The Advisor, The King, And The Knight

Standing Still [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader] [Just a Scrap of Time sequel]

Title: Standing Still [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]  [Just a Scrap of Time sequel]

Synopsis: [Commissioned Piece]

Your family threw you out into the world, helpless and hungry. It was only because of Scaramouche that you didn’t die on the streets. And now he has you, holed up in forced opulence, insistent that he’s going to marry you. But what of your family? And yourself? Follow-up to Just a Scrap of Time.

Word Count: 5802

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of starvation/neglect, forced marriage

You needed time to settle in. That’s what he told you. Or rather, what he told the servant woman who’d been preening over you for the good part of an hour. She relayed the advice so kindly, so nonchalantly, that you would have taken it to heart if you were here under different circumstances. 

“Settling in” was for nervous soon-to-be brides who had arrived from home on carefully carried litters, women who needed time to adjust to their new surroundings and fortunes;  the idea was not for you, a kidnapped villager of no repute, with guards posted at the door lest you try to escape again. You were escorted everywhere, even just a few doors down to his room, and watched constantly–by him, by the guards, and by the servant woman who barely left your side.

She spoke little to you, and her nervous airs kept you on edge. She took care of all your daily necessities, despite the protests you’d given that you could care for yourself, that you didn’t need to be dressed, her unfamiliar fingers always grazing your skin.

Though, when Scaramouche had disposed of all the clothes you packed from home, the simple things you’d been accustomed to wearing all your life, you quickly realized that being dressed by someone else truly was a necessity. The robes he’d given you as replacements were fine, layers of patterned fabrics that made you feel like some priceless doll. Fit to sit on the shelf of the governor’s mansion.

Is that how Scaramouche saw you? As a doll on his shelf?

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Title: Tea Screen [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: Tea Screen [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: The trembling voice of the tea apprentice carries through the room, and though you can’t see him, you imagine he must be shaking. Who wouldn’t be, tasked with gaining the approval from the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbringers? 

Word Count: 2240

Notes: Yandere, forced marriage, abuse

 “Is–is it acceptable, my lord?”

The trembling voice of the tea apprentice carries through the room, and though you can’t see him, you imagine he must be shaking. Who wouldn’t be, tasked with gaining the approval from the Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbringers? Even if its only approval for a selection of tea.

You rock forward, just enough to peek your head past the screen keeping you from view, and glance at the selection laid out carefully in front of Scaramouche–in front of your husband. 

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What did you just say?

NSFW!!

Parings: Venti x afab! Reader

First post, sorry if it sucks :')

Summary: You curse to another god while doing it and Venti leaves you bedridden for a week.

What time was it? You didn't really know and you didn't really care, honestly. After all, it was quite hard to think while you had the one and only Barbatos pounding into you right now. He was hitting those places that you most liked so nicely, it was hard to think straight. "You seem quiet, my love." His hips stutter as he bends down to kiss your forehead. It's ironic because just as he bent down, he hit a spot that not even you were aware of so you arched you back and bit down on your lip to prevent the loudest possible moan to erupt from your throat although it was mostly to no avail since you still let out such a sweet whine. "Mhmm~! F-fuck! Holly Shougun!" You didn't register the curses leaving your mouth but Venti sure as hell did. He abruptly stopped and you enjoyed the second of peace were you weren't being overstimulated by your lover.

It was only then that you realized your mistake.

"What did you just say?" Fuck. You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped by Venti's hand squeezing your throat. "Did you just say Holly. Fucking. Shougun?" You looked at his emerald eyes. He looked like he was planning to obliterate Inazuma, he looked so hot. You were surprised by the sudden span of his hips.

"FUCK! AHH~HAHA! VENTI! FUCK!" You screamed as he seemed to go even faster than he had before. He was meeting your hips so harshly that you knew that a slight bruise would be present tomorrow. "Are you Raiden's pretty whore? Or are you Barbato's." You tried to speak but couldn't. The speed and harshness of his thrusts made it impossible to think of anything other than the bard who was fucking you silly right this second.

"Answer me." He seemed so different, there was anger and jealousy present in his voice. You opened your mouth once again and you spat out a pathetic "Barbatos! Fuck! I pray to Barbatos, not the Shougun!" He seemed pleased so he started to slow down his thrusts until eventually stopping and sliding out of you.

Your breathing was heavy as you tried to massage your throbbing thighs. You suddenly feel a soft kiss on your temple only to look back at Venti holding a damp towel as if he didn't fuck you like a wild animal less than a minute ago.

"Never forget that, lovely."

Pacing Game [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: Pacing Game [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re due to give birth any day now, and you’ve never been so terrified. 

Word Count: 2524

Notes: Yandere, arranged marriage, pregnant afab reader, mentions of physical roughness, non-graphic childbirth descriptions

Your husband, the great and feared Sixth Harbringer, has never been terribly affectionate. As if that would surprise anyone, not that you have anyone you could tell this to; perhaps the gaggle of prim attendants who are frequently at your side, but no–they’re his crows, little spies that will flutter to this side the moment you say anything worth repeating.

It’s the truth, however. He’s never been one to plant soft kisses on your forehead in the morning or wax on about how the beauty of the most stunning blossoms were nothing compared to your smile. He has never told you he loves you, though you’re certain that he wants you–bruised wrists and bruised lips and your currently swollen belly can attest to that.

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Random brain rot but I suddenly imagined prison guard Aether and inmate Lumine.

Never in your life did you imagine yourself in the position you were currently in but that was the reality you were living in at this exact moment. Framed for a murder you did not commit you got sent to a prison and you immediately realized you how much you stood out there.

All of the inmates were terrifying but their crimes did vary - from petty theft, to assault, usage of drugs, murder and everything in between, it was clear that you were just a little lamb that was thrown into the pit of merciless wolves.

Your roommate did nothing to ease your worries either.

Lumine was one of the most terrifying people you had met in your whole entire life, even if she was never actually cruel or mean to you in any way, shape or form. Despite her small stature and soft voice it was obvious that she ran the entire prison like a well oiled machine. Most feared and respected her while others were dumb enough to challenge or make fun of her.

None succeeded in their quests.

Everyone would either receive the infamous glare™ from her or the cold shoulder and that was on a good day. But you? She was so soft and sweet to you that it felt more like a burden rather than a blessing. Everyone in the vicinity knew you as Big Bad Lumine's little plaything which made your already miserable existence even more unbearable.

As you lay in her lap she tells you stories from her childhood and how much she missed her twin brother. "You would really like him." she'd say, her eyes everted towards the small window that gave her a glimpse of the starry sky. "You're going to meet him soon enough anyway."

You were fast asleep, much to her delight.

The next few weeks after that became even more confusing than they already were. There was talk about a new guard that would regularly patrol the areas Lumine was in and just a few days after the rumors spread like wild fire you actually managed to meet the new guard.

He called himself Aether and he was as sweet as he was pretty, and he was very pretty. He gave you things, many things such as candy, books and little items that could dull the boredom that haunted your sad cell. He was extremely doting and thoughtful but even so, alarm bells rang in your head. Prison guards are hardly ever this nice, why on Earth was this guy giving you so much special treatment?

You felt like cracking your skull open once you figured out that Aether and Lumine were related. How did you not see it sooner?! Idiot, you'd shout to yourself inside your head as you stared at them in horror. It was so obvious, so stupidly obvious that you practically deserved a beating.

Your particular prison was known to mistreat its inmates and guards beating them up was a common occurrence but no one laid a single finger on you. Aether was covering for you, do it would seem. It was strange to see the pretty blond man with a vicious grin on his face as he smacked around several of the inmates on a regular basis, quickly earning a wretched reputation in record time... And then him turning to you, suddenly smiling and being the cute boy he wants you to see.

But what the twins what to see the most in the world is freedom. They want to be together, they want to be free.

But now, they wanted you in that fantasy of theirs as well.

And they were going to do everything to turn that fantasy into a reality.

Consider: Kazuha as a Ghoul

// NSFW - 18+ Minors DNI (AFAB! Reader) - Modern AU

I just think Ghoul eyes are very pretty on him... <3

Nothing like having a Ghoul as a boyfriend^^ how could you ever fear him? Your sweet.. sweet boyfriend.

He thinks you smell oh-so delicious.. his own personal drug. You’re constantly making him drool.. but he easily satiates his desires with a hungry kiss that has you keening and clutching onto his sweater.

Just imagine...

Your thighs squeezing his hips as he rams his aching cock into your tight pussy - creamy ring of arousal around his dick, your juices dripping down your ass and his full balls that smack against you with each powerful thrust, smearing onto his pale thighs as he mindlessly fucks your gummy walls.

His pace was inhuman, a combination of his ghoul self and his possessive desire to fuck you so good you wouldn’t be able to have pleasurable sex with anyone else, and all you could do was cling to him as he had his way with you.

Your nails claw at his back as you find yourself slipping into white-hot oblivion, tummy burning with desire as your head goes foggy with the nerve-tingling pleasure that made you cry out his name helplessly.. Helplessly..

Fuck.. you smell so good right now, sweat clinging to your skin, the strong scent of sex in the air - swirling around Kazuha’s head - only aiding in pushing him off the deep end.

He can’t help the way his eyes change, kakugan slipping out as a deep moan slips off his drooling tongue.

Kazuha is quick to shove his head between the juncture of your neck and shoulder, slightly embarrassed about how little control he has when it comes to your sweet little pussy squeezing the life out of him.

He’s practically completely at your mercy, willing to do anything so long as you’d allow him to keep humping into you like a depraved man.

Inhaling deeply, he swears your scent alone is enough to make him cum. His tongue grossly licking at the sensitive skin, covering the area in saliva, teeth occasionally nibbling just to make you mewl.

He may be a muderous monster - but fuck, was he in heaven.

“-Zuha—!” You cry oh so sweetly for him, creaming cunt clamping down on his throbbing cock as you cum, arching your body up against his as he holds you close.

“Sweet bird, you feel so good.” He whispers hotly against your ear, eyes rolling back in his head as he fucks you through your leg-shaking orgasm, cooing at your cries.

“I’m almost there, almost there..”

“Kiss!” You beg, “Please, k-kiss.. Kazu-!”

Youre sobbing, soft hiccups bouncing around the room along with the lewd, wet slaps of skin against skin as he dragged himself to the edge with your addicting cunt.

How could he say no?

Kazuha removes his head from its safe haven in favor of having your lips against his own.

He first kisses you sweetly, a silent promise that it’s ok and you’re alright- he’s got you.

Next, he shoves his filthy tongue past your teeth, fingers nearly bruising the plush flesh at your hips as he desperately tried to taste you, tongue tracing all the sensitive spots in your mouth.

It was such a messy kiss, both your and his drool leaking out the sides of your mouth as he moaned like a slut against your tongue.

Your scent was turning him to ghoul goo.

Through teary eyes you looked up at him, his own lidded and hazy with pleasure, mind lost in space.

His eyes were always so gorgeous like this, glistening like rubies in the night sky. You never understood the fear of them.. such a beautiful sight to behold, even if they were deadly. Most beautiful things were, after all. Didn’t that just add to their ethereal beauty?

To be able to see them now.. you were blessed.

You pull away from his sugary sweet lips with a gasp, body trembling from the overstimulation,

“-Zuha..” You look up at him with glassy doe eyes, nothing but pure love and adoration.

You caress his flushed cheek as he makes the bed creak and slam against the poor wall of your shared apartment, “S-so pretty..”

You smile, innocent and sweet.

Love blossoms in his chest like sakura trees in the spring, stealing his breath away.

He breathily groans, hips stuttering as his muscles tightened, and he comes undone in your warm embrace, spilling his essence inside of you.

Truly.. you must be insane to think he looks pretty right now. But God, does he love you to the moon and back for even thinking so..

He’s entirely yours.. he’s wrapped around your tiny little finger and there’s nothing he can do to free himself from you.. not that he wants to.

iii. to the enduring emperor: pity, pity... | yan zhongli x reader

part i: glory, glory! | part ii: mercy, mercy. | part iii: pity, pity...

content warning: yandere behaviour, unhealthy relationship, unequal power dynamic. reader discretion is advised.

notes: heavy hints of guizhong x reader and zhongli x guizhong. good things come in threes, after all, and i'm always soft for a triangle. finally, all the bird imagery tie back together. part iv will probably swing back into the present, but no promises because sometimes the plot bunnies hold me hostage. feedback and comments very much appreciated!

word count: 3.8k

Your memory may not be as good as that of Rex Lapis, but you will forever remember this: your Vision, its muted glow a stuttered heartbeat. And all of this, clenched in his hand, awaiting his judgement.

The Archon War ends, and the Lord of Geo ascends to take his seat among the Seven. A close final encounter, close enough to brush upon the borders of even the ever-safe Liyue Harbour. No matter your sovereign’s original plans, you had to take up your sword and fight—shielded under his wings, perhaps, but at least you have played your part.

And after it all, when Morax is called to Celestia, your exhausted body crawls toward Guili Plains. Your first home was here, before the demise of your Lord of Dust. Under the swaying shade of its familiar trees, the croon of songbirds lulls you into a fitful sleep, into dreams of old and melancholic memories.

With a start, your eyes fly open. You wake to the cacophony of birds, peaceful melodies morphed into warning screeches. The flap of wings as they take flight by the dozens, dots disappearing into the horizon. Stray feathers float down, drifting absentmindedly. The dreams slip through your mind, dust through sieve, lost to the void.

But. There is a weight on your forehead. A feeling of suppression. Not unlike the breath that catches in your throat, when your sovereign pins you down with his amber irises.

Strange. You look up toward the heaviness. The glimmer of a clear, teal gem. It is balanced perfectly between your eyebrows. Placed right above the diamond of your third eye.

You pluck it off your face, holding it against the sun. It sparkles, almost blinding you as you peer into its depths. The incandescent light of the Anemo Symbol from its centre greets your scrutiny.

A Vision. An acknowledgement from the Celestial gods.

But the Archon War has just concluded. The dust has already settled long ago. A Vision, but too little, too late.

Celestia has always had a twisted sense of humour. They had already taken so much from you, and now, to grant this? What had you done to earn their favour? Slaughter and kill and watch as others die in your place. That’s all you’ve accomplished in this millennia-long war.

It’s a heavy little thing. You would discard it into the depths of the ocean, never to be seen again… if not for one thing. The only reprieve you find in the sudden appearance of your Vision is its symbol. Its colour. The teal of Anemo—not the yellow of Geo.

Not amber.

The glowing pulse of your Vision sings the truth: you were not his. Not completely.

The adepti have no need for Visions. The inner eye is a sort of vision by itself. A third eyes that roots deep within the soul, it was more than enough to manipulate the elements. After all, the misty clouds already obeyed your every whim. A crook of your fingers, and vapours become docile and obedient, warping and bending to your will.

You were not always an adeptus. But all those years of cultivation in search of immortality… they have not been for nothing. The journey toward becoming an immortal had been long and arduous, but it was worth it.

If only to see the smile on Guizhong’s face.

After all, it is her who finds you first. A little oriole, injured by the wild winds that slammed you into thorny wood, ripping your wings into shreds. You can barely see anything, eyes having been slashed by the sharp branches. So you are left to your fate on the ground, trying to hide your injuries. To show weakness was to invite predators. With every howl of the wind, your little heart flutters in fear.

When a particular strong gust of wind blasts into your injured wings, a weak screech of pain accidentally escapes. You gather your leftover strength, puff your feathers up for a fight, regret so heavy in your breast.

But then. A sudden swirl of dust. You’re scooped up in warm hands. When you begin to struggle against their hold, a soft voice croons in your ears, as melodious as any birdsong. A woman. “Be still, little one. I only seek to help.”

Her voice is mesmerizing. You’ve never heard anything like it. Its notes resonate into your hollow bones. Trust me, it said, and you chirped your agreement. Settled as still as a corpse into her hands. Folded your wings and obeyed. Folded yourself into her keeping. A docile, tamed songbird.

“To have understood me so well,” the voice murmurs, “you’re a clever little thing, aren’t you?”

You meet your other lord soon after, after being carried away by dust. In those days, he was a little less contained. A little less tempered by time and experience. Still rough around the edges when it came to emotions and tact.

The one who first found you cups her hand around you, a soft and gentle force hiding you from view. As she approaches him, she calls out, “Guess what I found in my outing among the glaze lilies, my lovely Morax?”

A long silence. And then finally, the one who calls himself Morax says, “I have a million guesses, but they are just that. I do not know, Guizhong.” Words deep and grating, as if it were stone rumbling. Groundbreaking. It is only your saviour’s—Guizhong’s—firm hold that prevented you from thrashing and pecking.

You did not like his voice. Its low pitch is the sound of a songbird’s nightmare: the gaping earth opening to swallow you whole, feathers and bones and all. No, you did not like his voice—and in particularly trying times, millennia into the future, you still don’t.

Guizhong opens her hand, and you stare blearily into the light. Vision blurred, all you can make out is a tall, shadowy figure leaning closer and closer. And then you see it. Glowing, sunset eyes. Diamond pupils. A heavy, scrutinizing stare. The eyes of a predator, appraising the weakness of its prey.

You burrow deeper into Guizhong’s palms, a warning cry jerked out of your weak lungs. “Shhh,” she says, stroking your head, before scolding, “Do lessen your glare, Morax. The poor thing is so frightened already, and you are not helping.”

“I do not glare,” he states, but backing away from you.

Relief bubbles in your chest from his retreat. Guizhong laughs at his words, pealing bells ringing in your ears. “You do. You just don’t realize it, for you are always glaring.”

“Hm. I will keep your advice in mind.”

“Then I am glad. Now come and help me figure out how to bandage these wings. I’ve never been good at tending to wounds.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You plan on keeping it?”

“Just until it learns to fly again, Morax.” She shakes her head at his words. Protests quietly, “And it is not so much keeping, as it is sheltering. There is a difference.”

He stares at you long and hard, contemplating Guizhong’s words. You shrink back, and he finally says, “I see.”

Years later, when you are once again suppressed under his gaze, you will wonder if he was telling the truth. If he truly did see.

Under the protection of two gods who complement each other as the sun complements the moon, the Guili Assembly in those years were prosperous and peaceful. And under Guizhong’s—and Morax’s—gentle care, you soon recover your strength. But when it comes time to set you free, when it comes time to leave, you merely stare at Guizhong.

Her words are encouraging. “Go on. I know you have fully recovered. Learning to fly again is not so difficult, for those destined for the skies. And I know you to be cleverer than most of your kind.”

You feel Morax’s gaze more than you see it. It was not so heavy in those days, moderated by Guizhong’s admonition. Not heavy enough to deter you, at least. In fact, there was a burst of fondness in your chest for the man who had wrapped your wings, rough hands so nimble yet cautious in its touch.

So you do not leave. Instead, you take to the air. Wings flap above Morax’s head, and then Guizhong’s head, before folding as you land on her shoulder. You nuzzle your head into the crook of her neck, trilling a song of gratitude. You stare into Morax’s eyes, the first time you felt courageous enough to do so, and it is also the first time you see him soften.

Guizhong smiles in response. “You do not wish to leave, little songbird?”

You hop from one leg to the other. Tilt your head a little in confusion. You let out a cry, quiet and mournful. Did she not want you? Did she have no need for an oriole? No need for your song? It is the only thing you have to offer.

Guizhong chuckles. “Rest your imagination. I did not say anything of the sort. However, while I do not mind your company, you will have to ask Morax too.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “We come in a pair, you see. The Guili Assembly is named as such for a reason, after all.”

You consider her proposal. And then you brace yourself. A determined look in your eyes as you take flight toward the stony figure. You do not rest on his shoulder as you do Guizhong. But when you flap your wings in front of him, waiting for a response, Morax raises his hand.

Fingers curl into a makeshift perch, and you land your talons on his flesh, taking care not to dig. Not that it would have mattered to stone. A songbird’s claws would have tickled rather than hurt. “Hello there,” he says carefully, eyes less piercing than you remember from your initial meeting.

You chirp back. His voice is not so grating now. Stone can also sing, you find. Beneath the dissonance, there hides a harmonic hum, waiting to be polished.

His other hand, hesitant and unsure, moves to touch your head. You lean into his gentle caress. “You wish to stay with us?” he asks.

An excited trill.

A careful consideration. Then an answer. His words are simple, but with finality. “Then stay.”

It is the first command you receive. And it will remain in effect for centuries. For millennia. But you did not know it then. You also did not regret it then.

Instead, there is only ecstasy at having received his permission. You dart back into Guizhong’s palms from his fingers, and she laughs at your excitement. “If you are to stay with us,” she says, “then allow me to bestow a gift upon you, songbird.”

“Guizhong,” Morax says sharply, his voice a warning as he crosses his arms. “Know what you are doing, before you do it.”

“I know very well,” she reassures him. “You have praised my wisdom before. Let your faith hold true.”

And then she covers your body with her hands and squeezes. A half-strangled pitch pushed past your beak, and then a strange sensation rushes over you. Initially, it feels like specks that burrow past your feathers and under your skin. But eventually, it morphs into the coolness of the morning dew, the dampness of misty clouds, and you shiver. It keeps pushing through your veins, and you hear it—a sound of sifting particles, as if dust has been kicked up by the wind. Still, though the feeling is enough to freeze blood, you do not resist. Your faith in Guizhong holds true.

Through your perseverance, time stops having meaning. It may have been seconds. It may have been years. Finally, after an eternity, Guizhong lets go, and you—

You can feel everything. The caress of the wind upon your feathers, the precipitating waters upon the grass beneath Guizhong’s feet, the rolling mist high in the mountain air.

“Well!” she marvels, as you shake off the chills. “Seems like it worked, Morax. The clouds are moving because of our little friend here.”

“So they did,” he observes impassively.

“Guizhong, Guizhong,” you cry, wondering what she did. And then snap your beak shut. There are words coming from your lungs.

“How the oriole cries! Prettily, just like the poets say,” she says, eyes mischievous. Morax sighs at her tone. “How do you feel, little songbird? Try using your words.”

“G-“ You shudder at the strangeness of the foreign vibrations, and stutter out an answer. Was your tongue supposed to twist this way? “Go-Good. Wh-What—?” What happened to me? You couldn’t finish the sentence, but Guizhong seemed to know what you meant.

“You were already more conscious than any bird I’ve seen,” she answers with a thoughtful look. “You must have a soul capable of cultivating into an adeptus. So I tried infusing some of my elemental energy into you—and opened your third eye in the process. The feeling in your body is the resulting adeptal energy that’s coursing through you.”

“I wish you were more considerate before making the decision. It could have been dangerous,” Morax mutters, shaking his head in exasperation.

“It worked out in the end, did it not?” Guizhong waves his concerns aside. At your questioning look, she says, “So, little songbird. Let’s see how long it takes for you to become a true adeptus, shall we?”

Not very long, it turns out. You take to the adeptal arts with alarming enthusiasm. To the combats arts with even more zeal. After Primus comes Secunde, your fellow adepti all said of your fighting skills. Morax had personally taught you the art of the blade—though you could never defeat him, no matter what tricks or techniques you pulled. It always ended with his spear at your throat, at your heart, you pinned beneath him. But you hadn’t minded, back then. Had even appreciated his overwhelming victory. This is my master, you had thought with pride. My lord is no-one’s equal.

You think back to those days sometimes, of the better times, before everything collapsed with the coming of the Archon War. Lord Guizhong had been so, so proud to see your human form—the final step in your cultivation toward becoming an adeptus. Beautiful, she had murmured, one hand to her chest, as if dazed. Don’t you think so, Morax? What an accomplishment from our little songbird.

And Morax… He had the same look as Guizhong. Mesmerized. Yes, he murmured. Beautiful.

Fingers at his side twitched, as if holding something back, but you shied away from his gaze by hiding behind Guizhong. Peeled yourself to her side in your new form, the warmth of her body diffusing into your own. The Lord of Dust was… safe. The Lord of Geo was not. You were reminded of when you first met him, his voice the earth rumbling as it swallows a songbird whole.

Even so, after her death, you never shed your human form. Never had the heart to shift hair and flesh back into feathers. You’d considered it, especially when Morax—Rex Lapis, after you swore your loyalty in the contract all adepti are bound to—became so overbearing.

However… Guizhong’s pride. You could not abandon it. Could not bear the thought of more of her pieces, more of her memories lost to wind and time. Guizhong did love the mortals so, after all. So while your external appearance changed from time to time, the inner essence of human flesh remained. It’s a reminder of your duty to the people of Liyue. Of her love.

But oh, sometimes, you wish you could just fly once more. Like right now, as your Lord of Geo glances at the Anemo Vision resting at your hips. The wind that has scattered Guizhong, now represented in your element. A unique sense of humour, you decide. Cruel irony. But then again, Celestia has always been carelessly cruel.

"Glory to Rex Lapis, and may his reign surpass millennia." The familiar greeting falls from your lips, devoid of all cheer.

“A lot has happened since my departure,” he says. A subtle disdain in the curl of his lips. You’re glad to see it—there was a reason the Anemo Vision was placed at your hips. On display for all to see… Especially the Lord of Geo.

“That it was, my lord.” You stare at anything but him. “I hear Cloud Retainer has retreated back into isolation. Perhaps you should pay her a visit. She will become a hermit again, if my lord does not coax her from her abode.”

“That is not what I refer to. You know that.” Stiff annoyance in his normally placid voice. This time, Rex Lapis' gaze does not shift from your Vision. “Celestia has saw fit to grant you their favour too, it seems.”

“Indeed.” Your answer is short. There is nothing to say that he doesn’t already know.

“Anemo,” he says, brows furrowed in concentration. In annoyance. A vein in his forearm pulses, and for a second, you see golden cracks. “I suppose it’s not too strange, for your nature.”

“The winds are crucial for flight, after all,” you agree. “At least, for someone like me. A dragon has no need for the winds, of course, but a bird does. Anemo makes sense. Does Xiao not also possess a Vision like mine?” There were many similarities between you and Xiao—except the Yaksha has not known his sovereign’s possessive gaze. Xiao was so very young, compared to you.

“Anemo… Should Geo not be more suitable? I do not understand this choice. After all, were you not once infused with dust?”

The sharpness in his tone makes you wince. It was underhanded, to bring up old memories like this. He means for you to lose your composure. So you cannot. “Even then, I suppose,” you choke out. "It is up to Celestia, after all."

“An Anemo Vision for a little songbird,” he say flatly. “How fitting, dear friend.”

Your breath hitches, but you refuse to crack. But how you wished to scream. To beat your fists against his unfeeling heart. To weep. “My lord,” you say, voice gone quiet. Firm. “Do not call me that.”

It sounds a command, but you will not apologize. Little songbird. Dear friend. None of these phrases should pass from his lips. They were not his to use.

A long, drawn-out silence, as his eyes linger near your Anemo Vision. “I apologize, beloved subject,” Rex Lapis says finally, a fake innocence in his lilting voice. “May I see it, then? I’d like a brief inspection of this new… development.” He opens his palm, expectant of your cooperation. As much as it could be called cooperation, when it comes coerced. When it is an order. Do it. You must, his eyes say, boring into you.

You hesitate. Something seems wrong. His calmness... but a vision cannot be destroyed, you console yourself. So you surrender it to him, silent and unsure. When he brushes his skin against yours, as you lay the Vision in his palm, the Geo markings wrapped around his arm flicker.

“You had the setting made in Liyue Harbour,” he notes, thumb brushing over the sharp edges of its square shape. A teal gem, inlaid in an octagonal and diamond metal border. As is typical for a Vision of someone from Liyue.

“I did,” you admit.

“A fine craftsmanship.”

“I will pass on your praise, my lord.”

“I would have done it for you, had you but waited for my return. Had you but asked.” His voice is light, but his words accusing.

“I did not wish to bother,” you mutter. As if you would let him set your Vision into a base of his own making—and let him assert his claim even more? No. Only a fool would allow it.

“Hm.” Rex Lapis turns the trinket around, examining it with a careful eye. And then he suddenly asks, “Visions are indestructible, are they not?”

“…Yes, I believe so,” you say, a sinking feeling in your gut. Chills snake up your spine, as if phantom fingers were tracing a path toward your neck. If he was going to do what you think he was… But not even he could succeed at such a thing… Right?

He stares at the Vision, as if he could conquer it with his will alone. The eyes of Morax are the sunset. Amber lit on fire. Diamond pupils glowing. It whispers of unfathomable strength. Incalculable power.

“I wonder…” he whispers, and then, to your horror, your prediction comes true. His arm turns to the darkness of Geo. Scattering geometric veins of gold, snaking around his skin, begin to burn bright as his fingers curl around your Vision and squeezes.

Your heart stops. Everything becomes still. And then the adrenaline floods your veins, and you almost topple from the blood rushing to your temples. Your head throbs. Stop him. You must stop him.

"What are you—" you rush to knock it out of his hand, but rock does not bend, for all your desperate clutching. His fingers remain clenched around your vision, and he does not let go. Your nails scratch at unyielding stone, but nothing, nothing. You had not wanted to believe your own predictions, thinking that there may be some kindness left in him, but to wring mercy from Geo is a futile endeavour. A wail cuts its way out from your throat, the warbling of an oriole as it chokes to death. “Rex Lapis! Morax! My lord, stop it, stop it, please—”

The glow fades away as he relents. Without his Geo powers, you can at last pry his stiff fingers open. A breath held in anticipation, eyes wide-eyed, hoping, hoping. At the centre of his palm lies broken pieces of what used to the metal borders of your Vision. Crushed to dust.

But among it, a teal gem. It remains whole and sparkling, unaware of the dangers it had just weathered. Dizzying relief in your mind as you snatch it away, staggering back and clutching it to your chest. You had no use for it, true, but it is still a part of you. It is a piece that differentiates you from him.

“I apologize, but it seems you will have to set your Vision again,” he says, sounding anything but sorry. It is casual malice instead. Amber eyes hardened into flint. “As recompense, I offer my services. You will find it inferior to none.”

“I know very well, my lord,” you say hollowly. “Thank you for the generous offer.” If you were to find another jeweller instead of letting him do as he wills, who knows the consequences. But still. “Why did you—!” A protest slips out, and you bite your tongue to stifle it. There was no use asking for answers you already have.

"I just wanted to test the claim." His face is expressionless—as if he didn't just try to destroyyour Vision, to crush it into nothingness under Geo. “It held true. A Vision truly is indestructible.”

“Right,” you croak. “Of course it is.”

"…Pity," Morax says mildly, voice so low it’s almost a murmur.

But you hear it. Of course you do—he expected it. Counted on it.

After all, a warning is meant to be heard.

From then on, you wear the Vision in a band around your forearm, for the sole purpose of hiding it within your billowing sleeves. The Anemo Vision sits tight and snug against your skin, out of sight and out of mind. You rarely use it, afraid to remind him of its existence.

You fear the day your lord lays eyes on it again—just as you fear him.

How do you think Yan!Wanderer would react to his darling trying to hurt him?

He grabs your wrist mid-air and hold onto it so tightly that you swear he is about to crush bone. "What the hell do you think you were doing?"

You struggled against his hold. "Let me go-"

"Shh shh. No talking, only listening." He cut you off, twisting your arm behind you back so that he could easily talk into your ear. "Because I love you, I'm going to give you one warning; causing me any kind of harm is off limits."

The pain was getting excruciating. He might look weak, but beneath that initial layer is someone who knew how to deal damage.

"Now I hope that you have enough of a mind not to try this again. But by all means, go ahead and test you luck. I don't really care, because you're never going to win. Just don't get mad at me for doing the same to you as punishment."

☁️ 𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊! — an anthology | wc: 4.2k

feat: albedo + diluc + itto + tartaglia + thoma

cw: afab!gn!reader (pussy + cunt + clit + cervix + labia are used to describe genitalia), overstimulation, oral sex (reader receiving), mild monsterfucking + facesitting (itto), impled subspace + mentions of a safeword / safe gesture (thoma), further content warnings included prior to each character’s section

a/n: i love when my men get a little fucked out on pussy… can i get a yeah boiiii!!!

minors, i DO NOT CONSENT to you interacting with me. 18+ only, please.

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