Breaking Up With Them - Beidou & Eula X Male!Reader
A/N: It's been a long time since I did one of these. I hope I didn't lose my skill for writing angst.
CW: Unhealthy relationship dynamics, ambivalent fault (Beidou), alcohol abuse, foul language, not proofread.
Beidou is a free spirit. Strong, self-sufficient, witty and, most importantly, independent. For years now she has been the one at the helm, steering her life towards any waters she, and only she, feels like. That doesn't matter; she still forms attachments, of course. The ship, the whole fleet, her crew, the Traveler, Kazuha and you are all examples of nice things she holds dear.
Yes. Nice things.
You loved her for her freedom. She decided for herself and walked on her own path, allowing you the same space to do your own thing. You were partners - equals in this relationship. There wasn't a thing she could do that you couldn't. Going out drinking? Allowed. Sleeping over at a hotel or a friend's house instead of your shared corner of Liyue Harbour or the ship? If the situation demands, why not? It's safer than coming back drunk through the streets. Hanging out with pals without the other half? Sure, it's not like you're out cheating. Both of you accepted this and thrived in this setup. You trusted her with your heart, just like you did with your life many times before.
Months went by, then years. You lived a life of adventure, merrymaking and seamanship by her side. This was nice, but just warming her bed wasn't enough for you. She was beautiful, brave and kind. You loved her, you wanted more. But Beidou wasn't keen on talking about marriage. It was always “later” or “we’ll figure it out”, followed by a date that you just knew would net you the same answer. You couldn't honestly say you understood her. Twirling her engagement ring to-be in your fingers, you wondered why. What was making her turn you down? These doubts ate away at you, and soon enough, you wanted to confront her. But she was faster.
—
“Still holding on to that thing, aren't you?”
You jump, closing your hand the moment you hear a familiar, strong voice behind you. Head turning away from the window and back at the newcomer, you spring up from the chair. You lay eyes on none other than the capitan herself.
“Beidou?” You say, a bit of embarrassment in your voice. After all, being caught like this didn't scream “tough guy”. “Knock first, please.”
She is leaning on the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. “Why should I? You're not playing with yourself here, are you?”
Beidou chuckles, relaxing her arms and walking over. “Besides, I'd gladly join you if you were~” She plops herself next to you, placing her hand on your thigh.
“Mhm…” You muse, gently stopping her hand from going where it's not ladylike to go. “Do you have any business, or did you come here just to fluster me, hun?”
Her face turns to an expression of mock disappointment for a brief moment. “Aw, you're not fun.” Beidou sighs and motions at your closed hand, covering the small, golden ring. “Yeah, I have something to talk about. This, specifically.”
Your heart stops, before beating again at twice the speed. Is she… No, can't be. But, maybe…? You relax your grip, revealing the ornament on your open palm. Both of you look at it, before raising your eyes to meet the other’s.
Much to your chagrin, Beidou doesn't lift a finger.
“Give it a rest, Y/N. Let's not hurry with our relationship. We have a nice thing going between us, and we could ruin it if we're going too fast, you know?”
You furrow your brow. “You always say that. You've said that for the past year.”
“Why won't you just let it go?”
“And why won't you accept it?”
Silence. Beidou bites her lip. There's a spark in her eye, the same that announces she's had enough. You swallow.
“Because I don't want to marry you, alright? I don't want to settle down, I don't want a husband, I don't want children. That's it.”
Your heart doesn't stop. It doesn't even slow down, or flinch, or react with the slightest of movements. Even though her words are not what you ever wanted to hear, the reasonable part of you was prepared for the news. She continues.
“Listen, Y/N, babe, hun, darling.” Beidou takes your face in her calloused hands, touching your cheeks with the gentleness you've grown accustomed to. This time, her touch felt… pointless. “It's not about you specifically, alright? I love you, I still do. Nothing has changed about that. I just don't want to become a house hen, let go of the life I have-”
“But none of this will happen! The only thing that will change will be the rings on our fingers…” You say, but your confidence wanes. Beidou smiles, shaking her head.
“No, babe. That's not what you, or what my children would deserve. You deserve a commited, stable relationship. You deserve a wife and mother at home, and stable land under your feet.” A sigh escapes her lips. She brushes her finger across your cheek, as if wiping an invisible tear from your eye. “You don't deserve the burden of a dangerous life away from home. Remember - a single bad storm and we're fish food.”
“Beidou, listen, I-” You pull back, but she tries to cup your face again. Your pulse rises as you swat her hands away. “No, don't play sweet with me! You…”
Unable to take it, you stand up. Deep breaths, you think, looking for the right words in your head. Finally, they come, but you can only utter them through your teeth. Your head, your chest, your cheeks and hands feel hotter by the second.
“Seven years… We are a couple for seven years now, and you've never told me this…”
Beidou frowns, scoffing. “What? Nope. I did.” The gentleness in her demeanor fades, replaced by a tone of disappointment. “I've given you more than enough clues. It was obvious from the first time you asked.”
“Obvious? Not really.” You point an accusatory finger at her. “Why didn't you tell me outright?”
“Pfeh! I didn't think you'd fail to catch on. Besides, I care about your feelings. It would be a major blow to our relationship.”
“What do you mean “major blow”? Then why are telling me this now? Is it any less major?”
Beidou feels her pressure rise. Why are you this stupid? You press on.
“You appreciate honesty, right? Then how come you weren't honest with me yourself? Hypocritical of you, Beidou!”
“For fucks’ sake, Y/N! Shut up and let me speak for a moment!” You go quiet. She never raised her voice on you before, but Beidou is too agitated to care. “Archons! Sorry, I didn't account for you being a retard I guess? Look, the point is that my answer is no. And my answer will be no, every single fucking time you ask me. What we have now works for me, and if you can't understand it, fuck off.”
Thick silence fills the room. Beidou is red on the face; her eyes are sharp, chest raising and falling with her faster breathing. She points at the door of her cabin.
Unsure, you look back. This… Well, this had to end someday. Even so, you can't make the steps to walk out. It's as if your feet were frozen to the planks below.
“I'm sorry. It's just… I can't really keep this going. I don't want to give you false hope. So, uh…”
Beidou looks down, suddenly unable to face you.
“You have the keys, right? Pack up and go. Don't look back. It will be best for both of us.”
You sigh. Perhaps she is right. But it still hurts to let her go. But regardless, you need time to think, and she needs it as well. Maybe it is for the best.
“Right. See you, I guess…”
Beidou doesn't respond. You press the handle and step over the threshold, turning your head to catch one last glance of Beidou. You hope to see tears, hope to hear her plead for you to come back. But only a vague grimace rests on her face.
You step out, and never come back.
Eula’s life was a tough one since the day of her birth. For the first half, she struggled with the demands of an aristocratic upbringing under the unwavering scrutiny of her parents and relatives, and her reward was equally unrelenting harassment and ostracism for the other part. Even the strongest of people would struggle to go on like this, so it's no wonder that Eula picked up a few coping methods throughout the years. Embracing the role of a stereotypical Lawrence through speech and mannerisms, while certainly never helping her reputation, did give her a sense of belonging in the liminal world between her pedigree and the whole of society. Inevitably, the main temptation in the Nation of Freedom pulled her in, and Eula soon became a regular at Angel's Share. Thus, a perfect regular she became - the captain always left loads of Mora at the tavern while having the capacity to never become a nuisance, no matter the amount of alcohol in her veins.
When the first wave of hate sizzled out thanks to her deeds in the Knights and Amber befriended her, Eula's coin pouch suddenly felt heavier as less money was spent on drinks. She opened up to people, and in return, they lowered their guard. She could buy things again, people (most of them anyway) stopped throwing her hateful glances and spitting at the mention of her name. Somehow, the opposite sex stopped resenting her enough to not only stop calling her “the Lawrence whore”, but also show a bit of interest in her as a woman. Just a tiny bit. But clearly, she improved her relationship with the men of Mondstadt sufficiently to become an interesting person in your eyes. And what a guy you were - willing to spend time with her beyond what's absolutely necessary, and enjoying every minute of it. A romantic, a wonderful dance partner, a stalwart companion she could lean on - you were each of those things. She fell in love, and as mutual lovers do, you soon slipped the rings on each other’s fingers.
And yet, this moment of her life, undoubtedly the happiest at the time, became a spark that ignited a new storm of issues. Her family, while already dissatisfied and looking at the young woman with suspicion, now became disgusted with her. She married a commoner, a commoner that wasn't even rich. Your status as a simple baker was enough to push them to start actively harassing you and your business, for no other reason than that you were “corrupting” the Lawrence bloodline with that street filth they thought was flowing in your veins. Eula, of course, instantly took up the glove and started fighting them in courts and in dark alleys, helping out whenever she could. You were one of the few that treated her well, and she could never let anybody hurt you. Especially if it was because of her. The fight was not so simple, however, as the distaste towards her name returned, now spreading on you as well. People mocked you, called you “the Lawrence fucker”, they harassed you and her, also occasionally attacking your bakery. Broken windows, graffiti, false rumours and allegations - that had to be fought against as well. As your wife, it was her duty to defend you, especially if who they really wanted was her.
But it was a war of attrition, and no matter how hard she fought, she needed back up. Eventually, the comforting embrace of hard liquor was too powerful to resist and Eula made the first step back on that slippery slope of a path. But this time, she had much to lose.
—
Nine. Ten. Eleven.
You reach under the desk, scanning the area for more. There they are, you think, grabbing the neck of another bottle of wine, filled only with the ever present dust. With a frown of disgust, you kneel on the floor, sticky with… something.
Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty one. Twenty two.
The bag, clicking with every added bottle, is becoming unbearably heavy. It's getting heavy, but you wanted to get it over with quickly - another three or four couldn't hurt your back that much.
Twenty three. Twenty four.
The front door opens, marking Eula’s arrival. She was late, indicating the obvious. Nonetheless, you remain dedicated to your task - her room was starting to resemble a gang hideout, and the smell and dust were starting to spread across the house. It was unhealthy to be in it, let alone sleep there. Your wife could at least let you wash the duvet and pillows more often. You gave up on hoping she could do it on her own some time ago.
Twenty five.
You close the sack and twist the end, lifting it up and heading for the basement. These bottles weren't worth much by themselves, but sold back to the Winery in this quantity, would net you some extra Mora. Maybe you could finally buy a new vacuum cleaner battery from the Fontaine merchant this month - the house could really use a dusting, but you've grown thoroughly sick of sweeping.
“Good afternoon, dear.” You say as you pass your wife in the corridor. Every part of you is focused on keeping the bag as still as possible. If you'd manage to act fast and inconspicuous, maybe she wouldn't turn her eyes towards you. You really weren't in the mood to talk to her.
She doesn't respond, walking past you to the bathroom. A little haste, enabled by the ability to be loud without consequence, leads you to the storage and back in seconds. You wave another bag, spreading it out for the task to come. However, by the time you're back on the cleaning’s frontline, she already finished up and returned there.
Seeing Eula in her underwear, sat down on the unmade bed with her clothes discarded in the corner and a book in her hand, makes you stop in your tracks. Her silence tells you she's in a foul mood, and regardless of the reason, you would not want to interact with her now. Still, the cleaning wouldn't do itself. You clutch the bag and go in.
Keeping your eyes glued to the floor and your step confident might be overkill, but you really don't want her to question you. She doesn't seem to mind you cleaning her room, luckily.
Twenty six. Twenty seven. Twenty eight. Twenty nine.
You get up and look at the bed. The messy, dirty lair was where Eula spent most of her time - no wonder, given that the desk was stacked high with tomes, bottles and trash at all times. You notice a familiar shape on the windowsill.
Thirty. Thirty one. Thirty two bottles of wine and one miniature of Snezhnayan Fire Water.
“I'm not done with that. Give it here.”
You freeze just short of putting the small bottle in the trash bag. On closer inspection, there indeed is some clear liquid left inside. Without looking at her, you pass her the bottle. With the corner of your eye you see Eula down what's left and put it on the ground, amongst the dust, hair and dried wine. With a slightly tense hand you pick it up and place it in the bag.
Turning around to look for the rest, you hear her voice again.
“Why are you here? Stop cleaning and get out of here. I want to be alone.” She turns her head just enough to look at you sideways. Her eyes are cold and bitter, a far cry to the feelings you saw therein years ago. “Don't you understand that?”
“I need to tidy up here. The dust spreads to other rooms, and I think you could use some more space”, you say, as confidently and casually as you can, continuing to place bottles in your bag.
Thirty three. Thirty four. Thir-
A creak of the bed makes you spin around. Eula's book is on the floor, a torn off wine label used as a bookmark. You sneak a quick glance at her face to asses her mood, finding a displeased grimace on her face. Her normally pale complexion has a fair bit of colour to it now.
On no, no no no. Barbaros no. Please no. Not good. Not good.
“You can tidy all you want when I'm on duty, not now. I come here for peace and quiet, not you plunging this room into chaos with your nonsense. Is that so hard to understand?” Her breath reaches you, and your nose instantly picks up a hint of alcohol amongst the smell of unwashed teeth.
Your lips tighten. This really needs to be done, maybe you could grab at least one more-
Eula’s voice grows louder. Her hands find her way to her hips. “Are you deaf? Or just dumb? Besides, it's late and you should be in bed. Fuck off to sleep.”
It is eleven in the evening, and you were usually in bed - if you weren't, your slightly drunk wife would stumble into your room and kill every light source without a word. But this phrase was nothing new to you, and it always spelled incoming anger each time. When drunk, Eula was a ticking bomb - recently, even the slightest annoyance could push her into a frenzy of bitter accusations and foul language. You weren't about to provoke her.
“Okay, I'll leave. I'm sorry.” You turn around, and head for the door. However, you feel a strong hand grip your wrist, holding you in place. “Y-yes, honey?”
Eula’s face is the same, unchanging frown. Her eyes are misty and unfocused from the alcohol in her system. “Don't honey me. What's the deal with you lately? You either beg me for money or act like a retard.”
Swallowing, you think of an answer. Asking her why she said so was pointless - in her eyes, even the smallest of things could become proofs of infidelity or some flaw of character. But the only thing occupying your mind is her state. Without much thinking, you quietly answer. “Eula, I-I think you're drunk… Can we talk about this later?”
You flinch when her grip tightens. “Again with that bullshit? I told you, I'm never drunk - I know myself, and I know how much I can drink. I am never drunk, and I am not a drunk. Got that?”
A meek nod from you makes her brow furrow. “Look me in the eyes when I speak to you. Do you understand?” She clenches her hand further, eliciting a quiet gasp from you.
“Yes, Eula. I understand. You're never drunk. I'm sorry for saying that.” Nothing matters in your mind now except appeasing her. You don't want to be screamed at, not again. Hesitantly, you look up at her. “Could you let go? It hurts…”
She does so, and you immediately rub your wrist. It's red and aching, and Eula doesn't seem to care. “So why do you keep asking for money huh? Are you spending it on your whims, Y/N? Or maybe on hookers? The money I gave you was always enough in the past.”
“It wasn't. I always had to chip in too.” You reply, sounding a bit defensive. You can't help it - your income is not great compared to her, but you work hard for it. It's only natural for you to defend yourself, but you instantly regret it when you hear her tone raise.
“You're lying. I know how much we spend. Don't bullshit me.” She snarls.
“Eula, please calm down. The sink broke, a-and we needed to change the toilet seat, and I had to buy winter clothes. I'm asking because the floors would really use a make-over, the walls are a bit dirty too… I could paint them, if I had the money.” There was always so much to do around the house, but Eula usually ignored it. She wasn't about to fix anything herself, and you would do it no problem, but you needed Mora to buy the necessary items. More than you could afford on your own.
“You have the money. You're trying to make a fool out of me again, huh? What, stuffing your mouth with what we have at home doesn't suffice anymore? You wanna eat out?” You try to talk back, but she cuts you off. “Don't you dare try to say anything, you fat, sneaky asshole. You just want to pocket the cash! That's why you married me, huh?”
It's not the first time you hear these words, but they hurt all the same. How can she say those things to her own husband? What did you do to her? “Eula, why are you like this?”
“What? Why am I not taking your lies, you mean? Because I'm not stupid enough to fall for your puppy eyes.” She places her hand on your back and pushes you towards the door. “I've had my share of your shit today. Get out.”
You don't say a word, stumbling slightly as she forces you out. When she's done, Eula leans on the doorway for support. You know it's not right. You know it's toxic. Usually, you would bow and take it. But something in your heart, a small flicker of dignity, bubbles up to the top.
“You're abusive Eula. You shouldn't treat me like this! I c-clean the house, I work hard, I do everything-”
Eula scoffs in response. “How dare you. I give you money, I give you a roof over your head, I keep you safe from the people, I love you, I care for you and I get this in return. How dare you, you ungrateful bastard!”
She lounges at you.
“No! Please, Eula, I-” You say, but the words die in your throat when she grabs your collar. Then, with the alcohol clouding her self control, she throws you towards your room.
You fall on the floor, hitting your head on a drawer. Hand clutching your head in an attempt to shield it, you look back. Eula, her stance wobbling a little, grabs your work bag, opens it, and dumps all the tools and items on the floor. She tossed the empty container at you.
“Pack yourself, mister. You're no husband of mine. Beg on the street, where you belong - I don't care.” Upon seeing the shock on your face, she stomps her foot and shouts. “Move!”
Scrambling to get up, you pull open your drawer and frantically scoop up everything inside. Watching you, Eula crosses her arms, using the wall as a support for her blurry world. Once the mass of clothes reaches the top of your pack, she approaches you, causing you to leap towards the door and run. She tries to kick you, but is not coordinated enough to do so. Still, she pursues you and watches as you turn around.
“Out!”
You shut the door.
Eula looks at it for a minute with unfocused eyes. Her heart beats rapidly, her body is hot, but there's still some sober though in her mind.
She turns on her heel back towards her room. After snatching a full bottle from the wardrobe, Eula pushes all the clutter on her desk aside and sits down. She gulps down a third of the bottle in one breath, indifferent to the warmth spreading in her throat. The bottle is slammed down on the desk with a loud thud.
Her head soon follows.
She falls into empty sleep, your terrified face burnt into her memory. Forever.
Thanks for reading.
