vivinens - Tumblr blog

[vivinens]

female reader . fluff, talks of the future, of having children

There was not much shame to hold in mundane Monday mornings of Meropide, especially not as Wriothesley’s gaze was caught by the loud clacking of your shoes against the metal floors of the fortress.

Who would’ve thought to wear such loud shoes in a place like this except for you, and you’ve—rather intriguingly—caught his attention. While it certainly wasn’t uncommon for you to make your way up his office staircase, he could not help but click his tongue at the sound of your steps. Private time was brewing, perhaps much like the steaming tea at his parted lips.

“You might wanna get a heel-check,” he sourly remarked with a lazy gruff in his chords. His gaze flickered to you not a moment too soon as your sly little grin appeared from the bottom floor.

“How else am I supposed to announce my presence, Duke?”

If not for the cup against his mouth, he would’ve almost scowled at that haughty diction of yours.

“Your presence might not need announcing,” he spoke as you made your way to lean down over his desk. “Not when you should be rounding up some people at this time.”

You scoffed. “There’s not many working the Production Zone today.” Leaning your hip against the front of the table, you teasingly smiled down at him on his chair. A heavy contrast to his serious face, but you could always decipher it otherwise. He was one to stay quiet here, an underside of played cards to silently allow you to move on your own; And you did—perhaps it was the stillness that naturally gravitated you to the side of his office chair. “Which means I’m all yours for now, Duke.”

Calm face, barely moved a muscle, yet his hand came and pulled your hip until you were falling atop his lap, back flush against his chest. He was warm, possibly due to the lingering heat of the tea even so far below the ocean. And his arm was a firm type of secure around your waist, yet you couldn’t help but like the feel of being trapped against him like this. Perhaps he did, too; that wasn’t doubted when he always took advantage of any private time you had.

Now, this was the time you typically took to ramble on and on to him. Here, when he stayed quiet over his work to bask simultaneously in your presence. Here, where you could talk as much as you wanted without being a guard to those prisoners. Here, where you could feel his heartbeat right on your back. It’s tough to restrict the words that begin spilling out.

“I was thinking of having children.”

Your first sentence, no matter how quietly said, is one to immediately stun silence. He doesn’t move, and it leads one to wonder if he’s just focusing on the papers in front of him. Yet, he didn’t tense, either. There wasn’t much you could be afraid of here.

“There’s an adoption center I’ve been eyeing on the surface.”

When he speaks so calmly, you can’t help but exhale in relief withheld. So he’s thought about it, too. That’s a good start.

“You want to adopt?” A reasonable question from your end, and there’s a comforting sort of feel in the air that lulls your head to fall back against his shoulder. He gladly accepts your affection, moving himself to lean his cheek down atop your head. “I haven’t thought of that.”

You felt his body shrug right under yours. “It’s been a dream of mine,” he says so nonchalantly, as if he didn’t just confess to something he’s thought about for much of his life.

“And I’ve always wanted my own kids,” you said. Less than a contrary, truthfully, no tone of argument set between you two. It was in moments like these he felt stripped and bare the most—greatly and almost completely vulnerable in your wake. Where he can admit the simpler, less complicated things to a person that wouldn’t judge his forthcomings, as hopeful as they could be.

Because no one would expect the Duke of foredoomed Meropide to have a future hope.

And yet, he laughs. A small chuckle erupts from his chest, and you can feel the simplicity of it all. “Maybe we should have two kids,” he suggests. His arm wraps tighter around your stomach, and you think you might like that idea. “One child of our own, one we adopt.” You couldn’t see him, but you could tell he was smiling against the hair of your head when he kissed you ever so lightly.

“That’s certainly a start,” you settle. And then he pulls you in, all work disregarded to wrap both his arms snuggly around you and pulling you into his body. It’s still and warm on his lap; you could only smile as he breaths in the atmosphere you radiate.

“A good start. I like it.”

🔖 - list : @vivinens ( winky face )

[vivinens]

baby, we’re the new romantics !

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 some born-rich, noisy man falls for a completely normal ( maybe struggling ) woman

feat. childe, referred to as ajax

wc. 2.7k

note. gn reader, modern au, references a scene from I Love Yoo, this is a little birthday fic for one of my very best friends in the whole wide world : @vivinens !!

To put it bluntly, it sucked working at McDonald’s.

Other than the fast-paced environment and the tough remarks from rude customers, what arguably sucked the most was that he worked in the building just across the street. Literally just a few steps and you’d be at risk of seeing him.

It wasn’t that you hated Ajax ( okay, maybe you did a little ); he was a fun way to wind down in-between classes sometimes at university because of his loud personality. And, he was attractive to stand next to, you’ll give him that in addition to being a very understanding friend. But seeing him in the workplace is quite possibly the last thing you could ever want to ask for.

What made matters even worse was during your desperate job search last month, when you got a recruitment offer at the place he worked at. You thought it’d be some small thing like where generic college students worked, not some big multi-million firm in this massive building with workers walking around in suits and pencil skirts galore. And of course, when you met with the mean recruiting lady named Rosalyne for your interview, it was impossible not to spot Ajax at the corner of your eyes with a goofy smile on his face.

And when Ms. Rosalyne went back to scold him after your interview, it was more than obvious you were only here because he pushed your application.

How embarrassing.

“You can try again!” he said to you in good spirits in the university courtyard one week after. The two of you were sitting together as the sun was setting on campus, having both finished all your classes for the day. “They’re opening another clerical position soon since our current one is leaving, apply then!” And to you, he was acting all completely normal in his normal young-adult way, meanwhile you were trying to erase the image of him in a suit from your head.

You sighed, “I don’t think the high-class life of business is for me yet, Ajax.”

The roll of your eyes caused him to visibly deflate. Just how obsessed was he with the idea of you getting hired? “But I want you to work with you so baddd…!” he groaned, dramatically shoving his hands onto his face.Then he leaned back forward, slumping until his forehead came down to rest on your shoulder. Such an attention-grabbing act of depression—you almost came to entertain the idea, too.

“I don’t even have office clothes,” you scoffed, bumping him off your shoulder.

He yelped from the force of your push for a moment before he grabbed your arm, pulling it so harshly with such a force that had you clashing right onto his chest ( Yeah, friends, or something like that ). And even as you began to punch on his chest in protest, he just hugged you tight and whined, “I can buy you some! You’ll fit right in—and I get to see you every day at school and at work!”

Seeing him every day sounded like hell, you were so sure this man was insane.

“You are not buying me office clothes!” you denied, still trying to push yourself away.

“I can totally afford it, though!” he pouted. After he relaxed his grip around your body, you still found it too tough to escape his weird embrace. That’s your karma for being friends with the guy who goes to the gym in-between classes, you suppose. And after more struggling to set yourself free, you eventually gave up as the sunset reduced to silence.

That was when he squeezed you tight once more for a last makeshift hug, then planted an ambiguously-friendly kiss on your cheek as he said, “Let’s go get dinner now? I’ll drive.”

“Yeah, sure. Can we get chicken nuggets?”

He lifted both of your bodies up to your feet, watching as you collected your things off the seat before he led you by the hand to his car. “Pff, you always want nuggets,” he teased. “But yeah, I’m down—there’s a McDonald’s right next to my work, let’s go there while I try to convince you to apply at my job!”

And now you work at said McDonald’s.

You didn’t tell him, of course. Only that you “finally got a job,” so that he could finally stop trying to get you hired at his stuffy building space.

It was pretty busy in the morning when people in office attire would come in for a quick, cheap coffee. Lunch and dinner time was also busy as expected—it was one of the things that made you happy to be a cashier and not one of the cooks or drive-through people.

And the best part about this was that you never saw the uptight Ms. Recruiter Rosalyne here, nor Ajax himself. You knew for a fact that Ajax only went to McDonald’s when it was with you, as he preferred other fast foods, so even if his work was just right there, you really didn’t have to worry about accidentally seeing him. If you did… Well, that would probably be really embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

It was one o’clock in the afternoon, lunch rush.

People were rude, your coworkers were irritable, customers were in a rush—horrible, really, but also a normal day for you. Just smile and put on that customer service voice and it will soon be over. Plus, you got free chicken nuggets for your own lunch break before this.

It was not until you felt your phone vibrate in the pocket of your jeans. Well. It was not that common to get a text like that. Your family should know you’re at work; your friends, too. Just one peak—only one, just while the customer in front of you is still holding up the line while he decides what to order. Propping your phone up behind the register, you open it to check your lockscreen.

orange fuckwad: heyyy you want some mcds nuggets?!?!? ;)

Holy shit. Absolutely not.

“Can I order the uhhh…” Oh good lord you have to turn off your phone now. “Can I order the uhhh McLobster?”

“Sorry sir, the McLobster was discontinued five years ago.” You were about to blow your brains out.

“No I swear I just ordered it last week?”

Your eyes kept shifting to the door. And there, finally, in all his glory making your heart absolutely drop in fear, was Ajax coming through the door. And for you, too—to buy you a box of chicken nuggets. In any other case, you’d find it endearing ( and it still was! ) but in this instance you really wanted to die right now.

The customer suddenly raised an eyebrow at you when you shifted your body to the side, trying to use his body as a shield from the eyes of your friend. There was a second cashier next to you—hopefully Ajax will line up on their line instead of yours. And hopefully, you could use this crusty McDonald’s hat to hide your face.

“Hey!” your coworker suddenly called out to you. You looked towards their empty cashier line with a glimmer of hope for good news. “I’m going on my lunch!” Your face dropped. “I’ll see you in 30, yeah?”

No! Not yeah! But you couldn’t do anything but plead with your facial expression as they left to the backroom, leaving Ajax with no choice but to join your line. If you could blow up this whole building right now, God, you would.

Five customers until him, four customers until him, three, two, one—

“Woah!” The surprise on his face felt insulting. Actually, you still used the hat to hide your face as best as you could. It was failing at hiding your identity from him as expected, but at least it helped you obscure the view of his… physique. Him, with his… um, his black slacks and white collared shirt that was just a little too tight on him, and his grey blazer that was thrown over his shoulder. One button at the top unfastened, almost as if he loosened it just to breathe during his lunch break.

And his hair, if you didn’t want to meet his eyes then you were honestly staring there. Whose hair was usually messy and tousled, now slicked perfectly for once with gel, all in a proper yet still very Ajax-way. The sides were in place, meanwhile strands over his eyes and at the top of his hair remained loose in that messy way that still characterized him. God, you might just die from embarrassment and awkwardness right now.

“This is where you work?” he asked, incredulously.

“Good afternoon, sir. What can I get for you today?” you smiled. Please, please just go with it.

He looked surprised at your voice, especially since it was so fabricated and one he had not heard before. You just hoped he wouldn’t be a dumb prick to you today, just this once. “Oh, um…” Please, please. “One ten-piece chicken nugget, please.” Thank God.

“Would you like a drink with that?”

“Yes, one large soda, if that’s okay?”

“Will that be all?”

“Uh.” He looked confused. You just stared at him. “Yeah… Yeah, I think so.”

Then he swiped his card, you directed him to the side, and he left the line. With a lingering gaze, of course. He looked like a lost ( and maybe even a little hurt ) puppy after his order, and as much as this made you feel sad for him, you were just glad to get through with him as a customer without any complications. He’ll definitely be bothering you after this, anyways.

He pretty much watched you the entire time he waited for his food, eyeing you with a look of concern that did not belong on his usual expression. But you ignored him for your own betterment—you’d really just rather get through this rush hour of customers. And when his order number was finally called, he held the small bag with nuggets and his large soda with confusion. Oh, right. That food was probably bought for you.

You sent him a look and a head tilt that notioned ‘Just eat it’, and surprisingly, he got it. Ajax, with his pristine proper suit and blazer over his shoulder, sat down at a dirty barstool and ate his ten-piece chicken nuggets. He was still watching you, though; he glanced at you every few seconds while he was chewing. Minutes that felt so long passed, and you just hoped his lunch break would end soon so he could get back to his building.

“Hello again!” You almost jumped in place when you found him in front of you again, having finished his nuggets.

“Ajax,” you grumbled, trying to speak quietly. There was another customer coming to line up behind him. “I can’t talk during my shift.”

“Oh!” He looked at you in innocent surprise for a second, definitely not as depressed as earlier. “No, I was just gonna order.”

You wanted to die. “Didn’t you already…” Clearing your throat, you remembered there was another customer lined up behind him. Thank heavens the lunch rush was over already. Time to put on the customer service voice for him again. “What can I get for you?”

“A box of ten-piece chicken nuggets, please!” he smiled. “And a large soda!”

If you didn’t feel like killing him before, well you certainly did now. And guess what, he ate this order, too! Was he doing this out of spite now? Ordering nuggets and then eating them right in front of you? Because honestly, it was making you less hungry and more confused, if anything. This was definitely not what you expected—but then again, you fully anticipated he’d hold up the line just to talk to you. But no, suddenly he was a McDonald’s nugget fan?

The moment you get out of here, you’re going to twist his ear. Time passes again where you purposely avoid his gaze. So, so much time. Either his lunch break was just incredibly long, or time was just going so slow because he was here. You bet it was the latter.

And then, once again, you find him at the front of your line.

“Hello!” he smiled. He looks happy just to see you. “Can I get a ten-piece box of chicken nuggets?”

“And a large soda with that?” you asked, almost with a sigh.

He looks uneasy, standing to the tips of his toes for a moment. “No,” he drags out with hesitance. “Side of large fries, actually.”

Ooo, how different! It’s the most entertainment you could wish for in a day. And when you shoo him to the side this time, he has the biggest smile on his face. How unusual—in this situation, at least. Then when his order comes, he actually turns to leave this time. He walked to the glass doors with an innocent grin and a large McDonald’s bag in his hand, happily waving to you goodbye. Finally.

“You never told me you work at the McDonald’s right by me!”

He was there waiting for you when you walked out of your shift, packed up, ready to go home, and definitely smelling like grease. “Well aren’t you out early…” you sighed at him. “It’s only three in the afternoon.”

“I asked if I could leave so I could come see you sooner,” he frowned. Endearing, once again. And your heart may have skipped just a bit when he lifted up the last brown bag he bought. “I saved these for you. They’re not warm anymore but there’s fries, a soda, and fifteen nuggets… I, uh, couldn’t finish the second order.”

You nearly laughed out. “Why in the world did you order so much anyways?”

“So I could see you again,” he pouted.

He was still wearing his office attire, top button unfastened once again and blazer under his arm once you took the fast food bad again. You might’ve just had nuggets during your lunch break, and this food may be cold and soggy by now, but the thought of him buying it for you made it the best meal in the world. And, it was also the fact he left his own shift early just to see you. He could be nice at times; so nice, it almost comforted the fact he made you want to die earlier.

“You embarrassed me,” you tiredly sighed. The both of you were walking together to his car—how he knew you were dropped off here was beyond you.

“Sorry!” he sheepishly smiled. “I really didn’t think I’d see you there…” Which was understandable, sure, but did he really have to order that many McNuggets just to see you at the cashier stand? “But now that I know you work right next to me…”

“Ajax, no.”

“Oh come on!” He pouted with a considerably loud whine while the both of you crossed the street to his building. You figured he was likely parked behind it, wherever the employee parking was. It still felt a little weird to be in your McDonald’s uniform walking next to a big business building. “I get to see you every lunch break—doesn’t that sound so fun?”

“No not really.”

He groaned even louder again, slumping his shoulders as if he was not dressed like he was going to an office party right now. But then, in some sort of comforting silence, he aligned his arm over your shoulders. It was cute, honestly—how he would still do this despite the fact you smelled like pure grease right now ( and the fact you were trying to ignore the feeling of his arm muscles that were practically bursting through his sleeves ).

He eyed you a few times during this silent walk, watching as you stuffed your face with nuggets and fries. Holy God this tasted so good for some reason…?! You totally deserved this after your shift of rude customers and embarrassing moments—then your good friend Ajax brings you nuggets and fries right after. How romantic.

And speaking of your ‘friend’, he pulled you closer against him, arm practically swallowing your entire being over your shoulders. Not that you were complaining, though; you found his weird obsession with being near you all the time just a little bit cute. And besides, he drove you places, and he bought you chicken nuggets.

Who could not love a man that buys you chicken nuggets?

[vivinens]

catching floating clouds ( i’m in stupid love )

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 ;; the heart-stopping, stomach-twisting, gut-wrenching way in which they fall hopelessly in love with you

feat. neuvillette, ayato, baizhu, kaveh ( separately )

notes. gn reader, heavily inspired by @miyosei who you should check out bc she is much better at this than i am, really felt like thinking about my favorite genshin men

NEUVILLETTE falls in love like fresh springtime.

There’s a certain silence in the air that catches his breath, one that forces him to breath in so deeply, he might as well consider himself human. It’s new, like a flower bloom in the spring where the air is crisp and the mornings are tranquil.

He takes notice of it, of course. It was impossible not to when the mere thought of you swarmed his head in instances he needed it most. Amidst expense reports, amidst case filing—you more often than not somehow make your way back into his head. And despite such shortcomings creating an imbalance in his work life, he can’t seem to hate it.

Perhaps he’s fallen ill, or perhaps there was something in the air as of late that has him feeling all sorts of things. Because this feeling was all so fresh, so new, he might’ve sought for it.

Your touch is akin to the end of summertime, when days are hazy and he finds a moment of relaxation. Your voice is a serenity like harp strings attached to his heart; and for once, he feels human.

And suddenly, he begins to notice the simpler things in life that he hadn’t noticed before. Fontaine waters have never smelled so fresh since before he fell in love with you, nor did the evening clouds ever looks so ethereal. These emotions you gave him were a gift from the Gods, showering him in the blessings and beauty of human life. And at the center of it all, it was you, the one who made him human.

KAMISATO AYATO falls in love in hesitance.

You prove to be difficult to get out of his head. He’s frustrated, he’s furious, and he’s fallen so fully in love.

There’s a tinge of stress that comes with the realization, like you’re another item of baggage to add onto his already-tired shoulders; another piece of food dropped onto his full plate, but he somehow hates himself for comparing you to such burdening analogies. You didn’t deserve that.

He likes you. He wishes he didn’t.

Only despondency clogs the air when he thinks of you, late-night thoughts in the dim glow of his office as he twirls his pen between his fingers. His hand movements are the only thing stable right now, for his mind was in disorderly disarray at the shambles of his emotions. Gods, he was in love with you. He had so much work to finish, but he was in love with you. He wanted to stop thinking, but he was in love with you.

He feels sick, like the lack of sleep from nights he went overthinking his future made him close to throwing up. Or like the mere imagination of you coming in to save him from this workload made him sickeningly nauseous.

He couldn’t work like this. No, not when your clouded his thoughts like he was some lovesick fool.

And he was—he knew he was a fool. But when you’ve damned him just from making him fall in love like this… he fears he has to shut you out.

BAIZHU falls in love in the present time.

He is a man of the future, a man that has his entire life set out, from his plans to obtain the grace of immortality and thereafter. When he falls in love with you, it’s a sudden obsession that has him craving the thought of you for weeks. It affects his life, his plans, his work—it forces him to live in the present time where he was still weak, still mortal.

He can’t help but sit there, staring down at his table in a wide-awake agony that eats at his ambitions. It’s not that he’s never felt this kind of love. It’s that he’s never allowed himself the chance to, not once since he made this contract.

He loves Qiqi like family, he loves that he can take care of her; he hates how he can’t do the same with you.

And he hates how you force him to live in the present, the way you cloud his head with thoughts of a future he had not considered. His future never included you in the picture, it never involved living with another human so fragile like himself. This vision did not include a lover that would age so quickly after he himself achieved immortality.

But he can’t help it, not when the mere imagination of living and dying by your side sounded like a love he was suddenly hoping for. He only wishes he could have both lives at once.

KAVEH falls in love like dancing petals.

For a person so human and so gorgeous like you, how could he not? He’s always romanticized the reiterating idea of romance, for it was one of the beauties that human life had to offer. When flowers dared to fade, there was still hope for love.

And when he found that love in you, it was like a breath of the summer solstice. It felt like the longest day of the year, yet simultaneously the brightest. Smiling with joy that reached up to the corners of his eyes, that fluttering feeling flew across his body so long as he was in love.

From there on, every time he speaks to you is akin to a whisper of collective creative minds. They tell him how perfect you are, and it makes him distracted. He begins to admire you like he admires architecture—staring and learning every little detail until all of you is etched into his brain. He’ll start to remember every little detail you offer to him; it’s endearing in a way that’s purely natural.

Genuine, unadulterated feelings of admiration—that was how he continues to fall in love over and over again. Love is beauty, beauty is love, and when you smile at him, it’s so beautiful he swears his heart collapses every time. And when he doesn’t leave you alone, always sacrificing the time just to see you, your welcoming laughter will always be his favorite song.

All life was an art piece in his eyes; you were the most beautiful one, and he would gladly take you as one of his painters.

all inspirational credits to sunny the loml again bc i even referenced her with the title 🫶

[vivinens]

info !

about me—

✧ 19 yrs old, uni student

✧ ar 57 childe main, tl 53 kafka main. currently saving for wriothesley, furina, and fu xuan

✧ faves are childe, ei, layla, hu tao, kafka, alhaitham

rules—

✧ just all the basic stuff, really.

✧ my requests/askbox is never closed. please send me things i love reading and responding to your messages, especially if it's fic related :)

tags—

#💬 vivi is typing - all of my works will be under this tag

#💬 reblogs

#💭 askbox! - asks, lovemail, and requests

[vivinens]

in the eyes of divine punishment

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 they devoted their life to a system you came to betray

feat. neuvillette, clorinde, childe ( separately )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, angst

NEUVILLETTE.

The people of Fontaine have never seen a downpour quite like this one, just as the reserved seats of the court have never seen the Chief Justice Neuvillette act so irrationally like today.

To deter every piece of evidence, to dismiss any accurate claims—they marked the words and actions of a manipulator he did not even intend to be. And yet, it was all so rational to him. To his own justified, lawful senses, you were completely innocent. You did not deserve this baseless conviction that sent you to trial, and you were certainly not guilty.

But when you could not even hold valid evidence to defend yourself, his constant dismissal of your prosecutor began to look so obviously biased.

“Wahh, I’ve never seen the Chief Justice act like this before!”

“I know right?! What a show!”

A show? To all these people, his lover being convicted of a crime ( one that he was so sure you did not commit ) was still a show to them? The anguish he was feeling just seeing you on the stand below him was still a show?

And throughout this whole ‘show’, even as you were swearing truth, you did not look him in the eyes even once. This was so obvious to not only the spectators, but even the Hydro Archon herself that this lack of eye contact was a sign of guilt—a sign that you could not even look the Monsieur in his eyes out of shame for what you committed.

But even so, even after all these signs pointing at your full fault, he was still in denial.

“Pardon my rudeness, Monsieur,” the prosecutor called to him, clearly frustrated much like the rest of the courtroom was, “but I’ve given my whole case and I have clearly refuted all my points now, I think it’s time for the verdict.”

Neuvillette cleared his throat. “It is not over until I say it is,” he glared at the man. “I do not believe there is sufficient enough evidence to—”

“No, no, I think you’ve dragged this out long enough,” Furina yawned. The Chief Justice paused, looking up to see the Archon sitting in boredom with her head resting atop her hand. “Don’t you hear the people, Neuvillette?” she raised her voice, almost as if calling upon the audience in hopes they would agree with her. And for once, the Monsieur feels this is the most frustrated he has even been with her. He may not forgive her this time for the childishness of her deeds; A childishness that will send his love into injustice.

“It’s time for the verdict,” Furina announced, “even though it may not be an outcome you will enjoy.” She sat upwards, looking at the Chief Justice straight in the eyes. “But the Oratrice… The Oratrice is never wrong.”

“So be it,” Neuvillette declared through gritted teeth. And as the blue light circled the courtroom, he spoke as the secondary judge, “I rule the defendant… Not guilty.” His verdict left his lips like a plea, all in sweet, desperate denial.

But the Oratrice Mecanique told otherwise.

Guilty.

Thunderstorms began to cloud across Fontaine.

CLORINDE.

“You aren’t worried about the murder conviction?” Navia questioned, eyes searching all across Clorinde’s face for any signs of distress or any look that pleaded for help.

The Champion Duelist simply replied, “Not at all.” Navia was surprised, to say the least, that it felt like her afternoon tea companion here could not care any less about the charges being pressed against you. “I know the trial will go smoothly,” Clorinde explained. “I was there personally to witness the events of what actually happened.”

“Oh!” Navia realized, suddenly feeling a bit guilty that she assumed anything otherwise. “Well that changes everything! Guess you don’t need my help, then.”

Clorinde only nodded. It was as simple as that: You would never murder someone. She knew it, you knew it, Navia knew it, everyone who was going to watch this trial probably knew it, too. These faulty charges against you were nothing but arrogant misunderstandings from the other party, and it was already foreseen that you were likely to win.

So now, why were you here, standing before the court, calling for a duel to prove your innocence instead of a trial?

“I object!”

“Clorinde, please do not disrupt the process of the proceedings.”

“But Monsieur—”

“By laws of the court,” Neuvillette commands, “This duel is allowed to take place.”

And time was a blur until the moment she stood in front of you in battle. She took pride in being a Champion Duelist, she really did—and you knew of such pride. But this was the first time she truly felt like an animal in a cage, as if she was a lion only tamed by the Gods to kill flesh and blood.

This felt like the ring of a gladiator where you were sentenced to death, only difference being it was against the blade of your lover’s sword. And such a sword was one that you had touched before, one that you had held with open ears as she told you countless of stories of her duels. Of her executions, of her devotion to justice and honor—and now those same ideals would be clashing down on your bloody shoulders.

“You can surrender now,” she practically pleaded, watching as you fell to your knees. She felt sick, knowing she had to perform under the eyes of the Gods. And she was just about ready to throw up from the way the citizens of Fontaine cheered at her like this was some show. She didn’t want to hear this cheering, like it was a good thing she was forcing herself to fight you. “Please, please just surrender now.”

But her heart hurt the longer you continued to pick yourself up from the dirt, prepared to die by her hands.

CHILDE.

“And then?” you smiled, absentmindedly tracing the veins at the back of his hand with your finger.

“And then, we’ll start a family together.” He sounded so excited, much in a way that he has every step of his future with you all figured out. There was a certain type of innocence that lingered in his voice when he spoke like this.

You laughed through your ever-growing grin, looking at him, “A family?” It sounded incredulous. “With me, an orphan of the wretched House of Hearth?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed. That was when he took the moment to close his eyes and press his forehead against yours, beginning to whisper the sweet promises of a future life together. And in this position, you could not see the reflection of death in his eyes, nor the ghost of bloodstains under his fingernails. Here, he was no fatuus, he was your lover.

Those were things Ajax selfishly ignored then, and ignored even now when it was too late.

Perhaps he forgot the true meaning of being a fatuus, because he chose to ignore the possibility that his only stability would be threatened by the very God he pledged his devoted allegiance to. The very God that no longer believed in love.

And now, here he stood in her divinity, the floor of ice below his shoes feeling colder than he remembered. Beside him stood the Knave, whom he kept glancing at, for he wished that she would show just an ounce of emotion in these moments. He clung onto impossibility, such as the beliefs that maybe this meeting wasn not real, and maybe the Tsaritsa was lying about you being a traitor.

He wanted to deny it all, even after he knew very well just how much you despised being tied to the House of Hearth. You hated being a fatuus all this time, yet continued to love a Harbinger like him—and your love was perhaps what blind-sighted him. Your love was so warm and welcoming, much unlike the cold bite of “love” his God gave.

“Arlecchino.” He spat her name out darkly once the doors closed behind them. “Let us forgo this mission.”

“Oh?” she almost grinned. A smile that never quite reached her eyes—one that looked like the smirk of a maniac. “So our target means something to you?”

“I will do anything you ask of me just to keep this person alive,” he promised, still attempting to hide just how important you were to him. But that demeaning upturn of amusement in her lips made him more and more desperate. “Please, I mean anything. Just don’t kill—”

“I take traitors of my orphanage very seriously, you know,” she smiled, looking down to inspect her glove so nonchalantly as if the tiny dust that laid atop it was more interesting than her fellow Harbinger’s pleading. “Punishment has always been the system I ran,” she said as she began to turn away. “And, it’s always been the system Her Beloved Majesty preferred.”

The door shut, and he was on his feet in an instant. He had to get to you—he had to finally realize that his own peer and his own trusted God showed no mercy to you. Even if you were his family, even if you were his light; Snezhnaya did not let go of traitors. Ajax learned to love you above and beyond the organization he pledged his life to, but he was also foolish enough to think they would never threaten you.

But as he stood here now, seeing your eyes wide open as you laid in your own blood, he felt that your fingertips were already as cold as the Tsaritsa’s love.

[vivinens]

i know nothing abt your new man on account of not having touched genshin in over a year. that being said.

he looks like the kinda guy who gladly beats to a pulp anyone who tries to threaten you but will also hide behind you in a haunted house. very much the protector kind when it's important! but such a scaredy cat when it comes to the silliest of spooks. please hold his hand.

This is so funny wait 😭😭😭 my god hAHSDJK

"We don't have to, you know."

Beside you, your boyfriend clears his throat. "N-no. No. You'd probably have fun, so we should go." Wriothesley neither looks at the entrance of the haunted house, nor at you. Graciously, you decide to ignore his stutter and the way his palm is starting to become clammy in yours.

You're about to protest again because archons, you have never in your life seen Wriothesley as unsettled as he looks now and you kind of feel bad for essentially dragging him along with you. Before you can try to back out again, he squeezes your hand (oh yeah, his palms are definitely sweating) and tries to smile at you. Nervous, but not for yourself, you shakily smile back.

One hand in yours and the other in his pocket, he leads you both to the decrepit, looming entrance. Neither of you can see any further past the doorway, the interior shrouded in darkness. You think you hear Wriothesley gulp beside you, but he shoulders on, bringing you two inside.

"How bad could it be?" he asks.

Behind you two, the doors slam shut.

As you quickly find out, very. It could be very, very bad.

Your big, scary boyfriend who beats the shit out of treasure hoarders and deals with literal criminals on the daily shakes like a leaf every time a cheap spooky sound effect plays from the hidden speakers. A floorboard so much as creaks and he looks wildly around the two of you like he wholeheartedly is preparing to fight for his life.

Once, a costumed actor dressed and made up to look like a decaying creature sprinted at you two from down a hall and Wriothesley fucking shrieked (he denies it) and practically hoisted you onto his shoulder before bolting away.

Another time, an actor dressed as a drowned ghost popped up from who knows where and spooked Wriothesley so bad that you were genuinely worried that he was going to start swinging. You had been the one to take his hand and run that time, but more for the actor's sake rather than your own because you were not going to let the public know that the Duke Wriothesley almost started a fight with a fake ghost in a haunted house.

Needless to say, by the time both of you burst from the doors of the exit, Wriothsley was several shades paler, taking big gulps of air hunched over with his hands on his knees, and you just wanted to lay down and pass out.

It was unexpectedly fun, no doubt about it— you could never not like doing things together with Wriothesley and hanging out with him. Still, you conclude as you limply slide down a wall, legs sore from all the running. Maybe you'll cross the haunted house off the list the next time you two go to a fair.

[vivinens]

GODS DO NOT LONG FOR LIQUID GOLD.

premise. he will bring you the universe. all you need, is to ask ( a quiet moment in your embrace ) — ft. wanderer

gn reader implied nonhuman, timeline is a little weird… basically during the sumeru storyline, lowercase

the sea between sumeru and inazuma extends seven thousand kilometers further than the largest mountain in liyue. the sun rises over the horizon in the lavish city, bathing the marbled walls in its golden warmth and casting a shadow onto the hidden corners of the world. his eyes are the first to open, and yours are the last to close.

and if the universe would allow it, he would cradle the globe in his arms until it was the size of a glass marble—quietly kept under the promise of a kiss and held carefully in the palm of your hand, dancing delicately between your thumb and index finger and held tightly near your beating chest. a gift for you and only you, the first, and only one, to embrace him in his raw vulnerability.

sleep has never been a necessity, but in the quiet moments of slumber’s final solitude, you’re there—waiting for him in the same light in which he’d left.

you greet him with extended arms, and it's like he is meeting you for the first time all over again—stumbling over his words and tripping on his feet like a fool on the run. draped in pearly silks and a golden pendant that held more weight than the world itself, hushed voices and gentle laughter and eyes that could still sparkle with all the love and innocence he still had to offer. here, he takes your hands in his own and is more than willing to be scorched by your light.

it is what used to be a home shared for two, just on the outskirts of a wavering village. the garden is beginning to bloom. he knows this because you send him a letter at the end of every month—you promised.

to you, it is a journal entry of your collective thoughts. to him, it is the only promise he has ever known to have been kept.

his hands are cold when you return his touch, they always have been—something that he never used to think about until you brought it up one day, until he felt how warm yours were in comparison.

“do you know the distance between the moon and the sun?” you muse absentmindedly and play with his fingers. he raises a brow, and answers no.

when he learns that it’s three hundred and eighty four thousand kilometers, being across the sea doesn’t seem so far away. and your rare instances of meeting like this are likened to a solar eclipse. if not now, then never.

now, he is the moon. scooping up light that is not his own and cramming it into the cracks between his ribs, eating your brightness whole. he has survived this far on a staple diet of fear, leeching off each knock that falls against his door and commanding those beneath him to bend over at his will.

the moon is a thief and a liar. no wonder he would be the one to fulfill that role.

but ‘i love you,’ still slips from your tongue in the form of a whisper, dancing through the air and following the evening songbirds. the words settle in the silent atmosphere, and for a moment that lasts shorter than your next breath, scaramouche freezes.

he goes quiet, holding his thoughts for the first time since he can remember. and you can tell, from the way his eyes search yours with an expression that edges a little too close to sadness, there is a part of him that doesn't quite believe you.

a hand hesitantly reaches to grab at the fabric surrounding his chest, almost hoping to feel what should have been the erratic beating of his unstable heart — but, as usual, he finds nothing.

“why?” he asks in a clumsy blunder and as the first thing he can force out of his drying throat. his expression twists into one of disbelief, sorrow, and the quietest shine of hope, and he searches your own for any sign of doubt or insincerity.

you’ve only said three words, but it’s enough to make his world shift at its axes. he tells himself that you don’t mean it. that this is only a projection of his innermost feelings. that there is no way someone like you could ever feel anything but hatred and disgust for something like him.

still, there is a part of him wants to believe.

“say it again,” he pleads, his voice cracking at the edges. his chest aches and expands with the gust of wind. “please, say that again.”

the titles of a broken character are left in his wake. in one moment he was hooked up to a robotic mechanism—held together by wires attached to his joints and extracted knowledge that were injected into the veins he never quite had. in the next he stood before divine knowledge with an empty heart.

‘it will be better this way,’ he thinks to himself. for everyone, for you. a lifetime of forever in a world without him to dirty your light. a lifetime that you deserved.

this time, no one will get in his way, he will make sure of it.

he only hopes, that should you ever meet again, it will be in a better time.

[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.

[vivinens]

flawless night, forevermore

feat. ayato, baizhu, alhaitham, childe, kaveh, raiden ei ( separate )

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 they are so obviously in love with you

( or, in which i tie them to a taylor song i’ve been crazing over, but you don’t have to know the songs to read / understand )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, no other warnings

> part one / part two ( more characters )

KAMISATO AYATO. lover

His lips curled up with a fathomless fondness he did not even notice about himself. His ticklish gaze, his admiring eyes, his comforting silence—such a poor, poor man drowning in his hopelessness, falling love struck into the night.

Even atop the dewy grass that stained his carefully tailored clothes, he paid no mind to the mess as he preferred to hear you talk instead. The intelligence of a Kamisato was long forgone in the melody of your voice, and perhaps you had strum his heartstrings too much to the point he loses his senses. He forgets a lot of things about himself when he’s with you, perhaps at one point, even his own name.

Kamisato, the name that ties him to a lifetime of formality and not a single night of rest. A dreary lifetime that does not allow him to learn the wonders of love. But oh, how he loves you.

“I’ve always wanted one of those cute little tea tables,” you muttered into the cool winds under the glowing moon. Your finger absentmindedly traced an oval into the air, a motion that had his head following your invisible drawing. “We can sit together in the mornings and have tea before work.”

“Then we’ll get one,” Ayato affirmed. He failed to notice how his own grin had widened, simply as an automatic reaction from seeing your pleased smile at his response. “Little cushions for us to sit in, too,” he added on. “You know those round ones? We can have them in our favorite colors.”

Look at him, blushing over silly cushions.

There’s a dazzling haze in his eyes when he’s like this. It’s a spark that never runs out once ignited, for he has a history of rambling when he’s with you. “There is this porcelain tea set we can get, which has a pattern I know you’ll like,” he’ll say, further jumping to “And it comes in a set of four—we can always invite Ayaka and Thoma over to drink with us.” He’ll go on and on like this, fantasizing of a life where you lived together, happily ever after.

He’s imagined this for eons in his head. Such innocent-presenting ideas and remarks, but it’s obvious in the way he talks so fast. It’s ridiculously evident the more excited he gets as the night stretches on, that he’s been daydreaming of the moment you move in with him, so he may love you every day.

All he asks is to be forever yours, for as long as time permits.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

BAIZHU. sparks fly

It almost never rained in Liyue.

But his words were such a booming thunderstorm that no water droplet could ever compare, even amidst this cold, grey afternoon. And only when he finally blew you away like a thin stack of cards, did he feel a sharp sense of emptiness at the sight of you running off into the pouring rain.

Baizhu admitted that you were a burden to him. Boring, unintelligent, annoying—that you were a hindrance to be around. You were only a distraction to Qiqi, and more importantly, a bothersome presence to him.

It took all his willpower just to spit such venom from his tongue straight to your face—all his might just to convince you that seeing him is a bad idea. And yet, you still called him a liar.

“You mean none of those words,” you sharply inhaled via short, speechless breaths. He could tell you were breaking down from his hateful speech, but to his guilt, it was exactly what he wanted to see from you. “You’re just trying to drive me away again,” you spat out. You were trying to convince yourself: that fact alone was clear to him. But the longer he stayed quiet despite biting back the truth—biting back that he has fallen so immensely deep in love with you—you began to doubt yourself.

But the moment he watched your figure break down past this storm, he immediately crumbled with a sense of guilt much stronger than any curse he has ever wished upon himself.

Perhaps he was too harsh on you. Archons, perhaps he was too mean—this was exactly why he didn’t deserve you. You deserved better than such a sick, lowly man who could not even live for himself, instead binding his life to save others instead.

But still, even after all his own revelations and realization of his nonexistent self worth…

He was still a greedy, selfish man.

And that selfishness had him running right out of his door and into the pouring rain, not caring at how the sudden cold nipped and picked at his skin, or how the winds beat at his frail body. Not even the Archons could halt such a starvation for salvation—it was the only spark he had left to chase.

In this cold, dreary life—in this cold, dreary day alone—you still shone like the sun under the dim streetlights of Liyue upon this pale grey sky. His body still eased the moment you caught his eye, almost as if your gaze alone had suddenly removed every drop of sickness he self-injected into his own bloodstream, or as if you were the cure he was looking for all his life.

Such selfishness once again had his body fighting from collapsing when he desperately fell into your arms that held him so dearly. And the greed of mankind only snapped when found his lips settled so hopelessly against yours, clinging onto your kiss as if he would die tonight.

Truly, maybe he would. But for now, in your embrace, he feels the strongest he’s ever been since he sold his soul.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

ALHAITHAM. enchanted

Archons, he hated these events, though he had no choice but to attend. No one could ever allow the Acting Grand Sage, even if he held so much spite, to escape the demeaning eyes of Sumerean publicity.

Alhaitham held himself as an independent soul. But this formalwear, this clanging of champagne glasses, this suffocating air—were definitely not so independent nor free.

This hall of aspiring young scholars and old men, all in one exhibit for the sake of research and networking. Academics is what they acclaim, but the Acting Grand Sage may be too thick of a personality for them (if he had one at all). But the only thing keeping his eyes open from boredom, quite surprisingly a person, was you.

You, who looked young compared to these much older alumni and long-time scholars. And it was truly you, out of the many faces in this room, who he could not name.

Your eyes met from across the room. Such a sliver of a chance—his eyes whispered a curious glance from the opposite wall among this dreary sea of scholars. There was a spark graced by the Electro Archon, perhaps; or maybe even a gush of wind from the God of Anemo. But every sense of composure was lost when his body moved on its own, walking himself closer and closer just to meet you.

It begins with hello; it always does. It continues with quick remarks, with “I’ve never seen you before,” and with “Have we met?” And soon enough, he feels like he’s in school again. He feels a flutter he has not known in years, an urge to talk quicker than he can think. The crinkle at the corner of your eyes has him immersed in amazement. The sole fact that you can crack a smile at him; a smile that wasn’t fake politeness like all these scholars.

For some reason unbeknownst to him, that expression of yours alone had his feet glued to the floor, like you’ve trapped him in such an engaging conversation he desperately could not let go. It was a forcibly dreadful night—you turned it flawlessly enchanting in a way that you read to him like a book, all in which he could not put you down once he begins.

And once the event ends, and he is forced to leave you so soon, he watches you walk away with an expression that he himself could not even read.

Wonderstuck.

He would never notice the light tint on his face, staining his cheeks all the way home.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

CHILDE. cruel summer

Left foot, right foot, tiptoe, right foot—hold the counter, hold the wall, hold the rail all the way up the steps… He’s got this.

One step down the hall, another foot down, a third one until he finds a steady rhythm. The room is hazy, the walls are spinning. His head hurts and he feels like a baby taking his first steps, so helpless and unsteady that he almost wants to cry again from exasperated frustration alone. Why was this so hard? Did he really hate himself so much, that he would stagger his way home from the bar like this?

One hand on the door, turn the knob, and—

Ah. He dropped his keys so loudly on the floor.

You woke up with a start from the bedside, immediately turning to him wide-eyed in both starling surprise from the noise, and more importantly, concern. He didn’t mean to wake you. He hated feeling guilty, but it was the exact feeling that crept up his spine once he saw the devastated look on your face. Frenzied eyes and dark circles—clearly you had stayed up just to wait for him, too.

“Ajax,” you voiced—a tone full of worry and heavy exhaustion, God, he felt so horrible. “Oh, Ajax, come here.”

As much as he didn’t like it when you cared for him like this, he was not immune to the sounds of your calling. His shaky legs carried him immediately, as if the alcohol in his system was pulling him towards you, too. “I’m fine,” he barely stuttered out. It was a claim he had to make immediately, a sign he was desperate to reassure you.

Your eyes grew heavier, though he did not know if they were lidded from concern or from sleepiness. Either way, he practically melted from the touch of your palms resting against his cheeks. So warm, but a much more pleasant warmth than the burning summer air that he just walked in, all the way home with a liquor-dazed mind.

“Have you been crying…?” Ah, and that was why your eyes were narrow—they were squinting at the sorry stains of tears that lined his cheeks. He forgot to wipe them, it seemed. It was almost laughable.

“No, just sweat from the heat.”

Crying over you… He’d never let you know that. To cry, to bleed, to die—you would never be the first person he tells.

“You reek of liquor…” Quite disgustingly so, he thinks. And yet, you still held his face so fondly, moving his head in such a gentle manner as you swiped his tear stains with the pads of your thumbs.

He stayed silent. He had no answer to this one.

“I love you,” he mutters, though it’s a confession nevertheless. And he says it so sadly—so miserably that you couldn’t help but sigh. He hates it, too. He hates it when you sigh. Because when you sigh, it means you’ll just let it go; No matter how many lies he tells, or how many times he cries, or how many secrets he keeps, you’ll still accept him like always.

“I love you, too.” And that was the worst line he’s ever heard.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

KAVEH. foolish ones

“Oh, woe is me…” Loves me, loves me not, loves me… “Did you happen to see anything in the mailbox?”

His roommate stared. “Go check it yourself.”

Kaveh heavily sighed. He couldn’t; He physically could not bear to do it. It’s not that he was lazy to get up, no. The real issue was the genuine grief he would feel when he opened the mailbox, only to see nothing inside. No special gifts, no romantic letters, and absolutely no confessions of love signed with your name.

It was embarrassing, really. To feel this dramatic and obsessed with words of admiration from you—oh, especially when Alhaitham found out about this whole lovesick ordeal. But he could not help his mind from just imagining it: the reflection of himself in your eyes as you finally confess your feelings of passion and love for him (feelings that didn’t exist, feelings he merely imagined you having, all so pathetically).

But he’s so weird, and he’s so terrible. To imagine a fabled life with you when you probably did not think about him this same way. How foolish. Did you daydream about him like he daydreamed about you every night before he slept? Did you think about him like he thought about you every time he sees your favorite color in the passing? Did you wait at your mailbox like he waited for any letters from you? No. No, you didn’t.

And he’s cried, quite humiliatingly. He’s cried that the perfect life he could picture himself having with you at his side would never be a reality. He’s cried a downpour of tears, simply because he allowed himself to be so caught up in a delusion that was so sick of him to conjure up.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?”

“So sorry Kaveh, I already have plans…”

Plans with someone else. No wonder you hadn’t written him any messages, or contacted him in a while. That… was not the scenes he had in his head. His imaginations, his hopes, his dreams—they did not have someone else in them. For someone he was so hopelessly in love with, he felt so much hurt. A foolish lesson to be learned by a foolish romantic.

In the end, he’d just be talking himself to sleep again. He’d just smile at the sight of you flourishing. Without him, your world will go on turning. A world full of reciprocated love and devotion, one that he would never know.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

RAIDEN EI. you belong with me

The Raiden Shogun was self-destructive. No more than a few people knew of such a fact, but she was certainly one of them.

Because if she cared for her own wellbeing, truly, then she would not fall for selfish desires. Nor, would she be here now, sitting next to you outside a sliding screen in her private gardens of Tenshukaku, sipping your favorite tea and hearing your sweet voice ramble about something so unpleasant to her ears. If she prioritized her own emotions, then maybe she’d be living in blissful ignorance right now instead of listening to your woes over a lover… A lover that was not her.

“And then, she teases me,” you complained, though it was clear you hated it. You didn’t like whining about your partner, which was a good thing—but it made Ei feel sick, because it meant you really loved that woman. “I know she does that all the time, and I just need to get used to it,” you continued, “but sometimes, it gets too much, and she still doesn’t stop.”

But I wouldn’t do that to you, the archon thinks to herself. And suddenly, the tea isn’t as appetizing anymore, because her own words felt drilled onto her tongue, forever forbidden to speak aloud.

“Miko… Has always been like that,” Ei quietly admits instead. She doesn’t want to insult your lover, for that same person was also her own friend. She wanted to be supportive, but it was impossible when she was so in love with you, that she spent every second of each passing day just wishing she was in Miko’s place instead.

“Yeah… But—still, I mean…” You sighed, coming to a loss for words to describe the pink haired shrine maiden. “Is it really so hard to ask just for her to understand how I’m feeling…?” you whined in what seemed like genuine distress. Your face sunk into your hands, and it took all of Ei’s willpower just to keep her respective distance from a romantically taken friend.

But I understand how you feel, Ei once again thinks. She feels so dirty of a friend for comparing herself like this. I understand you better than she will ever.

“Ei…” you muttered. She almost chokes from the way you say her name. “What should I do…?”

Be with me, instead. “Don’t cry over something, or someone, you cannot control. It’s possible your personalities are just not fit for each other, you know.”

“But I love her, Ei…”

Ouch.

She clears her throat, recovering from sharp breath of air she just inhaled. A part of her just broke in that moment, and it was so obvious, too—her expression quickly changed, her body became stiff, her balance suddenly shifted, and yet…

You noticed none of it. Your head was too clouded over love for another woman that was not her; So clouded, in fact, you did not notice the way Ei almost began to tremble. The misery you carried only crafted tenfold for the archon, eternally unbeknownst to you.

But you don’t belong to her, anyways. So why was she crying?

[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.

[vivinens]

vivi | 19 | she/her | layla fan

✧ sfw genshin & honkai star rail x reader

✧ info + icon ac + masterlists

♪ listening to ... new romantics

© 2023 vivinens do not repost my works