“your bones are arranged in such aesthetically pleasing structure, i do not think i could rearrange it to make it any better.”
“… what?”
has your boyfriend been tainted by abyssal corruption? you reach up— it takes a significant effort to hold yourself back from chuckling when you see him immediately lean down in response, expecting headpats like a poor, touch-starved dog— and your hand lands on his forehead.
cold.
perfectly normal, then.
“your hands are very soft and warm, as always,” he hums, leaning onto your palm with a contented hum, “i have always enjoyed the feeling of them carrying me in my lantern form. perhaps the sense of safety is what a kitten feels when they are being carried by their scruff by their mother cat.”
“that’s an adorable analogy, but seriously, what's going on? are you drunk?” you snort and gave him a chaste peck on his lips. hm. nope, no scent of wine.
kyryll smiles. you blink and try to push the flowering blooms away from the edges of your vision. stop that, my mad(ly in love) brain.
“on your love? indeed, it seems i am.”
ah, you roll your eyes in full understanding, your adorable fairy was just trying to flirt. again.
⠀꒲ ` notes . . . GUESS WHOS BAAAAAACK! my genshin hyperfixation has returned and my friend lana convinced me to wind my ass up and write again…. i skipped through all of natlan BUT i know everything about nod krai (sorry yall lol ಥ_ಥ） + i also start uni on sunday so posts will be infrequent but i’ll try my best!! also a massive thank u for 3k??? ✌︎('ω')✌︎
ps prepare to make up a ship name for yourself and itto
VENTI — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
ʚ venti loves giving you kisses! he wakes up early despite himself just to be able to repeatedly kiss at your squished cheeks without you whinging that you need to leave for a commission.
ʚ affection in general is his favourite way to communicate (aside from song) how much he adores you, there’s nothing better than seeing you walk in after a long day of bloodshed and long strides along mountaintops, and immediately crashing into his arms
the door clicks open with a sharp ping. venti’s head immediately twists to face the sound, awkwardly having to bend his torso to catch a glimpse of the one person that’s been clouding his mind for the entire day.
“windblume!” he chimes, opening his arms up wide, waiting for a hug that never came. fabric drawled lazily on the ground as you dragged your exhausted limbs across the room. taking just the slightest second to fix your hair before you dropped yourself face-first onto his lap.
“bad day?” you didn’t have to reply for him to see the tremor in your shoulders. venti sadly pouts, draping a hand-quilted blanket over you. “it’s all right, darling. you’re home now, in my arms where you belong.” but when he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head, you rolled away.
strange.
now, he would normally let the matter drop. sometimes you just had those days where all you wanted was the company and not the expectation of reciprocation. but when he caught glimpse of that damned grin on your cheek as you pretended to huddle into a pillow? all his sympathy blew into a simple shake of his head.
“oh you are absolutely wicked, windblume! here i am, your devoted husband, trying to comfort my wilted flower and you decided to be a menace!” bold of him to say so, but hypocrisy was lost on him as he suddenly tackled you. crawling over your scrunched body to begin peppering your face with kisses.
he giggled, kissing at your palms when they raised to stop the ticklish onslaught. “mm, are you too tired now, windblume? cheeky thing, remind me to not trust that cute kicked-puppy look of yours so quickly!”
AYATO — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
ʚ oh so you’ve decided to play this game have you?
ʚ ayato is as petty as he is powerful in status, don’t think because you’re wed he won’t be going out of his way to make you regret teasing him in such a cruel way.
two months. it’s been two months since he’s seen your face, and the times he has mainly rely on his subconscious dreams—which, in fact, do not help with the yearning. weeks upon weeks of smelling the fresh scent of your perfume lingering within every folded piece of parchment. wistfully staring at the dribbles of rain on curved liyue windows.
so, of course, when the ship docked at inazuma’s port—he couldn’t help but hurry his paces. completely ignoring the struggling thoma as he stumbled over the boxes of souvenirs from his trip.
as usual, you greeted him at the front gate of his estate. home, finally. ayato could finally breathe when his head nuzzled to the crook of your neck, searching for the scent he smelt faintly in the dim nights of solitude.
“my dear love, no letter could hold up to how much i’ve missed seeing you. come, let me take a look at your face.” though when he leaned up straight you know what was coming—and purposefully dodged. his lips landing off to the side of your face.
“twitchy today, aren’t you? no matter.” he tried again. and again. till he cupped your cheeks in his large, cold hands to keep you still. “really, dear, it’s like you enjoy making a fool of a man who spoils you rotten, is this a new torture tactic of yours?”
“whatever could you be talking about, ayato?” you grin, and he quirks a brow.
dipping your chin to force your wandering eyes to fully meet his own. “i haven’t seen my spouse in two months, i would best advice for you to not tease me till i’ve had my fill of you.”
“all right, all right—i apologise!” you chuckle, dragging him by the edges of his kimono for a proper kiss. bittersweet and still laced with a longing he couldn’t replace in just one night.
“perfect,” he smiled, tucking your arm with his to lead you home. “now, i hope you don’t think i am satisfied with just that, my dear. you owe me extra loving for that stunt alone.”
A. ITTO — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
ʚ NOOOOO WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM ╭(╯^╰)╮
ʚ he’s already kind of awkward when it comes to showing you affection in public—he looks loud and proud sure (because he is) but there are just some things that are hard to hide behind an exaggerated grin.
ʚ but yeah pffft of course you were joking! he knew that! of course he did! he totally did not think that you no longer wanted to be associated with someone like him! or that you ate beans recently and could kill him! no way!
the battle was fierce. eyes sharp and focused, slimmed to slits like a kitsune perking in the cover of shadows. it was life or death.
“GO ITTO[NAME] GO! YOU CAN DO IT LITTLE BUDDY!” itto cheered without shame, prodding at the fearsome onikabuto as it charged against its opponent. your beetle. though it was the usual friendly competition, you couldn’t help feel like itto was getting a little too into it. you weren’t going to comment, however.
while distracted with the charming grin on his beaming face, it was too late for you to notice the way your beetle had rolled over in defeat. well, damn.
“WOOO! let’s go!! another peak performance from our bug baby!” gross, but so endearing.
“congrats on the win.” yes you couldn’t stop yourself from being petty with a hand on your hip, so what?
“soooooo, for my reward, ehem,” itto coughed awkwardly into his hand, smile somehow getting brighter as his eyes darted from your lips to the twitching beetle.
he shuffled closer, settling a warm palm over the curve of your back to help draw you in. you complied, just to give him the get go—before immediately turning away when he leaned in to kiss you. itto straightened, shaking his head in absolute bewilderment.
“huh—? did i…” he pointed at himself then at you. did he miss your lips or something? because he could’ve sworn he felt nothing just then. he tried again, and was met with the same dry taste of cold air on his tongue. all right then, clearly he was the problem here.
turning away from you, itto began fussing over himself. heaving out a breath to check the scent, he could’ve sworn he was watching what he was eating before meeting you, flexing his muscles to ensure there’s no dirt or clinging mud stuck to his skin, staring at his reflection in the shade of the onikabuto…and nothing.
“babyyy…” he pouted, finally facing forward with his hands on his hips. “are you seriously upset over losing? i swear i didn’t cheat or anything, i’m just that good! i-i’ll let you win next time! we can go another round and i promise you’ll emerge victorious! sooo, please?”
no one can resist itto’s dangerous puppy-eyes for too long.
CHARLOTTE — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
ʚ so you’ve chosen to have your face publicly humiliated in the daily fontaine newspaper? is that it? because don’t think she won’t sneak it in or poorly plaster wanted posters of you around town! you’re seriously tempting her with all these awful jokes.
charlotte was about to head of to an interview with the traveler, packing her stuff swiftly before glancing over at you cheerfully, expecting her usual routine of a kiss on the cheek as established early on the relationship; before every interview, you’d give her a kiss.
however, what came from you was pure silence as you stayed entranced by a piece of literature in your hands. she glares at you. shuffling some material as she searches for something until shortly, several bright lights flash all over your form, the sound of a camera fluttering working in tandem as charlotte begins taking a plethora of photos of you.
“what are you doing?” you ask her, still not paying any attention to her antics, which just makes her pout in frustration.
“taking pictures of a villainous culprit for the papers, the headline will be; “[name], the absolute embodiment of cruelty, doesn’t kiss girlfriend after she politely waits for them to do so.”
you stifle a chuckle. “i don’t think that’s particularly against the law.”
she guffaws, the camera nearly dropping to the floor. “how preposterous! it is a serious crime here in fontaine, don’t believe me? look here—“ charlotte grumbles, taking out a piece of paper to write down ‘MUST KISS PARTNER, OR JAIL TIME WILL BE 3-5 YEARS.’
“you’re so dramatic,” you sigh, finally deciding to cave in and plant a kiss to her soft lips. she relaxes, pinching at your cheek as if to punish you for the delay.
ARLECCHINO — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
“[name], i’ve returned.” arlecchino’s mellow voice rang out, her claws scraping on ebony wood and ashy marble.
“welcome back! how was the trip? no issues?” she shook her head, brushing back some flyaway hairs drifting from your head right behind your ear.
“none. i bought you a gift, like always.” shifting through something within her back pocket, she pulls out a necklace. crimson rubies beading through silver that dangle like spilled blood from her fingertip.
you beam, examining piece more intimately by tracing the dazzled gem. its colours fragmenting like shards on the ceiling. “it’s beautiful! you always know how to pick these, don’t you?”the praise does wonders for her ego (and also sweetens her touch later in the day when you’re cuddled together).
she doesn’t have to say anything, she never does. only leans down in arrogant expectation. it was the standard routine. a gift for a kiss, your loyalty and submission for her protection and luxury.
so did you somehow forget those things when charmed by her souvenir? or are were you deliberately attempting to push her buttons?
she closed her eyes like a fool, and no one, not even you are allowed to do such a thing. snatching your chin to keep your head from looking away in shame, her tone rumbled in your ear. “do you enjoy being a brat? or do you trust my lenience toward you will ease the punishment you’ll receive for such a stunt?”
K. C. FLINS — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
ʚ i’m going to speak on behalf of us slavics/baltics, we’re not really known for our PDA or affection. rather contrarily, we’re more known for being cold and stone-faced to strangers while privately intimate and warm to our friends/family. so, honestly i don’t think flins would necessarily care that much
ʚ he’s also a very polite gentleman, he wouldn’t push it if he sees you recline from a kiss. maybe he’s a little hurt, but it’s not like it’s the end of the world.
after a particularly rough and arduous fight with the wild hunt, you had managed to get knocked back. some sort of polearm scratching a non-lethal wound across your cheek, just about avoiding your eye. flins wasted absolutely no time in attempting to patch you up. hands resting respectfully on your waist as he propped you carefully on a nearby cave wall.
“are you sure you’re all right? you do not need to lie to me, i don’t wish for you to suffer alone.” his hands fiddled with a handkerchief you had knit him ages ago, using a damp edge to wipe at the crusted crimson pooling down your cheek.
“no, it’s all good. just stings a little, but that’s to be expected.” you nodded in confirmation, wincing with a hiss as his fingers creep higher to the deeper damage.
“sorry, love.” he muttered apologetically, brows furrowing at even the slight notice of your discomfort. “i should have been quicker, next time i’ll ensure that your safety takes priority. but for the meanwhile…” cold fingertips curl over the side of your face, and you can’t help but subtly chuckle at the charmingly nervous way his eyes glanced down at your lips.
he leaned closer, the faint smell of moss and rain clinging to his inky cloak mingling with the scent of antiseptic. it made you dizzy. but not dizzy enough to feel like teasing him. what’s one more fright for the night?
instead of meeting the soft curve of your jaw or slope of your nose—he’s met nearly immediately with freezing rock. you hide your giggling tremors behind the back of your palm. that was…certainly unexpected.
thinking maybe the drowsiness made him falter for the moment, he straightens back up—only just about noticing the shit-eating grin on your face. he smiles, beginning to pinch at your nose in response.
“let’s just get you to bed.”
VARKA — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖
ʚ that man has several adopted kids in various ages, believe me he’s used to the wincing. granted sometimes it’s due to his scratchy beard (HE HAS A BEARD. I DONT CARE ABOUT THE CANON RAAAHH) itching skin uncomfortably, but he knows when you’re whinging from his touch just to be a brat.
ʚ you will not escape the clutches of this man, you wanna pry more attention from him? you’re free to have it so long as you can handle it.
not only did he dare come home smelling exceedingly of poorly poured alcohol, he managed to mangle his dripping blood onto your fresh carpet. sitting up straight like a hunting barn owl, arms tightly closed across your chest—you simply stared at him.
“come on, mein schätzelein. it ain’t that big a deal! if anything, this is the most lenient i’ve home since—“ the twitch in your eye certainly didn’t make him feel particularly superb. huffing, he stoops down on his knees to look up at you, attempting to seem as docile as possible. difficult for a man of his size, but the sentiment was rather endearing.
“look, i said i’m sorry. it won’t happen again, all right? can’t have my dear thinking i’m a terrible husband.” he doesn’t really ask so much so as he smiles and takes the twitch in your lips as confirmation. picking you up effortlessly, he holds you up like a treasure vault. hopefully filled with a bit of love left for his pathetic cooing.
when he lowers you specifically for a kiss, you quickly turn to the side and squirm in his embrace. “mn. quit it. i’m still pissed at you.”
“oh, really? so why are you grinning so hard? don’t think i can’t see it.” he chuckles, the sound vibrating warmly through your chest as he cradles you closer. his lips attempt to find any portion of your skin to kiss. mouth dragging over air as you just about manage to knock your head to the side each time.
you huff, hiding a laugh with a feigned sniffle. “i’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“pure lies, and you know it. now c’mere.”this time, with how impossibly close you were to his tight grip? there was no escape from his rightful kissing onslaught.
Some randomized relationship headcanons for the wife rotation:
Characters: (in this order –>) Flins, Wanderer, Kabukimono, Albedo, Venti & Dahlia, Kazuha, Xiao, Columbina, Layla, Kokomi, Arlecchino, Freminet, Durin x GN!Reader
Warnings: crack (cause I can't take writing headcanons seriously), meowing/purring, nothing explicit but there's mentions of sexual intercourse (Kunikuzushi, Albedo, Venti & Dahlia), polyamorous relationships (Venti & Dahlia), Freminet's & Durin's parts can be interpreted as platonic or romantic.
Flins:
You guys are already married. You're just not aware of it yet.
Does some weird fae courting shit that you don't understand the meaning of. (He knows damn well that you don't btw, but you need to understand that he has to have that cookie.)
Gives you a lot jewelry that you naively accept without thinking much of it, which is an incredibly dumb move when dealing with someone of his kind; You don't take nor give anything to a fae, as everything can be used to steal your soul, even your name.
Of course, he won't do that (unless...) but just pointing out how stupid this is.
If you have horns he will definitly hang a few necklaces/bracelets on them.
He's not claiming you or anything! (Liar) but other men will see the everchanging set of jewelry on your head and decide you're too expensive for them.
Can't purr, but the sound of flickering flames is close enough I guess.
Wanderer:
Doesn't. Just not.
Relationships, I mean.
You two live in the same house, share the same bed, and every single soul who knows you swears that you have something going on but you deny it everytime.
Wanderer mostly cause he hates everyone, including himself.
He is convinced he doesn't deserve you, but as long as your relationship doesn't have a label he technically doesn't have you. (He's so delulu lmao)
You never asked any questions because you're just glad this soping wet cat of a man is letting you exist in his vicinity.
Also because you're afraid if you do as much as mention it he will go back to the hissing at you the moment you look his way faze.
I just know Nahida was the one playing matchmaker during your early days. Y'know, giving you joint assignments, and sending you to long "research trips" where you end up having to share too much personal space.
Also, he purrs. How you ask? He just does. Teyvat has its own rules. I do not make them.
Kabukimono:
Yes, he and Wanderer are two different people to me.
Kabukimono always liked you, he just didn't realize what where his feelings at first.
That is, until you addmitted to seeing him as an adorable little brother figure, and he suddenly felt dead inside.
Which doesn't make sense! You called him adorable, didn't you? He should be happy!
He sulks about it for so long that Niwa takes pity on him and gives him... tips on how to woe you.
He may or may not have teached him some stuff that he shouldn't have (💀)
I think you know how things go from here on...
No, I will not elaborate.
Actually, I'll give you something: Sex with him is so wholesome because he wasn't raised with human standards and doesn't see it the way most people do. Body parts are body parts, they're all the same to him and he doesn't understand why you feel so embarrassing about some of them.
Since Kabu's a puppet I like to headcanon that he doesn't really feel or get anything out of sex which is another reason why it's so wholesome. He helps you get off because it makes you happy and if you're happy then he's happy.
Just like Wanderer, Kabukimono can purr, he just hasn't discovered how to do it. Yet.
Albedo:
Another fucker who doesn't put a label on your relationship.
Except, he genuinely thought you already knew you are dating.
You had sex together once and he was like "that means we're together, right?" (Vro does not touch enough grass to know hooking up is a thing </3)
It didn't help that you kept coming back for more lmao.
Listen, he cleaned you up and made you food and kept asking you "Are you alright?" over and over again during the whole process. Your ex didn't take care of you that way. You can't just not come back.
It's not until that time he introduced you as his partner to Sucrose that you realized the miscommunication.
You wait until she leaves and then you're like "??? I thought we were fuck buddies."
He's low-key hurt, but when you tell him that you don't go for someone else for these stuff even when he's busy because other people don't make you feel as good he jumps at the opportunity to make shit official.
"A date."
"A date?"
"Going out on dates is an essential part of a relationship, yes? How about tomorrow?"
Cannot purr. Gold had the opportunity to do something great for the world and she refused </3
Venti & Dahlia:
DRINKING BUDDIES.
I think I'll go with deity!reader for this one because I really like the idea of Dahlia being this little guy who somehow got sandwiched by two very revered/feared divine entities only to find out they are actually some silly goofs.
Also the yummy yummy angst potential of religious guilt.
I just know he sits a lot in the cuck chair LMAO.
Something something not wanting to taint you with his mortal hands something something it's already scarligious enough that he gets to watch.
It takes you too long to actually coax him into actually joining instead of just sitting in the corner looking constipated.
Cries literal tears from the guilt, but it feels too good for him to deny it <3
Pillow princess FRFR.
Not that he doesn't like to top or anything, but his stamina is quiet... lacking compared to you and Venti.
He gets so embarrassed about it too (😭)
And speaking of Venti.
He adores it when you guys help trim his feathers. Or just touch them in general.
Pats, rubs, brushes; he doesn't discriminate!
Also you and Venti were probably already dating before adding Lia into the mix. The conversation goes something like this:
"So, a pink haired twink. Barbatos, are we for real right now?"
"He's your type...?"
"... Fair."
Remember; he is the wind itself, which means he probably can mimic any noise, so technically he can purr too. On comand even!
I don't think Dahlia can purr. You probably can tho!
Kazuha:
HEAR ME OUT GUYS! Inazuman noble reader who ran away from their abusive household and their faithful samurai Kazuha who swore himself a blade to them.
Basically the japanese version of the prince/princess x knight trope.
It starts as a two sided admiration; you for his kindness and strength in battle, and him for your wits and ability to manipulate people easily to your whims.
He could've been very well swayed by your honeyed words to serve you, and yet he wouldn't mind if that was the case— (fucking simp.)
That's how he realizes he's in love with you.
He starts writing poetry for you, but here's the thing, he always did write words of admiration and respect for you, but this time you couldn't shake the feeling that the tone of these newer pieces is bit... different.
Despite realizing that he has not so platonic feelings for you, he still treats you the same, if only out of respect and admiration.
Which only makes it harder to decipher what those verses mean.
Essentially, you're just verbally edging each other for like four to five seasons before the long awaited kissing scene.
Never mind, actually Kazuha's the only one getting edged here. You're busy playing detective.
Sadly cannot purr, but will definitly meow if you ask.
Xiao:
Another sad wet cat of a man that you probably had to wait centuries for him to finally open up to you.
You mastered the art of cooking almond tofu just to bribe this mofo into hanging out with you too.
But it's worth it, I swear!
Because now, you get to watch him napping, His cheek cutely squeeshed against the pillows (or your titties, no matter how small or big) and his adorably flustered face when he wakes up and first thing he sees is you staring at him <3
Adepti don't sleep my ass.
Very weird about physical contact. He doesn't know what he's supposed to touch and what he's not allowed to. Can he hold your hand? You did that multiple times before, but is he allowed to initiate it?
You literally sleep on the same bed, but domestic abuse/marital rape is thing, y'know. He can never too careful.
Loves, loves when you scratch his wings. It will take him another century to show them to you, let alone letting you lay your grabby little fingers on them but with some convincing...
They're high-key sensitive af, so he always burries his face in a pillow when you're having your fun.
If you heard anything. No, you didn't, or else you're never seeing them again.
No purring for this one, sadly. Do you think chirping can make up for it?
Columbina:
Hand holding!!!
She seems so dainty, but when she grabbed your hand for the first time, she almost crushed your hand in her grip.
The kuuhenki adore you and like to shower you with small little trinkets every now and then. (Most of which are stuff they took to Columbina and she decided that you might like to have them.)
All kinds of animals flock to you. A bird literally flow straight to your palm once and it was the best feeling ever!
Your dates consist of you bringing a new dish every week or so to try coaxing her out of her man(woman?)cave and take walk out with you.
Basically, you're making her touch grass. (💀)
She tells you that she will take you to the moon with her. Your clueless ass thinks that's just her way of flirting.
You asked her to meow once. She decided that she likes it and started randomly doing it when speaking with other people. (You have created a monster)
Is this what they call facing the consequences of one's actions?
Layla:
Eepi elf girlfriend go brrr.
Stay at home comfy couche dates are the go to way of spending time together!
Since she sleeps mid writing a lot, some sentences ends up being barely legible. You always rewrite those papers for her.
Physical contact!
Doesn't matter what type; holding hands, linking pinkis, hugs of any form, whatever you give she will return.
She especially likes it when you cuddle on the couche <3 and you feel so loving and warm and safe and and....
....She fell asleep.
This position is bad for her back. Maybe you should carry her to bed?
Before you could reach a conclusion, she's suddenly up again!
...It's other Layla on her way to continue, well Layla's work.
No, you don't flirt with other Layla. It feels like cheating, even if they're technically the same person.
You do have cute cooking "dates" from time to time tho!
Can she purr? I'm afraid I do not have enough lore of her yet, so this question will stay unanswered for the unforeseeable future.
Is she willing to meow? Yes. But it's like, the most dead inside meow you've ever heard in your life. So, not as cute as you thought it would be.
Kokomi:
Fish lady!
She has a very specific scent to her, most people can't smell it but if you have a particularly strong nose; I'm praying for you cause that fish stank is strong.
Kokomi baths regularly tho! I guess it's just something that has to do with her bloodline...
Also she tops. Trust me on this one chat, I know what I'm saying.
Something about her being a responsible leader raking care of her subject...
She's married to her work as much as she is married to you, so your "dates" mostly consist of you visiting her workplace with a cup of tea and a few sweets to have a chat while she works.
If she's in a good enough mood she'll let you sit on her lap!
But only if there's no one else around. She has a picture to uphold.
I think you and Gorou team up on Kokomi every once in a while to make her take a rest.
...No, I... I don't think fish can purr.
Arlecchino:
DADDY—
Low-key one of the healthiest relationships on this list (💀)
She seems so intimidating at first but is actually such a gentle lover <3
Her favorite activity is dressing you up like a doll!
I just know your closet is filled with sets of outfits like Ciel's from Black Butler.
She also invites you to Sandrone's tea parties just to have The Marionette's and The Fair Lady's opinion on your slay fit. (She's not dead, shut—)
Everyone on that table creeps you the fuck out, except for maybe the captain and la signora cause they're the only semi-normal people there.
You don't do dates and are usually introduced as an ally of hers to her less pleasent colleagues.
It's for your own safety. Which you know and understand; you don't want to fall in dottore's grasp.
What you do, however, is shopping sprees that are disguised as acts of diplomacy from her end.
The children at the House of the Hearth love you. They always wait for your next visit! (Mostly because you bring gifts to them lmfao)
At some point, they started calling you mother— I don't care what gender you are. To them you will always be mother.
No, just no. She cannot purr and definitely won't meow. Don't try asking her, don't even think of asking her. The consequences are not worth it.
NEVER MIND SHE WOULD, meow I mean— put on a cute pair of cat ears even (You can match!)
Freminet:
Shy diver boy!
I think he'll be so fun to tease <3 like he's so reactive to the smallest of compliments, let alone touches.
I think if you are patient enough, he will eventually open up and start rambling non-stop about his hyperfixations.
Will definitly teach you a thing or two if you ask! But I don't think you'll even need to because he'll probably grab your hands and try to show you how to do this or that mid-rumble without realizing what he's doing.
Gets so flustered when you point it out and has to go cool down a bit. (😭)
Will teach you how to swim if you can't, but fifty percent of your future hang outs/dates will consist of him taking you diving to show you this cool place he found.
I mean, you can always opt out but he's so excited it'll eat at you for the rest of your life if you accidentally crushed that smile by doing so </3
Definitely can't purr. Will meow if you ask him, but he'll be too embarrassed you won't see him for a whole week after. (😔)
Durin:
DURIN DURIN DURIN—
Sorry ma bad.
Can't take a compliment. (This is cannon, you cannot fight me)
Can take headpats tho!
Just... try to not injure your hand with the pointy pointy horns on his head.
Seriously, he'll feel so bad if you do, and the headpat won't feel as fulfilling anymore :(
Very good boy <3 Always eager to please! So make sure to show your appreciation for him to get him used to those compliments and keep that spark in his eyes!
Can and will purr.
He gives weird kid who likes to meow vibes, so there's that too I guess.
This is just for fun! So feel free to add your bits and pieces<3
before you read: female + mother reader ; husband + father flins ; again, you guys are parents aka there is a child ; flins is a girl dad To Me ; established relationship ; fluff and banter and a very light hearted and one sided petty argument ; not proof read ; GOOD LUCK TO ALL FLINS PULLERS TMRW MAY U WIN UR 50/50S
Flins comes home all of forty two minutes and thirty seven seconds later than he promised. Exactly. He walks in quietly—polite, elegant steps like always. You glare—a little quick tempered and easily emotional. Like always.
“You’re late,” you huff.
“My apologies, my light,” he at least sounds a bit sheepish, “I got caught up on the way home.”
“By what?” You raise a brow. “There’s nothing on this graveyard of an island but the dead. Conversing with ghostly women, were you?”
He lets out a soft, awkward chuckle. “What a colorful imagination. The fish were merely a little harder to catch today—our neighbors were not as quiet as I’d hoped.”
“Well…you’re still late,” you huff again.
Two glowy, golden little eyes peer from a corner, wide and innocent as they meet his gaze—he softens. Feels his heart warm and his chest tighten all at once. Feels the familiar push and pull of gravity tugging him towards that round face that peeks from behind the wall and watches the exchange.
“Well hello there, little one,” he hums smoothly, “I take it you’re less angry with me than your mother? Perhaps I’ll find some mercy from you?”
Your daughter brightens as soon as she realizes he’s speaking to her. Flins is still learning as he goes what it means to be a father—his newest lesson is that toddlers are less likely to understand his speech if he uses the lengthy words that he typically does. A difficult habit to break, of course, but a worthwhile one if it means communicating with such a tiny, yet brilliant mind.
“Papa!”
Little legs run towards him. One foot in front of the other. The delicate, gentle pitter patter of feet on the floor. He takes it all in—hardly blinks and hardly lets his focus shift on anything but the sight of his eyes and your smile on a round face coming closer and closer.
His. Yours. Hers. Her face is him and you and neither all at once. A face that is her own and takes up space in his mind with her own precious existence.
“Why hello there, my little light,” he grins, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. She leans in and presses a wet, messy kiss to his cheek. He beams—not a small, polite smile. No. A wide, upturned crescent on his lips that raises her to see the very joy that comes from her existence. “Were you well behaved for Mama today?”
“Mama mad,” she gasps.
Flins gasps too—such big emotions only deserve equally big reactions. “Mama is mad? Oh dear, that’s never good.”
“No good,” she shakes her head, “mama mad this much!”
She holds her arms open wired gesturing at the big pocket of empty space between her little palms. Children are visual learners, you tell him, they need to see to understand quantity.
He raises a brow, feigning shock on his face as he murmurs, “That much? My, my. That’s quite a lot. Is she mad at you?”
“No,” she gasps, “‘m good!”
“That you are,” he laughs, “I trust it. After all, I’ve trusted my little helper to look after Mama, hm?”
He holds out a pinky that she eagerly laces her own with, reminding herself of a promise that only seems to be between the two of them. (Look after Mama for me, okay, my little dove? he likes to tell her. Okay Papa! she always squeals back. It’s an oath they like to keep between themselves—two fae and the safety of their precious human.)
“Mama safe!” She says proudly, pointing to herself with a chubby finger. Flins grabs a hold of her wrist, bringing the tiny little appendage to his mouth before playfully nibbling, laughing under his breath at her squeals of joy. “No! Stop, Papa!”
“Don’t torment her, you fool,” you grumble.
“So I take it that it is I that is the object of your anger?” He sighs in faux misery, “Woe is to me, my darling. After I agonized over bringing my wife a decent catch for her evening meal.”
“Hmph,” you cross your arms, “what if something had happened to you and we hadn’t known?”
“The wild hunt does not attack this island very often,” he assures, “I take great care in ensuring that.”
“See?” You daughter whispers, leaning her forehead against Flins’s as though sharing a quiet secret, “Mama really, really mad.”
“Mama was worried,” you correct petulantly.
He smiles, feigning a look of utmost seriousness as he whispers to your little girl, “Shall we help Mama be less mad? Perhaps she needs some attention, wouldn’t you say?”
It happens quickly. She nods in excitement, and Flins beams in approval. Suddenly, two pairs of soft eyes that remind you of the sun herself turn to look at you, quickly closing whatever gap there once was. Your husband on one side, your daughter on the other. A cool pair of lips press a delicate flurry of kisses along your cheeks and forehead, while a messier pair of smaller, slightly warmer lips attacks the bridge of your nose.
Instantly, you melt, letting out a loose string of giggles. (How could you not? How could you cling to such fickle things like anger and fear when warmth insists on taking up room in your chest—filling you up lighter and lighter. And lighter so.)
“I believe it’s working, wouldn’t you say my little light? Mama is not mad—don’t you think?”
“Mama happy?” She asks you with a beam, just to be sure.
You giggle, rolling your eyes as you give your husband a playful shove as you bring your sweet, tiny bundle of energy to your lap. She looks up at you. Two eyes you’ve loved for so long carbon copied and cradled in your arms like a generous second gift. Your lips and dimples beaming back at you like proof that you deserve to be loved. (Why wouldn’t you? How could you not love all the parts of yourself when they are now parts of her? How could she be anything less than perfect?)
“Yes,” you sigh exasperatedly, “I guess I am. Since my little savior has helped me.”
You poke the tip of her nose. You still can’t decide if it’s his or yours—but that’s the part you like. The part where there is more time for her to grow into herself and show fill up for space in this world. The part where you will be there to learn all of it and know her for every inch of her. The part where you spend the rest of your life watching her and learning who she is.
“May I be forgiven for my dire mistakes?” Your husband presses his head against your shoulder.
You snort, rolling your eyes as you turn to press a chaste kiss to the crown of his head. “Perhaps if you sear me a wonderful dinner from your catch, then yes.”
“Then consider it a deal, my light.”
I blame every person who tortured me on my blog for the existence of this drabble to heal my own agony AKA STREI
genre: cold duke of the north trope, slight royal! au
summary: how ironic ! you're the eldest daughter of a disgraced household, sold to the rumoured beastly ratnik of nod-krai. but is he really that threatening or just a misunderstood recluse?
word count: 1.5k
a/n: may flins wanters be flins havers !! my brain has been rotting with this trope for so long, i'm sorry for not finishing the prev event requests yet (im getting through them trust trust) !! flins forever proving that chivalry is NOT dead <3333
depending on how well this fic does, i might make a part two :3
rumours are a powerful weapon. they can manipulate easily, transforming a social recluse into a demonic creature of nightfall.
“kryll chudomirovich flins, ratnik who fights the wild hunt.”
just one tiny push and that whisper in the night, passed along from mouth to mouth, hidden by powdered fans amongst idle noblewomen, wavers and warps, becoming besital and monstrous in nature.
“kyrll chudomirovich flins, as monstrous as the wild hunt.”
in a futile attempt to claw back a semble of honour and wealth for your crumbling household, your generous father had offered his eldest daughter to the feared ratnik, living in isolation in the north of nod-krai.
the region’s most sought-after designers worked tirelessly to create your extravagant wedding dress, inspired by the latest fashion trends. throughout the preparation of your wedding, not a peep was heard from the ratkin’s representatives, apart from one elegantly handwritten note: leave everything under my tab.
the day of your wedding, attendants scurried around the mansion, preparing for your departure, maids surrounded you, pulling and tightening strings on your dress, smacking more powdered makeup on your face. meanwhile, your stepmother sat regally in her plush divan, watchful eyes not missing a single detail.
“more rouge on her cheeks.” she drawled, disdain for this alien of a child hidden under a mask of polite smiles and pointed comments. dissatisfied with the tardiness of your maids, she stood up abruptly from her chair, dusting away invisible specks of blemish from her eyecatching red dress, before slinking across the room to circle you, eying you up and down.
“shoulders back.” she tutted, the guard of her fan harshly striking down on your shoulders.
you bit back a wince, the thought that today would be your final moments with this archons-forsaken family forever doing little to ease your anger. nevertheless, you squared back your shoulders, lest this vile witch decides upon a more severe punishment than a singular hit of the fan.
“head up.” the tip of her fan tapped in warning under your chin, tilting your head up at an uncomfortable angle.
“better.” an affirmative word of praise, though not one that let pride bloom in your heart, only a dejected sense of lonely isolation. this was the bare minimum expected of the eldest daughter of your father, the daughter from his first wife.
a pretty portrait, a valuable asset for your father to trade away, to the highest bidder, a bird in a cage, whose only tricks were etiquette, several foreign languages and elegant needlework.
with a warning glare, your stepmother stopped at the doorway, but not departing without a final caution. “do not mess this up for your family.”
the chatter of your maids fills the room after your stepmother leaves, empty praise falling naturally from their lips, desperate to ease the tension in the air. instead, their comments are a constant reminder that you will become a sacrifice to the ratnik of the north, a fatty meal for this monstrous creature.
regardless, you think to yourself, this fate is better than what your stepmother would have in mind had the duke not accepted your father’s proposal.
having completed their work of dressing up the bride to look like a porcelain doll, the final few maids depart from their room, the room falls into a hushed silence, easing your headache, caused by both the neverending conversations right by your ears and the wear on your mind from planning your escape routes once you arrive in the north.
quietly, the door cracks open once again. in the reflection of the mirror, you catch sight of your nanny’s greying hair. your beloved nanny, one of the few who had looked after you so lovingly, gently patching up every injury after being punished by your stepmother, was here to see you off.
“darling [name],” she breathes, eyes glossy at the sight of you in a wedding dress, cheeks reddened with rouge and lips lined with vibrant ink. her rough hands caressed your cheeks, careful not to smudge the makeup on your face. her eyes search around your face, committing every freckle into her memory.
“may your life be an easy path from now on.” unable to bottle up that wave churning inside of you, you throw your arms around your nanny, tears threatening to spill over and ruin the image of that painstakingly painted doll.
“don’t cry,” your nanny soothed, her hands patting your hair, aware of the numerous pins hidden within the hairstyle. she looked around fervently, before pressing a small wrapped handkerchief into your hands.
“for the journey,” she whispered, a twinkle in her eyes, before reaching into her own hair and sliding out her hairpin, silver colour but the best a commoner could ever afford. she tugs hard at both ends of it, revealing a hidden blade within. “this deadly secret is something i hope you'll never come to use”
reaching behind you, your nanny nestles the hairpin amongst the rest of the sparkling jewels adorning your hair, giving your hand one more reassuring pat before leaving the room again.
though the whole household, staff and family included, have gathered out the front to send you off, you barely pay them any mind. that is, until your younger stepsister manages to wiggle out from behind her mother’s exaggerated dress and engulfing you in a hug.
“safe travels, sis!” she whispers in your ear, smiling through her tears. “send me lots of letters!”
you sneak a glance at her mother’s face. something tells you she wouldn’t receive them, no matter how many you write.
behind her powdered fan, your stepmother’s eyes narrow, whether it’s displeasure at her daughter clinging onto the bride in such an unsightly manner, or because she caught sight of that plain hairpin amidst your hair accessories, you’d never know.
with a heavy thud, the carriage door slammed shut, drawing a line between your old life, as the unwanted daughter of the first wife, and your uncertain future, as the to-be wife of a rumoured monstrous duke.
if the nobles had seen your departure, with a skeleton crew of guards and maids, they would have scorned you. although a disgraced household, their eldest daughter was being wedded off, even a lowly baron’s daughter would have been ashamed to be seen with such an entourage.
yet, tonight, you were grateful for lack of company in your carriage. it left you with silence, the rumble of wheels on the road background noise to your racing thoughts. once alone, you felt like you could breathe easier, that your every move wouldn’t be reported back to your father.
unwrapping the package nanny gave you, the warm, spicy scent of cardamom made your stomach grumble. you thought back to the times you stole away to the library, eating lakkaberry krumkakes while studying the maps of nod-krai.
between your family’s estate and the dukedom, there lay a heavily wooded area of forest. rumour had it that every night, a strange fog of purple mist would slither through the trees, poisoning the wildlife, turning them into vicious monsters of the wild hunt.
as the sun slowly sank below the horizons, throwing its dying rays through the trees. the branches of the forest seemed to reach closer, grabbing at the intricate decor of your carriage.
the horses stamped their hooves, tossing their heads and snorting anxiously. your guards exchanged worried glances, their grip on their weapons knuckle-white. they were not getting paid enough for this shit.
from within the purple mist of the forest came that spine-chilling groan. shuffling feet inched closer, dragging across the foliage of dead leaves and snapping tree branches. a grunt, closer than before and seemingly coming from all sides.
one of the guards began to pray to the moon goddess. a maid screamed. another guard dropped his sword. in a moment of frenzied chaos, the entourage fled, swallowed by the hungry purple mist.
left alone, the silence inside your carriage became thicker, almost stifling you in its stillness. you shrank back in your plush seat, hand reaching for that hairpin nanny gifted you. from behind your veil, you could make out the humanoid silhouette of the wild hunt, a blazing purple flame where their head should be.
grunting, they ambled closer, fists pounding against the carriage.
from out of the tendrils of mist, sparks of crackling blue began appearing. with each calculated zap and pop, the wild hunt began to fall. a pair of flaming blue eyes seemed to watch you from the mist.
the wild hunt began to fall back, the light of the blue flame too strong for them to handle. metal sang out as the polearm-wielding saviour came to your aid, fighting off the heavy axes of the larger monsters.
soon, the grumbling and singing of metal died away, until only the occasional crackle of electricity could be heard, radiating from a lantern, hanging from a polearm.
with a soft click, the carriage door opened. your blue haired saviour, with flaming blue eyes, bowed with a flourish.
“my lady, sorry for the unsettling welcome. i am kryll chudomirovich flins. allow me to escort you to my manor.”
Kyryll isn't certain he heard you correctly, his hand stilling atop your head as he begs your pardon.
"When I'm dead. You'll plant flowers by my grave and come talk to me like this."
It's not something he'd previously considered. Quite odd, as he often found himself contemplating the nature of humans and their limited lifespans.
He shifts his hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and settling your weight against his chest. Perhaps he'd simply never considered how fleeting your time together would be. Centuries have gone by before meeting you, and there would be many more once you were gone.
How odd. His voice feels like ice about to shatter when he settles on an answer. "Of course. In life and death, I will always tend to you."
· Flins perceives it as something much more spiritual than physical - the pleasure matters less than the quiet, reverent awareness of how deeply he is bound to you.
· To him, this is a way of claiming. He detests marring your delicate skin - of causing you pain or leaving marks born of carelessness - yet he can never fully resist the urge to leave proof of himself behind.
· We still do not know much about faes, but I feel like their instincts while in their raw state might go pretty wild, driven by strong emotions for their significant one. As much as he would like to control himself and suppress the desire within him, expect him to lose himself - to move as though guided by instinct rather than thought, senses blurred, restraint unraveling under the weight of how deeply he feels for the one he loves.
· And oh, your scent. It is achingly human, unmistakably yours. It just makes him want to be closer to you, to bury deeper. It strips him of thought, stirs something feral and unguarded, urging him closer, until restraint feels like agony.
· His thrusts are slow, but deep. He takes his time with you, honouring you with each sweet motion, as if it was a testament to the bond he shares with you. Once close, his rhythm quickens just slightly, betraying the restraint he is struggling to keep.
· Even deprived of his senses, his mind remains sharp enough to murmur praises against your ear, telling you just how utterly perfect you are for him, how completely he belongs to you, and your trembling body can't help but clench around him tighter in response.
· His instinct commands him to fill you wholly, until every part of you bears only the traces that come from him alone. Every movement, every press of himself against you, is guided by that need, raw and untamed, yet threaded with devotion.
“How very breathtaking.” The air hums with a quiet tension, catching your eyes with a fathomless intensity as if he could see every hidden corner of you. “Can you feel this, my light? How do our souls—ah—intertwine so beautifully?”
He sank deep into you with each thrust, hovering above you, observing your every single expression almost as if he could devour you whole with his gaze.
“This warmth… your warmth, ngh…” He whispered right into your ear. Voice low and trembling. “I did not ever deem such a possibility for me—to feel such a gentle fire again...”
You longed to answer, to return the weight of his confession with your own, but your voice betrayed you - fracturing into helpless sounds that he drew from you effortlessly.
“Yet you granted me that—that very opportunity—” His rhythm shifted, quicker now, urgency threading through each movement as your legs wrapped around his back and your nails dug into his skin. “To bestow love upon someone so incandescent… so utterly mine to cherish…”
Even in the wildness of his desire, there was a care, a devotion that wrapped around you as tightly as his body did. His lips descended to your breasts, lavishing them with small, deliberate kisses, then gently sucking your sensitive skin. When he found a spot especially tender, he lingered, sucking gently, worshipfully, as though memorizing every inch of you. Only when he had traced every contour, every subtle rise and dip, did he lift his head. “Feel me—yes, just like that, my love.” His lips now met yours, raw and fervent.
One hand cradled the line of your jaw with the utmost care, tilting your face to him as though you were the most precious thing he had ever held. The kiss grew fiercer, and a shiver ran through him, betraying the tension building in his body - he was close, almost at the edge.
He ensured that every motion, every press of himself, brought you only pleasure, guiding you with painstaking care until your eyes rolled back in helpless surrender. Only then did he allow himself release, moving within you with a tremulous intensity. His semen filled you, your bodies left trembling. You felt so achingly full of him.
“Your mere presence feels like I've been permitted to gaze into the sun once more.”
Oh, he did not pull out. The warmth was far too sweet to abandon. He stayed inside you, his eyes looking at you as if not driven by instinct merely a moment ago. Each shiver you let out, he would quench with his gentle touch.
The Lighthouse felt quieter now, as if even the stars had stilled the waters around it, bending the world to a hush for the two of you.
tws: CorpseBride!AU, (soft?) yandere, obsessive/possessive behaviour, AFAB!reader, gothic horror (I hope), age difference (early 20s reader and early 30s Varka), arranged marrige (Varka loves you but your parents push you to marry him),
(If you find some more, please let me know.)
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
part 1 (you are here)- part 2 - part 3 - part 4 (WIP)....
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes.
Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
Inspired by Tim Burton's "Corpse Bride" and The Unequal Marriage, 1862. Vasili Pukirev.
Danny Elfman - The Finale
Kerry Muzzey - The Secret History
The air in Nod Krai was perpetually the color of old pewter, thick with the scent of wet coal and the quiet despair of old wealth gone to rot. You lived on the fringes of that decay, your family’s home nothing more than a few sagging timbers holding out against the damp. But even a crumbling house holds dreams, and your parents, starved for status, saw the solution in the bold, brash figure of Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius of Mondstatdt.
He was a force of nature, truly. Too bright, too loud, too living for your small house on the outskirts of the Nasha Town. He moved like a storm front, all greatcoats and booming laughter, and when his heavy boots strode through your cramped parlor, they tracked in the sunlit confidence of a world you didn’t understand.
Varka’s eyes, when they found you, lit up with the unfiltered adoration of a young man, though he was older and vastly more powerful. He wasn't subtle; his devotion was transparent, way too generous, and directed with equal enthusiasm toward your thrilled parents. He charmed them effortlessly with tales of his great adventures and booming promises of security.
“My little fury!” he’d call out, his large, warm hand taking yours for a moment, the heat startling. “Be my wife and I swear, as Grand Master, you and your family will know only ease and comfort all your days.”
Ease. The word tasted like ash on your tongue. His presence robbed you of air, of voice. You were young, naive, and terrified by the sheer force of his dedication. Every booming compliment, every hearty laugh, every eager touch that lingered too long on your cheek or the small of your back felt less like affection and more like the heavy weight of an oath you hadn't taken yet. He loved the idea of you as a wife, as a symbol of domestic tranquility and beauty to contrast his battlefield life. He needed you with a desperate intensity that made your skin crawl.
You tried to argue, but your mother’s voice, sharp and thin as a razor, cut through your protests, no longer merely advising.
“Nonsense! The Grand Master, my dear! His manners are impeccable, his future secure, and he has been nothing but kind to our family. Think of it – a spacious house in the shining city of Mondstadt! You will be the wife of the Grand Master of the Knights! You will save us all from this terrible life! You will be happy, and you will agree to this gift!”
You swallowed the tears and the fear, and agreed.
The day of the wedding rehearsal arrived, cloaked in the town’s usual mist, but inside the small, shabby room your parents had rented, you were draped in the splendor of Varka’s gift: the wedding dress. It was heavy silk the color of pale moonlight, intricately embroidered, mocking the sorrow in your chest with its pristine beauty.
You stood before a dim, pitted looking mirror, the reflection showing a stranger swathed in opulence. The gown was magnificent, entirely overwhelming your small frame. Your face, usually pale, was ghostly white with terror beneath the perfect arrangement of your borrowed veil and flowers. The image was a portrait of a beautiful but doomed bride. You pressed your fists into the cold silk, a profound wave of nausea washing over you as the reality of your fate crystallized. You looked every part the bride, but your eyes, wide and luminous with unshed tears, screamed a frantic denial. You were a sacrifice beautifully packaged. A small sound escaped your throat, and you clamped your hands over your mouth to stifle the rising sobs, terrified that a single tear would ruin the expensive makeup and bring your mother rushing in.
The moment passed, but the image remained – a porcelain doll, terrified and ready for breaking.
You were led through the chill evening air to the church for a rehearsal, a cold stone structure where the air was stiff with incense and the judgmental silence of pastor.
Varka, however, was a blaze of color and sound even in his formal uniform.
He stood opposite you, magnificent and dominating, utterly transfixed. His bright blue eyes were fixed on your trembling figure. Grand Master seemed to drink you in, every fragile shiver only fueling his resolve. His yearning was palpable as it radiated from him like the sun and made your small space feel hot and inescapable. He was older, yes, but in this moment, he looked like a joyous, slightly wild boy about to receive the single object he’d always longed for.
He took his position, settling his greatcoat, and his baritone, when he spoke his half of the vows, was not merely loud, but a heartfelt declaration that vibrated with the certainty of destiny.
“With this hand, I will lift your sorrow…” His voice filled the entire cathedral, a declaration that echoed off the cold rafters. Varka looked at you, utterly consumed, his gaze burning with a devotion so bright it felt predatory. In those moments, he wasn't just ready to marry you, on no. He was aching, absolutely convinced of your shared destiny, desperate to finally possess the gentleness he saw in you. He was ready to sweep you up into his massive life and never let you go.
Then it was your turn.
The silence that followed was suffocating, heavy with your parents' hope and Varka's unyielding love. The words of the vow – to love, honor, and obey – were a lie coated in sorrow and dread, and they welded themselves shut in your throat. You could feel the tremor starting deep in your core, rising until your whole body was violently shaking beneath the heavy silk of the gown. Your fathers's furious, hopeful face blurred in the congregation, and the very air shimmered with the intense, expectant heat of Varka’s gaze.
You opened your mouth. You tried to force air past the knot of pure panic, but only a pathetic little gasp escaped.
“Speak up, girl!” Pastor hissed, his long shadow lengthening across the aisle, his voice a lash of judgment.
You tried again. The first word caught, cracking on a sob.
“With-“ But it dissolved into a frantic whimper. The ring felt like a lead weight in your palm. The pressure, the silence, the sheer magnitude of the commitment – it broke you.
“You are shaking...” Varka’s voice boomed, rich with a protective tenderness, the sound like thunder trying to soothe a sparrow. He took a heavy step forward, his immense presence filling the gap.
“My heart, there is no need for this rehearsal. This day is a formality. I see your fear, but I will erase it. Tomorrow, say only what you can bear to say. Say a simple 'yes' or speak the full vow – it doesn't matter. I will accept whatever leaves your lips.”
That was the moment you shattered. The sheer magnitude of his devotion, the crushing certainty in his boyish voice, and the way his strong hand was already reaching to secure you… It was too much.
The ring slipped from your shaking fingers and clattered onto the stone floor. It rolled toward the darkness under the pews. You lunged forward, heedless of the shocked silence of your parents and a blue-haired knight with the eyepatch. Your nimble hand darted and snatched the cold band just as it touched the shadows. Clutching it tightly, you didn't apologize. With a cry that was halfway a strangled scream, you turned and scrambled, not running, but flying, propelled by blind panic. The satin gown swayed, its rustle an insignificant sound against the magnificent roar of disbelief that tore from the Grand Master’s chest.
“Darling! Stop!” Varka’s command was less a threat and more a desperate cry of a man whose heart had been physically ripped out. It ricocheted from the vaulted ceiling with a broken sound, following you like an accusation. You didn't dare look back. You slammed against the heavy oak doors, bursting out of the suffocating, silent church and into the endless, foggy twilight of Nod Krai.
You didn’t remember crossing the bridge.
Your lungs burned with the cold air, thick with the damp rot of ancient forests, clawing at your frantic lungs. Your white shoes, useless against the mud, slipped on slick earth as you plunged blindly through the crooked trees. The chase was internal now and the sound of Varka’s distant roar faded behind the deafening rush of your own panicked heart. The dense wood abruptly surrendered to the desolate, overgrown ground of the oldest resting place: the cemetery.
The atmosphere of it was crushing. A heavy smell of wet stone and sweet decay clang to everything. You stumbled between the crooked, moss-furred tombstones and snapped iron fences, tears streaming down your face no longer just fear, but bitter rage. You hated the life your family had bartered away, hated the Grand Master’s suffocating confidence, and most of all, you hated your own pathetic weakness.
You collapsed at the base of a crumbling but tall monument adorned with an engraved lantern, and sobs rippled through your body until you were hollowed out. But even in that despair, the cruel reality surfaced: you had to return. Your family's ruin was tethered to this unwanted marriage. Their poverty was your inescapable burden. You had disgraced them, but you couldn't abandon them to destitution. You had to go back, had to face Varka, had to speak the vows and give up yourself in their names.
You had to conquer the words that had betrayed you. Thus, you opened your hand, revealing the unblinking circle of the silver wedding band clutched tight in your palm. The one and only valuable thing in your family. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand before the broken monument. You would rehearse the vow one more time, here among the silent dead, until the terrifying words were nothing more than meaningless sound, spoken mechanically.
Choking on the grief that tasted metallic and sharp, you began a theatrical dance of sorrow. Your silk wedding clothes were ruined, snagging on the thorny bushes and wet, cracking marble. You wept openly, the sound echoing flatly off the silent stones, your body turning in ragged spirals, mimicking the terrible joy you could never feel.
“With this hand… I will lift your sorrow…” The words trembled, a prayer you didn't mean, a prayer choked with tears. This was your macabre rehearsal, your final, bitter defiance. You spun until dizziness forced you back down, the world tilting under the oppressive, fog-laden sky. You fell to your knees again, facing the crooked root. You forced yourself to breathe, pulling the last of your strength for the awful words, whispering the terrifying vows to the silent.
“Your cup will never empty…” you were weeping, the lie of it tasting bitter and metallic, “for I will be your wine…” You reached the final, critical line. You needed something to secure the ring upon, a practice gesture of binding yourself forever. Your eyes fell upon a jagged branch jutting from the damp earth in front of you, its end curled like a skeletal finger, slick with cold decay. It was grotesque, utterly still, and perfect for your sorrowful performance.
“And with this ring-” with a final, mournful, shuddering breath, you forced the words out, the sound ripped from your soul: “-I shall be your wife”
You slid the delicate silver band over the tip of the root.
“Till death do us part.“
The instant the metal touched the bark, the world compressed into silence. The distant sounds of Nasha Town were swallowed instantly, the wind dying in a single, held breath. Every hair on your body stood on end, signaling a presence older than time itself, now entirely focused on you.
Then, the root moved.
The branch coiled inward, securing the ring with the crushing finality of a lock snapping shut.
The air crystallized around you. The cold mist of the cemetery curled into a palpable presence. A sound, colder than the grave and sweeter than any living music, resonated from the swirling blue vapor, mimicking your pathetic sorrow with chilling perfection.
The very second the mist began to coalesce, whispering a terrifying echo of your vow, you realized the monstrous bargain you had struck.
"With this hand," the mist sighed, the sound like frosted velvet sliding over stone, "I will lift your sorrow..."
You snatched your hand back, screaming soundlessly, your entire body launching into a blind, desperate, immediate flight.
The earth exploded into motion as you ran, abandoning the ring and the fear of Varka for a terror so immediate it paralyzed your breathing. The root was pulling itself entirely from the ground in pursuit, shedding the damp soil to reveal a pale finger. It was clad in the tattered, elegant remnants of a black velvet cuff, the silver wedding band resting perfectly on the marble skin.
"Your cup will never empty," a whisper, deep and full of ancient satisfaction, pursued you from behind the headstones. "for I will be your wine."
Something was pursuing you and very air pulsated with its dedication. It almost felt like a wedding dance, a macabre, inescapable pas de deux.
As you stumbled, sobbing and frantic, toward the bridge, the shadows stretched and elongated into the outline of a tall figure, racing ahead of you only to snap back into the mist the moment you looked. The blue fog swirled into ribbons, and you could feel the presence everywhere.
"And with this ring," the chill voice promised from right behind your shoulder, even though there was nothing there, "I shall be your husband."
The commitment echoed in your ears. Your desperate escape was merely a dance step to him. A soft, rhythmic click, clack, click – the sound of the perfectly polished boots on damp stone – was an audible promise, always inches away behind you.
You scrambled forward, tasting blood where you had bitten your tongue. You were blind, dizzy, and utterly spent. The stone bridge came into sight finally – the boundary of the dead world and the last sliver of hope. You stumbled onto its mossy stone. Freedom was just ahead.
But then – a sound.
A great, harsh cry ripped through the stillness. The piercing shriek of a crow taking flight from the highest arch of the bridge tore the silence apart.
The sound was so immediate, so violent, that you flinched and cried out, stumbling forward, losing your footing on the wet stone. You plunged into empty air, certain the fall from the bridge this high would kill you.
But instead, the forward momentum carried you, not to the darkness below, but straight into the solid chest of a figure that had appeared, silent as the shadows themselves, directly in your path. His grip was as strong as Varka’s, but entirely cold, utterly still.
You tilted your head back, gazing up at your savior.
He was the personification of tragic, perfect elegance, startlingly beautiful and utterly ethereal. His skin was the unblemished white of ancient marble under moonlight, contrasted sharply with the rich, tarnished black of his exquisitely tailored suit. The fabric, though ancient, hugged a figure of impossible grace, utterly untouched by time or corruption. His hair, a curtain of dark, frozen blue-white, shone like glacial ice, framing a face of princely beauty. His eyes were a pool of liquid starlight, that was focused on you. His lips, thin and startlingly blue, parted in a gentle smile when your body crashed into him.
He gazed down at you, his focus absolute, a love that had waited centuries and was finally sated. The cold radiating from his body was seeping into your frantic heart, slowing its desperate beat. He held you tight, a dedication born of the earth itself, one that would never let you go.
His voice, when it came, was the same chilling melody from the air, but now clear, a breathtaking, smooth baritone. It was cold, deep, and final. He lowered his head, his cold breath ghosting over your ear.
“My dearest...”
He pulled back just enough, his gaze pinning you where you stood. His eyes drank in the ruined silk of your dress and the exquisite exhaustion on your face. He had been longing for the sorrowful creature who performed the unnecessarily beautiful ritual right on his modest grave. The moment you swayed in that desperate, tear-stained pas de deux among the dead, he knew you were the one.
“And now-” he murmured, his thumb, frigid as buried silver, tracing the line of your jaw, his adoration overwhelming, “-the groom shall kiss his bride.”
You couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't breathe. His face descended, a beautiful mask of cold porcelain against your hot, tear-stained skin. His lips, freezing and impossibly soft, pressed against yours.
The shock was absolute. It was the deepest cold you had ever known, the one that reached into your very core and stole the panic from your lungs. It was an acceptance, a claim, a violation, all wrapped in a kiss that tasted faintly of cemetery mist and forgotten roses. The intensity, the utter certainty of him...
The world dissolved into a smear of blue and gray, and with a final sigh, you fainted, your body going utterly limp and small in the arms of your husband.
Flins smiled. The gentle gesture was a chillingly serene smile that banished the shadow from his perfect features. He held you against his chest, your living warmth a shocking and intoxicating reality against his eternal cold. This was the exquisite paradox of his claim: till death do us part meant he could never return to the sunlit world, but you, his bride, could join him in his beautiful stillness. Kyryll lowered his face, breathing in the scent of you and submerged into a beautiful dream – a sublime longing for the moment your desperate heart would finally achieve his perfect peace, allowing you to become the beautiful spirit destined to stand beside him.
With a soundless grace, Flins lifted your limp body, cradling you like a relic of impossible value. The stone beneath his polished boot cracked, yielding not to mud, but to a swirling abyss – a vertigo of indigo and silver. This was the gate. His home. He was taking you beyond the vow's final clause.
And then, just as he was about to step into the vortex, a frantic sound tore through the cold quiet.
“Darling! Where are you?!”
It was Varka’s voice, manic and seeking, slicing through the mist from the direction of the town. The sound was wild, filled with an animal panic that was both terrifying and utterly powerless.
Flins’s brow contracted into a profound, elegant frown. The Grand Master’s voice was nothing more than static against his eternal stillness. Kyryll pulled your warm body into the unyielding shelter of his coat, tightening his grip to ensure the living world could not reclaim its own.
With a final glance at your still face, he stepped into the swirling vortex, pulling you, his delicate prize, down into the realm of the dead, sealing your fate with his cold dedication.
“Till death do us part.”
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Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!
To fall deeper...
So, i was rewatching Corpse Bride, then went to play Genshin, and sudeenly, Flins came home!! Isn’t that fate, my darlings? And yeah, that’s basically how the idea for this scenario came to me.
Idk if i’ll write some more parts, but if you end up loving it… who knows.
