icyymocha

[icyymocha]

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ FREAK LIKE MEEE ! ’﹒

𐚁̸ sum. jjk men kinks and their kinks/fetishizes . feat. gojo, toji, sukuna, nanami, choso.

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected sēx, edging, praise, degradation, sir kink, semi-public sēx, hair pulling, edging, overstim, mentions of breēding, blindfolds, dry humping, spīt kink, mdni.

𐚁̸ an. requested by anon

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

“ah—you’ve got some nerve,” nanami would pant. he’s got you right where he wants you. you’re leaned over his desk, ogling as he starts to realign himself. “it’s like you just misbehave on purpose, sweetheart,” and his voice was silky warm, tender. you moan once he lifts up your skirt yet again—you’re sopping wet, a dampened patch coats the middle part of your panties. “have you been touching yourself?”

“n—no,” you purr out, although it was clear as day that you were purely lying. he could tell, nanami was a lot of things but he wasn’t an idiot. you felt so feverish, the head of his thick cock spilts inside of your cunt and you whimper out. throughout the office, all that could be heard was the faint sounds of his fax machine and the lewd squelches your sweet cunt sings out in pure harmony. this was so risky, yet you loved every second—you craved more, the thought that one of his colleagues could walk in or hear the two of you made you ten times more soaked. “yes,” you correct yourself, gnawing on your lip before you feel a sudden restraint on your hands.

nanami inhales deeply, a low groan departing from his lips before he grabs both of your wrists. “such a messy girl. can’t even finish my shift,” and he yanks his tie from his attire. nanami then swiftly ties your wrists against your back with his tie, fully buried into your cunt. he leans up close, so close—a hand gently wrapping around your throat. “gotta break this pussy before i get any work done, ‘s that what you’re telling me, my love?”

“y—yesss,” you whine out with strained lungs, before he starts to vigorously quicken his pace. relentlessly, he starts to take you over his desk. with parted legs, you moan out in sheer ecstasy. your pencil skirt was lazily pulled up to your waist. with the skirt a bit wrinkled because of his grip he makes your arch go further for him whilst pulling you closer against him. “harder, fuck me harder, kento.”

“baby, this is a place of business,” he chortles, a sharp angle of his hips makes you feel all of him. so thick— the stretch was godly, making your eyes widen and your lips quaver. so fucking big. his base thwacks against you so sloppily, swollen balls filled up with so much that your heart own mouth salivates at the thought of it flooding inside of you. “when you’re in my office, it’s ‘sir,’ okay?”

you purposely don’t reply— he gifts your ass with a spank, making you whimper out as a response.

“yes s-sir,” you moan, the sharp sting making you jolt forward against the edge of the wooden desk. your words were so candied, so sweet..

with the way your cunt constricts around his hefty length—you were emitting out such various moans for him. so loud, nanami can’t help but press himself up against you even more and move a hand to go over your mouth. “m-mphhh.”

“any louder ‘n they’re gonna here you, gorgeous,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. nanami even goes as far to licking against your earlobe, sending shivers all through you. each slow languid stroke continues to get more deeper, pretty soon you start to coat the entirety of his palm with your slick saliva. “you want my boss to hear what a messy girl you are in my office?”

he chuckles, watching you slowly nod in reply as he’s jackhammering his thick cock into you again, and again, and again. so repetitive, by this point you’re all cock drunk.

“but silly girl, you’re not supposed to want that,” and his strokes become slow yet deep—he reaches everywhere inside of your stretchy walls with ease. nanami groans at how good your pussy keeps him hostage. his voice was so abnormally low too, all up against your ear. a hand of his trails down your spine , your wrists still behind your back. “but of course you do, my wife can’t help but be a little messy for me, huh? she just can’t help it, all she thinks about is me bending her over my desk— oh, you sloppy girl. drooling all on my hand.”

his hand removes from your mouth and you’re moaning at each of his languidly deep hits. “gonna c-cum, ‘m gonna cum, kento.”

“ah ah,” he mutters, spreading your legs just a bit further. the heels you wore sunk into the floor as your mouth pries open even more. loud moans ring and reverberate throughout the room before you correct yourself.

“sir . . sir, ‘m gonna cum,” you swallow thickly, feeling him shove such thick inches in and out of you. your lungs fill up with heavy oxygen, you whimper as your head leans against the front surface of his desk. a scatter of papers going against your skin. briefly, all you could see was random markings of paperwork with neat writing, his familiar signature throughout all of them. “can i cum s-sir? pleasepleasepleaseeee.”

nanami hums, soft padded fingertips gliding against your hips as he holds you in place— he’s so deep inside, the tip of his cock kisses and mashes against your g-spot for the nth time before he groans out. “go ahead, make a mess on my desk, sweetheart. make a mess so i can make you clean up for me,” and you’re basically being rammed against the furniture, hot breaths pouring through your lips before you gasp. simultaneously, you cum—coating nothing but a pretty white ring around his shaft, his thrusts coming to a slow halt before he pauses. “. . oh,” he tilts his head back, at a lost of words for a second.

you hear the dangle of his belt from his pulled down slacks before he smiles, witnessing as you lose yourself completely—so lewd, you’re convulsing and twitching on his cock, whining for him to keep going before he tugs on your wrist. “good girl, such a good girl,” and he chuckles, watching you spread your legs open more, awaiting for him to continue. “aw, is the messy baby not satisfied?” and he’s so close up to you, his breath fans against the minuscule hairs of your neck before he’s buried so deep. you feel every inch, his hand wraps around your throat once more before he purrs in a low voice once you shake your head. “no? welllll that’s too bad,” and his voice was smooth as silk. it lowers a bit and you whine once he suddenly pulls out. “sorry, my love. not during business hours. this is all you’ll get from me,” and he turns you around to kiss your forehead, smirking at your little pout. “don’t be like that, i love you too, brat.”

☆ SUKUNA RYŌMEN

more than anything, he’s just simply into spanking your pussy.

without question—he’d have you right on his lap, preferably where he’s taking a seat on his high and mighty throne. the king of curses, occupying himself with his favorite pussy girl.

“oh my, such an impatient woman,” he’d coo up against your ear. the soft fabric of his kimono rubs off amongst your skin and you whine once you feel him spread your thighs open. “now let’s see if you’re as wet as i remember,” he whispers in a gruff tone—you’re rightfully soaked, the minute his fingers skim against your panties, he’s greeted with a sopping wet coat of your arousal. sukuna hums in amusement, watching you squirm and wriggle within his hold. “how cute,” he’d snicker, dipping a single digit into your folds. you lean back against his chest, biting on your lip before moaning out. one finger turns into two—sukuna then swirls it around before continuing to speak. “did you touch her while i was away? and don’t lie, this pussy will answer for me if you don’t, girl.”

“no—” you reply in a shuddering tone, his fingers were so long, creating a circular repetitive motion inside of your cunt before he collects a good amount of your sweetness. it sticks against his fingers the more he rummages throughout your pussy. “i didn’t touch myself, ‘kuna. promise.”

“. . . who?” he furrows his brows, abruptly pulling out his fingers before gifting your wet pussy with a mean spank. “who the fuck is ‘kuna? that’s not my name, princess.”

you whimper out, the sting feeling so good. he was purely teasing—you knew that, and your legs shook a bit solely from the impact. you bite your tongue before feeling your thighs struggle to keep themselves open. “s-sukuna?”

“tch. foolish woman,” he grumbles, sharply bringing more spanks towards your cunt. you’re so wet, dripping with so much slick that he starts to get addicted. your body language was adorable. each time he spanks it time and time again, the back of your head rubs against his chest. it makes him snicker, playfully pinching your clit just to make you sob out another melodic moan. “when it’s just you ‘n me, you’re on my lap ‘n i’m dealing with a pussy this wet, it’s ’my lord’ to you, know your place.”

with a pout, you rub against his wrist. having a little brat left in you, you purr out a, “but sukuna-”

“whore. i know you heard what the fuck i said,” he grits, giving you another spank. yet he then realizes you said that on purpose, just to make him spank your sopping wet cunt again. it feels so good, you feel hot everywhere—a sensation of tingles own throughout your body before sukuna’s palm caresses against your exposed womanhood. “freaky girl. you like that, huh? like feeling my hand hit against this nasty little mess?”

you nod, the smoothness of his hand sending you shivers before you feel the nerves buried inside of your pussy throb at full force.

so so good, another whimper wretches from your throat before you squeeze onto his knee. “course ya do. can’t help but be a nasty girl,” he grunts, and he shoves his thick slenderly fingers back inside your cunt. you swallow him so good—he groans, feeling the warmth of your pussy suffocate his digits oh so easily. “my nasty girl.”

his words only makes your pool a heat grow even more, your throat feels all dry—yet you’re starting to feel yourself salivate. with his fingers and the rapid speed of it, you could cum in just minutes. seconds even if he was feeling frisky. your legs were all sprawled out and you were just seeing colors— the way his fingers simultaneously curl up inside your folds was so filthy.

“just look at this mess,” he snarls, softly burying his fangs into his neck—a classic lip bite. as you’re laid against him, he feels his dick start to twitch in his briefs. you were so cute, trembling all from nothing but his simple touch. his words were filled with such lewdness, each time his digits rummage through your cunt, that same pop noise commences. so wet, you were in the midst of approaching your climax. it came at such a speed, your thighs shook and your jaw was practically hanging open.

it’s coming, it’s coming..

those exact words kept echoing into your brain, pant after pant departing from your lips before you whine.

“suku—m-my lorddd,” and once you correct yourself, he again pulls out his fingers covered in your sheeny slick before spanking your cunt. “oh, ohmygodddd, ‘m gonna c-cum, feel it coming, p-please.”

“what if i don’t want you to cum yet?” he teases, dragging his middle finger down your slit. by this point, your legs were a mess—shaking so strenuously that it brought jagged earthquakes to shame. the rupture that was about to take place was reaching at such a speed that even you couldn’t keep up. his warm breath fans against your earlobe before he lightly bites into your neck. “what if i want you to wait a little lo—”

“s-sukuna, sukuna, fuuuck,” you whine out, not even caring you broke character— it finally came, and not only did you climax but you ended up squirting. it shot out and he goes quiet, a devilish snicker shortly following afterward.

instantly, a crying orgasm gets tugged from your throat and you whine once he plugs his fingers back into your slick folds.

“. . awww,” he purrs seductively against your ear, watching as you lose yourself right on his lap. your legs fail to remain still, you were seeing pure splotches of white. your stomach seizes as you resume to breathe, heavy breaths snatching from your throat before you rub against his wrist for the umpteenth time. “you made a mess on my lap, naughty girl,” and then he chuckles once you pick up his hand only to make him continue to feel against your pussy. “should make you get on your knees ‘n clean it. like the good obedient girl you are. my little squirter girl.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

choso craves dry humping, he’s a needy baby. doesn’t even want you to strip your clothes off. he just needs you, no, he wants you.

“i missed you too, choso,” you’d giggle, feeling him wrap his strong broad arms around you. he was so warm, immediately as you walk through the door, you feel him press up against you. his scent, he smelled so good— it goes through your sinuses before you gasp once he makes you bend over the counter. “heh, baby. i can’t shower first?”

“. . . wait,” is all he says, his voice shakes as he brings clammy hands towards your hips. hitched breaths slip from his mouth as he whines, suppressing a few moans by sucking against your neck. such tender skin, he feels so hot and dizzy. choso’s wearing nothing but sweats. as you’re hunched over the kitchen counter, you feel the imprint of his exhilarated dick galvanize against your shorts. “i missed you all day today,” and his voice—although it being low, it was so sweet and genuine. a hint of want and desire runs underneath it and he makes your hips slowly grind against him. “sososo bad,” he swallows, the teeth shattering friction making cute whimpers elicit out from his sheeny spit-glossed lips. “i want you, i want you, can we—can i do this?”

you let off a small laugh. “can you what, hump me? why not just fuck me, baby. i’ll just—”

“no, nooo please,” he murmurs in a shaky voice, stopping you from pulling down your shorts. “this is fine, i don’t want you to . . to take off your clothes. i just . . i want you, i want you like this.”

you can’t help but feel your pussy twitch at his words, not just his words but his entire deliver of it all. “go ahead, baby,” you mutter in a soft encouraging voice, grabbing onto the edge of the cold counter. you could have sworn you heard a sweet cacophonies of ‘thank you, thank you’s’ escape past his lips.

he’s so needy, trembling breaths waft against your skin as he’s making your ass go up on him. with two hands, he grabs the mounds of your rear before giving it a slight teasing squeeze.

“babyyy,” he whimpers, gently seeping his teeth into your neck. softly, he sucks against the skin, feeling a little mark press into your skin from his canines. “god, i want you so bad. you feel so good against me like this, s-so warm,” and his words almost sound angelic. you giggle, starting to move against his sweatpants as he holds your waist. “yeah, keep doing that. f-fuck against me, please,” and your rhythm was slow but steady. you can feel his bulge press up against your shorts, he was big.

you only imagine how he’d feel from the inside— not just grinding against him, although you weren’t relatively complaining. not at all, the friction felt way too good. even you started to moan a bit once he makes the swerving of your hips pick up just a bit faster.

choso gasps—once your ass brushes up a particular spot, he whines. “o-oh fuck,” and you’re curious as to what happened—but instead of saying anything, he just starts to hump against you harder. “f-fuck, fuck, ‘m so hard. gonna make me cum through my p-pants, baby fuuuck.”

he became more and more vocal as the minute passes—you were feeling the heat brew up, not only against your ass but into the very depths of your abdomen too. choso’s usual pent up hair was down, going all in his face and he moans at your next few words. “it’s okay, baby. you can make a mess on me. cum for me, ‘cho.”

“your voice alone ‘s gonna make me a messy boy,” he whimpers out, feeling the brief twinge— the strain of his cock making him kiss his teeth in pleasure. “gonna c-cum, gonna cum,” he chants, and his voice was getting raspier and raspier. you swerve your ass against him ever more before seconds later—you feel a sudden damp spot.

choso grows quiet, looking down to see the slowly darkening spot coat against the grey fabric of his sweats. “hngh,” he pants, holding you still. you giggle, facing forward and it’s almost as if you can feel his eyes stare down your back. “this is the f-fifth time i ruined my sweats you bought me, baby.” he pouts, now wanting to feel the real thing—being inside of you, falling in love with the warmth of your pussy burying inside of him yet again.

“i’ll wash it for you,” you hum, turning around to finally face him. he’s so cute— flustered entirely, despite it just being dry humping, it might as well pass as simple doggystyle for choso. you stroke his cheek, bringing a kiss towards the side of his lips before his mouth twitches. adorable. “you wanna join me in the shower, baby?”

“o-oh, yes please,” he nods, and he grabs onto your hand. “can we . . can we do this in the shower too?”

you sneer, intertwining your fingers with his as he leads the way. “yeah, but this time with our clothes off okay?”

“okay.”

“good boy.”

“m-mhm.”

☆ GOJO SATORU.

gojo likes to be tied up and restrained—blindfolded even, he loves it all.

“mhm, make it tight too baby,” he teasingly says, lowering his voice purposefully. you’re straddling him, feeling his dick bury inside of you idly before you shoot him a glare. he rolls his eyes once you successfully wrap the blindfold around his eyes, then proceeding to tie up his wrists. “hehe, i’m only letting you do this because i’m bored, just so y’know.”

“shut up,” you mumble, flicking him back. he lands against the pillow and that same sly grin never leaves his face. gojo’s impatient— albeit, the downside would be that he wouldn’t be able to touch you. that thought alone brings a pout to his face. “are you ready now? or do i need to hold your hand.”

gojo giggles. “ooh, someone’s sassy today. i like that,” and he feels your hips starting to move. his hands were stretched out against the bed and he grunts once he feels your warmth hug him tight like a vice. “i let you get away with hah anything.”

“yeah you do,” you whisper, watching as he moves his head around a bit at the sound of your voice—he’s so hot, his entire body temperature rises up the more you grind your hips forward. gojo tries to maintain his little tough act but fails miserably, he’s quite literally folding underneath you. your fingers run down his neck and a moan slips out. “still sensitive from cumming too early, pretty boy?”

“don’t call me . . . that,” he swallows, another moan eliciting from his throat once you kiss all over his face. your touch, his true weakness. it had him feral, the way your ass grinds against him makes him suck his teeth. “but baby, this is torture,” he pants out, feeling your hands roam everywhere on his body— he tenses up, feeling your fingers skim against his bare chest. “if you can touch me, i should t-touch you too.”

“you always touch me,” you murmur, and he’s so deep— the fatness of his cock stuffs your cunt full to where you’re squeezing him down. he groans, wishing that he could just hold onto your hip. gojo’s head goes back and he smothers his glossed lips together. with the brief swivel turning of your hips, you move against him faster until he starts to spasm underneath you. “aw, so you are still sensitive from cumming too early, ‘toru.”

he groans, a pout spreading against his lips before he whimpers. “i—i’m not,” and he pauses his words before out of nowhere— slip.

gojo’s dick slips out of you and the moment it does, he goes ballistic.

“w-what happened?” he whines, feeling his now flaccid cock slither underneath your folds. you just sit there— almost forgetting he couldn’t exactly see, only feel. he’s all flustered, feeling your folds gradually rub against his length. “f-fuck, put it back in. don’t grind on me, angel.”

“i don’t think you deserve it yet,” you tease, reaching between his legs to stroke his dick. gojo groans, and he’s really feeling everything. the nerves inside his body had him shaking, your touch alone drove him crazy— once he slipped out, gojo wouldn’t stop begging and pleading for you to put it back in. the pout on his face never leaves before you kiss his lips as an attempt to shut him up. he doesn’t though, each mwah from you and he continues to speak, a total blabbermouth. “not until you say pretty please.”

he grouses stubbornly. “huhhh. do you know who i am?”

“you’re a bottom who’s underneath me.” you snicker.

gojo’s at a loss for words, damn. that was probably true— to be fair, he was underneath you. you were straddling his lap, watching as he becomes more and more needy for you to be inside. his hips sweetly jitters from the sudden yearn for you to be back inside. he missed the warmth of your gummy walls gripping him down tightly. “you’re being a brat, you just wanna hear the strongest beg for you, huh?”

“the strongest but i’m the only one who can make you whimper.” you kiss underneath his chin, watching as his dimples poke into his skin.

“if i wasn’t restrained i’d have pinned you down, hmph,” and his pout only stretches. you drag your pussy against his length before he eats his words, a cute whine escaping. “y-you fuckin’ brat, when ‘m free it’s over,” and his lip quivers. “baby, just put it back in, okayyy okay.”

you hum, wrapping your arms around him and he loses himself from your touch. his dick was so hard, pinkish tip desperately awaiting to be stuffing you full by now, but alas—you were stalling. “say pretty please ‘n i’ll put it back in.”

after fourteen tremendously long seconds, gojo gives in with a cute whimper following. “pretty please, pretty please put it back in so i can f-fuck you again.”

“so good for me,” you kiss his cheek, watching him quaver from your touch—he’s panting heavily before he feels your hand wrap around his cock, aligning yourself again. “aw. the strongest, more like the whiniest.”

“i— i hate you,” he whimpers at you mocking his infamous title. “now finish fucking me, brat. pleaseee.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO.

he’s definitely into face fucking, if he’s ever annoyed about something or needs to unwind after a long day, the solution is nothing more than your pretty tight throat.

“knees, girl. get down f’me.”

you’d comply, your knees hitting against the soft carpet before you stare up at him—he inhales, sharp gaze lowering at you. “boo. eye problem?” he sassily says, a hand lightly grabbing onto your hair, using your head as leverage. “you know what to do. need to feel that fuckin’ mouth.”

“could be a little nicer.”

“don’t try me, little girl.”

toji takes a breath, watching as you unzip his jeans—always, he had such a bulge to him. it never failed to poke out through his pants. so delicious, you lick your lips at the sight of his hefty boxers all out in the open—basking in your pure eyesight. you don’t waste any time, whipping out his thick cock. he’s so pent up, angry mushroom tip a pinkish red color. toji’s got a few specks of black hair that coats near his base, a gossamer string of spit departs from your lips the moment you kiss his tip sloppily.

“. . . yeahhh,” he rasps out lowly, fingertips dragging through your scalp. toji’s standing tall, his dick had somewhat of a upward curve to it. with staggering inches, you were always taken aback, he loved feeling the brush of your lips skim across his frenulum. a strained breath yanks out from his lungs once he starts to feel you sink down. your throat was so warm, so wet, so tight. his head throws itself back and he chews down on the soft part of his bottom lip. “thaaaat’s it, take that shit. take it down, babygirl.”

you’re slow with your pace, taking him all the way in until his tip mashes against the roof of your mouth. if it wasn’t for your technique of breathing through your nose, you’d gag. a hand was just about to wrap around his length before he lightly smacks it away. “nuh uh, no hands. you got it.”

he snickers at your pout, watching as your hands go back down toward your sides. you make sure to swirl your tongue against his leaky tip, your pace was perfect— he swallows, tightening his grip against your hair before he makes you go faster. your head’s bobbling, quickening before by this point he’s purely face fucking you now.

“s-shit, good girl. ya gonna let me ruin this mascara, yeah?” and his voice itself was the definition of seduction—so rough, gravelly with each syllable it pronounces. your tongue lays flat, wrapping your lips around his dick before his thigh starts to bounce. “. . . damn,” he huffs out, and your jaw starts to feel heavy over time. toji’s so big, the sensation of your tongue has his head spinning. “keep those pretty eyes up here,” he murmurs, another free hand gripping underneath your chin. what a mess, your own saliva starts to pour down the sides of your mouth. “such a sloppy girl,” he titters, swiping a thumb against your lips. you stare right into his eyes and he returns you with nothing more but a sly smirk. “my sloppy girl though, right?”

you nod, feeling your mascara start to run— still, you’re breathing through your nose before you feel him start to tense up. “ah, fuck,” he grumbles, now he’s just kissing the back of your throat with his rude cockhead. “mhm, this sloppy throat ‘s gonna make me flood it with cum,” and green viridescent eyes flicker back down at you. he lightly taps against your cheek, feeling the outline of his dick. “thirsty, baby? been talkin’ about how much you had nothin’ to drink.”

again, you nod your head whilst still giving him eye contact. toji’s got your mouth stuffed full— he groans lowly, practically dragging your head back and forth against his cock. “yeah you are. open up that jaw for me ‘n i’ll clench that thirst, baby,” and he feels your maw open—your tongue lays flat, and you know he’s preparing to release. you start to even feel yourself throb between your thighs, yet you stop yourself from touching yourself. “so pretty,” he puffs out in short singular breaths. with a hand, toji wraps his right hand around his fat girth of a length before he pulls his dick out. “say ah.”

“ah,” you mimic, lolling out your tongue for him and he sneers at how obedient you were—so good for him, pink tongue ready to be painted with nothing but his worthy semen. tongue pointed out, toji fists his cock a few times—giving it a few solid pumps on your tongue before momentarily, he cums. thick satiny ropes, the moment it shoots out into your throat, upon instinct your eyes briefly squeeze shut from the taste. bitterly bitter, yet you wanted all of it. every single drop. you moan, awaiting for him to finish pouring every drop inside.

“f-fuuuck,” he grunts, painting the inside of your mouth with such strings of cum that it leaves your cheeks all puffed up. “swallow it, baby,” he mumbles, completely out of breath. you do, a few remnants of his seed glistening on your lips before he squeezes your cheeks together. “good,” and he bends down to your level, pushing your lips together. toji slyly grins, staring into your eyes before murmuring. “now, give me a kiss. don’t be greedy, i want a taste too.”

you whine, pulling him into a sultry, sloppy kiss. tongues collide against each other— tangling and twisting, various strings saliva forming into a cobweb before he pulls away, licking near the bottom of your lip where a few sprinkles of his own cum remained. “still thirsty?”

“y-yes, toji.”

“heh. thought so. dehydrated ass girl.”

[icyymocha]

I truly believed that Nanami is the type of guy to have a Victoria Secret Model approach him and ask him for his number and he’ll be raising his hand 🖐️ stopping her at mid sentence to tell her,

“Sorry I have a wife. And she’s the most beautiful woman in the world to me,” all while looking at you laughing with your friends at a distance.

Just completely and utterly smitten.

[icyymocha]

When your dragon husband is upset, he turns into his full beast form and silently takes his spot in your shared bedroom, which is the entirety of the king size bed because he’s that huge even in his readjusted state. His body is meticulously curled, his head supported by multiple pillows, and you can occasionally hear grunts or witness puffs of smoke due to his grumbling. Meanwhile, you’re willing yourself not to laugh or coo over it, because in all honesty he just looks like a sulking reptile noodle that wants your love and attention.

You had an inkling that he’s like this because you received a flower from a stranger a while ago after you helped them with directions, and there’s really nothing wrong with the incident, but your dragon is possessive by nature and easily gets jealous. He isn’t angry because you were just being kind, but he mopes thinking about the way you laughed and accepted a gift from someone who isn’t him.

It’ll take several offerings to get your dragon back in the mood, and that includes gifts that add to his hoard, lots of reassurances and affirmations of your love for him, and as many kisses as you can offer on his muzzle. It usually ends up with him returning to his hybrid form, you in his arms pressed against his chest with his tail around you for extra measure. You’re not leaving until he’s satisfied - however that may turn out to be.

—— Neuvillette, Dan Heng - Imbibitor Lunae, Zhongli

[icyymocha]

smut scenarios with genshin men

ayato, neuvillete, pantalone, diluc, wriothesly, childe, dottore (?), capitano, pierro- his maid/assistant

he loved how cute you were; How you always pulled your skirt up and showed off your thighs; How you always had your hair done, as if you had someone to impress.

You had him to impress, actually. He watches you bend down with a sharp eye, feeling himself harden just at the show of extra skin and excuses himself as he goes to the privacy of his office, jerking off as he imagines you bending over his lap as he spanks the revealed skin that just sends him haywire.

He starts requesting you stay late while the other workers go home, and he hopes you don't see through his facade but you oh so clearly can and you of course accept the request.

One night, you can hear him groan from the stress of his constant work and you knock at the door, waiting for his tired voice to speak.

"Come in,"

You walk in, and slight surprise overtakes him but there's a happy spark in his eyes. "Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I just thought you could use some help with your work," You spoke slyly and innocently as you walked up to his desk/

He looked at you confused, "What do you- oh,"

He lets out a groan when your fingers started to firmly yet softly dig into his back, hitting all the right spots as he completely relaxes.

He wants to say this is unprofessional- you're his boss! But was jerking off to you and fantasizing about you professional? No.

That was his reasoning for his boldness when he speaks. "You know, I'm feeling rather sore...down here."

That is how you find yourself in his lap, bouncing on his fat cock as you tried to stay quiet, but it was hitting such amazing spots and so deep into you that you couldn't help yourself but to scream his name.

"nghh- oh! yes, yes!"

If it was possible, it was turning him on even more- watching you struggle to take his large size but still trying to ride him just to be his stress relief. Instead, he decides to thrust up into you, making you stop trying and instead lean against him, wrapping your arms around him as he placed his hands on your hips, taking the lead and sending you into purebliss.

"oh~ oh! fuck...so deep!"

"if you're truly so keen on being such a good stress relief for me, well, then I hope you don't mind if I rail you for the rest of the night...and possibly every other.

thoma, kaeya, kazuha, Itto, aether, albedo, zhongli - a shrine maiden (or anything related in the other regions)

He doesn’t know what it is but there’s something about your innocence that he just needs to ruin.

Well, not ruin: he thinks it’s adorable, but he knows that one day someone else will see you in a way he fantasizes about late at night and he is determined to become that person because no one else deserves to see you in a way like that other than him.

He takes more frequent trips to where you work, to the point that it’s so often you find yourself hugging him when you see him and you don’t think about the way he holds on tightly, hands right above your ass.

However, you weren’t as innocent as he thought. Sure, you were completely oblivious ro the truth behind his actions but late at night, there was a possibility you had the same fantasias about it too. But you couldn’t show it to him! No, you had a job to do and it was to stay pure.

You just loved the way his touches were so teasing as they lingered near the places you oh so wish you could take care of.

It becomes so bad it starts to ache, and you find yourself at his door after coming back from work, needing his help for this relief and he is so happy to oblige.

Tears streamed down your face, moaning at how good his cock felt as it pushed into you so deeply, hitting all the spots your fingers never could.

“f-faster…” You gasped, “please!”

He could only let out a deep chuckle, his movement becoming harsher that anyone who even walked nearby the house could hear the slick noises.

“You’re gonna make me cum, darling.”

“In me!” you whined, trying to push yourself further onto his dick and he laughed. “f-fill me up!”

“Such indecency, dear. No one can know how much of a slut you are; it’ll ruin your image! That means you must always come to me for this, got it?”

[icyymocha]

TO HOLD ִ ࣪𖤐

CHARACTERS … gaming , heizou , kaveh , lyney , neuvillette , wriothesley

SYNOPSIS … what do they hold on to when you’re gone?

NOTES … been a while :D haven’t posted but randomly started writing for a hq, senku, and heizou series for some reason idk (also i think i kinda drifted away from the original thought when writing)

CONTENTS … sfw , angst , gender neutral reader

GAMING …

gaming holds onto the hair tie you offered him during your early days together. on some occasions, he would leave his place in a hurry and forget about tying his hair back, so you were always there to make sure his hair didn't get in the way of his errands.

he would often get reminded that you weren’t there anymore whenever he would huff a bunch of stray pieces of hair out of his face. ever since you were gone, gaming had started to forget his hair tie back at home; the hair tie you gave him.

the thought of throwing it away and buying a new one always left a bitter taste on his tongue, he would often gaze at it looping around his wrist.

when the day comes that it snaps, gaming wonders if he’s still going to keep it or not, considering that it would’ve lost its purpose by then. or maybe it already had, when you left.

HEIZOU …

runaway pets are one of the many things that heizou does not fancy on handling. on rare occasions, pets are easy to deal with; they’re agile but still predictable and therefore not invincible to the detective.

but god is it annoying when the animal would just not cooperate with him.

though maybe he would give the job more credit, considering that he met you when your pet was on the loose. and heizou realized that maybe (only maybe) tracking down those pesky animals isn’t always a waste of time.

when there was a job up in the station, heizou was always the first to see if it was about your bratty pet. if it wasn’t, he’d leave. if it was, he’d dash towards your place, already having memorized the path needed to get there.

ever since you left, tracking down lost animals returned back to what heizou originally thought of them: a complete waste of time.

KAVEH …

there was this one restaurant you and kaveh would always eat dinner at whenever you two didn’t know what to eat.

instead of arguing and bickering over what to get for dinner, you would have a mutual understanding to go to the same spot instead. be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner, it didn’t matter so long you two had your time together.

if someone were to eat at the same place over and over again, they would have grown sick of eating the same menu every time. kaveh liked to think he wasn’t like that, the food somehow tasted different every time you would have new things to tell him. it was one of the many reasons why he didn’t get sick of the place.

when you are gone, kaveh fears stepping inside the restaurant. he starts to think that he wouldn’t be able to leave when he does.

he forgets the taste of every meal in the place, he forgets how different they would be each day, he simply forgets about the place, and you. or at least he tries to.

LYNEY …

everyone knows wilted flowers don't serve any purpose. lyney knows that they only serve as a reminder of the life they once had.

and the dead flowers that were in his place were indifferent. you always took the time off your day to take care of the plants, changing the waters, and even cleaning the vase from time to time.

but lyney only sees withered echoes of you when he sees the lifeless bundle in the same vase that hasn’t been cleaned ever since you were gone.

he starts to hate parts of himself for it. taking care of a flower seemed easy. he wasn’t even able to take care of the one thing that was left of you in his life. lyney starts to think that the wilted flowers were a reminder that he wouldn’t have been deserving of you.

if you had stayed longer with him, your relationship would have eventually shared a similar fate with the dead flowers.

NEUVILLETTE …

neuvillette’s office never felt empty when you were there. there was a particular seat that you always occupied when you were to visit him. you would sit on it while he sat beside you, sharing your lunch break together.

it went to the point that it started to feel wrong whenever someone else were to sit in your spot. but neuvillette doesn’t make them leave, being so attached to an object doesn’t seem right to him.

but maybe it wasn’t the object he was attached to, it was simply you. he was attached to how you were able to give something special to things that he barely took note of back then.

suddenly, it started to feel even more wrong when your seat was always vacant. maybe because some part of him wishes you would knock so gently on the door and make your way to your favorite spot while inviting him over beside you.

sadly, it never happens. a knock on the door doesn’t mean that you were back. the seat being occupied doesn’t mean that you were the one occupying it.

it just doesn’t mean anything anymore.

WRIOTHESLEY …

wriothesley’s hands were scuffed and scarred, they were brutal in a way that he uses them to defend himself from anything equally dangerous.

ironically, the same rough hands he uses to fight were also the same ones he used to hold you with. to hold something delicate and fragile.

it was the part of him you would always get to hold, gliding over any scars that would meet with your skin. in some part of him, he starts to think that he was also becoming dainty underneath your hold.

the hands that were meant to fight started to hold something that didn’t have anything to do with violence. wriothesley always thinks about that.

it was also the last thing he failed to get rid of in his head when you had gone. what were his violent hands without your subtle touches?

the only thing that wriothesley gets to hold was the complete absence of the air around him.

rimi’s notes

thank u for the support and nice comments i always see :D take care of yourselves 🫶

hearts / reblogs / follows are very much appreciated ★

[icyymocha]

honey, can you.… commit a crime for me?

© zhongrin | 2024  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, childe, kaeya, diluc, al haitham, tighnari, wriothesley, neuvillette

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, crack, fluff

✼ a/n ┈ what even are these hsdlkfjlskjdf kinda wanna create a yandere version of this /is bonked

ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ) ✼ ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

zhongli immediately tries to find the core of the problem. “what is it that troubles you, dearest? perhaps we can find a more peaceful solution? violence is not always the answer. this, i know from all the 6000 years i’ve lived—” aaaand there he goes on his lecture. if your goal was to get him to give you a preaching of a lifetime, well, congratulations, you’ve done it. sit back and relax, brew some tea, maybe get some snacks, because you’ll be here for a while.

al haitham, surprisingly, actually humors you. only because he knows you were teasing him and this is his way of teasing you back, but you’ll probably end up staring at him in confusion because he looks dead serious while doing so. “what an interesting offer. i’ll have to ask you to submit a formal proposal through your special submission channel. make sure you have several backup plans in case of emergencies. have it on my desk by tomorrow afternoon, the latest.”

wriothesley straight up denies you with a roll of his eyes. he knows you’re joking, and honestly speaking he would stain his hands with blood for you, but as much as he loves you, he really didn’t want you to end up at the fortress while under a sentence. although theoretically he could pull some strings to make sure you spent your sentence peacefully if that scenario ever happened, the fact was that such records will follow you for the rest of your life, and he wants you to stay in the sunlight. “what did i always tell you? don’t break the law... but if you really want to, how about you try to steal my breath away with a kiss?”

neuvillette stops writing his reports immediately, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “my dear, come sit, let us converse.” he holds your hand and proceeds to rope you into a heart-to-heart talk. are you being harassed by someone? are you being threatened? the cup of water rippled erratically as he waited for you to answer those particular questions. is there something he could do to help that wouldn’t make either of you getting dragged into a court trial? can he— …. yeah, someone save him, he totally thinks that you’re serious.

childe agrees immediately. is that even a question? “sure! who do you need me to kill?” he asks, with his signature wide boyish grin plastered onto his face and his hand twitching to reach for his hydro blade. look. it’s your ajax. your (man)childe. your tartaglia. i bet you liked his murderous tendencies anyway. are you even surprised?

kaeya makes it a point to gasp and looking like a maiden who caught the sight of two lovers rendezvousing in the garden. when he notices you not buying his act, however, he laughs and switches gear into a teasing smile, “oh? was me stealing your heart not enough?”

diluc stares at you blankly, one eyebrow raised, his voice monotonous — if you hadn’t known how to read his minuscule reactions, you would have missed the spark of mirth dancing in his eyes; a trace of the young ‘luc buried deep inside the scarred heart of a charred phoenix, “…. hmph. did kaeya put you up to this?”

tighnari hums nonchalantly and gives you a knowing smirk, his tail swishing mischievously behind him, “perfect. i do have a rare specimen i’d like to plant. i’m sure it’ll benefit well from the nutrients it’ll absorb from your victim. so, where did you put the body?”

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈

@abyssmal-skies ! @hamdehlesmis ! @sunnshineflxwer ! @queen-belial ! @silentmoths

@dustofthedailylife ! @marina-and-the-memes ! @mixed-kester ! @lordbugs ! @anonymousficreader

@irethepotato ! @sassy-cat-in-town ! @syrenkitsune ! @smokipoki ! @cakeboxie

@crystalflygeo ! @ciexuvia ! @illaasya ! @celestewritestoomuch ! @pams-comfortzone

@spidermanluvr444 ! @ourstrawberryclouds ! @ryuryuryuyurboat ! @hrts4hanniehae ! @fiannee

@frosts-intuition ! @florapocalypses ! @genshin-impacts-me ! @scarasmood ! @hellcatinnc

@beloved-brynn ! @malachitemischief101 ! @average-yandere-enjoyer

[icyymocha]

Kaeya, Diluc, Arlecchino, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Neuvillette and Zhongli telling reader to sit still while they finish work and her replying with “Come over here and make me.”

They could not make me actually!

Pairing: Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Arlecchino, Neuvillette, Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, kissing, being held down, sitting on their lap, late night work, distractions, flirting

A/N: I was debating weather to write smut or fluff. Fluff won.

1. “Come over here and make me.”

Kaeya will gladly take a break for a while to indulge his cute girlfriend. he told you to wait for him but he didn't think it would take that long. The break for kisses will make it last even longer. But at least you won't be fussy anymore, which is a good thing then.

Diluc checks on you every once in a while but he didn't expect your boobs in his face the next time he looked up. He ignored your warning so now you're here, sitting down in his lap and making it impossible for him to work. And yes, this is his fault.

Childe takes you up on that challenge all too eagerly. Truth be told he was looking for an excuse to stop working and you just gave him the perfect one. How can he work with you looking at him like that and tempting him to come forward and kiss you breathless.

Dottore agrees to do just that, he didn't have you as his girlfriend for nothing. You remind him to take breaks, before his body breaks that is. Without you he'd be stuck in his lad for days, months even, you deserve a reward in form of as many kisses you you want.

Pantalone feels sorry for asking you to wait for him. If he knew it would take this long for him to finish these reports he wouldn't have asked you to wait for him. Now you're bored and distracting him, he's not getting out of this office without stress release, for you both.

Arlecchino tells you to watch your bratty tone, you know she's not above disciplining you. It's like you enjoy pushing her buttons, seeing long it takes for her to walk over to you, make you choke on her gloved fingers. You need to learn to do as you're ordered.

Neuvillette looked up at you with wide eyes and pink ears. That tone is very familiar to him but you never had it in his office. Whatever you're thinking isn't gonna happen because he needs to work and he will hold you down with his tail if he has to.

Zhongli beckons you closer, the exact opposite of what you asked for. As soon as you're within his reach he pulls you onto his lap and kisses your neck, whispering that you should stay still if you don't want any accidents to happen. You almost got caught once before.

[icyymocha]

“you should’ve seen the other guy!” ft. childe, wriothesley, alhaitham, and cyno

in which your boyfriend comes home to you bloodied or bruised. or both. but at least he comes home to you victorious after his valiant fight, even if a little patching up is in order.

contains: female reader (use of petnames such as gorgeous and my lady), fluff, established relationship, mentions of blood, injuries, and minor violence, reader is cleaning and patching up characters, childe: very minor suggestiveness, ajax being a typical tease, wriothesley: reader is a doctor at the fortress, an inmate walks in on you both kissing in the infirmary, alhaitham: reader is mentioned to graduate from the akademiya early (the darhsan is not specified), cyno: just a few canon typical bad jokes that i unironically find funny

CHILDE

ajax is a bloodthirsty man—sometimes you wonder if that applies to his own blood as well.

there’s no other reason why he should come back this bloodied to you unless he enjoys the idea. it’s the same thing every time: a cheeky yet sheepish grin greeting you as you open your door, raking your eyes over his form and inhaling a sharp breath.

he’s trying to kill you. or perhaps himself. maybe both of you, in fact.

“you’re mad,” he pouts, watching as you shoot him a glare while you dab at the cut on his slightly busted lip. “don’t be mad, gorgeous.”

“i’m mad,” you confirm, unimpressed. “very, very mad. flattery won’t save you.”

he deflates.

“i didn’t mean to this time,” he tries to defend himself, holding hands up in surrender. you shoot him an icy look, making him slump his shoulders. (he tries to hide the wince, but you catch it instantly). “okay, maybe i got carried away, but at least i won.”

“it’s hardly a victory if you come home with new scars to your collection,” you scowl.

your thumb traces over the thin, pale mark on his bare chest—a cut from ages ago, but it still feels as fresh as ever. he shivers a little, under your touch, leaning forward as he pulls you into him and buries his head into your neck. you protest—it’s a weak, hardly-there attempt. he presses a kiss to your neck and you instantly deflate, wrapping your own arms around his neck and burying your fingers into ginger strands.

“i come home to you in one piece,” he mumbles, still kissing in between his words at your skin. you try to be mad, you truly do, but the effects of his lips are deadly. he knows it too, the bastard, you think. “isn’t that what matters?”

“i think coming home unmarked is the better option,” you say dryly.

he chuckles—amused and slightly teasing, he snickers at your words has he hums at them. “is that it? you don’t want others marking me? then by all means, mark me yourself.”

“that is not what i meant,” i say indignantly, sputtering as you try to pull away.

his grip tightens, and because he’s every bit as difficult as he is mischievous, he slips his hands under your shirt, roaming the bare skin of your hips. your brain short circuits for a moment at the new warmth of touch invading your senses.

“don’t take it back now,” he laughs, “i won’t judge your fantasies.”

“ajax,” you complain, slumping against him as he all but giggles at your misery. this time, he does let you pull away—only enough to get a look at his face as his thumb circles the skin over your hipbone. you cup his cheeks, taking a good look at his face before settling your eyes on his lips once more. “whoever you fought, they were rude enough to hit my favorite place,” you mutter.

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, wriggling his brows teasingly, “my lips, huh? what about them to you like?”

“nothing you’re thinking, you vulgar fool,” you grumble. but delicately, your thumb traces the edge of his lips, careful to dodge the cut as you sigh at the sight. “i can’t kiss you now.”

“and why not?” he frowns, staring at you incredulously, “that’s a ridiculous thing to say—”

“that’ll hurt,” you insist, rolling your eyes, “i don’t want to deal with whining.”

“it won’t hurt,” he says seriously, “i won’t even feel it.”

“stubborn as ever,” you snort.

and because now that you’ve said it, ajax won’t stop until he gets what you want, and you’re only subject to the nature of foolish, innocent love. he wants, and you give—even if you know you’ll be right.

you lean in, pressing a delicate kiss to his busted lip, pulling a small hiss from him as he flinches, earning an amused look from you.

“that didn’t even hurt,” he tries to play off. you chuckle as you shake your head.

“you’re lucky,” you murmur softly, “fortunately for you, there are other places to kiss.”

you press one to the corner of his mouth, to the tip of his nose and the small crevice where his dimple would be if he was smiling. your lips move to the flesh of his cheek, still soft and round enough for you to pinch delicately even with the sharp angle of his cheekbones. and finally, as if you’ve saved this for last, you press a lingering, searing kiss to his forehead, making his eyes flutter shut.

“wasn’t the same as being kissed here,” he points to his mouth, pouting. you grin, pressing your forehead to his.

“then next time don’t come home to be with cuts.”

“so i have permission to get into a fight again?” he winks. cheeky as ever, and tiresome enough that you sigh in exasperation.

“well, i can’t ask for miracles, can i?”

he laughs—it’s innocent, boyish, so unlike the crazed part of him for a good battle. so endearing, you almost forget that the darker parts of him exist.

“i guess not,” he hums, “there are other places you can kiss too, by the way.” he has the audacity to wink at you.

“we’ll see if you deserve that,” you roll your eyes.

WRIOTHESLEY

“there’s a faster way to heal this, you know,” you murmur, pointing at the bruise on wriothesley’s chest. he chuckles, letting out a low hum as he raises his brow at you.

“that so? how about it, doc? let’s hear it.”

you giggle, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the purplish mark on his left pec, making his chest rumble appreciatively at the gesture.

“did that help?” you ask playfully.

he pretends to think, playing along dedicatedly as he actually ponders over your silly question. your lips curl into a wide grin, giggling at the way he indulges you in your whims.

“don’t know,” he sighs after a moment, “guess we’ll just have to try again to see if anything changes.”

“are you taking advantage of me, wriothesley?” you tease, “it feels like your taking advantage of you poor, overworked doctor.”

“oh no,” he says in exaggerated concern, looping a strong, muscled arm around your waist as he pulls you closer, “surely you don’t take me for such a crude man. i could never do that to my busy doctor, here.”

“my boss is cruel, you see,” you giggle, “gives me rough hours to work with little to no breaks. he runs this place on a tight leash, i’m afraid. there’s no hope for me.”

“sounds like an awful man,” he nods sympathetically.

“oh just the worst!” you gasp dramatically, slumping playfully against him, “he’s quite the boxer too, no one stands a chance to stand up to him.”

“oh, is that right?” he gives you an amused grin, lips tugging at the edges as you nod seriously. “he seems like he needs to be put in place, keeping a pretty lady like you with your hands full.”

“i hardly have time for myself, let alone the man i love,” you pout, “i’m afraid there’s not much to do. unless…”

you look up at him hopefully, making him snort as he shakes his head at your antics and raise a suspicious eyebrow in question.

“unless?” he presses for you to continue.

“unless maybe you can help me, here. you seem like you might just be strong enough to win.”

your hand trails from his bare shoulder to his arm, rubbing slowly up and down the length of his arm as you admire the sculpted planes of muscle. he laughs, head thrown back as you grin widely yourself.

“i see,” he nods, “i’ll see what i can work out, my lady. and evening with the man you love just like a dedicated doctor like you deserves.”

“oh, my hero,” you gasp in admiration.

he pulls you into a rough kiss at the words, grunting against your mouth as you cup his cheeks. it’s the third time this week he’s visited you here—you’re starting to think the frequency of his visits (and injuries) are not so much coincidental anymore as you’d like to believe. something tells you this is the real reason the warden seems to visit you so frequently.

“i think that might’ve worked,” he whispers against your mouth as you pull away for air, “not a single ache left, doc. you’re real good at you job.”

he gives you a wink, and you return the gesture with a light smack of his arm.

“wriothesley, what has gotten into you this week?” you scold, “it’s the third time—”

“hey, doc—oh. am…am i interrupting something?”

as quickly as you’d leaned in, you jump away from wriothesley (much to his dismay) at the voice, startled as you turn to look at the inmate at the door of the infirmary. quickly, without sparing another glance to your pouting boyfriend, you rush over to the entrance.

“no, no,” you chuckle nervously, pointing to the unhappy man sat at the examination table, “he was just leaving. come in, please!”

wriothesley grumbles under his breath as he pulls on his shirt when you give him a pointed look—something tells you he’ll only come back quicker the next time around, another excuse for a visit already started to scheme.

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham is a capable fighter, as much as he may try to hide it. certainly capable enough to dispel any rumors of being a feeble scholar of sorts. (you’re unsure where the rumors first began, but they were enough to pull a snort from you, much to his amusement).

he doesn’t particularly look forward to fighting if he can help it, but he’s a skilled sword user when it comes down to it. so it wounds his pride just a bit to sit in front of you like this, gash on his abdomen as you fuss over him in worry. this is precisely why he tried to evade you, attempting to wander to the bathroom on his own and take care of his wound by himself like he’s used to.

he doesn’t make it very far before you catch on, unfortunately.

“does it hurt too bad?” you ask in concern, “i can’t believe you came home without visiting the bimarstan. tighnari is still here from his visit, maybe we should—”

“no,” he grunts, “it doesn’t hurt. we don’t need to bother tighnari.”

you’d believe him if perhaps you were a fool—but you’re not. you were smart enough to graduate early from the akademiya, and you’re smart enough to know a lie when you see one. even if you weren’t, you’d have a hard time believing the dishonesty of his words when he can’t even seem to hide a single grimace of pain every time he inhales.

“oh, really?” you purse your lips in challenge, “i suppose you’ll say you hardly feel anything at all?”

“yes, actually,” he says stubbornly, “i just need it to be cleaned for the sake of avoiding infections. i don’t prefer to miss work—it makes it troublesome to catch up when i come back, and i’d rather not stay extra hours.”

“alhaitham,” you sigh, rubbing your temple in defeat, “you’re far too difficult of a man for me to keep my sanity in tact. have some mercy, will you?”

“i’m hardly making things difficult,” he crosses his arms.

this time, the groan he lets out is involuntary, making you quickly reach over to help him unfold his arms and set them down, face twisting in worry as he grits his jaw. he doesn’t meet your eyes, avoiding your knowing gaze like the plague as you let out the breath you’ve been holding and shake your head.

“i’m going to clean this,” you pointedly look at the gash decorating those criminally sculpted abs of his (almost as criminal as the thought of someone marking them up with such cruelty). “and you,” your eyes narrow, “are going to tell me how you got this.”

he sighs, spreading his legs and making room for you to bend between them to meet his injury head on, holding back a groan as you set off to cleaning away the caked blood around the edges.

“i fought some eremites in the ruins i was exploring,” he mumbles, “i…i miscalculated how many would be hiding for the ambush.”

alhaitham is a linguist. he’s careful with his speech, good at wording things intentionally to say just what he needs to without lying, but not enough to give the full picture. but you’ve decoded the purposeful wording of his speech by now like you’ve learned a new language.

a language you’re very fluent in, in fact.

“so you let your guard down and got caught in a surprise attack,” you raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him. despite what he says, he’s not a feeble scholar—but the way you’re looking at him makes him question that for a moment.

“…perhaps,” is all he says.

“i hope you’ve sufficiently learned your lesson,” you practically scold. he grumbles something incoherently, but doesn’t make a point to argue as he lets you continue cleaning his wound, only letting out noises to hiss at the sting as you dab at the gash gently.

your hand trembles a bit, though. he can see it with his sharp gaze even when he’s distracted by pain (and some bit of wounded pride as well). it makes him feel guilty enough that he plants a hand on yours, pausing your work to make you look up at him.

“i’m sorry,” he says plainly, to the point but never dishonest, “i should have been more careful. i’ll come home to you unscathed in the future.”

he’s not sure what he expects—perhaps another scold, maybe a nod or possibly even an expression of gratitude. what he doesn’t bank on is a laugh.

“oh, you helpless fool, you,” you chuckle, rising to cup a hand over his cheek, “as much as i’d love for you to be unscathed always, i’m well aware of the dangers of the desert ruins. next time, i want you to let me help you when you’re back, not hide from me.”

he sighs, resigning himself to his fate of being your informal patient of sorts, placing his hand over your own as he leans into your touch.

“alright,” he mumbles, “though, i would prefer you didn’t act so certain there will be a next time. i’m practiced with handling a sword.”

you giggle, shaking your head with something crossed between amusement and fondness in your face as you lean and kiss his forehead, missing the soft smile that tugs at his own lips when you do.

CYNO

you didn’t laugh.

you always laugh—it’s what he loves most about telling you a joke. maybe you didn’t hear him, he thinks to himself. yes, that must be it. he’ll just have to try again.

“you know, you really take my breath away. maybe we be-lung together.”

still no laugh. this time, he’s certain you heard. but this time, instead of cracking a smile, you look at him in disbelief.

“cyno,” you say incredulously, “could you perhaps find a more fitting time to make jokes? one that doesn’t coincide with you bleeding?”

“it was funny,” he mumbles, the beginnings of a pout pulling at his lips. (yes, the general mahamatra can pout, and quite often too, in fact. it just takes the right person and the right circumstances to make it happen).

“nothing about this is funny,” you say seriously, “you could have died.”

this time, he laughs—it’s a brief chuckle that he cuts off quickly with a clearing of this throat, wiping his face of any traces of humor when you give him a sharp glare.

“i apologize,” he says sincerely, “it’s just…it’s not exactly a life threatening injury.”

truthfully, it’s hardly an injury at all by his standards. a light grazing of a blade on his arm is not something to lose sleep over, especially not for someone as busy as the general mahamatra. but he supposes it would be unfair of him to ask you not to be worried—he’d certainly be less than calm had the roles been replaced and the blood was being cleaned from your arm.

“it’s not about the injury,” you huff, “it’s about the situation that led up to the injury. what if it wasn’t just a cut?”

“cut me some slack, i was…” he trails off when you cross your arms. “no? not getting this one either? it’s because i have a cut, and you mentioned it—”

he’s cut off from his explanation with a kiss. he’s not expecting that—you don’t exactly seem thrilled with him at the moment, so a kiss seems a bit too generous. but far be it from him to deny any advances of affection from you. so instead, he wraps his good arm around you and pulls you closer, humming against your mouth as you nip at his lips.

“sometimes,” you sigh as you pull away, “that’s the only way to shut you up.”

“if i tell you another joke, will you try to shut me up again? because the i have many i could try on you,” he grins. who wouldve guessed someone as serious as him could be such a flirt when he wants to be?

finally, you do laugh. it’s hard not to around cyno, for all the complaints about his bad humor around the akademiya, you certainly can never keep yourself of letting out a chorus of giggles. it’s easy, when it’s him.

you roll your eyes, leaning closer as you press your forehead to his, no headpiece in the way to stop you from meeting his touch as he sits in your bathroom: comfortable, relaxed, free. no duties to interfere with the way he loves you so easily.

“i’ll kiss you if you promise to not make another joke,” you bargain. “now let me finish cleaning that cut.”

he offers his arm up to you, letting you slowly bandage it with practiced skill as he watches you intently. it’s not the first time he’s come home to you like this, and it certainly won’t be the last. he comes home to you a lot of things: tired and worn out, dehydrated and hungry, cut and bruised and sometimes even troubled and exhausted from the things he sees in his duties.

you’re accustomed to it, by now, but never enough to take for granted that he comes home at all.

“you should seal that with a kiss,” he adds as you finish wrapping the bandages around his arm, grinning at you when you sigh.

you shake your head, letting out a defeated chuckle before you press a soft peck over his arm and finish your ministrations.

“there’s never a dull moment with you,” you say affectionately, “you’re truly a…unique character.”

“i can only appreciate your bluntness,” he chuckles.

you kiss him again, though this time, perhaps it has little to do with shutting him up, and more to do with his charms.

admittedly i am not good at making puns at all so i did have to google a ton of these but the blunt joke was one i came up with all on my own and i was embarrassedly proud of it and its perfect timing

[icyymocha]

redemption for the suffering ft. wriothesley

contains: written with female reader in mind (use of milady as a petname), reader works at the fortress, fluff, minor angst and references to violence (wrio’s past), established relationship, banter and teasing

wriothesley has an impressive collection of scars. some say it’s only proof he’s a fighter—you think it only means the world had turned its back to an undeserving kid.

but the scars are still pretty, despite it all. the world is ugly and so are its people, but never wriothesley. he’s pretty where the smooth skin meets the raised, and he’s pretty laid on your chest with his arms caging you.

he’s also pretty in other ways. (ways in which only you get to see him, and you’d like to keep it that way. the world doesn’t need to see every pretty part of him.)

“you’re staring holes into my head, sweetheart,” he mumbles, face still buried into your chest. you roll your eyes, giving him a scoff and a nudge to the back of his head for the sake of routine.

you can feel his grin through your shirt.

“how would you know that? i could’ve been staring at anything,” you huff indignantly.

“i have eyes everywhere around these parts,” he says smoothly, lifting his head up as he gives you a smug grin. it’s a charming little thing, rough and a tiny bit lopsided, far from perfect but free of any flaws.

wriothesley works in funny ways like that.

“is that so,” you challenge, clasping both hands over his cheeks and giving an affectionate squeeze. (he pretends to be greatly inconvenienced by the forced pucker of his lips from your actions, and you give them a small peck as a reward while you giggle. he’s valiant, after all, in soldiering through your whims.)

“yes, of course.” his voice is a muffled reply, courtesy of the persistent squeeze on his cheeks by your hands. “i see and hear all that goes on in these quarters.”

“i’m sure,” you chuckle. your thumb brushes over the small scar under his eye, delicately tracing the harsh edge of discolored skin.

you don’t know a lot about wriothesley. it’s a rather complicated phenomenon—you’re certain you know more than anyone, but you’re hardly confident you really know much at all. it’s not so much that he doesn’t want to tell you, but more so that you never know how to ask.

you think maybe you should. maybe you should chalk up the courage and ask him how the rips and tears of flesh have come to be. ask him how long the new, healed skin has lived across his body and become a part of him, tethering the past to the present.

so you do.

quietly, carefully, with the gentleness of a dewdrop on a fresh blade of grass, you ask him, “who gave you this?”

he hums, closing his eyes as your thumb strokes over the scar thoughtfully.

“this old thing? ah, well, it was from a battle with a treacherous beast, you see. i was protecting the fortress like any good duke would.”

you snort, and he grins wider. it’s not exactly the answer you were looking for, but it’s a sweet moment all the same—he dodges but he never runs away. you know he’d never run away because he leans closer into your touch, eyes fluttering open as he stares at you fondly.

“wrio,” you whine, “are you always so unserious?”

“on the contrary, milady, i’m afraid i have to be rather serious with a job like mine,” he chuckles. and then, with a gentle sigh, his voice softens as he adds, “i got it when i was a teenager. while i was out on the streets.”

of course, as always, it’s up to you to make sense of the very little he offers, and it’s up to you to ask for more. you don’t think he’d deny you, though. not if it’s you.

“wow, anymore details and i could probably write a biography on the fortresses warden himself for all of fontaine to read,” you say sarcastically, pulling a snort from him.

he gives you an amused squeeze before delicately trailing his hand under your shirt, tracing the skin of your belly in slow circles of his thumb. maybe, if you hadn’t learned to read him so well, you’d think it was to be affectionate. but you know him—even if you looked in blindness, you’d know him. all of him.

you know it’s from the trace of his thumb across your skin, from the presence of your touch under him, that he soothes himself. keeps himself grounded. gives himself a semblance of peace.

“well if you want to be nosy,” he huffs with no bite at all, “i got it in a fight. it’s not uncommon to be a target of robbery when you’re homeless,” he murmurs.

you’ve always known bits and pieces of his story. you knew before you came down to the fortress for work, and you know even more as you slowly get to know him, as you begin pushing past the limit of friends and crossing the threshold of lovers. running away from his parents so young couldn’t have left him with the most ideal of living circumstances—you’d always known that.

but still, hearing him say it out loud fills you up with a certain wave of emotion. you don’t like to imagine him so young, so vulnerable. so failed by the world around him.

“did you win?” you ask softly, running your hand slowly along his back.

“no,” he laughs softly, “no, i uh…i lost. pretty bad, actually. he was way bigger than me—i don’t know what i was thinking.”

sometimes, it’s easy to forget that wriothesley was a child once. just like you. just like anyone. sometimes, when you look at the tall, muscular form of a handsome man, one that seems to carry himself likes he’s always one step ahead, it slips your mind that underneath it all was once an innocent child. one who lost his battles and fell every once in a while. maybe more often than that, in fact.

you hum, tracing the letters of your name along his shoulder blade with the tip of your finger as his thumb circles the patch of skin above your hip.

“at least you were brave,” you offer, “a little dense, maybe. but still brave.”

“oh a lot more than a little dense,” he grins at you. “it was pretty stupid. i quickly learned the hard way to choose my battles wisely.”

“maybe not stupid,” you say thoughtfully, “maybe you were just a kid. a kid shouldn’t know any better—not about fighting on the streets, especially.”

he stays silent at that, breathing slowly as your palm glides over the planes of muscle along his back. firm, broad, quick witted, strong. wriothesley is all of those things now—but you wonder how much of him became this way because he had to be. because he wasn’t before and it cost him until he was.

it leaves a dull ache somewhere in your ribcage, somewhere suspiciously close to your beating heart.

“i knew better. well, eventually,” he adds that last part a little bitterly.

wriothesley is good at taking care of himself. he can throw a punch without breaking his thumb, and he can certainly dodge if a punch is coming his way instead. but you wonder if he’s ever been taken care of outside of that. if outside of quick witted survival and a firm hand to throw, he’s known anything else. anything more giving and less taking.

anything soft and honest outside of the usual harsh and deceitful.

“baby?” you ask quietly, making him hum in response, “you weren’t stupid,” you tell him. because he deserves to know—even if it’s years too late, he should hear it.

he chuckles, lifting his head from your chest as he stares at you with a quirked brow, a mix of amusement and wonder written on his face.

“yeah? you think so?”

“i know so,” you nod seriously, cupping his cheeks, “i mean it wriothesley.”

“you’re that serious, huh? the full name means we’re talking business,” he sighs.

and you know him—even with unfilled blanks and unanswered questions, you know him. always. you know the tight smile and carefully crafted confidence that hides away the delicate child underneath.

you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, to the scar under his eye, to the corner of his lip—delicately on every part of him because none of him deserves to know roughness.

“you were just a baby,” you murmur.

“i was a young man,” he pouts. you smile fondly, shaking your head.

“you’re still a bit of a baby now,” you hum, pinching the flesh of his cheek teasingly, “the chubby cheeks never outgrew you.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, “don’t push it, now.”

despite it all, he slumps himself onto your chest once more, hand finding yours as he laces your fingers.

he squeezes. you squeeze back.

something in him heals at that—something young and sheltered away for so long, he forgot it existed.

“you’d win now, right?” you ask with a yawn, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he breathes in the scent of you through your shirt. “if you fought him?”

“oh yeah,” he chuckles, “he wouldn’t stand a chance now.”

“good,” you grin, “i’m glad.”

when you remember that he was literally canonically a homeless child who learned that sleep made you vulnerable and susceptible to robbery 🥲 hoyoverse did not come to play with his backstory

[icyymocha]

“i wanna ruin our friendship!” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of “we’re just friends, but…” (<- read part one for better understanding of each)

contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato

WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.

he’s long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, he’s fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when you’re so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?

but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.

but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge today—because now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.

it’s a shameful feeling, but it’s one he can’t help. he’s tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.

you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.

so he walks up, fisting the inmate’s shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, “is there a problem? if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.”

“y-your grace,” the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. “n-no, i was just…i was just askin’ her if she’d like some help findin’ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusin’ ’n such.”

the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the warden’s unforgiving hold.

wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, “and do you need any help finding your way, miss?”

“no,” you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.

his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, “then you leave her alone. don’t let me catch you bothering her again, understood?”

“y-yes, your grace!”

wriothesley releases the man’s shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowed—threatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where he’s in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.

“thank you,” you whisper, “i’m not sure how much longer he’d have bothered me if you hadn’t shown up.”

“anyone else ever try that before?” he seethes. you’ve never seen him so angry before—something about it feels almost personal.

you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. “no, wriothesley,” you murmur, “no one gives me a hard time. this was a first.”

“let me know if anyone bothers you,” he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. “i’ll take care of it.”

you eye the way it’s tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.

“of course,” you smile softly, “though, i’m sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesn’t appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i don’t think there will be any repeats of this incident.”

he should feel ashamed.

you think so highly of him—defaulting to believing he’d saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.

faintly, he’s aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. he’s sure there’s not much he hides in his expression—you must be reading him like an open book. he can’t bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.

“something on your mind, your grace?” you ask, leaning closer.

perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, he’d know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and he’s weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.

“yes,” he admits, “i…i’m afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.”

“oh?” you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. “enlighten me, then. what were your intentions?”

“to make sure no man comes close to you,” he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.

“why?” you ask. it almost sounds like a plead—like you’re waiting to hear something desperately.

“because it’s unbearable to see you with other men,” he says hoarsely. if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it. but he has reason to believe you’re quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.

“and if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?” you ask softly.

finally, his jaw loosens—instead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.

“that so?” he hums, “perhaps then you’d care to join me for dinner today, milady—i’ll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.”

“on a date?” you ask hopefully.

“on a date,” he confirms with a slight nod.

you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. “i’ll see you at dinner then, your grace.”

NEUVILLETTE

the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.

you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.

“madame!” she gasps, “oh, you’ve been caught in the weather!”

“it’s alright, sedene,” you chuckle, “it’s nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i should’ve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,” you hold up a file.

sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, “yes…he’s in his office but…well, i should warn you that he’s not in the best of moods.”

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, “how unfortunate. i’ll make it quick. they’re quite urgent papers.”

she nods at your promise—and just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.

“you didn’t join us today, madame,” she starts, “for tea today during the monsieur’s break.”

“oh,” you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, “you’re right, i didn’t. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.”

“i see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,” she smiles.

before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvillette’s office, knocking gently.

“monsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.”

there’s a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudex’s throat before a raspy, “yes, of course. come in.”

you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks rather…well, you’re not sure, exactly—perhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedene’s words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if there’s any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.

so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. “i apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,” you hum, “you certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.”

against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at all—and the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.

he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesn’t point it out as he says gently, “it’s quite alright. i’m sure you’re a busy individual.”

“i do quite enjoy my routine visit,” you say shyly, “it was a shame i couldn’t join today. but rest assured, i’ll be present tomorrow.”

“i’m glad to hear it,” he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, “truthfully, i had assumed you didn’t want to join me—or excuse me, us,” he coughs, correcting himself at the end.

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, “of course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, i’m afraid. i hope i didn’t upset you, monsieur.”

“no,” he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, “it’s just that i…well, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.”

he doesn’t meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.

neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.

“i’ve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhaps…perhaps it would be nice to enjoy each other’s company outside of the palais as well,” you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, “somewhere away from prying eyes.”

neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.

“yes,” he murmurs softly, “i think i would love that.”

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham is not drunk today.

you can tell when you open the door because he’s not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, he’s perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.

you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.

“you’re not drunk for once,” you murmur, “i don’t think i ever get a visit from you when you’re not drunk.”

the words make him wince a bit—he doesn’t like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when he’s not inebriated, especially when he’s not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kaveh—but kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).

coming to your doorstep every week when he’s drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he can’t control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.

it’s natural, autonomic.

“i didn’t want to drink tonight,” he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is blunt—speaking his mind is not a complicated task. he’s sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.

but his thoughts aren’t very coherent when they come to you. he’s not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes you—really, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if he’s fallen in love with you. he can’t tell, if he’s being honest, because he’s never been in love before. it’s uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.

and then there’s the more difficult part. he’s not sure if you feel the same, or if you’d respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him you’re kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps you’d let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you don’t feel the same. but for some reason, there’s an illogical part of him. one he doesn’t recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.

logic doesn’t win in his mind for once. it hasn’t for a very long time. it’s why he doesn’t tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.

regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldn’t disturb his pounding head.

he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.

“do you want to come in?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. i came…i came to say something.”

“i see,” you nod, “then by all means, share what you have to say.”

it’s not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when he’s standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. he’s read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.

but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, he’s aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.

so he says the first thing he can think—and it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. “your sabz meat stew is my favorite.”

you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, “oh my, i’m flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?”

“n-no,” he sighs in embarrassment, “that…that’s not what i meant.”

you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like you’re aware of something, something that maybe even he’s not aware of himself. but he doesn’t want to dwell on that—perhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and he’s not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“well, if you must know,” you giggle, “i enjoy making your favorite for you.”

“i enjoy your stew,” he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, “i enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. it’s enjoyable because it’s you.”

you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesn’t have time to dwell on whether or not you’re laughing at him because there’s an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as it’s shut.

you’re close—it’s the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.

“you’re a smart man, alhaitham,” you murmur, “i’m sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.”

he wants to tell you that he doesn’t feel very smart when he’s around you. it’s like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when you’re so close, he doesn’t think he could tell you even if he tried.

instead, he asks, “because you’re kind?”

“not kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,” you chuckle. “unless…”

“unless…?” he asks breathlessly.

“unless it’s you, silly,” you snort. “do fill in the lines, will you?”

he allows himself to hope. because it doesn’t take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.

“if…” he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, “if i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?”

“of course,” you whisper.

“if i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?” he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.

you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. “always,” you breathe, “will you come?”

“yes,” he nods. his shoulders slump—in relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. “because i enjoy coming home to you.”

“and i enjoy welcoming you home,” you murmur.

and it’s at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.

KAMISATO AYATO

it’s midnight when there’s a knock on your door. it’s rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.

and then it hits you—ayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, there’s the concern of what people might think if he’s seen here so late, standing outside your door.

“ayato? why are you here?” you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.

“well, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting you’ve afforded me,” he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. “won’t you even invite me in?”

“well, come on then,” you huff, “it’s always something or another with you.”

“whatever do you mean?” he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, “i’ve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.”

“at this hour?” you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.

it’s not of any trouble to you—ayato knows it too. but there’s something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate you’re sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.

“ah,” he nods in amusement, “how impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?”

“i could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,” you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. “pray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?”

“i’d like to ask for your hand,” he says bluntly.

you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruel—in fact, he’s always been much the opposite. especially to you. he’s become painfully important, a friendship you’ve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.

but something about this feels cruel, like he’s aware of the deeper feelings you’ve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?

you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, “that’s hardly funny, ayato. be serious.”

“i am serious,” he tilts his head, “i, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.”

his hand is offered to you—and something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.

“i-in marriage?” you ask in utter confusion.

he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. “well, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.”

you’re not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but there’s a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if he’s lost his mind, or if he’s simply joking at your expense.

ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if he’s truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?

“this isn’t funny,” you whisper, voice small. “i hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.”

it’s silent. deafeningly so, in fact.

his hand drops—slowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.

“i hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,” he murmurs, “do reject me gently if you intend to. i’m afraid my age is catching up to me—i have a weak heart.”

“you’re hardly old,” you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. “you’re really being serious?”

“do you doubt me?”

“i suppose not,” you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.

your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses you’ve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.

you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.

“i have found the man who attacked you,” he says quietly, “and i’m ashamed to admit the…unsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.”

“i hope you wouldn’t stoop to such levels for me,” you say quietly.

“i fear there isn’t much i wouldn’t resort to for your safety,” he admits.

“i’m hardly worth such trouble,” you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole you’ve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, you’ve always wondered how it’d feel. “there are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.”

“ayato,” he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. “and not to me,” he shakes his head. “it’s you i desire. i’m afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.”

“i’m starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,” you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, “it seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.”

“i do hope you’ll take such responsibilities seriously.” his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. “you’ll be the death of me.”

“i should hope not,” he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, “i fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.”

“oh kiss me, you fool,” you scoff tiredly at his antics.

he doesn’t waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like he’s crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that he’ll never lose you again.

and finally—finally, once he’s decided he’s sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.

“i’m afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. “you’ll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.”

you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. “i believe i’ll find a way to cope,” you grin.

ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though i’m not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do 🥹

[icyymocha]

Neuvillette’s smile will blind me to oblivion

OK one last post rq because I forgot to say I love this guy too

[icyymocha]

Monsieur Neuvillette, you’ve forgot your blue lashes!

I forgot I had this video but here is Neuvillette slightly animated

[icyymocha]

Caves are weirder and more varied than you think

[icyymocha]

thigh riding with diluc while he’s working on his office on dawn winery 🤤 he’s busy with work but he could never deny his darling some pleasure

⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ cw. thigh riding, touch starved diluc <3, fem! reader

scarlet hair tousled, red cheeks resembling that of strawberries and a shirt with a couple buttons opened, all accentuated by a sheen lace of sweat around diluc's sharp collarbones as he exhales shakily into his chest.

parted lips, lidded eyes, the master of the dawn winery certainly believed that in the beginning, this was a good idea, not to mention easy— barely a sweat, right? he thought to himself, no work he had to actually participate in while you're the one showing him how your soft folds press and drag against his clothed thigh, your whines octaves higher the more you glazed your wet pussy over the aching fabric.

and you press forward, press back, arch your back as he looks at you, his face tilted to the side when you pull your shirt up to reveal your tits and erected nipples, all the while beginning to play with one mound— squeezing and squeezing your breast so filthily that he shamelessly moans as his dick throbbed in his pants.

he was thinking that fuck; i want to fuck you, fuck you so much, want to flip you against the table and pull my dick inside you so hard, it will make you see stars baby it will.

yet of course, diluc, your sweet diluc, always angelic and gentleman alike— wasn't one to choose those particular words, they weren't in his vocabulary.

perhaps, they were barely used, yet they were there.

you wrap your arms around his neck and enjoy the rough treatment of fabric on your sore folds, tits messily pressed into his chest now, eyes glimmering with desire to cum.

diluc thought to himself that what would be the odds, if he would just skip his paperwork and sufficiently stretch your hole like you deserve before he spreads white strings of his cum onto your sore walls— didn't someone once claim that having something hot and sticky plastered onto something sore would help aid against the soreness? or maybe he just made that up right now.

dilic's thigh desperately changes angles, nudges up and helps you prolong your sweet pleasure as two warm palms graze at your hips, keeping you steady on his thigh before he groans again— sounding absolutely desperate, almost like a pathetic man, so touch starved that it killed him inside.

your toes curl when he rose his leg up to faintly brush over your clit, until he could see your sticky fluids mess up his pants. it's so hot, no, scrap that, you were, you were the hottest, most beautiful, fuck, he cannot find words to describe you.

not only that, but after a while, the master of the dawn winery was on the brink of turning wrecked and feral— diluc now, started touching himself helplessly, fondling with the obvious bulge in his pants while watching you. always watching you.

he grinds needily into his palm until the hot splash of you cumming all over his thigh made him, at the same time, batter his cum inside his messed up boxers, wet strands and ropes of his seed, showing a wet splotch imbedded into the dark fabric.

ah well, you know what comes next, don't you? because diluc cannot work like that? don't be silly. he might as well just make his filthy dream come true.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[icyymocha]

♤ Deus Vult - I

Translation: God wills it

Includes: Self Awareness, Yandere, (Implied future) Harem, Religious, and Cult AU

Warning: Yandere, talks of religion, mentions of death, punishment, inter-dimensional traveling (existentialism?), k/idnapping, dru/gs, etc.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: You can ask about the AU and the lore of Rem/Vita, there should be a post up soon about some details on the AU too. This is kind of like an introductory piece on my take on the Cult/SAGAU, that’s all… I think.

This was written with mature audiences in mind.

Tales of greater Gods had been passed down from generation to generation for millennia and yet none struck a cord as much as the legend of The Creation, known by most humans nowadays as a lullaby simply dubbed “Teyvat’s Maker”. A song parents would sing their kids during bedtime, one that could be heard sung by bards late at night at taverns.

However, most of the interest didn’t necessarily lay within said Creator (whose role was dubbed as Vita) – the deity that gave life to the very world The Seven ruled over; no, it laid on their companion, a – at the time – smaller god simply dubbed as Rem as their name was unknown, some said it was too sacred to be spoken which led to it being lost to time.

Out of all known previous gods, from a time long before the participants of the Archon war were even birthed, Rem was the one revered the most – they were said to have been the one to plan, mold, and shape Teyvat – it was later with the help of Vita that Rem’s work was given life to.

As it turns out that Teyvat was a gift; from one friend to another, however pitiful as it may be, of the two, one remained.

Unfortunately, as most ancient beings from that time did, Vita ended up being long forgotten, having given in to temptation: corruption soon left the divinity a memory of the past. Only Rem remained, who took on the task of fulfilling the roles now left vacant. They worked and poured their love, soul, and heart making sure Teyvat prospered to the extent they gave their very own life. They ended up succumbing to seemingly endless sleep.

They worked through days and nights alike, raising mountains and carving rivers and streams into the land – creating the perfect landscape for their people to ensure the best possible life. And yet no one knew why, not the priestesses or the monks that dedicated themselves wholly to the study and worship of their idol, the land had been laid and fruits had blossomed yet, they worked and worked for a goal unknown.

But one thing was certain, whether it had not been for Rem, Teyvat would fail to exist as it does today. It was a fact known to all Archons – and so, they worshiped their God like no other. Hoping, praying that with their sacrifices and dedication, their benevolent God would awaken once more and rebuild all of Teyvat to its former glory, giving wake to new prosperity and better life.

Tales of the grandiose past of the land littered ancient texts, scripts, and mosaics of the people who lived during Rem’s prime and their blessed lives created a longing in the people of Teyvat and the beings that currently ruled over them for an era long passed.

That’s why, throughout all of the land – from Inazuma to Mondstatd – the God of Teyavt was worshiped alongside their respective Archon. They would celebrate, worship, and revere their god, with countless monuments and thrones, statues and sanctuaries built in their name scattered through the land – if there was a civilization there was Rem. All of these places were sacred and all human affairs were to be forgotten, you were not a Knight of Favonius or a Fatui there, you weren’t from Liyue or Inazuma, you were from Teyvat and you were going to respect the God that gave you life.

Keep reading

[icyymocha]

♤ Deus Vult - II

Translation: God wills it

Includes: Self Awareness, Yandere, (Implied future) Harem, Religious, and Cult AU

Warning: Yandere, talks of religion, mentions of death, implied k/idnapping, implied dru/gs, paranoia, obsessive behavior, existentialism, manipulation, weird (sensual?) behavior, off-putting behavior displayed.

Word count: 4.9k

A/N: Finally, after 2-3 months… it’s done! Hope you guys like it and that it makes up for the wait.

This was written with mature audiences in mind.

Zhongli was a man of traditions, he liked things done a certain way — the way they had always been done. Today, as Teyvat awaited your awakening, this particular trait found itself shining more than ever.

Were these truly the finest silks the land had to offer? Maybe the scholars were wrong and this shade wasn’t your favorite, did he have time to reread that passage and confirm it? Are the flowers truly at the center of the tables; they don’t quite look right to him.

A perfectionist in every sense of the word, Zhongli’s thoughts raced around his head with such intensity it made him overthink the very act of breathing.

It wasn’t like the others were much better, the Crux had run into trouble — albeit carrying important passengers such as the Yashiro Commission's Kamisato Ayaka and Thoma, even the Raiden Shogun (much to a certain poet’s annoyance and distaste) and the ever-loyal Kujou Sara, even the Anemo archon himself, who is known for his care-free nature, was running around the premises fixing a few of his last-minute arrangements, all while the Ordus Favonius finalized the preparations for your escorting with the help of the Millelith and other high-ranking officers from around Teyvat. The halls of the palace, courtesy of Zhongli and Albedo who spent weeks using their powers and knowledge to create the most serene and prestigious building they could humbly offer you, were all but bustling with chatter and high energy — maids and servants of the highest caliber ran around cleaning and fixing what was out of order, chefs and cooks from all corners of Teyvat prepared their dishes and finished their courses.

It had been a long, long time since Dragonspine had been this lively.

His thoughts are broken by a high-pitched voice, one he’d grown to associate not with its owner but rather her companion, shouting his name. As a man who’d lived over six millennia, it took the former archon much self-control not to turn around and tape the floating “emergency food”’s — as she had been so nicely nicknamed by the Traveler — mouth shut and trap her in a crystal for a good hundred years; there wasn’t a moment to spare, not to mention they should be watching over you and not prancing around.

“Zhongli, Zhongli!” Paimon’s voice rang and the aforementioned turned around and found himself standing face to face with Lumine and her friend, both looking excited and slightly panicked, a mix that set off alarm bells in the, slightly irritated, god's head.

“Hmm? Traveler, Paimon,” he acknowledged them, raising an inquisitive eyebrow as he took in their heaving chests and panted breath, what exactly could be so important as to have them leave their post - thought the former-archon, “shouldn’t you be looking over Rem*?”

There’s an accusatory tinge to his voice that has their floating companion’s eyes widen and let out a nervous laugh that has his heart stop in his tracks – a laugh like that from Paimon meant something, good or bad - big or small - happened, things shouldn't be happening –– not now.

“About that,” Paimon explains, a long pause hangs in the air before she whispers hurriedly, “they’re with Mister Albedo right now, you see– they’ve woken up and, well, there seems to be a tad bit of a problem…”

Albeit a whisper, it seems everyone must have heard, or maybe it was due to the sudden change in Zhongli's demeanor that caught their eye, because as soon as the words are uttered silence fills the once noisy halls. Questioning gazes are sent between guests and the people around the premises: had they heard right? Were you truly awake? Others note the last few words; a problem? Were you alright? Had they brought in the wrong person?

Some continue working while others are too stunned to continue their tasks, opting to gossip amongst themselves.

“They’ve woken up?” Zhongli asks again as if in utter disbelief, attempting to confirm what he’d heard; he’d waited for this day for so long, to have this news delivered to him, and yet he found himself doubting the words spoken to him. He turns a blind eye to the gawking gazes from the workers and focuses on trying to control his thumping heart.

“Yes.” Paimon laughs again, clearly uncomfortable by the atmosphere that now presented itself in the room, almost hoping everyone would turn around and go back to their tasks rather than ogle at the trio but she couldn't bring herself to blame them for their interest.

“Very well…” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts and not to turn into the giddy mess his body wanted to become, “everyone; let’s hurry up, there’s no time to waste,” Zhongli says, his voice commanding - he doesn’t even spare anyone a glance, too doused on the adrenaline pumping through his veins as the news settled in, “do not disappoint our providence.”

After that, it doesn’t take long before Venti, who’d overheard the news from his hiding spot as he tried to rid himself of some responsibility, and himself are running down the intricate hallways to find you. The next few hours after your awakening had been meticulously planned, they were originally meant to meet you with their fellow archon, and yet they can’t help themselves but be drawn to you.

Beelzebub would be mad, not only was she behind schedule but she wouldn’t witness their god’s first waking moments but honestly, Barbatos didn’t mind nor did Morax.

When they arrive at your chambers, a temporary accommodation - of course (as they all wished you move into their respective regions), they’re greeted by your puzzled stare. Your figure was almost lost in the sea of silks and pillows that had been laid around you but your aura was too strong, it was impossible not to recognize who you were.

“Your highness,” Venti awed, his eyes widened in admiration and disbelief – so many years chasing after you finally felt like they'd paid off, “you’re here, finally!”

It takes Zhongli, his long-time friend (and technically co-worker) to slap a hand on his shoulders and force him to stay put for him not to throw himself into the bed beside you and drown you in thousands of years of pent up love.

“Behave yourself,” he mutters just loud enough for Venti to hear, his stone-cold exterior betrayed by the golden glow in his eyes as he took in the sight before him, “your grace," he cleared his voice, "apologies for my companion and his sudden actions, we’re all simply overjoyed for your arrival.”

There’s a silence that seems like it’s meant to be your cue to say something but nothing comes to mind – your mind drowning in what you can only describe as a drunken haze –, something that wasn't particularly helped by the fact you had no idea what was happening.

“I’m sorry but,” you laugh awkwardly, hoping to alleviate the tension in the room, “what’s going on?”

This felt like a dream, a dreadful dream where you were seized in your sleep and taken to some sort of historic chateau and forced to play the role of a sovereign or divinity. You were surprised you hadn’t shrieked at the blonde woman who had been staring at your sleeping form when you’d woken up, you would have thought your reaction would’ve been more aggressive and confrontational - cuss words being cried and more throwing of cushions or even punches and kicks, instead - you timidly inquired about your locations, too drowsy (which would later be confirmed to be due to the liquid Albedo has you ingest earlier) and with little memory to react normally. The woman, whose name sounds familiar - Lumine -, answers with all but too much eagerness, her tone pleasant as she beams about how you’re in Dragonspine and Teyvat before an ocean of thanks are sent your way as she credits her achievements and efforts to you – some sort of deity in her life that had aided her in trying and tough times. Unfortunately, you can’t quite say you remember the woman in front of you — something that shocks her greatly and seemingly sends her into a panic when you inform her.

“Oh heavens,” she mutters, looking around in a panic, her previously joyous exterior now replaced by an uneasy look in her, honestly, soft and lovely face, “Albedo…”

She looks at you once more, golden-brown eyes filling with sorrow as she asks once more; “Are you certain you don’t remember me?”

“Or Paimon?” Her companion, a floating pixie of sorts, asks - her high tones contrasted by the downcast look in her eyes and your heart breaks at the sadness your words seemed to bring.

“I’m sorry but no.” You admit, your memory is all but a gray fog; your past feels dream-like, you remember being a student of sorts and working a job, some sort of family, and few friends, but everything felt like it was coated in a layer thick goo making it impossible to properly recognize or even tell apart what was fantasy from reality. You’re mortified to admit it but you don’t even really remember the faces of your parents or if you even have siblings or relatives at all, even less about any hobbies or interests, the only true indication something was off being the uncomfortable thumping of your heart — if it weren’t for that and your concerning lack of memory nothing would’ve felt too wrong at all.

A blond man came into the room after that, he'd been fetched by the two - who'd rush to find him, he carried a notepad and seemed confused - about what you didn’t know, you had little to no clue what was going on in your head, it was practically impossible for you to try and guess pretty much anything - he came to a halt beside the bed you laid in.

“Your highness, it’s an honor to finally meet you — I’m Albedo, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius and your humble follower,” he bows, his turquoise eyes analyze you in, what you think is, marvel and affection once he stands back upright, “the Traveler told me you seem to be suffering from some sort of memory loss and since I’m the one who brought you here - it’s my responsibility and duty to look over your health, I'll make sure to see all matters that pertain to your health personally.”

“I… I see.” You murmur, overwhelmed by his looks and the words coming out of his mouth — neither made much sense to you but at this point, your head is pounding and you’re too weary to try and figure either out. How a man could look so handsome and elegant, yet adorable and pretty baffled you – much like the beauty Lumine seemed to unknowingly have.

He took a bunch of tools, none of which you were familiar with or looked particularly modern, and began examining you while the blonde woman left with her friend. It took him a couple of minutes before declaring nothing was wrong other than your seeming memory loss.

“We’ll perform a couple of tests to see what could have happened,” he says, he begins putting his things away before a thought seems to come to him having him correct himself, “if that’s what you want, of course, if you find my analysis wrong - please tell me.”

“I think you're right,” you nod, “...and it'd be nice to fix it.”

It’s then when the two figures come into the room followed by Lumine and you find yourself where we started a while ago.

“It seems they’re suffering from some sort of amnesia,” Albedo explains to the two confused men, “their memories aren’t clear and it seems like they don’t recall much.”

“And how did this happen?” Venti asks, his voice shaking — did his god not remember him? All of the sacrifices and vows he took in their name?

“We’re not sure, it might have to do with them being asleep for so many years,” the alchemist sighs, “or it could be that they were away from Teyvat for too long, it’s possible that when they came back their memories were affected — whatever the case is, I’m sure it’s not irreversible.”

The archon nods, though it’s clear they’re attempting to mask their disappointment.

“Well, if that’s the case,” the shorter god exclaims, clapping his hands in an attempt to cheer up the mood, “then we better fill them in!”

“Right,” amber eyes break away from you, finally allowing you to breathe, “if I’m not mistaken, dinner should be ready too, I’m sure you must be hungry.”

Zhongli turns to address you, his eyes take a sudden glow; one filled with love and admiration and you’re taken aback, you instinctively want to shield yourself away from the intensity in his eyes but force yourself to nod - albeit stiffly.

“I… I guess.” You mumble – you hadn’t been paying much attention to your body - you weren’t starving but eating something would be nice, you think to yourself.

“Lumine,” Venti looks at the outlander, “go tell the others to set the table while we prepare our highness for dinner.”

"We haven't introduced ourselves," the taller male realizes, his eyes widening in embarrassment, he coughs into his hands before bowing – similarly to how Albedo had done, "My name is Zhongli, though you might have remembered me as Rex Lapis or Morax – I'm the former geo archon in charge of Liyue, and the oldest of your followers. I want to humbly thank you and, if you would allow me, serve you for as long as I am of use to you."

"I'm the archon in charge of Mondstad, Barbatos the anemo archon, though I have been going by Venti," the short bard follows his friend's suit, bowing down as a sign of respect, "I want to thank you, not only for your blessings but the protection you have extended to Mondstad. For as long as you want me to, I am honored to serve you personally."

"There's no need to bow," you wave your hands nervously, shocked by the humble actions performed by the two men, "and there's nothing to thank me for... I have no idea what you're even talking about."

"That's only because you've lost your memory," Morax said, "it's only natural we attribute the good in our life to your kindness."

"And don't try and argue us on that," Venti smiles, "now, let's go! We should be getting you ready for dinner~"

You’re led to a luxurious bathroom, one you’re certain isn’t yours based on how expensive and elegant everything looked - albeit a bit old fashioned, maybe extremely old fashioned -, and told to strip bare and climb onto an already, suspiciously to your liking, prepared bathtub that’s probably bigger than any tub should be.

"You two will be here?" You ask, you had thought they'd escort you and wait outside yet neither made a move to leave.

"We can't," the amber-eyed archon cleared up, "we need to make sure nothing happens, it would be a tragedy if anything were to happen to you and we weren't there to prevent it or help you; we wouldn't be able to forgive ourselves."

You stared at them baffled, you might not remember much of your life prior to these last few hours but you were certain you were in no position of power or significance to need such care and attention.

"It's not like I would die if you weren't here, though, I won't fall over and hit my head and, like, bleed to death underwater." You mutter under your breath, it was getting hard not to be overwhelmed by the amount of care and detail they seemed to dedicate to you – it's almost as if they thought you'd touch the water and evaporate!

It seems your words only concern them more, the mere thought of your death seems to have caused Zhongli an internal heart attack as he tries not to lose his composure – Venti's eyes widen almost comically as he tries to convince you to let them stay.

"Your grace, don't even say that as a joke!" Venti pants, as if in physical pain, "W-we have to stay here and look over you! You can't be left alone because... what if you do fall underwater a-and bleed to death, we wouldn't be able to live and -!"

“Fine, fine!” You finally comply after Venti almost bursts into tears, "Just, turn around while I get ready!"

You don’t quite understand why you’re doing as you’re told, then again — you didn’t understand much at all. You slip off the sleeping garments and awkwardly make your way into the tub, the water splashing and signaling the men to turn around and make their way to service you (much to your embarrassment).

"You don't have to do this," you squeak when you feel long fingers find their way to your shoulders, "I can wash myself, t-thanks!"

"Please," you hear a deep voice near the shell of your ear and you almost jump into the water, "I've wanted to do something like this with you for such a long time."

"And you're pretty tired, right?" A sing-song voice peaks beside you, "Why don't you let us take care of you?"

"... Okay." You let out, trying not to enjoy the feeling of their hands massaging away your stress.

"Ah," you hear Venti moan, excitement evident in his voice, "you're too kind to us~"

A few minutes go by of pure silence, the only sound is the rustling of the water and soap against your skin.

“When can I go home?” You ask, finally breaking the silence, you might not remember much and you were certainly growing to enjoy the pampering but you know this is not your home; though familiar, as are the faces that surround you, you just feel it somewhere deep in your gut that this isn’t where you belong nor where you’re from.

“Hmm? Your grace,” the bard laughs, his voice as charming and delicate as a dandelion floating in the wind, “but you are home.”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, a million and one reasons as to why this isn’t your home come to your head and yet you find articulating them hard, like a child struggling to reason with a parent, “Why don't I remember anything?”

The thought bothers you greatly, the lapse in memory - this vast blank space that now resides in your mind - aggravated you, it made you feel as if you were less you than before, your memories were vague and they left an ache in your body; you felt incomplete.

“It must be distressing,” Zhongli agrees with you, his hand comes to rest against your bare skin, “but you’re safe, no harm will ever come to you here - we’ll accompany you until your memory returns and continue to do so afterward.”

“Zhongli is right,” Venti nods enthusiastically, “you’re the most precious person in Teyvat, your happiness and safety will always be our priority.”

There it was again – those names that felt familiar.

“Exactly, Beelzebup, Barbatos, and I will always be there for you,” Zhongli says, “even if this doesn’t feel like home to you today, eventually it will.”

Morax, Barbatos, and Beelzebup, Lumine, and Albedo — why did they sound so familiar? Like something you should know, like something you knew but forgot, it was such a distressing feeling it made you want to scream.

“Is something the matter? You look concerned.” Venti asks, his hand resting upon your bare shoulder as if trying to ground you.

“No, not at all,” you shake your head, they don't seem to believe it so you add, “I’m just tired, that’s all – it's just been very eventful.”

They nod in understanding, your lackluster answer seemed to be enough, before resuming washing you – fresh smelling soaps and fragrances were used with no hesitation, all which looked particularly expensive much to your surprise – it felt wrong to have such luxuries used on you. You notice that their touches are delicate, not too soft but not too harsh, almost a fleeting in their contact but concrete enough you knew they had happened - they kept treating you as if you were a doll made of the finest of porcelains and you’d crack under the slightest of pressure; which, considering you had two gods, and one of them is known as the Ruler of War, who'd fought their fair shares of battles and wars it’s safe to say that there was a chance you’d break if they weren’t careful (even if they tried to convince themselves they couldn’t possibly harm you).

Something (read: your health being affected) neither they nor Teyvat, in its current state, could handle — not when changes seemed to be coming from all horizons and especially when they’d been waiting nothing short of several millennia for your arrival. It stood without a doubt to everyone, even those that didn’t believe in you as God, that you were perhaps the most important person in the continent, a being whose mere existence meant more to the earth and the ones walking on it than any other had or ever would.

By the time you’ve stepped out of the bath and re-dressed in new clothes, which you can only call more “period” or “world” appropriate, you’re given a couple of minutes to yourself.

"We'll be waiting outside your door to escort you," the geo archon says, his posture almost mimicking that of a butler, "call us when you're ready."

They soon left you alone with your thoughts and a pounding headache that ambushed you.

From the moment you’d gained consciousness, you’d been victim to, what felt like, a wave of headaches that came and went as they willed. Your overridden senses had blocked most of the pain out, the constant new stimulation of new parties and their reactions in addition to your lack of awareness and dizziness left little to no time for your brain to process the pounding headache that is currently tormenting you – it was almost as it was attempting to make up for the time it hadn't been there.

The bed you’d once laid in had been made, its sheer size and luxurious look overwhelmed you — you rack your brain in an attempt to figure out the multiple questions that plagued your mind; where on earth were you? What was Teyvat or Dragonspine? Who were Barbatos, Beelzebup, and Morax? Why did their names and Lumine’s sound so familiar? Who brought you here?

Who were you?

Were you truly some sort of respected being? Were you originally from here at all? All memories, all vague and messy memories, you had depicted you living an almost horribly mundane life, one where you were just another faceless person in the sea of society. No luxuries, no titles, little to no friends, was there even a family? This was a world so different from the one you seemed to have come from, filled with people you simply didn’t recognize, and yet here you were, practically shoved into a situation you didn’t understand nor consent to.

You sniff as you feel tears well in your eyes, you let yourself flop into the bed, the same that felt foreign on your skin but was seemingly made for you; you were crushed.

Your questions were ignored or you couldn’t even voice them, too scared and bewildered to even make a peep. That and the fact that when you’d finally gotten the chance to be with people who seemed to at least have some idea of what was going on your brain seemed to give out on you - giving in to the peer pressure and letting them do as they pleased -, you wanted to slap yourself and berate your idiotic, foolish actions.

“A dinner where my question will be answered,” you mutter, remembering the offer made by Zhongli, “…”

If you were honest, dinner didn’t sound particularly appetizing – not with how sick to your stomach your worries made you – but you wanted answers, desperately so. You sough once more, you take a glance at the room, making sure to note if anything looked fake - like a set for some television show - hoping this was maybe a cruel prank -, before making way to stand up and call for one of the two men who’d been assisting you, as they put it, when something catches your eye.

A couple of feet away from the bed laid a vanity, one you hadn’t paid much mind to at all before, but it currently seemed to emanate a certain glow, it was mesmerizing with the way it seemingly dyed its surroundings a captivating purple and you find yourself almost not noticing the pair of amber-brown eyes that minded you through the glass.

“…!” You gasp, instinctively climbing back into the bed and far away from the vanity — a blond man looked at you, his face youthful and reminiscent of Lumine’s, his eyes were somber yet they held a tinge of hope as they softened at your shocked reaction.

“It’s alright,” the man says, he raises a gloved hand and touches his side of the mirror, “I just wanted to see you, I won’t harm you - ever.”

You almost want to reach out to him, walk up to the vanity and mimic his movement to see if you could touch him; “… Where am I?”

You unconsciously crawl the bed to get a closer look at the figure speaking to you – had you lost your mind?

“Hmm, they haven’t told you?” He inquires, his eyebrows furrow — you don’t question why he knows there are multiple people.

“No,” you add quickly, almost as if trying to defend them, “but they did say I’m in Teyvat.”

“Then you know.” He looks at you quizically, as if that were the answer to all of your questions and you were foolish for not knowing it.

“I’m supposed to know,” you insist, growing slightly agitated — why did everyone assume you knew and get disappointed when you didn’t instead of telling you, “but I don’t, I don’t even remember what happened before I got here, damn it and no one has tried telling me either, I'm just – ugh!”

“Please, calm down, I'll explain it for you,” the man sighs and his voice suddenly takes a softer tone, "it must be upsetting to not know and I don't blame you for being annoyed," he’s deep in thought before continuing, “Teyvat is another continent from yours, it’s, how can I say it, simply another world. You were brought onto Teyvat because they,” he motions behind you, “think you’re their God.”

”Me as their God?” You want to laugh, a god? You? Please, you’d make a better clown than a god, “Are they… are they insane?”

“Probably,” the man laughs, your heart skips a beat at his smile, “at least now you know where you are.”

“And another world? How is that… why?”

“It’s just how things are sometimes,” he doesn’t bother to try and explain it further and you don’t pry — it was all too much, “I know you probably don’t believe me, but things will become clear in due time.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” you mumble, other worlds and godhood? You want to laugh.

“As I said, things will make sense eventually,” he shrugs, his next words confuse you, he seemed more relaxed than before, “if you ask me, while you’re certainly special, I don’t know if I think you’re Rem.”

“Gee, thanks.” You look away from him but still answer.

“Do me a favor,” he continues, paying no mind to your dry answer and clear doubt, he rests his cheek against his palm, “don’t tell anyone you met me.”

“If I told anyone a man in a mirror started talking about me being God and inter-world traveling I’m sure no one would believe me if I tried,” you finally return your gaze to the man.

Silence rings as you both stare at each other, seemingly taking in the other’s presence – it's not awkward, the silence feels comfortable and you find yourself quickly growing fond of the mysterious man.

“What’s your name?” You finally ask, and he lets out a chuckle before answering.

“Aether, and yours?”

“[Y/N]."

“It’s a nice name,” Aether comments though it seems like he might have already known it, “it's good to know you’re safe… take care until we meet again, alright?”

“You're leaving already?” Your heart suddenly feels heavy at the thought of the only person who'd attempted to explain and listen to you leaving, "... Take care too, Aether."

"... if you ever feel like things are too much with them," he adds, his voice turning serious once more as if detecting the sadness in your tone, "tell me and I'll take you away, darling."

After his curious words, he turns around after taking one last longing glance at you, and just like that he’s gone.

As you take in what had transpired in the last couple of hours, you feel yourself wanting to cry and simply sleep forever; from claims of godhood in your name to waking up in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by strangers… that uncanny feeling of familiarity that gnawed at your mind, the encounter with a mirror man, and the fact you just… went along with everything.

You stand up, lazily rubbing your eyes and looking around, you hear your stomach groan – you're hungry –, it's then you remember the two men standing outside.

Weren't you just lucky a banquet was now being held in your name?

[icyymocha]

♢ Heavenly | Zhongli

Alternative title: Worship

Includes: Yandere, Cult/Religion, SAGAU, Weird power dynamics

Warnings: Slight-NS//FW undertones, kissing/licking (?), Reader encourages Zhongli’s behavior (implied), obsessive/possessive tones, etc.

Word count: 685 (this is literally 1/4 of what I normally post TT)

A/N: This isn’t a full piece but more like… a thought(TM) I’ve had since I started writing for the SAGAU. I’ll be releasing how I think certain character act in regards to the Cult soon! But this is a sneak peak (IG?) of how Zhongli acts in the AU! I think I might have something with kissing necks… hmmm

This was written with mature audiences in mind.

Acolyte Zhongli who adores being near you, just your presence alone is enough for him — Zhongli who’s worshiped you through all of his life, as Rex Lapis, Morax, the God of War, and the God of Contracts, and who’d continue worshiping you as long as he remained alive.

Zhongli who after years away from you, having been deprived of your touch, can’t help but need to worship you physically. Who has all of his manners, any and all semblances of self control, thrown out the window when you encourage him to live out his desires.

And who is he to deny his savior?

You smell so heavenly, he’s practically suffocating himself by pressing his face deeper into the crook of your neck but he can’t stop — if his life were to end here, with you in his arms as you allow him to pamper you with thousands of years of adoration, he’d have no complaints whatsoever.

He can’t stop himself, his body has a mind of its own as it plants kiss after kiss on the slope of your neck and your cheeks, behind your ears, on your nose, until there’s basically not a patch of skin in your body he hasn’t marked with his lips. His hands wander aimlessly around your body, as if committing it to memory — so he could carve it out on stone if he ever found himself missing your touch, maybe.

“Thank you, thank you, thank… mhgh, ah,” he moans into your skin, his lips desperately latching onto anything they could find, oh how he wanted to cry from the sheer amount of pleasure having you in his arms gave him, “you, thank you, ah… I love you, love you, thank you, my love, my world, master— ah… mmh!”

You tangle your fingers into his hair and he lets out a low moan at the contact; “Hah… I love you.”

His words were slurred, a bright pink tinted his cheeks – he didn’t care, he didn’t care if he looked pathetic, he didn’t care if in that moment he looked like some sick pervert, not when you were in his arms allowing him to sate the desires he’d kept bottled up for centuries.

He could only thank you, ravishing your body in his touch and kisses, mumbling words of undying devotion, all in hopes you’d feel his love for you.

“Please – hah, please use me as you see fit,” he groaned, the idea felt like heaven; being sent on divine duties by you, to have you praise him, to have you congratulate him, to have him in your mind – maybe you’d become like him and not be able to live without each other, “I’ll be your servant, I’ll lay my life down, I’d have Liyue burn, I’d let Teyvat crumble – if, m-mh! If you told me to do so.”

You only let out an airy laugh, amused by the sheer desperation in his voice, but Zhongli doesn’t feel offended at all. He’d be willing to become a jester if it meant it pleased you – you had a God kissing the ground you walked on.

In exchange, all he asks for are two things – you pay attention to him, let him worship you like this more often. Let him have you in his lap as he dedicates his afternoon to praying against your soft skin, maybe even… let him explore you and show you his devotion in more explicit ways. All while he shows off how precious he is to you in comparison to those peers of his, lowlifes who’s alleged love to you could never compare to his own. Letting them glare at him as you sit in his lap, allowing him to become your new throne, have them want to rip him apart but knowing they can’t touch him as long as he’s in your good graces.

But that can come later; in the meantime, why don’t you tug his hair a little more and let him kiss your pretty lips, hm? He’s still got so much love to show you.