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lizbotw · 2 years

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do not disturb | wc: 2.7k

Cyno hums in contemplation, the cool water flowing over his fingers. He turns the faucet off just as he hears footsteps on tiles and takes a towel to his hair, counting the four seconds he knows it takes to get to the room.

“Cyno, I really don’t- oh,” you stop in your tracks, right on time. He doesn’t have to turn around to know you’re holding a familiar folder of papers with complaints outlined in red ink. “Sorry. I didn’t…”

“You should really learn to knock first.” He thinks it’s funny because the rooms here don’t actually have doors, just sweeping arches for the great big important spaces, and then tiny arches for less important rooms (like his apparently), and then medium-sized ones for… well other things. Kaveh was the Kshahrewar graduate, not him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. And… and…” He can just hear you bristle. You even straighten up a little judging from the faint shuffling. “And I don’t know, maybe you should put up a sign or something.”

Cyno rubs the white towel over his head slowly, finally standing up from where he’d been kneeling. “Maybe I should.” He’s seriously considering it—you always bring up good points. “Though, I thought everyone knew only my room is in this wing. You’d have to go out of your way to get here.” That and he’s just come back from an expedition. No one bothers him after those.

Thick water droplets and remnants of the desert circle around the drain. You hadn’t walked in on much. He had been rinsing off the sand grains that stuck to his arms and shoulders and were especially annoyingly weaved in his hair, but he’d also removed his armor—he didn’t typically wear much anyway so to see him with even less was probably too cruel, even by your standards.

Cyno turns just enough to watch you under his bangs and nearly bursts out laughing (or, that’s to say, he can’t help but crack a smirk). Even from his peripheral, he can tell his exposed back and arms have caught your attention. If he could get closer, he’s sure your pupils would be blown wide the same way they were when you saw Avidya Forest for the first time. Your eyes dart around—to the walls with sandy desert motifs and his spear propped up in the corner and the window that blows in a warm breeze laced with the smell of dinner preparations, and then always, always they wander back to him.

Are you trying not to stare? He wouldn’t have noticed if you had and yet, it still seems to matter to you. Archons, you were so professional sometimes it made him dizzy.

“You’re the only one who visits anyway,” he adds, line of sight dropping back to the dripping faucet. He rubs harder at his hair.

“That’s beside the point!” You latch on to the distraction. “It’s bad enough I have to walk across the entire palace to get here! Not to mention, what were you thinking with this thing? I’m so sick of reading the same report—”

Right. You would have been in his office today. All alone.

The towel bunches under his grip and he closes his eyes for a brief second. Then, it falls around his shoulders as he turns and walks over to you.

“Is that from last week’s Amurta incident?” Cyno tips the folder towards himself, feeling hot air on his cheek when you huff. His handwriting is smooth on the front. He’s leaning in closer than needed to read it but truthfully the words just swim in his vision. He knows what they say anyway. Typical researcher-thinks-the-desert-is-empty-enough-to-cover-their-totally-fucked-up-experiment situation. (“They thought it was… deserted.” He had paused for a moment to gauge your reaction as soon as he’d gotten back. This masterpiece couldn’t wait any longer to be told and he’d practically run to your room. “But actually I was there. So it wasn’t.” You kicked him out record fast.)

“Yes! This shouldn’t be taking us this long to file.” If he really concentrates, he can feel the vibrations of your words, he thinks. It bristles his skin and he leans back, releasing the document and shrugging. He eyes the wall inlaid with gold circles above your head to calm down.

“So just send it in. Nothing’s stopping you.”

“I can’t! You keep making all these corrections I have to add in.”

The straight line of his mouth wavers. “That was the joke. I’m the one stopping you.”

You deadpan. “You’re horrible.” When he doesn’t say anything back, you smack his chest with the folder, punctuating your words. “You made me write this entire thing and I stayed up all night working on it and you and your stupid, stupid”—two smacks for that one—“brain are just never satisfied”—he blinks at that and mulling it over, he catches the folder (eyes still tracing the intricate spirals and corners of the Scarlet King’s symbol the best of Eremite sculptors had carved out a millennia ago; though, he’s not that impressed by something like that at the moment), and you tug it back right away but stop hitting him.

“And you keep making me rewrite it. Speaking of, why am I even doing this in the first place?! I wasn’t even there! I’m so sick of you. Either let me come with you on missions or keep doing everything yourself like an idiot and file your own stupid paperwork after! It’s not my fault some of the details aren’t accurate. You know, you care too much about doing everything the “just” way. I swear you’re somehow worse than my old Akademiya advisor!” You suck in a breath and Cyno thinks you’re done until your renewed lung capacity proves him wrong. “Well, you know what, I’ve got some corrections to your corrections and—”

He finally lets himself look at you, bored after following the same golden line to its end five times, and immediately hears a rush of blood in his ears. He speaks quickly before he can get tongue-tied. “So, a sign,” he interrupts your tangent. The last word you were saying breaks off unsatisfyingly. You look like you want to murder him and he feels his heart burn from the center out and melt into lava in his chest. Up close, your hair is tousled by the dry heat and your eyes dot orange with the setting sun. “And what should it say? Do not disturb?” Cyno suddenly finds himself missing your fiery gaze when you tear away.

“I mean, yeah.” You’re flipping through the folder now, no doubt trying to find your least favorite part to criticize, this time right to his face. You miss the terrible, terrible trap he sets with his words and proximity. “The hell else would you put on it anyway,” you scoff.

He cuts in before you can get back to business. “You’re right.” Your eyes snap up, eyebrows scrunched in annoyance, to question why this part of the conversation is still going and he catches your wrist to stop your flipping. He can see the exact moment you notice how close he is, how he’s inched in until only the open folder you hold separates you.

Your eyes widen and your lips part just the smallest bit as though there are words on the tip of your tongue and he thinks you look otherworldly. He gives himself a moment to take you in before his voice drops to only between you two. “I think do not disturb would be perfect.” The tip of the report is digging into his chest now. The thought of how painful a papercut that would be in the desert barely crosses his mind.

The gears turn in your head, slowly, as the second meaning sinks in. He watches in rapt interest as your previous inhibitions melt away and your pupils dilate. You’re already looking much more sluggish than before, relaxed enough that he releases your wrist and lets his hand run up your bare arm. “Cyno…,” you sigh—you’re immediately embarrassed and glance away but then at his lips curved in a cruel smile and back to his eyes. Your skin is soft and burning, and he can’t tell if it’s just him imagining it or if it’s really how he makes you feel. He squeezes your bicep lightly, then lets his touch move up over your shoulder and ghost over your neck until you shiver and your gaze turns lidded.

Cyno hums and leans in, not missing the way your eyes fall shut the rest of the way and you tip forward in anticipation. He feels a hand on his chest and fingertips pressing into him, and you’re so soft and warm. He moves to cup your face and your lips bump together, and those careful fingertips against him turn into sharp nails.

He breathes you in and then molds his lips to yours.

The kiss is slow and it feels like you’re taking all of his oxygen, condemning him to the underworld for losing himself to his desires. Even when his grip on your jaw tightens the smallest amount and he presses his tongue into your mouth, Cyno is careful, barely holding onto himself. He doesn’t know if you’re as affected as he is but the tortuous pace is both heaven and hell to him.

It’s you who tips the chaste balance and throws your arms around his neck, never pulling away but always tugging him in. He lets go of your jaw and both of his hands find your waist on instinct, and he wants to be disappointed in himself when he stumbles you back until you’re pressed up against the open doorway but you taste so good there’s no way he stands a chance.

The sensation is overwhelming and his cloudy mind zeros in on the way his bare chest presses to the smooth, silky front of your shirt and how smooth and silky your lips feel and how perfect and soft and warm they are, and how ungodly pretty they always look when he stares. He feels carnal compared to your composure.

So unprofessional we keep doing this, he thinks faintly, buried behind thoughts of worship. Then, he feels a heat burst in his heart and quickly amends it. No. So terrible I keep doing this. So wrong.

And something about pulling you deep into the haze behind his righteous persona is even worse (even better) than anything else he could come up with. The truth has him kissing you harder and you mewl at his hunger—you who’s a way better person than he is, who always sticks to the book, who always gives him what he wants.

Judgment day couldn’t come soon enough.

His hair’s still dripping wet he realizes as the cold drops fizz into nothing between you, swallowed up. Your fingers are digging into the same muscles of his back you’d been staring at earlier and Cyno feels the scrape of the papers that had been pressed between the heat of your bodies before—the whole reason you’d even come.

He bites at your bottom lip, giving you the faintest moment to catch your breath. “Be careful not to drop them,” he mumbles, heated teases brushing against your jaw and just under your ear when he licks a stripe up them. You whine and tug him back up to you, probably so sick and tired of fucking hearing him talk all the time (this is precisely why he does it).

Your hands are in his hair now and he groans as your fingers card through the mess of wet curls and pull them and twist and shove his lips further into yours almost in the hopes you’ll become one.

Cyno has the inkling a sign wouldn’t do much if you’re both going to be so shameless in the open about it.

He’s glad his room is so removed from the rest of the building. It’s still a risk that raises delicious goosebumps on his skin but practically no one would bother coming out here of their own free will or see what was his during a quick walk down a hallway.

Cyno lets himself drown in your lips—you’re more forceful this time, more desperate, and he can see your threads coming unraveled—until you decide you actually need a proper break to breathe and pull back, shoving his face away in amusement when he goes chasing after you.

You’re both panting hard and he finally registers the screaming of his lungs for air. He has no idea how he looks but your image is another hit to his already foggy brain—it’s a sight for the ages, a sage that he sears into his mind and wants to imprint into history books everywhere.

You’re smiling so wide, he can’t look away from the pretty color of your bruised lips if he tried.

A few droplets from him drip down your cheek and he thumbs them away carefully, placing a light peck on the corner of your mouth.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you comment breathlessly, breaking him from his stupor. It’s then that he feels your touch carefully rearranging his bangs. It’s a sharp contrast to your heavy tugs moments ago and makes his heart flip and ache and everything in between in a way that’s both different and the same.

Cyno huffs a laugh. “Let me finish getting ready first next time then.” He goes back in to kiss you but you shake your head, covering your mouth and burying your head in his chest. He hears the giggles that escape between your fingers and feels the faint shake of your body with the weight of them.

“That bad, huh?” He blows a strand out of his face. When it falls back right in front of his eyes, he runs a hand through his hair and shoves it all back, no doubt ruining it further.

You look up when he cages you in, a forearm above your head and the other still wrapped around your waist. You’re beaming when he leans your foreheads together.

“I love you,” you say, lost in his eyes.

Cyno’s fingers squeeze into a fist above your head where you can’t see them. No matter how many times you say it, he’s filled with emotions that have no names every time. “I love you too.” He has to stop himself from saying more.

“But I don’t know if I love you enough to—” He doesn’t let you make the choice because he swallows up your next words. He feels mildly bad that he keeps cutting off your sentences today but when you smile into the kiss he knows you don’t mind—plus, he gets the feeling you planned this one at least. Anyway, his hair can’t bother you if you can’t see it.

You’re the one who pulls back again the next time and the heated air within the confines of Cyno’s arms is palpable. Tipping your head back to the wall, you stare at him with a blissful expression, content, and eyes half-closed. In the silence, only both of your heavy breaths could be heard.

“Mmm,” you sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut as you gather your wits about you, looking so perfect and happy. Cyno’s shameless staring doesn’t stop even when you open them. “I’m still going to need you to look over those reports on your desk.”

He kisses you again, nerves on fire, and when he pulls away you’re both panting again. “I don’t think we need to go to my office to talk about them.” Fuck, he kisses you searingly one last time, unable to control himself, before he untangles from you. You’re slightly dazed and reach out for him again in your confusion, but instead, he lightly intertwines your fingers. “You’re already here. It wouldn’t be right to make you walk back.”

Cyno then pulls you behind him, out of the open archway, and into his darkening bedroom. That sign would probably come in handy right about now.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #cyno x reader #cyno #cyno imagines #cyno genshin impact #hello im back cue the jazz hands #x-posted from ao3 <3 live laugh love i am SO incredibly normal about him #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fanfics #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios

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rubysparx · 3 months

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Um actually I have something more to say about Kabru and Mithrun’s similarities and relationship.

I think a lot abt how it’s shown a few times how elven culture relies heavily on non-natural ways of doing things, and it’s interesting especially how like our main cast repeats multiple times the three steps to living a long and healthy life. Meanwhile the canaries, the elves, don’t necessarily recognize that stuff as important as it is. I think specifically of the example of Mithrun explaining to Kabru that he has to have medication or a spell otherwise he can’t sleep, to which Kabru tucks him in and gives him a massage which knocks him out cold. His dependency on other methods to fight off insomnia were kinda just in his head, he hadn’t tried anything else. I mean prior to joining the canaries he was fully restrained 90% of the time so ofc a servant would just come in and place a spell for him to sleep every night. And he was like that for years. And then Cithis just replaced all his caretaker servants, then it became her job to make sure he took a pill or listened to her bells every night. I think there’s something there about how there’s a list of stuff Mithrun wasn’t allowed to be around and when he gets separated from the canaries he encounters all of that since Kabru doesn’t know to “protect” Mithrun or restrain him so severely. And it’s interesting because Mithrun doesn’t even seem to have issues with the things, like ofc top on the list was he wasn’t supposed to see goats or sheep. One of the first things he and Kabru eat is barometz. Its something to me that Kabru, who has also suffered so much, takes Mithrun into this dungeon and he has to face head on what’s been bothering him, he has to look his trauma in the eyes. And eat it. He cannot move on until he sees it, understands it, and finally starts talking about himself (“the last desire I had left wasn’t revenge, I wanted the demon to finish me off” “I was scraps left on the plate […] I guess vegetable scraps have their uses too”)

It just seems to me like a more vague and overarching way we see the elven cultural mindset hold him back from properly healing, I don’t think Kabru knew what he was doing at all but the fact of the matter is no one was filtering Mithrun’s view of the world anymore. And while Mithrun believed that didn’t matter to him, nothing mattered, it still made a difference. He was still on the path to moving on, and properly healing, even though he didn’t quite recognize that.

#dungeon meshi #not overtagging this sory #I’ve been having a lotta Mithrun thoughts despite saying i don’t like him very much #</3 #not a Kabru/Mithrun shipper just bc I can’t get behind #shipping Kabru with the guy his mom used to be coworkers with #and she also like. oversaw his rehabilitation. for years #but I mean I see the dynamic that fact just bothers me when I consider it myself #do whatever you want. thumbs up emoji #these quotes aren’t exact and there’s no image proofs #this is a messy one I’m literally just getting my thoughts out #this post was originally drafted at like 4am #Cortana send this thing out into the world #also slightly off topic but does #anyone else ever think abt the implications of marcille’s dungeon lord dress being #corseted in a story where body fat shows strength and love of life #the demon gave her a dress that made her appear unnaturally thin. hey can anyone hear me #hello. hey

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