#[💬] typing . . .

[vivinens]

a lover's game !

characters: neuvillette, wriothesley & navia.

summary: little things they notice about you.

warning, minor fontaine story spoilers. gender neutral reader. here's a few short drabbles, hello tumblr!

Neuvillette, while famously intrigued by human behavior, often finds himself completely fascinated with you in particular.

For all his objective understanding of worldly matters, he is still confused as to why he specifically craves your attention. It's utterly strange, really, how his eyes seem to trail after your movements and expressions with more care than he would show to others.

You smile differently, when speaking to him. He's picked up on this after numerous conversations involving you two and a third party. When speaking to Monsieur Neuvillette (he often wonders about the soft way you say his name), your tone is easy and your smile is—for lack of a more appropriate word—entrancing. But, the moment your attention turns to the third party, that smile is dimmed.

At first, he simply chalks it up to you wanting to get in his good graces. After all, he's had no shortage of humans attempting to get close to him in order to satisfy their own desires. However, even with his lackluster social skills, he can see how your behavior is different from the people trying to appeal to them for their own merit. Your flustered sentences and bright eyes were not the same as others using flattery to gain status among the court staff.

...Perhaps he should ask Navia about it. Not for the first time, he curses his own lack of social understanding.

Wriothesley is not usually the kind of man who finds himself hung up on trivial details. He spends too much time working and worrying as it is; so why should he make life more complicated for himself?

There were some things he can't help but notice when it comes to you, though. It's midday when he overhears you mumbling to yourself about a new treat from Café Lucerne you'd like to try—as well as something about you having already spent all your "fun mora" for the week. You had sighed to yourself at your own respective desk all afternoon, and the sheer longing he could sense made his eye twitch.

You arrived to your work desk the next morning to see a wrapped gift box atop it. You had gasped when you opened it to reveal the outrageously expensive cake you had been craving all week. Wriothesley couldn't stay to further see your reaction, as to not raise suspicion, but he was content nonetheless.

It was when he arrived at work the next day that he realized—after seeing a steaming hot cup of coffee set on his desk beside a signed thank you note—that you're more observant than you let on. After all, he had taken great care in not letting it be known he was the one who gifted you the cake.

He takes a sip of the coffee. It was the way he likes it. Yes, you were very observant, indeed.

Navia has always had a soft spot for her underlings. She remembers their birthdays, their favorite songs, and those who they would prefer to work alongside. She claims it's her duty as their boss to know such things—although, in the opinion of many, she often goes above and beyond.

However, if you were to ask any of Navia's other subordinates, they would probably say she tries to understand you best of all. You have known one another for a long time, and this friendship was something she held very dearly—especially after the passing of her father. You were a beacon of light in those times, when the world seemed against her and her father's memory.

In some ways, she wondered if she was... taking advantage. You worked hard to support her and Spina di Rosula, and earned hardly nothing in return. Pay was rocky and sometimes even scarce. What if your talents could be better used elsewhere? What if you truly did want to leave? What if—

"You're overthinking again, Navia," you sigh, and before she can even think to respond, your hand is reaching to feel her forehead. You're sat beside one another on a bench, taking a small reprieve after a day spent out and about Vasari Passage. "Hm, I'm surprised you don't have a fever. You've been acting strange all day," you say, tilting your head. "You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The genuine worry in your voice makes Navia's heart flutter. "No, no, nothing at all!" She exclaims with more confidence than she feels. She seems to be doing that a lot lately. "But... thank you, for worrying about me. You shouldn't have to."

You frown. "I care for you—perhaps more than you understand, Navia. You don't have to speak about it now, but if something is troubling you, I will always lend you an ear."

Sometimes, Navia finds you truly are too understanding of her emotions. Instead of responding, she nods wordlessly, lest the things she wants to say so desperately clog her throat, and reaches to rest her hand against yours. You don't pull away, and the loud hammering of Navia's heart continues in her chest. It does not stop for a long while.

[gutterfuuck]

sandwiched between dick grayson and mark grayson. that’s it, that’s the post.

[mysillyside]

I have been hit with a horrifying realization

[candyheartedchy]

Wait a minute…

[mondaymelon]

me n who ?!?!?!? ME N WHO GUYS ...

picrews: 1 2 3 4

mking silly girlfailure picrews are the only thing saving my sanity which took quite a number of blows today ( its hanging on by the measliest thread but i think its better to consider it go n e )

anyways i wanna make a silly tag game so we are going to make a silly tag game because in the wise words of martin luther king i think wait it was probably gandhi "be the change you wish to see in the world" arent i so cool guys im taking like the first step forward and :stareyes: ahahah

(no pressure) tags !! 🏷️ : @cienxpidity, @ilyuu, @anonbinaryweirdo, @suntoru, @tuesdayberries, @lume-nosity, @mrcrazyvillainvillainn, @ceneid, @amalythea, @xianyoon, @aeon-yao, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @auroratumbles, @snobwaffles, @the-white-void + everyone i probably forgot to tag (SPS IM SORRY) n anyone else whod like to join !!

[the-habitat-sysblog]

we've talked long enough about the horrid feelings when typing "pk;m new"

*now* get ready for...

pk;m new [existing alter's name]2

[hyuckfull]

i went overboard again… this fic is currently at 3.7k words and it’s not even done yet… here’s some snippets for u guys !!

let me know if you want to be tagged >< anton the man that u are he’s making me feel all sorts of things…

[margumis]

I want to be savored by someone, let me melt in your mouth and taste the bitterness I hide, even then let me linger and refuse to spit me out because only you can taste the sweetness behind it

[chuuyrr]

chuuya in casual wear i'm (˶˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶˶) !!

[gorejo]

Those who simp over athletic trainer, iwaizumi hajime, or rice farmer, kita shinsuke, i can trust em with my life.

[arlerts-angel]

happy self ship sunday 🤍 what are you and your f/o's doing today?

ken and armin are taking care of me :( armin said he's never seen me so sick

[gutterfuuck]

ok all i can think of is super pervy & creepy incel mark w a reader who lowk knows he’s super weird and creepy with her but is like…into it. like he steals her underwear and gets off on the smell of her and she knows and is just like 🤷‍♀️😊 like maybe she finds a fucking box of her underwear under his bed while they’re hanging out and he’s like oh fuck i swear it’s not what it looks like and she’s like :0 okay but do you want another pair? 😊😊

“ and in addition to my other ask; what would be even better is a reader who is so like fucked up mentally over being into it (bc uhhh she doesn't think she should be so into her best friend being a fucking creep) and mark can tell and he's like ok so ur just a little pervert like me!— ☆ “

this is so good anon omggg—- it would also be an interesting idea to have a reader who’s kind of a bully/mean girl towards mark + he retaliates (😉) but that is a whole other concept that i am not focusing on rn haha 😅

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

you were accustomed to it by now; mark’s calloused finger tips brushing past your neck, hands wrapping around your waist or pulling you almost into his lap at times. he was just a touchy guy, you were his best friend, he’d never look at you like that!! mark just loved playing with your hair, he was just affectionate!

you knew why his hugs would linger just for a bit too long, you weren’t stupid. that’s why you weren’t the least bit shocked when you had found out where your underwear had ran off to. you weren’t shocked, weren’t exactly disappointed either. you knew what had been going on, you damn near set him up by just leaving your clothes thrown onto his bathroom floor after you would use his shower and purposely wearing short skirts and low tops whenever you would hang out with him. you’d picked up on his behaviour for a while now, so had everyone else. everyone around you could see how often mark would touch and let you walk up the stairs first so he could see up your skirt, “well i’m not gonna look up there, you know that.” “if you fall or slip, i’ll be there to catch you, y’know?” “c’mon y/n, don’t you trust me? wouldn’t you rather me accidentally see up there?” “you already walk around my house basically naked sometimes.” he justified, eventually winning you over and getting the chance to pull out his phone while distracting you with talk, taking a video from underneath your skirt.

you’d found them when you had dropped your phone down the side of his bed, going to get it before mark could protest and offer himself to grab it, he hadn’t moved that one pair of cotton white panties, the ones he had pressed up to his nose the night before, getting off to the scent of your pussy still on them. mark almost died when his fear came to fruition, you holding up your own pair of underwear that you had left your phone for.

mark’s face turned red, hand shooting forward to grab at the pair of underwear; you snatching your hand away. “i-it isn’t what you think it is!” he shouted, your eyes locked onto his. the corners of your lips turned upwards, glancing at the panties and then back to mark, “i think these are my panties. no, i’m sure.” you spoke, mark’s hands flew to your shoulders. “they must’ve g-gotten there by accident…-you’re always here, you never know, you might’ve left them here-” he stuttered, fingers digging into your skin gently, moving up to hold your face so he could give you a look of sincerity, hoping that you would believe his lies.

“d’you want more?”

he swear he heard ringing in his ears. the world seemed to slow down, his vision blurry. did you really just say that or was he actually going crazy this time? a beat, two. “what?” he breathed out, voice quiet and getting lost somewhere on the way out. “i’m wearing pink. white polkadots, lace i think.” you wondered, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt, inching it towards your upper thighs. further, further. “wanna see?” and mark feels like he’s going to explode. he was already nodding before you had even asked him if he wanted to look at your underwear, you got off of the bed, standing in front of him and lifted your skirt up. lace, just like you had promised. crimson red trickled out of mark’s nose, dick throbbing in his pants.

he looked so disheveled, half lidded puppy eyes focused on your clothed cunt, blood slowly dripping down his nose and past his chin, red staining his shirt. “can.. c-can i…” he almost drooled, hand reaching towards your thigh, needing to hold you, needing to confirm that this was real and happening. “you’re gonna let me touch you here, yeah?” his hands stuck to your waist, pulling you closer as he moved to kneel in front of you, pressing his face into your cunt and sniffing feverishly, tongue lolling out to lick you through the cloth.

“s’good… smell so f-fuckin’ good, y/n..” he groaned, you giggled. you were so perfect for him, so fucking perfect. he slid one of his hands into his pants, wasting no time in stroking his cock, jerking himself off while he sniffed around under your skirt and put his mouth around your still covered pussy, wetting the fabric and licking up your juices as soon as they secreted from your heat and soaked into your panties that mark would definitely be keeping. your hands stroked through his hair, gasping lightly when he pulled your panties to the side and instantly began sucking harshly on your clit, rubbing circles into it with his hot tongue.

this was sooo fucked up. were you taking advantage of him? would it even matter seeing as he’s obviously been taking advantage of you, stealing your underwear while you weren’t looking? you didn’t care, neither did mark. you especially didn’t care when his fingers found their way into your warm cunt, pumping in and out while he gently grazed your sensitive bud with his teeth, your fingers tightening in his hair and your chest heaving, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat as he held you still with both hands now, teeth biting down just right enough for it to make you almost jump backwards, a light squeal leaving your lips.

“taste so good… so wet f’me, getting my fingers all sticky..” he talked into your clit, tongue flicking back and forth. mark pulled away, looking up at you with lust glazed eyes, putting his fingers into his mouth and sucking your slick off of his digits. he turned you around, mouth open while he panted, hands spreading your asscheeks as his tongue began licking circles around your asshole, making you almost jump at the unexpected action. “j-just wanna touch you everywhere…” mark told you, tongue pushing past your tight little back opening, your ass clenching around his tongue as you nearly fell over onto your knees, mark steadying you.

you were always teasing him, always. he pulled his tongue out, pulling you down onto the floor with him, positioning you onto your back, hands attacking your zipped up jacket and almost tearing the clean off. no shirt. no bra. fuck, you’d done this on purpose. “so fucking hot…” he said before sucking on your now exposed nipples, other hand squeezing as if he had no idea on how to handle tits gently. oh, that was because he didn’t. he was inexperienced, but it wasn’t something that made you upset. no, quite the opposite, you liked it; the hungriness of it. the greediness, selfishness.

“no bra… practically naked under there…-“ he huffed tapping your leg so you would wrap your legs around his waist. he bent down to lick your cheek, smiling when you gave him a look of confusion, “p-perv..!” you joked, laughing at him. his cock strained, his cheeks went pink. “again… fuck, call me that again.” mark muttered, humping against you on the floor, trapping you in with his teeth tight on your shoulder. you complied, gasping and nodding, “pervert..”

he lost it, getting to his feet and keeping his hand on your head so you knew not to stand up along with him, his hand anchored in the back of your hair, using it to pull you forward so he could rub your face in his bulge, throwing his head back when you opened your mouth, sliding your lips up and down the side of his cock through his pants.

in reality, maybe you were the pervert. you couldn’t care less, your hot best friend was trying to force his fat cock all the way down your throat with his gorgeous face all ruined and flustered with your lacey-pink-and-white panties held up to his nose, your scent drove him fucking crazy, your own face streaking of mascara and your lipstick smudged around the corners of your lips. you were beautiful to him, his hips unrelenting with his messy thrusts. “nghh aaaahh.. so warm… ‘s this what pussy feels like too?” he asked, gripping your hair even tighter. “b-bet you’re tighter in there… in your cunt-“ he continued to let his tip bully the back of your neck, your throat bulging ever so slightly with each harsh thrust, catching a rhythm that made his balls slap against your chin. “c-callin’ me the perv… you’re all soaked and sicky down there…” your eyes watered, nails digging into the meat of this thighs, your cunt gushing. this was so wrong, you should know better than to let your best friend throat fuck you after finding out that he had been getting away with stealing your items of clothing for so long. “you’re the real pervert, hah..- you look so messy, f-fuck, i-i’m gonna cumdownyourthroat—“ he choked out, dick pulsing as his head rolled back, his vision blanking and hips stuttering, thick ropes of cum filling your mouth.

he was right, you were the perv. only a perv would swallow their best friend’s load and beg him to shoot the next one into your guts.

[gogolatte]

he's so pretty so handsome until I see his feet EJNCENNXJENX it's so funny how they're so little I'm sorry 😹

I CAN'T TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY 😔

[candyheartedchy]

So uh… I might end up with a live action f/o…

[vivinens]

attention, please !

character(s): childe.

summary: he's a famous musician, and you're just his tired doctor being dragged along for the ride.

modern au. female reader. thank you all so much for the love on my previous post, i wasn't expecting my first one to do so well...! i hope you enjoy this longer one shot <3

You have got to be seeing a mirage, hallucinating, or both. There is no other explanation for why you can clearly see worldwide pop-rock sensation Childe hanging around inspecting heads of cabbage at your local supermarket.

You almost walk into a column when you see him, your shoes squeaking obnoxiously loud against polished concrete. You're sure your stance is reminiscent of those who come face to face with a tsunami or some similarly awful natural disaster.

You see Childe right in front of you, and you're dressed in yesterdays sweatpants with remnants of runny teary mascara on your cheeks. You can't go up and ask for his autograph. Your pride hardly let you go out in public after a week of sulking over your latest breakup, and now it's challenged by this? You must be being tested by some higher power.

He's still looking at the cabbages. How different could they be from each other? It's been multiple minutes. God, his hair looks even more perfectly disheveled in person. You suppress the urge to fall to the ground and pray for mercy.

He finally picks out one. You breathe in deeply, resolutely, and turn away. How didn't he notice you? He must be used to eyes on him at all times. You begin trying some breathing exercises as you guide your cart full of comfort food to the self checkout. You start trying to convince yourself, maybe it wasn't even him, it was probably just a trick of the light. Even though that was definitely him—he even has that burn scar on his forearm he talked about on some late night talk show a few years back.

"My little sister is not to be trusted in the kitchen," he laughed as the camera zoomed in on his arm, and the crowd laughed alongside him. You distinctly remember crying over the sight of his bare wrist like some fragile victorian-era duke.

...Whatever, so maybe it is him. So what? Who cares? Certainly not you! You're an adult woman with bills to pay, not a little girl that has posters with fraying edges on her wall.

You finish checking out your groceries, internally screeching all the while. It's only when you're back in your car, safe and sound and alone, that you allow yourself to scream loud enough to alert passerby.

You comfort yourself by saying it was over now. You never had to see his beautiful face again—everything was totally and completely under control.

"Hello," one of the nurse's assistants, Sucrose, knocks on your already opened door politely. "Sorry to bother, but your patient is ready for you now."

You look up at her over your cup of disgustingly unflavored coffee—you had felt like you needed it after your hellish rounds this morning. You're sure you look as dead as you feel, because Sucrose shies away from your stare. God, you hope you remember to apologize to the poor girl later.

"Patient? I'm not due for another appointment until ten, with Mrs. Peterson?" Your voice comes out slow, tired.

Her face falls, "No one told you? This patient needs to see a specialist as soon as possible, you should have been notified this morning..."

Knowing your luck and the morning you've had, it was probably your fault you messed up the schedule. You thank Sucrose for letting you know, and ask her to guide you to the exam room the patient is waiting in.

She briefs you as much as she can on the patient and his situation. Apparently, he was having problems with a strained voice and his agent forced him into seeing a specialist. As you flip through his files, you silently think to yourself that it's likely nothing too serious or rare. He's a young man who doesn't smoke with a relatively normal medical history, and if anything this was just a case of a vocal cord lesion or something similarly benign.

You enter the examination room, your eyes still on the blood work he had done, and spout a script about your name and routine checkups. It's a wonder how you hadn't noticed it at that point, looking back on it.

"...aren't you a little young to be a doctor?" The patient suddenly says, voice so hoarse you almost don't recognize it. Keyword almost. It takes everything in you to not let your jaw drop in shock.

No, no, you would not let this get you. You were a doctor, damn it. A professional. You worked your ass off for eight years to get where you are now, and you would not let that wash away like sidewalk chalk when it rains—even if Childe is your patient.

Deep breaths. Just breathe. Think of this like its a test.

"I'm twenty-six, but really, I don't see how my age has anything to do with your vocal chords," you smile brightly, your act perfectly in place. This was fine, you can work with this. "Did you have anyone who could speak in your place? I'd rather you not strain your voice any more than you have to."

Instead of answering, he lets out a low whistle, which is actually quite amazing considering how fried his vocal chords sound. "Twenty-six? And you're the Laryngologist my agent recommended?" He flashes a smirk. Practiced, totally fake, but it still sends your heart dropping down to your feet. "Impressive."

Your eye twitches. Why is he trying to draw out conversation like this? What is his goal? Because right about now, all he's succeeding in doing is slowly killing you.

"Thank you, Ajax—" his name, oh god you just said his name, "—but about someone to speak for you...?"

"My agent is busy trying to fix things for my upcoming tour," he sighs loudly, scratching the back of his head as he does. "And my parents are in Europe for their anniversary..." he looks up at you sheepishly. "I'd rather not worry my mother with this, you see."

You nod along. You already know he has a chronic case of Mama's boy, after being a fan of his for over a decade you've seen plenty of clips of him talking about his mother and all she does for him.

"I see. Well then, I'll handle the talking from now on, alright? Let's get started on a routine checkup." You say, placing your clipboard on the available counter. You're surprised the damn thing didn't break in two with how hard you were gripping it.

You perform the checkup with minimal issues, thankfully. A wave of guilt washed over you right before you began, and it practically scared you into being as impartial as possible. Childe—Ajax... he should have a doctor who wouldn't have shaky hands when pressing against his back for a heartbeat check.

He deserves a good doctor, and damn it all if you're not going to be the absolute best you can be. After about ten minutes of routine checkups, you're no closer to getting your diagnosis. You sigh before reluctantly telling Ajax the news.

"You'll need to come in tomorrow for a laryngoscopy," you say, fully absorbed in your observations as you think over what exactly you should be saying. "I'll be able to say something more definitive then. Make sure you prepare for the procedure—and get someone here with you, alright? You won't be able to drive yourself home afterwards."

He hums in reply, quiet and so unlike the Childe you've seen over the years. He looks... not worried, per say, just tired. A lot like you, actually. You're sure he's been stressed, a planned nationwide tour cannot be easy to organize. And this vocal injury must have only added to the stress, you feel your heart ache, and in a moment of pure determination, you open your mouth to speak again.

"I'm sure it's only a lesion," your voice is softer than it has been, a pitiful attempt at reassurance. "If you're diligent about rest, you should be able to have your treatment and recovery finished in just under a month."

He softens just a bit at that, sighing quietly as he collects himself to leave. Its a few short minutes of quiet as you read over everything you had recorded during the exam, when you hear him walk over to you. You're expecting him to shake your hand, or ask for a pen, or like, do anything other than what he does next.

He leans down, which is quite far considering you're still sitting, and his lips are right beside your ear when he whispers;

"Thank you."

He leans back up, smiles down at you, and walks out of the exam room; any previous trace of doubt or tiredness completely wiped from his person. You wish you could say the same for yourself, because you sat there for the next twenty minutes, contemplating the meaning of life.

Your choice of career was clearly a mistake.

[juneberrie]

rtc memes i made :)