the captain is not one for frivolous sentimentality. he is a battle-hardened soldier, one of the strongest warriors in the tsaritsa’s army, a force to be reckoned with. he is a busy man, and he does not have the time for attachment and affection.
still, he finds himself participating in this ridiculous ritual almost every time he is about to travel with his troops.
his knee pads dig into his skin, though he pays it no mind. you cannot see it, but his eyes follow your every movement, from the anxious wringing of your hands to the way you worry your bottom lip with your teeth. he wants to smoothen the furrow in your brows, but his gloves are rough and hard; the leather would likely only chafe against your skin.
kneeling like this, on the mahogany wood of your bedroom floor, you are a head taller than him. the captain wishes he could lift the visor of his helmet—take off his breastplate and heavy cloak and boots, too—but he is still a soldier, and his duty to his fallen comrades comes first.
but there is no harm in this: the tender way you look at him when you finally cease worrying enough to place both your hands on either side of his face. the metal must be cold against your fingers, but your smile is warm. the captain will cherish it. he will keep it close and gaurded in his cavernous hole of a heart, and when he feels cold and burdened though the weather may be hot, he will close his eyes let the image spark fire within him, warming him up from the inside.
“must you travel every single month?” you murmur, rubbing circles over the metal where his skin should be.
“it’s my duty,” the captain answers faithfully. “i must fulfill it.”
“well, yes, i know that,” you say. “but i think you deserve more rest in between all these expeditions of yours.”
“are you sure this is not just a ploy to get me to stay with you for longer?”
your answering laugh makes him smile, though you cannot see it.
“you’ve caught me,” you say cheekily. “and here i thought i’d gotten better at being more subtle.”
“subtlety has never been one of your stronger suits. i’m used to it.”
“i’m sure by the time you get back i’ll have learned a trick or two.”
“i look forward to it,” the captain says.
your eyes twinkle, and though you are most certainly saddened by his upcoming departure, the captain respects your determination to hide it from him. you don’t sound the least bit anxious, despite all your fretting earlier. you lean forward and gently press your lips to the top of his helmet. the captain’s eyes close, almost unconsciously. he imagines what it would feel like if your lips were pressed against his forehead instead, a delicate token left branded on his skin instead of metal.
“come back home safely, thrain,” you whisper.
for you, he will.
capitano x a forehead kiss with his helmet still on for @chocalycake. send in a request here!
Tw: slight yandere, vague discussion on children, long fic. Check Part I here!
With the sudden predicament of becoming the spouse of a Harbinger, one must acclimate to their new life. After all, this wasn’t a mere charade of idle houseplay. This was an order bestowed by her Majesty the Tsaritsa, binding the two of you. Thus, having little recourse in the matter, you had to get used to your sudden “married” reality. At least, so you thought. You weren’t the only one clueless in this stage play of marriage, for even your beloved husband had to learn his lines.
✧ Every time you rose from your sanctuary of sleep, the same flutter of a mini panic attack would seize you until you realized who the man beside you was – Pierro. Just when you thought this was all an elaborate prank woven by your dreams, the unmistakable grasp of his arms cradling you is as unyielding as Snezhnaya’s frost. You’d wake up on your side, snuggly wrapped in a bed of satin and warm duvets. Until you’d realize the warmth spooning you from behind was his. No, the pretend wedding was not a dream.
Even in slumber, the composure of his countenance was elegant. You’d turn carefully towards him, brushing a stray strand of silver hair. What are you even supposed to do with him? Live happily ever after like that every day?
“Hm, ...Morning already?” – He stirred upon the faintest touch of your fingers, eyebrows furrowing. “Apologies, how reckless of me. I was meant to rise early to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”
Ah, so he has some humor in him, even at an early hour like this.
“No, no. It’s too early. Sorry if I woke you up. Besides, who says you owe me breakfast in bed from now on?” – You watched him sit up beside you, the pale morning light lay bare on Khaenri’ahn scars on his other eye. Maskless for you to witness in the privacy of shared bedchambers.
“Hm? Overly formal of me, perhaps? Very well. I ought to have embraced my role more convincingly. Now that it is morning, I should’ve kept you in my arms and congratulate us both on consummating our marri-”
“We didn’t consummate a thing.”
He smiled, a thoughtful hum escaping him.
“…You’re correct, we didn’t do that either.”
You’d scowl whenever he wore that silent expression of mild amusement. As if his smile promised: ‘one day, then’. What does a cold Harbinger like him ponder in his solemn silence? Probably thinking how the sight of your tousled hair, strewn carelessly across his pillows, should’ve been a vision destined for his eyes long ago. But the Harbinger was wiser than that and knew not to press your buttons first thing in the morning.
Witnessing the Director's routine up and personal was a spectacle. Like clockwork, he was already washed, dressed, and making the bed. Unfortunately, your desire for ‘five more minutes’ was far stronger than his desire for tidiness at an early hour. His solution? Lift you by the waist, even when you clutch onto pillows, set you aside, make the bed, and take you back into his arms if needed. Uncomplicated.
“Shall I request the servants to make blini with smetana today? Hm, no, perhaps poached eggs with sweet potatoes and salad is better. I might have a meeting in the evening, but I will try to leave early either way. Would you prefer some ring shopping? I know the wedding and engagement rings were already assigned for us, but if you wish for more custom-made jewelry, we can-”
“Pierro.”
You approached him suddenly, still in your sleepwear, a pillow tucked beneath one arm. With a disgruntled expression of drowsiness, you came to fix his collar with gentle precision before giving him a pat on the shoulders.
“Shh… Just go to work. Be on your merry way.”
He blinked at you, a dark gaze bestowed on him.
“And you won’t send me off with a kiss first?”
With shoulders sagging and a pout, you relented. The Jester knew his role well, and even when he inclined his side of the face for a tender peck, he’d return it with another of his own. An unhurried, deliberate kiss. His gloved hands cradled the side of your jawline as he whispered.
“You're far too endearing a sight. Though I am truly lucky to be the only one to see it in the mornings.”
✧ Capitano was the ever-accommodating gentleman, regardless of whether this marriage was born of pretense or genuine desire. The two of you might’ve been fulfilling some bizarre duty set by the Tsaritsa, yet he never presumed upon your comfort, especially now that the two of you share a grand manor as your household.
Anything you desire, he’d accommodate. A separate master bathroom? All for you. An upper floor reserved for your leisurely pursuits or a study room? Already granted. And most notably, The Captain personally inquired if you wished for separate bedchambers.
You replied with gentle candor, confessing no discomfort in sharing a bed. Are the two of you not spouses now? Yet surprisingly, the hesitant silence that followed the Harbinger told you he might be timid in such regards. Did you perhaps cross the line? You tried to take your words back with an apology, but instead, Capitano quickly cleared his throat:
“No, no. The issue is not as you suppose. The truth is, I cannot accompany you with blissful sleep. My… constitution does not allow me to, at least.”
Oh, you realized. You nearly forgot. Capitano’s curse of immortality was of a different nature than most, not a merciful state. There you sat upon your knees atop the mattress, already dressed in your sleepwear before him. The two of you shared a wistful silence before you glanced at him:
“Please, come here.”
The Harbinger couldn’t disobey. Clad in a tightly fitting shirt and simple lounge wear, he sat at the edge of the bed.
“Even if you can’t sleep or dream like everyone else,” – you looked at him with determination. “Then at least let me stay up with you for a while. We can just talk, anything that may trouble your weary mind.”
“Please, my cherished. I can’t allow myself to keep you awake all night. You need your rest.”
But you shook your head and urged him. It took a while to persuade him that you are open to just his presence in the dimness of the night. That even if he spoke about everything or nothing, you’d rather fall asleep by his side than pretend he is a monster incapable of peace, even in the privacy of his own household. And how could he say no to your unselfishness? Your form, washed and ready for bed, welcoming him with open arms. He easily relented, cradling your form against his own, and he sat in bed beside you.
“If you grant me the opportunity to talk your ear out until you fall asleep, then how can I deny such an opportunity to my beloved?”
And so the two of you conversed the entire night. You just rested there, your head resting on his chest, listening to him entertain your whims and curiosities: about his travels, his battles, his life in Khaenri’ah. Anything, truly. Even when your yawns tortured you, and eyelids chained you down to shut them, you insisted that he’d continue. His hand was warm. Pitch-black skin marred with scars rested on your back, drawing soothing caresses.
“You know, Capi,” – You whispered thoughtfully, your ear pressed on his chest. “I can actually hear your heart from here. It’s…”
“...Unnatural?”
“Mechanical, almost. But soothing.”
The heavy toll of keeping your eyelids open was a cumbersome battle, and thus, the Harbinger silently watched as you fell asleep in his arms. Your breathing mellowed down, and your hair rested sprawled on him. Even if this Khaenri’ahn man cannot dream in the traditional sense, staying still to gaze upon your slumbering form was a far better dream than he could ever pray for.
With a deliberate kiss on your forehead, he stayed a while to hold you – “Sleep well, my cherished.”
✧ Pretending Dottore’s personal life was one of intimate domesticity was a lie so foolish, not a living Fatuus would believe such a pretense. A cunning scholar like him would never yearn for a family; such thoughts would be more corrupting than forbidden knowledge.
Yet how come the said scholar was the one preparing a balanced dinner for you and the younger segment? You assumed he’d burn the kitchen, but nothing Dottore’s calculating ambition can’t achieve when he is measuring ingredients like a chemical concoction. How come this same scholar was going through multiple iterations of a baklava recipe because the younger segment didn’t like the pistachios' saltiness? Now he stood, overwriting some notes to fix the measurements with mathematical accuracy. The young Zandik and Dottore share the same tastes after all. And lastly, how come this same scholar said he does not seek a partner or spouse, yet keeps imploring you to accompany him in all his endeavors?
Why would a heretic yearn for a family? You weren’t the only one asking that, for even the Doctor questioned his ambition towards you. Another mask to don, one with the title of a “loving husband and father”, how is it different from his countless other masks?
Every time Dottore saw you chase after the energetic young segment by the cobbled streets of Sumeru, he’d stand behind watching silently. Perhaps the sun of his homeland was never harsh on his skin. Whenever that small boy tugged at your hand to point at things, you’d crouch down to explain to him like a patient parent. Dottore would cross his arms and join the conversation, your tone so infectious that he couldn’t help but educate the youth, too. Even if he technically wasn’t his “son”, but a clone.
One late evening, as he took the liberty of extinguishing the corridor lights, his attention was drawn to the thin sliver of light spilling through the child’s door. Passing with silent footsteps, he caught the murmur of your voice inside. You sat by the tucked-in boy in bed and read him a book. Then came the timid voice of the segment calling your name:
“... Is it true that this is only temporary? You and Prime would go your separate ways once the Tsaritsa told you to?”
“Well, sweetie. It might’ve been an order by a certain cryo archon, but since when have either Dottore or I obeyed some gods, hm?”
“Then what will become of me? If he must discard me as an experiment, he can leave then! Can’t you stay… with me?”
Though Dottore could not glimpse your expression from here, he heard your deep sigh, probably ruffling the segment’s curly hair. “Oh, silly. I would never allow Dottore to get rid of you. Heh, he’ll have to fight me first, I promise you that.”
Dottore did not intrude; He just quietly walked away.
The following early morning bore a grand occasion. The young segment was heading to his first day at school. The colorful, tactical school supplies you bought on a spree are finally coming in handy. Now, you stood and tenderly fixed the emerald-green uniform on the boy, while he clutched his backpack with wide, expectant ruby eyes. Your words of encouragement may be the ever-loving one, but Dottore clearly saw how the child’s quiet bravado was an instinctual habit of anxiety. Even this young segment mirrored some of the same fears he inheritance from The Doctor.
The Harbinger crouched down and sternly gazed at the child. The two Zandiks stared at each other before the oldest one spoke:
“Remember now. What did I teach you about molecular biology?
“...That two classes of macromolecules are the most important part of cells. The nucleic acids and proteins.”
“And?”
“And… that nucleic acids store and transmit genetic information, while proteins carry out most of the structural and functional tasks in the cell.“
“Excellent,” – Dottore concluded, before that smirk of sharp teeth graced him once more. “Now go decimate them with your wisdom.”
The boy beamed up in an instant. Sometimes, you forget that the two of them are the same devilish genius. With a mimicking toothy smile, the kid bounced off towards the school’s entrance. You and the Harbinger stood quietly.
“Molecular components of cells? Already?”
With idle ease, his arm snuck around your waist, and he pulled you to his side.
“Hm? Is that not what children ought to know by memory? I remember at his age, I was already reciting the names of the twenty amino acids instead of counting sheep to sleep.”
✧ When the head shrine maiden of the grand Narukami Shrine first received the news of Scaramouche’s official marriage, she scoffed. The once prototype made by Ei, Kunikuzushi, received blessings not from his archon maker but from the archon of Snezhnaya. Fate sure has its humorous ways, thought Yae Miko. Not that Beelzebul would ever leave her Plane of Euthimya to witness the marriage.
But her opinion of this regard mattered little. Several months ago, an official diplomatic request was sent from Zapolyarny Palace to conduct the wedding in a modest yet serviceable manner, as expected of Inzauman costumes. After all, the Harbinger in question hails from here, and the Narukami shrine couldn’t deny the Tsaritsa’s negotiation.
That was several months ago. Now the married Harbinger sat before Guuji Yae. Though both of them kept amicable courtesy, their expression mirrored one another - a barely veiled scowl.
“I must say, Kunikuzushi, congratulations are in order. Not only did you bind someone to your name, but I wouldn’t have thought you’d seek to host your wedding in your home region.”
“It’s Harbinger Scaramouche, Miko. I implore you to remember that since you’re in a diplomatic meeting, not idle chit-chat. Besides, the location and details were ordered by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa.”
“Oh? So arranged by someone else. My, my. And here I thought you were living the fairytale life. How are they, by the way? Your spouse.”
The Balladeer’s hands clutch into fists. His cool expression might be schooled to stoicism, but Yae could clearly discern that smoldering note of loathing in his eyes. She used her words cunningly, throwing several baits to see which one catches: the mention of this marriage, or Scaramouche’s beloved.
To Yae Miko’s surprise, her bait didn’t latch on. Because as Scaramouche was about to reply, one of the shrine maidens arrived with a hasty bow, declaring the arrival of the Harbinger’s spouse. Indeed, you appeared soon after, trailed by attendants and burdened with an array of shopping bags – “Apologies, dear. Are you still in a meeting? Greetings, great Guuji Yae. I hope there was no intrusion on my part.”
Whatever Fatui diplomatic matters were discussed with the Narukami shrine was completely forgotten, and The Harbinger was already by your side. They say husbands are particularly doting on their spouses during the honeymoon phase. But the Balladeer was always like that with you. Rushing to your side, silently taking whatever heavy items out of your grasp, subtly fixing your hairstyle when you walk in.
Most surprisingly, Yae couldn’t see false acting from either of you. These two were absolutely not pretending…
“Ah, the person of the hour. Kunikuzushi, introduce me to your darling. I see that the Tsaritsa had a good pick for you.” – The shrine maiden followed when she caught how tenderly the Harbinger spoke to you. You looked unassuming at first glance, no discomfort or anxiety in the way you reciprocated Scaramouche’s touch.
“Miss Yae. A pleasure to formally meet you. I heard a lot about you from my husband.” – You nodded politely, your mannerism as delicate as your formal smile. “Such as your preferences for discarding others like toys.”
Ah, a fine gem indeed, thought Yae. Either the Tsaritsa chose well, or Scaranouche had impeccable taste. Though now she can see how you would’ve caught his eye.
“We didn't have the pleasure of meeting you during the wedding, so we couldn't relay our gratitude for hosting the celebration. As a thank you, I humbly prepared an omiyage from Snezhnaya.” – from one of the numerous bags, you introduced a carefully wrapped parcel as a travel gift. “A matryoshka doll. A local craft. This way, if you feel like throwing away any more puppets, I won't have to worry about you harming what's now mine.”
Your tender smile alluded to The Shrine Maiden and the Balladeer. Such a simple statement, yet your gentleness was no mere ornament of character. So much bite into your gift. Clearly, Yae regarded you as a fine opponent. Scaramouche, for his part, who was silent in shock, had to conceal his own awe.
“All business concluded now, Scara?”
“Fortunately, yes. Let us take our leave.”
With formal farewells exchanged and measured bows offered, the two of you left Narukami Shrine. Or rather, from Yae’s vantage, you left with a rather giddy puppet trailing in tow, eager to intertwine his hand with yours the moment the doors slid closed.
✧ Months after the pretend honeymoon vacation, Pantalone kept gloating about his marriage to you as if it were a trophy worth polishing. In his residency, he hummed a chipper tune while he framed his favorite photos of the recent trip:
The Regrator smiled merrily into the camera while he held you hostage in his embrace. A picturesque landscape of Liyue can be seen in the background.
Pantalone, smiling to the camera again, presenting an absurdly massive carnival plushie to you. It’s hard to tell whether you were glaring at him or the big plushie.
Oh, this one is his favorite! Pantalone is under the shade of an umbrella with you in a Fontanian resort. He’s grinning the same way, and you’re scowling the same way. At least, you’re wearing a cute summer hat.
Truly joyful memories.
“There we go. The photos have been set up on our study’s wall, darling. Aren’t they just wonderful?”
From your place upon the chaise, you cast him a passing glance. “Mhm, they hang like in a museum. Now you can summon all your friends to boast about how much mora you put on this trip alone.”
“Tsk, tsk. Darling. This isn’t about the mora spent on leisure. It’s about us going on a romantic trip for newlyweds.”
“A pretend romantic trip,” – you corrected lowly.
“... Pretend, yes.” – Pantalone repeated in hushed murmur, before averting his focus from the photos towards you “But that’s what our contract ensued. And we fulfilled it to the best of our abilities. Aren’t you satisfied with the arrangement?”
“We did, certainly. Though you tend to forget, dear, that people marry and go on honeymoon not to fulfill a contract but to celebrate sincerely.”
At first, the Harbinger took his seat in composed silence beside you. He was not oblivious to your discontent with the arrangement made by Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. Not that you two don’t get along, but you were always a person of sincerity, not duplicity. Thus, the Regrator clasped his hands cheerfully together.
“Ah, you’re right. Then perhaps, we should file for a divorce as soon as possible! A pretend divorce, so that I can immediately propose and we can go on the same honeymoon without pretense this time! What do you think?”
“Pfft- you’re ridiculous, Pantalone.”
At least, The Regrator managed to draw a smile out of you. He joined along with a chuckle, before his own thoughts grasped him in a looming shadow. He quietly asked:
“...If I had to propose to you, not as a Harbinger, or as Pantalone, would you have said yes then?”
You did not reply. You cast your gaze aside, as if your own answer was a melancholic thought of what could’ve been under mundane circumstances. If you and he were untouched by present titles and bargains. Just regular people, working, falling in love, getting married, living in their own world. Instead, you only gave him a single glimmer of longing with a simple statement: “I wish I had known you before you became the 9th.”
His eyebrows slowly raised. But Pantalone didn’t dare to utter another word on that topic.
“You know, we may have fulfilled the obligation with the honeymoon phase, but we did miss one additional footnote in our contract,” – He returned to his usual smugness as he pushed his glasses. His smile always alluded to trouble. “It’s not obligatory by any means, but usually, young married couples also may end up with a child after a while! What do you think?”
Silence between you two.
You stared him dead in the eyes. “Alright. Get ready. You’re getting pregnant, Pantalone.”
If glasses could crack from sheer bafflement of their wearer, his would shatter in that moment. The Harbinger decided not to play with fire today.
“N-... Nevermind. I concede.”
if you read this far I love u, thank you to everyone who patiently waited for part II
Hello there! First of all I wanted to say, how are you? Hope you're having a great day/night. ^^
I saw your post about being thirsty, and wanted to request something... How about reader that finds out she has a voice kink over Capitano? (I font know if you write for him). Thank you in advance. >w<
Hi, Anon! I'm doing well, thank you. It's been a calm weekend for me. I hope you're having a good weekend and will have a great week!
Thank you for sending this ask, Anon! Of course I can write for Capitano 😃 I really like his noble disposition. And, I love his ENG Dub voice (It's the same as Avdol's from JJBA, btw :) ) Also, voice kink is one of my favorites ever! 🥰
18+ Only Please
Il Capitano x AFAB! Reader
*Takes Place in Nod Krai prior to the Natlan Archon Quest
(Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Voice Kink, Fingering, Reader is Called "Good Girl" and "Princess")
Capitano is truly the only member of the Fatui you greatly respect. There is something about him that makes you feel at ease. Perhaps it is his honesty, or maybe it is his admirable strength. You also find his deep voice to be attractive. The way he sounds and carries himself is exactly like how you picture knights from your favorite tales.
You have the great honor to accompany him during his missions as his second-in-command. While you don't care for the rest of the Fatui, you believe in the Tsaritsa's goal and want to follow Capitano. After all, he personally trained you and originally recommended for you to become a fellow Harbinger. While there was no room to join the Harbingers, Capitano has requested for you to not view him as a superior, but rather a comrade. He is your friend, after all.
This upcoming mission is to battle Grandmaster Varka from Mondstadt while at the border of Nod Krai. You trust Capitano to come out victorious over the Knight of Boreas, and you can't help but be excited about the mission. After a squad meeting one evening, Capitano asks you to stay behind for a moment to go over the battle strategy once more.
"I always trust your input," he elaborates. "If I may, I want to ensure there are no gaps in these tactics."
"Of course," you reply, sitting back down at the table and giving him your full attention.
He clears his throat, and begins telling the complex strategy again. "We are to meet Grandmaster Varka's forces at dawn tomorrow morning, surrounding the whole proximity of his camp...."
Capitano is a master tactician, and you always look forward to learning more from him during these exchanges. He is a brilliant man who guarantees his comrades' safety. As you listen, you suddenly begin noticing how...beautiful his crisp voice sounds. Yes, you have long appreciated it, but tonight it is so enticing.
"Varka is not a man to underestimate. Please watch for his double-sword attacks...."
These warnings in his deep, caring voice - your eyes begin to widen as you notice yourself becoming wet.
You've heard him lay out plans all the time; why are you now feeling flustered listening to his words? Each sentence is carried with grace and confidence. Are you imagining things, or is his voice becoming deeper as he carries on about the rest of the Knights of Favonius?
"Are you alright?" he asks, realizing you are spacing out. "This is unlike you."
"Oh, ah...I'm so sorry, Sir!" you gasp, embarrassed for your distraction. "I...I was...my mind was..."
"Is anything the matter? You can let me know." His voice - oh, it was full of such care. You freeze, entranced by his tone.
"I..."
He is leaning closer.
"Capitano...your voice is beautiful," you breathe. "You're like a king."
He pauses for a moment. "Is that so?"
"Your voice could charm the very beings of Abyss themselves. There is a magic behind it. I - I feel like a spell has been casted over me." You are bit embarrassed by your sappiness, but you truly mean every word.
The Harbinger stares at you before uttering, "You mean everything to me, beloved."
Your heart swells. "Capitano..."
"Are you indeed completely charmed? Is your heart desiring me, as well?"
"I am, Capitano....Please, take me if you wish. You tempt me so."
Carefully, he places his gloved hands on your thighs. "Do I have permission to - ?"
Nodding, you murmur, "Please do."
Softly, he pulls down your heavy tights and lifts up your uniform skirt. Immediately he notices the wet patch on your undergarments.
"This is all from me?" he inquires, a touch of gratitude in his tone.
"You have no idea how much joy I feel simply by listening to you," you reply, delighted that he is flattered.
Pulling down your underwear to your ankles, Capitano exhales as he takes in the sight of your entrance. "Truly stunning."
Such a sweet compliment makes you instinctively spread your legs. "Capitano ~" you fuss, begging him to touch you.
His large gloved hand places itself on your swollen clit. You gasp, amazed this is finally happening. "So cute," he says calmly, starting to rub his thumb on your bud.
"So good ~" you purr, taking in the love he bestows in his movements. His hand is so warm in contrast with Nod Krai's cold air.
Gently, he eases one of his thick fingers into your slit, going as deep as he can. "So wet for me," he remarks, causing you to shiver by hearing his voice.
"Oh, Capitano," you moan, feeling his finger start to curl inside you as his thumb rubs harder circles on your clit.
"That's it, love," his baritone soothes you. "You deserve this." He then adds a second finger inside, and you whimper. "Take it," he adds, muttering close to your ear. This draws out another moan from your adorable lips.
"Ahhhnn, it's so good~ Capitanoooo," you whine, the sensation of his moving digits inside your walls overwhelming you. His thumb's massaging increases its pace, pushing you closer to your peak.
"That's it," the Harbinger inhales, increasing the speed of his fingers even more. "You're being such a good girl."
"Mmmmmm, ahnnnn," you moan, bucking your hips. "So good, so good, so gooood~"
Adding a third finger ever so carefully, Capitano thrusts in and out of you folds. "You are doing so well...Such a good job, my dearest...," he hums. His voice and the sensation are making your vision blur. He rubs slightly roughly, finding your g-spot. You lean over, gasping from pleasure. "Right there! Please~"
Another rough thrust of fingers. Then another. And another. All the while, his deep voice, smooth as silk, assures you, "You're so good, princess. Just a bit more..."
With a hard press against your bud and rapid motions of his fingers in your walls, you scream as you cum. He thrusts through your intense orgasm, low voice uttering, "So lovely..."
You collapse against his large frame, and his arms wrap around your spent body. Rubbing your back, the warrior feels love burning in his chest. He watches your blissed face smile against him.
"If you ask me, dearest, you sound lovelier," he purrs, and you sigh from satisfaction. "You're like an angel."
Please don't copy, steal, or feed my work to AI. Thank you!
Author's Note: I picture lovemaking with Capitano to be soft. He would never want to degrade you, instead using his sultry voice to murmur sweet compliments <3
2026 begins! and with it, a new round of prompt bingo. thirty-six new prompts, the contents of which I based off what was most popular last time, along with some new stuff, in hopes of giving you the most variety to choose from!! I promise this will be finished before 2029 😭 there is no cut-off date for requests, and I'll be doing my best to fill all of these by the end of the year!!
so, send a character and a number to my ask box, and I’ll do it 🫶 it'll be a 'whenever I get to it' thing, as they'll be in order of me getting inspiration. you can find the list of completed words here
for some extra info, since I got a couple of questions last time
I'm still accepting other requests
you can still make requests from 2023's prompt list, just make sure to specify that they come from the old list!!
specify if you want them separate, because unless they conflict, I’ll default to doing them together
don't worry about repeated characters or repeated prompts with different characters (don't even worry if you request something I've already done but add a twist <3 more fun)
this is intended for genshin characters, but feel free to request ons characters if you like
add anything to the requests you'd like!! these are completely open for your interpretation <3
I made this year's bingo myself, and compiled the list from a bunch of different places!! I'd be more than happy to make a similar list for anyone else who would like one. just dm me either here or on discord 🫶
without further ado- to the list!!
Using their s/o's lips to blot their lipstick
Tykat (někomu) (Czech): to be on first-name terms with someone (literally to use the informal ‘you’)
Twilight AU
Kissing away something silly, like powdered sugar on the corner of their mouth
Amnesia-affected character forgets the terrible things they've done
“I’ll use anyone I need to achieve my goals.”
Royalty AU
Roommates AU
“I’m done pretending this didn’t destroy me.”
Finding unsent love letters meant for them
Travelling to the past, forced to relive their worst memories
Intimacy with others while pining for their soulmate/true love
“Why are you suddenly coming back into my life after I just started to do good?”
“I didn’t mean to. I was just mad...”
“You have to promise me something.”
Working with the ex
Fairytale retelling/Fairytale AU
Apocalypse AU
Fall in love with the wrong person
“The gods made us for each other—and cursed us in the same breath.”
“I can't handle the pressure anymore.”
“Please don’t leave me alone.”
Villain saves hero's life
Stalker AU
“You can’t do this to me!”
Enemies to lovers
Overwhelmed by touch
“You want forgiveness? Die, and maybe I’ll consider it.”
Honorable marriage
“Please don’t tell me you’ve given up hope. I’m holding on with everything I have.”
“How dare you speak to me like that!”
Tortured in front of loved ones or friends
Camera
Bickering together as a form of flirting
“Apologise. Right now.”
“You don’t get to walk back into my life acting like nothing happened.”
Using their s/o's lips to blot their lipstick
Tykat (někomu) (Czech): to be on first-name terms with someone (literally to use the informal ‘you’)
Twilight AU
Kissing away something silly, like powdered sugar on the corner of their mouth
Amnesia-affected character forgets the terrible things they've done
“I’ll use anyone I need to achieve my goals.”
Royalty AU
Roommates AU
“I’m done pretending this didn’t destroy me.”
Finding unsent love letters meant for them
Travelling to the past, forced to relive their worst memories
Intimacy with others while pining for their soulmate/true love
“Why are you suddenly coming back into my life after I just started to do good?”
“I didn’t mean to. I was just mad...”
“You have to promise me something.”
Working with the ex
Fairytale retelling/Fairytale AU
Apocalypse AU
Fall in love with the wrong person
“The gods made us for each other—and cursed us in the same breath.”
“I can't handle the pressure anymore.”
“Please don’t leave me alone.”
Villain saves hero's life
Stalker AU
“You can’t do this to me!”
Enemies to lovers
Overwhelmed by touch
“You want forgiveness? Die, and maybe I’ll consider it.”
Honorable marriage
“Please don’t tell me you’ve given up hope. I’m holding on with everything I have.”
“How dare you speak to me like that!”
Tortured in front of loved ones or friends
Camera
Bickering together as a form of flirting
“Apologise. Right now.”
“You don’t get to walk back into my life acting like nothing happened.”
✦ When they love you, but you were never theirs (part I)
(Pierro, Capitano, Pantalone, Part II to contain the rest of the Harbingers)
Tw: slight mention of stalking, angst, reader is not in a relationship with the Harbinger
✧ Pierro
You were a pristine gem, untouched by Snezhnaya’s eternal frost. They say Her Majesty the Tsaritsa’s court is as cold as her facade, numbing all who come close to her Archonhood. Yet you never faltered. Having worked as a close servant to the Tsaritsa since her youth, your skin and eyes remained a radiant contrast of warmth amongst the glacial splendor of Zapolyarny Palace. Perhaps it’s for this very reason the Tsaritsa favored you. Always tucking you closer, you were her right hand, her dutiful companion to the one who forsaken all love for her people.
In all your silent servitude, your modesty didn’t go unnoticed. The melancholic Jester, the Director of the Fatui, often comes bowing with news to her Majesty. Yet his gaze lingers little on the Archon before the throne. Instead, his head stays low, and his single visible eye stares long at the servant beside her. You spared him little notice, never personally speaking to one another. Besides, he had no business delegating to you; your servitude was with her Majesty, not the Fatui.
Pierro, nonetheless, often lingered. Was it the pretense of important Fatui matters to discuss with the Tsaritsa, or by virtue of his authority as the Director who had the privilege of an audience with the Tsaritsa? The answer was neither. The Khaenri’ahn man bowed not to bask in her Majesty’s glimmer, but to catch a glimpse of your elusive gaze. His formal visits became a frequent excuse to see you, where you stayed quiet by the icy throne.
He sought to approach you, to introduce himself formally. The warmth of your eyes was diverted as the Tsaritsa called you to fetch something. A banquet was once held in the Zapolyarny Palace, and he wished to ask for your hand in a dance. You, alas, were busy with preparation. He once hurried down the stairs to catch up to you, a bouquet of red roses held behind his back. But when he spotted you from afar, you had your arm wrapped around the man waiting to walk you back home – Your fiancé.
The Jester could only gaze with longing. His roses were for a heart that already belonged to another.
One day, a letter found its way into your hands. A premier at the Snezhnayan Grand Theater, a high-end ballet performance is debuting soon, with a singular ticket enclosed in the envelope with your name on it. When you shared the little joy with your fiancé, the two of you struggled to conclude who could’ve sent you such a fancy invitation. The simplest answer must’ve been The Tsaritsa’s court; perhaps for your hard work? Alas, when you asked her Majesty, she only silently regarded the handwriting before stating:
“From a Fool, perhaps… a true Fatuus.”
Unlikely her doing, still, you attended. The grand theater shimmered with marble columns, the halls alive with guests dressed in lavish satin and fur coats. You modestly arrived alone, feeling apprehensive of your simple presence amid such dignitaries. Eventually, when you arrived at your designated seat, you discovered it was a private booth for one. You glanced back and forth, but spotted no one.
The orchestra played forth, and the chandelier lights were dimmed. The audience surrendered themselves to the performance unfolding before them, but only one refused to observe the stage. For Pierro, the work of art was not on the ballet dancers, but on you. Your high-up booth is not much farther from his, but as always, he remained behind. In his seat, he pondered whether he should approach you after the play. Yet each time he saw you in the dim theater, gaze in awe at the Swan Lake play, his thoughts stilled entirely.
Was it the way you held your breath when the dancers pirouetted? Or the soft awe written across your face? The Jester could not know. As such, at the last minute, he decided not to disturb you by approaching; your heart was not for him to behold. The only way he could relish your warmth in this ice-striken nation was by observing you from afar, unreachable, undisturbed.
He regretted not leaving a bouquet of roses at the seat before your arrival. But he hopes your beloved would give you all the flowers he never dared to place in your hands.
✧ Il Capitano
Khaenri’ahn banners soared high up in the air, fluttering atop the ancient court that was your ancestral home. A valiant knight bowed before you, his armoured hand clasping yours as you descended the stairs. Today was a momentous day for you. A beautiful gala was hosted by your household, inviting nobles and royal servants alike to congratulate you on your recent graduation from the Universitas Magistrorum. Yet with any gala hosted by the royal family comes weeks of cumbersome preparation. And who was there to witness it all, than your own personal knight, Thrain.
The knight stood by your side since his youth, training with you in swordplay, shoulder to shoulder. You two come from different backgrounds, you of noble blood befitting of a monarch ruling Khaenri’ah, and he, a righteous young man who rose to the ranks of general, soon to be promoted Sentinel Knight. Be it knight or monarch, what mattered was that you two were inseparable - Both by duty and by heart. You two were raised together; sunlit noons were spent in the court’s garden, where Inteyvats bloomed while you two rested. Perhaps because of this shared childhood, he was appointed as your sworn knight.
He was there when your servants brought tailored outfits to match your form, he was there when your elders discussed the benefits of meeting new suitors, and he was there participating in the ball dance with you, hand in hand. His grasp, ever so reverent, would stay steady by your waist as you two practiced. Thrain followed the cadence of your footsteps, and you smiled, knowing practice was easy when he was your partner.
“Your steps are as light as ever, my dear.” – He whispered as the two of you finished the dance with a final twirl, the fabric of your outfit twirling elegantly. “Yet I sense sadness in your gaze. Is something the matter…?”
You shook your head softly. Perhaps the sheer weight of so many watchful guests threatened to fracture your natural smile. Or possibly, you felt an unexplainable sense of dread. Just as you two exchanged whispered words, the gala continued and announced the arrival of some prominent guests. Nobles bowed in succession, and your elders ushered you forward to greet a figure of particular renown: the Visionary himself, Vedrfolnir.
“The young oracle who was recently appointed to the King’s council,” – you inclined your head at the introduction, offering your hand with practiced grace as befit your class. “My congratulations. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine, your excellency. It is an honor t–”
Just as the noble Khaenri’ahn touched your palm, he froze. Thrain watched from behind you, and the motion made him uneasy. Vedrfolnir went uncharacteristically still, his gaze twitching to what could only be described as horror. As if he were peering into an unseen world. Your gentle hum called him back, and the man hastily donned a smile as though nothing had transpired.
The young knight did not like that.
Ever since then, Vederfolnir and you two became close acquaintances. Or so Thrain told himself, though everyone would say that the Visionary was now at your beck and call. What once were the days spent escorting you through the city of Khaenri’ah were now filled with Thrain walking you to meet Vederfolnir. Each passing rendezvous seemed to tighten the thread binding the two of you closer.
Duty demanded Thrain’s silence, even when he was left in the shadows behind you, while you exchanged charming smiles with the Visionary. He had to suppress his distant frown whenever the man inclined to whisper to you or when you listened so intently. Thrain felt distant, even when he was obligated to bodyguard you.
‘What drew you together so close yet so quickly?’ – Thrain wondered as he remained by the shadows of a pillar. ‘Was it because he was part of the royal court? Close to the King himself?’
Perhaps Thrain’s knighthood was nothing but a lowly status to the likes of nobility who honed their arts in alchemy and stars beyond the fermamnet. Perhaps he must grow stronger or study harder? Such thoughts of self-doubt devoured him at the late hours of the night. When he’d find himself alone, lingering behind the door of your chambers, contemplating whether to ask for your audience. Even when just a door stood between you and him now, he felt as if a chasm was growing between you two.
He wished your parents never introduced you to Vedrfolnir
One evening, at another royal gathering, where Thrain’s arm was expected to be linked with yours, you were absent from his company. This time, you were not here to dance at the ball with him, and long gone are the days of childhood when you two loved to practice waltzing. Has he become so unworthy of your company, of your grasp?
Frustrated, the knight set his complementary drink with a thud and walked around the gala to look for you. Rushing between the guests, his blue eyes could not locate you. Compelled by instinct more than propriety, he strayed beyond the grand hall and crossed into corridors meant for servants, where he caught two voices whispering:
“And you saw… all of it?”
“I told you, it sounds as bewildering as it looked to me. I think this could be destructive. If we inform King Irmi–”
“Are you mad?! No, don’t even contemplate it. That fool of a king would gouge your eyes out the moment these words are uttered.”
“But you don’t understand. I saw it, and you were there–”
Thrain made a turn and spotted you clutching Vederfolinr’s shoulder. The distance between you was perilously small, breath mingling with breath. And with shock etched across your face, one might have mistaken the scene for a stolen tryst between two teenagers. The knight’s heart sank.
“What is the meaning of this?” – Thrain spoke lowly. You shook your head, masking your previous voice of panic with the usual smile. Vedrfolnir timidly hid his flustered countenance.
“Ah, nothing at all. We just… chatted! The gala is dreadfully loud, after all.”
Thrain did not buy such an excuse, and his narrowed gaze clearly portrayed that. With a subtle gesture, he urged you to rise. His hand settled at the small of your back, firm and guiding, steering you away. Thrain cast one final, unforgiving look toward Vedrfolnir before leading you off.
The Visionary didn’t have the opportunity to tell you what he saw, nor what fate awaited the knight who now walked so closely in your shadow.
✧ Pantalone
Along the bustling streets of Liyue, where lamplight shimmered against the red stairs, and ginkgo leaves cascaded upon the winding alleyways, Pantalone stood alone on the side of the street. His gaze, dulled behind glass lenses, reflected neither the merchants nor the pedestrians that ushered to and fro. Instead, his expression remained fixed on a particular building tucked in this street. A modest sanctuary, humble in its purpose: a charity office offering shelter to those in need.
It was an unremarkable place. Orphaned children played at its doorsteps, a small community formed for the residing folk, a warm place for the lone and weary whose world left them without a Mora or a roof to spare. So why would the richest Harbinger in the world, who professed to yearn for nothing, linger at its threshold, refusing to cross its welcome?
Because the Harbinger was waiting, hoping to glimpse one person.
From the main entrance, you stepped out. You were the owner of this charitable organization, working late hours as often as you did. You did not notice the faraway eyes on you; instead, you busied yourself with the daily chores of discarding the garbage bag, cleaning the windows, and checking the mailbox.
He watched silently, never once stepping closer, even when his lips pursed into a line upon seeing you. Each detail was memorized by him, how carefully you toiled, always diligent. How you adjusted the scarf around yourself, shielding from the chill of Liyue autumn. And of course, how you handed out candies to the children who knew you from the shelter. They’d scurry and huddle around you for sweet goodies, a familiar sight he had seen many times before he bore the title of Regrator.
But today, what awaited you in the shelter’s mailbox was a letter from Northland Bank. An official note has arrived with an anonymous donation, its sum so vast it stole the breath from your lungs. At last, this place can buy newer supplies for everyone and have more than enough to spare for plenty of warm meals and warmer beds. Alas, whom can you even thank when the letter bore no name of the sender? You hurried off to tell your colleagues.
Pantalone walked away that night.
Once upon a distant time, the sight of such shelters would’ve been as common as the domineering hunger in his childhood. Rushing through the streets of Liyue, hurrying for any crumbs of food. Except back then, the owner of said shelter wasn’t you, but your father. He was the founder who initiated volunteer programs for the people in poverty, a hard-working man. Even when the shy youth was too timid to ask if they had food to spare, your father would silently hand him a warm mora meat sandwich. And you, a child yourself, had lingered nearby, offering shy smiles behind your father’s legs.
You’d often share candy with him, back then.
Morning comes, and you dress up nicely for a visit to the Northland Bank as appointed. With papers in hand, one must ask to transfer the donation to the shelter’s non-profit funds. Just when you were about to approach the receptionist at the desk, a man stepped in, courteously taking her position at work for today as she wordlessly bowed and left.
“Greeting, how may I be of service today?” – the man looked young, his smile was as polished as his pristine suit. He looked fancier than any of the bank workers today. Unfortunately for you, you did not recognize the founder of Northland Bank himself.
You nodded politely, handing him your papers. “Transfer of funds, please. To a non-profit organization.”
Pantalone regarded your papers with visible satisfaction, not once introducing himself, as he simply took the initiative of being your bank clerk for today. “Ah, to the shelter that provides for the people in need? A worthy cause, and I see the donation is much deserved. Perhaps the change in tides will be very fruitful for your organization.”
“Thank you, sir, it’s just…” You beamed, though you tried to quell your happiness. “I wish I knew who the anonymous donor was. Is there any chance, even anything, I may know whom to thank on behalf of the shelter?”
The glassed man regarded you silently for a long time. Though his smile remained as polished, his gaze harboured a silent melancholy as if he contemplated something. Alas, he cordially shook his head: “I apologize... The bank cannot disclose private information if the client decides it’s an anonymous donation. I’m afraid anonymity must be respected.”
You nodded with understanding; it was an expected answer. Just as your financial matters were settled with such a hefty sum, the man spoke again.
“On the bright side, a word of advice, if I so kindly may. Do not busy yourself with who sent it; think about what you may achieve with your work now that you have much more to spare. Perhaps someone noticed your hard work, and things are paying off as deserved.”
You stared at the courteous man, his tone softer as he handed your documents and checks back. In a fleeting moment of familiarity, you stared at him, pondering if you had seen him somewhere. Yet behind those silver glasses and charming face, you couldn’t put a name, even when he let you gaze at him for far too long.
“Mhm, I… thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”
Thus, with nothing but polite smiles and words, you left. While Pantalone stood behind the marble counter of the bank, never daring to speak up, never daring to voice the cracking of his being when you failed to recognize him. Hence, even in his deafening silence, the Harbinger decided it was better not to voice it; why must he burden you with the past? His real name matters no longer, because now stood The Regrator, not the farmished boy you’d remember. His pride would not let him soil that one untouched part of his past - and that is you.
What mattered now is that everything you or your family ever gave him in times of need can now be repaid in double. A silent debt he vowed to repay once he gathered riches far beyond a mere mortal. Even if it was more than double what he owes, he knew this Mora would be of much better use in your hands, so no child would walk another day hungry or cold in your care. If adoration must remain unrecognized, then let it exist as this: a silent vow, fulfilled in gold and absence alike.
Part I, because I still wish to write the rest for the other Harbingers later (Dottore, Scaramouche, Tartaglia). Don’t worry, I did not forget them; it will be made in the future.
I hate how long each segment turned out, but I had this idea for a long while and wanted to write a separate one-shot for Pantalone for a loooong while. Will have to figure out a better way to make it short yet still interesting to read.
Summary: The Captain has lost much in his long, long life, and he hates to grow attached, but there once was a time...
Masterlist
Warnings: spoilers for Capitano's backstory, suggestive elements, mentions of NSFW, by scrolling past this point, you have agreed to read whatever is below
Notes: time for me to crawl out of the depths to post about my fictional husband before I disappear again for the next year.
In the quiet darkness that greeted you as you opened your eyes, you swore you felt something behind you as you lay in the large bed you and your lover shared in the house you two owned. You felt warm breaths puffing against the nape of your neck, and then noticed the weight of a large arm around your middle. It was only after thinking for several long seconds in the pitch blackness that you realized it was not something, but someone- your lover.
"Thrain?" You asked hesitantly, reaching back in the darkness for him. You felt a nose, mouth, chin, jaw, cheek, forehead. You then felt a hand- calloused and rough, but oh so gentle- wrap around your wrist.
"That's my face. What are you doing awake this early?" He asked, his voice a low, tired tone that held a slight rasp. He always talked like that when he first woke up. You'd definitely woken him up just now. You were inclined to tell him you hadn't meant to wake him up alongside yourself, but then you realized that he was supposed to be on patrol.
He seemed to realize that you came to that conclusion before you could get a word in.
"Relax, I have today off." He said.
You just nodded, rolling over to face him more fully. "Good, I was almost worried you'd chosen to skip work to spend time with me. While I would say that I am flattered, my love, I'd prefer it if you stayed on task so you could get promoted to Captain of your regiment." You said.
"Captain. What a ludicrous title for me to bear." He replied, sitting up- at least you assumed he was- before he lit the lamp on the bedside table.
Sure enough, the low light from the lamp illuminated the room, and there he sat. His hair was all messy, the long, black strands slightly tangled in some places. Then again, you blamed yourself for that one, he did say not to hold back with tugging his hair last night. As you kept examining him, you saw the bite and scratch marks littering the fair skin of his chest. Perhaps you'd gone a little too far. You were hesitant to voice those thoughts to him, despite knowing he would be the last person to judge you for how you felt.
"Are you-"
"I'm fine, I've wanted last night for a while now." He replied when he saw the uncertainty marring your face. He didn't like it when you were unhappy. He preferred to see your face brightened by a smile. Or, like last night, flushed crimson as he held you in the throes of blissful pleasure. He thrived on making you, his love, feel good, whether that be with words or actions.
"I'm just glad you were able to keep up, and so eagerly at that." He added, resting his forehead against yours as your cheeks flushed that adorable shade of pink he loved seeing on you. He found you irresistible, and longed many an evening to have time to have you to himself, but the times he actually had you to himself for more than an hour most evenings were pitifully few in number. He had patrols in the evenings, ones he couldn't afford to miss for fear of losing his position and his chances of being promoted to a higher rank in Khaenri'ah's armies.
When he got this promotion, however, he was sure to have more time with you, more time to spend doing your favorite things, maybe even trying that recipe you received from that Mondstadter friend of yours who had come to visit Khaenri'ah last month. You'd mentioned wanting to try making it with him.
You leaned against his broad chest, smiling as he held you. "This one's new." You said, pointing to a scar on his chest that looked recently healed. You couldn't help but giggle when he gave you an unamused look and sighed deeply whilst he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It is, Dainsleif decided that I ought to spar with him earlier this week. Apparently, Vederfolnir thought the same, and to cut a long story short, Dainsleif misstepped and ended up slicing across my chest with a chipped blade after knocking it against the wall by accident." He said, watching as you gently traced it with your hand.
"Always Dainsleif doing this stuff. I'm not surprised that Vederfolnir encouraged him, though. It reminds me all the more that those two are brothers." You replied, focusing on the scar.
He gently stilled your hand, guiding it with his own to rest over his heart.
"I know you worry, you know. I can see it in your eyes." He said after a few seconds of silence as his blue eyes met yours.
"How can I not? You're not immortal, Thrain. It's not as if you can't die." You said. "I just want you home safe."
"I know. When I get this promotion in rank, I promise we'll have more time together every day. I won't have to do night patrols anymore, and I'll actually be able to eat dinner with you instead of the leftovers and extra portions you make for me that are cold by the time I arrive home." He said.
His lips curled upwards in a smile when yours slowly did the same.
By Her Majesty The Tsaritsa’s name, successor of The Belyi Tsar’s decree, a new order shall be bestowed upon you in a discrete envelope. This was no mission for the public’s eyes, yet it is supposed to be performed in utmost conviction so none could suspect otherwise – a pretend marriage, where you and your Harbinger are the grand performers. You thought this was a jest, a cruel farce by The Tsaritsa, yet her pick who plays the Innamorati of this stage was no coincidence; after all, the Archon of Love knows best.
✧ Pierro’s gaze did not falter as he received the orders. His steps were unwavering as the golden soles echoed closer towards you. He recognized your glances of tumult, yet you could not decipher any hint of disagreement on his face. Must his icy star-shaped pupils always be so indecipherable?
“I presume you have already read The Tsaritsa’s orders, my divine. We are to be wedded in a faux-union. Do not sulk so, for no mortal has the privilege of having the Cryo Archon personally officiate their vows.”
You pleaded silently in your mind, was this your prison? Or why was the Jester too calm with this conundrum? You tried to reason with him that such a pretend relationship will serve no purpose to either the Fatui or you two. Yet the Jester insisted, his figure standing tall behind you, already planning with a sharp gaze.
“If we are to perform these roles, it must be more than merely 'convincing'. Do not fret, shared residence will be arranged to the highest standard.”
A wedding ceremony was thrown, your arm linked elegantly around his. His suit is pristine white beside your matching lavish attire, snow-white petals of rose scattered above your heads. You argued that a simple civil marriage could’ve sufficed, with the signing of a certificate instead of this whole celebration. Yet standing now amongst all of Snezhnaya with a convincing smile felt like a blur of a fever dream. Your brain could barely conceive the voices of guests congratulating you, until Pierro's gloved hand lands by your waist as a foreboding reminder.
How much can one put into a pretend wedding, you pondered to yourself. Unless The Jester secretly had a masterclass in acting, why did he slide the wedding band so delicately with a reverent touch to your palms? Why would his hands slowly turn your head to place a tender kiss on your lips? Your overwhelming thoughts would be laughed off as a newlywed’s nervousness. Many awed in compassion as they saw you beside him.
“I still don't understand,” you huffed with exasperation later on, seeing how your personal clothes were placed in a shared closet with your now-husband. “If we needed to fool all of Teyvat into being wedded, wouldn't a soiree suffice? A marriage certificate, maybe? What purpose is there that we, uh, live under the same roof when no one is watching?”
“Hm? Are our private quarters not to your liking? I assumed the intricate mezzanine would've been to your fancy.”
“No, no. I'm talking about the shared bedchambers when it literally doesn't matter what we do in our privacy. This is all a pretense either way, right?”
But the Fatui Directory was busy in his own world, your reasonings echoing through his numerous plans of spoiling you as the perfect spouse; the Tsaritsa’s official approval to bless your relationship was merely a guarantee you'd carry his name in yours. After all, only he had the means to communicate with the Archon of Snezhnaya; she was merely fulfilling her part of a deal by ensuring you were promised to him.
‘I have led my Harbingers to your cause and sought out every gnosis. You know the price I seek.’
‘A deal is a deal; you have fulfilled your duty, Jester. Now go, you shall play a new role with your promised one.’
Either way, the Harbinger shook his head and smiled faintly. His arms naturally wrapped around your torso from behind:
“Ah, is my cherished already kicking me out to sleep on the couch tonight? I see you are so invested in this marriage, you are already playing a natural. Newlyweds first bickering…”
“Pierro, you're evading the subject!”
✧ Hearing hushed whispers that you are Il Capitano’s promised betrothed ushered in a newfound sense of dread. Not only to you, but to the tongue of gossipers who viewed the Captain as a mighty warrior yet an enigmatic being shrouded in shadows. How were you supposed to receive such news when the mere idea of pitch blackness behind that helmet eats at your heart like the void? You had every right to be anxious, fidgeting with the nails of your fingers. Yet when the Harbinger met you personally to talk, all fears dissipated when he spoke first:
“I… Do not wish to impose upon you. Not as an equal nor as a gentleman.” – the golden chains chimed as he bowed his head low before you, his armored hand on his chest. “I understand if this predicament is beyond our control, yet I wish no animosity or unease between us.”
His sudden words struck you silent, noticing the faintest tremor beneath his austere voice. That’s when it dawned upon you – The Captain was as nervous as you.
“No, no, I- I understand. I also wish for us to get along, even if we… if we are to play pretend.”
A tense silence ensued, as both hoped to veil the awkwardness each of you felt. Yet the two of you stood, like timid sweethearts anchored by their mutual apprehension, with glances that dared not meet and instead finding solace in the view of the ground.
“May I ask then,” – you ventured softly. “Have you ever wished to be in such a relationship? I do not wish to assume, but I thought a Captain of your renown is far too busy to concern himself with a marital status.”
A quiet sigh escaped the Harbinger, a subtle shift in his shoulders let him ease up, yet his voice still carried that solemn might:
“I may be a Captain first and foremost, yet I was once a man like any other. It's not that I seek to intimidate others, nor do I deem closeness a weakness. But rather, I fear imposing my duty and work into the personal life of someone dear…”
You nodded thoughtfully, “I see… this is indeed a relief. Then, perhaps if you will, we can call it off? Or perhaps find you someone more suitable?”
Your words of cordial clemency were met with an uncharacteristic silence before Il Capitano simply replied:
“... I don't regret the decision taken by the Tsaritsa.”
You blinked at him.
“Unless… you do not find me as a worthy choice, and wish for another?”
His apologetic comment does not oblige with your bafflement. How can you compete with the Captain's modesty when his words bore such unfeigned sincerity – he does not wish to foist, yet to have such an arrangement granted him by Her Majesty, The Cryo Archon, there is no man worthy enough to repay any dowry when you are the promised hand. And the countless battles he won? The numerous expeditions he carried out in the name of the Fatui, returning with tarnished armor and triumphs from foreign lands? His actions were not merely for glory; it was so that he might be the first to receive the blessing of courting you. Even if you weren't aware, he competed for the privilege.
And if he has to slay the Heavenly Principles themselves for the honor to be the first you may call husband, even for nothing more than a pretend political marriage, then he shall make the pretend stage built on meadows of Inteyvats flowers. Unfortunately for himself, he may be courageous when slaying beasts, yet timid as a school boy when talking to you, his future betrothed.
“N-no, no. Do not assume me wrong, Capi. If we play pretend, then let's make it as peaceful and easy-going for us in our future betrothal.”
“Indeed, we shall do our best.” – His hand clasped yours. “You have my word, you shall not be bothered in a forced engagement. Allow me to honor your name beside my own.”
Thus, bells tolled, and a small, modest ceremony was organized. His regal coat flowed behind his broad shoulders, while his hand securely held yours after the Captain vowed not only as a knight to protect you, but as a husband. The guests, however, were oblivious to the marriage façade forced by the Tsaritsa. Only a few Harbingers and close family were invited, and as expected, Childe shed tears of joy seeing his two favorite people being wedded, sniffing into a handkerchief.
How can anyone suspect the Captain was pretending when he saw you hurry by the steps, your crystal shoe accidentally slipping off your foot? He'd kneel without a word, tenderly slip the fallen footwear back onto you, before gathering you in his arms to carry you bridal style. A knight honored by the duty to be yours, and a newfound title he'd wear with pride whenever he is introduced as your “husband”.
“This is just an act, right, Capi?”
“Ah… apologies, I already forgot we're pretending.”
✧ You have not been the least bit troubled by the sudden demand to be in a pretend marriage with Il Dottore. Everyone knows he'll sneer and mock the Tsaritsa back if she requests such a ludicrous social theater from a Harbinger like him. A single glance at The Doctor would suffice to see that he would not indulge in such folly.
…Except he was grinning right now. Very eagerly.
“This is ideal. This is perfect. It's all coming to plan.”
You took your words back. For reasons beyond comprehension, your brilliant maniac was not calling off the marriage, and you were beyond perplexed. The mere idea sounded so obscure, you hoped that Dottore would be the one annuling this whole farce. Yet here was, with his sharp teeth grinning and hands clasped together as though a long-awaited experiment that had fallen neatly into place.
“Do you not see, my dear?” – Dottore leaned closer, his gloved hands landing on your shoulder. “We are going to play pretend, like the most stereotypical family. This is the perfect opportunity!”
“Opportunity for what?! What do we gain from this?”
“To blend in, to fool naive passerby that we are the most average couple. To study how such puny idiots settle with their fragile social constructs to find comfort in an illusory sense of belonging,” – his grin widened, “think about it, dear. The status of the Fatui will not linger upon you; from now on, you shall be wedded to a… simple, humble man. A feeble scholar, of modest means.”
Your brain blanked out. Not at the mental image of walking hand in hand with the 2nd Fatui Harbinger as two honeymooners, but at Dottore’s audacity to be excited about it. You argued and reasoned with him, claiming he could easily consult books on sociocultural relationships if he needed to collect data; this endeavor was below you two.
Yet the harbinger crossed his arms, tugging at your lack of enthusiasm. “I assumed you would be ecstatic. Or is my countenance not suitable enough to be considered “husband material” when seeing it first thing in the mornings in bed? We'll deal with the nuance later; for now, we have a new responsibility as a family.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. Before you could question his words, Dottore very casually lifted a child in his arms – the youngest segment, the perfect image of little Zandik from his days of youth, with his messy hair locks and defiant ruby eyes. He handed you the segment into your arms and unceremoniously announced:
“We now have a child. Congratulations.”
You stared at Dottore in horror.
The young kid looked less than pleased to be part of this experiment. How are you going to explain that you suddenly have a child, no older than seven, mind you, when neither of you has been seen with a child? You don't know. But you swore, should anyone dare to ask, you’d tell them that Dottore was the one pregnant.
One progress was made in this pretend marriage – the art of quarreling like a couple.
Eventually, the two of you reached an ultimatum within the newfound circumstances, treating it as a covert operation akin to a spy mission, one where a fake marital status was required. So you relented. Whenever you walked the secluded villages of Sumeru, with a child in hand and Dottore in tow, local grannies would awe at the sight of such a delightful family – ‘look at the little boy clinging to you, he's a spitting image of his father!’
Dottore huffed in uncharacteristic pridefulness. You, however, chuckled nervously, secretly planning to punch that grin off his face once night fell. But there was something else more important bugging your mind – the young segment. He was sulking and following worldlessly, forced by the Doctor into this role as a “biological child”. You kneeled by the boy and tried to drop the saccharine pretense of a parent:
“I'm sorry that Dottore has dragged you into this. I hope he wasn't a big meanie to you. I'll tell you what, let's not make this a chore for you. Let me buy you some Candied Ajilenakh Nut, hm?”
This routine persisted out of obligation, and while even the Harbinger felt out of place as your “loving husband”, he stared in curiosity as you got along with the kid. The child beamed whenever you listened to his rambling, the two of you making truce by branding Dottore “a big meanie”. One would argue you even spoiled that young segment with sweets, or often going shopping to buy beautiful stationery items for education. New notebooks, pens, and folders. He observed you helping the kid choose a lovely new backpack, adjusting the straps on his shoulders, and encouraging his earnest opinion.
Dottore didn't intervene. He didn't have it in him; instead, with a quiet hand on your waist, he paid for the shopping spree. The image of young little Zandik, perched in your arms while you let that boy have the best clothes and school items of his interest, was a contradiction to what a certain boy actually had 400 years ago. Or rather, never had. The segment may be a mirror image of him, except he never bore such a radiant smile, inspired by you.
✧ Upon receiving news of the sudden “pretend marriage” to Scaramouche, the Harbinger avoided you like the plague. He was nowhere to be seen, suddenly occupied with matters in Inazuma, never once writing to you in regards to the sudden decision. Naturally, you felt heartbroken. Not that you were surprised by his reaction. Human sentiment was not a language the Balladeer was known for.
But you hoped for his reassurance, and his silence gnawed at you. Maybe neither of you needs this imposed relationship? Why can't things stay the way you two previously were: close, untainted by false titles? You prayed he didn't despise you for the circumstances forced by the Archon.
Eventually, you were summoned to Inazuma to prepare for your own marriage. The Harbinger's best subordinates accompanied your travels as messengers and dutiful servants, bowing to the soon-to-be-wedded spouse of the 6th. Adorned in resplendent white Shiromuku, you were taken care of with utmost elegance, as the servants adjusted your sleeves. However, even they noticed the cloud of melancholy looking upon you.
“Huh? Lord Balladeer, detesting you?” – one servant gasped. “Perish the thought, the 6th has done nothing but toil to arrange the most grand ceremony for this occasion.”
“Indeed, he hurried to change even the flowers and decoration to be based on your preference, stern on each detail as always.”
You were baffled.
Yet when the day of the small ceremony dawned at last, Wisteria flowers were hung by an arch, carpeting the cobblestone floor with lilac petals to a shrine. Scaramouche awaited you by the steps, his black Hakama kimono creaseless as his porcelain skin. When his gaze finally met yours, he quietly beckoned you with his hand.
“You look exquisite, as expected,” – he murmured, his gaze not scrutinizing or distant. It was apologetic. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I needed some time to make prepa-”
“Scara!” – your voice echoed through the shrine courtyard, ignoring the clanking of your Geta sandals, you rushed towards him “Why didn't you tell me you were arranging all this?! Was it so hard to at least send a word, to tell me that everything is alright?”
“H-hey, hey, calm down…!”
The shrine mikos and a few Fatui subordinates exchanged awkward glances while you scolded the young groom. He was flustered, hands coming to clasp your own in a vain attempt to cease your complaining.
“I'm sorry, alright! Just do not blame me, I was as surprised at this foolish decision as you.” – he ushered you beside him with a hand holding yours, with the other wrapped around your shoulder. He could not deny, you looked beyond elegant in such a traditional wedding kimono. “I didn't wish you to think I took this occasion as a joke.”
“You mean… you're not against it?”
The young puppet held in his pride. He guided you gently by the shrine, his gaze averted in modest timidness.
“I hoped… that even if we were to feign such naive, domestic bliss, I would not be enough to give you a memorable ceremony because you were forced into this. So instead, for just this once, let me pretend to be yours like a normal human marrying his second half. Even if it's a selfish dream.”
✧ You? Married? To Pantalone, of all people? Hilarious, you thought, except it was not the first of April to spread such bizarre tricks. Yet when a close acquaintance approached you to sincerely congratulate you on the sudden announcement, you realized you were absolutely in trouble.
Was Pantalone informed by the Tsaritsa? Was he in on this? Because you prayed to the stars above, he will refrain from overdramatic reactions and-
“Ah! My sweetheart,” – he busted in, approaching you with renowned zest. “My fiancée. My darling. My beloved, adorable spouse.”
He definitely didn't overreact. His arms shamelessly wrapped around you, one hand cupping your cheek to pull you in a very much smothering kiss on your face.
“Apologies, ladies and gentlemen, I see you have heard the news,” – he casually waved a hand off to the circle of well-wishers. “Yes, indeed, we decided to make it official at last. Now, if you'll excuse yourself, my darling and I have much to discuss. Isn't that right, dear?”
That forever polished smile of his tightened the same as the hand that anchored on your shoulder. You were, without a doubt, in big trouble.
“As you can see, Her merciful Majesty The Tsaritsa expects much of us, darling.” – he explained, his hand on your back as the sight of his familiar office greeted you, welcoming one to sit on the leather armchair; free at last from prying eyes. “And a contract is a contract, as you know. We will be assigned as a married couple, an act that would surely fool those Snezhnayan elites when they see we are planning lavish celebrations. Lots of occasions for making connections.”
You crossed your arms – “I'm not playing the role of a trophy spouse for you, Pantalone.”
“Oh, so crude. You don't wish to boast your status as the fiancée of the richest man alive? You'll have everything at the tip of your fingertips, you know. I could be the trophy husband, if that pleases you more.”
You raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. Indeed, for one so young, yet so perilously business-minded, many questioned the Harbinger’s relationship status. Luckily for the Regrator’s wit, a fake but carefully picked wedding band gleamed on his right ring finger where, in Snezhnaya, such symbols of union customarily rest, accompanied by his usual profusion of tasteful ornaments. People would kill for your position today, but you refuse to let some hollow decree compel you into the charade of devotion for mere spectacle. But it appears even the Cryo Archon decided to take matters into her own hands and settle Pantalone’s status.
“And what's the catch? We can stage a wedding, smile to the crowd, then we don't have to reside or share any further space if it's just for the public eye.”
A document was slapped flat onto the table with a loud thud, Pantalone's smile never once wavering as he slid the paper closer to you.
“A contract, dear, is a contract,” – he reiterated. “The stipulations have been settled plainly for us. Or did you miss the fine print in the footnotes? This is not just upholding a public image; not for a moment can we allow suspicion to take root.”
You winced, your gaze tracing the endless jargon of the contract he presented. His words punctuate each rule: shared accommodations, shared chambers, shared life. It doesn't help that the deadline for this pretense of a marital status is “until further notice”.
Alas, this was your cruel fate. Tethered to the 9th and dragged into his orbit as if the two of you were latched by the hip. At every soirée, he introduced you proudly as his betrothed, his public affection a deliberate signal that both of you are off limits. You forced a smile. It's thankless labor to endure these social gatherings when his hands remain caressing your waist. Therefore, to catch him off guard, you resolved to reclaim the stage in your own fashion.
Amidst idle chatter with his fellow investors and guests, you decided to lean in and tenderly kiss his cheek.
Silence uncharacteristically robbed his poise. You didn't know Pantalone could make the tip of his ears redden on command. Is that even a skill one trains for?
“Dearest, don't make me a melting mess in front of our guests,” – he murmured, his frayed voice not going unnoticed before the guests that chuckled. Your simple gesture won over everyone.
“It's alright, honey, I'll show you more when we're back at home.”
Now you must see who the regrator truly was in private, when he shed his pretenses to disarm his businesslike smile. Behind his mask was another. A face mask, to be precise. He was dressed in towel robes, having just emerged from a thorough bath, his face covered in some opulent moisturizing facemask and hair wrapped in a towel.
You blinked and stifled a scoff.
“Don’t you dare laugh. Where is my kiss? You promised.”
“Wait, are you serious? I was clearly joking in front of people, Pantalone. Or is the contract now mandating obligatory kisses even in the privacy of our own home?”
“... It will be soon!”
(this is 10 pages long... Why did I do this to myself? Also, titled part I in case I get inspired for more silly scenarios.
I just wanted to say that i love your work and i have been re reading every single one. I love how you write Pierro sm and I can’t wait for more work in the future.
(Thanks to all the lovelies who sent their asks and comments to keep writing! It means the world to me. As always, be patient with my slow style, and feel free to share your ideas.)
✧ The ever pragmatic Pierro keeps a stern and hardened gaze. One would mistake his star-shaped pupils for the harshest of tundras as he watches off yonder. But his gaze does not linger on the familiar sight of the Snezhnaya peaks behind his office window. Instead, he is mulling in his own office, not out of duty, but waiting to get back home to your embrace.
You got used to his punctual daily routine: he returns from work, greets you with a relishing peck, hangs his elegant white coat… and spends the entire evening with his face buried on your stomach. Unmoving, unflinching, and without a complaint. Just his arms wrapped around your torso while you lay down on the sofa or the bed, and his visage hidden as he faceplanted onto you.
The first few times he did this, you got worried that he's perhaps too exhausted to do anything else. Your fingers caressed his silver hair, inquiring what was wrong. And there lies the irony - nothing was wrong with the Jester. In fact, he was very much satisfied with his current predicament. Embracing your torso until he accidentally dozed off and fell asleep was his afternoon sanctuary. To feel the soft fabrics of your clothes and the familiar warmth of your flesh as if it were the most heavenly pillow. His arms would encircle you, sometimes caressing the back of your leg or his favorite curve of your hipbones.
“Pierro…? Honey? Oh, he just fell asleep.”
It's not the Director's fault that he is permanently stuck with a stern expression while doing so, even when he accidentally falls asleep with his face buried into you. And if you continuously caress his luscious locks, then you are guaranteed to be stuck with a purring oversized lynx.
✧ For unsuspecting eyes, it is hard to distinguish where Il Capitano's eyes linger. Except you know. After an eternity beside him, the pitch blackness of his helmet no longer mystifies, and you can easily distinguish his expression, his mood, and even where his gaze is focused.
And in this instance, his eyes are on your thighs. Again.
“Capi, you're staring again,” – you'd state simply, to which the mighty Captain breaks from his stupor and bestows upon you a quiet apology. Just a quiet nod.
The two of you would be currently engrossed with the wonted early routine, one filled with vigor from morning exercises. Even if you engaged in different sets of training than Capitano’s more intensive ones, he’d often indulge in a breather to stay and quietly revere your efforts. And it was precisely his uncanny stillness that told you he is, in fact, staring.
Not in any improper or unchaste way, no. But in a prideful one.
Zeroed in on your form, he’d think how truly beautiful you look when you least anticipate it. Focused, proper form, steadfast. A radiant sight of your diligence and hard work. When you hone your mobility, you articulate your legs as a warm-up, and your nose scrunches as you try to stretch your hamstrings. Even if you groan and mumble complaints, it leaves an endearing sight to your Harbinger. And yet, he has seen your prowess in duels, your legs carry might when striking. How have you trained to master such a graceful stance before attacking? The very essence of your shape is a telltale sign of your toils. He must inquire if you changed anything recently in your routine…
Of course, that internal monologue is what carries on in the Captain's head. In reality, he is just standing, hand to his chin, as he keeps staring at you blankly in deep silence.
“Staring. Third time today, dear.”
“...Ah, my apologies. Perhaps my mind has been wandering.”
“Mhm, I can see that, Capi. Want to rectify it by making breakfast this time?”
Capitano would make a mental vow to later display how much he appreciates your endeavors. Especially when the two of you wind up resting after a much-needed shower to end the evening, it would be his favorite pastime to draw you near, pulling both your legs to rest on his lap as he idly caresses your thighs. His thumb would run circles on your knee, while you let out a hearty yawn. You don't need much to say; silence becomes a luxury of peace when his soul yearns for your closeness in such moments of solace.
✧ Il Dottore is no painter, but if he ought to sketch the pathways of your veins with closed eyes, he'd do so as naturally as breathing. Or rather, with a shut-off red visor. Having stared at the flesh of your wrist, he dedicated countless hours grasping your arm to draw invincible lines of where your blood vessels are. Neither you nor The Doctor even recall when that habit of his began, when his hand naturally held onto your wrist, never too tightly, to trace the pathway of the little veins he sees languidly.
He'd do so unceremoniously, almost idly. Yet he inspected them like the venation of Irminsul, seeking which spots were visible and which faded by the color of your skin. None were spared from his lips, as he'd just press his mouth in a silent kiss to your skin, in an unspoken reverie to your flesh. Be it by your wrist or neck - anywhere he could feel that familiar beat. And the most prominent ones visible on your wrist would be caressed by his thumb, counting the beat of your steady pulse by the slightest press of his digits.
“This area between your wrist bone and tendon is where your radial artery is,” – Dottore explained absentmindedly while his hand enclosed your wrist. “And it is precisely the place that helps check your pulse, which in your resting state is currently beating at… approximately 73 beats per minute. Stable.”
“Dottore, shouldn't you be mulling over some experiment at this hour?”
“I'm a scholar, dear, not an obtuse. And in every discovery lies hidden beauty one wishes to further… inspect.”
“If ‘inspect’ is your academic way of saying ‘stare at it for hours’ then sure,” – you mused in return to his usual rambling before catching his attention with a sudden smile. “Though I'll have you know, I also think I appreciate something of yours.”
The Harbinger raised his head to look at you in curiosity, your finger gently landing to trail over his jawline right underneath the sharp end of the mask. Tantalizingly slow, your index finger landed precisely on his lip.
“Right… over here.”
It is in those rare moments you catch the eccentric Doctor off guard, even if it was a light-hearted tease. Bad choice on your end, because now those lips you pointed at will not give you a moment of respite against your own. Now your pulse’s beat is accelerating, but Dottore is too occupied to count it.
✧ During the most ordinary of mornings, when you emerge beside Scaramouche, all dressed and poised to accompany him, the 6th of the Fatui Harbinger would shoot you a glance before scoffing with a smirk.
“... You're heading out looking like this? Did you even brush your hair, or did finches make a nest out of your head?”
You maintain your smile despite the slight eye twitch on your face. You did, in fact, spend hours tending to yourself and your wardrobe. Your hair was far from disheveled, but nothing escapes this Balladeer’s critique. Alas, the Harbinger often used such sharp words to annoy you affectionately. Your warning glare only serves to make him chuckle in victory.
“No, this won't do either way. Come here, let me brush your hair. I won't be walking with someone who looks like they just got out of bed.”
After bickering and whining back and forth, you find yourself sitting by a dresser, where Scaramouche has long since memorized your brushes. He'd pat your shoulders to stay still and stop complaining, yet his fingers carefully glided through your hair. Only then would you find yourself succumbing to his care. Gazing through the reflection of the mirror, his expression is so calm yet profound.
In those odd moments of tranquility, he carefully tended to your hair, having long since memorized which products you preferred and which you disliked. Slender fingers gather your hair locks with a tender touch, ensuring each follicle is carefully inspected. You'd be surprised how mindful he was with a brush, never tugging too roughly to hurt you; even though just a minute ago, he was reprimanding you.
You'd jest with the Harbinger that his criticism was an excuse to caress your hair.
“Don't be absurd,” – Scaramouche retorted while keeping his focus on the brush. "I don't need an excuse when I see your strands of hair going haywire. A single glance at the bath sink is enough to send me.”
Guilty as charged. However, you decided not to press him any further, content on relishing the sincere gaze of admiration in his eyes while he observed the natural luster of your locks. In the meantime, the Puppet pondered to himself. Back in Inazuma, only nobles of the Shogunate had the luxury of having someone tend to their hairdos and accessories; an affectation he had once found strange in his youthful innocence. Even if that was centuries ago and much of his comprehension has changed, he couldn’t sit idle. Tending to your hair felt less like service and more of a personal declaration to show who truly deserved a noble status in his eyes.
“... You don't often wear the hair accessory I bought you. Did you not like it? Hm, doesn't matter, I'll purchase you a better one suitable for your complexion next time.”
✧ In the rare moments that Pantalone has the luxury to lounge and not ramble about some elaborate business endeavor, he’d lie down on the bed beside you, humming a tune absentmindedly while holding your free hand in his.
He’d caress the length of your fingers with near giddy delight, absolutely enamoured by the sight of them intertwined with his longer ones. Be it playing with your fingers, holding your hand, or adoring how it looks in his palms, it never bored him. However, his favorite hobby out of them all was to slip his rings on your fingers to see how they matched. He’d take off his fancy silver rings, one by one, and slide some on your finger, pretending they are yours. Oh, how the fine silver gleamed beautifully on your skin, even if his ring sizes were slightly bigger on you.
“You know, darling, the amethyst colors from my rings suit you. Maybe I should commission matching ones for us?” – The Regrator mused to himself, while your other hand was busy holding a book. You merely turned a page in response, accustomed to his thinking aloud.
“Hmm… No, perhaps golden rings should decorate each finger, like Mora in your hands!”
“No, no… I think rare gemstones would add some color to you.”
“Ah, who cares! As long as your hand is in mine, your fingers will always look cute on me. With or without accessories.”
Pantalone beamed with joy to himself, tracing the counter of your knuckles. His thumb particularly eyed your ring finger. For a brief moment, you shrugged and mumbled in response:
“Just don’t accidentally buy the wrong size, honey. You’ll need to measure my ring size first.”
With his usual charismatic self, Pantalone kept admiring your hand, simply replying – “Oh, no worries, darling. I have your ring finger size memorized long ago.”
“Well, if you say s– Wait… Why ring finger specifically? Patalone? …Pantalone!”
Alas, your pleas fell on deaf ears as that cheeky smile never left the Regrator’s lips. Perhaps his mind was already adrift, imagining what the potential rings would look like when he kneels before you.
✧ Tartaglia stood solemnly still, his gaze heavy with a storm full of betrayal and despair. He never wished this upon you two, yet fate offered no reprieve. He had to raise his weapon against you, his knuckles clenched white as he tightened his grip – a deadly bundle of rolled-up newspapers.
“I am sorry, sweetheart… But you leave me with no choice.”
“Ajax, put those newspapers down and stop being dramatic. It’s not that big of a deal-”
“It is! It very much is, and it pains me to see you be so cruel! Take your words back, or peace won’t be an option.”
You rolled your eyes and sighed begrudgingly. You have indeed brought this situation upon yourself.
You were trying on some garments, slipping into newly acquired pants. The mirror’s reflection displayed your figure, albeit with a faint scowl on your face, while you observed yourself. You didn’t particularly like the look of this attire, not because of the pants, but because of your figure.
“Hmm, my hip-dips look even weirder here… This looks ugly. I’ll change,” – you mumbled to yourself, already reaching for another outfit. Unfortunately or fortunately, your beloved Childe was standing by the doorway, having heard every word.
That’s how the two of you ended up in this stand-off.
Perhaps it’s not the first time you felt inelegant in your own physique, and it’s definitely not the first time Tartaglia noticed the shadows of insecurities about the curve of your hips loom over you. Yet this man tolerated no such defamations, even from your own self. He adored your build, he adored your body, and he most certainly adored the hip bones. How many times did he let his head rest on your lap, embracing your figure while you casually caressed his ginger hair? How many times did he watch you try on various outfits while pride swelled in his chest, knowing you were his? And above all, how many times did he whisper lovingly into your ear while he caressed and worshiped each crevice of your flesh? The answer is countless – countless times.
“Listen, you can dislike the fit of your clothes, but if you insult my favourite hip dips of yours one more time, I swear by the Tsarita’s name, this rolled up newspaper will be my witness!”
“Childe, I told you, it’s not a big deal! I just don’t think I look good when- Ow!”
The rolled-up newspaper did zero crit damage, but it came swatting onto your shoulders either way. Your evades were futile, so you tried to run away from your own beloved. Tartaglia, however, was not taking this lightly.
“Your bones provide structure and support! Your muscles give you mobility!” – He reiterated with each light hit while you complained. “They are natural and ravishing. Don’t you dare insult my favourite part about your body!”
“Well, what if it’s not my favorite- OW! Cease this child-like play, Ajax!”
“I will not cease anything until you apologize to your own self, right this instant!”
You may run, and you may shield yourself; nevertheless, it will end with him tackling you in a very tight embrace that will coax you to agree with his terms. If not with squeezing embraces, then perhaps with more tender ones where his lips kiss your worries away in a frenzied manner. Poor you…
(Fun fact: this is my 20th fanfic with fatui compilation! As always, the previous ones are in my masterlist)
