⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who was pestered into getting a job. specifically, in service. gojo just kept whining and yammering and talking about some, 'it'd help you with your miserable social skills, megumiiiiiii!'
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who ends up getting a job. he claims he did it to reduce gojo's noise pollution, but some part of him liked how it fit into his routine. and the fact that it was a corner store he silently took solace in certainly helped. wasn't too far from campus, either.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who worked normal hours at first. then, randomly, on a friday evening, his boss called -- voice frantic, asking him to take the graveyard shift that night. seriously, who would come then? honestly, he only said yes to get her off his back.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who was taking a sip of water when the hurricane arrived -- you. it was around 2 am, and you certainly arrived like one. shit-faced drunk, just stumbling around with hazy vision and reeking of bad decisions. the shine of your dress (piece of fabric? what was that?) almost blinded him under the lights.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who looked at you, unimpressed, as you, with the least amount of grace, place down some cheap ramen, beef jerky, and an ice cream bar (one of those SpongeBob ones. megumi's seen gojo eat them) on the counter. you just kept talking -- about nothing, everything. stuff he didn't care about. you leaned over the counter to grab a pack of gum (fruit punch flavored), and smack it down on the counter as well, with a drunken giggle. yeah, megumi was not impressed.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who started seeing more of you after that night, on campus. may just be the baader-meinhof phenomen, but he was focused more on the fact that his perceptions on you based on that night before were far from the truth; you were top of your major, involved in everything, and seemed to be a kind person. funny. not the trashy party girl he first imagined you to be.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who was curious about you. but, he wasn't that kind of a person, was he? you seemed like the embodiment of soft sunlight spilling through the curtains, on the dawn of a sunday. he couldn't talk to you. also, how was he supposed to explain how he first met you? was he supposed to?
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi, who was convinced the fates had a bone to pick with him. his boss wanted him to pull the nightshift more. he was not happy with his coworker, who seemed to be slacking on his shifts. he started to take the nightshift more, and noticed you showed up only on fridays. of course, drunk.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who noticed how quick fridays became every other day, and every other day became everyday. were you okay? you were chipper while drunk -- having no recollection the next day. one night, you let something slip. not very articulately, but it got the point across. you just kept giggling.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who couldn't help but worry. he wanted to be there for you, in the sense. if only the situation wasn't so complex.
⟡ ⠀ ⠀college!megumi who wondered if he'd ever be more than just the phantom that watches your light through the window panes.
notes: this is a bit compressed for my thoughts on this entire fic. just brain worms ahhh. theres a lot I cut out. if I ever make a full version, it'll be there !! promise it'll be much more sound. never really wrote for megumi so.. tips? jjk tumblr PLS dont slime me out. anyways, I may write a full version of this if this does well.
⎯⎯𝓢𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : flins, wriothesley, lohen, dottore.
⎯⎯𝓒𝐖: female reader, fatui spy reader (all), kuuvahki experimental design bureau affiliated reader, reader lies to him but flins is smart, sandrone mentioned (flins), reader sneaks into meropide, talks of death, reader is sort of like childe (wriothesley), lohen threatens you with a knife, threats/intimidation, interrogation/coercion, LOHEN is a fucking warning (lohen), grief over canon character death, fatui violence, non-consensual experimentation heavily implied, dottore is a warning omg, dottore wants to use you in experiments heavily implied, signora-affiliated! reader, signora angsty yuri w reader LMAO I miss her (dottore). also not beta read and I'm lazy as shit.
notes at bottom. total wc: 2.5k
FLINS. wc: 596
"Far from Nasha Town, aren't you, Miss?"
So this was the phantom that lurked at the edge of Paha Isle. You grit your teeth. Marionette had mentioned him a few times -- a lone Lightkeeper, dwelling in a graveyard beyond his time.
Who would willingly live in a graveyard, let alone one filled with your former colleagues?
The Fatui Harbingers had an... interesting, relationship, to say the least. But they certainly wouldn't do that. And neither would the rest of the Fatui -- maybe. It was a vast organization, could you really speak for all of them?
Finally, you turned to face the man. Tall, was the first thing you noticed. Pale skin (ghostly so), deep indigo locks that fell down his frame. And a lantern. It gleamed a bright azure. Lightkeeper, yes. This was the Lightkeeper.
"Certainly so," you hummed -- crashing waves in the foreground, providing an accompaniment to your conversation.
It was a good thing you weren't in uniform -- just regular attire, one suitable for intel gathering in larger places. You were supposed to go to Nasha Town, then Piramida. But, curiosity killed the cat. And now you were here, answerable to the man in front of you.
He stepped closer, features relaxed -- raising the light a bit higher. Then, he smiled -- faint. "It begs the question, what are you doing here? I wouldn't assume at first glance that a Maiden as fair as you would choose to spend your free time in a place... such as this, to put it kindly."
The indigo-haired man gestured around -- his gaze seemed to gesture to the Design Bureau in the foreground. It spiked your heartbeat.
Lay low, was what Sandrone emphasized, in your countless debriefings with her. What you were about to do now was about to complicate all of it.
You schooled your expression to one of hesitance -- one that exuded worry.
As an... underground agent, you were accustomed to lying.
The only problem with lying, was the countless strings you had to hold up. It was the only way to keep a spider web of such intact.
"My father.. was a lightkeeper. We never really kept in touch, as I didn't grow up in Nod Krai. He recently passed, so I thought..." The lie left your mouth as easy as boots crunching against powdery snow. It was hard to question someone who was 'grieving,' no?
The Lightkeeper rose his eyebrows. "Ah. My condolences, Miss. It is an honorable job, the one of a Lightkeeper. Your father must've been a brave man."
He stepped closer, pulling the lantern away -- in light of reduced suspicion, you hoped. You nodded.
"Apologies for my initial distrust. My name is Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins."
You told him your name -- the one you had chosen for this specific operation. You made sure to tattoo it in your mind, because you weren't sure how fast news got around.
Flins did not believe you one bit. Not that your lie was bad, you certainly had experience in it -- lying and omitting information. But, Flins had something on you that you didn't know. When you live for a several hundred years, you get accustomed to truth and hoax. He could easily call you out. What reason did he have to believe you, anyways?
But, Flins has always enjoyed taking things apart.
Maybe that's why he offered you his hand.
"A pleasure to meet you. Why don't you enlighten me on what you do know about your father? Perhaps I could assist you in your search to find his resting place."
Sandrone was going to kill you.
WRIOTHESLEY. wc: 612
Meropide was a miserable place.
It technically was supposed to be a prison, yes, but Fontaine had a different take on it. The infamous Duke ran it as an autonomous, self-sustaining society.
It was miserable to you, because there was nothing to do. Spywork, was your least favorite thing ever. You did it occasionally, despite despising it. And the Harbinger needed it now, and so you did it. Just another cog in the machine. You'd die a pathetic, meaningless death, you could tell.
There wasn't much to gather down here -- everybody (and every pact) pretty much kept to themselves. It worked a lot better than Snezhnayan prisons, you thought. You were far too familiar with those.
Was that why your Harbinger had sent you down here? Because you were familiar with prisons? You grumbled, disapproval festering in the back of your throat, as you wrapped the bandage tighter around your knuckle.
You took solace in the Pankration Ring. And you knew damn well you were good at it.
You went up the charts with ease -- defeating your opponents with vigor and pride. It certainly brought attention to you. You reveled in it.
It didn't seem like the opponents were getting any harder to fight, either. You had another match in a few minutes. This would be predictable, wouldn't it?
You knew you'd eventually get bored of the Pankration Ring. What then? The question plagued your mind. You had to gather intel. And you were, a voice spoke in your mind -- arguing the thought. It wasn't your fault that this place was so dry--
Someone collapsed into the seat across from you, all but yanking you straight out of your thoughts.
Black hair, blue eyes -- the Duke? You raised an eyebrow.
He raised one back in response.
You tilted your head.
He tilted his in response.
"Diiiiid you need something?" You smiled, resting your chin on your hand.
"Just wanted to congratulate our newest rising star," Wriothesley said, leaning back and resting an arm over the back of the chair. His blue eyes glinted with easy amusement. "You’ve been tearing through the ranks pretty fast. People are starting to place some serious bets on you." The raven-haired man had a pen in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. "Flattering, isn't it?"
"Well, can't really help it when the competition here is a bit..." You hummed, gesturing lazily with your bandaged hand, ".. Uninspiring."
"Uninspiring," he repeated, letting out a breathy chuckle. "Fair, that's very fair, [Name]. Although, you're interesting. It's rare to see someone with your specific style of movement down here, y'know? Clean. Precise. Trained, almost.."
Wriothesley paused. "Almost like you were trained to clear a room without leaving a single paper trail behind." He clicked his pen.
Your heart dropped. No. That was a general statement, yes? Yes?
Regardless, you kept your smile fixed on your face -- despite every muscle in your body going rigid, locking into place. Did he know?
If the Duke of Meropide already had you mapped out, you weren't just compromised -- you were finished.
Just as you went to spin a cover story, a voice -- loud and raspy -- echoed over the Pankration Ring's speakers, cutting through the noise of the crowd.
"Next up! Pair four! Get your gear on and step into the ring!"
Wriothesley's smile widened. Cruelly? Knowingly?
Unbothered. Unbothered by the tension that seemed to send tremors down your frame.
He pushed himself up from the chair with a heavy sigh and stretched his shoulders.
"Ah," he murmured, glancing down at you with a sharp, mischievous spark in his eyes. "Looks like we're up. Shall we?"
LOHEN. wc: 615
Dornman port felt... mystical, to you, almost.
You lived here and there, but never in the famed Dornman port. It was all very new to you -- you couldn't help but look around like a kid in a candy store.
Maybe it was the Etherwing moths, or the old tales surrounding the Sanitorium. However, this mystique didn't seem untouchable or intimidating. The city had something Mondstadt was known for; friendliness, openness, warmth.
You knew of said friendliness a lot better since you were undercover. A certain sense of guilt blossomed in you at the thought -- everybody was friendly here, so kind to you.
Your colleagues who openly were apart of the Fatui got different treatment. You were just one outfit change away from that.
You ran your fingers against the weathered down rock of the lighthouse. Something had happened here, a few days prior. Something with the keeper, Winslow, and the alarms malfunctioning? The Traveler had cleared it all out, and Winslow seemed to be doing much better.
A shame that you didn't get to investigate earlier. Everyone was rather tight-lipped about the situation.
You peered down the spiral staircase. Spacious, yes, but it would be quite the fall. Regardless, you continued your descent.
The wooden gate was closed -- and you could see lush green beyond it. You tapped your foot. And then immediately halted the movement.
Your training had you attuned to even the slightest shifts in the air -- which is why when you heard the smallest shuffle in the air, and immediately turned to face the unwelcome presence.
But, your attacker was faster -- a flash of mint green. You scuffled for a second, arms moving to block and strike, and then maneuvering around to push--
Again, he was faster. And that's why he had you pressed up against the cool stone of the wall behind you, with a knife to your neck.
You eyed his outfit. Armor. Knightly.
"These the kind of manners the Knights preach on and on about?" You quipped, with a light scoff. You did not like the look in his eye.
Lohen didn't flinch. In fact, the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint, dangerous smirk. He adjusted his grip on the hilt -- not pressing enough to cut, but keeping just enough pressure to ensure you knew he held all the leverage.
He didn't scare you. The Fatui was filled with men like this -- men who thought they had all the right. You tried not to narrow your gaze, as his voice pierced through the air.
"Manners are for visitors, 'civilian,'" your assailant's voice was a bit crazed, with a sense of cool. Strangled cool. "Not for someone whose first instinct upon being ambushed is a clean, textbook counter-strike."
Your breath hitched.
"Although, it does make things... how do I put this? More interesting.." He let out a soft giggle. Of course.
"I have good reflexes," you offered smoothly, keeping your tone as light as air despite the cold steel against your throat. "A girl's gotta protect herself." You'd humor him. You already spotted a weakness in his stance, anyways.
"Sure," Lohen huffed out. "Reflexes would've had you screaming or backing away," he countered, easily. The dull red of his eyes scanned your face. He leaned a hair closer -- his armor clinking, shining in the light of the flames lighting the cylindrical building up. "You didn't just flinch. You lowered your center of gravity and aimed for a disarm. That isn't self-defense. That's military training. I'm not stupid."
"Now," Lohen murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with sharp intensity. "Why don't we try this again? Who are you, and what is a trained operative doing sneaking around the Lighthouse?"
DOTTORE. wc: 767
The Fair Lady was dead.
In a foreign land -- beyond lands you've traversed, by yourself and by her side. It was hard to get into Inazuma, and maybe some part of her didn't want to bring you there. You would've laughed at that, lightly tease her, maybe. If she was here, that is.
What were you to do, now? The Eleventh's soldiers had barked some substanceless words about going back to Snezhnograd for further instruction, but it didn't really click with you. Your Rosalyne was dead.
You saw no more purpose in staying with the Fatui. The Funeral was Harbinger-exclusive, you believed. Unfair. It was unfair that she didn't want to make anything official -- too driven by her own goals.
Would that have changed anything?
She just died. And then, she just died. Left you in Liyue. Before you could talk to her. Unfair. It was unfair that Rosalyne had to die. It was unfair that she left you behind like this.
You were in Sumeru, you think. The mountainous terrain of Liyue shifted in your peripheral vision over time, over your journey, into the deep lush of Sumerian canopy and wildlife.
Would it have changed anything, if you were to have become a harbinger? You were rising up the ranks at an exceptional rate, anyways. You chose to be under her thumb. If you usurped one of them, would things have been different?
You squinted. The sunlight of the land of Wisdom was unbearable -- and you hadn't even seen the desert yet.
"I wonder how much stimulus your nervous system can take before total failure."
... A voice behind you questioned out loud. Of course he was here. This was his turf, wasn't it?
Il Dottore was behind you. You were too tired by your grief (physical exhaustion, too. that was harder to accept for you) to play mind games with him.
Rosalyne complained about his segments. "A man who splits his own soul into a gallery of arrogant dolls because he cannot stand his own singular inadequacy," she had sneered over her wine.
Is this the Prime one? The younger, more volatile one she hated dealing with? The older, clinical one? You turned to look. It was uncanny, something about him was wrong. Different from the one you usually saw in Snezhnaya. You had no way of knowing which one he was.
"Though, I suppose the grief of losing a master is quite the stimulus on its own," Dottore continued. He stepped closer, the blue feathers on his coat rustling lightly. He didn't look mournful, far from it; he looked like a researcher watching a chemical reaction, expecting an explosion. "Such a pity about the Eighth. To burn so brightly, only to be extinguished in a dirt-stained arena by a higher power. Rosalyne always did let her passions get the better of her intellect. A beautifully tragic waste of a perfectly good catalyst."
You grit your teeth at that. If he was anyone else, you would've flayed them with your tongue... or sword. But this was the second. You were strong, but he was him. You also didn't know which segment he was; what he was capable of. So, you stayed quiet. Signora hated when you were quiet.
"You know, the Jester is quite frantic looking for you," Dottore murmured, tilting his masked head.
"Pierro has been scouring the ranks to fill the sudden vacuum left in our hierarchy. An agent of your caliber, rising with such exceptional momentum... he views you as the ideal candidate to inherit the mantle of the Eighth. He wants to bring you back to the palace. Hand you a Delusion. Give you a throne."
The bloodstained throne of your Lady, of course. The Fatui didn't care for sentiments as such. The Doctor chuckled, soft, imperceptibly. A soft, unsettling sound that echoed off the damp bark of the lush trees around you. He leaned in, just an inch too close, his hidden eyes boring into yours.
"Which is exactly why I am so utterly delighted that I stumbled across you first. Pierro wants a politician -- he wants to smooth out all your cracks and ridges to be a politician, a blunt instrument to command the frontlines. What a dreadfully boring waste of your unique constitution. He hasn't observed you and taken you apart to the extent that I have. And could."
Dottore raised a gloved hand, flexing his fingers as if he's already mapped out your anatomy and blood flow.
"The Jester can wait. I have far more... intimate questions about how a spy of your caliber ticks. Shall we begin?"
notes: hi hi hellooo. this was supposed to be longer -- with wanderer, pantalone, and varka included as well. but, I wanted to see how people liked this. ^_^ thanks for reading! also. my lore is rusty (just returned to genshin), and I'm new to writing a few of these characters, so constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged. but please, be kind.
pondering over flins and his favorite siren fae . .
the fish didn't seem to bite at all today.
kyryll sighed, as he lifted away his rod. normally, he'd assume a stray phantom or two chattered far too loud for the creatures under the surface to tolerate. it happened more often than not, and while it was pleasant to see such gloomy-reputed entities enjoy themselves, it interfered with one of his long-awaited activities.
but no. new possibilities emerged in light of recent events -- in light of recent discoveries down at the water's edge.
just as he was about to reel in his empty hook, something bit. he prepared to pull it in, certain that lady luck had shone her grace down at him.
only for his rod to be yanked brutally by something far stronger than the average teyvatern fish.
it seems as if his suspicions were proved correct.
"Kalliste," Beautiful one.
flins called out -- in a language ancient and weighted with meaning. the word hung in the frigid air, unmoving like your frame in the water. he quickly learnt that you understood snezhnayan, and fae language as well. the second made you stop, though.
these old sounds reached the both of you far more effectively than the common speech of mortals.
"if you wish to play at hunting my bait, you need only ask," the lantern's flame flickered, casting a pale, azure light against the surface of the water. "there is no need to break my equipment."
you held onto the snapped off hook, careful with the sharp edges. fair -- what he said was fair. there was no need to break something that was his. you knew he'd humor you regardless.
and so you surfaced, hair sticking to skin -- all illuminated by the moonlight, and the cool azure of the lantern fae's flame in front of you. kalliste was right, he thought. kyryll thought you were beautiful. he thought you were beautiful, as you moved to sit on the sand.
there was a sense of history, between the two of you. you had approached the shores of his abode not too long ago, cheekily messing with the lightkeeper -- but, you both knew it was far beyond meetings like that.
but that was far too complicated for the rising moon and biting air of this night. and so, you fall into your routine of tracing shapes in the sand, as kyryll spoke about whatever befell his mind in this moment. . .
𓂃 ˖ ࣪ ⊹
notes: yayy first fic ouuut! sort of thought of this on a whim, apologies if it mirrors existing works out there. sort of lost a sense of direction at the end there, but I may continue this depending on how well this does. siren fae lore will be much more sound as more snezhnaya / vodyanitsa (assuming she is one) content comes out. kisses!
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