Masterlist

Rent-an-s/o!

About: You work as a rental s/o! The guys didn’t book you or anything, you’re just friends (with budding feelings) hanging out.

A/N: I wrote this while listening to Centimeter by the Peggies (if you know, you know)

Characters: Xiao, Childe, Venti

Wordcount: about 300 each

Commissions Open!

Also works the same job (is a rental boyfriend!)

The cafe’s heaters radiate warmth around the building like the hug of a fireplace. Chatter mingles with the smell of sweet vanilla and holiday spices, just as Xiao stirs his drink to mix the caramel with its contents.

“So, Mr Top-Rated Boyfriend,” you tease. “How hard was it to arrange a break during the Christmas period?”

Xiao raises a brow. “About as hard as it was for you…?”

You nod in faux-seriousness. “I see, so it was a hard-earned battle…”

“Was it that bad?” His lips quirk amusedly. “Or did you just get into a debate with your agency again?”

“I had to cancel a recent booking,” you admit, taking a bite of your dessert. “It was a regular client though, so they were understanding about it.”

A frown. “We could’ve just rescheduled our own hangouts, you know.”

Noticing Xiao’s expression, you make a resolute stab at your plate. “Nope, I wouldn’t allow it! Cafe-hopping with my best friend is a very important event, and I wasn’t about to back down just for a bit more money.”

His lips quirk. “What if it was a lot more money?”

“Hmm… it’d have to be enough to pay for a tower of macarons, and even more.” You nod to yourself, successfully drawing a laugh out of him. The playful mood makes your heart feel light, and you rest your elbows on the table to lean closer. “…So yeah, I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”

“I’m honored,” Xiao’s ears are slightly flushed from the walk you took earlier. You can’t help but admit that he was cute, on top of being really attractive. Golden eyes twinkle as he rests his cheek against the palm of his hand. “So what shall we do for the rest of winter?”

How cruel for him to be like this, and for you to feel at home with Xiao; you wonder if he feels it too, the push and pull of emotions leashed by both your occupations.

Keep reading

mine now | gallagher x f! reader ( 18 + )

ill be so real with you my dearest freaky anon i'm not the biggest fan of cheating so plspls understand that if this kinda sucks,,, im sorry, especially since you were waiting for so long for this and then i drop the most lukewarm fic of all time. i also had to change the story around so that it was something that i was comfortable writing, sorry about that ! still the basic premise, i just am not good with ntr for some reason ?? weird. who knows man. tags : drug abuse ! dubcon, dirty talking, weed & alcohol mention, female anatomy reader but its sort of nonspecific idk, pw/op, voyeurism sorta, exhibitionism sorta, coercion almost, mentions of infidelity, comfort turns into sex, possessiveness, unprotected sex, gallagher uses petnames a lot, reader being drunk & high at the same time, reader gets on call with her ex boyfriend while gallagher fucks them words: 1.8k

gallagher's hand was in your hair, your head pulled back as he pounded you so hard into the mattress it made your hip hurt a little bit from the pressure, not that it was really what you were focused on. he'd promised to make you forget your shitty ex boyfriend who'd cheated on you, and you had agreed on that without a second thought. it was originally just a drink that the two of you shared together, with you ranting about this loser to gallagher, who was all too patient with you.

one drink turned into three, and drinks turned into smoking together. being crossfaded and half focused, those little rants went on about everything that had pissed you off about that loser since the moment the relationship started to decay. everything from how he refused to flush the toilet no matter how many times you reminded him, to how tiny his dick was. gallagher had laughed at your jokes about him, and it spurred you on to keep going, laughing about that loser's tiny shrimp dick. gallagher asked if you'd ever had a dick bigger than two inches, and you shook your head. you had no idea what sex was really supposed to feel like aside from what you knew.

then he asked if you were willing to see what it was like, and you swore you'd never felt more sober than that moment right then as you hesitantly nodded. was it still going to hurt if you weren't a virgin anymore ? the answer, surprisingly, was a resounding yes ! you learned that pretty quickly as gallagher's hips pistoned into yours, his free hand grabbing the fat of your ass, his body pressed against yours so he could whisper into your ear.

" don't be shy, baby, you can let your makeup ruin my sheets. it's been ruining my shirt all night now, " he purred in your ear, his sharp canines daring to bite into the sensitive skin of your neck completely without warning. when he finally did, you made a pathetic little mewl that you weren't even aware that you could make. " a little reminder of who can fuck you better than that fuckin' pathetic loser, yeah ? gonna go to work tomorrow n show off your mark for everyone to see, yeah ? "

possessiveness was driving him, only amplified tenfold by the weed in his system. it made you both feel everything so much deeper, so both in tune with your bodies and completely disorientated at the exact same time. you couldn't feel your toes anymore, and you weren't even sure you had a tongue in your mouth you were so far gone, but you could feel every deep stroke inside of you as he thrust, and the feeling of his nails digging into the flesh of your ass.

you were a disaster. you knew you should be somewhere else. it was in three the morning, you were three drinks and several shots deep, and with enough weed in your system to kill a victorian child before they could even understand what was happening to them. but you had no idea that you needed this so much, needed to feel him so deep inside of you that it brought you to tears, stretching you so well that you thought there was no way it was going to fit. and yet his cock buried itself completely inside you each time, his tip hitting against your walls in that special spot that made you cry out.

you wanted to scream, you wanted to cry, and by god you wanted to moan so loud that your neighbors could hear you. and maybe you were doing all of those things, at this point you weren't entirely sure what you were doing, other than taking his cock. gallagher was like an animal, desperate to claim every inch of you, and you were so willing to give him everything that he desired without any amount of a fight.

you heard a noise in the background, but you honestly didn't think much of it at that point. it was so unimportant, you didn't really care what it was, although you recognized the sound. " baby, your phone is ringin', you wanna answer it, or should i ? "

you made a pitiful little noise, and he took that as a perfectly valid answer, grabbing your phone and sliding it up for you. " hey, yeah ? oh, man. " you couldn't hear what was going on on the other side of the phone, but you could hear gallagher chuckle, and you swore he started to fuck you even harder now, the lewd noises of your skin slapping together undoubtedly able to be heard through the phone. " yeah, sorry you're a fuckin' loser, but they've got some new dick. thank you for keepin' them so fuckin' tight f'me. "

you don't know why your ex hadn't hung up the phone yet, but also on the other hand it made complete sense. if he had a way to argue, he was going to argue, even when all of the odds were against him, and the answer was blaring at him straight in his face. you buried your face in the pillow, trying not to make so much noise, but finding it impossible with the way gallagher was thrusting inside of you like he owned your body. and maybe he did, who knows at this point ? you just knew that you'd never felt this good, not with yourself, or any other partner.

" you wanna talk to them ? oh, man, be my fuckin' guest. i just hope you know you ain't gonna like what you hear. "

without a warning, the phone was pushed against your ear, letting you speak and say whatever you wanted to, but you couldn't find the words to say anything to him in between the moans spilling from your lips. " i-i- hh- fuck- " you whimpered, trying to think of something to say, but your mind was completely blank and filled with so many thoughts at the exact same time. there was only a brief moment of time where there wasn't anything coming from the other line, your ex so stunned that he couldn't find anything to say, but then came the barrage of insults, ones that would make you cry if you weren't being fucked so well by a man like gallagher, who was able to take your mind off of a pathetic man like your ex.

" put him on speaker, doll. let him hear you cummin' your brains out on my cock if he's so inclined. shit, i'll send him a video if he wants. whatever gets him to understand that you aren't his anymore, " gallagher growled behind you, one of his hands coming to snake around your waist, rubbing the sensitive nub between your legs with his thick, calloused thumb. you could only nod in response, sitting your phone down and turning it on speaker. you wanted him to feel horrible about everything he did to you, and you were hoping this was exactly the revenge you needed to finally get over him.

with the phone out of your hands, it was like it was entirely forgotten, especially with his finger rubbing your clit in tiny little circles. everything was building up to feel so strong inside of you, you had no idea what was happening. was it the drugs in your system making your body act up like this ? you had no idea, completely unsure what was going on. you felt this feeling in your tummy tightening as gallagher fucked you senseless, exactly like how he had promised to.

" ga-gallagher- " you whimpered out, your breath hitching in your throat. even in your fucked out state, you still managed to say something coherent, and of course it was his name. that thought only brought a satisfied grin to his face, and the older man couldn't stop himself from responding, clearly putting on a show for the person on the other end of the phone.

" what is it, my sweet ? gonna cum ? ya gonna cum on my cock like this 'nd forget all about him ? you take me so well, it's like you were made for a big, fat cock to stretch you out 'nd rearrange ya. " he was going so hard he needed to grab the headboard, his nails digging into the wood so hard that he wasn't sure if it would splinter or not, not that it even mattered. a little blood wasn't going to hurt him, and it certainly wasn't going to make him stop fucking your divine body into the perfect little cocksleeve for him. " is this your first orgasm on a cock ? you don't even know what's happenin' to ya, that's fuckin' adorable. you aint got no idea why you feel all tight down there, huh ? "

all you could do was nod helplessly against him, drooling onto the fabric of the bedsheets that was so soaked from your slick just dripping down your legs and pooling underneath you. " gonna- gonna cum, gonna cum, gallagher- pl-please- " you didn't know why you were saying please, you knew he wasn't going to stop now, not when he had a point to make of giving you the best orgasm you've ever had in your life.

" cum then, sweetie. i'll ride you through it. i'm gonna cum in this little hole of yours, okay ? you okay with that ? " you didn't give him a verbal response, just a nod of your head, but he couldn't stop himself from gently slapping your clit, making you cry out in pain, the sharpness of the sensation leaving you breathless. " say it, doll. say you want me to cum inside. you can do it, baby. "

" please- cuh-cum inside of me, gallagher- " you begged, earning you a tentative kiss on the side of your neck where he had bitten you earlier, and his finger started to rub circles around your sore clit again, perfectly timed just to make you cum.

" we're gonna cum together, okay ? let go, baby. i'm right here wi-with ya, " he couldn't stop himself from letting out a low groan, letting go of the headboard to grab your hip, dragging you on his cock as he fucked himself on you, chasing your orgasms together. with a low, animalistic growl, gallagher let go inside of you, shooting hot ropes inside of your walls as you clenched helplessly around him, the duo orgasm making you feel like you were able to blank out at any second, but you were entirely aware of your situation. he rode out the sensations with you, slowing down into gentle thrusts as he milked both of your orgasms at the same time.

when he pulled, gallagher laughed to himself, kissing the side of your neck and your nape several times as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his body against yours. " he hung up. guess we gotta call him back when we have a round two, yeah ? "

— ♡ rationaliity 2024

“FREEDOM?”

Note:

I am SO upset! I was planning on posting this earlier but when I double checked the content, the half of it didn't save! I spent another hour to type EVERYTHING out so I'll get back on track. I am still upset and disappointed. :((

The ending can be anything depending in your guys' imagination! So go wild and let me know what would be the ending if you are the writer.

—› I DON'T POST IN ANY PLATFORM EXCEPT IN THIS ONE!

Sypnosis:

Oh? Their divine creator had finally graced their world once again? But what's this? Why are they creator so cold and menacing while the imposter they deemed to be, seem to act more like their divine one?

Genshin characters x fem!reader.

Warning: gore, swearing, grammatical errors.

Run, run, and run.

That's all your mind what is trying to say, but your feet wouldn't move, the muscles in your body seem to shut down itself and you couldn't help but frown due to the numbing sensation against your legs.

Why haven't you noticed that an arrow had pierced through your skin?

"There's the imposter! Catch her!" The people of your favorite nation had scream at the top of their lungs as they tried to approach your spot in an alarming rate.

The blood dripped down from the wound on your right leg yet, you don't pay any mind to it as you forced yourself to take another step further into the woods. It doesn't matter where your feet will take you, as long as you know you can take a rest without hearing the jeers and sneers of the people.

The spot where your blood had fall down, a wide and tall tree had sprout on the ground— successfully stopping the people from running after you.

Every step you take, the blood will roll down from your wound and you didn't stop to wipe it down, you didn't even care if you're leaving a trail behind you— you just want to close your eyes and take a rest.

However, every step you take, the spot from all the blood on the group, different kinds of plants had grown, it can be berries, flowers and trees. Depending on how large the droplet of your blood is, the trail of blood that you believe had formed, are now covered by a trail of plants.

Yet you didn't notice.

The ground shook when you stumbled on your feet, it seems to be making sure that you wouldn't hurt yourself anymore since a dendro slime came from the underground just to catch your exhausted figure.

You landed on top of the squishy creature, immobilizing you completely. The softness of the slime is slowly lulling you to sleep and once again, you did not bother fighting it.

You wished and hoped for this to be just a dream, that you'll wake up from it and will go back to being a stressed human being, worrying over her allowances, bills, studies and works. You'd rather die from over exhaustion than have a mob of people chasing you down to kill you, all because of 'impersonating' their divine creator's face.

I'll just worry about anything else once I wake up..

Soon, you felt warmth enveloping your body, the soft texture of the slime had successfully lulled you to sleep.

Tap

Tap

Tap

The noise of something being tapped over a wooden surface had reached your ears then it stopped, you can hear the shuffling of silks and the stomping of someone before the tapping noises came back again.

Tap

Tap

Tap

It's irritating, the pattern of the noise is making you annoyed, you don't know why, but it's probably because you were sleeping and the noise woken you up?

Unconsciously, you opened your eyes, you don't what you were hoping to see— maybe the ceiling of your bedroom? Or the ceiling of living room? To your disappointment, it ain't what you are hoping for.

"You're finally awake." A familiar voice of a man had reached your ears yet you didn't bother to look at him.

For some reason, you're just tired, you don't want to do anything else than lay down and close your eyes, you wanted to just go back to your world, you don't even know why you think self aware genshin aus are fun— look at where it lead you to.

You almost died.

"Why didn't I die?" The question slipped out of your mouth before you could think, your eyes widened slightly, still staring at the ceiling of the cave. You wouldn't want to ask someone who you don't know but the reality itself is making you question your existence.

"I don't know either." Came a hasty reply, you can tell that he's one of the people you can trust since he had the chance to kill the imposter, however, he didn't.

"Then why didn't you kill me?" You asked, curious and want to continue hearing his voice, "You had the chance, while I am asleep, but you didn't kill me, why is that?"

Silence.

It got too quiet, the tapping noises stopped when you opened your eyes and the shuffling of clothes couldn't be heard anymore, you were curious, you couldn't stop yourself from turning your head to the right, to look at your savior.

To your surprise, Diluc is sitting in the make shift chair, his ruby eyes staring blankly into you.

He opened his mouth when he saw you looking at him, "I also don't know the answer to those questions, I just can't bring myself to.. Harm you in anyway." He wasn't lying, you can see his lips quivering as he spoke.

"Are you afraid of me?" You asked, sitting up from the uncomfortable bed.

Diluc's gaze got cast downwards, he knows that he is betraying the 'creator' sitting on the throne by saving you, he knows that he can be punished— killed even, but the mere thought of you, a mere imposter, dying in your sleep? In the wild? Especially when you were surrounded by hydro, anemo and dendro slimes?

The said monsters are scared of their creator, but why are those creatures— the slimes, why are they protecting you and looking after you?

He swallowed thickly before he opened his mouth to answer your ridiculous question, "No, I am afraid for you."

It's been a whole week ever since the red head had rescued you, it's also been three days when you bid a farewell from the wine tycoon.

Diluc is respectable figure of the city of freedom, by taking you under his wings, can ruin and dirty his reputation, although, you know that he probably already thought the consequences of his actions, you still don't want anyone dying because of you.

"There is the imposter!" It take them two days to find you wandering around the Lihua pool, it's also absurd at the way they tried to catch you when you are not even doing anything, you're just standing there, waiting for them.

While they were shouting and letting out cries that may haunt a child on their sleep, they were gripping their polearms with fright? Perhaps its excitement.

You huffed under your breath, it's been three days since you had a proper sleep and your body decided that it's the perfect time to feel drowsy— just exactly when the people of the city of contracts are in front of you.

"Don't resist!" One of them yelled, they at least expected you to run away like last time, but to their surprise, you stick out your hands and showed them your wrists.

"Wh-what?" The soldier asked, dumbfounded.

"It's better to go with you guys than to run away." You said, you couldn't stop the yawn from escaping, "Sorry.. Just tie me up so we can go back."

You almost feel bad anyways, they look so shock that no one even tried to tie you up so instead, you grabbed one of the soldier's hand and made him grip your wrist before leading them back to Liyue harbor— where you know Ningguang and Morax are probably waiting.

"Why aren't you fighting back?" The soldier who's holding your wrist asked, "Last time, you just kept running and running so why the change of heart?"

"Well, I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty and I'm sleepy. I'm sure the prison can offer me a place to take a rest and a cup of water, yeah?" You mused, your eyes feeling heavy to keep them open, "I don't care if I'll sleep on a corner, just let me sleep and I'll make sure I'll be docile as much as possible."

The soldier almost felt bad, but he has job that needs to be done. He doesn't want his family to be in danger so he needs to hand over you to their archon to take you back to their divine one's palace.

When the soldier caught you, it was already afternoon, when you arrived by the entrance of the city, it was already past seven in the evening— some if the soldiers are tired, some are neutral while some are irritated since you've been walking so slow.

You kept stumbling on your feet which is why they resulted on making one of the soldier carry you on his back.

It was a funny sight, really. The half of the soldiers are arguing who will carry you while the other half are grumbling as to why they should carry you? You're an imposter, a prisoner!

However, the nagging and nauseating feeling they have when they witness you almost plummetting to the ground, made them scared shitless.

While the soldiers are busy carrying you back to the city, you are busy sleeping on whoever's back is carrying you.

"Is that the imposter?" Morax asked, his amber eyes wide at the sight of you sleeping in your cell.

"Yes.." A soldier asked, he can relate to what his archon is feeling, I mean, how can someone be so peacefully sleeping while knowing that there is a possibility of their execution?

They can even hear your quiet snores as you shift around the wooden seat of the cellar.

The Geo archon sighed deeply, "Alright, I'll.. Take over for now. You can go and take a break." His command is strange and unusual, yet the soldier didn't bother inquiring his archon.

He can hear the footsteps fading away then the sound of door closing soon reached his ears, his eyes glanced around for a while to check if there are no one around and to his relief, the place is vacant of soldiers.

His attention went back on your sleeping figure against the uncomfortable wooden surface, his lips formed into a straight line when he saw how your figure are curled up in order to warm yourself. His heart clenched painfully inside of his chest at the sight of the imposter's pathetic figure.

"Why am I.." He brought a hand up to his chest, the painful heart beat became a little unbearable so he turned his back on you, "Why am I feeling like this?"

"Mmn.." He flinched, the sound of your body shifting from your spot, the echo of your clothes shuffling, the cough that escaped your throat— all of it, he heard all of it.

"Zhongli?" His eyes widened, is that your voice? Is that you calling for him softly? Why is your voice softer than the creator sitting on the throne? Why can he feel the familiar warmth of the divine one within your presence?

"What's wrong? Are you in pain?" The drowsiness in your voice is still evident, but the worry that is overpowering your hoarse voice brought a familiar feeling on his chest.

"Silence." He managed to say as he swallowed the lump forming in his throat, he can't bring himself to look at your dirtied and pathetic figure because he has a feeling that he'll set you free— which will result of him betraying the creator.

He didn't hear any reply which made him thank you silently, at least you are as docile as the soldiers had said.

"You will be transported to the city of freedom in three days, don't get comfortable in your cellar since you'll experience rough punishments starting from tomo.." He trailed off, he can hear your snores again. He quickly turn his head to look at you and to his amusement, you managed to fall asleep while leaning against the metal bars.

He let out a sigh, his fingers twitching, wanting to move you into a comfortable position, but he acted against it.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The dendro archon gasped in pain after opening her eyes, she is currently on four, gasping for breath as she feel her heart beat painfully inside her chest.

Her trembling arms hold her up, she doesn't know why her own consciousness fade away when she sent Al-haitham and Cyno to get the imposter— she heard a rumor going around that the imposter was spotted in the border of Sumeru and Liyue so she sent two trustworthy individuals.

However, her decision backfired when she felt a pain on her legs, the pain was unbearable, the blood, it was scorching hot against her skin, she couldn't stop the warm and thick liquid from rolling down to her feet then to the ground.

Why is she hurt? She was just staying in the city and there was no battle nor fighting took place around her.

"What in the teyvat happened?!" The wanderer exclaimed as he kneeled down in front of the archon, his eyes widening when he saw how deep the wound was.

"I-I don't know, it hurts! I wasn't even attacked—" She didn't even finished her sentence because her eyes closed against her own will then darkness soon enveloped her surroundings.

"What's happening?" She asked herself, looking around the darkness, hoping that someone or something can give her a clue about the situation she is currently in. To her dismay, nothing happened.

She huffed, her hands and legs still trembling from the pain she is feeling, the water under her seem to splash every now and then but other than that, her arms would continue hurting.

".. Hic.. Hic.."

A cry had caught her attention, her head turned left and right, searching for the owner of the lonely cries.

"W-why.. Just why.. I didn't even do anything.. Please, make it stop.. I don't want this.. Bring me back.. Please, I'm begging anyone.. I just want to go home.."

Nahida sucked in a breath, her eyes wide as saucers when she saw the divine one's appearance underneath the water, the creator is on the same position as the archon, their arms and legs are covered with blood.

The only differences from the two is that the creator's clothes are ragged, covered in mud and an arrow pierced through her skin.

Nahida shuddered, scared and anxious, she silently asked as to why she is seeing the vulnerable state of their divine creator— no, why is the divine creator covered in blood and mud? Why is the creator crying and begging?

The questions piled up, yet no answer was given to her. No sound escaped from her, it was as if her lips are sealed and was forced to kept quiet.

She watched with heavy heart as her creator sob in loneliness, the agonizing and empty cries of her creator were piercing her ears— she wants it to stop, she need it to stop! The pain on her tendons are getting too painful for her to bear, why is she suffering just like the holy being underneath the water?

No, in the first place, why is the divine creator suffering?

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The water kept dripping into her small body, the darkness are slowly getting full with the clear liquid.

However, as painful as the wounds on her body, nothing can be more agonizing than the heavy feeling inside her chest. The water kept rising and rising, it was as if it wants her to drown along with the crying god.

The tears gathered and escaped from her eyes, the numbing pain on her legs slowly subsided, but an empty feeling on her heart remained.

She's slowly drowning in the darkness.

You don't know how long you had slept, but when you woke up, a hydro slime was underneath you— acting as your cushion against the hard and cold floor. You quickly moved away from it's body, thinking that you're quite heavy for it.

The slime got excited when it felt you shift above it, the eyes of the slime closed tightly before it expanded in size.

"Wow." You uttered under your breath, "I didn't know slimes can do that."

"Me neither!"

You jumped from your spot, the slime was quick to cover you up from the person outside of your cell.

"Aww! How adorable~!" The playful tone of Venti's voice echoed inside the cellar, his lyre is floating beside him as he leaned against the metal bar of your cell, "Hey, hey! Can you tell how did that slime managed to get in here?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, it was a question that you wanted to get an answer as well.

Seeing your reaction, barbatos came into the conclusion that you probably don't know how it got inside of your cell, but the sight of the slime clinging against your sleeping form earlier? Now that's a sight to be hold!

He giggled to himself, he is glad that you are awake now, when he visited Liyue, you were sleeping soundly— snoring, drooling and all that crap.

You looked so peaceful sleeping inside the cell so he gave you some time before waking you up, but that wishes and plan of his backfired when you didn't wake up after two days later. How can a person sleep for two consecutive days? He stayed by the side of your cell for almost thirty-six hours, only to witness you still sleeping soundly.

Despite sleeping, the dark bags under your eyes didn't vanish and your complexion hadn't gotten any better as well, your skin and lips look so pale, your clothes and hair are dirty— it is a pitiful sight, befitting an imposter.

However, why does it pain him so? Why does his heart yearn to please and take care of you?

He pursed his lips, leaning away from your cell to examine your overall appearance. Ragged clothes, knots on your hair, dark bags under your eyes, chapped lips, muddy shoes and dirty skin. Your looks are befitting for a criminal, but why do you still look so beautiful in his eyes?

She deserve better!

Barbatos flinched when he heard his own voice scream at him, he looked around, eyes wide in panic and anxiety, trying to look for whoever was impersonating him.

"What's wrong?" Your voice lulled him out of his panic stricken state, his anxious beating heart seem to calm down once he heard your voice. It's.. Weird to say the least. How can a imposter calm him down in a mere second?

She doesn't deserve to be inside of that prison.

The voice again, this time, it didn't scream at him, it sounded so gentle and almost desperate.

"Do you want to be free?" The questuon left his mouth without him knowing, it took him a couple of seconds before he started panicking again, "I— No, I didn't mea- that- I was jus- I'm not—"

You watch with wide eyes as the archon of freedom stumble on his words, he looked so scared like a mouse running away from its predator, the difference is, the mouse in front of you are shaking in anxiety.

"Venti." You called out gently, not wanting to alert the male outside of your cell.

The mentioned man stopped hyperventilating when your voice reached his ears, he stopped mumbling and opted to look up then stare at you, a small yet empty smile crept into your lips as you saw him give his attention to you.

"I don't want to be free." You answered him with honesty, "I'm exhausted and getting caught by the knights helped me settle down, they gave me water, they let me sleep, they gave me a place to stay."

The melancholic tone of your voice, it lulled him to take a step closer to your cell.

"Being imprisoned here is safer than running, fighting, bleeding and sneaking away just for me to survive." You murmured, almost too quiet for him to hear but luckily, the wind carried your words to his ears.

"That's why, I'm willing to stay here." You smiled at him, "I'm just tired of begging and crying for the people to stop, I'm glad that they didn't hurt me like before and even handed me some food, I'm truly thankful."

Your words stabbed him in the chest several times, your voice sounded so calm.. So relaxed and you sound like you don't even care if something happened to you. Your eyes are shining, but with hope of.. Dying? You looked so hopeful that everything will finally end.

And that look had pained him even more.

A week had passed ever since the knights had captured you, it took the archons a whole damn week just to transport you to the city of freedom because of what? They didn't want to disrupt your sleep every time they will see that drowsy and dazed look on your eyes.

Venti was acting cautious when the two of you travelled to monsdast together, he didn't let anyone else come with the two of you since he trust you enough to not run away.

I mean, how can he not trust you? You were the one who wanted to let Venti tie your hands so you wouldn't run away, you were scared because you think that the creator sitting on the throne might hurt him if the creator heard that Venti is trying to make you feel comfortable.

You let the bard guide you through the path towards the city of freedom and as soon as you two stepped passed the gate, the knights crowded the two of you.

"Move away." Venti spoke, it came out rather harshly than he expected— he didn't like the feeling of the people gathering around you, pointing their polearms towards your pitiful figure.

You blinked a couple of times when the knights did as they are told then you felt Venti grasped your hand before he pulled you away from them.

The two of you hasn't reach the stairs when the familiar face of the hydro healer had enter your peripheral vision.

"Lord barbatos! You're back!" Barbara called out, her eyes shining brightly when she spotted the anemo archon but when her gaze landed on you..

"T-the divine creator?" The confusion, the betrayal and the hurt in her eyes are clear as day, especially when she saw the rope around your wrist— she can see the rough material digging roughly against your skin and it irked her to know that the divine one was dragged harshly by the archon.

"Lord barbatos, why is the divine one tie—" Her sentence got cut off when she was pushed to the side, she almost stumbled on the ground, if it weren't for Venti catching her then she would have landed on the cold and dirty floor by now.

Kaeya and Jean looked at you, the acting grand master's expression is grim when she examined your appearance from head to toe.

"I didn't know why you have the divine one's face but that is the main reason why you are labeled as the imposter, now the creator wants you dead." The young woman mumbled, it was as is she didn't want anyone to hear her words.

You did not respond, your gaze cast downwards with your hands sticking out for them to take.

They know, they fucking know that you are their creator, but they can't do anything because they are not as strong as the imposter seating on the throne— that's why, the crestfallen look on your face made their heart ache.

"P-please come." Jean stuttered, briefly inhaling to calm herself from crying in front of you.

Kaeya pursed his lips, his eye staring at your wounded skin around your wrist, how painful must that be, he cursed whoever tied that damn rope on you is a fool without a brain.

"Move." The captain spoke and placed his hand on your lower back to gently push you forward, being careful to not push you too hard, him and Jean shared a glance— they both silently agreed to bring you to the cathedral to show to the imposter first since they knew that she wouldn't do anything to you yet.

After all, the one sitting on the throne are cold and menacing so she will surely want to do a public execution.

"It's okay." Your voice caught their attention.

Venti, Barbara, Kaeya and Jean looked at you, their eyes widening and brimming with tears when they saw the relieved look on your face, why do you look so happy that you will be killed?

"After all that, I can finally go home, right?"

© kunichigo

could i ask for some reversed au for scaramouche, childe, kaeya & albedo? 👀 i love ur writing its so good

Hey! Thank you so much! This is my first time doing a reversed AU, and I wasnt there during the first part of Genshin (i started around the first Lantern Rite), so Scara's and Albedo's may be a bit shitty, but I hope you like it!

-ˋˏ✄— Reversed AU !

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: Reversed AU ! You are the character, they are the player !

Characters: Albedo, Kaeya Alberich, Scaramouche, Tartaglia

Pronouns: they/them

.navigation. // .genshin impact masterlist.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Albedo | Kreideprinz

He started playing the game at the very beginning

It was intriguing, how could he not?

The beginning was normal, fun, exciting

Then they mentioned a chief alchemist somewhere along the way and his reaction was something like:

"Oh? A person of alchemy? This would be intriguing..."

He likes alchemy, after all

A few days — or had it been months? — had passed, and the new 1.2 update had been released, alongside a new area in Mondstadt called 'Dragonspine'

Lo and behold, the chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius had turned out to be the new 5 star character, Y/n!

He wasn't smitten at first, only interested

They had many similarities to him

They came home the first 30 pulls on their banner, and Albedo was elated!

After a while of doing the event (getting a bit mad at Reckless Pallad for being a damn idiot), he started enjoying and (though unknowingly) liking Y/n

You bet he finished the event just to get the sword to r5

He farmed their artifacts well and made them the best support ever, occasionally using them as a DPS too

The moment your sibling had been introduced, the first thing he thought of was how she was so similar to Klee, and how your relationship with her was similar to his and Klee's

Haha he wished for them too, got around 70 pity though

Talks to Klee about you and your sibling, and to no surprise, she likes you and your sibling too!

A bit sad about the death flags around your character, but he knows he can't do anything about it just yet

He smiles so fondly whenever you do the idle animation with the twig

When he found out you were an artist, he wss even more elated!

Hey, when did his social media accounts turn into a Y/n fanart page?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Kaeya Alberich | Frostwind Swordsman

Probably didn't start playing when the game was released, but somewhere near the beginning

The first part was nice, he thought

The little drunkard bard reminded him of one of his drunkard musician friends, and the brunette with the red bunny reminded him of one of his coworkers

Got to the point where you fly over Mondstadt chasing after Dvalin, and then he gets back to the ground and—

Oh? Who's this? Why do they make Kaeya's heart do the badump badump?

Swoons at your voice like holy shit

Was very happy you were a free character, but got very pissed that it meant you were not in any other banner, was so rare to get, and disliked being used by others in domain

Ok so what if Y/n is a free character? They deal 10k+ normal atk damage piss off >:/

Gives you the best build ever, for every type too

Pysical dmg dealer? 10k dmg. Cryo DPS? 20k DMG with a 60k crit.

When the Serenetea pot was released, he made an altar for you and put you in his bedroom :)

Insults your sibling

Why does your sibling remind him of Diluc?

Reads your lore, cries, disses on your sibling and Diluc, repeat

Doesn't matter who's in the team, he will find a way to add you in

Defends you so much on co-op like "just because they're a f2p 4 star character doesn't mean they're shittier than your 5 star whaled character >:/"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Scaramouche | Baladeer

Honestly I don't know what possessed him to play the game when it was released

Boredom? Curiosity? Was he being held at gunpoint?

Either way, he just skimmed through the beggining, boredly reading dialogue until the very first event happened

Wasn't very interested at first, didn't like the astrologist and was a bit annoyed by — how was her name spelled again?

You showed up a bit after, standing over a guy on the ground

The character seemed a bit normal at first, polite (which kind if irked him) so he completely ignored them

Yada, yada, yada, they're talking about astrology and the meteors and—

"Hi!"

There you are again.

"Sounds interesting... Mind if I join you?"

The astrologist quickly took the screen once again, brining the traveller and the princess away in a ball of hydro

Oh? How interesting...

As soon as they were gone, your façade dropped, revealing to him your true intentions

Oh, he was intrigued

Then their introduction was revealed

Y/n, huh? The 6th Fatui Harbinger?

Then your agents showed up, one of them stepped a bit out of line, declaring how they would make haste of a mission unassigned to them and—

"...Are you deaf or just stupid?"

That hit straight onto Scaramouche's heart

After the event, Scara just kept waiting for another reveal, but months and months past and you were no where in sight

Until the 2.0 update, at least

Inazuma, your nation of origin

Maybe he'd get lore about you

Purely plays the game for you now, waiting and waiting

When you finally show up in the quest, he's weak in the knees

Calls you his favourite menace to society

Always wonders, are you shorter than him?

Legends has it he's still waiting for your banner till this day

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Tartaglia | Childe

I'm not entirely sure when he'd start playing, but it's before your first banner

Played the game because he found out Scaramouche liked a characer in it and wanted to diss on that character

He was a bit too late for their first appearance, but that's fine

He'll keep playing either way

He finally reached Liyue, where he arrives and there's alot of people around this lady

Aaaand there's the Geo Archon, falling from the sky, presumably dead

His mission was to sneak away, so he did just that, very skillfully

Finally reaching a cutscene, he stretched his limbs and watched

"Hey buddy— hold still."

Huh? Who was that? A new character?

They jumped up from the back of the stairway, hydro blades casting a rainbow effect to the screen as it met sun rays

They fought off the guards and holy shit—

That was— You were—

He's speechless

Continues the quest, and when Paimon mentiones something about doting on you, he's all like "YES"

You're rich? Ok, he would spoil you rotten, doesn't matter

His heart skips a beat at your laugh because it's so adorable like—

When your banner came out, he may or may not have whaled haha

Gives you the best artifacts, triple crowns you, you're always his main DPS

Y/n profile, Y/n namecard, "Hey buddy— hold still" signature, you name it

Cries at your deathflags because he won't let his skrunkly, his scrimblo, his lil bufoon die

"Mihoyo Hoyoverse let me into the game, I'll protect them!"

You're a family person? He's a family person!

Adores your little sibling, reminds him so much of Teucer

"You have many siblings? I have many siblings! We both have so much in common we should just get married alrea—"

Calls you his favourite piece of shit

Or, his full nickname for you, "my favourite piece of shit haha /hj I love you what's your ring size—"

—PATCHWRK !

it always ends with i love you ft. wriothesley — in which you, a small floral shop owner, meet the duke of meropide by a chance encounter—and then you meet a bunch more too…but not so much by chance anymore

contains: 20.3k work count (please give it a chance i put my soul into it) ; female reader ; mature content—not suitable for minors ; strangers to friends to lovers ; flower shop au + florist reader ; reader has a small backstory regarding her dead father ; use of canon flowers and and lore, meaning i did my best so please be gentle on me with my botany facts ; heavy spoilers for wriothesley’s story quest and backstory, explores themes such as murder and hints at child exploitation and trafficking—all pertaining to his adopted home life ; slight oc’s because i gave a few of his adopted siblings names ; a fun neuvillette and clorinde appearance! ; a not so fun childe appearance + jealousy ; a short argument ; love confessions and getting together ; wriothesley is scared of love (anyone who had to kill their parents should be tbh) ; reader sits on his lap/lays on him ; there’s sex in every scene lol i got carried away—includes vaginal fingering ; cunnilingus ; nipple play ; hand + blow jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie

the first time you meet wriothesley is by accident.

he doesn’t exactly come up to the surface regularly—he sees the sun frequently enough to remember what sunlight feels like if he tries to recall, but not enough that most people of fontaine would know he’s the duke of meropide just by looking at him.

he likes it that way. the duke is no small title, and he’d prefer the trip through the streets of the court without being stopped for idle chit-chat.

he doesn’t intend on stopping on his way to the palais, but you’re a bit of a unique circumstance.

he hears the smashing sound of something breaking before the scream, quickly glancing over his shoulder at the noise. nothing could have prepared him for a flower shop to be the source of such chaos—what could be chaotic about selling petals on a stem?

except you’re clumsily chasing after a man as he stumbles past your door, knocking over the potted plants on display in the process as you follow him.

the look of distress on your face as the pot falls and shatters compels him to investigate the scene. (of course, there’s a note of distress on your face before the pot falls, but the way it deepens when it does is almost criminal. your face is too lovely to have such creases in your forehead, even if he won’t admit as much out loud).

“stop! please,” you call, “you haven’t paid for those!”

thievery. wriothesley knows a thing or two about pocketing things that don’t belong to him.

first, it’s because he spends a portion of his life on the streets, surviving more than living. those moments reduce him down to a simple pocket thief at times. (he had standards for his crimes: never too much and only enough to survive for a bit. always from someone who dresses expensively and looks like they’re comfortable enough not to feel the damage to their wallets. and, of course, never from women).

second, it’s because people, on the streets or in the fortress, love to steal from those who are weak and vulnerable. people who are sleeping are of that classification of individuals, so wriothesley learns how to keep his things hidden and how to be a light sleeper. he’s never had too many things that are precious to him, of course, but he owns little enough that he’d notice his losses harshly should they come.

he hates thievery. partly because it reminds him of his past and the darkness that taints it, but mostly because it always involves someone innocent who doesn’t deserve to lose. not even a little.

his feet carry him over to the scene before he can stop himself—not that he would stop himself even if he did have control over his body, but it’s just that this particular circumstance seems to have him in some sort of trance. one that won’t allow him to look away from your face.

“please,” you follow the man past your shop’s door, “those are the last of my glaze lilies—i promised them in an order!”

the man running doesn’t seem to care about your pleas, snickering as he turns to give you an amused look, as if your distress is entertaining. he doesn’t make it far, though, before he bumps into a muscled chest.

“what the—”

wriothesley cuts him off, raising a brow. “i do believe the lovely lady here has asked for her flowers back. or did you miss that part?”

“and just who do you think you are, mister?” the man barks, glaring wriothesley up and down. (it’s a bit funny, considering he’s much shorter, so it takes a tad bit of effort on his part to give wriothesley the menacing once over it’s meant to be). “i don’t remember asking you what she asked.”

“oh me?” wriothesley cracks his knuckles casually, shrugging as he says, “duke of meropide at your service. i must say, i’m not very popular around here—not a lot of people know me, it seems.”

your jaw drops. the man’s face pales—which is a nice confirmation, at least, that he does have some sort of a brain.

“w-what? and just why would i believe that? you expect me to think the fortress’s duke is just prancing around the streets as if he hasn’t got duties? as if!”

wriothesley’s lips quirk up at the edges as he hums, fishing through the pocket of his shirt before he pulls out an envelope, sealed with the stamp of the iudex himself. there’s writing on it in clear letters, bold and italicized, as if just to mock the man.

to: duke wriothesley

from: iudex neuvillette

“that clear things up for you?” wriothesley asks, traces of a cheeky glint in his eyes as he raises a brow.

instantly, the man is clasping his hands, head bowing as a string of incoherent apologies flows past his shaky lips. “i-i’m sorry! i’ve never done anything like this before, you can check! my records are clean! i-it was a moment of weakness, but it won’t happen again, sir. p-please don’t take me to monsieur neuvillette. or court. or—”

“your first thieving gig, and you picked flowers?” wriothesley snorts, “i almost don’t want to bring you to court just save myself from the embarrassment.”

the man flushes, bashfully shrinking as he mumbles, “w-well i just…i just wanted to get flowers for my girlfriend for our anniversary and these…th-they’re her favorite you know? b-but they’re hard to come by since liyue is so far and…and the lady wouldn’t sell them to me so…you know…i uh…” the man trails off, wilting as wriothesley’s stares down, unimpressed. “i promised her i’d get them,” he adds, as if it’ll help.

“what a tragic sob story you got there,” wriothesley deadpans. “your girlfriend must love your honesty.”

“if i may interrupt,” you call from behind, making both men glance over to where you stand some distance away.

wriothesley forgot you were there, truthfully. but now that he’s taking in your appearance up closer, he can’t help but appreciate it. your features complement each other well—like an assortment of carefully arranged flowers, hand-picked one by one by celestia themselves.

“hello miss,” he nods, raising a hand to half-wave at you, “don’t worry, i’ll get this man out of your hair in a moment with your flowers too. just give me a sec—”

“no,” you say softly, “no it’s okay. he can keep some of them…i’m sure i can make do with a shorter hand than usual.”

he blinks. you couldn’t have possibly offered to let your thief keep his earnings at your expense, could you? he can’t decide if you're just that naive, just that foolish, or truly just that kind.

maybe all three, if he’s being honest.

“uh…are you sure?” he tilts his head in disbelief, “you want to let him keep the flowers?”

“partially,” you confirm, “it’s alright. everyone deserves flowers on their anniversary. especially their favorite.”

wriothesley decides you’re just that kind—and in some ways, it’s worse than being a bit on the naive side. at least you can sharpen yourself to become untrusting and skeptical if naivety gets you in trouble. kindness is as easy to take advantage of as it is to take for granted, and it’s not just something people like you can turn off like a switch.

“oh, thank you!” the man exclaims as soon as the words come out of your mouth, not wasting a second to grin at you as he says, “you’re really so kind! if you’d just tell the duke here that it was all a misunderstanding and that you’d like to drop all charges, then i’ll be on my way with partial the flowers—”

“make no mistake,” your hands find your hips as your face hardens with a certain strictness even he’s a bit startled by, “if you should come here and cause trouble again, i have the duke’s word to press double the charges next time. i would tread carefully if i were you—don’t ever let me catch you stealing from me again.”

wriothesley stares at you and gapes. he’s sorely mistaken about you—kindness is not the absence of your spitefulness, and the man shrinks back as you stare down at him expectantly.

“o-of course,” he says quickly, “it won’t happen again.”

“good,” you nod, “that’ll be five hundred mora, please.”

“b-but—”

“is there a problem?” you raise a menacing brow, making the man scramble to shake his head. 

“wow,” wriothesley snorts as the man scampers off after fishing enough mora from his pockets, “i suppose i underestimated your ability to handle the situation, miss.”

“i think i owe a good portion of my success to you, your grace,” you bow your head slightly, unable to meet his eyes as you nervously chuckle, “i don’t usually have robberies. the people in this area are familiar with me. they’re quite kind—i’ve never had someone as stubborn as him.”

“well, rest assured, if he bothers you again, you can come to find me for my word at court.”

“i’ll hold onto the offer,” you grin.

that chance meeting becomes history after a while. he comes and pays you a visit every time he’s at the surface, which isn’t all too often, but often enough that you start to look forward to at least one routine visit per month. sometimes, he teases you about whether or not you’ve had new thieves pay you a visit. other times, you make use of his strong hands and built muscles and cheekily order him around to move heavy bags of fertilizer around. 

he likes tea, you learn—he takes a very piqued interest in the jars of dried petals you keep on shelves, ones you tell him are good for making blends for tea, or to boil with water for natural remedies, or to make syrups for beverages like lemonade. it’s a slow, steady, blossoming friendship until, all at once, you feel incomplete without the routine visit from the fortress’s warden. you’re too reliant on the familiarity of explaining flowers, their origins, what stories they share, and what they mean—and likewise, you feel incomplete without his stories from the fortress, what the inmates are up to, and what changes he’s developing to make things better for the people under his wing. 

you like to think he feels the same way; otherwise, he wouldn’t come around as much as he does. 

sometimes he walks you home, and sometimes you invite him for tea. you drink coffee, but you don’t mind the trouble of brewing two beverages if it means some extra time with him in your cozy little home.

like today, where he sits comfortably at your dining table while you cut fresh bulle fruit as tea steeps in the hot water. he watches you with fond eyes, listening as you ramble intently about your recent endeavors at your flower shop.

“—and i think i’ve finally managed to grow a cactus from sumeru long enough to bloom my own henna berries,” you grin, looking at him brightly, pride settling into the crinkles of your eyes, “it did take some trial and error—fontaine rains far too often for cacti to survive, but this one i managed to grow indoors.”

“couldn’t you just get the berries delivered from sumeru? since you have plenty delivered from there already,” he asks in amusement. you huff, rolling your eyes as you walk over, setting the platter of fruit down before him. 

“of course, you’d want to take such a simple route—but plants are far more rewarding when you grow them yourself, you know. plus, every fruit i’ve managed to grow on my own here in fontaine has had a bit of a unique flavor as opposed to ones grown from their original nation. i’d like to see if that’s the case with these berries, too.”

“well, if that’s the case,” he hums, taking a slow sip from the tea you’ve brewed for him—it’s perfectly made to his liking, with two sugar cubes and piping hot just as you’ve learned he prefers. he closes his eyes and lets out a content sigh as the warmth trickles down his throat. “let me try one when they’re ready.”

“of course,” you brighten excitedly, as though the prospect of someone to share such a moment with is one you look forward to. there’s something that tickles in his chest, right beneath his ribcage, at the sight of your wide grin.

you chatter until the sun sets, warm, honeyed rays of orange and pink pouring through your windows and painting his skin vibrant hues. it’s about time for him to leave—you can tell even before he clears his throat and stands, grabbing the plate and mug and heading to the sink.

“i should go,” he says kindly, washing the dishes with so much familiarity that it almost feels domestic and natural to have him here. you shake the thought out of your head as quickly as it enters your head. “thank you for having me this evening.”

“oh, i think we’re past the formalities,” you huff a small laugh, “you’re doing my dishes.”

“technically they’re my dishes,” he chuckles, “since i did dirty them.”

you hum, walking over to where he stands as he turns the faucet off—until a small twist of your ankle has you gasping as you stumble forward. you brace yourself for the impact of the hardwood floor, but instead, you’re met with a firm yet soft chest as strong arms wrap around your waist and catch you before you can fall.

“oh,” you breathe as you open your eyes, staring into him with just as widened pupils as him. 

“are you okay?” he asks quietly, voice just barely audible as he whispers to you—he’s so close, so painfully close, you think the only reason you heard him was because of the proximity. 

“yeah,” you nod. it’s hardly a nod, really—if you were to move your head too much, you’d risk brushing your nose against his. or maybe even your lips. “i’m fine. thank you.”

“yeah, no problem,” his eyes are still trained on yours, and neither of you can find it in yourselves to pull away. you can’t, and he definitely doesn’t, and nothing seems to give as you stare at each other. you’re pressed against his chest, and his arms are wrapped around you, and there’s a strange beating in both of your chests that you think you can just barely make out.

they almost seem to beat in sync, rapid and untamed. so, so fast, you wonder if it’s even healthy.

you don’t know who does it first—or maybe it was the both of you. all you know is that one second, you’re staring at each other, and the next, your heads are tilted so that your lips meet tentatively. he hesitates at the first brush of your lips, but your hands cup his cheeks and pull him forward, making his eyes flutter shut as he shakily breathes into your mouth. it’s so slow, so dizzyingly slow, that you wonder if time has just stopped altogether to grant you a moment with no interruptions. 

he fits perfectly against you, the soft flesh of his cheeks spilling over your palms, your thumb rubbing affectionately into the skin as he nips at your lips, kissing you like he’s waited his whole life to feel you. the curves of his mouth connect with the curves of yours like pieces of a puzzle, like he was carved to match you from the same stone. 

you’re not sure how long you kiss like that, but slowly, it grows needier, more quick and hasty as your hands leave his cheeks to wander to his hair and gently tug at the strands as his hands wander to your waist and lower back, feeling every curve of you as he groans into your mouth. 

he tries to pull away, but you chase after him, unwilling to let go.

“w-wait,” he mumbles, “maybe we should stop—”

“you really want to?” you ask breathlessly, and all it takes is one glance down at your glossy, swollen lips for him to close his eyes and shiver.

“no,” he admits hoarsely, “i don’t. are…are you sure about this?”

“yes,” you whisper instantly.

he doesn’t waste a moment, quickly pulling you into your bedroom as you both collapse on the mattress. you climb onto his lap, crotch pressing against the semi-hardened erection in his pants, the press of your heat against his bulge earning a low, drawn-out groan from him that shoots straight to your clit with a dull ache. 

“sweetheart,” he says in between kisses, making you inhale sharply at the pet name, “you’re killing me here.”

“okay,” you smile against his mouth, pecking it sweetly before you add, “then let me do something about that.”

he doesn’t expect you to drop down between his legs, face to face with the obvious tent in his pants—wriothesley is a gentleman, a giver before he is a taker. his first instinct is to protest as he opens his mouth and starts to say, “hang on—you don’t have to—”

“i want to,” you pout, looking up at him, “please? i want to.”

when was the last time someone looked up at him like that, staring up at him like pleasing him is the only way they’ll survive? he doesn’t recall, doesn’t think it’s ever happened, in fact. he groans, head falling back against your bed frame as he nods slowly. 

“okay,” he concedes, lifting his hips up so you can pull his pants down his legs, leaving him in his boxers. there’s a wet patch where his tip meets the cloth, the evidence of pre cum drooling from his swollen head that makes you hum in satisfaction as you leave a tender kiss on the spot through the fabric. he gasps, hips jolting as his thighs clench at the teasing touch.

“can i?” you purr, hand rubbing soothingly over his tense thigh as he swallows and nods, looking anywhere but at you as he breathes harshly. 

“y-yes,” he grunts, “please.”

you’re freeing his cock as soon as he utters the plead, letting him spring free and meet the cool air. he hisses, gritting his teeth as his chest rises and falls erratically, labored breaths that he tries to use to calm himself as he stands painfully hard between his legs. 

“pretty,” you murmur, entranced at the sheer size of him—he’s flushed an almost painful red at his thick tip, leaking enough pre cum that you’d think he might have already had his release with the way it runs down the side of his hardened length. 

your hand wraps gently around the tip, thumb smearing the pre cum along the tip before coating the rest of his cock, using it as lubrication for the steady stroke of your hand along the girth. he throws his head back, groaning as his hips buck into your touch before he stops himself, frantically trying to keep himself still and let you take your time. 

“f-fuck,” he rasps, “that…that feels nice.”

“yeah?” you breathe, smiling as you press a kiss to his thigh as he chokes on a grunt while your hand slowly pumps him. “am i doing it right?”

“you’re doing just fine,” he assures, biting his lip as he finally can’t keep himself from bucking impatiently into your fist any longer, “feel free to do more, though.”

you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his lip before gliding your tongue through his slit and watching as he melts against your bed frame at the gesture, body loosening up like he’s limbless as you slowly take him into your mouth, swallowing around his cock and bobbing your head, pumping the rest with your hand that you can’t fit down your throat. 

“shit,” he curses, hand cupping the back of your head as he guides you up and down his length, moaning your name when you swirl your tongue around the tip, “you…you’re so good at this, yeah? take me so well in that pretty mouth of yours.”

you hum around him, making him cry out at the vibrations around his cock, one hand running through his hair as he tries to keep himself grounded, the other still cradling the back of your head. he’s a gentleman, though, living up to one just as much as he always lets on to be when he doesn’t force you to take more of him by pushing your head down or burying himself deeper into your throat by fucking his hips into your mouth. he lets you do things at your own pace, and you think it’s enough when you feel the telling signs of his release as his panting grows harsher and his cock twitches in your mouth.

“w-wait, wait,” he says frantically, “i’ll cum—i’ll cum. not yet, not until i have you.”

you reluctantly pull away, a trail of spit connecting from your lips to his tip that makes him close his eyes and groan, clenching his jaw as his near-orgasm dies down to nothing again. his cock is achingly hard, hot and swollen and throbbing after denying himself for the sake of feeling you.

“c’mere,” he motions for you to climb onto his lap. you do, sitting on his thigh as he slowly trails a thumb under your shirt, rubbing the skin with a feather-light, heated touch that has you shivering against him. “you sure you want this?”

“i want it,” you whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his lips that he reciprocates with a low hum of approval, “with you.”

“such a sweet way with words,” he murmurs, slowly pulling your blouse over your head and unclasping your bra, tossing them to the side as he marvels at the view of your tits. “such a sweet view, too. beautiful.” 

you flush at the praise, looking away. but his hands grab at your breasts, large as they cup them and massage lightly, thumbs running over the pert nipples as you shudder and breathe out a light gasp. 

“wriothesley, need more—”

“give me a moment,” he shushes you, “and then i’ll give you what you want.”

he admires you like that for a bit, sat on his thigh as your eyes flutter shut and his thumbs tease your nipples, wetness pooling in your core that he can feel on his thigh—you’d be embarrassed, you really would, but it’s not as though his cock is any less leaky at the head. 

finally, he inhales sharply, sitting up slightly to unbutton his shirt, revealing the scars down his chest before he helps you out of your pants. you stare at the harsh, jagged lines that pain his skin, raised, discolored skin, the only evidence of some brutal, vicious past that he survived. 

your thumb traces down the lines, making him shiver at the fragileness behind the touch.

“where’d you get this?” you murmur, staring at him curiously. 

“hmm? oh the scar on my body? it's from a gash i got while battling a gigantic undersea monster that tried to take over the fortress of meropide…” he stares at you cheekily as you blink, looking at him unimpressed. “hah, just kidding.”

“do you ever take anything seriously?” you shake your head and huff, but there’s endearment on your face as you fight back a smile.

“on the contrary, milady,” he murmurs, grabbing your hips and pulling you back slightly, exposing your drenched cunt before he slowly sinks two fingers into your folds and curls them against the back of your walls, “i take this quite seriously.”

you gasp at the feeling, his digits rubbing against your walls and angling to hit a sensitive, achingly sweet spot at the back of your cunt. it’s precise, the way he pumps his fingers into you, slowly sinking in a third digit while you mewl and throw your head back. the heel of his palm catches against your clit, the sweet friction building your orgasm up slowly, slowly, until suddenly, you’re near the edge all at once. 

“c’mon, don’t hold back now,” he drawls, voice low and sweet and so attractive, you feel like the sound of him alone is enough to send you tumbling over the edge, “why don’t you be a sweet little thing and let go for me, hm?”

you do—instantly, you do, crying out his name is choked garbles as he works you through your orgasm with his fingers, still thrusting into you with a precise pace. finally, when you’re done clenching around him, he pulls his digits out, the slickness of your pussy coating them as he hums in satisfaction. 

“think you’re ready?” he asks softly, cradling the back of your head with his good hand as he pulls you closer, “or do you need one more from me?”

“i’m ready,” you huff impatiently, “i need you, need to feel you already.”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, amused but not anymore patient himself as his cock pulses between his legs, “i’m not trying to wait any longer, either. do you have a…uh…y-you know…”

you snort at the way he trails off awkwardly, flushing at the thought of asking for a condom as if he’s not completely nude under you. “no,” you giggle, pinching his cheek as he huffs, “but we don’t need one. it’s fine.”

“okay,” he nods slowly. his hands grab at your hips, firm yet so gentle with the way they lift you up and guide you to angle over his swollen cock, slowly helping you sink down on him as he chokes on a grunt when his head pushes past your folds. 

you gasp as soon as he intrudes into your tight hole, splitting you open on his thick girth as you take him inch by inch until you’re sat on his lap completely, buried completely with his length as his jaw clenches at the tight squeeze of you around him. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob brokenly, unable to say anything else besides cracked repeats of his name. he’s so big, buried so deep, and leaving you so full, you’re not sure if you have it in you to fuck onto him from this position. 

he takes things into his own hands, though—roughly grabbing your hips and pulling you back before helping you sink back down on him again, rolling his own hips upward to bury deeper into you. your head spins, and all you can think to do is weakly plant your hands onto his shoulders before you roll your hips, grinding down on his length and sloppily fucking yourself onto him.

he bullies past your folds, curves deliciously into the most intimate parts of you, fat tip slamming against the soft, sensitive spot that makes you see white. pleasure burns up your spine, building a coil in your belly that grows tighter, tighter, tighter—so close yet so far from snapping and letting you plummet into your second release. 

“that’s it,” he grunts, “fuck—you’re so tight, so good. i’ve…i’ve never felt anything so good. it’s like you were made for me, weren’t you? take me so well, fit around me so well.”

his hand moves to your clit, thumb pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing merciless circles against it as you mewl, head burying into his neck as your nails claw at his shoulder. everything is so good—so hot and filthy and leaves you impatiently desperate for some form of release. the friction of his cock dragging along every ridge leaves your mind hazed, and the harsh press of his tip against your sweet spot leaves your vision blurry. 

you’re not sure how you even have the strength to rock yourself onto his stiff length, but somehow you manage, and he seems keen on helping you, too, with rough, bruising hands that grip your waist with a punishingly tight grasp.

“c-can’t hold on much longer,” you cry, voice a strangled sob that’s muffled into his skin, “i’m s-so close. please.”

“me too,” he pants, voice just as strained as yours as he moans through a cracked voice when you clench down on his particularly tightly, “me too, sweetheart. i’m right there with you, alright? let go—c-c’mon.”

once more, you cum around him—this time on his cock instead of his fingers, and if the first time felt good, the second time is devastating. your vision practically goes white as your walls spasm around him, slick and dripping with your release and mixing with his own as he follows you not long after. his cock jolts, pumping hot, sticky ropes of his seed deep into you, and both of your bodies are slumped against one another as you barely roll your hips, sloppy pace with no rhythm as you focus on getting yourselves through the ecstasies of your orgasms. 

his thumb is still pressing against your clit, and your hands have left his shoulders to bury into his sweaty hair, tugging fiercely at the dark strands and making him groan at the mix of pain and pleasure. 

finally, you both ride out the final few waves, him slumping against your bed as you fall against his sturdy chest, face still buried into his neck. sweat clings to your skin, but you don’t mind the feeling of his damp skin against yours, not when the warmth of your body makes the afterglow feel so sweet. your fingers thread through his hair, soothing over his scalp with the rake of your nails where you’d just tugged so harshly, and his palms glide up and down your hips, rubbing gentleness back into the parts where he dug bruises along the skin. 

“wait, is that watering can supposed to be a dog?” he asks out of the blue, making you lift your head and look over your shoulder.

“yes,” you quirk a brow, watching as he lets out a small snort as he looks at the watering can by your plants in wonder.

“it’s pretty ugly.”

“rude!” you gasp, pulling away slightly as he shakes under you in laughter, “i think it’s adorable!”

“do you now?” he bites his lips, attempting to suppress the smile that threatens to take over, “you have…interesting taste.”

“oh, you’re dead to me,” you spit dramatically, collapsing back against his chest as you bury your head into his neck again. “dead to me, i say.”

“my apologies,” he snickers. his hand rubs slowly into your hip, quietly humming for a moment before he asks, “what made you so passionate about plants?”

“i can’t just really like them?” you challenge.

“sure,” he shrugs, eyeing the watering can again as he smiles, “but you don’t give the impression that you just happen to just really like leaves, and that’s it.”

“there’s more to plants than leaves,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. and then, much gentler this time, “my father was a scholar from sumeru. an herbologist.” your voice is a quiet murmur, a low hum as you speak into his neck while his hands are still rubbing into your hips, “i used to be fascinated by his journals and all the plants he’d seen. he died when i was young, so sometimes…sometimes i try to grow them here in fontaine myself. just to feel close to him.”

“do you?” he asks quietly, staring at the various plants that decorate your small home. it’s cozy, he thinks, so lively and warm that it almost doesn’t feel like you’re the only inhabitant. “do you feel close to him when you do?”

“if it works,” you admit, “it’s not always easy to recreate the same conditions they’re meant to grow in.”

“i think you do an impressive job,” he praises, earning a slow smile from you that he can feel curve into his skin, “i’ve yet to come across a flower shop in fontaine with as much variety as yours.”

“you flatter me, your grace,” you chuckle, pulling away as you stare at him, the tousled hair from where his hand ran through, the swollen bottom lip where his teeth sank in, the flushed skin where heat settled. you take all of it in slowly, admiring him as he looks up at you through lidded eyes.

“do i? i meant it seriously, not in flattery,” he raises a brow and smirks, “if i wanted to try flattery on you, i think i’d have some other choice words.”

“don’t be so insatiable,” you gently swat at his chest, earning a chuckle from him. “will you be able to stop by tomorrow?”

“i’m afraid not,” he sighs, “i have a meeting with some people from the palais tomorrow at the fortress. it’ll run a bit late.”

“oh,” you try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but he seems to sense it instantly. “that’s okay. i just had a blend i thought you might like to try—for tea, that is. it’s um…i dried the petals myself, and it’s new. i thought i’d let you be the first to try it to let me know what you think.”

you try not to giggle at the way he perks up at the mention of tea.

“ah, i’m afraid i won’t have time tomorrow. but…” he coughs, trailing off as he looks away, contemplating his words.

“but…?” you press.

“but…well, i have a few guards returning tomorrow from the surface from a few tasks i gave them. i could have them stop by the shop to escort you down to the fortress if that works for you…it’s okay if you can’t, though! i can always come by sometime this week when my duties aren’t as—”

“that sounds nice,” you cut him off, grinning widely, something close to excitement blooming across your features, brighter than any set of petals in your shop, he thinks. “you can give me an official tour of the fortress, perhaps. i’ve only ever heard about it through stories.”

“as you wish, my lady,” he winks.

he leaves not too long after—you try not to focus on his lingering scent in your sheets once you settle back in after bidding him goodbye. it’s oddly peaceful, being surrounded by him even when he’s not there, and sleep lulls over you quicker than usual. 

the scent is faded by the time you wake up, so you take one last deep breath to inhale it before you set off to get ready for the day, counting down the hours before you get to see him again.

——————————

as promised, a group of fortress guards stop by your shop, politely waiting for you to close up before you join them on their return. 

the fortress is darker than you expected—but not at all as small as your mind anticipated. in fact, it’s huge. you follow the guards, making idle chatter as they take you up an elevator, up, and up, and up—until finally, you finally arrive on the floor of his office. 

you’re so busy taking in all you can of the fortress that by the time they escort you to his office door, you remember why you’re here in the first place. to bring wriothesley dried petals of sweet flowers that you grew yourself—flowers often make for a wonderful tea blend, and learning his passionate liking for the drink makes you feel compelled to share with him every one of the various floral teas you’ve learned about in your time as a florist. 

you knock on the door of his office—except, oddly enough, there’s more than one voice you can make out from the room. you didn’t think his meeting would still be in session by the time you arrived, making you anxiously regret the knock as soon as your knuckles leave the surface of the door.  

but he answers before you can think too much of it. “come in,” his voice calls. 

“your grace,” you hum, stepping in, “if this is a bad time, then i can…”

you trail off. both fontaine’s chief justice and champion duelist stand in his office, gathered around his desk as he sits and sifts through files. of course, wriothesley is a duke, which is no small title by any means, but you’re caught more than a little off guard as you step in and share the room with two of fontaine’s more important figures in the justice system.

“no,” he says casually, “come in, you’re right on time. i was just telling miss clorinde about the delicious tea blend you would bring for her to try. she couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

“if you want to try it so badly, just say so,” she rolls her eyes.

“fine,” he huffs, lips curling into a slight pout, “i’d like to try the tea you promised me. clorinde will pass, though.”

“i think i’ll try it, as well,” she chimes in, suppressing a smile as wriothesley crosses his arms.

“but you just said—”

you giggle, walking over as you hand him the bag with dried petals, grinning at the amusing dynamic, and murmur, “i believe it would be the polite thing to do if you made an extra cup for the madam while making yours.”

“picking her side, are we? such an act of betrayal won’t be forgotten,” he huffs. still, almost as excited as a child opening a present, he opens the bag to add the petals to the tea maker he keeps at his desk. you watch with fondness at the action. “you still owe me a present, by the way. and tea won’t do—i’ve just received a batch.”

“then i suppose i can gift you a new tie,” clorinde hums, eyeing the loosened tie around his neck and making him furrow his brows as he subconsciously straightens it, “something that fits your neck better so you look a bit more put together.”

it’s almost like she sees through the both of you, eyeing between you and him with a hint of a knowing glint in her eyes. wriothesley scowls, giving her a petulant glare.

“there’s nothing wrong with my tie. i look just fine.”

“i do believe it’s a stylistic choice,” neuvillette pipes up from the side, “it doesn’t seem to be an issue with the tie itself.”

you snort at the way the joke flies over his head. “you’re right, monsieur,” you join in the banter, “i do believe his grace has a rather…unique choice of style.”

“i wonder if he ever plans to properly wear the coat he always seems to keep hanging over his shoulders,” clorinde adds, the earlier grin she attempted to fight back now fully curled into her lips. you laugh, much to wriothesley’s dismay.

“perhaps he just values being prepared,” you hum, “one can never tell when the fortress will suddenly be too cold. someone as busy as the duke surely can’t afford the wasted time to go and fetch a coat.”

“ah,” she nods, “i suppose you’re right. he is too busy learning legal codes as of late.”

“i take it that my gift has been useful, then?” neuvillette brightens, turning to a miserable wriothesley as he rubs his temples wearily.

“most helpful,” he sighs, not bothering to explain to the iudex that he’s once more missed the point of the joke. 

“oh, we’re only joking,” you laugh, taking the tea cup sitting at his desk and pouring him a glass of the now freshly brewed tea, “it’s all in good fun, your grace.”

“wriothesley is just fine,” he mumbles, “as you can see, this isn’t a very…formal meeting.” 

he watches as you carefully make his cup, one sugar cube as opposed to his usual two—before he can point it out, however, you beat him to it. “i know you’re particular about your tea. i can see it on your face you’re about to insist i give you two, but this is a very sweet blend as it is. one will suffice.”

“careful when it comes to his tea,” clorinde warns, “he’ll be in a foul mood all day if it doesn’t live up to his standards.”

“not true,” he grumbles. as if to prove a point, he takes a sip, slowly blinking before he looks at you with an awed grin, “it’s lovely. you’re right, it is just perfectly sweet with one cube.”

“perhaps you’re the only person he won’t make a fuss with then,” clorinde teases, “he’s got quite the list of grievances if i make him a cup of tea.”

“that’s because you don’t know how to make proper tea,” wriothesley rolls his eyes, “there’s a set of steps you’re meant to follow, you know.”

“water is a most simple beverage,” the iudex cuts in, “one that has many complexities in flavor, as well. perhaps you should consider it as a fitting option if tea gives you too much trouble.”

“i would hate to think of the wrath the poor inmates would have to face if he were to miss a single tea time,” you grin, fighting back a chuckle as wriothesley takes a tired sip from his cup, resigning himself to his fate as the target of your banter, “water simply won’t do.”

“well, i believe we should be off,” clorinde looks at neuvillette, “perhaps we should leave them to themselves.”

“ah, yes,” the chief justice nods politely, “there are many more files for me to read through at the office.”

“do you ever take the day off?” wriothesley raises a brow, “wouldn’t hurt.”

“even his dreams are of legal cases, i’m sure. he wouldn’t last a day on vacation,” clorinde hums.

“i don’t typically dream when i sleep,” neuvillette frowns, still so serious that you choke on a snort as you try to hold back you giggles. wriothesley looks at you with an amused grin, biting his lip to hide a chuckle himself.

“i’ll be seeing you,” he waves as the two leave, “and hopefully with my present ready next time,” he calls to clorinde with a pointed look. she rolls her eyes, fondly waving as she heads out the door.

“i didn’t know you were friends with such important people,” you murmur as they leave, making him raise a brow as he takes another sip.

“friends isn’t the best title for it—consider us work acquaintances.”

“with banter like that, i hardly believe it,” you chuckle, earning you a half-hearted glare from him over the rim of his tea cup.

“did you have your fun at my expense?” he asks dryly—but there’s no real bite to the words, “it seems you got along quite well with clorinde.”

“monsieur neuvillette is lovely too,” you giggle, “even if he’s not exactly…the earliest to catch onto jokes.”

he laughs at that, setting down his empty cup as he stands, eyeing the door to his office quickly before stepping closer to you, eyes staring down at your lips as you chew on the bottom and wait for him to make his move. 

“thank you for the tea,” he murmurs lowly, lips just barely a millimeter away from yours, “it was quite sweet. i enjoyed it.”

“there are plenty of other floral blends i have for you to try,” you hum. 

he grins, hands finding your waist before he whispers, “surely i couldn’t take all that from you without offering something in return, could i? i wouldn’t want it to seem like i'm taking bribes.”

“oh?” you breathe, grabbing a hold of his tie and tugging him closer until your lips meet his in a slow, heated kiss. it awakens a sick, insatiable heat in your core almost instantly. “what did you have in mind, your grace?”

he groans at the way your voice teasingly lilts at the title, hungrily chasing after your lips again. it’s more tongue than it is anything, messy and almost too scandalous to take place in his office where anyone could knock and come in at a moment’s notice. he seems to know it, too, because slowly, he guides you backward, slow steps that don’t interrupt the lock of your lips until your back meets a door.

“why don’t i show you,” he breathes—and then the doorknob is twisted open, and you’re gently pushed in with an arm curled around your waist to guide you. there’s a bedroom connected to his office, you realize. 

not entirely a shock—you’re sure the duke of the fortress has his own quarters to sleep in away from the other inmates, but it doesn’t surprise you less enough that you don’t pull away to take a glance around. 

it’s empty, mainly. not too many things besides a few scattered files and another tea maker with a few cups surrounding it at a desk in the corner. the sheets are dark grey, plain, and neatly made, with two pillows and nothing else. it has no more than what he needs, no more than what’s necessary. no hints of anything that’s his, anything that makes the room belong to him outside of being a mere sleeping quarters. 

“not one for decor?” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“i only come here at night to sleep,” he shrugs, “never felt the need.”

“everyone needs a space that’s theirs, don’t you think? even a few flowers would brighten the place up.”

“offering me more business?” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes, “and they’d die. there isn’t much sun down here.”

“i can think of a few options that would thrive,” you murmur.

“so it is business,” he quips. sigh exasperatedly, and he grins cheekily at you before you’re gently pushed to fall onto his bed, his body moving to hover over you as your legs wrap around his waist. his cock is semi-hard through his pants, and you wiggle your hips to press against it, the friction making him groan as you feel him stiffen even more from your actions. 

“i think i’d like my payment now,” you hum, making him raise a brow.

“eager?” he asks, making your hand travel to squeeze at his bulge.

“and you aren’t?” you challenge.

“fuck,” he grunts, shuddering at the feeling, “looks like you got me.”

it happens faster than you can process—the shedding of clothes, the way his fingers slowly sink into you, pumping in and out expertly as your head spins from the way he brushes against your sensitive spots. he’s quick, the way he stretches you apart with his digits, adding a second and third finger with little to no time to waste. you hardly have time to accommodate the third when you feel a familiar ache building up steadily. 

“c-close,” you say shakily, voice brokenly whispering against his mouth as he drinks up your moans, “i’m going to—”

“i know,” he hums, “shh. just let go—you’re doing so well.” 

the praise shatters you—you break at the way he sounds so in awe of you, of the way you suck his fingers into your slick cunt, so tight and wet with every clench. your back arches, and your hips roll into his hand, whimpering as his palm rolls over your sensitive clit. “god,” you gasp, “wriothesley, please.”

“please what?” he drawls, “you already got what you needed.”

“please let me feel you.”

“such a demanding price for some tea,” he sighs, “alright. i guess i can afford it.”

the nudge of his cock against your folds is enough to make you mewl, a sweet, whiny little cry that he groans at—every sound you make leaves an ache shooting up his stiff cock in the form of a twitch, like your every cry calls out to him. he responds with a rough thrust of his hips, burying himself into the depths of you, so deep and so close you can practically feel his pulse alongside yours. 

“so full,” you gasp, panting as you try to adjust to the sheer girth of him. he waits a moment, jaw clenched and teeth grit as he waits for you to nod your head and signal him to move.

“and you’re so tight,” he grunts, moaning softly against your ear as he nibbles on your earlobe, “i wouldn’t mind it if you charged interest either, just so you know. i’ll pay it over as many times as you want.”

“oh be quiet, would you?” you roll your eyes at his words at first, but then they roll back at the feeling of his thick, swollen tip pressing against the deep, sweet spot in the back of your walls. he lets out a breathy laugh, kissing the corner of your mouth so he doesn’t muffle the precious little moan you let out. 

“sure thing,” he hums, “i like listening to you more, anyway.”

“oh,” you gasp, “oh—wriothesley!” his finger teases over your clit, making your walls quiver around him as you feel your second orgasm creep up on you. “w-wait—i’m close.”

“why would i wait?” he asks in amusement, “that’s the idea.”

“t-together,” you whimper, pouting up at him through swollen lips and watery eyes, “please. please.”

he curses, closing his eyes and inhaling shakily at the way you look so fucked out, so drunkenly hazed on pleasure from the drag of his cock along your every ridge. you ask so sweetly—and who is he to deny such an innocent request?

“fuck—okay, sweetheart. fine by me,” he pants, rolling his hips harshly as he works himself to his own orgasm. his thumb teases your clit cruelly, fast and merciless one second, and a slow, bare feather’s touch the next. it keeps you right on the edge, a drooling mess of broken pleas as he finally approaches his own high. “close?”

“so close,” you gasp, twitching as he buries himself deep into you again.

“me too,” his voice cracks, “c-cum with me—please.”

hearing him plead sends you over the edge again—your first orgasm pales in comparison to your second. you didn’t even think that was possible, but the thick of his cock bullying into you is infinitely better than his nimble digits. the blunt head hits all the right spots, curves in all the right angles, and fucks you through your high expertly without even trying. 

you both cry out each other's names like prayers, muffled strings of curses, and breathy gasps that you swallow up between slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. finally, when the last few twitches of his cock finish painting his release into you, he slumps on the bed beside your body, body shaking in slight tremors as he catches his breath. 

“you okay?” he asks through a labored voice, “didn’t hurt you?”

“i’m okay,” you breathe, smiling softly. he closes his eyes, relaxing into the mattress, pulling the covers to tuck the both of you in before he stares up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head while he seems to be deep in thought. “what’re you thinking about?” you murmur.

“just how good you got along with clorinde,” he hums quietly, almost in wonder. “she’s not exactly the easiest to banter with so quickly.”

“well, i guess it’s not too hard if it’s at your expense,” you tease.

“ah, yes,” he sighs, pretending to woefully shake his head, “i’ve been reduced to the butt of the joke one too many times today, it seems.”

he grins to himself at the sound of your quiet laughter, so soft and sweet, so perfectly filling up the quietness in the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears like a symphony. you stare up at the ceiling yourself, eyeing the pipes, the dark amber metal that makes up his home. it’s quiet like that for a bit—not awkward or uneasy, almost like you’ve known him for ages. almost like this is natural.

“can i ask you something?” you murmur after some time, shifting under the covers to face him. 

he raises a brow, looking at you curiously. “you’re scaring me with that look. going to confess some wicked crime you want me to help you hide?”

“it’s not like that,” you huff, rolling your eyes. carefully, as if treading unknown territories (you are, in all fairness), your fingers find his bicep, running along the skin soothingly. it’s an affectionate touch—you and wriothesley only touch each other for physical pleasure, nothing more. this is new, something you’re freshly navigating with a weak compass that points back and forth between your heart and your head, unsure whether to follow logic or emotion. 

“well, go ahead and ask,” he insists, “you’ve got me curious, anyway.”

“what…what did you serve for? when you were an inmate,” you say quietly. he tenses under your touch, muscles becoming rigid as you instantly regret the question. your fingers pull away at the same time as you start speaking, “it’s okay if you don’t want to answer! i just got curious and—”

his hand catches your retreating wrist, gently pulling it closer, closer, until your hand rests on his chest. this is definitely uncharted territory—but his hand firmly lays over yours as he presses your palm over his bare chest. 

“it’s fine,” he mumbles, “it’s not exactly something people in my inner circle don’t know.”

“oh,” you whisper, “i’ve been promoted to inner circle, huh?”

“you’ve seen me naked,” he snorts, eyeing you with a hint of amused disbelief, “you’ve sucked me off, in fact. i think there’s a special other circle inside the circle just for you.”

“okay, no need to get all…”

“all what?” he teases, waiting for you to finish.

“all uncouth about our activities!” you huff, face feeling hot as he grins.

he laughs, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you against his side so your cheek presses against a muscled pec as his warm hand traces circles into your hip. you gasp slightly at the sudden gesture but relax all too quickly, your own hand moving to rub into his chest slowly, feeling the rough scars and tracing them with your fingertips.

“i was adopted when i was young from an orphanage. when i was a bit older,” he swallows, voice quiet, serious—so oddly vulnerable, you think you’re talking to a new version of him altogether, “i found a diary in my mother’s drawer. i didn’t…i didn’t mean to snoop. i was just looking for some paper for my sister to color with.”

“you had a sister?” you ask softly, looking up to see his jaw tighten slightly. 

“i had quite a few siblings,” he admits, voice strained. “older and younger. my parents would adopt a few children at a time and raise them until they were old enough to be adopted into families of greater means. and then they’d adopt more younger children. i thought they were perfect parents,” his eyes stare off distantly, unfocused as they look up at the ceiling, hand mindlessly wandering along your hip as you listen.

“until…?”

“until i read that diary,” his voice hardens, still strained as he clenches his jaw and swallows thickly again, “they were records. of my older siblings, the ones i thought were adopted off. all of their names were followed by prices, and the ones who didn’t have prices had been crossed off. i didn’t understand until i saw my own name and my brother antoine’s. we had blank spaces next to ours.”

“how come?” you furrow your brows, looking at him in jarred curiosity. 

“because we weren’t sold yet,” he smiles ruefully, “i realized we were being sold off like livestock. and i started to piece together why i had never heard from any of my siblings even when they’d promised to write. i…i never knew what became of them.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you say gently, so delicate, he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. you press a soft kiss to his chest under you, hand moving up to cup his cheek, “what awful people.”

“i…i should have kept it to myself,” he whispers shakily, “i didn’t…i couldn’t figure out what to do, so i told antoine—i thought…i figured maybe…” he trails off, eyes closed once more as he breathes heavily, trying to collect the composure he fights so fiercely to keep.

“it’s okay,” you kiss his jaw, “we can forget about it. i’m sorry for—”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i want you to know.”

it should make you feel special—maybe even a little happy that he trusts you enough to want to share. but nothing about this makes you feel anything but pain—you can feel his pain, every inch of it. from the way his hand clasps around your waist in a shaky grip to ground himself to the way his jaw is tight under your lips as they press a soothing kiss to the angle of it. every part of him is in pain, and you can feel it. deep in your own bones, like a lingering ache. one that runs years deep, living in the deepest, most intimate parts of your body.

you don’t mind it, though. you don’t mind sharing his pain, not if it’s him.

“okay,” you nod slowly, “okay.”

he inhales sharply, taking a deep breath before he continues. “i told him because i knew we were next. i thought maybe we could have figured out a plan together. but he asked my mother about the diary, what the prices meant, and why we’d never heard from the others once they’d left. he was gone the next morning—my mother told us he was adopted, but i knew. i knew he was merely disposed of. and it was my fault.”

“it was not your fault,” you turn your head swiftly, looking up at him in disbelief as he scoffs and shakes his head.

“if i hadn’t told him, if i handled it on my own—”

“then what? he would have been fine? you don’t know that, what if he was sold off for something awful? or found out on his own without you? you were a child, and you didn’t know that he’d choose to do that.”

“but i still could have kept quiet,” he chuckles dryly, voice cracking as he adds, “i could have gotten us both out of there. on my own.”

“you shouldn’t have to have done it on your own,” you cup his cheek, bringing him to face you as your forehead presses against his, “you didn’t want to be on your own, did you?”

“no,” he admits, lips trembling, “i didn’t.”

“and that’s okay,” you murmur, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone, “you didn’t deserve to be alone.”

“maybe it was for the better, though,” he sniffles.

“a lot of things are. we can’t hope to predict everything for what would turn out better.”

“he died,” wriothesley chokes, “my brother. he died that night—i…i knew he did. so i ran the next day, when my parents were busy, i snuck off and ran. i didn’t come back until a few years later and i…” his breath catches in his throat, glancing at you for a moment. there’s something fleeting in his eyes. doubt, maybe—perhaps even fear.

you’re not entirely sure, but you press a kiss to his lips, soft and tender, so unlike your usual heated ones. something that’s shared not for the sake of pleasure but for the sake of knowing you’re there—that he has you. you’re both here, together, just the two of you. he can feel your warmth, and you can feel his. 

it eases the tension somewhat, making his rigid muscles relax as he pulls you closer. 

you pull away first, murmuring a soft, “i don’t care what you did. whatever it is.”

“you say that now,” he chuckles weakly, “but you don’t even know what i did.”

“i don’t care,” you say seriously, “i don’t. whatever you did, it was because you didn’t have a choice.”

“i killed them,” he says against your mouth, such harsh, dark words that don’t belong against your soft, pure lips—he thinks he might have just tainted them. almost like you know his thoughts, you prove you don’t care when you peck his mouth lightly. “i killed them and set the other children free.”

“you were just a kid,” you breathe, “a baby.”

“a teenager,” he huffs a laugh hoarsely, “maybe not that young.”

“a baby to me,” you say firmly, “no one that young should be pushed to such extreme methods.”

“you’re oddly calm about sharing a bed with a murderer. was the sex that good?”

you roll over, laying on top of him, pulling a soft oof from his lips—you know it’s exaggerated. he’s strong and broad under you, capable of taking your weight and then some as his hands find your waist to keep you in place, eyes boring into yours. so bare and so easy for you to look into, to read, to see so plainly for all he is. 

he doesn’t even blink—as if he’s offering himself to you, trusting you to see as much as you want, see as much of him as he can show you. 

“is that all you see yourself as? a murderer?” you ask seriously.

“of course not,” he denies, breathing softly into your hands as they cradle his face, “but it’s the part of me that matters most. that defines me the most. whether i want it to or not.”

“not to me,” you shake your head, “and not to you either, i can tell.”

“i know why i did it,” he tells you, staring at you so intensely, you feel like maybe he’s seeing you more than you’re seeing him, “i did it for my siblings. because i knew it was the only way to get them out. no one else would do a thing. but when you strip my title as duke from me, whether you put me in the underworld or put me in the overworld, i am a murderer. that won’t change.”

“and?” you raise a brow, “do you regret it? what you did?”

“never,” he says instantly. he means it. “but i’m aware of what i am to others. what they see me as. i’m not naive enough to believe my past will go away.”

“and it shouldn’t,” you shake your head, “i don’t think it should. i don’t think murder is what matters most about you—i think a child raised like livestock, betrayed, and taken advantage of, matters most. a boy who willingly gave up his freedom so his siblings would have theirs is what matters most. a man who served his time and chose to stay so he could make things better for everyone who followed is what matters. death was a kind fate for your parents, wriothesley—i for one, believe there were more fitting fates for them. far crueler ones than a peaceful demise.”

he chuckles at that last part, staring at you in wonder, in slight amusement, in so much awe that you almost feel shy.

“now i’m really questioning if the sex was that good—you’re really rationalizing my crimes, aren’t you?”

“oh, you’re such an asshole, do you know that?” you huff, “i think that’s what defines you best. a complete, utter, shameless assho—oh.”

he kisses you—abruptly so. his lips are pressed hard and firm against you, kissing with so much conviction, so much need, you’d think that you were disintegrating in his arms, that this was his last opportunity to kiss you and commit how you feel to memory. 

“you sure it’s not my stamina?” he wiggles his brows, “how about my—”

“i’ll see to it that this is the last time we ever engage in such activities if that’s all you can focus on—”

“okay, okay,” he laughs, pouting as he pulls you down to lay on him, your head tucking under his chin as he kisses the crown of your head, “enough sex jokes. i promise.”

“so crass,” you scold, “have some decorum, will you?”

“my apologies, milady,” he sighs regretfully, voice exaggerated and theatrical as he adds, “i won’t allow myself to forget my manners again. from here on out, i’ll make sure to discuss more…gentlemanly topics for your liking.”

“you’re a real handful,” you sigh, “poor sigewinne. such a sweet little angel to put up with the likes of you.”

“you met her?” he smiles fondly at the mention of her.

“briefly, yes,” you nod, “the poor thing must be tired of your antics.”

“i’m on my best behavior around her!” he insists, “you can ask her.”

“i don’t think she’ll vouch for you, you know.”

“yeah, you’re probably right,” he withers in defeat.

you giggle, kissing his collarbone softly before nuzzling against him as he relaxes. it’s comfortably silent, just your body against his, warmth seeping between the space that hardly separates your bodies, spreading across your skin. you share your heat, and he shares his. it lulls you, slowly but surely, and you can feel it lull him, too as his breath slowly evens out under you. 

sleep is just a breath away from clutching you when you mumble, “wriothesley?”

“hmm?” comes his sleepy hum.

“thank you,” you whisper, yawning, “for trusting me. enough to tell me.”

“go to sleep,” he grunts tiredly, “you can be sappy and sentimental in the morning.”

“okay,” you grin tiredly, pressing closer into him, “i’ll hold you to it.”

sleep comes quickly after that—so easy, so natural in his arms, you wonder how you’ve rested all these years without him. 

——————————

your routine to meet with wriothesley ebbs and flows between the surface and the fortress. sometimes, he stops by just like before, and sometimes, he sends for guards to fetch you when he’s too busy to make an appearance himself. your meetings more or less end the same—catching your breath together, bare bodies huddled together in a tired mess as you share quiet, whispered words into each other’s skin. it’s a routine that both of you are too used to by now, that even a short gap of not seeing each other makes the both of you impatient for the next time you’ll get to see each other. 

on days you can’t afford to see each other, your days at the shop drag by slower when all you can do is think about him. sometimes, the guards will be relieved to come to escort you, woefully expressing the awful mood the duke has been in, shuddering as they recall how unpleasant he is to be around when he’s unhappy. they seem to insist your visits are what help end his supposed awful temperament—your instinct is always to flush and insist they must be mistaken.

but it’s an intimate sort of development—the way the two of you slowly learn to depend on each other for comfort. you on long days at the shop, him after tiresome affairs with the fortress. every delicate touch and every saccharine word you exchange slowly peels away the harsh layers of the week, leaving you raw and bare to each other. 

it’s nice. something you’ve grown a bit dependent on, in fact. a part of you would like to be scared, but wriothesley doesn’t let you fear anything—it’s just the kind of guy he is. everything about him feels too safe for you to consider being scared. 

you miss him terribly, too. you haven’t gotten a chance to see him in over a week—it’s the first week of spring, the blooming season for a number of flowers. you have shipments from across the continent—cecilias from mondstadt, silk jades from liyue, sakura blossoms from inazuma, and padisarahs from sumeru. there are plenty more—too many for you to list off the top of your head, but those are the ones you’re sure will sell out the quickest. 

there’s a certain man who stops by every day, a mop of ginger on his head and an interesting aura about him as he asks you if you’ve received kalpalata lotuses yet—they’re for my sister, he tells you, i bring them home for her every time i visit sumeru. but i won’t have a chance for quite a while.

you learn he’s a harbinger, the eleventh in rank, and hardly one to step foot in his homeland for too long at a time. but he’s due back, he tells you, for a project that won’t allow him to leave for quite some time. mingling with a fatui operative is hardly on your list of possibilities for the week, but you realize even a harbinger can appreciate the beauty of flowers. so you promise him your batch's biggest blooms as soon as they are delivered. 

and he’s patient, coming every day in hopes that they’ve been delivered, helping you organize the deliveries you do get, going as far as to join you to loch urania amidst a terrible storm to assist in picking lakelight lilies when you’re low. you appreciate the small companionship you’ve formed with him—childe, as he’s called, he tells you. a code name for his place as a harbinger that you relish in being given the knowledge of.  

the day finally comes when the lotuses are delivered, and for all his help and kindness, you try to repay him with a free bouquet. 

he declines persistently. “no, no miss,” he chuckles, waving his hands in dismissal as you offer the beautifully bundled flowers, “i couldn’t possibly accept them free of charge.”

“oh, don’t be silly,” you huff, “you’ve done plenty for me. an extra set of hands in the shop is as rare as glaze lilies blooming in midwinter!”

“i was happy to help,” he chirps, “i had a good time occupying myself as i waited to depart fontaine.”

“and archons know when the next time you’ll return is,” you sigh, “which is why you should accept these as a parting gift.”

“a parting gift, huh?” your eyes widen at the familiar voice—wriothesley. it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve heard it, and you beam as you look over at his approaching figure.

“wriothesley!” you hum, “what are you doing here?”

“thought i’d come to pay a visit,” he says gruffly, eyeing childe, who grins tightly at the warden. “i wasn’t banking on seeing an ex-inmate, though. what a shocking surprise.”

“the fortress’s duke in broad daylight,” childe coos, “what a fascinating sight.”

it’s tense—you can feel the atmosphere shift all too quickly as the two men stare each other down. 

“i didn’t know childe was a prisoner at the fortress,” you murmur, making the warden scoff as he glares at the harbinger.

“well,” childe shrugs, eyes sharp as they gaze at wriothesley, “i like to consider myself wrongly sentenced. justice isn’t always fair in the courts of fontaine, it seems.”

“ah, is that why you escaped from your sentence early?”

“i believe my escape proved to be quite helpful in saving the people of this nation in the end, didn’t it?” he asks, voice low, almost predatory, as wriothesley grits his jaw, glancing back at you before crossing his arms. 

“is the fatui boy giving you trouble?” he asks, making you shake your head frantically as the harbinger lets out a dry chuckle from the side. 

“oh, no!” you insist, “no, childe has been quite helpful, i promise. he’s given quite a hand, in fact!”

“is that so?” wriothesley perches a brow, tongue poking his cheek as he glares to the side at the smug ginger. 

“oh, absolutely,” childe nods, “you see, i’ve been offering the lovely lady my assistance as i waited on my delivery. we even visited loch urania together to pick lakelight lilies for a bouquet she needed to deliver.”

“he treated me to lunch,” you beam innocently. you might have missed the way wriothesley’s jaw tightens, but childe certainly doesn’t, making his grin spread even wider. “he’s nice, wriothesley, i promise. i hope you both can sort out whatever differences you had during his previous sentence.”

“perhaps next time, you could join us for lunch,” childe drawls, “it’ll be on me.”

“a kind offer,” the duke chuckles dryly, a rueful grin on his tight lips as he adds, “but i’ll have to decline.”

“please, i really insist you take these lotuses,” you hold the bouquet out to the harbinger, and much to wriothesley’s dismay, there’s an evident amount of extra care put into the floral packaging. your careful handwriting in soft, looped letters spelling out his name across the paper, with a heart beside it as though you took time to thoughtfully scribble each letter just for him. “give your sister my best regards.”

“you know his sister?” wriothesley grits.

“oh no,” you chuckle, “but he tells me of her. the flowers are for her!”

“like i said,” childe hums, taking out a heavy pouch of mora and placing it on your counter—both yours and wriothesley’s eyes widen at the sheer amount of mora you’re sure is inside. it’s undoubtedly far more than a small, simple bouquet would cost, but he waves it off like it’s nothing as he says, “i insist on giving you the payment you deserve. you’ve certainly made my last few days here at fontaine interesting. it’s made up for the less than…welcoming treatment from the beginning of my trip.”

wriothesley’s eye all but twitches. 

“that’s far too much to accept for a small bunch of kalpalata lotuses, you can’t—”

“consider it a payment in advance for the next time i return to fontaine,” he winks, “i’ll be sure to visit for more of your lovely flowers. i’m sure my mother will appreciate a bouquet too.”

with that, he waves at you, walking off with a grin as you sigh and shake your head fondly, waving him off as you call, “you’re quite the handful, you know. do visit again next time you’re here!”

“oh, i wouldn’t miss the opportunity for anything.”

wriothesley scoffs at the final exchange of words, watching the retreating figure of the harbinger with hardened, distant eyes while you exhale softly and grab the pouch of mora. 

“are all harbingers this loaded with mora, do you think?”

“who knows,” he mutters, looking away as he swallows before adding, “i came to visit on my way back to the fortress. i had business with neuvillette.”

“oh,” you hum, smiling as you ask, “is he doing well?”

“fine,” is all wriothesley says.

“that’s good,” you nod, “we haven’t been able to see each other in quite a bit, huh? i’d have visited, but the deliveries all week have kept me busy.”

“good thing you had the harbinger to lend a hand, huh?” he remarks, raising a brow.

“well, yeah, i suppose so,” you frown slightly, watching as he takes a slow, deep breath before fixing his tie. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he says instantly. “may i walk you home?”

“of course,” you smile—it doesn’t reach your eyes, and he wishes he could find it in himself to do something to reassure the lingering worry in your irises, but he doesn’t. instead, he quietly waits for you to close the shop, so uncharacteristically silent that you can practically feel the tension in the air tangibly.

the walk to your home is just as silent. wriothesley doesn’t say anything, and you don’t have the confidence to break the silence yourself. you’ve never seen him like this, so bothered and visibly so. you’re not entirely sure what brought it on, either—but you are sure it has something to do with childe. 

you finally reach your home after a long walk, quietly standing in front of the door as you turn to him and inspect his face. hard-lined lips, distant eyes, and crossed arms. he doesn’t look like the usual wriothesley you know—the one who grins and gives you a slight bow as he says, we’ve arrived at your lovely home, milady. 

“thank you for walking me,” you murmur, looking at him carefully as he nods.

“sure,” he responds flatly, “my pleasure.”

“you didn’t have to trouble yourself if you were tired from your meeting,” you add.

“not tired,” he shakes his head. “it was no trouble to me.”

“are you sure?” you raise a brow, sighing as you cross your own arms, “you don’t seem too happy to be here.”

“what do you mean?” he shrugs lamely, avoiding your question, your gaze. you know that one look into your eyes is all it takes to make him spill, and normally, you don’t take advantage of that, but you think tonight you will. 

because you’re tired of dancing around half-truths and coded words you have to decipher. you want one straight, laid-bare conversation with him. so you reach over and tilt his jaw, making him inhale sharply at your touch as you force him to face you and look at you. 

“what is up with you? and don’t even think about saying nothing.”

“nothing is up with me,” he mumbles stubbornly.

“wriothesley,” you warn, looking at him unimpressed, “i was not born yesterday.”

“my apologies,” he says sarcastically, a rueful smile curling on those chapped lips of his, “i suppose i’m just a bit shocked i’m not the only customer you offer your affections to. i suppose that was silly of me—it must be good for business.”

“excuse me?” you recoil, staring at him in disbelief. a little hurt, too—he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, flinching slightly at the implications. “how dare you insinuate i’m a common whore?” 

“that’s not what i was trying to say at all,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it came out wrong.”

“then what were you trying to say?” you demand, looking at him expectantly, hands on your hips and a raise of your brows that almost mockingly tells him, i’d love to see you work your way out of this one. 

“you never told me you and the fatui boy were so close.” 

if there’s one thing wriothesley is good at, it’s shifting things to focus on other people. so he can observe. watch closely. take note of all the little things so he can figure out what he wants to know without asking at all. all without having anything told to him right out. it’s how he works—and you won’t entertain it. 

“the fatui boy has a name,” you point out.

“his name is not actually childe,” he snorts—there’s no real amusement in the action, just as sarcastic and sardonic as everything prior. “is that what you believe?”

“if you’re not going to say the problem with your words like an adult, i’m going to go inside,” you spit, “we’re both wasting time here if we’re just going to talk in circles.”

“yes, because i’m the one who’s not admitting things,” he chuckles dryly. 

you glare at him—because enough is enough, and you’re sick of taking one step forward just to stumble ten steps back. with one swift move, your hand grips his wrist firmly and yanks, pulling him to stumble into your home as the door slams behind him. you’re tired of having bystanders walk past you and listen to your pointless discussion, and you’re tired of getting nowhere the longer you stand outside. it feels like the more you talk, the less you know. every word he says confuses you more and more.

and that’s the thing about him—he never tells you things, not since that night he first opened up. you thought you broke some newfound trust, a new ground to walk on with him that leads somewhere further than just two people who seek each other out for pleasure. you feel something for him—and you thought he did too, but it’s always something vague or another with him and you’re tired of it. tired of wondering where you stand, what he wants, how he feels. you want to know, and tonight, even if it kills you, you’ll find out.

“what is it you want me to admit wriothesley? huh?” you scowl, “tell me so i can tell you what you need to know so you’ll finally answer my question. i’m tired of the back-and-forth game with you.”

“you don’t need to admit anything to me,” he shrugs, “it’s not my business.”

“you don’t even believe that yourself,” you scoff, “even i can tell that much. is this about childe? you don’t like me mingling with the fatui? he’s just friendly, that’s all. and good business.”

“right,” he nods slowly, disbelievingly. you almost see red—how dare he hint that you’re a liar. 

“what do you think i’m doing then?” you challenge, “let’s hear it. fraternizing with the fatui? is that the accusation you’ll pull out?”

“well, if he’s helping you pick flowers and buying you lunch, then you certainly can’t be strangers,” he smiles tightly, “perhaps next time he can join us in our canoodling too if you’d like.”

“so that’s what it is?” you shake your head exasperatedly, “you’re moody because you’re jealous?”

“i’m not jealous,” he narrows his eyes, “i have no reason to be.”

“i’d believe you sooner if you’d said the underwater beast really was the cause of your scars,” you scoff, pursing your lips. “why is it so hard for you to just speak your mind?”

“then let’s start with you,” he retorts, hands throwing up in the air as he takes a step closer and glares daggers at you, “why are you dancing around what your relationship with the harbinger is?”

“there is nothing between me and the harbinger! nothing at all, and i don’t appreciate you assuming things about me. i’ve only been intimate with you!”

“you don’t need to hide it,” he smiles bitterly. finally, as if the conversation has chipped away at his resolve enough that bits and pieces of his inner turmoil can show, you can see the lingering hurt in his gaze. the betrayal. the doubt and fear—all of it pools in his eyes, swimming in the many, many flecks of his eyes as you stare into them. “it’s not as though we’ve committed to anything here.”

“i’m not hiding anything,” you say firmly, “you don’t have to be jealous.”

“i’m not jealous,” he shakes his head. it feels like he’s convincing himself more than you. because more than you, admitting to himself he cares is hard. all of this is hard—you know that. the last time he dared to trust someone, to love someone, he’d lost more than he could fathom. more than he was ever ready to lose.

so you sigh, dropping your shoulders as you let the anger dissipate.

“i wouldn’t blame you if you were jealous,” you say softly, extending the olive branch with a slow, hesitant hand to his cheek. he stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away, “it would kill me, too, to think you were close to another woman. but the harbinger is a customer i’ve become friendly with and nothing more. don’t you believe me?”

he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he hesitantly leans into your palm, letting your thumb brush soothing strokes along the scar under his eye.

“i was jealous,” he admits, quiet. hoarse. strained. it takes every ounce of him to admit as much to you—the progress makes you smile softly. “i…i was so jealous i couldn’t think straight. and i took it out on you. i’m sorry.”

“maybe it’s time we had a discussion,” you say softly, “about…well, us. what it is we’re doing. it’s long overdue.”

“i’ve been avoiding it,” he confesses. 

“i know,” you murmur, smiling tightly, “i know you have. that’s why i didn’t bring it up. but we can’t dance around it forever.”

“i’m no good at this,” he opens his eyes, defeated and so lost, you can’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“you’re not so bad,” you hum, “give yourself a little more credit.”

“no,” he shakes his head, “you don’t understand. i’ve never been good at this…at trusting people and getting close to them. i don’t even have real friends—i see clorinde and neuvillette every few months, and briefly at that. one of them was the judge at my trial, and the other knows as much about me as the files say. i don’t like talking about my feelings, and i hate sharing things about myself. i’m not jealous of childe because he threatens me—even i know you’d never give a fatui member a chance. but i’m no good for a stroll in the park, or picking flowers, or lunch at a cafe. i live underwater in a large prison that i run, and i rarely come up—at least, not often enough to be a healthy, functioning member of society, that is.”

“so what?” you frown, “i don’t care. nothing is easy at first—isn’t that why we try? who says you have to share all your feelings immediately? we can work up to that slowly. this was sharing, wasn’t it? what you just did? that’s a step in the right direction.”

“and look how much we had to battle for that little bit,” he lets out a sharp, self-deprecating laugh that makes your heart ache, “you’ll grow tired of me.”

“you don’t get to decide that,” you shake your head stubbornly, “i would never grow tired of you. never you.”

“i might be a duke now, but i was a murderer in the past,” he adds, a low and cheap attempt to convince you he’s not worth it. you roll your eyes at the statement.

“i’m aware,” you say blandly, “i don’t care, wriothesley. i don’t. those are all excuses—if you want this, if you really want this like i do, because you care about me just like i care about you and you feel the same way, then you’d realize these are all petty excuses your head is coming up with. i’ll wait for you to be better at communicating if you promise you’ll try. and your past is just a small stain on the cloth that we can ignore.”

“it’s murder,” he says in disbelief.

“i said what i said,” you huff. he blinks once, then twice before letting out a breathy chuckle.

“you’re insane.”

“thank you,” you nod, grinning, “and you being at the fortress is just a small obstacle. we’ll make it work, you and me.”

“how?” he asks, voice small and unsure.

“you act like it’s impossible, you silly thing. i’ll come see you, and you’ll come see me, and we can spend nights together wherever is most convenient for the time. why are you overthinking it?” you ask like it’s obvious. maybe it is—maybe his brain just doesn’t let him see how simple of a solution it really is.

“the fortress is no place for someone who’s used to the surface—”

“enough excuses,” you scold firmly, “i won’t have any of it.”

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he shakes his head—you cup his cheeks, pulling his face close as you press soft, delicate kisses along his skin. like he’s fragile. like he needs to be handled with care. 

no one has ever handled wriothesley with care. even as a child when he was defenseless. when his parents saw a commodity to raise and sell like livestock instead of a child to love and cherish. when the streets saw a rat with dirty clothes and nimble fingers only good for theft. when he woke up in a hospital bed with cuffs to his hands, wrists shackled, and a caseworker sat a comfortable distance away, even without his gauntlets. when they saw him as nothing more than a murderer on trial as opposed to a child with no other way out. when the world showed him no mercy and left him to fend for himself in a dark, ruthless corner of the nation under the sea with no sun, no grass, no fresh air, and no hope.

no one has thought to treat wriothesley with gentleness, with kindness, with grace—as if he mattered. not until he made himself matter, taking what he wanted through a pen, paper, and meaningless title. 

no one until you. 

“i know exactly what i’m getting into,” you whisper, “you know what i see? when i look at you?”

“what? big muscles?” he teases, voice weak. a last, feeble attempt at keeping himself guarded. it’s useless, and he knows it as well as you do. he’s already far more vulnerable than he’s comfortable with. 

“a good man,” you say firmly, “a good man who is worth the effort. one who has a good heart and no one to share it with. someone who knows when change needs to happen and makes it happen. someone who knows a thing or two about second chances. who shows people mercy if they’re willing to be better—because that’s all he wants. for things to be better.”

“you’re giving me a lot more credit than i deserve, sweetheart,” he says shakily, trying to give you his usual smirk. his lips wobble, much to his dismay—you kiss them to help him hide the tremor like the angel you are. 

he’s not sure why the archons, celestia, or whoever is in charge of fate would send him such a perfect, pure angel in his arms. but they did. he’s certainly not one to miscount his blessings—they’ve been few and far between as is. 

“no,” you murmur, whispering between kisses, “i’m not. i’m giving you as much credit as you deserve. because no one has ever told you these things about you, and it’s time someone did.”

“doing the dirty work, huh?”

“i wish you’d stop with that,” you smile at him sadly, “i wish you would treat yourself with the same kindness you treat everyone else with. that you treat me with.”

“you’re an angel,” he murmurs, pecking your cheek, “that’s the difference.”

“you can’t be that bad if that’s the case,” you grin cheekily, “what kind of angel picks such an awful guy?”

“one who thinks the fatui harbingers make good friends,” he snorts, “one who’s a little on the naive side.”

“i like to think of it as seeing good in people,” you wink. 

he laughs, arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against his chest as he kisses you. and kisses you. and kisses you—and kisses you some more until you’re forced to pull away and breathe. even then, he’s not satisfied, lips finding the sensitive skin along your collarbones, traveling up along your neck and finding your jaw, peppering soft presses of his lips until they hover over your mouth again.

“you good?” he asks smugly, “need a minute to catch your breath?”

“you’re such a pain,” you huff, pressing against his mouth and closing the gap as he hums against you. 

“what were you just saying about me just a few moments ago? something about a good man?”

“come here,” you sigh exasperatedly—and then you’re tugging him into your bedroom, stumbling and giggling as you both impatiently find the bed. you fall back, the mattress catching you along with him as he hovers over you and doesn’t waste a moment to nip at your neck.

“next time you need help with flowers in a dangerous, stormy place, you ask me,” he says lowly, breath fanning over your skin and making you shiver, “you don’t need the fatui boy.”

“okay,” you laugh, breathless as your eyes flutter shut when he nibbles on the sensitive spot over your pulse point, “you might have to temporarily drop your duties as a duke for that, though.”

“consider it done.” his hands tug your blouse over your head, doing quick work to toss it somewhere on the floor as he grins at the lacey red bra you have on underneath. “this is new,” he comments, “i like this.”

“of course you do,” you grin in amusement, “so predictable.”

“hey,” he pouts, “i’m an easy guy to please. just need you, maybe a few accessories…i don’t ask for much.”

“well,” you look at him in anticipation, “are you going to stare all day? or are you going to take it off?”

his eyes darken—hazed with lust and desperation as he quickly works the bra off of you and tosses it off to the side, too, but not before he stares at the label quickly. “chioriya boutique,” he reads, nodding, “remind me to give her my thanks. and business, too, in the future.”

“shameless,” you scoff, shaking your head.

“grateful,” he corrects, grinning cheekily at you. you don’t even get a chance to retort before his lips are around your nipple, teeth lightly grazing the pebbled nub as he sucks, making you gasp as your hands find his head, cupping the back of it as your own head throws back against the pillows. 

“wri—”

“you know what i see when i see you?” he hums, pulling away from one nipple and latching onto the other, tongue rolling over it slowly as his thumb finds the other, not to leave it neglected, “i see the woman i would defy the gods themselves to possess. who i would commit far worse crimes for, and serve time all over again for. one who commands my every thought. do you know how many times i’ve neglected my duties just thinking about you alone? when i see you, i see the one thing that’s finally mine—mine alone.”

you whimper as his lips reattach themselves to your breast, sucking and grazing his tongue around one nipple and pinching and toying with the other with his hand. your hands tug at his hair, pulling a soft groan from his throat as he pulls away and stares at you. you’re a panting, heaving mess already—he grins in satisfaction.

“pretty,”  he hums, nuzzling his nose against your throat, right where your pulse is erratic, “so, so pretty.”

“all this flattery, and you’ve yet to do something,” you rasp, just to rile him up as he lets out a deep, gruff sound of disapproval, eyeing you with a raised brow.

“oh, you want me to do something, is that it? i thought we’d take our time,” he grazes his finger along your waist, tracing the edge of your skirt before looping his finger under it, tugging slowly, “but if you insist, i guess we can pick up the pace.”

he pulls the skirt down your legs, eyes widening as he takes in the matching red laced panties from the bra earlier—you grin cheekily as he does. “like this one too?”

“oh,” he chuckles, breathless, “sweetheart, you have no idea.” wriothesley is a giver—you’re reminded of this fact as soon as his head buries between your thighs enthusiastically, kissing your clit through the lace as your breath hitches. “did you pick this little set up just for me?”

“don’t be silly,” you tease, “i obviously got this for myself. consider yourself a lucky witness.”

“and a lucky witness i am indeed,” he nods, humming as he slowly, carefully inches the lace down your legs, admiring the way it contrasts against your sweet, supple skin. “i owe chioriya boutique my life. i’ll even give my thanks to madame chiori myself.”

“please do not,” you say in horror, making him chuckle, “that would be utterly undignified.”

he’s not even listening, you realize. his lips attach to your clit as soon as the fabric is discarded somewhere to the side like the rest, a soft groan rumbling from his chest as soon as he tastes you, spreading your legs for better access as he glides his tongue to your folds, pressing between your folds and looking up to watch as your head throws back with a soft gasp. 

“wriothesley,” you gasp, pulling his hair in a tight grip to ground yourself.

you’re the most gentle with him when you handle him—but you’re also the roughest. the way you grasp him so harshly, mercilessly in your grip, makes his eyes flutter shut in a sick, twisted sort of masochism. he loves the pain, the dull throb in his skull from your pleasure. 

“yeah, i’m right here, sweetheart,” he chuckles lowly, “feels good?”

“yes,” you whine, “s’good—so good.”

“i know,” he hums, pressing soft kisses to your clit, along your inner thigh, until he’s back to your folds, hovering over them as he whispers, “i can tell just from the way you’re dripping. isn’t that cute?”

you whine in embarrassment, closing your legs around him as he grins against your cunt, grinding down on his mouth until he’s back to devouring you, tongue slipping deep into you as far as he can, exploring your tight, wet hole with fervor. 

“close,” you whisper, voice bordering on broken, “i’m s-so close—oh, wriothesley!”

you come undone on his tongue with one more roll of his tongue over your clit, shaking as he sloppily eats you out through your high until your whole body is a shaking, quivering mess along with your walls. 

“got anything else from that boutique you want to show me?” he murmurs, moving back up to hover over you, burying his face into your neck as your arms snake around his shoulders, rubbing into his back.

“maybe,” you say vaguely, grinning, “it’s a secret. maybe if you behave, you’ll find out.”

“yeah?” he chuckles, “consider me on my best behavior, milady.”

“then take this off,” you tug at his shirt, pouting as you add, “not fair that i’m the only one undressed.”

“as you wish,” he agrees. you watch as he strips—it’s not embarrassing like the first time or two when you looked away with a hot face and ears. now it’s intimate, watching him bear his soul to you, with every scar and imperfection, every flaw and tainted part.

his cock is hard, standing between his legs as it throbs, a bead of pre cum coating the tip. your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close again as you feel his hardened length poke at your thigh, making you press against it and pull a groan out of him.

“i want you,” you whisper, “i’ve never wanted anyone else. not like this. not like you. i don’t think i ever will.”

“you can’t have met too many people then,” he teases.

“oh, i meet plenty of people. romantic ones at that—flowers are a love language, you know.”

“and you still want me? they must all be taken.”

“they’re not you,” you correct, pulling him into a sweet, slow kiss, taking your time to mold your lips against him and feel him against you, “nothing close to you. no one comes close.”

the bees should come to your lips for nectar, he thinks. flowers bloom from your mouth, delicate and sweet petals that light up his world and color him every shade of love. 

“in that case,” he whispers, pulling away from your mouth to press a soft kiss to your nose, “i’m the luckiest man in fontaine. maybe teyvat.”

“i would agree,” you wink cheekily, “aren’t i such a lucky catch?”

“oh absolutely,” he laughs, amused, fond, so deeply enamored. then his lips are back on yours, and his hips are angled so that his cock teases your folds, grazing the entrance of your cunt as he coats his tip with your dripping slick. 

you both shudder at the feeling, gasping against each other’s mouths as you exchange hot, labored breaths. 

“i want you,” you repeat, “please.”

“you have me,” he whispers, letting out a soft moan as he pushes the tip past your entrance, “as long as you want.”

“that’ll be forever,” you say breathlessly, “think you can handle that long?”

“i’m sure i’ll manage.”

finally, he pushes all the way through, buried to the hilt and stretching you apart until he splits you open on his cock. he presses so deep into you, you can feel him nudge against that sweet, spongy spot without even trying. it’s like he was made for you—like the laws of this land declared him yours from birth and made him fit you in every way possible. the slot of his fingers with yours, the mold of his lips against you, the press of his cock into your cunt. all of it fits you so well, you wonder if you’ve lived your life just to find wriothesley. 

you both moan into each other’s mouths, strangled sounds that you swallow from each other’s mouths as your lips sloppily press into each other. 

“wr-wrio—fuck,” you stammer, nails raking along his back as he rolls his hips, slamming into your deepest, most rawest parts.

“yeah, baby,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth, “m’right here, sweetheart.”

you sob when a rough, callused thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves perfectly in tune with the harsh thrusts that fill you so deep. deep—he’s so far into you, you wonder if you can feel him in your throat, in your lungs, and in your heart, knocking the air out of you as you breathlessly try to call his name. 

“faster,” you plead, clinging to him, “more—please, need more.”

“think you can take it?” he chuckles, cutting himself off with a strangled grunt when you squeeze around him particularly tightly, “i think you’re falling apart as is.”

“more,” you whine, back arching as your hips desperately buck up to meet his in tandem, trying to feel him closer, deeper, harder. 

“if that’s what you want,” he hums—you want to scoff at him, but you’re too delirious. you’d tease him for acting like he doesn’t want the same, like the ache of his cock doesn’t crave more friction, doesn’t want to slam into you with little to no self-control outside of chasing his pleasure. you feel so good around him—so good, his head falls to your shoulder as he pants harshly into your ear, murmuring stammered praises. “s-so good, sweetheart. you always take me so good, like the pretty thing you are. how in teyvat did i score the affections of fontaine’s most radiant lady? o-only the gods could know.”

“why don’t you ask them,” you breathe, head pressing against the pillow as your back arches and your toes curl when he slams his swollen tip against your sweet spot once more, hips rolling in perfect precision, “ask them how you got so blessed.”

“maybe i’ll ask the divinity right before me,” he hums smoothly, chuckling when you mewl as his thumb rubs faster into your clit, “how did i get so lucky?”

“because i need you,” you whine, “n-need you—only you.”

“what a sweet answer,” he groans, pumping his cock into you faster, feeling the familiar twitch indicating he’s close—and you are too. he can tell from the erratic squeeze of your walls. “always spoiling me, right sweetheart?”

“wriothesley,” you cry, “i-i’m close. m’so close, please. please.”

“no need to say please, baby,” he grunts, “you can have whatever you want. when you want it, yeah?”

and just like that, you break—his thumb is still rubbing those harsh circles into you swollen clit as you cum, clenching down on him through your high as your mouth parts and your head presses deeper into the pillow. he’s fucking into you, still slamming his hips into you as mercilessly as before, riding you through your orgasm as you chant his name. 

“wri—wriothesley,” you sob.

“yeah, sweetheart? what is it?” he teases—it doesn’t last long, though. his bravado falls apart as soon as the first twitch of his cock indicates his own orgasm. you feel the hot, sticky, endless ropes of cum fill you up, coating your walls as he stiffens over you and shudders, groaning lowly as he empties himself into your sweet cunt. “f-fuck, you feel so good—you’re the only one. the. only. one.”

his hips thrust into you to punctuate the words, cock pushing his release deeper into you, messy and leaking down your thighs and forming a ring at the base of his length. it’s so filthy you almost think it’s a sin. but how could it be when it feels so right, so good?

finally, he slumps over your body, spent and panting as he finishes. you catch your breath under him, labored breath one after the other as your sweaty skin clings against his own.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmurs after some time, kissing the damp skin of your neck.

“i know,” you whisper cheekily, making him chuckle as he rolls over, pulling you into his chest.

“so humble,” he snorts.

“of course,” you beam, “but feel free to leave more compliments.”

“oh don’t worry, i won’t run out any time soon.”

it’s quiet for a bit, apart from your giggles and his low chuckles. soft, peaceful, and so painfully comforting, you wonder if heaven itself wishes for a place beside wriothesley. 

“when you first came up to the surface after your sentence,” you mumble after a few moments of quietness, tracing small loops into his chest as he silently hums for you to continue, “what was the first thing you did?”

“i got a croissant,” he answers thoughtfully, thumb rubbing circles into your hip where his hand is comfortably rested.

you blink, tilting your head to look up at him. his lips curve into a knowing grin.

“pardon?”

he laughs—it’s a beautiful thing. like a boy, eyes crinkled and lips freely curved so wide, you’d think his cheeks were endless with the way they expand to accommodate for such a large stretch. it’s the one time he doesn’t seem like the rugged man you usually know. something younger, more innocent, more raw comes out when wriothesley laughs.

“they go well with tea,” he shrugs, looking down at you, quickly stealing a peck of your nose, “and…” his voice is softer as he trails off, smile faltering.

“and?” you press delicately. so delicately, you’d think you were speaking to a house of cards, one word that’s breathed too harshly away from toppling over.

“and i wanted to visit a bakery i went to as a kid,” he murmurs quietly, voice dropping to a whisper as if he’s admitting something he’s never told anyone. something tells you he just might be. “there was an old lady who used to feed me sometimes when i was a kid on the streets. after i ran away. she’d give me a chocolate croissant and warm tea. i thought…i thought maybe there was a chance she’d still …”

he swallows, cutting his words off just before his voice has the chance to break. it’s a measured gesture. you know it is because you know him. just like you know the feelings of petals and thorns with your eyes closed, you know wriothesley. just like you can tell flowers apart from scent alone, you have him memorized. just like you know what every petal and its origin means, you understand him like it’s your job, too.

except you get paid to do this with something better than mora. with open-mouthed kisses and lingering touches. with coffee in a mug to complement the tea next to it. with strong arms to shield you when rain pours hard over your unsuspecting heads. with a gentle voice that learns to whisper back the language you speak better than anything else.

it says you’re the one i need the most, like rainbow roses. i miss you so much, i ache for you, like mourning flowers. i’d shed blood for you to live, like dendrobiums. you’re what i desire more than anything else, like romaritimes. each word is carefully formed, fragile as it hangs from a singular point. like petals on a stem, his words blossom from the tip of his tongue, falling one by one to your awaiting hands as your thumb traces his lips.

they all tell you one thing—whether he says the words out loud or not, he tells you he loves you through the things he does say. every little promise, every compliment, every form of praise. they say one thing—i love you.

you have always felt loved around wriothesley. you know he loves you, even if you question it sometimes, even if you ache to hear it, you’re always reminded he does when those eyes soften as they look at you, training on you like they never want to look away.

he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you. he loves you not. he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

he loves you.

it always ends with he loves you.

“was she?” you whisper, finger tracing up his chest, along his neck and jaw until it cups his cheek tenderly. he shivers at the touch. “was she still there?”

gentleness isn’t something wriothesley is very familiar with. it raids his skin, takes over the territory that’s only known harshness, and conquers the scarred patches that are barren and empty from all the pain and desolation.

“no,” his voice is barely audible. “her son owns it now. the croissants still taste the same, though.”

“some things never change, i suppose,” you smile softly, leaning closer as your nose presses against his, “even when everything else does. it’s not so bad if you hold onto what you can.”

“and what if you have nothing?” he challenges, closing his eyes when you kiss his jaw sweetly and slowly inhaling a soft breath.

“i’m sure that’s never true,” you murmur, “there’s always something.”

“yeah? how optimistic of you,” he chuckles.

“i’m serious,” you pout, “there’s always a way to make do. look at cacti. they go ages without water, don’t they? and did you know naku weeds can survive being struck by lightning?”

“do you just compare everything to plants?” he asks in amusement, eyeing you with a charmed glint.

“of course,” you huff, “don’t you compare things to what you love most?”

he looks at you for a moment. really looks at you. grazes his eyes over your supple skin he’s traced so many times, over the small crinkles by your eyes permanently etched from smiling so often, over the curve of your nose and lips he’s pressed his own against, over the two eyes that stare back at him and see him more than they do look.

and then he nods.

“yeah,” he admits, “i do.”

your lips are as sweet as the warm chocolate that coated his lips and chin as a child. your touch is as soft as the hands of his mother when he thought he could trust her. your eyes are as bright as the sun when he first saw it after years of dark, rusted walls. everything about you reminds him of his past, the better parts and the worst. all of it.

some of it is healing, and some of it hurts so raw he thinks he’ll bleed out. but your hands are dipped in gold, he thinks. they’d make the most infertile soil rich and filled with life, letting him blossom new again right where his blood spilled.

he’s reminded of you in everything he sees. tea reminds him of your coffee with too much milk. paperwork reminds him of how distressed you are by wasted pages and killed trees. his gauntlets remind him of your hands so small in comparison. he’s doomed, he thinks. cursed, even.

cursed to always remember you in everything.

so, of course, he compares everything to what he loves most. because why else would you reside in his mind so endlessly, taking up the space from one end all the way to the other? why else would you remind him of you in even the mundane of things if he didn’t love you so deeply, so purely, so easily, that you’re everywhere all at once, even when you’re nowhere in sight?

he presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply before letting out a slow, shaky breath.

“i lied,” he admits, making you frown.

“about?”

“about the first thing i did when i got to the surface,” he says quietly. “i went to my parents' graves.”

“to visit them?” you raise a confused eyebrow.

“no. to make sure they were really dead.”

“oh,” is all you say, staring into his eyes as he waits for you to say something more. “well, were they dead?”

“yes,” he snorts, closing his eyes and huffing out a small laugh. “very much so.”

“well, that’s a relief,” you giggle, “otherwise, you’d have served a sentence for murder for nothing.”

“good thing i didn’t, huh?”

“good thing you didn’t,” you nod, grinning as he stares at you softly.

“i’ll take you one of these days,” he hums quietly after a moment. you look surprised, eyes widening as you process the words.

“to your parents' grave?”

“to the bakery,” he rolls his eyes, letting out a breathy laugh. “i don’t think my dead mother would appreciate me bringing back a woman after i killed her.”

“oh, very funny,” you scowl, glaring at him.

“you think so?” he winks, laughing when you gently shove his face away, making his hand grab at your wrist and bite gently into the skin.

you squeal, giggling as he nibbles into your skin. “stop that, you brute!” you demand in between laughs.

it’s quiet for a moment as the laughter settles down, just you and him. him and you. silence echoing off the walls and warmth radiating between your bodies, the sheets clinging to your bare skin. you can feel his bare hip brush against yours. it’s intimate—far more intimate than either of you are used to, but not unwelcome.

he turns, pulling you into his arms and pressing your foreheads together. you think that’s his favorite position to be in—when your faces are so close, they touch. when his eyes can bore into yours. when he can feel the warmth of you tickling his skin as you breathe, as you talk, as you exist before him.

“you’ll like the croissants,” he adds quietly, thoughtfully, “the blackberry ones are particularly nice with the lemon and mint tea—”

you cut him off. before you can think. the words fly past your lips, swept with the breeze like dandelion seeds, and carried through the room as they find shelter in every little crevice. they’ll be here, in every corner, in every little place, a memento of your first real confession.

“i love you.”

he pauses as you cut him off, blinking as he stares at you. something flashes in his eyes—fear, excitement, a small bit of shock and doubt that makes your heartache. you can read him like a book.

it’s not doubt because he thinks you lie. it’s doubt because he thinks it shouldn’t be him. you know that, and you’re prepared to patiently prove him he’s wrong. little by little. day by day. one kiss at a time.

“that’s really enthusiastic,” he shoots you a teasing grin, too easy and too practiced for your liking, “if i knew you liked croissants that much—”

“no, wriothesley,” you say gently, like your words could rock the boat and topple you both into a dangerous, unforgiving current any moment. “i love you. i love when you tell me things you don’t like sharing, and i love when you show me things that are hard to revisit. i love you. because you try, and you’re good at trying. and that’s enough.”

“getting sentimental on me?” he asks hoarsely, smiling tightly.

your hand cups his cheek again, pulling him in so you can kiss the corner of his mouth as you whisper, “yes.” your lips find the other side of his mouth, still at the corner as you whisper again. “because you deserve to hear nice things. even the cheesy ones.”

his eyes close. one moment turns to two, and you let him take his time. let him swallow as he takes a shallow breath before he opens them again and looks at you.

he’s laid bare before you. in more ways than one. being nude is easier than being seen—he trusts you enough to let himself be both.

“you deserve to hear nice things, too,” he admits. it’s not the same as admitting he loves you too, but it’s as close as he can get—still difficult enough that his voice breaks. like it’s hard for him to confess something like this.

it is.

it’s hard for him to tell someone he loves them. the last time he did, he felt the sucker punch of betrayal in his guts, so young that he hardly understood what it meant to be betrayed at all. he watched the same eyes he used to think were his saviors die out as blood spilled in the living room, where his tiny feet padded across as he ran around and played. he misses them sometimes, even now.

his mother’s beautiful green eyes that greeted him in the mornings as she kissed him awake, warm and gentle on his forehead. his father’s deep blue ones that would look at him proudly as he grew and grew, clasping his shoulder with that firmly affectionate grip.

sometimes, he misses them, misses what he thought he had. other times, he’s glad he did it. sometimes, in the dead of night, when it’s just him, he mourns the old him. the one that didn’t have blood on his hands, the him that didn’t have to take two lives to set so many free. the version of him that was allowed to be a boy who existed freely, no taxes to pay for the love he so desperately wanted.

love is wicked like that—it creeps up on you, takes pieces of you, and changes you until you can hardly recognize yourself. until you can hardly recognize everyone around you. how long has it been since he’s seen his siblings? can he even still call them that? do they remember him? would he even recognize them?

he still loves them in his own way. his precious little sisters camille and lucie, and his sweet baby his brothers alexandre and nicolas—he came back and set them free just before it was their time. he didn’t want to leave them, but he had no choice. there were ones who left before him, a time that he can hardly remember anymore. a time before him and antoine. but he recalls them being so delicate with him just as older siblings should be. did they make it out of whatever fate they were sealed to? were they disposed of with no witnesses to bring their demises to justice? he doesn’t know. it’s easier not to know.

it’s easier not to love at all than to open up the risk of hurting. every person he’s ever loved has caused him pain. even the innocent siblings who did nothing wrong—all he’s ever known is pain. the pain of not having them around anymore. the pain of their quiet demise. the pain of setting them free and letting them go. the pain of never having them to himself like a proper family.

loving is so hard for him, so hard on him. so unforgiving to him. so cruel and harsh to him that he hides away behind guarded fists and loaded punches. and you know it, too—he knows you do because you reward his confession with the softest kiss you’ve ever given him as soon as he spills the words.

“i love you,” you murmur the sweet words into his mouth between warm kisses, “i love you. i love you.”

“say it again,” he pleads. it’s easier to let you love him than it is to love you—you don’t mind letting him be a little selfish. he deserves it, in fact.

“i love you. more than anything i’ve ever loved.”

“promise me,” he begs.

“i promise,” you say firmly. “and you don’t have to say it back, not yet. but i want you to know it because you should know you’re loved.”

all at once, the vines wrapped around his chest release, one petal blooming across his heart and arteries at a time until the nectar is running through his veins.

it’s warm. it’s sunny. it’s soft. it’s so, so safe. it doesn’t hurt. it never does with you. you never let it.

“i love you too,” he croaks. he shivers as he says it before he’s grinning slowly, chuckling in wonder as he lets the words sink in before he repeats again, “i love you.”

“yeah?” you beam, eyes crinkling as joy tucks itself into the crevices.

he nods. “yes. and your weird nature lectures.”

you pout, making him laugh. “hey—”

“and your annoyingly aromatic house with petals everywhere—”

“they’re not everywhere—”

“and that ugly dog watering can of yours—”

“it kind of reminds me of you, so—”

“i love them all, and i want them for the rest of my life. i hope you take it easy on the snapdragons, though. i think i’m allergic.”

“such a romantic at heart,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. but they’re glassy, swelling with unshed, precious little tears.

he kisses your eyelids as you close your eyes, murmuring, “i’m doing my best here. cut me some slack, i’ve never dated someone before.”

“oh, wriothesley,” you sniffle, tears coating your sun-soaked skin. and despite the evidence of tears, he’s never seen joy on your face like this before—so clear and radiant. “who taught you about romance? you’re hopeless.”

“hopelessly in love with you,” he shoots back smugly, wiggling his brows.

“i’m doomed,” you snort, letting out a watery chuckle.

“yeah,” he says cheekily, “you are. i hope you’re prepared.”

you kiss him in reply. he kisses you, too. you kiss each other. flowers bloom everywhere your lips touch—wriothesley swallows every petal gratefully.

you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not. you love him. you love him not.

you love him.

you love him.

you love him.

it always ends with you love him.

and he loves you, too. you both love each other. the words bounce from both of your tongues like you take turns tasting them, feeling them, familiarizing yourselves with them.

it doesn’t matter who whispers the words first or who murmurs them last. no matter who breaks the silence, it always ends with i love you.

ITS FINISHED. WOW. i never thought a flower shop drabble was going to turn into this—i actually had a completely different flower shop au idea that was going to be a long fic but i just wanted to write a tiny practice round drabble to get the itch out my system before i had time to sit down for the full fic. well as you can see…the practice run kind of took a mind of its own so now we have this. LOL. i think perhaps i will also write the other idea but we will see!!! this one kind of replaced the other one in my heart as flower shop wrio lore lol 🥸

ANYWAY!!! i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it. idk if wrio was ooc or not or if i did his past and trauma justice but i certainly tried!! all the things about his past with the siblings and his mother's diary and the croissant at the bakery are all headcanons i carefully crafted and hold so so so dear. they are my truth!!! and they make me fall in love with him so much more deeply :( anyway! if you liked it then as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. now if you’ll excuse me, i will be doodling his name in pink glitter pen with hearts in my diary and giggling.

Streamer! Genshin Character x Character Reader Au

AU: An Alternative universe where the genshin characters are streamers and they decided to play genshin.

• Gender Neutral Reader

First Encounters and Impressions

Diluc: @D_Ragnv1ndr

Of course, were starting with my favourite.

He is a variety streamer

He would stream Baking/Coffee Brewing, Chess, Late night chats and many more.

He mostly streams during the night and occasionally during the day.

He always says Hello when he first starts stream

Chat can't spell his name :)

Chat calls him Strawberries or Cherry at times

Found out about Genshin Impact from his community and them wanting him to play it.

So he proceeds to download it

He found out the visuals and music were very nice

He then proceed with the Story Quest.

Diluc found the character of the Cavalry Captain a bit annoying

Half of chat agrees and half not so much.

Did the Character of the Cavalry Captain's Domain the last

He had a migraine and wanted to quit the game when he was playing the domain

Cue chat fucking laughing at his misery

"Your all saying that there's a character I might like if I do this domain?"

Proceeds to contemplate if he should really continue with the game.

"Knights of Favonius...always so ineffecient"

Diluc froze as he watched the screen.

Chat knew he liked the character

Diluc.exe stopped working

Proceeds to stare at the screen.

You were the saving grace of this game.

Chat thanks you

"Who is that?"

Cue a bit blushing Diluc

Chat clips that.

A bit sad that you only had so little dialogue in when you appeared.

Will definitely play again! Chat will probably send some fanart to them!

Raiden Ei; @Ei_ternity

Is mostly based on technology like coding and stuff, and Chill Sessions.

Doesn't have a fixed schedule

Chat calls her Mother. As Mommy was one of the banned words

Yae miko is one of the Mods.

Doesn't play video games often

Viewer recommended Genshin Impact.

Yae said that there's a character that she'll like.

Co-op sessions with Yae is always chaos.

Arrived at Inazuma and found it really cool.

She liked the aesthetics and colors.

"Capable of using the elemental energy without a vision"

Raiden found you visually appealing.

She loved your aesthetics and she admired your power

Now chat is going feral as Raiden is always stoic during streams but she's smiling.

Chat Fucking Clips it

Raiden is a bit worried if you'd fit her team or what do you need for materials.

"I want to pull for her... But will she be strong enough for the team?"

Many of chat would say yes and they'd send some screenshots of your damage as main dps.

THE FANBOY GUIDE!

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ୨୧ ˊ˗ fanboy!gojo x celebrity!reader

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ୨୧ ˊ˗ gojo, one of your biggest fans, has the chance to finally meet you. however, he hopes to also accomplish his number one dream: to fuck his idol.

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ ˊ˗ 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI - (switch!gojo, creampie, oral f!receiving, riding) fem!reader, no curses au.

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐀/𝐍: ୨୧ ˊ˗ gojo has been on my mind, & this is the result! header concept inspired by @kazushawty’s cyber theme.

˗ˋ ୨୧ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ୨୧ ˊ˗ 4K

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE, SATORU. ENJOY THE EVENT!

The blue-eyed man blinked at his bright computer screen, which displayed his emailed receipt from Ticketmaster. In the left pocket of his black sweatpants — which he wore despite the summer heat at this time of year — his phone buzzed to alert him of a fat sum of money being taken out of his bank account.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled to himself.

He refreshed the page. And he refreshed it once more.

But after two lengthy scrolls through the confirmation email, there was no denying it.

He was going to meet you.

Gojo’s long fingers clicked away at his mouse and keyboard until he landed on his rather popular fan blog. To say that he was a member of your fandom would be an understatement, as he practically ruled over all of your supporters and gave true meaning to his username, kinggojo.

Even as a busy high school teacher and martial arts instructor — perhaps, entrepreneur as well, being as he owned his own martial arts school — he still carved out some time every single day to post about you. Watch your videos. Study your latest professional photoshoots and off-guard paparazzi shots.

And soon, a little plastic backstage pass will dangle around his neck, giving him undenied access to you.

The real you.

—

kinggojo: guess who’s finally gonna meet y/n? (:

—

At the airport, Gojo spent his time FaceTiming Nanami, who had to endure his rambunctious ramblings while on his lunch break.

“Give me one year,” Gojo paused, glancing down at his phone, “one year, and I swear, she’s gonna become my wife.”

“I don’t care,” Nanami chewed on his sandwich. “Please leave me alone.”

“Yeahhh, you’re just jealous.” As Gojo grinned goofily, the salaryman promptly ended the video chat.

While Gojo would have dialed him back repeatedly until he gave in and answered, Nanami had lucked out, as it was time for him to board his plane.

The plane ride was nothing short of exhilarating. Gliding through the air as a first-class passenger, he counted down the minutes until he’d finally see your charming smile in person.

Naturally, he had to splurge for an occasion as special as this one.

The best seats on the plane, the nicest hotel room in the city — he wished he could personally thank the spoiled geniuses who invented valet parking and free drinks for first-class passengers.

Although his bank account had seen better spending days, he was perfectly fine with eating cheap styrofoam cups of chicken flavored ramen once he got back home from his trip.

In his hotel room the night before his Big Day, Gojo gathered everything he might have needed along with his ironed outfit, and hung it up in the closet. He took his time with making sure he’d look especially sharp come morning, as he wanted to look good for you.

Good enough for you to fuck him.

Call him crazy. Overly optimistic. But he had a goal; an accomplishable dream that made his dick harden against the fabric of his pants whenever he thought about having hot, creamy sex with you — his number one idol.

As he crawled into bed and lazily stroked his cock, painting his fist white as the pearly ropes of cum spurted out of him, he thought about what it would be like if his wildest dream came true.

—

At the meet and greet, Gojo stood around backstage with all of the other fans, and one of them even knew about his blog. They all chatted about you, occasionally interrupting themselves to mumble a quick “I’m so nervous,” before talking about another topic, and Gojo couldn’t help but have pity for them.

He was nervous as well, of course, but even more so, he was determined.

And when you stepped through the door, smiling once your prosperous groupies shrieked and squealed, Gojo had finally understood what authors meant when they wrote about love at first sight.

You were more beautiful than he could have imagined. Even more gorgeous than in your pictures somehow. He was certain that you even glanced his way, but he couldn’t prove it.

“There she is,” Gojo said to no one in particular, not even completely aware that the words had fallen from between his lips, but a woman standing next to him spoke up.

“I can’t believe this is really happening!” She shook her hands out of pure excitement. “I hope she’ll sign my merch!”

Precious.

Some people had hopes and dreams as simple as that one. The taller man was certain that if he confessed his own hopes, they’d laugh at him.

Or worse, get him kicked out of the meet-and-greet completely.

But he didn’t have time to worry about what anyone else hoped to gain out of your event, not when the queue was moving rather quickly, and he found himself biting his lower lip and shifting his weight.

He was growing more and more nervous with every second that passed by. It was the ultimate countdown until he’d finally meet you.

Soon enough, it was his turn.

“Hi,” you beamed kindly at the handsome stranger, “how are you?”

How cute.

Your sweet, customer service tone made his heart skip a beat, and while he wanted to revel in the fact that he was meeting you and you were speaking to him, he couldn’t think too much about it. He couldn’t risk losing his cool.

“I’m better now that I’ve met you,” Gojo smiled, pulling out his phone to take the one photo he was promised in his package deal. “How are you doing? Having fun?”

You tilted your head a bit, and it occurred to Gojo that most fans probably didn’t bother to ask about your day, or your feelings.

“I’m great, thanks. You’re really kind for asking that!” You smiled. “What pose would you like to do, honey?”

Gojo melted inside. He knew the term was simply meant to make your fans feel more special than they actually were, but even so, he’d never forget the sound of you saying that to him.

Suddenly, Gojo wrapped one arm around your waist, pulled you against his side, and he raised his phone before snapping a photo with you.

Before he pulled away, he whispered into your ear, “there’s something really sweet about the way you called me honey just now.”

“O-Oh,” you stammered, looking down at your feet, the stranger’s warm breath against your ear made your cheeks warm up. “I just call everyone honey.”

“Of course, I’m just saying that I liked it. You’re just…” Gojo paused, looking you up and down, “pretty cute, aren’t you?”

Looking up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, you said, “are you flirting with me?”

Gojo glanced at your security guard. The buff guy was more interested in the complimentary buffet than your protection, and Gojo took a step closer, hearing a jealous groan from the line of fans behind him.

“Maybe,” A small smirk appeared across Gojo’s face. “How would you feel if I was?”

“I’d probably have to just . . . ask you to leave.”

“There’s no need, sweetheart,” Gojo said softly, “I’m running out of time anyway. But that’s no way to treat a fan, is it?”

You gulped. You stared deeply into his eyes.

“You’re, um,” you said shakily, “you’re allowed to hug me before you go . . . if you want.”

“Come here, then.”

The tall man wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. The hug lasted longer than it should have.

“I’d love to spend more time with you,” Gojo whispered. “Maybe some other time.”

As he pulled away, you felt him slip something into your pocket.

“It was nice meeting you,” you said.

He left without another word.

Your meet-and-greet lasted for two entire hours after that, and throughout every single interaction with a fan of yours, you couldn't help but wonder what the handsome man slipped into your pocket.

Finally, as your event came to an end, you reached into your pocket and found a yellow sticky note.

Written on it was an address, a hotel room number, and his name.

—

Any sane person who valued their safety and their life would have ignored it. Toss the note in the trash. But you found yourself standing outside of his hotel room door, and for the first time in your entire life, you were nervous about meeting a fan.

You knocked on the door, your breath shaky as you did so.

“This is insane,” you thought.

Half of you wanted to run away before he answered. The other half of you wanted to stay.

But, before you could truly decide, he opened the door, standing there with a genuine look of surprise.

“Huh,” Gojo smirked, stepping to the side to let you into his room. “You actually came.”

It was all an act; the cool, calm, and collected aura was a cover-up, for underneath it all, he was a mess of a man.

The sweaty palms that he secretly tried to wipe off on his pants. His throat dried to a crisp no matter how many bottles of water he downed before you knocked on his hotel room door, which was idiotic, because he ended up spending the last thirty minutes before your scheduled arrival running back and forth to the bathroom to pee.

However, after years of flashing a false smile in front of a classroom packed with moody teenagers during his darkest days, and dishonestly congratulating his martial arts students even when their kicks were less than splendid to encourage them and see them beam with confidence, Gojo had considerable expertise when it came to acting.

Of course, he was nervous.

It was you.

Even so, as his heart pounded rapidly inside of his chest, he was beyond thrilled about what was to come.

And who was to come.

“I knew you’d be surprised. I'm surprised as well.” Shutting the door after you entered his unexpectedly luxurious hotel room, you gulped, your eyes failing to meet his bright blue ones. “I don’t normally do stuff like this.”

“Sleep with fans?” Raising an eyebrow, Gojo’s cocky smirk turned into a rather kind smile.

“Yeah.”

“Well then, I’m honored. I mean, just getting to meet you was something I wanted for a long time. And to know you’re actually gonna let me ruin you?” Slowly, he leaned in, placing a soft kiss against your cheek. “It’s a dream come true.”

“Are you really a fan of me?” You gave him a look of disbelief.

“Of course I am,” he mumbled. “Why? You don’t believe me?”

“You could have pretended to be a fan to get my attention or something, I don’t know.” You shrugged shyly, which was the cutest thing Gojo had probably ever seen. His cheeks started to burn from grinning so much.

“Trust me,” Gojo suddenly pressed his palm against your jaw, running his thumb across your cheek, stroking you delicately as if he were touching fragile flower petals. “I’ve watched every single video that you’ve ever posted, seen almost every photo, liked every tweet, and ignored all of your typos. I’ve read every single piece of fanfiction about you that I’ve come across online. Tried to write my own one time. It was shit, but still. I’m not really the kinda guy who likes to label myself, but if I’m not your biggest fan, then I don’t know who is.”

When he ran his thumb over your mouth, pulling down on your soft bottom lip ever so gently, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to actually kiss you.

He wanted to do it.

Desperately.

Moonlit nights spent warm in his bed were when he alternated between his top five favorite scenarios, daydreaming about your first kiss as he drifted off to sleep. And, now, he would have the chance to feel your pillowy lips against his — and, god — they felt so perfect against his digit, he ended up chewing on his own bottom lip as he touched yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly, his eyes flickering between your gaze and your lips. “Please?”

“You’re my biggest fan, apparently, so you can do whatever you’d like.”

He pressed his lips against yours. Every single First Kiss! cliche he had seen in movies and read about in books — going on about fireworks and such — had a bit of truth to it, because when your buttery lips touched his, he instantly melted into the kiss.

It was as if he was born for the sole purpose of kissing you — like a god created his mind, body, and soul for that specific reason.

He moaned; it was strange, yet familiar, as he never made such a delicious, sinful noise whenever he kissed someone.

But then again, during late-night hookups with unsatisfying women, he wasn’t one to typically make any sort of noise.

Apparently, he only ever moaned if it had something to do with you.

Whether he was jerking off to your bikini photos on Instagram, or kissing you, as it would seem, only you could elicit such a beautiful sound from him.

And he wasn’t complaining. Not one bit.

“Gojo,” you mumbled softly against his lips. “Don’t be such a gentleman.”

“Trust me, I’m not.” Gojo's mouth hovered over yours as he spoke. “You have no idea how badly I wanna toss you on that bed right now. I just need to take my time with you and enjoy every minute. I’ve waited too long for this to happen, and I’m not gonna rush it.”

Despite his words, when he reconnected your lips, he kissed you hungrily.

Hurriedly.

His tongue entered your mouth as his hand held onto the back of your neck. It was such a messy kiss, but a passionate one as well, and only a man like Gojo could pull off both with a simple swirl of his tongue, which battled against yours.

And your mouth tasted absolutely delicious. He could hardly wait to taste your pussy as well, wondering how it could compare.

When Gojo’s other hand suddenly gripped your ass, a little gasp escaped from you, and he took that god-given opportunity to deepen the kiss.

If he could have his mouth attached to yours like this forever, wet tongues darting around as you swallowed each other’s moans, he would.

He didn’t want to pull apart to breathe, didn’t want to pause for even a moment and detach his lips from yours, but he did.

He pulled away, but only so he could leave kisses along your jawline.

“Gojo,” you whined, lifting your neck to give the tall man full access to your sensitive skin.

And when those skillful lips of his found that sweet spot right underneath your jaw, he licked and sucked at it as if he’d absolutely die if he didn’t.

“You’re whining like that just from me giving you a little hickey?” Gojo mumbled against your wet skin. “Now I’m curious about the kinda noises you’ll make once I eat your pussy. I won’t lie; I’m pretty excited.”

“Then just do it already,” whining once more, you gripped his shoulders as he started to make his way down your neck, leaving kisses across your collarbone.

“Patience,” Gojo said.

And when he spoke, he spoke as if he wasn’t truly freaking out on the inside.

His idol was desperate for him.

If he didn’t believe in luck before, he surely did now.

Gojo’s large hands, which were formerly roaming your body, pulled your top off swiftly, including your bra. If only he could take your bra with him as a souvenir.

It took all of his strength to not drool at the sight of your hard nipples.

God, were they perfect.

They were certainly magnificent enough to make any previous plans for having patience and taking his time with you flutter out of his lustful mind, as only a few seconds after removing your shirt, you were laying on the bed with Gojo hovering over your tits. He bit his lip in anticipation.

“Can I suck on them?” He asked, his eyes never once glancing away from your chest. “Please?”

“Yes-”

You were interrupted by a sudden gasp falling from your lips, as Gojo attached his mouth to your hard nipple as soon as you mumble that simple little word.

“Hmm,” he moaned.

First, he licked at your nipple while flicking your other one with his finger. Then, he took it into his mouth, sucking on it as he listened to your soft moans, which was a sound he wanted to hear for the rest of his life.

Repeating his actions with your other nipple, he smiled against your tit when you suddenly ran your hand through his hair.

As badly as he wanted to fuck you, the thought of simply laying on your chest on a lazy Sunday afternoon as you ran your fingers across his scalp sounded like a dream.

It sounded like love.

He wanted that with you too.

Gojo took off your pants. He took off his shirt.

Then, he left a trail of kisses down your stomach until he made his way in between your legs. Having the honor of looking at your pussy was comparable only to walking through the golden gates of Heaven.

“What a pretty pussy,” he whispered to himself, running his thumb along your wet folds.

Like a starved man diving into a Thanksgiving dinner, Gojo spread your lips apart, and started to lick your clit.

Even with your back arched, fingers running through his hair as you moaned and moaned, Gojo was certain that he was enjoying it even more.

The hand that was formerly holding the wet lips of your pussy open made its way down to his dick, and he rubbed his clothed dick while moaning against your sensitive button, which he licked at rapidly with his wet tongue.

“Hmm, oh — baby,” he moaned and moaned.

“Gojo,” you whimpered.

He looked up at you through those long eyelashes of his. He was actually going to make you cum all over his tongue.

Excitement ran through his veins like a drug. He attached his lips to your clit, sucking on it until your delicious juice flooded his mouth.

“Oh my god,” you squealed, thrashing around as he refused to snatch himself away from your pussy. Not until all of your creamy mess was all licked up.

Wasting even a drop of your cum was an outright sin. One he would never forgive himself over.

He detached himself from your pussy with a little smack, licking his lips as he sat up.

Gojo started to unbuckle his belt. “You ready?”

You nodded, but once he pulled his pants down, the sight of his large cock made you gulp.

But you should have known.

He was tall. Large hands. Large feet. Large cock, of course.

Gojo pressed his tip against your folds, rubbing the head of cock up and down your wet hole, collecting your juices as he worked his way from your hole to your clit repeatedly.

The very split second in which his cock was pressed against your entrance was a telltale sign that you had never taken a dick that was as big as his.

It managed to put your past partners to shame.

And your purple dildo too.

“It’s too big,” you whined, blinking up at him.

“Don’t worry, I got you,” Gojo rested his hard member against your hole. “I’m gonna make it fit, baby. You’re gonna be a good girl for me and take it, right?”

You were getting impatient. The urge to feel him fill you up was undeniably strong, but also, his urge to take his time with you was equally as powerful.

“Only if you be a good fanboy for me,” you frowned, “and put it in.”

“I had no idea you’d be so impatient,” Gojo smiled, but even so, he still didn’t move. Not yet.

“Don’t tease me,” you said.

“Tease you?” Gojo ran his hand along your thigh, and your frown deepened. “I’m just taking my time. Not my fault you’re so-”

“Maybe I should’ve picked another fan.”

Gojo suddenly shoved himself inside of you.

Screw how much he wanted to savor the moment. If you wanted to be fucked right now, fast and hard, then he’d do it. He’d do anything for you.

After kindly letting your pussy adjust to his size, he increased his speed.

The bed squeaked from his thrusts. He pressed his forehead against yours, his warm breath patting against your face as he moaned softly.

“Faster,” you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Oh, did he obey.

He not only fucked you at a harsher speed, but he repositioned himself so that he could thrust in and out of you roughly.

He anticipated the noise complaint he’d receive from the hotel staff already. Not that he cared. He didn’t care about anything except for how good your pussy felt around his cock, and as his moans increased in volume, all of his thoughts slowly fluttered out of his pretty little head.

He couldn’t focus on anything aside from the pleasure.

He just loved you so much. Your content had changed him as a person, shaped his life into something worth living, and now, here he was, thriving in the utter pleasure you gave him. It melted away his cocky attitude, and he gripped the sheets until his knuckles turned white.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” Gojo said. “I . . . god, I need . . .”

He was begging for something and nothing at the same time, just so desperate and pathetic for you, you, you.

Suddenly, you pushed on Gojo’s shoulders.

“Let’s switch,” you bit your lip. “I wanna ride you.”

He could have cried. You wanted to ride him? Only a fool would turn down that opportunity, and he was quickly on his back as you climbed over him.

“That’s it, pretty baby. Get on top of me.” His large hands gripped your perfect ass, and instantly, he dreaded the very moment when he’d have to eventually let go. His eyes — which glistened with lust without any decency and excitement without any substances — darted down to your wet hole sinking his aching cock. “Oh — put it in. Put it in.”

“Now who’s impatient?” You smirked, but you couldn’t tease him for long, as when his big cock entered you, your mouth flung open with utter shock over how full you felt.

Perhaps, it was foolish to believe that his size was something you’d get used to after he pounded your pussy into oblivion moments before.

Slowly, but surely, you started to bounce up and down along his length. Those bright eyes of his, which were now fixated on your beautiful boobs, fluttered closed as he tossed his head back.

“Oh my fucking god,” he moaned. “Feels so damn good. You’re so perfect, you know that? Keep bouncing on my cock, baby. Just like that.”

He went on and on, more heartfelt words pouring out of his mouth with every jolt of your body.

“I’m so obsessed with you,” he continued, “I can’t lose you after this, I can’t. I can’t, baby. You’re fucking me so good, please…”

He whimpered, which was utterly shocking to him, but it made your walls clench around his dick. His desperation turned you on in unimaginable ways, as now, he was revealing his true colors underneath the false chill and cool persona, and he was nothing more than a pathetic, cute, little fanboy.

“I love you,” a tear slipped down his cheek from utter delight. “I love you so much. Stay with me, I’ll do anything. I want you all to myself.”

“So, so, devoted to me, huh?” You said breathlessly, yet sweetly.

Truth be told, his cock felt so wonderful thrusting in and out of you, it would have been entirely unshocking if you ended up being addicted to him as well.

“I’m gonna cum-” Gojo wrapped his arms around your waist, bucking his hip up to fuck you as deeply as possible. “I’m so close — I’m right there. I can’t hold it, sweetheart, I-I can’t keep it in much longer.”

“Cum for me, Gojo.” You whispered. “Be good for your little idol, yeah? Tell me how much you wanna cum.”

“So badly,” he swallowed thickly, beads of sweat forming across his forehead, his white hair sticking to his salty skin. He was starting to become dizzy from the way your pussy worked on his cock. He couldn’t hold himself back. “I . . . Oh fuck.”

White ropes of his creamy cum exploded out of his dick, shooting inside of you with such urgency and desperation, that a light shade of pink dusted across his cheeks from utter embarrassment.

The white-haired man’s cock twitched. It throbbed until every last drop of semen filled your insides, and broken moans poured out of his throat.

“So much of it,” he softly whined, burying his reddened face in your neck. “I’m sorry.”

His cum spilled out of your pussy. It trickled down until it drenched the white sheets underneath you both, but Gojo’s hips continued to lazily buck up, sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin as he fucked his cum right back inside of you.

—

After taking a few moments to catch your breaths, you and Gojo were right back at it, going round after round until the sun rose, marking the very next day.

The teacher, who had fallen asleep somewhere around 5 A.M., awakened with a shiver shooting up his spine from the chilly hotel room air. And it made sense why, as he was completely naked.

But when he realized that you weren’t in bed with him, nor were your clothes tangled up on the ground along with his, he frowned.

Was it a dream? No. He knew it really happened. Perhaps, he was a fool to think that you’d stay with him, that you both would wake up together and shower before ordering some breakfast via room service.

You were a celebrity, he was simply a fan, and there was no hope for-

Suddenly, a yellow sticky note fell off of Gojo’s chest.

Written on it was your phone number, and a little heart.

—

When Gojo returned home two days later, he collapsed in his rolling chair, exhaling a deep breath followed by an airy laugh.

Even as he opened his laptop and logged onto his blog, he couldn’t believe his luck. The ultimate fanboy, he was.

Half of him contemplated the idea of creating a guide for every other hopeful man with an appetite geared exclusively towards their idol, but in his gut — which twisted with excitement whenever he thought about you creaming all over his cock so deliciously — he knew that he was simply a lucky man.

A lottery winner. The chosen one.

Even if he got an imaginary Master’s Degree in the study of Banging-Your-Idol, and went on to write nonfiction self-help books to aid all of his followers, they would all still fail to accomplish what he did.

However, even if he couldn’t create a guide to help out every other horny and helpless individual, he could still do one thing.

Brag.

And with that, after taking a screenshot of the recent notification that appeared across his screen — showing that your popular, verified account had followed him back — he started typing.

—

kinggojo: hey guys (: none of you are gonna believe what just happened…

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

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reader impact || masterlist

streamer! genshin x reader summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: since you guys really like this, i've made a masterlist just for this series! the characters are listed in alphabetical order, as opposed to regional :)) more characters will be added if requested :D

aether -

first meeting

we will be reunited

maso-kick

voice actors

albedo -

first meeting

character event wish

favorite voice line

you're isekai'd

isekai

fan theories

character demos

alternate persona (name)

teapot designs

abyssal ruler

maso-kick

voice actors

amber -

first meeting

barbara -

first meeting

bennett -

first meeting

childe -

first meeting

you're isekai'd

fan theories

final words

character demos

alternate persona (name)

true power

teapot designs

divine punishment

maso-kick

chongyun -

first meeting

ships

diluc -

first meeting

favorite voice line

fan service: sleep

trailer voiceline

true power

interpersonal relationships

teapot designs

abyssal ruler

jean -

first meeting

kaeya -

first meeting

you're isekai'd

trailer voiceline

fan theories

character demos

alternate persona (name)

teapot designs

fischl -

first meeting

lumine -

first meeting

we will be reunited

mona -

first meeting

razor -

first meeting

scaramouche -

first meeting

alternate persona (name)

divine punishment

maso-kick

venti -

first meeting

isekai

windblume festival

la signora steals gnosis

final words

character demos

abyssal ruler

voice actors

ships

xiao -

first meeting

character event wish

favorite voice line

fan service: sleep

you're isekai'd

isekai

streamer overview (not reader insert)

trailer voiceline

fan theories

final words

x listener audios

alternate persona (name)

teapot designs

abyssal ruler

xiao's rescue

maso-kick

ships

the five yakshas

alatus origins (not reader insert)

xingqiu -

first meeting

zhongli -

first meeting

isekai

fan service: sleep

story quest

final words

interpersonal relationships

mmm yummy SAGAU rambles

Childe who recognizes you at first sight. he’s one of the first people to hear about an “imposter” and is immediately up and armed to go hunt them down himself- how dare someone try to impersonate the Creator, his god, the one who gave him the courage to drag himself out of the Abyss and back into the light? no one yearned to find and eliminate the imposter as much as Childe, to tear that arrogant fool apart with his own hands and watch them die before his eyes- it was the only thing that would satisfy his fury. 

so he begins hunting, bow in hand and dull blue eyes blazing with anger and bloodlust. he’s allowed to, of course, as the only person who matches his rage is the Tsaritsa herself- in fact, she commands that the Fatui turn their efforts into finding and bringing this imposter to justice, and Childe- Tartaglia- is more than happy to comply as the Eleventh Harbinger.

but when he does find you, the so-called “imposter”, he instead finds a broken heap of a person, divine blood dripping from every injury as you cover your face and cower.

between sobs you beg for him not to hurt you, and Childe’s heart breaks as he hears the voice that so often hummed and laughed inside his head, the sign that the Creator was watching over him, now pleading, desperate to just be able to live.

he knows you love his Foul Legacy form- he’s heard you fawn over it during the weekly fights you bring him to- so within a second he’s transformed, the pain that usually lingers mysteriously gone as he kneels before you, delicately lifting your bruised hand to his forehead with a soft rumble. you’re shaking, breaths coming out as wheezes from fear, and Childe whines sadly.

so he promises that he will protect you- never again shall a Fatuus harm you in any way, instead they will guard your precious life as you heal, and Childe will be by your side. his Foul Legacy is unhindered by pain; now it feels whole, complete, you filling the missing link between him and the Abyss. he will be your guard, even if the rest of the world is against you, so he never has to hear that kind, wonderful voice of yours filled with fear ever again.

can you write something where the reader has Childe babysit their little sister Diona? Except she hates him because he's a "fatui bad guy."

Strayed a little off the request but I hope you don't mind lmao

Lol casually 1.2k words look at me go

Pairings; (Sibling) Diona x reader, (Romantic) Childe x reader

Warning(s); Mention of reader going out on a hunt

Keep reading under the cut!

You hum as you see Diona turn up at your door

“Morning Diona, I’ve got to run some errands, do you mind just sitting with Ajax?” you ask getting down onto her level. Diona sighs

“But I came here to see you” she huffs and pouts, you chuckle at her

“Don’t worry about it Diona, I’ll be back before supper and tomorrow we’ll spend the day together” you comfort bringing her into a hug “Don’t worry, Ajax has a ton of siblings so I’m sure he’ll entertain you just fine, okay?” you ask. Despite the fact you desperately needed to run these errands you could probably bribe Childe to do them for you if Diona desperately didn’t want to be without you

“Fine” she huffs hugging you back, you grin at her

“Great! You’re the best” you tell her planting a kiss on her forehead “Come on in, let me introduce the two of you before I leave” Diona nods at your words and lets you pull her up onto your shoulders and enter the house.

“So, what does your bozo boyfriend do anyways?” Diona asks attempting to not sound even a little bit interested

“Why don’t you ask him while I’m gone?” you ask “And he can tell you himself”

“Ah so this must be the sister you were telling me all about” Childe turns, his coffee cup in a hand, he uses his other hand to wave at Diona

“It’s Diona” she tells him with a pout

“Attitude and all” you jest causing Diona to attempt to kick you. You place Diona onto the counter so she stands about as tall as Childe. She leans forwards with a cock of her brow

“I feel like I recognise you…” she trails off, but you interrupt her thoughts by giving her another forehead kiss then giving Childe a kiss too

“Thank you for this Ajax” you thank kissing him again, Childe shakes his head

“It’s no problem love” he smile “Have a good day” he adds waving you out the door.

Just as you leave Diona punches the palm of her hand.

“I’ve got it!” she exclaims “That loser wine tycoon told me all about you guys!” she adds pointing to Childe “You’re one of those harbingers” she accuses, Childe raises his hands in defence

“What do you mean, I’m a toy manufacturer” he tries to argue

“But Ajax isn’t your name…” Diona trails off “It’s Tar-Tartaglia or something” she adds stumbling over the pronunciation of his alias. Childe chuckles awkwardly

“I guess I’m caught huh” he says with a close eyed smile

“Does my sibling know?” Diona asks feeling the coldness of her cyro vision beg to be let out on the harbingers face. Childe smiles and nods

“Of course they do” he replies “That was one of the first things they knew about me” he reassures remembering the memory of their first meeting, your dagger held at his neck. Diona raises a brow

“They better” she threatens and Childe finds himself chuckling again

“Is there anything you’d like to do today?” Childe asks changing the conversation, Diona shakes her head a few times. She’s not really sure what she’d want to do anyway, she barely ever gets time off work and when she does it’s usually just to hunt. “I think my brother, Teucer, left some things from the last time he was here” he offers “Maybe a colouring book or two” Diona nods

“Colouring sounds fun” she says, her guard isn’t fully down around Childe, which he finds a little amusing, but Diona finds herself settling in the more she sees your things littered about the house

“Here do you want some help down?” Childe offers, but Diona shakes her head and jumps down off the counter and bounds into the living room.

Childe looks in the spare room and finds a couple unused colouring books and some pencils. When he renters the living room he finds Diona looking at a picture of a younger you, a baby Diona, and both of her parents. Diona smiles lightly and wipes her eyes of any tears that dare leak from her eyes. She then looks at the next picture depicting a large family unit, she picks out Childe from amidst the people, she smiles lightly. She probably feels a little better knowing that he has a family too.

Childe smiles and announces his presence by placing down the books onto the table. Diona jumps a little bit and scowls at Childe, who only laughs in response.

“Here knock yourself out” he says patting the books, Diona rolls her eyes and sits at the coffee table.

It’s easily dark by the time you get home, you look a little dishevelled. You move to the kitchen and start unpacking the various meats in your bag, you see Childe walk into the room his brows raised at your appearance.

“I thought you told your lackeys to lay off me” you complain looking to your partner “I had to wipe out three fatui camps while I was hunting” you huff

“I did…” he trails off his brows raised “I should send out another notice” he adds sighing, he may be a harbinger but some of these fatui love to do as they please

“How’s Diona?” you ask changing the subject, Childe chuckles lightly

“She’s apprehensive of me” he starts “But she seems sweet, she told me about your dad over lunch” he adds looking to you, you shift on your feet looking away

“I’m glad she felt comfortable enough telling you” you reply taking off your jacket

“Speaking of, we went out for lunch,” he begins “Nothing exiting, she just had some fish and that was about it” he adds following you into the lounge, you see Diona trying to make paper aeroplanes fly with her vision

“How was your day?” you ask your sister, who smiles upon seeing you then puts on an angry face

“And why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend is a fatui?” Diona asks standing up just to stomp her foot

“Sorry” you apologise opening your arms for her to come hug you, she does “I forgot” you add with a laugh

“Why are you so dirty?” Diona asks poking at the layer of dirt on your cheek, you smile at her

“What didn’t Dad tell you about the super secret hunting trick?” you ask with another laugh “You’ve got to roll about in aaaall the mud so the boars cant see you” you add

“That’s not right” she pouts “You shouldn’t listen to Dad less when he’s drunk” she adds with another huff, you chuckle at her

“Anyway, why don’t you help Ajax with the meat? He’s horrific at filleting steaks” you ask changing the subject “And clean myself up” you add with a smile,

“Hey I heard that you know” Childe huffs from the lounge door, Diona nods a few time

“Can I stab him if he cuts the meat wrong?” she asks, you laugh and shake your head

“Maybe just freeze him a little bit, I wouldn’t want blood all over my nice wooden floor” you tell her putting her down. She sighs and goes into the kitchen

“Okay harbinger, lets cut this meat!” you hear Diona exclaim as you go to clean yourself up