fluttering your lashes when he bucks into your hot mouth again, rolling your eyes back a little. He snarls, and you feel his cock jump, the first hot spurts of cum on landing on your tongue. But before you could swallow he pulls you off, a slick pop when he leaves your mouth.

A dark growl snarls out from his clenched teeth, but he holds you in place, not letting you sink back onto him.

"Neuvillette!!" You're mad. What the hell?! Why would he do that? Not only did he pull you off of him, robbing you of his taste, he ruined his own orgasm!

His teeth are still barred, pupils blown dark and wide, diamond shaped. His chest falls and rises in harsh pants, a bit of drool at the corner of his lips, red and bitten, kiss swollen. He looks wild.

"Didnt…I didn't climax yet."

"What?"

"I didn't cum. I'm, I’m holding it..."

"Wait, what? Why?" Why? You want to demand your answers, you want him back in your mouth or your cunt, but he moves before you do.

His hand is still on your nape, and he doesn't talk, just uses it to drag you up and over his body, so he can kiss you. His tongue sweeps the wet cavern of your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue, the roof of your mouth, your canines.

He lays back, pulling you on top of him, while you hook your leg around his waist. His hand comes under your thigh, spreading you farther as he slips inside, splitting you on the first few inches of his cock. You clap onto him, sensitive still from your last two orgasms.

You rock your hips, trying to slip more and more of him inside your quivering cunt, eager and impatient. He throws his head back, exposing the pretty line and bob of his adams apple, when he feels his knot catch the rim of your entrance, the way you try to suck him in.

"Dont….Don't force yourself-"

"I can take it," you cut him off, and fuck if that doesn't make his belly tighten.

"I can take it, just help me." He meets your rocking with shallow thrusts of his own, slipping further inside you, a rush of warmth every time you gasp when he enters. 

You gasp when his knot slips past your entrance, he can feel you stretch to accommodate him and waits for you to adjust, trying to ignore the urge to just buck up into you, ans swallow everything you have to offer. He can wait.

But you’re not that patient. You lean against him and bury a whine into his shoulder when you start to move; bouncing up and down on his cock, not that he lets you go far. Neuvillette's hands clamp onto your waist, pulling you down to meet his thrusts everytime you come back down.

You can feel him, his cockhead hitting that gummy spot with every thrusts, making you shiver, eyes rolling back a little. You can feel his knot too, massaging into your walls, thick and tender. You're going to cum soon, like this.

He doesn't let you do this often. You're going to milk it for all its worth.

You give that breathless smile you know makes his heart flutter, and start whispering the things that come to your mind, the thoughts you had this evening.

How pretty he looks under you, flushed and barely holding onto decorum. How pretty he’ll look when he comes inside of you. How you've been wanting to have him all night; perhaps sneaking away and tasting him during dinner, have him fuck your mouth so you can swallow him down. Or maybe even in the opera house, in the darkness behind the curtains, have him feel how slick you were even then, how tender and eager you are.

"How lewd." He berates you, frowning but you smile wider, moaning when he traces over a sweet spot of yours, his hips drawing magic figure eights that have you gushing around him.

"Hm? And yet…you're the one fucking into me right now." You flutter your walls and he groans, but if anything, he moves faster, jaw tight like a bowstring.

You trace the line of his throat and he swallows, looking up at you where you are with just the slightest vexation, a scolding. He can't hide the desperation gleaming there though.

"Don't pretend," he hisses when you tighten, rolling his hips to get you to soften, "that I'm doing you a favor."

"But you are. I want you just like this my love." With a nudge you press him further down into the sheets, his wide eyes shot with pleasure and awe.

Your voice turns tender, sweet.

"I want you all flushed and pretty, and fucking your knot into me till you fill me up with your cum, okay?"

"Oh fuck," you feel him twitch inside you and shudder, lifting your hips and bouncing down on him, pulling his hair a little. 

You move, sliding off of him with a slick pop, before slamming back down in a single thrust, arching your back in that way you know he likes. His hands scramble at your back, a moan wracking in his chest.

"Love you, love you, ah fuck I love you," you moan against his mouth, the messy sweep of his tongue. You grind down just to feel his knot tighten inside of you, fluttering your walls. His back arches off the bed, and he cums with a sharp gasp. 

He doesn't let you slip off of him; He presses tight against your cervix, hot spurts of cum painting your womb white. You whimper, just teetering that edge, caught on his knot and unable to move.

His belly twitches under you, breath hot and labored. A tortured moan leaves his throat as you move again, chasing your own pleasure, desperate. You smooth the hair back from his forehead, just to see the ruddy fucked out look on his face better.

“So fucking pretty. So, so good to me. Can I keep going? Just a little more, alright?” You run your hands down the planes of his chest, lean like a swimmer but more built, the quivering skin of his belly, happy trail wet with sweat and fluids.

"Please, please, let me just–" You start to slip him inside but he moves for you, laying you both on your sides and snapping his hips snug against yours. The new angle has him hitting that spot with perfect accuracy, and you gush around him, back arching. He stifles down something that sounded half whimper, half moan, and bucks into you like an animal in heat.

It's filthy, loud and wet, the way he fucks you, and so out of character for him that you’d get whiplash, if you could think of anything other than the tight curl of heat in your belly, the way your orgasm crashes into you like a tidal wave.

He rolls you onto your back and slides his mouth over yours to swallow your cries, his hands scrambling everywhere-your knee, your tummy, your hips and breasts and shoulders, possessive little touches. You soak the sheets, and he rolls himself into you to tide you over, murmuring reassurances into your mouth, sliding his knee on the soft skin of your thigh. He came again, you can feel how full you are, it probably would’ve been leaking out if his knot wasn’t acting like a sort of plug. He throbs inside, pumping his hips in a sloppy rhythm.

When it wanes you groan, smoothing your hands down the column of his spine. He moves to your neck and chest, nibbling and sucking marks into your skin.

“Hm…That was nice.” You wince when he slips out, and yeah, you can feel his cum rush out of you, the feeling is too open and not welcome.

“You certainly let loose. You must have been pent up, huh?”

“Oh shush you,” He kisses along your jaw and cheek, seeking out affection. Your foot slides along his calf, soothing, calming him down.

”Still, we should do this more often.”

“You’ll be spoiled if I indulge you too much. It’s best we show restraint.”

“Hm, I could see your point. But, if we do this more often we can get to the point where I can take your knot more easily and–” He kisses you to cut you off, and before you can reply he has you scooped up in his arms, sliding off the bed and heading towards the bath.

“Your mouth is so vulgar; I don't understand how your mouth filters out everything but the obscene.”

“It's one of my charms. Do you not find me charming, love?” He gives you a look, up and down, and you realize you probably look a bit more than charming; Flushed and covered in his marks, his spent still leaking from your cunt. You still lift an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

He sighs, setting you on the lip of the tub, reaching behind you to fill it. You brush his hair back from his neck as he leans in, just to press a kiss there.

“Yes. I find you charming and lovely and alluring, beautiful and damning. Though, I hope to find you clean and resting in my arms, in our bed tonight. Can we have that, my dear? I want nothing more.” 

“Well,” you know you’re blushing, like a schoolgirl with a crush, and not someone who just made love with their husband. How silly. “If you insist.” You flutter your lashes at him and he smiles, fond and adoring, rolling his eyes and pressing his lips to your temple. Your heart warms.

“I love you, Villette.”

“I love you as well. Most ardently and wholeheartedly.” 

[localplaguenurse]

(Puts cracker in your mouth)

I am eating your blind reader right outta the pot and I was struck with a singular thought that hasn’t left my mind

What if when reader bumped into pants he ruined pants’ clothing in some kinda way (spilled drink/smeared ink from hands/food being smeared on etc)

For context: I was brainstorming a future fic starring a blind reader in discord.

You know what? It's not going in the current version so I'm writing this version here. Consider this a part one to the actual fic. (sorry beta)

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader)

Notes: SFW, first meetings, Pantalone's kind of a dick, and so is Reader's dad. Reader has retinitis pigmentosa which is a genetic condition that causes your retinas to deteriorate over time. He has central vision but also experiences night blindness and loss of peripheral vision. Not beta read.

The sounds of merriment echo through the halls of your family estate, the clicks and clacks of your typewriter unable to drown the sound out as you work. The noises grow louder once the band kicks in, and grow louder still once dinner is served. The smell of fresh food does not travel to your study like the music and laughter did, this section of the manor is a little too remote for that, but you know with the chime of the clock on your wall that this is when it should be brought out.

While not an outright demand, your father had advised you wait in your office for a servant to bring you a helping. Your mother protested, saying there were plenty of people who would love to meet her darling sweetheart of a son, there's no need for you to stay cooped up in your study! You gently reassured her that it was fine, really. The deadline for your novel's first draft is coming up soon, so you really should focus on finishing it as soon as you can. Besides, there is some rather elite company attending the party, and you know your father does not want to risk you making a fool of yourself, and also him by association.

Time ticked on, and your stomach growled, breaking the concentration you barely maintained on writing. You look up, right at the spot on the wall where the clock is. While you can't really see the time at this distance, you know the staff should have brought you your helping some time ago. You sigh, and stand.

You don't dislike parties, you think you enjoy them as much as the next person actually. The problem is that you don't like large, crowded parties due to your condition. Your central vision is perfectly fine, but you've been steadily losing your peripheral vision ever since you were little. It's been especially bad the past few years, to the point you will trip over anything that is not directly in front of you, like furniture and people. When your parents throw elaborate parties or host networking events, your father will suggest you stay up in your room or your study (to avoid any blunders as a result of not seeing the millionaire standing right beside you). While you know there is good meaning behind it, it feels isolating, even a little patronizing at times.

Even if the darkness of the hallway renders you completely blind, you've walked down it enough times you do not worry about tripping. Hand on the railing, you make your way down the stairs, and the light of the estate grows brighter with each step you take down. Before you fully descend, you let your eyes scan the room to try and make a mental map of where everyone is to avoid bumping into anyone on your way.

You barely make it to the ground before you feel a familiar presence and smell a familiar blend of cologne and champagne on your right. You're glad you can't see out of the corner of your eyes because you know exactly what face your father is making right now. You know he's not happy to see you downstairs before he even speaks.

"I thought you were working on your manuscript?" he asks, the accusatory tone in his voice on the more subtle side.

You shrug. "I wanted something to eat."

"Colleen was supposed to bring you your food," your father retorts.

"If she did, I wouldn't have come downstairs, would I?"

Your father scoffs. "Look, just go back upstairs, and I'll talk to Colleen."

A second voice chimes in, softer and sweeter. Your mother. "Oh, sweetie!" Her face comes into view, and she seems happy to see you. "Are you done your manuscript already?"

"Colleen didn't bring him his food, apparently," your father says.

Your mom turns her head in the direction of your father's voice. "Dear, Colleen left early, remember? Wasn't feeling well? She said Adelaide was supposed to bring him his food." "That's a lie, I haven't seen Adelaide at all tonight!"

You raise a hand. "Or, or, I'm an adult who knows where the kitchen is and can get my own serving?"

Your mother cups your face in her hands. "No no, we'll get you something, unless you're here to socialize as well? I was just talking to this woman, she has a daughter about your age-"

"I'm just going to get my food," you quickly cut in, "maybe I'll play matchmaker next time, but I just want something to eat and then I'll get back to work."

"Let the staff get it," your father tells you.

You pull away from your mother and turn to glare at your father. "It's fine. I can get it myself."

You step around your parents but feel your mom clasp your arm. "You father just-"

"Doesn't want me bumping into people, I know, and I won't."

You take two steps before your left side slams right into a passing partygoer. You stumble and hit the ground, while whoever you bumped into manages to maintain their footing. Glass breaks, and when you hit the ground you feel wetness soaking the back of your shirt and the front as well. You hear your mother gasp, and the room goes silent. Even the band has paused their playing, and you can feel the eyes of the room on you.

"What is wrong with you?"

While the man's voice is melodic, it only serves to make your face burn hotter with embarrassment. This is why your dad doesn't invite you to join them at parties, you remind yourself. When you do not immediately answer the question, opting to instead push yourself up, the man continues to chastise you.

"Do you have any idea how much this suit cost? How much it's going to cost to have it properly cleaned?"

You roll over so you're sitting up. Red stains your shirt. "Sorry, I-I didn't see you there."

"Clearly! How painfully unobservant do you have to be to not see me coming through? I was right next to you!"

You drag your gaze up the man's body, as he takes up the entirety of your eyesight. Everything he wears looks designer, and as you take in his shoes, his dress pants, you make it to his suit jacket and shirt. He's wearing black with hints of indigos and dark blues, but the wine stain is still very visible on his chest. Your eyes continue, and you see a snarling, but handsome, but still very angry face. You don't recognize him from the long black hair, the glasses with the bedazzled chain, or the shine of his eyes. You recognize him from the pin on his lapel. At this distance you recognize the Fatui symbol, and your face blanches.

You just ran into a Harbinger.

You hear the footsteps of your father approach. "M-Mister Regrator, I am so, so sorry for my son's actions, I-I'm sure that's a very expensive suit and I am deeply sorry."

The Regrator does not take his eyes off of you. "Yes. Very expensive. Expensive even for you."

"I-I swear, I'm sorry," you stammer, "I didn't see you, I really didn't see you there, I-I-"

You feel your father pull you up by the arm. "I already told you to go upstairs."

Pantalone watches as your father drags you away. You only protest a little before accepting defeat as you are pulled up the stairs. He feels the scowl on his face worsen when your mother approaches with the most desperate and pitiful expression he thinks he's ever seen a woman of her standing wear.

"Are you alright, my lord?" she asks timidly.

Pantalone takes a step back as a maid comes over to clean up the broken glass. "I'm fine, thank you."

"I am so sorry about that, if you'd like, w-we can have our staff clean your suit for you."

"This material is incredibly expensive and difficult to thoroughly wash," Pantalone states, "I highly doubt your staff would know how to clean it."

The woman looks down, embarrassed. "A-Ah, I see..." She looks back up at him, her expression somehow more pitiful than before. "Please, forgive my son, it was an accident, truly. H-He didn't see you there."

"Oh, I know," Pantalone replies, grinning harshly at the woman, "I'm just surprised at how unobservant someone can be, it's almost impressive."

The woman bites her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Still, she clears her throat, though she does not meet the Regrator's eyes. "M-My son is going blind."

Somehow the room goes quieter.

Pantalone stares at the woman as the words echo in his mind. He blinks, and his expression dulls a little. "Your son is what?"

"Going blind." She lifts her head up a little bit. "It's a genetic condition, m-my father had it as well. He's been losing his eyesight little by little ever since he was a boy. The doctor at his last appointment s-said he's lost most if not all peripheral vision now."

Pantalone can feel the wine begin to soak through to his shirt now. His eyes scan the room, and the guests are clearly pretending they're not listening to the conversation. He turns to the woman, his voice displeased but noticeably softer. "So the, ah, 'unobservant' assumption..."

"He truly did not see you," the woman reiterates, "I-I can't speak for him, of course, but if he's anything like how my father was at his age, he cannot see anything unless it is directly in front of him."

Pantalone clicks his tongue. "Is that so?"

The woman nods. Silence fills the room for a few moments, and then Pantalone sighs.

"In any case, I have to leave," he says, "I do not have a change of clothes, and I really should have this cleaned as soon as possible."

"A-Apologies again, Lord Pantalone..."

Your mother watches Pantalone as he leaves, praying to any Archon who will hear her plea that perhaps the Regrator will take pity on you on account of your condition. She also mentally curses your father for even inviting the man over. Sure, things have been getting a little shaky financially for your family, but getting buddy-buddy with a Harbinger can't be worth it, can it? They're an unsavoury lot she doesn't want around, especially around you.

Your father is already in a foul mood when he comes back downstairs, having lectured you for literally blindly running into Pantalone. The two had plans to work together, after all, so that spectacle could have completely cost the family any chance at maintaining the dwindling fortune. He becomes more upset with your mother when he finds the Regrator has left already, sparking an argument that finally kills the party, leaving the guests to awkwardly mingle before finally leaving hours before the party is set to end.

Your father does not talk to you for a few days. Your mother offers smiles and reassurance that everything will be fine, but the spats echoing down the hall lead you to believe otherwise. You attempt to tune out the building stress in your household and focus on your work, but it's in vain. In the quiet moments between replacing the paper in the typewriter, or when you cannot figure out how a scene is meant to play out, you briefly picture the Regrator's face and feel your face burn up again. Is it anger? Embarrassment? A little bit of attraction? Yes, probably.

The tension in the house reaches a boiling point when a letter sealed with the Regrator's insignia is delivered to the estate.

"You're paying for the suit, boy," your father snaps, figure barely visible as he paces the drawing room lit only by the fireplace.

"W-We don't know if that's what the letter is," your mother remarks, "and he doesn't have enough to cover for it."

"That's the worst part! We would have to cover the majority of it!"

"Can you just open the fucking envelope?!" you finally snap.

Your father advances towards you from the darkness, suddenly right in front of you. "Don't you speak to me like that when this is your fault!"

Both of you flinch when your mother all but rips the envelope from your father's hands. She steps just out of your line of vision, and you hear the ripping sound of the envelope. After a few moments, she lets out a loud sigh of relief.

"He's apologizing and forgiving us for the misunderstanding," your mother says, "though he, ah, he does want us to split the cleaning costs..." You hear the flutter of paper, and she absentmindedly steps forward as she reads the letter. "Oh, j-just for the shirt. That is... oof, that's still a little much..."

You sigh. "I should have enough money saved. Might have to put off moving out for a little longer, though."

"Oh, don't be so down!" your mother awkwardly laughs. "We don't mind having you here a little longer. It gives me peace of mind knowing you're safe! And there are o better doctors out there than in Snezhnaya!"

Your dad has disappeared out of view, but you can still feel his stare. You don't think he's as thrilled as your mother is, but it's better than him paying the full cost of Pantalone's dry cleaning. You wonder if there's anything in the letter stating if he'll still work with your father, and if that means you'll have to see him again before you eventually move. You hope you never see him out of sheer embarrassment, but a part of you wants to. It would be nice to remember a more cheery expression on his handsome face before the day your central vision finally leaves you.

[monocaelia]

redolence.

he can't help but be drawn to you again and again; you're intoxicating and he fears he has grown addicted. feat. wriothesley & gn!reader w.c : 1.4 k warnings : physically intimate scenario but nothing happens , a result of me being touch starved lol note : i'm back for a little (: this idea has been haunting me and i wanted a simple warm up.

the warmth of your quaint apartment is welcoming as wriothesley haggardly enters through your doorway, a sharp contrast from the cool night breeze that clings to the streets of the court of fontaine. the smell of dinner entices the duke further into your home, but his exhausted body yearns for something other than the food waiting for him on the dining room table.

his feet shuffle across the hardwood floors, not even bothering to switch any lanterns on as your home has been memorized from the countless number of times he has visited you.

you, his beloved.

just as your name echoes in his head, your head pops out from the hallway leading into your bedroom and your bright smile lights up the darkness in your abode, putting the moon and her gracious light to shame.

the humble apartment comes to life as the lanterns illuminate the living space and the patter of your feet against the floor is all wriothesley can hear before-

"wrio!" you call his name and the duke can already feel his muscles relax and the weight from keeping busy at meropide lift from his shoulders. as if by instinct, wriothesley opens his arms wide and he doesn't need a warning from you as he feels your body leap into his arms.

and despite his world now embracing him in his arms, the duke of the fortress of meropide feels the most at ease.

your feet land on the wooden floor of your home as your lover sets you back down, grounding you back to reality and yet your heart still feels like it's feather light as if you weighed nothing more than a speck of dust as you meet ashen eyes.

he looks exhausted from a long day's work; the silver eyes that you love so much drooping and the weary lines below his eyes a bit more prominent this evening. his usually tousled hair is messier than it usually is and your fingers reach up to fix it as much as you could.

the sea of midnight tufts streaked with silver, reminiscent of the galaxies you would see littering the clear night sky after the tears of the hydro dragon cleanse the land of fontaine, is soft to the touch and you wish you could play with it forever. your fingers linger down to his jaw, caressing the scars that have made their home along his face.

and you watch as the man who has seen what the world has to offer in the worst way possible melt into your touch as if it were the only safe haven he knows.

"i take it work was rough on you?" you ask your lover, a smile growing on your face as wriothesley sighs heavily.

"don't get me started," he begins, pressing a kiss into your palm. "i'd rather not talk about it and ruin my mood for tonight."

your lover stays true to his word as his hand trails down your arm; his larger hand encases your own and keeps yours glued to his face as your warmth encompass him. however, as wriothesley relishes in your simple touch, something about you intrigues him. it stimulates his senses, reeling the duke in closer to your skin. he can feel your body heat increasing as he buries his face into your palm before sliding to your wrist as the scent grows stronger.

it's sweet, a smoky, herbal aroma with a hint of fruit... was it sunsettias? or bulle fruit?

regardless of what it was, it's enticing to the duke and he found himself inching his face further and further into the warmth of your body. you find it ticklish the way wriothesley's nose skims up your arm from your wrist, inhaling every single inch of your skin to get more of the aroma into his system.

his touch is dizzying to you; the kiss to your palm already sending your chest ablaze and it only gets worse the more he kisses up your arm. each press of his lips against your skin sends waves of heat over your body but you find it hard to pull away from the intimate atmosphere.

"new perfume?" your boyfriend grumbles against your shoulder as he takes in more of the scent. what was it; the fruity smell is on the tip of his tongue and yet fatigue clouds his brain.

"n-no," you stammer out in a voice that wavers in strength. your free hand, the one not held in your lover's as his lips caress your skin again and again, grips onto the fabric of his shirt. his heat melds into yours as your bodies get closer in the small room of your apartment. "it's a new body oil i'm trying out from sumeru... does it smell weird?"

truly, wriothesley's actions are quite the opposite of that. if anything, this herbal scent clinging onto your body lures the supposed cold duke that oversees the fortress of meropide into your frame and turns him into complete putty underneath the mere graze of your finger.

if only the prisoners of meropide could see the duke now.

wriothesley feels your body shiver as he nears your neck with his touch. you're flustered, skin warming up and breath hitching, and as a result he pulls away from your body... only to be greeted by such a delightful sight; eyes wide open like a deer caught in the spotlight and your kissable lips parted in such a way that almost reels him in completely.

oh, what you do to him.

"far from weird, sweetheart," wriothesley murmurs softly, his voice a mere whisper, before he delves down again as temptation rules over his mind and his body yearns for your touch. his lips press into your own, the taste of his afternoon tea enveloping your senses; it's floral yet citrus hints make your head spin as his kisses caress your lips again and again.

wriothesley's arms have moved to hold your waist and pull you closer to him; the need to feel every inch of you on his own body is overwhelming the duke and he knows he won't be able to hold himself back for too long.

you're too intoxicating and the aroma that wafts from your body is only pulling him further and further in.

your lover pulls away from the kiss, but you've only a moment of respite before his lips press into your skin again. they trail from your jaw down to the crook of your neck. your body shivers as his warm breath fans across the expanse of your neck and yet you're far from cold.

it's ticklish the way wriothesley buries himself into your neck and you can't even pull away to compose yourself as his arms trap you within his arms; a prisoner in the fortress of his embrace.

"wrio, maybe we should call it a night?" your voice is barely a breath as you try to snap your lover out of his trance, not that you would mind where this would be headed to but... the moon was high in the sky and you know wriothesley would be even more exhausted the next morning should the both of you continue.

his nuzzles against your skin put to a halt due to your words and like an obedient lover, wriothesley pulls away with a tired smile. he leans down again but only to press light kisses against the apples of your cheek and forehead.

"sorry, darling," wriothesley whispers in the close space between you. his thumb has come up to gently rub across your cheek and his heart skips a beat seeing how frazzled you had become because of him. he kisses you again, but this time it's brief and light. "you're just too much for me sometimes."

"all i did was welcome you home." your deadpan manner makes your lover chuckle softly.

and yet as the two of you bicker late into the night, all the duke could think about was the solace that you bring when you're near him. the warmth in your smile, the comfort in your embrace, and the relief that you bring to him with just your scent alone is enough to bring his mind at ease after the taxing work hours at the fortress of meropide.

should the days toughen the duke even more than he already is, he knows you'll be there to soften and protect his heart with a simple touch.

his solace.

[yippee777]

That (sagau fic) pt.1

cw : expect some light but abnormal stuff, cursing, ooc, inaccurate lol

A/N : Hopefully you like it !! it took me two hours just to write this..

Snap ! The sound of a rope breaking.

You open your eyes, groaning softly. What's your mom doing this time ? from suddenly whipping out the vacuum at 7am to her walking around the house with the loudest flipflops ever, you expected anything.

Anything, but this. As you stare at the distance, you could only stay silent with your mouth agape, trying to process whatever the hell was happening.

Oh god, what the hell ? Am i dreaming ? yeah, probably so, you convince yourself.

You blink. Once, twice, thrice. Nothing, you conclude. Getting up, the wisest decision was to accept that you're in a dream and look around. or so you thought.

Whatever man, I've had crazier shit happen to me. Walking around, you quickly take note that you're in some sort of clearing or grass field, a very beautiful one at that, with no one in sight.

This is definitely not my home, considering there isn't any sound pollution.

Kay whatever man, it's too early for this shit. You lay back down on the grass that smells like grass a whole lot, which is somewhat cool. Here I come, sleep !! you think giddily as you close your eyes, ready to fall asleep and wake up back in your messy bed.

I would've almost felt bad for you.

But as you fall asleep, you can't shake away that small yet lingering feeling of dread.

...

Opening your eyes yet again, an action that you've gotten used to since you've been doing it God knows how many times a day for God knows how long.

Yet as you're met with the beautiful sight of that grass field yet again, except now it's night. Wait, how long did I sleep ??? is what you would've thought if it weren't for the unfortunate realisation of what is happening. This isn't a dream-

I got isekai'd into another world ?!?

To be continued..

lololl sorry for the short first part i just need some time to write the second part. Fear not, i'll try not to take too much time. Fighting against my laziness rn it is like the most ungodly hour to start writing a fic

[paimonial-rage]

procedural - alhaitham

[random writing event] | requested by @crane1000

Being known as one of those more free-spirited sort, you were never one for schedules. It wasn’t that you had anything against them. You just found it difficult to devote yourself to doing things at a set time on a set day was rather constricting. So when you were hired to work as the Akademiya’s scribe’s assistant, you were in for a whirlwind of change. Alhaitham was scheduled. Procedural, even. And he made sure you were too.

With Alhaitham, work started at 9am sharp. After half an hour of reviewing his intray, he would start on drafting proposals, copying documents, and creating lists. It was your job to maintain and organize the many papers that passed through his hands. Lunch was taken at noon on the dot. After, you would be out and about passing correspondence, picking up new books from the House of Daena, and communicating with the other departments. Once 5pm hit, you were finally released.

Through everything, Alhaitham prized efficiency and efficacy above all else. And though it took time to get used to his spartan ways, you could see the value in following his work style. Everything made sense. That is, mostly everything. When you sat down and really thought about everything, though, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something… odd about the way he did a few things.

Ever since you started, Alhaitham began eating out for lunch almost everyday, always inviting you along. Which was weird because you heard he usually brought lunch made by his roommate. You didn’t think it was too strange at first. You were friends with Alhaitham during your student years, after all. He probably wanted to catch up. But to continue on for a few months…?

It didn’t help that you did much of the talking at lunch. Sure, you were extremely talkative, but you thought he’d surely get tired of listening to you ramble on by now. But no, no matter how much you babbled about, he’d always respond with some intelligent response showing he was listening to you all along. That wasn’t even considering the way he opted to sit next to instead of across from you. Were you that interesting to listen to?

Then there was the way he’d actually listen to and take the random advice you’d give. The new fountain pens upon his desk were suggested by you, as were the coffee beans he now used at home. He let you drag him to new restaurants at lunch and borrowed the books you raved about in the House of Daena. You never heard of him doing this for anyone else.

And lastly…

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yep! Just finished packing up,” you replied, standing up from your desk. “Let’s go.”

As that classes were finally finished for the day, the Akademiya was abuzz with students. In the back of your mind, you had no doubt that the streets of Sumeru City would only be busier seeing that most people were finally leaving work.

“You don’t need to walk me home,” you began with an apologetic laugh. “It’s probably going to take a while.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. “Besides, weren’t you the one that insisted on finishing your story earlier?”

“Oh, you’re right!” You exclaimed. “So what happened next was…”

As you chatted about the happenings and various gossip that managed to find their way into your nosy ears, at some point your hand found its way into his. It often happened seeing that the busy roads often pushed and shoved you about. And as kind as he was to help you, you couldn’t help but feel that it was, like all the other things, unnecessary.

“Why are you so nice to me?” You found yourself asking when you finally reached your home.

Though his eyes widened for a moment, they soon narrowed as he crossed his arms as if observing you.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

You paused in thought.

“Because you see me as a friend?” You asked curiously.

You were met with a long exasperated sigh.

“Sure, let’s say that,” he finally said as he turned to leave. “Rest well.”

As you waved him goodbye, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh to yourself. Oh well. You’ll figure out his secrets some other time.

[kiwisandpearls]

I’m sure this point has already been made to death, but I think a major reason as to why more…darker “x reader” fics are so prevalent and popular in certain spaces is because simply put… “x reader” fics, and by extension fanfiction and just general fiction, are probably one of the more healthy and safer ways for many irl readers and writers to navigate through their fantasies and/or traumas. Many of us recognize that our fantasies would be harmful to do irl, so we project it (?) through fiction.

[meowkunas]

good for me

pairing: tighnari x reader

summary: tighnari gets more than he bargained for when he comes across a field of aphrodisiac flowers, especially when he has to deal with you getting 'lost' again

word count: 3.4k

warnings; nsfw content, reader has a pussy, aphrodisiac, slight exhibitionism?, lots of mention + playing with tighnari's ears and tail, "good girl" is mentioned once (by tighnari)

a/n: sensitive ears and sensitive tail! only the last 1.7k+ is horny material <3

Sometimes, Tighnari thinks he's an idiot.

Aphrodisiac flowers give off a distinct scent; something that he's had to learn the hard way over the years. And he knows how much they affect him. But they still entice him in the worst way possible.

"Because that's what they're supposed to do, you idiot," Tighnari mutters. He pushes the ice pack harder against his cheek, hoping to stop the hot flush creeping up his neck.

This time it was a whole patch of brightly coloured flowers in the Avidya Forest. He hadn't even realised he was doing it — rolling around in the bright flowers with reckless abandon, the scent overtaking his nose and a gradual, pleasurable warmth running under his skin. It takes an embarrassingly long time before he pauses in his actions. And it's only because his instincts kick in, telling him that he's being watched. Movement stopped. Breath stilled. Ears listening.

Whatever presence he'd sensed had disappeared. Probably just a fluke. Regardless, at least he'd been close enough to the village to dash back on shaky legs.

He hates this. He really does. Even a habitual twist of his ear sends a hot urge sinking to his stomach.

Just as he's gritting his teeth and deciding how he's going to take the rest of the day off and, preferably, alone, there's a knock on his door. Without waiting for his confirmation, they come in. A forest ranger, out of breath and spilling over with information.

"A scholar. They were coming to deliver their research on to the Akademiya, but they got... There was a Withering." The forest ranger dips their voice, just slightly. "They see familiar in a way? I'm not too sure."

Tighnari's ears twitch at the words. The Withering is still causing problems this close to Gandharva Ville? This is definitely not the time to be distracted by aphrodisiac flowers. Fuck.

"Familiar?" He questions.

Recognition seems to click in the forest rangers eyes. "It's the exchange student. The one who nearly got eaten the first time they showed up here?"

Tighnari tries to stop the way his heart races at the thought of you, once again showing up in the village. Still, it's not good to be thinking of you when he's in this state, or else he might just pounce on you the moment he sees you.

"Show me."

He's got some self-control left. Just a bit.

"I suggest you peruse this Avidya Forest Survival Guide once again, paying close attention to the chapter near the end about the Withering this time."

You're not even listening, Tighnari notes. You're sitting in his bed, blanket pulled over your lap, both hands curled around a cup of warm tea, and nodding. But you're not listening. Your eyes are slowly drifting up every so often up to his ears, before snapping back to his eyes, and honestly, it's kind of rude. He feels his patience snap. Only because he's starting to imagine things, and looking at your hands, and hoping they would be the one coaxing through his tail. He really shouldn't be having these thoughts about someone he's just officially met two weeks ago.

And it's only because of the aphrodisiac, he assures himself. Only because...

"You can touch them if you want," Tighnari says. His mind is finally catching up to his mouth, informing him of how simply terrible this decision is, because if you touch them, he might never ask you to stop. Instead, he watches as you visibly flinch and catches your eyes glancing down towards his tail as he gives it an experimental swish.

Caught in the act.

He's not an idiot. He knows his fur looks soft, and he's caught various other people staring sometimes.

You choke on your drink. "That's really not—"

"Really." He leans forward, towards you. The warm room is getting to him, making him feel just a bit bolder than he usually is. There's probably a realistic, polite part of you that's hesitating. But there's no way the twinkle in your eye or the way your heartbeat races can be imagined by Tighnari. Especially not when he's so oversensitive to every sound at the moment. You're so obvious, and so easy to read.

His gloved hand slowly reaches up to stroke the tip of his fluff ear, and your eyes follow the movement. Your hands around the cup tighten until you're sure that it'll crack under your grip if you squeezed any harder. You take another sip of your now-cold drink. It doesn't quell the flushness in your cheeks, nor the tenseness in your entire body. Tighnari hears, rather than sees, your pulse quicken as you swallow.

He needs to get a hold of himself because he's meant to be hospitable right now, especially to someone who was another lost lamb. It was almost a weekly routine at this point. Someone would get lost, end up here, and he would send them on their merry way.

Except, you've shown up here three times now. The first time was after encountering some carnivorous flowers and reaching a state of shock, the second time was when Tighnari found you wandering of the path, and now, this. Academics usually had a bit more common sense than this.

He narrows his eyes. "What were you doing this time?"

Your cheeks flush at his words, fingers thrumming against the cup's surface. "I thought I saw you, so I was coming over to say hello. But," your voice quietens. "You seemed busy."

Tighnari freezes. A feeling of dread running through his body. If you saw him earlier, then that means you saw him in the flower field. But that's not the worst part. Tighnari knows he's rarely quiet when the heat overwhelms him, which means you most likely heard him making the most pitiful sounds.

"They were aphrodisiac flowers." No point lying to you now. "I'm very sensitive to them, unfortunately."

"Aphrodisiacs?" You repeat, eyes widening.

"Yes."

He watches you open your mouth to say something, then close it just as quickly. To be fair, he doesn't know what compelled him to tell you the truth. The cup all but clatters from your hand onto the side table, and you're wrenching the blanket away from you quickly.

You stand up, smoothening down your clothes even though there aren't any wrinkles. "I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time." You bow your head quickly. "I think I remember the way to the Akademiya. Thank you." You pause. "Tighnari."

Oh fuck.

With just one word, his mind runs wild, hearing your voice in other tones — a pained, needy voice calling out his name. He can very easily picture you panting in his ear. The room feels like it's burning all of a sudden. He clears his throat.

"No worries!" He says, cringing at the cheerful tone. "Stop by anytime!"

He needs you to leave. Right now.

And thankfully, gratefully, you do; eyes still looking towards the floor. Tighnari hears the nervous thump of your heart as you brush past him; but you don't look back.

A wave of relief washes over him. He lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, feeling every muscle in his body relax except... the heat running through him is worse now. And it's not something he can keep ignoring.

There must be a higher power out there working in his favour because, not a moment later, the forest ranger who announced your arrival bounds through the door. This time announcing your prompt departure.

"Alright. Please let everyone know that I'm not to be bothered for the rest of the night. I think I need some rest." He prays they let this slide. Please, just one more thing.

The forest ranger nods their acceptance of his request, and darts off again.

But Tighnari isn't thinking much about that anymore. He's crumpled over on top of his bedsheets and dragging his pants down to relieve the tightness over him. He makes the mistake of pressing his nose into the pillow.

It still smells like you. And he can still hear the lilting tone of your voice, imagined to be just a bit higher pitched and whiny, saying his name. He pulls a glove off his hand with his teeth, hissing as it makes contact with his warm length, teeth immediately clamping over his bottom lip to stop any further sounds.

It was going to be a long night.

You, on the other hand, are hesitantly standing at the edge of the village. The path should take you to the Akademiya in no more than two days. You know. You've gone through this way many times. Way more than the other three hindrances that have caused you to catch Tighnari's eye.

Tighnari.

He'd offered to let you touch his ears, and you'd still walked away, said no, been very polite, and where did that get you? Frustrated and annoyed. Especially because you've been spending the last two stops in the village trying to get the courage to ask. The opportunity slips by yet again.

But then you remember his heat-filled gaze. Is touching his ears an intimate thing? And the aphrodisiac flowers he was talking about earlier...

You decide right there and then to take the winding, twisting path back up to Tighnari's place, and say you would like to touch them actually, and it didn't matter if it was going to make things weird because you were interested anyways—

Your thoughts cut off as you reach his front door and hear a muffled groan. Not a pained one by any means. A low heat drops to your stomach, and begins to travel further downwards. Ah, this is the opportunity to leave right? This seems like a very private moment to walk in on, and not what you intended at all. You can simply send him a letter to request a visit, or drop by another day. But your feet stay frozen in place, refusing to move, even as a louder noise leaves Tighnari's lips.

There's a small opening in his window, and you really shouldn't be peeking inside, but your eyes dart to a movement out of the corner of your eye and your brain short-circuits. It's mostly just bare skin, but you can guess the position he's in, just from the peek you're given.

Your fingers unconsciously trace up your thigh.

And then, you freeze again as Tighnari moans out your name.

He's perched on all fours, rutting into his bare fist.

"Fuck." He mutters, brushing his thumb over the head of his pulsing cock and feeling his breath hitch. It's not enough. He doesn't stop his movements, even when he hears you slip in through the door, a nervous look on your face. He's known you've been watching for a while. Every bone in his body is ushered into high alert, especially at the state he's in. It also means-he bites his lip on a moan again as his tail tangles in the sheets-he's extremely sensitive.

A very dangerous part of his mind wants him to give you a show.

You stop a few paces behind him, hands hovering in midair. "Tighnari?"

It's not like what he's doing has hit you yet. It's just one thing for your eyes to see it and another for your brain to fully register what you've walked in on.

He rolls over onto his back, face flushed and ears twitching wildly at the top of his head. You step towards him once he opens himself up for you, and his tail wraps around his thigh.

Would his tail be wagging rigorously in excitement if he didn't do that? You don't know how this all works but—

"Please." Tighnari whines. He's a disheveled mess, made even more so when his hands push his shirt up, past his stomach and brushing over his nipples. There's not a single thought running through your head right now, except for just how pretty he looks, splayed out before you.

You definitely haven't misheard him moaning your name, because he's still moaning it in the same pleading tone, even now.

Moving closer to him still, you hesitate. Maybe you're imagining it, but you swear you're close enough to feel the heat of his body and there's nothing you'd like more than to press up against him. Still. This is weird, right? Tighnari and you don't have this kind of relationship.

His next words stop you. "Touch me, please."

He chokes back a moan as your hand grabs his tail in a stroking motion — not too hard, not too soft. He might be able to cum just from your touch alone. This is bad. This is definitely bad. This is—

"Hng!" It's impossible not to let that one slip out. Your fingers deftly brush over the tip of his tail, curious and tentative, but growing bolder with every whimper you drag out of him. A sharp pain runs on his hand, and it takes him a bleary moment to realise it's because of himself, biting down hard on his gloved hand to stop the embarrassingly loud sounds leaving his lips.

It's only then that he realises you've laid yourself down next to him, perched up on one elbow. Your other hand is still wrapped around his tail. You're so close to him. Your eyes are focused on his expressions, watching as his eyes squeeze shut, back slightly arching into the air every time you dance your fingers over the fluffy length.

His eyes refocus from the pleasure when he notices your mouth moving. The words pass through one ear and out the next, and he's not registering it at all. Wait. His name. You're mouthing his name. In his haze, he's not really sure he understands what you're saying, so he does the next best thing.

His still-gloved hand reaches up to cup your face, thumb stroking over your cheek. Your eyes soften, and you lean over to press your lips to his hesitantly.

Tighnari wants to laugh. You're touching him in ways that he's only touched himself in, and you're still nervous over kissing him. Everything about you is so warm. The hand on his tail, and even the way your lips move against his spreads a warm feeling throughout his whole body.

It's when you move to a more stable position and allow your other wandering hand to brush over one of his ears, that he absolutely loses any sense of self-control. His vision blurs and he's rutting his hips into the air, gasping into your lips. You pull away quickly, hand stopping the movement on his tail but still stroking over his ears. Gently.

You lean down further, pressing a kiss against his jawline and travelling up to his ears. "They really are so soft," you whisper.

He whimpers, trying to bury his face into your neck.

"I still..." He pauses, watching as you pull back from you to meet his gaze again. You tilt your head to the side, a smile beginning to appear on your lips. "If you..." He trails off again.

You're not going to make him say it, right? He feels an embarrassed flush settle in his chest. His whole body still feels like it's on fire, as though he's going to combust if he isn't touched properly in the next few seconds. And you're certainly not helping. Not with the way you're running one hand through his hair, and twisting his hair around his ears, nor with the way your other hand is lightly brushing over his skin, leaving small warming spots in its path.

He gestures vaguely towards his hardening cock and you let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I can help with that still. If you need." But you say it as more of a statement than a question.

You leave his side briefly, and he almost lets out another whimper. His mind still feels hazy, coming down from his high. The sensitivity in his body overrides his instincts, and he doesn't hear you coming.

You hitch one of your legs over his middle, straddling him. He feels faint. Your bare thighs cling around his sides and he feels everything. You're not wearing anything under there. You must have taken it off after you moved away. And—

You lift the bottom of your shirt that's covering the rest of your decency and Tighnari genuinely thinks he might cum again, just from the sight alone.

You, on top of him, plunging your fingers into your depths and stretching yourself out to take him in. It's so loud. You're so loud. He's so sure that the sinful sounds leaving your lips will ring in his ears the next time he even looks at you.

If he wasn't in such a blissful state already, he absolutely would like to see how you would feel on his fingers. His free hand tugs off the remaining glove, reaching for your thighs.

You're soft. He thinks he's starting to get what you meant when you were stroking his ears earlier.

Your name leaves his lips unprompted, and you turn to look at him. All motion stopped.

You speak first. "Is this still okay?"

Tighnari nods, not trusting his mind to phrase the word properly. It's enough. He's still biting back a guttural noise from the back of his throat as one of your hands reach behind you to wrap around his cock. It's already fully hard again. Tighnari can't tell anymore whether it's still the aphrodisiac clouding his mind, or whether it's just because of you.

Really, all he can feel right now is you. Your thighs surrounding his waist, your hand causing a wave of pleasure to run through his body, and even the scent of you is starting to fill his lungs. Still, he grabs your arm. He needs you to be sure.

"I want this." He says, combining it with what he hopes comes out as a reassuring nod.

It's enough for you. There's no more hesitations with your movements when you move to take him in; inch by pleasurable inch. He slides straight into your warm tightness so easily, and he can feel you collapse onto him, panting into his neck while you adjust. He's glad. He needs this time to adjust to, especially with you clinging so tightly around him.

You feel him stretching you out, and he's whispering in your ear, wildly incoherent. Does he even know what he's saying anymore? Awkward mumbles of "good", followed by a shaky breath, and then "girl".

He's good. He's so good to you, really. Still trying to gain back some semblance of control when you both know who's really taking the reins here.

"It's okay, Tighnari." You run your hands over his ears, drifting down to the back of his neck. "You can take it."

He mewls, bucking up into your soft form without hesitation. It wins him an uncontrollable moan form your lips. He's all ready to coax the same sound out of you with the movement again, when he feels you moving on top of him — hands settling over his stomach as you lift your hips up. There's a slight brush of cold air against his exposed cock, but it's quickly returned to wonderful heat when you drop back on to him.

It doesn't take long until he's cumming again. It's hot and so good, that he's sure he blacks out for a bit this time, blinking back to focus as you softly stroke his head, in-between his ears.

He winces.

The extra stimulation from his ears runs through his body, and it feels almost painful. Your hands stop as you notice. Tighnari laughs, breathy and rumbly through his chest.

"Well." He says, eyes shining bright and tail weakly swishing under him.

You raise an eyebrow. "Well."

"I want to apologise first for dragging you into this mess. Truthfully, I..." His words trail off as he notices you vigorously shaking your head.

"No, don't be sorry at all. It was..." You trail off.

Tighnari leans up on his elbows, albeit shakily, with a small smile on his face. "I think..." His eyes land on your exposed collarbone meaningfully before travelling up to meet your gaze. "I might have to return the favour at some point."

"Oh?" A smirk tugs at the corner of your lips. "When were you thinking?"

Tighnari lifts a finger up to drag along your neck — pale and unmarked. "Just give me a minute."

[pink-tk-a-latte]

if you could sit in a barrel, maybe

[sfw tickle fic!! possible claustrophobia. lee!venti, ler!lumine]

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ༄ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ༄ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ༄

“Well… this is troublesome.”

Lumine hissed as she squeezed Venti closer to her. “You’re the one who got us here.” Venti laughed, breathless as the Traveler choked him.

The wooden walls of the barrel did nothing to muffle the heavy footsteps shaking the tavern floor. Lumine’s ears could pick up the clinking of chains on the suit of the tavernkeeper (Diluc, because of course it was Diluc). The air was stuffy, it smelled sour, and, as hard as she blinked, Lumine could see nothing but darkness and the not-even-guilty outline of Venti’s face squished against his braids.

“Aw, don’t be mad, my dear. I just wanted some birthday wine! However could we celebrate without wine?” Venti whispered pitifully, head cradled in Lumine’s lap. His feet scuffed on the side of the barrel — she felt her lungs still.

Every noise was like a firecracker in this suffocating, pitch-black space. At each incensed footfall outside and each too-sharp breath or shuffle within the curved planks, Lumine’s arms stiffened around the bard in her hold. If only I could be silent enough for the both of us.

Venti kicked his leg again, twitching with excited energy. Lumine’s heart rocketed. The steps on the floorboards had stopped. She stuck her hands under Venti’s arms and tugged him close.

Then his entire body flinched, a squeak shooting out of his mouth. Lumine clenched her teeth as the barrel shook.

“Venti!”

“Sorry!” Venti wriggled as much as he could, the tiniest wispy giggles sprouting from his lips. “Wahaha— Your hahands!”

Lumine sighed. A twitchy smile pulled at her cheeks. “Oh, Ven. Just try to be quiet.”

Mute, Lumine scribbled under Venti’s arms. She chuckled softly at his nervous choke.

“Lu- Luhumihine! AHaha- NaHAhat now! Stop t- tihihi— Stahap thahahat!”

“What? Tickling you?” Lumine grinned as Venti quivered and whined in a flustered flurry. She dragged her fingers between his upper ribs, teasing at the edge of his dancing corset.

“EHee yehehehes! Stop tihihicklihing!”

“Stop being so ticklish then.” In this moment of warmth and giddy suspense, Lumine forgot all need for stealth. There was something thrilling about breaking the rules, toeing the line and trying not to get caught.

Lumine traced the hems of Venti’s dress shirt, scratching up his forearms and around his underarms. Hysterical, he squealed into her clothes and squirmed. Lumine could feel the vibrations of his lyre-sweet laughter running through her abdomen (and she tried to pretend it didn’t affect her in a giggly way at all).

“EEHE! Dihiluhuhuc will hehehehear!” Venti pleaded. “He’ll be sohoho mahaHAhad!”

Now you’re worried? “Well, maybe you deserve it.” With a huff, Lumine patted down his torso, searching for his hips. “This was all your idea anyway, you little wiggleworm.” Ah, bingo. She slipped her fingers into the hole in Venti’s shorts, tracing circles into soft, sensitive skin where his shirt had ridden up.

All the while, Venti was gnawing on his braids to muffle himself, a wail leaping from the back of his throat when she made it to his hips. He’d jerked so far forward that Lumine had sunk farther onto her back somehow, and Venti was now crushing her chest.

“LUHUmihihi pleheheHEASE! Nah nohohot thehehere! I cahahan’t, Ihihi’m—!” Desperately, Venti twisted his hips and shook his head, braids whipping about, glowing. Oh, they were glowing a lot, actually. Almost as if—

The barrel exploded.

Lumine lay surrounded by the splintered remains of their hiding spot — unharmed, but winded (ha) by the burst of Anemo. Venti was collapsed on her chest, where he panted and rubbed at his apple-red cheeks.

Grimacing as her legs twinged with pins and needles, Lumine propped Venti up by his shoulders to examine his face. “You okay?” she asked, still supine on the floor.

Venti nodded, loopy. “Only hurt that you would be so mean to me. And on my birthday?” He pouted and almost tumbled onto her again.

A snicker broke out of Lumine’s chest. Then it snowballed into bubbling laughter that shook her entire torso. Venti too succumbed to mirthful stitches, equally exhilarated from the high of misbehavior.

“Happy birthday to you.” Lumine giggled and patted Venti’s cheek. He met her with a wide, joyous smile.

“Happy birthday indeed, bard,” came a new, much deeper, much more intimidating voice.

Venti and Lumine looked up at the looming shadow, red hair, dark suit, crossed arms and all. Blazing eyes twisted in irritation burned through them.

It seemed Diluc had discovered the mess they’d created.

And they never even made it to the wine…

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ༄ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ༄ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ༄

HAPPY BIRTHDAY VENTI!!!!! 🍏 You’re finally home for your bday pictures after evading my pulls for three years <333

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[baeshijima]

ever since the 5.2 trailer this is all ive been able to think about

once again, the genshin pokemon au thoughts are running wild

excuse the mega long rant in tags bc i geeked out perhaps a lil too much abt pkmn au but ourghghg.... we do not talk abt how i spent at least an hour writing all this out....

[tartagliove]

anyway Cyno fic inspired by the song towards the sun where his path crosses with yours by accident in the desert. the sun is scorching but you are so much brighter—smiling widely and eyes sparkling as he pulls you up from the sand after he startled you into tripping. he doesn't catch your name before he continues his hunt, and the thought of you seems to fade with each step he takes, but then-

he returns to Sumeru City and finds you selling your wares, drawing customers in with bold laughter and warmth in your words. why is your smile so pretty? how do you make others lean in to hear your every word? Cyno doesn't get it. (never mind that he's moved to a spot where your voice can fill his ears.) he can't bear to look at you, so he turns away, shadows engulfing him as he forces himself to leave. he does not look back.

maybe someday, after he meets you again and again and again, he'll learn to turn his face toward the sun. maybe he will be able to bear the full brightness of your smile and the warmth of his name on your lips. he's in your orbit already, and perhaps he wouldn't mind it if he burned.