enjoy your stay!

☆

[thirteenducks]

YOUR WRITING IS SAUR GOOD, usually i'm too afraid to send anons but i just feel like you had to know that. i hope you have a swagtastic day

tysm anon!!! it took me so long to find this ask but i am having a swagtastic day now because you said so ty <3

[dilucssv-deactivated20251203]

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 !

a collection of my own favorite works from this year! all feature a female reader ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

꒰ ♡ ꒱ untitled alhaitham and his daughter a little girl who loves her papa, and a man who sees how she’s like him in many ways

꒰ ♡ ꒱ untitled kakucho drabble your boobs hurt, kakucho gets distracted

꒰ ♡ ꒱ you, me, we with diluc your husband wants to start a family for his birthday, you oblige. nsfw, breeding

꒰ ♡ ꒱ arranged marriage with jing yuan realizing you love the general despite your best efforts to fight it, only to find he has been patiently waiting for you

꒰ ♡ ꒱ indulgences with jing yuan seeing your husband in the bath, and he insists you stay

꒰ ♡ ꒱ hades malleus the god of the underworld wants you, and takes you for himself. slight yandere

꒰ ♡ ꒱ off with malleus your lover gives you comfort, and it ends with you full of love, and of him. nsfw, monsterfucking

꒰ ♡ ꒱ pillow talk with wriothesley an important question is asked, and a bright future begins with your answer

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ message from Gray,

from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being with me this year. truly, i appreciate every reblog and comment. your support is so dear to me.

[thirteenducks]

feverish

(wriothesley x wife!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to by ‘wife’ and "she/her"), established relationship, marriage, reader has hair long enough to reach neck

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.5k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic, banter while sick, this is just wrio taking care of you and being a butt while doing it, feat. sigewinne who does not get paid enough for this, if you are sick and reading this rn im so sorry and i hope you get well soon, coldsink wrio x heatsource wife agenda

༻❁༺ author’s note: my friend @mmmairon is sick and i am in another country and cannot help so i'm sending wrio on my behalf. pls enjoy especially if you don't feel well right now :(

After a restless night, Wriothesley is thrilled to hear that you're awake now. He wastes no time in rushing to your side.

Wriothesley’s pen scratches unpleasantly against a disciplinary notice, its point threatening to carve into the wood of the desk beneath. The owner mutters darkly under his breath as he completes a signature on the offending paper and slides it to his left. Immediately, another takes its place from the stack on his right.

For two hours, nothing else has broken the quiet of the Duke’s office. Two hours too long, by Wriothesley’s measure. He glances at the clock, hand continuing to sign his name by sheer muscle memory.

Are you getting any rest? Did the chamomile from your tea an hour ago help at all, or are the throes of fever keeping you awake? Does he have the right ingredients to make you beef stew? Preoccupied, he writes “soup” on the signature line of a prisoner release form by mistake.

He sighs, pinching the crooked bridge of his nose between his fingers. They’re as cold as ever. He misses the warmth of yours unspeakably.

The next thirty minutes pass like an eternity. Surely, Sigewinne would be at his side in an instant if you were awake. His presence there now would only serve to wake you from much-needed rest and defer his backlog of paperwork even more. Neither of these points keeps him from staring the clock down like he’s in the ring again.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on his door and Wriothesley snaps to attention, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste. Sigewinne enters without his bidding, an unreadable expression on her kind face. She doesn’t wait for his question before she answers it.

“Yes, the tea put her to sleep, and yes, she’s awake now.”

His features relax in a moment, the furrow in his brow smoothing.

“I’m afraid she’s not any better than she was this morning, however. I would have really liked to see her fever come down by now...” The Melusine trails off, her small hand on her chin and a pout on her face. “The chill probably isn’t doing her much good, either.”

Her boss, however, is already halfway downstairs, pulling his coat on as he takes the steps two at a time. Sigewinne sighs as she turns to follow him at a much slower pace. So predictable when his wife is involved.

In contrast to the speed at which he crosses the fortress to your shared living quarters, Wriothesley’s steps are soft as he nears your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart? Are you up?”

A weak cough answers him. He’s by the bedside in a moment, kneeling and pushing aside the curtain that hides you from him. Your eyes squint a bit as the sickly light of the fortress filters in, and his hand moves up to shield your face as he appears in your field of vision.

Despite the red ringing your eyes and nose and the congestion in your breathing, you smile up at him and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Hi, darling.”

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Hi. Feeling any better?”

You shake your head slightly, your hair fanning out on the pillow beneath you. He silently gathers it in one hand and moves it away from your neck as he waits for you to continue. The brush of his cool hand against your flushed skin feels incredible and you bring your hand to rest on his, a silent entreaty to keep it there.

“Sigewinne says I’m in the worst of it now and that from here-” you stop to cough, Wriothesley’s eyes raking over your frame as it shakes with the effort. “-from here it should be uphill. As long as I can rest up today.”

He pushes the hair back from your forehead with his other hand, stroking it absentmindedly. “Well, we’ll have to stick it out until tomorrow then, huh?” The grin he shoots you, all teeth, does more for you than you think any of the medicine on your bedside table has.

That’s why you’re as surprised as he is when the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t even known they were there until now, but suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was and Wriothesley is a swimming blur in front of you. The shooting pain in your head, dulled to an ache until now, comes back in full force as your body curls in on itself and your temple meets your husband’s shoulder.

You don’t know if you’re crying from the headache, from exhaustion, or from something else, and your mind is too foggy to care. All you can do is be held as his arms come to rest firmly around you and he pulls you to him, murmuring words of comfort.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry... I wish I could do more.” Your hands grip his collar a little tighter as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. Sigewinne and I are gonna take care of everything, okay?”

There’s an edge of concern to his voice that you can hear even through the haze of sickness. You hate it. It’s likely just the seasonal flu; half the Fortress has had it at some point this winter. The thought of how much you were making him worry over something so small as this...

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it,” Wriothesley gently reprimands, his cool fingers stroking your forehead again. You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against the heated skin. “You’re not being a baby about anything. You hear me?”

Your silence speaks volumes. He laughs a little, the sound loud in the silence of your bedroom. “I know you well, don’t I?”

It takes a while for your tears to completely subside. When you’re finished sniffling against his collar, he props you up against the headboard with pillows behind your back. You’re more congested than ever, something your husband has the nerve to laugh at as he hands you tissues, but there’s no unkindness in his tone.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as you doze, exhausted from the effort of crying for so long. When he eases the door open again, he’s carrying a tray with a teacup and pot (of course) and a bowl of something that smells warm and comforting.

“Hmm. Excellent room service this place has. The waiter is a little scruffy, though,” you say as Wriothesley places it on your lap, tucking in the covers around you.

He gives you a fake look of injury. “How dare you, ma’am. I’ll have you know I’m too worried about my wife to shave, who I’m afraid is deathly ill,” he sighs, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He spoons soup into your mouth before you can retort, stifling a smile.

Once you’ve drained half the soup, Wriothesley seems satisfied. He removes the tray from your lap and takes your hand, bringing it to his own forehead.

“Oh, no. How awful.” He shoots you a glance. “It appears the Duke of the Fortress has come down with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. His forehead is as cool as the rest of him is. “Really.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, flopping onto your lap. “It looks like he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

You laugh, wincing when it makes your head throb. “The Duke sounds like a slacker, if you ask me.”

“Well, everyone knows that,” Wriothesley murmurs, burying his face into your thigh. “They’ll have to tell my boss about it.” You feel him grin against your leg.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “What a shame. I was just about to ask him to dinner, too.”

Wriothesley has migrated to his side of the bed by now and is nestling into your side with the stubbornness of a dog. “Don’t worry, I hear he’s a messy eater. Absolute carnivore.”

Your hands come to rest on his head, the soft grey strands tickling your palms. “You know you’re going to get sick, right? I’m highly contagious.”

No answer.

“You’re the head of the Fortress, Wrio. If you get laid up, Sigewinne might put a bounty out on you. She seems like the type.”

Your husband murmurs into your side, already half-asleep. “She’ll have to catch me first.”

Despite your many blankets and the body next to you, a sudden chill runs through you and you stiffen. He feels it, arms tightening around your waist.

“Fever pills are on the bedside in the white bottle. Water is next to it.”

You smile. “Thank you, darling.” He hums in response.

A few days later, you’re well enough to leave your room again. Sigewinne would be thrilled, if not for your husband, who looks more smug than any sick man has a right to be.

He sniffles, burrowing into your sheets again as the Melusine glares daggers at him. “I’ll be fine. My wife loves me and I have leftover soup in the fridge. What else does a man need?”

[mintmatcha]

im sexualizing blacksmiths. men strong enough to craft swords but delicate enjoy to make you jewelry from the scraps

[mintmatcha]

burn scarred hands and the smell of fire on his skin

[mintmatcha]

he holds you as steadily as iron when he makes love to you at night, kisses the corners of your mouth as you pant for him

[yuta-nation-moved]

you call him your husband on your wedding night and he cums untouched in his pants.

[dilucssv-deactivated20251203]

what pining after your husband looks like…

diluc x reader

reader is wearing a dress but no pronouns are used, fluff, kissing, slightly suggestive at the end. minors and blank/ageless blogs dni

Diluc shifts in his heavy leather chair, the evening light coming in through the window behind him casting a soft sunset glow that only serves to illuminate his features. his vividly red hair cascades down one side of his face, the ribbon usually tied in his hair loosened after the days wear. his lashes are long, thick, as he blinks down at the paperwork before him. lips set in a neutral expression, his cupids bow pretty and pronounced - a favorite place of yours to kiss. his gloves have been set to the side of his wide desk to give you the view of his large, beautiful hands that are rugged and riddled with scars.

you long for him. sitting on the quaint little couch in his office, the spot you have claimed as your own whenever you find yourself wanting to be in the company of your busy spouse, which is often, and settle yourself in cozily with a blanket and the newest book you were recommended by Lisa. the book, unfortunately has stopped being interesting to you, now laying face down in your lap while your thumb fiddles with your wedding ring and you stare at Diluc while he diligently and silently works.

you sigh, quietly and wistfully, leaning over the armrest of the couch with your arms folded and chin rested on top of them, tucking your legs further under your bottom as you dreamily drink in the vision that is your husband.

“My dear.” he murmurs, not looking up from his work.

“Hm?” you reply innocently, tilting your head and resting your cheek on your crossed arms with a smile. your husband looks up from his work and meets your eyes, the setting sun brining awe inspiring illumination to your hues and Diluc pauses to enjoy your beauty.

“You’re staring, my dear.”

“Yes?”

“At me.” he clears his throat and chuckles. no matter how long you have been with this man, the soft blush on his cheeks when you give him your gentle affections is ever present. it makes you smile widely, and your eyes twinkle at his reaction to simply being looked at.

“Of course, Diluc. You’re beautiful. My beautiful husband.” you coo, each word you say honest and sincere with adoration. he exhales sharply, licking his lips and smiling at you,

“I should be the one saying that to you.” he defends, you note how his papers are now not in his hands, but on the desk and there’s a telltale creak of his chair being pushed back.

“And you do, you tell me often. But ‘Luc, you are beautiful. I only needed to tell you that.” you retort with a light laugh, watching your husband walk towards you until he’s seated on your little couch beside you.

“Only needed to tell me that, hm? Your incessant staring and that’s all?” he teases gently, putting his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a kiss, love.” he chides, his ruby gaze as deep as ever, but glistening with soft edges. you make yourself comfortable in his lap, his hardened body fitting against your softer one in a way only puzzle pieces are familiar with, and you suddenly lean in to kiss his cupids bow. Diluc scoffs in amusement, you then inhale how he smells like fine sun warmed leather and sweet grape juice.

“I promise you I was only admiring my husband, Diluc.” he blushes again and you cup his cheek, eyes closing when he leans in with a smile and brushes his lips against yours. you moan softly when he presses in more firmly a moment later, feeling the passionate push and pull of his kisses. you’ll never tire of this, of being in his arms. Diluc kisses you earnestly, hands rubbing at your back and waist to keep your body closely knit to his own.

“Only admiring, eh?” Diluc rasps, moving his head down to kiss hot and open mouthed against your throat,

“I’m afraid you’re doing more than admiring at this point, love.” he continues in a hushed voice, as if in a warning of what’s to soon come for you, to soon devour you right there on that little couch. you gasp at his teeth sinking into you for only a second and can’t bring yourself to respond properly as Diluc laughs into your warm skin. a hand slowly pushes up your dress and his palm rests against your inner thigh, the metal of the ring on his finger making you ache. this is all yours, this touch, this want. you tremble, he kisses you and inhales your every whine of need,

“Allow me to do the same, and admire you in return.”

hi he’s everything to me ♡

[thirteenducks]

rest for the weary

(neuvillette x fem!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to as 'girl'), no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.9k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic? sort of?, mild hurt/comfort, gentle and tender Neuvillette, being overworked, fainting, neuvillette is sexy in a paramedic kind of way, crimes against gloves, almost-crimes against pastries, "you will be taken care of So Help Me" neuvillette, very self indulgent, can you tell i'm a college student

༻❁༺ author’s note: blame my mutuals for putting talk about neuvillette being gentlemanly and kind on my twitter feed. this is their fault and also the four glasses of sangria i drank before i wrote this

Neuvillette would like to believe he understands human behavior quite well by now. What he does not understand is their tendency to be self-sacrificial to the point of exhaustion. When your stress reaches a fever pitch, he steps in.

You don’t remember if it was the fatigue or the hunger that you noticed first. Both have been on the fringes of your consciousness since you left your bed early this morning. Right now, they’re kept at bay only by a lingering headache that worsens as you step out into the clear day.

The beautiful azure of the morning sky above. The flocks of pigeons that dapple the steps of the Palais Mermonia like sunlight through leaves. The hum of the Court of Fontaine as coffee sales begin for the morning. All are lost on you as you forge ahead, feet barely clearing the cobblestone below them.

The papers on your desk, stacked high and demanding attention, are all that your bleary eyes register at the moment. Anything else is secondary.

As much as your conscience would contend it, your current predicament isn’t entirely your fault. Sure, you had procrastinated a bit when the pile of records was first assigned to you, and maybe hadn’t chipped away at it the way you could’ve if you planned ahead. 

For a gestionnaire, though, it’s also just that time of year when the clouds pour rain daily and the opera house sees a never-ending rotation of cases.

So if that means some sacrifices on your side are required, you’re willing to make them for the good of the Court. You’re certainly not the only one, either. The circles under the Chief Justice’s eyes always grow darker during the rainy season; you hope he’s taking better care of himself than you are.

Once you’ve gotten rid of this batch of paperwork, you’ll be free to rest for a while, you tell yourself. You can take a break. Maybe you could walk to that cafe down the street with the nice cashier and get yourself breakfast, if the rain isn't too bad by midmorning.

Your knees waver under you as you carry the precarious stack of records to the threshold of your office. On second thought, maybe you should ask if they offer delivery.

The low murmur of a familiar voice, a pleasant bass melody, reaches you as you step out into the plush carpet of the hallway. It floats through your dizzy head like syrup.

Good. You won’t have to walk far to give these to Neuvillette, then. You’re not sure your feet would carry you all the way to his office anyway, and you’d rather not field any uncomfortable questions about your health from such an esteemed man. 

Assuming what you hope is a pleasant expression, you approach the Iudex and Sedene as he bends at the waist to inspect a bump on her antler. 

There’s a very becoming look of concern on his face, you notice. It must be nice to be the focus of such care.

The unfazed voice of a Melusine comes from somewhere below you: “I promise it’s just a mosquito bite, Monsieur. I must’ve stood around the docks for too long this morning.” 

“Even so... I would administer some anti-inflammatory soon, Sedene. Please don’t neglect your health,” he chides as he pats her head affectionately.

Neuvillette rises again to his full height, catching your eye as you draw near to him.

A fetching smile upturns the corners of his mouth. He greets you with a stately nod, holding out his right hand for your stack of records. Your gaze flits to his other hand, currently engaged by an apple turnover.

Ah. A gift from a Melusine, no doubt. You hope he enjoys it, even if a part of your brain wants you to snatch it for yourself.

If Neuvillette catches the way your eyes linger on his breakfast, he doesn’t mention it. What he does is quirk his head to the left in a silent question as he continues to stand with his hand outstretched.

Oh, archons. How long have you been standing in front of him with a blank look on your face? Too long to be appropriate, certainly.

Clearing your throat and forcing a smile, you take a step forward to hand off your pile of papers to him. Only, instead of making contact with the floor of the hallway, your shoe falls into thin air as your other knee buckles and your back falls towards the carpet.

As your consciousness slips, you feel a cool hand snake around your waist.

Your head goes limp, bouncing a bit with the impact until the pastry drops to the carpet and Neuvillette’s other gloved hand comes to cradle the back of your neck.

He’s caught you. He wishes you were awake to instruct him what to do next.

He lowers you to the ground softly, brow creased with worry. Sedene stands next to him with a similar expression, holding the turnover she saved as it fell. 

“Sedene. Bring me a pillow from the sofa in my office, please. Quickly.”

The Melusine salutes and she darts off. His eyes never leave your face as he kneels, large frame bent over you protectively.

Releasing your waist, he brings a hand up to his teeth and tugs off the glove in a smooth motion before resting his bare fingers against your forehead. A curse in a tongue unknown to all but him breaks the quiet air and his brows knit together. Humans and their damned self-sacrificial nature.

Sedene returns holding a cushion. He eases it under your head with care, ensuring your neck is supported before he retracts the hand underneath.

There in the Palais hallway, the Iudex of Fontaine strips himself of his judge’s coat, uncaring of decorum at the moment. Gentle hands graze your bare skin as he wraps the garment around your shoulders. Were you conscious, you would feel the softness of the silk lining against your cheek and the scent of the ocean it carries with it.

He knows from his extensive observations of human behavior that you’ve probably only collapsed from fatigue, not sickness. And yet… and yet he cannot keep himself from stroking your forehead, cool fingertips resting there as he meditates.

Another moment passes before he makes up his mind. Your body rises from the carpeted hallway floor into strong arms, seldom-seen muscles flexing under his white undershirt. 

The change in altitude brings you halfway out of your daze. Through hazy vision, you catch the sight of pale skin moving above you. His slit eyes meet yours and you don't manage more than a small sound of confusion before you’re pulled back under by sleep.

With a brief nod to Sedene, Neuvillette carries you to his office in a few quick strides. The door slides shut behind him.

Your hands unconsciously tug on his lapels and you curl your body closer to the warmth of his chest, making his ears burn.

Every time he thinks he understands your species, something like this happens. 

He had certainly noticed your energy waning over the last few days, but he worried about the propriety of mentioning such a thing to you. Would you resent him for asking about something so personal? Should he send someone closer to you to step in before you hurt yourself?

In the end, he had settled for bringing you breakfast from a nearby cafe. He glances at the turnover, now sitting innocently on his coffee table courtesy of Sedene. It taunts him.

The silence in his office is deafening as Neuvillette lays you carefully on the sofa next to his desk. He runs through the list of human vitals in his head.

You’re breathing quite deeply. Your pulse is healthy and strong as his fingers press against the side of your throat. The color in your face is returning to its normal shade. Surely all you lack is a good meal, which he can certainly provide, and some rest. 

Then why do his hands shake as he pours tea into a cup on the table before you?

Why can he not keep his eyes from you as you sleep, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm? 

Why does he find it impossible to return to the paperwork that calls his name just a few feet away?

A clap of thunder shakes the building.

He doesn’t realize how long his eyes have been trained on yours until you’re staring back at him through lowered lids, awakened by the noise.

It takes about a half second for you to remember the circumstances of a few minutes prior and gasp, sitting up with a speed that makes Neuvillette reach towards you in concern. His coat falls from where it was draped across you and you stare at it, unblinking. 

Your gaze flits to Neuvillette, bare to the wrist. He watches silently as you register the sofa you’re laid upon and the lavish office around you.

The Chief Justice makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat when you rush to stand up, face burning. Your head spins - whether from fatigue or embarrassment, you’re not sure. A million apologies threaten to spill from your mouth at once.

With your head bowed and your feet unsteady below you, you don’t see the hand rising to your face until a cool sensation spreads over your flushed forehead. The surprise of it shuts you up immediately. When you do dare to raise your eyes, you hardly trust what you see in front of you.

There is no anger in the face of the Iudex, in the downturned curve of his mouth or the crease of his brow. Only tender concern presents itself as he addresses you.

“You appear to be feverish. Please, sit back down. I won’t have you fainting again if I can help it.” He removes his hand from your skin, leaving behind a burning sensation that you can't attribute to a fever.

“Mon- Monsieur?”

He tuts, raising the cup of tea to your hand and folding it into your grasp. “Drink, please,” he murmurs, face etched with care. 

You blink a few times, sipping the drink as if compelled by magic. It's sweeter than you’re expecting.

“Good girl.” 

You nearly choke on it.

If possible, Neuvillette looks even more distressed by your sudden coughing fit. “You’re far redder than when you awoke. The fever reducer in this blend should help with that, but in the meantime, please take some of this…”

The minutes pass quietly. Periodically, Neuvillette instructs you in a gentle tone to drink your tea or eat a bit of pastry. He absolutely forbids you to stand after the second time you attempt to excuse yourself.

When he's been assured that you're comfortable, he speaks again.

“May I ask why you believe those papers you were attempting to bring me were worth working yourself to exhaustion over?” 

His words are authoritative, but his voice carries such softness that you can’t help but be honest with him.

“I’m so very sorry, Monsieur. It won’t happen again. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this week.”

Neuvillette's violet eyes are melancholy as they meet yours. “Of course. It’s a busy time of year for us all,” he says, shifting his gaze to the steady rain outside. “I do hope you know, however, that I would far rather your work be late than your health to fail on my account.”

You duck your head. “...I understand, Monsieur.”

The man’s stately expression fades into something unreadable at that.

“...Please, call me Neuvillette.”

You were unaware that his voice, so commanding in the courtroom, could sound so tender directed at you.

Your gaze darts up from the floor. The Iudex is not meeting your eyes. His are fixed instead on the light drizzle pattering the windowpane. A faint swathe of color decorates his lofty cheekbones.

As you smile and nod your head, pronouncing his name with a few words of thanks, the morning sun streams into the room behind you.

It’s getting to be quite the lovely day outside.

[thirteenducks]

Omg Smoke and Wine has given me so many feels!! I love it so much!! Any chance of there being a second part or continuation? No pressure of course but gosh my little simp heart is hoping so 😂

tsym for reading and enjoying it!! unfortunately whether or not i make a continuation of anything i write depends solely on if i get the inspiration for it or not lol. i won't say there's no chance but i can't make promises either way :") we'll see!

[thirteenducks]

Came to your page to check if you had more Diluc stuff and based solely on your tags, I'm staying

heheheh i'm flattered anon ty :3c enjoy your stay!

[thirteenducks]

the Diluc piece you recently published is an absolutely delightful gem of writing. Thank you so much for sharing it with the world!! 💙

thank you so so much anon 🥹 im so happy it resonated with you considering how much it was motivated by self indulgence LMAO <33 thank you for reading!!

[thirteenducks]

smoke and wine

(diluc x fem!reader) [suggestive, but SFW]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader wears a dress and is referred to as 'her'), some suggestive content, no established relationship

༻❁༺ word count: ~4.7k

༻❁༺ tags: self indulgent stormfic, adelinde best mother figure AND wingwoman, flustered diluc supremacy, reader does not want to cause trouble for diluc, diluc desperately wants reader to cause trouble for him, diluc wears boxer briefs because i said so, rampant use of ellipses

༻❁༺ author's note: i am back to offer you this with my hands outstretched before i vanish into the void for another six months :/ regardless, thank you for reading! <33 this fic was inspired by this lovely art by @mmmairon https://www.tumblr.com/mmmairon/733185437964926976/hi-mairon-i-love-the-self-insert-comfort-you-did?source=share please go check it out!

Diluc is a simple man. If there's something he can provide, he'll go out of his way to do it. And if that means allowing you to stay at his home for the night during a fierce storm, he'll do anything to ensure your comfort.

Before today, you had considered yourself rather proficient in predicting the weather for your forays into the Mondstadt hills. Experience had given you somewhat of a sixth sense for which afternoons would yield sunny skies and which would leave you huddled under a tree during a downpour.

This storm, however, had truly come out of nowhere. 

When your feet finally find the steps of the vineyard path ahead of you, you’re already too drenched to bother running from the rain. Your shoes, unfit for travel through the rain-soaked countryside, leave puddles behind everywhere you step; your dress is so soaked through that it must leave nothing to the imagination. 

You shiver, thanking Barbatos that you seem to be the only unfortunate traveler caught in this downpour. At least the grates of the grapevines above you give you some form of cover from the lashing sheets of rain.

Through the raindrops in your eyes, you gaze at the herbs in your basket, their delicate leaves sodden and dripping. Once the storm has passed, and you've returned home, you doubt they will be much worth keeping. So much for freshly-gathered, you lament.

Distracted by your mournful predictions, you hardly notice the dirt beneath your feet has turned to stone and you’re suddenly before the imposing building that dominates the landscape. Above you, lanterns on posts swing wildly in the wind, illuminating the grand wooden door of Dawn Winery.

As you huddle beneath the scant protection of the balcony above, poised to knock, you’re inevitably reminded of the only other time you’d encountered the owner of this estate. 

In the many months since, you’d learned which places to avoid in the Mondstadt countryside due to high monster traffic. That morning, however, the abyss mage had appeared out of nowhere in the sunny meadow of sweet flowers, leering at you and your lack of a weapon. You had barely gathered the presence of mind to drop what you were holding and run when the noise of boots, fast approaching, came from behind you. In another second, a blur of red and black had sped by and a gloved hand was pushing you down to the ground. Overhead, a blast of ice meant for your heart had split the sky above you instead.

Before you could regain your wits, the horrible sound of what you could only imagine were the monster’s last words tore through the air and flames, red and deep orange, surrounded you. The blue of the sky above you was ringed with fire.

Pushing yourself up by your elbows, you had scrambled to your feet, fear shooting through you like lightning as the flames licked higher and hotter around your boots -

And then they were gone, extinguished in an instant. Your breaths coming fast and shallow, you had inspected yourself for injuries and found nothing amiss but a few singed pieces of hair.

The gloved hand had appeared again in your field of vision, hovering hesitantly near your shoulder. 

“Are you alright? That attack didn’t hit you, did it?”

The voice was low and unfamiliar, and you had followed the sound until your eyes caught a mane of red hair in a sea of black. He smelled like smoke; you could see it emanating off the massive sword he held in his other hand.

“I’m not hurt, thank you. I had no idea this area wasn’t safe...” You murmured, gazing at the now-scorched patch of flowers you had stood so peacefully in a moment before. “I’m so sorry for the trouble, sir.” You offered your hand and name in introduction, and he had taken both with a gentle grace. His questioning eyes alighted on your belongings, dress, and hair before returning to your face.

“Please, call me Diluc. Of Dawn Winery,” he answers, anticipating your question.  “I’m the one who should apologize. This one -” he glances down at the ground in distaste, where a few shining leaves are all that is left of the abyss mage - “got away from me last night, and I’ve been chasing it down ever since. Really, it’s my fault.”

You duck your head in gratitude. “Thank you regardless, Diluc. I’ll make sure to avoid this area in the future...” You trail off sadly. This had been the best hill in the area to collect sweet flowers...

His face had changed a bit at your vow, so quickly you might have imagined it, before his handsome features returned to an unreadable expression. The exchange had not lasted long past that point. 

“Keep yourself safe,” were his brief parting words, leaving you with a nod before starting at a brisk pace toward the building in the distance.

And now that same building is before you once more. Drawing your bag closer to you in trepidation, you knock, the sound barely reaching your ears over the roar of thunder overhead.

You don’t have to wait long in the harsh wind before the giant door swings open and you’re face to face with the same man from all those months ago, staring at you with his mouth slightly parted. You blink at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to say, until a woman’s soft voice calls from behind him in the doorway.

“Master Diluc? Is there someone out there?”

A middle-aged woman with a kind expression peers over Diluc’s shoulder at you and gasps. 

“Master Diluc! What are you doing, keeping her out here in all this rain?” she chides, pushing Diluc’s shoulder to punctuate her sentence, and he blinks as if coming out of a trance. He steps out of the doorway and allows the woman to grab you gently by the hand and lead you into the warm, carpeted foyer. The great door swings shut behind you with a soft thud and you allow yourself an exhale of relief at being out of the storm, if only for a few minutes.

“Goodness, you’re soaked through.” The woman, who wears a maid’s uniform, putters around you, taking your belongings from your grasp and hanging them on a stand next to the door. As she circles you, murmuring with concern, you take the opportunity to explain yourself.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, ma’am, I was just gathering herbs near Stone Gate when the downpour started...” You lock eyes with Diluc, who has not said a word yet. Your resolve wavers, but a drop of water cascading down your back causes you to shiver and you remember your situation. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I impose upon you until the worst of the storm passes?” Your teeth chatter a bit as a draft catches your soaked clothing. “I promise I won’t make too much trouble for -”

You’re cut off by the sensation of something large and warm surrounding you. It smells of smoke and wine and you look up in surprise to see Diluc, now bare to the arm, settling his overcoat on your shoulders. A light shade of pink dusts his cheekbones.

“This storm isn’t likely to pass before tomorrow morning at the earliest,” he rumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Adelinde, please tell Moco and Hillie to prepare a bath and fresh sheets in the downstairs guest room.” 

The warm timbre of his voice is tinged with something you can’t identify. Before you can protest, the woman, who must be Adelinde, gives him a nod. She curtsies to you with a smile and takes her leave.

Now standing alone with Diluc, you hurriedly voice your objections and promise to be on your way after you dry off a bit and perhaps borrow an umbrella. The man in front of you, however, refuses to acquiesce.

“You’ll at least let Adelinde feed you dinner, won’t you? It’s quite late already,” he remarks, glancing out the bay window at the darkened sky. “Have you eaten?”

At your dissenting response, he nods as if all is settled. You stare down at your shoes in mingled embarrassment and relief, watching the pools of water sink into the rich carpet. 

Diluc clears his throat and moves his hand to hover behind the small of your back as he walks towards the fireplace. “Please, wait here for Adelinde to return. I’ll speak to her about getting you some dry clothes to wear for the night,” he says, gesturing to the couch in front of the fire.

You grimace as you sit, the damp fabric of your dress sticking to you and probably ruining the plush velvet of the sofa. Not to mention Diluc’s coat...

Before you can dwell too long on that, Adelinde reappears with a steaming cup of tea that she sets in front of you. She appears to be in conversation with Diluc about something across the table as you sip your tea, feeling the warmth of the fire seep into your bones.

“It’s awful luck that everything had to be taken in from the clotheslines when it started to rain,” she sighs. “There’s not a dry piece of women’s clothing in the house, I’m afraid.”

Diluc hums in contemplation. “I suppose mine will have to do, then. As long as it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, of course...” He trails off as he turns to you, his cheeks pink again.

You laugh a bit, good humor returning to your body as the warmth does. “I’ll take any clothing you have to offer, Adelinde. Truly, thank you.”

She smiles, and before you can say anything else, Diluc has gotten to his feet and is already halfway up the stairs. Your eyes follow him as he goes, afraid you’ve said something wrong, but Adelinde just laughs and gestures for you to stand.

“Don’t mind him. The young master’s always that straightforward. Let’s get you into a warm bath, hm?” She starts for the hallway at a brisk pace, ignoring your concerns about the water you’re tracking across the floor.

As the head maid leads you to the guest room, Diluc stands in his own quarters, staring at his bureau with a look of deliberation that a complex military maneuver might inspire. All around him, various pieces of clothing lay rejected. He’s glaring daggers at his pants drawer, which he now realizes contains only neatly folded black slacks and pairs of underwear.

Do I really only wear slacks and boxer briefs?

That’s a question for another day. For now, he lays out his options.

He can’t... he can’t offer you his underwear to wear. That’s out of the question. Few things could be less appropriate to lend to a guest, let alone a pretty... 

He shakes his head. His face is burning just thinking about it.

But wouldn’t you be uncomfortable in dress pants? They’d hardly fit you, anyways, so you might have to wear a belt as well just to keep them up... And could you really sleep in them? You’d probably end up shedding them, right?

He shakes his head again before he can go any further with that... dangerous thought.

He huffs. This is going nowhere. He’ll have to bring them both to Adelinde and see what she has to say, he thinks as he descends the staircase with a stack of clothes in hand.

Meanwhile, you stand with Adelinde in the most lavish guest bedroom you’ve ever set foot in. The bedspread, softer than a lamb as you run your hand over it, matches the curtains of the four-poster bed it rests on and the wall behind it. She opens the door to the attached bathroom, where a steaming claw-foot tub stands in the center. The aroma coming from it is like that of the lampgrass you had been collecting that afternoon before the storm hit, and it draws you to it like a moth to flame.

Adelinde curtsies to you and asks you to simply leave your wet clothes by the door and she’ll send someone to pick them up and deliver dry clothes in a bit. With that, she shuts the bedroom door behind you and leaves you to disrobe in the sweet-smelling bathroom.

After so long with your soaked garments clinging to you, peeling them off feels incredible. The water is the perfect temperature as you slide into it, feeling the stress of the afternoon melt away from your shoulders. The soaps next to the bath are thick and luxurious, perfuming the air with a thousand faint floral scents.

You don’t know how long you sit there, half-awake and submerged to the nose in the sweet-smelling water, until a knock at the bedroom door brings you back to reality.

Thinking it to be Adelinde or another maid, you straighten up and stretch your arms. You’d rather not get up and let her in yourself, so you merely call out your permission to let herself in. After all, the water’s so nice, and you don’t have anything to cover yourself with but a towel, anyways. 

The door opens quietly and a heavy step can be heard entering the bedroom and shuffling around a bit until it suddenly pauses. 

That’s odd. “Adelinde?” you call, rising a bit in the water to peek into the bedroom through the open door. No answer comes.

Furrowing your brow, you move to get out of the tub when the panicked voice of a man rings through the room.

“Wait! Wait, please... Archons, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you were - the door is - ”

It’s Diluc. He sounds more flustered than you thought was possible of such a stoic man.

“I just came to drop these off,” he continues, voice discomposed, and there’s a sound of something being placed on a chair. “Please forget this happened. I- I apologize a thousand times. I’ll, um, wait outside - please, forgive me... I’m leaving now, I swear.” 

And with that, the bedroom door closes with a thunk. You’re left frozen, your hands on the rim of the tub, your face a fetching shade of scarlet.

Diluc, on the opposite side of the door, is in no better shape. Not only had he walked in on you while you were- not only had he imposed upon you, but he had completely forgotten his objective of having Adelinde choose your clothing. Which meant, of course, that you were about to walk out of the bath and be faced with an odd selection of things to clothe yourself with.

It’s not like he can go back in and tell you it’s a mistake, though. Diluc sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, willing his heart rate to go down. Idiot. He’s an idiot.

Since the least he can do now is protect you from any further embarrassment, he thinks, he takes up a guard position outside your bedroom door.

It helps to know that at least it’s just him and the maids in the house, so you have no one else to worry about. It doesn’t help to know that you’re currently bare and covered in soap a scant twenty feet from him.

He buries his head in his hands again.

Meanwhile, you’ve removed yourself from the tub and are drying off while waiting for your pulse to return to normal. The towel in your hands is probably the fluffiest thing you’ve ever touched, yet it barely registers in your mind at the moment.

You weigh the ethics of telling Adelinde you’ve suddenly fallen violently ill and cannot come to dinner, but eventually you’ve gathered yourself enough to inspect the clothing Diluc brought you. There’s a black dress shirt, which is softer against your skin than it first looked as you button it up to your collarbone. Like his coat, it too carried a familiar fragrance of smoke and wine.

Turning to the rest of the stack, you’re confused to see a pair of dress pants and a pair of men’s... underwear?

They also smell like him… you think, as you pull them on.

Diluc, still fighting a blush, is leaning against the wall outside your door when Adelinde finds him. A hurried conversation ensues that you don’t catch much of from inside, but it’s clear enough that Adelinde is laughing at her master’s expense. 

She knocks, asking if you’re dressed, and waits for your affirmation before she enters. You hold up the slacks to her, a question on your lips, but the head maid puts her hand on yours before you say a word.

“You don’t have to wear those unless you want to. I know they’re far from the most comfortable pants in the world. Besides, it’s only Master Diluc and us maids here,” she assures you. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. It’s up to you.” You return her smile and fold the slacks, passing them to her waiting hand. “Why don’t you come sit by the fire while I set the table?” 

Thus assured, you leave the safety of the guest bedroom in only Diluc’s shirt and boxer briefs. Outside, the lord of the manor himself is standing in the hallway with a look of contrition on his face. 

He turns at the sound of the door and his eyes meet yours. 

It’s fatal. You offer him a smile, hoping to pretend the earlier situation never happened, but you’re met instead with a blank stare that makes you falter. Was he… angry? 

Archons, did he think you had let him into your room on purpose while you were undressed? The thought sends you spiraling. This was bad. You have to fix this. You fiddle with the hem of the dress shirt and prepare to apologize.

Across from you, Diluc is fighting an uphill battle with his self control to keep his eyes on yours as you stand before him in only his underwear. 

You were supposed to be wearing pants. Not… fuck, you’re staring at him like he has three heads. He has to say something. He has to set your mind at ease. He has to be a gentleman.

Think of Varka. Think of Seamus Pegg. Think of fucking Barbatos. For the love of Celestia do not think of anything else. Now SAY something.

“...How was your bath?” 

You blink. “It was… lovely, thank you.”

DO NOT THINK OF HER IN THE BATH. 

By the grace of whatever archons are watching over him, Diluc manages to carry a stilted conversation with you in which he apologizes profusely for his behavior earlier.

You do your best to reassure him that it was an honest mistake and no harm was done (except to your heart, but you’d hardly admit that). You soon find that he’s also asking your pardon for the “inappropriate” selection of clothes he brought you, however.

“Please, don’t apologize. They’re very comfortable.” You smile at him and Diluc feels his heart skip far too many beats. “Thank you again for your kindness, Diluc.” Archons, he loves the way you say his name. You’ll kill him at this rate.

Soon he’s falling into step behind you as Adelinde leads you into the dining room and seats you by the fire with a blanket. Satisfied that you’re comfortable, he turns and prepares to return to his study for the evening. 

Before he can, though, he’s arrested by your voice, innocently asking if he wouldn’t be joining you for dinner.

“I’m afraid I have… work to attend to,” he murmurs, glancing up to his office. “My apologies. I hope you enjoy- ow, Adelinde -”

The maid in question has two fingers wrapped around Diluc’s ear and is wearing a look of exasperation as she tugs on it, ignoring his words of protest. In a voice that suggests this is a common occurrence, she strongly forbids him from doing any more work tonight.

“Is it not the job of the master of the manor to keep his guests company?”

“Adelinde...”

“Master Diluc.”

He sighs, meeting your eyes with a sheepish look. “It appears that I’ll be joining you after all.”

With that, he settles himself in the armchair adjoining your couch, allowing his large frame to relax into it. A pleasant quiet descends as you watch the fire, listening to the maids readying the meal in the kitchen and the storm as it continues to rage outside.

You’re brought out of your reverie by Diluc’s voice, softer than you’ve yet heard it.

“May I ask how you found yourself out in the downpour this afternoon?”

You smile. “For the same reason I was out the first time we met.” He nods in recognition, glancing at the gathering bag and basket that still hang by the door to the winery.

“So, you’re a botanist, then? Or maybe an herbalist?”

The two of you continue this way, Diluc asking you questions about yourself in a low voice, and you answering them in the same soft tone. You lose track of time in the easy back-and-forth. 

After what feels like only a few minutes, a maid alerts you that dinner is ready; you rise and stretch, the blanket falling away from where it covers your bare legs. Diluc pointedly looks away, but you’re too distracted by the lovely smells coming from the table behind you to pay him any mind.

Walking ahead of you, Diluc draws out the seat adjacent to the head of the table and waits for you to sit before taking his own seat. The maids have been busy: a pot of tea, a bottle of sparkling wine, plates of roast beef, green beans, buttered potatoes, and stuffing, a tray of candied pecans, an apple tart, and a myriad of smaller dishes all line the ornate table. For a moment, you’re too overwhelmed to take a portion of anything. 

Fortunately, Adelinde appears beside you and asks which and how much of each dish you would like, and soon your plate is as full as it can be.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence as you eat. The food is beyond reproach. Either the maids and Adelinde have pulled out all the stops tonight for you, or wealthy estate owners eat like this every night. You’re not sure which makes you feel more out of place, but the food is too delicious and you’re too tired to dwell on such things now.

Periodically, Diluc asks how you’re liking a certain dish or if you would like more of what you’re drinking. As the maids top off your glass of wine and you begin to feel the day catch up with you, however, your responses to Diluc get slower and shorter until you can barely keep your eyes open. 

Through your lowered lids, you’re graced with the sight of a rare smile as the man next to you takes you in. He stands, offering you an ungloved hand in a silent offer to escort you to your room. You’re too exhausted to notice the color that comes to his face when you gladly take it and get to your stumbling feet. 

By the time you’ve reached the door to your room, you’re leaning more on him than you are on your own legs. Offering Diluc a drowsy smile, you bow a little and thank him once again. He returns it in kind, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little bit. He’s never looked more handsome.

“Have a restful night. With any luck, the storm will abate by morning. Please, if there’s anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to come ask me.”

And with that, he leaves you to the plush sheets of the guest room. You’re asleep almost before your head hits the pillow.

You dream of smoke and wine.

In the small hours of the morning, you awake to a cold draft that makes you shiver and a mind fuzzy from sleep. You try in vain to return to sleep, the soft silk sheets beckoning to you, but a peal of thunder seems to shake the house every time you close your eyes.

Sighing, you sit up and rub your eyes. It’s almost pitch black in the room; the sun won’t rise for several hours yet.

Maybe you could make yourself a cup of tea? You shiver a bit, drawing the covers tighter around you. Sitting by the fire doesn’t sound bad, either.

Your feet are quiet on the carpeted floor as you gently open your bedroom door and step into the hallway. Sure enough, there’s a flickering light from the main room; the fire must be still alive in the grate.

You gather the blanket around you and hurry towards the warmth, only to stop short at the silhouette of a figure sitting where you were earlier. You take another tentative step onto the floorboards, but a creak gives you away. The figure stiffens and turns to face you.

Diluc’s face and frame relaxes when he sees you, but there is still a hint of worry in his tone when he asks, “Is there something wrong? Are you warm enough in your room?”

You nod, stepping gingerly around the couch to sit next to him. He shifts a little to give you more space as you pull your legs up beside you. “Everything’s fine. I just went to bed a little too early,” you assure him. “Could I trouble you to let me into the kitchen? I’d like to make myself a cup of tea, if it’s alright.”

“Please, allow me,” he murmurs, producing a pot and a second cup from the table next to him, where he was apparently enjoying one himself.

You sip it gratefully, allowing the taste to linger in your mouth. “May I ask why the esteemed Master Diluc is still awake at this hour?”

He smiles a bit at that and mentions that he never sleeps well during storms.

The two of you watch the flames as you sip your tea, listening to the patter of rain on the roof. Even at this hour, the fire is still going strong. A thought strikes you and you turn to Diluc’s lap.

Sure enough, his vision is glowing, pulsing in a gentle bump-bump pattern that you’ve heard matches the wielder’s heartbeat. It relaxes you to see it so steady and dependable.

Before long, the warmth of the fire and the tea have lulled you back soundly to sleep. 

For the first time today, Diluc allows his gaze to rake over you unhindered.

You, asleep on his couch in his manor. Smelling like him. Dressed in his shirt and underwear.

In only his shirt and underwear, the least helpful part of his brain reminds him, and he has to stare at the fire for a while to curb that train of thought. It’s difficult when his gaze keeps flickering back to you anyway.

He counts himself lucky you’re not awake to see how the fire in the grate has grown in size and intensity, or how the vision on his hip is flickering in a wild bmp-bmp-bmp.

After reciting everything he knows of Mondstadtian foreign policy in his head a few times, he’s able to tone down the blush on his face enough to be manageable. As for the familiar, tight ache in his pants, he regards it as a lost cause. For now.

Diluc stands, stretching his arms with a quiet groan before turning to your sleeping form. He gently scoops you up into strong arms and wraps you tighter in the blanket you’re still clinging to, careful not to wake you. As he begins the slow walk to your doorway, a small smile adorns his face.

Upon ducking into your room, careful not to hit your legs against the doorway, he frowns. It’s much colder here than it was in the living room. He’ll have to do something about that.

As he places you under the covers, he unclips the vision from his thigh and folds it into your hand, where it thrums with a gentle rhythm . You drift awake for a moment, recognizing the red mane that hangs over your chest as Diluc tucks in the blanket around you.

Seeing your eyes flicker, he calls your name gently. “Are you comfortable?” You nod with a smile that hurts his heart in the best way. 

“Thank you, Diluc,” you murmur blearily, and he laughs a bit. You have just enough consciousness left to decide it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard as you slip back under the blanket of sleep.

That night, as the storm continues to rage outside his bedroom windows, Diluc sleeps better than he has in a long time. Downstairs, his vision pulses in your hand to his steady heartbeat.

You dream of warmth.

[wri0thesley]

thinking about awkward touch-starved diluc who comes basically the first time you lay your hands on him, whining and apologising the whole time....

[lvmimis]

men whose thighs are so thick you gotta spread out over just one of them and clench your legs tight as you can as you rub up and down the cords of muscle

[tenderfxck]

hi!! I saw that requests were open and I wanted to request something!! Al haitham x fem!reader somno? Haitham comes back from work at a late hour and ur already asleep. He’s horny and your right there, sleeping on your bed, so what does he do next?? (omg I worded this so badly😭)

somno ahead!! be warned!!

he doesn't know what made him feel that ache coming on in the first place, but he knows he was home. and horny.

and there you were. his pretty little girlfriend dozing away on your shared bed.

it was a long day at the akademiya. filing documents. refiling documents when the intern got it wrong the first time. listening to stuffy geezers rant on all while he was stuck taking notes.

so coming home to you splayed out in such a provocative position did funny things to his normally even-tempered brain.

one leg was drawn up and hooked on a pillow you had been cuddling up to, propping your ass up at the perfect angle for al haitham to see the outline of that pretty pussy against those thin little panties you had worn to bed.

it looked quite inviting, he dare say.

he was already half-hard in his pants when his weight dipped on the other side of the bed, shifting closer and closer to your sleeping form. his chest pressed against your back, nose tucked into the crook of your neck as al haitham inhaled the sweet scent of your shampoo as he pulled himself from the tight confine of his pants.

a deft hand quickly pulled your panties aside, a single finger finding its way between your folds. al haitham grunted to himself, remembering all at once that tightness that laid between those pretty thighs. his cock ached thinking of the sweet bliss your little cunt brings to him, slowly working you open with his fingers so he can chase that high only you can bring him once again.

you may be the one who's asleep, but he swears he's the one dreaming. especially with the way you grind back on his fingers even as you continue to doze, only whimpering slighting and cuddling back up to that pillow when he removes them and instead lines up his aching length.

your eyes only flutter open when he thrusts in for the first time, the firm stretch of his cock ripping a moan from your trembling lips as the fuzziness of sleep slowly fades away, instead giving way to pure lust clouding your awakening senses.

"quiet now, angel." al haitham huffs, continuing to chase his pleasure as he kisses a line up the column of your throat.

"just shut your eyes and go back to sleep. i'll take care of you~"

[seineko]

nail marks on diluc's back.

they aren't intentional and sure, you feel guilty about the pain that they might cause, but...

you can't help but love the way they look on his broad back. can't help but let the feeling of possessiveness burst within you.

the (former) most eligible bachelor of your country, sleeping like a baby in your lap (after completely ruining you), having those marks completely on display for you to watch.

no one would be able to see them through the thick clothing he refuses to remove in all but your presence, you knew that.

but it still didn't change the fact that his body carried your marks. and he only ever let you have that much control over him.

most importantly, only you were allowed to love him the way you did.

[aurorasgate]

hello luna my love <33 how are you? i would love to participate in the blooming love event, it's so adorable!! also the diluc fics youve been posting recently are chefs kiss im eating them up hhh

info for the matchup event:

gender preference: male pls 🙏

about me: i'm rather introverted in general but lively in familiar company! it can take a bit for me to be comfortable but when i am i make jokes every other minute and i try my best to be the life of the conversation <3 i LOVE stoic men with my whole heart and i have a deep seated desire to be some guy's wife that he won't shut up about :")

prompt: either sundress or sunlight would be wonderful!

i match you with..

✿ alhaitham

“wait! grand sage, we - we weren’t finished.”

“acting grand sage,” alhaitham corrects, stopping in his pursuit to leave this conference room as quickly as possible. he would have thought by now they’d have learned that he doesn’t work outside of office hours and he had almost made it to the door but still they stopped him. “we will continue this tomorrow, during my office hours. my wife is waiting for me.”

he knows he doesn’t need to add that last part, he’s said it every time they wanted to keep him longer, nearly as much as he’s corrected those who keep forgetting the ‘acting’ part of his title but he just couldn’t help himself. and as he turned back around, making his way out the door without another word, he feels the corner of his lips tug upwards at the thought of you actually waiting for him.

it had become routine, he’d say. walking you to work in the morning before heading to the akademiya just for you to find your way there later in the day to walk home with him. the best part of a long work day as sage. life was so much simpler when he was just the scribe, it was easy to slip out of his office and head to wherever you were but as acting grand sage, that so many needed the attention of, it was much harder to get away with.

he hardly pays any mind to those he passes by on his way out the painted glass doors, shining bright blue in the sunlight, and heads down the path leading to where you always wait for him, near the flowerpot a bit away from where the researchers usually stood and argued. like every day, there you were leaning against the railing, admiring the flowers that had begun to bloom as spring set in.

at the sight of you in the blue and pink light, in a sundress he had yet to see you in before, he felt a flutter in his rib cage, like gentle satin wings knocking against him and drawing warmth from his heart. it wasn’t unusual for you to do this to him, not that you’d be able to tell by looking at him, but today it felt.. wilder. like the heat blossoming under his tight shirt was going to reach his ears.

“i see they had you for a bit of overtime today. a whole two minutes, how did you ever survive?” you tease the moment you look up and see him only a few steps away, making your way to his side and accepting his extended hand.

to your surprise he tugs you closer, enough so that you can smell the lingering scent of rose water and hibiscus clinging to him from his morning shower, feel the rise and fall of his steady breaths.

“it was easy knowing my beautiful wife was waiting for me.”

authors note: aaaaaaa rae <333 💕💖💓💞💖💕💕 i was so excited and giddy writting this🥰💕💖 im still feeling all gooey inside heheh. i've been doing much better, i hope you've been doing good!🥺💖 it always makes me so happy to see you in my notes and on my dash - just why are you so amazing fjdkdkdkdkd

thank you for waiting for me to do this🥺 i appriciate you and i really hoped you enjoy it! xoxoxo🥰💓💞💗💕💖💖

main masterlist | blooming love match ups

[utahimeow]

how do u and ur fave fall asleep together?