premise. sometimes, talking to yourself feels safer than facing the guy you can’t stop thinking about…until he walks in on you mid-spiral. from awkward blushes to unexpected confessions, here’s what happens when your most embarrassing moments become the genshin boys' favorite memories
You're crouched beside a broken cart wheel, half-hidden in tall grass, muttering furiously to yourself as you examine the splintered wood.
“Of course it had to break here, in the middle of nowhere. No signal flare left, and I let the boat crew leave without me. Brilliant. Great job, really stellar planning—”
“You’re being rather harsh on yourself.”
You startle so hard you nearly fall backward. Kazuha stands a few paces behind, hands tucked calmly into his sleeves, his eyes full of quiet amusement and concern.
“You were gone longer than expected,” he explains, seeing your confusion. “Beidou sent me to check if you’d lost your way—or started arguing with local wildlife.”
You flush. “No, I’m just…talking to myself. Thinking through how to fix it.”
He steps closer and knelt beside you, examining the wheel. “Hm. The axle’s intact. A proper wedge might hold long enough to get you back to the road.”
You blink. “Oh. You’re not going to tease me about earlier?”
“I speak to the wind as if it listens,” he says lightly. “Why would I judge you for speaking to yourself?”
You glance at him. “And does the wind ever answer?”
He smiles faintly. “Only when I’m quiet enough to hear it.”
And then, just like that, he gets to work, gathering branches, finding rope in your satchel, never once asking why you chose to be alone in the first place but just staying until the cart moves again. Maybe the wind hadn’t answered, but he had.
diluc
He walks into the tavern early in the morning, expecting silence. Instead, he hears your voice in a low, frantic whisper as you await his arrival: “Okay, you’ve got this. He’s just a man. A tall, brooding, red-haired, intimidatingly handsome man—Archons above, why am I like this?”
He freezes mid-step, but the tap of his boot on the tile is loud enough to betray him. You whirl around, mortified, and lock eyes with him like a deer caught in emotionally compromising headlights.
He blinks once. Slowly.
“…I assume that was about me,” he says, voice neutral, but his ears are visibly pink.
“I—No—I mean—kind of?” you squeak, visibly crumbling under the weight of your own existence.
He clears his throat and looks away, reaching for a mug that absolutely does not need his attention.
“Understood,” he mutters.
For the rest of the day, he’s overly polite, painfully formal, and avoids eye contact like it’s flammable. Later that evening, you find a cup of your favorite tea left out for you—steaming, perfectly steeped, and completely unsupervised. The mug has a folded note under it, consisting of just three words: “You’ve got this.”
childe
He’s passing by your room when he hears your voice, quiet but distinct, and increasingly unhinged: “Okay. Plan A: cry. Plan B: threaten to cry. Plan C: run away and never return.”
He pauses mid-step, then leans against the doorway with a lopsided grin. “Wow, those are some elite-level crisis strategies. You sure you’re not Fatui?”
You shriek in embarrassment. “How long have you been standing there?!”
“Long enough to know you’ve got potential,” he laughs, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside.
You groan and hide your face. “I was joking. mostly.”
“Nah, I kinda like it,” he teases. “Plan A’s got emotional flair. Plan B? Classic drama. However, Plan C?” his voice softens just a bit. “If you ran, I’d just find you. You know that, right?”
You look up and find his smile stripped of mischief. It’s quiet and gentle in a way that makes your heart trip over itself.
“But…if you do need tissues, I’ve got plenty.”
Somehow, this ends with him dragging you to sit on the couch, arms slung around you, both of you buried under a blanket neither of you remembers pulling over your laps.
“New plan,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Plan D: stay right here.”
wanderer
He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He'd simply been on his way when he found you pacing the courtyard, completely unaware of his presence.
“He probably doesn’t even notice when I smile at him. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just ignoring me. Ugh. I should just throw a rock at him.”
He replies instantly. “Try it. I’ll throw one back.”
You flinch so hard you nearly drop your bag. He’s already leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, unreadable as ever. His gaze flicks to you, sharp but dissolving into something strangely unguarded. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.
“I notice,” he tells you, quieter now. almost like it costs him something to admit. “More than you think.”
Then he’s gone, vanishing down the corridor before you can speak, like he never meant to say anything at all. But later, you find a small, perfectly smooth stone placed outside your windowsill. No note. No explanation. Just one rock, light enough to throw.
alhaitham
He’s walking past the study when he hears you, your voice sounding low, frantic, and clearly not meant for anyone else.
“Okay, if I just put the books back exactly the way he had them, maybe he won’t know I was here. Unless…he cataloged them by page wear. Oh archons—what if he did? Why does he have to be attractive and terrifying?”
His deadpan voice sounds right behind you. “For the record, I do catalog them by page wear.”
You jump, dropping the book you’re holding, but instead of hitting the floor, it lands effortlessly in his palm.
“Also, you’ve been muttering to yourself for three full minutes. You’re not exactly subtle.”
You open your mouth to explain, apologize, evaporate, anything, but he just walks past and plucks a book from your stack.
“You misaligned this one by 0.6 centimeters,” he remarks, tone neutral. “But I’ll let it slide.”
You’re still frozen, blinking at him.
Without looking at you, he adds almost offhandedly, “Next time you wish to come by, just ask. I’d rather see you here than not.”
And then he starts reorganizing beside you. He’s silent, efficient, and just close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.
xiao
You’re sitting alone on the quiet terrace just outside Wangshu Inn, knees pulled up to your chest as you mutter into the dusk. “Why did I say ‘sweet dreams’? Who says that to Xiao? He’s the vigilant yaksha, not some character from a bedtime story. He probably thinks I’m a sentimental weirdo—”
“I don’t.”
You whip around. He’s suddenly there, silent as ever, standing just behind you in the fading light.
“I don’t think you’re weird,” he repeats, voice soft and steady, though there’s the faintest crease in his brow like he’s wondering if he’s said too much.
You scramble to stand, completely flustered. “Wait, how long were you—?”
“I heard my name,” he says plainly, as if that explains everything.
The air feels charged with embarrassment. Yours. Maybe his, too. After a pause, he glances away toward the treetops. His voice is quieter now.
“No one’s said that to me before.”
You blink. “Said what?”
He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Sweet dreams.”
There’s something almost reverent in the way he says it, like the words feel too fragile in his mouth.
“I didn’t think those were something I could have.”
The breeze carries the scent of silk flowers, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.
Then, without looking at you, he adds, “But I liked hearing it. From you.”
Your heart flips once, hard.
And before you can spiral all over again, he turns to go, but stops just long enough to murmur, “Goodnight. I hope…yours are sweet, too.”
ayato
He’s strolling through the estate gardens when he catches the faint tones of your voice, muffled but unmistakably dramatic. Curious, he peeks around a hedge and discovers you monologuing to a cluster of blue hydrangeas with passionate gestures.
“Lord Ayato, my dearest nemesis. Why must you smile like that? Why must your tea taste like heartbreak and fine politics?”
His brows lift in faint surprise.
“And why did I tell him it was ‘transcendent’? That’s not normal person behavior. That’s the kind of thing a swooning diplomat says before fainting into their fan.”
Ayato brings a hand to his mouth, stifling the laugh that bubbles up. He knows he should announce himself—knows it's indecent to linger—but curiosity roots him in place. It’s rare to see you so unguarded, and rarer still to be the subject of such poetic vitriol.
You pace a few steps, oblivious. “He probably thinks I was flirting. Which I wasn’t. I think. Ugh.”
He waits just a second longer, watching as you sigh and press your fingertips to your forehead like a tragic heroine from a stage play, before stepping forward, his fan snapping closed with a soft click.
“I didn’t realize I’d been cast as the villain in your private soliloquy.”
You freeze. There is no mistaking his voice, nor the silk-smooth amusement threading through it. Slowly, you turn.
“I must say, your critique was…vivid,” he continues. His expression is polite, but his eyes betray him, bright with barely contained laughter. “And rather unfair to the tea, which I assure you is not culpable for your emotional distress.”
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He tilts his head, as if considering something seriously.
“Though I do wonder what heartbreak tastes like to you.”
You groan and bury your face in your hands.
He inclines his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Next time, speak your grievances aloud to me instead. I assure you, I respond far better than flowers.”
cyno
He walks in on you muttering and pacing in circles.
“Okay, okay. Don’t laugh if he tells another joke. But also don’t not laugh, because then he’ll think you hate him. Ugh, why is this so complicated?”
He appears behind you with a perfectly straight face and says, “What do you call a fake noodle? an impasta.”
You shriek and nearly trip over a chair. He waits. You groan.
“That was…better than usual,” you admit.
He pauses as he appraises you. His lips twitch. “So. You’ve been rehearsing responses to my jokes?”
You blink, caught. “No. Definitely not.”
He steps closer, arms folded, head tilting in mock-serious thought. “Interesting. That implies you anticipated more. Which means…you’re expecting me.”
“…to keep telling them?”
He nods solemnly. “Correct. And now that I know you’re preparing, I’ll have to escalate.”
You groan again, this time into your hands, and he finally cracks a smile. Later, he’ll tell you a compliment disguised as a riddle. You’ll pretend not to swoon. He’ll pretend not to notice. Neither of you is very convincing.
itto
You’re standing in front of a mirror, hyping yourself up. “You’re brave. You’re bold. You can flirt with Itto today. Probably. Maybe. Okay, no, don’t flirt, just survive eye contact.”
A voice behind you booms, “Well hey, I think you’re already killin’ it!”
You scream and spin around so fast you almost knock over a stool. Itto’s standing in the doorway, grinning like a kid who just found candy and a beetle.
“Also, flirting’s totally encouraged. Ten outta ten, would recommend.”
You clutch your chest. “How long have you been standing there?!”
“Since the part where you said you were bold and brave or whatever. Sounded super cool, so I figured I’d stay for the ending.”
You groan. He’s still grinning.
“But hey,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh, “you don’t gotta overthink it. Just talk to me like normal! Or, y’know, you could flirt if that’s easier.”
You entertain the idea of feigning amnesia, knowing he’d probably fall for it. Instead, you mutter, “...I liked your hair today.”
He lights up like the sun. “See? You’re killin’ it!”
Somehow, this ends with him offering to coach you through flirting with him. The audacity.
kaeya
You were only meant to drop off a report. Nothing more. Just a quick visit to the Knights’ headquarters, a few signatures, and out. And yet here you are, lingering in an empty hallway, your forehead pressed lightly against a stone pillar as you mutter to yourself.
“Genius. Absolutely genius. ‘Nice weather, Kaeya.’ That’s what I went with. Might as well have added, ‘Hi, I’ve been harboring a wildly inconvenient crush on you since Stormterror was still a problem. Want to date and/or be the reason I start writing terrible poetry again?’”
A breath of laughter—not your own—cuts through the silence.
“I’d be open to both,” a familiar voice replies.
You freeze.
He’s there, lounging against the window alcove like he’s been there all along, elbow propped casually on the sill, head tilted with interest. His smile says he heard every word. His eyes say he enjoyed it.
Kaeya pushes off the ledge and strolls toward you, every step perfectly unhurried. “Next time you plan to deliver a monologue about me, perhaps wait until I’ve left the building. Unless,” he adds, voice dropping with playful weight, “you were hoping I’d hear it.”
You can feel the heat rise to your face like a sunrise.
“I was just thinking out loud,” you manage.
“So I gathered. And for the record”—he passes close enough that his cloak brushes your sleeve—“I find it flattering.”
You briefly consider flinging yourself out the nearest window.
At the end of the corridor, he glances back over his shoulder, smile curling just shy of sincere.
“If the weather stays this nice, do let me know if that wildly inconvenient crush turns into something more actionable.”
And then he’s gone.
A junior knight passing by gives you a puzzled look. “You, uh…look like you saw a ghost.”
You exhale, voice thin. “Worse.”
baizhu
You’re by yourself in the back room of Bubu Pharmacy, sorting herbs and muttering under your breath. It’s been a long day, and unfortunately, your brain has chosen to perseverate.
“If I faint in front of him again, I’m just going to say it was low blood sugar. Not the fact that he tucked my hair behind my ear like it was nothing.”
“Hmm. I’ll make a note to check your glucose levels...and perhaps develop a tincture for sudden-onset romantic distress?”
You whip around so fast that a handful of Qingxin spills onto the table. Baizhu stands in the doorway, serene as ever, holding a tray of tea like he didn’t just obliterate your self-esteem.
“It’s a surprisingly common condition,” he adds, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Often triggered by gentle gestures and poor coping mechanisms.”
Changsheng pokes her head out from behind his collar and lets out a tiny, delighted laugh. “Lovesick. Very contagious,” she stage-whispers.
You bury your face in your hands.
Baizhu sets the tea down beside you with quiet care. “I could prepare a cure, but I fear the malady is mutual—and, strangely, quite welcome.”
dainsleif
You think you’re alone, sitting quietly in a dim corner of the library and murmuring your frustrations to yourself. Dainsleif, combing the shelves for a particular volume, pauses when he hears the soft thread of your voice carry through the candlelight: “I bet he doesn’t even remember my name. I’m probably just a temporary footnote to him anyway. Someone who fades like shadows at dusk.”
His low voice answers from just beyond the glow of your lantern. “You are not a footnote.”
You nearly jump out of your skin as Dainsleif steps into view. The candlelight flickers across the lines of his face, which remains composed and unreadable but not unfeeling. He doesn’t speak gently, not exactly, but there’s a steadiness to his tone that seems to lessen the musty air.
“Names are more than words,” he says. “They are memory. History. Presence.”
He kneels slightly and locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing.
“I remember your name,” he continues. “Not only the shape of it. I remember the weight it carries when you speak it. I remember the careful way you said goodnight two nights ago, as if you weren’t sure I’d hear it, or hold it.”
You can’t breathe. You can’t look away.
“Don’t assume I forget the things that matter,” he says, rising to his full height again. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his posture softens. And then, without waiting for a reply, he turns and disappears into the stacks. For a long moment, all you can hear is the echo of his footsteps and the pulse of your own heart—louder now, and somehow less alone.
tighnari
You’re elbow-deep in soil, half-focused on coaxing the withered pardisah into a new pot, when your frustration finally boils over.
“Okay, next time, just say thank you and walk away. Easy. Normal. Not, ‘Wow, your ears are so expressive today,’ like some feral maniac.” You groan and press your forehead to your palm. “He probably thinks I’m studying him like a botanical specimen. What is wrong with me?”
“To be fair,” a dry voice answers behind you, “most people don’t notice ear movement unless they’re watching very closely.”
You nearly send the pot flying as you whip around. Tighnari is leaning beside your bag of soil, arms folded, one brow arched in faint incredulity.
“You were there…the whole time,” you croak.
“Roughly since the ‘feral maniac’ part,” he amends, tail flicking with suspicious amusement. “You were a bit harsh on yourself, but entertaining.”
You cover your face. “I swear I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“You didn’t,” he says gently, and then—surprisingly—smiles. “I didn’t mind the compliment. It was…oddly specific, but sincere. And clearly the result of long observation.”
He steps past you, crouching to inspect the flower you nearly murdered in your panic.
“Next time,” he adds, not looking up, “less spiraling, more speaking.”
His tone is neutral, but his ears betray him with the smallest, involuntary flick.
And then he mutters to himself, “They’re only expressive when you’re around, anyway.”
You pretend not to hear. For now.
thoma
You’re alone in the kitchen—or so you believe—flipping gyozas with intense concentration and muttering under your breath. “Okay, Thoma likes them crispy. Not burnt. Crispy, like his smile. No, wait, what? Focus!”
“Crispy like my smile, huh?”
You flinch. The spatula slips from your fingers and clatters to the stovetop. Thoma is casually leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like he definitely heard more than he should have.
“I’m flattered,” he says, stepping closer. “But now I’ve got questions. What, exactly, does a crispy smile look like?”
“I—I meant the gyoza, not your— Wait, no, I meant both—I mean—”
The oil hisses sharply, like even the pan can’t take it anymore. Smoke streams upward.
“No, the gyozas!”
Thoma is already by your side, grabbing the pan with practiced ease and sliding it off the stove.
“You know,” he says, grinning as he surveys the damage, “you didn’t have to set them on fire just to impress me.”
“I didn’t—!”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. Means I get to help.” He tosses you a wink. “Teamwork, right?”
Somehow, you end up shoulder to shoulder, sleeves rolled up, hands floured, trying again as he gives teasing tips on “optimal gyoza symmetry.”
Later, as the final batch sizzles golden and perfect, he leans just close enough to murmur, “Still not sure what a crispy smile is, but if we’re talking about yours…I think I get it now.”
heizou
You march down the corridor, shoulders tense, voice pitched low but laced with despair.
“No, Heizou, I don’t need your help picking up the papers I dropped. I just need a convenient hole to bury the cadaver of my dignity in, thank you very much—”
A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder.
“AAHH—” you scream mid-sentence, spinning on instinct and swinging your bag in self-defense.
Heizou barely ducks in time, a laugh tumbling out as he stumbles back, half-shielding himself. “Whoa, violent thoughts and airborne satchels? I should’ve brought a warrant first.”
You freeze, mortified. He’s already dusting off his sleeves like it’s just another day at the precinct.
“Really now, that’s the welcome I get?” he continues, far too amused for someone who was nearly concussed.
“You snuck up on me mid-spiral,” you retort, torn between embarrassment and residual adrenaline. “That’s reckless behavior, even for you.”
He raises a brow, utterly unbothered. “I prefer to think of it as instinct. I happen to have an uncanny sense for when people are saying my name behind my back. Or in this case, aloud. To themselves.”
Your eyes widen just enough to give you away. Heizou smiles like he’s just cracked another case.
“You know,” he adds, stepping just close enough for his voice to drop a tone, “talking to oneself is a perfectly natural response to emotional distress. Especially when that distress has, say…a face and a name?”
You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re insufferable.”
He tilts his head. “And yet, I’m the one you keep muttering about.”
You try to come up with a retort. You fail.
“Don’t worry,” he continues smoothly, already turning on his heel, “your secrets are safe with me.”
“You are the secret,” you call after him.
“And still,” he says without looking back, “you can’t seem to stop confessing to it.”
bennett
“Okay, just be normal. If I trip, I’ll just play dead. He won’t even notice. He’s used to disasters,” you tell yourself as you pace in tight little circles outside the Adventurers’ Guild.
“Wait, was that about me?”
You nearly leap into the decorative flower box beside the stairs.
Bennett stands behind you, blinking wide-eyed, equal parts confused and concerned.
“No—I mean—kind of?” you stammer.
He scratches the back of his neck, flustered. “I mean, yeah, stuff does kinda explode around me sometimes, but…hey, you’re not gonna trip.”
He pauses, then adds quickly, “But if you do, I’ll totally catch you! Probably! I mean, I’ve got decent reflexes! Usually!”
He’s turning red now, voice rising an octave as he tries to dig himself out.
“Not that you’ll fall, or need catching! It’s just—If you did fall, hypothetically, I’d be there. Probably. Hopefully. Unless something explodes first.”
You both stare at each other in silence for a beat and then burst out laughing.
“So,” you say, grinning, “wanna grab lunch before something does explode?”
“Yes! Wait, are you asking me out?”
You hesitate. “…Would it make you trip if I said yes?”
“Most likely.”
“Then, I’ll give you ‘probably’ as my answer.”
“Perfect.”
kaveh
He hears your muffled voice through the wall.
“If I see his ridiculously pretty face one more time, I’m going to cry. Or combust. Or both. There is no middle ground anymore.”
A suspicious creak of the floorboard makes your soul exit your body. The door swings open slowly. Kaveh stands there with a tea tray and the most theatrical expression known to man.
“Well,” he says, in full dramatic cadence, “had I known my face was wreaking such havoc on your emotional equilibrium, I would’ve brewed peppermint for the nerves.”
You groan and throw a pillow at him.
“Ah! betrayed by the very person moved to tears by my beauty. So you’ve chosen emotional combustion. Noted.”
You peek between your fingers. “Kaveh, please go.”
He places the tea tray down very deliberately. “I’ll leave,” he says, moving toward the door, “but only after I point out that I’m flattered, deeply and profoundly.”
He stops in the doorway, looks back with a grin just slightly too genuine.
“By the way,” he adds, not quite looking at you, “it’s mutual. The whole…emotional-overload-in-each-other’s-presence thing.”
And with that, he leaves. The tea cools quickly. You do not.
zhongli
You’re standing outside Wánmín Restaurant, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and muttered self-advice as you wait for a certain funeral consultant to join you for lunch.
“You can’t just stare at him every time he talks. He’s not poetry. He’s a man. A terrifyingly wise, elegant man made of tea and regret.”
You pause, frowning at the phrase.
“Tea and regret?”
You jolt and whirl around. Zhongli is standing just behind you, his expression unreadable, as if weighing your words with the patience of centuries.
After a moment’s pause, a faint smile graces his lips. “I believe that’s a new metaphor.”
Then, with a quiet elegance, he gestures in the space between you.
“You may continue your soliloquy. I find it…endearing.”
You feel your composure unravel, cheeks flushing crimson as you try to meet his calm, knowing gaze. For a moment, the world narrows to the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet dignity of a man who understands more than he lets on, and you silently wonder if maybe, just maybe, he is poetry after all.
I love the idea of immortal characters slowly forgetting their memories with you. It's so painful and real.
Dainsleif, who panics when telling his story of you to the traveler and Paimon, realises he forgot what your voice sounded like. Who clenched his fist, when he can't remember what your laughter sounded like.
Flins, who freezes when asked what you looked like, because he genuinely can't remember, and it shattered his heart when he realised that. Who begged to remember even little bits of you.
Neuvillette, whose voice stumbles when Sigwinne asks what you were like back then, the human who guided and taught him the world, who took care of him, someone that precious, yet he can't remember what you were like besides that.
albedo felt himself heating up already. the red that crept up his neck was noticeable as you looked up. you were wearing his lab coat, and all cozy in the bed you both share.
"you're.. wearing.. my.." - "oh.. wow."
he had just come back from work and he couldn't wait to cuddle with you in bed, yet it was as if he wouldn't mind conducting another experiment with his new 'assistant' by his side <3
alhaitham when he suddenly walks into the empty home, tired of the work he's done for only archons knows how long he had been working. he just wanted to come home and tell you about all the things he's been- oh.
he was stunned. star struck. fuck. were you really wearing his sweater right now? the grayhead felt himself simply smirk at he adorable sight of you simply sleeping on the couch. a dinner made just for him, along with dessert on the side (ifykyk)
"maybe i'll tell you when i wake up, love."
capitano who simply lets out a chuckle, one out of love. he loves how large his coat looked on you. he handed it to you after going out for a while, asking you to simply hang it beside his desk. yet you had better ideas. and by better ideas? is to wear it of course!
"well what do we have here? you're so adorable my love."
he tucks strands of your hair behind your ear. adoring the way you tried your best not to fall over as you tried to spin. this was enough to keep you warm though. not to mention how he was already carrying you bridal style to bed.
childe laughs, seeing you try on one of his shirts, looking at yourself in the mirror before turning to see him.
baby, you look amazing! how about another spin?
even when you simply scoffed, he loved how you looked right now. fuck, he could feel himself reddening already. he definitely will let you have full access to his wardrobe. just take it all like how you took his heart too.
wriothesley just put his jacket over you to keep you from being wet while watching the melusines play with sigewinne, yet right now he was more focused on how much he admired your figure in his clothes. his jacket.
"what's wrong?" "...nothing. you look amazing today, yk that?"
he chuckled at your behavior, unaware of your own attractiveness as you told them to stop running around the fountain with the wetness of the floor spreading. you couldn't help but ease up and laugh as well.
a certainly crazy day at the court of justice- neuvillette was finally finishing up the last few cases, not to mention how absurd some of the cases were.
not realizing he ended up taking your jacket instead of his home, only realizing it when the melusines mention how different it look from his usual one. oh man. there you were. trying on his coat that just seemed a little too big (or small) on you. gosh were you cute.. what do you mean his ears are red?!
"i.. it looks better on you than me, doesn it?"
dainsleif who was there immediately as soon as the red wine was spilled onto your outfit. quick to spring into acting, he throws his jacket over it just as fast. scolding the person who jealously just oh-so accidentally ruined your outfit tonight purely because they wanted your significant other? oh please he wasn't having any of that!
but by the time his anger went away, he didn't realize how.. alluring you looked.. in something he wore all the time. it definitely suited you better, only noticing after he finally parked the car. he definitely had to give you more of his clothes.
"you.. uh.. i.. well.. you're beautiful. you know, you're welcome to keep that."
diluc's face was turning as red as his hair seeing how you quietly snored, sound asleep in his- no, your shared bed. seeing how closely you held his coat to your chest, as well as the shirt you wore.
"...I don't.. deserve you."
he simply took his boots off, letting his arms snake you close, one of his hands trailing up to your scalp, calmly stroking your head as he feels you smile into his chest. this was life.
kinich who always had an interesting wardrobe, you really just wanted to see how comfy his clothes were if he can swing back and forth that far!
and in which you did, spinning and looking at yourself in the mirror in his clothing. you loved it even more from how it smelled just like him too <3
"someone's having fun aren't they?"
you felt yourself blush out of embarassment of getting caught. but before you could apologize, he already had his lips on yours.
when xiao decides it'd be a good idea to give you a hoodie just to realize you never gave it back. is it just.. yours now?
and to find out the answer? yes! it is! and he finds out in the cutest way possible—by finding you sleeping soundly and wearing it all the same. almost indifferent about it as if it was normal.
"you okay?" "i-i've been looking for this y-you know.."
he only flushed more when you tell him you missed him so much.
finally coming home, wanderer, or scaramouche just wanted to cuddle. no words shared. just to hold you in his arms.
but maybe it was good that didn't happen. because now he was looking at the love of his life, and eating the food they made him. knowing how they made it with the knowledge on how he can't really taste anything. not to mention you were wearing.. that sweatshirt he lent you.
You set their soul on fire. They burn for you and would burn everything else for you. To them, you are their ultimate end and the reason they keep going. They would protect you from among the shadows, never letting any danger come near you. If you bore hatred towards them, they would love you ten times more. Men who are full of secrets and will push you far away but pull you so close over and over again.
“May we meet again in this and every other universe my dearest.”
They see you in everything ethereal and beautiful. They admire you, observe you, all from afar. Your touch is like gold. They're afraid of that gold because nothing is permanent. One might lose even gold. As years go by, they realize loving you is so easy but they would never get to fully know that love. Sacrifices are to be made, you're too precious to be lost to them forever with time. So they long for you. Even when they are striding along their own path, they reminisce their moments with you and the thought of you is long etched inside their heart.
“Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories.”
(very self indulgent on my part) but genshin men dealing with pregnant reader? (Please include capitano if you can👉👈)
Genshin Suitors and their Pregnant!Reader [4.7k Headcanons]
Ft. Capitano, Cyno and Tighnari, Dainsleif, Diluc, Dottore Prime, Dottore Omega, Dottore Beta, Flins and Illuga, Kamisato Ayato, Lyney, Neuvillette and Wriothesley, Pantalone, Tartaglia.
Cw. Reader here uses all pronouns and swaps in between different ones at any given time; Characters follow that logic too with nicknames. Written as a large Polycule, Lgbtqia+ relationships, Angst in some [In the sense of they doubt themselves or in Capitanos, the Natlan quest]- oh, and Neuvillette gets egged too so eggpreg/mpreg but not explicit. It's referred to as eggnancy here
Capitanos is the longest since you wanted him specifically.
Some of the following are in pairs for dual fatherhood over the growing bean because others are a bit selfish and want their babies to themselves.
The Genshin men I've included are the suitors of the realm who want kids and would have a overall positive reation [and Capitano, we're rocking with Capitano and Capitanos rockin w/ us-]]
For the “Self-Indulgence” Fic continuity; if Reader were to fall pregnant all of them [and the ladies] would be collectively caring for the reader but for the purposes of this it will be how each of them would care for Reader separately and react to being told they're the father
No worries :] this is the self indulgent account my friend!
Edit - Finally Part 2! [Here] Genshin Women Edition - Ft. Navia and Clorinde, Furina, Lauma, Lisa and Jean, Candace and Dehya [and Dunyazard], Sanganomiya Kokomi, Mualani [and Kinich] - Many of their friends or relatives show up but have very small additions
Capitano [Angst - Hurt/Comfort]
You grasp his hand and lean backwards guiding him away from the middle of the realm to a place more private. You breath in shakily when he turns to look at you confused but follow anyways
“Whats this-”
“I'm pregnant.” You blurt out before he can ask, head ducked low “I- It's…”
His hands tremble, knees buckle when your words register in his head, startling you to take a step back, but his fingers reach up to grasp at the back of your thighs to pull you back in
he hesitates until you carefully cart your fingers through his hair and slowly lift his helmet and set it to the side. he presses his forehead to your stomach gently and shudders, blinking away the prick of tears that dot his lashes
“I'm sorry.” he whispers “I am.. So sorry”
“Don’t apologise.” you brush back his hair to see his piercing cobalt four pointed pupils stare up at you with a pained expression, the carved in flesh on the bridge of his nose glow in the narrow space between the two of you “why are you apologising”
“You know why.” he mutters sombrely “I leave for Natlan-”
your eyes dance away “...Im glad. and, for what its worth, we still have time. you-” you falter, swallowing before reaching for one of his hands to cradle “You… don't worry about them. We'll see you when you get back.”
‘You would have been a great father’ goes unsaid.
“...Yes. When I get back.”
He is cutting back all of his routines to cater toward your every need or including you in them if he can't
He also requests for you to stay with him while he's stationed at home
Therapeutic full body massages, getting carried around the house, breakfast lunch, and dinner made before you even need to voice that you’re hungry
Capitano will be doing it all. there is no need to call in a midwife or house help
-even if you’re still fully capable of doing everything in the first half of your pregnancy
He's not dreamt of something so sweet and domestic since even before becoming a Khaenri’an Royal Knight.
but the sight of you and his unborn child both soothes and causes him so much pain.
During your pregnancy, he's very much still a silent protector but isn't too overbearing about it
quietly taking note of your favourite foods [which have ultimately evolved from your usual habit foods] and is making extras each time you ask for it, labeling it and freezing it down for you to eat when he's not there.
he even makes food for the baby to try when he's gone
He writes down everything he knows about himself for both you and his kin, not being one to let things stay unsaid for too long.
He sits down with you and tells you about it, too, and you both talk until you start feeling sleepy. By the end of the night, you've figured out a handful of names to call the baby
He also bathes with you and spends a while wiping you down with a flannel, having your lay back on him as he files down your nails, even taking the time to help you shave if you don't like the feeling
he no longer has family to introduce you to, but he does have some close friends within the Fatui he'd like to inform of your pregnancy if you allow him
He's not a public person anyways so if it's a no, he understands
if you say yes, he'll tell the other harbingers and a handful of his lieutenants. You soon receive congratulations gifts from all of them, his lieutenants even show up and salute you before pledging loyalty to the unborn child
it would be cute if you knew that they were coming and weren't standing outside in your pyjamas
If your mood fluctuates, he's rather calm with keeping you level-headed
if you want to rage and scream out frustrations, he will ‘spar’ with you and let you beat onto his chest
If you're getting overwhelmed, he will slow dance with you to the bed and lay down with his face buried just above your stomach between your chest and let you wrap yourself around his upper half
If you're feeling understimulated and you want to to jump around [please don't you'll stress him out] he'll do it for you, holding you close and he darts around the place or having you lay atop of him and rocking you back and forth
He will speak in Teyvat common and Khaenri’an to your stomach
One day he brings out so old dusty bags, when he unzips them to reveal some of the softest silks you've ever felt he tells you it was some of his families things he'd saved after the harshest parts of the Cataclysm occurred- never did he think he'd have someone to pass them to until now
the clothing is all odd, ripped, or just scraps but well kept
with you beside him or on his lap, he'll spend the rest of his days before his deployment stitching together a baby blanket with his and your initials.
Later, you find out he's asked the other harbingers to take over his role when you start seeing more of Pierro, Arlecchino, and Tartaglia. Someone who knew him before becoming a Harbinger, someone who cares for children [albeit not typical care] and someone who he believes is strong enough to rival him one day.
Cyno and Tighnari
These two have been so excited to hear of your pregnancy- Well Cyno was, Tighnari could tell something had shifted some weeks ago when you waddled back to bed after rushing to the bathroom with a slightly sour scent. and as the days passed with, the two of you cuddled up next to each other - yeah, Tighnari already knew. You knew that he knew, but with your silence over the matter, he put it down to the fact you were probably waiting for Cyno to return from his mission to announce it.
They both have different ways of caring for you during it. Tighnari acts as your midwife, and Cyno acts like an overeager dog.
Depending on whose baby you're having will change how they continue treating you - Dont worry its Not bad.
If it's Cynos- you’ve got a chance of Hermanubis taking interest in the baby
If it's Tighnaris- you’ve got a chance of it being a litter of Tignarians
Both are very important things to find out earlier than later
Either way, they both stick close to you when they find out. When you leave the hut in Ghandaraville, you will always leave with someone at your side because of the lack of guard rails
Cyno spends his time figuring out the more physical aspects of your care, going out of his way to spend his TCG funds towards building a larger hut in the lower banks of Ghandaraville for you, him, Tighnari, your kit/s and a spare room for Collei when she visits
Tighnari is spending his time next to your side and feeding you different protein rich meals, doubling or even tripling your intake
The biggest challenge would be Tighnari because his instincts are going to start going haywire alongside your own
Nesting instincts, hoarding instincts - Cyno [and Collei] will have to take up the mantle to cover for the both of you
closer to the end of term, Cyno will put in leave to stay home with you and send Tighnari out so he can burn off some energy
It comes to the point where Tighnari is dragging back a wild Sumpter beast he’d hunted down for the both of you to eat
Dainsleif [Angst - Hurt/Comfort]
He… does not take it well when you tell him.
He freezes and tries to think logically [Is he thinking logically?] ‘Has he told you his standpoint on it - I mean, he used to want one - but now?...’
He makes the dumb decision to walk away from you to clear his head without saying anything
and if that didn't break your heart- you won't see him for at least half a day, at most a couple days
when he does return, it's up to you how you want to proceed
He apologizes for his response, on his knees, and his head pressed against the floor, grovelling for forgiveness for leaving you even if for just a few hours
[Take him back] <
He becomes a gruff guard dog, he's not used to staying in one place long but he figures constant moving and staying in unsavoury places may do you a lot of harm so he doesn't ask for you to travel with him, no,
he also doesn't stay the whole time during your pregnancy
He leaves when he has to lead the Abyss away, so it's not like he's travelling and having fun
although every time he returns to the hovel he's created for you, you act as if he did
and he can't blame you either, so he sucks it up and does everything you ask for
he loves napping with you. You safely tucked against him and the wall, so the only way for something to get to you has to get through him first.
He has to travel so far to get you your cravings and that's what irks him the most, because it's never guaranteed that he can return with it still fresh, hot or even fully there unless you're shacking up at a hotel within the city.
He does his best, but he is still a homeless knight on the run.
Diluc
He openly cries, ugly cries too. so when you tell him about your pregnancy, do so privately
He will treat you so delicately as if you're fragile, you'll have to tell him it's okay for him to do anything but shakily peck your cheeks.
when you do, he almost crushes you with a hug and lifts you off the ground
Having a family has been something he's yearned for, more so in recent years, having met and fallen in love with you.
but to have it within his reach ignites an old flame he thought got snuffed out when his father died and his brother-
he is so grateful for you
he buries himself into his work even more than he did previously
he digs himself deep into his role of ‘breadwinner’ and focuses on the Dawn Winery under the assumption that that was what he's supposed to do
it takes a mere week of his absence for Adeline to clip his ear and drag him to you and place him under maternity leave for all his jobs
he doesn't have a clue on what to do, but his enthusiasm makes up for it
-and his dutiful staff
he hires a midwife to stay on site with you and hires adventurers to deliver foods from good hunter and the Cats tail whenever you request it
His brother visits often with your favourite Xocoatl dipped fruits and updates you on the things you're missing as to get you to whine about it to Diluc so he brings you out of the mansion for socialisation away from the four walls
Dottore Prime
“Are you now?”
He only really half listening when you tell him this in the middle of an active experiment since that seems to be the only free time he's had recently
he only pauses when he notices the segments around him have stopped and are staring at you with wide eyes
“what?.” he snaps at them before turning his head to you “What… What did you say, darling?”
you can choose to walk away to let him figure it out or repeat yourself
either way, when he does figure it out eventually and he will conclude his tests for the rest of the week and follow you back to your room for a thorough inspection to confirm your words
he had not thought it possible with his current constitution
he becomes smug soon enough, like a bird with its neck feathers puffed up
he adjusts everything in the labs to suit you. Any previous experiments of his have been cancelled or put on hold because now he is putting you on a pedestal and documenting you throughout the entire process
he has your schedule written down to the minute. Food checked over for your needed sustenance requirements and images taken every day to track the fetal development
he is so invested in the baby that it becomes his new personality
if you ask for anything, he has his segments. Do it for him. He even has a babysitter ready to go once it's out, and you're in recovery
if you want him to adjust his attitude, you will have to be firm about it and not back down when he sulks and says he's doing it for your best interest and care
Dottore Omega
screams
“Eh- Wh- Preg- We're Pregnant?!”
scoops you up impulsively and twirls you but has to set you down quickly unless he wants you to throw up on him
“...I thought I was going to be the one pregnant?”
Ignoring his initial reactions to the news, he's actually rather read up on how to care for you like a normal person
whether or not he does it entirely based on his mood for the day
he keeps you entertained throughout your pregnancy, leaving notes around the lab for you to find as you walk from place to place, leaving out food for you to snack on, ordering his subordinates to check up on you and threatening them if they're too slow
all normal things a partner does for their pregnant partner, he assures you
He's a chronic shopper for both you and his baby, spending his portion of funds from the Fatui buy you new maternity clothes, to buy the baby clothes, toys and cloth nappies, everything
he wants his baby to be the most fashionable in the realm and wants you to still feel just as beautiful as he sees you now
so know that he will be constantly praising you and reassuring you on any doubts
Dottore Beta
When he hears your words, he freezes up
Then he starts running every possible scenario
It shouldn't be possible and yet- He takes you into the labs to get confirmation so when he lays you down on his own berth, drags over an ultrasound machine and gently soothes the gel over your stomach then on the wand he is shocked to see the tiny bean that proves-
he won't let you leave the labs - no. he won't let you leave him at all now.
he has too many enemies, his own fellow segments are threats to him [not to you, never to you]
You can try your best to reassure him but he knows how they all are and if they find out you're pregnant there's no way he'd be able to keep both you and the baby to himself, he'd have to share.
He's somewhat detached as he tries to solve the equation presented to him, but he's good at multitasking
idly cooking you comfort meals he'd remember being served as a child in the house of the hearths Sumeru division all while he runs the simulation
baby proofing his room while constantly watching over your sleeping form
he will be obsessive about it and unapologetic
Flins and Illuga [Angst - Hurt/Comfort]
Flin's reaction to the news is special, even Illuga is stunned by it [doubly so with your news] but to see Flins’ face freeze in place as his human mirage splinters, his yellow eyes bug out even wider than normal and the tips of his hair lose its form entirely bursting into blue flames
Illuga, and you have to carefully shake him into consciousness
Illuga has you both sat on his couch in his home in Piramida and is fetching you a warm drink before settling in next to you so he can finally digest the fact himself
Illuga actually delves deeper into his work- and he reassures you that it's not to avoid you. It's not!
he wants to build up his leave and make sure his comrades are all fine, so when he does take leave for the birth, he can rest assured that both his family and friends are safe and sound
and he figures someone needs to be the breadwinner between the two ratniki
Flins all but leaves the ratniki during your pregnancy and into the first few years when the baby is born
but that's for later. Don't get him wrong. He still does keep the cemetery more than functioning and does his patrols, but he won't linger in Nasha town or Piramida if neither one of you is present there
Flins does hope the baby is his, not just to continue the Fae lineage, but he does not wish to watch his child grow, live, and pass as humans do. not before he reaches the eternal rest first
Illuga has to console both of you when Flins admits his fears for the child, but even he's thought of the implications of it
regardless the three of you will love the bundle when it joins you.
Kamisato Ayato
Oh, he is so smug about it after he gets over the well in his chest that's swelling up with pure happiness over the news.
The moment you tell him of the development he has you within his arms cradling your face in his palms and noses touching before he's peppering kisses over your face and dropping to your stomach next, shuffling closer to do the same there
He's got you giggling at the soft touches
The rest of your pregnancy follows that same line. Randomly, he will pull you close to repeatedly praise you and uses his words so sweetly
“You're doing so well, Anata, So beautiful, So strong”
“C'mon now your majesty, the baby needs some love too”
“My love, time to get up now - it’s my turn to help you dress for the day”
His favourite part is helping you around the estate and cleaning you after a long day
when you get to a point where you're struggling to shower he's in there helping you, the amount of water that flows past uselessly doubles because he spends most of the time in there with you just admiring you and telling you how attractive you are
His sister is coddling you and cooing at your stomach often
If it's not Ayato by your side, it's Ayaka. having the heir of the Kamisato clan puts a large bounty on your head more so than just being Ayato's lover and spouse
So the extra attention always pays off
when he hears it's not exactly safe for you to eat raw fish, he double checks the meals that come in from his retainers [a thing he never did before]
it hasn't happened yet, but he won't slack off [His retainers have already ensured to adjust your meals to suit you and the baby - the only person getting fresh fish was Ayato himself.]
Lyney
He squeals and pulls you in for a kiss, hands on your hips and moving around the place is slow circles as he whispers how excited he is, how much he loves you, he's asking how you are, when you found out-
he starts rattling off question after question
oh, he's so curious and nervous about it
he asks if he can go tell his sister and Freminet, and when they arrive to congratulate you, Lynette has to be the one to inform you of their… nature
“My brother did warn you he's also a Chartreux, right?”
you blink impishly at her, and Lyney freezes
“It means you'll likely have a litter” Freminet answers as he takes Lynette place to sit beside you and presses a hand tentatively to your stomach “We've tried to find their birth parents before…”
Lynette stares at you with a deadpan “They couldn't raise all 6 of us. Which was how we found out we weren't twins and the reason we were given up as a pair.”
So, with the haunting fact you will be having 1 to 6 with the pregnancy, Lyney has taken it upon himself to be at your beck and call
Lynette and Freminet even join in and cover for him when he's needed at the hearth
Even if it sounds ridiculous, Lynette will indulge your line of logic and banter with you based on it
Freminet won't give you a massage, but he'll work on making Fontaine's first massage chair for you
Lyney sets up a date for you every week and helps you get dressed up if you need it, even setting up home dates if you're not feeling up to public settings
Neuvillette and Wriothesley
“ah- i believe i also have some news to share, my loves.”
Dragons are very reactionary creatures, so when you announce your pregnancy, Neuvillette lights up and announces his own
the two of you find yourselves giddy and sniffly over the idea of a dual eggnancy together
Wriothesley is [rightfully] trembling off to the side at the news - both his partners who he did not know could get pregnant were pregnant and at the same time
give him a few days to deal with the emotions flooding through him. hes thinking back to the horrors
Whether Neuvillettes’ is a pseudo eggnancy due to the pheromones you're putting out that has triggered something in his instincts to activate, he is just as loving and doting to you as you are with him over the few days Wriothesley is off
knowing his past and how this may seem to him, you reassure him whatever decision he comes to won't change how you and Neuvillette feel for him.
Neuvillette spends his time making up a nest for the two of you to reside in. He doesn't know if you also have an egg or if your baby is human like Wriothesley
he doesn't have experience with either, so he does his best based on books and learnt knowledge from caring for freshly hatched melusines
with his judge duties - he does continue with the proceedings that require him, but otherwise, he delegates the smaller ones to the other judges. While he's out, he takes the time to bring you trinkets and new materials for your nest
When Wriothesley comes to and returns, you both don't let him stay finicky and envelop him in a hug, dragging him over to the built nest to cuddle puddle
any doubts are washed away as he tiredly sinks into you two
from then on out he's ensuring he surfaces from the fortress more often, spending the time to pick up groceries and essentials and bringing it into your shared home so you don't have to go out of your way to fetch anything
he double checks his tea stash for any teas that can harm either of you and takes them into the fortress itself
if yours is an eggnancy he is willing to take the mantle of carrying the egg too once it pops out [Dragon eggs probably get laid earlier than human pregnancies and develop further outside the body], although he does look odd with an egg pouch strapped to his chest and fierce look on his face warning the prisoners to keep their distance when he has to come into work with it, he is happy to do his part
If Neuvillette's eggnancy is fertile, Wriothesley will be dual wielding both eggs so Neuvillette can return to work post haste before news reporters start questioning his hiatus despite you both telling him to rest a bit more
If it's Wriothesley's baby- well, he still has a while before the baby comes out
Pantalone
He's the first to suspect it surprisingly, noticing your discomfort when laying partially on your stomach next to him, the occasional sickly feeling you've been getting when his chefs bring out certain foods you've not reacted to before [the first time he'd reprimanded the chef. The second he put him on temporary leave, the third? he took a bite of your meal himself and was left more confused than he did before]
So he asks if you'd like to come to Liyue when he gets his normal check ups as an extended holiday [he knows not to randomly ask someone if they're pregnant] and sneakily double books an appointment for you alongside his
so when you follow him up to bubu Pharmacy and your name gets called out first, you're a little miffed
He's lucky the test came up positive, and the good doctor congratulated you before he did
While he has you in Liyue, he takes you around where he grew up and waxes poetry on how he aims to be better than how he did, that he won't let you or his baby suffer
while you're able he lets you go wherever you wish, he has subordinates fetch foods from stalls, tickets for plays you want to see, even paying to book out entire fields so the two of you can take a leisurely stroll privately
once he notices your fatigue is growing and it's becoming a bit of a struggle for you to freely walk the distances, he tells you it's time to return home
from then on out, he spends his time at home with you, finding himself not able to work away from you for large periods of time
which is fine with him. He'd rather relax on his couch, you at his side, and his paperwork on the table
Tartaglia
He doesn't know who's happier about the news, him or his siblings.
regardless, he is shouting the news from the rooftops of Snezhnaya. everyone knows - His auntie, The Tsaritsa, hell even mr. Zhongli got a whole letter with the words ‘Im pregnants’ written in rushed and botched Liyuen, earning back a letter going ‘???’
He is so excited.
his form of care for you is a lot of home remedies and wives tales he's heard from his older siblings, cousins, aunties, and uncles
fortunately [or unfortunately depending on your own mentality] he gets you up to do stretches with him in the mornings and has you join him on his runs- if you decline he will ask if you will walk with him instead
if you ask him to slow down, he will
he spends a lot of time rambling about anything with his head in your lap and his palms pressed against your sides
He thinks about the baby constantly
“Hey- did you know? Auntie said if your stomach hangs low, it means we're having a little girl." “
Does Ajax jnr. That sounds like a good name? no?”
“-Whe do you think we should make their godfather; Pierro or Pulcinella? what do you mean, neither.”
riding him when he's too tired to fuck you... he'll lie back and let you do all the work to please both of you. he can't keep track of how many times he came inside you; just the sight of you split around his fat, leaky cock is enough to drive him to madness. his aching, worn body never gets tired of you, despite how exhausted he must be. on days where he's completely worn out, all he can manage is to grip onto your hips and try to meet you halfway when your hips sink down on his cock.
you're so full of him, with him pumping weak spurts of cum into you as he tries to muffle his own cries. and any time you slow down and feel like he's had too much, he'll find one more burst of energy to slam you back down onto his pelvis, pushing his tip right up against your sticky cervix, trying to prove to you that he can take it.
— baizhu, zhongli, ororon, varka, childe, dainsleif + all your favourites, darling ✩
synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife.
pairings: Dainsleif, Dottore, Kinich, Xiao x fem!reader (separately)
tw: fluff, angst (or is it?), established relationship (married), immortal reader (different kinds) for everyone except Kinich, Dottore might be his own warning, spoilers for Luna IV in Dottore's part (version 6.3)
word count: 10k words
a/n: wow, that took me a minute to write! I apologize for the delay (again), and hope these drabbles will find their readers. Enjoy! <3
part 1, part 2 and part 3 can be read here!
Dainsleif
Dainsleif is not a fan of mingling with people. Sure, he does it if he needs to - either it be to gather intel, or take commissions to gain mora, or spend this very mora on food, an occasional drink, and accommodation. But the less interaction - the slimmer is the chance his face or the very existence will be imprinted in someone’s memory. He needs not to be the subject of someone’s conversation.
You, however, have a completely opposite view on that. Ever since your paths crossed and merged into one, he more often finds himself involved with others, ‘abandoning his life of a hermit’, as you once said, elbowing his side playfully. You called him many ‘flattering’ things actually: brooding, ascetic, ‘a guy who tries too hard to look mysterious’ (it was never his intention, okay?), stubborn, dramatic– the list can go on and on.
You took it upon yourself to sit him down and hammer it into his ‘pretty blond head’ (your words, not his) that if he wanted to keep hunting down the Abyss order, then sure, he could go ahead, you’d even gladly assist him, but you two would be taking breaks from time to time.
The word 'vacation' wasn't in his vocabulary? Now it was, and you’d make sure to spell it out to him.
You had too little time to deal with the enemy? Dear, you both were literally cursed to keep living for eternity, and Teyvat was too big and you were just two people, cut yourself some slack.
Mora? More commissions!
He had no desire to converse with strangers for too long and spend more than one day among them? Alright, you’d do the talking, he’d do the scary dog privileges. And you could change inns every night, when money allowed.
People could recognize your heritage by the clothes and the shape of your irises and ask too many questions? …well, he was an idiot for not thinking about using different clothes for disguise in the past (how was his uniform even still intact??). As for the eyes… You’d figure it out along the way!
Any complaints? Pff, should’ve thought about it before he married you.
Dainsleif glances at the ring on his finger - a simple silver band wrapped around the base of his digit has long left an indent on his skin. In your homeland it was customary for spouses to wear the silver bracelets with all kinds of meaningful ornaments, but Khaenri’ah is gone, and the vast majority of Teyvat population use rings to demonstrate the bond; you opted to adjust.
And adjust you did, too well actually, as the man doesn’t find you in the small cozy house you rented for your stay in the Masters’ of the Night-Wind tribe. Knowing you, - and over the course of at least two centuries staying inseparable he came to know you too well, - you took another invitation to feast with the locals, to ‘shape your image of a regular couple through conversation’, as you called it.
Your husband sighs, adjusting the long glove on his arm that is hiding the darkened flesh and unnaturally bluish veins, getting ready to go and search for you. He trusts you, of course, but the residents of this tribe can be– how should he put it… well, weird (like it wasn’t the main reason why you chose the very tribe in the first place - you’d stand out even less). Their ‘shamans’ sometimes could see what’s concealed and even look into the foggy future, and it gave him an inexplicable ick.
He feels he’d be less agitated if he was close to where you are.
A burst of laughter catches his attention just as Dainsleif leaves the house. Looks like you didn’t go far (yes, he is certain that you are the cause of this unseen merit), just to one of your neighbours. Good, easier for him. Checking on his glove again, tugging the short sleeve of a local tunic lower and brushing some locks over his mask, the blond takes off in the sound’s direction.
The first thing he sees is the gleam of metal - the sunray that gets caught on your own wedding band, as you are using your hands expressively to gesticulate along the words you say. Four–no, five women are seated at the table together with you, some still giggling, some taking sips from their drinks, but all are listening attentively. He too stops in the shadow of the house to listen to you, leaning his shoulder on the wall with crossed arms.
“Soooo,” you lock your fingers together with a grin and mischief swirling in your eyes (Dainsleif can’t help but tilt his head with a ghost of a smile at the sight), “funny story, we actually agreed to get married at some point in the future if none of us would be settled by that time! Guess who’d been waiting for me~”
Another fit of giggles and coos erupts; someone whistles even, raising her glass to cheer, and everyone follows suit - you included. And your husband - the one you were undoubtedly telling these women about - closes his eyes for a moment, mulling over your ‘image-shaping’ words.
You aren’t even lying - for the first part of your claim, that is. Such a promise was indeed made half a millennium ago between two Khaenri’ahns, who couldn’t have known that they wouldn’t be reaching a point in age above their twenties. Not in a normal sense, at least.
A promise that he was reminded of a couple decades into your shared journey. It was the evening and the sun was setting at the horizon, as Dainsleif was gazing at the vast water surface surrounding the city of Fontaine. From the top of a cliff on Beryl Island, where you set your camp for the last night of that trip to the Hydro region, the view was truly breathtaking, and you didn’t even complain about not staying at the inn.
Soon he understood why.
“What is it?”
“Open and find out.”
The man stared up at the small velvet box resting on your open palm. It was square-shaped and looked new, so he quickly abandoned thoughts of some kind of treasure you’d found in the ruins nearby. Had you bought some kind of trinket for yourself? No, you wouldn’t have kept it closed then. In that case, a present?
He was still skeptical about gifts - be it giving or receiving, and yet he reached for the mysterious object. Cradling the box in his big palm, he, subconsciously, waited a few heartbeats until you lowered onto the grass and settled next to him. He noted that you were acting weird: your eyes either watched him intensely or averted with an almost shy purse of your lips; your hands were twitching, no matter how hard you were trying to press them against your thighs, and your overall posture was quite tense. If he hadn’t known better, hadn’t known you better, he would’ve found that whole situation quite concerning and suspicious.
Nevertheless, he trusted you to know that whatever was in that box - it was harmless. So he opened it.
“A…ring?”
Confused, Dainslef stared at the simple silver band with several dark blue stones. Just like his eyes.
“Well…” You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders a little in attempts to put on a brave face. “Remember how we agreed to get married, if by the time we turned thirty we were still single? I know it’s very much overdue, but since we’ve never gotten to do that…and we are both still single…”
After that you started rambling. About rings being more common than bracelets up there and how you thought it was more proper to propose with one. About the commission you’d placed at the blacksmith’s the first time you visited the main city, and how worried you’d been about its timely completion. About the perks of getting married and stuff alike.
Somewhere halfway through your speech, Dainsleif finally tore his eyes from the ring and looked at you - truly looked at you. At the way the gentle wind played with your hair, at the gleam of vividness in your eyes he always admired, at your smile he caught himself staring at these days (and, admittedly, back then too), at the hands that always moved with familiar animosity.
He could not believe this was really happening. For a moment his brain shut down.
“...old people love young married couples! Imagine how many benefits we could–”
“But we can always pretend to be married?”
Yes, his stupid brain chose the worst time to stop functioning the way he needed it to.
“…” He saw your smile falter. Slowly, starting with the corners of your mouth lowering, it crumbled. The spark in your eyes faded, and you blinked, holding his gaze for just a moment longer and then averting yours altogether. Dainsleif immediately wanted to punch himself.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to. It’s fine. It’s fine!” How could it be fine when you said it twice? “It really is overdue, it’s been many lifetimes ago. We were what, fifteen?”
“I was seventeen,” he suddenly corrected you, startling and effectively crashing another of your incipient ramblings, “and you were fifteen. We actually argued immediately on whose 30th birthday we should consider the point of this promise’s implementation.”
“Oh…yes, I do remember that,” your words were careful, but he managed to hear the slight astonishment in your tone. You were definitely surprised he had any recollection of that. But how could he not? You were always very dear to him.
Yes, maybe he did not think you’d ever breach the ‘friendship’ line, but at that very moment, with a velvet box still held firmly in his hand, Dainsleif came to realize - he did not mind putting a more definite label to your relationship.
“If you truly mean it,” his voice was softer when he spoke to you again, “then I’d be honored to accept this ring.”
Your eyes brightened up immediately and your shoulders relaxed with an exhale of relief. And suddenly you were on your back on the grass, pressing your palms to your face and smiling stupidly, overwhelmed with emotions.
“Oh, whoever is listening, thank you.”
The continuation of that evening was a little bit chaotic. Eventually you calmed down, asked him again (and again, and again) if he was really sure, and after the tenth answered ‘yes’, you finally reached for the box, and he let you take a hold of his free hand and slide the cool metal band around his finger (it was surprisingly fitting, he noted with fondness). You talked: about the past, the present and the future.
You admitted you’d liked him for a long time, but he had been so busy as a royal guard and had no time for any kind of romantic relationship… Waiting till your 30s had seemed like your safest option, though maybe kind of a potentially futile one.
He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and brought you closer, murmuring into your hair how grateful he was for your patience. And swore to never betray it.
Plans on the wedding - where? when? how? - brought you back to the tent, and you fell asleep with a sweet giggle and another life-changing suggestion.
“Since you are unable to come up with a fake name instead of your own to save your life… Once we get married…we can call each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ in front of strangers… Hehe, I like the sound of it…”
He quickly grew to like it too.
“...band! Husband!”
He’s shaken from his thoughts by your voice, nearly scraping his shoulder on the house’s outer wall in attempts to steady his slackened body. Did he doze off?
Blinking owlishly a few times, Dainsleif turns his head and finds six pairs of eyes staring at him: some curiously, some creased from a giggle, and only yours are gazing at him with adoration. Looks like you noticed him ‘watching’ you from the shadow of the trees and tried to call him over albeit in vain. No wonder that upon finally getting a reaction from him, you slide on a mask of pretense indignation at his previous lack of attention.
“Oh, look at that, my dear husband finally heard me,” you huff, leaning your cheek on a fisted hand, but the smile that fights its way to your face betrays you. “Don’t just stand there, come here, join us!”
And you were telling these women that he used to be the one waiting?
The engagement ring is warm against the skin of his chest, hung there snugly on a chain, as Dainsleif removes himself from the wall and steps out of the shadows with a serene smile.
“Of course, my dear wife.”
Dottore
Despite your unique predicament, you find amusement in being the Doctor’s wife.
Sure, you are not human, rather an engineering marvel, running on self-learning programs which teach you the way of life and emotion. You are the creation of the Seventh Harbinger - a project to test her own ability to implement the things that should be foreign to her artificial being into the ‘machine’ of her making. And for her, you turned out to be perfect - her magnum opus.
Which was stolen by the colleague of hers in the most ridiculous way possible - claimed by the right of ownership through the marriage.
You still remember the rage Sandrone overcame with, her face twisted in pure hatred and mouth shooting out a seemingly never-ending flow of curses directed at your now husband, as she was working on the last update of your inner structures before everything would’ve been handed to Dottore on the plate with a silver lining. And though you didn’t quite understand the emotion, you still catalogued the visual of it carefully in that part of your processor that was dedicated to your creator.
Because you ‘loved’ her. As much as an artificial creation could love her artificial creator, who granted her the permission to study the world around without being in her presence 24/7.
Sadly, though the decision was beautiful and gracious - it was a mistake.
Sandrone gave you the freedom that was almost immediately stripped from you.
And so one manually created presence was replaced by the several synthetic entities, excluding your husband of flesh.
His clones are…all different.
The younger segments are more huffy than the ones who came after, and seem to entirely consist of glares and snarly curls of their mouths, as if the entirety of the world humiliated them. But still, the excitement with which each of them would tell you about their research, should you express your interest, varies with their assigned age.
You enjoy the conversations with the young ones, they are interesting and productive - learning through them about trauma and searching for the way to comfort them so it would be paying off instead of sending one of them into further spiral. And they flush so adorably when they hear other segments call you ‘wife’ and mutter quietly this word when they want you to pay attention to them.
Then come the clones from the Doctor’s time when he first joined the ranks of the Fatui and was working there for quite a number of years. These seem more composed, but…in reality they are sharp-tongued, and the most irritated when distracted. At first, they acted like you were dirt under their shoes: their lack of desire to see the purpose of your existence in their world went so far that they were the only ones who addressed you by your model’s number, assigned by Sandrone a long time ago, while you were still in development.
Luckily, with their constant need to seek approval from the people above them, these clones are usually away on missions, and you rarely interact with them. You don’t think you lose a lot - being demeaned isn't something you fancy.
Moving forward on the age scale, there are the…crazy ones. They distinctly show the exact moment the original tasted the real power entrusted to him and was overjoyed with impunity and ability to bend the rules that came before that. Their facial expressions are the richest and the eyes are the wildest - you can spend hours watching one of them go off on a tangent, gesticulating with his whole body, eyes practically rotating in their sockets, while you’re memorising the expressive ways in which he operates.
You find pushing several of those into an argument entertaining. Especially when multiple pairs of ruby red eyes stare at you and each of them tries to outshout the other with the ‘I’m the one in the right, right?? Right, wife??’, which quickly transforms into the ‘She is not your wife, she is my wife, you, imbeciles! Mine! Mine! Mine!’
Later segments are calmer. Collected. All sharp toothy polished smiles and words that they seem to dig from the depths of the interlocutor’s own brain and feed right back to them. These ones’ minds are the closest to the original, so you have the most fun learning from them.
The most important thing is, however, that they are granted permission to fix you. Your physical form needs proper maintenance and they are quite nice at handling you. Sometimes though they offer you to participate in their experiments where you - are the test subject. And, being the curious dear one, you let them unscrew your limbs, or take all your senses but one away, or blow the whole room of dynamite with you inside, or…many other things you don’t really keep count of at this point.
But they are always careful and particular in bringing you back to the original state, making you giggle when many hands run all over your body, rearranging, screwing, soldering, polishing, wiping. Plus, their fingers stuck in your wires with content murmurs of ‘good wife, you’ve done wonderfully’ is probably the closest you’ve ever felt to the pleasure humans get through the raw connection of coitus.
It’s important to note, that in your day to day life, you’ve always been by the side of at least one of Dottore’s clones. Doing research, running tests, traveling to other regions for missions, even going to the Fatui functions together, especially with Omega. You know he loves driving Sandrone mad, bringing you closer to his body by grabbing at your waist and sweetly telling another of his colleagues how lucky he is that you are here too.
“I just can’t get enough of my wife.”
You never forget to wave at your creator with a small smile, wanting to apologize for the way he acts, but she always gives you a strange look - a long look, paired with her elegant eyebrows pinching together and teeth sinking into her lower lip, before she casts her eyes to the side and turns away entirely, ordering Pulonia to move somewhere else.
Pulonia… Maybe you too should’ve agreed to accept a name from Sandrone when she offered it to you?
Even though Dottore deemed it unnecessary.
Ah, Dottore…
As much as you find your time with the segments quite enjoyable, the original to you…it’s complicated. At first, you were curious, seeking him out on your own, and being extremely pleased if you were paired with him for whatever. But something strange has been going on for a while.
Despite your growing understanding of human emotions and ability to utilize them, your system is running on the rules of logic, on a prewritten algorithm which is supposed to collect, process and store away the information, and yet you are unable to find the piece of data in your memory that would describe why you sometimes find your husband…unsettling. It's as if the truth was locked out somewhere in your processor, like you don’t remember the occasion, but the reaction it sparked - remained.
So, you never told him. Nor the segments. During the check-ups on your internal systems - the procedure only the Prime had the rights to do - you always said that you assessed their work acceptable.
There shouldn't be anything wrong.
[ERROR: ’ZandikNoNegative’ is suspended]
[Initiate system reboot]
[Failed to start reboot: permission denied]
Nothing is wrong with you.
[ERROR: ’OrdersZandikOnly’ is suspended]
[Initiate system reboot]
[Failed to start reboot: permission denied]
And you didn’t find him tinkering with anything that made you - you, necessary. Neither with the data of your life experience, nor your feelings, nor your mind–
[ERROR: ’DatabaseControlZandik’ is suspended]
[Initiate system reboot]
[Failed to start reboot: permission denied]
[ERROR]
[REBOOT]
[FAIL]
[ERROR]
[REBOOT]
[FAIL]
[ERROR]
[REBOOT]
[FAIL]
[ERROR]
[REBOOT]
[FAIL]
…then why is your head practically splitting?
[ERROR]
[REBOOT]
[FAIL]
The surface of the table you had to lean onto, on the verge of a processor meltdown, is cold under your palms, but you feel like it’s seconds away from heating up to your body’s temperature. You’ve gone into overload: all you see is red, all you hear is error-reboot-fail, all you can think of is the fact it’s getting harder with every passing second not to match the notifications in their screaming.
Should’ve left him there.
You almost wince when ‘OrdersZandikOnly’ tries to restart again, but will yourself to shut it down prematurely.
It hurts, it hurts so much. These are not my programs.
‘DatabaseControlZandik’ is shut down before the reboot command could even pass through, along with several other ones. Damn it, since when there’s been so much trash in your head???
Trash…
You have to manually remove the ’ZandikNoNegative’ as it springs in your line of vision once more. Holy crap, it's so bad - you can hardly make out the surroundings of the barely lit base–lab? no one knows about, where you brought Dottore according to his instructions after he’d failed.
Right… you brought him here after he lost the battle that should've established his divine authority. The battle he’d been preparing for for so long, and you were the prime witness of it. After all, where else would you be if not by his side, since Omega removed the majority of the segments from existence?
To this day you've been mad at Zandik for letting him do it.
Now, as the crushing realization of the prior events finally overpowers the flashing lines of warning texts running through your mind, you can no longer ignore the foreign but such a correct feeling rising in your chest. Something you once saw on your creator’s face and, not quite understanding the full meaning behind it, catalogued the visual of it carefully in that part of your processor that was dedicated to her.
Rage.
And, overtaken by it, you are not sure what you are capable of.
“...and that harridan Sandrone,” the deep voice that usually sends chills down his subordinate’s backs and brings the test subjects to panic reaches you as if through the thick fog. Ah, right, here is your survivor of a husband. “I studied her, I know all about her self-centered, haughty character. I made sure to minimize the chance of her interference with my plans, yet there she was! Sacrificing herself for the sake of distracting me from her pile of junk. I should’ve gotten rid of her long–”
“Shut up.”
The silence is immediate. It takes you five seconds to understand that the strained voice that practically spat the two words out is yours.
“What. Did you. Just say.”
Slowly, curling your fingers into fists (and accidentally scraping the table in the process), you turn to look at the man over your shoulder. He is standing ten feet away from you, clearly having been abruptly stopped in his tracks. You can see the sharp teeth peeking, since his mouth has frozen in a scowl from his previous ranting. The striking blue of his disheveled hair is not a welcome change of color in your line of vision, but at the moment it is the least of your concerns.
His mask is off; back at you are peering two unblinking ruby eyes. And despite the dark circles under them that usually make the person look tired and weakened, the all-devouring fire blazing in the vibrant orbs alone empowers him tenfold.
“You better choose your next words very carefully, dear wife.”
Your systems block another attempt of ‘OrdersZandikOnly’ to restart, and this time it came easier.
You feel your lips stretch in a smile (what kind of it? you wonder).
“Oh? Is this an order? Zandik.”
Must be quite a sight, because for a moment he looks surprised, blinking at you. Then his eyes squint and mouth presses into a tight line, as he begins to observe you. Assessing, calculating, comparing to something in his head, probably trying to predict the turns the following conversation can take.
You stay quiet, glaring at him pointedly. You summon all your knowledge, modeling simulations of similar scenes in your head to run through all possible scenarios of your next actions and their outcomes. A quick analysis shows that it’s better to try and cool down first - or else you risk running headfirst into a huge mess.
Hah, like you aren’t in one already.
Finally, the Doctor comes to some sort of a conclusion, and he doesn't delay in letting you in on it.
“So you managed to oppose my settings somehow. How rude - those were my honeymoon presents to you. But…” he grins widely, “no less fascinating - must’ve been a strong shock. I wonder what could’ve triggered you– Ah, of course! Must be her death.”
…*beep* the cooling down. You are so much angrier now.
And it must’ve shown on your face, because Zandik lets out a raspy menacing laugh .
“There it is!” He says in triumph. “And here I thought I’ve already looked into every possible corner of you, and nothing would ever amaze me. Yet, you manage to prove me wrong - haven’t felt that in a while,” he sighs with a shake of his head. Then, pushing his fingers through the messy locks and brushing the bangs back, Dottore peers at you with those red eyes again. As if he wants to pin you down like a poor bug and take you apart limb by limb.
“I admit, I never conjectured that a machine like you could’ve established such a strong connection with my now-’deceased’ colleague and maintain it even after all those restrictions I made sure to perfect you with. Hm, Sandrone’s claims of her genius weren’t unfounded; such a pity we didn’t share views on many things. Alas, what a loss for the ranks of the Fatui–”
You lost it the moment he showed air quotes around ‘deceased’. Like he wasn’t the one to blame for her demise, like he cared so little - better would’ve been said that not at all. You can’t bear to hear it, somehow it’s so much worse than the wails of the warnings that bothered you greatly just minutes ago. Rage, betrayal and an understanding that everything happening around isn’t just a glitch in your cognitive module - all twist into a terrible knot, making your body vibrate with a heat so raw, that when you grab the front of his tattered coat and slam his back into the table, keeping him down with your weight, you wickedly hope it’ll scald him badly.
But he doesn’t give you the reaction you wanted, needed. He barely winces from the impact, but the slight discomfort is quickly replaced by annoyance on his face.
And then he rolls his eyes.
“Oh, Tsaritsa…how disappointing. I need to upload stronger protocols once I lay my hands on proper equipment.”
Ignoring multiple windows of ’ZandikNoNegative’ trying to slam into action, your hand reaches for his throat.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh,” he muses and croaks out a chuckle, not avoiding your gaze and catching your hand before it can shut off oxygen access,” but I will. Don’t forget, dear wife,” his gloved fingers slide between your, locking onto your palm, “I own you. ”
You try to pull it away, but his grip is terrifyingly strong. Fine, you have some things to tell him!
“My creator owned me first!”
“Hm? The one you did nothing to save?”
You halt. What is he– It’s because of him you could do nothing! It was his order! How dares he even–
“The one you didn’t even get a name from? Specifically refusing it to her face?”
What!? It was him who forbade you to do so!
“You are being a hypocrite here, love. You are no better than I am.”
Liar. Liar, liar, liar, liar!
He doesn’t have a right to compare you two! Or call you ‘love’, when it means nothing to him! He knows nothing about the feeling, and you are so much better than him because you, for one, actually cared for his segments.
Right. Another fit of rage. You cared for his segments.
“You let the clones be erased!”
One more attempt to free your hand is met with a yank of his own, so powerful, that you tumble forward, hovering directly over him. And he gives you the most condescending smile you’ve ever seen on someone’s face.
“Oh, you miss them? How adorable. And a pity that you don’t have a slither of this softness towards your actual husband. Now, tell me this, the wife of mine,” his other hand snakes around your waist, pressing you closer, and now you begin to doubt that it’s still you pinning him down and not the other way around,” has it ever occurred to you that every single one of them simply played their assigned roles, so they could chain you to them? To me?”
…impossible. No human can fake a blush so accurately - and you remember vividly the redness of the younger segments’ cheeks. The crazy ones… Yeah, they sought you out for attention constantly, but what if… what if their fights over said attention were carefully set up akin to a performance? And…and the older ones…the closest to him…
No, you don’t want to believe it.
Clearly entertained by your silence, Dottore taps his fingers against the small of your back, and then slowly drags the pads up the spine.
“I admit, it certainly pleases me to know that you’ve grown to care for many versions of myself, despite the clear fact that I’ve never been a good person in the eyes of others. You truly are a special one, dear wife.”
Wife. Dear wife. The wife of mine. You are so sick of this term.
“You have no right to call me that,” you hiss through the clenched jaws, cursing him for knowing perfectly the placements of all of your sensors. “A man who considers himself a husband wouldn’t sink so low to flirt with another.”
You realize too late how pathetic you sound. Grown sparse of arguments and so quickly that you have to resort to something that sounds like jealousy?
You probably deserve the violent laughter that boomed across the room the very moment the words left your mouth.
And that’s the last thought that manages to run through your head, because the next second his hand reaches the back of your neck. A soft click drowns in the sound of his cruel merit, and your body, grown slack, slumps onto him like a motionless pile.
“Ha-ha, don’t worry, my dearest, I’ll save you the embarrassment,” carefully Dottore shifts your switched-off body to the side, which allows him to sit up. “I intend to delete this whole conversation from your memory - the less you know, the less you oppose me, after all. I plan to keep you by my side for much longer, and to achieve that you have to be a good wife.”
That’s all that should matter to you.
Kinich
“Y/n, pass me that bag, please. Yeah, the one on the bench over there.”
“Ajaw, stop bothering Y/n with your nonsensical questions about your greatness, or I’ll put you into a timeout for a week.”
“*sigh* Yes, Mualani, Y/n and I will attend your party. She’d be ecstatic.”
“Gotcha. Not that I mind you stumbling into my arms, but I don’t want you to get hurt. You gotta be more careful, Y/n.”
“...I’ve gotten a commission that’ll take up to two weeks. Plan to begin in a couple of days, so don’t wait up on me, Y/n–”
“Can you please not?”
Kinich freezes, with the hem of his jet-black shirt gripped tightly in his hands, having dragged it almost to his chin. Paired with the lifted eyebrows, his half-green half-amber eyes peer inquiringly at you, settled on the bed cross-legged.
“Er, do you not want me to take the commission that’ll bring in a sufficient amount of mora, or keep undressing so I could prepare for bed?”
This question seems to confuse you in turn. You bat your lashes at him once, skim your gaze over his form, and, realizing that your strange unspecified request is in the way of his nightly routine, hurry to wave both your arms.
“No, no, it’s neither! Please go ahead and keep undressing– don’t give me that smirk, you know what I mean!”
“Do I?” He snorts, dragging the shirt over the head. Accidentally, his signature bandana gets caught in the process, but he doesn’t look bothered when his bangs fall back down to frame his face messily.
Unbelievable, you are trying to be righteously mad at him here (though it’s more like you’re just pouting), and he manages to effortlessly make your thoughts stray and resolve crumble by just being so damn handsome and playful, and homely cozy within the walls of your bedroom.
How did you even manage to bag all that, unwrap the emotionally tangled knot, and eventually have him as your husband?
Right, husband, marriage. Back on the track! Focus!
“What I meant was: could you please stop, or at least tone down a notch addressing me as ‘Y/n’?”
Okay, maybe you should stop dropping one gobsmacking sentence after another on your beloved. This time he halts with his thumbs hooked into the sides of his jumpsuit pants, giving you a look. A very long and eyes-not-blinking look.
“...explain.”
“Um, well… It’s just– you just call me that often…” you trail off. It occurs to you only in this moment, as the words are out and hanging in the air between you, that the notion behind them is…not as solid as it seemed to be in your head.
Well, no coming back now.
“But it’s your name..?” He squints, letting go of his pants and putting both hands on his hips instead. His whole face seems to be saying: ‘girl, what in the abyss are you talking about? Isn’t it too late for whatever personality crisis you’re having?’
To that you cast your gaze to the ceiling in a half-roll of your eyes, and then back at him with a more prominent pout. ‘The crisis, my arse, you caused it!’
“Yes, trust me, I know it’s my name. Just like probably half of the Natlan’s population does.”
“Okaaay, clearly there’s some problem, and you are not communicating it clearly. You know, that thing you used to tell me is important in a healthy relationship,” mentally reconciling to the fact that his undressing and shower have to be postponed, Kinich walks closer to you. Squatting down, he waits for you to turn to him fully, lowering your feet onto the floor, so he can rest his forearms onto your thighs and look up at you more comfortably.
“Alright, let’s unroll it. Do you have beef with the name your parents gave you all of a sudden? Or me specifically saying it? Or, for some reason, it’s now a secret and you haven’t told me about it?”
“What?? No!” Eyes wide, you shake your head. “I definitely don’t ‘have beef’ with my name. And I like when you say it, your voice is very soothing to me,” your hand reaches out to pat his hair, but he catches it, murmuring ‘no, later, it’s dirty’. “And don’t be silly, why would I want you to keep me a secret?”
“I never said anything about keeping you a secret.”
Oops.
“Do you feel like that?” He leans back, but doesn’t release your hand, giving you a firm squeeze. You sigh, hanging your head low.
“Well, it’s not that…” you focus on the back of his palm, on the many times beaten and healed knuckles and the veins, bulging whenever his strong arm flexes. Anything but to meet his eyes.
You know he is not going to judge you. Yes, he can, and to anyone else he’d be quite blunt if not sometimes brutal, but he’d never tell you a single mean word fully intending to pass through the meaning it contains. No, he’d be playful about it, sometimes annoyed, definitely deadpanned, but never with an ill purpose.
Because you are his wife, and he cherishes you greatly.
“I don’t want it to sound like an accusation, okay? I’m aware you are not a big fan of petnames, and I don’t want to force you to alter a thing about yourself, but always being simply a ‘Y/n’...seems like nothing really changed after we got married, y’know?”
That’s it, you’ve laid it out to him - the thing that’s been bothering you for a while. Elders and scrolls always told you that marriage is a huge step, and the bond that is established by taking it is the deepest between the people who are not related by blood. You agree, because you feel it, and your husband doesn’t give you a chance to doubt it.
But outside of the life you share together, your husband is a man wearing mostly a neutral face, having few words to offer (sometimes even when dealing with business or in the tight circle of friends), still learning how to properly show PDA and receive it from you and, regrettably, not using any cute petname when talking about you.
And who wouldn't want to be perceived as special in the eyes of others through the words of their partner?
“As much as I want to believe nothing changed much, at least for the worst, after we secured our bond officially - nor our feelings for each other, nor our view on the future, nor, basically, us - that’s not what you are trying to say. It’s the way we are viewed by others, yeah?”
Oh, he’s also very attentive and insightful - must’ve come from his work as a saurian hunter.
“Yeah, that too… But I also just think it’d be nice to hear something else that is not my name.”
He hums in thought, running his thumb over your knuckles. The silence that temporarily settles isn’t uncomfortable, which makes you exhale in relief. Wayob is your witness - ruining the evening, especially one before his two-week-long absence, is the last thing you’d like to do.
“Alright,” Kinich says after several heartbeats of yours, “I’ll think of something that’ll please both of us. Because I know you - if I just start producing one term of endearment after another, you’ll feel guilty for, allegedly, ‘forcing me’ to do so and will start worrying that fellow tribesmen won’t believe in my sincerity, because ‘it’s not like me at all’.”
With that he presses his palms onto his knees and straightens up to his full height, barely escaping the light halfhearted swat you wanted to land on his forehead for being so cocky and calling you out like this.
“Fine, but it better be a great solution, because you charge twenty whole kisses whenever I need something beyond my abilities!”
“I meant to fulfill this commission for free, but if you are offering…”
“You–! Go take your shower, ‘nich!”
And just like that, half an hour later, on such a peaceful evening, in the warmth of the bedroom with your hands busy drying his hair with a towel, ten kisses (you compromised!) seal the deal.
And your fate, full of happiness walking hand in hand with second-hand embarrassment.
It all begins on the third day of his commission’s trip.
“I am here to drop off something from Kinich for, and I quote, ‘my lovely wife’. Is that you?”
Stunned, you stop brushing your yumkasaurus’ fur, much to the cutie’s chagrin, and turn to glance at an energetic friend of yours.
“Oh, hi, Mualani.”
“Hey, giiiirl!” She sing-songs, animatedly waving her free arm. The other is occupied with a pretty big basket with all sorts of carefully wrapped snacks and drinks in corked ceramic bottles - the wonderful cuisine her tribe has to offer. Plus you can see your favorite flowers be carefully tucked in-between.
“Woah, what is all of this?” You put the brush aside, grabbing the wet cloth to get rid of the stray green and yellow furs stuck to your hands.
“As I said! Ahem, ‘the delivery for my lovely wife’ from Malipo Kinich!” she repeats, albeit this time taking a serious pose and adding some pathos to her speech. It makes you giggle. “So, is that you?”
“You ask like you weren’t at the wedding ceremony,” you scoff playfully, walking up to her and reaching out for the basket. “Of course it’s me, I am Kinich’s wife.”
To your surprise, Mualani is quick to dash to the side, making you miss both the basket and her.
“Hmmmmm, no, that won’t do. I was specifically told to pass it to his ‘lovely wife’, so try again!”
You feel your cheeks heat up. From the corner of your eye you start noticing that others, who just like you came here to tend to their saurians, start paying attention to your conversation, obviously drawn by Mualani’s distinctive, loud, cheerful voice and the commotion as a whole. Two girls, not so far, make a sound of joy and emotion, immediately jumping to discussing how tooth-rottingly adorable it is that you are so cared for.
And Kinich! The ‘I don’t usually show my soft side’ Kinich!! Phrasing his request in such a way!!!
Wow, that’s all the ego boost you really needed.
“Yes, it’s me, Kinich’s lovely wife,” you finally confirm, and Mualani, grinning from ear to ear, gleefully hands you the basket. Then she leans closer, switching to whispering conspiratorially.
“I don’t know the details, but I’m still telling you this, just so you are mentally prepared: your husband placed several orders for you for the time he’d be away, and, from what I heard from Kachina, who heard it from Xilonen, who was told by– agh, doesn’t matter! All you need to know is that there is a high chance it’s far from the last time you’ll hear the ‘wife’ part!”
And oh, she wasn’t exaggerating.
Apparently, those ‘couple of days’ Kinich reserved for preparations were not only for the upcoming commission; as the week progresses, once every two-three days there is some sort of delivery for you from every single tribe.
The first is the snack a.k.a picnic a.k.a for-every-possible-event basket Mualani brought you from the People of the Springs. Which, among being cute and thoughtful, was special, because later you noticed several coupons for the hot spring self-care days tucked among the goods.
Then there was the meaningful engraving on your and his weapons, which were delivered to your doorstep by a blacksmith’s apprentice from the Children of Echoes. You remember Kinich saying he’d leave your spare ones there for a maintenance check and care - and he didn’t lie. He just strategically left unsaid the part about adding matching sets of oaths. ‘So me and my wife always have something on us to remind us of each other’.
To your joy he also took care of all the necessary meds and Ifa’s personal visit from the Flower-Feather Clan to check on your saurian friend, because the hunter made note of ‘his wife’s worry for the health of her saurian baby’ (Cacucu was not shutting up with the ‘wife worries, wife worries!’ the whole time, which, most likely, was heard by everyone nearby).
Next there were the best-quality fabrics from the Masters of the Night-Wind. Sadly you can hardly recall what your beloved's reasoning was this time, because the deliverer was Ororon, and he spooked you in the middle of the night. However he immediately apologized to you with a crate of vegetables from his own garden and showed you the magical glow of several fabrics’ patterns in the dark.
Along with the vegetables you barely managed to store away all the provisions from the Collective of Plenty, which Kinich ordered to ‘keep his wife well-fed and healthy’ and because ‘he can’t wait to taste her wonderful cooking’.
And… Apparently, the Scions of the Canopy’s surprise was supposed to be presented to you by him himself.
Awaiting his return, you can’t help but reflect on the last two weeks. They were…eventful, to say the least! Admittedly, you were considerably shocked - not by this whole campaign your husband deployed or that he even did something like this, but by how right it sounded.
“Hi, I’m Y/n–”
“Oh! You must be Kinich’s wife! You know, the last time he came here, he was telling me all about your favorite–”
You feel like a teenage girl, smiling silly and giggling inwardly. Embarrassment was short-lived, and you quickly started to enjoy such a new form of recognition. Just how did he manage to do it in a couple of days!?
The answer is actually quite simple: Malipo Kinich really is among the best who provides all kinds of services - for the right payment he fulfills the tasks correspondingly. Well…with the exception of you - only you get to utilize huge discounts and receive more than what you agreed on.
But this is beyond your expectations.
“WHAT IS THIS???”
Yeah, you squeal. And what? What would anyone else do, if their husband came home, promised to kiss and hug them after cleaning up, went to the bathroom…
…and emerged cleaned up, fresh and wearing this.
“A shirt that says ‘I love my wife’, can’t you read?”
“No, no, I obviously can read, it’s just– you– I’m– where did you– Oh Wayob.”
And, watching your growing shyness with softness in his summer-colored eyes, he indeed hugs and kisses you (paying thorough attention to your flaming cheeks), and instead of telling you about his commission, sits on your bed, facing you and listening all about the things that occurred in his absence.
The portion of which was of his doing.
Easing!?
“It makes me glad you’ve enjoyed the presents I ordered for you, though my main goal was through them easing others into the future instances when I’m going to be calling you ‘wife’.”
“Well, we have different definitions of ‘easing’...” you murmur under your breath, still eyeing one of his signature tight black shirts. You can’t help it, when the words are literally staring at you!
“Maybe,” he shrugs. You miss the small smile that appears when he notices your gaze and where it’s directed. “But I meant it when I said I plan to call you ‘wife’ in public more often. I like the sound of it - not cheesy, but sincere and truthful.”
Aaaaand there goes your heart - speeding its rate and slamming against your ribcage.
“...do they also make shirts that say ‘I love my husband’? No, even better: ‘My husband is the best and I love him to the sun and back’?”
“Heh, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Then…” you scoot closer, settling against his side, and smile, when his arm readily wraps around you, pressing you into him, “...can I call you ‘husband’ too when we are out?”
Kinich chuckles quietly, leaning back to flop onto the mattress horizontally, tugging you to follow suit. Turning onto his side, he secures an arm around your middle, burying his face into your neck, and gently murmurs:
“Never minded it, wife.”
Xiao
You never liked seclusion. Although you couldn’t call yourself the most sociable specimen ever, among the other illuminated beasts you were one of the few who didn’t see themselves above the mortals and even chose to wear the form resembling them. It was not a secret you dwelled among the humans and even gifted them your humble craft of stitching.
Embroidery is an art; it takes shapes and runs in marvellous patterns, laid by a thread and a needle with an addition of precious stones. However, you never thought that when Celestia plunged the world into the despair of the Archon War, the Lord of Geo would be summoning you as one of his adepti, offering the people you took care for the protection of his alliance.
The tales of your craftsmanship had reached Morax before, and he had an opportunity to appreciate it; but what he was more interested in was your other ability. To weave threads from any material and utilize them to lay out a path for luck, protection, recovery and many more with your patterns. He saw use in it, and though you had your doubts, before long your embroidery decorated the clothes of many: the Milleliths, the fellow adepti and others who fought tirelessly.
You, on the other hand, were no warrior, and you would’ve liked to wish your only purpose was to save: to make embroidered charms for soldiers, to stitch together broken bridges for mortals to flee, to create obstacles to delay the woe, to spread out your threads like a net for communication… But with time your skill started to grow, and threads were strengthening as well, with new materials at your disposal.
Soon you learnt to make them so sharp they could cut enemies’ armor and flesh.
The war was cruel. At least your fellow adepti were always there to shoulder the burden of witnessing and bringing death.
They were also there, when the horrors of it were at last over. When your sleeves and the hem of the robe were long drenched in blood beyond saving, fingers punctured and scarred, the eyesight worsened from sleepless nights and intense staring at the patterns to make them right, because you then knew your craft served a greater purpose, and you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone down.
You were exhausted, your form grew weak, you needed rest like nobody else. And after another strategic meeting Rex-Lapis held, where several of your companions expressed their concern about your condition, not wishing to lose another of them, it was decided that Streetward Rambler would lull you into slumber with one of her melodies.
It was a long, dreamless slumber - a blessing, really.
Decades later you were awoken to the changed world: adepti settled down in the mountains of the vast land, many established their own domains (Cloud Retainer immediately urged you to do the same, and helped you quite a lot, surprisingly); battle-planning meetings transformed into friendly gatherings, slowly but surely filling with laughter, music, heated arguments, the smell of tea or wine and mouth-watering steam from lavish dishes one of your companions came up with this time. The Liyue Harbor was thriving, mortals safe and happy, glorifying Rex-Lapis and adepti in their tales, your title, the Fortune Weaver, along with everything you’d done for the people, were proudly presented in their folklore among the others…
…and then Alatus was brought to you.
Physical injuries treated, but mind and soul burdened with the karmic debt, the frowning Yaksha was trying his best not to show the state he was in. If not for the fact he was visibly torn between denying he needed any help and defying his god’s order to stay with you and get better, you bet you’d have missed out the signs (you really needed to do something with your eyesight).
Morax asked for your assistance once more: your stitched charms and embroidered clothes did wonders during the war, maybe they could help his disciple heal.
And after you learned what had happened to the other Yakshas? How could you possibly say ‘no’?
Helping him, however, was easier as a concept than an actual action. Yes, Alatus promised to stay in your domain and attempt to heal. He also swore not to cause you any harm, which brought you to a problem: he was avoiding you, not letting you get quite close. You understood it was caused by his fear to attack you accidentally under the influence of his mind’s corruption, so you let him be for the time being, busying your hands with adding extra protective patterns to your robes (for the peace of his mind more than yours), and, since above everything you’ve been determined to help, weaving him a huge blanket.
…Xiao always recalls it in embarrassment, but you did have to chase him with it like a wild cat all over your domain eventually. Was he hissing and glaring his huge golden eyes with slitted pupils at you at some point?
…yes.
Did you, once fed up (and you were oh so patient for the longest time, he admits it himself), actually use your threads to capture and tie him up?
…is he allowed not to answer this one?
So the more flabbergasted your fellow adepti were when decades later, during one of the friendly meetings everyone grew fond of, you and the vigilant Yaksha brought exciting news: you were going to tie the knot!
Metaphorically and literally.
Xiao glances at the bow tied on his ring finger. The red string of fate - a tale of true love and a firm belief of the people of Liyue in soulmates. A concept he never gave thought to, couldn’t dare to dream of, yet one you turned into reality with your own two hands. To make your union special. To give him a reminder that he is no longer alone, that he is loved, that there is a person who sincerely worries for him and cares enough to drop everything and appear next to him the moment he needs you. This was what you promised him when you tied the knot on his finger, and, by wrapping the other end around yours, he swore to repay you in kind (even though in his heart he knew he would’ve paid it tenfold for everything you’ve ever done for him).
Through this bond - invisible to anyone but you and him - he could easily sense you wherever you are, no matter how far. For example, for the past couple of months you’ve been away, in another nation, visiting your dear disciple and her partner, and the Yaksha could still lightly tug on the thread, and receive a gentle tug in response. And, as you began your journey back, the distance to which the string had stretched started to shorten.
Come to think of it… You are on your way home. That’s a fact, he considered it a simple fact. But after that training a week ago when Ganyu caught him staring at his finger and sweetly asked if he was excited for his wife’s return… He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
You’ve been away for two months. That’s not long for immortal beings such as yourselves. Yet here he is, wrapped in a realization that he misses his wife, her caring smile, her slight squint, the quiet evenings together filled with walks across the vast rocky land or staying inside her domain doing whatever, and so much more things that makes his life whole. And that he has been staring at the cute bow tied with her own hands every spare moment he had, like it could tell him the exact day and time he’d see her.
Just like now, sitting at the table on the top balcony at the Wangshu Inn with the adepti and their disciples, - something about Ganyu treating everyone, he was too caught up in his thoughts when Shenhe came to retrieve him, that he didn’t listen attentively, - Xiao keeps glancing at the thread every couple of minutes. He knows you are close to the Liyue harbour, the connection is growing stronger and steadier, and he finds himself restless, despite the neutral expression plastered on his face as usual.
Which he doesn’t realize until Rex-Lapis– No, Zhongli takes notice.
“Is everything alright, Xiao? I don’t mean to shame you, but you are fidgeting, and it worries me. Is the chair uncomfortable? Should we ask to replace it?”
The Yaksha whips his head up, tearing his gaze from his hand, and finds everyone at the table staring at him: some with curiosity, some with concern, and the elders - hiding their knowing smiles behind the cups of tea or food.
Blood rushes to his pale cheeks.
“N-no, I am fine. Thank you for your concern–and I deeply apologize.”
“Someone can’t wait to see his beloved wife and is tormented by the yearning,” the Cloud Retainer declares bluntly and fixes her glasses giving Xiao a look - not of disapproval, but of hardly veiled merit. “One means to say it’s admirable - loving your partner so resolutely and wholeheartedly.”
“Now, now, let’s not tease our friend, Xianyun,” Madame Ping says softly, turning to the said friend, whose blush has spread all the way to his ears. “Is she close?”
Fighting the inner demons that urge him to flee the scene (Xiao, these are just your thoughts, your inner demons are gnawing at the stitched protective patterns on your clothes), he glances at his hand again and then gives a small nod.
“Must disembark soon…”
Huh, now leaving and rushing to meet you half way doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
Suddenly Ganyu perks up.
“Do you think she’ll hear you if you call for her? It’ll be nice if she joins us!”
“She will,” this time he nods firmly, “if you don’t mind."
Words of reassurance immediately pour in from all sides, full of ‘can’t wait to hear the stories from her travel’ and ‘how can we deny two loving souls their reunion’, chairs scrape against the floor to make some space next to him, dishes clink quietly, being rearranged too. Shenhe stands up to go and grab an extra chair, Ganyu runs off to warn the inn’s staff of a possible incoming order, and Yao Yao turns to her mentor with questions.
Amidst this little chaotic scene Xiao exhales - with attention redirected from him he can gather his so easily shattered resolve and force the heat and flush off his face - he doubts he’ll survive if you join in with the teasing, and he is not passing up an opportunity to see you now.
Bringing his hand to his lips, he exhales again and kisses the bow.
“I need you, wife.”
In a moment he hears the familiar swish of teleportation, and then two arms enter his field of view, wrapping around his shoulders. Something lightly hits his chest (he’ll later realize it’s your enchanted bead-embroidered handbag), and familiar weight presses to his back. Warm breath fans against his cheek, and a gentle, adoring murmur caresses his ear, making his heart languish.
“I am here, husband.”
Oh.
…oh no, he is not going to survive this after all.
Just in time Shenhe is back with the chair and Ganyu on her tail, serving as a distraction, and Morax knows how much Xiao needs that (oh, he indeed does, watching the interaction and savoring his tea). You lean back, letting him out of your loving embrace, and the man is immediately torn between the prior need to compose himself and missing your arms and wanting them to return.
But before he can make any decision for his next action, you sit down and reach for his hand under the table.
The mental tossing halts. Right, you are here, you are back - that’s what is important.
And when you smile at him warmly and mouth a quiet ‘I missed you’ and ‘can’t wait to go home with you later’, he lets his lips stretch into a small smile too and links your pinkies together.
｡꩜˚⋆Please tell me not to go, We've been here long. before, I live under your eyelids, I'll always be yours ⋆˚꩜｡
Imagine Yandere Rerir... who falls in love with his nemesis after his rebirth
It's blood and bone over and over. She's been here before. Sometimes it feels like the only place she'll ever be. Rerir’s love is painful, like barbed coils ensnaring your heart. You despise him with every fibre of your body. Feel nothing but pure disgust as his lips melt onto yours, tongue slipping past your teeth to claim you. His hands rake across your flesh, leaving cuts and blood in their wake.
The wild hunt is always around you. Ambushing you wherever you may be. Seperating you from your allies. It’s in this darkness, this confusion, that Rerir appears. Toying with his little doll. Stealing forced kisses and leaving his essence marred across your body. Each scar evidence that you belong only to him. Sometimes you can still feel him opening your flesh, phantom pain that pulses with the abyssal powers of the sinner. His voice reverberates within your dreams, haunting you regardless of your state. He’s so sure you’ll surrender yourself to him wholly one day. He just has to scratch at your sanity a bit longer.
One day, you escape a wild hunt attack, only to find you now have a bizarre ring embedded on your finger. A moon with ragged spears piercing through it and a pulsing pink gen in the centre. Rerir flashes before you, pulling your wrist until you fall into his arms. “I have given you my prized possession. You now wear my heart.” He pulls you into the abyssal rip he’s made, his abyssal arms clawing at your body, pulling you deeper into the void. You scream, no one hears. Instead, it’s muffled by the sinner’s kiss.
Imagine Yandere! Surtalogi...who falls in love with a girl from another world
Imagine being a princess or just some spoiled, sheltered girl in another world. Who, for reasons unclear, Surtalogi, the great menace, the foul. falls for. Maybe you're his first contact upon entering your bizarre, beautiful planet. And rather than be frightened away by the extraterrestrial armour-clad giant in front of you, you instead begin to inquire about him. Query after query, your questions start to slither beneath his armour. Awaken dormant memories from a life left behind.
Who is he? Where did he come from? Why is he so tall and imposing? And for whatever reason, the Foul can't help but find your mannerisms cute. Out of naivety, you even try to help him find "the strongest on your plant" for him to fight. Believing it all to be an innocent hobby of his. Battle-crazed doesn’t always equal bloodthirsty, right? Oh, how naive you are. He can’t help laughing, lamenting about how easy life must be from your point of view.
Strangely, he should have destroyed your planet by now. But night after night, he comes to visit simply to bask in your sweet, innocent nature. Until one night, with tears drizzling down your gorgeous eyes, you tell your new "friend" that you are to be wed to some man whose name Surtalogi can't even bother to remember. Some hapless weakling. He tries to offer words of comfort to keep you content until your wedding day. And on such a fateful day, as you walk down the aisle. Surtologi begins his onslaught on your planet, ripping it to shreds. Destroying everyone and everything in his path. He saves a duel for your "fiancée," who is quick to cower and beg for his life, not even thinking about his bride. You stand behind him, shocked and stunned, yet still muster the ability to roll your eyes at your would-be husband. Watching as Surtalogi’s blade pierces his spine and splits his chest.
There’s a blood trail as the Foul walks down the aisle. A monster covered in abyssal energy. Prepared to claim his bride. "A wedding present, dearest," he utters while squishing your fiancée’s heart in his palm. Surtalogi slouches down. Iron claws digging into your sides as he kisses your lips. So tenderly it doesn't suit such a monster as he.
Imagine Yandere Vedrfolnir...who has fallen in love with King Irminsul’s daughter
It’s a silly crush he tries to remind himself. He should not spend so much time attempting to impress the princess with his prophecies. He should not stare at her so blatantly during court. It would not surprise him if the king ever caught him and sentenced him to enucleation. And yet still he looks at her with nothing but pure love, sickly tendrils coiling around his heart as he dreams of having you between his arms.
He sends his egale to spy on you when he’s not around. To peek through your window and watch as you partake in such mundane things. How utterly exquisite he finds you. Somedays, Vedrfolnir is over taken by a strong, strange hope. One not based on prophecies or glimpses of the future. But just hope that one day you will be his. That the kind would zealously marry off his daughter to his prophet. That Vedrfolnir can at long last hold you tenderly in his arms.
It’s been years since Vedrfolnir last saw his beloved. Five hundred to be exact. Somedays, while his crystallized body hangs in the air, moving with rhythmic momentum. He likes to think that you will find him, that you will kneel before him and join his order. He would make you his high priestess, his queen, his lover...
Imagine Yandere! Hroptatyr...who falls in love with a former student who is now a Hexenzirkel witch
He may be a prodigy, the mage of boundless knowledge. But is he not permitted to love? To long for a lover to hold in his arms. Probably not, he doesn’t think anyone would ever quite have an issue with his affection, although maybe more with his delicate, reserved personality. No, he doesn’t think anyone would deny him love...if only the man so often referred to as the wise hadn’t gone and fallen in love with a student at the very Universitas he runs. Hroptatyr longs for you from afar, always too scared to get too close. And then, when he steals the power of the abyss, he’s so certain he can have you now. And no one will dare stand in his way. Except someone, or rather something, does, Celestia itself sends its heralds to destroy Khaenri'ah, and once again, you are out of his reach.
Years later, too many for even Hroptatyr to keep track of. He finds you again. Now a powerful mage in your own right, keeping the company of dear Rhinedottir and her band of witches. My, how you’ve grown. It seems the years have been kind to you. And now he is ready, ready to finally make you his.
Imagine Yandere Dainsleif ...falling for his travel companion
Shortly after he and the traveler had parted ways, he’d come across a lone adventurer who’d been kind enough to offer him food and shelter at her camp. Only, after hearing all his wondrous tales of his adventures across Teyvat, you simply can’t let him go and beg the mysterious stranger to come traveling with you. To show you all the wonders
And for reasons unknown to even him, Dainsleif agrees. Maybe it’s the fatigue, the heart that’s broken more times than he can count. He should be all so weary of company by now, but there’s something about your presence. The friendship you offer so freely that has him eating out of the palm of your hand. Desperate for connection, for affection, for another person to simply be by his side.
After nearly a year of traveling together, of sleeping under the stars and scavenging for food out in the wild. The two of you happen upon a small village in Liyue, where you meet another man and fall in love. Of course, it hadn’t been so obvious back then. Dain still blames himself for being so naive to the signs. You’d begged him to settle down, to start a family of his own here. And yet you had never said that family would be with you. Dainsleif leaves; he still has his own plans that need fulfilling. He discards you in the village you seem to love more than him. It’s only when he sees you again, years later, that he realises he loves you. He has always loved you. Your ghost haunts him, phantom touch when he sleeps under the stars. Wishful kisses that never happened plague his daydreams. When Dainsleif thinks back to your first encounter, he blames his curse. He’d still been new to the curse of immortality and had yet to get used to its cruel longevity. He’d simply longed for a home, for someone who felt like his old friends, his brother, his travel companion. And you, wonderlust-struck, affable, you had answered that need so perfectly.
Only now that you have a husband and children, you’re a mother. And it would be all so cruel to rip you away from them...But then again, life had never been kind to him. Not when it turned his friends and brother into sinners. Not when it burned his nation to the ground. Not when it stripped him of his only companion left. And most certainly not when it gave your heart to another. No, Dainsleif decides then and there to take you back. No matter the blood he will have to spill to claim you once more. And who knows, maybe the harsh cruelty of reality will be good for you.
Imagine Yandere Rhinedottir...who falls in love with Albedo’s best friend
It is no surprise to her that her creation has developed quite a reputation in Mondstate, less so that he has blended in seamlessly with the humans, taking a few of them as close company. But it does surprise her how fast her cold, methodical heart beats when she spots you from afar. When her golden gaze falls upon you and her creation, and you collecting specimens in the cold, frozen domain of her other creations' corpses. In a way, she guesses there is some irony to this, some poetic justice she couldn't care less about. But from time to time, she can also feel Naberius’s heart race when their eyes land upon you. When they see you smile at a particular shade of a flower or the sweet taste of low-hanging fruit. She would be right to conclude that her other half is also starting to fall in love.
And maybe she is, too, in her own dark twisted way. Dreaming of tasting your flesh, your blood, your heart upon her tongue, the texture of the tender muscles between her teeth. Oh, she’s sure you would taste absolutely divine, and whatever part she takes, she knows she can so easily whip you up a new one using bioalchemy or Naberius’s powers.
Imagine Yandere! Albedo...who falls for a full-blooded Khaenri'ahn, cursed with immortality
He can not help but find little excuses to run to you with. Little alchemical miscalculation that can be regulated oh so easily if only he’d try. And yet he only wants to hear the answers from your mouth. To kneel with you in the pure ivory snow, as the frigid wind blows through your hair like windchimes. Listening to your sweet, ancient voice recount calculations and formulas from a bygone era that still withers deep within his artificial limestone bones.
“Well, back then, we used to reinforce our elixers with two parts salt to avoid deterioration and one and a half drops of liquid sulphur for elemental endurance. Oh, and we’d also... Albedo, sweetie, are you listening?”
He can not help the melancholy that wrenches his heart. He shifts ever closer to you. sly fingers reaching, trying to purloin a simple graze, desperate to feel the warmth of your body. Your gentle smile is so dotting, so utterly caring. Albedo likes to think of you as refined, having endured so, so much in your countless years alive. Having survived cataclysms and untold horrors, only to turn out so pure, so kind. So ethereally perfect. You’ve passed all the alchemical processes; you’ve reached the final stage. He can not help but look at you with the highest esteem, the grandest of wonder.
Would it be so wrong to call you mother? To rest his head on your lap and have you run your soft fingers through his hair. Would it be so wrong to imagine a life ancient and hereafter where he means the world to you. A world where you love him and care for him and would never abandon him as his creator did.
Imagine Yandere! Kaeya...wants you to be his queen
It’s hard not to offer you his heart on a silver platter. The new rookie knight enrolled in his division. You’re strong, wielding cyro with the same elegance and vigour that he does. He’d love nothing more than to freeze his fingers on your powers. Your frostbite is seeping into his veins and clawing at his heart.
“Keep this up, and you’ll be making vice-captain, one of these days,” he jokes as he watches you pull out your weapon from the seceased corpse of a hillichurl. He can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Masking his terror as his compatriot is slaughtered, he almost feels disgusted for wishing it were him. He imagines moaning as your blade pierces the tissue between his ribs. Pulling the blade deeper just so you’ll come closer to. Your cold lips meeting his icy ones. Frost on frost. Cryonecrosis.
Some nights, when the breeze blows through his window. When Favonius headquarters are especially dark. He likes to think that if, or maybe when, Khaenri'ah is restored. If he ever sits upon that mythical throne, then maybe you would sit by his side. Ruling as one. Protecting his homeland, his most cherished dream, alongside his beloved.
Imagine Yandere! Pierro...who falls in love with the Tsaritsa’s daughter
There should be little more than ice where his heart once grew. Hardened by the horrors he’s witnessed through his countless years. And maybe it’s just that, the pain that rattles within his bones that begins to grow so attached to you. Little ice princess, locked away within her frozen castle. Non the wiser to the terror outside her snowy domain, following in her mother’s footsteps while never seeing the grander picture the Queen Mother paints.
You’ve grown wary of his presence, you mother’s most trusted adviser, who seems to trail after you more than you mother. Who is always a heartbeat away. Who, you have reason to believe, is responsible for the disappearance and demise of any Fatui soldier that draws too close to you. There is never any blood on his hands, never any trace of death surrounding him. But the way his eyes lock upon you, possessive and obsessed, tells you the whole truth.
“You shouldn’t be wandering the halls so late, your majesty.” Even in the dead of night, he still looms. Ever present, like the snowflakes of Snezhnaya. “Am I not permitted to roam within my own castle?” you push, tone cold like icicles. “By all means, your highness roam. I simply wish to keep you safe.” You turn on your heels and walk away, but your heart drops when you hear the patter of his heavy footsteps behind you. He is always behind you, and can anyone really blame poor Pierro? After all he’s been through, all that he’s lost, can anyone in all of Teyvat and Celestia really blame him for trying to keep his beloved tsarevna safe?
Imagine Yandere! Arlecchino...who falls in love with a long-lost member of the Eclipse dynasty
It’s such a ridiculous notion to think there could ever be a restored Khaenri'ah where you and her rule side by side. Ending the war between the crimson moon and eclipse dynasties that led to her nation being destroyed in the first place. But much like the worn rabbit toy and Clervie’s necklace, Arleccino clings to this childish dream. Refusing to let it slip past her ash-worn fingers.
She looms in the shadows, following your every step. And when you know she isn’t there, can’t be there, her essence still radiates, like a flame that refuses to die out. Her sharp claws are always raking up your spine, tracing the curve of your neck. Your skin flushes under her touch, like fire and moon rays trying to melt your bones. “I love you, you know that, right?” Her lips are just as warm, ghosting over the shell of your ear. If she notices you trembling, she doesn’t care. It’s okay for her sweet little bunny to be scared of her, to tremble beneath her flames. It all pays testament to how she’ll keep you safe.
Imagine Yandere! Capitano...who falls in love with a Khaenri'an princess
He watches the blood drip from his blade, cascading rhythmically onto the crimson-marred ground. The bodies have piled up, their blood mingling like rivers pouring into the ocean. He’d gladly slay any dishonourable heathen who dares threaten you, any rogue scum who plots against you. And Thrain knows his loyalties must lie solely to the crown, to the king above all else. Yet, he knows you would sever your father’s head and hand you his crown should only you ask for it.
the youngest daughter of the Vinster king, a royal with no claim to the Eclipse throne. He had always felt this need to shield from the very first day your father introduced you at his court. That urge only grew stronger as he’d catch wayward glimpses of you sneaking around the knights' training grounds. You’re too troublesome for a bearer of the title princess. Frolicking around the gardens after dark. It’s a chore at first for the Captain to follow you around, desperate to ensure your safety. It’s his duty after all, whatever would he tell your father should you get yourself kidnapped, hurt or worse. Yet with every passing evening, his heart can not help but throb ever more desperately for his sweet, peculiar princess.
“You should teach me how to wield this thing, sir knight,” you declared one night as you hoisted up your father’s sword. Thrain is taken aback. Had you always known he was there? Slowly, he emerges from the shadows, eyes downcast. “M’lady, you shan't ever need to wield any such weapon, for my blade is ever in your service.” You smile at him so warmly and gentle. “Then at the very least you could keep me company.”
The eligible heirs of the court's nobles tend to wind up dead one by one. Any boy your father seems to choose for you to court. Is no sooner found slain in some back alley or deserted pathway. You're beginning to think you’re cursed, the castle staff whispers of dark forces that follow you around. And yet only Thrain knows the truth. He knows that no conspirators against the crown, no haughty noble heirs, no one in Khaenri'ah or above, not even Celestia itself, will ever pry you away from him.
And he would have swallowed your essence, harboured your soul within his decaying heart. Merged you inside himself, keeping his dear princess safe between the bones of his ribcage. Yet alas, the cataclysm sees to it that you slip through his fingers.
It’s only years upon years later that Capitano sees you again. Not as a phantom or a fleeting dream. But standing right before him, as the Tsaritsa introduces her daughter to her frozen court. The reminiscence stings like ice in his veins. He’s reliving the moments, choking on the bitter nostalgia. Have the heavens, so cruel and aloof, actually taken mercy upon an abhorrent khaenri'an by granting him his love once more?
He swears he’ll protect you this time. Keep you tethered to him, safe and sound. He’ll never let you leave him again. Capitano’s world stops as you stand in front of him. He melts to the ground as you present him with your hand to kiss. The warmth of your flesh upon his lips is the closest he’s felt to being alive in over five hundred years.
What are they feeding these Khaenri'an men!! Why do they all look so delicious 😭😭 and why do they all look like they'd be the perfect Yanderes! I mean, I was already down bad for Capitano and Rerir....but I think I'm also mega crashing on Surtalogi. And he's not even released yet😭😭 and let's not forget my first Genshin crush Kaeya, boy was the love of my life for so so long and then I lowkey forgot he existed 😅😅!! Also, Pierro is kinda hot too. The only one I've never really crushed on is Dainsleif idk why
