horrible taste in men

20 She/Her masterlist

[rosesoftly]

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[rosesoftly]

hiiiii, just want to let you know that none of the links in navigation work (i love your work btwww!!!)

i thought thy were jesting, then i looked with mine own eyes. thou were speaking true 😞

i THINK ive fixed it now. if not lmk so i can sit here and brood on the matter and maybe go scavenge reddit and youtube for someone who knows much more than i do

[rosesoftly]

Give me more of "I wouldn't say freed... more like under new management. " My beloved Capitano isn't dead. I still trust. He is very much alive and I'll wait for him for an eternity.

I'm not delulu. I swear he is alive, he told me! This is not copin either. I swear, but people don't believe me and answer me with pity 😞 Anyway, going back to the fic, I wonder how would he tried to get back what was stolen. I don't think it'd be that hard. After all, he IS Capitano and very well respected (and alive). In any case, Pantalone has it complicated once he realizes his fellow Harbinger is pretty HEALTHY and BREATHING.

Link to the original fic

Okay, so I originally only meant to write like a paragraph or two, but this actually made me giggle out loud; I can already picture it — oh, poor, sweet, deluded Pantalone. I know Dottore is going to be PISSED. He just went through all the trouble of replacing Pantalone’s lungs only for Capitano to stab a claymore through his chest, repeatedly. violently. And with incredible force. 

Pantalone better pray that immortality serum is more than a glorified moisturiser because he's going to need deathlessness in every sense of the word

If Capitano ever gets a whiff of a rumour that Pantalone has taken advantage of his absence… Pantalone is undoubtedly capable, but I would NOT want to be in his shoes.

If… no, actually, WHEN (I still believe our beloved captain will return; we just have to believe harder) Capitano regains his consciousness, I can tell you with absolute certainty a VERY smug Pulcinella will be signing off on using public funds to peel Pantalone’s body off the streets of Snezhnograd.

I’m afraid all the money in the world can do very little to stop a freshly awakened Capitano who just wants to see his beloved darling!!!! 

Capitano pulls up to Zapolyarny Palace, ready to tell everyone he’s alive and he’s ready to resume his duties!!!! He just wants to go and have a very romantic (very one-sided) reunion with his darling first; that's okay, right guys? Haha…. right? …right? guys…? why do you all look so nervous haha?

On one hand, he is thrilled that you are safe and sound; your safety was the only reason he hesitated to sacrifice himself in Natlan.

He had sent off a missive to Pierro when he had made up his mind to reassure him that you were unaware of any of the Fatui’s inner workings and that he entrusted Pierro to ensure you were looked after in his absence, as well as a letter to hand over to you personally.

Apparently, the message never made it to Zapolynary Palace (weird that…), and with no one able to ask Capitano what he wished to do with his beloved, Pantalone graciously interceded on your behalf (and they say chivalry is dead?)

Capitano will be outraged at Pantalone for taking advantage of his darling’s vulnerability but, being so relieved at being able to hold you in his arms once again, a luxury he believed he would never have again, will allow you to dictate how this goes. The ball is in your park. 

Scenario A: You downplay what happened.

Perhaps you are truly innocent (read: naïve) enough to believe Pantalone was truly trying to save you from a grisly fate and you were able to overlook any… impropriety as Pantalone’s poor attempts at comforting a widow.

Maybe you have even grown fond of Pantalone in the time you’ve spent together; you revelled in his attentions. The constant gifts and doting, the trips and excursions, every tender kiss and caress. His love burned just as fiercely, but maybe you found warmth where Capitano’s flames scorched you.

OR maybe you are just a sadist who likes holding all the cards, and the idea of the richest man in Snezhnaya squirming while trying to piece together your motivations amuses you. The idea of him pacing his office all throughout the night, not getting a lick of sleep while constantly overthinking your motivation.

Was this all some elaborate political game? No Pantalone, it’s just funny to watch you writhe.

Scenario B: You don’t hold back…

Perhaps, Pantalone truly terrified you and were praying for the miracle of Capitano's safe return. After all, the devil you know is better than the one you don't. You knew Capitano's overly reverential love at least ensured your safety from everyone, including himself.

It's also equally possible you considered Pantalone a real annoyance and you want petty vengeance for the countless hours you will never get back where he forced you to perch on his lap as he peppered your forehead in doting kisses while he murmured into your hair line quite possibly the most boring financial theories in excruciating detail.

If it weren’t for his clear proficiency at manipulating conversations and interactions, you would have thought Pantalone was just socially inept.

No matter what social cues you tried to force his way with about as much subtlety as a bull in a china shop (you started with slow, clipped responses. lots of “uh-huh”, “oh”, “wow”, “huh” until after several hours and a sore back later you had started to just outright fake being asleep to TRY and get him to SHUT UP and he. still. kept. talking. Your eyes were shut, breathing deep, pulse slowed. You were putting on a performance that would put the Korolevisky troupe to shame) he simply will not shut up. Murmuring into your hairline for hours with his hot, wet breath, you were surprised when you DIDN'T find a mushroom sprouting out of your forehead when he finally relinquished you at the end of his monologue.

Capitano was delusional in many ways but he was lucid enough to see when he was boring you. But please, don't be mean to the poor Pantalone. He's just so giddy to finally have you that he can't think straight.

He's been pining for you for years, he just wants to tell you all about his grand ideas and complicated theories and for you to "Ooh" and "Aah" and say "wow Feofan, has anyone ever told you how smart and handsome and kissable you are?"

Capitano will sweetly coax you into telling him about ANY questionable touch or whisper or even look. Any inkling of ill intentions, he wants to hear about it.

Pantalone has dishonoured you and taken advantage of you in your hour of need, Capitano needs to exact justice on your behalf.

He doesn't care if you think what you're telling him is stupid or miniscule. Nothing you say is unimportant or insignificant to him.

He will hold you tightly as you tell him all that happened in his absence. He will take you in his arms gently but you can still feel the tenseness in his limbs. He whispers in your ear, reminding you of how brave you are. His words are sincere and sweet but you can hear his voice is strained.

When he tells you he cannot express how sorry he is for leaving you vulnerable to the predatory advances of the unworthy, he means it.

If his body had not been so ravaged by abyssal corruption you are sure you would be able to see bitter tears of regret falling down his cheeks.

If you are a more vindictive darling, you could outright lie if you wished; the proof could sit right in front of Capitano’s face, and he would still refuse to see it.

In his eyes, you are his perfect little angel that does no wrong ever. Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.

He doesn’t care about the facts; there is only one truth Capitano cares about, and that is that his perfect sweet darling would never lie to him. (Apart from the numerous times they have in the past, but he’s not counting those, so stop bringing them up, okay?).

Pantalone is pissed, but he still doesn’t have it in him to be mad at you, the thought of you playing the trickster just endears you to him even more.

Truthfully, He’s more annoyed at your oaf of a husband, Capitano faces off against Ronova and comes strolling back like he just went on a lovely hike through the Natlanese mountains. unbelievable.

I just know Pantalone was seething and malding when he hear Capitano was alive and well after all.

He’s honestly most upset that you think he was such a poor host, a bit embarrassed even. He had been pining and planning for years and fumbled so badly.

Well, no matter. Provided Pantalone has a bit of prep time, there are plenty of strings he can pull. Half of Snezhnaya owes Pantalone a favour, and the other half want him to owe them.

“Tell me, Zandik. Are you not curious about the inner workings of our dear colleague? I’m sure any endeavours to discover them would be exceptionally well funded”

Even if he does not have any prep time, it’s unlikely Pierro will tolerate the harbingers openly feuding, especially over something he sees as so inconsequential as you. He foolishly doesn't see that voicing this sentiment would create the truce he wants (albeit temporarily, where the anger Capitano and Pantalone feel at you being described as inconsequential would be enough to unite and blow Pierro up with their minds)

If they cause too many problems, then Pierro will have to intervene, and then it really could go any way. 

Pierro deeply respects Capitano as a warrior and harbinger, but Pantalone is the beating heart of the Snezhnayan economy. No matter who he says gets to keep you, the other will fight that decision tooth and nail and Snezhnaya will bleed.

Capitano will likely fight it overtly, if you have been wronged in any way, the only order capitano will accept is the tsaritsa's blessing to separate Pantalone's head from his body.

If this ends in anything other than his darling returned to him and him personally ensuring a gruesome end to the man who sought to replace him then he is willing to turn against the fatui.

When he went to face Ronova he went knowing that he would likely never see you again. Now that he has a second chance to be with you, he won't squander that.

On the other hand, Pantalone is no stranger to underhanded measures, they are his bread and butter. Capitano might be physically stronger but Pantalone is unrivalled at manipulation.

Luckily for Pantalone, He's not stupid or proud enough to challenge Capitano to a duel or anything of the sort, growing up in abject poverty allows you to see the true value of your life and makes you far less willing to gamble it when the odds are not stacked in your favour.

So if you feel yourself being pulled out of your bed in the night and carried away by strange men, he knows its all very scary but if you can be brave and keep the screaming to a minimum, at least until he gets you to the safe house, he would be very appreciative.

Or I raise a secret third option: Why choose? Weaponise how whipped they are and start the throuple of your dreams. Best of both worlds. you are welcome.

[rosesoftly]

Hi!! Omg so lowkey highkey nervous writing this, because ?? It has been a hot minute since I've interacted on Tumblr socially lol. But it couldn't be held in no more ‼️ Im genuinely so hooked on your writing and its been a WHILE since I've gotten so immersed in fanfics. I dont even know how to describe it? I think the biggest thing is that the tone is consistent, so it really locks you in. It feels like a smooth, natural step into the next scene without it being fast-paced, or slow and boring.

And especially your handle on the characters is so admirable, I feel like you get them. (You know better than Hoyo's writers frfr) So often I look at the dialog and go "Oh my god, you know what, they so would say that" IT GETS ME SO GIDDY MAN OH MY GODDD. Your writing on Dottore specifically makes me ?? Teehee☆ He's a hard character to write and get a handle on, I feel. So you do him exceptionally well!! It's satisfying you dont shy away from the more gruesome parts of characters, but you also grasp the more complicated and softer side, however twisted that may be.

Its just so cool and I love your writing, please dont go bald♡

oh my gosh i didn’t see this until right now!!! this is the absolute kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me, thank you so so much!!!!! i always get very worried that my characterisations aren’t very good or are really unfaithful to their canonical personalities so hearing that someone likes what I’ve done is so so so insanely reassuring, seriously i cannot thank you enough 🩷🩷🩷 i pinky promise i’ll try avoid baldness with all my might, my hair is staying firmly upon my head if i have anything to say about it, just for you my goat 🙏🙏

[rosesoftly]

Ranking the Yandere! Harbingers as S/Os (separate)

Summary: This is a ranking of the yan! fatui harbingers, evaluating the happiness/safety of each harbingers as a spouse going from the best (at the start) and progressing to the worst (at the end). The proofreading may be lacklustre (nonexistent) and to that I say... forgive me pretty please, I am so exhausted!

Includes: Arlecchino, Childe, La Signora, Il Dottore, Pierro, Scaramouche

Word Count: 5.1k

TW: if you are not comfortable with the following, please do not read! Dark content, Yandere themes, controlling behaviour, financial manipulation, mentions of violence, emotional manipulation, isolation, violence , medical malpractice (dottore), very very unethical science (dottore), possessiveness, infantilisation (Pantalone)

Best

Childe:

Tartaglia is easily among the more mild of the yanderes, which is admittedly very little consolation in a group of blood thirsty murderers. Nonetheless, if you decide to take your predicament (he prefers you call it a relationship) in stride, you may find Childe to be rather personable company with a surprising amount of redeeming features for the Tsaritsa’s weapon of war. Admittedly, his penchant for massacring his (and your) foes with unnerving efficiency and enthusiasm may not exactly scream ‘husband material’ BUT if you are able to wade through the oceans of blood he has shed in his mad lust for battle, he is an oddly attentive and empathetic partner, even as a yandere.

Punch him! Kick him! Bite him! Scream at him! Use him as you wish! He will roll with the punches! He might even allow you to get in several hits before he eventually takes your wrists into his warm, calloused (surprisingly gentle) grip. Even when you spit vitriol in his face, cursing his existence, vowing that he will suffer at your hand - Tartaglia keeps that soft smile painted across his pink lips whilst in the depths of his lightless eyes you think you can almost make out half a twinkle. He will sigh contentedly as though you had caressed his cheek rather than struck it with whatever paltry might you can muster against the eleventh harbinger. If you didn’t know any better, you might believe that he enjoys being the subject of your ire.

Naturally having a ruthless mass murderer infatuated with you is far from ideal however there are a few silver linings. For one: his cold bloodedness on the battle field does not extend to you. Ever. Additionally, Childe will permit you far more freedom than any of the other harbingers. He would never keep you locked away, your love is something to be treasured. He has no doubt that your meeting was fated by the Tsaritsa herself for only the Goddess of love could foretell such a perfect match. To hide his love for you would be akin to blasphemy.

Rest assured that wherever the eleventh harbinger wanders, you will be by his side. Even in battles. Especially in battles. Childe relishes in any opportunity to display his fearlessness and battle prowess. Don't look so worried, as long as there is still blood in his veins, there isn't a single force in Teyvat that he would permit to harm you. In an odd way, being Tartaglia’s obsession might even be an improvement on your prior life. When you were first stolen away by a love-sick harbinger, you didn't anticipate a boon being the new cultures and civilisations that you are able to enjoy by his side. He will tote you along anywhere, from the foot of the tsaritsa’s throne to the most remote pits of the chasm - where he goes, you will follow. 

Furthermore, should you desire it, Childe will not harm your family. As a matter of fact, he won’t separate you from them at all. As long as they don't attempt to intervene in your relationship, then he is content to play the doting and charismatic son-in-law. He couldn't imagine the pain of never seeing his family again, how could he ever inflict such pain on his beloved? Besides, once you are married (something he hopes will be very imminent if the constant queries about your ring size are anything to go off of), then your families will be joined. The only things that could ever dissuade him would be if you ever revealed that your family had been cruel to you. That is something he refuses to accept or overlook. You are so gentle and sweet, the thought of anyone laying their hands on you or speaking down to you, family or not, he won’t accept it.

“Don’t worry” he reassures you, tucking your head into his chest as he wraps his arms around you. Whether you're pleading him to spare them or begging him to make them suffer, he doesn't seem to hear you. A faraway grin spreads across his cheeks as he takes a deep inhale of your hair, whispering into your strands, “You can just make a new family with me”, his arms curling even tighter about your body.

Arlecchino:

In many ways, she is similar to Tartaglia. Although she may initially appear to be cold and cruel, it’s clear that even her icy heart has thawed for you. She won’t completely isolate you. She does adore you, she just struggles to communicate it in a conventional way, even with Lyney and Lynette attempting to play wingman. 

The primary factor that makes her ‘worse’ than the eleventh harbinger is her astute belief that you should be satisfied with only interacting with her and her children. Any pleads to interact with others will immediately be dismissed, she won't ever deign to entertain such a request.

You do find solace in the fact that no day at the house of the hearth is ever boring. The whole house is made up of magnetic personalities that are giddy to have another parental figure. The children are not oblivious, they understand that your relationship with Arlecchino is unconventional to put it mildly however, they have also seen you coax out gentle smiles from their father. Not the sadistic smirk that comes when punishing a foe nor a pleased grin that comes when the children succeed in their missions. The smile you bring to her painted lips is small, no more than a thin crescent across her face, yet it is more truthful than any words that have fallen from her lips.

The happiness you bring their father is worth the world to them, as such the children will go above and beyond for you. You learn to anticipate daily magic shows, gifts of shimmering sea glass, endless games of hide and seek and gentle tugs on your clothing from the younger children asking for a bedtime story. As long as you behave and remain safely by her side, she is happy to allow you to indulge the children, if only for your own sake. She would never admit it aloud but seeing you dote on the children makes her heart grow lighter,

It is important to note that this a luxury that is reserved for only when you are well behaved. Her years as the father of the house of the hearth has taught her the importance of strict discipline. If she yields even once when punishing you then you’ll think you can get away with it. She does not relish in hurting you but it is for your own good.

Fret not. Her predecessor Crucabena has taught her that excessive cruelty will only cause strife for both you and herself. Her punishments are focused more on isolating you than causing physical harm. Besides, you provide something to the children that their father cannot provide: gentleness and warmth. To isolate you is as much a punishment for the children as it is for you.

However you ought not get any foolish ideas about fleeing. 

“The children would be heartbroken without you” she mutters, her corrupted hand stroking the skin of your cheek soothingly. Shrouded beneath a layer of concern for her children lay a much more selfish desperation to keep you close. The slow caress across your face may seem saccharine sweet to the unwitting observer but that is only because they cannot feel the way her needle sharp nails tickle across your cheeks, mere millimetres from a lapse in pressure - or judgement - leaving bloody scrapes stinging across the thin skin.

She is silent for a moment, her red lips drawn into a thin wound-like line. Her dark, haunting eyes ghost across your features before she finally opens her mouth, her rich low voice sounds almost wistful “Perhaps it’s time the house of the hearth officially had a mother as well as a father, what do you think, my love?”

You know the question is rhetorical. The grip on your face already gives you the answer.

La Signora:

500 years spent mourning a lost love cannot be shrugged off like a thick winter coat. Sometimes Rosalyne wondered if she could even remember a time before she was consumed by loss. Nevertheless, when her eyes met yours the raw passion and fire that she had tempered with her cryo delusion was reignited into a blaze. She believed that she could never love again, that her heart had broken and nothing would be able to fill it back up but now she knows better. She can look back on her suffering as a trial to teach her to treasure you, it wasn't meaningless - it was to teach her your true value.

Her iciness and ruthlessness was well known to her subordinates however the harsh frozen exterior of La Signora melts away to reveal a fire that burns only for you. The flames that burst through her veins are a blistering purge to cleanse away any that would dare to cross her most beloved. After suffocating in bitterness and rage for so long, life dictated solely by her own regrets and longing - now that the gods have seen fit to return love to her, she refuses to squander or compromise her second chance.

Your relationship with La Signora will always be intense, it’s in the very nature of the flames that burn within her to be all-consuming however you may get away with a degree of unawareness regarding just how deep her emotions run until her fear of loss is reignited. It could occur in any matter of ways but the most likely would be if your life is ever placed in any danger.

She is willing to demonstrate just how hot the crimson witch can burn, she will carbonise their bones until not even ashes remain to be carried off by the winds of Barbatos. She would challenge anyone, her own subordinates, her fellow harbingers, the heavenly principles. There is no cost she wouldn’t pay to ensure your safety.

Unlike Childe, you will be kept far away from any battles or skirmishes. Your life will largely be spent in her estate in Snezhnaya where she can keep you hidden behind tall, thick walls and a legion of fatuus with explicit orders to prioritise your safety above all else. (Although, If you're lucky you may be permitted to attend one of Sandrone's tea parties (with her supervision, of course.)) Her protectiveness is suffocating, like a humid summer's day, even when you cannot see her she clings to your skin, wrapping you tightly in her warmth regardless of how you squirm and sweat. 

The Tsaritsa could ask almost anything of Rosalyne and have it granted, she was willing to challenged the anemo, geo and electro archons to gain their gnosis, but she would draw the line at you. You will never be forced to act as a pawn in this petty game the gods play. The Jester and Tsaritsa can push her around the board at will but you will be kept as far away from this vicious war against Celestia as she can manage. The mere thought of you being injured causes the crimson flames to pulse under her flesh, crying out for her to release them without discrimination - if she were to ever lose you, all of Teyvat would become a subject to Rosalyne’s rage. Not the quiet, cold bitterness that she subjected herself to for centuries, it would be the blistering wrath of the eight harbinger sweeping through any nation that dared to test her rage. Even she is afraid of the chaos she may unleash should she lose love again so… be a dear and stay safe at home while your beloved wife takes care of it all.

Pierro:

Despite having spent innumerable years as the wife of the director of the Fatui, you were ashamed to admit the man was still largely a mystery to you. In many ways he was so simple to understand but in other ways he remained utterly shrouded in mystery. You have had your husband bear his soul to you countless times, every day he tells you what he has done, what he is thinking, what he is feeling and yet you can never anticipate his next words, he remains an enigma.

He speaks plainly to you, gruff yet not without a tinge of affection that your ears have managed to pick up on. Any setbacks or challenges do not matter once his attention turns to you. You will never hear a harsh timbre or growl corrupt the words he whispers into your skin with reverence. That is the one certainty Pierro has granted you. No matter how little you feel you know of him and his motivations, you could never doubt the love and adoration he harbours for you.

Pierro may even be manageable as a yandere if not for the utter isolation he entails. Some harbingers may permit you handmaids and servants to attend to you, others will insist on remaining attached at the hip with you, refusing to part from their beloved. Alas, Pierro is an eternally pragmatic man. What would he stand to gain from trapping you in some palatial mansion surrounded by countless staff who will never stray from the script granted to them for fear of upsetting or offending you or him? How could giving you this small, vapid illusion of freedom possibly benefit you? It would be nothing but an insult to your intellect.

Instead you will remain in his private quarters in Zapolyarny palace day and night. Admittedly to call it simply a bedroom would be a disservice, the room was sprawling and larger than your childhood home thrice over, no expense was spared for the director of the Fatui however after a few years of naught but the same four walls, It’s inevitable that the space becomes stifling.

Your distress is only exacerbated by his never-ending schedule. Despite the amorous professions he mutters against the back of your hand after pressing a gentlemanly kiss to the back of it, he cannot give you all the time you deserve. Not yet, at least. In order to secure your future, he must dedicate everything to the planning of his revolution against the heavenly principles. Should he fail in this insurmountable task… he dares not ponder on what might become of you. He refuses to compromise your safety for anything, as such, for every night you spend lying in his arms, there's another 10 he spends hunched over his desk or in a meeting with the harbingers to fine tune the specific details of their schemes to obtain the gnoses.

Before the death of Signora you may have been permitted out for key public events in Snezhnaya, partly due to people expecting Pierro to bring his elusive spouse but primarily to ensure you don't go stir crazy however after the passing of Signora - that is it. No more going out of his chambers. His plan was 500 years in the making and now he is seeing the casualties of it, it has gone from a faint dream eternally just out of reach to his reality seemingly overnight and he will not have you be struck down before you can see the new world he is building for you.

He has already lost his country. Don't make him lose you too.

Pantalone:

Although he would ardently disagree if you ever voiced this sentiment aloud to Pantalone, it’s abundantly clear to anyone who spends enough time with him, that behind the façade of wealth and opulence lies a mere man who fears as all mortals do. His unyielding grip on his possessions (yourself included), his obsession with the acquisition of wealth, his constant need to take and take, stripping those around him of all they have to give.

He loves you deeply, with passion he was unaware he could muster for anything besides the acquisition of mora. The gleam of a coin seems dim when compared to the light in your smile. How could he not desire you?

Pantalone has always been a greedy man, his impoverished upbringing teaching him the necessity of clutching what you value close to your chest lest someone steal it from you. He has applied that value to everything of note throughout his life, how could you expect him to behave when he is presented with such unbridled feelings of love. Merely being in your presence overwhelms him with feelings he had believed himself immune to. Being so overtaken with devotion combined with the utter bewilderment these newfound emotions have caused, can you truly fault him for returning to his nature? Possession is the lifeblood of this banker. 

He really doesn’t understand your complaints about your situation. He views life in a strictly logical lens that persists in all facets, even those that can be distinctly irrational, such as matters of the heart. In his eyes all relationships are transactions, whether that be an exchange of vows in return for love and attention or a traditional arranged marriage for social or financial benefits. 

To Pantalone, transactions are the basis of all relationships so when you gift him something so precious, the fluttering of butterflies that tickle the inside of his ribcage until he's dry retching to try and get them out.

You also provide him with an endless amount of entertainment. While he rereads the last night's financial reports, trying to figure out how Dottore seems to have a magical ability to make funding disappear, he turns his attention to you. how would your soft lips would look painted petal-pink? or perhaps a deep ruby-red would be more suitable? his mind once again diverts itself, now wondering how that ruby lipstick might look smudged across both your faces.

In return for the joy and fulfilment you have brought into his world, he believes it’s only fair he finishes the transaction - he will not have it said that Pantalone does not pay his debts - he showers you in riches beyond belief, never in your life had you seen such absurd displays of wealth. Whether you grew up like him in the dregs of society or you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, the degree at which he showers you in gifts is unlike anything you’ve seen before. Every morning a new gown is laid on your bed, within the first year of your marriage, your sixth walk-in wardrobe was already overflowing. Every evening when he returns from work he is carrying a box with a deep purple ribbon wrapped around it, inside will sit a pair of diamond drop earrings, or a ruby encrusted bangle or a lustrous pearl necklace. Whatever he thinks will grant you joy. You’re sure the jewellers and seamstresses of Snezhnaya must think of him as their own personal archon. 

However, due to his spoiling of you, he feels it is his right to dismiss any and all complaints you make, he will insist that he has spoiled you too much and that you should be thankful he is kind enough to shield you from the horrors of this world, you couldn’t hope to understand how hard life can be so keep your pretty mouth shut and stop whining. Then he begins to muse aloud that perhaps a break from his generosity will remind you how lucky you are but you know that these are always empty threats as the following morning a familiar smile rests upon his lips as he presents you with yet another gift. 

Once Pantalone has his hands on you, prepare to be infantilised to a fatuous extent. Every task is seen to by someone else, sometimes it feels like he doesn't even want you to think. You thought the spouses of powerful men were supposed to manage their estates and households but he merely chuckles when you bring up the prospect.

”Don’t fret over such a thing, I already have someone seeing to something as menial as what we will have for dinner or the garden renovations”

If you ask for books he might acquiesce (should he deem the content appropriate), after all he does adore gifting you things, seeing that smile blossom across your face makes his breath pick up. Of course he won’t permit you to read them yourself lest you get a paper cut. Don’t he will read it out loud for you.

There is a task force of maids that assist you in everything from dressing to bathing to writing. He has someone assigned to do each task for you. At first it was pleasant to live without agonising over such small decisions and worries, however after a week of being completely robbed of your autonomy can be disastrous to the mind. It took hours of protest for him to finally acquiesce on anything and even that victory was minimal (On the plus side you are now allowed to feed yourself).

You’re sure he would assign someone to breathe for you if he could. He strips the joy out of the simple pleasures of life:

playing instruments: “oh there’s no need for such a thing, if you want music then ill hire you your own orchestra but you don’t need to lower yourself, you’re not some travelling bard, besides you might get callouses if you play too often” Gardening: “My darling what joy could you possibly find in digging around in the dirt? Tell me what flowers you wish to see boom and I will see it done. Any flower you wish, if it’s not suited for the Snezhnayan climate then I’ll simply have to build you a greenhouse” Baking:  “My treasure, I’ve hired the finest pastry chef in Teyvat, simply tell him what you desire and he’ll make it. I don’t want you hurting yourself nor do I want you skulking about in the kitchens where the maids work, what would people think?”

They have all been stripped from you. You can only understand yourself in relation to your husband. Any aspect of yourself that he has not personally cultivated shall be discarded. At first you felt as though he treated you like a beloved, exotic pet yet even that would attribute you too much agency. Day by day, you feel yourself become more like Pantalone’s doll than a human being, and that is just the way he likes it.

Scaramouche:

When you call him cruel he cannot help but burst into uncharacteristic laughter, vomiting up hysteric giggles bursting. He has known no being that has inflicted such suffering upon the puppet as you and yet he must endure your accusations and criticisms at every turn.

You have wronged him. Not the other way around.

Perhaps it is some form of cosmic irony. For centuries now, the balladeer has steeled his resolve to scrub away every last trace of human emotion and rid each and every illusion of frailty and softness. To finally become the emotionless weapon that Ei had desired of him only to turn the blade back upon her. His centuries long façade had become so convincing that even he had forgot the pangs of emotion within his hollow chest. Until you. Crashing into his core like a bull in a china shop, demolishing his hard work, undermining his pretence and stripping away his layers of armour until you hold the squishy parts that had been hidden away since he was kabukimono. 

You grasp at the fabric of his already unravelling psyche and start pulling at the threads without regard, completely ignorant of the turmoil you’ve thrust upon him.

To have his living, breathing punishment - the root cause of the violating feeling that now sits curdling in his chest - look into his eyes and whimper and wail about his cruelty and inhumanity.

Somehow, although he doesn't quite know how, you’ve cast some spell on him to fan the smouldering embers of tenderness that had died with that little boy in Tatarasuna and when you aren’t within arms reach, despite his puppet form having no need for oxygen he finds himself gasping for it nonetheless.

For a short while after these feelings arose he contemplated just killing you to rid himself of this sickness that has crept throughout him and enveloped his body and soul yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Fury festered in each and every corner of his mind at the mere idea of you spending a second in the embrace of another, even if its is the soft dirt beneath his sandalled feet.

This train of thought steels his resolve. He will keep you close, grasped in a tight fist but he must ensure you remain unaware of any power you might wield over him.

The one trait about humans that he can appreciate is their self-deprecation. They are well aware of their weakness when faced with the insurmountable power of the divine. If you, a mewling wretch of a person are able to wield control over him then, does that not make him weak by association. 

He remembers all to well what happened the last time he was weak. He was cast away like the broken doll he is.

He will not allow himself to be cast away once more, least of all by you. 

Scream. Cry. Beg. His judgement on this matter is sempiternal. 

He is not daft. He sees the irony in turning you into his very own doll. He relishes in the sick feeling of satisfaction he gains seeing you bound up in a restrictive kimono, chuckling darkly as you stumble in the geta sandals he had commissioned just to watch you hobble.

Relax, he won't hurt you unless you deserve it. The issue lies in the fact that he has a very liberal perception of what a punishable offence constitutes. 

You are his now. No man can give you “'til death do us part” quite like the immortal scion of the electro archon. If you value your own safety and the safety of those you treasure, you will not bother Scaramouche with such inconsequential quibbles such as ‘missing your family.’ He can give you the world so stop whining.

He has granted you a life of insurmountable wealth with more mora than you could count in a lifetime, as well as his protection and affections so wipe your eyes and grit your teeth. You do know how he despises the sight of tears.

Dottore:

Dottore lives within a precarious balance. He exists in a stasis. He is simultaneously too aware of the intimacies and failings of humanity on both a cosmic and personal scale yet he is also similarly detached from the day to day lives, feelings and fears of people. He has long since scraped away his humanity in order to transcend into the being he always knew he could become.

Zandik is a name that has been since lost to time. He has always considered himself elevated above his fellow humans. Even as a young boy he understood that within him existed a profound desire to consume all knowledge and wisdom he could. As he blossomed into his teenage years he did not long for the tender embrace of a lover or hot breath against his ear. Instead he craved mastery over his studies and comprehension of all aspects of Teyvat. His deepest desire was to lose himself in the endless pursuit of knowledge rather than in the heated embrace of a lover. Until you came along.

You did not kill him, you never even laid a hand on him but somehow you committed a far more grievous crime. Crueler than murder. You unmade him. You wrapped your fingers around the very core of his being, the most tender and true parts of himself, the very essence of his nature and… your weak, puny hands tightened with all the strength your delicate mortal body could exert and you tightened your fist until he was crushed into naught but a handful of sand in your fist. Then you dusted your hands of him and presumed to move on as though the destruction of the second harbinger's personhood was naught but an trifle or a brief amusement to you. Such a cruel master he has found himself besotted with.

Now you leave him floundering. For the first time in centuries Zandik feels well and truly out of his depth. Never before did he have to deal with these sticky, sentimental emotions that have come to plague him.

He has taken to wandering aimlessly through the gardens of Zapolyarny palace, gazing up at the blinding mid-morning sun until his eyes felt as though they might beat out of his skill from the agony of staring ceaselessly. Perhaps the excruciating thumping in his eyeballs might distract him, if only for a moment from the thumping in his chest but it never lasts. Even if the sun managed to blind him, Dottore was beyond certain that your face would become a permanent fixture in his minds eye.

What are you thinking? What made you think that? Who are you thinking of right now? Is it him? Do you think of him as he does of you? Do you also wonder what he would look like spliced by a scalpel and laid out on an operating table for you to ravage? He could show you if you begged sweetly enough, but only if he gets to cut you open too. Don’t worry, it wouldn’t do to have his favourite specimen of study to die before he can reap every last fact and thought, until he can predict everything you feel and think better than he can his own. He will ensure you are unharmed from his experiments, if only to feel the warm, wet, pulsating heat of your heart thump within his hands. He can picture it now. Even with the blinding light of the sun, he can see it clear as day, he thinks he might even be able to taste it. If he took a bite out of your heart he thinks - no… he knows, it would burst into his mouth like a sunrise. He wonders if that would restore equilibrium. It would only be fair. You have consumed his heart wholly, surely it would only be just to return the favour…

If he acts upon his new feelings, Dottore is undeniably the cruellest of the harbingers. Not because he reviles you. Not at all. He treasures you. He prides himself on being a researcher and you have opened a whole new aspect of the human condition for him to explore and understand on a personal level, allowing him to understand attraction and affection from beyond the yellowed pages of a vahumana textbook. Truly he harbours no bitterness towards you, if you caught him at the right time he might even think that he loves you. Please believe him when he says it. He stands to gain nothing by deceiving you, he only desires to reach as deeply within you as he can - physically and mentally. Cover him in tears or viscera, it matters not to him, for the second harbinger is a close acquaintance to both, them being gore and fluids belonging to you only adds to the sweetness.

Even once he has carved you up and put you back together again, once he, once he has cut you open and squeezed and released your lungs - a sick grin falling across his face as he soaks in the high of each of your breaths being granted by his will alone -, once he has every tendon and blood vessel mapped and when he sits in the quiet and swears he can hear the gentle thumping of your pulse - he will not rid himself of you, even once he feels he has exhausted you of all knowledge. 

That simply means it's time to ask some of his other segments for ideas.

Worst

A/N: i promise one day i will write something cute for Dottore, i do love him really. I ask you forgive any grammatical errors, i promised myself i would post this last night so i've just stayed up and hustled because its not morning unless i got to bed, trust me!!

[rosesoftly]

Tomura Shigaraki is an all or nothing kind of guy so needless to say that once you guys become officially involved in a romantic relationship, love interests in video games lose all of their appeal to him. You’re his love interest now, he doesn't need anyone else.

“I’m not going to marry Ranni, the dark moon great sword is totally mid and the Lord of Frenzied Flame is the best ending. I'm not going to let her show up at the end and steal the credit for all my hard work”

“I don't give a shit about anyone in this valley, I just want to finish this stupid community center and put Lewis’ pants in the luau soup”

“No I’m not romancing Shadowheart. As if I want to spend the whole playthrough worrying about someone else's opinion. I don't want to spend the next 100 hours having to listen to her bitch about Shar or Selune or whoever she's talking about”

On a very similar note, If he finds out that you’re romancing a character in a video game then he's going to get unreasonably pissy about it

“What do you even see in Astarion? We both have red eyes and if you want to be bitten you don’t have to ask.” Do not take him up on this offer. he will chomp down. hard. It will look like you've been mauled from your trapezius right up until your jawline. He really takes a page out of Toga’s book. At a point you’re going to have to remind him that Astarion isn't real and that no matter how hard he bites, he isn't proving anything to anyone, least of all Astarion.

[leclercloveletters]

rampage 𝒞 consume file 07

SYPNOSIS .ᐟ tomura’s bad at sharing. spinner faces the consequences—and you? you see him spiral and unravel at the seams, sick with jealousy

INCLUDES ♱ ⋆.˚ 18+, NSFW, thigh riding, jealousy, toxic and unhealthy relationships, tomura not understanding basic human emotion, religious imagery, really unhealthy, mutual obsession, slightly yandere (?) tomura, cumming in pants, cumming untouched

A NOTE FROM IVY ⏾⋆.˚ i had a lot of fun with this one—sorry for the heaps of psychological introspection, i got carried away oops

જ⁀➴ CONSUME MASTERPOST

It starts in the den. It’s always the fucking den.

Tomura’s slouched low in the battered armchair, hood up, hands twitching against his thighs. Dabi's smoking by the cracked windows, smoke hanging around him like a veil, and Kurogiri is behind the bar, wiping down the tabletops, listening along to whatever Compress is saying. Even Twice is down here in the thick of it with Toga, playing some games Tomura said not to touch or he’d dust their fucking eyes from their skulls. They’d touched it. Kurogiri intervened. Tomura wasn’t allowed to dust their eyes.

And there, by the bar—you. Sitting with Spinner of all the pathetic fucks in this place, one chin in your palm, listening along to him. You’ve got that smile curved on your lips—the cruel one, the one that makes people trip over their own tongues just to keep your attention. Tomura’s seen you use it a hundred times before. He knows the game.

And Spinner—poor fucking idiot—he’s eating it up. Pink creeping under green scales, tail twitching, awkward in that way you feed off of but soaking up every drop you give him.

Tomura should not care. He tells himself that over and over, like grinding his teeth down will make it true. He doesn’t care who you mess with. He doesn’t care who you laugh at, flirt with, string along. This thing between you isn’t… it isn’t that. It's supposed to be simple. You get each other off. You fill the empty nights. You burn the edge off all the static.

That’s all.

But then you laugh. Not the sharp, sarcastic one. Not the clipped little sneer you throw when you’re being mean. This one’s soft. It crinkles the corners of your eyes, shows your dimples. It’s real. And Tomura’s stomach flips, hot and ugly.

His jaw aches from clenching. His nails scratch raw crescents into his palms.

Because suddenly it feels like he’s not in on the joke. Like maybe—just maybe—you’re giving Spinner something Tomura doesn’t get.

And that—fuck, that thought is unbearable.

His chest burns with it, this knot of want and rage and something else he can’t untangle. He wants to march over, dust Spinner where he sits, wipe that pink flush off his face. But he can’t—not without looking insane. Not without admitting something out loud he hasn’t even admitted to himself.

Your body language is loose. Trusting. Familiar. Like you’re enjoying the conversation. If that were it by itself, Tomura wouldn’t feel this sick—but what is sickening, is the look on Spinner’s face. Like he’s enjoying making you laugh. Like he thinks he has a chance. He doesn’t.

Spinner's too soft for the kind of things you like—you like toxic and messy fucks after missions. You like nails pressing into your skin. Your like teeth at your jugular. You like people like Tomura—mean, damaged, twisted in their own way. You don’t want clean cut or soft—Spinner wouldn’t be able to handle all that. Tomura can. Tomura does.

Whatever you throw at him, he take. Night after night of reckless fucking ever since your arrangement started. He can play your mind games, he can make that mean glint in your eye gleam, he can make you cum with nothing but his tongue and a prayer.

But there you are. Laughing with Spinner anyways. Tomura’s jaw works. The jealousy—he knows it’s jealousy even if he can never say it aloud—burns. It burns like acid, like barbed wire wrapping around his heart as it struggles to beat. It hurts in the most pathetic way possible, like someones prying his ribs open with a crowbar, one by one, like there's a boot pressed to his throat.

He wants to put a gun to Spinner's head and his only crime is making you smile.

Fuck that.

When you eventually slip away to your own room, leaving behind Spinner who's always been too greedy for his own good. The lizard's eyes follow you, big and wide, that faint flush burning red on his ears. He looks like a bashful puppy. It's disgusting. And when he tries to follow you, maybe to crack another joke or see what your room is like, the same room nobody's ever been in but him, the same sheets that nobody's skin has touched but his, Tomura slips behind him and slides a hand around his throat. Quick, efficient, easy. His pinkie is lifted. Barely.

Spinner stiffens instantly, a started breath and wide eyes darting behind him but Tomura's fingers squeeze in warning.

"B-boss?” he squeaks out. “What the hell's goin'—"

"Follow her and I'll let my fingers slip," Tomura murmurs quietly. His voice doesn't have the usual manic edge it carries, there's something lower there, crueller.

"W-wait. I wasn't gonna-," Spinner fumbles around his words, eyes flickering around the den for help and Tomura squeezes hard enough for it to bruise.

"Tomura," Kurogiri warns from behind the bar, hovering and alert. Tomura pays him no mind.

"Say you understand and I'll let go," he hisses into his ear and Spinner stiffens. He's seen Tomura mad before, seen him seething and practically frothing at the mouth with anger; this isn't that. This is worse.

"Okay. O-okay fuck, yes I understand. Shit, please just let me go—" Spinner strains to answer, voice raspy and weak, straining to get his throat away from Tomura's deadly fingers. Tomura's eyes narrow, his fingers press down on the windpipe like it's his own personal organ, pinky hovering like a trigger about to go off.

"Tomura," Kurogiri warns again, getting closer. He doesn't know how to mind his own fucking business.

"Get your own toys, Spinner. Don't fuck around with what's mine," Tomura grits out with one final sharp squeeze before finally letting go of the lizard, who cluthes at his throat as he coughs. The others in the den glance at them, Dabi's brow arching at the theatrics, and Kurogiri hovering nearby, watching.

"Tch," Tomura scoffs as he walks away. Kurogiri's lantern-like eyes track him the whole way.

Tomura's blood is still boiling, hot and painful under his skin, as he makes his way to your room like a storm. He doesn't know why the fuck he did that—he needs Spinner, for now anyways. Killing off allies all because he made a girl laugh was absurd, even Tomura knows that. If Sensei got wind of it, he’d be dragged into another lecture, all cold words and disappointment: You’re impatient, Tomura. You’re reckless, Tomura. Stop breaking your toys before they’re useful, Tomura.

His nails dig into his palms, stinging and biting into the soft flesh as he stalks through the dingy hideout.

But fuck that. Fuck it all. Plans, toys, Sensei—fuck it all. The only thing burning in his mind right now is you—your smile, your laugh, the tilt of your chin as you leaned in close to someone who wasn’t him.

He slams your door open with a sharp noise, enough to get your attention from where you're on your bed.

“What the fuck was that?” Tomura's voice cracks, ragged, like his throat is raw. He looks half feral, half cornered animal—hood half-fallen back, pale hair sticking to his sweat-damp forehead, eyes bloodshot and wild.

You arch an eyebrow, phone falling away to your soft sheets.

"What was what, boss?" you ask evenly, eyes flicking over him.

Tomura snarls. stepping in close, hands twitching, nails digging into the meat of his palms. "Don't play with me. That. In the den. Why were you—" He breaks off angrily, looking away, throat tightening. "With Spinner. Why the fuck were you talking to him like that?"

"Boss..." you mutter and Tomura hates it. Hates the perceptive look in your eyes, hates how you can read him like you understand him when he doesn't get a single fucking thing running through his head. He doesn't understand it—can't untangle it and disect the feeling of his lungs being crushed everytime you look at someone else, why it feels like he's going to break out in hives when your smile isn't directed at him.

"Are you fucking him?" Tomura spits and your eyes narrow at the accusation. He's way out of fucking line, he knows. And he doesn't fucking care. He crowds you, coming closer. “Are you? You flirt with him—fuck, you flirt with everyone. What the fuck is that?”

"Tomura, calm the fuck down I'm not fucking anybody else," you snap sharply and it stings in the best way. He would kiss your hand if it cracked across his cheek right now. He knows he would.

"Then why— Why do you keep fucking—" His voice is shredded, and his knees collapse to your bed. Your hands find him—they always find him. You pull him in and he goes, scrambles for you, wraps his arms around your neck, presses his thighs apart to fit on your lap.

"What's gotten into you?" you mutter as he clutches at you, nails digging into your skin, bony knees pressed on either side of your hips, threads of your hair in his hands.

"I don't know—" he hisses, face pressing into your throat. He breathes you in, vanilla and cotton and something unbearably soft he used to crave. Something from a life he doesn’t have anymore. Before bones and crowns and poison dripping in his ear.

"I can't— You can't—" Tomura grits out, eyes screwing shut, tears burning behind his eyelids, throat closing up. He doesn't know how to explain it, how to tell you it hurts everytime you look away from him, how his ribs ache like they're being pluck from his body everytime you laugh with someone else. He doesn't understand it, this unending, all-encompassing ache that's come with hooking up with you, tangling himself in you, desperately trying to tie knots so you can't untangle yourself from him.

"Tomura," you whisper and it aches. God it aches. His chest. His lungs. Between his thighs. It aches.

"Mine," he gasps as his hips rock down against your thigh where his cock is quickly filling, bulge rubbing against your thigh and he feels you tense, fingers pressing into his hips and it makes his head dizzy. "Mine, mine, mine. You can't— Don't fuck anybody else. Just me—"

He's a mess of limbs and need, grinding desperately against your thigh, cock throbbing through the denim. He rides your thigh like he’s lost control of every other part of himself, bouncing in frantic little jerks, hips snapping down against you again and again as though the pressure of your thigh is the only thing keeping him alive.

“Just me— Me, me, me—“ Tomura choked out, humping your thigh as he claws at you. Every movement is sloppy—awkward little thrusts and desperate rubs, his rhythm faltering whenever his cock pulses, twitching too hard with the need to cum. His thighs quiver, pale and tense, trying to hold himself steady but he’s too strung out, too wrecked, his whole body moving like a puppet with fraying strings.

You catch his jaw, tilt his face up so he has to meet your eyes, and Tomura shudders. “Breathe,” you mutter and his pupils blow wide, breath catching as your thigh flexes beneath him. You stroke his hair back, gentle where everything else is violent, and his lashes flutter.

“I don’t understand why I care,” Tomura croaks in a rush, shame thick in his throat. “But I don’t—I don’t share. I can’t.” His grinding gets sloppy, needy, precum soaking through his boxers. "Don't make me share," he begs pathetically, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, sharp and humiliating.

Something passes in your eyes then. He'd kill himself if it were pity. He'd drown in you if it were understanding. Because nobody understands him, wants him—but you do. You do. And he's latching onto you like you're the last person alive, clutching at you like a kid, begging to be your favourite.

"I won't," you soothe softly, brushing a tear away from his cheek and Tomura’s cock is visibly throbbing through the damp fabric, so hard it looks painful, each needy rut dragging more stickiness out of him. He’s grinding himself raw and doesn’t care—bouncing harder, his whole body jerking as he chases the high. Pathetic, ruined, needy, all of it scrawled across his pale skin as he sobs into your neck.

“I won't, boss. I don't wanna fuck anybody else," you murmur softly, a small smile at your lips. It's not pitying. It's sharper. Like you get it—like you understand he's breaking at the seams from this. That maybe you feel the same way—like you want to suffocate him with your feelings too, until it’s all he’s breathing.

Like you understand this isn’t the kind of give-and-take he’s heard people fumble about in whispers, soft exchanges and careful balances. No. This is something warped. You feed him pieces of yourself—smiles he wants to chain down, laughter he wants to lock behind his ribs so no one else can hear—and he bleeds himself dry in return. He’d carve himself open if you asked, if only to prove that what festers inside him is all for you.

“Fuck—fuck. Don't— You can't— Can't look at anybody else,” Tomura gasps, words breaking on his tongue, lashes damp and fluttering as he tries to keep his eyes on you. His mouth hangs open, spit shining his lower lip, his breath hot against your throat as he whines. It’s a pathetic sound—wet, high, cracked with emotion—but he doesn’t try to swallow it down. He’s past dignity, past restraint.

"I'm looking at you boss," you murmur as you cup his cheek and Tomura clutches at your shoulders, nails biting, jerking his hips faster as if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t take everything he can right now. His cock drags against the softness of your thigh with each bounce, rubbing slick over the fabric of his jeans, precum smearing in hot stripes on the inside that make him cry out louder, tears beading down.

Tomura doesn’t know what normal people feel when they care. He’s never had that template, never had the words. All he knows is the clawing, frantic hunger to keep. To keep you looking at him, smiling for him, seeing him. It’s a violence dressed up as devotion, an obsession dressed up as need.

You see him. Not the way Sensei did, who saw a child with red-rimmed eyes and a quirk too sharp to waste. Not like Sensei, who turned him into a weapon, a tool. You saw him naked in all the ways that mattered—skin stretched over bones, mind unraveling in manic spirals—and you didn’t flinch. You wanted more. You said yes when his eyes were manic and his teeth were sharp.

You let him collapse against you, let him claw your skin bloody when he’s desperate, let him beg until his throat is ruined, sobbing into your chest. You don’t recoil when he’s greedy, when he’s manic, when he feels like he’s going insane. Even now, when he’s sick with jealousy, you stroke his hair back, slow and steady, let him ride your thigh and sob into your throat.

He doesn’t understand why the thought of losing you feels like being skinned alive. He doesn’t know how to name the thing boiling in his chest. All he knows is that he’d kill anyone who tried to take you from him—and that when you stroke your hand down his spine, grounding him, he almost believes he’s allowed to feel this way.

"Swear—" Tomura chokes out as he rocks against your thigh, clutching at you, whining hard when the friction hits right, panting openly. His hips rock, bouncing desperately to press the head of his cock to your thigh. "Swear to god—Swear it's just me. Just me— Just me in your head."

Tomura wants to be your favourite—your favourite fuck, your favourite person. Being the center of your attention is intoxicating, and he needs the obsession to be mutual—needs whatever this is to be mutual.

And the way your eyes watch him, the way your fingers curl into his hips, guiding his desperate thrusts, the way you let his cock drool precum through his jeans as he pushes his hips desperately against your thigh—he thinks it is. That he might be sick and twisted but if he kissed you now, he’d taste it on your tongue too.

You press your lips to the hinge of his jaw and he swears he sees god. "I swear. On you." You swear on him because the rest of the world has nothing that matters to either of you—no church, no law, no empty cosmic oath. The only altar left is the one of flesh and ruin between you.

You don’t invoke gods. You invoke him—him who’s been given a city to crumble, a quirk to reap the consequences of letting a little boy with scraped knees and quirk he didn’t ask for slip through the cracks. Chapels will crumble at his feet, society will be delivered the judgement they’ve been craving by the man who’s clawed his way up, blood soaked, crimson-eyed. God has no place where Tomura Shigaraki rises.

“Nobody else. Just you, just us,” you whisper, and the words fall into the hollow parts of him where his childhood still lives—to that little boy who used to beg to be chosen. You don’t refuse him. You choose him freely—in all his bloodshed and insanity, in all the sick and twisted want carving him open in your hands.

Tomura folds into it like he’s been waiting his whole life for permission. His eyes roll back and his body convulses, a hot, ugly, ecstatic release spilling through him as he cums, messy against your thigh. His breath drags ragged from his chest as he clings to you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. His cock throbs as it spurts cum, soaking his pants, and he moans at the feeling, the ecstasy burning away the jealousy. You don't shame him, don't even comment on how he's cum in his pants like a teenager. You just stroke his hair.

His eyes flutter shut, pale lashes falling against his cheeks, and his body melts into you.

“Mine,” Tomura whispers into your throat, voice raw and hoarse. But it carries a sharp edge of finality that he'd cut himself on over and over again if it led to your arms wrapping around him.

thank you for reading! - consume masterlist - © leclercloveletters 2025. all rights reserved. please do not upload elsewhere, translate or copy

[anime-as-textposts]

[miauiz]

normal girls 💗💗

[rosesoftly]

Tomura shigaraki is a greedy kisser

.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

When initially entering into a tentative relationship with Tomura Shigaraki, you were under no delusions that it would be tender pledges of undying devotion or chaste pecks against the corner of your lips.

His crudeness and abrasive personality were as much a part of him as the scars that encircle his crimson gaze or the drying blood that mars the pale flesh of his neck.

Tomura Shigaraki’s ideals consume all aspects of his existence. In its basest form, decay is the complete reshaping of all he comes into contact into his own calamitous image. As such, it should come as no surprise that when his lips press to yours, it's with an all encompassing passion, a desire to consume you wholly. His unceasing intensity combined with his utter lack of experience lends itself to creating an distinctive experience the moment his mouth thrusts itself upon your own, as he wrestles his desperation and desire for dominance.

Rarely does he openly express any emotion but rage or disgust at the society of heroes he is striving to upend unless its the two of you sat in the dark, with only the red “You Died” text from his monitor lighting up his bedroom as you perch on his unmade bed or when he stoops down from his standing position to meet your lips as you sit on a wooden crate in the backroom of whatever dingy abandoned warehouse the League is currently calling home. 

In these fleeting moments you are able to feel the usually imperceptible devotion he harbours for you deep within his shrouded and tainted heart in the way his lips move against yours; covetous, insatiable.

Whether it’s comfortable for you or not, he will be pushing you down flat onto his grody bedroom floor, surrounded by socks that are a bit too hard and empty cans of various sour energy drinks littered across the sticky wooden floor or on the cracked concrete warehouse floor, uncaring of the way you shudder as your eyes fix warily upon the thick layer of dust and grime that coats the floor.

The moment he can physically impose his dominance over you he will, pressing the entire weight of his body atop of yours, keeping you pinned below him and completely vulnerable to his fervent ministrations.

A cold, clammy, four fingered grip is pressed to the back of your neck, keeping your lips mashed tightly together with a strength you didn’t think his lean arms could produce. His legs encage your own, ensuring you cannot slip away from his voracious grasp.

He has no mirages or delusions about your fragility. He is certain you can take what he's giving you so just keep holding your breath and hope he needs to split apart for a breather sooner rather than later.

His tongue thrusts between your softs lips with force, the hot weight of his tongue pushing further into your mouth ignoring every other crevice of your mouth, instead focusing on burrowing further down your throat, merging the both of you as snugly as he can with a rare sense of veneration reserved exclusively for the moments he can sequester you away from your comrades.

As you grow closer he may begin to heed the physical cues you give him. When you raise a hand against his chest and attempt to push his weight off of you, desperate for breath to remedy the prickling burning in your lungs he may indulge you.

He won’t relinquish his position, he's far too comfortable with your body splayed out enticingly beneath him but he might split your mouths, just barely.

His lips will still brush gently against yours as you gasp in heaving pants. You can feel the rough skin of his lips sustained barely above yours, trembling with anticipation for the re-initiation of the tangling of your limbs and lips.

his half-glazed crimson orbs flicking across your face as he takes in the dilation of your pupils and the quivering of your spit-slicked lips as you feel his hands begin to wander your form, grasping hungrily at your softer spots. It's the least he deserves for enduring these excruciating moments in which you deprive him of your sweet affections.

[hjinnnkuo]

siblings

[rosesoftly]

Hiii can I request a fluffy fluff dottore x f!reader? In which the reader is an angel and has a halo and wings, also she's Dottore's secretary (or personal assistant)? Pretty pls accept my request I need this troupe done more 😩

Yandere Dottore x Angelic! Reader

A/N: Of course you can gorgeous!! Thank you so much for requesting and i hope you enjoy <3 , sorry this took AGES im afraid uni has been beating my ass and i had to get a j*b this summer </3 having money is nice and all but i can't believe im gonna have to work for the rest of my life, i should be out frolicking in a meadow somewhere, not working a 9-5.

There had been whisperings among his men that a new recruit had very unique features, unlike anything seen before. Dottore is a man whose thirst for knowledge came before all else. Adventurers from that damned guild place discovery above all else and are revered for it as heroes, Dottore too prioritises discovery over even the sanctity of human life and yet he was reviled and outcasted yet in spite of it all he remained ever curious. When he hears several officers discussing you he cannot help but indulge the nagging curiosity distracting him from his work

When it comes to his attention that you have these unique features he is very curious about you, were you part adepti? Did you have some relation to the heavenly principles? Perhaps you were a yokai from Inazuma? A thousand theories flood his mind, each one more disjointed than the last. He is half tempted to strap you to the operating table and cut you open, to pull you apart and see what forms you. Every vein and artery, each inch of flesh, every feather of your wings, every mole and scar and bruise and wound must meet the discerning gaze of his scalpel. You must feel the cold bite of his steel across your flesh. Let him break you down and build you up once more in his image. Once you have been remade once again, this time with him knowing each nook and cranny of your being, will he know satisfaction. 

The atrocities committed under his stewardship would doubtlessly incite the wrath of the divine, he mused for days on the possibility of you being an extension of the heavenly principles sent to spy and observe the endless preparations in place for the ever approaching war against divinity. You may not even be conscious of the fact that you may simply be a pawn in the God’s games yet should his theory be proven he could not allow you to live. He would make an incision into that soft flesh of yours and… as he began to think again about his plans to repurpose you, the urge to wince at the thought of plucking those wings was overwhelming.

His reluctance to harm you only drives his spiral of interest further. The level of empathy he is able to extend was near non-existent, it has to be in order to fulfil the Tsaritsa’s vision for the future of Teyvat. The doctor had long forgotten how it felt to falter or yield and yet he cannot bring himself to harm you. He has watched you for weeks now, day in day out. Reports detailing your daily routines have piled up on his desk. All it would take would be a word and some skirmishers would force you to your knees before him and he could do as he pleased yet he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from you. Perhaps he could rip that halo right off your head but then… what would he have? A meaningless ring of light? What would he stand to gain from harming you other than your resentment? Why would he rip you apart when he could keep you intact? Does he truly need to pull you apart to possess you or can he keep you his and whole? As each new day passes he finds himself less and less inclined towards gaining your resentment. Of course he ponders on how you may react to different stimuli but actually inflicting such distress upon you is something he will not entertain.

He is tormented with thoughts of you. What to do with you? Are your wings more or less sensitive? If he ran a hot poker or an ice shard across those delicate wings would they twitch? If he pressed gentle kisses to where the delicate expanse of your back blossoms into a delicate field of white plumes would you appreciate the restraint it takes for him to treat you with the gentleness he thought had long gone since disappeared from himself. He decides the only way to try and tame these conflicting thoughts is to bring you into his service. He must demystify you. Once he gets to know you he will realise that you are just as pathetic as the rest of humanity and he can return to his experiments without any unnecessary distractions.

Both his fellow harbingers and his subordinates were surprised to learn about Dottore bringing someone into his service. In his over 500 years of being a harbinger no one could seem to recall Dottore entrusting his work to anyone but himself. Of course Dottore will not permit you to assist in his experiments (If anyone asks he will insist it is to prevent sensitive information being leaked, in reality he frets over the possibility of you coming to harm), instead assigning you menial paperwork and administration to complete as he finally returns his attention to his long-neglected experiments.

Unfortunately for the second harbinger, your close proximity only exacerbated the issue, seeing you perched on a desk in the corner of his eye was nothing short of captivating. The faint glow of your halo illuminating your features and casting a warm glow over you even in the cold, dim lights of his laboratory, the way your wings gently fluttered as you adjusted in your seat, watching your delicate hands scrawl countless correspondences, the sound of your gentle breathing. 

Much to Dottore’s chagrin, he is besotted. He simply cannot cast you out of his minds despite his efforts. He entertained sending you away to some inane mission in the furthest corner of Inazuma to collect seashells, nothing dangerous of course, but he knows that distance would not remedy this illness you have inflicted upon him and the thought of sending you from his side leaves his hands trembling and ears ringing.

It was maddening, he cannot recall a time in which he felt such emotions, not even in his youth (much to the disappointment of many of his classmates) and most certainly not now that he was the mighty second harbinger. His power rivalled that of Gods and yet the thought of this delicate being could bring him to his knees

Initially he didn’t realise what he felt for you was romantic. He understood his fascination with you on a purely scientific level, you were unlike any woman he had ever met before, not just in regards to your physical attributes but also the warmth you seemed to exude, the tenderness in the caress of your hands over his as you handed him the letters sent from his subordinates. However he is eternally a practical man, he has yet to encounter something that he cannot produce a logical explanation for. As such he is able to observe the speeding up of his heart when he hears you call out for him, he takes note of the warmth that spreads to his cheeks when you look up at him, the way his eyes always seem to fall to your lips, the fact that his thoughts to you extend far beyond what he feels for any of his test subjects, how he frets over you when you part from his side. Looking at the facts of the matter he cannot deny the facts, despite his desperation to hide from the truth

Nearly paralysed by his constant thoughts of you and your wellbeing he realises there is only one diagnosis that will be able to get this out of his system. He must possess you in your entirety lest he be driven even more mad from deprivation of your presence. He will not permit a drop of your celestial presence to slip between his fingers and into the lap of some unwashed vagrant who thinks themselves worthy of his beloved's unending patience. He alone is worthy to stand side by side with your divinity and sup from the goblet of your tenderness greedily.

[rosesoftly]

Masterlist

Genshin Impact:

Albedo:

Off the beaten path

Capitano:

Reaction to you cheating

Night time routine with darling

Columbina:

Reaction to you cheating

Dottore:

Reaction to you cheating

Night time routine with darling

Angelic reader

Ranking him as a yandere

Ganyu:

They feel Jealous

Pantalone:

Reaction to you cheating

Oh, I wouldn't say freed... More like, under new management!

Night time routine with darling

Ranking him as a yandere

Signora:

Reaction to you cheating

Ranking her as a yandere

Susbedo:

Off the beaten path

Tartaglia:

Reaction to you cheating

Ranking him as a yandere

Scaramouche/Wanderer:

Reaction to you cheating

Night time routine with darling

Ranking him as a yandere

Xianyun:

They feel jealous

Xiao:

They feel jealous

Zhongli:

They feel jealous

My Hero Academia:

Tomura Shigaraki:

Video game love interests

Shigaraki as a kisser

[rosesoftly]

Future Works Poll!

Hi all! I just posted a little work on the sort of nightly routines of harbingers and their darlings, specifically about Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone and Scaramouche. I WAS going to write one for Childe too but then i lost my 50/50 for him to KEQING so im currently stewing in bitterness. I would be fine if i lost it to Baizhu or Shenhe or Ganyu or literally ANY of the limited 5 stars but NO! I lost it to keqing… I streamed my pulls to my friends and i was laughed at for a good 20 minutes when that keqing showed up. On the bright side !!! I got Arlecchino!!! Yay! I now have 2/3 playable harbingers and i really hope to get them all and ill definitely pull Capitano when he comes out (delusion).

In the meantime i was hoping people could answer this poll about what they want to see next. I can’t guarantee that the top result will come out first as all these WIPS are at varying degrees of completion but i just want to get a feel for which pieces people want the most. Thanks so much for all your support and i hope you all have wonderful days/nights <3

here are quick summaries off the potential works so you now what you’re voting for:

’Off the beaten path’ pt 2: Yan! Albedo x reader x Yan! Susbedo, its my first post but you shouldn’t have to scroll to far as i haven’t written very much.

In event of their deaths: What sort of contingencies would the Yan! Harbingers have in place should anything happen to them, which would set you free? which would leave instructions for your care? Which would entrust you to the care of another harbinger? This would likely be written for Scara, Dottore, Pantalone, Childe, Arlecchino, Capitano (RIP) and maybe Signora (RIP) or Pierro

Yan! Akademiya Dottore x reader: I find the concept of him being a complete loser very amusing and would like to elaborate on it with him having a crush while he was studying at the Akademiya and quite possibly being the most awkward person in the world around them. I’m still unsure whether the darling will reciprocate his feelings or not.

Yan! Harbinger rankings: ranking the harbingers on now ‘good’ they are to live with and which are the most tolerable and which will drive you insane, i'll likely write this for everyone but Pulcinella (and maybe Sandrone)

Which work would you like to see the most

‘Off the beaten path’ pt. 2

In the events of their demise

Yan! Akadeymia Dottore x reader

Yan! Harbinger rankings: best to worst

Voting ended onJan 30, 2025

[rosesoftly]

Night Time Routines

How the harbingers and their darlings ready for bed

Yan! Harbingers x reader (separate)

Feat: Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone and Scaramouche

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: “honk shoooo honk shoooo” - capitano, “zzzzz zzzz” - Pantalone, “honk mi mi mi” - Scaramouche, dottore’s doesn’t snore but he does speak in fluent sentences in his sleep and it’s terrifying. thank you for coming to my ted talk. also yes i made scaras pretty purple eyes light up like ei’s when she’s using her skill, the more raiden parallels the better in my opinion

Warnings: 5.3 archon quest spoilers, Yandere behaviours, i have likely not proof read this as well as i should have so i apologise for any mistakes, dark themes, some mentions of NSFW themes but no actual smut, being robbed of making choices, they all have serious control issues

Capitano:

Capitano has struggled with sleep for centuries now, he hopes you take no offence when he doesn’t join you at night however he would never wish to make you feel neglected. The primary reason he stole you away was to could ensure that you are treated with the dignity and adoration that befits someone of your character.

If your hair is long enough then he takes great care in braiding it every night. You’re surprised that a man of his stature is able to manoeuvre his fingers so nimbly through your hair. If braids aren’t your style or they simply wouldn’t work with your hair then he patiently awaits your instruction. Whether you want a bun, a ponytail or simply for your hair to flow freely he will diligently do as you command.

Although some aspects of your night routine may resemble that of Pantalone’s darling, Capitano doesn’t force you to abide by any particular routines. As long as you get enough rest he doesn’t mind if you spend every evening huddled in the library, just please allow him to sit with you as you read, nothing would bring him greater pleasure.

Despite the first harbinger being unable to sleep due to the constant burden of the tormented souls upon him, he does find comfort in the domesticity partaking in your nightly routines affords him. Watching your eyes flutter shut, hearing the words that slip out of your mouth leaving him to guess what you could possibly be dreaming about, watching over you when you are at your most defenceless.

He finds it utterly endearing to see you in this state. His heart feels much lighter the first night you fall asleep in his presence. He understands you may hold some resentment towards him for stealing you away from your home and the life you knew yet he is able to find hope in the vulnerability your behaviour shows. Being in your most docile and helpless form around him must surely mean you hold some form of trust for him. Trust is something he can work with, he’s certain now that he can cultivate this small piece of trust that you’ve extended to him from a sapling into a flourishing bloom and in time, perhaps you’ll forgive him for the selfish decision he made. He was utterly mindless and inconsiderate when he took you with him, against your will. Every day he lives with the shame of stealing you and yet... watching over you as you lay in his sheets, he cannot bring himself to regret it.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the rhythm of your breaths, a symphony that brings him nothing but relief. The knowledge that you were resting peacefully by his side invigorates him far more than slumber ever could.

After some time passes and he truly believes you are warming up to him in spite of everything, he might slip into your bed (with your permission of course). He’s unsure what to do at first, so overwhelmed with your closeness and warmth but as you begin to drift into a dreamscape, he allows his hands to wander slightly (but never anywhere inappropriate, despite how desperately he might crave your body he would never force you to do anything that might dishonour you). The body heat that emanates from you brings him immeasurable comfort as he forgets about the pain of the abyssal rot ravaging his body, instead focusing on the softness of your skin on his.

To feel you against him, your body tucked against his, it brings comfort that settles deep in his bones, not even the heavenly principles nor the curse that eats away at his flesh could strip it from him. For the first time in 500 years he remembers what its like to have a home.

Dottore:

You have the misfortune of having spent more time alone with Dottore than anyone else in Teyvat. In spite of his near constant presence, you had never once see him or any of his clones go to sleep. Once every few months you’ll catch him with his eyes shut and hunched over his desk, you assume he has finally drifted off but then mere seconds later his eyes will shoot open and his hands resume tinkering with whatever (or whoever) has had the misfortune of piquing his interest.

Prior to eliminating his clones he often used them as lab assistants, citing that the only person who he could trust to fulfil his work to the measure of perfection he demanded was himself. As the sun began to set whichever of his clones had the least to do would be charged with escorting you from his laboratory in the cellars of Zapolyarny palace to your shared estate. Much to Dottore’s annoyance, he swears that as the moon begins to rise, the segments begins to rush to finish their tasks in hopes of being the one to escort you home.

From early morning to night time you are forced to remain wherever Dottore is however he understands you are only human (for the time being, however he has plans to change that) and you require rest so he allows you to go home and sleep with the caveat that a segment remains by your side as he repeats a similar sentiment as he did earlier, that being the only man he would ever trust with your safety is himself.

Upon prime having to destroy the clones he is visibly on edge despite his dismissals when you try to enquire about it. It’s evident to you that without having the security of his segments watching over you he is tense. He now forbids you from going home, even with a platoon of Fatui guarding you, he has made far too many enemies to count over the years, he isn’t foolish enough to entrust your safety to some lackeys that even the eleventh could carve through with ease.

Much to your dismay he also states that he cannot take so much time away from his experiments to tend to your slumber and that from now on you will be sleeping in the laboratory.

It doesn’t take much exertion for his brilliant mind for him to deduce that you are not thrilled at this development.

After a few days of complaining he finally cracks. You seem to find a fault with every aspect of his laboratory.

”I’m uncomfortable”

”My back hurts”

”It’s too loud”

”It’s too bright”

”It’s too hot”

“It’s too cold”

”This pillow is lumpy”

”I can feel you staring at me”

It drives him mad. His next experiment will be on your voice, he has to test his hypothesis that there is something particular about your voice, perhaps it’s the tone or the pitch but whenever you speak he can’t help but grant you his full attention.

He prides himself on his resilience but for you he has always been quick to crack. Seeing you in such a bad mood puts him in a bad mood. Suddenly his patience has been shortened exponentially, the screams of his patients grind on his nerves far too quickly, leading to many experiments being cut short.

The following morning you will see two anemo skirmishers setting down a large object covered in a dust sheet in the far corner of the laboratory. You raise your question to Dottore, asking what it is. Only then does he set down his tools, a tiny smirk blooms across his face as he takes your hand in his and leads you across the room before lifting the sheet off the object and looking at you expectantly.

It was a single bed with plain white sheets and a single pillow. It was hardly exuberant but for Dottore to even show any form of regard for the discomfort of any living being was nothing short of a miracle.

If you ask him what prompted this his voice will grow venomous as he bites out that your endless complaints were a hindrance to his experiments but you see the self-satisfied sneer on his face as he soaks in your gratitude.

Admittedly you do still have to endure the screams of those unfortunate enough to end up strapped to the operating table as he refuses to allow you any form of noise cancellation lest he needs you for something (he never has but you’re sure he just doesn’t want to give you any avenues for ignoring him), at least you can keep your head staunchly under your pillow for whatever small form of muting the cries that it's able to provide.

Pantalone:

In spite of your resentment for Pantalone you could not deny the morbid interest you had in watching him go about his day. As an outsider you couldn’t shrug the pervasive feeling that had settled in your mind that his whole day seemed to be more of an elaborate routine rather than a man naturally progressing through the day.

Every paper, painting and plate had a specific place in his life and that was how Pantalone preferred it. One night at dinner you had made note of it and he had let out a rare chuckle as he gazed at you from across the grand mahogany dinner table. He put down his utensils before taking a moment to stare down at his hands, twisting the rings back into place so that the gemstones on them rested perfectly on his fingers, glimmering just right in the light before he acknowledged that perhaps some people might agree that he can be a little particular.

From the moment he had taken you into his home, he made sure that you too fit into his routine as flawlessly as everything else. He had expectations that you would meet if you knew what was good for you. Throughout the day his routine never once relaxed and as such, neither did yours. From the moment dinner ends he has you on a schedule that he had devoted hours to ensure it would allow you to fit into his schedule as perfectly as he wants you to. Like a ballerina wound up in a jewellery box, you would pirouette seamlessly to whichever melody he desired and you only move when he winds your cogs, never before.

Once you rise from the dinner table and he returns to his study, you are taken directly to your shared chambers with Pantalone by your ladies maids. In the porcelain tub within the en-suite sits a pool of hot water, still steaming with heat. Standing there awkwardly with only a silk robe wrapped around you as maids flutter in and out of the room. You stay rocking on the balls of your feet until at last the head maid returns, with her she carries a silver tray upon which rests several different bottles of fragrant oils and soaps to add to your bath.

Perhaps if you had been a little less perceptive you would believe this to be one of the areas in your life in which he allows some leniency but that is not the case. You are certain beyond all measure that each and every scent has gotten his approval before being presented to you. Maybe you should be thankful for this small illusion of choice but it only makes the reality of you situation sting in your tear ducts.

As you smell each one the head maid takes great enthusiasm in telling you the elaborate backstory for each and every bottle. Although its her voice speaking, you can hear his words.

The violet grass scent that had been acquired from the very highest point of Liyue’s immense mountain scape lending to it’s powdery floral notes being far more potent that before.

The sakura bloom oil had been extracted from a handful of petals that had been struck by the Shogun’s own divine lightning lending to it’s typical sweet smell having a bright undertone. You couldn’t stand that oil, you swore every time you applied it, it tingled.

The glaze Lilly that this oil had been diffused from had allegedly only bloomed when an adeptus descended from her abode in Jueyun Karst to serenade the flower and coaxing it into opening its petals. Supposedly its scent was so delicate and intoxicating that everyone who smelt it wept tears of joy. You didn’t think it smelt much different than any other glaze Lilly.

After a dozen more being presented to you, each with its own elaborate origins you simply grabbed the bottle closest to you on the tray, not caring which. They all smelt far too similar to care.

Since the day you were taken he had insisted that there was no price too high for his beloved. Perhaps he thinks you find his gifts romantic, instead you can’t help but laugh bitterly at the irony of your bathing products being better travelled than you are.

After nearly an hour of several maids scrubbing you from head to toe (when you had originally arrived you had refused their help however once Pantalone caught wind of this he had punished the maids for it. You had pleaded with him that it was your own fault for refusing their help and to please not punish them for your actions. He smiled gently, thanking you for your honesty before pressing a gently kiss to your forehead yet he said nothing about pardoning the maids, dismissing you at every mention of it. You had an entirely different group of maids tending to you the following morning and every subsequent morning after that).

After leaving the bath and drying off, you were dressed in a night gown. They were undoubtedly the worst part of the night, although they were beautiful they were also covered in itchy lace with necklines too deep and hems too short for the Snezhnayan winter.

After being dressed you would sit down at your vanity and methodically brush your hair with the gifts he had gotten you from Mondstadt: a boar bristle brush with a silver handle (he claimed the bristles were from a mighty bore sovereign native to Dragonspine) and a Dragon bone comb (he also had this made in Dragonspine, the bone acquired from the skeleton of Durin, the comb was a sturdy bone that no matter what always stayed warm).

Finally you would lie in bed and wait for your husband. If he decides to join you then you can slip gently into your dreams, the one place where you can forget about the heavy arm latched around your waist and the fingers tangled in your hair. On more unfortunate nights, he would not join you in your shared chambers, instead he would expect you to come to him. Shuffling sleepily through dark corridors until you finally reached the tall doors of his study. Your knuckle barely grazes the wood before the door swings open and he offers you a gentle smile before wrapping his arm around your waist and coaxing you in.

If you were lucky a few well-placed tender kisses to his neck would persuade him to abandon his work and join you in bed however some nights he would have you sat on his lap until the sun rose. Those nights you rarely slept well as you had to deal with his mutterings, the candle light illuminating the room and the way he adjusted you on his lap. If you were lucky you could shut your eyes and feign sleep when you felt something hard growing beneath you, other nights he was insistent on your participation.

Scaramouche:

Throughout the countless waking hours you’ve spent in unwilling solitude with the sixth harbinger you were hardly surprised at the revelation that his sour attitude persists far past the sunset and well into the moonlit hours. If anything his annoyance only grew the closer you crept to retiring for the night.

Having no knowledge of his marionette body’s ability to endure without sleep, you couldn’t disguise your discomfort the first night you shared his bed and his lilac eyes stayed glued to you all night, their vibrant hue glowing in the dark of your chambers. You could see the dim purple light in the room, even through your eyelids. His illuminated eyes wouldn’t move from your face as you rested. It doesn’t matter how often you late in the night you might wake up or how often you squint through your half-closed eyes at him, Scaramouche’s gaze stays fixed intently on you from the moment you pull the blankets over your shoulders.

Should you somehow develop a fondness for your captor you will quickly learn that in spite of his feelings for you, he is not an attentive or affectionate man. Scaramouche scoffs at the proposal of ‘cuddling’. He spits out that he will not entertain such pathetic displays of fondness, not even for you. The firm tenor in his voice makes you believe that there is no room for negotiation on the matter, however from that night onwards, his hand remains fixed tightly around your wrist the moment you retire under the covers with him.

One particularly irritating trait about Scaramouche is his insistence that you never turn away from him, many times your awoken by a set of firm hands clamped down on your shoulders as they turn you around in the bed, back to facing him. While you are both waking and sleeping he refuses to allow you to turn your back to him, you’re unsure as to why and frankly you’re not certain you wish to know. There are aspects of your captor's past that you're undoubtedly influence his current actions yet you do not wish to learn such things, not yet.

On exceptionally rare occasions, oftentimes after an intimate night of gently unwinding with him, removing his clothing with all the attentiveness he has expected to be synonymous with being the wife of the sixth harbinger. Brush your lips gently over his skin with a tenderness in your touch he hasn’t felt since… he can’t recall. After several hours in each others passionate embrace, Scaramouche may fall into a restless slumber. You may initially find this rare period of sleep from him to be enjoyable however it opens the gateway to a version of Scaramouche you may find yourself unfamiliar with.

The first night Scaramouche falls asleep in your presence, you soon understand his disdain for sleep. The whimpers and cries that escape the balladeer are completely uncharacteristic for him. You had never heard his voice assume any tone beyond a haughty drawl or an intimidating bark, you almost didn’t recognise it was Scaramouche speaking until a familiar word escaped his throat.

”Y/N...”

It was undoubtedly the balladeer speaking however his voice had been fragile and light as he spoke your name, as though saying it too harshly would cause it to shatter.

”Y/N… come back, please…”

“please...” he had whispered out and the word sounded almost foreign on his tongue. Until now you had assumed the word didn’t even exist in the harbingers vocabulary. His sleep only seemed to worsen. You sat up, unsure whether you should wake him or not. His gentle murmurs were slowly growing louder and more desperate. You watched as his sleeping form writhed across the bed, his arms fully extended as his fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping and pawing at the bedsheets.

You slowly nudged yourself closer to him, preparing to wake him from whatever nightmares was plaguing him until his hand brushed against your night clothes. Suddenly his fist clenched tightly around your waist as he yanked your body impossibly closer, curling around you.

The following morning he untangled his limbs from yours before quickly scurrying out of the room. His gaze never met yours but from the chaste kiss and the way his eyes refused to look up from the ground… you swore he almost seemed embarrassed, his demeanour suiting that of a pouting child rather than an agent of destruction.

As you opened the bedroom doors not long after his departure, the stench of sizzled flesh wafted through the corridors. Some poor Fatuus were now paying the price in blood for Scaramouche’s humiliation as they were demoted from subordinates to the punching bags for him to unleash his rage on. The part of himself that he had buried so deeply, shrouded in layer and layer of bitterness and rage, had exposed itself to your discerning gaze and his mortification was suffocating him.

If he were a weaker man perhaps the humiliation would have brought tears to his eyes but he was stronger than the mewling little wretch he used to be. Like forging a sword, he had beaten the impurities out one by one in the heat of his own hatred and the boiling of his blood until only the perfect blade remained. cold. lethal. merciless. He is no quivering weakling that can simply be thrown away. Not anymore. Never again. In spite of his pathetic display last night he would make certain you and everyone else remembers it.

[rosesoftly]

Oh, I wouldn't say freed... More like, under new management!

Spoilers for 5.3 Natlan Archon Quest!

Yan!Pantalone x GN! Reader (x Yan!Capitano)

Summary: Having clawed his ways from the slums of Liyue Harbour to being seated at the table of a God, seizing opportunities has become Pantalone's second nature and now that the first harbinger is... indefinitely indisposed, what kind of banker would he be if he didn't capitalise on such a unique situation by finally stealing away Capitano's precious consort, the same one that has plaguing his every waking moment since the very moment he first laid eyes upon them?

Warnings: Sensitive themes, Yandere Behaviours, do you have stockholm syndrome or are you going mad from social isolation? your choice!, manipulation, social isolation, anxiety, you're all around not having a good time, mild nsfw implications, fearing for your life (not from Pantalone), losing the will to go on, you literally can't catch a break

3.5K Words

A/N: did i intend for the title to be a Megamind reference...? perchance... also please forgive any inconsistencies or grammatical errors. I have not yet finished the Natlan archon quest but I've seen the spoilers and i hope that fine ass man rests in peace. I'm still high on copium and am praying that because his body is still alive then Dottore can work his magic and fix him somehow someway (if that happens i may even write a part 2 in celebration! Or even if it doesn't!)

Anyone who knew anything about the first harbinger would be well aware of the reverence and tenderness he lavished onto you. Your safety and protection would forever be at the forefront of the harbingers mind, before retrieving the gnosis, or bringing glory to the Tsaritsa or even striking down the heavenly principles. As such it’s not unusual for the harbinger to keep you sequestered away in the dark, lonesome manor you have learnt to call home ever since your marriage. After several years it was now commonplace for Capitano to be gone for days and weeks at a time, hardly breathing a goodbye, just pressing one adoring and gentle kiss to the back of your hand and a second hot, gruff kiss to your lips before storming out of the door, blade sheathed on his belt. 

This time he had strayed from the established routine, Capitano had warned you that he might be gone for a bit longer than usual but he would return to your arms within a month. You remembered the silent voice in your head bitterly wishing that he would never return, how the heavenly principles love to play their cosmic jokes. 

After a month had passed and the letters from your husband (since you were wed he had made a point of writing you a detailed letter every single day, describing his journey and detailing how dearly he missed you and how everyday away from your side was utter agony) had stopped arriving. You had spent hours pouring over every letter he had sent since his departure but not once did he mention anything that could explain his sudden silence. That was the second thing that unnerved you, if there was one thing you had learnt through your several years of marriage to the first harbinger, it was that his loyalty and devotion was second to none. The idea that your ever loyal hound would stray from his routine was peculiar enough. Once another week had passed without any word from or about Capitano you began to pester the servants and guards for any information from the outside world but they refused to breathe a word to you. 

Although you publicly admitted you held much contempt for Capitano for prying you from your home, you couldn’t help the unease that seeped into your bones. You had spent countless mornings watching him train, the brute force and unrestrained power he used to slam his blade down into the frozen ground, the innumerable agents he dispatched with one measured swing of his sword and on rare occasion when you were close enough to danger to personally witness (a scarce occurrence as even leaving the estate was uncommon) how his onyx blade was stained with a viscous crimson inch or that seemed to seep everywhere, even sticking to the fur of his cloak. When he pulled you into his chest after the fighting was done you’ll never forget how sickening the coppery scent was, clinging to the inside of your nose until you felt like you were suffocating on it. That combined with the utter love-sick devotion he had proven himself a slave to, you found the idea that anything could prevent Capitano from writing other than death to be utterly humorous. Somehow despite the hatred you harboured in your heart for the man, the idea of a man of Capitano’s impossibly imposing stature somehow being struck down felt impossible, even if it was the pyro archon herself to do so. You simply refused to entertain such an idea. That night you had come to a conclusion: There has been a mix up! or the messenger was attacked on the road! or maybe Capitano's letters slipped right out of the messengers pack and he simply hasn't realised. You repeated these mantras to yourself compulsively.

But as the weeks continued to amble on by with no word from your husband you couldn’t help but find that a more extreme reason to be the only excuse for his sudden silence.

As you spent days pondering on the possibility of your captor’s passing, the idea that any day now a Fatui official would wander in and give you an official declaration of Capitano’s passing and would send you on your way with perhaps a pouch of Mora for your troubles. The more you fantasised about your freedom being returned to you, the more you realised how unlikely such an occurrence was. That morning you had been nothing short if giddy, any day now you would be free to return to your family and you could pretend these past years were nothing short of a bad dream - by evening your joy had turned to ash in your throat. If your husband (even after several years of calling him that, it still caused your throat to constrict painfully as though the very word was poison) had truly been defeated then you had become nothing to the Fatui but another loose end to tie up. There was no way they could know for sure just how much information regarding the sensitive inner workings of the Fatui that Capitano had shared with you. There was no way they would let you wander free when you were a living, breathing compromise to all their plans. Even in the event of his death, you shall be returned to his arms soon enough. You couldn’t stop an overwhelming feeling of defeat swallow you like a wave as the realisation hit you that nothing would bring Capitano greater joy.

After several weeks of agonising suspense you had debased yourself to pleading with the servants and guards for even just a rumour of what was to become of you. Again, they showed you nothing but cold indifference as they continued their tasks, completely unaffected by your desperate pleas.

Your feet bled from the constant pacing as your mind was utterly consumed with anxiety. The unknown and the terror of what was to come had driven you half mad with unease. All day you wept for how unfairly your life would end, never truly getting to live before your life was stripped from you. All night you didn’t dare get even a wink of sleep for fear one of the guards would slip into your chambers and finally put an end to you. Your mind had endlessly ran through every possibility of escape but it seemed just as impossible as it had before, if not more so. You weren’t sure if the isolation and fear was finally taking complete control but you were almost certain there were more guards surrounding the estate now then there had been prior to Capitano’s departure.

That night you sat on the floor of your chambers, hunched over your bed as you wept into the thick duvet for even a brief illusion of comfort. Your hands were clasped tightly together in prayer, crimson crescents marring your hands with the frantic devotion you called out to your Goddess. Sobbing into the bedsheets you called aloud for the Tsaritsa, beseeching her to take some mercy on her devoted follower and either return Capitano to you safely or offer you a quick and clean death and put an end to this torment for you couldn't bare another day of it.

For the first time in days and after hours of desperate cries for your goddess to extend you some of her benevolence, you slipped into an uneasy slumber, half expecting to wake up to a blade to your throat yet you had lost the will to endure. As the sun rose you were awoken by the distinct noise of the main doors slamming shut as heavy footsteps strode into the Grand Foyer. Breathlessly you rose to your feet, certain that the Tsaritsa had heard your prayed and returned your husband to you. You scrambled as fast as you could down the winding corridors, paying no mind to how your limbs were trembling with adrenaline or the rumpled nightclothes you were still dressed in. As you burst through the door you skidded to a halt on the polished marble floors. Instead of being greeted by Capitano’s open embrace, ready to sweep you into his arms now that you were finally reunited, your eyes instead landed upon the ninth harbinger who now stood just a few feet in front of you, his gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back as he gave you what appeared to be an attempt at a genuine smile. 

You froze. In your relief at the possibility of Capitano’s return you hadn’t even registered this as an outcome. You had only met Pantalone perhaps once before, at your wedding a few years prior. That had been the only day Capitano had permitted you to be around any of colleagues. What was already no doubt an uncomfortable event for all involved but the groom had only been exacerbated by the eccentric personalities seated in the audience. You had sobbed the entire way through the ceremony with two Fatui soldiers having to grip onto your arms and practically force you down the aisle. At the very least the 11th harbinger had the decency to look genuinely concerned as you were dragged down the aisle. You had half thought the man might attempt to put a stop to it but when the time came to ask for objections not one person came forward. After the ceremony you could also recall an interaction with the knave. Although the whole day had been a blur, you remembered that she briefly took you aside and sternly forced her handkerchief into your hand, refusing to take no for an answer. You wouldn’t exactly call the woman doting but whatever small sympathy the woman was capable of, it’s clear she had attempted to extend them to you. You had spent many nights after the ceremony thinking back on your interactions with all the harbingers, Pierro and Pulcinella’s cold indifference at the ceremony, Sandrone and Dottore’s impatience to leave as quickly as socially acceptable to return to whatever invention or experiment had currently caught their attention, the varying looks of pity you received from Tartaglia, Arlecchino and La Signora, the quiet smile on Columbina’s face and… the one harbinger you just couldn’t get a read on. Pantalone had turned to watch as you were forced down the aisle and his eyes had not left you once since. Even as the festivities had begun and Capitano had whirled your reluctant form across the crystalline ballroom of Zapolyarny Palace, his eyes didn’t once move from you. Now you were feet away from him and his eyes enclosed around you once more, fixated so wholly on you as though nothing else in the world could or would ever matter even remotely as much as you did in this moment.

Your breath hitched as he sauntered closer, removing his finely crafted leather gloves from his hands. You shut your eyes at once, although you could no longer see him, you could hear the clicks of his shoes echoing through the foyer and getting closer. Once he was but a few inches away from you, you tensed your shoulders to brace for impact but it never came. You couldn’t help but flinch as you felt both his hands clasp firmly down on your shoulders, holding you in place. After several seconds you finally allowed your eyes to flutter open. Pantalone’s eyes bored into yours as he tutted with what was likely an attempt to display sympathy but instead came off as patronising.

”Now now” he breathed out, his hands now began to rub up and down your shoulders in soothing motions “There’s no need to look so frightened” he exhaled, almost sounding amused.

”Where is Capitano?” you asked. You hardly recognised your own voice with how hoarse it had become from the past weeks of weeping.

”Shh shh shh” he muttered, his hands moving from your shoulders, up to your cheeks. He cupped your face affectionately as he spoke in a gentle tone as though afraid the slightest upset might frighten you off. With a deep sigh he began “I’m afraid Capitano is occupied… indefinitely. No matter how dearly I’m sure he would wish to see you, I’m afraid you won’t be reunited for a long time yet.”  He paused for a moment, his gaze darting across your face for any idea of your internal workings. His stare was bright and brilliant, even when hidden behind the glasses that sat firmly on the bridge of his nose. He made you feel exposed, as though every second under his stare he stripped away a little more of your walls. He left you feeling bare and cold, you wanted to shrink away from the ninth harbinger. He had told you what you needed to hear and now you wanted to sink back into the depths of the manor and await whatever fate had in store for you, as long as it was far away from him. After another moment of his assessment he seemed satisfied and continued

”It’s with a heavy heart that I bring the news that the mission to acquire the Pyro Archon’s gnosis was not successful” his tone was one of deep sorrow however you could see the tiniest ghost of a smirk dancing across his face as his attempted to maintain composure. “Of course I am delegating as much funding as financially possible to restore your husband however I’m afraid the damage was quite extensive, It’s unlikely that even with the unparalleled scientific minds in the Fatui that we will ever be able to return him to you.”

Once again your heart began to patter against your ribcage. If what Pantalone said was true then you truly were a liability. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath before you spoke, desperate to at least maintain a façade of dignity in the face of such dire circumstances

”Have you come here to kill me then?” You asked him. In response the harbingers eyebrows shot up almost comically, for the first time this morning he looked completely astounded.

”Kill you? Now why ever would I do that?” His hands were still planted firmly on your cheeks, his cool skin soothing on the heat on your cheeks as his thumb tenderly traced the tear tracks that were still emblazoned on your cheeks from your night of sorrowful prayer. He hummed contentedly before continuing, “admittedly there were a few of my colleagues that had suggested to wash our hands of you entirely and slip some arsenic in your food or simply have one of the soldiers stick a blade through your heart” He paused again, assessing you. He could almost feel your breath hitch as he inched slightly closer, his thumb now tracing idle patterns on your cheeks “don’t worry my dear, I shut down such discussions swiftly. I would never wish to have the blood of someone so lovely on my hands. No, that wouldn’t do at all” Now he let a full grin fall across his face. You believe he was attempting to make it comforting but instead it felt predatory, like a lion grinning down at a lamb. “My colleagues and I have thankfully come to a compromise. Although I’m certain you would never run and spill any secrets you may have learnt from your time in such close proximity to Capitano… unfortunately several of my fellow harbingers didn’t feel quite so confident in your loyalty.” One of his hands now reached to brush through your hair gently, his grin grew until he was baring all his teeth at you. Now he didn’t just feel like a lion, he looked like one too “For the foreseeable future you will be taking up residence at my estate. Please don’t fret my lady, I’ll ensure you are well looked after.” His watched you expectantly, as though he believed this to be wonderful news for you. You stared at him blankly. Last night you had prayed to the Tsaritsa for your husband returned home or death but it would appear she had managed to present you with a 3rd, much more terrifying option. Although he may not be quite as physically imposing as Capitano, he somehow made you feel much smaller. Every shared touch and exchanged glance with Pantalone felt intimate and expectant, every brief glance at your lips was a promise of something more to come, every tender caress a precursor for a carnal embrace. Even now he seemed half shocked you hadn’t jumped into his arms in glee at the news you would now be staying with him. Of course you were thankful that he had intervened on your behalf and given you another chance at life but a more animalistic and instinctual part of you as you stood here alone with Pantalone you almost would have preferred being left in this dark, reclusive manor to rot. Capitano took so much from you but he left you your dignity, your sense of personhood, despite his desire to take and take until there was nothing left, he had always strove to be selfless for your sake. With a man like Pantalone, even now with his grip on your face, deceptively light but the muscles in his fingers were tense, ready to clamp down the moment he deemed in necessary. From what little you knew of Pantalone from Capitano’s descriptions, he was the head of the Northland bank and had built himself an immeasurable amount of wealth. Did Pantalone know when you've taken too much from someone? Did he care?

Part of you wished to pry his hands off your cheeks and flat out refuse him, scream out that you want nothing to do with him and flee back to you bed chambers like a child but unfortunately the rational part of you took over, the part of you that was screaming at you to seize this last chance at life he was offering you and so when he extended his hand to you and whispered into your ear in a saccharine tone “Shall we?” You couldn’t help but accept.

Pantalone's POV:

The carriage ride back to his estate wasn't long but he had given his driver instructions to extend it for as long as possible. You seemed bewildered when he sat right by your side, thigh to thigh, instead of sitting across from you. His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulder, constricting you to his side like a serpent. You were sat close enough to his side that he could smell the saccharine smell that emanated from you.

Since the moment he first saw you he had known that there was no one else in the world for him but you. Every single night since he saw you, he couldn't sleep with the extremity of his yearning. It was indescribable agony to know that you were laying in the bed of the First harbinger. Innumerable priceless artefacts and artworks had been destroyed in his rage at the thought of you being by that undeserving wretches' side. Now having you so close after yearning and longing for countless years, it was a high unlike anything else. Feeling your skin against his, you were so close that he could almost feel your warm breath on his skin, it took every scrap of restraint in his body to not begin to ravage you the moment the carriage door shut.

He knew he could never challenge his fellow harbinger publicly, especially not one so revered as Capitano and he knew where his strengths lied. If it came down to a duel then there was a slim chance he would succeed.

However as he matured from a street urchin to the wealthiest man in Snezhnaya, he had learnt that if you cannot beat them at their own game then simply don't play it. It had taken several years of calling in favours, pulling countless strings and funding dozens of failed experiments and dead-end expeditions in order to convince his fellow harbingers that it would be best if Capitano faced the pyro archon alone.

Of course he didn't receive the news of Capitano's supposed immortality well but it doesn't matter that he is still breathing. He may as well be a corpse at this point. He's sure that by passing the funding for a few more of Dottore's experiments then he can convince him to put the matter of restoring Capitano's soul on the back burner.

He had come to terms with how risky this plan was the moment he first set it into place several years ago but he has formed his entire career on a succession of flawlessly executed gambles. His entire life he has been beating the odds and he's not going to stop now that the recently widowed object of his adoration and obsession sits a mere inch away, still draped in nothing but their thin night clothes.

He will admit that perhaps it was cruel to keep you waiting all those weeks, he should have come to collect you the moment the news reached him of Capitano's failure but when he saw the frantic, desperate look in your eyes as you burst into the room, he knew that he had made the right call. You weren't in the position to deny him anything now. He could finally rest easy knowing you were seated right in the palm of his hand, exactly where you belonged.

[rosesoftly]

How Yan! Adepti react to feeling jealous (separate)

A/N: I FINALLY finished all the 10+ story quests I had lined up that I was procrastinating doing. It was gruelling. I've never pressed space bar so much in my life. By the end I couldn't feel my ass as I'd been sitting on it for too long BUT on the positive, doing Xianyun's story quest made me nostalgic for Liyue and got me motivated to write a little bit! I may do a harbinger one if I feel a bit silly, I'm not sure yet but please let me know if that's something you might be interested in! <3

(also i’d usually give this a little final read through but i am so exhausted so i just wanna get it posted so please forgive any silly mistakes or inconsistencies)

Word Count: 7.0k words

Includes Zhongli, Xiao, Xianyun, Ganyu

Warnings: Yandere Behaviours, if you are uncomfortable with dark themes please don't read! obsessive/possessive behaviours, younger Zhongli has serious issues - honestly all of them do, threats, violence, murder, manipulation, stalking, implied somno (depends how you read it) in Xiao's excerpt, some truly earth shattering delusions

Ganyu:

Renowned throughout Liyue Harbour for her mild manner and keen work ethic, the overworked secretary of Liyue Qixing was always a welcome sight around the harbour. It had taken Ganyu months to push past her bashfulness alongside countless encouragements from her colleagues and friends to confess her feelings to you.

It had only been once Captain Beidou had drunkenly declared that she would tell you herself if Ganyu didn’t muster up the courage that the Qilin had decided to tell you. Her cheeks flushed pink as she stuttered out her confession to you in the evening lantern light of Liyue Harbour.

Much to her delight you did not coldly reject the woman, instead you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her lips before muttering that you felt the exact same way.

In her thousands of years of life Ganyu cannot recall a time she's known more peace than the time she has since shared with you. Your mere presence coaxes the insomniac into a gentle slumber. Every day she gets to spend by your side is a day in which the woman is glowing with giddiness, so much so that even the conqueror of demons had noted the positive change to Ganyu’s disposition.

Ganyu had always adored her position as secretary even if it had caused her immeasurable stress, she had always strove to serve Liyue in whatever way she could and never resented her position in spite of the responsibility it entailed however now that Ganyu had something to treasure, someone she wished to hold close she couldn’t help the annoyance that crept over her when she was asked to work overtime for the 5th time this week.

The Adeptus wanted nothing more desperately than to return to your shared home (she had insisted you move in with her as soon as possible and you simply couldn’t say no to her large violet eyes as they glimmered with unshed tears at the thought of you rejecting her offer) and monopolise you for the evening, ushering you into bed and holding you as tightly as the poor qilin could, whispering sweet nothings into your skin.

Ganyu prided herself on her maturity but even she couldn’t prevent glowering when she was denied yet another precious night in your company after Baiwen begged Ganyu to stay and help fill in some paperwork. 

She had dedicated herself to ensuring the smooth running of Liyue harbour yet even she could not fend off the envy that shadowed her as the thought of you running around the harbour without her. Every single person that was allowed to gaze upon your face while Ganyu was away from your side were rapidly earning spots on the Qilin’s list of enemies (a list she had only created 20 seconds prior)

Due to Ganyu’s soft and sensitive demeanour it’s easy to forget the sway she holds over Liyue. Several of the Qixing owing her favours after her years of servitude, she is in possession of countless embarrassing secrets she has gained access to due to her position. She holds the ears of the wealthiest people in teyvat as well as having fought ferociously in the archon war in bygone millenia.

Ganyu helped construct the very nation of Liyue into what it has become, moulding it with her very hands into the prosperous land it is. The people of Liyue have seemingly forgotten that Ganyu’s servitude is entirely her own choice. She does not serve the Qixing because she sees them as above her, she serves the Qixing because she wishes to, because she understands Liyue would collapse without her guiding hand.

Perhaps people will remember that when a man who makes a flirty remark to you will have a letter left on his doorstep detailing a solemn secret he long thought buried.

Perhaps people will remember that when the girl who blushed when your hands brushed as you both reached for the same bag of wheat is arrested for fraud despite her desperate claims to the contrary.

Perhaps people will remember that when the vendor who overcharged you goes bankrupt the following morning.

Perhaps people will remember that when the treasure hoarder who accosted you for your mora is found weeks later deep in a cave in Minlin, impaled with countless frosty arrows.

Rest assured, if people forget just how fierce Ganyu can be then she is more than happy to remind them.

Xianyun:

Xianyun often considers herself above such petty emotions as jealousy and possessiveness. 

She loudly declares herself one of the most measured of the Adepti, harbouring centuries of combat prowess and mechanical genius, raising two independent and fierce young woman on Mount Aocang, remaining a fierce and honourable servant to Morax and enduring the insults that flying rat that accompanied the traveler spewed at her, intentionally and not. Xianyun regarded herself as a dignified and patient woman.

After centuries of not being proven to the contrary, to the mighty Cloud Retainer there is no issue that cannot be overcome with the technical brilliance she has acquired or the thrumming power of the illuminated blood in her veins or so she had believed until recently.

Despite the mystery and majesty the Adepti commonly shrouded themselves in as they dwelled in their mountainous retreat, Xianyun had always been vigilant in ensuring that she honoured her vow to Rex Lapis and safeguard any of his subjects she comes across.

After doing her divinely ordained duty centuries ago and saving a young man from a rock fall she had since become accustomed to receiving offerings from the man's family and his descendants in the centuries since then. 

As an adepti offerings of thanks and acknowledgments of her mercy were not uncommon, especially to one so revered as cloud retainer. Even so she continued to be surprised that his descendants remained vigilant in offering their sincere gratitude towards her centuries after she saved the man.

If you asked Xianyun herself she would claim she holds none of the descendants in higher regard than the other however if you were in her presence when a certain individual climbs up the path to Mount Aocang you would be able to see in the way her breath hitches and she stops her sentence, her entire being frozen as she watches them set down the home cooked meal and offer a gentle prayer of thanks.

Even in her crane form her eyes never once stray from the visitor. She trails her vision over them, intaking every aspect of their appearance. how their hair falls over their face, how their breath comes out in warm puffs after the exertion of the climb, how they let a satisfied grin fall upon their face as they set the meal down.

Despite her tenacity and confidence Xianyun has still not formally introduced herself to her visitor, instead opting to watch from afar. She goes out of her way to personally ensure that your journey to Liyue harbour is safe and uneventful as she trails after you in her avian form, her eyes on the path ahead of you. She is more than ready to dart down and defeat any hillichurls or geovishaps or clear the rock slide blocking your path before you’re even aware the obstacle is there.

If anyone were to inquire about her vigilance in ensuring your safety she would puff her chest out and remind them of her contract with Rex Lapis and the duty she had to guard Liyue Harbour and all its inhabitants. 

Shenhe and Ganyu have long given up on inquiring about you after a flustered cloud retainer gave them the same monologue about her sworn duty to Morax for the 27th time.

Does she do this with every visitor to her domain? For thousands of years one has been a most faithful servant to Morax, to question one fulfilling their duty is to question ones-

As far as Xianyun is concerned she is simply doing her duty as an adeptus, there is no ulterior motive and she will ensure that she emphasises this to every person who inquires about her interest in you.

She even goes so far as to have Shenhe and Ganyu give her regular updates on your life when you haven’t been out Mount Aocang in a long time (read: over 24 hours)

Upon formally moving to Liyue Harbour, Cloud Retainer assumes the name of Xianyun and decides to use her mortal form to officially introduce herself to you. She will not allow you to know of her true identity as the subject of your reverence until she believes you are both adequately acquainted. One wishes simply to know you she thinks to herself

Again this is merely her curiosity at work she convinces herself. she merely wishes to know you are safe or so she attempts to convince herself, ignoring the tender fluttering in her chest at the thought of seeing you up close. 

No this is simply her duty as an adeptus. She takes her contract seriously, nothing more. 

She doesn’t seem this invested in any of the other citizens? One does not have to justify Oneself to the likes of you.

From the updates she had instructed Shenhe and Ganyu to deliver when she still resided on Mount Aocang she knew you frequented the Yanshang Teahouse. Unsure of when you would decide to visit it again she simply decided the best course of action would be to go to the teahouse every night from midday to closing until her eyes could meet yours.

On the 4th night of waiting to see you again she was growing antsy and entertaining thoughts of banging down every door in Liyue until she found you once again, her eyes darting around the room frantically. Her vision danced from face to face in a frantic tango until it settled on a familiar one.

Her entire being relaxed as she saw you seated at a table, soft hands clasped around a cup of tea taking tentative sips. The warm glow in your eyes made her feel as though she was feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin for the first time yet seeing that tenderness and affection directed at the person seated opposite you made her illuminated blood simmer as violent imaginings filled the adepti’s mind, a thousand different inventions to bring nothing but distress to your counterpart.

Equally Xianyun’s mind raced with a dozen different ways to fix this situation. No one but her deserved to see the soft glow in your eyes. No one but her was worthy of your reverence. To see you sharing the admiration she thought was only reserved solely for her... One would not stand for it.

You do not survive fighting in the front lines of the Archon war and a thousand tribulations afterwards by allowing slights against you to go unanswered. Xianyun was no stranger to seeking out her own justice. 

Such a shame for the person next to you that they are visiting from Fontaine and as such she has no obligation to hold back. Even if they were from Liyue she is not entirely sure even Morax could prevent her from exacting her bloody vengeance.

Although she had originally decided to stay in Liyue harbour permanently she now found herself longing for the recluse of Mount Aocang, her only little world where the only people that mattered were the two of you. That was all she needed. You would soon learn that was all you needed to.

She would pack tonight and leave for Mount Aocang at first light. 

The next time you would set foot on the mountain you would not be leaving again.

Xiao:

The conqueror of demons

The vigilant Yaksha

The bane of all evil

Throughout his many millennia of life Xiao has been called by countless titles but from you he longed only to hear his name on your lips.

After saving you from a few hillichurls he had anticipated the usual stuttering of gratitude that was so common from mortals, however what he didn’t expect was how his heart tugged at the sight of relieved tears in your eyes. Large wet eyes looking up at him with unabashed admiration.

The adeptus was puzzled by the clear reaction his body had to the tender gaze you bestowed upon him. With flushed cheeks and dilated pupils the vigilant yaksha quickly fled from the scene, not even muttering a word. He spent the night attempting to disregard how the gentle trembling of your lips replayed in his minds eye or how he simply couldn’t rid himself of the thought of how soft and supple your skin had seemed in the cool moonlight of Liyue.

The following day and night the yaksha busied himself with slaying the beasts and scum that loitered within the vicinity of the Wangshu inn. When you disregard the fervent replaying of your interaction yesterday that thrummed through his brain, the day had passed exactly as he had anticipated. 

Torment.

Suffering.

Misery.

These were parts of his day that was not foreign to him. They certainly were not comfortable but there was an air of familiarity around these emotions. Perhaps his day would have ended in a similar way had it not been for the sound of hesitant feet making their way onto the top balcony of the inn. 

He peered down from his position on the inn's roof inquisitively. Verr often made a point of ensuring any visitors to the inn avoided the top floor in order to grant the Adeptus much needed solitude. 

Instead it was… you. Again.

In your hands sat a plate of almond tofu, your fingers gripping the porcelain plate almost hard enough to smash it as you called out hesitantly

“Adeptus Xiao?” 

His hairs prickled as he heard you call out his name. Hearing his name on your tongue, echoing your pronunciation of every syllable, rewinding and replaying the noises you made. The hitch of your breath before speaking, the breathiness of your words, the fondness in your tone despite your nervousness.

He wanted desperately to drop down and greet you, to ask you to say his name again. He would beg if he had to yet he couldn’t move

“If you’re here… Miss Verr told me you enjoyed almond tofu so I’ll just leave it here for you. I-” 

You cleared your throat, your voice gaining some timbre as you gained some confidence speaking to what you hoped was the Adeptus that had saved you

“I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday, without you i wouldn’t be here now”

You placed the plate onto the balcony before giving one last hopeful glance around. No sign of the adeptus. Regardless you whispered a soft hopeful prayer that the adeptus would find the token of gratitude you were leaving him.

As he heard your footsteps retreat down the staircase of the inn he finally allowed himself to breathe again. Leaping down onto the balcony of the inn with feline grace, he picked up the dish you left for him. His mouth pooled with saliva, his appetite was not for the almond tofu before him. As he traced the sides of the plate where your hands had once been, his heart fluttered like a teenage boy with a crush.

Xiao had spent the day thinking of you far more than he would dare verbalise but this new interaction with you had fanned the spark of interest into a blazing obsession. To think that he had been on your mind too, it was overwhelming for the adeptus, he almost didn’t want to believe that one such as himself could be blessed with something so tender to cherish as you.

He took care to watch over you vigilantly, rarely straying from your side. Ensuring your safety and acting as your shadow became his priority, however he still maintained a distance between you both, fearful that perhaps he may frighten you away with the intensity of his desire to guard you his karmic debt might overwhelm him in your presence.

The yaksha’s usual post at Wangshu inn was quickly abandoned in favour of his new perch on your roof. Of course he would never wish to invade your privacy but when you leave your bedroom window open like that… surely you must have some idea that the yaksha has taken an interest in you. Perhaps you know Xiao is there, you’ve seen him in the corner of your eye and this is your way of inviting him inside and you're simply too timid to declare it.

Even if you haven’t seen him and this isn't an invitation, clearly your senses are rather dull and you cannot be trusted to watch over yourself. He has been trailing you for weeks now so if you truly haven't noticed him then that’s all the more proof that he should slip inside your bedroom window… to keep a better eye on you while you remain defenceless as you rest.

Those are the two primary justifications he cycles through as he tentatively slides through your window, his feet silent on your floorboards after thousands of years mastering the art of agility. He wanders around your bedroom, flitting through the little trinkets you had scattered about; pretty seashells, crystals, a vase of silk flowers, your outfit for the following day. 

He huffed out a breath at your mortal amusements, countless little testaments to your interests, a dozen tributes to your fascinations. Despite the superfluous nature of these curios you had scattered about, because they were small remnants of you he simply couldn;t bring himself to feel disdain for them, not when they brought him just a little closer into your world.

After he had thoroughly explored every countertop in your bedroom, his eyes darted to what he had been attempting (and failing) to ignore this entire time. Watching your peaceful slumber brought him more relief than he cared to admit. He perched tentatively on the side of your bed.  Despite his attempts to restrain himself, he simply couldn’t prevent the wandering of his hand across the soft blanket that covered you.

Once he had traced his hand against your form, separated only by the blanket, he let his hand grasp onto a corner of it. Slowly peeling the blanket off of your form like a present that the archons had carefully wrapped just for him, golden eyes darkening as he drank in your body, covered only by sleep wear. 

His deep, trembling intakes of breath stopped only when he saw your brow scrunch as you tossed in discomfort, reaching for the blanket he had since removed. Any moment you would wake up, he was sure of it. With no time to cover you back up with your blanket and even less to put your ornaments and baubles back in their spots he slipped back out of your window silently, returning back into the shadows to observe you faithfully.

The following nights he didn’t dare creep back into your bedroom. You now kept the window shut and curtains drawn. He would be dishonest if he said he wasn’t slightly frustrated by this development but moreover he was glad you didn’t simply ignore such an occasion. After all you didn’t realise it was him in your room, for all you know it could have been some debauched pervert. He would be thankful that you’re so vigilant about your safety if that was the extent of your preventative measures, however it was not.

You now had a friend staying with you. Admittedly you could just be having them stay with you as a deterrent or precaution to any unsavoury folks and yes he likely did give you quite the fright but you have no need for anyone's protection but his. You need only speak his name and the conqueror of demon’s is at your beck and call. He would be your undeterred shield, your unyielding blade to set upon any who would harm you if only you would let him.

Being around you makes Xiao feel tender and breakable for the first time since he signed his contract with Rex Lapis. He should hate how you make him feel but he can’t… he’s not sure he could hate anything pertaining to you. Well perhaps one thing: that friend who seems insistent on escorting you everywhere. Perhaps Xiao wouldn’t mind it so much (he definitely would still mind) if your friend wasn’t so liberal with his gaze, just by analysing the man for a few moments Xiao could tell he had less than noble thoughts about you.

After about a week of being on such high alert your friend convinces you to get out of the harbour, that perhaps some time away would do you some good. Perhaps you could go to Mondstadt for a week or so together. Usually you would be inclined to disagree with his spontaneous ideas but for almost a month Liyue has been smothering you. Initially you attempted to ignore the oppressive gaze you felt upon you, convincing yourself it was a mere delusion, a cruel trick your mind was playing but after last week you were certain there was a real cause for concern behind the gaze that followed you wherever you roamed.

Upon overhearing this conversation Xiao’s blood ran cold. Going to Mondstadt means leaving the area in which he can best protect you. Going to Mondstadt means you’re in far more danger than he could allow, sure he could ask that troublesome bard to keep an eye on you but that simply means opening himself up to questions he’s not even sure he knows the answers to just yet. 

The accursed day finally arrives despite Xiao’s feverish wishes to the contrary. You begin the trek to Mondstadt when the sun is high in the sky, he keeps his eye on you, eagerly awaiting any moment you might need help, any opening for him to sweep in and keep you in Liyue for even a second longer. Perhaps this time he might mutter a word to you, tell you ‘you’re welcome’ when you inevitably drown him in gratitude or extend an offer of an escort all the way to Mondstadt (of course he’ll be escorting you regardless of whether you’re aware of it or not). 

Instead you make it all the way to Wangshu inn without issue, much to the yaksha’s irritation. As the sun began to shrink into the horizon and the stars began to glimmer softly in the gloam coated sky, you beg your friend to stop in the inn for the night, hesitant to continue on with the daylight quickly dwindling however they refuse, insisting that you were practically at Stone Gate already and to keep on going for a little while longer, spewing empty promises of protecting you if anything might attack you. You shifted nervously, your eyes looking askew but you conceded, following dutifully after your companion through Dihua marsh.

As expected you didn’t get far in the dark without bumping into several hillichurls however much to your misfortune it wasn’t just a handful of meagre hillichurls. The mitachurl towered over you, his thick club raised in the air before slamming down next to your head as you rolled to the side. You darted out from under the beast, your eyes searching through the chaos for your friend only to be met with a distressing view. Your supposed friend fleeing the battle, their eyes searching for yours, tinged with pain as they mouthed a quick “I’m sorry” before continuing their desperate flee, leaving you to fend against the hillichurls alone.

Betrayal and dejection flooded you as you watched the person who had promised to protect you both from whatever had been watching you and whatever beasts you may bump into in the darkness. The stinging in your tear ducts and burning in your chest became dampened as you felt a swift tap to the back of your neck as your world faded into darkness. You felt no pain, no more betrayal as you collapsed. 

- 

Xiao had originally intended to take advantage of this situation. To appear by your side when the battle seemed lost, saving you if only to see your eyes light up in recognition of the yaksha before you but when he realised that wretch was fleeing from the battle, surely leaving you for dead he couldn’t stand still for another moment, his fingers curling around the air, instinctually craving the weight of his weapon to rest in his palms. 

Using the end of this spear he hit you with just enough force to send you into the soft slumber of unconsciousness, catching you gently before laying you down on the grass, cradling your head like one would a newborn babe. With you carefully positioned out of his path he donned the mask of exorcism that usually sat at his waist, the karmic debt swirling around him in much higher intensity.

Slaughtering a small camp of hillichurls was a small feat for the conqueror of demons however he would not stop there. Xiao refused to rest until he felt that justice had been served for you, his most beloved.

Xiao scooped up your sleeping body before taking you back to Wangshu inn. When he first took up the mantle of protector of the inn Verr had offered him a room as thanks for his service and until now he had little need for it. He entered the dusty room and lay you down on the bed, brushing hair out of your face. The room was filled with only barebones furniture but perhaps tomorrow he would go to your home and bring you some of your pretty ornaments to make it seem more homely for you.

He allowed himself one small indulgence before he would head back out again to seek retribution for you. He removed the glove on one of his hands and took his bare, trembling fingers he traced across your lips. Memorising every inch and crevice of your soft lips beneath his fingers brought him a sense of unfathomable peace he had not felt since… he couldn’t remember anytime he had felt a sense of calm remotely similar to this.

Despite it paining him to do so the yaksha managed to force himself out of the stupor you had coaxed him into with your gentle breathing and sweet scent. Placing his glove back on and summoning his Jade winged spear the adeptus took off into the night once more.

When he returned to the remnants of the hillichurl camp, it didnt take long for him to find a trail. Following the dragging footsteps in the dust led him directly to your ‘friend’, now curled up at the foot of Wuwang hill, snot coating their face as their sobbed into their hands, wracked with grief and distress at their actions.

Even now the adeptus couldn’t muster even an illusion of sympathy or understanding, seeing them in this state only made his loathing for them grow.

They had truly deluded themself into believing they were a worthy protector for you? They couldn’t even defend themself.

With the hatred clawing up his throat like bile, Xiao couldn’t contain the Karmic debt slithering over him. His grip on his polearm tightened as he raised it above his head.

The fact that they truly believed themself to be a competitor for your affections would have almost been humorous had it not been for their display of cowardice not even an hour prior.

He plunged his weapon into their soft flesh methodically, his grip not faltering for even a moment. If it weren’t for his concern about you rousing afraid and alone, he would have taken his time and drawn their suffering out. He would have shown them that a few measly hillichurls were the least of his issues, instead he gritted his teeth, deciding to place your happiness and safety over his own desperate lust for vengeance.

Xiao quickly turned to abandon the scene. Even staring upon the filth’s body, thinking of the warmth and affection you had shared and how quickly they had forsaken you… No, he couldn’t end it like this. He turned back around to the almost corpse- the last few vestiges of life were flickering. Xiao resolved to make the last few breaths of air your friend would take as painful as possible. Digging his foot into their chest before he raised his polearm once more. Cutting and slicing, skewing and carving until all that remained after the frenzy was a mound of meat, muscle and bone.

-

Xiao crept into the room hoping you still remained asleep. A rare smile blossomed across the pale face of the Yaksha as he saw you curled up on the bed.

Dropping his spear by your bed Xiao stared at you longingly 

He had waited so long for the moment in which he could express his feelings to you properly. He wanted to show you he loved you without fear. Now that you were lying in his bed, eyelids closed and breathing deep, Xiao made the decision that he could indulge himself fully before you woke up. 

Just this once as a reward for saving you.

He’s sure you won't mind after all the time and energy he has devoted to ensuring your safety he’s almost positive you would be fine with him taking his fill. 

Surely after two millennia of selflessness he has earned the right to be a little selfish.

With one swift step Xiao turned around to lock the bedroom door behind him.

Zhongli:

The reaction of Zhongli varies significantly depending on which phase of his life he is in. The man who goes by the name Zhongli has mellowed out considerably since his days as Deus Auri, If someone had stolen your attention away from him they may be greeted with several snide remarks and biting threats, if somebody stole your affection away from him then Zhongli would have a much less pleasant reaction however if either such thing occurred during his younger years as the Lord of the Adepti and God of contracts it is unlikely any potential suitors will escape unscathed.

In his youth Zhongli was far more of a slave to his draconic instincts than he was willing to admit. Upon the realisation of his intense feelings for you, the warrior god is far more frightened than he lets on. You are so fragile in comparison to him, so breakable. Not only that but humans are so flighty. Where Adepti may be content to sit on the same mountain top for centuries in solemn meditation, the same cannot be said for mortals. He has watched them flit about, to and fro for centuries and he would be lying if he didn’t find the mortal proclivity for change rather unnerving. 

He has watched humans profess undying love for one another before turning around and betraying their vows to each other. It’s not that he thinks you’re anything like those adulterers, really he doesn’t but… you humans are slaves to your desires (he says, completely unaware of the irony his statement brings), he doesn’t want you to bring harm to your relationship because your human heart is fickle (you have not been made aware of your ‘relationship’ with the Lord of Geo) so he shall personally ensure that no one and nothing will allow you to stray from him.

And yes this is all because he cares about you and definitely not because when he sees other mens eyes flit across you he has to use every ounce of self control to prevent him from smiting the filth where they stand for allowing their lecherous eyes trail across you like a cut of meat at the market or a pretty jewel to possess (again, completely lacking in the necessary self awareness to recall how his own lustful eyes rake across your form).

Any man that makes an advance towards you shall meet a grisly end.

The shopkeeper who gave you an extra bag of rice on the house flees Liyue harbour muttering nothing but reverent prayers and desperate pleas for mercy to Rex Lapis for his transgression.

The Physician who helped bandage up your torso after you were wounded by a follower of Osial was offered a far more lenient punishment. Any place his skin may have made contact with you is carved off, his life is only spared as he was helping you however Morax cannot help the way his claws dig into his palms leaving fresh welts in the calloused skin, still unused to this humanoid form, unable to contain his rage at the thought of another touching you in a state of undress, even if only to heal you. Your bare skin is for his hands alone. If someone had to dress your wounds then they should have summoned him (please note that he has not made his affections for you known to you or anyone else for that matter)

After his most recent battle, felling yet another God who rivalled him for the position of Archon, Morax who had decided to take some weeks to allow for Liyue harbour to recover and the Adepti to rest. However when he learns it was a follower of Osial who dared to mar your delicate skin… He is rallying his Adepti with a fervour and aggression unseen from the warrior god. No one is entirely sure what has incited Morax to take such a devotion to ensuring Osial is destroyed but with his pupils in slits and his grip on Vortex Vanquisher so tight it looks as though the staff may snap, none of the Adepti are brave enough to question their lord.

Despite being renowned as the most fearsome of fighters no one, not even the closest of Morax’s allies had seen such a slaughter brought down by the Draconic lord of Geo. 

Barbaric.

Savage. 

Monstrous.

A slaughter.

Countless words could be used to describe the massacre Morax unleashed upon Osial, the Overlord of the Vortex and all his followers; however those were the most commonly repeated in the months following the extermination.

All knew to be wary of Morax, however that was the day the people of Teyvat truly learned to fear his wrath.

He hoped that when you looked out of the bay of Liyue Harbour and saw the Guyun Stone Forest, a complete destruction of every remnant of Osial and his forces, you would be reminded of his love for you, you would realise Morax is clearly the superior choice compared to all the other men around you.

Who but Morax could give you Teyvat?

Who but Morax would engulf the world in flame if only to see you smile?

Who but Morax could and would give you every comfort mora could afford?

He had frequently entertained various plans for his courtship with you; however the one his mind spun most frequently was to win the Archon war and assume his role as one of the chosen seven. Then he would raise you up as his consort, granting you immortality and binding the two of you eternally in a contract of marriage. 

Of course that didn’t mean he couldn’t let his mind wander to other fantasies, his mind swirling with thoughts of spiriting you away to his palatial domain and keeping you there for days, weeks, months, years, however it took for his insatiable desire for you to be satiated. Only then would he leave his domain to win the war and return to you as the victor of the brutal war and one of the seven, finally able to rest a crown upon your head. 

Admittedly he had yet to confess his desire to take you to wife or even that he loved you so desperately and fervently that it was one of the few things that managed to frighten the lord of contracts.

But surely you knew, even if he hadn’t verbalised it. He refused to believe you didn’t feel the tug between you both, reeling you together. You simply must understand what it's like to look into his eyes and feel as though you’re seeing clearly for the first time in your life. You have to know what its like to feel as though every step apart is energy wasted. You too must crave to feel his bare skin against your own, willing to merge into one if only to bring you both closer together.

Even if you somehow did not feel the same things… surely you must feel his gaze upon you. When he looks down at his city his eyes rest only on you, no matter how much he tries to break his gaze away from you.

Besides he doesn’t need words when he has made his romantic intentions towards you more than obvious in the way his draconic instincts have been roaring for him to. You have accepted his gifts of courtship happily, you clearly understand that he can fulfil his role in providing for you and any young you may have. He has seen you wearing the glaze lily in your hair, the very same lily he had his adepti scour the war torn lands for days to obtain. 

Admittedly you seemed rather hesitant to accept the chests of mora and countless jewels he had left on your doorstep but equally you didn’t reject the gifts. As far as he was concerned that was proof enough that you had accepted his offer of courtship. By all draconic standards you were now officially entered into a contract with the rising Lord of Liyue and he would not take any contract lightly.

Despite the occasional event where some filthy wretch had to be taught to keep their lecherous eyes and hands off the Lord of Contracts future consort and the fact that he had not been able to converse with you about the future of your relationship, he believed his ‘relationship’ with you was going exceedingly well. 

In spite of this and much to the rage of Morax, another reprobate had decided to give you an offer of courtship.

Morax can feel rage thickening in his veins, viscous and violent. Watching you blush softly at the Mortal’s meagre proposition. He understood mortals were far more inclined towards change and adaptation than a being such as he could even begin to comprehend as a deity that stands unchanging as stone, refusing to be eroded by the sands of time or the winds of change. Even so he did not expect such a flagrant betrayal. You don't even have the decency to look shameful as you forsake every thoughtful gift the lord of contracts had spent countless hours pouring over to ensure you received only the best.

Even if Rex Lapis didn’t currently have the time to display his affection verbally he had ensured that he had more than made up for it with his opulent gifts, only the finest for his future consort.

He had been desperately trying to restrain himself from stealing you away to his personal realm every time he saw you pass through the centre of the harbour. He had managed to restrain himself, displaying such self control and patience that he surprised even himself but a man has limits and the prime adeptus could stand no further insult.

How dare that vermin stand where he should, face to face with you, gazing into your eyes, drinking in the warmth that pooled into your cheeks, his arm extended with a meagre sweet flower clutched in his sweaty palm, the stem already drooping from being clutched so tightly.

Perhaps if you begged softly for the poor fools life Morax may bestow a rare act of mercy and only remove the man's eyes or tongue rather than his life, if only to see his beloved happy however all thoughts of Mercy were dashed when you accepted the flower with a soft smile gracing your face.

He didn’t think it was possible for his beloved’s glowing smile to inspire such a primal rage within him.

The city of Liyue harbour came to a stand still as their mighty Lord descended upon their city with a swiftness imperceptible to the naked eye to stand between you and your would be suitor. 

A clawed hand clasped around the mortal man’s throat, blood trickling out of the small incisions the razor sharp claws of his humanoid form.

The man gasped for air however Morax’s grip was not dissuaded. His hand only faltered when he heard a familiar voice cry out

“Lord Morax! Please! Please release him i beg of you” 

He turned his attention to you now perched on your knees, grasping at the bottom of his robe in a desperate plea and display of reverence. Although his blood still simmered with the fury of betrayal both at you and the wretch that had tempted you away from his side, seeing you now on your knees for him, tears welling in your soft eyes he simply couldn’t stay angry, not at you at least.

He threw the young man down on the ground with a sickening crack, watching him writhe around desperately clutching at the wounds on his throat.

No more waiting and no more distractions. This little infraction has persuaded him to do exactly what he needed to this entire time. 

Taloned hands scoop you up, pressing you close into a solid, warm chest as you are quickly whisked away from the harbour and everything you had ever known. He should have known better than to allow you to wander freely without his stewardship or guiding hand to lead you.

Thankfully here in Morax’s private domain you two will be able to remain unbothered for as long as he sees fit, remaining far away from any man that may dare to tempt you away from him and he can rest easy knowing you will be tended to by the servants whilst he goes out and deals with the rodent that tried to damage he and his beloved’s relationship. 

Not that it shall matter anymore once the mortal is disposed of. After all, despite his reputation as a war monger and monster, Morax is capable of understanding and empathy. You cannot help the fact that it is human nature to wish to try every experience, to culminate a portfolio of countless events and adventures, it really was a failing on his behalf to not keep a closer eye on you. Not to worry, from here on out he shall never part from your side, he shall be with you every moment of every day to remind you of your vow.

Of course if he wins the archon war, and he will, he knows in his very bones that he was born for the role of archon then he shall have the power and authority to raise you up by his side, as his consort and bestow you with eternal life and only then you shall truly remain at each others sides, forever. He shall not even entertain the thought of you being stolen from him again, covetous creature that he is.