Genshin X You - Blog Posts

Forgotten But Not Forgiven

(Inspired by a fic I read, I can't remember the name but if anyone finds it lmk so I can tag/credit the author)

You had been around for a long time, longer than most of the surviving gods in this era of the world.

You were not, however, credited for your deed towards humanity and its successes.

You had risen to power around the same time as Morax. It would be safe to say he would not have risen so high without you.

While you had only been a minor god, your intelligence had proven to be quite useful in the era of strength you were born into. An era of buff toddlers, you used to say.

Using this intelligence, you had decided to aid the up and coming Morax in the Archon War, as well as before it. You gained many followers due to this, as well as territory.

You did your best to protect your people, but you could only do so much against the raw strength of the power hungry deities wanting not only your lands, but your intellect as well.

Morax and his precious Guizhong had pressured you into a contract. forcing you to abandon your people to give them the upper hand in the war. You had agreed on the terms that your people would remain unharmed and safe.

This was not the end result that occurred, much to your sadness. You had been tricked by the infamous duo of the earth.

Prior to this deception, you had been close to the two gods, to the point where you could have said they were your friends and confidants. You hadn't thought of the possibility that they were using you for your power. You had thought that they were truly as loyal to you as you were to them.

You wanted to kill them both right then and there, tear them to shreds where they sat, watch as their confident body posture wilted as they passed on to the next plane of existence. But, you were not only bound by contract to see them through to a throne of the Seven, you were craving a deeper revenge, one much crueler than a quick and merciful death.

Over time, your anger concentrated onto one of the two, Morax. You had found out that Guizhong had not known that your people would be sacrificed to win the war. Once she had found out, it was too late.

Some time before her death, she had tried to reconcile with you. However, you were not so keen as to forgive her so easily. So, you made a deal, a contract.

She had to help you retrieve your lands back, as well as any descendants of what were once your people. She had agreed, desperate to regain your friendship.

The hard part was sneaking around behind the now Rex Lapis' back, as he seemed to always want the dust goddesses presence. Lucky for the two of you, he had the pressing matter of sorting out his new found responsibilities. Not so lucky for the two of you, he wanted Guizhong's help to do so.

This sparked a fight between them, pushing their already strained relationship further and further. This would be one of the last times they would talk.

Guizhong seemed to drift farther away from Morax as she drew closer to you once more.

You had to admit, you had missed her during your time apart. Her quick wit could rival your own on some topics, and her compassion was refreshing in the world of war and violence.

After regaining your land, and setting up ways for your people to prosper, you had continued to draw closer to the lady of dust.

That's why, when she perished fighting for the lord of geo, you felt as if you had once again been stabbed in the back. Deep down, you knew she had not meant to leave you all alone again, but you could not process that in your grief.

But this time, you would not publicly display your anger. No, this time would be different.

This time, you would not be forgotten and thrown away like useless trash.

After all, He was the reason she was gone. He was the reason your people had been so brutally wiped out and your lands had been taken from you.

He would pay for what he had done.

(I might work on a part two or more, lmk if I should!)

𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 kazuha x m!reader — 5.1k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: strangers to lovers, mentions and use of alcohol (no drunk sex though), kazuha and reader are roommates, sort of college / modern au, morning sex / sleepy sex, praise, pet names (good boy [?], angel, uh i cant remember sorry), aftercare is not written but it is given, praise teehee, reader rides kazuha, kazuha jerks reader off, lmk if i missed any thanks :3

KAI SAYS: GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!! birthday post im now 20 that sounds so old euugghh

Rent was hell.

Your minimum income, which was mostly spent on necessities and college fees, was barely able to pay last month. And now with inflation, you weren’t sure how you were going to make it through another year.

But, there was always hope. It was only the beginning of June after all.

Last week, your friend introduced you to a website to find roommates. Having a roommate would solve a few of my problems, you thought as you scrolled through the site on your computer. For one, the rent would be split between the two of you, which was much more manageable than right now. And, for two, you would get to actually talk to someone every day.

It would be a win-win situation if the two of you got along.

After a few days of thinking everything through, looking at different people’s profiles, because the site was a “Tinder for roommates,” as your friend had put it, you found a man that matched your preferences.

Kaedehara Kazuha.

From what you could tell by his profile, he looked like a sweet man. His profile picture was set to a white cat, and you can see his hand atop its head, gently petting against the cat’s ears. You hadn’t met him in person yet, but through text, you’d managed to get to know him a bit.

The two of you texted about your hobbies and Kauha told you about his life. He was getting a degree in poetry at a college near your house, which is why he selected the area. He told you earlier today about himself. He liked to eat fish and go drinking out. He liked staying with animals he liked warm weather and sunny days, and he liked to spend time with his loved ones and friends.

To be honest, he seemed a bit too good to be true.

But, you think, I suppose some people are just like that.

With a content sigh, you shut your computer. You’d texted Kazuha and the two of you had planned for him to move in today. It seemed a little quick to you, but Kazuha said he didn’t really have anything big to move over. According to him, he’d only be bringing one suitcase and backpack.

Yesterday, you cleaned out the guest room—well, know his room. It was tedious work, something you hoped you wouldn’t have to do again. Ever. But, you supposed it would be worth it in time.

So now here you were, sanding proudly with your hands on your hips smiling at your spotless house. Kazuha better like it here… You think. Your hand goes to run through your hair gently, combing it back. You’re about to flop down onto the couch and maybe take a nap—only for the familiar tune of the doorbell to ring through the house, echoing and bouncing off the walls.

Your head snaps backwards, a nervous smile making its way onto your lips.

You rush to the door, ignoring the slight shake in your step. Your heartbeat quickens and you don’t know why. Kazuha’s a nice man. You remind yourself, though you don’t think that’s why you're nervous.

Slowly, you unlock your door and turn the doorknob with your other hand. And there, standing to greet you is your new roommate. Kaedehara Kazuha.

You greet him with a polite smile, cracking open the door just enough to let him inside. The roll of his suitcase from the sidewalk outside up onto the flooring of your house sends a loud ‘Clunk! Clunk!’ sound and you wince a little.

You shut the door behind you, schooling your expression as you turn back to Kazuha. He trunks to you quickly and smiles gently. “Ah,” he says and his voice is so soft when he speaks, “I’m Kazuha, but I suppose you already know that.”

You introduce yourself, finishing off the same as him with a short, “but I suppose you already knew that too.”

He nods politely a small laugh flitting out of his lips. You lead him to his new bedroom, helping him carry his backpack as he lifts his suitcase, not wanting the wheels to dirty the floor. Kazuha takes a look around, his smile being ever present as you drop his backpack by the door.

“It’s nice here.” He comments, turning his gaze from you to his bedroom.

A bashful grin makes its way to your lips. “Thanks.” You murmur. “Cleaned just for you.”

With that, he’s looking back at you. “Just for me?” He responds, and there’s an edge of playfulness that lies beneath the overlaying gratefulness in his tone. “Thank you.”

You just nod, not fully trusting your voice.

After a moment, Kazuha sits down at the edge of his bed, tracing his hands over the expanse of the duvet. “We should go out sometime.” He says and you blink. You’re face feels warm and you hope Kazuha doesn’t see.

“Like…” Your voice trails off, leaving your sentence unfinished. Like a date? You wanted to say, but your lips don’t seem to work.

Kazuha seems to take note of this, chuckling softly. “Just to get to know each other better. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” He gives you a comforting smile and your nervousness seems to dissipate when you look at him.

“Ok.” You agree. “We can plan something for after you’ve gotten more… settled in.”

Kazuha’s smile widens and he gives you a nod. “Thanks.”

You take a deep breath, before speaking up again. “I’ll leave you to it then.” You turn on your heel before walking out of Kazuha’s new bedroom. You shut the door gently before speed-walking to your room and collapsing onto your bed.

Your breathing comes out in soft puffs as you bury your face into a pillow, curling yourself on your bed. What the fuck was that? You cry mentally. You grip onto the bedsheets tightly. Your heart is beating fast and you think it’d beat tight through your ribs if you don’t calm down soon. You bring your hands to your face, dragging them across your eyes. “I’m fucked.” You curse quietly. Kazuha’s so nice! You know you probably won’t even last a month without developing some sort of feelings for him and that scares you. 

You… don’t want to ruin what little the two of you had managed to build up in the past week. As little as it was, you like what you have with Kazuha. In the back of your mind, though, there’s the nagging feeling for more. You want to get closer to Kazuha, you want to spend time with him.

Maybe that date of his wouldn’t be too bad.

With a heavy sigh, you twist your body to lay like a starfish, sprawled across your bed. You turn your gaze to your window, squinting as the sunlight fans through the glass and into your eyes. If you just ignored any feelings that developed, they would just go away, right?

The first six days with Kazuha were… different from your usual routine, to put it simply.

On Monday (because everyone knows the week starts with Monday and not Sunday!) you awoke to the smell of food wafting through the house. You were instantly up and out of bed, barely managing to throw on a shirt—backwards—before you stumbled into the kitchen.

You were taken aback by the sight that greeted you.

Kazuha, in his pyjamas and an apron, was humming a soft tune as he cooked something on the stove. He turns once he notices you, standing in shock by the doorway. “Ah,” he said, “I see you’re finally awake.” He humed, using the spatula to plate a scrambled egg. He handed you the plate and Archons it smelled good. “I made breakfast. Used some of your food, if you don’t mind.”

You absentmindedly nodded, entranced by the way he moved around the kitchen, putting things in the dishwasher, plating his food, and turning off the stove. All of those were such ordinary things, but, for some reason, it just made you more drawn to him.

You brought your plate to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down, still watching Kazuha. “Thanks for breakfast.” You murmured after a few bites. “It’s really good.”

“Well, it’s only natural I repay you somehow.” Kazuha said before sitting down beside you. “You basically lent me your house to live in.” He joked.

“Our house now.” You responded. “Since you’ll be payin’ half the rent.”

Kazuha nods, taking a bite out of his own breakfast. “I plan on spending the week organizing my stuff. Nothing big, just getting everything tidy.” The two of you sat in comfortable silence, basking in the warmth of the summer weather.

Besides that, Monday wasn’t anything eventful.

Tuesday was spent helping Kazuha. Cooped up in his room, the two of you went through his clothes and belongings, organizing them into his closet and drawers. Kazuha had a decent amount of clothes, which were the bulk of what he brought.

You talked and talked and talked with Kazuha. He was so sweet. You swore you’d told yourself that a million times by now, but it was always true. Kazuha’s laugh was soft and kind, he laughed at all your stupid, cheesy jokes, no matter how unfunny they were. He’d help you cook meals—much better than you ever could.

Tuesday was when you had come to realize that maybe you were enjoying his company a little too much. But, you thought, he’s just… fun to be around.

You used that excuse for the rest of the week.

Kazuha was just… nice. Everyone would enjoy his company like this. You were no different!

It was a pathetic excuse, but it was pathetic enough for you to cling onto.

Wednesday you and Kazuha went out and you showed him the neighbourhood as the two of you walked to the store for some groceries. Kazuha took an oddly long time looking through the fruits and vegetables section, eyeing each piece we selected carefully before placing it into the plastic bag we used to carry everything.

It was endearing.

After a good forty-five minutes of walking around the store, the two of you finally decided to head to the cashier for check out. Kazuha was polite as he made idle chatter with them, but you couldn’t help the frown that pulled at your face.

You were right there. If he wanted to talk to someone, why couldn’t it be you? You were sure you were more entertaining than that cashier worker.

But you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind. You pulled out your credit card, expecting to pay, only for Kazuha to gently pull your hand back. “Let me.” He says gently. Your eyes dart to him and your face flushes when you feel his hand graze gently over yours as he pulls it back.

He wanted to pay for you.

Ah, if you hadn’t fallen for him yet, you sure as hell had now.

He taps his card quickly and you barely manage to make it out of the store while avoiding Kazuha’s gaze.

Things only started to set in on Thursday.

You’d woken up with a heavy migraine and a grumpy mood, so it didn’t come as a surprise that you didn’t want to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, that also included Kazuha. And yet, Kazuha didn’t push you when you refused to talk to him while the two of you ate breakfast.

“Good morning,” He had said in greeting. “How’re you?”

You don’t respond, only taking the plate of food he’d set aside for you. You’re swift to finish your food; shovelling it into your mouth and not even bothering to wait for Kazuha.

He, on the other hand, still had that oh-so-sweet smile of his plastered across his pretty lips. “I’ll take it you’re not feeling great, then.” He murmurs. Kazuha gets up from his seat beside you before handing you a glass of water. “You should drink up. Water’s very good for you, so I’m sure it’ll help you a bit.”

You do as he said, chugging the glass of water in one go. “Thanks.” You whisper. Those were the first words you said to him that day, and you could already feel your migraine easing up. Kazuha is like magic, you think, he fixes everything without even trying.

You gave Kazuha a half-hearted smile before placing your plate and utensils in the dishwasher and heading to your room to take a nap. Naps always seemed to ease your headaches.

As you collapsed on your bed, snuggling up under your heavy duvet, your thoughts drifted back to Kazuha. He was sweet, but you’d also come to the realization that he was handsome. His hair was always up into a ponytail, with that little section of red swooping on top of his ear. His eyes are quite pretty, too. You thought. A shimmering red that often matched the clothes he wore, sparkling as he laughed. And his hands, they looked so gentle as he carried things around. His fingers worked effortlessly as he wrote his poetry in that small notebook of his.

“This man,” you whispered to yourself, “is too good to be true.”

On Friday, Kazuha let you have the honour of brushing and tying up his hair.

He’d caught you staring at him as he sat on his bed, his fingers wove through his white locks. With a raised eyebrow, he beckons you over, handing you a red hair tie. “Mind helping me?” He asked softly.

You complied eagerly, scooting behind him. You ran your hand through his hair, gently scooping it behind his shoulders. Kazuha let out a soft hum, as he nodded in content. Carefully, you pull his hair into a ponytail, twisting the thin band to wrap carefully around it a few more times.

“There.” You said. “It’s done.”

Kazuha turned to face you, his knees pressed much too close to yours. “Thank you.” He grinned, grabbing your hand to rest in between his cool ones. “I really appreciate this.”

Your face flushed, an embarrassing warmth coating your cheeks. You brought your free hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of your neck before mumbling out a response. “No problem, Kazuha.”

Saturday was spent planning the two of your guys’ “date” that would be happening on Sunday.

Kazuha suggested a picnic, and you couldn’t help but agree. Maybe it was the thought of spending a day with him, or maybe it was how he wanted to spend a day with you, but you knew you would’ve agreed to anything he said.

The picnic would be on Sunday, in a park the two of you found online.

After a very successful planning session, the two of you spent the rest of the day preparing and packaging food for the picnic.

It was somewhat chaotic—but it was also fun.

Kazuha taught you how to make his favourite sandwich, how to toast the bread perfectly, and how to cut each one into little heart shapes. All with a soft smile dancing on his pretty lips as he guided your hands gently, easing the knife into the bread.

Archons, you were fucked. How’re you supposed to live with him, like this, every day?

And now, it’s Sunday; the day of the picnic.

Your foot taps nervously against the floor of your bedroom. What am I supposed to wear? Yes, you do know you’re probably overthinking this, but you can’t help it! Not when it’s because of Kazuha! You have to make sure you’re always looking your best!

Your cheeks puff out as a heavy sigh leaves your lips, eventually settling on your outfit of the day.

Finally ready, you nervously open the door, heading out to meet Kazuha in the kitchen.

He greets you with a smile and a call of your name. His arms find their way around your waist in a tight hug and you blink. Oh, oh, oh, oh—what do I do!? When did he get so… touchy?! Not that I’m complaining but—You stand frozen, yet Kazuha doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls back with his signature smile. “You’re ready to go?” He questions, taking a step towards the front door.

“Y-Yeah.” You manage to stutter out. “I’m ready.”

“Great!” He grabs your hand, leading you out of your shared home. He doesn’t let go as the two of you walk to the park. With the picnic basket in his free hand, Kazuha still grips yours gently as he leads you. His thumb runs over the skin of your hand absentmindedly. You think it’s supposed to be a calming gesture, but, it only makes your heart beat faster and your face go warm.

You eventually find yourself in a large field, small flowers adorning the grass. Kazuha tugs a blanket out of his bag, laying it over the grass. He plops down on it, patting the space beside him as he does. “Sit with me.” He says.

You comply quickly, placing your own basket down and taking a spot beside him. “...Thanks for doing this with me.” You murmur, giving Kazuha a shy glance.

He only grins in response, digging through his bag and handing you one of the sandwiches you prepared yesterday. “It’s nothing, really.” He smiles, and you feel a tingle go through your hand where his finger brushes over yours. “I like spending time with you.”

“I like spending time with you too.” You match his expression, your lips pulling into a smile. It hasn’t even been a week, and yet it feels like you’ve known Kazuha for years.

Kazuha grins, reaching into his bag. “Good.” is all he responds before pulling something out. Is that a wine bottle? “Now, would you like a drink?”

You… never took Kazuha as a drinker.

And yet, here he is, drunk out of his mind as slurs slip from his lips. Kazuha calls out your name, his head slipping onto your shoulder as his hands grip the blanket the two of you are sitting on. “Do you…” He trails off. “Do youuu… wanna watch th-the sunset w’me?” He slurs his eyes fixing on yours from his position on your shoulder.

You cough awkwardly. “Kazuha.” You say softly, easing his head off your shoulder. “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. The sunsets not coming out anytime soon…”

“B-But—” He whines. “It woulda been soooo romantic.” Kazuha grins, his eyes lolling shut as he slumps against your chest this time. “Jus’ you, me, an’ the flowers.”

“Oh, Kazuha.” You sigh. “I’d love to watch the sunset with you, but we have to get you home before dark. It’d be dangerous walking out drunk at night.”

“No!” He cries. “I could… could protect you… from th’danger.”

“Nope.” You say, trying not to let his words affect you. “We’re going home now, okay?”

“Okayyyy.” He whines, dragging out the word as he says it. “But only—only cause you said so.”

“Good.” You wrap an arm around Kazuha, right under his shoulder as you help him stand. You leave him for a bit, turning around to pick up the blanket and his bag. “Kazuha!” You call, and he’s instantly behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing his face into your neck.

“Hm?” He coos. “D’ya need something?”

The warmth of Kazuha’s breath fans over the skin of your neck, goosebumps rising lowly. “N-Need you to carry your stuff.” You mumble. Your hands remove Kazuha’s from your waist, shifting to grab his wrist as you gently drag him off you. “Let’s go home now.”

Carefully, you take Kazuha home, not really minding his drunk ramblings. He goes on and on about the sunset, about how he’d stare into your eyes and giggle while he holds your hand and the sun sets.

It is endearing seeing him drunk out of his mind and yet still so lovey-dovey.

It only takes the two of you a fifteen-minute walk to reach your home and you’re quick to open the door and let Kazuha in, the two of you dropping your stuff as you help him up the stairs, your arm wrapped snugly around his waist. He slurs your name again, his pretty red eyes meeting yours. “C-Can we cuddle…?” He whines and you instantly turn your head, wanting to hide the warmth on your cheeks.

“I…” You whisper. “You’re drunk. Let’s just get you in bed first.”

“Noo!” Kazuha cries, planting his feet on the ground, stopping you. “Y’always make me wait! Made me wait for our date, now you're still makin’ me wait when I jus’ want cuddles!”

“Kazuha, really, maybe we should—” You try to protest, only to be interrupted.

“Please,” Kazuha whines pitifully, “Jus’ for a bit.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a deep exhale. “You’re still drunk,” you start, “but fine. I guess some cuddles won’t hurt.”

Kazuha grins happily, snaking his arms around you, just under your arms as he lifts you into the air. “You’re th’best!” He slurs. “Come, cuddles time.” With that, he’s lifting you up and carrying you over into his bedroom.

He tosses you gently onto the bed and you land with a quiet: “Oof!” Before you feel the bed dip as Kazuha joins you. His arms find their familiar place around you and his nore presses into the back of your head as he twists your body into a spooning position with his. One of Kazuha’s legs is haphazardly thrown over yours, and you feel completely engulfed in, well, Kazuha.

“You’re so handsome.” Kazuha whispers into your hair. “My handsome boy.” He presses a kiss to the back of your head, and you have to remind yourself that Kazuha is drunk. He won’t remember any of this, nor will he ever act like this again.

Still, you end up leaning into the touch, falling asleep slowly, basking in Kazuha’s comforting warmth and love.

When you wake up, Kazuha’s body is tangled with yours. His head is on your chest and his arms are wound tightly around your waist. One of his legs is positioned between yours, his knee pressing against you.

You tug him closer, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours. Kazuha’s head dips between your shoulder and your neck, nuzzling into the spot. You can feel the small puffs of air his lips let out against your skin as he breathes, matching the pattern of your heartbeat as he does.

You grin, pulling yourself to sit up—only to be yanked completely down by Kazuha. “Don’ move, please.” He whispers. “Need t’feel ya.”

“Kazuha.” You complain. “You’re not even drunk anymore—”

“No.” Kazuha murmurs. “Need to feel you.” As the words leave his lips, he shifts his body, pressing his hips flush against your ass. 

Something firm pokes into you from behind and—

Oh.

That’s what he meant by feel you.

Kazuha’s hips start a steady grind against you, pushing his erection into your ass as he murmurs breathless nothings into your ear. A desperate whine slips from his lips as he slowly moves his hands from around you to on you, roaming your chest and up your neck.

“Need you.” Kauzha murmurs slowly. “Need you so bad.”

“I know.” You say, turning onto your side to face Kazuha.

He smiles at you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. “Please let me have you.” He whines.

You smile, leaning into his touch and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “Of course, you can have me. I’ve been all yours from the start.”

Kazuha’s lips press against yours as he gently pushes you to lie on your back against the bed. His hands trace your sides, going from your neck to your hips as he pulls your pants down. He releases you from his kiss, the both of you gasping for air as he yanks down your boxers with impressive speed.

A soft whine slips from your throat, needily grinding your hips into the air. “Kazuha…” You moan, needing his touch desperatley. “C-Can you just—”

“I know.” He coos, trailing his hand to your hard cock. “I know, pretty boy, but I jus’ wanna take my time with you, ‘kay?”

You hesitantly nod, bringing your hand to thread through Kazuha’s hair as he peppers an assortment of kisses all over your cheeks. His hand starts a slow rhythm, gliding up and down the shaft of your cock slowly.

His grip is teasing, the way he squeezes up as he reaches your tip, dragging the pad of his thumb down your dick as he does. Kazuha’s fist moves quicker, watching as your eyes scrunch up in pure ecstasy from his ministrations. “That’s it.” He murmurs encouragingly. “C’mon, I know you’re close…”

A gasp leaves your lips as Kazuha drags his thumb over your slit, rolling it and smearing your precum everywhere, watching with nothing but a pleased smile as your hips frantically twitch in his hold. He smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck—right bellow your ear before giving the spot a teasing lick.

Kazuha’s hands work at your dick again and again, sliding with a steady rhythm up and down until your brain feels muddled and hazy. You grip at his wrist, not knowing if you want him to stop or keep going.

“K-Kazuha,” you whine, “please.”

A soft laugh leaves his lips and he once again kisses your neck. “Shh.” He murmurs. “Be patient, my dear.” With that, he’s pressing a harsh bite into your supple skin, letting his teeth graze over before digging them into you. A loud moan slips from your lips, your dick twitching over and over until your eyes are squeezing shut and thick ropes of milky white shoot from your tip all over your tummy and Kazuha’s hand.

“O-Oh.” You manage to squeak out. “You’re good at this.”

Kazuha smiles, helping the both of you sit up—with you in between his knees with his erection still pressed into the curve of your ass. He rolls you over, bringing your hips ontop of his as he pulls his leaking cock out of his pants, watching intently as you practically drool at the sight.

“Ride me, please.” Kazuha whispers, his desperation clear in his tone. You wrap a hand around his dick, rolling the pad of your thumb against his tip before lifting your hips. You line him up quickly, feeling the head of his cock push against your hole. Your mouth drops open, a low whine leaving your lips.

Slowly, slowly, very slowly, you sink down on his cock, taking him all the way in. You’re about halfway in—from what little you can tell—when Kazuha grabs your hips. His eyes are teary, staring into yours as he grabs the fat of your ass, and pulls you down.

A loud moan slips freely from your lips and you collapse onto Kazuha, the both of you panting heavily.

“A-Archons.” He whispers, his fingers rubbing smooth circles over your hips. “You’re so tight, angel.”

Angel.

He called you angel.

You bury your face into Kazuha’s neck, taking in his scent as you breathe. “Kazu…” You whine. “Need you so bad.”

“I know, pretty.” He whispers. His grip on your hips tightens as you lift your head off him and look into his eyes. His deep, red eyes. “C’mon. I’ll help you, ‘kay?” He smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips before leading you to sit up above him. His finger taps against your waist before he starts. “Lift your hips f’me.” Kazuha instructs and you comply quickly, lifting your hips before dropping back down.

As soon as you drop down, Kazuha’s tip knocks against your prostate harshly and you cry out, your hands barely managing to find purchase against his shoulders. “Good boy.” Kazuha whispers sweetly, running his hands over your chest. “Jus’ like that…” He murmurs. “Think you can keep going?” You nod eagerly, lifting your hips again only to drop down.

Your thighs shake but you don’t care! Not when it feels so good to be bouncing on Kazuha’s dick like this. Not when he hits all those good spots that make you see stars as your eyes roll back.

“Kazuha.” You moan out, rocking your hips tirelessly up and down his dig. You can feel the drag against every vein against your walls, the way he nudges just right against your prostate. Your eyes roll back as your dick twitches against your tummy, drooling pre uselessly as you ride Kazuha up and down, over and over again.

“T-That’s it, pretty.” He whispers. Kazuha’s hands come to grip your ass again, picking up the pace for you as he starts to buck his hips up and into your awaiting hole. “I—holy shit—I’m close.” He whimpers, and you swear there’ll be bruises from how tight he grips your waist. “Need to cum—” He whines, his eyes squeezing shut.

You nod your head eagerly your ass squeezing so tightly around him as he picks up the pace, fucking into you harder. You need to feel him, feel him shoot his load into you. You need it, need Kazuha, need every part of him.

Every time he thrusts, you feel yourself get closer and closer to that sweet release the both of you seek. “Kazu…” You moan out. “Close, close—need you t’k-keep goin’”

“I know.” He whimpers. “I know, ‘m not stopping.” Your eyes rolled back, the familiar warmth building in the pit of your tummy. The way Kazuha’s hands trailed over your thighs—everything he did was begging your body to surrender to the familiar pleasure.

“A-At the same time.” You plead, gripping onto Kazuha’s arm. He only nod, his eyes squeezing shut.

You clench around him and Kazuha throws his head back against the pillows as he buries his dick into you, his hips meeting yours in one final, harsh thrust. He pulls your body close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he whispers sweet nothings into you.

You feel him cum, a thick load going right into you. You whine, tightening so sweetly around him as your own orgasm hit. “H-Holy…” You whimper, not hvaing the energy to finish your sentence. Your dick twitches between the two of you and you cum. Hard.

Kazuha’s grip around you tightens as he doesn’t even bother to pull out. He grabs the blanket, bringing it over the two of you as he nuzzles your face into his neck, your body still twitching.

Archons. You think, watching Kazuha’s eyes close gently. The sunlight falls onto his face, like a golden halo around his perfect features. How long has it been with him? A week?

Only a week, and you’d managed to fall in love.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @helloanime @kiekole (send ask without anon to be added)

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 tartaglia x m!reader — 3.8k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: amab reader, reader is a dom at first then switches halfway through, reader is mentioned to be wearing lingerie, light feminization (childe says pussy once), use of good boy amongst other pet names, light degradation, praise (for both reader and childe), childe sucks reader's dick, childe also eats reader's ass, cockwarming (childe can't take it LMAO), no aftercare written but it is given, childe licks ur fingers to clean them, mating press, dirty talk. lmk if i missed any!

KAI SAYS: almost 4k words of pure smut haha but like omg i wrote this so late at night with my tip so pls spare me AND!!! this is my return post so...

Tartaglia knows you’re doing it on purpose now, because how can you not be? He whimpers, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as he feels you clench around him. “Baby, please.” He whines out, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I-I can’t—baby, it’s been thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes he’d been buried to the hilt in you; his dick hard and twitching as it stuffes you full.

Tartaglia whines. He could faintly hear the sound of you taking a deep breath, but that’s not what he was focusing on. No, he was focusing more on the way you squeeze him as you inhale. It was on purpose, he knew you couldn’t just be faking this.

With a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves, Tartaglia pressed his thumbs into the joysticks of his console again. “I…” He murmurs softly into the skin of your neck. “I don’ think I can beat this level.”

“No.” You coo in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours. “You can.”

Tartaglia nods his head, your encouragement helping lift his mood somewhat. But, true to his word, he dies yet again. Tartaglia lets out a pathetic whine when he’s greeted with the ‘You Died!’ Screen for the nth time tonight. This bet was made specifically with his torture in mind. You knew he would never beat this level, so to “motivate” him, as you put it, you would sit nice and still on his sensitive cock until he beat it.

“Can’t you move just a little, please.” Tartaglia begs, his dignity long gone. You’re evil for this, he thinks, but all of that is lost when you shift your hips slightly, his mind going blank at just the smallest friction.

He feels his tip bump your prostate, and Tartaglia knows he’s hit it when you moan out, your mouth right by his ear as his fingers press harshly against the buttons of his game console. “P-please!” He whines again. “I-I need you t’move, just a little, just a little, please.”

“Maybe, if you last another thirty minutes, I’ll consider it.” You hum, and Archons Tartaglia thinks he's losing his mind with the way your breath trickles over his ear. “But, if you make it through the level…” Your voice trails off, but Tartaglia knows what you meant.

If he makes it through the level, Tartaglia could finally fuck you. Push you against the bed, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, maybe make you sit on his face until you cry. The options, at least to him, are endless.

You trail your hand over the neck of his shirt, and Tartaglia’s eyes dart from the screen to you. You, all dressed up in your white lace panties and thigh highs, with your chest arched against his chest and here he was, still fully clothed.

Well, only thanks to you.

You, like the cruel man you are, wouldn’t let Tartaglia strip. You’d forced him to watch as you changed, stripping off your pyjamas and slipping on the lace lingerie while he sat there, half sure he was drooling. And then you’d gone and pressed him to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit as you pulled out his leaking dick, not even bothering to pull his sweats all the way down. Then you sat your pretty hole on his dick, and Tartaglia couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way your ass practically swallowed him whole.

And then, began this whole ordeal of pure torture.

You’re sat on his lap, facing Tartaglia as his arms wrap around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks over your body and behind you to the console gripped tightly in his hands.

Tartaglia’s eyes dart to you, and they widen as he watches you shift on his dick, your tip forcing its way over the hem of your panties, now drooling pre all over his shirt. Tartaglia squeezes his eyes shut. You press a kiss right under his ear and Tartaglia twitches inside you. You let out a lewd moan and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore.

Not another thirty minutes, or another five.

Tartaglia’s hands shake, and he’s forced to watch his in-game character die again. “Fuck…” He whispers, trying not to roll his hips into your heat. “I… You’re torturing me. Can’t take this.” He whines.

You shake your head. “C’mon, baby.” You coo, using the nickname Tartaglia always uses for you. It sounds almost mocking the way it slips from your pretty lips, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “You might wanna hurry up, or I’ll have to pull out my old dildo to help me…”

No! Tartaglia thinks, and he voices such thoughts with the aggressive shake of his head against you. I can do better than a stupid dildo!

“P-Please don’t.” he says weakly. “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Tartaglia starts to concentrate on his console once again, doing his best to ignore the squeeze of your ass and the warmth of your walls.

Your tip drools pre across his shirt, twitching gently against the fabric. Tartaglia’s mouth waters. He wants to taste you, wants to bury his face between your thighs and lick every drop up. It’s an indulgence he wants to become reality more than anything.

“Can I at least touch you, please?" he asks desperately, gaze not leaving your tip. Tartaglia wants to be closer to you, to have a hand on your soft skin, to play with your dick that was so close to the cumming. He’s ready to do anything in order to make you cum, to feel you pulse around his dick. He’s losing his mind, and the game was the least of his worries. Tartaglia wants you.

"Touch me before you finish the level, and there'll be consequences." You hum. "And trust me, if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what I have in mind." you press your lips gently against Tartaglia’s neck, trailing from his adam's apple to that sweet spot right under his ear. "I'm sure you'd deprive some sick form of enjoyment from that, though."

Tartaglia whimpers at the threat. He doesn’t know what would be worse: the current situation or the punishment you offer. Sick form of enjoyment… His mind echoes. He would most likely enjoy anything you gave him right now.

And like an answer to his prayers, you shift on his dick again. Tartaglia watches as your tip pokes above the fabric of your lace panties, even higher than before. The used-to-be white was now a dark grey with the way your pre had stained and wet through the fabric. Your panties were completely soaked through, the bulge from your dick covered in pre from your leaking tip, poking just above the hem.

Slowly, you tug your dick out of the panties, making sure to slather your fingers in your precum before pressing them against Tartaglia’s lips. "Clean them up." You whisper, and the sound of your voice almost makes him melt.

The instant your fingers press against his lips, Tartaglia is eagerly licking them into his mouth, his tongue swirling your digits around and coating them in his spit. He didn’t hesitate to continue sucking on your fingers, despite knowing they were already clean enough.

“Such an eager boy,” You murmur as you yank your fingers from Tartaglia's lips. There’s a string of drool that connects your hand to his pouty lips as he gives you another pleading look.

“Will you let me touch you now?” He begs, “Please, I’ve been so good for you!” Tartaglia licks his lips, savouring the faint taste of you. He wants more, he wants to grab you by the waist and bury his face between your thighs and suck you off until you’re nothing but a mess inside his mouth.

You bring your fingers back down to your dick, swiping them over your tip and harshly pressing them against Tartaglia’s mouth. “Suck.” You command in a harsh voice, completely ignoring his previous question.

Tartaglia’s lips go back around your fingers again. He doesn’t need to be told twice when you’re the one telling him. He easterly laps at your fingers, ignoring the drool that threatens to spill from the corner of his lips. You press your fingers down against his tongue and he chokes lightly, lifting his blue eyes to meet yours,

When you finally pull your fingers out of his mouth, Tartaglia buries his head into your neck about to ask to touch you again—only for you to beat him to it. “You get two minutes to touch me, but you can only use your hands.” You start. “And, we have to stay in this position. No pulling out or thrusting." You press a kiss against Tartaglia’s lips. "Think of it as... encouragement to finish the level faster."

Tartaglia nods happily at your words, pulling off your neck to get a better view of you. “Thank you—thank you, baby, needed this.” He slurs as his eyes rake down your exposed body before honing in on your sensitive cock. He wishes you’d let him lick that instead of your fingers, but you were clear on your rules for the two minutes.

Tartaglia has two minutes, a whole two minutes to make you feel good. There’s no way he’s let them go to waste.

He wastes no time when the game is finally paused. Tartaglia cups your balls gently, feeling the weight of them in his palm. He massages them slowly, his thumb rubbing up and down the underside of your dick, feeling the warmth and the leaking pre that slipps down your shaft. Tartaglia knows nothing can make you cum in this position, but he can make you squirm, he can tease you.

His other hand wanders up, his fingers ghosting over your skin, drawing circles around your nipples before pinching them gently. He wants to hear you moan, to see you writhe. Tartaglia needs to know he was pleasing you. He gazes at your face, waiting to see a reaction, anything to show that he’s making you feel good.

Your eyes roll back and your dick twitches hard against Tartaglia’s hand. “T-Tartaglia…!” You moan out, your back arching into his chest. Tartaglia’s fingers pull gently at you nipples, tweaking and twisting the nubs between his thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes roll back and Tartaglia whines at the sight, sliding his thumb faster up and down your dick, rolling it over your tip before sliding it against your slit.

He feels your hole clench around his dick, and Tartaglia has to squeeze his eyes shut in concentration to stop himself from bucking into you. He’s about to roll his hand again when it’s suddenly pushed away from your leaking dick. You yank his hands off your nipples too, panting as you do. “Two minutes have passed.” You mumble.

Tartaglia knows you were close from the way you sounded to the way you jerked your hips into his hand. “I’m sorry.” He whines, sounding like he’s carrying the weight of the world in his heart.

With a deep breath, Tartaglia focuses back on the game again, he hopes that this time he’ll finally beat the level. He’s determined, he wants to make you cum, to please you. He needs to win.

You slump against his shoulder, clearly needy. Tartaglia sucks in a breath. You were so close. He thinks. His focus turns back to the game, moving the joystick and pressing the rounded buttons as skillfully as he can manage with you taking his cock to the hilt,

Tartaglia feels you lean forward, your hands dipping under the hem of his shirt. “I wanna see you…” You whine and his face flushes. Tartaglia doesn’t have time to respond before the game console is slipping from his hands and you’re tugging his shirt off his figure.

Another eternity passes as Tartaglia picks up the console once again, doing his best to beat the level. He closes his eyes—just about to give up when the victory music blasts throughout the bedroom. “Finally—fuck, fuck, baby.” Tartaglia groans, tossing the console and pouncing on you.

His lips press against yours, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. Tartaglia is kissing you harshly, his lips flush against yours as your tongue gently swirls with his.

He pulls away after a minute, both of your faces flushed and panting. “I-I’m sorry it took me so long.” Tartaglia apologizes. He wants to please you, make you cum, see you lose control just because of him. He was desperate to feel you squirm against him, he wants to see the way your face would twist in pleasure when he fucks you just right.

Tartaglia slowly pulls out, hissing as he leaves your comforting warmth and is met with the harsh, cold outside air.

“Let me take you, please…” He begs, his eyes filled with desire and the need to have you. Tartaglia wanted you—no, needed you. His hand wanders back to your dick, wrapping his palm around your shaft and quickly jerking you up and down at a messy pace.

Tartaglia would do anything to have you come undone on his dick.

“Uh-huh.” You whine, and Tartaglia thinks it’s cute how all your confidence diminishes the instant you're offered some dick.

He watches you twist your body to lay flat against the bed on your back. Slowly, your legs splay into the air before you pull them back and bend them at your knees. Your ass, all empty and clenching around nothing, is now fully exposed to Tartaglia. Your hole is stretched already, from the much too long of a time you spent just sitting on his dick. Your own cock lays across your tummy, twitching and drooling uselessly,

Tartaglia sucks in a breath at the sight of your hole. His dick is throbbing at the sight, pressing angrily against his tummy, so hard and needy. He wants to do nothing more than bury himself inside you, to feel your warm muscle clench around him once more.

Slowly, he lowers himself into a kneeling position right in front of you. Tartaglia dips his head to your ass, pressing light kisses across the curve of your thighs. He trails his mouth down to your dick, taking the tip into his mouth. His eyes roll back at the feeling of finally having you in his mouth. Tartaglia sucks harshly, bobbing his head up and down your length. He runs his tongue over the underside of your shaft.

Tartaglia swirls his tongue around your overly sensitive tip, watching and depriving pure enjoyment of the way your hips buck into his mouth messily. You throw an arm over your face, trying to muffle your breathless moans and flushed face. Tartaglia gives you a harsh suck for warning, letting you know that if you don’t remove your hand now, things would get worse.

You, of course, comply, pushing your hand to the sheets and clenching them in your fist.

Tartaglia hums happily, the vibrations travelling across your shaft. He feels you twitch in his mouth and your legs thrash beside his head, squeezing and pulsing by his ears as he goes faster, making sure to let the drool spill from his lips as he moves his head.

Tartaglia pushes his lips down to your base bringing a hand to fondle your balls gently and you whine, your back arching off the bed. Your hand goes to tangle itself into Tartaglia’s hair, pushing your dick deeper down his throat. “I—holy shit—I’m c-close!” You whine, and that was enough of a signal to pull off your dick.

Tartaglia smears kisses across your ass, ignoring your desperate whines and cries, before eventually leading to your puffy hole, all nice and stretched for him. He’s quick to bury his mouth against you, already feeling his brain go mushy at the feeling. His tongue slips into you easily, and you whine at the feeling.

Tartaglia fucks his tongue into you with great fervour, not even caring for his hard dick. All he can think about is the taste of you on his tongue, the way your hole clenches down so nicely against his mouth and those sweet, sweet moans of: “M-More, please, need you so bad!” That slip from your lips and get his hips rocking his dick into the side of the mattress.

Tartaglia’s tongue pushes and prods into you, again and again until he hears you moan loudly. His eyes dart up, barely able to catch the way your back arches. Your legs shake around him yet again, your thighs squeezing around his ears, which only drives him to thrust his tongue into you further. Drool slips down his chin, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is to taste you again, and again, because, fuck, if he died right here, between your thighs, he would die a happy man.

“Right there!” You cry, Your legs threatening to squeeze tightly on Tartaglia’s head. He pushes his tongue in again, thrusting it in and out of your hole with a scary precision, making sure he hits your prostate every time.

“O-Oh, my—fuck, can’t take it!” You whine and he smirks against your tightening hole. “I need you, please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease!” You’re a complete mess, babbling nonsense as he eats you out, eyes rolling back and legs shaking in ecstasy,

All it took was him shoving a finger in, curling it in time with his tongue, for you to cum. Tartaglia eagerly pulls off your ass, watching as your dick twitches against your tummy and ropes of cum shoot from your member. He waits until you're finished before pressing his face against the mess you just made and licking it clean.

Tartaglia looks up at you from his position against your belly. “I….” He whines. “I’m still hard.” He gives an apologetic smile before going back to his first position in front of the bed, this time standing up. He lifts your collapsed legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he slaps his cock beside your limp one.

As quickly as he can, Tartaglia grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and smears it all over his shaft. “Help me out, pretty boy.” He whines and you whimper at the nickname. Slowly, you push yourself onto your elbows just enough to push your hand to his dick and help him spread the lube.

Tartaglia doesn’t even bother to continue once you start, only throwing his head back with a loud groan. “That’s it, o-oh, archons you’re good at this.” His eyes squeeze shut and Tartaglia has to stop himself from cumming on the spot for the nth time tonight. He doesn’t even bother to lube your hole, only murmuring a sweet, “This pussies wet enough for me, right?” before he’s pressing a messy kiss to your neck.

“Not a pussy.” You slur, but he doesn't take any mind.

“D-Don’t worry, baby.” Tartaglia coos as he presses his thick tip against your weak hole. “Promise it’ll feel so good…” He wants to be inside you, to make you come again and again.

And suddenly, he’s halfway in, the thick of Tartaglia’s shaft being swallowed almost whole by your pretty ass was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. You whine lowly, back instinctively arching into him, forcing yourself deeper onto his dick.

“Fuck, baby, look what you do t’me.” He groans, pulling out so it’s just his tip stuck in your pretty, clenching hole. Tartaglia fucks his tip into you, watching it messily slide out then in, then out then in, over and over again until he can’t take it anymore and can’t help but want more.

Tartaglia—like the pathetic man he knows he is—can’t take it anymore. He pushes in fully, but just before he does, spits a large glob of drool from his lips to the tip of your spent cock watching it twitch under the feeling. He laughs, watching your dick twitch back to life. “And to think you get off to me spitting on you.” He murmurs, before finally thrusting in fully, in one, harsh movement.

The moan you let out is so pretty and high, and Tartaglia can feel his balls grow heavy at the sound. Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the lewd squelch of his dick pressing in, in, in and against your prostate, his tip knocking easily at it.

Tartaglia pistons his hips into you, basking in the moans and pleas for “more, more, more!” that slipped from your pretty lips. He’s pounding into you, and Tartaglia watches your head fall back against the pillow. Your hands shake as you desperately reach out to grab onto the sheets for leverage as he pushes your legs up, leaning down onto your body as he forces you into a mating press.

And, oh, Tartaglia feels like he just slipped so much deeper into you, and with the way your walls squeeze and clench and you moan his name like a mantra—Tartaglia is sure he’s just died and reached heaven.

His thrusts start to lose their rhythm, but they still manage to fill you up so much that, before Tartaglia can process what’s happening, you're crying out, your ass clenching so tightly against him he thinks he sees stars.

“I—I’m close, ‘m so close!” You cry and Tartaglia can’t help but bury his face into your neck as he thrust into your ass.

“Me too, baby.” He whimpers out. Tartaglia reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones, before letting out a loud moan. “Together, please, baby, cum together.”

And you’re eagerly nodding your head, a mix of “yes” and “please” leaving your lips. Tartaglia isn’t even pulling out anymore, just knocking his hips against yours—no rhythm or pattern, just instinct as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Cummin’ o-oh—fuck!” You whine and Tartaglia instantly does too, feeling the way your dick spurts thick ropes of white onto your chest and his only drives him to the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can before collapsing onto you, pressing his full weight onto his hips. Tartaglia shoots a thick load of his seed into your awaiting hole, whining in content as he feels you milk his cock, squeezing down on him.

You’re panting, laying on the bed with Tartaglia pressed on top of you. His arms snake around your waist, tugging and twisting your connected bodies so that he’s spooning you, his chin resting on top of you’re head.

After a minute of rest, Tartaglia’s arms squeeze around your waist. “Love you, so much.” He murmurs tiredly.

“Promise?” You giggle back, despite the feeling of your exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids.

“Always an’ forever.” Tartaglia whispers sweetly. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you bask in the afterglow in each other’s arms. “I’ll love you, always and forever.”

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

A moment with you

just a scenario of you and diluc being all lovey-dovey

(my first time writing something like this so go easy on me <3)

Diluc

Being with Diluc makes you feel like a princess, He's the type to compliment you even with the smallest things. Sure, it makes your heart flutter whenever he goes out of his way to stare at you and tell you what he loves about you every day. It never gets boring. Maybe it's because he does it? You have no idea, but you like that he does what he does anyway

"Hi love, good morning". You hear diluc say when you wake up in the morning, how nice it is to have someone like him greet you in the morning?

"Mhm morning". As those words slip out, his hands slip onto my waist to pull me in for a hug, he always does this. Every morning, its like a routine for the both of you. He plants kisses on your neck and tells you how good you smell in the morning.

"You smell good love". He says as he continues to pepper you with kisses. Kisses that you would never get tired of, and you laugh

"Yeah? What do i smell like?". You ask as he always says you smell good but never really elaborating any further.

"Smells like home". He whispered softly and you almost missed it. You laugh and tease him as he will only ever show this side of himself to you. Sure it may be corny or cringy but you wouldn't want it any other way. After all, you consider him your home as well.

A/N: This is so cringe, but hopefully I'll be able to write more in the future, no fluff anymore though HAHAHAHA

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

—༉‧₊˚. “ Whatcha watching? ”

featuring. Childe from Genshin impact MAU | kink. peeking

synopsis. You were heading toward your friend childes dorm room to give him some college hw he missed out on in one of your early morning lectures. When you go to his place however he doesnt respond leaving you no choice but to let yourself in.

authors note. I think I hate this one…but that may just be me…

You knock on Childe's apartment door, waiting to drop off his college homework. After minutes later of no answer, you reached out for the door handle to find out the door was unlocked. Since the two of you knew each other for a while you thought it wouldn’t be that much of an invasion of privacy letting yourself in his apartment without him knowing.

Opening the door, you step inside and head towards his bedroom. As you approached, you heared moans coming from some type of device.

Peeking around the corner of the halfway opened bedroom door, your eyes widen as you saw Childe sitting on his bed, pants around his ankles, stroking his hard cock while watching porn.

The video plays on repeat, showing a girl who looks exactly like you in a skimpy outfit, moaning and pleasuring herself. Childe's eyes are glued to the screen, completely absorbed in the lewd scene. His hand moving rhythmically along his shaft, squeezing and stroking it with increasing intensity.

You watch him for a few moments, mesmerized by his focused expression, the way his muscles flex with each movement. How his orange hair falls messily over his forehead, and how his blue eyes shine with lust as he continues to touch himself.

Noticing your presence, Childe jumped, startled. His face flushed red with embarrassment as he quickly closes the laptop. He scrambles to pull up his sweatpants, trying to hide his still-hard member.

“[Y/N!] What are you doing here? I didn't hear you come in...”

He stammered, clearly flustered by being caught in such a compromising position. His blue eyes dart around nervously, unable to meet your gaze.

“It's not what it looks like, I swear! I was just...uh...researching for a project...”

As he spoke, you noticed a wet spot forming on the front of his pants, betraying his obvious arousal. The sight made you feel all warm and you find yourself getting turned on by what you just saw.

You decide to play along with his story, not wanting to make him feel too uncomfortable.

“Oh, research? That's interesting. What kind of project could possibly require that kind of research…”

You asked with a playful smirk, watching as Childe squirmed under your scrutiny. His cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red, as he fidgets with his hands.

Childe shifts uncomfortably, avoiding your gaze as he tries to come up with a believable excuse. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, messing it further.

“W-well, you know how I've been working on that short story for my creative writing class? I was just trying to get some, uh, inspiration for a particularly steamy scene...”

He trailed off, his voice wavering slightly. His eyes flicker towards you briefly before darting away again, as if he's afraid to look at you directly.

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his state. A mischievous idea began to form in your mind, and you decide to have a little more fun with the situation.

“Oh, I see. Well, since you're in need of inspiration, maybe I could help you out. After all, I am your muse, aren't I?”

You take a step closer to him, your voice taking on a teasing lilt. Childe's eyes widen, and he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat.

“Y-you? My muse? What..makes you think that?”

Despite his words, you notice his gaze lingering on your curves, taking in the way your clothing hugged your figure in just the right ways.

“Come on, Childe. You know Im not dumb..”

“If you have a thing for me just say it already.”

You reach out and trail a finger along his jawline, feeling the heat of his skin. Childe shudders at your touch, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I... .. fuck.”

Encouraged by his reaction, you press closer to him, your breasts brushing against his chest.

Childe's breath became faster now, his pupils dilating with desire. He seemed to be fighting against his own urges, torn between his shame and his growing need for release.

“What's wrong with a little harmless fun? I promise, it'll be just like in the porno you were watching earlier.”

You let your hand slide down his chest, tracing the contours of his abs through his shirt. Childe's muscles tense under your touch, and a low groan escaped his lips.

“We shouldn't...”

But even as he protests, his body betrayed him. His erection strained against his pants, making it so he can no longer hide his arousal. You can see the internal struggle playing out on his face, as he grapples with his desires and his sense of propriety.

Sensing his weakness, you decide to push him further. You lean in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper.

“Don't you want to know what it feels like? It’ll help tons..with your ‘research’ ”

You nipped gently at his earlobe, Childe shudders, a soft gasp escaping his lips. His hands come to rest on your hips, and you can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipating as he gives in.

“ God, [Y/N]... I want you so bad...”

He finally admits, his voice thick with lust. You smile triumphantly, knowing that you've broken through his defenses. You pull back slightly, your eyes locking with his as you both acknowledge the raging desire between you.

“Then why don't you show me what you've learned from all that research? I'm sure you can teach me a thing or two...”

With that, you press your lips against his in a passionate kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth to taste him fully. Childe responded eagerly, his hands roaming over your body as he explores every curve.

You break the kiss, panting heavily, and start to undo the buttons of your shirt. Childe's eyes widen as more and more skin is revealed to him, and he licks his lips in anticipation.

“You're so beautiful.”

His voice is filled with awe and desire, and it sends a thrill through your body. You finish unbuttoning your shirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in just your bra and skirt.

Childe leans in, his lips trailing hot kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts. He reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts from their confines. He groans appreciatively at the sight, his eyes dark with lust.

“Touch me, Childe...”

You guide his hands to your breasts, encouraging him to explore and caress them. Childe doesn't need any more encouragement, and he begins to knead and squeeze your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

As he continues to worship your breasts, you reach down and start to lower his pants, freeing his rock-hard erection. You wrap your hand around it, stroking him slowly as he groans in pleasure.

“Oh god, [Y/N]... That feels amazing...”

He thrusts into your hand, his hips moving in time with your strokes. You can feel the heat emanating from his member, and it only fuels your own desire.

*You release him from your grip and push him back onto the bed. Straddling him, you grind your hips against his, feeling his hard length pressing against your clothed sex. Childe's hands grip your hips, helping you move against him.

The friction between your bodies builds as you grind against Childe, your clothed sex rubbing against his hard length. Moans of pleasure escape both of your lips as the sensations become more intense.

“Fuck, [Y/N]... You feel so good... I need to be inside you.”

His voice is rough with desire, and you can feel his hips bucking up against you, seeking more contact. You reach down and unzip your skirt, letting it fall to the floor, leaving you in just your lacy panties.

Childe's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze focused on the damp patch on your underwear. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them aside, exposing your wet folds to his hungry gaze.

You position yourself over him, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. Slowly, you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until he's fully sheathed inside you.

A deep moan tears from your throat as you feel him stretching you, filling you completely. Childe grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights the urge to thrust up into you.

“Oh fuck, [Y/N]... You're so tight... So perfect...”

He starts to move beneath you, his hips rising to meet your downward motions. The rhythm building between you, growing more intense with each passing second.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as you ride him harder. Your breasts bounce with each movement, and Childe reaches up to cup them, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples once more.

The combination of sensations is almost too much to bear, and you feel your climax building deep within you. Your inner walls start to flutter around Childe's cock, and he moans in response.

“I'm going to cum, Childe... Don't stop...”

Your words spur him on, and he thrusts up into you harder, faster, his own release approaching. With a final, powerful thrust, you both reach your peaks, crying out.

As your orgasm crashes over you, your body trembles with the force of it. Wave after wave of pleasure washes through you, and you cling to Childe, your nails digging into his chest as you ride out your climax.

Childe's grip on your hips tightens, and his body goes rigid beneath you. With a guttural moan, he releases inside you, his hot seed filling you up. The feeling of his essence pulsing within you sends another shockwave of pleasure through your body, prolonging your orgasm.

For several long moments, you both remain still. Finally, Childe loosens his grip on your hips, and you collapse onto his chest, both of you panting heavily.

You giggle softly, nuzzling into his neck. Childe wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he catches his breath.

“Round two?” Childe joked suppressing a laugh.

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.

♡𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍- [ scenerio ] ft itto, childe & diluc

summary: what turns them on.

[f!reader] [m!dom] [nsfw]

itto! itto would politely pound you in his t-shirts. If there was one thing that really turned him on, it’s when he catches you wearing them. Itto is more of a cuddly type rather than a fucking you raw kinda guy, but the second your found wearing his clothing, his kindness has been replaced by dominance. “Itto—“ you moan. You could feel your walls begin to suck him dry, clouding your mind. His hand interlocks with yours, while his cock continued to pounce your precious cunt. “you look so pretty in my shirt precious.” Pulling in and out of you, his finger grasped at your chin, forcing eye contact with your sloppy image. “So I just couldn’t resist.” He will fuck your perfect clit, until he finds himself satisfied enough with the view of you cumming in his t-shirt. Your hands lazily clinging and tugging at Itto’s hair, pressing lips while you cum again. Once he is finished, and all is said and done, after a couple minutes of laying there, all cuddly, he will go right back to whatever he was doing before fucking you senseless.

diluc! Diluc is a very calm and collected man. Therefore, he has great composure. But if/when he sees you taking charge of things, or trying to tell him what to do.. it gets him going alright. He likes to see you attempt to take control, knowing damn well he will always have it. Your hands pressed hard against his chest, lazily holding your upper body as you slide yourself into his warm cock. You winced, feeling the sock of pleasure hit your entire body all at once. “Cmon, darling, your almost there.” He said teasingly. He was fucking with you. You pulled yourself down faster, moaning at the feeling of his hard figure now inside of you. Your body began to then sway back and forth, still getting used to the motion. “I will have to show you who is in charge.” He bucked himself back and forth while you did the same now. Diluc’s hands found placement at your hips, moving quicker and lower into you. “and who isn’t.”your sopping cunt couldn’t get enough of him, making him only want to fuck you even harder. He could feel your orgasm; the cum seeping out of your hole. But even if dominating you, he will still place loving kisses on your forehead.

Childe! anything turns this man on. You could literally be cooking in the kitchen, and he’ll just be noticing how pretty your ass looks in those pants. However, one thing that really gets him, is calling him by his real name. “Ajax” his fingering only circling faster around your clit. He could feel the liquid start to drool down to his arm, making him smirk in delight. “Say it again.” He said, still licking on your cunny, thus fingers dug in deeper. He knew you were barley able to mouth words, and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet. It pleased him so very much. “A-Ajax!” You moaned, desperate to rock yourself into his wet tongue, but he already told you not too; and if you did, there would be consequences. He smiled, watching you shiver in pleasure, wanting no.. needing more. But the way his name fell out of your mouth made him so fucking hard. He removed his tongue and his fingers from your cunny, looking at its soppy self; wanting to cum so badly. “That’s it. Now let me fuck you girle.”

I finally finished it

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Happy birthday Alhaitam. ✨️

This drawing is inspired by a work by @zhongrin , and I am publishing it taking advantage of the fact that it is his birthday.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

hi ♪

!!! Currently on writing hiatus

ֺ⭑ mari // she.her // (n)sfw blog // 18+

masterlist smau mlist

✘ BASIC DNI. AGELESS AND <16 WILL BE BLOCKED ✘

꩜ i mainly write fem!reader

fandoms i mainly write for …

꩜ jujutsu kaisen

꩜ genshin impact

꩜ haikyuu

꩜ & others if requested!

things i will write …

• smut, fluff, angst, x reader, multi x reader, smau

rules ::

꩜ i will not write male!reader

꩜ banned topics :: piss, scat, vomit, noncon, incest, sh or sa, trauma dumping, ed themes, feet, nsfw of minor characters

current anons : n/a

(if wanting to send an anonymous message, you can sign off with an emoji! you will be added to the list and have a respective tag (if emoji is not taken).)

© marimisses on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

The Strings of Deception

The fog hung heavy over Sumeru, cloaking the landscape in a shroud of mystery. Your small cottage, nestled on the edge of a tranquil grove, had once been a sanctuary—a place where you could escape the chaos of the world and find solace among the trees and whispers of nature. But lately, an unsettling presence had settled in your mind, a creeping sensation that you were no longer alone in your secluded haven.

It had begun with the arrival of a peculiar letter, an invitation to a gathering organized by Sandrone, the elusive Harbinger known as the Marionette. The townsfolk spoke of her in hushed tones, warning of her mechanical creations that danced and moved with eerie precision. Whispers circulated that she could manipulate not only the lifeless but the living, bending them to her will with a mere flick of her wrist. Curiosity got the better of you, and against your better judgment, you accepted.

The night of the gathering, the sky above was shrouded in deep indigo, the moon a ghostly glow against the vast expanse. As you approached the destination—an abandoned mansion perched atop a hill—you felt an unsettling chill in the air, the atmosphere thick with unspoken secrets.

You stepped inside, the door creaking ominously as you entered. The grand hall was dimly lit, shadows playing against the walls. The flickering of candles cast moving patterns, resembling the delicate movements of the marionettes you had heard about. A shiver ran down your spine as you took in the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sandrone emerged from the shadows, her presence commanding. Clad in flowing garments adorned with intricate patterns that shimmered in the candlelight, she seemed to blend seamlessly into the ambiance of the mansion. Her porcelain skin and striking features captivated you, but there was something unsettling about her gaze, an intensity that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

“Welcome, dear guest,” she purred, her voice smooth like silk. “I trust you’re ready for an evening of wonder and revelation.”

“I… I’m not sure what to expect,” you admitted, trying to keep your composure.

“Expect the unexpected,” she replied cryptically, her lips curling into a smile that held a hint of mischief. “Tonight, you will see what lies beneath the surface.”

As the evening unfolded, you were introduced to her creations—mechanical marionettes that moved with an unsettling grace, performing elaborate dances that captivated the few guests who had gathered. The air was charged with an energy that felt almost alive, and you couldn’t help but be drawn into the spectacle.

But as you watched, a nagging feeling gnawed at you, a whisper in the back of your mind that something was amiss. The marionettes, while enchanting, seemed to carry an undercurrent of menace, their movements almost too precise, too controlled. It was as if they were merely shadows of something darker lurking beneath the surface.

“Do you see their beauty?” Sandrone asked, her voice a melodic whisper in your ear as she leaned closer. “They are an extension of my will, reflections of my artistry. But they are also more than that. They hold secrets, truths that the living often overlook.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your curiosity piqued despite the growing unease in your chest.

“Life is an illusion, dear one,” she replied, her eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. “We are all puppets on strings, manipulated by forces we cannot comprehend. My creations remind us of that, of the fragile line between control and chaos.”

As the night progressed, the atmosphere shifted. Laughter and music faded into a low hum, and the guests seemed entranced, caught in a trance-like state. You glanced around, noticing the blank expressions on their faces. It was as though they were no longer participants but mere spectators in Sandrone’s grand design.

“Join me,” she beckoned, her hand outstretched, a marionette string appearing in the air, shimmering like silver. “Let me show you the truth of your existence.”

A shiver ran through you, an instinctive warning. “What truth?”

“That life, as you know it, is but a performance,” she murmured, her voice dipping low, almost hypnotic. “You fear the strings that bind you, yet they are what give you form, what allow you to dance.”

As you stepped forward, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, you felt an inexplicable pull, a connection that defied logic. The air crackled with tension as she grasped your hand, and in that moment, the world around you shifted.

Visions flooded your mind—images of puppets and marionettes entwined with memories of your own life, the moments you had felt manipulated by unseen forces, the times you had danced to the tune of others’ desires. The lines between reality and illusion blurred until you could no longer distinguish between the two.

“Do you see?” Sandrone’s voice echoed in your mind. “You are not the master of your own fate. We are all marionettes, controlled by the hands of fate.”

Your heart raced as the realization settled in. She was right. You had spent so long trying to escape the strings that bound you, striving for freedom, yet had never truly confronted the depths of your own manipulation.

“Join me,” she urged, her grip tightening, the marionette string weaving around you like a serpent. “Together, we can break free from these illusions, redefine our roles in this performance.”

But a flicker of defiance ignited within you. “No! I won’t be a puppet to your whims!”

With a surge of determination, you pulled away from her grasp, the string unraveling as you took a step back. The room seemed to tremble, shadows flickering like dying embers. The other guests blinked as if awakening from a dream, confusion filling their eyes.

“You dare defy me?” Sandrone’s expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous sparking in her gaze. “You would choose the chains of reality over the freedom I offer?”

“I choose to face my own truths!” you declared, your voice steadying as you stood your ground. “I refuse to be your pawn in this twisted game!”

A silence fell over the room, tension hanging in the air like an electric current. For a moment, it felt as though the world had paused, caught between illusion and reality. The marionettes froze, their movements stilled, and for the first time, you saw Sandrone’s true self—a woman who had lost herself in her quest for control.

“Then you leave me no choice,” she said, her voice low and resonant, laced with both admiration and frustration. “If you wish to walk away, then you must sever the strings entirely.”

With a flick of her wrist, the marionettes sprang to life, their movements now more menacing, their eyes glowing with a fierce intensity. Panic surged through you, but a newfound resolve blossomed within your heart. You had come to understand the power of choice, the strength that lay in defiance.

“Stand with me!” you shouted to the other guests, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We can break free together!”

As if awakened from a trance, the guests rallied around you, their collective strength pushing against the force of Sandrone’s control. Together, you faced her, united in your resolve to reclaim your agency.

“Enough!” Sandrone’s voice rang out, the marionettes hesitating as they sensed the shift in energy. “You think you can resist me? I am the master of this illusion!”

But the resolve in your heart burned brighter than the shadows around you. “We will not be your puppets!”

With that declaration, you and the guests reached out, intertwining your hands in a circle, a barrier of defiance against her grasp. The marionettes faltered, their movements stilled as the power of your collective will surged forward.

A blinding light erupted from your joined hands, washing over the room, and in that moment, the illusion shattered. The marionettes crumbled to the ground, lifeless and still, as Sandrone’s expression shifted from fury to realization.

“No… what have you done?” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

“We’ve broken the chains,” you said, your voice steady as the light enveloped her. “We will not dance to your tune any longer.”

In that moment, the mansion transformed, the shadows receding as the truth emerged. The once-oppressive atmosphere shifted into one of liberation, the lingering darkness replaced by the warmth of newfound freedom.

As the last vestiges of Sandrone’s control faded, she stood before you, her porcelain features softened, vulnerability shining through the remnants of her facade. “You… you have taken everything from me.”

“No, we have taken back our own lives,” you replied, a sense of empathy washing over you. “You have your own strings to cut, Sandrone. Find your own truth.”

And with that, you turned away, leaving the mansion behind. The fog began to lift, revealing a world unshackled from the chains of illusion, where each step felt like a reclaiming of agency and truth. The night was still, but it was no longer filled with the haunting echoes of manipulation.

As you made your way back to your cottage, the stars twinkled overhead, and a sense of hope blossomed within your heart. You had faced the darkness, and in doing so, had discovered the light.

The Legend of Capitano

The evening mist rolled through the quiet village of Liyue like a whispered secret, shrouding the cobblestone streets and thatched roofs in a spectral embrace. Lanterns flickered dimly, casting shadows that danced along the walls as villagers hurried home, eager to escape the encroaching darkness. Tales of a fearsome figure had spread through the town like wildfire—an enigmatic warrior known as Capitano, one of the dreaded Harbingers of the Fatui. The stories spoke of his martial prowess, of battles won and enemies vanquished, but more than that, there were whispers of something supernatural, something that sent chills down the spines of even the bravest souls.

You had come to Liyue seeking peace, a place far removed from the conflicts that plagued the rest of Teyvat. Yet, as the tales of Capitano reached your ears, it became clear that even this tranquil village was not immune to fear. The villagers spoke of shadows lurking in the woods, of a great figure clad in dark armor, and of an unseen terror that stalked the night.

It was on one such misty night that you found yourself wandering the outskirts of the village, drawn by a strange compulsion. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the moon hung high above, illuminating the path ahead with an otherworldly glow. You had always been captivated by the unknown, by the tales that stirred the imagination, and now you found yourself drawn into the very heart of one such legend.

As you ventured deeper into the woods, a sudden rustling caught your attention. Your heart raced as you turned, expecting to see a mere animal, but instead, you found yourself face-to-face with a figure draped in shadow. The imposing silhouette loomed before you, armor glinting in the moonlight, a dark helm obscuring his face. It was Capitano.

“Lost, are we?” His voice was deep, resonant, and sent a thrill of both fear and intrigue through you. There was an authority in his presence, a strength that made your pulse quicken.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “I was... curious.”

“Curious?” He stepped closer, the light catching the edges of his armor, revealing a fierce expression beneath the shadows. “Curiosity can lead to peril, especially in these woods. Many have wandered too far and have never returned.”

There was something almost hypnotic about him, a magnetic pull that drew you in despite the warnings echoing in your mind. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your curiosity piqued even more.

He tilted his head, a glimmer of something—perhaps amusement—flashing in his eyes. “I am the guardian of these woods, or perhaps a specter, depending on who you ask. The villagers fear me, as they fear the unknown. But fear is a double-edged sword. It can protect or consume.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. You sensed a depth to him that transcended mere martial prowess—a complexity that made him both fearsome and fascinating. “Why do you stay here, then? If they fear you so?”

“Because I am bound to it,” he replied, his gaze piercing through the veil of night. “These woods have secrets that must be guarded. My duty is to ensure that those secrets remain hidden. There are forces at play that even I cannot fully comprehend.”

The tension in the air thickened, and a chill ran down your spine. You wanted to ask him what he meant, but something in his demeanor warned you to tread carefully. “But what about the villagers?” you ventured, your heart pounding. “Don’t you wish to show them you mean no harm?”

A shadow passed over his features, a flicker of sorrow mixed with determination. “They would not understand. To them, I am a monster. They see only the surface—the armor, the darkness. They do not see the burden I carry. To break that perception would require more than mere words.”

You stepped closer, feeling an inexplicable connection forming between you. “What if I could help?” you offered, your voice steadying. “What if I could show them that you’re not a monster?”

Capitano studied you for a long moment, as if weighing your resolve against the shadows that cloaked him. “It would not be easy. Fear runs deep, and once instilled, it is not easily erased. But should you choose to tread this path, you must understand the risks.”

You nodded, a surge of determination coursing through you. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Perhaps you should be,” he replied, a hint of a smile breaking through the darkness. “But bravery often lies in the face of fear, does it not?”

Over the next few days, you returned to the village, emboldened by your encounters with Capitano. Each night, you would meet him in the woods, sharing stories, learning of his past and the weight of his role as protector of the secrets hidden within. As you grew closer, you realized that beneath his fearsome exterior lay a soul burdened by duty and loneliness.

With each passing night, you formulated a plan—a way to bridge the gap between him and the villagers. You spoke of Capitano’s virtues, of his bravery, and the purpose he served, hoping to dispel the darkness that surrounded him in their eyes. But skepticism ran rampant. The villagers were too entrenched in their fears, too quick to dismiss your words as folly.

“You’re risking everything for a man you barely know,” one villager admonished. “He is nothing but a specter, a harbinger of death.”

But you couldn’t give up. You felt a connection to him that you couldn’t explain, a shared understanding of the burdens that came with their respective paths. “He is not a monster! He is protecting us from the true dangers that lurk beyond our perception!”

On the night of the harvest festival, you finally devised a plan to reveal Capitano’s true self to the villagers. You invited them to the woods, promising a spectacle that would dispel their fears once and for all. You hoped that, if they saw him not as a shadow but as a man, their perceptions might change.

As the villagers gathered, whispers of doubt filled the air. You stood before them, heart pounding in your chest. “Please, trust me! Capitano will show himself.”

With a wave of your hand, you called out to him. The silence thickened, the air electric with anticipation. After what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the shadows, his armor gleaming under the moonlight.

Gasps echoed through the crowd. Fear was palpable, yet there was also intrigue. Capitano stood tall, imposing and formidable, yet there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you, urging you forward.

“Fear not,” he called, his voice steady. “I am not here to bring harm. I am bound to these woods, to protect that which is sacred.”

But the villagers remained wary, their fear outweighing your efforts. “You’re a monster!” one shouted. “We know what you are!”

At that moment, you felt the weight of their fear pressing down on you, but you refused to falter. “He is not a monster! He has protected us, hidden us from true danger! You cannot let fear dictate your lives!”

Capitano stepped closer, lowering his head as if to bring his presence to their level. “Listen to your hearts,” he implored, his voice echoing in the silence. “I am but a guardian, tasked with a purpose you do not yet understand. Embrace the truth, and you shall find peace.”

Slowly, the atmosphere began to shift. Some villagers took tentative steps forward, curiosity igniting where once there had only been fear. But others remained entrenched in their distrust, their eyes darting between you and Capitano.

“Who will stand against me?” he challenged, his voice rising above the murmurs. “Who will join me in the fight against the darkness that threatens to consume us all?”

In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope. One brave villager stepped forward, heart pounding yet resolute. “I will,” they declared. “If he truly protects us, then I will stand with him.”

With that, others began to follow suit, stepping out of the shadows of their own fear. And as the realization spread through the crowd, Capitano’s presence shifted—no longer just a figure of dread, but a symbol of hope.

As the night wore on, you watched the villagers engage with Capitano, their laughter mingling with the whispers of the night. The fear that had once held them captive began to dissolve, replaced by an understanding that had once felt so distant.

In that moment, standing beside Capitano, you felt a warmth blossoming within you. Together, you had shattered the chains of fear that bound the villagers, transforming dread into camaraderie.

Yet, as you looked at him, a thought nagged at the edges of your mind. You knew that even now, the specter of fear was not entirely vanquished. But perhaps, together, you could face whatever lay ahead—whether it be darkness or light.

Capitano met your gaze, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes. In that moment, you understood that legends could evolve, that they were not merely stories of fear, but of the courage it took to confront it.

And perhaps, just perhaps, the legend of Capitano would transform from one of dread into one of resilience, a tale of a guardian who stood steadfast against the night, with a heart that beat fiercely beneath the armor.

The Masque of Columbina

The air in the grand palace was thick with the scent of incense and the distant hum of whispered conversations. The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling ballroom where masked guests twirled in an endless waltz. Opulence dripped from every corner—the walls gilded in gold, chandeliers sparkling with a thousand jewels, and the attendees dressed in extravagant silks and velvets, their faces hidden behind intricate masks.

It was a masquerade unlike any other, a night meant to banish the specter of death that loomed ever-present outside the palace walls. You stood at the edge of the festivities, uneasy, even though the laughter and revelry echoed around you. For beyond these walls, the Red Plague ravaged the world, an unstoppable force that devoured villages and cities, leaving only death in its wake. And yet, inside this haven, a fortress of privilege, it was as though the world had forgotten its suffering.

Your fingers tightened around the stem of the wine glass in your hand, the dark liquid inside reflecting the light like blood. No matter how much you tried to lose yourself in the grandeur of the event, you couldn’t shake the weight that pressed on your chest—the sense that something was terribly wrong, that no amount of gold or velvet could hold back the inevitable.

And then, as though your thoughts had summoned it, a figure emerged from the shadows.

She appeared at the far end of the room, as if from nowhere. At first glance, she seemed to be one of the countless revelers—a woman in a flowing gown of deep crimson, a mask obscuring her face. But there was something different about her, something that drew your gaze and refused to let go.

Her mask, unlike the others, was pale and delicate, like the face of a porcelain doll. Her eyes, though hidden beneath the shadows of her mask, seemed to gleam with an unsettling light, as if they saw through the façade of the masquerade and into the heart of every soul present. Her movements were slow, deliberate, almost like a dance—ethereal, haunting, and yet utterly hypnotic. The music swelled, and as if on cue, the other guests parted to make way for her, though they did not seem to notice her approach.

You found yourself rooted to the spot, unable to look away as she glided across the floor, closer and closer, until she stood before you.

"Why do you linger at the edge of the party, dear one?" Her voice was soft, lilting, as though she were singing rather than speaking. It sent a shiver down your spine. "Surely, on a night like this, you should be dancing?"

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way her presence seemed to fill the space around you. "I... I don’t feel much like dancing tonight."

The woman tilted her head, as if considering your words. Her lips, painted the color of blood, curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Ah, I see. You’re afraid, aren’t you?"

You stiffened. "Afraid of what?"

Her smile widened, and she leaned closer, her voice a breath against your skin. "Afraid of what waits outside these walls. The Red Plague. The death that no mask, no walls, can keep out forever."

A chill ran through you, and you took a step back. "Who are you?"

She laughed softly, the sound low and melodic. "I have many names," she said, brushing a delicate hand against her mask. "But tonight, you may call me Columbina."

The name sent a wave of unease through you. Columbina, one of the Harbingers of the Fatui, a woman shrouded in mystery and darkness. You had heard of her, of course—whispers of her ethereal beauty and her deadly power. It was said that she moved through the world like a ghost, untouched by time, untouched by the pain and suffering that gripped the rest of Teyvat.

"I didn’t realize you were... invited," you said cautiously.

Her eyes glittered behind the mask. "Invited?" She laughed again, this time louder, the sound echoing through the ballroom. "I don’t need an invitation. I go where I am needed, where I am called."

She reached out, and before you could react, her fingers brushed against your cheek, cold as ice. "And tonight, I am here for you."

Your breath caught in your throat. "For me? Why?"

Columbina’s smile softened, though it did nothing to ease the growing dread in your chest. "Because you are not like the others. You see the truth, don’t you? You know that no matter how grand this masquerade may be, no matter how many walls they build, death cannot be kept at bay."

Her words wrapped around you like a vice, tightening with every breath you took. She was right. Even now, you could feel it—the creeping, suffocating presence of something inevitable, something inescapable. The Red Plague had not yet touched the palace, but it was only a matter of time.

"That’s why they wear the masks," Columbina whispered, leaning closer still. "They think they can hide from it. But death is not so easily fooled."

Your heart pounded in your chest as she pulled away, turning her gaze to the rest of the ballroom. "Look at them," she said, gesturing to the swirling mass of dancers. "They laugh, they drink, they dance. All the while knowing that their time is running out. They are all trying to escape, but none of them will."

The room seemed to blur, the laughter and music fading into a distant hum as you stared at her. She was right—there was no escape. This masquerade, this charade of life and luxury, was nothing more than a distraction, a way to pretend that death wasn’t looming just beyond the doors.

"Come with me," Columbina said suddenly, her voice pulling you from your thoughts. She held out her hand, her eyes locking onto yours. "Let me show you the truth."

You hesitated, your mind spinning. There was something about her, something you couldn’t explain. She was terrifying, yes, but there was also a strange allure to her—a beauty intertwined with doom, as though she were both the angel of death and the one who could save you from it.

"What truth?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Her smile returned, soft and knowing. "The truth that there is no escape. That death is not the end, but a beginning. That I can give you peace, if you are willing to see it."

The weight of her words settled over you like a shroud, and for a moment, you considered it. What if she was right? What if there was something beyond the fear, beyond the endless running? What if there was a way to face the inevitable and emerge unscathed?

Before you could make a decision, the clock struck midnight.

The sound reverberated through the ballroom like a death knell, and in an instant, the atmosphere shifted. The laughter ceased, the music faltered, and the dancers froze in place. The room was silent, save for the slow, deliberate footsteps of a figure at the far end of the hall.

It was a man—tall, cloaked in black, his face hidden behind a mask the color of blood. He moved with the grace of a predator, each step purposeful and slow. And as he approached, the guests began to back away, fear etched into their faces.

Columbina watched with a smile, her eyes gleaming with a strange light. "Ah, the final guest has arrived."

You stared at the man, your heart pounding in your chest. There was something unnatural about him, something that set your teeth on edge. And then, with a sudden, sickening realization, you understood.

The Red Death had come.

The man stopped in the center of the room, his gaze sweeping over the silent crowd. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and removed his mask.

The room erupted into chaos.

Guests screamed and fled, their masks torn from their faces as they tried to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. The doors were locked, the windows barred. And as the Red Death moved through the crowd, his touch bringing swift and terrible ends, you realized that Columbina had been right all along.

There was no escaping fate.

You turned to her, your heart racing with terror. But Columbina was calm, serene, as though she had known this would happen from the start. She met your gaze, her smile soft and haunting.

"Do you see now?" she asked quietly. "There is no need to fear. Death comes for us all. But I can offer you peace."

Her hand extended once more, and this time, you didn’t hesitate.

As you took her hand, the chaos around you seemed to fade into the background. The screams, the terror, the inevitability of the Red Death—all of it vanished, leaving only Columbina’s gentle presence beside you. She led you away from the madness, away from the fear, into the quiet stillness of the night.

And in that moment, you understood.

She had been right all along.

The Island of Sandrone

he mist hung thick over the ocean as your ship approached the remote island. Your heart raced with both anticipation and unease. This place—this isolated stretch of land, shrouded in secrecy—was known only to a select few, whispered about in hushed tones across Teyvat. The island belonged to none other than Sandrone, the Puppet Tinkerer, one of the enigmatic Harbingers of the Fatui. It was said that here, far from the eyes of the world, she conducted her experiments—pushing the boundaries of life and death, of human and machine.

You were sent by your nation’s scholars to investigate the rumors. Word had spread of Sandrone’s mechanical creations—beings who looked like people, but weren’t. Puppets that moved, thought, and acted with eerie precision. It was unclear whether they were mere machines or something far more disturbing.

As the ship docked at the desolate shore, a chill ran down your spine. The island was a bleak, inhospitable place—rocky cliffs and twisted trees bent against the ceaseless wind. But it wasn’t the landscape that unsettled you. It was the silence. No birds, no animals. Just the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the faint hum of machinery in the distance.

A small figure approached from the mist—a woman in white, flanked by two tall, mechanical beings whose joints creaked as they moved. As they drew closer, you recognized the woman from the descriptions. Sandrone.

She was younger than you expected, her delicate features framed by an elegant, yet utilitarian outfit. Her eyes were sharp, like a craftsman studying their latest creation. There was an air of cold detachment about her, as though she existed on a different plane of existence from those around her.

"Welcome," Sandrone said, her voice soft but commanding. "You’ve come to see my work, I presume."

You nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze. "I’ve heard... rumors," you said cautiously. "About what you’re doing here."

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "Rumors," she echoed, turning away from you and beckoning you to follow. "People always fear what they don’t understand. But I assure you, my work is far beyond mere gossip."

You followed her deeper into the island, the mechanical beings flanking you both like silent sentinels. The terrain shifted as you approached the center of the island—what had once been wild and untamed gave way to carefully constructed pathways and towering structures. The air buzzed with the sound of machinery, and as you looked around, you caught glimpses of Sandrone’s creations—mechanical puppets, each more intricate than the last, moving about their tasks with eerie precision.

"They look so... lifelike," you murmured, unable to tear your eyes away from them.

Sandrone glanced at you with a hint of amusement. "Lifelike, yes. But they are not alive. They are my creations, my masterpieces. Machines, nothing more."

Her words were cold, clinical. But as you continued to follow her through the winding pathways, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease. There was something unsettling about the way these puppets moved—something too smooth, too perfect. They walked, spoke, and gestured like humans, but their eyes were empty, devoid of any spark of life. It was as though they were merely imitating humanity.

"How did you create them?" you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

Sandrone stopped in front of a large, glass-walled structure—her workshop, it seemed. Inside, you could see more puppets being constructed, their bodies in various stages of assembly. The sight was both fascinating and horrifying.

"The process is... complicated," Sandrone replied, her voice taking on a tone of pride. "It requires a delicate balance of mechanics and... biology."

Your stomach twisted at her words. "Biology?" you echoed, feeling a knot of dread form in your chest.

Sandrone’s smile returned, sharper this time. "Oh yes. Machines alone cannot mimic life. There are certain... qualities that must be taken from living beings. Tissue, nerve endings, sometimes even organs. Only then can they truly function as I intend."

You recoiled, the weight of her words hitting you like a blow. "You’re using... people?"

Sandrone’s gaze remained calm, unbothered by your horror. "Only those who no longer have use for their bodies. Criminals, the condemned, the forgotten. They are given new purpose in my creations. It’s a kindness, really. To transcend the limitations of human flesh, to become something greater. Isn’t that what we all desire?"

Her words chilled you to the bone. There was no remorse, no hesitation. To her, this was science, progress—nothing more. But to you, it was something far darker. The lines between life and death, between human and machine, had been blurred beyond recognition. What she was doing here on this island was unnatural, an affront to the very essence of what it meant to be alive.

"You’re playing with forces you don’t understand," you said, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "This... this is wrong."

Sandrone’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. "Wrong?" she repeated, stepping closer to you. "Tell me, what is wrong about pushing the boundaries of science? What is wrong about creating something perfect, something that transcends the frailty of human life?"

You stumbled back, your mind reeling. "But they’re not alive. They’re puppets, machines—soulless."

"Souls are irrelevant," she snapped, her calm demeanor slipping for the first time. "What matters is control. Power. Efficiency. Humanity is weak, prone to failure. My creations... they are flawless."

Her words echoed in your mind, filling you with a deep sense of dread. She wasn’t just reshaping life—she was destroying it, twisting it into something unrecognizable. And worse still, she believed she was doing the world a favor.

"What happens to the people you take?" you asked, your voice shaking.

Sandrone’s smile returned, colder than ever. "They cease to be. Their bodies become vessels for something far greater. They live on, in a sense. Isn’t that a form of immortality?"

"No," you whispered, backing away from her. "It’s a nightmare."

Sandrone watched you, her eyes gleaming with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. "A nightmare?" she repeated softly. "No, my dear. You’re mistaken. This is the future. And soon, the world will understand that. Whether they wish to or not."

You turned, your heart pounding in your chest as you fled the workshop, the sounds of the island’s machinery ringing in your ears. But as you ran, the truth of Sandrone’s words settled into your bones. There was no escaping this island, no escaping the horrors she had created.

And as the mist closed in around you, you realized with growing terror that you were already too late. You had walked into the web of a woman who saw herself as a god—and now, there was no way out.

The Banker’s Thirst

The sprawling estate of Pantalone, known far and wide as the Regrator of the Fatui, was a place of beauty and terror. Its cold, marble halls stretched endlessly, its opulence and luxury flaunting wealth and power beyond imagination. There, in the heart of Snezhnaya, it stood like a fortress, casting long, foreboding shadows over the snow-covered landscape, a symbol of untouchable dominance.

You had arrived at Pantalone's estate after weeks of correspondence. It had started innocently enough—formal letters exchanged between you, a representative of a foreign business, and the notorious banker. He had expressed interest in expanding his influence beyond the frozen borders of Snezhnaya, his ambition stretching out like an unseen force. You had been tasked with handling the negotiations on behalf of your nation, unaware of the dangerous game you were about to play.

From the moment you stepped foot onto the icy grounds of his estate, you could feel it—a sense of dread, lingering beneath the surface. The cold seemed sharper here, the air heavier with unspoken words and hidden intentions. And as you approached the grand entrance, the massive doors opened, revealing a figure that commanded attention.

Pantalone was waiting for you.

He was a man of refinement and elegance, his every move calculated and precise. His clothes were tailored to perfection, his demeanor one of quiet control. But it was his eyes that drew you in—sharp and dark, like the endless depths of the ocean. They seemed to see through you, reading every thought, every fear that flickered across your mind. His smile, polite and welcoming, held a dangerous edge, as though he were a predator preparing to devour his prey.

"Welcome," he said, his voice smooth and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. "I trust your journey was pleasant?"

You nodded, though your heart raced in your chest. There was something unsettling about him, something that made the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. But you pushed the feeling aside, reminding yourself that you were here on business.

"The journey was long, but manageable," you replied, doing your best to match his calm demeanor. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Lord Pantalone."

His smile widened slightly, though it never reached his eyes. "It is my pleasure," he said, stepping aside to let you enter. "I am always eager to meet those with... potential."

As you crossed the threshold into his home, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and penetrating. The estate was as grand as you had imagined, its walls lined with priceless art and artifacts, the very air humming with the wealth and power that Pantalone had accumulated. But there was something else here, something you couldn’t quite place. An undercurrent of darkness that seemed to seep into every corner, every shadow.

"I must commend your reputation," Pantalone continued, leading you through the labyrinthine halls. "It is not often that I find someone so... intriguing. Your letters were most informative."

There was a pause as he glanced at you, his smile still present, but colder now. "But I imagine you know that already."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the unease that twisted in your gut. "I’m here to discuss the details of our agreement," you said, hoping to steer the conversation back to the business at hand. "Your interest in expanding your operations is well-known, and I believe we can find mutual benefit in—"

"Mutual benefit," he interrupted, his voice a purr. "Yes, I’m sure you believe that." He stopped walking, turning to face you fully, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But I must ask... do you truly understand what you are dealing with? Do you know the nature of what you have stepped into?"

There was a threat in his words, subtle but unmistakable. You met his gaze, trying not to show your fear. "I understand enough to know that this partnership could be lucrative for both sides."

Pantalone chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Lucrative, yes. But there are other... considerations." He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "Power, for instance. Influence. Control. These are things that cannot be measured in mere currency."

You found yourself backing up, instinctively retreating from his looming presence. But there was no escape from him. His eyes were locked onto yours, his gaze piercing, as though he could see the very essence of your being.

"You are here because I chose you," he said quietly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I have seen countless individuals come and go, each one thinking they could strike a bargain with me, that they could outwit me in some way. But none of them truly understood the nature of the game they were playing."

He reached out, brushing a gloved hand against your cheek in a gesture that was both intimate and terrifying. "You, however," he continued, his tone soft and almost tender, "are different. I can sense it in you. There is something... pure. Untapped. And I find myself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame."

You wanted to pull away, to run, but his gaze held you captive, his touch sending a strange warmth coursing through your veins. There was something about him, something otherworldly, that made it impossible to look away. His voice was like silk, wrapping around your mind, clouding your thoughts.

"I can give you what you desire," he murmured, his lips curling into a smile that was both seductive and sinister. "Wealth, power, influence—everything you could ever dream of. All you have to do is... trust me."

His words hung in the air like a dark promise, and for a moment, you considered it. The temptation was there, undeniable. To have everything you ever wanted, to rise above the constraints of your world, to be free from the limitations that had always held you back. It was an offer too good to refuse.

But there was a price.

You could see it in his eyes, the hunger that lurked beneath his calm facade. He wanted more than just a partnership, more than just an alliance. He wanted you. Your mind, your body, your soul—he wanted to possess you completely.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you whispered, though even you could hear the tremor in your voice.

Pantalone’s smile widened, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. "Oh, but you do," he said softly. "You know exactly what I’m talking about. And you know that there is no escaping it."

His hand moved to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze fully. "I am offering you immortality," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "A life free from the chains of time, from the decay of the mortal world. Together, we can transcend it all. You and I—eternal, unstoppable."

Your heart raced, your mind screaming at you to run, to escape before it was too late. But your body refused to move, held in place by the sheer force of his presence. There was no escape from him. No way to break free from the web he had woven around you.

"I... I can’t," you managed to say, your voice barely audible.

Pantalone’s smile faded, his expression darkening. "You can," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And you will."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Because if you don’t... I will destroy you. And everything you hold dear."

The threat hung in the air like a blade, poised to strike. And you knew, in that moment, that you had no choice. You were trapped in his web, bound to him by forces you couldn’t understand. There was no escape from the Regrator’s grasp.

With a final, trembling breath, you nodded.

Pantalone’s smile returned, cold and triumphant. "Good," he murmured, his hand sliding down your arm in a possessive gesture. "You’ve made the right choice."

As he led you deeper into the shadows of his estate, you couldn’t help but wonder what you had just given up—and what dark fate awaited you now that you had fallen into the grasp of the Banker.

The Portrait of Innocence

The cold halls of the House of the Hearth were filled with whispers—dangerous secrets and murmurs that seemed to drift like smoke, lingering in the air long after the words had faded. It was a place of power and influence, ruled by the most cunning of the Fatui, each member carefully selected for their skill and ruthlessness. And at the center of it all was Arlecchino, the Knave.

Her reputation preceded her, a woman of cold beauty and even colder ambition. She commanded respect, fear, and devotion in equal measure. The children of the House, raised under her watchful eye, adored her as their matron, but they knew better than to cross her. Her mask of elegance and charm concealed something far more dangerous beneath, a predator lurking behind every polite smile and graceful gesture.

You had come to the House under strange circumstances—a visitor, an outsider with no ties to the Fatui. Your connection to her world was tenuous at best, and yet, you found yourself drawn into it, into her orbit. Arlecchino had taken a peculiar interest in you from the moment you met, her sharp eyes assessing, her gaze lingering on you with a calculated intensity that left you unsettled. And though you should have feared her, there was something undeniably magnetic about her presence, something that pulled you closer despite the warnings that echoed in the back of your mind.

"You are different from the others," Arlecchino had said, her voice soft yet commanding. "You don't belong here, and yet... I can see something in you. Something untouched."

Her words had left you confused and intrigued, a strange mixture of emotions that you couldn’t quite place. There was something in the way she spoke to you, something in her eyes when she looked at you, that made you feel both exposed and desired. And as the days passed, you found yourself seeking her out more and more, captivated by her presence, despite the danger that seemed to radiate from her like a warning.

It was during one of these encounters that she led you to a small, dimly lit room deep within the House. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and in the center of the room stood an ornate, gilded mirror—a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its frame adorned with intricate carvings of serpents and roses. The surface of the mirror gleamed in the candlelight, reflecting the room with eerie clarity.

Arlecchino stood beside you, her hand resting lightly on your arm as she gestured toward the mirror. "Look," she said, her voice a low whisper. "Tell me what you see."

You hesitated, glancing at her before stepping closer to the mirror. For a moment, you saw nothing out of the ordinary—just your own reflection staring back at you. But then, as you looked deeper, something shifted. Your reflection began to change, subtly at first, then more noticeably. The face that stared back at you was no longer quite your own; it was a version of yourself—perfect, flawless, untouched by time or imperfection. It was the idealized image of who you could be, who you wanted to be.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Arlecchino's voice was like silk, smooth and intoxicating. "This mirror shows you not just your reflection, but the possibility of what you could become. Untouched by the world, untainted by age or hardship. Eternal beauty... eternal youth."

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the reflection, unable to tear your eyes away. It was mesmerizing, this vision of yourself—a version of you that was more than just human, more than just mortal. It was perfection, in every sense of the word.

But something about it felt wrong. You could feel it, deep in your gut—a gnawing sense of unease that tugged at the edges of your mind.

"What is this?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

Arlecchino’s lips curved into a smile, but it was a smile that did not reach her eyes. "It is a gift," she said softly, stepping closer to you, her presence almost overwhelming. "A chance to escape the decay of time. To become more than you are, more than anyone else. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?"

Her words were like a poison, seeping into your thoughts, twisting your desires. You had never been one for vanity, never craved the kind of beauty that others sought so desperately. And yet, standing here in front of the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel the temptation tugging at you.

"What’s the cost?" you asked, your voice barely audible, though you already knew the answer.

Arlecchino’s smile widened, her fingers brushing lightly against your skin. "The cost is nothing... and everything," she said. "You won’t age, you won’t change. But your true self—the one that lives beneath the surface—will remain hidden, locked away in the mirror. Every sin, every vice, every cruel thought will manifest there, leaving you untouched. The reflection will bear the weight of it all."

The idea was both seductive and terrifying. Eternal youth, eternal beauty, the chance to live without consequence, without fear of time’s cruel hand. But at what cost?

You looked at her, searching for some sign of deception, but all you saw was her cool, calculating gaze. She was offering you something that most people would kill for, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something darker at play, something far more dangerous than she was letting on.

"What happens to the reflection?" you asked, your voice tight with unease.

Arlecchino’s eyes glinted with amusement, as if she had been waiting for you to ask that question. "The reflection will take on all the burdens of your soul," she said. "Every act of cruelty, every moment of weakness, will be etched into it. But you won’t have to look at it. You can live freely, without the weight of guilt or regret."

For a long moment, you were silent, your mind racing with the implications of what she was offering. Could you really live like that? Could you accept eternal youth and beauty at the cost of your soul?

"I don’t want to lose myself," you said quietly, turning away from the mirror to face her.

Arlecchino’s smile faded, her expression turning cold and unreadable. "You wouldn’t be losing yourself," she said, her voice sharp. "You would be elevating yourself. Becoming something more."

"But what would I become?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

She stepped closer to you, her hand brushing against your cheek. "You would become whatever you want to be," she whispered, her voice like a siren’s call. "Free from the chains of morality, free to live as you please, without consequence."

Her words hung in the air, thick with temptation. And for a moment, you considered it—considered what it would be like to live without fear, without pain, without the constant weight of conscience. It was a tantalizing thought, one that tugged at the darkest corners of your mind.

But deep down, you knew that it wasn’t freedom she was offering. It was enslavement—to her, to the mirror, to the reflection that would slowly consume everything you were.

"I can’t," you said, stepping back from her, your voice trembling with resolve. "I won’t."

For a moment, Arlecchino’s expression remained unchanged, her eyes cold and calculating. But then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile—a smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Very well," she said softly, though there was a dangerous edge to her voice. "But remember this: the world is not kind to those who reject its gifts. And beauty... beauty is the most dangerous gift of all."

With those words, she turned and walked away, leaving you alone in the room with the mirror. The reflection still lingered in the glass, watching you with eyes that were no longer your own.

And as you gazed into it, you realized that the temptation would never truly leave you. It would haunt you, just as Arlecchino would, a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind, waiting for the moment when you would finally give in.

Melody of the Forgotten

The grand opera house of Sumeru City was the jewel of the nation’s artistic world, a towering edifice of stone and glass, alive with music and drama. Its stage had seen performances that transcended the mortal plane, and its corridors echoed with the whispers of stories long forgotten. You had been drawn to it from a young age, captivated by the splendor of the performances, the allure of the music, and the dream of one day performing on that hallowed stage yourself.

And now, that dream was within reach. You had been accepted into the opera’s prestigious company, your voice singled out as one with great potential, a rising star in the world of song. The opera house had become your second home, its backstage corridors a maze of opportunity and challenge.

But there was another presence in the opera house, one that the performers rarely spoke of—at least, not aloud. There were stories, rumors whispered among the stagehands and the older performers, of a phantom who haunted the opera house. He was said to be a master of disguise, a shadowy figure who could slip between worlds unseen. His moods were as tempestuous as the sea, his emotions unpredictable as the wind. He was both feared and revered, his influence felt in every corner of the grand theater.

No one had ever seen his face. And those who claimed to know more often spoke in cryptic tones, as if afraid to say too much. Some said he wore a mask, hiding some hideous deformity, while others claimed that he was a spirit—an echo of an ancient, forgotten soul who could never rest.

You had dismissed these stories at first, focusing instead on your training. But soon, you began to notice strange things—small, unsettling signs that you were not as alone as you once thought. At times, you would catch a fleeting glimpse of a figure in the wings, watching your rehearsals. Doors that had been locked would mysteriously open, and you would hear faint whispers in the corridors when you were sure you were alone. Most unnervingly, though, you began to find letters—perfectly folded pieces of parchment, slipped under your dressing room door.

The first letter had been a simple compliment: “Your voice is like the first breath of dawn—pure, yet aching with potential. Do not waste it.” It was unsigned, written in an elegant hand, but you had a suspicion it was from the phantom.

From that point on, the letters became more frequent, sometimes offering advice on your performances, other times cryptic messages that left you pondering their meaning for hours. And slowly, you began to realize that the phantom, whoever he was, had taken an interest in you—an obsession, even.

One evening, after a particularly demanding rehearsal, you lingered on the stage, watching as the candles in the chandelier flickered, casting long shadows across the empty seats. The house was quiet now, the other performers having retired for the night. You stood alone in the vast, echoing space, your heart still pounding from the intensity of your singing. You could feel eyes on you, though you saw no one.

"Why do you hide in the shadows?" you called out, your voice barely above a whisper, yet confident.

There was no immediate response, but you could sense something shifting in the air. Then, from the darkness of the wings, a figure stepped into the dim light—tall, with a slender frame and an air of theatricality about him. His face was obscured by a half-mask, covering the right side of his face, leaving only his left eye visible, cold and calculating.

It was him. The Phantom.

Or rather, Scaramouche.

He was known by many names—the Balladeer, the Wanderer, the Sixth Harbinger—but here, in the shadows of the opera house, he was the phantom. His movements were precise, his posture one of practiced elegance, as though every step was part of an unseen performance. His dark hair framed his mask, and though his lips were hidden in shadow, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you.

"You're brave," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, with a hint of danger lurking beneath. "Most would flee at the mere mention of me. But not you."

Your breath caught in your throat, but you refused to look away. "You’ve been watching me."

He tilted his head slightly, a slow, deliberate gesture that sent a shiver down your spine. "Yes," he admitted, with no hint of apology. "Your voice—it is unlike anything I’ve heard in years. Pure, yet raw. It needs... guidance."

His words hung in the air, and you felt a strange mixture of fear and fascination. Scaramouche was as much a part of the opera house as the stone pillars and velvet curtains, and now he stood before you, a living mystery wrapped in enigma and shadow.

"I don’t need your guidance," you said, though your voice trembled just slightly. "I’ve made it this far on my own."

He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "Is that what you think? Do you believe you’ve come this far through sheer talent alone? No... you’ve had help—whether you knew it or not."

His words sent a chill through you. "What do you mean?"

Scaramouche’s visible eye gleamed with amusement, and he took a slow step closer. "I’ve been behind the scenes, pulling the strings. I have arranged for you to be noticed by the company, whispered in the ears of those in power. Without me, you would still be singing for an empty hall. You owe me... everything."

Your mind raced, trying to comprehend what he was saying. Had he been manipulating your career from the start? The realization struck you like a cold wave of fear and anger.

"I didn’t ask for your help," you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart was pounding.

He laughed again, this time with more cruelty. "No. But I gave it nonetheless. And now..." His eye darkened, his tone shifting to something far more possessive. "Now you belong to me."

The finality in his voice left no room for argument, and for the first time, you felt the weight of his obsession settle over you. You had always thought of him as a distant figure, a myth that haunted the opera house, but now, here he was—real, tangible, and far more dangerous than you had imagined.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Scaramouche’s gaze lingered on you, his eye narrowing slightly as if assessing your every thought. Then, in a swift motion, he moved closer, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I want your voice," he said softly, but there was a dark hunger in his tone. "I want it to sing only for me. I want to shape it, control it, make it perfect."

You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his fingers cold against your skin. "You don’t understand," he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, almost tender. "I have waited so long for something... someone... who could complete my music. I’ve seen mediocrity, incompetence, but you... you are different."

His obsession was suffocating, the intensity of his words sinking into your bones. You could feel the weight of his desire pressing down on you, and for the first time, you understood the full extent of his control.

"I’m not your puppet," you said, your voice shaking with fear and defiance.

Scaramouche’s lips curled into a cruel smile beneath his mask. "No... you’re not. You’re something far more precious. But make no mistake—you are mine."

The candlelight flickered as his words echoed in the empty opera house, and you felt the walls closing in around you. You were trapped in his web, caught between fear and fascination, between a desire to run and an inexplicable pull that kept you rooted in place.

"I can make you a star," he said, his voice turning soft, seductive. "I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Fame, fortune... all of it. All you have to do is sing for me."

You hesitated, the temptation of his offer gnawing at the edges of your resolve. There was something irresistible about his words, something that made you want to believe him, to trust him.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Scaramouche was no savior. He was a phantom, a manipulator, a creature of shadows who sought to control you for his own ends.

"You don’t control me," you said firmly, stepping back from him.

For a moment, Scaramouche’s smile faltered, his eye flashing with anger. But then, just as quickly, the mask of calm returned.

"Perhaps not yet," he said softly, though his tone carried an unmistakable threat. "But in the end, you will sing for me. Because there is no one else who understands you like I do. No one else who can bring out the true potential in your voice."

He stepped back, his form blending into the shadows once more, his presence as ghostly as ever.

"You will sing for me," he repeated, his voice lingering in the air as he disappeared into the darkness. "Sooner or later... you will."

The opera house was silent once more, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a curse. And as you stood alone on the stage, you knew that your fate was now intertwined with his, bound by the melody of his obsession.

The Abyss Within

Mondstadt had always been a city of song, of laughter, and the gentle murmur of wind-blessed freedom. It was a place of safety, a sanctuary from the chaos that roiled beyond its borders. But in the past few months, something had changed. A shadow had fallen over the city, creeping ever closer with each passing night.

It started slowly—a series of mysterious disappearances in the outskirts, rumors of strange creatures lurking in the woods. And then there were the sightings: a figure, tall and broad-shouldered, moving with inhuman speed and brutality, leaving destruction in his wake. Whispers spread through the city like wildfire, and the people of Mondstadt began to grow wary, unsure of what malevolent force was stalking the darkness.

You had heard these rumors, too, though you dismissed them at first. After all, you had your own distractions to deal with—your meetings with him.

You had met Childe, or Tartaglia as he sometimes called himself, by chance during your travels. He was charming, bright-eyed, and seemingly always one step ahead of you with his playful banter and infectious grin. You had taken a liking to him, finding his adventurous spirit and easy smile disarming. And despite the fact that he was a member of the infamous Fatui, you felt something... different in him.

Childe had become a frequent presence in your life, an unexpected friend, even as you knew there was more to him than the affable, mischievous man who walked beside you through Mondstadt’s markets and taverns. There was something dark beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite place. But he had never shown it to you—until the night everything changed.

It was a crisp evening when you last saw Childe, sitting by the fountain in Mondstadt’s plaza, his usual confident grin plastered across his face as he waved you over. He greeted you as warmly as ever, but there was a tension to him that you couldn’t ignore. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and his usual lively demeanor felt strained.

“You seem... distracted,” you said, watching him carefully as you sat down beside him.

He chuckled, though the sound was hollow. “Do I? Just a lot on my mind, I guess. The Fatui never rest, you know. But you don’t want to hear about my troubles. Let’s talk about you. How have things been? Still stirring up trouble in Mondstadt?”

His teasing tone was there, but there was an edge to it. He was hiding something. You had known Childe long enough to see when he was masking his true feelings.

“Childe... you can tell me if something’s wrong,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression—a flash of vulnerability, of conflict. But then it was gone, replaced by that familiar cocky smile.

“Nothing’s wrong. I promise,” he said, standing up abruptly. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to show you. Come with me.”

You hesitated for only a second before following him, the unease in your stomach growing stronger with every step. Childe led you out of the city and into the woods beyond, his pace quick, almost hurried. The sky was darkening overhead, and the air was thick with the scent of rain.

“Where are we going?” you asked, glancing around at the shadows stretching across the path.

Childe didn’t answer right away. His shoulders were tense, his eyes focused ahead. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“There’s something you need to see,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious than you had ever heard it. “Something I haven’t told you.”

The trees grew denser as you followed him deeper into the forest. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mix of curiosity and fear swirling in your mind. Childe had always been unpredictable, but this felt different—more dangerous.

Finally, he stopped in a small clearing, the moonlight filtering through the canopy above. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“Do you know why I joined the Fatui?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, frowning. He had never talked about it, and you had never pressed him for answers.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he continued, his eyes dark and distant. “There was a time when I was... different. But something changed me. The Abyss—”

He paused, his jaw tightening as if the mere mention of it was painful.

“I fell into it. I became something else. Something... darker.” His gaze shifted, his usual playfulness replaced with a cold intensity. “I’m not just the Childe you know. There’s another part of me. A part I can’t control.”

Your heart sank as his words began to sink in. You had always known there was more to Childe than he let on, but this was something far worse than you had imagined.

Before you could respond, Childe let out a low, humorless laugh. “I thought I could keep it hidden from you. I didn’t want you to see... him.”

“Who is ‘him’?” you asked, your voice trembling as you stepped closer.

Childe’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability you had seen before returned. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by something darker.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation.

Without warning, Childe doubled over, clutching his chest as a pained groan escaped his lips. You rushed to his side, panic flooding your veins.

“Childe!” you cried, reaching out to steady him.

But he pushed you away, stumbling back as his body began to change. His once warm, blue eyes turned cold and lifeless, glowing with an eerie orange light. His muscles tensed, his posture shifting into something more animalistic, predatory. His breath came in ragged gasps, his grin twisted into something cruel, dangerous.

“I told you...” he rasped, his voice now a guttural growl. “I’m not always the Childe you know.”

The transformation was complete. The man standing before you was no longer the charming, mischievous warrior you had come to care for. This was someone—something—else. His eyes gleamed with a sadistic hunger, and his movements were sharp, calculated, like a predator stalking its prey.

Fear seized your heart as you took a step back. This wasn’t Childe. This was the monster he had warned you about. And now, you were alone with him in the heart of the forest.

“Childe, please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart. “You don’t have to do this.”

But the creature that had once been Childe only laughed, a low, chilling sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Childe?” he repeated mockingly, stepping closer. “That weakling? He’s always fighting me, holding me back. But not tonight. Tonight, I’m in control.”

Your pulse raced as he circled you, his eyes glinting with malice. This was no longer the man you had trusted, the man you had thought you knew. This was a nightmare brought to life.

You stumbled back, your mind racing as you searched for a way out, but he was too fast. In an instant, he was upon you, pinning you against a tree with a strength that left you breathless.

“Don’t look so scared,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “You should have known this would happen eventually. Did you really think you could get close to someone like me without seeing the truth?”

His words cut deep, the weight of his dual nature pressing down on you. You had seen glimpses of this side of him before—the ruthlessness, the bloodlust—but you had never imagined it would come to this.

As his grip tightened, you fought to keep your fear at bay. Somewhere beneath the monster that had taken control, the Childe you knew still existed. You had to believe that.

“Childe,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “I know you’re still in there. You’re stronger than this—stronger than him.”

For a moment, his cruel smile faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a snarl of frustration.

“You’re wasting your breath,” he growled, though there was a hint of something—something fragile and fleeting—in his voice. “He can’t save you now.”

But you refused to give up. “I’m not asking him to save me. I’m asking him to save you.”

His eyes widened, and for a brief, agonizing moment, the monster’s grip loosened. You saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes, the faint glimmer of the man you had come to care for. The two halves of Childe’s soul were at war with each other, fighting for control.

And then, with a shuddering gasp, he let you go, stumbling back as if the weight of the conflict was too much to bear. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his head as he fought against the darkness threatening to consume him.

“Go,” he rasped, his voice raw with pain. “Before I...”

You hesitated, torn between the fear that kept you rooted to the spot and the desperate hope that Childe could still be saved. But in the end, you couldn’t leave him like this. Not when he was fighting so hard to hold on to himself.

You knelt beside him, your hand resting gently on his shoulder. “You’re not alone,” you whispered, hoping your words would reach the man trapped within the monster.

For a long moment, there was only silence, the weight of the night pressing down on you both. And then, slowly, Childe’s breathing began to steady, his tense muscles relaxing as the darkness receded.

When he finally looked up at you, his eyes were blue once more, filled with a haunting mix of relief and sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “I never wanted you to see that side of me.”

You smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “It’s part of who you are. And I’m not afraid of you.”

Childe looked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’ll always be fighting him,” he whispered. “But as long as you’re here... maybe I can win.”

The Crimson Veil

The heat of the summer had been oppressive, relentless. Your family estate, nestled deep in the forests outside Mondstadt, felt more like a gilded cage than a home, despite its grand stone halls and sweeping gardens. You had spent most of your days languishing in the shade of the great oak trees, seeking respite from the heavy air that clung to you like a second skin. The boredom of isolation was wearing on you, but your father insisted it was for your safety. Strange happenings had been reported in nearby villages—disappearances, whispers of something unnatural prowling the night. He would leave for long stretches, journeying to Mondstadt for business, leaving you in the care of the house staff.

And then, she came.

It was during one of your father’s longer absences, a warm evening bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. You were in the garden when the commotion at the front gates broke the tranquility. A carriage, drawn by horses as black as midnight, had appeared out of nowhere, thundering down the dirt path leading to the estate. The servants were quick to gather at the entrance, murmuring nervously as the door of the carriage swung open.

You watched from a distance, your curiosity piqued.

A figure emerged—tall, graceful, and draped in a flowing crimson cloak. Her presence was commanding, even from afar. The hood of her cloak shielded her face from view, but the way she moved was almost hypnotic, as though every step she took was a deliberate act of seduction.

The woman paused at the entrance, her head turning ever so slightly in your direction. Even though you couldn’t see her eyes, you felt the weight of her gaze, and a chill ran down your spine despite the warm summer air. You were frozen in place, unable to look away.

The housekeeper hurried forward, her voice trembling as she addressed the mysterious guest. “M-madam, may we help you?”

The woman’s voice was like velvet, smooth and rich, yet carrying an undercurrent of something dangerous. “I apologize for the intrusion. My carriage met with misfortune on the road, and I seek shelter for the night.”

Your father had always been generous, especially to those of noble blood, and the stranger’s attire suggested she was no common traveler. The housekeeper hesitated only a moment before nodding, gesturing for her to enter. The woman swept past her with a fluid grace, her cloak billowing behind her like a pool of blood spreading across the stone floor.

From that moment, the house was changed.

Her name was La Signora.

She revealed little of herself, offering only vague details about her background. She was a widow, she said, and had been traveling through the region on matters of personal business. Her voice was always low, measured, but it seemed to carry with it an air of authority that demanded attention. The servants were quick to obey her, drawn to her every word, though they rarely spoke in her presence.

But it was you who became the focus of her attentions.

The first time you truly spoke with her, she found you in the garden once more, reclining beneath the shade of the oak trees. She approached without a sound, her footsteps as light as a whisper on the breeze.

“I see the sun has no power over you,” she remarked, her voice almost teasing. You looked up, startled, but as soon as you met her eyes, you felt a strange sense of calm wash over you.

Her eyes—they were the color of molten amber, glowing faintly in the dim light. Her face was striking, impossibly beautiful, yet there was something unnerving about it, something inhuman. Her skin was pale, like porcelain, and her lips were painted a deep, blood-red.

“You must be our guest,” you managed, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to stay composed. “La Signora, is it?”

She smiled, and the sight of it sent a shiver through you. “Indeed. And you must be the lady of the house in your father’s absence. How fortunate for me to find such enchanting company.”

Her words were flattering, but there was an edge to them, a weight that made your heart beat faster. You had never felt anything like it—a mixture of fear and fascination, as though you were both repelled and irresistibly drawn to her at the same time.

“I’ve heard you’ve been unwell,” she continued, her gaze sweeping over you like a caress. “These warm summers can be so draining, can they not?”

You nodded, unsure of how to respond. In truth, you had felt more fatigued than usual, a strange lethargy that had settled over you ever since her arrival. But as you sat there, beneath her gaze, you found it difficult to think of anything but her.

For the rest of the evening, La Signora remained at your side, her conversation light but somehow captivating. She spoke of distant lands and forgotten places, of beauty and tragedy intertwined. She told you stories that made the hairs on your neck stand on end, though you could not say why.

And when she finally took her leave, you found yourself longing for her return, despite the growing sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your mind.

As the days passed, your relationship with La Signora deepened in ways you could not explain. She was always near, her presence a constant, magnetic force. She began visiting you in your room late at night, when the rest of the household had long since gone to bed. The first time she appeared, it was like a dream.

You had been lying in bed, half-asleep, when you heard the faint creak of your door opening. You sat up, your heart racing, but there she stood, framed in the doorway, her cloak draped loosely around her shoulders. The candlelight flickered in her eyes, casting strange shadows across her face.

“Do not be alarmed,” she whispered, her voice soft as silk. “I thought you might enjoy some company.”

You should have been frightened, should have called for the servants. But instead, you nodded, your pulse quickening with anticipation rather than fear.

La Signora approached your bedside, moving with that same eerie grace. She sat beside you, her eyes never leaving yours. Her fingers brushed against your skin—cold, so cold—and yet you did not pull away. You felt yourself sinking into her presence, as though she were drawing you into a trance.

“I can see the fatigue in your eyes,” she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly across your wrist. “You’ve been suffering, haven’t you?”

You nodded weakly, though you were no longer sure if it was the heat or her that had been draining you. Every moment in her presence left you feeling both exhilarated and exhausted, as though she were consuming something vital from you.

She leaned closer, her breath cool against your skin. “I can help you, if you’ll let me. You have but to say the word, and I will ease your suffering.”

You should have refused, should have resisted. But her voice was like a lullaby, soothing, persuasive. Before you knew it, you had whispered, “Yes.”

Her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Good.”

Without another word, La Signora leaned in, her face inches from yours. For a brief, dizzying moment, you thought she might kiss you, but instead, she pressed her lips to the curve of your neck. The sensation sent a shock through your body, a strange mixture of pleasure and pain as her fangs pierced your skin.

You gasped, your hands gripping the sheets as the world seemed to spin around you. Your vision blurred, but all you could feel was her—her cold touch, her breath, the strange pull of her fangs as she drank from you.

It was over in a matter of seconds, but it left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. La Signora pulled away, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. She licked her lips, the faintest trace of blood staining them.

“You are mine now,” she whispered, her voice a soft, dangerous purr. “Do not forget that.”

You lay there, trembling, unable to speak as she rose from your bed and disappeared into the shadows.

From that night onward, La Signora’s hold on you tightened. You grew weaker by the day, your skin paling, your body frail. But every night, she returned, her presence both a curse and a balm to your growing despair. You could not escape her, and deep down, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

The villagers whispered of a sickness that had begun to spread, of young women falling ill, drained of life. But you knew the truth. It was her—La Signora. She was the cause of it all, and you were her willing victim.

Your father returned one evening, his face lined with worry as he looked upon you. He demanded to know what had happened, but you could not tell him. You could only lie there, weak and helpless, knowing that La Signora’s hold on you had grown too strong to break.

That night, she came to you again, but this time, her smile was different—sharper, crueler.

“It’s almost time,” she whispered, her voice a cold breeze against your fevered skin. “Soon, you will be mine completely, and we will be together forever.”

You wanted to resist, to fight against the dark fate she had woven for you. But as she leaned in, her lips brushing against your neck once more, you knew there was no escape.

You had been drawn into her web of darkness, and there was no going back.

The Clockwork Creation

The thunder roared, splitting the night in two, as jagged bolts of lightning illuminated the darkened skies above the lonely Snezhnayan lab. You stood outside the towering building, feeling your heart race with anticipation, knowing what lay within. Your hands trembled as you clutched the edges of your cloak tighter, hoping the cold night air would soothe the anxious energy surging through your veins.

It had been weeks—months, even—since you had seen him last. Il Dottore, the brilliant, enigmatic man you once knew, had withdrawn into his secret laboratory, obsessing over his latest experiment. Letters were few, and each one more cryptic than the last. His mind, once so sharp and full of purpose, seemed to unravel further with every success.

The heavy oak doors of the lab creaked open as if sensing your approach. Stepping inside, you were greeted by the harsh smell of chemicals, the scent burning in your nose. The place was darker than you remembered, the air thicker, suffocating.

You had known Dottore for years, working alongside him in pursuit of knowledge, always fascinated by his mind, his ambition. But something had changed in him. The brilliant scientist you admired had begun to twist under the weight of his obsession, pursuing power and discovery without regard for ethics or consequences.

It all started with one question that spiraled into madness: Could life be recreated?

Dottore had once confided in you his dream to conquer the boundaries of mortality, to shape life from death, to bend nature’s laws. What was once a philosophical debate had transformed into something real, something terrifying.

You swallowed hard, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls as you descended deeper into his workshop. Every corner was filled with the remnants of abandoned experiments—half-constructed automata, strange, ticking contraptions made of metal and sinew, and medical devices whose purpose you dared not imagine.

The sound of whirring gears and clanking metal grew louder as you approached the heart of the laboratory. In the center of the dimly lit room stood a towering figure—Dottore.

His back was turned to you, hunched over a large table littered with surgical tools, tubes, and vials of unknown substances. Sparks flew from the apparatus around him, filling the air with the stench of burning metal. He didn’t notice your presence at first, so consumed was he by the work before him.

“Dottore,” you called out softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of machinery.

He stiffened, then slowly turned to face you. The moment his eyes locked with yours, you knew he was no longer the man you once knew. His sharp red gaze gleamed with a feverish intensity, and a twisted smile tugged at his lips. He looked gaunt, hollow, as if sleep and sanity had long since abandoned him.

“You came,” he said, his voice low, smooth, but tinged with something unsettling. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You took a hesitant step forward, your eyes scanning the room. On the table before him lay the culmination of his work—a creation. A body. It was large, humanoid, though something about it was grotesque in its stillness. The flesh, stitched together in patches, was pale and unnatural. Tubes connected to the figure pulsed with dark liquid, and electrodes attached to its temples sparked occasionally as Dottore worked feverishly on some unseen adjustment.

“What… what have you done?” you whispered, your throat dry as you stared at the lifeless form.

Dottore’s grin widened, his hands twitching with manic excitement. “I’ve done it. I’ve surpassed them all—Celestia, the Archons, the very laws of nature itself. I’ve created life!”

Your stomach churned at his words. “This… this isn’t life, Dottore. This is an abomination.”

His expression darkened, the once playful glint in his eyes replaced by something dangerous. “You don’t understand, do you? You never truly understood the potential. This creation—this being—is more than life. It is perfection, designed by me. It will be the first of many, a new race crafted from the brilliance of science and human ingenuity.”

You shook your head, taking a step back as the horror of it all sank in. “You’re playing with things no one should. This… this thing you’ve made—it’s not natural. You can’t just stitch together parts of the dead and call it life.”

Dottore’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of the man he once was. But that moment passed quickly, and the mad scientist was back, his voice dripping with condescension. “Natural? Do you think nature cares for the weak, the fragile? I’ve improved upon it. I’ve made something better. It can’t die, it can’t fail, and it will serve me as no living creature could.”

He moved closer to the table, his hands hovering above the switches and levers of the device connected to the body. The electricity in the room crackled with a strange energy, the tension thick and palpable.

“I invited you here,” Dottore said, his voice softening in an eerie imitation of warmth, “because I wanted you to witness the future. You’ve always understood me, haven’t you? You’ve been by my side for so long. I thought… you might appreciate the genius behind it.”

You stared at him, torn between the loyalty you once felt and the growing horror gnawing at your heart. He had lost himself, his brilliance consumed by ambition and madness.

“This isn’t right,” you whispered, taking another step back. “I can’t… I can’t be part of this.”

Dottore’s smile faltered, the disappointment clear in his eyes. For a brief moment, you saw a flicker of hurt, but it was quickly replaced by the cold, calculating gleam you had come to fear.

“Pity,” he murmured, turning away from you. “I had hoped you would understand. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. When my creation awakens, the world will understand. You will understand.”

With a flourish, Dottore pulled the final lever. The room exploded with light and sound as the machinery roared to life. Lightning arced from the coils overhead, striking the body on the table with violent force. The air buzzed with raw energy as the figure convulsed, its limbs jerking in unnatural movements. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.

You watched in silent horror as the body twitched and spasmed, the once-lifeless form beginning to move with purpose. The creature opened its eyes—dull, glassy orbs staring into the void—and let out a low, guttural groan.

Dottore’s laughter echoed through the chamber, a sound of pure, manic joy. “It lives!” he shouted, his voice trembling with triumph. “I’ve done it! I’ve conquered life itself!”

The creature on the table sat up slowly, its movements stiff and jerky, like a puppet being manipulated by unseen strings. It looked around the room with blank, unfocused eyes, its mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words. But it was clear—this was no miracle of life. This was a mockery of it.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Dottore, stop this!” you cried, your voice breaking. “This is madness!”

He turned to you, his eyes gleaming with a wild fervor. “Madness? This is brilliance! This is what humanity has been striving for all along. To become gods!”

But as the creature rose from the table, its body shaking with each movement, you saw something flicker in its eyes. Fear. Confusion. Pain. It was no god—it was a broken thing, pieced together by a man who had lost sight of what it meant to truly live.

The creature let out a low, mournful wail, its hands trembling as it looked down at its own patchwork body. For a moment, you thought you saw the smallest spark of humanity in its eyes, a brief glimmer of recognition. And then, it turned to Dottore.

The scientist stepped forward, his arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. “You are my greatest creation,” he said softly, his voice filled with reverence. “You belong to me.”

But the creature’s face twisted into something dark, something primal. With a sudden, violent movement, it lunged at Dottore, knocking him to the ground. The two figures struggled, the sound of ripping flesh and grinding metal filling the air as Dottore’s creation fought against its maker.

You watched in horror, frozen in place as the scene unfolded. The scientist’s screams echoed through the lab, but there was nothing you could do.

In the end, Dottore’s obsession, his need to control life itself, had destroyed him.

As the creature stood over his broken body, it turned to you. For a brief moment, you thought it might attack, but instead, it simply stared. There was something in its eyes now—an understanding, perhaps. A sad, broken understanding of what it was and what it had been made to be.

And then, without a sound, it turned and lumbered out of the lab, disappearing into the cold night.

You stood there, the wind howling outside, your heart heavy with the weight of what had transpired.

Il Dottore, once the brilliant mind you admired, was gone—consumed by his own creation, a monster of his own making.

The Blackened Court

It began with a letter.

You were summoned to the far northern territories, deep in Snezhnaya, to handle an urgent matter for a prestigious client. The task seemed simple: visit an estate and help a noblewoman finalize some documents before her imminent relocation to Mondstadt. Though the instructions were vague, the pay promised was enough to make the long, dangerous journey worth it.

The letter was signed only with the name Arlecchino. A noblewoman, or so you thought.

The journey to Snezhnaya was long and arduous, the cold biting at your bones as you ventured farther into a wilderness untouched by time. Every village you passed was eerily quiet, the locals avoiding your gaze, speaking in hushed whispers whenever you mentioned your destination. You couldn't help but feel the weight of their fear, though none dared to say it outright.

By the time you arrived at the manor, high on a hill overlooking an icy expanse, the sun had already set. The grand stone building loomed over you like a tomb. Its towering spires clawed at the sky, and the air around it was thick with a sense of foreboding. Every instinct in you screamed to turn back, but duty—and the promise of gold—pushed you forward.

The heavy iron gates creaked open of their own accord as you approached, and a figure stood waiting for you on the grand staircase. She was tall, her presence commanding, even from a distance. The noblewoman’s figure was shrouded in black, her posture impossibly still.

You stepped closer, the snow crunching beneath your boots, and there she was—Arlecchino.

Her beauty was striking, but not in a way that felt comforting. Her skin was pale, almost too pale, like the marble statues of long-forgotten deities. Her hair, black as midnight, was swept back, accentuating her sharp, almost predatory features. And her eyes—her eyes were a deep crimson, glowing faintly in the dying light.

“Welcome,” she greeted, her voice soft but with an undercurrent of something darker, something ancient. “I’ve been expecting you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. “Lady Arlecchino, I presume?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it never reached her eyes. “Indeed. Please, come inside. The night grows cold.”

There was something about the way she moved, her steps utterly silent as she led you through the grand entrance of her manor. The air inside was cold, and every shadow seemed to stretch farther than it should. The walls were lined with portraits of people you didn’t recognize—men, women, children—all staring down at you with vacant eyes. It was as though you had stepped into a place frozen in time.

The door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud, making you jump.

Arlecchino noticed but said nothing. Instead, she led you to a lavish sitting room where a grand fire roared in the hearth. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I imagine the journey has been exhausting.”

You nodded, though you felt anything but comfortable under her unblinking gaze. You couldn’t shake the feeling that her eyes were always on you, even when you weren’t looking.

As you sat, she poured a glass of deep red wine, her movements graceful, fluid, like a shadow given form. She handed it to you, her fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. They were cold—too cold.

“To your health,” she said with that same unnerving smile.

You hesitated but took a sip, the wine thick and almost metallic on your tongue. The warmth you had hoped for never came. Instead, a strange heaviness settled in your limbs, a languid feeling of surrender washing over you. You set the glass down, your mind spinning.

“I’ve been in this manor for a very long time,” she began, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Too long, some might say. It has been… lonely.”

She moved closer, her presence suffocating as she stood before you. The firelight cast flickering shadows across her pale face, making her look almost ghostly. “I have had visitors before. Many, in fact. But none have stayed.” Her crimson eyes glinted with something dark, something hungry. “I wonder… will you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. You tried to answer, but your voice wouldn’t come. Every instinct told you to run, but your body refused to obey. It was as if the very air around her held you in place.

Arlecchino crouched before you, her cold hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet her gaze. “There is no need to be afraid,” she whispered, though her smile said otherwise. “You’ve come here for a reason, haven’t you? And now, you will be mine.”

Her breath was cold against your skin as she leaned closer, her lips brushing the side of your neck. The sensation sent a shiver through you, though not from the cold. It was fear—pure, primal fear. You felt her lips curve into a smile against your skin, and then, without warning, you felt the sharp sting of her fangs piercing your flesh.

The world around you seemed to spin, your vision blurring as she drank deeply, her grip on you unrelenting. Your heart pounded in your chest, but with each passing moment, the struggle became harder, your body growing weaker under her hold. And yet, there was something intoxicating about it, something that made the pain blur into pleasure.

When she finally pulled away, you collapsed back into the chair, gasping for breath, your vision swimming with darkness. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.

“You’ll stay with me now,” she said, her voice low, intimate. “You’ll stay with me forever.”

You wanted to scream, to run, to escape this nightmare. But even as you tried to stand, your body betrayed you, sinking deeper into the chair. Arlecchino’s voice filled your mind, her presence wrapping around you like a shadow.

“There is no escape,” she whispered, her fingers brushing your hair back with a mockery of tenderness. “You belong to me now, little one.”

Your vision dimmed, and the last thing you saw was her smile, sharp and wicked, as darkness consumed you.

The days blurred into one another, time slipping through your fingers like water. The manor became your prison, its labyrinthine halls twisting and turning, always leading you back to her. You saw her in your dreams, in every shadow that danced along the walls. She was always there, watching, waiting.

Arlecchino was no mere vampire—she was a creature older than the ice that surrounded her home, an ancient being who had ruled these lands long before you were born. And now, she ruled over you.

Each night, she came to you, her cold hands brushing against your skin, her fangs sinking into your flesh, drawing life from you until you were nothing but a hollow shell of your former self. Yet, no matter how much she took, she always left just enough to keep you alive, to keep you bound to her.

You were hers. Forever.

And in the cold, eternal night of her manor, you knew you would never be free.

A Song for the Depths

Disclaimer: This fanfiction contains mature and dark themes such as kidnapping, obsession, and other potentially triggering content. Reader discretion is advised.

The waters were calm tonight, unusually serene for the coastal cliffs you’d visited in search of rare treasures washed up by the waves. Something felt off, but you couldn't pinpoint why. You stood alone on the shore, the salty breeze tugging at your clothes. The moon hung low, casting a silver glow across the black ocean that stretched endlessly before you.

You had heard the rumors—a siren, known for her beauty and cruelty, said to haunt these shores. Her name echoed like a whispered legend: La Signora. But you hadn't believed such stories. Not until you heard it.

A melody. Soft, beautiful, and impossible to resist.

It wrapped around you like a lover’s embrace, filling the night air with its alluring tones. You could feel it pull at your mind, a song that seemed to beckon you toward the water's edge. The sound grew louder, more intoxicating, until you found yourself stepping closer to the shimmering sea without thinking. The melody resonated deep within your chest, commanding you without words, and your feet moved of their own accord.

There, rising from the waves, was her.

She was breathtaking—tall, pale, and deadly. Her lips curled into a sharp, predatory smile as she sang, her voice the same irresistible melody that had led you here. Her long, silver hair cascaded down her back like moonlight on water, and her crimson eyes glowed with a hunger that sent chills down your spine. But even in your fear, you couldn't stop staring, couldn't stop wanting her.

“Ah,” she purred, her voice now a low hum as the song faded. “I knew you’d come to me.”

You tried to move, tried to run, but your body was frozen in place. You could only watch as she emerged fully from the sea, her lithe form moving with otherworldly grace. The water seemed to cling to her skin as though even the ocean itself couldn't bear to let her go.

Her hand cupped your cheek, and you shivered beneath her touch, your breath catching as her nails lightly traced your skin. She leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear, her voice dripping with wicked delight.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you, little one?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but the words refused to come. You wanted to ask why, wanted to scream, but all you could do was stare into her eyes as her other hand trailed down your arm, her nails sharp enough to raise goosebumps in their wake.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “My sweet, sweet mate.”

Before you could protest, before you could even comprehend what was happening, La Signora’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you against her. The world around you spun as the ocean rose, swirling at her command. The next thing you knew, you were plunging beneath the waves, the cold water swallowing you whole.

You thrashed for a moment, panic taking over as the saltwater stung your eyes and filled your lungs. But then... you heard her voice again. Her song. It was clearer now, more powerful, echoing through the deep like a siren’s promise of eternity. The panic faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of calm, of belonging. Her arms tightened around you as the ocean cradled you both, dragging you down into the depths.

La Signora's lips met yours underwater in a kiss that felt both tender and possessive. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claim. The sensation of her sharp nails digging into your skin, even beneath the water, was as intoxicating as the melody still playing in your mind. She owned you, body and soul.

“You will love me,” her voice rang in your head, the words intertwining with her song. “You will be my perfect little mate.”

Time seemed to lose meaning as she took you deeper into her realm. Down, down into the abyss, where light barely reached. It was dark and cold, but her warmth surrounded you, her presence comforting in a way that scared you.

You were no longer just a visitor to this world—you were hers.

In the depths of her lair, where the sea creatures dared not approach, she laid you down on a bed of coral and seafoam, her sharp smile never faltering. Her gaze was one of obsession, hunger, and something that bordered on affection, though twisted in its own way.

“I will keep you safe,” she cooed, her fingers gently brushing over your trembling body. “You’ll never leave me, my little mate. Never.”

The air—what little there was—felt heavy around you, thick with the weight of her desire. Her song was all you could hear, all you could feel. It vibrated through your very bones, making you pliant under her touch. She moved closer, her body wrapping around yours like a serpent coiling around its prey.

Then, you felt it—something inside you, something warm and foreign, spreading through your core. Her sharp nails dug into your skin as her smile grew wider, more sinister. She watched you with rapt attention, her crimson eyes gleaming with satisfaction as your body reacted to the strange sensation. It was almost too much, overwhelming and invasive, yet there was a twisted pleasure in it.

“You’ll bear my legacy,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent. “You’ll carry my future, and you will love it. Just as you love me.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but still, you couldn’t resist. The bond between you and La Signora had been sealed the moment you heard her song. You were hers, bound to her by the depths of the sea and the curse of her obsession.

She leaned in once more, kissing your tear-streaked cheeks with almost gentle affection, a mockery of tenderness in her touch.

“Such a sweet little mate,” she whispered against your skin. “You’ll never escape me.”

Her voice was both a promise and a threat, the final words you heard before you were pulled under, deeper into her abyss, where you would remain—forever.

SoulEaterxGenshin AU

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

this is kinda my overview on how Weapons and ArchonWeapons work in this universe. It’s really me rambling lol. This is mainly for my Zhongli x WeaponReader headcanons I plan to make sometime in the future- this might change in the future as I’m trying to finalize my outline for the au and what I want to be concrete and what to be ambiguous.

_Weapons_

How weapons work doesnt really change that much. A Weapon can transform a part of their body into their blade to fight, so they’re not defenseless on their own; it’s just more convenient to work with a meister. Even as a weapon, you can still talk and make yourself seen if you have a blade, this doesn’t change in the au. 

However, while a Meister CAN get a vision, they can only use it on the Weapon if they share a strong bond. Usually, a mutual goal or an unrivaled motive/feeling with the W weapon. It’ll feel like they’re becoming one as a weapon and meister. Meister and Weapon relationships are not necessarily physical but sealed by a mutual contract. 

Weapons are more sought after than any regualr weapons because of the soul possessingthem, strengthening and being able to accomplish what a normal weapon couldn’t and the fact that a Weapon can’t be recreated and is unique to the pesona. Though meisters get more attention in these societies than their partners, that’s where ArchonWeapons come in. 

_Archon Weapons_

Weapons can’t get a vision in the usual sense, only getting a vision when they’re chosen to become an Archon’s Weapon. Now, this doesn’t specifically mean that they’re tied physically to the Archon, but it’s an unwavering contract that if you are called to be used, you go without falter. Usually, only natives of a country could become their Archon's weapon.

An ArchonWeaon is a kind of like the Archon's personal soldier in some cases, being able to manifest their whole weapon without taking up a piece of their arm. This has gone out of date in present times of peace, but Archons still have a small court of ArchonWeapons that are located closer to them (the word harem can be used to describe them). Also meisters can use ArchonWeapons if their partner becomes one, it’s not like they disappear. It’s one a select few that are chosen that get to stay close to their specific Archon.

When an ArchonsWeapon’s moral life comes to a close, they will resort to their weapon form until they are broken. When this happens the persons soul is still present in the weapon (trapped in a way) but is no longer concious.

Usually, Weapons that are closer to the Archon can be summoned at will.*During the Archon’s War

An ArchonWeapon being summoned for another damn battle: “Aw shit, here we go again.” 

 Ei’s personal selected weapons would be in a section of her court. Zhongli’s weapons would probably band together to start a witch hunt on childe for ‘assassinating’ their god, but then Zhongli just shows up and is all like, “yo, I quit lol.” 

In the Weapon form, they will be tinted the element color with the Archon's name being marked into them (If you were Ei’s katana, you would have her name on the base of your blade where traditionally your family name would be). In human form, they appear to have a normal conventional vision, but in weapon form, they have the vision attached to a part of them.

A marking appears on the W weapons back when they become an ArchonsWeapon. The symbol for the Archons element on their nape, along with markings along their back, represents said archon. -

-Venti’s ArchonsWeapon’s back would be littered with teal light swirls, making out wings and wind around them. 

-Zhongli’s would be defined as bronze lines, emphasizing their muscles. A dragon representing Morax in the center of their back, curling around whatever weapon they were. 

( Zhongi’s adepti would use his ArchonWeapons. Ex Ganyu and Xiao )

-Ei’s would be jagged violet lines falling downwards, an eye between your shoulder blades, and a few traditional flowers forming along your spine. 

For delusions being used on Weapons grants them the same markings as a regular ArchonWeapon, but the markings themselves are forcibly carved into the body of whoever was using a delusion. It’s not impossible to use a delusion as a weapon it’s usually a very taxing and painful process, most of the people who use them either are forced to bear it. 

⭒ Ayato Reassuring you When you Come out as Asexual/Bi ⭒

⭒ Request:

⭒ Genre: Comfort.

⭒ Word Count: 951.

You breathed out another distressed sigh as you swirled your fingers in the otherwise still crystal water. Creating ripples with each sway of your hand that ventured off to the side, only to be extinguished seconds later. Meanwhile, your mind was all over the place. You’d arrived at the Yashiro Commission five minutes earlier then you planned to attempt to calm your nerves. Keyword, attempt. 

By now it’s been four minutes and your mind still runs in a frenzied mess. One half of your mind told you Ayato would love and accept you no matter what. But the other half had a small doubt that he would find you weird and distance himself. Placing your hands on either side of your head you clenched your eyes shut to silence your thoughts. 

Huffing out your millionth sigh in the past five minutes your hands returned to their previous positions as you stared down at the water. Well, more at the ground before the water began because if you’d been staring at the reflective water, you would’ve seen the figure standing beside you beforehand. 

“My, you must truly be out of it today.” Came Ayato’s smooth sultry voice from beside you.

Feeling rather startled you instantly looked up at him, locking eyes with those ever pleasant periwinkle hues. You coughed out a greeting of surprise before standing up and quickly brushing yourself off. Opening your mouth you looked down at the ground as you spoke. “Ah.. Ayato, can we maybe go inside to talk?” 

You heard the male hum for a second before leaning in close to you. His breath fanning over your ear as he spoke. “Why, is there someone following you?” 

“Oh no no, nothing like that!” You waved your hands in front of you before speaking once more. “I would just much rather talk about... this... inside.”

“As you wish.” He responded as he grabbed your hand and calmly lead you inside. 

At the moment you were thankful for his unusually compliant nature. Usually your response would have warranted at least a few teases before he complied. But it would seem Ayato has a way of reading your emotions like an open book. 

Upon entering the doors of the Yashiro Comission, you suddenly felt the same feeling of doubt and worry swarm your thoughts. As he led you to his usual sitting place, he took a seat as you hesitated. As soon as he’d released your hand you began nervously toying with your fingers in an attempt to calm yourself. When you seated yourself you were surprised to near instantly feel a hand grab one of yours again. 

“You’re very nervous today,” Ayato commented. “Please do share what’s troubling you.” 

You simply nodded as you attempted to say something but nothing came out. You began to feel the faint welling of tears surfacing in your eyes as your entire world seemed to come crashing down at this very moment. “I.. well.. It’s sort of.. I mean..” 

“Hey,” Ayato said in response to your nervous jumble of words. “Calm down. Relax, my love. Take a deep breath and you can tell me what’s the matter. We have all day as I usually block out my schedule when you come to meet me.” 

Your eyes would’ve widened in surprise at his last sentence, but you were much too worried about your current situation to comment right now. Taking in a deep breath you squeezed Ayato’s hand before speaking. “I need you to promise me something, Ayato.” 

“Hmm?” Ayato tilted his head to the side, urging you to go on.

“Can you promise me that you will love me no matter what I’m about to tell you.” You responded, searching his eyes. 

His expression turned into one of surprise as he slowly began to smile, eyes turning into small crescents. “What kind of question is that, love? Of course I promise to love you always.” 

Upon hearing his response your nerves eased a little. Deciding that it was now or never, you took this chance. “Ayato, I identity as Asexual and Bisexual.” 

Ayato seemed to pause for a second before speaking once more. “Okay.. You’ll have to tell me what that means as I’m not very well versed in those terms.” 

Your eyes widen at his calm response. You suck in another breath to calm yourself before speaking again. “Well, being asexual means that you experience little to no sexual attraction to other people. And being Bisexual means that I’m attracted to both.. male and female.” 

A moment of silence was all you heard after. Your nerves beginning to take over again, but quickly being extinguished by a soft chuckle from Ayato. “This was what you were so worried about?” 

Your eyes widen at his comment, “W.. what?” 

He squeezed your hand again before smiling. “That doesn’t change anything. I loved you before, and I still love you now. I love you to the moon and back. Something like that could never turn me away because I will love and support you no matter what.” 

That was all you needed. 

Tears that had been welling up in your eyes overtime began to fall in a stream down your cheeks. Standing up from your side of the table, you near instantly ran over to Ayato and tackled him onto the floor. Hugging him as hard as you possibly could, you cried tears of pure bliss. All the while, he lovingly returned your embrace and softly stroked your hair. Offering small words of praise and reassurance. 

“Please, never hesitate to tell me things like that. Because no matter what, I will still see you as my one and only love in this world.”

⭒ Tags:  @goth-juiceee​

⭒ Note: Thank you so much for your request! I actually really enjoyed writing this and found it to be quite nice! :D

© Aruchemihq - 2022  

CW: Coming home to him after a long trip - Tighnari version, fluff, blood/injury mention, semi-graphic depictions of violence, hurt to comfort, Tighnari goes a little feral and I’m proud, reader has an electro vision, gn!reader, reader is a sword user, reader gets injured. NOT PROOFREAD

You're finally home.

Vibrant eyes settle on the land of green before you, fondness lingers in their depths as you cast a glance in the direction of Gandharva Ville in hopes of catching sight of a familiar Forest Watcher. There is a delicate breeze in the air that sends thin wisps of your hair grazing over the smooth skin of your cheeks, giving you a gentle reminder of how Tighnari's kisses used to feel before you left home. It had been a few weeks since your departure away from Sumeru, too many days and nights had passed since those beautiful brown-green eyes had bored into yours. It had been too many days and nights without the Forest Watcher's lingering touch and the feeling of his breath whispering over your skin so deliciously.

Drawing a deep breath in, you take that first step into the land of your birth, dropping down from the ledge you stood on into the sea of green eager to welcome you back where you belong. Landing in a patch of Padisarahs, the strong earthy scent of home comes rushing into your senses without warning, causing the breath to leave your lungs for a moment. You were finally home. Casting a final glance towards the Chasm, you can't help the happiness beginning to bubble in your chest, the promise of unshed tears burning behind your eyes forcing your feet to move in the direction you want to be heading, Gandharva Ville. You had been away for long enough, it was time to find your beloved partner and give him the attention he deserved after the extended period you spent apart.

After the expedition you took in Liyue to better research their flora and fauna, not even being surrounded by the calming presence of nature could fill the hole leaving Tighnari behind opened. While your journey had proved to be fruitful, you had longed for home the moment your feet left Sumeru and your darling Forest Watcher. As you follow the welcoming path leading to Gandharva Ville, the snap of twigs in the brush nearby grabbed your attention, hand waving as your sword materializes in your hand. The electro vision hanging from your hip begins to glow at the sight of Eremite Mercenaries pushing their way through the dense thicket, swords at the ready as if they had been waiting for you. Now, this was less than ideal with your growing need to find Tighnari as soon as possible, however, whenever the opportunity to rid Sumeru of these dregs came up you certainly wouldn't refuse the offer.

Tension so thick you could cut it with a blade filled the air, and it was almost as if the birds had quieted down to witness the battle about to take place before them. A hushed whisper of a breeze ran its icy fingertips up your arm, but not even that could draw your attention away from the group of Eremites standing in front of you, both parties waiting to see who will make the first move. With the soft click of your tongue in annoyance, you pull a Vijnana-Phala mine from the side pocket of your bag and toss it at the feet of your aggressors. Before they have a chance to blink, it explodes and a thick green layer of smoke blinds them causing uproar from the group now afflicted with dendro. Slamming your foot into the earth below you, the vision on your hip all but sparks as purple cherry blossoms explode in the middle of the dendro field created by the mine.

The reaction between the two elements is quick and violent, sparks flying as it sends the Eremites flying backward in different directions until they are all motionless on the ground. Pity they didn't put up much of a fight after all, huh?

"Y/N?"

A soft, almost tentative voice cuts through the air from the tree above you and the sound alone is enough to have your heart fluttering in your chest. Whipping around the 'thump' of feet hitting the ground, you're not too surprised as a certain fox is rushing into your arms, his tail idly swishing behind him to convey his excitement upon your sudden arrival.

"You weren't supposed to be back for another week." Tighnari's voice is muffled from where he has buried himself into your neck, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin as he speaks.

Reaching up, you run your hands over the Forest Watcher's back, a soft chuckle escaping as his tail only increases in speed to show his approval of the gentle touches. It had been too many nights without you by his side, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, you appeared like a light ready to guide the fog away. You were safe and had returned home to him.

"Tsk, what a lovely reunion between lovers, hm?" A mocking voice cuts through the air, succeeding in both ruining the mood and making the hairs stand up on the back of your neck.

Tighnari had reluctantly pulled himself from your chest the moment the voice rang out, placing himself between you and the group of Eremites that had silently come up the path during your brief interaction with your lover. His bow had already materialized in his hand, drawing it back just as the head of the arrow began glowing green, a soft blossom over the tip signaling he was ready to fire. There were four of them, three men and one woman with sharp blades drawn, ready to strike down their newfound targets if they dared to make any sudden moves.

"Now now, why the hostility? Tighnari, surely you realize you're outnumbered here? Even with your little partner, you couldn't possibly take all of us on. They don't seem like...the strong type, if you know what I mean. Reactions are easy to trigger, why don't we see i-"

Before the poor girl can finish her sentence, Tighnari releases his arrow without a second thought, especially as your name was brought into this. A soft whistle can be heard as the arrow flies through the air towards her head a sharp thoomp erupts from the area of impact, and as it sinks home, four dendro arrows break off of it, seeking out other soft spots of her body and slicing into her flesh with ease. No sound escapes from her, not a scream or gasp, only a soft thump as her body hits the lush grass below her comrades, her crimson blood staining the earth.

A whistle sounds just behind you and Tighnari, neither of you having time to react as pain ricochets up your arm, the sharp head of an arrow easily piercing into the flesh of your bicep, going clean through the tissue before landing in the grass a few feet away. It wasn't often you got injured while roaming Sumeru so you had never had the chance to increase your pain tolerance much. What a curse that turned out to be, huh? Dropping your sword, your hand flies to the wound steadily trickling blood with a shrill cry, the pain nearly enough to make your legs buckle underneath you. Tears cloud your eyes in an instant as Tighnari whips around, brown-green eyes wide as the metallic scent of your blood fills his senses

Whoever shot you either wasn't the greatest of shots, or their goal was simply to disarm you so Tighnari would have to fight alone. There is another soft whistle behind you as another allow comes flying from the brush, the sharp head sinking into the back of your right thigh with ease. Pain travels up your leg as your muscles tense up once more at the sudden injury to the meat of your thigh, and the only thing that keeps you from collapsing on the forest floor are the strong arms that wind around you.

"Y/N?...Y/N you need to focus on me." Tighnari's words are quick, but calm as a free hand cups your face, fingers tilting your chin up so your eyes can meet. The brown-green depths are full of concern as they lock with yours, flicking to do a full assessment of your wounds before he lets out a shaky breath. "Don't touch the arrow, okay? Put pressure on your arm, I'll finish this quickly, and then we can get you patched up."

The Forest Watcher is quick to set you on the ground, making sure your wounds aren't being strained before he is stood upright, bow materializing in his hand once more as he casts a glance towards your aggressors. One large, black ear twitches before he is drawing his bow back and releases, striking one of the greasy-haired Emerites in the chest without warning. Like his previous arrow, four dendro arrows break off and sink themselves into their target's weak spots causing the man to crumple with a gargled cry. You feel as if you're going to pass out with the pain clouding your mind, threatening to darken your vision as you struggle not to give in and pass out. Pressing your hand to the wound on your arm with as much force as you can muster, you focus on trying to stabilize your breathing, panicking won't make Tighnari feel any better, you need to be strong for him.

Taking a few steps back, Tighnari pulls a Vijnana-Phala Mine from the satchel on his hip before tossing it in the direction of the two mercenaries still standing. As it hits the ground, it explodes and a thick layer of green smoke encircles the remaining men, causing them to react violently, shouting and waving their weapons in an attempt to strike the Forest Watcher.

"What's wrong? Can't see?" His voice is laced with so much anger that if the laws of nature would allow, he would be breathing fire with each spoken word.

Drawing back his bow once more Tighnari fires two arrows, one at each enemy that end up breaking into several smaller dendro arrows that strike their targets viciously, sinking between the gaps of their armor into the soft flesh underneath. His once friendly, open behavior has shifted into something darker and much more aggressive, since you have been brought into this ridiculous disagreement that should've ended days ago. You are his partner and he was supposed to protect you, he had failed at the one job he was supposed to maintain, and boy were these men regretting it now. Heavy footfalls can be heard from the brush behind you as Tighnari deals with the last of the Eremites forcing your brain to try and focus on the sound despite the pain.

Shit.

There is a tense moment of silence in your head as a hooded mercenary comes running from the brush behind you, his dagger is drawn and it feels as if time has come to a slow crawl. You know this man's intentions the moment that your eyes catch the way his blade glints in the sunlight and your heart drops to your stomach.

He was going after Tighnari.

You're on your feet in an instant, the pain of your wounds long forgotten the moment you discover that your partner is now in danger, he is too busy finishing off the others to realize what is going on. You knew that you couldn't get to him in time to block the blow of the dagger, yet, as the weapon raises to deal a potentially fatal blow, an intense wave of determination washes over you. You can feel the buzz of energy on your hip as your vision activates, electro shooting you forward in a flash of purple light until your back connects with Tighnari's, forcing the Forest Watcher to keep himself from tumbling forward.

"Y/N!?"

You don't have the words to warn him of your intention to block the blow, the adrenaline pumping in your veins feeling as if it's squeezing your vocal cords shut. You manage to raise your hand just as the mercenary's dagger is thrust downward with enough force to cause a fatal wound, eyes squeezing shut as you brace for impact. The pain slicing through you hand forces a cry from your lips, your eyes snapping open to try and grasp what exactly had happened. Fuck it hurts. Unsurprisingly, the blade had gone clean through your palm and the pain nearly makes you rip your hand away if it isn't for your attacker applying more pressure. His goal was to kill one of you, to avenge his comrades and these injuries now made you an easier target.

Before you have time to process the danger you're in, the Emerite begins to apply force to the dagger forcing it towards your chest. The vision on your hip lights up once more as you push upward on the blade in return, your scream escapes through clenched teeth as you struggle to turn the tide of the fight. A purple aura radiates around your body, as your vision assists with giving you the strength needed to throw your head forward, connecting with the bridge of the mercenary's nose and forcing him to take a few steps back. The dagger is ripped from your palm in the process, now that the blade as been removed there is nothing stopping the blood from oozing from the wound.

You're hardly given a moment to breathe as the mercenary recovers from the blow you've dealt him, his blade stained crimson as he gets ready to charge once more. Just as he takes one step, six dendro arrows fly past your head and a fierce growl sounds in your ear as Tighnari presses against your back, his face centimeters away from your own. His eyes are all but blazing as he settles his gaze on you, not casting a second glance toward any of the fallen enemies as he goes to check your wounds.

"You idiot." Tighnari huffs at you, brown-green eyes settling on the wound through your hand before he is tugging bandages from his satchel, wrapping it the best he can so you don't lose anymore blood on your travel to Gandharva Ville. "If you ever do so-"

Reaching up your uninjured hand, you cup Tighnari's cheek warmly, thumb smoothing over the pale skin before your forefinger and thumb grip his chin, forcing your eyes to meet once more. You search his gaze for any sign of anger or resentment toward you, but after finding that there is none, you can't help the laugh escaping your throat. "Nari, I just need you to kiss me already."

The Forest Watcher's eyes widen slightly for a moment, almost as if processing your words, but you can't bear the wait anymore. After your long stay in Liyue, as well as the shitshow you came back to, you're not letting this moment slip away from you. Carefully tugging Tighnari's face to your own, you waste no time in slotting your lips together in a much-needed kiss, hand shifting to grace over his ears after just a moment of being connected. The action forces an involuntary whine from the man's throat and he is quick to pull away with a mock scowl, but it vanishes nearly as quickly as it had formed.

"Come on, let's go get you patched up. I'm sure Collei will be pleased to see you've arrived home safely."

CW: Drabble about telling Xiao you love him the first time, sweet words being shared, calling Xiao 'darling', red-faced Xiao, gentle kisses being shared, gentle physical touch.

Imagine telling Xiao how much you love him for the first time. The both of you are sitting on the balcony of Wangshu Inn, the stars twinkling overhead and the moon bathing the land in a soft glow. It was the perfect atmosphere to tell your beloved Xiao just how incredibly hard you had fallen for him.

Even though it was dark, you found yourself completely hypnotized by the golden orbs staring into your own. Xiao's pale skin practically shone in the glow of the moon bathing his body, he was a work of art and you couldn't help the way your heart skipped beats as you told him about your day. Nights like this have become regular between the two of you; Xiao taking the time to listen about your day and the tasks you completed. Seeing the way a soft smile forms on his face has your heart stopping in your chest completely, the words dying in your throat, and eyes widening slightly at the sight. It was times like this you couldn't help but swoon over the vigilant yaksha you were so deeply in love with.

Puzzled by the abrupt ending of your story Xiao's brows furrowed, concern washing over his face. "Y/N?" his voice is smooth like honey, his pale hand coming to cup your cheek delicately. "Is everything alright?"

The words have long left your brain, eyes gazing up into those golden ones and throat dry as you fumbled with what to say. Finally, after what feels like decades, you managed to get out what you had been dreaming about all this time.

"I love you, Xiao."

A long silence stretches between the two of you as time goes on, and it is almost like neither of you are sure how to react. It is almost as if the information is being processed by the adepti. His lips part to speak just as his face flushes a crimson that travels to the tips of his ears. Oh, what a lovely sight indeed. Before Xiao can utter a single word, he is leaning forward and locking your lips together in a sweet kiss. The kiss is overwhelmingly sweet as Xiao's hand comes to rest on the small of your back, tugging you impossibly closer to his soft lips.

"Darlin-"

"I love you too, y/n." Xiao's voice comes out so quiet it is just barely above a whisper, but they hold so much meaning you can feel your heart stopping all over again. You are so ground-breakingly in love with his man.

CW: Thirst about somnophilia with Kazuha + how he reacts, NSFW, MDNI, mentions of gentle caressing, sub!Kazuha, dom!reader, the word cock is used(can be imagined as a strap too), gn!reader, marking/biting, sleepy kazuha, fucking from behind. NOT PROOFREAD

Sleepy Kazuha who has no idea the reasons the dreams feel so real is because you can't keep your hands off of him while he sleeps. It's hard to resist the pretty whines that fall from his lips as your hands trail over his inner thighs and brush over his cock while he sleeps. He is arching into almost every delicate brush of your hands, almost desperate to feel more of your treatment.

Imagine a sleepy Kazuha who goes to bed with his blonde hair falling around him gracefully, the only clothing clinging to his body is his red kimono that is always halfway untied and hanging open to expose his milky skin. He enjoys the warmth of you pressed against his back while he sleeps, but the proximity often leads to him having a wet dream about you. The dreams are always so nice when you're included, hot lips planting feverish kisses over his collarbones and tongue swiping over his nipples as you fuck into him.

Sleepy Kazuha who finally wakes up as you are fingering him open, his ruby eyes peeking open and a desperate whine on his tongue. His hands are gripping the bedsheets in front of his body to keep himself grounded, ass pushing out to hopefully get more of your fingers inside of him. Due to the haze of sleep still clouding his mind, Kazuha is babbling almost mindlessly, head tipped back against your shoulder while you rub the pads of your fingers over his prostate relentlessly. God he already wants to cum so badly for you.

Sleepy Kazuha whose velvety walls grip your cock like a vice when you slide to the hilt in one smooth stroke. His eyes all but rolling back at the feeling of your girth stretching him out so nicely and making him feel so wonderfully full. His tongue is lolling out of his mouth, head tipped back while he moans uncontrollably because the head of your cock is hitting his prostate with every thrust.

The samurai is practically in tears as you bite the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, sucking harsh marks into the skin there to remind him who he belongs to. He doesn't last long with how your cock abuses his prostate, voice pitching up a few octaves as he wails out that is he cumming for you. Then, he is spurting over the sheets in front of him, hands clawing at them due to just how intense his orgasm is. Once you're finished, Kazuha allows you to wipe him down as newfound tiredness sets in, ruby eyes drifting shut as he falls asleep once more cradled in your arms with a soft. "i love you."

CW: Cupping their face with your hands PT.1 + their reaction. Fluff, GN!Reader, established relationships, use of pet names (Ex: Baby, dear, Dove, Sweetheart, my Lily, my love), soft moments with the boys, blushy boys, gentle kisses being shared, reader has a pyro vision in Dain's section.

Featuring:  Ayato + Dainsleif

Kamisato Ayato

"Ayato?" With a voice just above a whisper, you poke your head into Ayato's office, bright orbs immediately settling on your beloved partner.

Soft ocean eyes turn up from the pile of paperwork on his desk, scanning over your hesitant form in the doorway to his office before a gentle smile curves up the corners of his lips. "Come in, my dear."

Slender arms wrap around your waist the moment you're seated in his lap, Ayato burying his face against your shoulder for a long moment, simply taking in your scent. He has been working almost nonstop for days aside from Thoma or you forcing him to break for meals. Only now does he realize how much he has missed your presence and the way you curl up so perfectly on his lap while he does his paperwork. He has been neglecting you.

Ayato adjusts your body so that you're straddling his lap, legs on either side of his thighs so he can peer at your stunning features. His mouth is turned downward slightly at the beginning of a frown, you knew the words that would come from his mouth next. After all, you had heard the before after he prioritized his work before anything else.

"I-" The hydro user's words are cut off almost immediately feeling your hands on either side of his face, cupping his cheeks sweetly in the palms of your hands. Ocean blue eyes gaze up into yours, his lips parting in slight surprise and a subtle blush settling on Ayato's pale cheeks. The smile that breaks out across his face is nothing but heartwarming, his eyes slipping closed after not a moment more, simply enjoying the way you hold his face so delicately.

A light chuckle resonates from Ayato after a few moments, those breathtaking pools peeking back open just as you lean forward. The urge to kiss him right now is too much to bear. Before the hydro user can even realize what you're doing, you have pressed your lips together in a deep kiss. Yet another soft chuckle escapes, slender arms winding around you tighter to keep you from moving away from him.

Maybe it is time to take a break from his paperwork after all.

Now, physical affection has been rather limited through Dainsleif's life so it has taken a lot for the two of you to get to this point in your relationship. You have spent months traveling together, unsure of the destination, yet knowing the exact paths to take towards this unseen goal. This man trusts you with his life, you're his partner, and he knows you will always have his back in and outside of battle. He has his moments where he is a bit hesitant to accept your touches if he isn't completely sure of what you're up to, this would be one of those moments.

Dainsleif

"Hey Dain?" There is a grin on your face when you call your partner's name, the blonde's head shooting up from the fire he is attempting to make. "Why is it you ordered me to go hunting instead of you? I have the whole fire thing handled...you know I do have a pyro vision."

Seeing the two fish you are holding combined with how proud you look of yourself has Dainsleif smiling to himself before he is gesturing at his failed attempt to start a fire. "Not that I am one to admit these things, but seeing the way you're almost bursting with pride at catching our dinner makes my heart lift just a bit." He chuckles fondly, deep blue eyes following your every move as you place the fish on a wooden stand Dainsleif made for roasting them.

It takes a flick of your wrist as you sit on a log to have a fireball hitting the stack of wood below the fish, igniting the makeshift stove so your dinner can cook. "Come here~" you sigh out, beckoning your partner closer who follows the order with ease, taking a seat on the log next to you.

Before Dainsleif can get any words out, your hands are on either side of his face, cupping the warm flesh of his cheeks in your palms. Instead of shying away like most people might expect him to do, he leans into one of your palms, grabbing the other hand in his own and pressing a lingering kiss to the palm there. The action is simple but sweet making your heart clench in your chest at the sight of just how much this man truly trusts you.

Moving your hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, you tug Dainsleif closer, slotting your lips together with practiced ease. The kiss is tender and lengthy, only breaking when your lungs ache for air. As your eyes lock together, a smile breaks out across his face once more.

"I love you, my Star."