Auro's Saga~

Very normal about Venti. Inconsistent posting is my game -Auro/Aurora- (18+) -They/She- ミ●﹏☉ミ

[aurossaga]

🍃 We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - Masterlist

Venti x gn!reader Two rival bards struggle to figure out their increasingly complex relationship as they find their music sounds sweeter in harmony... much to the dismay of one of the involved parties.

Current word count: ~ 8.6k

➺Part 1 You are an aspiring bard in Mondstadt, trying to get your morning practice in when your greatest rival and constant thorn in your side, Venti, decides to drop by to listen. ➺Part 2 You find yourself strumming a tune that's been on your mind as the day comes to a close, only to find that even as night draws near, you still have an audience. ➺Part 3 After a successful performance at the tavern, you find yourself in the unlikely position of being able to flip the script on your challenging tutor... Well, at least for a time. ➺Part 4 You finally get a chance to talk to him properly, and he's mostly bearable this time... ➺Part 5 Writing a duet is... messy work. Especially considering yours and Venti's track record of actually getting along.

[aurossaga]

Hii, I just wanted to drop in and let you know that I love your Venti stories. I read every single one and they are a perfect mix of sweetness, silliness, and seriousness. You convey the emotions and feelings of the characters so well that the audience can really feel them. Not to mention the fun dialogue which you make sound so natural, the way you explore and portray Venti's character, and the occasional internal conflict you skillfully weave into the plot. You are literally my favorite writer and I hope you know how great you are. I can't thank you enough for letting us read your stories <3

Get off anon so I can KISS YOU ON THE FOREHEAD /j

Thank you so much for reading my stories 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 Even despite my very scattered posting pattern I'm so thankful for everyone who reaches out and comments, it warms my heart so much<3

Thank you for reading !!

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - pt. 5

>>Masterlist<<

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: None!

Summary: Writing a duet is... messy work. Especially considering yours and Venti's track record of actually getting along.

The grassy fields stretch far and wide around you, all long green strands and quiet hums of crystalflies. It’s not quite silent. There’s the rustle of the wind, the occasional chirp from birds up in the canopy, and the rhythmic drone of cicadas somewhere farther off… but it feels removed, somehow, like the world slows down just a little bit here. Above you, the sky is an endless, easy blue, broken only by the heavy limbs of the tree you’ve chosen for shade. It stands tall and grand at the center of the meadow, bark coarse from the consistent teasing of the wind, its branches casting long, shifting shadows underneath it. It’s the heart of Windrise.

Venti is already there, strumming his lyre. Of course he is.

He’s leaning against the trunk of the tree, arms draped around his lyre like it’s an old friend, playing some tune he probably hasn’t bothered to write down yet. Just letting the melody happen, like he always does. Like it’s as easy as breathing. He glances up when he hears you approach, and his grin is immediate. Bright. Teasing.

“There you are,” he says with a snicker. “I was beginning to think I’d have to write this melody alone. Could you imagine the tragedy?”

You set your instrument down beside you as you sit, not answering right away. The grass is warm beneath your legs, despite the shade. “You’d probably enjoy the drama,” you reply dryly.

“You make a great point,” he concedes, plucking a chord with idle fingers as he closes his eyes. “But it would make for quite a lackluster duet if I had to compose it on my own, without you frowning at me half the time.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t frown.” Venti hums as if to politely disagree. The lyre in his hands sings again, something playful this time, light and loose. “You do. But it’s a very musical sort of frown.”

You breathe out through your nose, trying not to smile. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Everything I say is a compliment,” he replies, unbothered. “You’re just… failing to recognize them.”

You decide not to entertain him with an answer to that. Instead, you open your notebook and skim the messy notes you scribbled the night before while you were still soaked in rain. You’re not sure if you’re annoyed or relieved that he’s in a good mood again. Probably both.

The breeze picks up, tousling your hair and rustling the parchment between your fingers. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He’s still playing. Still not looking at you.

That should make it easier to focus, yet somehow it doesn’t. His melody weaves through the wind like it has come alive, sneaking into your thoughts, slipping between your notes and making it impossible to determine where your ideas end and his intrusions begin.

“I thought we agreed,” you say without looking up, “that you would start with the melody this time so I didn’t waste half the afternoon guessing what key you’re in.”

He lets a soft laugh hum through the strings. “Did we agree on that? I remember you mumbling something very close to surrender, but nothing about melodies.”

You shoot him a tired glare. “Venti, I swear-”

He finally opens his eyes. Only half-lidded, but still bright with amusement. “Relax. I am playing the melody. Or at least the beginnings of it.”

“That’s not a melody,” you mutter, tapping your pencil against the side of your notebook with no rhythm in mind. “That’s wandering. Aimless. Like you.”

He gasps in mock offense, teal eyes sparking with something close to endearment. “I will have you know this wandering is intentional. I am searching for inspiration.”

“... are you gonna find it soon?”

Venti shrugs, reclining a little further against the trunk. “Tsk. You always rush this part.”

You press your lips together, trying not to say something unkind. He always makes it sound so easy. Like music simply arrives when he calls for it. Like there’s no work to it. No strain.

You try focusing again, still tapping your pencil lightly against the parchment.

A moment passes, filled with his strumming which slowly grows less aimless.

Then he shifts, scooting just an inch closer. Not touching you. But close enough that you can feel him watching you now. The melody eases into silence.

“You brought more lyrics,” he says. Not a question.

You keep your eyes on the page, but your heartbeat betrays you. “They’re rough.”

“Rough is promising.”

“They’re messy.”

“Messy is honest.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling your shoulders tense and then ease again. He’s not teasing now. Or, at least, not in the usual way. There’s something gentle under the words, something he doesn’t usually let slip.

It makes the silence that follows feel heavier than it should. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.

You tap your pencil against the notebook again. “You’re in a strange mood today.”

He smiles, small but genuine. “Am I?”

Venti looks up from your notes momentarily, gazing out at the grassy fields all around you two.

“... Must be the weather.”

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitches up despite yourself.

Venti moves a bit closer again, leaning forward just enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours, though he’s careful not to actually touch you. His fingers return to the strings of the lyre, lighter this time, plucking out a quiet sequence. Still not quite a full melody yet, but closer to something real.

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to your notebook, “you always act like you’re bad at this part.”

“I am bad at this part,” you emphasize, refusing to look up from your scribbles. “You just compensate for me.”

He scoffs, soft and warm. “Absolutely untrue! You hear things I don’t. You think in hymns and sonnets. I only chase after whatever crosses my mind.”

“That’s obvious,” you mutter, but your voice lacks its usual bite. Venti pretends not to hear you. Or maybe he really doesn’t. He seems focused now, watching the way your pencil twitches hesitantly over the page, hovering over the parchment.

“Try something. Anything. A phrase, a line… doesn’t matter if it’s off. I’ll follow.”

You hesitate. His gaze drifts back to his strings, giving you space you didn’t ask for but absolutely needed.

Then you hum.

Barely anything at first. A tiny fragment of an idea that’s been haunting the back of your mind since last night, nothing more than a handful of notes with no real direction. You expect him to laugh. Or interrupt. Or correct you with something too perfect to compete with.

But he doesn’t.

He listens. Really listens.

And then, gently like matching your footsteps, he plays under you. Not overtaking, not leading. Just filling the gaps, weaving soft chords beneath your tentative hum until the shape of something more full begins to form.

You nearly forget to breathe.

The sun, the field, the rustle of the leaves and the gentle bobbing of the grass, everything else slips away, fading into the edges of your awareness. Your voice steadies, finds a tone, and follows it. His accompaniment lifts you, supporting the melody you didn’t even realize you were shaping.

For a moment, you’re not thinking about him. Or the duet. Or the pressure you’ve put on yourself to make it good. You’re just…

Here.

Creating.

And it feels effortless for once.

…

When the melody finally trails off, you blink as if waking up from a dream. The world rushes back in. The warmth of the tree at your back, the wind brushing your cheek, the faint thrum of his final chord hanging in the space between you.

Venti watches you with a look that’s too soft, too knowing.

“…See?” he says quietly. “Told you. You’re better at this than you think.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Absolutely nothing. It’s like the world betrayed you by continuing to exist while your thoughts had abandoned ship.

Venti notices. Because of course he does.

He smiles. Small, crooked, knowing. “Oh,” he says quietly. “There it is.”

“Huh..? What is?” you snap, too fast.

He nods at your face with an infuriating little tilt of his head. “That look. The dumbfounded look you get when your hard work finally bears fruit.”

Your entire body goes hot as you narrow your eyes at him. “I do not make a look.”

“Oh, you do!” He plucks the melody you just created, easy and unhurried, like he’s scoring the moment on purpose. “It’s very endearing. You should do it more often!”

You glare. Or, at least you try to. It comes out more like a wounded blink. “Stop talking.”

“Why?” Venti’s voice rises slightly, clearly delighted by the idea of getting under your skin. “You can admit when you’re overwhelmed, you know. This profession often tugs at the heartstrings.”

You nearly choke. “I’m not overwhelmed.”

“You hummed,” he says, leaning in slightly. “I encouraged you. You created something lovely. And now you’re trying very hard not to smile about it. It’s all very predictable.”

Predictable… Predictable!?

You would shove him if you weren’t stressing over the idea of actually touching him. Which, by the way, you definitely have a reasonable explanation for wanting to avoid right now. A reason that doesn’t need to be dwelt on because it’s so clear, so obvious. Yeah. So you cross your arms instead.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he says lightly, “are timid about your art.”

“I’m going to leave,” you threaten.

“No,” he counters, utterly certain. “You’re going to stay right here and help me turn your very charming melody into a very charming duet.”

You grumble under your breath, because you have a terrible suspicion he’s gonna be right.

He catches the indignant tone of yours and grins in pure delight. “Ah. And now we’ve reached the speechless stage. A personal favorite.”

“I hate you,” you mutter.

Venti strums out your melody again, softer this time. “No, you don’t.”

This time, you don’t argue. Mostly because your throat refuses to cooperate. But also partially because you can’t wait to move past this topic.

“...Whatever. Help me polish these lyrics.”

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - pt. 4

>>Masterlist<<

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~2.5k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary: You finally get a chance to talk to him properly, and he's mostly bearable this time...

The cobblestone roads glisten, rain-slick and quiet now, lit by flickers of light from a swaying lantern above a shuttered window. The plaza was empty now late into the night, when the tavern’s chairs were turned on tables, and the barkeep had already begun humming a lullaby to himself as he swept the floors clean for the evening to come.

There’s always a few stragglers, those who stick around until the mead in their cups have been emptied and the lock falls in place at the front door. You, however, push that door open, slipping quietly into the dimly lit streets with a timidness none who saw you perform earlier in the night would have expected from you. The last song had finished long ago now, and only you are left to hum the melody.

The rain had softened into a hush, more of a light mist than a downpour by then. You trailed through the empty streets, listening to the rhythmic echo of your boots hitting the soaked cobblestone roads as you walked.

You weren’t expecting company… But you weren’t exactly surprised when it arrived, either. He has been persistent lately.

You hear him before you see him, as per usual. That familiar whistle, a melody you've never heard before, followed by quick footsteps approaching you with too much self-assurance for a stranger.

“You didn’t wait for me.”

You close your eyes at the sound of his voice before you even turn around. Of course it’s Venti, no one else speaks with that kind of lilt, like he’s always mid-stanza. And of course he says it like it’s nothing. Casual. As if he hadn’t just spent the whole evening circling the edge of the room, waiting for you to be the one to reach out to him first for a change.

Venti’s tone is soft, lighter than the streetlamp’s glow shining on the slick stones. But there’s something in it, a note he’s trying to keep tucked behind his tongue.

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” you reply, turning only slightly, just enough to see him fall into step beside you.

He walks like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like there’s no question of where he belongs. That certainty, that effortlessness, it irks you more than it should.

You don’t give the silence a chance to settle in.

“So. A duet, huh?”

His smile quirks before he even looks at you. “I thought it was a nice touch.”

You snort, half turning your head. “It was a trap. Leo probably thinks we rehearse together. Regularly.”

“We could,” Venti offers, voice far too smooth. “If you’re worried about false advertising.”

You shoot him a look. “Oh, yes. Let you ‘collaborate’ so you can turn every bridge into a metaphor about your wine preferences and the philosophy of birdsong.”

He raises an eyebrow and presses a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “You make it sound like an affliction.”

“It is when you hijack someone else’s melody.”

“I was trying to elevate it.”

“You were trying to hijack it.”

“Merely complimenting your tune,” he muses, as if it changes anything. “You should be flattered.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “You’d flatter an anemo slime if it gave you a good rhyme.”

He grins. “That’s unfair. I’m very particular about my rhymes.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

You pause just long enough to glance over. And for a moment, he’s not smiling. He’s looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s surprised by the edge in your voice, by the way you aren’t just deflecting like usual.

Maybe he didn’t expect you to push back. Maybe he didn’t expect it to sting.

You glance away before you dwell on it for too long. You walk faster. Let him match your pace if he wants to.

You’re not going to ask why he followed you out here. You’re not going to ask what he meant when he pulled out that duet nonsense earlier.

But then, just as the silence between you stretches taut…

A cold drop taps your temple.

You stop.

Another lands on the bridge of your nose. The air thickens, the smell of ozone curling in.

You glance up, and before you can even curse the timing, the sky opens wide.

You barely flinch. Just lift your chin, eyes narrowing against the sudden downpour. The shock of the sudden change in weather doesn’t matter, not compared to the way your thoughts are still snared around him. Both the things he said tonight and the things he didn’t. Around the way he looks at you these days like there’s something new behind his eyes, like he’s got some tune he wants to make you guess each and every note of.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Venti jog to a narrow stone awning beside the narrow alleyways. How typical… He’s always the first to move, the first to vanish and reappear at his own rhythm.

You stay where you are for the moment. Let the rain soak your sleeves and cling to your hair. You want the cold to break something loose in your chest. You want it to wash away the frustration, the confusion, the ridiculous thrum of heat you still feel in your neck when he leans too close.

But then he’s back.

You don’t hear his footsteps over the rushing of the rain, just feel the sudden press of his hand around your wrist. His fingers are warm, assured… Never hesitating.

“Come on,” he urges simply.

You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s pulling you along, not forcefully, but with enough certainty that you don’t have time to resist. The space beneath the awning is barely wide enough for two. You stand shoulder to shoulder. You’re soaked by the rain, dripping and breathless.

The moment stretches. The rain hisses against the cobblestones. You feel his shoulder brush yours again, not quite accidental this time.

“Didn’t peg you for the dramatic type, my muse,” he says eventually, a smirk in his voice. “Longing looks into the rain, lingering like a lyric in search of meaning…”

“I was thinking,” you grumble.

“Dangerous habit.”

You glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Says the man who composed an entire elegy to his snapped bowstring last month.”

“It was a fine bow. Wagner wept when he heard the second verse.”

You huff a tired laugh. Just a breath, barely there. Your body feels heavy now, muscles tired from the performance, from the tension, from all the unsaid thoughts that tumble around in your head.

Venti’s gaze flicks toward you again, then lingers. He thankfully doesn’t say anything clever this time. Instead, he reaches behind his back, shrugs off his cloak, and drapes it over your shoulders in one fluid movement. The warmth envelops you instantly.

“Don’t,” you start, but he cuts you off with a look.

“I’m warm enough,” he says. “Just accept it. You haven’t rested for hours.”

You let the cloak settle. You don’t thank him, but your fingers curl meekly around the edges.

For once, the silence between you isn’t sharp. It hums low, like the final note of a well-played song.

You wrap Venti’s cloak tighter around your body as a gust of wind passes, tugging at your clothes. The emerald green cape is heavy in the way warmth can be. The fabric is still damp along the edges, but the inside, the part that had rested against him, is dry and soft, lined with that pale tan thread that always looked too fine for someone who lounges in fountains and argues with stray cats.

You draw it closer around your shoulders. The smell of it lingers. It’s him. Not just the faint scent of wine and wind, but something quieter, harder to name. A trace of cecilia flowers, light and sweet, beneath the sharper warmth of worn leather and something else. Something like crushed herbs and ink.

You don’t know why it makes your throat ache a little.

Venti doesn’t say anything. Just stands beside you, arms crossed now, watching the rain with a thoughtful look you’re not used to seeing. His grin is gone. Not replaced with a frown, just… stillness. Calm, but not empty.

The silence stretches between the two of you. A hush not unlike the moments right before you strike the first chord. Not awkward, just full of something… waiting.

You shift slightly under the cloak. Feel the weight of it across your shoulders. Feel how tired you really are now, with the cold finally kept at bay. The adrenaline from earlier is long gone. What’s left is the ache in your arms, the dull throb in your feet, and a strange lightness in your chest.

You glance at Venti.

“Do you ever get tired of performing?” you ask, and your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

His eyes slide toward you. He blinks once. Then turns to look at the street again, watching the rain cascade off the eaves.

“...All the time,” he says eventually.

You wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. Just exhales softly, almost like he’s letting go of something. Almost as if he’s admitted to more than he intended to.

You wrap the cloak a little tighter around yourself.

“I didn’t expect that.”

“I know,” he says. And nothing more.

The rain continues to fall, soft now, gentler against the stone. You wonder if it’s easing up, or if you’ve just grown used to the sound. The two of you stand close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his side. And for once, you don’t move away.

As the silence settles between you again, not heavy this time, just… waiting. You shift your weight, lean slightly against the wall behind you, and glance over at him.

He hasn’t moved. Just stands there, studying the rain with that focus that somehow makes everything around him quieter. You wonder if he’s thinking about your question... Or if he’s forgotten about it already.

“Do you sleep with your shoes on?” you ask.

He turns, slowly. One brow lifts. “Pardon?”

You shrug, keeping your expression neutral. “You always show up out of nowhere. I just assumed you’re always ready to take off.”

A huff of a laugh escapes Venti. “Now and then. But only when I want to keep my toes warm.”

You squint at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s because it’s a joke,” he explains, and leans casually against the wall beside you, arms crossed over his chest. “Next question?”

You tilt your head, squinting at him like you’re evaluating a suspicious sunsettia. “Have you ever been in a fistfight?”

He taps his chin, as if he’s actually thinking about it. “Depends on how you define ‘fight.’”

“And… Do you actually write down your lyrics? Or do you just make them up as you go?”

“Why? Thinking of stealing them?”

You scoff. “Just answer the question.”

A small grin curves at the corner of his mouth. “Both. Depends on my mood.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Do you have a middle name?”

He laughs now, a quiet, surprised sound. “Getting a bit personal, aren’t we?”

You look away. “I just didn’t expect you to say yes earlier.”

“To what?”

“That you get tired of performing.”

He glances at you again. His smile fades into something softer.

“So now you’re testing me,” he realizes.

You shrug. “I’m just curious what else you might admit to, if I ask.”

His expression shifts just slightly. The corner of his mouth lifts in something like surprise. Maybe even… flattery. You think he’s about to make some flippant remark, but instead he says, quieter this time, “All right. I’ll allow three more questions. Choose wisely.”

You smile, and for the first time tonight, it’s easy. The rain continues to fall just outside your little sliver of shelter, and the chill in the air doesn’t seem to bite as much anymore.

“Have you always been this annoying, or is it a recent development?”

Venti presses a hand to his chest, staggering back a step with theatrical flair. “Tragic. And here I was thinking I’ve been nothing but charming.”

You give a tired laugh, feeling your whole body shake. “You’re mistaking persistence for charm again.”

He grins, closer now, eyes catching a glint of lamplight from somewhere down the alley. “Then you must be falling for me, because you keep coming back for more.”

You don’t answer that one. Not with words. You just breathe in sharply and look away like you didn’t hear it, like your heart didn’t trip over itself right there in your chest. There’s a silence that stretches for a few beats. You pull his cloak a little tighter around your shoulders. Then, quieter this time, you ask, “Have you ever written a song you couldn’t finish?”

That stops him. Not physically, but something in the air around you two stills.

“Yes.”

Just that. One word. It could’ve ended there, and part of you thinks it might. But after a moment, he continued.

“Some endings don’t want to be written yet,” he says, voice softer, more introspective than before. “Or maybe I wasn’t ready to hear how they’d end.”

You glance over, but he’s no longer looking at you. Just watching the curtain of rain dripping down at the edge of the awning. You wonder what sort of song it was. Who it was about. But you decide to not ask for now. You’re sure he would have elaborated if he wanted to tell you. Instead, you ask, with a lighter edge this time, “What do you do when you’re not composing or drinking?”

Venti turns his head toward you again, the usual spark returning to his eyes.

“Mostly, I waste time chasing after people who pretend they don’t enjoy my company.”

Your heart skips a stupid little beat.

You scoff, trying not to look so thrown off by his comment. “That’s tragic.”

“Isn’t it?” he replies, too smoothly, voice just a little too knowing. You pretend you don’t notice the way he’s watching you now, like he’s searching for a response. Waiting for you to slip up and admit something unintentionally.

And maybe, deep down, you’re hoping it will just slip out. At least that way this exhausting song and dance would finally be over.

You’re quiet for a beat, listening to the soft rhythm of rain against the street and the distant creak of tree branches stressing under the pull of the wind.

Then, without looking at him, you murmur, “So… that duet you promised Leo.”

He tilts his head, smiles lazily, like he’s waiting for the catch.

You shrug, still wrapped in his cloak, still pretending your heart isn’t doing somersaults. “I’m not saying it was a good idea. But I guess we could try.”

For once, Venti doesn’t joke. He doesn’t tease you either. He just breathes a quiet relieved laugh, like he’s been hoping to hear you say that for hours now.

“I’ll hold you to it,” he murmurs.

You finally let yourself smile.

[aurossaga]

No Rush~ | Venti 2025 Birthday fic 🍃

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: ~1.2k

Warnings: Alcohol

Based on the new birthday letter! A picnic in the woods by the lake, made perfect by good company.

You notice the letter only because you were sure you shut that window just moments ago.

The breeze slips through now, light and perfumed with the early scent of summer blooms. You inch closer and find a folded piece of parchment sitting on the sill, sealed with a simple emerald green ribbon and the faint imprint of an anemo sigil pressed into teal wax. The ribbons flutter as if brought to life, tugged gently by the wind.

Curiously, you break the seal and unfold it.

"When you receive this letter, hold it in your hands and stand by the window."

You glance outwards, the parchment crinkling faintly between your fingers. Beyond Mondstadt's high walls, the sun hangs low and lazy in the sky, casting long golden sun rays over terracotta roofs and cobbled streets. The wind brushes your back, soft and persistent, and you swear you can almost hear a laugh carried on it. It’s a familiar sound to you.

Smiling, you reach for your cloak.

…

Outside, the city hums with life.

Down below the steps of your living quarters by the plaza, you pass by Sara at Good Hunter. She gives you a wave, midways through an order to a customer. The smell of seared meat and baked bread clings to the air, comforting and warm. Around the fountain plaza, kids chase pigeons, much to Timmie's dismay. Flora's flowers bloom bright and full in her shop, and she’s already organizing tomorrow’s bundles into neatly woven baskets.

You catch sight of Lawrence and Swan posted near the gate, alert despite the peaceful day. The two of them nod as you pass, though Swan’s eyes flick briefly toward the leaf that flutters ahead of you, light as a feather and drifting purposefully through the open archway.

The moment your feet touch the path outside Mondstadt’s gates, the wind tugs more eagerly..

The hum and buzz of the city fades, replaced by serene bird’s chattering and the low murmur of the wind as it weaves through trees and over hills. Cider Lake glistens around you as you cross the bridge, glassy and blue, and the familiar scent of dandelions, pine, and sun-warmed stone fills your lungs. Wildflowers sway beside the road. Dandelions, windwheel asters, and sweet mint nods along in the gentle wind.

The breeze pulls at your light cloak like an eager hand, encouraging but never rushing. You let it guide you through the crossroads, down a shaded path through the whispering woods, until the sound of your footsteps softens into grass.

And then you see it.

A checkered picnic blanket is spread beneath a sturdy tree by the lake’s edge, its canopy fluttering with green. A small basket sits at its center, half open, with the scent of sweet cider and sunsettias drifting lazily from within. There’s a lyre propped beside it.

And just a few steps away, you see him.

Venti turns at the sound of your approach, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun. His smile is instant, soft and charming.

“You came,” he says, like a verse finally finishing its line.

You let your steps carry you the last few feet, ignoring the way your heart beats just a tad louder.

“You sent the wind to fetch me. I couldn’t exactly ignore it.”

Venti laughs, and it’s a sound that fits the day perfectly. Light, bright, and just a little mischievous. “She does tend to be persuasive.”

You settle onto the blanket beside him. He tosses you a chilled bottle of apple cider and reclines beside you, arms tucked behind his head. His eyes are half-lidded as he gazes up at the sky, lashes catching the sunlight.

“I thought you might like this spot,” he murmurs. “It’s where the wind plays her softest songs.”

You pour the two of you a glass each before sipping the cider and glancing at him over the rim of your cup. “You mean it’s where you write yours.”

His eyes crinkle in a smile. “Well, maybe we work together on occasion.”

You both fall into a quiet rhythm then. The sound of the lake gently lapping the shore, birds chirping lazily from the trees, and Venti’s fingers idly plucking his lyre in between sips of cider and nibbles of sticky honey roast. A dandelion seed floats past, and he watches it go, humming under his breath.

You turn toward him. “You planned this just for me?”

“Of course,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “The wind told me you needed a day just like this. One where the city couldn’t find you. One with a lake and a song and… me.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then…

“And you?”

His voice softens. “I needed it, too.”

He rolls onto his side, propping himself up with one elbow. The breeze catches his hair, making the braids sway gently. His gaze holds yours, uncharacteristically steady, completely unguarded.

“I like when you follow the wind,” he says. “But I love it when you follow it to me.”

You don’t answer, not with words, at least. You shift closer, letting your hand find his. His fingers curl easily around yours, warm and familiar. A content sigh escapes him, and he leans in until your foreheads brush, eyes slipping closed.

The breeze hushes, as if holding its breath.

You can feel the soft rhythm of his breath, his forehead resting against yours. Venti’s hand tightens around yours just slightly. Not possessive, not urgent. Just… sure. Grounded. Like the whole world has settled into place just for a little while.

His voice is barely a whisper. 

“You know, sometimes I sing for crowds. Sometimes for the gods. But this… this song in me right now…? It’s only for you.”

You chuckle slightly, heart fluttering like the rustling leaves around you. “Then sing it,” you suggest, voice low and warm.

He smiles, that rare kind of smile that doesn’t dance or tease, the kind that lingers. And instead of reaching for his lyre, he leans closer, letting his nose brush against yours.

“No need,” he whispers. “You’re already hearing it.”

And then, he kisses you.

It’s gentle, feather-soft as expected. Like a note plucked in the silence after a long melody. There’s no rush, just the press of his lips, light and warm, like the sunlight filtered through the canopy above. The hand not holding yours comes up to cradle your cheek, fingers cool from the breeze but trembling just slightly, like he can hardly believe you’re real and here and choosing him.

He can act as composed and sure of himself as he wants… But you know how to make him buckle.

You lean into him, tilting your head, deepening the kiss just enough that he exhales, not from surprise, but relief. It feels like something you’ve both been circling around for a long time, and now you’ve finally landed in it, safe and sound.

When you part, your foreheads rest together again, the edges of your smiles touching like they never left.

“Don’t tell the wind,” Venti says, breathless and giddy, “but that felt better than flying.”

You laugh, eyes glimmering with mirth. “I won’t… if you promise not to write a whole ballad about it.”

He lifts a brow, already humming a few suspicious notes. “...Too late.”

You shove him playfully, and he tumbles back onto the blanket, laughing freely and joyfully and completely at peace. You follow, resting beside him once more, your fingers still laced in his.

And above you, the breeze swirls again, content, mischievous, and full of songs.

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - pt. 3

>>Masterlist<<

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~2.7k

Warnings: Alcohol and drinking

Summary: After a successful performance at the tavern, you find yourself in the unlikely position of being able to flip the script on your challenging tutor... Well, at least for a time.

The Angel’s Share is loud tonight, atmosphere thick with sounds of laughter and the thump of boots against uneven floorboards. It's that kind of evening where the faint smell of woodsmoke from the hearth clings to every surface, and ale flows with ease. The scent of roasted meats, damp wool, and the sharp bite of cheap wine linger in the air, all sensations roaring and competing for attention amidst the rowdy audience. Someone's already spilled their wine across the far table… Yet nobody seems to care. There’s an exciting heat in the air, and the addicting rhythm chokes out any hesitation or second-guesses. It’s the kind of night where the worn benches rattle with song, and the candlelights flicker like they’re dancing along too.

You barely even remember taking the stage, in fact. One moment, you were tuning the lyre at your hip. Next, you were singing, and the whole room was singing with you. Your voice rises above the rest, strong and sure, piercing through the clatter of tankards and drunken cheer. Every time your fingers strike the strings just right, someone hollers in approval. Someone else stomps their foot to your rhythm.

You're not used to this kind of attention… the roaring kind. The kind that feeds on itself and gives back twice as much. But you don’t shrink from it, not tonight. You play the next verse with a grin threatening the corners of your mouth, the words coming easy, smooth as pouring ale. One of Venti’s clever chord tricks sneaks into your composition, and you allow it.

Yeah, it’s a small blow to your pride every time you utilize those tricks he taught you. But, you allow yourself to indulge tonight.

You strum out the final notes, the echo caught somewhere between the wood beams and your chest. The whole tavern answers in a swell of applause, cheers, the scrape of mugs raised high and clattered back to the tables. Someone calls your name, half-shouted, half-sung, and someone else tosses a coin that lands at your feet with a bright, triumphant clang.

You don’t try to hide the grin this time. It’s too big. You earned this.

There’s a giddy weightlessness in your bones, the kind that comes from being heard, really heard, and met with joy instead of judgment. You feel ten feet tall, lit from the inside, still humming the rhythm of your own tunes as the cheers and laughter persists around you. Maybe this was what Venti meant. Not that stuff about passion, or poetry… but about this… this connection. You finally begin to understand why he plays like the world might end if he stops.

As the applause begins to fade, you step off the small wooden platform and stoop to collect your lyre, fingers lingering against the frame. The strings feel almost warm to the touch now.

That’s when you feel the eyes on you. Different from the rest. Still. Intent.

You straighten your back only to come face to face with a stranger. You don’t think you've ever met this man before, though he’s not unfamiliar in the way he carries himself. Clean linen tunic. Pale gold fastenings. Hair tied back with a kind of effortless precision. There’s something deliberate in the way he looks at you, like he already understands the tune that just poured out of you and wants to ask how it was born.

“That last piece,” the man says, voice low but sure, “The one with the descending pattern in the refrain… that was new, wasn’t it?”

You blink. Most people ask about the lyrics. Or say something inane about how your fingers move. But this one… he listened. Really listened.

You nod with a grin. “It was.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “You’ve got a gift for performing. And for holding back, just enough, before you let the line resolve. It really leaves people wanting more.”

There’s a pause, and you feel it settle between you like the moment after a held note.

“My name is Leo. I’d love to hear more about your artistic process.”

And somewhere behind the press of bodies and flickering candlelight, you think you hear the striking, familiar sound of a wine cup being set down with a bit too much force.

“Ah,” speaks a voice from behind Leo, smooth as polished brass. “So this is where the praise has gathered tonight.”

Leo turns slightly, but you don’t even need to look. You already know that voice. You’re painfully familiar with it all, from the slow confidence in each step to the faint scent of wine and wind and something else that’s harder to place. Venti doesn’t raise his voice, he never needs to. The room doesn’t fall silent, far from it. But it leans, somehow, to listen when he speaks.

He steps into your view with that familiar grin, mischief curled in the corner of his lips, eyes bright with something you’d almost call a challenge. Or maybe a warning. His gaze flicks from you to Leo, then down to your lyre with sudden interest, as though it’s the first time he’s seeing it in such a great musician’s hands.

“I’d say that piece sounded almost familiar,” he comments, “But then again, I’m told good songs tend to wander.”

Leo straightens, not defensively, but with a kind of elegant poise. “Well, if it isn’t Venti the bard! I’m surprised you’ve taken to sharing the Angel's Share’s stage.”

Venti tips his head, just enough to be polite. “Of course, on occasion. I’ve been known to admire my fellow bard’s melodies as well. Though I prefer when they stay… loyal.”

You shoot him an incredulous look, half in warning, half in disbelief. He catches it, smiling wider. Leo glances between you both, amused, but cautious now, sensing something intense yet unspoken.

“I’m Leo,” he offers again, to Venti this time.

“I gathered,” Venti replies, then adds with a mock-thoughtful tone, “Lovely name. Very... declarative. Personally, I prefer the ones that bloom slowly. Like a chorus that waits two verses to reveal itself.”

You sigh loudly. “Venti.”

He turns to you, all false innocence in his big, bright eyes. “Yes?”

“You’re being unbearable.”

“Only because I care.”

And now he’s looking at you like he often does these days. Like the joke is just a veil over something else, something steadier… Something dangerously close to sincerity.

You say nothing at first. Just let the moment hang, a quiet beat between remarks. Venti stands there with that usual smirk, but you can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes like it usually does. His stance is too still, too measured. His hand lingers near the rim of his cup, fingers strained as his grip tightens a tad more than strictly necessary. His shoulders, always loose and careless, carry an edge tonight. Not stiff exactly, but… alert.

And his eyes, they’ve flicked back to you three times now, though he pretends they haven’t.

You recognize the pattern. He’s not here for the song. Or the wine. Or for mingling with strangers.

He wanted to be first.

The realization comes all at once, warm and slow, like ale hitting the back of your throat. That’s what this is. He’s not upset about your new hit melody or the spotlight. He’s… actually upset because someone else got there before he did. Before he had the chance to compliment you, in whatever twisted, backhanded way he would have chosen.

It’s oddly endearing. Which is exactly why you decide not to let him off the hook. You’ve put up with his strange games and constant remarks for months by now… you’ve earned a little fun at his expense.

You smile again, wider this time, and turn to Leo. “I’d love to talk about the process, actually. There’s a quieter corner near the back. Fewer spilled drinks.”

Leo chuckles and nods. “Lead the way.”

You catch Venti’s expression just before you turn. A split-second flicker of something bewildered and almost irritated beneath his usual persona. A spark of indignation, dulled only by disbelief at your audacity.

You don’t look back. Not right away.

But as you settle into the dim corner, your lyre propped carefully beside you and Leo asking thoughtful questions about lyric pacing and key shifts, you feel it. Venti’s presence. Not near. Not approaching. But never far.

Every time you let your laugh ring just a little louder, every time you touch the lyre with slow, practiced precision, you feel his eyes again. Watching. Calculating.

Waiting.

You don’t know when the tables turned. But for once, you’re the one leaving him in suspense.

Venti slumps in his seat, his gaze fixated on the deep purple wine in his cup. It should have been simple.

You’re improving, and that should be enough. That is enough. He’s the one who helped, after all. Offered his guidance, his critiques, his carefully crafted barbs. He watched you bristle, stumble, push back harder, and then… start to shine.

He should be proud. And he is proud, that much even he can admit. He’s proud of how your fingers glide over the strings now, how your voice doesn’t waver when the room leans in to listen. How you meet your audience’s gaze like you finally know you belong up on the stage. Like you’re finally starting to see what he’s been seeing all this time.

But something still itches under his skin as he watches you from across the tavern. His wine is warm now, though it’s exceptionally rare for the bard to ignore his drink for that long. His thumb runs lazy circles around the rim of the cup as you laugh at something Leo says.

He doesn't even dislike Leo. The man’s articulate. Courteous. Clearly a man who appreciates your art. One who speaks your language, apparently, and listens with the kind of attention Venti has never allowed himself to display around you.

But heaven knows he’s listened.

He leans back in his chair, trying to look bored. Trying to convince himself this isn’t the part that matters.

…

But it is.

Leo didn’t know you back when you sang in shaky half-measures in alleyways, when your lyrics tripped over themselves trying not to say anything too true or heartfelt. He didn’t hear the first drafts or the snide remarks you made to cover for your nerves. He didn’t see you angry and tired and trying not to care.

He doesn’t know you.

An exhale escapes his lips before he can stop it. Too quiet to catch over the music, but enough to loosen something in his chest. This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. He wanted you to grow. Wanted you to get better, to stand your ground, to give him something worth clashing with. He didn’t plan for this. Didn’t plan to care who else heard your songs. Didn’t expect it to sting when someone else said the things he still hasn’t figured out how to say to you.

He’s not angry. Not even annoyed, really. Just... displaced. Like the tempo changed and no one gave him the count-in. He watches you toss a playful look over your shoulder as Leo leans in again, and all he can think is-

“Why didn’t I say it first?”

He takes a sip of his wine, finally. The taste is off tonight. Or maybe that’s just him.

It’s the flicker of movement that draws your eye. Not much, just Venti shifting in his seat, swirling his cup, looking everywhere except directly at you.

Except he is watching. You know he is. You can practically feel it, tense and taught like the drawn string of a bow. There’s something… different tonight. The way he hasn’t interrupted. The way he hasn’t wandered over with one of his smug little rhymes and demanded the spotlight back.

You shouldn’t feel triumphant. But archons, it’s tempting, isn’t it?

You lean a little closer to Leo, just enough to make him look your way again. “Actually,” you say, eyes still on Venti across the room, “I owe part of that last piece’s glory to someone else.”

Leo perks up. “Oh?”

You let the silence hang for a beat. Then you raise your voice slightly, not enough to shout, just enough for the words to carry.

“I had help from a very opinionated street bard who thinks naming his lyre makes him sound wise instead of ridiculous…!”

Across the room, Venti straightens up just a little. Not enough for most to notice, but you see it. He picks up his cup and stands like it’s no big deal at all.

You gesture to the empty spot beside you without looking up. “You might as well join us. Since you’re already eavesdropping.”

Venti doesn’t miss the challenge in your voice, now almost hoarse from how much heart you put into your earlier performances. Nor does he hesitate, because of course he doesn’t. He settles into the seat next to you like he belongs there, like this wasn’t your invitation but his inevitable entrance.

Leo, ever the gracious one, offers a polite nod. “I was just asking about the last piece. The phrasing really stood out.”

“It should,” Venti says smoothly, eyeing you while swirling what remains in his cup. “You’ve learned to let the melody breathe. Took some time, but it turns out even stubborn musicians can be taught.”

You smile without showing teeth. “Well, some instructors have a talent for drawing out chaos instead of clarity.”

Leo chuckles, unsure if it’s a joke. Venti lifts a brow quizzically, but his eyes flick back to your shared company, almost amused. “Chaos is just another word for honesty, depending on who’s listening.”

“I’m not sure that’s how most people would define it,” Leo offers almost meekly, glancing between you.

You tilt your head, considering. “Most people don’t make music out of spite and red wine.” Venti dramatically places a hand over his chest. As if your barbs could ever actually hurt him. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”

Leo gives a short laugh. “You two must have worked closely, then.”

“Closer than I intended,” you say, coming to rest your head in your hand as you lean forward slightly.

Leo shifts slightly in his seat, curiosity evident in the way he leans in. “Do you two perform together often?”

Venti doesn’t miss a beat. “Often enough to finish each other’s phrases. Though I usually let my partner here take the final note. It suits you, no?”

You’re almost stunned for a moment. Yeah, you had the feeling your open teasing and intentional provocation was going to spur him to say some strange things, but… You weren’t prepared for that. Or the way he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into his side. You open your mouth to respond, but Venti’s already turning his body slightly toward Leo, as if this were a conversation you’ve rehearsed a dozen times.

“We’ve got a duet in the works, actually,” he adds breezily, lifting his cup again with a smile. “Should be ready in a few weeks, once this one stops overthinking every verse.”

You blink. What.

Venti glances at you from the corner of his eye again, the picture of nonchalance. You try to speak, try to form anything resembling a protest. But Venti’s already leaning closer, pulling you with him. “We’ve been playing with the idea for ages by now,” he explains, taking a casual sip from his cup.

Leo looks delighted. “I’d love to hear that. A duet would be… well, frankly, electric.”

You’re still half-stuck on the feel of Venti’s knuckles brushing your wrist. You can’t tell if it was accidental or expertly timed. With him, it’s always a chance for both.

“And besides,” Venti adds, still so maddeningly casual, “Your voice does things mine can’t. Balance, contrast, heat and light. We’ve got... chemistry.”

You feel the flush bloom across your face before you can stop it. You scramble for something sharp, something to knock him off center, but he’s already there, comfortably reclined with that knowing smile.

Somewhere in the haze of candlelight and clinking glasses, he’s claimed the moment again.

And you?

You’re left holding the silence.

…

This bard will be the end of you.

[aurossaga]

i love the new venti series! beautifully written😭❤️

Thank you so much !!! (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) The amount of people who leave nice messages in my asks and in the tags have been so??? sweet??? Ily guys <3

[aurossaga]

Do you accept ideas to write?

Hey anon !! I sadly don't do requests right now, so far all my fics have just been random thoughts that I take and run with lol!

I might open up for ideas soon once I've set up guidelines and such for that though, so hold onto those thoughts for a moment and we'll see what happens! ^^

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - pt. 2

>>Masterlist<<

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~1.8k

Warnings: Sassy bard

Summary: You find yourself strumming a tune that's been on your mind as the day comes to a close, only to find that even as night draws near, you still have an audience.

The moonlight drapes over Mondstadt like a muted shawl. The flames of lamps and lanterns flicker on their crooked posts, their oil nearly spent as the street’s signs creak where they hang, tired banners swaying in the breeze with no one left to see them. You settle on the edge of the fountain in the market square, the cold of the stone seeping through your sturdy clothes, the familiar weight of your lyre resting in your lap. The square is empty. Even the wind whispers only in hushed tones at this hour.

You didn’t exactly plan to come back here tonight. You had a great few days, your performances vastly improved after your last encounter with Venti. Somehow, that irritated you too. You were improving at your craft, but it still felt like a loss.

Your fingers move anyway, ghosting over the strings. One note, then another, light as breath, unsure as an unasked question. You tell yourself it’s just to loosen the tension in your hands, to not let the cool wind of the night give you a chill… But you can’t fool yourself entirely.

And still, somehow, it’s his melody that comes.

Soft and slow, an elegant composition. The one he left, scratched in ink on a scrap of parchment that must have somehow slipped into your pocket a couple mornings ago.

You pause, press your thumb hard against a string, constraining the sound before you let it go. But it’s too late. The wind has already taken the notes, winding them through shuttered windows and sleeping streets. They sound different in the open air… Gentler, almost tender.

You hate that.

You hate how the lyrics lingers in your mouth. How your hands keep finding the chords.

How he’s not here, and somehow it still feels like you’re playing for him.

The last few notes trail off, barely audible beneath the soft rusting of leaves in the wind. You don’t play another chord at first. You just sit there, staring at your trembling fingers like they’ve betrayed you. Because they have.

They often do when Venti’s concerned.

You try to summon the old feeling. The irritation, the sharp edge of your voice when quarreling with the bard. The way his grin makes your blood rise, how every word from his mouth is just clever enough to be unbearable. You want to be angry. You should be angry.

But here you are. Playing his music, as an admission of defeat.

You lean back, letting your head tip toward the sky, eyes half-closed as the stars blink down at you with a cold indifference. Venti’s melody still echoes through your mind, like the echo of something you never agreed to carry. You should’ve burned that scrap of parchment before the notes burned themselves into your mind like that. Before the lyrics etched themselves into your mind and played over and over again, refusing to die down unless you were to utter them out loud.

You think of his hands. Quick, smug, impossibly sure of himself. The way he plays as if the whole world exists only to listen, muses as if the very heavens seek to be his audience. You recall the way he looked at you last time, head tilted, voice a little too quiet, like he’d caught onto something you were trying to conceal.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. This is nothing. He’s just in your head because he put himself there. That’s what he does. That’s how it always is. How else would he rise to such popularity so quickly? It’s not like his compositions are that vastly different from the tens of other bards running around Mondstadt.

And still, his melody lingers on your lips, in the very back of your throat as you choke it back with all your might.

You’re not thinking about how his hands held yours so much more softly than you expected of him, how the light flutter of his cloak graced your thigh, how the rumble in his chest when he whispered patient instructions to you resonated within your own.

You’re not thinking about any of that.

Another gust of wind sighs through the square, cool against your cheeks. You curl your fingers tighter around the lyre’s frame and close your eyes.

You tell yourself it’s just a stupid song.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean a single thing.

You repeat it until your fingers strike upon the strings again, strumming out the melody for what you once again swear is the last time tonight. 

"You chase the sun with stubborn feet," The words are so simple, and yet not at all. You don’t know why you foolishly keep singing it. You don’t want to know why this song of his feels like it’s stuck in your throat now.

You press your thumb against another string, stilling it before strumming the next chord. "I watched you once and lost my beat." Your voice falters just a little. You can't help it. You do lose your rhythm quite often, don’t you? Lost in the moment you realize you aren’t playing just to pass the time anymore. The melody caught you, and you’ve been chasing it ever since.

A quick, almost bitter breath escapes you as you strum again, the next line slipping out without permission. "You play like joy’s a clever thief." The words are sharp, almost accusing. You want them to sting. You want to believe the song is a game, something to pick apart and break into pieces… But it’s not. It’s too beautiful. It’s too true.

You push your fingers across the strings harder than necessary, and sing the final line, the one you’ve been avoiding even in your own mind. "And I, a song you half-believe." The words linger in the air like they’re meant for someone else. You let the last note fall, resonant yet final, and the indifferent silence of the summer night that follows feels heavier than any of the chords you’ve played up until now. As the final note fades and you sit there with your hands still on the strings, you hear the faint yet unmistakable sound of steps against the cobblestone. The voice that speaks up soon after is equally distinct. Of course it had to be him again…

"Ah. So that’s where my composition went."

You almost flinch at his comment. How in the world are you supposed to explain this now…? You don’t look back. You don’t dare to just yet. Venti’s footsteps are soft against the worn stones as he approaches, slow and deliberate. He comes to a stop behind you, hiding right at the edges of your vision. You can practically hear the grin in his voice, even if you can’t see it.

"I thought it sounded familiar," he muses almost idly. "Though, I have to admit, I didn’t expect such a heartfelt recital. You flatter me."

Your jaw clenches. You hate how warm your face suddenly feels again. You tell yourself it’s the summer air, a breeze too warm. The memory of the sun on your skin. Blaming anything but your racing heart. You try to focus on the lyre’s sturdy strings instead. One is slightly out of tune. You pluck it once, twice, and ignore him.

"Really, I should thank you," Venti says, casually, like he’s merely commenting on the weather. "That song needed the right voice. Yours will do nicely."

You finally reply, low and flat. "It’s the middle of the night. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?" He hums in mock thought.

"No. Not really."

Then nothing. Just him standing there, the breeze ruffling his cloak, and the quick, steady thrum of your heart hammering in your chest. He’s waiting. You don’t know for what, and you’re not about to ask.

Venti lets the silence stretch for a beat longer before leaning back on his hands, voice as casual as ever.

"You should perform it."

You blink, stare at the ground. "What?"

"The song," he says, and you can hear the grin widen in his voice. "Our little collaboration. I think the townsfolk would love it. A tale of stolen sunlight and repressed affection… It practically begs to be heard, no?"

You finally look at him, glare sharpening. "It’s not a collaboration."

He raises a brow teasingly, smirking slightly askew. "Could’ve fooled me. You sang it like you wrote it."

You turn back to your lyre, strumming a sharp, tense chord. "I wouldn’t perform for you if the square were on fire and I had nowhere else to be."

He chuckles. "Oh, don’t be like that. It might even improve your usual material. Give it some actual feeling."

You shoot him an incredulous look. "...Excuse me?"

"I’m only saying," he continues, with the smug ease of someone very aware he’s hit a nerve, "Your last piece about the moonlight and the dying tree? It lacked a certain… How shall I put it…? Conviction. A bit hollow, as if you were writing for applause, not from the heart."

Your fingers dig into the wood of your lyre. "And yours are?"

"Mine at least have grit. And the occasional soul."

"You really think highly of yourself."

"Not at all," Venti says, smiling faintly now. "Just high enough to know when you’re running scared."

That shuts you up for a couple seconds.

You strum a single note, low, rough-edged. "It’s just a song."

"Of course," he says, far too easily. "All the best ones are."

You rise slowly, careful not to let your movements betray the knot in your chest. The lyre stays on your lap a moment longer, your fingers still curled tight around its carefully carved frame, like it might steady you. Then you set it down gently. It doesn’t deserve to face the brunt of the frustration simmering beneath your fingertips.

You dust off your clothes, focusing on the motion and the grain of the fabric beneath your palms. Maybe if you keep moving, he won’t see the heat still clinging to your face. Maybe if you leave now, you won’t have to think about the way his voice sank on that last line, like he meant it.

"Get some sleep," you say, low and tense, not quite a dismissal, but almost.

Venti doesn’t reply right away. You can almost feel his gaze on your back, weighing more than it should.

"Sweet dreams," he says finally, and there’s no teasing in it this time. Just something quiet. Something bordering on genuine. Something you refuse to give any further thought.

You pick up your lyre and walk away without another word, before your throat can betray you. The stone beneath your shoes is uneven, every step heavier than the last. You don’t look back. You insist to nobody in particular that it’s because you don’t care. But the melody lingers in your mind, soft and persistent, long after the square is behind you. No matter how many twists and turns you take through the empty streets, you just can’t seem to walk far enough to leave it behind.

[aurossaga]

SOOOO HAPPY YOU'RE ALIVE!! MAKE SURE TO EAT YOUR FAVORITE FOODS AND DRINK A LOT OF WATER!! AND MOST IMPORTANTLY HAVE A GREAT DAY!!

Aaaah! Thank you anon!!!

I go on frequent hiatuses these days, sorry about that >_<

However, the new archon quest really lit a fire under me again, and I just got tons of inspiration to write!

You have a great day too, and take good care of yourself ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

[aurossaga]

We Were Nothing the Wind Couldn't Catch - pt. 1

>>Masterlist<<

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff, Rivals with repressed feelings

Word count: ~ 1.5k

Warnings: None!

Summary: You are an aspiring bard in Mondstadt, trying to get your morning practice in when your greatest rival and constant thorn in your side, Venti, decides to drop by to listen.

The humid morning breeze coming in from Mondstadt’s side gate sent the faintest shiver down your spine, carrying with it the cool scent of Cider Lake. Your leg tapped against the cobblestone in rhythm with the soft, albeit uneven notes of your lyre. You were sat on one of the overturned crates, the ones near where Guy and Hertha is usually stationed, brows furrowed in deep concentration and lips mouthing quiet rhymes as your fingers plucked at the instrument’s unruly strings.

A sour note clanged like nails on a chalkboard.

“You’re flat on the third again,” spoke that annoyingly familiar voice from above you, smooth, casual, and infuriatingly amused. Your fingers stilled as your eye twitched.

“It’s as if you wake up every day with the goal of being more annoying than the last,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. You could tell by the tone of his voice exactly what expression he was wearing anyways. You heard him chuckle.

“Not quite every day,” Venti said, pushing off the stone wall and treading down the adjacent stairs with an even, calm gait. “Sometimes I wake up thinking, how are you going to go about brutalizing a G chord before breakfast?”

You fought back the urge to groan. As per usual, no matter where you set up shop to practice in the morning, the famous bard would find you and would make you want to invent a new insult just for him. “I don’t recall inviting an audience,” you grumbled, voice flat and unreadable.

“Oh, my mistake.” Venti gave a theatrical, over-exaggerated bow, his hand over his heart in a gesture that would have seemed heartfelt if you hadn’t known him as well as you did. “I thought the music was an open invitation, my ears wandered in on their own.”

“Such a shame your ears work so much better than your manners.” You returned your attention to your lyre before he had the chance to retort and further distract you. You let out a short sigh, something almost more akin to growl considering the circumstances, as you began playing again. This time, slower, every last note more crisp and deliberate than earlier. From the corner of your eyes you could see him leaning against the wall next to you, eyeing your hands as you played, gaze occasionally drifting up to your focused expression. His lips parted as he was about to say something, but you cut him off before he had the chance.

“I don’t need your critique.” He laughed a bit in response.

“You do need it,” Venti replied. “You just don’t want it from me.

You arched an eyebrow as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Why are you even here then?”

Venti shrugged, a casual motion to most, but you had started to get the feeling he cared more than he let on. Call it… intuition. “Can’t a fellow bard take an early morning stroll and be tragically assaulted by a poor performace?”

“You followed me.”

“Perhaps I did. Maybe I like the way you play when you think no one’s listening.”

You’re not sure why that startled you. Did he mean for that to come out the way it did…? For the first time since these encounters began, he looked almost serious. But the moment passed like a fleeting breeze. “I mean, there’s a lot of wincing, but it’s very... earnest.”

You stood abruptly, lyre in hand, an uncomfortable red blooming on your cheeks. Definitely from frustration, nothing else. You turned sharply to face him, eyes narrowing as you took in his smug expression. “If you’re going to insult me, at least do it normally and stop dragging it out.”

Venti cocked his head to the side, his eyes softening just a little bit. “I wasn’t insulting you,” he defended, taking a tentative step closer. “You’re close. You’re just… not hearing the shape of the chord.”

You frowned. “The shape? What are you on about?”

Venti moved deliberately, offering you a hand. “May I?”

You hesitated, eyeing the bard warily… but you didn’t move away. And he took it as permission. Slowly, Venti stepped behind you, and you swore you caught the scent of cecilias clinging to his clothes. His hands reached around, delicate fingers faintly brushing yours as he gently repositioned them on the strings of your lyre.

“Your middle finger’s stiff. Relax it,” Venti murmured, his voice much quieter now with how close he was… and how focused he sounded as he calmly guided you. “Press here, and soften the ring finger.”

You didn’t say a word, barely drawing breath as you focused entirely on the gentle pressure of Venti’s hand adjusting yours, the soft warmth of his fingers, and the steadiness of his voice. His thumb ghosted across your wrist as he shifted your position. “Now, play.”

You almost flinched as you were brought back to the moment, your mind forcing itself to ignore the subtle warmth of his chest nearly pressed against your back or the sound of his voice just inches from your ear. You focus up, plucking the strings with surprising clarity. The chord rang out true, clean, bright, and resonant.

“…There,” Venti said softly. “That’s the one.” But he didn’t move away just yet.

Your hands were now frozen, fingers hovering over the strings, trying to commit to memory what he had just taught you. “You’ve never… helped me before.”

“With the way you usually scowl at me? That’s an act of self-preservation.” Venti said, voice low, almost humorous. But not mocking as usual.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Venti’s gaze over your shoulder. There was something unreadable in his expression, something neither of you were completely ready to draw attention to yet.

“I’m not used to you being… sincere.” You admitted, unsure why exactly you were speaking so earnestly to your long-time rival.

The bard let out a sigh, feigning offense. “You wound me. I’m always sincere, you know?”

“...No you’re not.”

“...Alright, perhaps not always.”

You sat there in the tense silence for a moment too many, unable to concentrate on anything but the feel of his gaze on you, not your instrument.

Finally, you very suddenly pulled your hands back out of his loose grip, taking a step forward to put a little distance between you. You ignore the shiver running down your spine.

“I still don’t like you.”

“You don’t have to like me,” Venti said, watching you as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You just have to play that chord right again. And perhaps admit I was right, if the mood strikes.”

You didn’t respond immediately, just eyed your lyre for a second. Your gaze unwillingly drifted back to him, and he was staring right back at you, his eyes softer than usual as he gave you an encouraging nod. You quickly looked back down at your lyre before the warmth rising to your cheeks could take over, positioning your hands just like he instructed earlier. This time, the chord was perfect.

Venti smiled. Not smug, not teasing. Just quiet satisfaction.

“See? You can learn.”

You didn’t look up as you retorted. “I liked you better when you were insulting me.”

“No you didn’t.”

Another chord. Resonant and clear, carried along the breeze. The sound echoed off the stone brick walls, soft yet powerful. Neither of you moved an inch. Venti still stood behind you, gaze intense enough that you could feel it even without looking to check.

“You’re staring,” You accused plainly, but not quite managing to sound as annoyed as you intended. Venti blinked slowly, the usual smirk replaced with something quieter, more subtle. “I’m listening.”

“To what?”

“You,” He said.

That did it. You looked away, jaw clenching. “You don’t get to look at me like that after spending three weeks calling my arpeggios ‘limp.’”

You weren’t quite irritated, even. Not the way you usually are after spending any amount of time around him. You couldn’t quite name this frustrating feeling, or why it made you want to grit your teeth and throw an insult his way. Venti chuckled under his breath. “That was a compliment, in context.”

You turned to look at him, sharp eyes narrowing. “You always do this..! Mock, hover, push just far enough to make me question if I actually hate you or-”

The words caught in your throat. The air changed.

Venti didn’t step forward, but… he didn’t step back either. “Or?” He asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. Not with the suffocating silence stretching between you, taut and buzzing like a plucked string. You had clearly slipped, said just a few words more than you intended. More than you expected.

Then, with a quiet groan and a huff, you turned on your heel away from him. “I have to get to the square,” you excused, tightening your grip on the lyre, the sturdy wood of the instrument the only thing grounding you at the moment.

Venti nodded slowly. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to distract you from your work.”

You shot him an incredulous look. As if he hadn’t been doing that all morning… Then, you turned and walked off, back straight, pace brisk as the fall of your steps echoed on the cobblestone paths.

Venti waited until you were gone, then exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. Fingers twitched at his side, like he was still playing an unfinished melody.

“...You play like you mean it. Pity you never speak the same way.”

[aurossaga]

you okay?

i am now

[aurossaga]

You Turn my Shield on Me

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: i don't know i just write. no more questions

Word count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: Mentions of a battle, weaponry

Summary:

He always asked if you'd protect him on your excursions. Turns out, he never needed to be protected after all.

The setting sun is doing little to warm you as you push yourself up from the cold, muddy ground. Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, chasing that rush of adrenaline as the sound of battle stills. Your weapon, dropped a distance away from you in the fray, glimmers mockingly at you as the light catches it. You had stumbled and fallen, but… that hardly matters right now. No, there are much more pressing matters at hand.

You look up at the man standing in front of you. His back still turned your way, an arm reaching out ready to draw another arrow at a moment’s notice. His moves are careful and practiced, practically perfectly honed. You’ve only ever seen aristocrats fight with such elegance and precision before…

Which is why this makes no sense.

“You’ll promise to protect me, right?”

It’s what he always says when you two go out exploring together. Or, rather when you go exploring and he tags along out of boredom. And you had always assured him that you’d never let harm befall him, always promised that you’d be his shield. After all, he was a novice at archery, he claimed. A bow was a difficult weapon to defend oneself with in the heat of battle without exceptional mastery of it.

Arrows still surging with Anemo energy litter the now desolate grounds turned battlefields. Each and every one of them had hit its target. Clean, lethal blows. As you finally catch your breath, remembering to breathe properly amidst your confusion, you see him turn to cautiously check on you.

“Are you alright…?”

…

There are so many things you want to say. So many things you want to ask. Your jaw drops open a few times over, you sputter and stutter and mumble out half-baked words and jumbled sentences until you give up, closing your mouth, and give him a slow, cautious nod. You are unharmed. And it was no thanks to yourself.

Venti watches you for another long moment. His eyes, much more focused than usual, scan you for injuries regardless of your insisting that you are fine. He knows you well. Quickly, that look is replaced by the familiar one you are so accustomed to. One you now doubt the sincerity of, just  a little bit. His shoulders relax and he exhales in relief for a moment before his posture straightens back up, his bow lowering to his side.

“Well, that’s a relief… We sure were lucky these monsters were on the easier side!”

Those words sting a lot more than you expected, though you can’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it’s because you know it’s not quite true. Perhaps It’s because you know those enemies hit hard. Fast. Ruthlessly.

And they certainly don’t stall for long enough for an inexperienced archer to pluck them off one by one like that.

And yet…

“You were incredible back there.” The words slip out before you can think to stop them. You’re not quite sure if it’s words of praise or an accusation. His mastery of the bow, the precision in his strikes… You couldn’t wrap your head around it. He said he wasn’t capable of that. That he needed your protection.

He blinks, and for a moment, his eyes shy away from yours, his lips pressed together a bit firmer than usual. Maybe this is what guilt looks like on him. But then he smirks, the easygoing, almost careless expression you’ve grown so accustomed to returning as if it had never left in the first place.

“Really, now? Praise from my most dearest muse, is it? I must fetch my pen at once, lest I mistake it for a dream!”

You’re not sure what comes over you. His words were nothing out of the ordinary from him, he’d tease and poke fun all the time. But… For him to act so casually, so normal after a display like that…

It irritates you.

“You said you were a novice,” you practically snap. “That it was just a hobby.”

“And you don’t believe me?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s something guarded in his eyes. He steps closer, offering a hand to help you up. You hesitate for just a moment, but you take his hand, only now realizing that those delicate hands that pen the most beautiful prose you’ve ever read are firmer, sturdier than you could recall. Or perhaps you were only noticing now that you knew to look for it. He pulls you up to your feet with ease.

“I… No! Why should I?” you demand, brushing dirt from your roughed up clothes. “I’ve never seen you fight like that before..! Or, at all, for that matter! What was all that?” You gesture to the field littered with arrows and fallen enemies, your eyes never leaving his.

He tilts his head innocently to the side, his smirk fading slightly.

“Does it… matter that much?”

“Yes, it matters!!!” you exclaim, the words spilling out before you have the time or restraint to stop them. “It matters because I trusted you to rely on me! And now I find out you didn’t need me at all?”

There it is. The heart of your frustrations, the reason your chest aches as much as your bruised body. You’ve always been the protector, the shield, someone you wanted him to rely on. To feel safe with. And he’d let you believe he needed you, too. But now that picture in your mind breaks into a thousand pieces, and you both know very well you won’t be able to put it back together, no matter how much you try. You were too smart to believe his words, his deflections.

You hang your head, your gaze falling down to the muddy grounds beneath you. Though you can’t see his face, you can practically hear his emotions in the tone of his voice. It’s… raw. A bit more intimate than you think he intended.

“I never said I didn’t need you,” he whispers, his voice low and even as he takes a step closer. “I just don’t want to stand in the way of your talent…”

He seems almost unsatisfied with his own choice of words. Slowly, his hand reaches out, searching for yours, taking hold of and wrapping around your fingers so delicately as if he’s asking permission.

“...My warrior, you would have had this in the box, regardless if I stepped in or not. I just… didn’t want to see you hurt. You don’t need my protection, but… you have it.”

It’s not quite an answer, and it certainly doesn’t answer as many questions as you would have liked. But, there’s an honesty in his tender voice that makes your heart hammer again. Your lips part, intending by all means to press him further, to demand answers about his skills, his lies…but the words die on your lips as your shoulders sag to match the dejected feeling of reluctant acceptance. You knew better than anyone how avoidant Venti could be when faced with such a direct accusation. You knew better than to press further to achieve nothing.

“...Okay. Let’s go home.”

His grip on your hand tightens, bringing your attention back to the moment. And as you walk home, he doesn’t let go of you even once. His grip is gentle, apologetic, begging for understanding and time to explain what happened today. And, albeit reluctantly, you grant him that grace as your fingers interlace with his.

[aurossaga]

Hwyo! Recognize you very well could be offline, but i saw your collection on ao3 - your writing is nothing short of awe inspiring and amazing. Continue writing for us venti fans - fluff or or otherwise. Im following you just for that one thing, and id happily read more as soon as you post it!

(Of course if you ever wrote anything else id read that too, but ive so far only seen the venti stuff.)

Please have a wonderful day and / or night ~ ^-^

Aaah Hello!!! Tysm for reading my works <3<3<3

I barely ever post anything on here that isn’t a fic, but omg the feedback I keep receiving is so??? Omg??? Thank you??? 

I am working on a couple short fics as we speak, so stay tuned for that…! They will be published both here and on my ao3 when they’re done :3c

Thank you again for the support!! ^-^

[aurossaga]

Doubts cloud my Judgement

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word count: ~ 1.5k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary: Learning to be vulnerable is no small task, even if it's for the ones you love.

The winds whip to and fro in the night, the steady rustle of the leaves quietly dulling the city’s noise. It was almost as if the air itself was feeling agitated, restless, almost anxious, and knew no other way to handle it but to tug and pull at the branches of trees, to wear at the city walls.

You were surprised when you stepped out onto the tavern’s balcony yourself. The winds in the city were always gentle in the past... Though, that thought did not occupy your mind for very long. You only adjusted your clothing in place, bracing yourself against the moderate winds as you looked around yourself… You were sure you’d seen the life of the party back downstairs disappear though this door earlier, and his absence was feeding a growing unease within you. Of course, it wasn’t very surprising that he’d managed to slip through your grasp yet again, he seemed to have a talent for that.

You have known Venti for quite some time now. A chance meeting in the plaza quickly grew into a well-maintained friendship, and you had fallen for him hard somewhere along those months you’d spent drifting in and out of each other’s lives. You know so much about him, all the way from his preferences in drinks to mindless thoughts on meaningless matters that reveal themselves in casual conversations… And the more you learnt about him, the more sure you were that you didn’t know the bard at all.

Venti doesn’t strike anyone as the type of guy to keep anyone at a distance like that, and at first, you were willing to believe so too. But the better you got to know him, the more he withdrew. The better you got at finishing his sentences, the less he started them at all. He’d smile, nod, encourage you to talk instead, keeping his cards close to this chest and his heart tucked away for reasons you couldn’t comprehend. That ends tonight, you decided. Weeks of this unexplained distance was starting to bother you.

Your eyes traced the steady-looking vines climbing the walls of the tavern’s exterior. Your brows furrowed as the insanity of the idea crossed your mind. You didn’t exactly have any other means of ascending the building, and if you knew that bard even half as well as you think you do, he’s sure to be up there on the roof. Still, you could fall. And it would hurt.

…

Yeah, like that was actually going to stop you.

You braced yourself as you grabbed onto the vines with your hands, and slowly hosted yourself up just a few feet from the ground to test the waters. When you found that the vines held your weight remarkably well, you started pulling yourself up, grabbing hold and steadily climbing the building. With a huff you were able to pull yourself up onto the roof, the familiar sight of terracotta tiles filling your view… And sat in the middle of the slanted roof was Venti, with his back turned to you, uncharacteristically absentminded. The sound of your steps didn’t register until you’re right by his side, at which point he jumped slightly, the reaction so small you could see how anyone else might have missed it.

“O-oh, Hello, friend! In need of some fresh air too, I presume?”

There was something about his tone that felt so…unsure. Like even he wasn’t buying his own guise anymore. And yet, he tried foolishly to keep it up, knowing very well it wasn’t getting by either of you. Curious.

“...Yeah. Do you mind if I sit for a bit?”

You decided to entertain it for a moment in an attempt at disarming the suddenly tense atmosphere. Venti’s shoulders sank in resignation as he realized this night could end one of two ways… And he wasn’t quite sure which outcome he feared more. Letting you in or shutting you out for good.

“Not at all.”

You sat down next to him, giving him a bit of space just for comfort’s sake. Venti noted your distance with a curious hum, his gaze finally rising from the red roof tiles to look in your direction. He held your gaze for only a moment before he averted his eyes again, clearing his throat nervously. The winds tug at your clothes as gusts crash against you.

“...Venti-”

“I don’t-”

You both spoke at the same time, cutting each other off. In any other situation you would have had a laugh at that… But tonight, not as much as an amused snicker, even.

“How did things get so weird between us, Venti?”

Your unsteady voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the gales. You looked down at your trembling hands, unsure if it was the nerves or the cold that had gotten to you. You didn’t get much time to ponder it before the bard next to you let out a huff, scooted closer and placed his hand over your trembling ones.

“Everything’s fine, my friend. Everything’s alright.”

His tone wasn’t one bit convincing as he flashed you a smile you didn’t believe for a second.

“Please. Just… give me an actual answer.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly as he tensed up. You could feel the way his breath hitched on the winds, the way they shifted directions for a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered his next words very carefully, trying and failing several times over to find a way out of this confrontation. But, there was none.

“You know me so well it scares me.”

You weren’t expecting that. A part of you had worried he had figured out your feelings, and was looking for a way out of the friendship. Another was growing concerned he simply got bored of you. You… Did not expect to learn just how frightened he was by your shared bond.

“...Wait, what do you-”

His grip on your hand fastened ever so slightly, and caused you to hesitate. Your eyes drifted up to his figure, hunched over himself as he looked anywhere but right at you. A brief flash of panic crossed his pensive expression as you untangled your hand from his, but was quickly pacified as you reached up and brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes. Finally, he looked at you properly.

“Venti, my dear… Can I ask you a question?”

You pleaded with a disarming smile.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Venti stammered, his usual effortless confidence completely discarded. It was as if he realized trying to salvage that image was like fighting a losing battle.

“... What is it you’re scared of showing me?”

He went silent after that, his eyes narrowed as his nose scrunched up into a thoughtful expression. He had been mulling over that question many times the past few weeks, but he never found a satisfactory answer. He had spent many nights awake trying to determine what it was about you that he had suddenly grown so fearful of, enough to outweigh the joy he felt in your company. And only now as he stared into your endlessly patient eyes did he realize what it was. Venti didn’t give you a verbal answer, no… He did something you weren’t quite expecting. He pinched his eyes shut with a sigh, and dropped his head onto your shoulder.

You had never seen him be this vulnerable before. His boisterous persona and endless charm often gave people a very different idea of who he was, and you had long ago figured out the man beneath the surface was much softer, much more delicate than he’d ever intended to show you. Still, this was a shot in the dark for him. You could tell how tense he was, his shoulders rigid, his expression strained, his hands fidgeting with the frilly hems of his sleeves… He was so painfully uncomfortable with this expression of vulnerability, and yet he was trying.

You didn’t waste another second before you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a firm, loving hug. You heard him gasp slightly as his eyes blew wide, but he didn’t fight it. You huffed in relief, your hands slowly rubbing comforting patterns into the tense muscles on his back. The familiar scent of fresh breeze and cecilias that always seem to cling to him filled your nostrils as you embraced him tightly. It took him a few seconds to even register what was happening, almost in disbelief at the course of this wordless conversation.

Slowly, with an uncertainty that was utterly unfamiliar to him, Venti embraced you back. His grip was weak at first, but then he suddenly squeezed you close as if you’d disappear if he let go. His shallow breaths trembled as he fought to keep his composure.

“You deserve to be cared about, Venti. Please… let me. Don’t push me away.”

Your own voice quivered as emotions started running high. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that had you at the brink of tears, but holding back the sobs only got harder and harder… Until you heard Venti sigh. And you felt tears on your shoulder. So you gave in trying to hold back too.

The winds around you calmed as the dawn broke on the horizon, the two of you desperately clinging onto each other all the while. Things would be different from now on, but Venti’s heart already felt light with relief after that night.

Hey everyone! It's been a minute since my last post... oops!

My point is though I love this guy to death and don't plan to stop writing for him altogether, I'm taking a bit of a Genshin break! I've been running out of inspiration for Venti fics and mostly just rotate him around in my head for hours on end haha

So! You can expect some stuff from other fandoms going forward. I'll make a pinned post about that once I've gotten everything sorted. There will be more Venti fics again in the future though, so don't be discouraged!

Thank you for reading as always! :3

[aurossaga]

To hold your hands

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: Fluff!

Word count: ~1k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary:  His fingers twitch only for a quick moment, which would likely not have been very noticeable had you not been so familiar with the way Venti plays. Still, you notice.

As you finish brushing the dirt off your foraged mushrooms and carrots, your eyes drift over to your companion, sitting on a tree stump in the forest clearing. The sunlight catches his relaxed features perfectly as he carefully examines the string of his bow, making sure it wasn’t getting too loose. You pack up your bag, get up from the forest floor and make your way back over to him. He gives you a quick glance, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile at the sight of you without him really thinking too hard about it.

“Done already?” Venti asks, getting up from his spot as well. The bow in his hands dissipates as he stores it away. It still puzzles you how vision holders can do that…

“Yep. I just have to wash all these when we get home.” You gesture to your bag, as you show him today’s findings. “Not many people come all the way out here. It didn’t take long to fill my bag.”

Venti laughs, putting a hand on your shoulder as he follows you back toward the path leading back to the city.

“Well, lucky us! Between everything we’ve gathered and the fine wines I brought along, I dare claim tonight’s dinner will be absolutely delectable!”

You nod absentmindedly, thinking of how to best prepare the vegetables once you get home. The soft crunch of your shoes on the gravelly path forms a sort of rhythm that you try to keep up as you walk, the chattering of birds and rustle of leaves becoming a nice backdrop as you listen to Venti going on about all sorts of things, occasionally offering your input. Before long, the two of you have made it back to your home.

While you prepare the ingredients for cooking, Venti sits in the living room, playing a few calming melodies on his lyre. As he plucks away at the strings, forming the most beautiful of tunes, you can’t help but listen, nearly losing all focus on your current task as you momentarily lose yourself in his enchanting compositions. The seamless flow of notes stalls for naught but a quick second, before picking up right where it left off. As you continue cutting up the ingredients and adding them to the pan, you wonder what could have caused him to stutter like that… Venti practically never hesitates when playing the lyre, even when he’s just practicing. Suddenly, you hear a quiet groan from the other room, as the music once again stalls for a moment. You add a splash of wine to the pan before reducing the heat and placing a lid on top, allowing it to simmer for a while as you step out of the kitchen.

When you enter the living room and find the source of the inconsistent song, you decide to observe him for a moment before interjecting. His brows are tightly knit together as if in deep concentration as he’s practically bent over the lyre in his hands, meticulously strumming out an old melody. His fingers twitch only for a quick moment, which would likely not have been very noticeable had you not been so familiar with the way Venti plays. Still, you notice. And it seems he is agonizing over it as well. He lets out an irritated sigh as he places the lyre down in defeat for now. Only then does he seem to notice you leaning against the doorframe, observing him.

“Oh, sorry. Were you listening? I can keep playing for you if you wish.” Venti reaches over towards the lyre again. His smile holds a grain of hesitation, one that you have gotten really good at noticing over the years. You often have to pry information like this out of him, things he neglected or ignored for himself. Without replying, you just walk over to him, and sit down next to him on the sofa. His somewhat confused expression quickly turns to a downcast one as you gently take his hands into your own.

“Ah…”

He sighs quietly. You study his expression. His deep blue and green eyes are avoiding your own gaze, his lips slightly parted as he struggles to come up with anything else to say. He knows he can't hide anything from you.

“Venti… you’ve been practicing an awful lot lately.” You softly tilt his chin up to make him look at you, as you offer him a calming smile. With your free hand, you gently rub calming circles into the palm of his hand.

“I… Yeah, maybe. Hehe…” Venti’s sheepish smile and nervous giggle makes you want to laugh a bit as well. He’s normally rather hard to read for most people, so he doesn’t really know how to handle how effortlessly you see through his facade. He doesn’t really notice how much he lets his guard down when you two are alone together either.

“Here, let me help.”

You grab onto his dominant hand with both of yours, gently applying pressure to the base of his fingers. You delicately rub his joints in circular motions, before continuing the gesture toward the palm of his hand. You remember to make sure to give the same attention to  both sides as you go. Venti is uncharacteristically quiet as you work, his eyes fixating on your delicate expression.

He is often told he can be a bit more trouble than most people are willing to put up with, but somehow, he never feels that way around you. You’ve always taken time out of your day to talk to him, inviting him along to menial tasks, listening to his ramblings, his poems, his songs…

And right now, as you so tenderly massage his aching muscles that he strained trying to write you a song as a thank you gift, he can no longer excuse the way heat rises to his cheeks or the way his heart beats ever so slightly faster around you. 

Right now, sitting opposite of you as your gentle hands massage his own, he realizes he’s fallen for you.

[aurossaga]

A little chat

Haha, hello my dear! I didn’t expect to run into you here, what a lucky coincidence. You're not by any chance busy right now? No? Then allow me to tag along! It’s been quite a while since we last conversed. Dare I say it’s been way too long, in fact! We have so much to catch up on… Hmm? Oh dear, you look a little dejected… Is everything alright? Let me guess… You’ve been feeling stressed, haven’t you? Hehe, I could tell from the look on your face. Now, come here. I’ll lend you an ear, so please tell me of your troubles.

…

Hmm, that is quite the predicament, yes… I see why you’re feeling that way. Just hold onto me for as long as you need, okay? That way, your concerns won’t feel so big or scary anymore. I’m here for you, okay? I’ll always have time for you.

…

Oh, I have an idea. Why don’t I play you a song? Pick whichever one you like, I’ll sing it for you. …

Feeling a bit better? Hehe, I’m glad I could help you a bit. Of course, there’s no need to rush either, you can stay here in my arms for as long as you need, alright?