Illusory Sense | Yandere! Venti x Reader

Infatuation

warning: NSFW content ahead

word count: 6k

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The rain pounded down, each drop like a small stone, piercingly cold. It was still early when the clouds gave off their rain to the grass and trees, the road came alive with splashes than your eyes could appreciate. Yet together, they brought such a soothing sound, a natural melody every bit as beautiful as a soulful hum.

Soon, the drizzle turned into a heavy downpour. The sky turned dark as the rain fell rapidly to the ground. Venti grabbed your hand and pulled you along as he searched for a nearby shelter where you could rest.

Hours passed, yet the rain showed no signs of letting up. Your lips drew out a sigh, watching in silence as the raindrops pitter-pattered against the ground. The bard sat on a nearby ledge, his gaze fixed on your back almost as if outlining your form.

His mind wandered to how a certain traveler had touched you. It brought great bitterness in his mouth, the taste souring his mood for the umpteenth time of the day. How many more outcomes would continue to mess with his mood? He already had enough of it and he refrained himself from losing his temper at the vexing events.

He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms. The audacity of Aether to hold you while you were asleep the moment he was away. His displeasure came like an impossible built-up steam, burning him on the way out, burning the one on the receiving end.

You were tainted.

The idea of your purity and innocence being corrupted swarmed his mind. The thought of another man—anyone but him— holding you, touching you began to aggravate him even more. If you happen to meet him, would you leave him? His nails dug into his palm, causing him to bleed without his knowledge, yet his mind was elsewhere.

Not good...

Emerald oculars watchfully kept an eye solely on your form. His breathing was ragged and shaky, his attention meandering everywhere that couldn't help still itself. Not good. Not good. Not good. Not good.

Then, his patience snapped. At that moment, his head was blinded by a fiery serving of rage, fear, and dread all mixed up together that tasted so bitter. He wanted to reach out to you, yet his mind was too corrupted to make sense of his surroundings.

You looked over your shoulder, sensing something wrong. Venti's form was hunched over, his hands gripping his hair tightly. He was shaking vigorously, and alarmed by this, you swiftly approached him, kneeling to check on him.

Brushing his fringe aside, you rested your palm against his forehead. Your body jolted in surprise at the intense burning heat he was emitting, and you grew even more concerned if he had a fever.

In the storm raging inside him, in the howling winds of his mind, you were the calm, gentle center. Your soft touch grounded him as he surrendered to the comfort you offered. It was becoming torturous that he had to endure everything. You were too close, your scent was becoming so intoxicating— too addicting. Your touches were so light made him ached for you to press your palm firmly against him.

He wanted you so badly. He wanted to let everyone know you only belong to him. That everyone should know where to keep their hands to themselves, but he had to control himself. He didn't want to scare you and that was the last thing he ever wanted.

His pulse sped up and his breathing turned shallow. Of course, he was addicted to you— but for every reason that was pure and right. You were his safety and his love, an anchor he held onto, that he was able to pull himself together.