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mondaymelon · 6 months

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₊˚ෆ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 !! | sagau xiao, childe, zhongli x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: uhm. obsessiveness? yandere if you blink a couple times? cult themes... the usual deal with this au

⤷ [ you, the benevolent and kind overseer and creator of teyvat, has descended upon this world in mortal flesh, with a presence that is overpowering, omniscient, and so impossibly pure. ෆ yet, one day, you come into the cathedral with a gash on your arm, dripping with shimmering golden ichor that spilled from your veins. there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring. ]

— sagau!xiao noticed you immediately. it would be hard not to. since the beginning, he had always heard it.

your sound. a beautiful one, a heavenly one. a chord struck him, somewhere in his chest, and he found himself panting on the ground, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

like a electric charge - one that leaves you startled, tentative, with the tips of your fingers still tingling from what happened moments prior. a buzz in your veins that thrums along with your heartbeat.

he didn't deserve to see you. not with what sins he had committed. but xiao was selfish. he wanted to, with his tainted body, he wanted to praise you, scrape his throat raw with his voice.

and so he did.

his face brightens as you step into the cathedral, dressed in ceremonial robes as per usual. you look ethereal, why would you not? your eyes are warm as they fixate on him, and he can feel his heart skip a beat and words die in his throat. he kneels before you orderly, readying to lift his head when something catches his attention - that is, the coppery scent of blood.

blood?

a droplet splatters onto the dustless floor. melted gold.

xiao's already stood up before he realizes it. his eyes are blown wide, his shrunken pupils sharp, like a cat's. "who. who did this to you?" those words take all the willpower in him to speak. his mind is swirling, racing, thinking up of every single possibility, vision scattered and blurry as unbridled fury teems within him.

"it's nothing. some civilians have begun rioting in the city, saying that i'm an imposter. all i did was show them a little bit of my blood and they all started singing praises, so the issue has been resolved." you shake your head with a soft smile, like this matter isn't anything to concern himself over.

it is.

he hates it. how he feels so fucking powerless, how he couldn't even stop this simple event from occurring in the first place. it's his fault. it's his and everyone else who dared not believe your words. your word is the truth. it is the undeniable laws of the world, what maps the stars and what lays the land.

he'll have time to ingrain that within everyone's minds. even if it means time away from you. but that's not the issue at the moment. he turns to search for bandages, but sees the already-healing wound slowly closing up as your skin mends together.

there's a knife at your side, coated in something that shimmers in the rays of light coming from the high, color-tainted windows.

something in his heart decides, seeing your reserved smile.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

very well.

then he'll just have to eradicate every last one of them. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!childe had, to be honest, never cared all that much. why would he, to the person who had abandoned him into the cold, dark, abyss? yet, the smile on your face. it's bright. so bright it burns him. was there a day where he could smile like that?

no, no. he couldn't. that's an expression only reserved for someone as beautiful as you. as pure as you, like a blank, unblemished canvas, with the world as its paint. it's a level of resplendency that no one on this cursed universe could ever hope to accomplish.

a god in flesh, living in a tainted world. a walking contradiction that he had grown to call the thing that allowed him to keep living. something that spurred irony, you who broke all forms of the logic he had made to keep himself sane. perhaps that was why the heart he'd locked away has suddenly begun aching again? is that why he feels so warm from your divine prescence?

"childe?" you call out his name into the vast, empty hallways, glancing around for the familiar sight of a tuft of ginger hair. he hears you at once, rushing to your side with a grin on his face.

"your grace??" he bows at the sight of you, unable -to contain his excitement as he quivers in place, the smile on his lips tugging upwards even more than its current extent. "yes, what's-"

he stops abruptly, his voice faltering as he catches the scent of something iron. one familiar on the battlefield, a liquid that'd paint the surroundings a beautiful red.

his heart pounds. the thrill of a battle? no, that can't be it. if that was the case, how come it felt like he was slowly suffocating on his unspoken words?

that's when he catches the sight of the poorly wrapped bandages encasing your forearms. and the shimmering ichor that's soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth.

he moves to grab your arm, but curses himself out as he quickly changes direction and tightly holds your wrist, his expression more pained than yours, despite you being the one suffering with the injury. "what... your grace, what is this?"

he hates your knowing smile. he hates it. (oh, but does he? could he hate anything that is of you?) it just reminds him how you're all too far for him to reach, a purity that he does nothing to maintain. "there was a riot in the city against the church. luckily, they all quieted down after i gave them a glimpse of..." you trail off, ending your incomplete sentence with a sheepish smile. the rest is self-explanatory, anyway.

his vision trembles as his pupils shake. "haha, you...?" fuck. fuck fuck fuck, just whose idea was it to allow you near a knife? how did you get your hands on that?? which stupid fucking bumbling idiot allowed for this to happen?

it's his fault. he should've been by your side. curse the fatui, curse them all, how could they possibly dare keep him away from your holy being? the guilt that churns within him, is that why he remains mute as you step away, gracefully walking to meet with the other retainers?

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

no, it's fine.

it will all be fine.

cutting off their tongues won't be enough. cutting them up until they're a dismembered, bloody mess isn't even close to what you've suffered for the sake of humanity.

yes, he'll make them realize that. they'll pay with their blood a thousand times over. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!zhongli had his breath taken away by you before he even saw you, before the two of you had even exchanged words. your presence - it was so simply alluring, a saccharide charm that just drew him closer and closer.

sweet. yes, it was a familiar flavor upon the tongue that had long since tasted the many marvels the world had to offer. like a warm cup of tea, made from the sugary extract of flowers, how the sensation of it seemed to bloom upon your mouth.

ah, how should he put this. perhaps you had procured the blossom in his heart instead? stems, leaves, buds, a floret that'd only appear when you were in his gaze. a steady thrum that ran throughout his body with every stolen glimpse he took from your attention expertly.

perhaps, was this what he felt all those years ago?

did it matter? his soul was resolute, now, and it glowed gold, just like the blessed blood that flowed through every vein and lay in every vessel within that beautiful, beautiful you.

yes, ichor... just like the splatter of it on the ground...? a pang of fear strikes him - has something happened to you while he was away? he should've none better than to trust those good-for-nothing other cultists, who spend all their time babbling about your gloriousness yet turn a blind eye to whenever you require assistance!

no, he had to calm himself down. this wasn't the moment where he should grow frustrated. first, he must confirm the situation... he's planned this out to the every plan b, c, d, e, and so on, so how come he's still feeling so anxious?

there you are, upon your throne, busy conversing with a fellow archon, the one as free as the wind. funnily enough, you were the one that tied him down like a shackle.

"ah, zhongli. are you alright? you're breathing quite hard." you tilt your head, averting your gaze from venti's sparkling eyes and instead fixing them on the usually stoic man's jumbled expression. his shoulder's heave as he resists the urge to collapse at your feet.

"what... what are you... you're hurt?" stained bandages peek out from just below your silk sleeve, a sight that cannot possibly be missed from his attentive gilded eyes. "why didn't you tell me? i-i'll call one of the healers so they can-"

"zhongli, there's no need for that." with a hand, you gently signal venti to leave the scene, which he does, with obvious reluctance. a silence gesture that resonates with appreciation deeply within him. "this was of my own accord."

"your own accord?"

"unbelievers decided to throw a riot, and there wasn't much i could do except...well, don't they say that seeing is believing?" how come you don't look the slightest bit pain? where is your self-pity? your frustration? "anyhow, i'm not in a good state. please leave me for the time being, i don't plan on receiving any more audiences tonight."

he bows hastily, yet each movement is still finely crafted with minuscule adjustments that have taken him thousands of tries to master. he does as you say, and his strides are quick and long. it won't take a genius to see that his facade has crumpled, with the clear agitation that's spreading across his features like a wildfire that devours all in its path.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

he'll change that. every thrum of the golden markings running up and down his body seem to pulse in unison with his heartbeat, which is raring like he's recently returned from the battlefield.

who would've thought he'd so quickly return.

this time, of his own will. he'd be sure that these fools of this world would learn the truth of your paragon. ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) please save me the delulu has returned and iTS NOT LETTING GO

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

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charliemwrites · 2 months

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Nikto's Commandments part 8! (and the first half of the Jealousy Duet).

I'll be honest, I got stuck with this one! For some reason I just couldn't get a good flow going and had to try writing this a few different times. I think it shows in the beginning, but I get the rhythm back towards the end.

Also, apologies if there are more errors than usual. I kind of powered through it and am too afraid I'm going to hate it if I try to read it over.

Anyway, please enjoy as always <3 no CWs for this chapter

It’s your first mission since Nikto failed you.

(You may have forgiven him. He’s even accepted that you have, merciful as you are. But that doesn’t change the truth of what happened – that he failed you. That he left your side, and then almost didn’t return. You’ve forbade him from hanging himself with “almost,” but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the noose around his throat.)

You’re long since healed and recovered under Nikto’s devoted watch. Nurturing may not come naturally to him, but he’d bend himself into any shape for your use. So, he made himself into your caregiver. Weeks of helping you sit up, walk, bathe… until you were back in the gym, right by his side, gritting your teeth through physical therapy.

A scar is all that’s left now, silvery and tender. The only sign that Nikto’s world nearly bled away on dirty concrete. A reminder of his failure, his disgrace. How could he possibly deserve a place at your side, when he couldn’t even protect you? When he thought, for even a moment, that vengeance mattered more than your life?

Still, he returns to your side. Because you told him to, all that time ago. Because he has so much to make up for after everything. And because you haven’t given him leave to be anywhere else.

(He prays that you don’t the only way he knows how. Through meals from his own hand while you grin, nipping at his fingers. Through tea shared from one cup. With fragrant products in your wet hair while you sigh. You haven’t told him he could be anywhere else, beckoning him into a bed bigger than the one on base, still tucking in close like one of you might fall off the edge.)

It’s not that he thinks you incapable now. He would never blaspheme that you are anything other than utterly competent. It’s just that every blink superimposes pools of blood over his vision, a strobe of you near death.

In his most selfish, private thoughts, he imagines taking you away from it all for good. Tucking you away warm and safe in the cathedral of your off-base apartment, where a god belongs, in their own house. He soothes himself on visions of devoting himself to you fully and wishes he were a prophet. But for all you’ve given him, visions of the future are not one of them.

You were eager to return to duty, nearly cornered O’Conor once you got final clearance from the doctors. Nearly shook him down for a new assignment – for the both of you. Even if he had reservations about sending you to duty so soon, an opportunity to keep Nikto and his temper away a little longer was too tempting. (The bruises Nikto left on his throat were long gone, but the memory clearly was not.)

And so here you both are, in the gym of an SAS base, sparring with Task Force 141.

“Oi, lass! Care for a match?”

“Bring it, MacTavish!”

Nikto stands back to observe as you and the sergeant square off.

The 141 has been cooperative, despite previous tensions with KorTac. You, Nikto, and Konig have managed to build a decent working rapport – though most of that work has been yours. Their captain seems to like your friendly personality and straightforward professionalism; their lieutenant has been cordial. But the two sergeants (especially the Scottish one) have taken a liking to you.

“Fuck!”

Nikto jerks as you get taken down on your bad side – no, it’s not your bad side anymore. You’ve fully recovered; he must remember that. Interrupting a sparring match would be unwelcome and unnecessary. Not just overprotective on his part, but disrespectful to you as well, as if he doesn’t think you can hold your own. Still, he balls his hands into fists as you struggle against the sergeant.

At least you’re laughing, breathless and curse laden as it is.

“She is okay, ja?” Konig asks.

Nikto grunts the affirmative, eyes sharp as he watches you knee MacTavish’s side. Good, he thinks proudly as you twist to get on top. You’ve been working tirelessly to improve your groundwork techniques, learning all the different ways you can use your smaller stature against bigger and stronger opponents.

“He is… friendly,” Konig continues.

Another grunt of agreement. Most people are with you. It’s a natural reaction in the face of divinity; to reach out to a smiling god. It worked on Nikto, anyone else would be helpless. It’s just the natural order of things like green grass, blue skies, or gravity.

There’s a pause that starts to prickle the back of Nikto’s mind. Disinterested as he may be in socializing, he understands how it works. A program that runs in his mind – body language, tone, inflection, facial expression. A complex algorithm that computes to emotion, conversation, feeling. It’s just not an equation that applies to him, or that he can apply to himself anymore.

And right now, Konig is trying to imply something. Nikto cuts his eyes to the side, meets Konig’s.

“Too friendly, don’t you think?” he adds.

Nikto snorts and turns back to the match – where you are just tapping out. MacTavish is unwinding his arm from your windpipe. You’re sat between his legs, back to his chest. A tough position to get out from in a fight. As you’re scooting away, the sergeant pats your hip, leans to say, “good match” in your ear. You shoot him a grin over your shoulder and then push to your feet, sauntering back to your own team.

“Whose turn is it?” you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.

You don’t see MacTavish’s eyes darting up and down your body, zeroing in on the sliver of skin revealed by your lifted shirt. But Nikto does.

“Mine,” Konig answers, stepping forward.

You smile at him, bump fists with him. “Kick his ass for me, yeah?”

“Ja.”

He shoots Nikto one last, pointed look before stepping onto the mat. But Nikto has no interest in watching his match. Not when you’re right in front of him, a sheepish look on your face.

“I can’t believe I lost like that,” you groan. “Guess I need more practice.”

“We will practice,” he promises.

You beam and knock the back of your hand gently against his.

Like an insidious weed, Konig’s observation takes root and sprouts. Sergeant MacTavish’s friendliness.

It’s almost like Nikto is hallucinating again – or perhaps that he has just stopped. A veil pulled away from his eyes. A creature camouflaged in the brush, his eyes skipping over the landscape until an irregularity in the pattern was pointed out to him. And now he cannot stop seeing it.

MacTavish saying hello to you first every morning, asking how you slept with a twinkle in his eye. He offers to accompany you to training sessions, often chooses you first for cross-team drills. In downtime, he’ll invite you to socialize (with the rest of the 141, sure) and always save you a seat or a spot. Usually right next to him.

And it is not that he doesn’t acknowledge Nikto or Konig. He is amicable with both, works well with either of them when paired up. But there is always a tilt to his mouth when he speaks to you, a lilt to his voice. A subtle incline to his shoulders that makes every interaction seem just that slightest bit intimate.

A week into the assignment, and he is touching you freely. First a hand tapping elbow or shoulder. Then an arm around the back of your neck. Platonic, commiserating. Within a day, that arm drops to your shoulders and he’s leaning the side of his head against yours, something a bit warmer than a hug.

One morning, he scoops you up in a hug, your toes nearly off the ground. You seem surprised, reciprocate with a pat to the back before you’re set down and offered a chair.

And the sparring… the sparring gets worse. Not just an exchange of blows and a chance to improve skills with a new partner anymore. It’s become a game of teasing you, joking with you. Tagging you with hits to coax you into going after him. Wrestling with you on the ground and dragging it out while he grunts and huffs against you.

And Nikto… Nikto burns.

This is not hell, he knows; but maybe this is some form of purgatory.

He has no place, no right to suffer. Knows that trying to claim you as his own would be like trying to cage the sun. It wouldn’t just be selfish; it would be heresy. You’ve already given him a miracle; you told him you love him. That is far beyond anything he could deserve, anything he could hope or dream or long for. To take after all that, to demand more of the time, attention, energy you pour into him like holy water…

And yet.

And yet he wants to claw his skin off when MacTavish winks at you. Wants to set the world on fire when that accent purrs “bonnie” or “hen” at you. An awful, deafening static scream fills the fractures of his mind when you smile at the sergeant, when you wish him a good morning or evening.

“How are you with a sniper, hen?” MacTavish asks one day.

You hum, glance over at Nikto. He’s been training you with his own rifle for months now – though it’s obviously been on pause since your injury. “Well, I’ve been working on it, but I definitely need some improvement.”

MacTavish crosses his arms, biceps bulging against the sleeves of his t-shirt. “I wouldn’t mind giving you a few pointers, if you want to come down to the range with me some time. Promise I’m a good teacher.”

You blink, hesitate. Then lightly, “Yeah, maybe!”

Nikto can’t hang himself on an “almost,” but he’s gutted on a “maybe.”

That night you come out of the bathroom frowning. There’s a furrow between your brows that you only get when you’re both frustrated and worried; if it stays, you’ll have a headache within the hour.

“Nikto?”

He glances up from the knives he’s polishing. You stop, eyes darting all over him, towel frozen in your hand.

“Hm?” he prompts.

You don’t answer. Instead, drop the towel carelessly on the floor and stride across the room. Towards him. He only just manages to shove his equipment out of the way by the time you reach him. And you don’t stop, climbing onto the hard desk chair he’s in, straddling his lap. Your fingers curl so tight in his chest straps that he can hear them creak.

He’s trapped as much by your gaze as your weight. Something swimming in the pools of your irises that he hasn’t seen in them before. Doesn’t know how to name or how to tame.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

He jerks back in surprise, but you’ve got a solid grip and there’s nowhere to go.

“Did I… do something?” you ask. “Or… or not do something?”

He stares. “What?” he asks, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Your eyes are still darting between his, like you’ll find answers playing peekaboo between them.

“You haven’t been right the past few days. Maybe even a week,” you explain. “I’ve been giving you space to tell me, but you won’t. And I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you, but please just talk to me.”

Now his brows furrow. “I haven’t been…?”

You sit back a bit, assured that you have his attention – as if that isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re not eating the same. Didn’t even take the green beans I put aside for you,” you say. “You’re not sharing my tea or letting me wrap your hands. You keep leaving for a smoke in the middle of the night. Hell, you’re wearing your mask in our room.”

It dawns on him like apocalypse. That he has been worrying you, affecting you.

“And you’re not… you’re not talking to me.” Your white-knuckled grip eases a bit as you run out of steam, sadness tinging your expression. “I know we don’t talk the normal way but… I haven’t been able to read you. You won’t look me in the eye or press our legs together. You’re even pulling away in your sleep.”

His heart is trying to claw out of his ribcage, wants to crawl into the palm you press to his chest.

“So… if I’m doing something or not doing something… you can tell me. I promise I won’t be upset. I just miss you.”

He crumbles.

Weeks under torture, but he breaks at four words.

You gasp as he rips the gear off his face. Try to help, but he just pushes your hands away. Knows he’s aggravated the old wounds, but a balm is at hand, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“моя любовь,” he whispers fervently. “моя надежда. моя богиня.”

You curl around him instantly, arms around his shoulders, fingers fluffing through the fuzz of hair at the back of his skull. Gentle and kind and everything that sinners and saints would fall on their swords for. And yet all you ask of him is to speak, to confess.

“I fear,” he rasps into your skin.

“Fear what?” you ask.

He is your protector, your disciple. Yours to command, to damn, to sacrifice if you so wished – and he would gladly spill his corroded innards at your feet, careful not to bloody your shoes. And he fears that you won’t ask him to.

“You are not mine, but I fear losing you,” he admits. You suck in a breath, arms tightening around him. “If not to MacTavish, then to the world. I will be left here without you again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as the scars sear all over again, crushes his crooked nose against your collarbone.

“I am yours,” he whispers, lungs burning, “and I cannot be that if you are gone.”

You shift, pressing closer, tighter. Lay your cheek on his head and squeeze him so tightly he wonders if you’re not inviting him inside your ribcage.

“I thought you understood,” you whisper, and even that cracks with emotion. “I’m sorry, I thought I made it clear. I thought you knew…”

You urge him back. He wants to resist. Wants to stay right there in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the soap you two share, basking in your warmth. But you are bidding him to do something, and he is a weak man to your command.

Your eyes are shiny, but there’s a smile on your face when you look at him.

“You’re mine,” you assure him, “you will always be mine. I will never turn you away.”

His eyes flutter with relief. Always. He has no business questioning the truth of that. You’ve said it; it is so.

“I’m yours too, Nikto.”

His eyes snap open again, but you hold him still, hold him right there.

“Our love isn’t a cross for you to bear,” you murmur. “I belong to you the same way – the exact same way – that you are mine.”

“I don’t—”

“You remember what I told you in that car all those months ago?”

Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.

Your word is genesis. It is revelation. It is creed and commandment, redemption and atonement.

You’ve said it; it is so.

“Here.”

You snatch a pad of black ink from one of the desk drawers, grab at one of his useless, hovering hands.

“What are you—”

You smear his bare fingertips across the damp pad. Then press them to your forearm. He jerks his hand back, but it’s too late. His smudged fingerprints stain your skin in inky little pools. When he looks up at you, you’re grinning. Wide and beautiful and so damn proud of yourself.

“C’mon,” you coo. “Do it again.”

He hesitates. But his eyes are drawn back to his fingerprints on your skin. His mind echoes with your declaration.

You are his. You are his.

To deny you this, to deny your belonging, would be beyond blasphemy. Beyond sin.

You have said it; it is so. You. Are. His.

You beam as he takes the inkpad and gets his fingers wet again. Begins leaving marks all over you. Along your arms, over your collarbone. Lean back to get palm prints on your thighs. Sits you on the desk to smear lines up your calves. You even tug your shirt up, giggling all the while, so that he can mark up your stomach.

He pauses at the gunshot. Places his blackened thumb over the entry scar. Pulls it away to see the whorls of his fingerprint covering it.

You soften, kind hands cupping his jaw and guiding him up. Up and up… until your plush lips are slotted against his. His own stained hands land on your hips – likely ruining your little sleep shorts – and pull you as close as he can get you. Infusing himself with the taste of you, of your love, of your belonging.

“Yours,” you murmur against his mangled mouth.

“Yours,” he repeats.

The next day, you walk into the mess hall with Nikto’s fingers hooked into your belt loops. There’s a single black smudge on your jaw.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #nikto's commandments

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mynameis-noe-body · 6 months

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marquis de gramont fic

Y/n is sweet and kind and isn't part of Vincent world, but he fell for her anyway and although he's ruthless he has a soft spot for her as she's his wife. A fic of him killing someone and she accidentally sees and get scared and he comforts and cuddles her.

Thank you for the request! I found myself immediately inspired and I wrote it as soon as I could.

I am working on the other requests, too! It will just take a little time :) 🖤

Safe in his arms

Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you (F)

Rating: Teen & Up Audience

Status: Complete (one shot)

The first time he had seen you, truly seen you, was at the Louvre. On a January morning, when Paris was still cold and tormented by a wind blowing from the north, when the fog rose in the city's parks and around its splendid monuments, bathing everything in an intense white, you had waited for hours on those stairs, with your arms crossed, looking at one single work of art. At first Vincent didn't give it much importance. But when the crowd thinned out, around noon, knowing that soon the guests would arrive at his private event — yet another official HighTable lunch right there in Paris — and seeing you still there, fascinated, he approached.

"Madmoiselle, I am sorry. These rooms have been reserved for a private event. You should leave" he had said, coldly.

But you, you smiled. And your smile was sweet. "Can I just ask you for a minute? One minute, and I'll be gone. I've never seen her like this." You looked up dreamily at Nike — that marble statue at the top of the steps, as proud and silent as you'd ever seen it. “She is just so beautiful” you had commented under your breath, as if not to break that spell. "They deprived her of her arms, of her very face. They tore her to pieces. Yet no one has ever managed to take away of her wings."

Vincent, enchanted by your words, so simple and so true, lost himself in your face. His gaze filled with you for the first time. He watched you go, nodding at you when you wished him a good day, and he followed you with wondering eyes until he saw you disappear. He didn't know it yet, but you would haunt his days and his nights from now on.

He looked for you. He had his men search for you until he could find you. Your subsequent encounters must have seemed casual; a casual meeting in the park during your walk, a chat over a coffee, you even met in the library.

You laughed about it. “It almost feels like fate.”

Vincent nodded. Fate, sure.

He wooed you with expensive gifts, luxurious dinners, evenings at the theater, visits to the most prestigious private art collections — but you weren't as impressed as he expected.

“How can I make you happy, mon amour?” he asked you.

"I don't want your money, Vincent, only you."

And so, one spring evening, you found yourselves simply walking through the streets of Montmartre, laughing and chatting amiably, holding hands, exchanging a few kisses without realizing that the night had already passed; at dawn, on the steps of the cathedral, it was just the two of you, two hot cappuccinos and two croissants, watching the sun rise from the east, illuminating a new day.

Soon after, he asked you to marry him. And you said yes.

There was only one small problem. You knew nothing about him.

▪️▪️▪️

You were beautiful. Naked in his bed after yet another night of love, entwined with the ivory silk pillow, your cheeks slightly flushed and your lips so sweet, so languid. Vincent stroked your hair, watching you sleep. You had the power to unleash in him a tenderness that had long been buried, forgotten and drowned in an ocean of violence. There was nothing he loved more than taking care of you, spending hours listening to your stories so simple and yet full of emotions; he was surprised at how you were able to find beauty in the most mundane things. There was no art that compared to the perfect curves of your body in his hands, against his lips, kissed by his mouth, worshiped by his limbs. There was nothing he wanted more, at the end of a day, than to soak in your immense bathtub with you — a glass of champagne, a tray of mini pastries, macarons and fine chocolates, essential oils and perfumes in the warm water and his hand gently caressing your breast, listening to your heartbeat — before carrying you to bed and falling asleep in your arms.

You were his most precious jewel. And because of this, his biggest fear was losing you forever.

Yes, in his world you were a weakness. Vincent had taken every precaution to keep you away from the monsters that lurked in the shadows of his life, but on the other hand it was inevitable that sooner or later the Great Table would learn of your existence. With this, the problems had begun. Vincent was a powerful man and a powerful man always had enemies. Indeed, the more power he had, the greater the number of his nemeses.

House Bisset De Gramont was a peaceful, safe place, far from danger. Immersed in the Provençal countryside, surrounded as far as the eye can see by lilac fields of fragrant lavender, kissed by the sun, it was one of your favorite places to spend long summer weeks. You knew that Vincent was a Marquis, that his family had been extremely wealthy, and that his business took him all over the world... and nothing else. You enjoyed your holidays with a carefreeness that he envied. Vincent watched you tan by the pool, read your favorite novels lying on the green grass of his gardens, paint the spectacle of lavender swaying in the wind, and hoped that nothing would ever affect your happiness.

But that morning, that morning...

There was a knock on your bedroom door. Yet they knew — his men had been well instructed about it and it was forbidden for anyone to come near your bedroom! What the hell were they doing?

Quickly, he stood up and put on a robe, stomping out of the bedroom with frozen anger in his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing? What made you think you could—"

"Monsieur — Marquis. Please listen" one of them interrupted. "We have the man."

The man. Vincent took a deep breath. The son of a bitch who followed you. He had noticed that black sedan since your departure from Paris a week earlier. He was sure it was a hitman sent for you, the easiest target, most disarmed in the face of the capabilities of his enemies. Some had understood that if they wanted to destroy the Marquis De Gramont, they would have to destroy you first. You, who were his strength and purpose in life. His one true love.

Many had tried, that man was just one of many.

Vincent growled, grabbing his helper by the collar of his shirt. "You separated me from my wife at seven in the morning, on a Sunday, for yet another son of a bitch? At least tell me it was worth it!"

"He's here, sir, we thought you would—"

"He is here?!"

They carried him forward. Two other men had tied the hitman with tight ties around his wrists and legs, blindfolded him and were now dragging him forward, holding him by his arms.

Vincent was inflamed with terrible anger. "Don't you ever dare bring one of them into my house again! My wife - my woman, she's in the next room sleeping and you bring one of these worms into my house!" the Marquis grabbed the knife from his man's pocket. "Kill them and get rid of them! This is my order!" and with a mechanical gesture of the wrist, making it seem so simple, he threw the blade and it pierced the assassin's neck. He gasped for just a second. Blood ran down his wounded throat and, now dead, he collapsed in the arms of his captors. It was only when a trickle of blood reached the white marble floor that, with a short, anguished breath, you attracted attention. And with terror in his eyes Vincent turned away.

You had just woken up, you were wearing his shirt, you had walked silently barefoot to the ajar door. And you had seen it all. You had covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, but this was nothing compared to the terror you felt when you saw the blood. The death. A murder. Your Vincent, your sweet, caring husband, who had just killed a man. Stepping back, trembling, you risked fainting. You suddenly felt pale, weak, powerless, completely disconcerted. Cold shivers ran through every fiber of your body. But before you could fall to the floor, Vincent had rushed to catch you. Lifting you into his arms, he had carried you back to bed.

"It's okay, mon amour" he whispered, kissing your forehead. You were shaking and crying. "No one will hurt you, you are safe with me, ma chéri."

You pointed to the door, now closed. "That man — I saw, oh God, I saw that man! You killed him! Vincent, my God, oh no. No, no — you killed a man!"

He shook his head. The more you trembled, the tighter he held you against his chest. "He was an evil man and he would have hurt you if you had let him live. He had been paid for this, my love, for you."

"Me?" you exclaimed, horrified. Your face twisted into a grimace of disgust and terror. "What have I done wrong in this life to deserve death?!"

Vincent chuckled. It was really fun. “Oh dear, you married me.”

You tried to move away from him, to squirm, to slip away from his embrace, but despite managing to slide against the other end of the bed Vincent took your hand, your wrist, and dragged you towards him again. Laying back on the sheets, he held you down with his entire body. "I am a very powerful man. And powerful men must protect themselves, and protect those they love." He caressed your face wet with tears. He found them so innocent.

You stammered, still shocked at the sight of that blood, that death, that ruthlessness. "Then we should hide!"

Vincent laughed even harder. "There's no hiding from this! It will always be a part of me, darling. But I can assure you of one thing. If there is a safe place for you in this world, then this is right here, by my side." He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. He hugged you, rocking you gently.

" I love you" he whispered, "and I live for you. I am willing to kill — to die, if necessary, for you. I ask only that you continue to love me as you always have. I am still me, always your Vincent. You can do this for me, mon amour?"

He left the ghost of a kiss on your lips, and covered you both with the sheets, stroking your hair to help you fall asleep again. Before closing your eyes, answering his question, you nodded softly. "I love you, Vicent."

He smiled.

#marquis de gramont #marquis de gramont x reader #vincent de gramont #vincent bisset de gramont #marquis vincent de gramont #Marquis Vincent Bisset De Gramont × you #vincent de gramont x reader #Vincent de Gramont x you #john wick fandom

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yyuangss · 4 months

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INAZUMA COMMISSIONS ( DILUC RAGNVINDR )

summary ! in an attempt to give diluc the best present for secret santa, you spend some time to know more about him. though, the dawn winery owner has some unique tastes.

tags ! diluc ragnvindr x fem reader, fluff

word count ! 5.2k

note: hello hello @umgatochamadopercyval !! i got you for the @2023gisecretsanta event 🫶 i got a little carried away so i’m very sorry for the word length 😭 either way, i hope you enjoy it MWAH <3 i had a lot of fun writing this for you !!

When Barbara approached you asking if you’d like to be part of her Secret Santa event, you immediately agreed. She said she was going around inviting people she knew would be interested in participating.

You asked her who else had decided to participate in the event and she named a few others. Lisa, Kaeya, Sucrose, Venti, a few sisters from the Cathedral, Eury, Donna. All people you knew well since they constantly came to Good Hunter and you spoke to them while they waited for their food.

Barbara said she was still asking people to join. So once she had an even number, she’d go down a list and have them pick out a paper to see who their Secret Santa was. Everyone would get a month to find the gifts. Then, the gifts would be revealed at a Christmas party she was working on.

Nearly a week and a half after that, Barbara came rushing over to Good Hunter with a small bag in her hand. She was her usual cheerful self and more now since the Secret Santa event she planned out.

“(Y/N)! Do you have a moment?” Barbara asked, waving and standing near the side of the stall. She had been waiting to see when it would be available. Her smile showed just how excited she was.

“Give a second!” You said, smiling as well. After taking the current order and the customer went to sit down at one of the tables, Barbara approached. She showed off the small brown bag and you knew what she was hinting at. “How many people did you get to join?” You asked, making sure to wipe your hands clean.

“I got thirty people!” She said, holding the bag open. The number made your eyebrows raise. Barbara was very serious about this. You peered inside the bag. Small red and green sheets of paper were mixed together. The amount was smaller than what Barbara had said so you assumed she already went to some of the people.

You reached in, grabbing one of the slips at the bottom of the bag and pulled out a red slip. Barbara closed the bag once you got your person. She made sure the strings on the bag were tight so nothing would fall out.

“Could you check it to make sure you didn’t pull your own name?” She asked. You nodded your head.

“Of course!” You said, opening the slip of paper. You wondered whose name you ended up getting out of the bag. It would make shopping and searching for someone’s gift a fun experience. Hopefully it was Lisa. There were several new books you wanted to get for her and replace a few worn out books in her library. That was until you read the name of the person who would give you the most trouble searching for a gift.

Your smile faded slightly. In black ink, Barbara had written Diluc’s name on your slip. Her star and balloon drawn decorations on the paper made it more exciting than it actually was. Of all thirty people who decided to participate, you were the unlucky one stuck with Diluc. He wasn’t a bad person but you didn’t really know enough about him.

“Nope. Didn’t get my own name.” You said to Barbara, folding the paper in half again.

“Great! Thank you again for joining!” She exclaimed happily. “Remember not to tell anyone and you have a month from now.”

She waved before heading off. She needed to catch the rest of the people and hopefully finish this by the end of the day. As she sped towards the building of the Knights, you stared at her cursive handwriting.

The red haired male came into your mind. What were you going to get Diluc for Christmas? He was a reserved character. You couldn’t name a single thing he liked except grape juice. And there wasn’t anything else that stood out about him that would remind you of him.

For example, if it were Klee, you could have gotten her a new book bag or matching hats for her and Dodoco. Sucrose would be happy to get a new chemistry set. She definitely needed one after breaking a few beakers. Whereas Diluc… Nothing.

You started to think about certain gifts. Candles were a good option if that didn’t scream, ‘I don’t know you’. He never wore accessories. No rings, necklaces, or bracelets. Perhaps he didn’t like them but a hairpin from Liyue would be worth the trip. You let out a frustrated sigh, scratching the back of your head.

Was there anyone who knew what he liked that you could ask them?

Well, there were a few people. Now that you think about it, asking them probably isn’t a good idea either. Donna was off the table. You aren’t sure how far her title as a fan of Diluc’s went. And you also didn’t know if Barbara had asked her to be part of the event. That means Donna would definitely get jealous since you got the person she wanted.

Next was Kaeya. Asking him was fifty—fifty. He was rather sneaky and playful. Definitely the type of person to come up with a lie so you’d gift Diluc something he hated all because Kaeya wanted to mess with him. Or maybe you’d get the lucky half and he would be kind enough to actually say something his brother likes.

Then the people who worked for Diluc were also not a good choice. For one, you didn’t know them well enough to know if they’d keep this a secret. Two, they probably didn’t know Diluc well enough to tell you what he liked or disliked the most.

You were already stressed out, even if you had an entire month. You carefully stuffed the slip of paper into the front pocket of your apron. Thankfully, you were going on your break soon. You tapped your fingers on the countertop as you thought of what to do.

The worst idea yet came to your mind. You were just going to have to ask Diluc himself. You can't blurt out and reveal you got him for the Secret Santa event. Since your conversations with him are very brief, in order to do this, it needs to be in the most discreet manner possible. That way, it won’t make him get suspicious of you.

“Diluc!” He heard his name being called. Instinctively, he looked over at the tavern entrance after passing a customer their drink. He saw you approaching the bar while smiling at him. “How are you?”

“(Y/N).” Diluc gave a curt nod and picked up an empty glass cup. You sat down on a stool, watching him clean the area for you with a wet rag. “It’s good to see you. I’m doing fine. I assume your shift has ended?” He motioned to your uniform. You occasionally came to Angel’s Share when you were off the clock. It was just to relax for a few minutes and socialize before heading home for the day.

“I’m on my break right now.” You said. You scouted the first floor to see who was here. The floor was nearly deserted, only consisting of the tavern’s usual customers. You turned back to Diluc, thinking about the slip with his name on it in your pocket. “What about you? Are you leaving soon?”

“No. I may be here all day.” Diluc said. You needed to make this worth the while. No way were you leaving the city to go all the way to the winery. “Charles wasn’t feeling well.”

He finished wiping down the counter and threw the rag over his shoulder. He didn’t have his coat on since the tavern was relatively warm. The weather outside was getting colder as the days went on.

“What can I get for you?” He asked.

“A berry and mint burst.” It was what you normally got whenever you paid a visit.

As Diluc grabbed one of the glasses to make your drink, you thought this would be a good time to ease into the conversation. He seemed concentrated on making your drink so he probably might not be too responsive. Either way, you needed to try.

“I feel like we don’t talk a lot.” You said, as Diluc poured the light blue liquid into the cup. He let out a confused hum at your statement and set the bottle back down. He stepped away from the counter, searching for the remaining ingredients that belonged in your drink.

“And what do you mean by that?” He sounded as intimidating and serious as he always did.

“We don’t talk a lot.” You said. He carefully pushed your drink in your direction. “I think we’re more acquaintances than friends. Don’t you?” You grabbed your drink in one hand.

Diluc rested on the counter as he narrowed his eyes at you. His gaze seemed to be studying you instead of being mad at something you said. The guy sitting next to you left a few Mora on the countertop and left the tavern. He also left behind two cups to be picked up and cleaned.

“I say the same, yes.” Diluc said, scooping the Mora on the wooden counter.

His responses are repeats of what you say. It makes it feel like he’s simply not interested in having a conversation. Plus, he is always seen with an uninterested expression. His personality is nowhere near Kaeya’s.

Getting Diluc to talk is harder than you thought. At this point, you wanted to be straightforward and admit what you were truly here for.

“What’s your favorite thing about yourself?” You suddenly asked. Too strong of a question. He would figure out what your intentions were by it. Diluc raised an eyebrow as he dried one of the cups with a different rag than the one from earlier.

“What’s my favorite thing about myself?” He repeated your question. He glanced down at the cup before turning around. He sorted it out with the stack of cups used by tavern customers. You heard him say the question again but much lower this time. Eventually, he crossed his arms, staring at the wall before giving his answer. “I love my long, luscious and luxurious red hair.”

“Wait— What?” You sputtered.

“I answered your question. My favorite thing about myself is my hair.” Diluc faced you. He had his normal stoic expression. Was he telling the truth or poorly executing a joke? You squint your eyes. Diluc’s hair was well taken care of. Out of all his features, his hair and the color of it stood out the most. The length of it also suited him. Diluc with short hair was like a nightmare. Maybe because he never wore it in any other style except his ponytail. “Is that not something I can say?”

“No, no,” You said, taking a sip from your drink. The minty taste made your eyes water. “I didn’t expect you to say that. I thought you would have said your eyes. Your hair is really pretty.”

He managed to make his hair look like silk. There had been times you were tempted to touch it. As you put your cup back on the wooden counter, you thought of your next question.

“How do you get your hair to look like that?” You placed your chin on the palm of your hand. Whatever routine he said, you might need to start using it.

“Slime condensate.” Diluc petted the tips of his hair. Your expression changed to one of disbelief. “It needs to be the thick hydro slimes from Inazuma. I like to get them from Watatsumi Island since the area is surrounded by water.”

You had to take some time to process what he said. The infamous Dawn Winery owner put slime in his hair to keep it “luscious” and “luxurious” at all times. You had never heard of anyone putting slime in their hair. You scratched the top of your head. Whenever Diluc said something new about himself, the idea of giving him a gift for this event seemed impossible.

That wasn’t the only time you went to Angel’s Share. You went back for an entire week, trying to pry information out of Diluc. There needed to be one thing he liked and was willing to share with you. The only problem with that was to have him stop talking about his hair.

“I love my hair color. Did you know it’s natural?”

“It’s so hard to keep it this soft. If the slime isn’t from Inazuma, my hair gets all tangled.”

“Cut it? No, I’d never cut it. I’ve been growing it out since I was a child. My father’s hair was exactly like mine.”

You didn’t take him as the narcissist type or the kind of person to be full of himself.

Your last hope at getting him a gift was what he used for his hair. Diluc let you know what the process to get the slime condensate was. He said it is called an extraction. It was harmless to the slimes. In order for this to happen, he or someone else would grab hold of a slime. As this is going on, the other person will begin to pluck out condensate from under the bottom part.

You weren’t going to make it to Inazuma and return to Mondstadt in time for the party.

Sara went with you to find Herta and ask her to send your commission over to Inazuma. She was a little skeptical at how overly specific but she said with enough Mora, someone over there would be willing to take up the challenge.

That was two weeks ago. The party was in a week from now. You started to panic. Did no one take up your commission? You asked Lumine to take an impromptu trip to Liyue and see what items you could find.

She agreed. The Honorary Knight protected you along the way. Thankfully, there weren’t any monsters that attacked you on your trip. Liyue had rarer beauties that cost a lot more. In the end, it was going to be worth it. You found the gift after hours of searching. This was reserved only if the condensate didn’t make it to Mondstadt on time.

“Pardon me,” A tall, unknown man approached since there wasn’t a line. You could tell he was from another region. He had a box underneath his arm. His white, puffy coat covered his entire body. The hood he had on covered the majority of his blue hair. With good reason. The cold weather this year was entirely different. At least you were near the fire. “My name is Kamisato Ayato. I’m looking for a lady by the name of (Y/N). She requested a commission in Inazuma.”

“That’s me.” You said.

“Ah, wonderful. This makes it all the much easier.” He placed the box on top of the counter. The gloves he was currently wearing were white while the inside had a sort of dark purple lining. He removed the hood from over his head, settling his hands on top of the mysterious box. “The person who did your commission told me to be very careful with it. He said he went out of his way to make it the very best.”

“Did you come all this way just to deliver it yourself?” You felt a little guilty but Ayato let out a chuckle.

“No, no. I’m the leader of the Yashiro Commission.” He waved his hand, “I’m in Mondstadt for the holidays. I thought it was a good idea to bring over your commission. That way you wouldn’t have to wait too long.” He patted the box before insisting you take it.

You pulled the box over, noticing how heavy it was.

“Anyway, everything has already been paid for on our end.” Ayato said, adjusting his coat. “I was also told to pass on a message to you. If you had any more… Specific commissions to be done in Inazuma, simply request for Arataki Itto. He’s more than willing to help.”

That must have been the guy who did your commission. You hope to meet him in person one day to thank him over and over for what he did.

“Thank you very much.” You flashed Ayato a smile. He did the same in return, “Enjoy your holidays and your stay in Mondstadt!”

“Thank you,” He bowed his head, “The same goes to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

As soon as Ayato was gone, you decided it was a good idea to open the box. Your jaw dropped at the contents. It was a lot more than you had asked for. Considering what was given, you had definitely underpaid this Itto guy. Either he was a perfectionist or he was extremely reckless.

The jars of slime were actually much bigger than you expected. Maybe you should have been specific on that as well. How many hydro slimes on Watatsumi Island had to undergo an extraction to get all this condensate? Even though Diluc said the extraction process is not harmful for the slimes and they’re constantly growing, you’re starting to feel bad for them.

At least it arrived at a good time before the party. With the slime condensate here, your gift for Diluc was ready. But you had both items. There wasn’t any point in keeping the second gift for yourself. Maybe it would give you a hint on what Diluc likes. Hopefully next year, Donna was the one stuck with him instead of you.

The party was being hosted at Angel’s Share. It was closed for the holiday and with his permission, Diluc allowed Barbara to have the party there. So long as she prepared all the decorations and food. He didn’t mind making the drinks since it would allow him to keep a better eye on Venti.

When you arrived, the ongoing scene was a bit of a mess. Barbara was apologizing profusely to someone. You recognized one of them. Ayato, the man from the other day. He laughed loudly when he noticed Barbara beginning to tear up. Next to him was a girl who had similar features. She chuckled softly when Ayato hugged Barbara and reassured her everything was fine. The girl had to be related to him.

“You’re here.” You heard Diluc’s voice. He had been at the bar but spotted you as soon as you came through the door. His eyes landed on the gift you were holding. “If you’d like, you can leave that over there. Barbara said we’ll open the gifts after eating and once everyone is here.” Diluc motioned to a round table in a corner. Several of the partygoers left their gifts either on the table or on the floor. Some were big, others small. You were curious to find out which one was meant for you.

“Okay, thanks.” You went over to the table and placed the gift next to one that was the same size. You weren’t about to carry that around all night. The glass jars were too heavy for that.

After you put your gift with the rest, you decided to join the rest of the crowd.

You found out that Kamisato Ayato was Diluc’s closest friend. He and his sister, Ayaka, came to Mondstadt to celebrate the holiday with Diluc. Last year, he was the one who went to Inazuma to visit the siblings. Barbara was apologizing because she didn’t know they would be here. And if she did, she’d prepare a gift so that neither would feel left out. They let her know it was an unforeseen event and she had no reason to apologize.

Bennett and Fischl were the last to arrive. Afterwards, Barbara asked everyone to come to the first floor and get their gifts so she could explain the rules. You placed yours underneath your chair. Jean sat next to you, keeping hers on her lap and making small talk about who she guessed you had.

The table in the corner was soon empty. Whoever went first, the person who received the gift would go next. So on and so on until all gifts were exchanged.

Donna decided to start the chain off. For an odd reason, she had two gifts. You all gave each other the same knowing look. One gift was meant for her Secret Santa and the other was obviously meant for Diluc. If anything, you were already aware she had selected a better choice in present for him. Except Barbara didn’t let her give it to him right away and told her to wait until everything was over.

She had Bennett. From Bennett, it went over to Klee. He had gifted the little girl a new backpack and a tiny one for Dodoco. Klee’s gift went to Razor. He might have been the happiest one from the night. Eventually the chain went around to Albedo who had just opened his gift from Lisa.

“For my Secret Santa, I got (Y/N).” Albedo handed you a wrapped box.

It had candy canes all over the paper and a giant bow on the top. You heard some rustling inside. You tore the wrapping paper off the sides. Removing it fully, you opened the box and your eyes widened in astonishment. Albedo had carefully packaged two glass cloches beside each other. They contained flowers sprouting on the inside. He went as far as adding grass to the base and making it seem like a small garden.

“I managed to find a way to preserve cecilias and glaze lilies.” He explained and helped you take one of them out to show everyone else. “I remember you said they’re your favorite flowers. These will never die even if you take the glass off of them. And you won’t need to water them either.”

“Thank you so much, Albedo!” You said, opening up one arm to give him a hug. He reciprocated the action. “And I love how you painted butterflies on the glass domes!”

“Actually, they’re called cloches.” Ayato corrected from across the room, making your attention go from Albedo to him. Ayaka ended up smacking his knee with her fan. The entire room let out a collective laugh at the two siblings bickering.

Your eyes drifted over to Diluc who sat next to the Kamisato siblings. It seemed like he already knew he was going to be next. Both of his hands are on his lap, waiting to get his gift. He was staring at you intently and tapping his gloved hand against his thigh. You set Albedo’s gift next to your chair with extra care.

“My gift is to Diluc.” You said. You slid out the wrapped box from underneath your chair. You had both your hands holding the bottom side of the box. Watching your step, you made your way to the other side of the room where Diluc was.

“Ah, this should be interesting.” Ayato said with a grin on his face. He shifted in his chair, body leaning towards his friend. He seemed more interested in the gift than the person who was receiving it.

“It’s heavy.” You said, nervously. You gently handed it over to Diluc.

“Thank you.” He took it in his arms and placed it on the floor between his feet. Ayato moved his chair closer to get a better view of what your gift to his best friend would be. Diluc waited until you sat back down in your chair. He began to unwrap the ribbon you’d tied around the entire box. He pulled on one edge of the lace, allowing it to unravel on its own.

After that was over, he lifted off the top of the box. You watched anxiously to see his reaction to your gift. When Diluc saw what was inside, a small smirk came on his lips. Meanwhile, Ayato scrunched up his eyebrows at the peculiar choice. He realized what the items were and why exactly your commission had been such a weird request.

Diluc kept the lid on his lap. He crouched over in his chair and pulled out one of the seven items inside.

In his hands, Diluc held a glass jar filled to the top with slime condensate. There wasn't only one in there. You had asked for a minimum of three jars in your commission and sent over enough Mora for their troubles. But, being the nice person he was, Itto decided to get you a total of—

“Six jars of slime condensate.” Diluc held it up in the air as if he was examining it. You started to feel a little embarrassed when he spun it around and showed it off the rest of the crowd. They each side eyed each other, wondering what kind of present that was. You actively avoided their gazes as they questioned your choice. Why did he have to start off with the worst gift? “I’m assuming they come from Watatsumi Island?” He said in a slight teasing tone.

Diluc’s lips twitched upwards when he glanced over at you. He shook the jar a little, the slime bouncing around. It clinked against the other jars as he carefully set it back into the gift box. Next, he moved onto the second gift. Right beside all of the six jars was a dark red jewelry box. It had a geo symbol carved on the top which Diluc knew you got it from Liyue.

He placed it on his lap and cautiously opened it since he wasn’t sure of what was inside. Inside, the box had a black velvety texture. It had two separate sections. Ayato heard his friend let out a small snicker before composing himself and turning it around for the remaining partygoers to see.

“It’s a matching hairbrush and a hair comb.” Diluc said.

Both the brush and comb were designed to be the same. They had been marbleized with red and gold. What stood out the most was the hair comb. The accessory had been made to resemble a phoenix. Its wings were outstretched and the beak pointed upwards. If placed in the hair correctly, it was supposed to give off the illusion the phoenix was flying.

“Oh, how beautiful.” Ayaka silently complimented.

The jewelry box closed with a snap and Diluc set it beside the six jars of slime condensate. He closed the lid of his gift and a wide smile spread on his face. For some reason, you felt like he found this entire situation hilarious.

“Thank you, (Y/N). I’m especially grateful for the slime.” He said. Diluc cleared his throat right after and the smile disappeared. He ended up picking up his gift and announced who his Secret Santa was. “My gift is to Sucrose.”

The remaining gifts were passed around until everyone had opened their gifts. They were all thoughtful and generous.

Everyone loved their gifts and it was perfect for their personalities. Yet, your eyes kept looking over at Diluc’s present. He had to be lying. The party continued as normal. People broke off into their separate groups, ate the remaining leftovers and treats, and played a few games. The gifts, held dear in everyone’s hearts, were forgotten at the moment.

An hour passed and you thought it would be a good time to leave the party. You put your coat on as well as your gloves. Thankfully, you didn’t live too far from the tavern. There should still be a few guards patrolling the city in case of intruders.

“I’m going to be leaving now.” You said to Barbara while holding your gift from Albedo. You wanted to thank him again only to find out he’d left with Klee a long time ago. The little girl was starting to get sleepy and tried to play it off that she wasn’t tired.

“You are? Aw, I wanted you to stay a little longer!” Barbara said. Diluc overheard your conversation and he had already slipped on his red jacket.

“Allow me to walk you home. I insist.” He said, opening the tavern door. Cold air rushed in causing his cheeks and nose to get rosy. “Barbara, if I don’t return soon and everyone has left, don’t worry about cleaning the mess. Head home as well.” He instructed before leaving the tavern right after you.

The door closed. Diluc fixed his jacket as he began following you.

He only had plans to drop you off at your home safely and return to the tavern. You were both walking in silence. You glanced out the corner of your eye. Diluc’s hands were in his pockets. He had a small smile on his face. It was starting to get to you. The smile had the appearance he knew something and purposely refused to tell you what it was. You exhaled loudly, deciding to confront and get it over with. It would be better for him to be honest.

“You didn’t like your gift… Did you?” You asked, stopping in your tracks. You tilted your head to the side and turned to face him.

“I did like my gift. Why would you ask that question?” He answered.

“Why are you smiling like that then?” You nodded your head. It was really in the most innocent and subconscious manner. Diluc didn’t want you to take it the wrong way so it was a good time to come clean. Especially since the hunt for gifts and the party was over. He left his gift in the tavern, right behind the bar counter so no one would find it.

“I have something to admit.” He said.

Oh. Your eyes widened slightly. You took a step back. Donna was going to be mad.

“I lied to you. I don’t actually use slime condensate in my hair.”

Oh. You narrowed your eyes at the man standing in front of you. Scratch that, you were going to be mad. The smile on Diluc’s face grew a lot more visible.

“What?” You finally spoke up. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. I’m not joking.” He shook his head. Your jaw dropped at the confirmation. “I don’t use it. If anyone does, they must be out of their mind to put that in their hair.”

“So you were faking the entire time?!” You shouted. He had led you to believe his hair was his favorite feature and that he cared for it the most. All those times he complained about running low on slime and he might need to find a replacement before getting his new stash from Inazuma. Pure lies he made on the spot. He was so convincing, you thought all he loved in life was slime condensate. “Diluc, you’re such a jerk!” You would have punched him if you weren’t carrying your gift. He grinned briefly at your weak insult.

“Is it my fault you were terrible at hiding you had me for Secret Santa?” He said. He began to walk again and you sped up to join him. You had to be honest. Your attempts were very pitiful when you spoke with Diluc that entire week. It’s much easier to talk with him at the moment than beforehand. “Though, I like your gift more than Donna’s.”

That’s an accomplishment.

“Are you sure six jars were necessary?”

“Leave me alone.”

#꒰ ⚔️┊genshin impact ꒱#gixrsecretsanta2023 #favoniuslibrary #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fluff #diluc ragnvindr fluff #genshin diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x you #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc ragnivindr x you

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kitten4sannie · 2 years

Text

𝖀𝖓𝖍𝖔𝖑ұ 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

Priest! San x Fem! Reader

Genre: absolute debauchery

Summary: You visit your local catholic church, in hopes of cleansing yourself of your sins, only to commit more. A lot more.

W.C: 3.9k

Warnings: switch! San, switch! reader, seduction, masterbation, exhibitionism, filthy dialogue, oral (giving), praise kink, cum swapping, grinding, spit play, name calling, degradation, unprotected sex, squirting, dumbification

Author's Note: Ahhh, it’s finally my favorite time of year! (🎵fiNaLLy nOw, iT’s mY tImE🎵) That means it’s time to unleash all kinds of depravity onto all of you 😋 This is so filthy, like I have absolutely no excuse for this 🤭 Also, why did this heal some of my religious trauma?? ajsjshgsshk

Enjoy, you sinners 🖤

P.S: I’ll be uploading my next (kinda) spooky fic on Oct 17th ✨

Song Rec: Devour by Mr. Kitty, I Wanna Be Your Slave by Maneskin (i chose this song simply because of the lyrics “I wanna be your sinner, wanna be a preacher” 😩🤌🏼)

Masterlist

➽───────────────❥

You got out of your car, immediately feeling a cold breeze rush past you, sending some of your hair into your face. After moving a few loose strands of hair that were obstructing your vision, your eyes focused on the large, somewhat intimidating cathedral that was towering over you. You sighed heavily, shutting your car door.

This was your last resort; you didn’t have any clue what to do with yourself if this didn’t work out in your favor. You couldn’t stand it anymore; the constant thirst you felt inside was slowly eating away at your sanity. You were incredibly desperate at this point, willing to do anything and everything to unbind yourself from your affliction.

After going up the small flight of stairs that led to the unusually opulent doors of the cathedral, you slowly pushed on one of them, hearing it creak loudly, making you wonder how old the building was. You poked your head in, not seeing anyone around, which made you hesitate, but you pressed on.

Once inside, you surveyed the church, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. There were rows and rows of empty pews, all leading up to an impressive-looking altar, which was littered with white candles, all in various sizes, their flickering flames illuminating the otherwise dark interior.

“Hello?” you called out in a somewhat reserved tone, hearing your voice echo throughout the large building.

“Ah, I wasn’t expecting any visitors this late.”

You quickly turned your head to the side to see where the soft, yet unmistakably masculine voice was coming from. A youthful-looking man with oddly striking features, stark black hair, and a warm smile came into view. You assumed he was the priest, taking note of the all-black clerical clothing he had on.

You were about to speak, but your words were trapped inside your throat. His undeniable charm and grace had caught you off-guard, as well as his unintentional sex appeal. In your head, you had expected the priest to be some old man with a bald patch, not someone who was devilishly handsome. This unexpected turn of events certainly did not help quell the formidable amount of lust that was bubbling up inside of you. If anything, it was just fuel to the already-raging fire.

“I…um…wanted to see if you could help me with something I’ve been struggling with,” you replied in a hushed tone, taking a few slow steps in the man’s direction, swallowing nervously.

San nodded his head in an understanding manner, motioning to the confessional behind him. He slid open one side of it, saying, “If you wish to confess your sins first, then you may. It’s up to you, but allowing me to hear them might alleviate some of your guilt. It would also make it easier for me to help you.”

You followed after him and slid open the opposite side of the confessional, taking a step inside and sitting down on the cold wood seat below you. You felt goosebumps begin to form on your bare thighs, prompting you to move your hands past your skirt and onto your legs, rubbing them slowly, as a way to get rid of the sensation.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you murmured in a shaky voice, feeling a few drops of sweat begin to cascade down your temples and along the curve of your neck.

“Go on, my child. Confess, so that you may be forgiven.” San leaned his back against the thin wood panel behind him, in order to get more comfortable, his hands resting on his upper thighs.

You inhaled and exhaled a few times, unable to escape the constant stream of debauchery that went through your head, which was persistently egging you on to do something that you might regret.

“So…I…um…can’t seem to stop thinking about sex, no matter what I do. I…constantly fantasize about the things I want to do to myself and to other people…even complete strangers,” you started, your fingers gripping the sides of your upper thighs. “Day and night, it’s the same thing. Even when I give in and indulge myself, whether on my own or with others, it…never seems to be enough.”

San shifted uncomfortably in the section next to you, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he remained quiet, letting you continue.

“And when I…when I’m getting fucked or when I fuck myself…I feel such intense pleasure, like it’s so overwhelming…I almost feel like I’m going to lose my mind…” you admitted in an impudent manner, exhaling some air out of your nose.

San was at a loss for words, never having encountered something quite like this before.

You bit back a moan, seemingly turned on from revealing your dirty secret to the innocent priest who was sitting just a few inches away from you. You rested your head back against the wood behind you, suddenly feeling like your insides were going to melt.

“Please, Father…I can’t take it anymore…” you whimpered, your heart racing inside your tightening chest. You wiped away some perspiration that was starting to form on your face, taking note of how incredibly hot your skin had felt.

San heard how hard you were starting to breathe, prompting him to sit up straight, his eyes focusing on the divider between you, so that he could try to get a better look at what was going on with you.

Your hazy eyes flickered in his direction, causing him to be a bit startled. “I’m burning up inside..it feels like…I’m on fire,” you revealed in a shaky tone, as you precipitously pulled yourself to the edge of the seat and leaned up against the somewhat see-through section of the confessional, looking directly into the priest’s wide eyes.

“I…um…” San blinked back at you, feeling a bit of sweat begin to trickle down the side of his forehead, still unsure of how he should react or what he should say, unknowingly encouraging you to do something bold.

You exhaled slowly, bringing your trembling fingers up to your chest, gingerly undoing each button of your dress shirt, before letting the thin material slip down off your shoulders, your bare breasts now fully visible and pressing up against the divider. “Please help me…”

San swallowed harshly, suddenly feeling suffocated by his constricting garbs. “I-I…can’t. My child, you…are simply too overcome by your sins. You need to pray to the lord to give you the strength…t-to combat these impure thoughts of yours,” he responded fragilely, feeling his heart begin to race and his pants becoming unbearably tight.

You whined softly, your fingers already finding their way underneath your skirt, making contact with your bare pussy, rubbing them slowly up and down your wet slit, making sure not to ignore your swollen clit.

“Please, Father. Only you can take this sin away from me.” You gazed into his eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth and dragging across your bottom lip, just as your two fingers disappeared inside you. “I’m begging you…I’ll even get down on my knees…if you want me to.”

San felt like he was one losing his mind now; it was almost like Lucifer himself had visited him in the form of an incredibly seductive woman, desperate to undo all of the hard work and dedication he had put in throughout the years, in order to reach his spiritual enlightenment.

“M-my child…I…I can only do my best to help you, but I can’t promise that I can cure this…ailment of yours,” he replied, evidently giving into his sinful nature, and in turn, being completely overcome with all of the lust he had consistently ignored for years.

You let out a strangled moan upon hearing San’s words, pumping your fingers into your hole so quickly, that he could clearly hear how wet you were. “Father, tell me what-aaah-to do now,” you requested, breathing heavily against the divider.

San inhaled sharply, reaching out to slide open the panel on his side and motioning for you to join him with his other hand. “Come,” was all he said, his eyes glossy and his mind clouded with desire.

Mistaking his order for you to join him for another version of the word, you curled your fingers inside you and let out a cry of pure pleasure, cumming right then and there. “Ffffuck…!”

San watched you with half-lidded eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly, thoroughly hypnotized by your bewitching aura and complete lack of shame. “I-I meant come over here…” he informed you, a deep blush present on his cheeks.

Once you had realized your mistake, you pulled yourself out of the booth, standing outside of the confessional on his side, waiting for further direction. You smiled to yourself, almost unable to believe that you had gotten your way, which only served to turn you on more. At this point, your arousal was so prominent, it was already dripping down your inner thighs and onto the pristine floor, but you didn’t care. You only had one thing on your mind, just like every other day of the week.

San‘s lust-filled gaze slowly traveled up your body, as he squeezed his thighs tightly, no longer thinking with his brain, but with his cock.

“Kneel.”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip so hard, you almost broke the skin. “Yes, Father,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. After stepping into San’s side on the confessional, you obediently lowered yourself down onto the floor before him, resting your hands on your bruised knees.

“What will quell this fire within you, my child?” the priest questioned, one of his eyebrows raised slightly.

Your eyes immediately darted to the obvious bulge that was jutting out against the thin black material of San’s robe. As your lips formed into a lewd smile, you reached down and began to unbutton his robe from the bottom and slowly worked your way up.

“I think it might help if I suck your cock…just this once, Father,” you uttered breathlessly, feeling more and more arousal pool within your core, simply from observing San’s flushed face and submissive demeanor.

He nodded his head weakly, drawing in a sharp breath, when you suddenly pulled his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, causing his long veiny cock to spring out against his lower abdomen.

You were shamelessly drooling at this point, unable to contain yourself in the slightest. Who could blame you, though? This was the most depraved situation you had ever involved yourself in, so it was only natural that you’d be in such a whorish state.

“You have such a pretty cock, Father,” you praised, wrapping your warm fingers around the base of his erection and leaning down, in order to lazily drag your tongue from the very bottom of his length up to the tip.

“A-aah…” San bit his lip, watching intently as you began to give gentle kisses to his reddened cockhead, shivering when you sucked it into your mouth like it was a popsicle, and almost losing his sanity when you repeated this action, while your tongue moved around it in a circular motion, until you fully allowed him into your mouth. “O-oh my god…”

You bobbed your head, taking a good portion of his length into your mouth and throat with ease, sucking him off like your life had depended on it, which it did, in a way. “Mm…mmnnn…mm-hmmm…” you moaned onto San’s cock, looking up at him with pleading eyes, desperate to hear that you were pleasing him.

San slipped his fingers into your hair, stroking it in a gentle manner, as he completely and utterly unraveled before your eyes. “Nnngh…that…feels…so goood…” he whined softly, groaning each time he felt his dick twitch and pulse inside your warm mouth. “Please, don’t stop…”

You hummed from hearing his praise, as you proceeded to wrap both of your hands around the part of his cock that you couldn’t reach with your mouth, pumping them steadily. The excessive amount of drool in your mouth served only to make wet, sinful sounds that could be heard clearly in the otherwise silent building.

San was a whiny, moaning mess at this point, due to the constant influx of pleasure you were so graciously providing him. The unholy sight of you worshiping his cock didn’t help in the slightest, instead encouraging him to delve into a deeper state of pure salaciousness that he wasn’t completely sure he could pull himself out of.

“I-I think I’m gonna…!” the priest gasped, tossing his head back against the wood panel, his hands suddenly reaching out to press onto both sides of the confessional, out of pure desperation. “Oh, goddd!”

Long, hot spurts of cum poured out of San’s cock, filling up your mouth and throat completely, causing your eyes to roll back into your skull. You swallowed and swallowed, but he still wasn’t done cumming, due to never relieving himself even once.

San’s thighs trembled, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, his sweaty hands still holding either side of the confessional. “I-I…I can’t…it’s…aaah…too much…” he breathed out, a few tears falling from his watery eyes.

Once you had a tummy full of cum, you stood up and slowly sat down on San’s lap, your cheeks still filled with the white sticky substance that he pumped your mouth full of.

San’s hands slipped down the walls of the confessional and instinctively settled on your hips, while he looked up at you like you were his new god. “You…where…where did you even come from?” he asked, studying your features.

Not giving him an answer, you grabbed his face in your hands and brought him into an open-mouthed kiss, your body pressing up against his.

“Mmmn..!“ San reacted instinctively, feeling a large amount of his slightly bitter release get pushed into his mouth by your tongue.

You tilted your head to the side, deepening the kiss and exploring his mouth thoroughly, feeling more wetness leak out of you, just as you heard San begin to swallow his own cum. You eventually pulled away from him when you felt that he had enough, giggling softly when you saw his fucked-out expression.

“Oh, you like that, huh? You like guzzling down your own cum like some kind of slut?” you taunted, sliding your thumb across his spit and cum-covered lips, before popping it into your mouth to clean it. “You’re pretty fucking filthy for a priest.”

San whined at your words, unable to deny your statement. He had previously believed that he was better than the rest of society, since he was able to ignore his sexual urges through sheer power of will and constant discipline, but now…now he was cursing himself for waiting so long to do something as pleasurable as this.

“Just be quiet now and let me have my way with you…” San muttered, his eyes darkening with rampant lust, the submissive nature he had exuded just moments ago now being replaced with something he didn’t even know he had in him.

You chuckled, finding San’s change in tune adorable at first, just before he began rolling his hips in a rhythmic motion, his cock rubbing deliciously against your folds and clit.

“O-oh, wow…” you reacted, realizing how serious he actually was. You let out a small gasp when San’s mouth suddenly latched onto one of your breasts.

San sucked on it in a desperate manner, then used his teeth to pull at your nipple roughly, drawing a moan from your lips. He chuckled darkly against your skin, before swapping one breast for the other, slurping on it messily, his cock still rubbing against you at a steady pace. Spit dripped down his chin, but he didn’t care. He was completely gone at this point, and it was all because of you.

You arched your back, barely able to handle the way he was pleasuring you with both his mouth and his cock, despite him not even being inside you yet. In all honesty, it was driving you crazy; you needed him inside you, or else you might actually lose your mind.

“Just fuck me already!” you abruptly blurted out, grabbing his shoulders tightly and shaking them a bit, trying to gain his attention.

San pulled away from your spit-covered breasts with a small ‘pop’, his fingers digging into your hips so firmly, it made you wince from the pain.

“What’s the magic word, whore?”

Your breath got caught in your throat, upon hearing his words. You couldn’t even believe you were dealing with the same man; it was like he was a completely different person. His once gentle gaze was replaced with something that could only be described as wicked; perhaps he had been possessed by a demon. How else could you explain such a sudden switch in character?

San suddenly grabbed you by the jaw and forced it down, so that your faces were only a few centimeters apart, growling, “I won’t fuck you, until you say please, you cock-loving slut.”

“P-please…please fuck me,” you murmured, almost ready to cum from his words and actions alone. This was the best possible outcome of the unusual situation you were in; maybe God was real, after all. “Please, Father…Fuck me like the whore I am. I need it…so bad…”

***

“Cumming for the third time already? You really are nothing but a slave for cock, huh?” San’s face was buried in your neck, his lips ghosting along your skin, his hips snapping up into yours at an unrelenting pace. “Or is it just my cock that drives you crazy?”

Your brain felt fuzzy and clouded, barely allowing you to understand what San was saying to you; all you could focus on was the mind-breaking amount of pleasure that was radiating from your lower half and coursing throughout your entire body.

San’s fingers sunk into both sides of your ass, squeezing it roughly, as he continued to plunge himself into you as deep as he possibly could. “Come on, stay with me, baby. Don’t be fading away now. You got what you wanted, now tell me how much you love it,” he huffed, using one hand to grab you by the jaw once again, looking directly into your barely-open eyes.

“I-it feels so fucking good, Father!” you whined, parting your lips obediently just as San slid his thumb into your mouth.

“Good girl.”

San held one side of your face, his thumb still inside your mouth, thrusting wildly into you, until you both had reached your highs at the same time. He slowed down his movements significantly, but didn’t stop completely, shivering when he felt your combined essence drip down to the base of his cock and onto the wood flooring below.

You pulled your mouth off of his thumb and slumped forward in his arms, panting heavily. “Fuck…” was all you could say, as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Don’t be falling asleep now, my pretty little cockslut. I’m not done with you yet,” San informed you, as he held your thighs sturdily and stood up, carrying you out of the confessional and sitting down on one of the pews with you still in his lap, his cock still inside you.

You blinked down at San with wide eyes, unable to believe how much stamina he had possessed, not that you were complaining. This was what you wanted, after all.

San’s hands suddenly dropped from your legs, his dark eyes studying yours, as his body lowered down a bit against the wooden seat.

“I want to watch you ride my cock. Can you be a good little whore and do that for me?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically, calmly resting your hands on San’s shoulders, before abruptly slamming your hips down into his at a desperate speed right out of the gate. You lowered your chin, drinking in all of the man’s pleasured facial expressions.

“Jesus Christ…!” San gripped the edge of the seat, his nails digging into the wood, unable to hold back his moans. His cock throbbed persistently against your tight inner walls, prompting him to do his best not to cum too quickly.

You leaned down and held San’s warm face in your hands, looking deep into his eyes. “Is it good, Father? Does it feel good?” you asked in an airy tone, bouncing on his cock with reckless abandon, your lips just barely brushing over his.

“Y-yes, it-haaah-feels amazing…Now, come here,” he huffed, suddenly holding your face as well and pulling you into an open-mouthed kiss, his tongue immediately exploring every inch of your mouth. Once San had his fill, he pushed your face away, your lips still connected by a few strings of saliva.

You were on the edge of orgasming once again, desperate to reach it, your sanity almost completely gone at this point in time. “Fill…Fill me up with your salvation, Father…I need it, please…give it to me…!” you begged, holding tightly onto San, your sweat-covered body pressing against his.

“Oh, my goddd…” San groaned out, his dark eyes boring into yours, before growling, “Ask and you shall receive, you filthy fucking whore!”

San suddenly gripped your ass tightly in his hands, bucking his hips up into yours, fucking you as deep and hard as he possibly could, drawing loud, broken moans from your lips, as well as causing you to squirt all over his cock. His movements started becoming sloppy and desperate, his thighs trembling slightly against yours.

“I’m- Fuck…!” San tossed his head back against the pew, as he pumped you full of his cum for the second time, filling your pussy up to the brim, just as you had begged for. “Jesus fucking Christ, this tight little cunt of yours is milking me dry…” he exhaled, moving forward to rest his head on your shoulder, holding you in place, cum still being forced out of his cock in slow spurts, due to all the years he went without a single release.

You were delirious, to say the least, unable to form a single coherent thought. “Fa…ther…” you murmured out, voice barely above a whisper. Holding onto San with a death grip, you looked up, completely enamored with the way the light of the moon shone through the mosaic glass behind the altar. Overcome with pleasure and borderline psychosis, you blinked a few tears away, swearing you saw God herself.

San remained quiet for quite a while, just focusing on his breathing, while coming down from his high and coming to terms with the choices he had made.

You pulled back slightly, so that you could caress the panting priest’s face, looking at him with sparkling eyes. “You…cured me, Father…The burning I felt inside…it’s gone. All I feel is…love…” you informed San, giving him a genuine smile, before pressing your lips onto his cheek, as a thank you.

San looked at you with tired, bloodshot eyes, feeling both incredibly satisfied and guilty at the same time. He sighed softly, wiping some sweat from his brow.

“I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

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Tags: @dazzlinglight @thefinerthingz3 @cloudysannie @aryraaaa @za-con @cosmiczen @choerryge @aikyubi @arusio @gueritaybonita @iheartkila123 @i-l0v3hands @ethicalz @jinsonaz @kitty4hwa @jexidamulti @mingisgf @as-she-pleases @just-a-simp @vlrity @purplechannie @lilactiny @eclecticranchzonkcookie @jazzymoore @kodzukein @asjkdk @Icyhyunie @cherryxsang @namsloverr @chanst1ddies @woo-stars @createyour0wnworld @roarmingi @ilovehyunjinsm @simeonswhore @k0rean-big-mini0n @fairyoftaehyun @singularity777 @bls-luv-me @lavanyasingh04 @igotlockedout @fl0r4f4wn @woomyteez

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#ateez #ateez smut #ateez san #san ateez #san #choi san #san smut #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x y/n #kpop smut #ateez oneshot #ateez hard hours

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wordsmith30 · 11 months

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An Avatrice moment I’m still stuck on: the pre-battle disagreement about Vincent.

Beatrice knows that Ava is keeping something from her. She’s been having hushed conversations with Michael and sought out Vincent, of all people, for a way to stop Adriel. She won’t say anything about her trip to the other side and Mother Superion says she’s acting like Shannon.

Bea is already so stressed out and hurt, and she’s about to walk into a fight with only half the plan. Then Vincent tries to come along and she’s like, “No.”

Hand up and gun on her hip, she’s not playing games today. She bars his path to the van and to Ava.

“Beatrice.”

All Ava has to do is say her name and the hardened, protective girlfriend mask slips. Bea softens at once – turning towards Ava; sitting back in the chair; blinking rapidly, but unable to make eye contact; taking a deep breath.

“No,” she says again, and it’s so soft and full of pain. Full of the tenderness only reserved for Ava.

Beatrice needs to draw a line in the sand, claw back some measure of control.

Her back straightens as she turns to Vincent again. Mask back on.

“Look, I appreciate that you had an epiphany and your help with Ava –”

(Again, emphasis on Ava with a nod in her direction.)

“—but do not take that to mean you’re in our good graces.”

Fool me once, shame on you. But I’ll take on hell itself before I let you anywhere near her.

I’ve got enough going on already without you stabbing us in the back again.

Vincent is polite enough, saying he knows he has no right to think that.

“We need his help,” Ava says, and Beatrice’s frustration returns.

It again becomes a conversation between them only with Vincent as the awkward, hovering interloper.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” Ava says evenly, “but he knows the cathedral. He can get us in through security.”

It’s a palpable role-reversal as Ava uses Beatrice’s own rule against her: duty before feelings. Don’t let your emotions blind you to the mission.

What a maddening pill to swallow when Beatrice doesn’t even know what the end of this mission will bring.

But she relents because she trusts Ava and that’s all that matters.

A squabbling married couple right ‘til the end.

#Avatrice #Sister Beatrice #Ava Silva #Warrior Nun 2x08 #scene analysis #Kristina Tonteri-Young #Alba Baptista #Father Vincent #even when she's mad Bea can't say no to her #Ava x Beatrice #Warrior Nun #wlw #save warrior nun

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famousinuniverse · 2 months

Text

Pont de l'Archevêché, Quai de la Tournelle - Quai de l'Archevêché - 75005 Paris: The Pont de l'Archevêché, one of the narrowest in Paris, is a pleasant place to walk, reserved for pedestrians and cyclists. Linking the Île de la Cité to the 5th arrondissement, it is also very popular with lovers, for the charm it exudes and the view it offers of Notre-Dame Cathedral.

#Pont de l'Archevêché #Quai de la Tournelle - Quai de l'Archevêché - 75005 Paris

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theresattrpgforthat · 6 months

Note

do you know of any solo-player crafting / designing games? like a witch making posions or someone building a cottage? the dream is a pen and paper solo-player architecture design game. or exploration/scavenging??

THEME: Crafting and Exploration

Hello friend, I selected some games that try to fit as many of the different prompts you are looking for here. Nothing fits everything, but everything fits something.

Dust and Void, by Robin Gibson.

The last remnants of humanity reside on Cathedral, a space-faring city, on its centuries-long mission to find a new home. Cathedral relies on spacecraft designed for deep space scavenging for vital resources.

In Dust and Void, players take on the role of these pilots. Players will explore the depths of space, look for resources, avoid dangers, and balance work, well-being and worship to make a name for themselves and build a legacy. Can you bring in enough to see humanity to a brighter tomorrow, and also to stay in the relative comfort of deep space?

This looks like a game that balances multiple characters, but is still designed for one person. It also appears to be a balancing game, so I’d expect being required to fulfill multiple objectives without depleting energy reserves or resources. If you want a game with high stakes and strategic options, you might want to check out Dust and Void.

Courier, by Sleepy Sasquatch Games.

Courier is a solo-RPG where you take control of a Courier—someone who travels the Wasteland delivering and trading cargo in exchange for REP, the currency of this post-apocalyptic future. As you explore the world around you, locations and factions are revealed and recorded on your map.

Choose to take jobs for factions and build reputation to access new benefits all while becoming better at your job and earning new character perks.

Courier is a highly structured game that focuses on exploration and salvage, leading your character through locations and various encounters, including Combat, Trade, and salvaging cargo. You work towards completing quests, earning money, and upgrading your reputation. Courier is probably the most like a traditional ttrpg in this list, and is great if you want to play a game but don’t want to be responsible for creating the world around you.

Guillotine Earrings, by Ella Watts.

You are a magical jeweller in a city on the brink of revolution. A solo RPG.

Guillotine Earrings is a magical journalling game on two pages. Your character is a jeweller living in a city on the brink of revolution, held in the grip of a cruel and despotic tyrant. Over the course of the game, you describe and draw the jewellery they make as they attempt to fan the flames of protest in the city with their art. You also describe the parties they attend, the allies they find, and the communities they enlist as they start a revolution behind the unlikely barricade of their storefront. It's up to you to decide which you prefer - or to play the game more than once, creating different people in different cities as they try to rise up against their oppressors.

This game is intriguing to me because while your character is responsible for making items, you’re also crafting a revolution. Your decisions throughout the game will determine whether you’ll have a better chance to improve your art or improve your revolution’s odds through persuasive checks - recruiting for the cause, making powerful allies, and improving your network. There’s also optional rules for a jenga tower or a pool of jewelry, if you want to heighten the tension and increase the randomness of your results. If you want a game where your character occupies a niche in society that gives them the ability to cause great changes in the world around them, I’d recommend Guillotine Earrings.

Botanicals, by Ben K Rosenbloom.

A game for making potions to solve peoples' problems. For one or more players. You will need some flowers, spices, maybe some bottles or cups, and anything else you want to throw in a potion.

This game can be played solo, although it also has instructions for higher player counts. This game might even work as a single-person larp, as it recommends creating your potions and determining their effects based on their colour and scent. The crafting of this game is more literal than it is theoretical, and it is likely to require some cleanup afterwards, so if what you are looking for is something immersive, this might be a good option. If you’re looking for mechanical crunch, you might want to look somewhere else.

Salvager, by TEU Games.

Collect salvage from wrecked space ships. You will gain in power and equipment. If you live long enough, retire to a life of luxury.

This is another exploration game that brings you across a hexmap as you look for salvage. The game fits on 2 pages, but is full of descriptions of what you find inside the ships, as well as roll-tables determining what your retirement looks like depending on how many credits you save. Just be warned - if you duck out of a job before it’s done, you risk losing money and also retiring in disgrace!

Bad Bad Brew, by CABBAGEHEAD.

BAD BAD BREW features a colourful trifold spread with all the rules and inspiration you need to brew your next potion. It includes all the instructions, several tables for ingredients and side effects, and your Alchemist's Tools to easily change its properties.

The game is designed to be accessible, easy to play and highly replayable. All you need is one six-sided die, writing tools and some creativity to start playing. The average session can be last from 10 minutes to as long as you want.

This is another game that has some tactile components to it, asking you to literally brew some of your concoctions. The game also expects your character to not always get the recipe right - and when that happens, expect a number of interesting side-effects. The game also suggests porting your creations into group sessions - perhaps something that your character made gets sold to an adventuring party! If you want something that can be played quickly, with many possible uses, check out this game.

Renovation, by kay w.

Renovation is a solo journaling game about a house. Whether or not the house is haunted depends on your definition of a haunting. In this game, you play as the house, old and worn, full of many memories and perhaps even ghosts. A new owner has come to renovate.

You do not wish for the renovation, but it comes regardless.

This is a story in which the architecture of a house is a form of resistance - and the new creation that you turn into at the end of the game is a horror, not an accomplishment. This is the closest I could find to an architecture game, using a deck of cards to determine what element of your house is changed. If your foundation crumbles, you are no longer the house you once were. This game certainly isn’t for everyone, but if you’re interested in a horror take on a game, this might be worth taking a peek at.

Masterpiece, by LordPaido.

It was on my walk home from the store when I saw it. A bird floating through the air, barely flapping its wings. At once, ideas began clamoring for attention; moving without movement as the theme for a new poem! But my masterpiece could also use such an allegory, although it might take more editing to make work….I'm so close, and yet, I feel so much further than when I started….just a few days more, and it should be complete.

Masterpiece is a solo GM-less journaling game about the creative process and what goes into making a truly unique work of art. Maintain your inspiration as you draw on the influences of the world around you, past, present, and future. Strive to remain focused and not grow distracted by lesser works. Weather whatever storms the outside world and your inner landscape throw at you – and see if you have what it takes to reach your full potential.

This game lists architecture as one of the forms of art you could use in your creative process. The game depends on a deck of cards, which you draw from to navigate your ideas, as well as tokens, which you use to track your character’s inspiration. Every “day”, you draw and place a card, and then interpret your progress into a journal entry. Sometimes you might draw an idea for a lesser work, which is mean to replicate how artists often have more ideas than time to complete them. The game might end with a finished Masterwork, but it might not! Out of all of the games I looked at, this is probably the most suited to the architecture prompt you listed. I hope you find it interesting!

Games I’ve Recommended Before

Grimoire, by Anna Landin.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by William Rose.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #solo games #crafting #exploration

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sgiandubh · 8 months

Text

Dear 'Hi, darling' Anon

You are so polite and I am so sorry. But I am not going to publish your ask here. The question has been asked before, in many different ways, which tells me a lot about this fandom's - maybe understandable - impatience. The reason I will not answer it in here is simple: as tempted as I might be, I will not write the damn script.

I am an optimist and I believe these two are good people. It is as simple as that.

However, what I can and will do for you, is to tell you a real French story I will try to sum up as best as possible. You take out of it whatever you want. I am just the narrator, here.

I suppose you are not very familiar with this guy, are you?

His name was François Mitterrand, and from 1981 to 1995 he was the President of the French Republic. A cunning, even ruthless politician, he managed the feat of uniting a French Left in shambles and leading it back to power after more than twenty years on the opposition benches. He truly was the master of all combinations, with an almost diabolic sense of human nature and a cult for secrecy and privacy. So much so, that even in a country like France (where people are rather fond of gossip and backstage gaming, provided all of this is masterfully executed) he was nicknamed both 'The Florentine', in an expected parallel to Machiavelli, by politicos & pundits, and 'Tonton' (Uncle), by all the rest of the nation.

His only weakness was to have led a double life for 30 years.

A scion of a deeply Catholic bourgeois family of vinegar distillers from Jarnac, Mitterrand married the atheist and radical Danielle Gouze in 1944. They met in harsh times, while he was one of the chiefs of the French Résistance, after being an underling of Marshal Pétain's Nazi collaborating puppet regime, based in Vichy. They never divorced, even if the couple became increasingly estranged after the birth of three sons, in rapid succession. She found solace in the arms of a Corsican sports instructor and he, by now a rising star of French politics, went his merry way with probably hundreds of affairs. I bet you couldn't tell, by simply looking at his official portrait, but hey - never judge a book by its cover.

By the autumn of 1965, Mitterrand started his lifelong affair with Anne Pingeot, an Art History student at the fabulous Ecole du Louvre, hailing from a well-heeled family in Clermont-Ferrand. She met him in 1957, while vacationing with her parents in Hossegor, a posh summer resort on the Atlantic coast. Both families stroke up a polite holiday friendship, so when Anne went to study in Paris, Madame Pingeot naturally asked 'François' to keep an eye on her daughter. It took him two years to seduce her, with flowers, daily letters, books, midnight walks, art exhibitions, concerts, lies, stories, restaurants and drama - Frenchmen really, really are unparalleled at this cat and mouse game. They never broke up and if Mitterrand never was exclusively attached to her, she remained the love of his life until his very last day on Earth.

The only real crisis moment in this stars aligned story came in 1973, when Anne really wanted out of the whole charade. She wanted a younger partner, an easier plot and (of course) a child. He relented. Mazarine was born in December 1974, in the deepest possible secrecy, somewhere in Southern France (this is a well-known plot device in any good French Nineteenth century novel, by the way). Her father legally recognized her only in 1984, via a simple notary statement. From 1981 to 1995, the second family shared an apartment in a building reserved for the Elysée Palace top level public servants, on Quai Branly, in Paris. At the same time, Mitterrand kept his usual home on rue de Bièvre, steps away from Notre Dame cathedral, on the Left Bank and made sure he was regularly seen there by the press, the paparazzi and the odd passerby. Anne and Mazarine were always monitored by the President's security detail, of course.

Did people know? Many did and at least as many didn't have a clue. Mitterrand was a master at separating his social life into concentric zones, but even as such, lots of people in his intimate circle had no idea he was a new father to that little girl whose toys they sometimes saw in the trunk of his official car, or who happened to be around at political gatherings. They simply assumed the toys belonged to his grand-daughters, the fugitive appearance was a relative and in general, they knew better than asking questions. Sometimes, he joked in interviews, as in 1986, when he told, on a very relaxed tone, to French TV star journalist Yves Mourousi "a certain little miss of my acquaintance told me I have to be more chébran (slang for also slang branché - trendy) and as you see, I am doing my best". Nobody batted an eyelid. When Mazarine dutifully wrote on her first day at school, sometime around 1983, "President of the French Republic" under the Father's job entry on the yearly data sheet every pupil must fill in, the headmistress thought she was joking and never brought it up again. Some of her school friends were even invited for pajama parties at Souzy-la-Briche, at the time the week-end residence of the French President, and even met Mitterrand. Nobody ever spoke.

But some people did know and could not exactly remain silent. When Françoise Giroud, a legend of French journalism, published, in 1983, at the Mazarine publishing house (!), her roman à clef (novel with a key), Le bon plaisir (As He Saw Fit), heavily alluding to the Mitterrand situation, she was forced by her editor to write a very clear frontpage disclaimer. She also had to tinker a bit with details: it was a boy, not a girl, etc. But when venomous polemist Jean-Edern Hallier, disgruntled that his support efforts were left unrewarded, wrote a tell-all pamphlet L'Honneur perdu de François Mitterrand (François Mitterrand's Lost Honor), in 1984, the manuscript mysteriously vanished without a trace (the book appeared, however, after Mitterand's death, in 1996).

All was revealed in 1995, by a paparazzi photograph being published by the reliable people's magazine Paris Match, with no intervention of the French Presidency administration to stop it. On its cover, a by now terminally ill with cancer Mitterrand was seen standing with Mazarine in front of the (wonderful) fish restaurant Le Divellec, in Paris, under the caption (I will never forget it): La fille cachée du Président (The President's Hidden Daughter). Body language was very clear (another caption: The tender gesture of a father):

And the good people of France could finally see Anne and Mazarine mourning him, on January 11, 1996, after he let himself die upon finding out that the disease attacked his brain:

First row, near the official family.

As I said, draw your own conclusions, Anon. I am not implying anything and I do not think, by any means, this is a copycat scenario. Two fifi la plume (= scoundrel, but also naïve) B-listers are not a powerful French politician, with a decisive influence on the country's society, media and secret services. The UK or the US are not France, never will be. The Eighties had no Facebook, no Twitter, no Internet and no cell phones, able and willing to turn just about anybody into a paparazzo. Mitterrand's fandom, if you want, was the Socialist Party and its army of ambitious technocrats, not the considerable mess that is the OL circus.

What I am implying, is that no secret, no matter how deeply buried, stays forever in the shadows. Have a little more patience and, damn it, faith.

I rest my case.

PS: Anne Pingeot is a Taurus. Don't mind me. I am just babbling, as usually. ;)

#Anon

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