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02 // sly villain – diluc .

contains !! she/her reader, villainous reader, soft obsessive themes, mild violence, rated mature but otherwise sfw, angst? honestly a whirlwind

synopsis !! part two to you're a harbinger and the darknight hero caught your interest

note !! I know I said I'll post it after I finish my midnight deadline but the deadline was extended so now it's 2am and I have an 8am appointment but a deal is a deal! here we are!

word count !! 2.7k

chapters !! rewrite part 01 // original part 01 // (completed)

Diluc Ragnvindr stood with the aura you expected of a nobleman. He didn’t sport a polite smile or a welcoming atmosphere, yet he was beautiful and you craved for him. You greeted the ladies first with a small bow, exchanging quick pleasantries and introducing yourself as the 12th Harbinger before turning to the redhead.

He raises his hand — whether it was in an effort to kiss the back of your knuckles or to shake your hand, you’ll never know — Instead, he pauses when he sees the hand you place on his. Burn mark in full view where the imprints of his fingers never quite faded. You smile at him, the object of your obsession.

“I don’t believe this is the first time we met, Lord Ragnvindr.”

The momentary surprise fades from his face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. His lips thinned into a line, cold eyes contrasting their fiery color. There are only two options for Diluc: one would be admitting to being played like a fool, and the other would be to feign ignorance.

He chooses the latter.

“Oh? I don’t recall.”

You frown. It’s evident to the two spectators that a tension was brewing– one caused by beyond your titles of Fatui Harbinger and Mondstadt’s Uncrowned King (but the fact that this was the anticlimactic second meeting between the lowly Cicin Mage and Darknight hero remains unsaid).

Jean clears her throat, “Now that the remaining participants have arrived, shall we go in? There’s much to talk about.” She states with a practiced smile and gesture of her hand. You return her smile, jutting out your hand to the man next to you.

“I’m unfamiliar with the Favonius Headquarters. Would you care to escort me in, Lord Ragnvindr?”

He stares at you with an aloof expression, almost hesitant. 

“. . . very well.”

~

The meeting was boring.

Boring.

Boring.

Boring!

You sat far from him, settled between an elderly Snezhnayan businessman and a credible trade merchant. You were beginning to think the Acting Grandmaster purposefully planned the seats to bore you to death, with your only source of entertainment being the occasional comment from his voice. 

And of course, making things difficult for him.

“The export of Dandelion wine is to arrive in Snezhnaya’s first port, where it will undergo checking before allocation to the taverns that signed the contract.”

“How can we ensure that the quality is maintained if the initial checking is done when the exports are already outside of Mond, Lord Ragnvindr?”

Had he not been trained to deal with annoyances and petty questions, he would have groaned into his hand for the umpteenth time at the sound of your voice. He tries to mask his irritation, “If you read the third page of the proposal, you would see that the Dawn Winery handles multiple quality checks before release. Anything that happens to the quality outside of Mond is beyond our responsibility.”

You let out a light laugh, hand over your mouth, “Of course, of course, I’ll go read it right now.”

You didn't, though. Deciding that pestering him with questions was much more fun, despite the wary looks of Jean Gunnhildr and the amused expression Lisa Minci hid.

When he started getting tired of your antics, he opted to casually point out your inconvenient questions with simple replies.

“–how will we divide the receipts when unconcerned merchants are involved in the trading process, Lord Ragnv–”“Check page six, section G, Lady Harbinger.”

Your title seethes in his voice. A tone that says I’m-done-with-your-dumb-questions. This was the other thing you both concluded within the boring meeting of one sided conversations.

He hates it when you call him Lord Ragnvindr.

Likewise, you hate it when your name isn’t on his tongue. He knows this very well, and he uses it to his advantage.

“Will there be anything else, Lady Harbinger?” He tries to hide the sly smirk on his face when he sees you narrow your eyes at him, jaw clenched.

“No. . . I have no other questions.” You grit through your teeth.

Despite the rather unpretentious official meeting, a storm whirled inside Diluc’s brain. It’s not that he had much to lose if his identity is revealed, but it would mean losing an advantage. His anonymity allowed him to do things in the dark, playing two faces had its benefits – one he had no plans of losing any time soon over some Harbinger’s petty reasons.

~

"Lord Ragnvindr, I must say, your galas live up to their title of Mondstadt’s most exquisite.” Your voice chirps from behind him. He sighs, turning away from Elzer who excuses himself to leave. 

With the flock of envoys and merchants who came for Mondstadt’s general assembly, Diluc felt it was wise to release the new line of whiskey and wine in a grand gala. Invites were sent to the visiting foreigners and the local powerhouses. Naturally, you found yourself with a letter as well.

A pretty, black letter, stamped with the Ragnvindr clan’s coat of arms in a dark crimson wax. It smelled of musk and grapes.

“Lady Harbinger, how nice of you to join in the festivities. Although, if by any chance your long journey has tired you, I suggest you rest early in the Grand Goth Hotel.” He says in what might seem to be polite concern, but you knew better that he’s only trying to get you to leave.

“I’m touched by your worries, but I’m not tired at all. In fact–” You take a step closer, eyeing the wine glass between his fingers, “I’m rather excited tonight. It’s not everyday I get the chance to talk to the Lord Ragnvindr of the Dawn Win-”

“Diluc.” He growls, taking a step back, “It’s Master Diluc. I would appreciate it if you avoid calling me Lord Ragnvindr.”

It was his Father’s title and no amount of status or influence made him feel like taking the name away from the patriarch.

Your eyes sparkle at the opportunity. Of course, Diluc. You turned the name over and over again on your tongue, it felt electrical, it felt like a step closer. 

“Diluc.” You say carefully, and he ignores the way you deliberately left out the formalities, “So long as you call me (Name), then I will do so.”

He frowns.

First name basis with the Fatui?

Not just a Fatui, but the 12th Fatui Harbinger.

Had this been four years ago, Diluc wouldn't have hesitated to add another number in his kill list — but he's smarter now, more careful and calculating of the risks — and right now, you knew his identity. Right now, you seem to want something from him— and he only needs to find out.

He didn't care if you'd announce his alias to the rest of Mond, of course. Hell, you could wave it on a banner for all he cares because what Mondstadter would believe that their most influential tycoon was running around in a mask fighting ‘bad guys’? (He borrowed the term from Klee. If it were up to Diluc, he’d simply refers to them as bastards.)

“(Name).” He tests the word on his mouth and it drowns out the crowd's noise around you. It's a privilege to call a Harbinger by name, whether it's their alias or their real name, “What is it that you want?” He all but scowls, feeling done with the game of pretend.

The ends of your lips twitch into a smile. He’s just as cute when he’s angry, if not even more entertaining. You tiptoe, leaning into his ear to whisper—

"You. . . wouldn't want anyone to know about your alias now, would you? Honorable," 

Your hand rests on his shoulder, "Dark,"

It snakes down his arm, "Knight,"

Reaching his own hand to pinch at the handle of his wine glass, "Hero."

"Get off me." He hisses and you pull away, standing upright again. His glass now held between your own fingers as you take a sip from its contents, curious of what to expect from a wine tycoon's highly refined taste.

The drink was sweet.

Too sweet.

You blink, looking down at the glass.

"This. . . is grape juice."

You look back up at him, "Why are you drinking grape juice?" It's a neutral tone, half by your stunned surprise and the other by your confusion.

"Last I checked, there's nothing strange about drinking grape juice."

"You're the owner of the biggest alcohol industry in Teyvat." You state as a matter of fact.

"And?"

One blink. Two blinks. You stare at the glass again, taking another sip. It's difficult to believe that the literal definition of an alcohol monopoly is holding grape juice.

". . . I suppose it is delicious."

"It's handpicked from the finest winery grapes, that's to be expected." He turns away from you, seemingly frustrated by the conversation. When did things get so out of topic? “–What do you want?" He asks, more politely this time.

"Is there some place we could be alone?"

"For what reason would you want to talk to me alone?”

“Some things are better said in private.” You smile, holding up your wrist. It's the one with the burn marks, flesh still healing from the imprints of his fingers. You could’ve easily gotten it healed, maybe order a hydro gunner or another mage and it’ll be gone in an instant. You refrained. It was a memento from your first meeting, after all.

Whether you convinced him by guilt or by threat, he sighs.

“We can talk in the study salon.”

It isn't unusual for Master Diluc to slip away from the parties he hosts on the pretext of a business meeting. It is, however, a first for the whispering crowds to see him escort a harbinger by the waist to his private study.

You can already picture the rumors that'll spread. Maybe even a tabloid article or two.

‘Mond’s Uncrowned King: a secret rendezvous with a Harbinger?’

What a scandal it would be! Moreso if it ever reached the ears of your fellow Harbingers. Before you could dream of the reactions of Pantalone or Tartaglia, your thoughts are cut off by the heavy wood doors closing.

Something akin to a growl emits from his lips. 

"Now what do you want." He crosses his arms, leaning his back on the edge of his desk.

"A night."

"What?"

"Spend a night with me."

He's silent. You chuckle to match his deadly gaze, holding your hands up in defense.

"Not in the way you're thinking, although, I wouldn't particularly min–"

"Spit it out."

“I’m simply asking for a date, I don't think that's too much to ask in exchange for keeping your identity?”

He eyes you suspiciously. Thinking over your words. You're both too cunning to resort to such simple measures. Everything must have meaning— but that's the thing about knowing Diluc Ragnvindr. He stirs up the desire of something so bleak such as his presence, you'd give up your trump cards for him.

“. . . I have better things to do with my time.”

“Like protecting civilians?” You sing, “Picking grapes? Ruining my coworkers’ plans? Not that I mind, of course, it only elevates my own status—”

He scowls, “You've been wasting my time. Since the meeting, and on this night as well.”

“Yet you play along with my whims!” You accuse, stepping closer to him as he stands upright, “You can't resist what I bring to the table because it's interesting– I would understand. I sincerely do! In a world so boring like this–”

“What in Teyvat are you talking about?” 

"—Drama.” You answer, a smile on your face, a sparkle in your eyes when they catch his own ruby ones, “You love it, don't you? Why else would you parade around in a mask, looking for a fig–"

"I don't."

"But you do! You have every chance to live a peaceful life, to be ignorant and sit on your throne of privilege–"

"Shut up."

"—yet you'd rather care for every single problem that falls in your hands. Honestly, it's like your knights are inefficie—"

You feel yourself get slammed to the wall, body reacting to the force and reflecting as you bounce bacck, only to be pushed back and pinned by large hands over your shoulders.

It's awfully nostalgic.

A replay of the scared cicin mage and the intimidating darknight hero.

Polished wood scratches itself on your back, you feel a bump on the back of your head. There’s nothing gentle about the way he manhandles you to stay still.

"Why are you here?" Diluc demands, lips turning to a scowl. You quickly answer, not of fear, but there's something exciting bubbling in your stomach.

"For diplomatic–"

"No. Why are you here? Why me? Did the Fatui decide to take back a persona non grata declaration to enact justice? Did you follow a trail to suspect me of destroying Fatui plans?" He hisses but the only thing you can think about is the fact that his face is oh-so-close to yours, that if you could lean down, you'd relish in a warmth from his lips that's as familiar as the warmth from his hands on your shoulders.

The mark on your wrist feels like it's being burnt all over again.

He's not even using his vision but you’re burning under his stare.

"Why you?" You repeat slowly, "You. . . because you're interesting. I told you.”

His eyes narrow as you continue.

"Not everyone is as privileged as you, you know." You whisper. He doesn't reply and you take the risk to continue.

"If I had the option to live—" Your eyes scan his red ones. If he stared hard enough, he'd see the somber look in yours, “—peacefully. Then I would. I'd take that option over this life at every chance."

You’re unsure if he’s satisfied by the answer. Hell, you’re unsure if he understood you at all, but the loosening grip on your shoulders proves to you one thing: that the darknight hero is more sympathetic than he looks.

He doesn’t reply as he stands back, allowing your body to slip down from his grip. He turns away from you, broad shoulders coated by candlelight. 

“A night, was it?” He repeats your request, “How long will you be staying in Mond?”

You compose yourself, hiding the way your nerves felt like fireworks as he walks away from you, “As long as I want. Till the end of the year, perhaps. There’s nothing I need to immediately concern myself with anyway.”

At least, nothing your agents can’t handle to do for you. 

“Fine. I’ll fit a night in my schedule.” He says, rummaging through a drawer. Items clack around hardwood and you wonder what he’s searching for.

“Are you asking me out to dinner?” You inquire, walking closer to peek.

“I’m merely taking advantage of the situation. As are you, I believe.” He says, mumbling a small aha as he finds the item.

He holds it out in front of you. You reach up, hands open as he places it down. 

It’s a wrap of bandages.

“There’s some ointment here somewhere as well. I’ll give it to you once I find it.” He mutters, looking away as you stare at him, his ruby red eyes prettier than any gemstone you’ve ever owned.

Diluc Ragnvindr is an enigma.

You chased after him because he interested you, a fire to your black and white.

Yet, as he places a bundle of bandages on your hands for the burn marks he caused (the same burn marks you refused for anyone to heal), your heart beats a little faster, a little louder than usual, and it’s not from the excitement or danger you usually felt when dealing with interesting things.

“Well? Aren’t you going to wrap it?” He looks at you expectantly, almost nonchalant. Kindness in this manner is strange. It’s unintentional, but it’s the most genuine thing you’ve felt.

You nod, taking the bandages to wrap them around your wound.

This is not a love story. It’s about villains and heroes, using the other to win.

But by the next time he sees you, you’re waiting by the corner of a hotel. He calls out your name. You call out his, waving as you approach with bracelets jingling on your wrist. There is no burn scar.

~

masterlist 02 || commissions || tip me on ko-fi?

note !! an unaccepted commission. I've since revised it and I think it's better to share it with everyone now instead. I would have written it as a darker fic but the request included angst so... here we are! do tell me what you think in the comments!

character talk // some things I'd like to point out! first is reader's personality. have you noticed the subtle obsession with entertainment? I figured the best kind of villain that would contrast Diluc's personality would be someone who sought fun for the heck of it, as if scared of being bored. I pretty much shaped MC's personality on an "obsession for the thrill"

and of course, there's the burn mark. in a way, it's a little symbolic by the end. MC is a villain who wants drama but the ending portrays a more domestic, "normalcy". I did this to hint at a somewhat "healing" stage? I don't think diluc could ever love a true villain, but maybe if said villain gets a character development arc then he could love them. the burn mark heals when previously, MC had an odd adoration for it (the same way people cling to self-sabotaging habits.)

next up! to avoid rushing the plot since diluc would never be so intimately involved with the fatui, much less a harbinger, so some measures had to be added. This is where MC's personality comes in! MC likes entertainment and that's a very easy mindset to understand. Diluc can easily use MC (and vice versa, as mentioned in the story) as long as he uses the concept of thrills. He's smarter now, more cunning, so he wouldn't mind getting closer to a harbinger who's already so-willing to put down their walls for the heck of him.

there's still some loopholes in the plot, but it's just fun to make these little explanations in the end. tell me how you feel about it?

[zereads]

May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If  you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you  stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at  it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.  

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second.  It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful. 

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase. 

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

[zereads]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)

[zereads]

When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame. 

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude. 

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance. 

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished. 

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him. 

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content. 

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric. 

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches. 

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk. 

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid. 

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence. 

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises. 

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze. 

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent. 

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk. 

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again. 

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes. 

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out. 

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through. 

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall. 

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon. 

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window. 

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society. 

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!” 

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown. 

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you. 

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well. 

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen. 

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now. 

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well. 

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting. 

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.” 

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.  

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug. 

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth. 

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up. 

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book. 

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation. 

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable. 

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.” 

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice.  The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin. 

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier. 

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished. 

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well. 

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him. 

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing. 

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came. 

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut. 

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former. 

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself. 

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked. 

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder. 

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room. 

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears. 

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths. 

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you. 

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence. 

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless. 

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats. 

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more. 

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands. 

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow. 

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip. 

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone. 

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes. 

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows. 

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths. 

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee. 

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores. 

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate. 

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker. 

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume. 

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his. 

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response. 

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan. 

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud. 

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate. 

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him. 

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?” 

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful. 

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds. 

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man. 

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese. 

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice. 

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears. 

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right. 

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call. 

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path. 

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence. 

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide. 

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose. 

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well. 

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other. 

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it. 

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine. 

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of. 

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle. 

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.  

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered. 

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago. 

“My name is Carole!” She chirps. 

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise. 

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more. 

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself. 

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily. 

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now. 

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’. 

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase. 

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained. 

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times. 

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him. 

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed. 

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours. 

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes. 

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours. 

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of. 

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses. 

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior. 

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears. 

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups. 

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese. 

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo. 

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them. 

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them. 

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them. 

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.” 

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine. 

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued. 

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe. 

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped. 

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold. 

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?” 

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion. 

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank. 

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view. 

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority. 

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky. 

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue. 

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips. 

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion. 

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes. 

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?” 

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room. 

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle. 

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours. 

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate. 

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum. 

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office. 

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds. 

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of. 

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life? 

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure? 

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon. 

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason. 

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes. 

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.” 

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it. 

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries. 

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws. 

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud. 

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness. 

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face. 

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours. 

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view. 

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.” 

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding. 

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner. 

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment. 

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer. 

“Are there any regrets you hold?” 

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow. 

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.” 

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.” 

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.” 

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle. 

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window. 

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips. 

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room. 

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started. 

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds. 

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.” 

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade. 

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale. 

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began. 

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice. 

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh. 

Before he could formulate a response, you continued. 

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame. 

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence. 

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.  

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion. 

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours. 

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more. 

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter. 

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again. 

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now? 

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean. 

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another. 

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer. 

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud. 

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles. 

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle. 

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour. 

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad. 

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop. 

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough? 

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again. 

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean. 

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of. 

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder. 

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth. 

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind. 

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey. 

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose. 

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods. 

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures. 

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past. 

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols. 

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks. 

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth. 

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face. 

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer. 

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice singings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain. 

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella. 

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.  

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.  

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes. 

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.  

 Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets. 

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers. 

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man. 

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name. 

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters. 

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds. 

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again. 

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path. 

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long. 

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[zereads]

furina’s guide on the art of matchmaking

neuvillette x gn!reader

it’s no secret that furina is constantly bored of the mundanity that comes with court, but with the recent discovery of neuvillette’s crush on you, things have just gotten a lot more interesting. if only you and neuvillette would just get together, but alas, it comes down to the great hydro archon to bring justice to neuvillette’s sad, pathetic love life.

furina pov, comedy, furina being dramatic as hell

Furina knows the best way to get under Neuvillette’s skin is through you. The Iudex may seem impassive from the outside, but she knows where to look for his tells, particularly when he’s annoyed (she has, after all, been the recipient to silently judging stares, usually those of a disappointed or even irritated nature).

And she’s seen the way Neuvillette looks at you—his face softening, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, and most damningly of all, the slightest hint of a blush whenever you stare into his eyes a little too long to be considered proper.

It’s all so entertaining to watch, if a bit miffing to endure seeing how utterly slow the two of you are. If Furina had been in Neuvillette’s shoes, she would have long since enacted a performance grander than anything Fontaine has ever seen and asked you out on a date. Not just any date though, no, she would have to pull an all-nighter to come up with the best date there is. One does not simply go on a date with the God of Justice and have it be mediocre.

But all that aside, with how boring Neuvillette is with his stricter than strict rules and views on how one must go about their day, it falls upon her to make sure he doesn’t die as a decrepit old bachelor who’s never felt the touch of another person intimately. (Not that Furina had any say on the topic of intimacy, seeing as she’s never had any experience in the romantic aspects of life, but experience means nothing compared to the wisdom of the God of Justice!)

So, after many nights spent huddled beneath her blankets, scribbling on her notebook and brainstorming the best way to get a rise out of Neuvillette, she happened upon a breakthrough. An idea so great it would not only be something worthy of the Steambird’s headlines, but also be something the people of Fonatine would speak of for years to come.

Yes, it all comes down to this very moment, standing over the highest place in the opera with hundreds of eyes watching her as she points an accusing finger at your figure standing on the very stage she’s set up.

Neuvillette watches it all with his eyes narrowed at her, hands clasped tightly around his cane, and Furina would have loved to relish in that reaction, but alas, she must continue with her script.

With a haughty smile, she meets your eyes as she yells out loud to her captivated audience.

“I charge you, (Y/N), with the crime of theft!”

The people below gasp in shock at the sudden accusation. Only natural, of course. You, an esteemed person of reputable background who most people view as a kind person, being charged with theft? How scandalous!

But that’s not all!

“You stand accused of thievery,” Furina pauses for a dramatic effect, feeling the spectators hold their breaths as they await her final verdict.

She then looks up at Neuvillette, and it takes all she has in her not to burst in hysterics at the comically pinched face he’s sporting. She moves her finger from you to Neuvillette, practically preening in place as the assembled crowd below let out varying expressions of shock.

And with a smug smile, she deals the final blow.

“For stealing the Chief Justice of Fontaine’s heart!”

One, two, three—

Screams erupt from below. Women squealing in delight while the men cheer at the sudden twist from accusation to romance.

Furina basks in the attention as the people sing praises of her.

“Of course, how could not I have seen it before?”

“Lady Furina is so sharp to have caught on!”

“Monsieur Neuvillette and (Y/N) do make a good pair, don’t they?”

“How ingenious! As expected of our Lady Furina!”

But then, Neuvillette stands, a stern look on his face as he taps his cane on the ground hard enough to rattle her eardrums.

“Order!”

His face could have been made from stone with how hard he’s looking at her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead on the spot. Yikes! Perhaps it’s time to make a swift escape…

“Lady Furina, might I remind you that charges and accusations are not to be made lightly within the court. To abuse your position in order to make a ridiculous statement. I…”

With every word that leaves his mouth, Furina slowly begins to feel that perhaps she’d been too hasty in thinking that all would turn out well. And oh, maybe she should have thought up of scenarios and what-to-dos after she finished performing her grand plan, but in her defense, she’d been too excited at the prospect of finally pushing you two together that it completely slipped her mind!

Is it too late to claim it was all an elaborate performance not meant to be taken seriously?

Neuvillette stares thunderously up at her.

She’ll take that as a no, then.

Just when all hope seemed to have been lost, a savior comes in the form of you raising your hand.

Neuvillette immediately stops speaking in favor of addressing you.

“Would the accused like to defend their innocence?”

You take a deep breath, gaze briefly flitting to Furina’s before meeting Neuvillette’s. And even without much prompt, from that single glance alone, she knew she was about to witness something extremely entertaining.

“I… I would like to press charges as well,” you say evenly, and for a second, Furina’s heart drops as she thinks you’re about to charge her for false accusations and perhaps even slander, (the first time in history that anyone has charged the God of Justice for a crime!) but then, you continue—

“I would like to press charges against you, Monsieur Neuvillette, for stealing my heart too.”

Your statement is followed by a stunned silence that only lasts for a brief moment, before it’s overcome by exclamations and whoops at the sudden turn of events.

Furina falls back on her seat and howls with laughter as she watches Neuvillette be struck speechless, red creeping up his cheeks as your statement echoes across the cavernous hall. She reminds herself to gift you something extravagant for saving her at the very last moment.

Ah, what a delightful way to end the show.

She watches you direct a besotted smile towards Neuvillette. Another day, another poor sod saved from the horrors of a nonexistent love life.

Furina mentally pats herself on the back for a job well done.

[zereads]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ EVERWINTER WITHOUT MERCY — TARTAGLIA.

contents. fluff + established relationships, fishing with ajax’s siblings bc they’re everything <3, ajax being a terrible flirt lolsjdjd, he’s implied to be taller than reader, gn! reader, kisses in the snezhnayan cold <3

he’s done it again, you think exasperatedly—teucer’s neck is bare as he walks through the harsh snow, the fabric of his scarf hanging loosely from his shoulders.

“hey, make sure you keep this around your neck,” you scold, wrapping the scarf tightly around teucer’s neck, “you’ll catch a cold.”

he groans a little—but he’s a good kid, listens to you when you tell him enough times, leaning into your hand as you ruffle his hair. you smile fondly as you look down—and then a weight presses against you from behind.

“yeah, teucer,” ajax hums, “you don’t want to catch a cold, do you?”

“i won’t,” the younger boy insists, “colds are for the weak.”

ajax laughs. you can feel the rumble from his chest against your back as he murmurs, “it’s colder than usual teucer. make sure you keep it on.”

“that goes for you too, y’know,” you huff, spinning around to stare unimpressed at him as his own scarf is loose around his neck—ajax has the decency to at least attempt to look guilty.

“oh, i guess you’re right,” he nods, “can’t set a bad example for the kids.”

“and you can’t get sick,” you scoff, “i’m not in the mood to get sick from you.”

“i never get sick,” he says confidently with a wave of his hand, “but—” he starts with a drawl. his words as sickeningly sweet, enough to make your head spin a little from how decadent it is, “it does always stay in place when you do it.”

of course. he’s loosened it on purpose, just so you’ll wrap it for him. he’s exhausting, just a bit—as sly as he is painfully obvious, and it never ceases to make your eyes roll in that way he loves. in that way that makes him chuckle as he leans down a little closer, brows raised.

so you sigh—but there’s the beginning of a smile on your face, the start of a giggle in your voice as you say, “honestly, ajax. you’re shameless.”

“am i?” he grins, hands finding your hips as you reach over and secure the scarf around his neck.

it’s gentle, the way you touch him. the way you carefully work the fabric around his neck. the way you make sure it’s just tight enough to stay in place so he doesn’t catch a cold, but not so tight that it’s uncomfortable.

not many people touch ajax gently—he doesn’t want them to, even. he needs the rush of people giving him their worst, just so he knows he can give it back tenfold. but you…well, he likes that soft way you trace his cheek with your thumb. that careful way you brush a few strands of hair from his face and admire his eyes for a moment.

they’re cold most of the time, his eyes—dead without a shine. not around you, though. in fact, you think the stars create themselves right there in his pupils and reflect across the sky. it makes being away from him a little less unbearable, you suppose: when it feels like the stars are his and he brings them to you.

it makes it feel like he’s not so far away.

“there,” you mumble quietly, cupping his cheeks once you’re done. he looks adorable, you think, wrapped tightly in a long coat and a thick, red scarf. he looks comfortable enough that you can’t help but squeeze his cheeks together a bit as you giggle. “all warm,” you smile.

“but my lips, i’m afraid,” he sighs dramatically, “are achingly cold in this harsh, snezhnayan weather. if only there was some way to warm them up.”

he eyes your lips hungrily—a little thirsty in a way that makes you wonder just how insatiable ajax really is. something about him always seems thirsty for more, always ready to devour in a way that makes you wonder if there’s a side to him you haven’t quite yet seen. a more carnal one, perhaps. or maybe, one that’s helplessly in love, that he never quite gets enough.

you like to think it’s the latter.

“teucer is right there, ajax,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“so now it’s a crime to show affection to those you love?” he gasps, “you want teucer to grow up unable to show his true feelings?”

“no,” you deadpan, “i want teucer to grow up less of a handful than you.”

“i’ll be less of a handful if you warm my lips,” he chuckles, boyish and young and all the things he should be. all the things the world should let him be. “they’re bitterly numb, right now.”

and…well, you can’t deny him—you never could. so you shake your head and trace the swell of his cheek one more time with your thumb, rubbing warmth back into his skin even as the harsh blows of frigid air slice against him.

it’s cold in snezhnaya. it always is. it’s warm in your hold. it never won’t be.

“you’re insufferable,” you huff through a laugh.

and then you kiss him, delicately so. your lips press against his perfectly enough that it never felt like he was away. it feels like you kissed him yesterday and the day before that. it’s so familiar, you don’t need to ingrain the feeling into your memory for when he inevitably leaves again. you’d never forget the way ajax feels—not how he tastes or sounds when you meet him, skin to skin.

he hums against you, traces circles into your hips with his thumbs as he pulls you closer by the waist.

it’s cold in snezhnaya. it always is. it’s bearable in ajax’s warmth. it never won’t be.

“much better,” he nods as he pulls away, “i feel warm already. but you should stay close by…you know, just in case i get cold again.

“well, lucky for you—”

“are we going to fish now?” teucer calls, tonia and anthon waiting patiently in the distance. ajax sighs—you giggle, leaning closer and pressing one last peck to his lips.

“well, let’s not keep them waiting,” you grin, “i’ll keep you warm later.”

he grins widely at that, raising a brow. “is that so? well then, i’ll hold you to that.”

he has stolen my heart and i am deeply unwell. painfully. sickeningly. psychotically. unwell.

[zereads]

I NEED MORE OF LEVI AND HIS TEEN SON

Heheh I do too here are some headcanons

He is a total mama's boy and it pisses Levi off. He can tell his son a 100 times to do something and he won't but if you do it? He immediately does it and Levi is like "you little shit".

A troublemaker 100%, now he doesn't pick fights often, Levi told him to never start a fight first but if someone else does it? As his dad told him, he fucks them up, lmao. And given the fact that he is an Ackerman, the other kid pretty much stands no chance.

Has tried sneaking out and Levi catches his EVERY single time. "Where the fuck do you think you're going? Back to bed, now. Don't make me tell you again." And his son knows better by now than to talk back but Levi still gets an eye roll.

Levi usually lets you scold him and teach him a lesson if he does something wrong but as soon as he sees that his son gets disrespectful to you, he gets involved. "Don't talk to your mother like that or I'll break all your damn teeth."

The voice change made Levi almost jump out his chair one morning, that was the first time it really hit him that his son was growing up to be a man. They sound almost the same too.

Speaking of the same voice, they look alike, literally the same face and everything but his son has your smile.

Smart but hates to study. Levi's son is the type of person to memorize everything in class, he never studies but always gets good grades.

Now for "the talk" Levi was awkward about it and just kind of blurred it out one night at dinner and his son looked at him. "Dad, I am 16, I know how babies are made."

Levi doesn't like that he reminds him of Kenny sometimes but he never mentions it. It just for some short moments, it's more in his head.

Has his attitude when Levi was younger and Levi doesn't know how to handle it. It's like he is speaking to a mirror, both of them are stubborn so unless you interfere, no one is winning that fight.

He is blunt like his father, you and Levi thought him to be honest and sometimes you aren't sure if that's a good thing because he can be brutal with truth at times.

Despite his attitude, he is still caring, he shows it more than Levi does. He has a lot of respect and love for both of you especially how good of partners both of you are.

Is a good and loyal friend, doesn't really have many friends but those he has he holds close to him.

Sometimes he gets on Levi's nerves just because he can, for one he is taller and that's something he makes sure Levi doesn't forget.

Girls are always an interesting conversation because the girls he likes are nothing like Levi's type was. He sometimes even judges him for it. "That's what you like? Your mother was nothing like that." and his son just glares at him. "You're lucky that mom even liked your 5'2 ass."

Be home by rule never works, he either home before he should be home or he is home way after you or Levi told him to be.

He isn't really into sports since any sport he joined, he was too good at so he just does the workout routine Levi did when he was in the survey crops.

Levi does tell him about his fallen comrades and his son had a lot of respect for his father and the military overall.

Father and son bonding time is usually those late-night kitchen talks, his son knows that his father still isn't much of sleeper so he stays up late sometimes just to have a talk with his dad.

You know about them talking but never tell them. You find it important and cute that they have a talk from time to time.

He is his father's son after all.

[zereads]

Daylight

:: Oikawa Tōru finds himself in you (him falling for you)

With: Oikawa Tōru x reader

! Reblogs are appreciated | wc: 1k+

✧ Oikawa, who seems the happiest when he’s with you.

✧ Oikawa, who, by some miracle, found out that you weren’t attracted to him at first glance, and tried everything to make you think otherwise.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself talking to you almost everyday, the occasional pick-up line he says so naturally that he doesn’t realize what he just said, until you point it out.

✧ Oikawa, who always looks for you in the crowds when he plays, whether an official match or a practice game, and lights up when his eyes lock with yours.

✧ Oikawa, who dedicates every serve, toss, and receive for you, because he loves you that much.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself looking for you first after every single match, a joyful expression on his face once he sees your smile.

✧ Oikawa, who finds comfort in your hugs and words of encouragement when his team loses a game, crying into the crook of your neck in an empty room, where only his muffled sobbing could be heard.

✧ Oikawa, who doesn’t think that he could ever find someone who makes him feel the way you make him feel, it’s surreal, he says.

✧ Oikawa, who, after every single award and accomplishment he manages to get his hands on, finds you to share what he’s done so he can hear that “congratulations” coming from your mouth that fills him to the brim with pure joy.

✧ Oikawa, who sneaks into your room late at night with fast food in his hands, knocking on your window softly and greeting you with his signature grin, a grin only reserved for your eyes to see.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself staring at you from afar when you do anything, really.

✧ Oikawa, who protects you from his fangirls when they crowd the both of you, trying to get out of there, hands intertwined, not even muttering a sorry to the girls as he storms out with you.

✧ Oikawa, who only allows himself to be his true self when around you, you’re the only one who’s seen him at his lowest because he doesn’t want anybody else seeing him like this— because he’s Oikawa Tōru, the setter who’s seen as perfect and the best.

✧ Oikawa, who, despite all popular belief, is so utterly grateful that you appeared in his life.

✧ Oikawa, who made a playlist for you and plays it when he invites you for a late night drive, just you, him, and the music that explains exactly what he feels for you.

✧ Oikawa, who only realizes how much he loves you when he’s hurt you, seeing that look on your face and tears threatening to stream down your cheeks makes his heart ache and pray to all the gods listening that you don’t leave him.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself running to where you were, wanting to apologize for everything he’s done to make you like this, curled up in your bed and trying to silence your crying so no one checked up on you.

✧ Oikawa, who hugs you once he sees the state you're in, regretting every single word he said, and doesn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon.

✧ Oikawa, who waits patiently until you’ve calmed down so he could explain himself, accepting all your empty threats and meaningless insults towards him.

✧ Oikawa, who can’t stop saying sorry because that's all he can say, it’s all you hear him say as you tune out everything else going on, his voice the only thing going through your ears like a melody.

✧ Oikawa, who is the happiest when you forgive him, hugging you even tighter and making you even closer, if that was even possible.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself rethinking everything he’s going to say to you, he doesn’t want to see you cry again.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself, at 2:34 AM, wide awake and sitting on his chair, writing a letter that he could never seem to perfect.

✧ Oikawa, who goes to school far earlier than you to slip a letter into your locker, and quickly sneaks out of there before anyone else sees him.

✧ Oikawa, who knows that you’ve seen the letter that was given to you by an anonymous person, telling you to meet them at the back of the school right after classes end.

✧ Oikawa, who tries to brush the fact that he seems giddier than usual when you notice, saying that something’s going to happen later and excusing himself running to his classroom, the bell ringing.

✧ Oikawa, who reasons that he can’t walk you back to your house because he has practice, sprinting off to a path that wasn’t towards the gym.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself anxious as he hides behind the corner of the building where you’re supposed to meet this mystery person minutes before you get there.

✧ Oikawa, who practices what he’s going to say to you, mentally scolding himself when he messes up or stutters.

✧ Oikawa, who turns silent the moment he hears footsteps approaching, he knows it’s you.

✧ Oikawa, who stops to breathe before he walks towards you, your shocked expression taunting him as he stops in front of you, blush creeping up both of your faces.

✧ Oikawa, who tells you that he’s liked you for a while now, rambling on how you have the prettiest eyes, the most awe-strucking smile, the most calming voice he’s ever heard.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself speechless as you cut him off because your lips connected with his, finally.

✧ Oikawa, who finds himself thinking he’s the luckiest man to have you love him, and him only.

✧ Oikawa, who sees you in his future, in the stands when he’s playing, cheering him on, screaming his name.

✧ Oikawa, who thought that he would never find out what true love really meant, but realizes that it’s golden, and he only knows this because of you.

✧ Oikawa, who has never found a love so selfless and unconditional, until he met you.

A/n: Happy birthday to the best setter ever!!! loveu oikawa huhu. This is also inspired by Taylor Swift's "Daylight" :).

note: guys the amount of "find(s)" and "found" is intentional pls

© all rights reserved to @urmichiee July 2023. any reposts, acts of plagiarism, and modifying of my works are strictly prohibited.

[zereads]

Chivalry

warning: princess!reader, knight!character (slight AU* Prince and Princess) | sfw | slight hurt (due to different social statuses, arranged engagements,etc), comfort* (happy ending yayayay) | forbidden love | pre-relationship | character perspective 

citation: *song lyrics - Just for Now, Michael Crean

Knight!Diluc x fm reader | anthology (Albedo, Kaeya, Jean - coming soon)

Keep reading

[zereads]

— "𝘁-𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀?" ♥

:feat~ albedo, kaeya, zhongli, childe, ayato, thoma, alhaitham, kaveh x gn!reader:

⤷ we have a large crowd today here folks !! ⤷ cw: fluff because i don't know what to do in life !!

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @solxima, @poweredbyghostadventures, @haliyamori

"...That... That was your first kiss?"

As ALBEDO pulls away, gaze hazy as the slightest red blazes across his face, his voice comes out as more of a whisper. He touches two gloved fingers to his lips, letting them linger there, before glancing up at you, a mix of confusion in his flushed expression.

"Ah, how peculiar... how could that be?" It's as if he's in a trance. He surely hasn't felt these emotions before, and everything seems all too... new. Like he's been submerged headfirst into a world that he never knew existed.

But your touch was warm, and with you, he'd be okay with anything.

"'Bedo, what do you mean by that?" You tilt your head, still feeling the remaining sensations of his lips against yours.

Suddenly, the male seems to grow even more bashful - a side to him that most never came close to seeing... after all, as the renowned Chief Alchemist would surely never be caught like this. Flushed cheeks, hitched breathing... yes, never.

Things just seemed to change for you, whether he liked it or not.

"Well..." He starts off louder than intended, and his voice grows softer almost instantly. "I just thought you were quite popular in Mondstadt, so..." His words grow even fainter as he ducks his gaze. "I thought you'd have experience with past lovers."

You almost laugh at the notion, shaking your head as you smile at the male. "Nono, 'Bedo. This was my first, with you."

Those last two words almost seem to make the male melt as his expression grows affectionate.

"Yes, dearest. You were my first, and you will be my only." ♥

"Ohoh, your first kiss?"

You can tell from the lilt in KAEYA's smooth voice that you've caught his interest. His hands are still behind your head, hopelessly entangled within your hair, since he'd been kissing none other than you so affectionately only seconds before. "Then, just now…" A smirk makes its way upon his lips. "I was your first, hm?"

When you meekly nod in response, he draws in a shallow breath, seeming to revel at the idea. You can see the twinkle that's found its way into his eyes as he stares at you with something different in his expression.

The silence is finally broken as he speaks again. "Dove, I couldn't-" He takes a moment to pause, swallowing. "I didn't think that..." For once, the man seems speechless, completely, utterly, speechless.

So he opts to the one thing he does know, leaning forward as he moves his lips to yours. And once he starts, he doesn't stop, relentlessly stealing your breath away.

It takes him quite a while to pull away, and when he does, his face is flushed, neat hair disheveled. "Fuck." And even though he's a mess right now, all his gaze is fixated on you.

"As your first, I'm special to you, right?"

His words come to sort of a surprise, was he still lingering on what you had admitted minutes ago? But all the same, you nod your head, smiling at the male. "Of course, Kae."

The use of his nickname nearly sends his head spiraling, but he manages to stay composed - as composed as he needed, anyhow.

He takes your hands in his, his skin slightly cool to the touch as he clasps both of them over his chest with an air of satisfaction.

"And just because I'm your first, don't think I'll be leaving you for anything." ♥

"Have you never engaged in such romances before?"

The way ZHONGLI speaks to you sounds like he's quite confused - and you'd be correct. He is, because how could it be that someone as lovely and flawless as you have never had a lover?

It didn't make sense, even for someone with a millennia of life's experiences.

Still, upon your confession, a part of him has been stirred. Could it be that you were waiting for your true lover to appear, so that you would be able to dedicate yourself to them with all of you? It was a traditional way of thinking, no doubt, but Zhongli was, and is, a traditional man.

Your first kiss... was all his?

The thought of such... a luxury sends the man's head into a flurry. Was it true? Of course it was, you would never lie to him - yet still a part of him held doubt, not because you might not be telling the truth, but because was someone as imperfect as him really to be the one to share such an intimate moment with you? As the very first?

Even as a god, Zhongli, or Morax, has his fair share of regrets - situations he could've changed, loved ones he could have saved.

Ah, but with the way he's feeling now, the way his heart thumps, the way his lips still hold the lingering feeling of you, and the way his face can only burn...

"It is my honor, love. Not to worry, we will most certainly have more opportunities to do the same in the future." ♥

"Wait, wait, wait. Are you being serious?"

It's almost laughable the way CHILDE instantly seems to brighten. You're pressed into his body, yet his grip on you only tightens, as if he's afraid to let go. When he speaks again, excitement in his tone only growing, there's also something else in his voice that you can't exactly interpret. "Then, your first kiss was with me??"

He believes you, but he wants to hear the words again, just to affirm himself. To hear them come from your very lips, for you to admit such a thing... his features grow more joyful by the second.

"Yes." You tilt your head to the side, rather quizzically. You aren't able to comprehend why he's so thrilled, but happy all the same. The way Childe smiles, not like the fake facade he wears like a mask, but his true smile. The one that forces his lips into a grin, the one that almost seems to make his deep eyes sparkle.

Maybe you were imagining things, yet still, his smile meant all that much.

The male makes a sound that's in between a gasp and a laugh, his boyish tone filtering into his voice unknowingly. Quickly, softly, so subtle you don't realize it at first, you find that his arms have found their way around your waist, hugging you closer to his frame.

To be in his arms, all of it. It feels perfect.

There's the sensation of something - Childe's fingers under your chin as he tilts it up, staring into your eyes with an unimaginable adoration under his.

"That may have been only your first kiss, but don't think you'll last a day without receiving another one from me!" ♥

"Know that if you are telling lies, you will be punished for desecration."

However, it's easy to tell from AYATO's jesting tone that he's merely joking - from the upturned corners of his lips to the way his eyes seem to glimmer, all of these signs are small hints you've learned to memorize in order to read his usual hindered expression.

After all, commissioner Kamisato Ayato is expected to wear such masks, and that is what he does.

"Ah, perhaps you'll confess to your crime if I do this?" His smooth voice brushes past your ear as he leans into you, whispering just shy of your face. Then, he bridges the mere centimeters between the two of you, meeting his lips against yours for the second time that night. He was warm, yet his touch was cool - all of it, the rush of emotion and expression, sent your heart aflutter with every second that passed.

As he moves away, a serene smile graces his lips upon seeing your flushed expression, while on the other hand, he merely seemed unfazed. "Ahah, so it was true."

His quiet laugh does wonders to your heart, regardless of the situation. Soon, you feel something else - the graze of his gloved hand, one finger running across your chin as he stares at you, gaze unwavering.

"You chose me, and I'll make sure you don't regret it." ♥

"Y-Your first kiss... with me... ah-"

And just like that, you've turned THOMA into even more of a stuttering, blushing mess than he was merely moments before he had pulled away from his first kiss with you. You can tell he's overwhelmed, by the way he grasps at your arm for support, almost like he's going to tip and fall over if he doesn't. His skin is warm to the touch, but it's always been that way.

When he finally manages to steady himself and speak, his voice is faint, barely reaching your ears. "Me, of all people...? You... You're truly too kind..."

And you can tell, from the way he gazes at you after he speaks those words, that he truly means it.

"Thoma, what do you mean by that? Of course I'd choose you, if not, who else?" You beam at him, smiling, and you can see the male perk up, almost like a puppy of sorts.

It was endearing, the way he adored you so innocently.

Ah, but he'd always been like this. Loyal, someone who'd always put you first, who valued your life over his own. You swear you can see his forest eyes glistening, threatening to tear up. "Love, what did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I love you, Thoma, and it's as simple as that."

And just like that, you've managed to capture his heart once more, a heart that you had already taken. He finds his place in your arms, leaning his head against your body with a smile, his own warmth merging with yours. He doesn't need to answer, doesn't need to say a word. The way his eyes sparkle with such unbridled infatuation is enough to confirm it.

"I love you, and that will never change." ♥

"I expected as much."

"...What?" ALHAITHAM's answer is one that's caught you off guard, despite all the other surprising occurrences that had happened that night, mainly how his lips had met yours. While it was over in the span of seconds, that moment seemed to have stretched out for an eternity.

Ah, but then you glance up, and something in your mind clicks. Maybe it's about the way he's gazing at you with the corners of his mouth slightly upturned, or the way his multicolored eyes glimmer. He's amused, and it's you who is the entertainment.

So you repeat your question. "What do you mean by that, Haitham?" You hadn't meant to sound so accusing, but it slips into your tone - the confusion, and perhaps the slightest shred of annoyance.

"Hm, should I leave it up to you to interpret?"

"..."

"Honestly, all I meant was that you seemed to be someone... inexperienced."

"...Elaborate?"

"Must I say more? You're a terrible kisser, that's what." A playful smile, graces his lips for the briefest moment. "But it's not a problem, hardly one at all. In fact, I enjoyed it." The male being so upfront about his feelings was a strange sight to behold.

"Hm, should I show you what a proper kiss looks like then?" And just like that, without waiting for an answer, he leans forward, hands roaming, one behind your chin and one behind your head, tilting you forward as his face meets yours, warmth spreading across your body like wildfire. Sudden, yes, but not unwelcome by any means.

You almost feel disheartened when he pulls away, breaths labored as he smirks. "Not much better, however..."

"I'm sure we'll have many more opportunities in the future." ♥

"...Darling, you have to stop me from falling in love with you all over again."

And KAVEH wouldn't be wrong - he's desperate. Because archons, every part of you, every small aspect of your being just sends him more and more deep into this hole he's dug for himself. Every time you laugh, he can hear his heart rate picking up, his face growing red. It's obvious when he's in love, both to him, and to the people around him.

He was already so hopelessly enraptured with you, yet every day, he could only feel himself grow more and more infatuated. It was something impossible to control, and perhaps that was why he chased it so much - the feeling of loving you.

You can only laugh at his words. "Aw Kaveh, that's too bad, isn't it?"

"Quite terrible indeed." Now he's laughing too, and not the quiet kind - the kind where he's nearly doubled over, one hand on your shoulders as he practically beams. "Now come on," he cups one hand around your cheek, smiling with a certain light in his eyes. "We can't just kiss once and call it a day, can we?"

"No Kaveh, we can't."

The warmth he feels with you is unlike anything else. Incomparable, perfect.

"You make it too easy to love you, darling." ♥

(a/n) i shouldnt have written so many characters the regret is very real but hey ive done it like the madlad i am adjosilkvsdv

[zereads]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。08:00 PM — AL-HAITHAM.

idk i just felt like. writing haitham grieving his grandmother. it’s also a slight character study ig. idk if anyone will read this but if you do. just know that he is the core of my heart. his grandmother too i mourn her death so much sobs

“hey,” you say gently, sitting next to him. al-haitham only grunts in acknowledgment, slumped on the couch. “d’you want dinner? i made your favorite.”

“not hungry,” he mumbles.

his grandmother’s death anniversary is a sore spot. it’s a day you tiptoe around carefully every year. you don’t know much about his family—just that he was orphaned very young and raised by his father’s mother until the ripe age of 16. you’ve seen the dainty handwriting inside the covers of books, and you’ve even seen a small, framed photograph that he keeps stowed away.

sometimes, you wish he’d tell you. you wish the far away look and the clenched fist around the fabric of his pants would ease with your presence. you wish he’d tell you about her, that you’d know the woman who raised the man you love—even if only through hushed words and old stories.

“you hate sleeping on an empty stomach,” you hum, placing your hand over his clenched one.

his fist loosens a little—progress.

“i…” he pauses, let’s out a heavy sigh before letting his head fall back. there’s tension in his shoulders, in his neck, in the jaw he keeps so tightly clenched. “i won’t be sleeping for a bit. sorry,” he tries to sound apologetic. you don’t hear much in his tone besides defeat. “you can head in without me.”

“that’s okay,” you shrug, forcing his clenched fingers apart to weave yours in with his. “i don’t sleep well without you anyway.”

“suit yourself,” is all he says.

and it’s silent for a bit. he seems to be thinking deeply—or reminiscing, maybe grieving. maybe all three, but you’re not too sure. you’re never too sure when it comes to how al-haitham feels about anything.

he’s hard to decipher—but he’s easy to pull apart. you don’t understand how someone as hard and calculating as him is so gentle with love, but it’s hard not to notice how soft his touch is, how it lingers, how the tips of his fingers long for you. you don’t doubt he loves you—he never gives you the chance to.

but sometimes….sometimes you wish he’d let you love him properly. to kiss the scars. to admire the parts he thinks are ugly. to shelter the thoughts that have no home besides his own head.

it’s silent for a bit—until it’s not. you break the silence first, like you’re holding a hand out for him from the shore as he drifts aimlessly.

“baby?” you ask quietly. he grunts again in response. “what was she like?”

“who?”

al-haitham is a smart man. probably the smartest you’ve ever met. you don’t think you’ve ever met someone who read physics books as a pastime, and you’re pretty certain he’ll always be the only one. you know he knows exactly what you’re asking and you know he’s avoiding it.

but it doesn’t stop you though—it’s been long enough, you think. you’ve known him long enough. craved him for a few summers and loved him for enough winters that he has pieces of you that fall through the cracks of your resolve.

you think you deserve a few pieces of him too—even if your fingers have to reach past the cracks themselves, even if they have to slice against the jagged edges and bleed a little in the process.

you’ll bleed for him—like the sun rises from the east and sets in the west, your heart beats for al-haitham. and it’ll bleed for him too.

“your grandmother,” you whisper. “you’ve never told me about her.”

“there’s not much to tell,” he shrugs. “she died right before i enrolled in the akademiya and she raised me after my parents died.”

“i’m sure there’s more,” you say gently—his grip has tightened on your hand now. you don’t think he realizes—in fact, you don’t think al-haitham realizes half of what he feels when it comes to vulnerability.

it’s why he realizes he loves you so late. it’s why you fall first and he falls after. but he falls harder—it’s not hard to see.

“she was a kshahrewar scholar,” he offers blankly.

your thumb brushes over his knuckles, and it’s almost like your hand reaches past the shore just a little further—you don’t mind risking the fall into the water if it means pulling him out.

“haitham,” you sigh delicately. he swallows. it’s hard to keep composure for long—even for someone like him.

grief is an evil thing. it’s a familiar friend—one you wish you never made and one you’ll never shake away. it dances with you under the moonlight, when the stars are bright but the sky is heavy. it barely grazes your skin some days but weighs into your bones on others. it’s a cruel thing really—and it hits you harder some moments than others.

“she was kind,” he starts slowly, his hand reaching out and grabbing yours over the shoreline. maybe, just maybe, sometimes he can get tired of drifting too. “she liked to bake. her hands got too weak to knead dough when i got older, though. you would have liked her tarts. she couldn’t read without her glasses and she always forgot they were on her head. she said my father looked like her husband and that i look like my father. she used to ask me to read to her sometimes so i’d sit on her lap and read my books out loud. she loved the sunrise but was never good at waking up on time to see it. she used to drink tea during sunsets. she liked hers extra sweet and i liked mine more bitter. i…” he pauses, voice shaky as his fingers dig into your hand. you squeeze, and he sniffles. “i haven’t had tea since she passed.”

“she sounds lovely,” you whisper. “i would have loved to meet her.”

“she’d have loved you,” he cracks a small smile, shaking his head as he thinks. “probably more than she loved me.”

“i’m sure i’d never compare to her darling grandson,” you chuckle, bumping arms with him. his head drops to your shoulder—you hesitate for a moment before deciding to pull him into your chest. and when he doesn’t protest, when he buries himself into you instead of pulling away, you thread your fingers into his hair.

“i miss her,” he croaks quietly.

“i know,” you soothe. “i know, baby.”

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life. one is gone but it lives through the other. the gentle touch against his scalp and the warmth under his cheek is familiar—it feels like the lap he slept on when he was six. it feels like the delicate hands that cupped his cheeks when he was eight. it feels like the soft kisses against his temple when he was ten.

al-haitham has only ever known love twice in his life, and he’s glad that one of them is you.

“you’d have loved her too,” his voice breaks. you kiss his head as you feel your shirt dampen.

“i already do,” you murmur, “she raised you well. i have her to thank.”

his breath hitches at that—and then he pulls you closer, grasps you tighter, falls in love with you harder. his grandmother’s death anniversary has always been a sore spot—but somehow, you numb the ache even if by just a little.

gently, your hand clasps his and pulls him to shore. he’s grateful he doesn’t have to drift alone anymore.

there is nothing i’m more obsessed with than al-haitham’s childhood. i have so many thought about it. and him. and his character. and his inner thoughts and feelings and most of them revolve around his grandmother and more importantly her passing. and idk. he’s just sosososo important to me i wish we knew more about his grandmother. i love her so much i grieve her passing even though we’ve never even met her 😭

[zereads]

Dainsleif bodyguard AU x Khaenri'ah Royalty Reader (brainrot)

Being the royal prince/ss of Khaenri'ah and after the most recent assassination attempt, Dain (a captain candidate for the royal guards) is assigned to solo guard your chambers at night.

He doesn't get flustered at the intimate task of guarding the inner chambers. He's like a rock, even when you'd change into your nightwear by the maids.

"A man dedicated to duty," is what they described him as when you asked what your new guard would be like.

One bored night, you tried throwing a pillow at his face, wondering if he was spacing out, but he merely caught the item, walking towards you almost robotically and placing the pillow back on your bed, before bowing and returning to his station.

He's not all that robotic, of course. Some nights you'd try to make conversations, to which he'd answer everything bluntly and as short as possible.

There was one night when you stood in front of him, just eyeing his beautiful star shaped pupil, when he gave you a weird look.

"Your highness. . . what are you doing?"

You'd pout and turn away, saying "nothing" and cuddling back into your warm bed. You wonder if he feels cold standing there sometimes.

You gave him a blanket the next night, to which he was hesitant to use until you "ordered" him to simply wrap it around his shoulders.

"This would hinder me from fighting and protecting you." He said.

"I'm sure a prodigy such as yourself is capable of fighting with a blanket."

And there was one night when the pressure of royalty felt too much for you; when days were dragging on and you felt exhausted yet unable to sleep. Turning side to side in bed before glancing up at your stoic guard. He's still standing there. Doing his "duty".

With a blanket over your shoulders, you opened the doors to the large balcony, enjoying the fresh air while eyeing the view from high up. Khaenri'ah is beautiful, but dark forces you didn't understand were brewing, putting pressure on everyone.

These nights in your chambers were a comfort away from the stress.

"Your highness, it's dangerous," Dain says, not moving from his station. You might fall or an assassin could be waiting, yet you ignore his warning as you sit over the railings.

"Then come over here and protect me."

Like an invite, he approaches you, reaching out to hold onto you in case you drop, unsure of where to place his hands but you guided them to settle on your hips.

You gesture for him to sit with you on the railings (he refused) as you both look on at the view that is Khaenri'ah.

You talked a lot more that night; about nations beyond and what life would be like beyond duty. He was charming yet awkward, you understand why he was well loved by the people.

"If I ever leave Khaenri'ah, would you guard me to journey the rest of Teyvat as well?" You ask and he hums, a promise in his eyes.

"Of course."

You never did leave Khaenri'ah.

// not proofread, just word barf bc guard dainsleif makes me so soooft 🥺💞

[zereads]

The Boy Who Lived

Reader X Draco

Summary: A few months after the war, Draco gets attacked and left barely alive in St. Mungo’s. They refuse to treat him or take his money. You have a few things to say about that. 

A/n: Look at me writing! And I’ve really been meaning to write something like this for quite some time because it is so soft and fluffy with only mild angst if you squint. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think! I miss talking with y’all. 

“He… he’s gonna be okay, right?”

My heart feel when I heard the news. No matter how much I loathed the youngest Malfoy, hearing that he was in St. Mungo’s because some ne’er do well thought that the boy deserved to be tortured to almost death for what his family had done. My eyebrows furrowed as I parted from the small group of Alumni Gryffindors and watched the city behind the windowpane. I could hear the soft murmurs of Harry Hermione and Ron discussing it.

Keep reading

[zereads]

Impetous Injuries

Synopsis: Caring for an irresponsibly injured man was not on your plan for today, so why was he at your door?

Characters: Morax, Xiao, Childe and Scaramouche x Fem! Reader!

Warnings: Zhongli as an archon and Scaramouche as fatui again, Childe’s part has angst/comfort. description of injuries and trauma. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ [i needed to post something sfw and clear my drafts! <3]

Morax

It wasn’t every day that you’d hear the hasty pummel of closed fists against your front door and even rarer was it to witness one of the Seven requesting for your help— a meagre goddess who tried to live a tranquil, joyous life to the best of her ability.

“I fear i may of overestimated myself, dear.” Morax’s throaty voice could be made out from behind the door, notably lower in volume. Neither was this the first time, yet something felt different than usual. Of course, the archaic god was prone to injury in battle, but upon opening the door, he was more maimed than you had thought.

Brunette strands of hair plastered to his chest and forehead—covered in elemental ichor and sweat. His limbs were littered in a spectrum of wounds, bruises and incisions alike. His robes of ivory reduced to scraps of crimson-dyed fabric, blood from who knows where drenched his torso.

In short, you were responsible for an Archon who had gotten himself too deep into bloodlust. As always. Your lips pressed together before you let out a displeased hum. You just wished he would of cared for himself better.

“Morax…are you even aware of the severity of your injuries? Thank Celestia no one had attacked you on the way here!” You scolded, arms crossed as an attempt to look irked enough for the irresponsible man to come to his long-lost senses.

Though to him, you just looked adorable, he had always been fond of your gentle heart in the midst of a war. Therefore, Rex Lapis knew you valued him too much to leave him isolated in the dangerous depths of the night, entering your abode and placing a bloodstained hand on your pretty face. You didn’t grimace from his touch.

“I’m truly sorry, but you’re the only one i can trust with healing, my goddess.” You felt your knees buckle at the endearment, rather embarrassed that such a high-status being was addressing you as superior. He just never learns, does he?

“Please stop the flattery, my Lord. Instead, follow me so i can actually treat you.” Another exasperated sigh from your lips, you gently held his finger and guided him to the steaming bath, collecting all relevant tonics and herbs in your store room and returning back to the wounded god.

Your heart lept in your chest seeing this he was, quite literally, already fully undressed. Oh, so shamelessness was another quality he lacked? It most certainly didn’t help that he could barely even fit his tall frame into the jade tub, glowing aureate arms casually resting on the outskirts of the container. You felt your mind begin to wander as did your trail of vision.

“Ah, my injuries are starting to sting slightly—Hm? What has you so timid?” Morax’s tone felt unfamiliar to you, seeing the God of contracts so relaxed might of stunned you beyond repair. You dismissed yourself, dampening a medicated towel and wiping it gently over his chiseled chest—as calmly as one could in such a predicament.

Grunts and groans followed with some obscenities of his at the stinging serums painted your cheeks scarlet. Genuine or not, you didn’t think you could hold your composure for another minute. Even worse— the youthful archon wouldn’t remove his piercing critical gaze from your face, analysing every single movement in your expression.

“Admire me and my lips all you’d like afterwards, but i’m in a dire condition at the moment, dearest.”

“It’s not like that, Morax! Halt such talk and stay quiet whilst i treat you! Please!”

Xiao

Stubborn.

The quality that the Yaksha had always been described as. Especially by you. Yet he never listened to your pleads to let you help him.

Xiao hesitantly loitered around the door to your estate, a gloved hand lingering on the doorknob for longer than it should have. He’s been doubting his feelings of just ‘friendship’. He’s seen human couples— so loving and expressive it squeezes his heart in a manner so painful, you deserved better than a man who didn’t even think to enter your home, so he discarded his thought.

Especially one who would turn up with blood around his clothes, a deep wound on his side too.

Just as he contemplated leaving, the wooden barrier inched open. You held a miniature basket, a lengthy list in the other. Xiao was keen to disappear at that moment. Despite this, you were quick to drop them both to encase the adeptus in a tight embrace.

“Xiao!” An excited exclamation from you as you rested your cheek against his shoulder. Had you noticed his injuries at all, or was it pure blinded excitement to greet him? Crimson still trickled down his abdomen, but you had wrapped your arms around his waist.

A surge of pain and discomfort flashed through his body— he couldn’t stop the loud gasp he let out when your arm grazed his injury.

“Agh!” Xiao cried out, causing you to recoil back into place upright upon the doorstep. Your delicate features morphed into a state of horror whilst he stumbled back. Your sleeves were coated with vermillion fluid, eyes fluttering to the yaksha’s expression and back to your stained clothing.

“This isn’t anything major, i’ll leave myself to treat it—” You barely let the usually vigilant adeptus finish his sentence before grabbing his wrist and pulling him close gently, barricading him from vanishing into a flurry of karmic debt.

“No. I can’t let you go until you’ve recovered well, you can barely walk upright Xiao!” You smoothed your thumb over his cheek tenderly, distracting him that you were, in fact, taking him inside into the safety of your abode.

The adeptus’ face was warm— tentatively watching your own lips so close to his. Your kindness was irreplaceable, your heart was too soft for his liking, but he’s never once felt unwelcome in your presence. Xiao had witnesses the false sympathy humans showed off towards him, yet you’ll always be willing to listen.

Now you’re treating his wounds? Why are you doing this?

“I’m running out of my medicine, i’ll visit Bubu Pharmacy later, just have these now, please?” You offered, suddenly noticing the flush over his cheeks. Maybe he has a fever too? He accepted the concoction of herbs, hesitantly consuming the mixture. Xiao, having noticed your obvious staring at his chest, shifted around in his seat.

“Xiao…?” Archons, he just looked so anxious it’s endearing, you’d hate to push him from his comfort zone but he hasn’t got much of a choice.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to have to…remove your shirt—” You meekly stated, ashamedly hanging your head down at your lap as he cleared his throat numerous times. That just sounded so disrespectful! What if he took it the wrong way? You resided within the embarrassing realm of overthinking.

“As you wish, but be quick, i’d rather not have you ogling me.”

“I do not!”

Childe

Two in the morning.

That was the time your beloved decided to show up— weak, timid thumps of his open palm across the wooden barrier. Childe knew he had already messed up, clenching his jaw with anxious anticipation. What would you say? Yesterday, tired tears flowed down your cheeks. It hurt him to leave his care in your hands rather than his own. Would you do anything at all? Would you leave him lonely in the cold?

The harbinger’s questions were answered for him. Your body slumped over, distress tugged at your eyebrows. You stared at every injured limb of his.

Merciless splotches of the infamous crimson liquid matched his scarf, ripped and loosely tied against his thigh. A tourniquet, ideal for hiding the severity of the injury below it. His bruised skin was as lifeless as the pale snow cascading to the floor, where his eyes stayed put. A classic snezhnayan man fitting right into his war-strife homeland. If it wasn’t his own blood, it was the metallic scent of other’s. The unpleasant smell was overpowering, that migraine of yours worsening and nausea invading your stomach.

You remained blank and wordless, firmly securing one of his least injured arms over your shoulders and guiding him to the armchair. Childe hated seeing you like this— yet he never changed his ways. He didn’t know what hurt more, the pre-assembled medical kit laying on the side cabinet, or the two cold dishes set upon the dining table that went uneaten from hours ago. He messed up, for sure.

“Darling…Please, say something.” Tartaglia breathily beseeched, clasping a wounded hand over yours. You shook him off. You yourself didn’t know what you were feeling. Shock? Well, this was the third time this week, so no. Hurt? Something deeper than that.

“Say what? Childe, you just never learn!” Your sudden outburst made him flinch, and your heart panged with guilt—yet it was never strong enough to overcome your fury.

“Two days ago you arrived with major burns, the next with a broken wrist and today barely making it alive? Tomorrow will you even come back to me? Or will your coworkers deliver me your death instead?” Your tears swelled up in your eyes, distracting him from you by pressing the antiseptic towel against his stab wounds.

Childe hissed, unsure if the sting was from your harsh words or from the medication. His heart felt as if someone had squeezed it tight, the truth pained him to hear, especially from his wife’s mouth. He had kept you up for so long, losing your rest and throwing you into an abyss of constant worry. He deserved it. How could he ignore you?

“Love, i’m so sorry, i beg you, you can do anything to me. Ignore me, hate me or punish me for all i care, just don’t leave me alone…please.” His cerulean eyes held no lies, staring into your distant ones with desperate longing.

He clinged onto your torso, near sobbing into the crook of your neck. The frantic nature of his words broke your trance, anger dissipating with each tear of your own. Soon enough, your arms instinctively raised to wrap him in your embrace. Staying infuriated with him was futile.

His half-conscious pleads ceased as he calmed down, exhaustion catching up to the young Harbinger. You combed his matted tresses with your fingers, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead to lull him into comfort.

“I’m sorry, Childe, just take better care of yourself, okay?” You reassured, his confirmation in response felt real this time. He rested his heavy head in your lap, enjoying the warmth of your hand on his cheek.

Your husband wouldn’t give up your company for the world—if he had to cease his pursuit of strength for you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Scaramouche

“What, are you just going to stand there staring at me? Let me in.”

A rude introduction from an even more arrogant man. Scaramouche stood lazily upright at the entrance to your estate, somehow expecting you to take him in your arms and nourishment. Expecting you not to question him. Too bad you did just that.

“Yes, i will. Care to explain why you’re here?” You scoffed in an equally aggressive manner. Your eyes trailed up his legs and waist, exposed and bruised— if that was possible for a puppet. Nothing spilled from said wounds, but the Harbinger discreetly winced from the pain. He remained there silent, opting not to share any details.

“Shut up, this isn’t my fault.” Scaramouche almost yelled, his unexpected outrage igniting irritation through your body.

Oh? You clenched your teeth together in frustration. Your grasp on the doorknob was deathly, you were in no mood to deal with his attitude nor his own problems. “Then this isn’t my concern.”

And with that, you forced the door shut— well, as far as you could. Scaramouche pushed the door open with his foot and arm, a look of disbelief and confusion gleamed in his eyes. How dare you? Those words he wanted to spit at you, but all that fell was a single word.

“Wait!” The harbinger exclaimed, forcing his way through the gap in door. He couldn’t believe himself. First, he dared to show up to your house and now he’s begging for your help? He felt pathetic, truly.

Resistance was pointless against him. Letting your ex-boyfriend back into the very same house he’d swear he’d never step into again. But being ruthlessly ignorant was his characteristic, not yours. Scaramouche had obviously forfeited whatever ego he latched onto— you weren’t that cruel as to leave an injured man by himself.

“I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t of been so blunt.” His head, for once, was inclined towards the wooden floor, indigo eyes barely meeting yours. It was an apology nonetheless. “I mean, for everything, even for how i acted before.”

Scaramouche was…genuine? Bewilderment accumulated within your judgement, your heart softened. You knew this feeling— you knew you shouldn’t be feeling sympathetic for the harbinger you used to love so dearly, the man who left you without a valid answer. It couldn’t be helped.

The more that Scaramouche longingly gazed at you, the more he desired to be kept in your arms just like he used. His cold exterior melted away like treaded snow, instead your footsteps trampled over it. He couldn’t justify the guilt-ridden sensation plucking away at each inch of his body. He found himself on that day, emotional, again.

Scaramouche doesn’t act like this. Kunikuzushi does.

If he had to surrender his dignity to take you back as his, he’ll do it, just this once. His fingers, still blistered and scarred from earlier yet appearing so delicate on his porcelain skin grazed your jaw. Soft touches and gestures lulled him into safety within your embrace. An action he missed far too much.

Kunikuzushi latched tightly onto you in his mindless stupor of mental and physical distress, not coming to terms with he consequences of his behaviour later on. You found his conduct abnormal—  if it was fear of losing you again, or simple loss of informed conscious, you wouldn’t know.

Raised, superficial gashes of violet and burgundy littered his pained countenance. You never thought that wounds could look as pretty as his. Not a single tear was shed for a vessel such as he, but his grasp on you slipped once the puppet fell into a peaceful slumber.

With your heedful care and more ointments than preferred, he had recovered by the next morning and those surreal memories wafted back to him. Two sentences wavered in his mind.

“Don’t disregard my words from yesterday, i meant it. Whether you accept it, it’s up to you…”

“…If it results in less harm for you, i’ll listen to those words from my mouth thousands of times over.”

[zereads]

GENSHIN MEN & THEM CONFESSING TO YOU .

characters. xiao zhongli kaeya diluc childe alhaitham kaveh x reader genre. romantic fluff and angst! an. from @/eloquentmoon's romantic confession prompts list! | please reblog!! im getting back into writing and reblogs with tags and comments will make me want to write more :D

xiao

"for years i have yearned for you, in secrecy and silence." he says, clutching a twine-wrapped bouquet of qingxins between his fist. his grip is so tight, it leaves an indent on the stems for you. you bring him into your arms, head resting on his shoulder as you take his hand in yours.

"as have i."

zhongli

"you need to know that i have grown to care for you. deeply." the man who stands before you, once a god, now looks so small in stature that it looks as if he's curling into himself. preparing for rejection, for hurt, for heartbreak. morax stands in front of you, with the weakness of a mortal.

"i have cared for you all this time, zhongli."

kaeya

"you deserve to know." kaeya sits next to you, his arm around your frame as the two of you sit in silence for a while – the silence is newly broken.

"know what, kaeya?"

"it's you. it's always been you." he stares off into blank space for a while. "the one whom i've always cared for."

diluc

"are you really so oblivious?" he chuckles, hands behind his back, feet shifting nervously. the renowned king of mondstadt, was now toeing the ground. "there isn't anything that i wouldn't do for you."

"and what if i were the same?" you reply, taking his hand in yours. "call me, and i would worship the ground that your feet walk upon."

childe

in the room stands childe, with his baggage, freshly off a snezhnayan ship. as if your body was on autopilot, you run straight into his arms, glomping him.

"i cannot bear to be apart from you anymore." he holds you tightly in his arms, his scent of musk wood engulfing your senses as he wraps himself around you.

"i've loved you since the moment i first laid my eyes on you."

alhaitham

"is it so obvious how infatuated i am?" he scoffs, looking away. there's a hint of a blush of redness you see on his cheeks, but the pigment quickly recedes.

"no. should i be surprised? or should i tell you that i've known all this time, and that i feel the same way?"

the redness returns.

kaveh

"i'm falling for you."

he blurts out, redness covering his cheeks as he hides his face in the safety of his hands. kaveh lets out a soft sigh, peeking out from behind his fingers – not too much to cause another wave of embarrassment, but just enough to gauge your reaction.

"then we've fallen together, it seems." he hides his face once again; but this time, in your shoulder.

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[zereads]

THE ONE I RETURN TO.

pairing. kamisato ayato x fem!reader

genre. fluff + marriage au + reader is kinda shy btw (PLEASE CAN U BLAME ME ITS AYATO) + also you wear fragranced hand cream here

synopsis. day to day life married to kamisato ayato is never boring. there is always something to complete and achieve by the end of the day. however, due to your husband’s busy schedule, he’s never seen you in your element at work to ensure the household is in order. and tonight, he finally gets that chance.

wc. 2k

an. heavily inspired by ayato’s character story where the maids and servants often leave notes for him on his study so that he stays up to date with anything going on in the household I LOVE MY HUSBAND SO MUCH AWHWEHEURUFHDB its also my birthday today (well, it was, like 30mins ago but still) so this is a gift from me to you <3 okay please enjoy !!!

as ayato’s wife, you make sure to take care of the household while your husband attends to official duties. even if these duties take much of his time, you don’t fail to report and update him of any changes or requests made within the household and thanks to his lovely sister, ayaka, you learnt that the estate’s way of filling in the clan head on any news was though writing little notes to stick onto any books that were left open after the commissioner left his study.

as your husband, ayato really should be spending more time with you. everyone around him is aware of the capable and loving wife he has at home. some even whisper underneath their breaths that the lord commissioner is too busy to even have a wife. but he knows that is wrong, he doesn’t leave you unattended. in fact, he showers you in so many gifts (hand creams, hair products, skin care products—the list goes on!) when he knows he’ll be on business for longer than usual. this is how you found two new sets of kimono’s waiting for you on your shared bed. you must admit, they’re gorgeous. the delicate hands of ogura mio never disappoint… you nod your head in agreement to your own thoughts as you hold up the material closer to your face.

a knock on the door snaps you out of your mind.

“yes?”

“y/n? i was wondering if you were free? thoma made some pastries, would you like to—”

you bolt for the shoji before sliding it open with practiced grace. your gentle smile greets ayaka’s cute expectant expression. “of course, ayaka! you know i always have time for you.”

her eyes curl like crescents, boldly looping her arm with yours so she can take you to the area outside the estate’s doors. the evening breeze is cool but it doesn’t make you chilly enough to request a coat.

you and ayaka have always been the best of friends, even before you were wed to ayato. although you were a few years older than her, it did not change the shared frequency you both had when it came to certain hobbies and topics. then one day, you met ayato while he was on official business and you couldn’t deny how composed and… gorgeous that man was on that day. so after silently eyeing each other from across the room of authorities and inazuman nobility, he finally introduced himself, saying “he never had the pleasure of meeting you.”

you both soon grew closer, contacting each other through letters—referring to one another as your “penpal” when really you two were flirting (very, very subtly) on a piece of paper. you both only spoke during events hosted by other noble clan’s or official authorities, which was for the safety of both your reputations because god forbid a rumour that the yashiro commissioner was seeking a wife. imagine the uproar it would cause in inazuma city!

oh, and it certainly did.

as you stack papers upon papers in your husband’s study, you reminisce quietly with a relaxed smile on your face. you take the notes other servants have left and arrange them in categories of: household updates, requests and miscellaneous things. you often find yourself reading through the miscellaneous category of notes the most as they bring a laugh out of you. once you read that a servant politely asked the clan head to watch his step when leaving the study so he would avoid bumping into any potted plants. you remember that day and you remember how you were holding in your laughter at the disaster in the room when thoma showed you.

“my lady, sometimes the lord likes to get ahead of himself so it results in his feet working quicker than his head,” thoma commented as he cleaned the mess of soil and the depressing state of the plant.

you hummed in agreement. “that, i could tell very easily.”

a chuckle leaves your lips as you read through more of the notes from the retainers. “oh dear, these are too much for me.” you cover your mouth to contain your giggles. these people just have the most outlandish things to say! oh well, it is nice to know they aren’t afraid to be honest.

you’re lucky it’s past midnight, when everyone is asleep so they wouldn’t have to hear your muffled giggles.

everyone except for one person.

your husband, of course. who idly stands in the corridor with the shoji being the one thing that separates you two. he listens to how you whisper under your breath as you read the notes, or how you repeat what some of them say due to how amusing they are.

“my lord, your bountiful order of rice cakes will arrive within 3-5 days. until then please refrain from stepping into the kitchen to fi—pfft.” clearly, pursing your lips isn’t enough to keep you from bursting into laughter. “—to fix up your own—oh no, that is absolutely something he would do.”

ayato only realises how much he’s been yearning to hear your voice until now. it’s a shame this is the first time he’s bumped into you on these midnight reviews (he can see the smile on your face as you read the note even when he’s not looking at you, oh how he misses that sweet look on your face). licking his lips lightly, his gloved fingers stealthily slide the shoji open by an inch so the view reveals your figure that is turned back to him. his lavender gaze captures the sight of your hair loose and that you’re wearing the yukata he gifted you two weeks ago. you sit comfortably on his specially made tatami mat too.

sometimes ayato barely even has the time to be in your presence. but this moment right now, where he enjoys your presence without you even knowing, is nice. although the painful drop in his stomach inks him with a tinge of regret, he well understands how his duties must stay a priority. after all, he has a family to protect. ayaka, you, thoma and the retainers. he cannot fail any of you.

ayato purses his lips before he announces his presence with a light thud of the shoji shutting behind him. “hello darling.”

your spine snaps straight up at the sound and the voice. “ayato?” turning around, you watch your husband make his way toward you sitting on his tatami mat. he kneels down beside you before pulling another mat from the side to sit on it.

your mind struggles to process the moment until he is sat down. your movements are paused, two notes from the retainers still held in your hands. “when… did you arrive? it’s pretty early.”

a light chuckle leaves ayato’s lips, “darling, what are you implying? would you rather i leave?” he puts on an expression feigning disappointment, pretending to get up from his seat.

your hands move quickly, halting his act with your warm palm on his knee. “no no, don’t! stay here please.” the hastiness in your voice is accompanied by your wide eyes that have a longingness to them, a longingness that you still struggle to communicate verbally. which is how you end up subconsciously relying on your husband’s perceptiveness to get wind of what you’re feeling without telling him.

he huffs at you fondly, fixing his clothing to sit comfortably on the tatami mat again. then he takes your hand in his hand before you can pull it back. “as you wish, my dear.” he tugs on your hand and you give him a questioning look.

“come closer.”

“o- oh.” your other hand scrunches up the material of your yukata, which ayato totally sees and pretends he doesn’t. little shit. you want to curse because he knows how good he is at making your heart flutter. your body gives into him nonetheless, the longing and yearning for him finally melting into your limbs as you become putty in his arms, sitting in between his legs with both the tatami mats providing your bottom's comfort.

your arms shyly snake around his clothed waist, comfortably wrapping yourself around your husband you missed so much.

ayato lets you do whatever you want, knowing you will indulge in his invitation. sliding his gloves off his fingers, he puts them on the table so that he can feel your body without the obstruction. such a sullied garment that shakes hands with officials, signs documents and motions at retainers to obey his orders simply does not earn the right to hold you.

your head hides in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and he feels your soft breaths against his neck. he gently places his jaw on the crown of your head, finding solace in the embrace as his arms hold onto your smaller body.

the warmth from his palms spread on your skin, calming your nerves instantaneously.

“so is this what you do in my office at this time?”

you hum into his skin, “usually you’re not home by this time so it’s only natural you don’t bump into me when i’m in here.” your breath tickles ayato, a tug playing on his rosy lips at the physical intimacy. “you can imagine how shocked i was when you magically appeared behind me.” your soft giggle fills the room momentarily.

“it’s no wonder that all of my notes are arranged tidily when i return,” ayato chuckles softly, “it’s not to say that they weren’t tidy before but these notes held a certain scent on them that led me to believe that my wife was here prior.” he gently takes your hand that was wrapped around him, pulling it up to plant a kiss on your knuckles.

oh, you definitely felt how he inhaled slightly when his lips touched your knuckles. you glare at him, but there is no anger behind your eyes. “you rascal, you sniff your notes?”

ayato’s grin only widens at the name you call him, enjoying your response to his teasing, “darling, you’re the only one in this estate who wears this scented hand cream. i also personally chose it for you so i had no doubts about it.” he then sighs disappointedly, “though it is a shame this is the first time i’ve caught you in here, what if you stayed longer next time?”

you deadpan at him. “you want me to camp out here in your office?” because with his schedules, you might not even step foot into your bedroom until dawn.

ayato shakes his head, laughing softly at your expression. “don’t say that, you know i rush home every time once i’m finished.”

you pat his shoulder, putting on an act of sympathy before exhaling to feign exasperation. “and you will find me in our bedroom once you’re done.”

“y/n!” your husband almost whines, his brows creasing sorrowfully.

his expression doesn’t improve until you’ve kissed every inch of his pretty face, and only then does the corner of his lip curl up. with your hands cupping his face, he opens an eye to peek over at you ready to give him another smooch, consequently making you pause.

“are you satisfied, my lord?”

“hm, perhaps another one—over here.” ayato ponders for a moment before tapping his index finger on his own cheek. he closes his eyes yet again to await your kiss.

it does not arrive.

so he opens his eyes again, mouth ready to pester you with complaints for not granting him your divine kisses but just as he does, you’re up in his face to place that kiss he was waiting for on his cheek.

“there you go, happy?”

“most unbelievably.” his voice is soft, tender, almost a whisper. but clear enough for your ears to catch it. ayato stares at you with these eyes that tempt you into looking away. the loving and affectionate gaze of those lilac eyes, paired with that gentle curl of his pink, moistened lips is reserved, just for you. he takes your hands in his again, lifting one of them to place another ardent kiss on your knuckles. 

“especially since it’s you, the one i return to.”

[zereads]

"and maybe, one day, if you continue to love him as easily as you do, he’ll learn to love himself too"

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。EASY — KAVEH.

✩ — contents ⋮ fluff, gn! reader, established relationship, slight hints to kaveh’s past (but no details), a word vomit of what i think it is to date kaveh bc he has stolen my whole heart soul and mind :,)

“good morning, sleepy head.” you press a soft kiss to the forehead on your chest, moving messy strands of hair with careful fingers. “we really should get up, you know.”

“no.”

“kaveh.”

“no,” comes his protest. he’s stubborn, doesn’t give in even when you pry the sheets off his bare back, feeling him shiver at the cool air as it meets his skin. and yet, you can’t help but soften your gaze as you stare down at him, cheek pressed against you as he sighs before drifting off again.

kaveh is easy to fall for.

he’s a gentle lover, sensitive and delicate around the corners. you find him in the warmth that coats your skin from the sun every morning, in the honey you taste on your lips when tea is ready on the counter before you leave, in the soft sheets that are always freshly washed and ready to lay on when you come back after a long day.

“we have lots to do—”

he groans, tightens his arms around you stubbornly. “it’s not time to wake up yet,” he huffs, digging his head deeper into you and making you giggle.

“maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up so late doing that project,” you poke the tip of his nose, watching as it crinkles at your touch.

and then you trace the apples of his cheeks, feel the familiar indents of his bones through the soft skin, familiarize yourself with every piece of him. kaveh is easy love, and difficult to forget. he’s the quiet voice tucked into your shoulder at night, the pair of shoes you know not to trip over at the door, the mess of tools that are still assorted in their own way on the table that you dare not touch, the pillow on the left side of the bed because that’s the side he prefers, the random sketches in corners of every paper around your home.

kaveh is easy to love, and you find him in every corner, look for him at every turn.

“i had a stroke of artistic inspiration,” he sniffs petulantly, “you wouldn’t understand.”

“oh, i see,” you nod seriously. he opens an eye, raises a brow unimpressed at your faux seriousness. “then of course, please disregard your sleep and health. all for the sake of inspiration.”

“hmph.” it’s indignant, the sound of defiance he makes, it makes you chuckle as your weave your fingers through his locks and scratch gently at his scalp. “i can sleep just fine if you’re not persistently ringing in my ear about waking up.”

“but i want breakfast,” you pout. “wake up.”

“breakfast can wait.” you feel his nose dig into your neck, and then the soft press of lips against your skin makes you melt against the sheets.

perhaps if it’s kaveh who requests, you’re inclined to relent.

“if you ever say i don’t favor you, i’ll burn your sketchbook,” you mumble. and still, even despite the slight grumble against your shoulder, you can’t help but smile brightly, turning your head and planting a kiss to the side of his head.

“how can you favor me if you interfere with my livelihood,” he mutters bitterly—but there’s really no bite to his words.

it’s endearing, the way he’s devoted to his career. it’s the first thing you learn about kaveh when you meet him one night—you watch in awed amusement as he rambles at the tavern about the lacking interior design in his drunken stupor. and then he’s there the next day too, drinking just as heavily as the night before—it makes you quirk a brow as you sit beside him.

drinking this often is not a good habit, you say to him. he glances at you, blinks a moment before he huffs.

well you would too if you had a roommate like mine, he starts—and you’re sure the entirety of the tavern can hear him as he spills his woes to you without even realizing.

kaveh is hard to miss from then on. you see him at the fresh fruit stands when you walk through the market, at the akademiya requesting (demanding) funding from the acting grand sage, at the fields smiling with the children as they play and he ruffles their hair.

he’s nervous when he asks you on your first date, stumbles over his words and rubs the back of his neck, but his smile is earnest and his eyes are kind. he’s clumsy as he takes you to dinner, trips over his own feet as he scrambles to hold the door open. he’s a few mora short, blushing and mortified as he pats his pockets for more, mumbling how he’s sure he’d had enough when you giggle and complete the bill. he’s talkative through the night, rambles about his job and his projects, tells you details you don’t understand but can’t help but catch every word. he’s a bit shy when you hold his hand as you walk home, coughs a bit too loud to hide the hitched breath in his throat. he’s inexperienced when he leans in to kiss you, missing your lips for the corner of your mouth instead and stuttering over his words as he tries to explain he’s never done this before.

and when he takes a deep breath, cupping your cheeks with both hands and looking at you with conviction like he’s now made his life’s purpose to kiss you properly, you know you love kaveh.

you know you love him—somewhere during the first date. maybe the first meet. definitely the first kiss.

because kaveh is easy to love, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

he’s easy to love through soft kisses under the sheets, easy to love through gleaming eyes and animated hands as he speaks, easy to love through those moments of doubt and festering guilt of the past, easy to love through that innocence that wants to see the world for all that’s good and never for what’s bad.

kaveh is easy to love. so you love him. unconditionally so, from when the sun meets the moon and over again. continuing the cycle, holding him in your arms and pressing your lips to the soft skin of his forehead. and maybe, one day, if you continue to love him as easily as you do, he’ll learn to love himself too, to see the way he deserves the tenderness you show him.

“—and just so you know, inspiration isn’t something you can elect to ignore. some artists go months, if not years without an ounce of—”

“i love you,” you interrupt his rambling, voice soft and breathless and seeping with affection that he’s not felt in so long, he pauses with wide eyes.

it’s not the first time you’ve said it, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’ll never feel quite like this time.

“yeah,” he says shakily, clutching you tighter, “i love you too.”

and maybe one day, he hopes if he loves you hard enough himself, you’ll know you’re just as easy to love too.

your honor he’s my everything 🥹 please i would steal the moon and stars for him 🥹