Latest Posts by aeyn - Page 3

thinkin bout getting knocked up by a tentacle monster… just with each tentacle having their own needs. as soon as one is done pumping me full, another takes it’s place, ready to cum deep inside against my cervix 🥺

Imagine being wrapped up in countless tentacles, the soft, warm, and slightly damp appendages winding around your body like steel cords while their tips seek out your holes. You don't realize that they secrete an aphrodisiac to keep the creature's victims eager and willing, and you're already too far gone to care. All you can feel is the pleasure the tentacles bring as they brush over oversensitive skin and plunge inside of you, filling up your mouth, ass, and cunt.

While the creature seems content to playfully use your ass and mouth, the tentacle in your pussy pumps with deep, purposeful thrusts that might have worried you if you still had the capacity to think. All you can do is hang suspended in its alien embrace and moan as the tentacle within you goes rigid, your womb suddenly warmed by a hot rush of its seed.

Just as quickly, it's replaced by another.

And another.

And another.

You come every time a new load forces its way into your fertile belly, your eyes rolling back in your head and your body helplessly shuddering. There's no way that you're walking away from this without its young nestled in your womb.

tw eggpregg

Tentacle dildos but not silicone molded into tentacles shapes—actual alive tentacles the size of a dildo, some bigger, some smaller, that you have to keep and care for like anemones in an aquarium. They love wet and warm crevices because they're used to laying their eggs in them. Since they've been domesticated for the general market, they've developed a symbiotic relationship with humans. When removed from the water, they search your body for that warm hole to breed, glide into your ass or pussy and start fucking you until they come inside you. The eggs will develop and leave your body eventually, requiring an additional one-week incubation period. Once they have hatched, they grow fairly quickly into full-sized tentacles and boom, you got yourself a dozen more that compete for your holes.

If you're not into the whole eggpregg business—they recently crossbred two types of tentacles whose come is sterile. They have been cleared and declared as safe, but the crossbreeding resulted in some unforeseen side-effects. Tentacles that came once or twice per session now have a seemingly unlimited amount of come that they shoot into you until they tire, and the slippery mess it makes has been declared a safety hazard by several consumers now.

If you're not in for the clean-up, you can have them fuck you during their infertile period, which lasts about two weeks. Their self-lubrication is not as active during that time, making for an interesting textural experience, especially with the bumpy ones. But be careful—while infertile, they simply won't finish and just keep fucking you, which can lead to some very long sessions that some customers have called ‘too intense’.

Should’ve read the fine print...

Minors DNI

Warning(s): NSFW, dubcon

Fem!Reader

Authors Note: First time; necessary feedback, pls! Taking requests!

It’s been about a week since you’ve moved into your new apartment. Everything about it was perfect except for one thing: you’ve explored every room but one, which was locked for some reason. (If only you had read the entire catalog ad, you would’ve understood why and that all past tenants never stayed too long). You complained about it to your landlord, who hired a locksmith free of charge, thankfully. This is what your actions have come to, sadly: you, standing before hundreds of slimy, purple tentacles, coming from all around the mystery room.

You try and back away quietly toward the door in hopes of being able to leave unnoticed. Pitifully, the floorboards creek(damn, this shitty building). The tentacles immediately move in your direction as you run for the door, only to be blocked off by more tentacles. They push you to the ground and squeeze around your arms and legs, probing at your torse.

They’re not hurting you; they seem pretty curious, actually. The tentacle's touch is soft and gentle. One tentacle stops at your face...it’s...caressing your cheek? Their touches were seemingly affectionate at first but quickly became provocative. They began to slip under your clothes, feeling you up.

Again, their touch was gentle but still violating nonetheless; they groped your breasts, sucking on your nipples and coiling around them. You try and keep as much dignity you have left, biting your lip to hold back your moans. The tentacles seem to sense your defiance and dislike it very much. They tear through your clothing, leaving only your thin panties to cover you. They curl around your thighs, spreading your legs to tease you, rubbing against your clothed cunt, and nuzzling your clit; their suckers find it and abuse the little bundle of nerves.

A blissful whine escapes your lips; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. The tentacles stroke your body with satisfaction, assumingly rewarding you for your submission. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your sense of dignity is long gone by now; you’re a wailing mess. Hair sticking to your sweat-coated skin, tear-filled eyes rolled up into your head, and while your mouth hangs open with a bead of drool leaking from the side.

The tentacles can sense your arousal, not to mention your drenched underwear. They move your panties to the side and continue to toy with your aching pussy, stroking your wet hole and sucking on your sore clit until you cum.

The tentacles let you catch your breath, lovingly massaging your body. Soon enough, you’re suspended in the air as more tentacles hold you, creating a makeshift bed to place you comfortably. Another tentacle approaches your face again, latching itself to your mouth and pushing past your lips to curl around your tongue. Is this its way of kissing you? Is it showing affection?

It’s a bit gross, but the tentacles mean well. Your body suddenly jolts as you feel a tentacle push against your sopping hole. It uses its suckers to tease you again, but as you grind yourself against it, the tentacle penetrates you, pressing against your walls to search for your sweet spot. The tentacle in your mouth begins to thrust in and out as you feel another tentacle enter your ass. The tentacle in your pussy moves rhythmically with the others as it’s sucker hit your g-spot. At this point, your mind is nothing but mush. All you see are white spots as your legs quake under the tentacles, unable to hold yourself up longer.

The tentacles wrap around your waist and lift you. You’re now ass up, face down, and being fucked mercilessly in all three holes. You can’t take it; it’s too good, too much, too many. You feel more tentacles enter your already full holes. Doesn’t this monster know you have a limit?

It doesn’t care, really. All it wants is to see you cum, and cum, again. You can feel yourself getting dizzier after each orgasm, one after another. Before you know it, you’re waking up from your fucked out haze. The tentacles seemed to have stopped fucking your brains out a while ago; they’re all curled up around your protectively, some still inside you. You try and crawl towards the door, but you’re body is useless at this point.

The tentacles drag you back to them, curling around to massage your worn-out body. It seems you won’t be leaving this room any time soon...or ever.

...

Might as well move your stuff in here.

dreams come true

[art cr: @343_sashimiiiii on twt]

sub xiao x sub adeptus! gn reader ft tentacles

SUMMARY = inspired by an inazuman manga, you and xiao make use of your powers to summon a tentacled cyptid in your dreams...to have sex with of course

WARNINGS = smut, penetration (reader receiving), oral (reader + xiao giving), tentacles, bondage, dacryphilia, double penetration, overstimulation, reader calls xiao their "poor little bird" once, dream sharing and then dream fucking, both reader and xiao gets fucked by tentacles and then the tentacles make them fuck each other, their relationship is very wholesome they just fuck a lot too :)

W/C = 2k

A/N = i burnt the midnight oil for this please be proud of me :( also thank you to @vermillionbun for betaing <3

TAGS = @edenialucas, @huboi, @nejibot, @lovediluc, @yumixxn, @teallapril, @xiaoflwrs who asked me to tag her (you fucking whore)

The ability to bend and manipulate dreams is not a skill unfamiliar to adepti. But it is a skill you have long forgone in favour of your other adeptal arts. Thankfully, your partner has much experience in the art. If you could just convince him to–

“Outrageous. We are adepti. Our duty is to use our abilities to protect Liyue and its inhabitants. To use those abilities in such a sacreligious manner–”

“Would be perfect! Just think about it, Xiao! All those slimy tentacles…groping and touching every part of your body…so long and bulbous…filling up all your holes…”

You rub your thighs against each other as you conjure up that image in your head, while Xiao furrows his eyebrows. Although he would ask himself how in Rex Lapis’ name someone with your carefree personality became an adeptus, he already knows the answer to that. Having fought alongside you in the Archon War, he has witnessed firsthand your dedication and your steadfast attitude, purging enemies of the Great Lord of Geo with your weapon in tow. Truly, the ferocity in your eyes was a sight a behold, a terrifying side of you that made monsters cower in terror.

And this…is another side of you.

Ever since the Lord of Geo handed his control of the nation to the Qixing, you decided to acquaint yourself with mortal customs and activities, although your interest led you to questionable territory. Particularly, a type of illustration-focused literature known as manhua; which is a compelling concept in itself, worthy to capture the interest of an adeptus. The baffling part is that all the books that you have collected…are from the erotic genre.

Out of curiosity, Xiao once picked up one of your books and flipped open to a random page, only to find a detailed drawing of a naked couple having sex on a beach staring back at him. The worst part is, you weren’t even ashamed when you returned and found out that your s/o had discovered the true nature of your hobby, even pulling him down to sit beside you as you rambled on and on about the contents of your favourite books, all while Xiao fought — and failed to — suppress the red overtaking his face and ears.

He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week after that.

He eventually grew accustomed to your strange interest and upon your suggestion, started using your books for inspiration in sexual activities; though everything from the novels in that area has always been proposed by you.

This is just one of those cases. Upon learning of your newfound interest, an old acquaintance from across the ocean sent you books from her publishing house — apparently they go by the term manga in those parts — claiming it may come in handy. A few days have past since then, bringing you to today, with you shoving a book about an erotic love story between a tentacled-monster and a girl and begging Xiao to make the story a reality. Or close to reality.

“Your ability is adequate to form such a dream.” Xiao crosses his arms. “I don’t understand why I need to be involved.”

“Because it would be a nice bonding experience, don’t you think?” you insist. “Come on, it would make our sex life more interesting! And I can tell by that look in your eyes that you’re curious.”

Xiao scoffs. “Preposterous.”

“Oh well,” You shrug, laughing. “I won’t force you if you really don’t want to. Sex is supposed to be fun and it’s no fun if you’re doing it reluctantly.”

Fun…

That concept would have been lost from his mind eons ago if it wasn't for you; you who always pestered him, you who would bring him almond tofu and other human cuisine. Food which he would have instantaneously turned down if only it wasn’t made by you. You, the adeptus who welcomes change and dives headfirst into it. You, the person he would suffer through another millennia’s worth of torment for, just to protect your blinding brilliance. He takes one more look at the book in your hands as you skim through the pages, recalling the soft smile on your lips after the first time the two of you had intercourse together, the bliss that washed over him and cleansed his soul just for that one moment.

“It baffles me how you would find amusement in such an obscene thought.” He wets his lips, thinking of the vivid image you had described to him and the matching illustrations. “But I would like to know more.”

Your head shoots up. “You… you really want to try it? You really don’t have to force yourself if you aren’t interested…”

“You said it yourself didn’t you?”

You tilt your head.

"And I can tell by that look in your eyes that you’re curious."

Oh.

Oh.

“Xiao!” You jump into his arms. “I love love looooove you so much!”

The yaksha grunts, trying to suppress the glowing pink blossoming at the apples of his cheeks.

—

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes again is an empty cavern. He awoke on a circular platform surrounded with water, thankfully with you beside him, just like the both of you imagined. You stir awake, gasping upon realising that your plan worked. “We did it, Xiao! We did it!” 

He stares at the scenery in awe, before tensing up at the feeling of movement under the water. A lone tentacle spews out of the water, greeting the both of you. You step forward, beckoning the creature closer. It rubs against you and you laugh, returning the gesture with a kiss. Xiao takes slow steps, approaching the creature with the stiffness of a startled cat. A tap on his shoulder forces him to whip his head around, particles floating to form his spear, when he realises it’s just another tentacle. It backs away, whimpering.

“It senses your nervousness, Xiao,” you say. “Relax, I told you that this is supposed to be fun. We’re both in control.”

Heeding your advice, Xiao awkwardly pats the creature. After some hesitation, it nuzzles against his hand, wrapping itself around his arm to the exposed skin on his bicep. The texture is slimy yet comforting. No surprise there, since you imagined the slime to have a calming effect when the both of you did the ritual. Just to ensure that the experience would be smoother.

More tentacles pop out of the water, surrounding the both of you. Xiao holds his breath as they wrap around him — around his legs, waist, arms — and hoists him several feet off the ground. One of them smears his crotch with its slime, another climbs up his chest to play with his sensitive nipples. Amber irises dart to you in panic, widening at the sight of your aroused expression as a thick tentacle moves in and out of your mouth while the others peel off your clothing. He watches one of your legs being pulled up and you choke as a phallic-shaped tentacle penetrates your hole. In this dream, it doesn’t hurt as much as it normally would and the excessive slime provides enough lubricant for the pleasure to undermine the pain.

Xiao’s attention is brought back to himself at a sound of fabric ripping. The tentacles waste no time in toying with the newly exposed area, smothering his pristine body with stickiness. A smaller tendril circles the base of his bare cock, stroking it to hardness. The adeptus’ body shivers, unable to withhold the soft moans coming from his mouth.

Most adepti either have high sex drives or have little to no desire. Xiao happens to fall in the latter category; until you pursued a romantic relationship with him, of course. As such, thousands of years without receiving or giving any kind of intimacy made his body — especially his nether regions — especially sensitive. He couldn’t stop himself from cumming immediately the first time you gave him a handjob, and even after sleeping with you for so many nights, he has to use his entire willpower to stop himself from ejaculating right then and there.

A light caress at his tip nearly sets him off, forcing a gasp out of him that is immediately silenced by another cock-shaped tentacle filling his mouth. Xiao struggles to take it in at first, so it waits for him to get adjusted. The adeptus gives himself a second to quell his nerves, breathing in through his nose before he begins sucking on the appendage. The size is…a lot to take in — literally and figuratively — and he couldn't help the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. It's long too, the shaft-like part of it hitting the back of his throat with little to no effort. How in Rex Lapis’ name are you able to take this thing so easily?

Still, Xiao does his best; spurred on by the tendrils toying with his dick and your muffled moans echoing through the cave. The yaksha has to restrain his gag reflex when the appendage in his mouth starts picking up speed. The contrast of the cold tendril and his hot mouth feels intoxicating, not to mention he is literally ingesting that calming enzyme mixed into the slime. In the midst of the lewd noises and the pleasure, his brain turns into mush and he barely registers the thick fluid gushing down his throat. He coughs as the tentacle retreats, viscous white spilling down his chin.

Xiao hears coughing beside him and he turns to see the creature has moved the both of you next to each other. Instinctively, the two of you lock lips, tongues intertwining and exchanging the monster’s cum through your mouths. Archons, he didn’t realise how much he misses your lips. If his arms weren’t bound at the back, he would have reached out to hold you. The two of you part, and you stare into Xiao’s cat-like amber irises; sharing a longing gaze as your chests rise and fall with exhaustion. The moment is interrupted when the tentacles shift the two of you again. This time, Xiao is underneath you while your legs are lifted up to your chest. 

“Wha– oh!”

A cry — yours, his or both, he wonders — resounds off the walls as you were slammed down on Xiao’s cock, before being lifted up and slammed back down again, over and over again at an inhumane speed. Hot tears stream down Xiao’s cheeks, overstimulated by the sudden euphoric cruelty brought upon by the creature. He tosses his head back, delirious at all the sensations he’s experiencing. The wet tentacles on his body, your tight hole clamping down on him so earnestly, his dick ploughing inside your deepest parts. It feels too unreal. 

Just like a dream. 

“X-Xiao! Xiao!”

He hears your calls for him in the sea of lust, hidden beneath the other vulgar moans and sloppy sounds. 

“(Name)…!”

He can’t take it anymore. The intimacy and pleasure of the moment completely overtakes Xiao's mind and he unravels at that moment, gasping as he gives all of his precious cum to you. Spurred on by his orgasm, you squeal as you tighten around him, reaching your climax a few seconds after. Xiao heaves, trying to catch his breath while the tentacles shift the two of you back to the ground. The moment they return back to the water, your body collapses on top of your lover

“(Name)?” He panics.

“Hnnn…it’s okay, I’m fine,” you assure him. “Just tired.”

Xiao calms down immediately, and wraps his arms around you. “Let us return.”

—

“Hah…that was fun!” you yawn, stretching your arm. “Let’s do it again some other time.”

It’s like the tiredness in your body vanished the moment you woke up in reality — you look even more invigorated that before — while Xiao could barely even move, only managing to grunt in response.

“Aww my poor little bird…” you coo, kissing your lover on the cheek. “Was it too much for you?”

“Ugh…because I was the one who had to stabilise that dream,” he mutters, shooting a half-hearted glare.

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Did you have fun, though?"

“...Hmph, I suppose.”

“Good.” You smile, kissing him again.

ʚ Campus asshole scara x fem reader

ʚ BEFORE READING: Fem reader, reader is just trying to get 5 minutes away from their annoying roomie. Take note of warnings.

ʚ WARNINGS: Use of drugs, implied laced weed, scara smokes a little, dub-con, shotgunning.

Scaramouche has always been known for his ill temper among the students on campus, always having something mean to say and getting into trouble for doing shit he shouldn’t be doing. Today was no different as he found behind the campus dorms, sitting against the wall as he had a quick smoke despite knowing there was a no smoking on campus policy. When did he ever listen to authority though?

You found yourself behind the dorms as well, just looking for a short escape from your loud and annoying roommate who wouldn’t seem to leave you the hell alone. You grimaced upon seeing Scaramouche there too, but tried to ignore his presence as he simply sat against the wall as far from him as possible.

That wouldn’t stop him though, he made his way over to you, looking down at you as you sat there silently. “Don’t see people coming back here often unless they’re up-to no good, so what’s your deal?” He spoke, his tone coming off like a demand for answers rather than a question.

Waving the smoke from his cigarette out of your face “I’m just trying to get a break from my roommate, promise I won’t bother you or tell anyone I saw you.” You responded, hoping he’d just leave you alone if he knew you wouldn’t go snitching about his smoking.

“Sounds like shit” he said, followed by pause as he considered his words carefully. Kneeling down in front of you he spoke again, his words coming out almost silky smooth. A sign of his manipulative intent which you seemed to miss “can come to my dorm, I don’t have a roommate, and nobody will suspect you’re there.”

With a small sigh you hesitated, considering his offer, but it didn’t take long for you to agree. Staying in his dorm for a few would be way nicer than sitting on the dirty floor behind the dorms, so you nodded eagerly. Following close behind him as he led you to his dorm.

“You shouldn’t smoke in here” you said as you stepped into his dorm, taking off your shoes. You didn’t really care that he smoked exactly, but you also didn’t want to have to smell the smoke the entire time you were in his dorm.

He moved closer to you suddenly, taking the cigarette from his lips as grabbed your face between his index and thumb and forcing your mouth open as he leaned in. Forcing your mouth open while his lips were mere millimetres away from your own, exhaling the smoke into your mouth in a twisted display of attraction.

You breathed it in instinctively before taking a step back, coughing slightly. “Don’t be fucking weird” you exclaimed, watching as he smirked and put his cigarette out finally, taking another step closer to you.

“Calm down, it’s just a little smoke. You should loosen up a little.” that devilish smirk still upon his lips. “Maybe you should try getting high, calm those nerves of yours a little.” He said as he moved over to his bed, pulling out a small bag of pre-rolled joints and holding them up.

Stammering a bit you responded “you can’t have that shit on campus- what if they find out??”

“They won’t find out, unless you tell them. But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” His tone was sweet, sickeningly so but it made a swirl of emotions run wild within you. Were you seriously considering getting high with the campus asshole?

You were, you absolutely were. You didn’t know why, maybe it was the fact he was nice to despite being rude to everyone else, maybe it was because you just wanted to relax after having your roomie pester you all day. Either way you found yourself sitting beside him on his bed, passing a joint between the two of you, not seeming to consider the fact that he may have laced it.

As you breathed in the smoke you felt a slight burn in your chest, coughing slightly at the sensation, but also felt a great sense of relaxation wash over you finally for the first time today. “This feels nice” you said quietly, eyes glued to the ceiling as you enjoyed the tranquility. You didn’t seem to notice how he never actually smoked any, he just held the joint for a second before handing it back to you.

“Yeah? I could make things feel better.” He added as he sat up, looking down at you with a sly smirk as he slowly moved his hand to your hip, His fingers gently caressing you over your clothes.

He held your chin between his thumb and index as he leaned in, kissing your lips hungrily, like he just wanted to devour you. You didn’t care to try and fight back or stop him, you were in such a calm state that you couldn’t even care, so you kissed back.

That only emboldened him further as he trailed his hands up your shirt, caressing from your waist down to your hips. He just wanted you so bad, and he had you right in his grasp, so high that he could truly just have his way with you.

Quickly he snaked his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with ease without breaking the kiss. Next was your panties, which were also no problem for him. He quickly pulled them off and tossed them aside, landing somewhere on the floor in his messy room.

Finally he broke the kiss, moving to sit at the edge of the bed for a short moment as he took his own pants and boxers off. He was already so hard for you, he just couldn’t help but get excited when you were so easy to catch.

He quickly moved back to you, situating himself between your legs as he began rubbing his cock against your pussy. You grew wetter and wetter as he rubbed against you, small whimpers escaping your lips every time he brushed against your clit. He loved the sight, you beneath him, exposed and drugged out.

Pulling back slightly he angled his dick at your entrance and slowly pushed in, groaning at how good you felt, “Fuck” he breathed out “you’re so fucking tight”. After a short moment of letting your body adjust to his size he began moving, thrusting his cock deep into you before pulling out fully, just to slam himself back inside of you.

You couldn't help but moan out beneath him, his cock filling you so well, hitting the deepest parts of you which made you see stars. The drugs in your system only made it all the more better, making you more sensitive to his touch. The sounds of his groans and your moans echoed through the room, accompanied by the erotic sound of skin slapping together as he harshly pounded into you. He knew you could probably be heard through the walls, but that only made him more excited.

Suddenly he pulled out of you and grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to the edge of his bed and pushing your face down into the blankets as he entered your pussy again, fucking you hard and fast from behind.

He tangled his fingers into your hair tightly, pulling harshly as he leaned down and whispered darkly into your ear. "I wanna hear those pretty moans of yours". With that he snaked his hand down your stomach and to your pussy, beginning to rub quick circles around your clit.

You gasped at his touch as it sent waves of pleasure washing through your body, your legs going weak beneath you while you felt your orgasm growing close. He could tell how close you were by the way you moaned so desperately, and that sent him reeling.

His thrusts became faster and sloppy as his fingers moved faster, finally making the knot in your stomach snap as you came on his cock. Gummy walls spasming around his cock while you moaned out his name.

"fuck- yes!" he moaned as he too came, the combination of the way you moaned his name and the way your pussy felt twitching around his cock sent him over the edge. Releasing his warm cum deep inside your pussy as his grasp on your hair grew tighter.

Finally after a moment he pulled out, releasing the grip on your hair and giving you a moment to catch your breath, looking down at your weak form beneath him. Watching as his cum slowly leaked from your abused pussy he scooped it up with two fingers, then leaned over and shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He could spend all night watching you suck and choke on his fingers if he could.

Wriothesley who catches sight of you at Marcotte Station, speaking to the flowers and laughing with the rainbow roses. The jingle of your glee is easy for him to make out— it's a sound he had dedicated himself to try and pull from you whenever he could, of course.

He finds you amidst the shrubbery, crouched and with numerous colored blooms around you. You listen and you converse with the plants in a way he has seen only you do, fingers and hands dancing as you talk. The soft green glow of dendro rains from the tips of your fingers, and the green vision at your side glows as you imbue these blooms with the power you hold.

He lets you bask with your friends the flowers for a while longer, leaning against the trunk of a tree as he looks on with a fond smile. You practically glow out here. The wind is in your hair and the sunlight casts lights into your eyes. If he didn't know any better, he would think that you're a flower here as well, brought to life by the earth and blooming with happiness and joy.

The wind blows through the flowers then, making them shake in the breeze as if they're whispering a secret to you and giggling all the while. You listen for just a second, then look over to the side, where your gaze meets his. The flowers continue to giggle amongst themselves when they see the flush on his cheeks and the way he shyly waves to you.

It's almost embarrassing how he's so smitten with you that even flowers can see it.

But you grin at his appearance, standing up and brushing the grass from your clothes as you run the distance to him. This time, he thinks, awestruck of how you shine in the sunlight. In his pockets, his hand plays with the chain of the pretty but expensive necklace he had bought for you. His heart raced in nerves, in fear. In excitement. This time I'll finally confess how I really feel.

NSFW!! 18+ ONLY !!

「 CWS : 」 GN reader w/ ambiguous body. Wrio likes to please. size kink (less on the reader's size, more on how big Wriothesley['s dick] is). Slight dacryphilia. Love ♡. Praise. Creampie.

Wriothesley who lives for hearing you sob in pleasure when he stretches you out on his cock. He loves to hear you gasp his name with tears streaming down your cheeks, lips parted and skin warm under his fingers. Who laces his fingers with yours and presses kisses to your knuckles with one hand, all the while he fucks himself hard and deep inside you.

Wriothesley who loves to see you fall apart with his name on your tongue. Who lives for seeing your eyes roll back into your skull whenever he thrusts so deep, he thinks that his shape might be carved inside of you forever. Each time you gasp his name brokenly, a mantra of pleasure form your mouth, he just fucks into you harder, rougher, desperate to see just how much he can mess you up. All while he whispers sweet words and declarations of love in your ear.

Wriothesley who praises you for being so good for him, for taking every single inch of his cock like a good little sweetheart, even though you're so damn tight that it takes three fingers to stretch you out beforehand. Even though he knows you're half-way dumb on his cock, he still likes to ask you who's making you feel good, whose cock you're being stretched out on, and he preens whenever you never fail to whimper his name.

Wriothesley who fucks his whole length inside you and holds it as deep as it can go,just so that you can feel the stretch— feel the way the head of his cock bumps against that one part of you and has you whining and whimpering that he's too deep, but you never try to push him away and you even pull him closer against you with your legs around his waist. And his heart fucking soars when you squeak, "'love you, Wrio," without him even having to ask.

"Mhm, that's right baby— you're so good for me, yeah? Letting me stretch you out like this, taking every inch even though my cock is too big for you. You want more, baby? Want me to cum inside of you, hm? Want me to fill you up and keep you warm? Well, whatever my sweetheart wants, my sweetheart gets."

Wriothesley can hear your loud stomps from a mile away as you furiously speed-walk to his office door like a bloodhound trailing a scent. Even if not for that, the way that you bang your fist on the door is enough to grab his attention.

"WRIOTHESLEY." Comes booming in from the other side of the door. It's thick wood. He wonders how deaf he would have gone if the door hadn't protected him. The door (the thick, supposedly impenetrable door) rattles on its hinges like a screen in a hurricane when you try to kick it again. "DID YOU EAT MY DONUTS."

It's not even an accusation at that point. It's practically a declaration of war.

"WRIOTHESLEY!" You yell so loudly a group of gardes turning the corner down the hall scramble back the way they came. "Open up, jackass!"

Wriothesley, knowing he cannot escape the consequences of his actions, merely settles deeper into his chair as he drinks his tea. His last meal. Drink. Similar thing.

The door keeps rattling as you yell profanities at him, until one of his traitorous gardes approaches you hesitantly, saying not a single word but offering up the spare key to his office with shaky hands, head low and aggressively avoiding eye contact.

"Oh!" you say, demeanor switching immediately, losing the intimidating glint in your eye as you gingerly take the key. You smile kindly. "Thank you very much!"

Then you turn back to the door, the threat of violence in your eye as you wield the key like a weapon of war, inserting it into the keyhole and twisting it with a dark finality. The garde wonders if they should fear for their superior's wellbeing.

Wriothesley looks up from his newspaper as you close the door ominously behind you, somehow maintaining a blasé facadé even while staring down certain death.

"Well?" you prompt him, eye twitching like a stressed villain from a kid's cartoon show. You round on him in an instant, too quick for him to escape. Somehow, he keeps up his poker face. "Care to explain where my donuts went, Duke of Meropide?"

"I didn't eat them," He deadpans, staring you right in the eye. He pointedly does not acknowledge the white powdered sugar on his face.

"There's white powdered sugar on your face."

"Ah. So there is."

Another cartoony villain eye twitch. "Want to try that again?"

"...I love you?"

"And I love you. Last chance, though."

And he folds like a lawn chair. Wriothesley knows this is a fight he can't win. Even Neuvillette would tell him it's best to just kick the bucket and plead guilty at this point. He sighs breaking eye contact first like a wolf with its tail between its legs.

"Okay, I'll buy you another dozen of them."

You cross your arms, staring at him. He sighs.

"Another two dozen."

You soften just the slightest bit, coming close to perch on his lap and lean into his space. Instinctively, his arms come to wrap around your middle, pulling you against him.

"And?"

Wriothesley leans forward too, enough for your foreheads to touch. You can feel the breath of his sigh against your lips.

"And you have my sincerest apologies for taking your things. In my defense, I thought they were mine at first.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, satisfied, and peck him quickly on the lips. Before it can turn into anything else though, you’re springing up from his lap. Ignoring the disappointed furrow in his brow and the way his arms have still not moved from their position holding you earlier, you take his hand and pull him up from his chair with such startling enthusiasm and surprising strength that it has him stumbling for a second. You pull him towards the door regardless.

“C’mon, you’re making good on that apology right now, Wrio! Hope you finished your work!”

And no, technically he hasn’t finished his work. But he already knows that you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and that pushing that work to tomorrow wouldn’t hurt. Probably. Whatever— it’d be worth it.

So he just sighs and gives the palm resting in his a squeeze and let’s himself be pulled along. You squeeze back.

“As long as you let me have a few. Those were pretty good.”

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.

notes: i forgot it was friday SOBS i got distracted reading a new book so we're a little late but anyway <.< its time also i’m gonna answer asks tomorrow i promise 😭

THE DOCTOR

You sighed softly, smoothing out the cloth draped against you as you took a look in the mirror again. There was nothing left to fix--your hair was done, the jewel of your necklace laid neatly in the middle of your chest and your gown was fitted perfectly. You thought you should be alarmed, you didn’t know how the masked person had all of your measurements. You assumed that they had been the one to drop off the gown at the inn you were staying at in Snezhnaya City so you could be properly dressed for the event at Zapolyarny Palace. 

You rose to your feet, gnawing at your bottom lip as you looked into the mirror one last time. They had given you a purple gown to wear--and not just any purple, the color of your family, the exact shade. You didn’t like it. You wondered if it was on purpose or just a coincidence but you figured that nothing about this person was a coincidence. They knew everything about you from who you were to the reason you came to Snezhnaya, a secret that you thought had been kept safely between you and your grandfather. 

Your eyes turned to the window, catching a rather fancy looking carriage making its way down the stone road in the direction of the inn you were staying at. You figured that was going to be him--whoever the aristocrat was that the masked person had said would be bringing you to the event.

How?

The events were invite only, strictly moderated, how this person had managed to get you in was a mystery. You didn’t know what to expect--you didn’t know how many people would be there nor did you know if all of the Harbingers would be attending. You assumed that they would so you could prepare for the worst case scenario but you hoped that they didn’t. 

You didn’t know much about the Fatui Harbingers, just what your grandfather had learned from one of the few networks of intel he had access to that weaved through Snezhnaya. There were eleven of them, but only ten were active--ranked by strength, they struck fear and awe in the hearts of their subordinates. There were rumors that some of the higher ranked ones could rival even the Archons in power. Your grandfather warned you of a few before you left for the north: the Doctor, the Balladeer, the Fair Lady and the Friar, all brutal and dangerous and unforgiving, should they learn of your plans in the north, you would quickly find yourself a fallen pawn in whatever game of chess they were playing against the rest of Teyvat. 

You thought your best bet might lay with the Regrator. Evidently, he was the most recently promoted Harbinger of the active ten and focused more on the economy and politics than anything else… or so was assumed, at least. Snezhnaya had prospered since his promotion--the creation of the Northland Bank and its expansion across Teyvat had catapulted Snezhnaya to match the wealth of Liyue, they were even trying to set one up in Fontaine but were failing miserably. You were sure he was just as cruel and vicious as the rest of them but you thought that at least you wouldn’t be dealing with unfamiliar topics.

How you were going to ensure that you were placed with him… or even placed at all instead of being killed on sight, you didn’t know. You figured that was something important to know before you stepped foot in Zapolyarny Palace but you excused the lack of preparation by telling yourself there was no way for you to prepare for something when you didn’t know what to expect. You would figure out the plan as soon as you got there and knew who was there, what the event was for, and what you could do to ensure your survival and success. 

Your head hurt but the carriage had come to a stop at the steps of the inn you were staying at and you knew you had to get moving. You let out another heavy breath as you took one last look in the mirror before making your way out of your room and down the steps of the inn.

You gave a soft smile to the elderly man working the front desk as you made your way through the wide lobby, hesitating only for a second when you saw a tall figure ducking out from inside of the carriage. Swallowing thickly, you pushed the doors open, wincing at brisk air stinging your face as soon as you stepped outside. 

A brown head of hair whipped around at the sound of the doors shutting behind you, an awkward smile pulled at the lips of your date for the night, warm brown eyes focusing on you, “Hello,” he said, his voice was a bit hesitant and nervous, holding his hand out toward you. “I’m Artem.”

You placed your hand in his, watching as he bent his head down to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles, “I’m-”

“I know who you are,” Artem interrupted, then flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, they… already told me who you were.”

They, you repeated silently as a particularly harsh wind swept through the city, the streets eerily silent. 

“They…” you murmured to yourself but Artem suddenly looked nervous, brown eyes flitting around before he motioned for you to join him in the carriage. You inhaled the bitterly cold air as you stepped forward, taking his hand as he helped you up into the carriage before following you in, shutting the dark door behind the two of you. 

“You shouldn’t talk about stuff out in the open,” Artem said quietly. “There are always people listening.”

Great, you thought to yourself, gaze twisting around outside. The streets were barren but even you knew there was something off about this city that you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, you caught sight of a figure standing in the window of one of the apartments across the street. You couldn’t make out their features against the backlight but you knew their eyes were directed toward the carriage. 

You’d been in the city for two days now and it felt eerily similar to the streets of Fontaine. You didn’t often leave the palace of the Hydro Archon, everything you needed was within it: food, water, libraries, the gardens, but every once in a while, you would escape to go watch a show at one of the theaters. The Hydro Archon liked to keep the nobles of the nation ignorant to the perils of the rest of the civilians and it worked when you were in the ivory tower of the palace but when you were down in the streets, it was impossible to miss how the civilians were on edge, eyes constantly darting around in an anxious panic. There were eyes everywhere--in every window, in every alley, in every corner and crevice and no matter how aware you were of them, there was no hiding from them. 

Snezhnaya City was just like that. 

Oppressive. Tense. Heavy. Cold beyond just the air around you. But unlike Fontaine, Snezhnaya was not your home. Your name and title held no weight in this city and the threat of the Fatui and what they could do to you weighed on you like the sky had fallen. 

“What is this event?” you finally asked, fingers playing with the fabric of your dress as you watched Artem from the corner of your eye. 

“They’re filling the last spot,” Artem responded, staring ahead. He didn’t look excited or pleased and you couldn’t help but wonder what the political climate was like here, the relationship between the Snezhnayan aristocrats and the Cryo Archon and her followers--maybe it was something you could use to your advantage… or maybe it would be something that would just damn you even further, showing up with one of them. “For the Harbingers, they’re promoting someone to fill the Eleventh seat.”

Oh, you realized what exactly he meant by filling the last spot, an intense dread sweeping through you because that meant that yes, all of the other Harbingers would likely be there. Instead of dwelling on the subject, you said, “You don’t seem too happy about that.”

Artem turned his head to look at you, evaluating you carefully before shaking his head, “What’s there to be happy about?” he asked dryly. “The stronger they get, the weaker my family gets.”

They’re not united, you realized, and they’re not afraid to admit it. 

That was interesting. Artem’s face didn’t twist in regret after he said that nor did he look ashamed, if anything he looked resentful… but then doubt began to stir. If the Fatui knew about the dissent, why would they invite them to their elite events?

“They let you guys into their events knowing… that?” you asked, side-eyeing Artem, wondering if you had dug yourself a bigger hole by showing up with him.

“They don’t know all of it,” Artem said, “and even if they did, it’s more of an intimidation tactic than anything else. They bring us there to show us their strength, scare us into submission. That’s all it’s about.”

“All of it as in?” you pushed, figuring that if he was going to be so open with information, that you might as well get as much as you can so you knew exactly what you were walking into.

Artem gave you a look as if you should know what he meant. “They think that the Triglav was the only organization we had to fall back on--the Regrator tore it apart a few years ago.”

Why are you telling me all of this? You wanted to ask, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Brown eyes met yours at the silent question, he knew what you were asking. 

“They told me who you were,” he said again, except this time, you felt a bit more cold, realizing he knew more than just your name. “I figure they want you to fumble around in the Snezhnayan courts for their amusement but it’ll get you killed--I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?” you questioned. You didn’t know if you could trust him or believe his words and you felt so damn alone and lost that a part of you wanted to jump out of the carriage and flee back to Fontaine--you didn’t know what you were thinking, you were a damn noble girl not some secret agent, super spy who could successfully infiltrate one of the most dangerous organizations in all of Teyvat.

“You want the same thing as I do, don’t you?” was all Artem responded with. “No one knows what they want, what their goal is or anything, but they promised to restore the aristocracy and to do that, the Fatui needs to be weakened… so I figure the more people working for this, the better.”

Your nose wrinkled, “You aligned with these people without even knowing who they are or what they want?” you asked in disbelief.

“Didn’t you?” Artem countered sharply.

You felt hot, called out for your hypocrisy, “That’s not the same. I was desperate.”

“So are we,” Artem said, lips pressed together as he turned away. 

The carriage was approaching the palace, as large as the one back home in Fontaine and just as magnificent. Where the one in Fontaine City was lined with gold, stunning beneath the rare show of the sun, Zapolyarny Palace glittered white beneath the moonlight, like a million diamonds coated the surface--beautiful, but possibly the most daunting sight you’d ever come across. The sky that weighed on you tripled in weight, you thought you might throw up. 

“What should I expect in there?” you asked quietly, breaking the sudden tension between the two of you. You figured it was not the best idea to antagonize your one ally in this place. 

Artem sighed, looking back over at you, “Just stay by me,” he said. “Of all the aristocratic families in Snezhnaya, mine is one that’s heavily aligned with the Fatui… at least in their eyes. We’ll probably have a few of their more important subordinates coming over to talk to us but the Harbingers will be focused on the more antagonistic families to make sure they don’t pull anything. We’ll keep away from them and hopefully, keep their attention off of us. As long as we skate by without having to deal with any of the Harbingers, we’ll be good… I’ll try to find some opportunities for you to slip away and do what you need to do.”

What I need to do, it echoed in your head. The palace was right before you and you still had no idea what you needed to do to prove your stepfather’s hand in your father’s death. You had to find evidence. But how? You figured that there weren’t a lot of Fatui spies in Fontaine--too many would draw too much attention, it would be easier to just have one embedded deep in the courts… which would make it an important, covert operation. They had to have records of that somewhere. 

“Do you know what each of the Harbingers do?” you asked.

“Like what they oversee?” Artem questioned, brows furrowed, you nodded. “Vaguely.”

“Intel?”

“Internal intel? I’d say the Regrator or the Rooster. External? The Knave, the Marionette and the Friar all deal with it, as far as I’m aware.”

You went quiet, letting out a shaky breath at his words. Three different Harbingers who could be overseeing your stepfather in Fontaine--the Fourth, the Seventh, or the Tenth. You shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down. The palace would be crawling with Fatui operatives, how the hell were you supposed to sneak through them all and figure out where the information might be. 

Instead of letting yourself become riddled with anxiety, you asked the last question that had been weighing on your mind.

“How don’t the Fatui know about these people?” you asked quietly. “I figured they knew everything that goes on in Snezhnaya, you’d think an organization with this much influence…”

Unless there’s someone hiding it from the inside? But what were the chances of that?

“I don’t know,” Artem admitted. “Maybe they do and we’re all just getting played, or maybe the Harbingers are blind to a rat right beneath their noses.”

“You could do something beyond just standing there,” a cold, dry voice said from behind him. 

Dottore didn’t even bother to turn around and face her, instead watching the scene before him carefully. The aristocrats had been steadily arriving for an hour, filling up the ballroom, mingling with one another. Most kept a wide berth from the Fatui who had come out for the event. It was the largest event the Fatui had hosted in decades, twice as big as Pantalone’s promotion because it was signaling the completion of the upper echelon, the start of what would be the final preparations for war.

“I don’t see you rushing to join in the celebrations,” Dottore responded, gaze finally shifting from the wide double doors to Arlecchino, who had come to stand next to him, arms crossed against her chest as she watched Columbina’s fingers fly across the piano.

“I plan to,” Arlecchino told him, “I have a feeling tonight's going to be more interesting than we think.”

Dottore eyed her carefully as he digested the cryptic comment, trying to figure out what exactly she meant, before simply saying, “I hope so, at least then it will be an entertaining waste of my time.”

Arlecchino only let out a huff of laughter, but there was no amusement behind the action, “What do you think of the boy taking the Eleventh Seat?”

“He’s a child.” Dottore waved off the question, he cared not for the boy. 

Capitano evidently saw potential in him but Dottore only saw an unpredictability that they shouldn’t be risking this close to the beginning of their real purpose. He only advocated for him because he thought he would get the chance to study him but Pulcinella was being careful to make sure that he was never in the capital long enough for Dottore to get to him. The only boon that came along with promoting him was that he was eager to please, willing to take on the jobs that none of the rest of them wanted to deal with as a means to prove himself.     

“Then his moniker is fitting,” this time there was a scathing sort of amusement in her tone, “but even a blind man could make that observation. I asked you for your opinion of him.”

Dottore’s lip twitched in irritation. “That is my opinion of him,” he said coolly. “He is a child. He is immature and foolish, abuses the technique he learned while in the Abyss. He will die soon because of it. I would like to run some tests on him before then but I suppose life isn’t particularly necessary for them anyway… just more convenient.”

Arlecchino scoffed. “All you care about is your research, hm? Not even a hint of concern for those whom you call comrades?”

Dottore leveled his gaze on her. “No,” he said firmly, “and do not pretend as if you do. We both have seen what lies beneath that false face of yours.”

Arlecchino smiled, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the ballroom, “Fair enough.” 

“Don’t you have something better to do than bother me, Knave?” Dottore asked, a sardonic tone seeping into his words as he continued, “like to go fetch your pet before he makes an embarrassment of us again.”

He turned his attention back to the ballroom floor, pointedly looking in the direction of Brighella, busy trying to woo the daughter of one of the aristocratic families who was giving Pantalone a hard time. 

“Speaking of pets,” Arlecchino said, a mocking tone to her voice that Dottore didn’t quite like, “do you plan on getting rid of yours because of his failure to get you the funding you wanted? … I overheard your conversation with the Jester the other day, shame to hear about how poorly all of your projects are going.”

Beneath his mask, Dottore’s eyes hardened, turning his head to the side to look at Arlecchino again. He wasn’t sure what he was more annoyed by: the fact that she had listened in on his conversation with Pierro and he hadn’t even noticed or the fact that she was making a dig at his research.

“Not quite as poorly as the decline of the House of the Hearth. How many of your orphans have gone missing in the past few years again?” Dottore countered lowly, watching as Arlecchino’s eyes flashed with fury for just a moment, needling right through her cold mask.

It wasn’t even like his research was going poorly. It was just the typical pattern of adjusting to failures to find the right set of combinations to perfect the formula. Pierro was just impatient because he did not want to send three of the Eleven out to their missions with delusions that were still sapping their vitality. He had made enough progress so that they were no longer life-threatening with significant use, and as far as he was aware, the Balladeer was going to bring the old, faulty delusions down to Inazuma once Arlecchino’s agents wove their web through the Commissions. 

Dottore didn’t even understand why this was all necessary, frowning again as he looked out at the aristocrats. Pantalone had already torn the Triglav apart at its seams and the aristocrats were floundering with no shield to protect them from the Fatui. There was not much consolidation of power left to do in Snezhnaya. If anything, this was just excessive—making sure they knew just how strong the Fatui was so that they didn’t get any bright ideas when they began to focus on obtaining the Gnoses. 

“I have the House of the Hearth under control,” Arlecchino said, voice icy. “Can you say the same about your segments?”

Dottore smiled thinly, “Yes.” 

Especially now that he had finally made contact with her. If he had known that the barest conversation with her would lead to even the Theta segment doing as he asked with little pushback, maybe he would have reached out sooner.

Maybe.

An odd feeling settled in his chest as his thoughts fell to her again. He didn’t like thinking about her for too long but he hadn’t heard anything from her since that night Rho lost her. He knew she wasn’t dead, the thread still hung from his finger and the mark between his shoulder blades was still a bright purple. He wondered if she was just ignoring him or if there was something else going on. He had tried to look into it but hadn’t been able to find any previous examples of something interfering with a bond… which led him to believe that she was ignoring him, maybe as payback for all of the years he went ignoring her. 

Either way, he didn’t like it.

Arlecchino abruptly stepped forward next to him, eyes narrowed. Dottore followed her gaze, eyes falling on the livid expression that Sandrone wore as she spoke to Capitano, standing near the piano Columbina was playing at, motioning in the direction of the double doors of the ballroom. Dottore tried to figure out what had her so angry but nothing stood out--Scaramouche was nowhere to be found and usually he was the one to set her in a foul mood by insulting her automatons, otherwise it wasn’t often that her temper was set off because she simply did not care for anything else. 

Arlecchino immediately set off in their direction and Dottore, curiosity piqued and hoping to make the night pass faster but entertaining himself with whatever had Sandrone set off, followed after, watching in amusement as their subordinates and the few aristocrats who had crossed the floor to intermingle scattered at their approach. 

Capitano raised his head once he caught sight of the two of them, motioning them over. Sandrone pressed her lips together, staying silent until they were close enough to hear what they were talking about. Columbina’s fingers still flew across the keys of the piano, focused on the sonata, but Dottore knew she was listening too: there was a soft smile gracing her face, one that screamed amusement and not the mere enjoyment that came with playing the instrument. Dottore thought that if Columbina was amused by something, then it might spell trouble for all of them, the eerie comment she made about his soulmate a few months back suddenly ringing through his head. 

I would like to meet her when she gets here.

Dottore felt unsettled, raising his head to look out across the ballroom floor to look for something but he didn’t even know what he was looking for. All it took was Sandrone opening her mouth once, and the entire world around him froze and shattered.

“One of the aristocrats brought one of the Hydro Archon’s dogs to our event as his date,” she spat out. “This needs to be handled now.”

There were eyes on you. 

You didn’t dare to turn to look so you could figure out who was watching you, the last thing you wanted to do was bring more attention to yourself but you couldn’t smother the growing anxiety. You kept your back to them, feigning interest in whatever conversation Artem was having with one of his cousins so that they didn’t know you were aware of their scrutiny even though every inch of you itched to look behind you. 

The ballroom was packed to the brim, you thought that every aristocrat in Snezhnaya must be attending this event. It almost reminded you of the balls back home in Fontaine City. The paintings lining the walls were stunning and the ornaments glittered prettily beneath the dim lighting. No one had made their way to the smooth hardwood floor to dance yet despite the quintet of musicians playing in the corner of the room, a beautiful symphony that was not quite harmonious with the eerie piano being played somewhere behind you. 

If you weren’t so nervous, you might be able to appreciate the beauty of it… but Fatui lined the room--agents and mages and captains, they were unarmed as far as you could tell but you had a feeling that could change in a moment’s notice. 

You felt trapped, like a cornered animal.

There was no way for you to slip away, not when you were being watched and not when the Fatui seemed to be guarding each and every exit. Everything was crumbling around you and you had only been there for a half hour. You tried to calm yourself down, force yourself to think and figure out a plan but every time you tried to do that, you were interrupted by some Snezhnayan noble who wanted to greet Artem. 

What did you expect? You spat at yourself angrily. For the Fatui to leave holes in their defenses right at their heart? For you to just walk right in and be given the information you wanted by your stepfather’s superior?

You would leave empty-handed at this rate--the one opportunity handed to you on a silver platter slipping away like water between your fingers. You had to figure out what to do now because there was nothing you could do if you left the palace without the evidence you needed. Zapolyarny Palace was impenetrable, everyone you had come across had made that clear, you would not get another chance like this. This was your easy way into the palace but what could you do? Even if you managed to slip past the guards into the hall, making an excuse to use the bathroom or freshen up, it didn’t change the fact that somehow, you had already drawn attention to yourself. 

How? What had it been? 

You had not made any sort of scene. You were not overdressed or underdressed, nor did your colors stand out. There were people dressed in bright red gowns, different shades of purple and blue and green, blacks and whites. Artem was not from a contentious family so there was no reason for him to have drawn attention. 

What had done it? Was Artem unaware of some conflict between his family and the Fatui? Or was it something else…  

Did someone know who you were?

You felt a bit sick at the thought, smile faltering as your grip on Artem’s forearm tightened. You noticed him cast a brief, worried glance down at you but you were too preoccupied to reassure him that you were okay. 

Did someone know who you were? 

The question echoed through your head over and over again and you realized, slowly, that it was very, very possible and it was something that you had not even considered could be an issue. Your stepfather shouldn’t know where you were going, you hadn’t even confirmed to your mother that you were leaving for Snezhnaya--you had insisted it was Mondstadt--but if he had taken a picture of you and sent it to his superior in Snezhnaya as intel he was passing along about your family and they recognized you when you walked through those doors with Artem…

Suddenly, the urge to turn around and pinpoint who was watching you skyrocketed because if it were true, then that was how you were going to know which Harbinger was supervising your stepfather’s mission--the first step in finding the evidence. 

You let out a quiet breath, about to turn your head to the side just a bit to see if you could catch a glimpse of whoever was staring at you but before you could, a hand brushed your forearm. You masked the irritation you felt as you turned your attention back to Sonia, Artem’s cousin’s wife. She smiled at you, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder as she asked:

“So how did you and Artem meet?”

You smiled, leaning into the man and looking up at him, hoping that the gesture came across more adoring than the brief spike of panic you felt. The two of you had intended on going for a simple story: you had met while on the Snezhnaya-Fontaine border and instantly fell for one another, love at first sight, a classic romance… but now you weren’t sure if admitting that you were from Fontaine was the best course of action. Artem was confused, you could see the glimmer in his eyes as he smiled down at you, and you didn’t know what to do. 

The split second that had passed since Sonia’s question felt like eternity and finally you responded with a soft laugh, “We met on the border between Snezhnaya and Fontaine. I had gone a bit north to find a nice present for my siblings, their birthday is coming up. I ran into him while shopping and he helped me find the perfect gift. I thought all of those romance books were exaggerating when they talked about love at first sight but I became a victim of it just like that.”

You were only half listening as Sonia cooed and leaned into Artem’s cousin, talking about how the two of them met at a seaside village in western Snezhnaya. You decided that going with the original story was for the best. If, by chance, the Harbingers did happen to know that you were a noble from Fontaine already then it would only draw more suspicion if it got around to them that you were claiming to be a Snezhnayan commoner or even from another foreign nation.

So many ifs. You hated uncertainty. 

Lost in thoughts, you were only drawn back to reality as your forearm stung--the telltale sign that your soulmate was reaching out, again. Your lips pressed together in annoyance. 

He had been persistent the past two weeks. Every day, he would ask where you were and what had happened but even if you wanted to, there was no way of telling him where you were--he should know that--but the thing was, you didn’t want to. You thought that he had no right suddenly caring about where you were and if you were okay and you were mad at yourself for giving in and responding when you were hurt. He went twenty years ignoring you when you tried over and over and over again just to get to know him, the person that Celestia had tied you with, and he constantly disregarded and even rebuffed you. 

You had never heard of someone being rejected by their soulmate until yours had rejected you. It was humiliating, even if only the two of you were aware of what had been said, but more than that it hurt. You dedicated years to him, your whole life was centered around him from having to hide the fact that you had a soulmate to the years you spent in libraries trying to understand him in hopes that it would somehow make him care about your existence, years that you could have spent with your father.

You looked down as discreetly as you could, reading the scratchy words painted on your forearm: 

Where are you?

You barely withheld the roll of your eyes as you turned your gaze back up to Sonia, smiling as she laughed at whatever Artem’s cousin had said. 

Artem looked as if he was about to speak up but before he could, there was a sharp rap of metal against glass from the front of the room. Instantly, conversation silenced and all heads turned in the direction of the noise--finally, you could turn to see who was staring at you but it was too late; whoever they were, they had already looked away. 

“We are here today to officially announce the occupation of the Eleventh Seat,” a low, male voice announced. Your eyes shifted to him--half of his face was covered by a black mask, white hair long and slicked back--you weren’t sure who he was, you hadn’t been given descriptions of the Harbingers, but you figured he was high ranking if he was making this announcement.

“The Jester,” Artem said under his breath. Your eyes widened just a bit. The Jester, you recognized, the leader. “The rest are…”

All around him, you finished silently, your throat closing up as you caught sight of the daunting figures standing around the stage at the front of the room. You didn’t have to know what they looked like to know who they were, their presence and way they held themselves was evidence enough. An unnerving woman with long black and pink hair leaning on the piano, a man wearing a helmet where the face appeared to be an endless void, a woman with an empty expression, silver hair and a blade strapped to her side and…

“A recruit who has proven himself time and time again: felling our enemies without question when we were faced with the threat of a Natlan tribe on the southern border, protecting our people when the Great Wyvern of the northern caverns awoke from its slumber to terrorize our villages, and defending our integrity when called into question by the former Duke of Costesov…”

The Jester was still talking but your gaze had focused in on a familiar man standing off to the side, a bit aways from the small group at the piano--masked and with wavy blue hair, the Fatui subordinates in the area kept a wide distance from him. 

It was him, you realized, a cold feeling settling over you, the man who had attacked the inn you had been staying at. 

It was her. His soulmate. 

Dottore was barely able to mask the torrent of emotions tearing through him. He had known it even before he reached out to her to confirm it, watching her look down at her forearm as soon as he had asked her where she was, and he didn’t know what to think, or do, for that matter.

Around him, the other Harbingers were still talking amongst each other--Arlecchino making snide comments and Sandrone’s letting loose livid remarks about the sheer audacity the Hydro Archon had to a spy so blatantly to their main base. They were talking about handling her and Dottore knew very well that the only way the Fatui knew how to handle things was by getting rid of them. 

Getting rid of her. He couldn’t let that happen--he didn’t know how it would affect him and… Something unfamiliar and uncomfortable tugged hard at his chest as his eyes fell back on the girl in the purple dress, watching as she leaned into a boy from one of the Snezhnayan noble families, listening to Pierro’s speech. This was why he didn’t like thinking about her for too long but now he didn’t really have a choice.

“How are you so sure that she’s a noble from Fontaine?” Dottore asked, cutting off Arlecchino mid-sentence as he looked at Sandrone. 

Sandrone’s lip curled up, not even bothering to hide the irritation and disgust as she spared Dottore half a glance. “I’d recognize a member of the five families anywhere,” Sandrone said coldly, nose turned up at him. “I was born into one of them.”

That’s right, Dottore remembered vaguely. Sandrone had come from Fontaine. The Harbingers had long given up their names and old lives, they rarely mentioned their pasts--he wasn’t even sure some of them remembered their pasts, he sent a short look toward Capitano at the thought. 

“She’s part of the third family, the one that controls the prisons. You know what her family’s talent is?” Sandrone asked sharply, looking back in the direction of his soulmate. “They learned to utilize their hydro vision in a way that lets them twist up peoples’ insides. They usually use it for interrogation but do you know what else it can be used for?”

The third family. Dottore knew enough about Fontaine’s structure to know what that meant: Fontaine had five aristocratic families that were held above the rest, each one of them controlling one of the five main institutions of the nation. No wonder she had to hide her mark. 

“Assassinations,” Capitano finished, voice low. 

Dottore scoffed loudly. “Her?” he asked dryly, nodding in the direction of his soulmate, dismissing their deductions instantly. “An assassin? She looks like a newborn deer, not a killer.”

She did, Dottore noted offhandedly, eyes drawing back to her for just a moment. She was trying to hide her anxiety and she was doing a good job at it but every now and then, she slipped up, hands shaking just a bit more than they should, tongue darting out to wet her lips as she looked around. Dottore thought a bit of fondness might’ve been stirring the longer he looked at her so he immediately looked away and quashed it, forcing his attention back to the other Harbingers. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, Dottore,” Capitano said quietly. 

Not hers, Dottore wanted to spit right back—the girl that spent hours on end trying to talk to him and get to know him, undeterred by his lack of response, was no damn killer but he had no way of explaining that to them without admitting who she was to him and he simply refused to open up that weakness to them.

What should he do? He had to interfere but he didn’t know how to do that without making them question why he was stepping in. Dottore cared for nothing but his research--if this was any other person, Dottore wouldn’t have even bothered to give input into the conversation and he was sure that he was already making them suspicious.

“Whether she’s a threat or not, this has to be handled quickly,” Capitano finally said and Dottore felt cold, mind racing to piece together a plan but nothing was feasible. “We can’t afford to risk anything, not here and not now.”

Dottore’s anxiety began to shift into anger the more he dwelled on it and realized that he was backed into a corner because of her, wondering just how stupid his soulmate was showing up to this event on the arm of some random aristocrat. Livid, his gaze shifted to the side again, watching as she leaned into the man’s arm and smiled up at him.

Betrothed, Dottore suddenly remembered one of the things he had recalled from one of the dreams he had of her life. Is this…

“Who is the man she is with?” he interrupted abruptly, voice tense.

“Artem Melnyk,” a new voice said from behind him, Dottore glanced over his shoulder as Pantalone came to stand next to him. “I take it you all are discussing our unexpected, foreign guest.”

Pantalone looked at Dottore as if he knew exactly who she was--maybe he did, Dottore didn’t know if that was for better or for worse. He felt like a cornered animal, ready to lash out at the first perceived attack.

“He will have to be handled,” Dottore said tightly. “I’ll deal with that.”

Dottore thought he would enjoy having this particular new subject in his labs.

“The more pressing matter is the girl,” Sandrone spat out, her one-track mind stuck on Dottore’s soulmate. “She needs to be taken out.”

Dottore thought this might be it, he was about to lash out, but before he could, Pantalone raised his eyebrows. “A bit rash, no?” he asked, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “How will that make us look? Executing a foreign noble for no good reason besides attending a ball with her lover?” 

Lover, Dottore was appalled, turning his head to look at Pantalone. Pantalone, evidently, was incredibly entertained by the situation, smile widening just a bit as Dottore looked at him, making him feel as if he knew exactly what he was doing. 

“What do you suggest we do then, Regrator?” Capitano questioned. He did not sound half as amused as Pantalone did.

“Send someone out there to feel her out,” Pantalone said as if it were obvious. His voice took on a more exasperated tone as he continued, “Snezhnaya is in such a poor diplomatic position already specifically because you all tend to kill first, ask questions later. Have we not been trying to rectify that? In what world is killing her the best course of action?” 

Sandrone did not look happy, lips pressed together tight, and Pantalone was looking at Dottore, violet eyes expectant as if he was waiting for Dottore to offer to be the one to go talk to her. Dread began to build in his stomach again, realizing that if he went to go talk to her, it would be the end. All of the time he had spent ensuring they would never meet, all of the years he was working severing the bond, it would all be for naught.

“Fine,” Arlecchino said before Dottore could open his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Dottore didn’t speak as he turned to look at Arlecchino, barely catching the frustrated look in Pantalone’s eyes. Arlecchino was staring right at him, the red x’s in her eyes boring right into him as if she knew something that she shouldn’t, expression cold and unreadable. 

Dottore suddenly felt as if he had made a mistake not speaking up immediately.

Just as Arlecchino moved to make her way to his soulmate, Columbina finally spoke up, long, pale fingers wrapping around Arlecchino’s wrist. “No,” she said. “The Doctor will handle it. You promised to play a song with me.”

Dottore thought he liked that even less than Arlecchino’s immediate offer to speak to her but he wasn’t going to give the Knave any time to argue with Columbina, scoffing as he took the opportunity to turn on his heel and walk in the direction of his soulmate and her date. 

Pierro’s speech had ended and the musicians were picking up the volume of their piece--soon, couples would make their way out to the ballroom floor to dance but for now, they parted as he crossed the hardwood floor, giving him a wide berth as he walked directly to her. 

What was he going to do? 

He wondered if this was her plan all along, if she had somehow figured out who he was and what he was a part of so she could throw herself into a dangerous situation and he’d be forced to act. Not for the first time, Dottore felt like he was being played as a puppet except now he didn’t know if it was Celestia holding the strings or her. He had half a mind to let her deal with the consequences of her own actions, let her face one of the other Harbingers and try to convince them she was no threat, but he couldn’t risk letting anything happen to her because it would affect him. 

He would have to make sure she knew who he was to her. The last thing he needed was her making a scene if she realized it mid-conversation, assuming she didn’t know already. 

She was oblivious to his approach, back turned to him as she talked with Artem Melnyk, but he was not as oblivious. He caught sight of Dottore over her shoulder, expression shifting into one of fear—something that ordinarily would have had him amused but now, just as for the past half an hour, he could only focus on her. 

She turned as she noticed Artem’s change in attitude and Dottore wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he wasn’t expecting the anger that followed the confused expression on her face, eyebrows knit together as she stared at him, a hint of anxiety painted in the rage but just that, only a hint. 

No recognition and no familiarity--not a type that signaled that she knew she was meeting her soulmate, at least.

Dottore wondered if that meant she had no idea who he was to her and if that was the case, what the hell was she doing there?

For the first time, Dottore’s eyes traced his soulmate’s face. He couldn’t help but notice that even with the anger, her eyes were still gentle and her expression was still soft. You don’t belong here, he wanted to say, not in this place and not with me, but instead, he only held his right hand out to her and watched, waiting for her to take his hand and finally take notice of the thread that connected the two of them.

She hesitated only for a second as she glanced down at his hand, placing her own in it and Dottore watched the double-take, the way her eyes widened just a bit as she looked down at their connected hands, at the thread connected to his thumb that she could see. His grip tightened just enough to force her attention back to his face before she could make a scene. 

There was still anger as she looked up at him again but it was diluted beneath a type of astonished adoration that had never before been directed his way. He knew it was just the shock of finally meeting him and that the anger would return when she remembered the years he went ignoring her but it didn't mitigate the unwelcome feeling rising in his gut. He wanted to look away, uncomfortable under the affectionate gaze and uncomfortable even just touching her because he knew deep down that it felt right and he refused to give into this bond. 

He refused to play Celestia’s game. 

He leaned down to brush his lips against her knuckles, “Dance with me?” he murmured, loud enough just for her to hear. 

He figured that once people began to flood the dance floor, he would be able to speak with her without as many unwanted ears able to listen in.

“You’re-” she began, breathless and stunned--distastefully, he noticed that Artem was still holding her arm, as if to protect her from him. The thought itself would have amused him in any other circumstance but now it only irritated him even more.

Dottore cut her off, giving her a thin smile: “The Doctor, Second of the Fatui Harbingers.”

REBLOGS APPRECIATED

Goodness gracious i am living for this

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, unhealthy/abusive households (dottore--locked in closet, mistreatment/verbal abuse | reader--implied toxic stepfather & equally toxic mother who constantly believes him over reader, the slap scene from prev chapter), minor character deaths.

notes: the segment sheet is DONE, this was a rlly fun chapter to write! i enjoyed exploring both of their backgrounds ehehe

THE FAMILY JEWELS

Dottore did not dream. 

He used to dream before he was forced to abandon his original body but even then dreams were sparse and short. If he was lucky, sometimes he dreamt of answers--his mind always on his research even while resting. If he was unlucky, he would dream of fire, red and orange and yellow flames too close to his eyes; he would dream of the day he had received the scars that marred half of his face and his hands. 

But now he was sitting in an unfamiliar home, reminiscent of the estate in northern Fontaine where the Delta segment was focusing on his research. It had to be a dream. He remembered laying down in his bed, he remembered feeling his soulmate’s exhaustion. He had been back in his estate in northern Snezhnaya and now he was here.

It had to be a dream but Dottore didn’t dream so it must be something else.

But what?

He didn’t have time to dwell on the issue, he found himself moving, standing up from wherever he had been sitting and confusion began to itch at him, realizing that something was wrong. He was shorter--stood barely taller than the couch he had been sitting on--and he had no control over his actions. 

He tried to catch a glimpse of himself in the glass of an ebony cabinet that seemed to be storing some sort of antiques but he couldn’t make out his features. His features? Something felt wrong. His hands moved down on their own, smoothing down the cloth draped across his body--loose fitting, softer than anything he owned, it only reached his knees. 

A dress?

There was a strange feeling bubbling in his chest--excitement but it wasn’t his own. He was pacing back and forth and as he turned on his foot for the fifth time, he caught his reflection in the mirror: bright eyes glowing with anticipation, a wide smile. It was a girl, a young one at that--no older than seven. Something warm and heavy stirred, this was of his own.

This was her. His soulmate. He knew it.

Dottore suddenly felt uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to wake himself up. He tried searching for something to read, he tried yelling, he tried blinking repeatedly--tactics that he had used all of those years ago when he found himself dreaming of the unpleasant years he spent back in his village but none of them were successful this time. His body wouldn’t cooperate… or he supposed it was her body, not his.

This was not ideal, he thought to himself as she continued to pace around. He had somehow managed to let himself get attached to the faceless being on the opposite side of the thread, however minimally that attachment may have been, he did not want to put a face to them because he did not want to risk this attachment becoming any stronger. He had to focus on severing the thread, freeing them both of the shackles that this bond placed on them. 

There wasn’t much he could do, he realized. There were no tricks that he could use to wake himself up, he just had to wait this out, watch whatever was going on from behind the eyes of his soulmate. Exasperated, he resigned himself to his fate, instead trying to make the most of the situation and figure out where exactly she might be.

Not to find her, he told himself. 

Or, it was to find her, he corrected, but only so that he could send Lambda off to keep an eye on her. He was the only one that Dottore could trust to make sure that she stayed alive without forming any sort of attachment to her and without even making himself known to her. All of the others would take advantage of the opportunity but Lambda would do what was necessary--he was livid enough over this whole situation and how it has been affecting their research. He would make sure that their soulmate stayed alive and unharmed long enough for Dottore to figure out how to sever the thread. 

“Moooother,” the words left his lips, but the voice was young and happy, a soft singsong of a call that trailed into a gentle giggle. Innocent, sweet, untainted. “I’ve been waiting forever.” 

Dottore felt another emotion that was not his own, this one more familiar to him--a growing anxiety, a creeping sense of doubt as the girl began to look around. He could feel her lips twisting into a frown, the excitement dying as she left the room to go look up and down the halls. Dottore tried to push away her growing distress, instead focusing on the windows that she was passing by as she ran up and down the halls. 

Rolling hills in the distance, snow dusting the thick grass, the skies were clear and there weren’t many trees in sight. Dottore’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, it was very reminiscent of the labs he had set up on the Fontaine border. 

Was she from the Fontaine countryside?

He would call Lambda back from Sumeru to send him to check it out, and order Delta to take his place in Sumeru with Theta. Theta would be livid but Dottore didn’t particularly care about how Theta felt. He had only barely been able to replicate all of the lost research before the deadline Dottore had set for him and Dottore had a feeling that Lambda had done the majority of the work because he had been furious over his research being interrupted. 

Unfortunately for him, it would be interrupted again. 

But where in the Fontaine countryside? Dottore tried to figure it out, irritation growing as she came to a stop in one of the hallways, no window in sight. It had to be somewhere in central or eastern Fontaine--if it were western Fontaine, there would be no snow powdered across the grass, the heat from Sumeru and Natlan melting it before it even touched the earth.

Northeastern Fontaine or north-central Fontaine. It would be easier if he could sic Rho on the job. He would be able to track her down with a general location--they’d have her whereabouts in a matter of a week… but he couldn’t trust Rho to not tell the Gamma segment, and if the Gamma segment knew, he would tell the Iota segment, and the Iota segment finding out was how this whole mess started in the first place. 

“Miss Elyna!” she called and Dottore was moving--or she was, he corrected again--this time down a new hall, lips tugging down into a pout as she tugged down a cloak from a hook. Dottore winced as she pulled too hard, tumbling down to the ground. He could feel the hardwood floors scraping against her elbows. It hurt more than it should’ve, he had gone through worse but he supposed he was feeling what she was feeling, severity and all. Dottore wanted to roll his eyes when he felt her eyes water up, sniffling. 

“They left me,” she said to herself, voice wobbly as she pushed herself to her feet and pulled on the cloak. It was too big for her, dragging against the floor as she made her way to the door. 

Pleased, Dottore realized she was going to go outside, which would give him a better chance of figuring out where along the Fontaine countryside she was living. As soon as she pushed open the door, brisk air met his face. Her nose wrinkled, drawing her hands up into the sleeves of her cloak as she began to make her way out of the house.

The town seemed to be up a rather large hill, a mile or so away from where the estate was situated. She was of noble birth, that much was obvious, only the aristocrats of Fontaine could afford such a large estate with that much property. 

Dottore frowned as he caught something in the distance--dark clouds rolling over the town that she was making her way to, too fast to be just the average storm. Even further in the distance was a sight he could barely make out: a mountain range, large, ragged peaks that were very, very familiar. 

Dottore felt uncomfortable. Again. The storm was not of a natural cause--it was one of the harsh winter blizzards that should have buried Snezhnaya’s capital city, deflected by the Tsaritsa to batter Fontaine instead. His soulmate remained blissfully ignorant of the coming danger, bounding up the hill in the direction of the village, at a pace too slow to beat the imminent storm. He could feel the air around them getting colder, the wind picking up. He could feel the first snowflake sting her cheek, bitter and sharp.

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach--he couldn’t tell if it was his or hers. It was hers, he realized, because she was now looking around nervously, realizing that the storm was about to come down on her and she was too far from the estate to make it back there and she was too far from the town to make it to one of the houses on the outskirts. 

Snezhnayan blizzards were dangerous. They never lasted for too long, especially the ones that were deflected to the south, but they came on fast and they were harsh--the winds were wicked and the snow came down half as ice. 

“Mother!” she called, voice loud, and panicked. Dottore’s heart was racing--or he supposed it was hers, now that the severity of the situation was finally beginning to set in on her. “Mother!”

Fool, he thought to himself, you’re going to fall. His chest felt tight--this was his own, not hers, he recognized--as instead of trying to run back to the estate, she kept going up the large hill, intent on finding her parents rather than trying to get back to safety.

Just as he expected, it only took one strong wind for the girl to trip over the too-long cloak and go tumbling down the hill. She was shrieking but the wind was drowning her cries and Dottore couldn’t do anything but watch, watch through her eyes as she tumbled down the hill, nails clawing against the dirt as she tried to slow the fall. 

Dottore did not do well with these sorts of movements. He felt woozy, light-headed--or maybe it was her feeling it, or maybe it was both of them, Dottore really couldn’t tell. By the time she came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, she could barely even stand up. The wind sent her tumbling down each time she tried to rise, and the snow was coming down hard, whipping around her so that she could barely even see a few steps in front of her and Dottore was suddenly back in northern Snezhnaya, four hundred years prior.

Beta, Dottore thought to himself and he felt sick and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dizziness or because of the reminder of his first segment and its destruction. He willed himself to wake up to no avail, and he couldn’t even shut his eyes because he was forced to watch through hers as she tumbled to the ground over and over again, trying to make her way blindly through the storm. 

You’re going to get yourself lost, Dottore wanted to spit out, livid, stop moving. But his soulmate was terrified and frenzied, shrieking even though no one could hear her, sobbing for her mother, trying to cover her face with her cloak but she kept getting knocked to the ground, taking facefuls of mud and snow. It was hard to remember that it was the past--that this had already happened years ago as he lived through it himself through her, as he felt her fear and her pain and her panic.

He hated this. 

He hated the lack of control. He hated being forced into this situation. He hated having no choice in what was going on. 

He hated having a soulmate

And he hated even more that there was the chance that she was also dreaming of his past and he had no way of knowing what she could be seeing.

You were sitting by a window. You blinked, brows furrowing softly as you tried to figure out what had happened and how you had got there. The room was unfamiliar--the furniture was a pale wood instead of the ebony dressers that decorated your room and it was small, it seemed to be some sort of living room but it was barely even the size of your bedroom.

You wanted to stand up but you couldn’t and you weren’t entirely sure why. You frowned, trying to push yourself off the windowsill you were sitting at but your body wouldn’t cooperate, locked in place. You felt a bit panicked over it but you couldn’t feel panicked, you didn’t know how to describe it. It was a muted feeling, suppressed--what was more intense was the odd sense of longing tugging at your gut, the weight heavy on your chest. 

Your gaze moved on its own from inside the house to back out the window. You couldn’t help but notice how the window was bolted from the outside--less like trying to keep people out of the house and more like trying to keep someone in. You felt uncomfortable suddenly, but again, it was a muted feeling, one that you couldn’t seem to feel strongly no matter how much you felt like you should.

There were kids outside, across the dirt street, lounging in the lush grass. They were smiling, happy, making the same motions you would when you pulled at your string and you felt even more alone, sad--you felt sad and you didn’t even know why.

You looked away, down to your lap, and then you felt confused because you realized, slowly, that you were not in your own body. You were wearing a pair of loose shorts--a thick rough material that felt icky against your skin, you were used to the soft silks and cottons that you usually wore. Your legs were stick thin, the bones protruding through the skin. Your knees and shins were bruised and scratched up and your hands were small but rough and calloused.

What…?

“Zandik,” you heard an unfamiliar voice call. Your head turned, but you weren’t controlling it. Again, you felt alarmed, and again, you couldn’t really feel alarmed. Instead, there was an anxiety pooling, one that you weren’t in charge of. You looked to the side--a woman was standing there, tall with pale blue eyes and dark hair. “Why are you watching them?”

“You never let me go outside,” The words were leaving your lips but the voice was not your own, it was that of a boy--a young one at that--quiet and vulnerable, loneliness echoing in his tone. “Why can’t I go outside? I want to explore. The other kids go exploring all the time, I see them.”

“Zandik, come away from there,” the woman ignored his pleas, pressed together tight as she watched him--you? you thought to yourself, confused at the whole situation. “You’re going to make them uncomfortable. We don’t need more rumors going around.”

“I want to go outside and explore,” the boy was adamant, his words edging on desperate. “I hate being stuck in here all day, I want to go out. I want to explore. Why don’t you let me out?” 

“You know why, Zandik,” the woman had not one ounce of sympathy for the boy and the hurt that you might have felt personally at the harshness, he felt tenfold. You could feel yourself sniffling--he was sniffling, you corrected, his lip wobbling and his vision going blurry. 

“I don’t get it,” he said, voice cracking, the telltale sign of a meltdown in most kids but he seemed to be controlling himself, somehow. You had never seen a kid mature enough to hold back their tears and wails. “I don’t get it, you keep telling me they don’t want me outside because of my soulmate but that’s not fair. I’ll get my mark soon, why are they being so mean? I just want to go out and explore.”

Oh, you realized suddenly as you finally began to feel tears track down your cheeks and as the boy finally let himself cry. This was your soulmate when they were younger. 

You had heard rumors of this, you read about it in some of the books in the palace’s libraries. There were certain half-stages or rare effects of the bond that soulmates could experience, some called them mutations, others called them extra blessings. There were rumors of people not being able to see certain colors until they met their soulmates, rumors that some had two different eye colors--one of their own and the other to match their soulmates, and then there were dreams. Dreams were a frequent mutation, be it seeing each other’s past through the dreams or it being a shared space for them to talk to each other in. 

You assumed this was the former. 

And suddenly you were angry. The woman, who must be his mother or caretaker, was watching him coldly even as he cried. She made no attempt to console him, no attempt to calm him down or reassure him, not even a single word or action of comfort. She watched him cry with empty eyes, unmoved by the tears. It was hard to only be able to watch--you wanted to scream at the woman, you wanted to slap her, you wanted to comfort the crying boy, but all you could do was watch it happen from his eyes, feel his distress.

“It has been over five years Zandik,” the woman said, tone void of any sort of empathy for him. “No one has gone this long without receiving their mark. It is a bad omen for the village, you are a bad omen--they say the divine have cursed you. They do not want you around and if you continue testing your father’s patience, he will stop advocating for more time with the village elders. Do you understand?” 

He was crying, hard, and you could feel him shaking his head. “I don’t understand. I do-”

The glass behind you shattered and the boy didn’t have any time to react before a rock flew past him into their house, shards of glass cutting through the skin of his cheek and his arm--shallow cuts, but you could feel the warm, thick liquid dripping down his cheek. He had stopped crying suddenly, stunned by the sudden pain and the loud sound of the glass breaking. 

The woman was staring down at the rock in the middle of their small living room, making no move to get a wet rag to help Zandik clean up. You could hear the kids laughing as they ran away--evil little demons, you thought to yourself, personally aggrieved by the situation.

“What was that noise?” 

A new voice--male, deep, and Zandik was forced out of the state of shock, heart-racing and nerves returning, this time way more intense as he looked at the woman, “Moth-” he began, voice dripping with anxiety but he didn’t even have time to finish the word before a man had made his way into the room. 

He was tall, taller than your father was with wavy blue, fair skin and sharp red eyes. He was intimidating, you weren’t even really there and you could feel your nerves beginning to heighten… or maybe it was just Zandik’s emotions forcing themselves onto you, you couldn’t tell at this point. But the man, his father, was livid, his lips were twisting in an ugly sort of fury as he stared at the broken window.

You thought he would storm outside, yell at the kids who had thrown the rock into their home and hurt his son but instead, he was moving toward Zandik. Your stomach dropped as you felt yourself--him--trying to scramble away, unintelligible, panicked babbles spilling from his lips but his father’s legs were longer, strides too big for him to escape. 

He leaned down, a large hand wrapping around Zandik’s thin bicep and you winced at the bruising grip he had on him as he yanked him to his feet so hard that the boy went stumbling. “How many times do I have to tell you-” his father started to spit out, cutting himself off as he dragged Zandik through the small room and toward the hall. 

“Zakai,” his mother began, following Zandik and his father, exasperated and maybe even a bit nervous.

“Stay out of this,” his father said roughly, turning down another, smaller hall that led to a single door at the end of it. 

“No,” Zandik was panicking, desperately trying to rip himself out of his father’s grip. “No, I don’t want to go in the dark room. I don't want to go in there.”

He went ignored, flinching as his father yanked open the door and a sharp pain flew up your back as he pushed Zandik into the room--the closet, you corrected, horrified. It was a small space with no windows and barely enough room to sit comfortably, and his back hit the wall hard before he crumbled to the ground.

“This is for your own good,” his father told him. “It’s hard enough convincing them to let you remain in the village as it is. If you continue to give them reasons to want you gone, I’ll have no choice but to concede.” 

“I didn’t even do anything,” Zandik choked over his words, you could barely make out his father’s face now from how much his vision was blurred with tears. “I was just sitting there.”

“They don’t even want to look at you, boy,” his father hissed, grabbing Zandik’s cheeks and squeezing them together hard. “They see you a monster, do you understand? The same type that rose from the damned lands and razed our villages  to the ground--those cursed people had no mark either, you know? Are you like them? A monster? Cursed? Are you? Answer me!”

“I’m not!” Zandik shouted, pulling his face from his father’s hands. “I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” his father snapped before slamming the door in his face, drowning the small, enclosed room in darkness and leaving Zandik in there alone. 

In an instant, the scene warped--another dizzying sensation that had Dottore sick to his stomach. Gone was the ferocious wind and the snow pummeling his soulmate’s small body, gone was the panic and the fear. Instead, it was replaced with beams of sun warm against his face, a bubbling excitement that was overwhelming any sort of irritation he might have had. 

She was older now. He caught sight of her reflection through the window that she was running past--still young but probably closer in age to the Iota or Gamma segment. She looked happy, she felt happy. It was a far cry from what she had been feeling before and it was giving Dottore whiplash as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on. 

She was clutching something to her chest--a flower, purple hydrangea--and there was a hop in her step. From what he could tell, she was making her way to her family’s estate from the town. There was nothing in her field of vision that could give him any hints as to narrow down where she might be.

But it was warmer, and he remembered how the mountain range encasing Snezhnaya’s capital had been visible in the distance when she had been walking to the town. It had to be a town along the Snezhnayan border--central Fontaine, most likely, considering the positioning of the mountain range and the warm weather. Central and western Fontaine frequently dealt with waves of heat drawn in by Sumeru’s desert and Natlan’s fields of magma while northeastern Fontaine rarely ever got warm, surrounded by the mountain ranges of eastern Snezhnaya and northern Mondstadt on both sides, it was pretty much a pool of cold air… and he couldn’t see any mountain ranges to the south, so it had to be central Fontaine.

But central Fontaine was large and he had no way of knowing where exactly the town could be. It was somewhere up by the Snezhnayan border in the western sector of central Fontaine, yes, but dozens of towns could match that description, more than that even. Fontaine was littered with small towns in its countryside, even without adding in the city’s population, Fontaine was the most populous of the seven nations. 

Lambda’s issue, Dottore told himself as she finally got to the front doors of her family estate, pushing it open and stepping inside. He had more important things to worry about than her location, he had narrowed it down far enough that Lambda would be able to figure it out.

“Mother!” she called loudly, making her way down the halls. Dottore could feel how happy she was--it was strange. He had felt her happy a million times before but now it was as if he were feeling it himself. It wasn’t that distinct muted feeling he had learned to decipher from his own and locked away. It felt like it was his, it felt like he was happy and he wasn’t sure he had ever felt like that before.

He didn’t like it. He felt warm, at home in a way that he usually only did in his labs and even though he knew, realistically, that these were not feelings of his own, he didn’t like the way it was affecting him. 

“Moooother,” his soulmate repeated, louder this time, but it lacked the singsong lilt it had years prior before the storm. “Moth-”

“What is it?” an unfamiliar voice asked, sharp and cold, interrupting her call. Dottore felt the change in mood instantly, the giddiness replaced by hurt, smile fading for just a second, and Dottore felt livid, murderous, but even that was displaced because he was feeling her own emotions more strongly than his own. 

His soulmate turned to face the other direction, where walking down the side hall toward her was a taller woman that looked just like her, although her eyes were sharper and her lips were pulled down. 

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet and Dottore could tell that she was bothered by the woman--who he assumed was her mother--and her coldness. 

Despite the discomfort, she still managed to smile again, “I made a friend down in town,” she said, excited. “His family owns the flower shop. He gave me a flower.”

Irritation pricked at the back of his mind, he pushed it away.

“That’s nice,” she did not sound interested. He could feel his soulmate’s smile falter again--the irritation grew, developing into subtle anger. “You were supposed to be back for lunch.”

“He was really nice,” his soulmate continued, perturbed but trying not to let it show. Dottore wanted to roll his eyes, he had no desire to hear about a childhood crush. “And guess what? You’ll never believe it! His soulmate, she’s up in the north too.”

Dottore felt her mother’s change in demeanor instantly. His soulmate remained oblivious, giddy, and excited. He didn’t have to look in the reflection to know that her eyes were shining and her smile was wide, he could practically picture it on his own. He felt tight, having a bad feeling about what was going to happen next.

“How do you know that?” her mother asked, icy. 

Blissfully ignorant, his soulmate looked down at the flower she was holding tight to her chest. “We talked about it, he said he was going to go north to find her one day and I asked to come with and-”

Her head snapped to the side, hard, and a painful, stinging sensation spread across Dottore’s face. At once, Dottore felt a wave of emotions all at once--only one was his own and that was rage, rage at being slapped, at her being slapped--but more predominantly, he could feel her shock and he could feel her distress. He was reminded of the day all of those years ago when he had gone to meet Pantalone for the first time when he had been cut off mid-sentence by a slap on her end. 

Her mother grabbed her face hard, squeezing her cheeks together, and Dottore was livid--he wanted to rip his face out of her grip, grab her by the throat, and force her off but he couldn’t, he couldn’t control anything because he was stuck in his soulmate’s body, watching it all happen from behind her eyes. 

The worst part was that he didn’t even know if he was angry because it felt as if he had been the one slapped, or if he was angry that she had been slapped.

“How many times must I tell you?” her mother spit out. “No one can know. No one, you and I, your father and Miss Elyna, they’re the only ones to know of your thread. To everyone else, you have no soulmate. How many times must I tell you?”

Dottore was taken aback. So taken aback, that he didn’t even register his soulmate’s response—something along the lines of a stuttered ‘but he was nice, I trust him’, but it only infuriated her mother even more.

To everyone else, you have no soulmate. 

Why? 

Were they able to figure out who he was through the words? No. That wasn’t possible, this was right after the beginning of the second stage. She hadn’t received any words from him at this point. 

Then it had to be something else. His location? Was Fontaine so anti-Snezhnaya already? 

They had expected it considering their archon’s stance on Celestia but how was it even possible? The Hydro Archon should have no way of knowing the plans of the Fatui but Dottore wasn’t sure what else would turn the deity against them like that.

… unless there was a spy. But even then, they should know that if that was the case, Arlecchino had implanted one of her spiders into Fontaine’s court.

Dottore was frustrated as he was forcibly ripped from his thoughts, drawn back into the situation at hand. Her mother was still going on, and his soulmate was still quiet, but she was crying now, silent tears spilling over her cheeks.

“… and your stepfather was right. Ever since he came into our lives, ever since the twins were born, you have taken every chance to act out or put our family at risk. Getting yourself lost in that storm after you told him you didn’t want to join us in town, refusing to show up for your siblings’ birthday, constantly talking back, and now this-”

“It’s not true,” she hiccuped, trying to pull away from her mother only to fail. “I wanted to go to their birthday, he never told me where it was, and I wanted to go to the town but he left me, and-”

“Enough!” her mother shouted and his soulmate flinched. “The lying is getting out of hand, all of this is getting out of hand. Do you understand how much risk you just put our family in? Your siblings?”

“I didn’t mean-“

“I will handle this,” her mother spit out, voice dripping with venom, “but this is the last time. The next time you act out of line, you will be living with your father indefinitely.” 

She left her standing there, alone, and the happiness from before was gone, leaving her as cold and empty as Dottore felt normally. Her flower lay limp at her feet, and she made no move to pick it up. 

Dottore didn’t like it.

She didn’t move for a long time, not until another figure came into the room—another woman, with dark hair and kind gray eyes, who let out a sigh when she saw her standing there alone, tears still tracking down her face.

“She doesn’t mean it, little one,” the older woman sighed, patting his soulmate’s head gently as she kneeled to pick up her flower, placing it back in her hands. “She loves you, she’s just scared.”

Dottore wasn’t so sure about that. Resentful and angry, he wasn’t sure he had ever felt such a visceral desire to kill since his days as a Fatui recruit when he was volatile and ready to snap at any given moment. He hated how a person he didn’t even know managed to draw out all of the worst aspects of himself, the aspects that he had killed and carefully tucked away a very long time ago.

“I don’t understand,” she sniffled, rubbing her eyes. “I hate it here. She’s so mean, and she always believes him over me, and he hates me because of father, and he’s always trying to leave me out and he tells her that it’s my fault, and she believes him.”

“Love is blind,” the woman murmured softly. Dottore wished he could roll his eyes. “Your mother never thought she’d find her soulmate… now that she has-”

“It’s not fair,” his soulmate interrupted, shaking her head and turning to face the woman. “Miss Elyna, he’s a liar. He’s a liar and he hates me. I didn’t even do anything wrong. And I have no friends because of my stupid soulmate and I finally make a friend and I’m not allowed to, and I always get in trouble when I don’t even do anything. I want to live with father. I hate it here.”

Dottore thought he should be offended--stupid soulmate, he thought to himself, irritated, but he couldn’t be offended because he was intrigued, trying to piece together what exactly she meant by the fact that she had no friends because of him. He was clueless as to Fontaine’s stance on those that never received a mark… and if that was the issue and she had to pretend she didn’t have one…

“You cannot go live with your father,” the woman, Elyna, sighed. “You are bad enough at hiding your bond here in the countryside, your father is still living in the city. You will have all eyes of the court on you once you’re there, and if you slip up once…”

Confirmation that it was Fontaine, he already knew it but it was good to have it confirmed—only Snezhnaya and Fontaine had courts. 

“It’s not fair,” she was melting down, shrieking. Dottore could barely even see through her eyes because they were blurred with big tears. “It’s not fair, I don’t want to hide it. I don’t want to. Do you know how mean people are because they think I don’t have a soulmate? They call me cursed, they say Celestia rejected me.” 

“Are you like them? A monster? Cursed? Answer me!”

Dottore felt cold but more than that, he felt something heavy in his chest. He didn’t know what it was, he didn’t want to know, so as always, he pushed it away. Instead, he found humor in the situation because he thought it was all ironic—he was persecuted for not having a soulmate, and she had to pretend she didn’t have one to avoid persecution. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he spat at Celestia’s wicked sense of humor. 

“… hate me either way, so I might as well-”

“Enough,” Elyna hissed. “You can’t speak like that. It is not a matter of hate, it’s a matter of freedom and imprisonment, life and death. Your father sent a letter warning your mother that Her Excellency was becoming even more extreme in her position on Snezhnaya, you have to be careful.” 

There had to be a spy, Dottore realized. Someone leaking information from the higher levels of the Fatui to other nations—this had to have been nearly a decade ago. How had they gone so long without knowing?

He would have to bring it up to Pantalone, he would be able to work with Pulcinella and Arlecchino to weed out the rat.

“He lies to her,” his soulmate cried harder after being scolded. Elyna wrapped her arms around her and Dottore felt uncomfortable, claustrophobic. He wanted to yank away but his soulmate appeared to have no intention of doing that. “Who lies to their soulmate? If he loved her, he would love me. I didn’t do anything wrong, I was nice to him.”

“Hush now,” Elyna said gently. “You-”

“No, it’s not fair. None of this is fair. Soulmates are supposed to be good and he’s not. He ruined my life, and my soulmate is ruining my life, and none of it is fair. I have no friends, I just want friends, and now mother is going to ruin that too. And if father cared about me, he’d want me to live with him but instead, he makes me live here with them.”

“It’s safer-”

“I don’t care,” she shouted.

My soulmate is ruining my life, he echoed in his head. 

Bitterly, he thought, well that goes for both of us but at the same time, that heavy feeling returned and this time, he couldn’t bring himself to push it away. 

You were running. He was running. Your heart was racing, beating outside your chest as you slammed into a tree, stumbling past it to continue in whatever direction you were running in. It was so hot, it felt like the air around you was suffocating you; it felt like your mouth was stuffed with cotton. You couldn’t tell what was going on--you felt panicked, frantic, as if you were fighting for your life against an invisible enemy.

Invisible. 

As soon as the word crossed your mind, an explosion rocked the earth beneath you, sending you flying ten feet forward, slipping on wet, mossy rocks, and rolling down a steep hill. You hurt, your whole body ached, branches dug into your skin, rocks scraped against your face--ordinarily, you would have given up, the pain too much for you to handle, but somehow he kept going. 

You felt him push himself to his feet, you could feel blood tracking down his arm and the side of his face, but he didn’t cry nor did he falter. Wheezing for air and eyes wide and wild, he continued.

Something large was behind him, large and metal with a glowing orange and gold orb in the center of its head--a ruin guard, you realized, horrified. You had heard there were a lot in southern Fontaine, on Sumeru’s border, but they couldn’t traverse the mountain ranges and vast rivers and lakes that littered central Fontaine, freeing the north of their destruction. 

But you had studied them. You had studied ruin machines for a long, long time once you began receiving words from your soulmate and had access to the palace’s extensive library. You received odd words like chaos cores and circuits and bolts and oculi that you learned were associated with the old, destructive technology. There wasn’t much information on them and you thought that in itself was telling. The Hydro Archon censored any material that could be interpreted as fostering dissent against her rule, or the heavens, expunging the history that she didn’t like. 

You wondered what exactly was it about the ruin guards that she wanted to prevent the masses from learning.

Zandik gasped as the ground beneath him trembled again--the ruin guard had caught up already, heavy steps tracking after him. You could hear a whirring noise behind him and you knew it was going to let out another blast of energy in his direction. Your throat felt swollen with anxiety, or you supposed that was his anxiety, but he was focused ahead. You could see a village in the distance, in a small clearing of the dense forest he was running through.

He didn’t cry for help, he didn’t scream, and you remembered the last dream of his life. You wondered if he didn’t call for help because he knew no one would answer and you felt sick. 

The explosion didn’t hit close to him this time, veering off into a tree, and Zandik spared a glance behind him to see the ruin guard falter as it skidded on wet rocks, the same ones that Zandik had slipped down. He let out a shaky breath and you could feel his relief as he made a break for the village. 

The ruin guard did not stray too far behind. 

When he got to the village, the people were oblivious. Some spared him looks, mostly of irritation and distaste, but most ignored his presence. 

Zandik made no effort to warn them of the imminent danger and a part of you hesitated, uncomfortable, a foreboding feeling bearing down on you as you realized what might be about to happen. 

He kept sprinting through the small village, past a small bakery, and right through a crowd of people who cursed him for his interruption. He was running somewhere specifically, or to someone, you realized as he set his eyes on a woman you recognized from before: his mother. 

She looked angry but more than that, she seemed distressed, grabbing Zandik’s forearms as he nearly crashed into her at full speed.

“Where have you been? Your father and I-”

“We have to go inside,” Zandik said, voice little over a wheeze. “We have to-”

He didn’t have a chance to give any further explanation because at once, there was a massive explosion, one that shook the ground beneath the entire town as the ruin guard finally set its target on the villagers. 

Zandik turned his head, eyes wide, and you wished he would look away because you felt sick to your stomach at the gory scene before you. The blood, the fire, the screaming--every single one of your senses felt overwhelmed as catastrophe met the peaceful town, ravaging the unexpecting villagers.

But as much as you felt sick, you realized, slowly, that Zandik did not feel that same horror that you did. You wondered if he was in shock… you wondered if it were something else. He stared in the direction of the destruction, lips parted, unable to draw his gaze from the ruin guard as it prepared itself for another attack, energy swirling around the orange and gold orb. People were running, calling desperately for family members and friends, trying to hide behind houses and wells to escape the onslaught. There was blood. There was so much blood and so much death, and it was readying to attack again.

But he felt no guilt. No fear. No shame.

There was only satisfaction… awe. It was subtle, bubbling beneath the surface, but it churned your stomach. You told yourself that you didn’t know the whole story, that you didn’t know the extent to which the villagers had put him through hell--you hadn’t even scratched the surface with that previous event in his life you had dreamed of but-

“Zandik, Zandik,” it was his mother screaming, tearing him from his trance as he watched the ruin guard and forcing you from your thoughts. She was shaking him violently, fear stretched across her face. “What happened? What did you do? What did you do, Zandik?” 

“It followed me,” his voice sounded hollow, void of any sort of emotion. “I went exploring.”

“You brought it back here?” his mother was on the verge of tears and Zandik remained unmoved, standing there limp as she continued to rattle him around. “You stupid boy, they’ll kill you. They’ll kill you.” 

“Not if it kills them first,” you wondered if he intended to say that because you felt a jolt of surprise that was not your own. 

His mother stared at him, horrified, but she jolted as a figure grabbed her arm.

His father.

There was an unreadable expression on his face. “Inside,” he said, voice brusque and cold. He grabbed Zandik by the arm, dragging him inside after his mother and slamming the door behind them. 

He felt empty. You didn’t like it. It made you uncomfortable, it made you sad. You didn’t think anyone should feel like this, much less your soulmate. Even as his father let go of his arm, Zandik just stood there, gaze trained out the window much like how he was years earlier, watching the kids lay out in the grass--except this time, he was watching as they ran for their lives, screaming for their mother and father, hurt and bleeding. 

You didn’t know how long he stood there watching the horrors outside. Eventually, they managed to destroy the ruin guard, and as the sun set in the distance, they began to collect the dead and the wounded. Every now and then, you could hear his parents shouting at each other: “They’ll have him burned! We have to do something!” and “They already thought of him as one of the heretics from the cursed land. There’s nothing left we can do for him without us meeting the same fate.”

Zandik didn’t react to any of it--there was a vacuum where his emotions should have been, a cavity where his heart should have been. He felt cold and numb and you couldn’t tell if it was because he was in shock over what had happened and what he had caused, or if it was because he truly did not care. 

It seemed like an eternity when the shouting finally began again, you could see the torches lit outside, the crowd of survivors in front of his home. They were angry, bloodthirsty, out for vengeance, and still, Zandik remained apathetic, standing in the same spot. 

“Bring the boy out, Zakai,” the man at the head of the crowd called loudly. “You can’t protect him anymore.”

Neither his father nor mother responded but the words broke his stupor. Finally, he turned to face his parents and you could feel a bit of anxiety start to pool in his stomach as if he were finally realizing what was about to happen.

You were starting to realize it too and you wanted to throw up. 

“The Celestial gods have turned their backs on us for harboring a heretic. We have faced famine, drought, plague, and now this, all within the ten years that abomination has resided here. Our wives, elderly, children were slaughtered because he brought that monster from the cursed lands to our homes. If we don’t do something about it, it will happen again and again and again until we’ve atoned.”

“Zakai,” his mother whispered, shaking her head.

No way, you thought to yourself, horrified, as his father refused to meet her gaze, looking away from both Zandik and his wife. You could feel Zandik’s stomach drop and you could feel the fear begin to settle in his stomach.

“Zakai, you can’t,” his mother said desperately. “It was an accident, they’ll-”

“Enough,” his father responded quietly, and finally he looked at Zandik, only for a moment before he made his way to the door. “There’s nothing else we can do for him. It’s time to let go.”

When you woke up, you knew you had dreamed of your soulmate. You could remember the pain, the shock, the loneliness, and that terrifying sort of satisfaction he felt after he had accidentally led the ruin guard back to his village but you couldn’t remember anything that mattered and it made you want to cry. 

Cursed, they called him, you could remember that but not his name, not the place he had been living, not the faces of the people that had been in the dream, not even his face--you couldn’t remember any of it. It felt like a distant blur, something you could picture but all of the distinct features were smeared into something you couldn’t recognize and you were frustrated. 

Two and a half years. You had two and a half years and then you’d finally be able to get some answers out of him. 

You stared at your forearm, waiting to see if his word would change, wondering if he had dreamt about you too. 

Dottore was livid. He bit back a string of vile curses as he paced around his bedroom. He had dreamt of her. He knew it. He could remember it—he could remember her fear, he could remember her anger, he could remember her desperation. He could still picture the vague memory of her smile, and the way she felt as everything came crashing down around her, but he couldn’t remember anything of importance.

He knew he had figured out where she was. He knew it. But every time he tried to think back on it and remember, he was met with a frustratingly blank slate, an answer that was on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t figure out.

The gods were fucking with him—again—and he was sick and tired of it. He could picture them laughing at him, mocking his situation, jeering at his failure. 

He tried to take steady breaths. He tried to calm himself down. None of it worked. He felt like he was in his late twenties again, unable to control his wild emotions and bouts of anger after being cast out from the Akademiya. 

He braced his hands on the edge of his desk, leaning over it as he shut his eyes and tried to settle down, counting slowly—an old tactic he had used back when he had first been brought into the Fatui. It worked, albeit slowly, but it cleared his head enough so that he could think.

What could he remember? 

A winter storm. A warm summer. A large estate. He could remember what had happened in the dream—memory? He could remember her getting lost in the storm, an unwelcome return to a past he tried to forget, and he could remember the argument with her mother, the slap.

She had to hide her mark, he remembered, eyes widening a bit. A winter storm. A warm summer. A large estate. Having to hide her mark. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, again, but again it dissolved before he could capture it. 

He let out a heavy, shaky breath—running a hand through his hair as he returned to his pacing. 

There was something else. He had figured something out beyond just where she was located—something important—but he couldn’t remember what. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he inhaled, turning his mind to a different subject, something else to focus on before he destroyed half of his room in a fit of rage. 

Her. She must have dreamt too, and if her dreams were anything like his, it must’ve been of his childhood. 

Dottore suddenly felt uncomfortable, gaze drifting down to his forearm. No one knew of his past—no one besides him and his segments—and he liked to keep it that way. It was a history he had left behind, a name and a face that had died centuries before that he did not want unearthed.

He only hesitated a second before he rolled up his sleeve, intent on trying to get an idea of what she might have dreamed about his past through whatever word passed to him through the bond. 

And he stared—cold, empty, the rage returning but this time it did not burn, it froze. It froze everything, all of the emotions that had been rattling his body, any desire he might have felt to try to locate her, and most importantly, whatever attachment that might have grown in the past thirteen years as he was faced with the word that had haunted him his entire life, branded on his forearm as a searing accusation from the one person that was meant to be his.

His body moved on autopilot as he shuffled through his desk to find the notebook he had kept of all of the words passed onto him. Once it was in his hand, he took two long strides to the opposite side of the room before flinging it right into the fireplace, watching the flames engulf it before leaving his room and making his way down to his labs.

Cursed. 

rbs appreciated!

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part, forbidden love, slow burn.

warnings: fem!reader, age gap, lots of worldbuilding for snezhnaya & the fatui & fontaine, dottore is his own warning, angst and romance, none others that i can think of off the top of my head. each chapter will have its own warnings, it is self-ship coded, and i will take liberty with dottore’s known lore.

status: incomplete. updates sporadic, at least monthly.

taglist: 50/50 (CLOSED. if you would like to be on it, still comment here—i’m going to periodically go through and remove people who don’t interact, and then i’ll add you)

notes: sigh i wanted to give my beluved a little series. this is something i’ll be working on in my free time for fun, so updates will be sporadic, i was gonna post the reincarnation fic butttt that one is a little too dear to my heart ALL SEGMENTS THAT SHOW UP IN THIS SERIES ARE MINE ‼️ i created them, do not take them to use for yourself.

00. THE SEGMENTS

01. MIDWINTER

02. JOY

03. THE COLOR PURPLE

04. THE FAMILY JEWELS

05. AN INEXORABLE DEATH

06. RISE OF A KING, FALL OF A QUEEN

07. A WARM WELCOME

08. THE DOCTOR

09. THE TIES THAT BIND

10. GENESIS

11. DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

12. SPIT IN MY FACE

13. ALEA IACTA EST

… TBA

SIDE STORIES

THREE TIMES THE SEGMENTS MET YOU WITHOUT REALIZING IT,  AND ONE TIME THEY DID.

rbs appreciated!

KINKOTBER 2023

a/n : this is my first Kinkotber project so I wouldn’t be doing too many ( I’m not overworking myself ) so I’m doing few for this year .

E rating = disturbing scenarios / themes

SPANKING — Dottore

Your “doctor” boyfriend has noticed you’re been hanging out with his clones a lot more than him , he refuses to tell you he’s jealous , but you’ll figure out some other way…

───── October 01

MIRROR SEX — Pantalone

You’re feeling insecure about your looks lately , and no matter how much Pantalone tries to cheer you up and make you forget other’s opinions about you , they always fails. Maybe a good look in the mirror will help .

───── October 14

OVERSTIMULATION — Ayato

Your lover have been distancing himself from you due to work , and your sex life have been decreasing , but he seemed to notice your worry and make tonight special .

───── October 21

HATE SEX — Childe/Ajax

You despised him. always trying to fight your father , and he hates you for always stopping him from fighting the first harbinger. Your tiny body should get in checked .

───── October 28

TOYS — Albedo E

Your boyfriend left for a alchemy research in Sumeru for a week , you were holding up together until the fourth day . Your toy was so deep you didn’t notice your boyfriend coming home early..

───── October 31

©︎ 𝙶𝚕𝙾𝚛𝚒𝙾𝚞𝚜𝙻𝙾𝚟𝚎. all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

a/n. self proclaimed drabble, yall i got horny with a hanma shuji bot and i got inspired, then i thought of toji, geto, scaramouche, then more scarred, traumatized hot men - my type is so fucking... fucked, btw alhaitham and scara fic soon

cw. smut is minimal (kinda), trauma, mention of loss, angst, comfort, fluff at the end, no pronouns, mentions of female genitalia, your fave character healing because of you oau!

"Love you so goddamn much, doll." Scarred men experiencing being so in fucking love again, in between a heated, love drunk tongue kiss with you, their hands controlled yet frantic, scared to rip off your clothing while wanting to touch every inch of your skin, dread and excitement stirring inside him from the new feelings of overwhelming familiar love, the seriousness of the growing bond between the two of you, the love accompanied by memories of being hurt again, churning his stomach and making his heart pound like crazy.

The thought of someone having to care for, making his veins run cold, while at the same time warming his heart, his cock, shitty futures that were waiting for them, drowned and washed away, replacing the repeated future fate had in store for him with the imagery of your abdomen with his cock inside you, sliding back and forth against your pussy that was taking him so well, cock thrusting in so good that he cums accidentally again, feeling your creamy walls pulsate against the sensitive part of his tip, his legs almost giving out, holding- clinging onto you, onto the future where he puts himself in one knee before you, onto the future where he sees you walk in a white dress you were going to be so happy in, onto the future where he promises his vows to you.

Seeing your flushed, pretty face cry before him, taking his cock so well while his seed pumps into your womb, weakly thrusting, hips convulsing uncontrollably as he hugs your leg that was over his shoulder, unable to control his consciousness as he mirrors your babbling, chanting mindlessly 'damn you damn you damn you' accompanied with grunts, cursing and internally giving you his fucking word that you're his, forever his, claiming you — starting with his cum that he thrusted back into you when his honed stamina returns after a few pants, beginning round 3 as his fingers slap your thigh, jolting you awake before grabbing both of your ankles up together, putting you up like a trophy, his trophy, his prize, his posession.

You just had to be so sickeningly sweet to him, didn't you? So genuine about your affections, words coated with truth that they weren't used to in his life of constant torment, suffering and death.

His first serious relationship showed him that the world is kind enough to let a love like this exist for a person like him, and then the death of his first love, will be a reminder that things can easily, so easily be taken away from him if he took them for granted, and with you, learning from his mistake, from the lesson fate taught so unnecessarily to him — may he burn, let him be damned, begging a higher entity that he didn't believe in for a purgatory if he let someone rare as you slip from his fingers again.

Hell, he was accustomed with, death, an advocate to him, and you threatened that fear of those two things he was so used to, and it was laughably without a trace of violence, a malice, greed, a lust with ulterior motives he wss used to.

“Damn you,” he curses- no, he promises.

To give you a generation for your kindness to be remembered, to say whatever positive that comes to mind without being hesitant anymore, to cherish you, to make you feel that way every fuck, every date, hangout, every sleep he can get with you, every single day he can come back to you, to fucking love you, even if you thought his love was 'more than enough.'

No, impossible, shit will never be enough, not to the god forsaken universe that took his first happiness, no amount of love will bring back his first love, so he used his learned lesson, to pour every kind of affection to you in all of his glory, no more hesitancy, no more fucking half assed shit, doubts and nonexist untruths that he spent on wondering, arguing about with his past lover, instead of focusing on loving her.

He won't thank fate for letting him try with someone as precious as you again, to dwell about useless things, instead, he'll focus on you, he'll thank you, for being so damn understanding each time he attempt to push you away, but you persist and not long after he realizes immediately that was near grave of him to do, giving him an episode against your arms as he kneels down against you, for you, hands clutching- grasping onto you for dear life to not leave him, over and over.

You were his second serious relationship, but he sure as hell won't love you like a second — and his words, his actions WILL prove that, his affections will be apparent, full of intent, every move is with purpose, every syllable is labored with a resolve.

The moment you overthink, will be an offense to his desperate pleas for your love, his devotion, his desire for your attention, your doubts wounding him, future scars being created by internal turnoil against him, your lies being his demise, threatening his vulnerability that can easily slip infront of you, and the moment you choose infidelity — will be the moment where he is finally convinced that death, will be his one and only.

A solace of the unknown, an escape to fate's smug boasting, jeering about someone like him having no rights to happiness from the amount of sins he's accumulated, to having no right in tasting a love he internally sought out for.

Shit, his post nut clarity really does hit him hard though, but good thing you were always there for him, snapping him out of his trance with an 'I love you' accompanied with your lips pecking his with a smile he adored so much, showering him with an automatic affection, giggly kisses all over him.

“Love you too, doll. So, so fuckin' much.”

— Hanma Shuji, Ken Ryuguji (Draken), Fushiguro Toji, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Scaramouche, Wanderer, Rengoku Shinjuro, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Dracule Mihawk, Blade, Luocha, Otto Apocalypse, Kalpas, Kevin Kaslana, Ban, Jumin Han, V (MysMe), Hyun Ryu (MysMe)

☰ RETURN TO MAIN MENU

2023 HIRAETHSDESIRES. Do not copy, translate or post my work to other platforms/websites/apps.

Reblogs w/tags and comments are heavily appreciated.

tags ! @ainescribe @sleep-deprivedracoon @ciarchivez @teapartyspilled @wanderingconstellations @kyouko-writes @antimatterz @hitomisuzuya @serenitiiy @scaraswh0re @scara6 @kazushawty @oreo-creampie @520cafe @flametrashira @renhoeku

(swear to god i feel like im forgetting a lot of ppl to tag)

• great, now i have to make one piece, mystic messenger, seven deadly sins and honkai impact masterlist

• "drabble" my fucking ass, also this makes me wanna write a focused smut of this lmao (dont pressure me tho ty ily muah)

• did i write the smut well? - a 19 year old virgin, burnt out, hormonal, degenerate, gamer, writer, retired performer shut in

FUCKING IN A PUBLIC BATHROOM

note: your genshin + honkai star rail bf makes you take them in the nearest bathroom

content warnings: nsfw (17+), fem!reader, fingering, public sex, unprotected sex

NEUVILLETTE

You just looked so cute in that sundress, how could you blame him for being so needy. He’d have you follow him to the restaurant’s bathroom, until the two of you manage to find a family one. As soon as that door was locked, his cock would be in your cunt instantly. His cock thrusting in and out of your soaking cunt, keeping his hands on your waist as he watched you attempt to grip at the walls or even the sink. How through his moans that he tries to silence, about how dirty you were trying to rile him up like this. But it worked.

AL HAITHAM

He just couldn’t stand that tight dress you were wearing. He wasn’t worried about other guys looking at you or staring at your tits for too long because he was never far from you, but got was that little dress tempting. You can’t blame him for having you both sneak into a nearby library’s bathroom. Your hands held behind your back while he trusted into your sloppy cunt. “The things you have me do” he would say watching your face flush due to his words. You bit your tongue to suppress your moans, wanting him to cum deep inside.

CHILDE

“You could have just told me you were this wet, no need to tease me” he would say, on his knees in the stall, before pressing his lips to your wet cunt after pulling your panties down. He doesn’t even let you fight back with his statement because he already has you focused on silencing your moans in any case someone came in. One hand over your lips while another was tangled up in his ginger curls. But despite how risky it was, you continued to keep thrusting your cunt into his mouth, needing him to reach further, and maybe even further with his cock.

JING YUAN

Who would fuck you in a family restroom your legs wrapped around his waist and your back against the wall while his cock kept slipping in and out of your cunt, always hitting deeper than then the last thrust. His lips attached to your neck leaving red marks everywhere while all you could sow as grip onto his shoulders and arms and as quietly as possible moan out his name. But god was that difficult with how deep his cock was entering you. That when you felt him fuck you through his cum you couldn’t help but moan out his name unexpectedly a bit too loud.

BLADE

He would have you gripping onto the sink or the counter with how deep he was thrusting into you from behind. As much as he wanted to mention how much of a dirty girl you were tightened every-time you guys thought someone was passing by or attempting to go into the bathroom your pussy tightened. He would chuckle and groan at the feel of the tightness as well, having a hand on your waist and one trailing to reach one of your breasts. God you looked sexy like this.

cw; afab!reader, implied chubby? reader, dirty thoughts, wet dreams, masturbation — not much, just academic!rival scara jerking off to you after a wet dream lmfao

-> master list

KIA'S HOME!!! Did ya' guys miss me 🥺🥺 I haven't posted in forever and it's fr pissing me off.

also also also I'm obsessed with academic rival!scara so theres already a part 2 of this in the works

also I would've posted this sooner if my ex and i didn't come back into contact so whoops there's that.. hope you guys enjoy this, mwaaa! I might go back to daily uploads? Idk though..

If this flops I'm gonna disappear off the face of the earth

"f—fuck! Scara.. mmn.. please.. more.."

The sound of squelching and skin slapping filled the room as Scaramouche pounded into you with absolutely zero restraint, His eyes rolling to the back of his head now that he's finally gotten what he's wanted after all these years..

"Mmn.. yes, yes.. I'll give you more.." He mumbled out, pulling you closer toll his face was right infront of yours; right as your lips were about to crash into one another.. Scaramouche woke up.

-☆-

He unwrapped himself from the blanket, letting out annoyed groans.. as he noticed that his room was still pitch black. Great! Another stupid wet dream woke him up in the middle of the night.

You've been the product of Scaramouche's desires ever since he's transferred, and instead of dealing with his feelings like a normal person, he decided to act like he hated you and beat you academically, just to piss you off! (What a fucking jerk.)

He hissed as his erection rubbed against the comforting warmth of the blanket, he'd always woken up to morning wood - it was nothing new.. But his wet dreams about you have gotten more and more frequent and he's been making a plan about how to make it a reality

But until then? He has to deal with this himself.

Scaramouche threw the blanket off of him and onto the floor before lazily pushing his sweatpants and boxers down to his ankles, not even bothering taking them off completely cause he knew danm well he'd fall back asleep after this..

With a shaky sigh he wrapped his slender fingers around his girth - He was on the bigger side, that was for sure, and Scaramouche wanted nothing more than to hear what you'd have to say about his cock.. would you cry and whine about how it was "too big"?

Pre-cum leaks from his tip at the thought of him getting to see your pretty face as you cried and wept about how he wouldn't fit:(

He shut his eyes, letting his thumb move upwards and spread the sticky liquid all around his tip.. He couldn't let the boy-ish moan that left his lips at the thought of your mouth replacing his fist.

And so it began..

Scaramouche slowly started to pump his hand up and down his erection - words couldn't explain how badly he wished it was your mouth.. how badly he wanted to see your fucked-out expression as he fucked his cock in and out of your mouth, watching as the tears fell down your cheeks when he finally came down your throat.

This was fucking torture. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to curse the Gods out for putting him in this situation or repent in hopes for forgiveness, so that they'd put him out of this touch-deprived hell.

Different scenarios flashed thru his mind like wrapping around your mark ridden neck.. pressing down on the sides and sending you into a lightheaded haze as he took you from behind.. or playing and sucking on your tits whike he shoved two fingers into your sopping cunt - scissoring open and getting you ready for his cock..

but eventually he settled on one, Eating you out.

Oh, how we longed to lick and suck at your clit till you were sobbing from the pleasure, thrusting his tongue in and out of you until he felt you come, to have your pudgy thighs wrap around his head till you choked him.

God, he loved your thighs. If you were to suffocate him in between them until he died, he'd brag about it in hell.

He started pumping his cock faster at the thought of you having to weakly push his head away as you begged him to stop - how badly be wanted to see your glossy eyes from the tears of pleasure that rolled down your flushed cheeks..

You'd probably taste so good.. so fucking sweet.. Scaramouche was never a fan of sweet foods but he sure as hell was a fan of you.

If he was being honest, he'd probably drool at the sight of your pussy.. Licking his lips before indulging you, maybe he could drag it out.. kissing at your inner thighs, making you beg for it.. beg for him to eat you out..

He wanted to hold onto your hips and stomach, squishing the fat there as he sloppily ate you out - ignoring your pleas of mercy until he figured he'd gotten enough of your taste, (which would only be after many many hours) watching as you sobbed even harder when he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance.. rubbing it along your folds before finally pushing it in..

You were always so pretty, he knew that you'd look even prettier if he made you cry..

He was unwillingly brought back down to reality when he felt his cock twitch in his hands, Scaramouche started thrusting his hips upwards to meet the pace of his fist.. he was so close but he couldn't come just yet.. one more scenario about you.. that's all he needed.

Then the thought of coming inside of you came into his mind, the thought of filling you to the brim with his cum made his cock twitch again and his pace get sloppy.. fuck, fuck, fuck!

He shot ropes of his release onto his.. everything? He couldn't really see with the fact that his room was still dark.. An annoyed sigh left his lips..

You really made Scaramouche's mind run wild, and one day you were going to pay for it.

MAKING THEM WHIMPER

note: making your genshin bf whimper in pleasure.

content warnings: nsfw (17+), fem!reader, riding, begging, praise kink, slight dom + slight sub

AL HAITHAM

His mouth right besides your ear, and his hand with a firm grip on your waist as he kept you bent over, his cock pounding deep and hitting every sweet spot of yours. He was trying so hard to keep his moans from getting too loud so he could hear you and your soaking cunt squeezing him in, but god you felt so perfect tonight. Especially ever since you got a tattoo of his initial on your breasts. “F-Fuck, name.. fuck!” you hear him whisper and god you could tell he was close to finishing. But a surprise to you, was hearing him whimper, and praising how good you felt. His whimpers louder than your moans itself, before he finished deep inside, squirting and painting your walls with his come.

DILUC

He was a mess every time he indulged himself into some intimacy with you. But something about when he would eat your soaking pussy, that made him moan and whimper as if he was craving it all his life. He’ll always tease the clit while always remaining a steady pace with his tongue as he filled your cunt with joy and pleasure. But god when you pressed your cunt against his face he would always let out a whimper and moan, something that would add the cherry on top and have you come almost instantly.

NEUVILLETTE

Missionary was his favorite position because it gave him a chance and reason to keep his head into your neck, in an attempt cover his whimpers. Which never really worked, but it at least allowed you to tug onto his hair as he would continue to thrust deep and gently inside of you. Whimpering and moaning with every thrust on how good you felt, and god would you earn such a passionate moan as you tugged his hair once more whilst he finished inside.

WRIOTHESLEY

Having his hands and wrists cuffed as you rode him on your living room couch. Being the only one with control as you could see it in his eyes, him begging to touch your breasts. “Please, [name], just once” he begged but you shook your head. “Patience, wrio..” you whispered, slamming yourself down on his cock. There is a loud moan that escapes the bottom of his throat before you passionately kiss him to tease. And oh archon did he break that kiss several times to let out several whimpers.

『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity. 

DING DING DING 

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium. 

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf. 

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!” 

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.  

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it. 

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe. 

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.  

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you. 

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.  

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.  

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching: 

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!” 

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy” 

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss. 

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.” 

“Then why is this happening?” 

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.  

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice. 

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.  

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily. 

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life. 

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest. 

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect. 

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished. 

“Hm? Who’re you?” 

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.” 

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this. 

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly. 

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you. 

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked. 

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist. 

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.” 

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.  

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.” 

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.” 

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?” 

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours. 

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.  

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.  

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this. 

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear. 

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.” 

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response. 

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.  

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.  

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring. 

“Wriothesley! Times up.”  He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you. 

“Two minutes.” 

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.  

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.  

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe. 

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. 

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line. 

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads. 

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette. 

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand. 

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.” 

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you. 

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand. 

 “No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy. 

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.” 

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.  

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.” 

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him. 

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze. 

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips. 

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips. 

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction. 

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl. 

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence. 

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head. 

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair. 

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone. 

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle. 

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant. 

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face. 

“Why are you being annoying-” 

“Who were you talking to” he chides.  

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.” 

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.  

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.” 

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel. 

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word. 

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners. 

 Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course. 

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone. 

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face. 

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you. 

He promised. 

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address. 

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again. 

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.  

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly. 

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse. 

“What? I don’t know.”  “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”  

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response. 

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.  

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy. 

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-” 

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-” 

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab. 

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-” 

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”  

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes. 

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-” 

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.  

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there. 

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts. 

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.  

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds. 

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside. 

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.  

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask. 

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid. 

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face. 

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:  

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”  

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body. 

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology. 

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.  

“So, um.” 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably. 

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts. 

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes. 

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.  

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you. 

“Sorry. For what I said.” 

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit. 

“You know I didn’t do it, right?” 

“I know.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“I know.” you reassure.  

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention. 

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy. 

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours. 

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house. 

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw. 

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge. 

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom. 

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness. 

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.  

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.  

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “ 

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.  

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.  

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.  

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks. 

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance. 

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can. 

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest. 

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.  

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.  

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?”  he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.” 

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.” 

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

"Wrio."

"Mm."

You try to shake his shoulder, the task made infinitely more difficult by the fact that his entire body weight was crushing you to the bed. All those stupid muscles he has (and that you normally admired quite a bit) betraying you into staying for just a bit longer.

"Wriothesley," You hiss, still trying to nudge the sleeping man off of you.

"Oh, pulling out the government names now, are we, sweetheart?" The bastard murmurs into your shoulder, voice raspy from sleep. His cheeky grin brushes the skin and makes goosebumps erupt on your flesh.

You try to fight him off now, less worried about startling him now that he's clearly awake and clearly making a point to not move. If anything, Wriothesley's arms curl tighter around you, making you wheeze. For the second time in the span of five minutes, you curse him and those stupid muscles of his.

"Wrio, get off me, you ass," you growl, squirming in his hold, but he just chuckles. "I told Sigewinne I'd make pancakes with her. You're going to make me late!"

His head pops up then. Bleary eyes meet yours, and you're close enough to see how the color shifts between grey, blue and green in the light of the room. You've always had trouble pinpointing the exact shade of his eyes and now is no exception. The shift of colors has always struck you as beautiful, has always managed to capture your attention.

"How cold-hearted of you to want to leave me over a stack of pancakes. I should have you thrown in prison for that."

You snort, managing to uncurl on of his arms from around your body, getting to work on the other. "As if–– we both know you're gonna snatch some of them up, dearest."

"Well, I won't deny it."

The moment you get free of his hold, you roll out of the covers and the bed, dodging Wriothesley's grip with practices ease. He playfully scowls at you from under the sheets, looking like a maligned puppy.

As you walk out the door in your pajamas, you blow him a kiss that he catches with one hand. You laugh. "I'm eating your share if you take too long to get up, dearest!"

Just before you lose sight of him, you catch sight of the middle finger he flashes you from under the covers as well as his soft, fond smile.

How he fell for you

dark content blogs dni

notes: so.....this exists now..... I'm not a Dottore stan I'm not a Dottore stan I'm not a Dottore stan why tf is this post so long I'm not a Dottore stan I'm very normal cries in agony

contains: dottore x gn!reader, enemies to lovers, set at the akademiya, jealous!dottore, cute nerd + evil gremlin energy

warnings: dottore is a little bit of an asshole at first

also feel free to join my genshin discord server

D o t t o r e

Honestly, at first you hated each other

Dottore was considered handsome and many of your classmates at the Akademiya had giggled when he was assigned as your study partner, teasing you about whether you two could become a thing

Which you always vehemently denied. The thought made you cringe visibly.

Truth be told, you weren't even an actual scholar at the Akademiya. You took a couple of courses there to qualify you for a job you wanted to do. It was something the prestigious institution offered, but didn't put much effort into. So assisting students like you in your studies and becoming somewhat of a tutor or mentor in your afternoon classes was what detention looked like for the students who were aiming to become exceptional scholars and researchers of the Akademiya.

And Dottore was no stranger to the concept of detention. He often took things too far, although he was never caught for some of the more illegal experiments he did.

So for a while he was assigned to spend his afternoons sitting next to you at your desk, listening to the professor explain topics he considered "too pedestrian for him" and attempted to help you with the practical tasks.

"Help" mostly consisted of belittling you and explaining things in a manner that meant to show off how much of a genius he was. He had little to no concern for the fact that you were a stranger to the subject and his elaborate explanations flew completely over your head. Who was he to care whether you understood what he was talking about or not? You knew the words he was using but strung together like that they didn't sound cohesive.

The most responsive and emotional you've seen him was the shock he expressed over things you didn't know yet. "What do you mean you don't know how to solve this??", he put his head in his hand and and buries his fingers in his hair, leaving it messy when he looked at you again.

A little bit aggressive while explaining. Literally does the task for you and is pretty rough on the equipment while he goes on a rant of "Now you do this.....and then that.....see, it's super easy."

He also puts his stuff everywhere. It's your desk in your lesson but somehow Dottore always arrives right when the lesson is about to start because he's come from a hectic session of lab experiments or outdoor research and he has his whole equipment in his backpack. And obviously this stuff can't stay squeezed into a backpack for hours so it's now supposed to be on your side of the desk.

You once accidentally knock a vial off the desk because he put it next to your arm while you were writing as it was one of the only spots on the table that were not already covered in Dottore's possessions. The professor had to calm a very agitated Dottore down.

Sometimes he just gently bulldozes your arms off the table with his elbows.

He's never intentionally hurting you but he does think being there is a waste of his time, that he's entitled to take up as much space and attention in the lesson as he wants to and that you probably loathe him as much as he loathes you. Being your tutor meant the less progress you made, the longer it would take for Dottore to be released of his duties.

One day in literature class you were introduced to a novel about a mad scientist. Of course Dottore would project on the protagonist. What he didn't expect was for you, when it came to the task of interpreting the novel, to understand exactly how Dottore was feeling. The curiosity that was never satisfied. The urge to transcend his limits as a mere mortal and learn how the world truly functioned from the perspective of the divine. The alienation from everyone around him. The fact that he struggled to perceive the people he interacted with as anything more than hollow shells. The inability to imagine them as conscious and alive as he was. He stared at you and was like oh...

You just sent him a questioning look, not understanding what he was thinking about before you proceeded sharing your theories about the work of fiction with him.

At some point he also started comparing you with the protagonist's love interest which was very suspicious considering the fact that you had absolutely nothing in common with the character in question. Yep, definitely projecting....

Literature class was one of the electives that Dottore had begrudgingly picked because doing some of these to "broaden his horizons" was mandatory although they had nothing to do with his usual research. Dottore, being as ignorant to other people and their feelings as he usually was, had a hard time with interpretation and writing about a character's emotional journey without making it sound like he was picking apart their neurological processes and discussing chemicals in the brain. In hindsight, he probably should have picked a different elective.

He also wasn't the best at actually presenting his research (the parts that the public was able to stomach at least) because he was too caught up in his own head, had the tendency to go on a tangent and just assumed that everyone would know what he was talking about.

Eventually he found that you were actually quite good at both of those things. He had gotten used to your presence so he thought he might as well make good use of it.

Dottore asking anyone for their opinion was quite the novelty.

He sometimes pouts when you criticize him because deep down there was a part of him that wanted to impress you. Why? He didn't know. Your thoughts weren't at all relevant to his time at the Akademiya and yet he found himself listening to them attentively as you helped make his presentation more palatable for..... literally anyone who was not Dottore.

You had volunteered to listen to him practice and he was wondering why you'd spend your time like this. Nevertheless, he gladly took you up on the offer and even invited you to his research presentation so you could once again see how brilliant he was. It was one of those events that were way fancier than they needed to be and so you had dressed up according to the occasion and scanned the lecture hall for Dottore, who was wearing a nice shirt and a vest and fiddling hectically with his notes. That's so typical for him, you smiled to yourself and shook your head a little.

When you locked eyes across the room, Dottore's first thought was "oh shit." Honestly your reaction wasn't that different. The two of you weren't used to stuff like,,,,, finding each other handsome or the mental image of kissing each other. Dottore actually takes this better than you do. He's just like "affection isn't real, it's all just chemicals in our brain, I can probably make something in the lab that will suppress this."

He greeted you nonchalantly and you chuckled. "You messed up your tie and your hair again." Your eyes scanned Dottore's somewhat disheveled appearance. He was always busy before events like these, always doing something and the stress and concentration made him subconsciously pull at his tie or run his hands through his hair way too often. It was a habit you had observed quite a few times when he arrived to tutor you. "Then fix it or whatever", he huffed and hoped no one was staring at him while you fixed his tie and his hair.

Hates how much he enjoys having your fingers in his hair. Literally angry at himself for liking this.

Although you didn't really understand the subject Dottore was talking about on the stage, you enjoyed listening to him and how confident and proud he looked. There was the usual arrogance he carried with him wherever he went but you could also catch a glimpse of genuine enjoyment on his face while he presented the results of his hard work.

He asks you later how you liked it and his heart skips a beat when you compliment him. Though, considering the tension that always was between the two of you, compliments were usually followed by a playful insult or a teasing remark.

Playful banter became your constant once both of you had begrudgingly accepted that the hatred you felt for one another had long since faded. You were often giving the other a challenging grin and Dottore loved this. He loved how witty you could be and how you retorted back confidently when he teased you. Soon enough you two had what one could consider several inside jokes.

Before he had realized it himself, he started seeing you as a person rather than a subject to study the same way he considered the whole world his experimental ground. Hell, he started looking forward to seeing you every day. Dottore had convinced himself that this was solely because he found you intriguing and he wanted to see how you'd react to different things he did or said. He was simply studying your behavior.

While he was usually agitated and annoyed when you didn't understand things or messed up in lessons, Dottore became more gentle in his explanations and tried to actually inspire some interest in the topic in you.

One time the two of you had to do a simple science experiment that Dottore had done countless of times. If different kinds of chemicals were poured onto a crystal found in the caves of Sumeru's forests, the crystal would glow in different colors and light up the room. The professor dimmed the light while Dottore guides your hand a little to make sure you don't spill any of the chemicals or hurt yourself in the process. You were wondering where the change of heart had come from. A month or two ago he would have shrugged had you dropped acid onto your legs. But now he simply hissed "Don't do that, do you want to kill yourself?" and carefully put the vial with the chemical you were holding aside

He quietly chuckled to himself at how fascinated you seemed when staring at the colorful spots the light of the crystal threw on the wall. He wondered when he had started to find moments like these endearing. He hated his growing affection for you. This was never something that was supposed to happen. Dottore was above something like falling in love and if he were to fall for someone, he thought it would be an exceptional genius such as himself. Yet here you were, turning out to be more than enough for him. If he already had to go through the hassle of dealing with his emotions and experiencing "love", he was glad it was you.

He only noticed he was smiling fondly at you when you turned your head towards him and gave him a smile back. Dottore was closer to you now than he had ever been. Your shoulders and arms were touching, you could feel his warmth and smell his fresh cologne. He eventually reached for your hand while staring at the crystal with a concentrated expression and you knew, were you to comment on it, he would push you away. So you gently rubbed his fingers with your thumb and the two of you stared at the colorful lights in silence. Needless to say things were very awkward when the professor turned on the lights again and the moment was over. Dottore was cold once again and excused himself, stating that he still had a research project to attend to and left the room. He just needs some time to process this.

Dottore's growing feelings for you show in subtle ways. How, during events everyone who's taking classes at the Akademiya is invited to, he chooses to sit next to you and talk to you even though his esteemed colleagues are literally right there. How he's always looking out for you, sometimes gently guiding you away with his hand from people who were about to bump into you. The way he started giving you more space and finally shared his thoughts and knowledge with you without complaining all the time. How he'd bring you a coffee or a hot chocolate from a nearby vendor when it was a cold morning. Sometimes you'd bring food to share with him as well but Dottore is an incredibly picky eater so his responses vary from "Oh, thank you" to "Gross, how can you eat something like that?" even though he had never tried the food

Dottore's plan was to just keep you around because he found his time with you amusing and eventually once he's had enough, his feelings would fade away and he could move on with his life. Or cook something up in his lab after all. Unfortunately for him, Dottore was jealous.

He had noticed you had been spending quite some time with another student and you were doing things together many people would consider a date. People had assumed the two of you were a couple, much to Dottore's distaste.

Dottore would often ask you how you had spent your day and huff when you mentioned this person. He'd comment on how he hated people like them and always seemed to imply you had terrible taste. On some days he'd see you and say something like "How's your little romance going?"

"We're not dating but I do wonder why you keep asking that", now it was your turn to give him what was commonly referred to as a "shit-eating grin" and Dottore internally adorned his brain with every curse word in his vocabulary. "I just think you could do better is all. I don't get what you see in them", he tried to play it off like it was his usual arrogance talking but Dottore was a little hurt and he hated how you could make him feel like that. He felt more and more backed into a corner when you, contrary to his expectation about how this conversation would go, kept inquiring about his reasons for acting like this.

"I'm just spending time with a person I like. Why do you keep commenting on that? Why does this bother you so much?", you didn't back off. Dottore clenched his fists and subconsciously avoided eye contact. A hissed "Kiss me and find out" slipped out under his breath before he could stop it.

He was still processing the mess he had gotten himself into when you snaked your arm around his waist and pulled him closer. When your lips met his, his kiss was uncharacteristically gentle at first. Like he was unsure what to do. For now he was just enjoying the sensation and confirmation that you were finally his. He gently caressed your cheek before sighing and kissing you back more passionately, almost desperately, as he had denied himself to feel the way he did for you for too long. He gently nibbled on your lip and held you tightly in his arms.

When the kiss ended, Dottore pulled you into his chest, holding the back of your head with his hand. You buried your face in his shirt and ran your fingertips along his back. Dottore thought about how he could get used to this.

You looked into his eyes with a grin on your face. "Not. a. word", Dottore warned you which made you chuckle.

You simply sank back into his arms and let him hold you for a while.

Dottore takes a long time to warm up to you. He's still sometimes cold and passive and he wasn't ready to put a label on your relationship yet. Affection was mostly initiated by you, although you could tell when he craved it because he'd get a little grumpy and impatient. He enjoyed your touch, even though he didn't dare admit it yet. But with time Dottore opens up more and more to you. He becomes more attentive and affectionate eventually. He just needs time.

OH NY GOD THE CHILDHOOD CRUSH CONCEPT BUT WITH DOTTORE 😭😭IF THAT'S OKAY?? reader is the only one who was interested in his endeavors and helped, so probably they're just as bad as him so they're partners in crime 👉👈 he's gotta have done experiments on then but they were never painful, only for them fr

♡ 𝐃𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 ♡

synopsis: When you were a child, there was a peculiar boy who seemed to never have any friends, alienated away from the others. Perhaps you could be his first one.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: Yes yes yes, I love this! This is so very cute, thank you and I hope you enjoy this! The use of Dottore's real name, Zandik, is used mostly in this because, well... that's what he was called as a child. (And to be honest, if you're dating any of the Harbingers you have to be somewhat... you know. And I think pre-Fatui Dottore would be different when it comes to affection and such... so yea. Subby Dottore I guess?)

Childhood was something you cherished growing up in Sumeru. The pursuit of knowledge, the Akademiya, being a scholar, was something that was drilled into the heads of the young ones even from an early age. But when you were a child, you had the freedom to actually live, the ability to dream, to have fun, to run around and play freely without having to worry about all that boring stuff. So needless to say, you made sure to spend every second of your childhood the way you wanted as much as you could. You were going to have as much fun as possible! Perhaps that was why the rumors about the teal-haired boy did not make you waver in your pursuit to befriend him too much.

Despite the child being your neighbor, you didn’t really know much about Zandik, but what you did know was that Zandik’s mother was a kind woman. She always waved hi to you when you saw her and made small talk with you. Besides that, you never really thought about it further until your friends brought it up one day.

“That lady really seems to really like you, [Name].”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, she’s always nice to me. She even makes me Pita Pockets sometimes!”

“Her child is too creepy though,” your friend complained. You were taken aback by their statement.

“What do you mean?” you questioned.

“Zandik’s always just been weird. That’s why no one ever plays with him. I heard that he always wants to do these weird… um, experiments I think. There are other rumors too, but I just know the way he acts is just bizarre.”

“I feel bad for her,” another one of your friends chipped in. “It must be hard to deal with such a freak. Aren’t you his neighbor, anyway? Don’t you know this?”

You just frowned and shrugged your shoulders. You didn’t really like the way they spoke about Zandik. Surely he couldn’t be as bad as they made him out to be. Maybe he was just an introvert?

Then again, you barely ever saw Zandik before. He never played with anyone, never spoke to anyone, hell, you didn’t even know if he left his house. The most often you saw him was when you happened to be walking by and caught a glimpse of him through the windows. He always quickly moved away when he was spotted though.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Just try to stay away from him, [Name].” You nodded your head, but your mind was already made up. You were determined to find out how bad Zandik actually was.

—

You did say you were going to befriend him, but you soon realized you were not sure how to go about it. You had never met someone like him before, so your choices were limited. The easiest thing you could think of was waiting near his room’s window. It was a bit embarrassing hiding behind a tree, seemingly waiting for nothing, but soon enough you saw him take a seat near the glass. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but he looked very focused on it, and you were a bit mesmerized for a second, as this was your first real look at him. But you soon snapped out of your daze and came out from behind the tree.

“Heyyyy!” You yelled, jumping up and down, attracting his attention. Zandik’s shoulders jumped for a second at the noise, and when he looked up, he was greeted by your figure on the ground. Your expression brightened when you noticed he saw you and began to wave your hands, mouthing something he couldn’t hear clearly.

Zandik was stunned. If he recalled correctly, you were the person who lived next door. He saw you occasionally but of course, did not care much about you. So why were you here? Were you standing there the whole time? What did you want? His active mind produced many questions, but in the end, he knew what you were. Your intentions could not be different from the other children.

The boy looked at you incredulously for a moment before getting up. Your smile grew wider, oh, was he going to open the window and say something? But then he pulled his curtains shut on you, blocking your sight into his room completely. Damn it. 

Well, that failed terrifically, but it was a bit stupid now that you thought of it. You sat down against a tree and tried to think of your next plan, unaware of the now slightly drawn curtain and curious red eyes peeking out of it.

—

Any other ideas you tried had failed, and you were not sure what to do. You had become aware that he was closed off, unwilling to interact with you or any others. But this had only made you far more interested in him. So, you had only one plan left - to go directly to the person who could tell you all. And so you knocked on the front door of his house, revealing a familiar face.

“Oh? Hello, my dear! What a pleasant surprise to see you, [Name]. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Hi, ma’am. You see, I, um, have a request. I need help with something.”

“Well, I’ll certainly do my best to help you then,” Zandik’s mom affirmed.

“I want to see Zandik,” you said bluntly, shocking the woman for a second. “I want to befriend him and talk to him.”

“I-I see. It’s not every day another child comes and asks for my son. He is a… peculiar case, after all, and he doesn’t like speaking to other people. Are you sure about this?”

“Please, I really do want to be his friend,” you said resolutely. Her face softened and she relented.

“Alright, my dear. I know he usually frequents this spot…” the woman gave in and gave you directions to where Zandik apparently spent much of his time. 

As you made your way there, you were a bit in awe of how he managed to find such a place. You never knew this route existed until now. Soon, after a bit of trekking, you found an opening that boasted lush grass and smooth stones, with trees surrounding it in a circle. It was quite pretty. And then that was when you saw Zandik in the middle, his teal hair matching the greenery. For a moment, you pondered over how to approach him, but you did not need to think long since he spoke first.

“How did you manage to find this place?” His voice echoed throughout the clearing, letting you know that you were spotted. You tentatively took a few more steps closer, his small body getting bigger.

“I asked your mom,” you began, “and she told me I could find you over here.” He let out a sigh.

“Admittedly, I did not expect you to go to such drastic lengths. You are more persistent than the lot of them,” Zandik acknowledged, though still not looking up from the rather complicated and thick book he was reading. Then, he snapped it shut and stood up. 

“So, what is the reason for your tireless pursuit? Perhaps you’ve come to ridicule me? Or are you here to see whether the rumors are genuine? Do tell, I am truly curious as to what would warrant such an extended hunt.”

You were a bit stunned at that whole statement, but you only had one thing to reply with. “I mean… it’s none of those. I just want to become your friend.”

A moment of silence passed before a chuckle broke it. Then, full-out laughter rang out, echoing throughout the forest. It was almost maniacal, and you couldn’t lie that it kind of scared you a bit, but you bit your lip and remained calm.

“Aha, hehe, why, I have not heard that one yet. How creative. I must say, they are getting better at these.” After that little outburst, Zandik returned to his previous sitting position and became absorbed in his book again. You were honestly unsure of how to react to that. Did the other kids truly pick on him that much, for him to think another wanting to become his friend was a lie? You stood there unmoving until Zandik spoke again in a dismissive tone.

“You can go now. It was amusing while it lasted,” he said disinterestedly, waving his hand. You were dumbfounded but determined, so you answered back very simply.

“No. No, I won’t leave,” you declared so firmly that the boy stiffened.

“No?”

“Yes, in fact, I’m going to come over there right now. You know I wasn’t joking in the first place?” you said rather calmly, trying to seem as serious about this as possible, taking steps toward him. 

He scowled, his attention drawn from his book once again. “No, you won’t. You won’t dare to come near me,” he stated just as firmly, having recalled how the other children wouldn’t even look at him. You grinned and picked up your pace until you were only a couple of footsteps away from him, and that was when he truly realized you were not joking. Zandik hastily tried to get up to avoid you but you dashed towards him, nearly tripping as you lowered yourself to a squatting position, becoming face to face with him.

You leaned in close to Zandik’s face, your nose almost touching his. His unique, red eyes held annoyance and a variety of other negative emotions, but there was something foreign in there too, which was the reason he didn’t pull away - confusion and curiosity. You smiled.

“Well now, hopefully you finally get it into that head of yours that you are now my friend. So, why don’t you tell me about what you’re reading?”

At first, he vehemently denied your friendly advances. He’d mock you, roll his eyes at you and such, or flat-out ignore you which was what he usually did. Zandik was honestly not very welcoming, which you began to expect at a certain point. But you persisted nonetheless. You followed him around no matter where he tried to go. You’d sit close to him but not too close. You’d speak sometimes and would either be met with silence or a sarcastic remark but you began to somewhat enjoy it. You’d stretch your neck to try and read the books he always brought with him in an attempt to better understand him. Though, the day he put the book on the ground so it could be read by both of you was the day you knew you won.

Zandik would always tell you not to come back, but you always came back of course. He’d roll his eyes and scoff at your tenacity, but you came to realize that he liked it. After all, he could very well just go to another hiding place, or arrive at a completely different time if he truly didn’t want to see you. He’d never admit it, but he warmed up to you. You also learned that Zandik really liked to talk. At first, when you would ask him questions about science, he wouldn’t respond but you could see him biting the inside of his lip, restraining himself from going on a tangent. It was the first time anyone had shown any real interest in him. Zandik would ramble on about many, many things, often transferring to a new topic in the blink of an eye. Even when he spoke about less-than-pleasant things, he looked to you all excitedly to hear your thoughts. When it came to those kinds of topics you satiated him with a smile, but you always voiced your thoughts as much as possible which pleased him greatly.

Eventually, you started to invite Zandik over to your house. His mom was positively ecstatic and encouraged this behavior. And yet you didn’t do what typical children did. He wanted to do experiments. Which did not really surprise you after everything was done and said. Despite being your age, he always spoke in such an… advanced way. It was hard to describe, but he always employed these big terms and used such proper grammar and language, something that was very uncharacteristic for a child. And experimented he did. Zandik’s experiments were not limited to mixing and combining different elements but also extended to you, somehow. He wanted a strand of your hair, your eyelash, a paper with your fingerprints all over it. What he used these for, you didn’t know.

Your own parents were scholars, so even though you didn’t see them very much, they left a multitude of advanced books and texts in the house. While you had never cared for them much, Zandik devoured them with ease. Even though you invited him to your house to talk and play together, there were times he’d just take one of the books and read for the whole time, shushing you whenever you tried to speak. You had to settle for simply sitting next to him and trying to follow along, which he… surprisingly did not mind. Under his breath, he’d mutter phrases like “Khaenri’ah” and “Visions” and “ruin machines” which frankly did not make much sense to you, but you always happily entertained him.

One day, Zandik wanted to go somewhere deep in the forest. You had played around there a couple of times, but you had never entered into the depths of it, heeding the warnings of danger from the adults. Naturally, you were a bit worried and scared, but you knew that Zandik would enter with or without you, for there was no length he wasn’t willing to go to cure his curiosity. Though he would not tell you why you were making this journey, you followed him nonetheless, until you reached an area with many damaged stones and pillars. As to how he found this location, you didn’t question it.

“There it is,” Zandik said almost breathlessly. You were confused at first but then you followed his line of sight, and then you saw it. A Ruin Guard sat on the ground, unmoving. Your jaw dropped as you had never seen one of them before, only hearing about their destructiveness from others and in books.

“So you came here to look at that?”

“Indeed. But we are not merely going to look. I’m going to investigate it.”

“Huh?! But what if it awakens and attacks us?” Even though the two of you were a good distance away, you could easily tell the Ruin Guard dwarfed your tiny bodies by a great amount.

“From what I’ve read and heard, it should be deactivated. There is no need to worry,” Zandik affirmed. 

“What do you mean by ‘should be’- hey, wait up!” Before you could finish your sentence, your friend had already made his way toward the Ruin Guard. You scrambled to catch up with him and soon enough you two were close to the robot. Both of you stood there for a bit, just taking in the sight until Zandik couldn’t hold back and approached the Automaton, circling around it, clearly fascinated.

Clink.

The two of you stiffened at the sound.

“Zandik… did you hear that?” He did not respond, but soon enough your question was answered as the eye of the Ruin Guard beamed awake.

Zandik could only stare in amazement as the complex machine glowed and lit up back to life. You were momentarily shocked but you quickly regained your senses and grabbed his hand to get away from there, because you two would be dead in a couple of seconds if you didn’t move. You had to literally drag him because the machine had him in an astonished stupor.

“I thought you said it was DEAD?!?!” you practically screamed at him as the Ruin Guard lowered itself to shoot missiles at you both. You managed to hide the two of you behind a small stone wall as the projectiles hit that instead. “And snap out of it!!”

“I suppose I have miscalculated.”

“You suppose?” Your voice had quieted down so as to not bring back the attention of the robot, which was now walking around the area since it had lost sight of you. “We need to leave before it spots us again.”

“No,” he disagreed. “We’ll incapacitate it ourselves.” It took you a few seconds to process what Zandik said to you.

“Are you crazy? Ah, never mind that. I already knew you were from a long time ago. But this is something far from our level!”

“I believe that we would be able to disable it.”

“Trained adventurers have died from that thing,” you insisted.

“We aren’t adventurers. We are better than them.”

“We’re children,” you deadpanned.

“Two intelligent children,” Zandik corrected you. For a second you were shocked that he called you smart, as you did not expect that sudden compliment. You always considered him the brains and you were… the supporter from the sidelines. “Furthermore, I have a plan.”

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Fine… what is it?”

“It is quite simple. First, you will hit the eye of the Ruin Guard twice to stun it, and while it’s knocked out, I will remove the core to deactivate it.”

“...Yeah. So simple, Zandik,” you said sarcastically. “And how do you suppose I manage to hit its eye? It’s extremely tall and my aim is nowhere that good.”

“I would not have brought up this idea if I did not think you were that incapable. You are quite useful to me,” he said straightforwardly. Boy, did Zandik have a very odd way of cheering you up.

“I… well, okay then. And you know how to get the core out of it?”

“I’ve read multiple passages of these machines in textbooks. I assume I have enough knowledge to do so.”

“I’m not going to even say anything. You owe me a play date after all of this,” you pouted. Zandik rolled his eyes begrudgingly.

“I suppose I can engage in your nonsensical childish activities when all of this is over. But just for an hour,” he proclaimed. You gleefully smiled, pleased to have won him over.

You didn’t care much for the Archons or Gods but you suppose they must have been watching over you because you eventually managed to stun it. Keyword: eventually - after whole minutes of running around dodging missiles and picking up random stones along the way, while Zandik sat there waiting for the right moment. You swear he was laughing at you. And true to his word, the young boy dismantled the machine’s core, rendering it unable to operate.

“Wow… I can’t believe we actually did that,” you mentioned, still in awe of it all.

“Of course we did. I would expect or accept nothing less. Now, come here. We have work to do.”

Somehow he had brought along small tools to try and dissemble the Ruin Guard. The red-eyed boy’s intelligence had always amazed you. Although it may seem boring to others, watching him fiddle was quite interesting for you. Zandik had also apparently appointed you as his assistant without informing you until now, so you always sat next to him. You made sure to keep an eye on what he did, for sometimes he would put his hand out and expect you to pass him a tool or screw without saying anything. At the end of the day, at least you could say the two of you had feats that no other child could claim to have accomplished.

It had gotten to the point where Zandik constantly wanted your presence around him, claiming that it would do you well to join him since you had nothing better to do. (He just didn’t want to admit he craved your attention and company.) You had accepted this with no complaints, having enjoyed spending time with him far more than your other friends. But you couldn’t deny that your friends were somewhat right about their thoughts towards Zandik - he cared little for others’ lives or feelings, was interested in things others would find disturbing, and even as a child you could tell he was not too right in the head. And yet his morals being concerningly low despite still being a kid, you could not bring yourself to care much. Heh, perhaps he was starting to influence you too.

Many years had passed since the two of you were little kids. Zandik had grown into a handsome, young, man. His mother was no longer in the picture, but the two of you were still together despite it all. And as much as you wanted to end your story off with a cliche everything was well, nothing could be farther from the truth. The atmosphere of your hometown had begun to grow tense. Why, you ask? Because of Zandik. The villagers had always not been the kindest to him, never fond of his rather strange ideas, though Zandik usually brushed it off with disinterest. But as he grew older, it seemed that the town’s dislike for him grew as well. And while you were a bit worried for him, you weren’t too concerned. You were sure the two of you would leave the place one day anyway. No way in your wildest dreams did you think you’d look outside your window and see people waving around pitchforks and clubs. And if that wasn’t bewildering enough, they were pointed toward Zandik.

You never scrambled to your feet and out the door so fast in your life, rushing to your dear friend’s side. His expression was unreadable when he saw you.

“Hey. Hey! What is this all about, huh?” you demanded to the crowd.

“He has to go. He is no longer a child, and so we no longer have any reason to have to harbor him here. He is a threat to this town,” someone spat.

“He’s never even hurt you,” you argued. “He never laid a hand on any of you. It was rather you who did that!” You think you heard Zandik whisper your name quietly.

“He’s a heretic,” another voice hissed. “He and his ideas do not belong here.” The clattering of pitchforks pitched in to agree. Zandik remained silent.

You gritted your teeth. You could see there was no point in arguing anymore. “Fine. Fine then. We didn’t even like it here anyway,” you fumed. In your spur of anger, you clasped your friend’s hand and practically dragged him in the opposite direction, blocking out the boos and mockery from the rest of the town.

Surprisingly, Zandik did not say a word throughout your little journey to who knew where, until you had to take a break from the sheer exhaustion. Embarrassingly, you had to release his hand that you had kept hostage the whole time, but Zandik seemed far less perturbed than you. Perhaps he saw it coming, with how assured his next statement was. 

“We shall attend the Akademiya.” Out of all the possible things he could have said, you did not expect that one for some reason.

“The A-Akademiya?”

“Yes,” Zandik said quite simply.

 “I mean, it’s not a bad idea but… the people there might be…” You did not finish your sentence, but you were referring to how the place could have a good amount of judgmental “scholars.”

He laughed bitterly. “After this morning, I highly doubt anything they do shall ever bother me.” You did not know what words would console him, so the only thing you offered was an agreeing nod and your silent presence.

“They did not exile you, [Name],” he said all of a sudden.

“It doesn’t matter. Getting rid of you would be the same thing as getting rid of me. I wouldn’t stay in a place where you aren’t,” you shrugged simply, placing your pinky over his own.

Zandik did not respond, but he didn’t move away.

—

The Akademiya was… an experience, for sure. It was many things all at once, the different Darshans and the beautiful architecture, the great looming trees. And the dorms were far nicer than you expected. At least they were spending their funds decently enough. So, the two of you settled into the scholarly life relatively easily. Zandik easily climbed to the top of his classes in no time, quickly garnering the attention of others and then losing it equally as fast when they encountered his prickly personality. There were always gossip and rumors floating about, many of which proclaimed Zandik to be a madman and a monster. And while he rarely ever showed any expression to these words, besides perhaps a roll of the eyes and chuckle or a scoff, you wondered if it really did bother him. As such, everyday life for you was being known as the normal person who hung out with the weirdo.

But, the years spent in the institution were ones you cherished deeply. You were close with your friend for many years, but perhaps staying together in such close quarters deepened the relationship. The two of you would sneak out after hours to do whatever Zandik demanded to be done. You were a bit iffier about breaking rules, but Zandik was firm on not letting anyone hold him back in his pursuit, so you began to think less of it. Many nights would pass by with the two of you staying up until unreasonable hours, whether it was studying together (or more like Zandik helping you study), or listening to him ramble on about his latest ideas and inventions. The strangest times were when he made you stay up despite not speaking at all. You would blink through bleary eyes as he remained silent, the only noise the clinking of bolts and nuts. In your heart, you liked to think he just liked your presence.

But the day you found out Zandik was to be expelled from the Akademiya was one you’d never forget. You knew he had a tendency to act without permission, to turn off others with his radical ideas, so perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised. You also had some knowledge of what happened in his expeditions with the team - almost everyone did, considering what happened with that girl - and you knew deep down what her true cause of death was. And Zandik knew that you knew too; you could feel it unspoken in his eyes when the subject matter was brought up briefly. You knew you were too far gone when you accepted it. But still, him being expelled was still a shocker. Yet the only thing he bemoaned was losing his space to work.

“It is quite literally your last night in this dorm and you’re sad about losing your progress on your experiments?” Actually, now that you thought about it, it was quite a Zandik thing to think.

“It was the only good thing about this place,” he shrugged. “It is too bad. I shall have to find somewhere else now.”

“They’re going to exile you to the desert, aren’t they?” you frowned. “That’s what they do with the expelled and mad scholars, no?” He nodded in agreement.

“You can’t go. You won’t be able to continue your kind of research there,” you argued.

“And what do you propose? That we fight them?”

“Yes! I’ll fight them! I’d ambush them or something!” you knew you sounded crazy by now but you couldn’t help it. The idea of no longer being with your childhood friend was tearing you in half. “You know, the matra stationed there keeps an eye on all of the scholars who were exiled there, in order to keep them in check. Even if you managed to escape, it won’t be easy to survive in such conditions and they could find you,” you insisted.

“Good thing you’re so eager to fight,” he chuckled. You knew what he was thinking when he laughed like that. “I have a plan.”

You raised your eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Did you really think I’d go in there without preparation?” he scoffed. “In due time, I shall find a way to contact you.”

You sighed. “Alright, just… let me know who I have to fight later,” you responded. “And…” you trailed off, not knowing if you should verbalize your true worried feelings. He seemed to notice, and he contemplated, trying to figure out what to say.

“You need not worry about me, [Name]. We both shall be fine.” The words felt foreign on his tongue, as they were things he would never say. But he did anyway.

And that was the last you saw of Zandik. But unbeknownst to either of you, he would be visited by a special man - the first Harbinger. 

—

You stood outside on the small balcony, gazing down at Sumeru’s city. You had managed to nab one of the dorms with the platform, much to the dismay of the other scholars. The two of you always loved seeing them fume, as they had to take their star gazing elsewhere. Neither you nor Zandik had cared much for the stars, but admittedly it was just… nice to feel the wind blow. 

Sleep had escaped you ever since Zandik left. Not hearing the usual metal clink and unscrewing noises, soft grunts, and occasional chair shifting from Dottore had left you unsettled and bothered. You had begun to think about whether you should continue to stay in the Akademiya. Zandik was no longer here, and the place crawled with rumors and gossip regarding him. You weren’t so popular anymore either, as the whispers even extended to you, his roommate who people began to question if you were truly innocent.

You had been feeling a bit lost in general since Zandik had been expelled. You were fully aware of the heinous things he had committed. You had come to terms that he was a criminal, and you were accomplice of sorts as well. Actually, the moment you decided to associate yourself with him was the moment you became not so good of a person. But that wasn’t what bothered you. What bothered you was Zandik’s absence.

Any normal person would have called you absolutely crazy for desiring such a madman’s presence. And you couldn’t blame them. They were right. Yet your heart could not let go of the man who you stuck with since childhood. You could not let go of the boy who scowled and doubted your intentions at first, the boy who eventually warmed up to you, the boy who demanded you be his test subject and assistant at the same time, the man who tutored you in science and maths and everything else, the man who stayed up to ungodly hours to tinker.

The man who you fell in love with.

The revelation was enough to make your knees weak, and suddenly the cold air was too much for your warming body. Quickly, you locked the doors to the balcony and stumbled onto your bed, rubbing your temples at this acknowledgment. Archons, how stupid were you? You were in love with someone whose character was… words you could not describe. Though you knew it all along. You just were scared to admit it. You internally cursed Zandik for doing this to you, as you knew you were too late to say anything. Not that you’d have a chance though, considering his whole outlook. He’d think that love was for fools only, a waste of time when he could pursue more fruitful endeavors. So all of this only caused you to miss him so terribly much more.

You missed his eyes - such a unique red that could only be compared to the one that flowed through living beings. You missed his hair - the softness that you only felt once, when you gently caressed the locks when you thought he was sleeping, but he grabbed your wrist so quickly it nearly scared the living daylights out of you. You missed his sharp and smart tongue that could put someone into their place in a matter of seconds. You missed everything about him.

But you shouldn’t sulk. No - you would not brood. If he was here, he’d probably be reprimanding you for being distracted when there was so much left to do. Sooner or later, you knew in your heart you would see him again and-

Knock-knock.

You bolted up at the series of knocks. Were you hearing things? Surely no one would be at your door this hour of the night. Did Zandik make you delusional now?

Knock-knock-knock.

Nope, you still had some of your sanity left. You swung your feet off the bed, about to head towards the door when a rather strange shadow blurred across the floor. It looked oddly like… a figure… at your balcony… Your heart pounded as you convinced your head to look up.

Zandik was on your balcony. How he managed to get up so many stories of the building, you had no clue. No longer did he don the Akademiya’s uniform, but clothes that were rather nice and expensive looking. It seemed your stupor lasted longer than his liking as he tapped impatiently on the glass door and pointed towards the lock.

Well, it seemed your reunion with him was happening sooner rather than later, that’s for sure. Quickly you scrambled to open the door and pull your beloved inside.

“Z-Zandik,” you sputtered, not believing your eyes. “I- what- how are you here? Did anyone see you? You have to leave, they’re going to catch you!” You fumbled over your words, fighting with the happiness of seeing your friend again but also concerned about him being caught. “What happened with the plan? What happened in the desert? What are you wearing? How did you-?”

Zandik quickly shut you up by tapping his newly gloved finger on your lips. “You must not speak so loudly. But you are correct, we do not have much time.”

“You’re r-right,” you agreed, lowering your tone. “But I just need at least some kind of explanation. Why and how did you come back…?”

“The Fatui has recruited me.”

“The Fatui?” you echoed softly, trying to remember what that was. A few seconds of thinking and remembering the daunting masked men and women who carried around weapons caused you to snap back to life. “The Fatui?!” you whisper-yelled. “Those scary people who always eyed us up when went into the forest and stuff?! I- ah, I won’t even question it anymore. Just… go on.” Zandik smirked at your halting.

“They have provided me with sufficient equipment and a space to work. We no longer have any reason to stay at this ignorant institution,” he declared. “And, from now on, I am to be called Dottore, a new Harbinger.”

“Dottore?” you repeated. “How clever,” you snorted at the irony of the name. “And… what do you mean by ‘we’?” your voice got quieter towards the end.

“I mean what I said. You shan’t stay here any longer.”

You already knew you were following him, but your chest twinged due to your recently newfound feelings. What if you somehow turned out to be a nuisance for him? Eternally distracted by this foolish love? 

“Oh really? And what makes you think I’d follow you so easily?” You don’t think he was expecting you to say that. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve already made it clear to the Jester I shall not work without a competent assistant. There is only one person who has proven themselves to be capable. I will not settle for anyone else,” Zandik stated resolutely. “And,” he paused, uncharacteristically unsure of how to voice what he wanted to say next. He had always been a man who would proclaim the most damning ideas with no remorse. Yet he had trouble formulating his thoughts because of you.

“You are… infuriating,” he began, making you raise your eyebrow. How charming of him. “Since that day in the forest, I knew you were going to be vexing. You would not bend to anything I said, would not leave me alone no matter the methods I used. Infuriating,” he repeated.

“But,” he very cautiously raised his hand to hover near your cheek, just barely making contact, “I never thought I’d become so… accustomed to you. I remember your habits and likes just as much as I remember those formulas you hated so. It’s laughable to think that almost all of my memories have you there somehow.”

“You are irking, but without your presence, I am strangely irritated myself, which is far more of a hindrance than I would have ever anticipated. Without you, I find my mind wandering - it is like nothing I have experienced before,” he finally cupped your cheek with hesitance, as if he himself was in disbelief at his own actions.

“I have known you almost all my life, yet I seem to still need more time to truly figure you out. I am not merely speaking as a scholar, but as… me,” he finished. Now, that was the last thing you expected from a man such as him. But he quickly regained his composure as he asked you the final question.

“Now,” he concluded. “What say you?” For all his talk of bravado and confidence, his hesitant show of affection revealed all the vulnerability that you desired to see and gave you the answer you needed. You placed your own hand over his one on your cheek, maintaining eye contact with him as he stiffened at the feeling of your skin against his, even if it was clothed. You moved closer to Zandik, until your chests were nearly touching. 

Zandik knew what you were going to do. Although the thought of such affection usually made him… ill and annoyed, he could not help but think that the feeling would be different if you were the one initiating. How would his body react? Would he enjoy it? Would he want to do it again?

You moved closer to his face, and without hesitation, you kissed him. Zandik was rigid, the foreign sensation of another’s lips against him was completely unfamiliar to him. But it seemed that the answer to his questions was a resounding ‘yes.’ You pulled away from him, trying to gauge his expression. You did not know too much about kissing, but you knew your newly found lover understood even less, which spurred you to continue. 

Running your hands down his firm arms, you leaned in again to nip and suck at his neck, drawing out a shudder from Zandik. He felt intoxicated by you all at once. He would be sure to write some notes on this later… they would be needed for further… research and experimental trials. He nuzzled his face into your soft locks, silently encouraging you to continue your course of action, eager to indulge in it with as much excitement as he would indulge in forbidden knowledge.

But then you released him with a pop of your lips. “Well, let’s not get too carried away,” you teased. “Wouldn’t want your new subordinates seeing you like this, hmm?” you straightened his collar and smoothed out the wrinkles you created on his clothes. To say he felt bewildered and betrayed was an understatement.

“And if that wasn’t enough of an answer for you,” you changed your tone to a soft, honest one, “Wherever you go, I shall go too. I decided that a long time ago, Zandik.” There was no need for either of you to say the three words that many others longed for. You knew that the relationship you now had with him was far stronger than a few mere words could describe.

Zandik quickly regained his composure. He would be sure to pay you back for your little stunt later. “Well then, there is much to be done. We have not a moment to waste,” he grinned, halfway out onto the balcony. “Take my hand, and we will be off,” he extended his arm, his gloved hand awaiting your own.

Taking his hand meant abandoning this current life. It meant embracing a new life that was far from morally right, one that should surely lead you to be despised by many. It meant becoming a part of the Fatui for Archon’s sake, an organization that was far from reputable. Zandik and [Name] would become lost to the world, the names only being remembered by the two of you in loving, soft-spoken whispers. Others would only know Dottore and his loyal assistant. If you took his hand, there was no going back… 

And yet with no hesitation, you placed your hand in his. 

SUGAR DADDY Wriothesley 😍

Like let's say you came from a poor family but you wanted to go to a prestigious school in Fontaine but no matter how many jobs you took or how many hours you spent, you still could not afford the tuition. As the only daughter and the only child, you had to think of something fast. Let's say by chance you and him were both walking in the streets of Fontaine, Wriothesley hears your pleas. He proposes to be your "sponsor" or as you yourself call it a...sugar daddy. Of course, this alliance stays a secret between the both of you. The people of Fontaine are noisy after all. With him as your "sponsor", you're able to afford school AND lift your family out of poverty. In return, you just have to do some...favors for him.

[This is maybe ooc but idc]

-girlie anon

ooo girlie anon i love me some sugar daddies🤭❤️ he'd be a sweet sugar daddy. one that spoils you often but of course he does expect some love in exchange. he's a busy man so it's hard for him to find a s/o in the very little free time he has. so when he found you, it's like an angel fell into his lap *wink wink*

You usually do it at his place. It's a secluded place where people can't see you coming and going as you please.

Quickies in his office. You surprise him sometimes by dropping by his office unexpectedly, helping him take a little break ;)

Besides giving you money for school and your family, he sometimes likes to gift you things like jewelry, clothes, etc. He tries to not go overboard where people start to question where you're getting these things, but sometimes he can't help himself.

After a while into your arrangement, he surprised you with a pendant choker that has his initials on it. You thanked him for the present by riding him all night. Little do you know, it's his way to claim you. He loves seeing it as he pounds into you. Makes him feral.

I would say he's a bit possessive but not too much. Like he usually marks you with hickeys.

He helps you study not really you sit on his lap while doing your homework. While focused on reading, you can't help but notice the wandering hands exploring your body."I thought you were gonna help me study," you asked him. "Just helping you relax, you seem tense," he said as he spreads your legs apart. Studying slipped your mind for the rest of the night.

When he does actually help you study, he plays the game where if you get a question right, he 'rewards' you. You make extra sure to know the correct answers.

He makes sure you're both satisfied when you do your meet ups.

I see this as the classic 'develop no feelings but end up falling in love' trope.

He's the first one to fall.

When he sees you talking to other fellow male classmates on the streets of Fontaine, he gets a little bit jealous. He's usually a pretty chill guy and has never experienced jealousy over a person. This is when he realizes his feelings for you.

You realize your feelings for him one night when you celebrate getting an A+ on an important paper. He treats you to a candlelight dinner, a beautiful gift, and amazing sex. While he was busy rearranging your insides, he tells you that he's proud of you which catches you off guard. It makes you think back to all the sweet things he does for you and how he treats you so nicely. You realize that you have deeper feelings for him. You cup his face, causing him to still his movements. You look into each others' eyes. You smile and pull him down towards you and meet for a passionate kiss. This helps him understand your feelings. You break the kiss, barely moving away from each other. "I love you." He says as he searches your eyes. You smile wider. "I love you too." You share another kiss which turn into more kisses as he goes back to rearranging your insides. It felt different this time though. It felt more intimate. He leaves hickies on your neck while his hand goes down to rub circles on your clit. This pushes you over the edge. You tighten around him, edging him closer to his climax. "Fuck. I'm close." He prepares to pull out until you wrap your arms and legs tightly around him. "Inside. Cum inside me." Those words make him feral. He goes faster. He cums deep inside you, making you fall over the edge again as well. You both breathe heavily as you come down from your highs. He turns you both on your sides, staying snug inside you as he holds you close. You trace his scars as you share kisses. No further words are exchanged that night except for your moans and screams of pleasure.

~a/n: i'm sorry this took me so long to finish. I might have gone overboard near the end lol

You're half asleep on your back, swaddled in a nest of blankets, Wriothesley's arms wrapped around you like vines, hardly giving you any room to quirm. His weight is half-crushing you to the mattress, legs entangled with yours and the side of his head pressed to your chest so the calm beat of your heart can soothe him to sleep.

Your fingers stroke idly through his hair, functioning more on instinct than anything. There's a warm puff of breath on your skin, the tightening of his arms around you as he crushes you both even closer together. Wriothesley is so warm like this, despite the cold nature of his vision. It's as if his embrace encircles you entirely, keeping you fuzzy and happy under the covers with him.

Sleep is already beginning to take a hold on you, the edges of your vision beginning to blur and darken. No doubt he can already tell by the growing evenness of your breathing and the steadiness of your heart. Wriothesley just places a kiss above your heart, snuggling closer.

You almost miss it, sleep just a hair's breadth away, but you catch when he murmurs low and sweet, like he's whispering a secret only for you to know.

"You make me understand what the love songs are talking about."

College AU with Bad Boy Wriothesley as your boyfriend who picks you up from your classes in his big expensive bike that has all the other students milling about shooting intrigued and intimidated (and impressed) glances at.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who leans against his bike while he waits for you, all intimidating from his full-black outfit, the scars and the spiky hair, but who immediately breaks out into a smile when he sees you coming towards him.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who brings fried chicken and boba and stays with you whenever you have to stay late at the library to study or to do your work. He even gives you his leather jacket so that you don't get cold because of the AC.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who carries all those big books from the library plus your bag, despite your protests. When you insist that he lets you carry some of it, instead he transfers all of the things to just one hand so he can hold your hand while you walk.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who buys you a leather jacket that matches his so that you're protected and warm whenever he takes you out for late-night bike rides.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who brings you out for a late-night ride on the road that runs along the shoreline, so you can admire the way the moon glitters on the waves.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who feels his heart swell by three sizes when he feels you melt against his back, feels your breath against him and how your arms squeeze tighter around his middle like you're giving him a warm hug.

Bad Boy Wriothesley who vows to do this again with you, as many times as you'd like, as long as you keep holding him like this.

More Childe brainrot. Childe x fem!reader. Teasing. Thigh riding. Fingering. Praise. Degradation. Pet name princess used.

You guys really seem to like my Childe smut. He has been heavy on my mind lately.

Childe always enjoyed when you sat with him in his office while he finished mission reports and other ins and outs for the Fatui. When you told him that you'd made yourself cum with your fingers your clit while you thought about him nearly sends need feral.

He had one arm wrapped around you, holding you back against him while he rutted his hardening cock against your backside. His other hand would grope it's way down your body before dipping between your legs.

First he'll whisper in your ear in Russian all the things he wanted to do to you, translating it into English. His tongue would flick hot against the shell of your ear, his teeth nipping playfully at your ear lobe.

His fingers would push your panties aside, the pads of his fingers rubbing and teasing your clit until you whimpered and squirmed against him.

Childe laughed softly in your ear, amused at how desperate you were getting for him. "I'm sorry, princess. You are going to have to wait for me to fuck you. I'll keep your satisfied in the meantime, don't you worry," He gave your throbbing clit a few soothing rubs, making you squirm more against him.

"How about you get yourself off on my thigh?' He suggested, patting his thigh after he sat down in his chair. You peeled your drenched panties off, and straddled his thigh. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you glided your cunt along his thigh. The fabric of his pants rubbing against your clit made it throb more.

The closer you came to cumming, the louder you moan as you desperately brought yourself to orgasm, soaking his thigh as your head dropped onto his neck. Childe guided your pace with a hand on your hip, bouncing you on his thigh while you chased your high.

"What a good girl," He purred, smirking at you while he groped your ass, "now you've distracted me enough," He lifted you off of his thigh. Childe laughed again when he saw your face crumble. "Turn around and bend over, I told you I was going to keep you satisfied, didn't I?"

Childe proceeded to work on his paper work with one hand, stuffing your cunt full of his fingers with the other hand. He enjoyed looking over to see your fucked out expression while he made you cum over and over and on his fingers. Your face would be pressed against his desk, your cheeks flushed and drool coming from your mouth. "What a slut my princess is. You were absolutely soaking through my gloves."

Childe pushed two fingers into your mouth, pressing suddenly on your tongue to make you cough so he could put a third finger into your mouth. He took out his leaking cock, pumping his hand along it while he watched his fingers pump in and out of your mouth.

He guided you to straddle him, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The more it sank inside of you, the stronger it throbbed. The feeling of your cunt clenching tight around his cock was too much for him to bear. Growling, he dropped you all the way onto his cock, making your back arch as you cried out for him.

Sitting back in his chair, Childe rested his hands behind his head, watching you bounce on his cock, rubbing your clit. "What a cute little slut you are. You are desperate to cum on my cock, yeah?" His hands found your hips, holding you still while he fucked his cock deep inside of you.

"Childe, Childe, Childe!" You chanted, breathless from his intense pace. "I'm gonna..gonna.." You trailed off, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. Tears of pleasure burned in your eyes, falling down your cheeks the tighter your orgasm built up.

Childe smacked a hand across your ass, making you yelp. Your body trembled trembled as his cock kissed your sweet spot, nearly making your body fall limp from the intensity of the pleasure. "Is my princess going to cum again?" He groaned, holding onto you tighter. He let out a loud, husky moan as his cock emptied inside of you.

It didn't take much convincing to get you cock warm him after you squirted on his cock, quivering from overstimulation while you begged him to fuck you dumb again.

ahhh just some wanderer brain rot not proofread!! and reader wears a skirt :3

"be quiet... and stay still." he whispers as you squirm a bit in your place. he has you sitting on his lap facing him in the library of the sumeru akademiya, the house of daena, while he's working on his vahumana papers. the few passerbys simply think that you're both just a cute couple that wanted to be near each other at all times. little do they know you're actually cockwarming him. thankfully, your skirt had enough length to cover up the truth of it all. "why do i have to do this again?" you ask him, "because it help me focus, now hush." he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you even closer to him, resting his chin on your shoulder to peak over and read the text written on his papers.

whenever someone is nearby, he'd tease you by lifting your hips up a bit and thrusting up. it takes every fiber of your being to hold back that moan, archons, why does he always have to hit that one spot at the perfect angle each time too? and whenever you clench around him, he lets out quiet groans directly into your ear. sometimes even with a small whimper, calling you a tease and all that. if you were being good throughout it all, rest assured that you'll get a reward from him right after that. oh he's gonna fuck you sooo good, don't you worry.