aether is telling you about his newest expedition in nod krai, mentioning things like columbina, and how much paimon loved their food. his new friends, new enemies, and a clue to his next journey... it was both breathtaking and hitching all at once and-
"and... oh, well you know how they are i- mmh!" it was already too late when your lips were on his, aether's eyes widen before easing into you.
he hadn't even realized it but he already had cupped your face and was already trying to lean into you for more. "huh? why'd you stop?"
kaveh is ranting to you about his most recent client, i mean, his infastructure was astounding, and certainly nothing went wrong with the prototype, who the hell just cancels out of nowhere?! what was this jerk even thinking??
"it's just- aarrgghh! infuriating!" you could see the steam coming out from his ears, his eyebrows quirking in his usual way. a small pout forming, and when his mouth finally was about to move- "an- mmm..."
he already had his hand tilting your chin upwards, letting out a pleased groan. "ah, leaving way too soon. you trying to tell me to shut up, or something?"
dottore and you were just walking in silence, silence that didn't include him. because for.. you stopped counting, but probably around fifteen minutes of just talking about his newest plan. something about... well probably snezhnaya and the gods again. you didn't really know.
"hah, can't you believe it. could mortals really be as... stupid?" - "what about me?" - "i know you aren't stupid enough to think you're includ-"
placing your lips on his briefly was enough for him to stop, and let you take the lead for a few steps. "you coming, zan'?" - "you... are interesting."
pantalone loves the time off he gets because god, he barely gets time off anymore. especially with the new currency plan he has in mind, and now he had the time to tell you all about it! so, what happens when that's not all you wanna hear from him?
"you see the pinnacle of my plan, yes? it's something i've been working on for a wh- mmm," he already closed his eyes, he was taken a bit aback yet he found himself already wanting more.
trying to lean in for one more before you pull away toooo far... "hmm? you started this, do you really wanna run off?"
itto being itto was him talking about his newest beetle, checking out how how its size would make any other challengers cower, you couldn't really find yourself wanting to listen. not when you hadn't seen him in a week and this is what he was doing?
"can you believe it, babe?! i beat him before ten second even hit the clock, i'm just amaz- mmhmmm! mmmh..." before he knew it he already (and very nervously) placed his arms around your waist.
"good... lord, you taste... nice, baby, is that the chapstick i got you last week? ack! okay, sorry!"
cyno is haha very tediously telling you a joke. and you just couldn't take it anymore so you just leaned in and made sure it was a gesture he wouldn't forget about and would stop telling you about how a shoe made out of a banana its called a slipper.
"wasn't that funny? why... babe, why aren't you laughing, beautiful? did i- mmmh." for how 'funny' his jokes are, he finds his hands caressing the sensitive skin of your lower back. pulling your closer by your waist.
"mmm, you... you are something." - "better than your jokes?" - "ill have to consider, you're a good kisser."
tighnari was just talking and talking and talking about the mushrooms he had been recently using for the dishes he had been so insistent on cooking. in which he did but realized pretty late that you had left that dish untouched, thinking of touching something else instead.
"and, you know how often these appear? how lucky are we that we have them growing our garden? baby? are you li- mmh!" you could already visualize his ears pointing upwards in the shock, only to feel him lean into your lips a little more.
"you... you are so... you are gonna be the death of me."
durin has you leaning on his shoulder while the rest of your friends danced in the middle of angel's share. sharing apple juice with each other that felt even more romantic and cheesy than it should've.
it was cute in a way really, it got to a point where varka and albedo have commented, and now here he was. your favorite dragon talking about his newest conch he-
"-found in liyue, isn't that great? hat guy took me out there, i wish you were there. all the views reminded me of you. so here, keep the co- what are y- mmn..." subconsciously his wings flap at the sudden warm sensation on his lips.
"y- you... what?"
lohen is busy talking to you about his latest encounter with the abyss. ringing an arm around your shoulder as he shows you around, pulling you close and super distinctively inhales your scent in. i hope you know that he cuts off a lot of his sentences just to tell you how nice you smell and look and are today.
"geez. you're amazing, i can't help but appreciate y- mmmn! mmn..." you can tell he was a little surprised but pulls you in more. it really get to a point where you need to pull away to breathe.
"oh? you seem excited. now you wanna back away."
varka is the kind of guy to pull you in by the waist, and starts to trail his kisses down your neck that turns to bites. has his free hand already cupping your face. it's so habiskjdasdjkhsa that the guy who was trying to hit on you just a moment ago. he would've just told the guy to fuck off but he doesn't mind this either.
"oh? what makes you think they aren't take- huh? what's that ba- mmn!" taken offguard the moment he feels you on him but again, hey. he likes showing off what's his.
fatui male harbingers smut headcanons w f!reader , ranked from highest to lowest stamina (headcanon) | includes all male harbingers except pulcinella
a/n: requests are open for headcanons, mostly for fatui and nod krai cast ! send me an ask don't be shy :3 request rules are here !
minors dni | likes , reblogs , and follows are appreciated ! <3
TARTAGLIA — HIGHEST STAMINA
as the youngest harbinger, there's no doubt he has the highest stamina out of the fatui men. he's very proud about it, too. he loves to fuck, and it's a surprise to no one. there'll be some days where all he wants to do is ravish you after a long day of combat and fatui affairs, while on other days he wants to take his time to fuck your brains out. sometimes it's hard to keep up with him in bed, with the way he seems to never tire. he loves every single bed activity there is: fucking, eating your pussy, fingering, playing with sex toys, having you suck his dick if you wanted it, and even anal. there is never a time he isn't in the mood to fuck; he'll take every chance he gets to spread that pussy of yours open. this man can't keep his hands to himself at all either; all he wants to do is touch you and please you. tartaglia doesn't have any shame either, he'll take you anywhere and everywhere. quickies by the training grounds, in one of the hallways of the zapolyarny palace, in a secluded spot in the northland bank, and even short makeout sessions during work. this man's hunger is never a joke, because he'll never get tired of you. either way, you'll always be in for a ride with tartaglia, as he probably won't stop until the sun comes up.
SCARAMOUCHE —
technically... he's a puppet... so do puppets really get tired? but seriously, he's definitely a freak—a bratty and cocky freak at that. he loves to degrade you while his hand is wrapped around your throat as he thrusts his cock sharply into you. he gets off to the sound of your moans and pleas, the way your pussy flutters around him with desperation and need from every thrust. scara definitely loves to tie you up too, hands bound together with your legs spread wide and your ankles shackled down so you can't move. he'll tease you, edge you, and overstimulate you until you can't take it anymore. sometimes he even uses a vibrator on you while you're tied up in that position, pressing the toy in a torturous motion against your pussy. and he's not nice about it either. he'll continue to overstimulate your clit till you're shaking and sobbing, begging for him to stop the vibrator. if he's nice enough, he'll lower the intensity, but otherwise... he'll only ramp up the speed. and when you come for the nth time that night, he'll do the honour of cleaning you up by eating your pussy, licking all your juices. and just when you think he's done with you, he comes back for another round, ready to hear your pretty moans.
DOTTORE —
having dottore as a sex partner means having a tons of other guys as your sex partners too. what i mean by that is his segments. each segment has their own level of freak, and by extension, their own level of stamina. omega definitely has the highest stamina out of the rest of the segments, followed by moonttore and primettore. prime definitely has a thing for watching his segments fuck you in front of him, it's like a guilty pleasure. he loves to watch as a segment thrusts himself balls deep inside of you while another has his cock in your mouth, and maybe another to touch and tease you while the other two work on you. moonttore is especially cruel; he'll fuck your pretty little cunt till you're full of his cum and you can't walk. sometimes dottore takes turns with his other segments to fuck you, milking your poor pussy out for the night. he fucks like a man deprived and starved, burying his cock deep inside of you until you beg for him. he's definitely the type to use a drug or aphrodisiac on you if it means you'll be extra sensitive for his cock and touch. anything to help you keep up with his desires. stamina is never a problem for dottore, because there'll always be a segment that's ready to keep your pussy full and warm.
PIERRO —
don't ever assume that his age affects his stamina in the bedroom. while yes, his stamina has definitely worn down over time, pierro knows how to fuck and satisfy their partner properly. he knows your weaknesses and your sensitive spots, and he uses them to his advantage. his knowledge definitely comes from his years of experience, and he'll use them to the fullest to satisfy you. as the director of the fatui harbingers, he's always stressed and has a lot of pent up frustration. so what better way to relieve himself than to fuck his partner? he's the type to fuck you anywhere: bent over his desk, hidden by a pillar in the halls of the zapolyarny palace, or even in the tsaritsa's throne room—as long as she isn't there, of course. pierro will give his all to satisfy you, regardless of how quick he is or where you two are. he's usually very rough with you, but can be quite gentle surprisingly. by the time he's tired, you're shaking and trembling with pleasure, down to your fourth orgasm. even though he gets worn out faster than the rest, he knows how to leave a lasting impression on your pussy.
CAPITANO —
capitano is only this low on the list purely because of how crazy the rest are. most of the time, capitano likes to take his time with you, with slow and deep thrusts and a lot of groaning. he drags out each thrust of his hips and each flick of his fingers against your clit, drawing out soft moans from your lips. he takes his time to please you, conserving his energy while satisfying you. but on days where he feels more stressed than usual, he's rough, fervent. he'll bend you over against the nearest surface, rutting himself deep inside of you till you're arching your back and seeing stars. he'll have his large hands everywhere on you—your hips, your thighs, your waist, your breasts, even your throat to choke you when he's incredibly horny. he loves to watch your expressions as he pounds into you, watching the way your chest heaves and rises sharply with each thrust. and when his body finally gives up and spills his seed inside you, you're ruined beyond comprehension. he'll carry you effortlessly to somewhere more comfortable once you two are done, and he'll make sure to ease any pain he may have caused you during his fervour.
PANTALONE — LOWEST STAMINA
pantalone is a loser. the end. jokes aside, i think pantalone definitely has a lower stamina compared to the rest of the fatui men, but not to be disappointed. he's absolutely kinky in the bedroom, often spicing up your activities with toys and gadgets. he loves to tease your pussy with a vibrator, playing with the setting while shoving a dildo in and out of your pussy. but that doesn't mean he's lazy, because he loves to touch you everywhere and anywhere his hands can reach while using the vibrator on you. fondling your breasts and ass, rubbing your thighs, marking and kissing your neck and collarbone, even fingering your pussy while the vibrator rubs on your clit. but when pantalone does actually fuck you, it's absolutely hot. he'll have his hands everywhere on you during sex, teasing your tits as he drives his cock deeper and deeper inside of you. his thrusts are sharp and rough, but they gradually get sloppier over time when his stamina begins to wane. he'll hold out long enough to see and feel you cum at least twice from his cock, watching as your juices coat his cock and wet the bed. and when he's exhausted? if you're still horny? don't worry, he's still got that vibrator and his fingers to fuck you.
All Genshin men x gn!reader (alphabetically) / sfw / established relationship -> women version (coming soon)
Aether
He won't acknowledge the way he sinks back into your touch when your fingers thread through the golden strands of hair hanging down his back, nor the way a low rumbling sound of bliss seems to emerge from the back of his throat when you massage a particularly sensitive spot on his head. Simply the feeling of your gentle hands brushing and re-braiding his adventure-knotted hair is a reprieve from his demanding everyday life.
Albedo
Watching you sleep is something he can't seem to stop, eyes wandering to you slouched form, observing the rhythmatic way your chest rises and falls as you dream, draped across his work desk or tucked into his side. He'll smooth a gloved hand across your hair, or drape a blanket around your shoulders to prevent the sub zero temperatures of dragonspine from seeping in. There's just something so peaceful about the way you look that soothes his fabricated heart.
Alhaitham
He'll be lounging on the plush cushions of your sofa after a long day of being the academia's scribe, one arm resting lazily behind his head and the other cradling some academic text or another. You'll slide in beside him, attempting to squeeze yourself in next to his broad form on the narrow sofa and he'll grumble under his breath in feigned complaint - he never really means it - but the shift of a bicep from behind him to tucking you securely into his side tells another story.
Ayato
He often takes a brief respite from his duties to wander the estate grounds, pausing in doorways when he hears the soft tune of your humming as he passes by. You'll be doing something inconsequential he doesn't bother to note, but the sound - no matter how perfect or off key it might be, it matters little to him - just seems to lure him closer. He'll wind his arms around your waist, whispering in your ear with a tone full of both amusement and fondness alike - yet he won't yet mention how the mundanity of such a task feels like a refreshing break from the formality of his everyday life.
Baizhu
Never will he outright admit his condition has worn him down, yet when you see him and the weariness of bearing the weight of Liyue's health on his shoulders, it touches a soft, vulnerable part of his tired heart. He'll gently decline your invitation to help, his duty is something he deigned to shoulder alone - and that is to be his fate - though when you insist on sharing that burden, such a concerned expression on your face well, he just can't say no to you it seems.
Capitano
He's not accustomed to gentleness or softness, so the contrast of your slow, soothing touch against the cold hard steel of his helmet is such a foreign sensation he takes weeks to get used to it. Your soft hands trace the inky black abyss where his face would be with such tenderness it feels like he doesn't deserve this sort of adoration, yet he'll lean down into your touch, bringing one large hand up to dwarf your own, brushing his fingers against your knuckles in what he hopes is a gentle manner.
Childe
He may or may not say - depending on the outcome - that being scolded by you is something of a guilty pleasure, though guilty is probably less of the right word in his case, try obvious. He tries at least a little to school his expression into something neutral when you frown and press the antibacterial cloth a little harder into the cuts littering his skin, telling him off for being so reckless. Despite the reprimanding tone of your voice, he can see the worry flickering across your expression - ok maybe he's a little guilty now.
Cyno
He returns home late most days, well into the early hours of the morning, so the last thing he expects is to see you slumped over the arm of the sofa - clearly where you've slid down from an upright position. He'll slide strong arms under you and slide you back into bed, only joining you after shedding all his heavy gear and the weight of his duties for the night. You'll receive a mild lecture in the morning - why you shouldn't wait up for him when it poorly impacts your own sleep - but when you shyly mention you seem to struggle to sleep without the warmth of his presence next to you, he can't help but soften and let you off the hook, only to find you in the exact same position the next night.
Dahlia
He's easy to please, any time spent in your company is pleasure enough for Dahlia, yet when you drag him to the sofa with two cups of warm sugary tea waiting for you on the coffee table - insisting he regale you with every minute detail of his day (not to mention the gossip he mentioned offhandedly a few days ago) - it's both surprising and heart warming to realise you've noticed and listened to the random things he says. And for that, he'll gladly indulge your curiosity, no matter how mundane.
Diluc
Watching you tiptoe your way back into the bedroom, swathed in one of his silken shirts that practically drowns your form and balancing a cup of coffee in each hand will forever be one of Diluc's favourite sights. You don't even notice he's awake, half propped up on his elbows with that piercing crimson gaze following you as you edge closer. When you do eventually catch him staring and burst out into laughter, passing him his mug as you slip back into the sheets beside him, he'll allow himself to join in, even if a little pink in the cheeks.
Dottore
He'll openly admit that he gets a little thrill when you depend on him for anything. No matter if it's something trivial and you could most likely do it yourself or you genuinely require help from him or a segment (unless you're interrupting important research - that will earn you a look that could put you in your grave and an irritated huff indicating you should 'do something yourself for once'). Though his favourite instance is when you get sick, he can test all manner of new remedies on you to his hearts content, satisfying that mad scientist element in him, but also quietly tend to that tiny part of him that still has something loving inside.
Heizou
Oh if anything could prove more entertaining and endearing then having you perched on his lap, attempting to help solve a case he figured out twenty minutes ago. He would tell you, but the sight of your brow furrowed in concentration and the gleeful look on your face when you turn around to point out a clue you'd linked is so terribly charming to the poor detective he'll follow along for just a little while longer. He then tests how many times he can repeat this scenario before you notice that he's already solved these cases, he just enjoys seeing your face light up, even more so when his own cheeks tint pink at the sight.
Flins
He's developed the awful habit of hiding away in his lantern every time you so much as have a petty dispute - terrible sulker that he is. Every time you sigh, chastising his childish behaviour under your breath but still picking up said lantern, purple glow flooding the darkness of the corridors, and set it on the bedside table before turning to sleep - he never expects it. He eventually comes to the amusing realisation you most likely can't sleep without him near, or struggle to at the least. When you wake, you'll find a certain fae out of hiding, wound around you like a constrictor with his face buried in the crook of your neck.
Gorou
Seldom does he let anyone near his canine features, until you manage to become a small exception to that rule. Oh he'll never admit it, but the blissful sleepy expression on his face whilst you comb through the matted fur of his tail after an exhausting day sparring and patrolling betrays his true emotions. If you deign to tease him even a little, he blushes a furious red and huffs in grumbled protest, yet he still can't seem to pull away from your soothing touch.
Ifa
Oh he's weak for seeing you in his clothes. When he emerges from the bedroom to find you perched on the edge of the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in hand and another waiting beside you, black and bitter - exactly how he has it - his discarded shirt from last night haphazardly thrown on, he swears he has momentary heart palpitations. Even more so when you throw a knowing grin his way and gesture to the cooling caffeine waiting for him.
Itto
The bigger question is what don't you do that makes him fold instantly? If he had to pick one thing in particular however, it would have to be when you indulge his childish dramatics. He'll boast about an onikabuto fight against a child from the city he won, he's aware it's not anything significant, yet when you laugh and clap encouragingly, it touches him in profound ways he can't seem to articulate.
Kaeya
He may not remember it most of the time, his memories a hazy blur of wine and charm, yet on the occasion he does recall you leaning his weight against you and dragging him home from the angel's share to heard him into bed and make him drink some water - swiping a damp cloth over his forehead in an attempt to sober him up just a little, lest he suffer another god awful hangover - he feels the sickeningly sweet feeling of what he refuses to admit is love settle at the pit of his stomach.
Kaveh
Oh he's far too flustered to admit that when he finds himself slumped against his desk, head on an array of architectural papers and pencil still in hand - waking up to instead realise he's propped up on a pillow, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a freshly made cup of tea still emitting steam inches away - his heart does a little flip in his chest. He knows you know it's a bad habit he won't stop anytime soon, yet the little things you do show him just how much you care.
Kazuha
He's a wandering spirit, unable to stay in one place for too long, and though it pains him to leave you behind every now and then - he can't help but feel a little more in love every time he sees you at the dock, waving at him with that saccharine smile and unbridled enthusiasm. It's the knowledge that you'll always be here, waiting for him to inevitably follow his loyal heart back to you that keeps him going.
Kinich
In the rare moments Ajaw isn't trailing behind Kinich like a loud record that won't ever stop playing - much to both yours and Kinich's disdain - he can't help but allow himself the indulgence of your touch. He may not seem like a very touchy guy on the outside, which is partially true, but with Ajaw's frequent interference, physical contact is a luxury not often afforded. So he finds himself wrapping his arms around you like he'll be ripped away the next second, leaning into the warmth of your body like it's his saving grace.
Lyney
He's become so adept at maintaining the façade, the show persona, that when you see past it for the first time, he can't help but be thrown a little off guard. It's when you notice the fatigue under the performer, that he feels seen. It's an odd feeling for him but one he learns to embrace anyway, and one day he finds there's little more comforting than the warmth of your embrace when you ask after his wellbeing.
Neuvillette
Hardworking and hardly ever home should become the motto for Neuvillette's life sometimes, being chief justice of Fontaine means piles of paperwork makes their way onto his desk every time he so dares to glance away from it. It makes the bright afternoons where you slip into his office with lunch and a adoringly sweet kiss to his cheek all the more gratifying. Even spending those 30 minutes with you every few days makes the workload looming above him seem a little smaller.
Ororon
He's perfected the art of awkward fumbling and shy gaps in conversation at this point, no matter how close you get to each other he seems to never overcome this lull in interaction, though you find it endearing, he still flushes with embarrassment every time. Therefore he's come to favour the time he spends with you that takes place in comfortable silence. Whether you're helping him in the vegetable patch or simply sitting side pressed to side on the sofa together, minutes away from falling asleep - all of it soothes his anxious heart and lets him enjoy your company without the nerves of conversation.
Pantalone
For such a wealthy man, he's the farthest from profligate someone could be. Every expensive is documented and accounted for, yet somehow the jewel encrusted necklace that appears on your vanity one day seems to escape the logs. So does the subtly expensive perfume a few days later, then the flowers delivered to your workplace. When questioned, he'll deny any knowledge of such things, claiming they simply don't exist, but the way his lips curve upward when he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead is telling.
Sethos
He's a tease, a fact he won't even deny himself, especially when it comes to you. But then on occasion you'll find it amusing to return the favour, and suddenly he finds himself at a loss for what to do. He never expects you to turn the tables on him and whisper something in his ear or drag a finger down his chest in smug reciprocation, and it makes him blush and mumble something inaudible under his breath every time, much to your delight, he finds.
Thoma
Everyone on the Kamisato estate knows Thoma is arguably the best cook within a 50 mile radius, and he himself cannot deny that his skills in the kitchen are proficient. But on days housework and errands have made his muscles feel like lead and the thought of facing yet something else to tackle when he gets home makes him want to run in the opposite direction, walking through the front door to the smell of your already half finished cooking fills him with gratitude like no other. He'll smother you in kisses while you try and finish purely for taking the weight off his shoulders every now and again.
Tighnari
He's often up late, working on ranger schedules or logging another mushroom related incident as a result of yet another person that's not listened to his advice correctly - yet when he feels a pair of warm arms wind around his shoulders and your face settle into the crook of his neck - he can't help but feel an irresistible temptation to retreat back into the bed. He's been brushing off how tired he feels for at least an hour now and the way you murmur in his ear for him to give up and get some sleep has given him a fresh realisation of the weight in his bones. Maybe the work can be finished in the morning after all.
Venti
As the so called 'weakest archon', he's become used to falling into last place, and he doesn't even mind honestly - sometimes it's better to not have the pressure of being the most powerful. Yet the first time you call him 'my strong archon', he stops like a deer in headlights. He doesn't remember the last time someone referred to him like that, and so confidently too. For once the bard is genuinely flustered - having to turn away and bashfully hide his face before you can notice the impact those three words had on him. Maybe with you he can let himself feel like something other than the weakest.
Wanderer
He often finds himself awake during the night, restless and plagued by memories of the pasts he's lived. He won't admit it, but he doesn't want to burden you with the same, so he'll carefully extract himself from your embrace, pour himself a cup of the most black and bitter tea he could possibly make and head out to sit on the back step, staring up at the endless expanse of Teyvat's star smothered sky. He comes to realise merely minutes later, footsteps approach from behind. He won't turn to look - he knows it's you - but when you settle in next to him with your own cup and inevitably end up falling fast asleep against him moments later, he won't complain.
Wriothesely
Seldom does Wriothesley have the time to emerge to the surface, and that consequently results in very little shared time between the two of you. Therefore imagine his surprise when he returns to his office after seeing to a matter elsewhere in the fortress to find you perched on the edge of his cluttered desk, tea tray stocked and set beside you, with that knowing smirk dancing across your features. He's taken aback for all of a second before suddenly he's right in front of you, sweeping you up into his strong arms. A short break from his duties couldn't hurt.
Xiao
He's not used to being around people, that much is blatantly obvious after spending any amount of time in Xiao's company - he doesn't care for company much either. However after some persistence, he finds you've snuck your way into his space without him even realising, or caring at that - something about your companionship is less bothersome than most. You'll clamber your way up to the roof of wangshu inn most nights, perch yourself next to him and just... exist. He notes you don't scramble to fill the silence, you just lean against his shoulder and watch the stars with him.
Zhongli
He's lived for centuries, and every memory, every whisper of a ghost in the hallways of someone he used to know, is a burden he and he alone must bear. He's steeled himself to this reality - the price an archon must pay - yet when you, a mortal, string your hands through the golden tips of his hair, or gently trace the gold markings that line the charcoal skin of his forearms, listening intently to his stories like there's weight to each and every detail - the load on his heart feels just that little bit lighter.
A/N: This has been in my drafts for way too long why did i think this would take me like 10 mins </3
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.
; pre-release snezhnaya bite-sized light yan drabbles, yandere but some of them are implied at best, we know nearly nothing of them rn so OOC is bound to happen, not proofread,
LOVE IS OBSESSIVE. (ANASTASYA )
A thin layer of frost has formed over closed, glass-pane windows, obscuring the otherwise perfect view you’d have of Snezhnograd down below. Now all you see are blurry blobs of color that vaguely resemble buildings if you squint. Residing at the highest floor in the Zapolyarny palace, nothing here serves as entertainment, not even sightseeing.
It’s cold too. Unbearably cold. An unsettling chill that comes and goes, peaks and subsides when she personally visits you. Unfortunate that she invades your room often, gently closing the door behind her all to ensure that no one else, not even a passing guard, will be privy to her intimate conversations with you. Poised upright like the embodiment of elegance that she is, Anastasya sits down at the foot of your bed and gives you a small smile – a considered rarity among her subjects.
How are you today? Have you been faring well in her absence? Did you miss her? Basic conversational questions are asked, and after you answer (no matter how lacking they may come off, she’s satisfied just to see you in the flesh), she starts sharing anecdotes about herself. Today, the Fatui did this, her harbingers had a minor disagreement, Pierro advised her to act on a particular issue, and the Belyi Tsar’s grave has been tended to by yours truly.
You nod accordingly – that all seems interesting, Anastasya – a built-in response picked up after years of such routine. When the topics of conversation dry up like a well, she will unglove her ice-cold hand to feel your exposed skin. You become used to the chill that you no longer flinch; it’s hard to be bothered anymore.
She savors her moments with you and immortalizes such transient minutes through the very ice she controls. To preserve and cherish every moment with you is one of the simplest pleasures in her life. The moment she’s needed to step back into her role of being Snezhnaya’s ruler, she leaves whisps of snowflakes that gently caress your cheek; her own form of a goodbye kiss.
You’re not her spouse, nor is she your wife. But she promises day and night for the past 500 agonizing years that the moment she seizes authority from the heavenly principles, you two will finally be wed and shall be marked as the first monumental event in the new world.
That child, too, will come back. And you’ll all be a happy family.
Until then, you are encased in a room only she has access to in the name of love.
LOVE IS CONJUGAL. (VALERIY)
“Major Valeriy will be displeased to learn you lost your wedding ring. Fret not, I will find it for you, my grace.”
His Oprichnik subordinate quickly gets on his hands and knees to begin a fruitless search while you watch him scramble around from the sofa. Leisurely leaning back with a cold drink in your hand, you know it’s not nice to torment a faultless person, but all your anger must be vented somewhere even at the cost of an unfortunate Oprichnik. You’ve grown to be selfish in that sense - it’s an undesirable trait nursed by your husband’s weirdly coddling attitude. His fault. Entirely his fault.
You intended to watch this stranger run around like a headless Volkodlak fae for a little while longer, just enough to bring him to tears behind that mask when heavy, thudding footsteps enter the room. The Oprichnik quickly stands at attention, bowing a perfect ninety degrees to whom you need not guess. Your husband, Valeriy, is here. Rolling your eyes over to his, you note that his obsidian hair is powdered in snow with his cape nowhere to be found, nose is a bit red too. You hold in a grin – an avalanche most likely caught him. Serves him right.
It falls just as quickly when a familiar ring glints from the chandelier. A bemused glint appears in his eyes at your bewildered stare.
“How did you–?” You threw that wedding ring out of the window. You know it, saw it become lost in the snow. Yet he–
“I did a little digging.” He strides up to you before kneeling down. He extends out an expecting hand to which you reluctantly give. Gently and reverently, he slides the ring back on your wedding finger, smiling in content when he does so. “Be careful next time.”
LOVE IS COURTSHIP. (ALYOSHA)
You have a peculiar companion who walks you home at night. You don’t know him, his face, or his name, but you know his voice and shadow. He always follows just a couple of steps behind you with his footsteps lagging a second behind before hiding behind barrels and buildings when you turn around. You’d think you’re hallucinating had it not been for the proof standing outside your home.
Swallowed by shadows, you see only his vague silhouette. A fur-lined hood with horns protruding, you think, average height – the only visuals he presents to you. On brave occasions, you’d call out with a stutter,
“W-why are you following me?”
His answer and the voice you hear are both hauntings dredged up from your nightmares: “Because I love you.”
Morning comes and the result is the same. You open your door, ready to head off to work before being stopped by a carcass left at your doormat. It stains the textile with blood – you’ll have to buy a new one after you finish your shift. With a shudder, you drag the dead animal inside, cringing at the trail it leaves behind.
At work, you ask your boss about it, fed up with the horrors you’re forced to live through. To which she tilts her head and smiles, “That means he’s courting you. I know you’re from overseas, but that’s how it is here in Snezhnaya!”
“I… What?”
She laughs, “It’s the land of love. Who isn’t willing to do everything for love around here?”
You better get used to it.
LOVE IS INFATUATION. (VODYANITSA)
“Seriously, another ticket to her show? You’re not rigging the system, are you?” Your Co-patroller jabs an accusing finger at your golden ticket. Lord Harbinger Pantalone would have your heads for slacking off on the job by talking about Primadonna singer Vodyanitsa, but your excitement cannot be contained for a moment longer. He’s not around to personally survey the Fatui agents in the area, fortunately. You’re free to parade your golden ticket around – proudly so.
“I didn’t buy it!” You hug the ticket close to your chest, daydreaming about seeing your beloved singer on stage once more, “My pen pal did!”
“Pen pal? You mean, what was it again— Sirensong?”
You smile, “Yeah. She’s also a big fan of Miss Vodyanitsa. I told her she didn’t need to buy me tickets every time, but she insists–”
“--and you’re too much of a freeloader to actually stop her.” Your co-patroller gravely nods, looking away from you, “Got it. I already know what type of person you actually are, we’re both Fatui runts at the end of the day.”
“Stop being mean to me, you’re just jealous.” You wave the ticket around their masked face. “Does it keep you up at night? Knowing you only saw her in-person once? Don’t worry friend, I’ll enjoy in your stead.”
“Whatever, whatever,” They roll their eyes before snapping back to yours, “Wait. Don’t you find it weird?”
“Weird?” You parrot.
“Yeah. How come she doesn’t attend the shows herself? Your pen pal, I mean.”
“She said she’s limited to her home. It’s why we’re pen pals…?”
They don’t look convinced. On the contrary, they’re growing more suspicious.
“Really now? But tickets are sold onsite in the opera house days prior to the show.”
“She probably has servants. I wouldn’t be surprised – she’s able to afford the tickets!”
“...Can I see your ticket?”
You frown, “You’re not going to steal it and run off, are you?”
You receive a playful whack on the head as rebuttal, “Stop talking nonsense, I still need to earn money for my sister! I just need to see the code and seat number.”
“Okay…?”
Their face changes in real time once they get hold of your ticket. Observing, confused, and finally… Understanding?
“What did you see?”
“A VIP ticket. I get it now.”
They pick up their gun and resume patrol, leaving you in the dark.
“What? What do you get?”
“Only the harbingers get VIP tickets, you know.”
“...Are you implying I’m a harbinger? I’m not.”
They shake their head, sighing.
“No, I’m implying that the only way you can get those tickets is if the giver was one of the opera organizers or…
Miss Vodyanitsa herself.”
LOVE IS ENVY. (ODETTE)
“You’re late.”
It’s a pain to work with Odette. Talented and skilled she may be in the art of ballet, her punctuality remains as something she must work on. She always arrives late to rehearsals, sometimes completely missing them, only to perform just fine on the grand day itself. You didn’t know what went on in her life to always miss the appointed time, nor did you bother to care. She was wasting yours.
But after catching her cleaning up a dead body one night after rehearsals, face splotched with a knowing red and dagger situated inches away from her on the ground, you now know everything there is to her. Agreeing to a truce, you negotiated for rehearsals to be limited to the two main stars while the rest of the cast practiced at a different time.
Only so she can do her business in peace thus avoiding her tendency to be late. It worked for a while, but as of right now… looking her up and down, maybe she just has a serious problem with time awareness.
“I said… You’re late. Did you not hear me, Odette?”
She nods a beat after, “I’m sorry.”
You turn away to start packing your bag, “What am I supposed to do with that? I don’t want your apology, what I want is for you to stop wasting my time. I get you’re busy with your… side assassin work, but keep me in mind, too.”
“I do.” She hurried to assure, “I keep you in mind every day.”
“Odd. It doesn’t feel that way.”
The ballet studio feels especially colder today.
You’re nearing the exit when she finally unveils like the ribbons of your ballet shoes.
“I got jealous.”
Her admission freezes you in place. “What?”
“So I… took care of him. I’ll control myself better next time. Keep rehearsing with me.”
LOVE IS AN ADDICTION. (NOY)
You know your place and your cue.
A knock on your wooden door means it’s a house servant because Lord Noy himself enters without permission. With that knock comes a set of responsibilities expected from you. Once means that you must pick out the ribbon the lord will wear in his hair for the day. Twice means you must sleep in his bed that night.
And thrice means… the lord needs another supply of your blood. Merely three days after his last feeding session, and already he’s asking for more. You grit your teeth before ultimately abandoning your journal to open the door, your smile is inauthentic, so too is the house servant’s.
“Please inform Lord Noy that I’ll be there after showering. Thank you.”
The house servant shakes her head, “I’m afraid he needs you now.”
“...As of this moment?”
“I believe so.” She bows before stepping back, “Please follow me. He’s in his study.”
Is he gravely injured that he needs your blood so soon to replenish himself? The usual time interval between feeding sessions on average is one week. Sometimes five days if he’s overworked… but three days is a first. You don’t know if you should feel worried for him. Or is his old age finally catching up?
Perhaps the answer is far simpler.
Upon reaching the doors of his study, they immediately open and the house servant makes herself scarce. Lord Noy, dressed down in the comforts of his home, politely smiles at you, yet the lack of an… alarming injury on his person makes a question mark apparent on top of your head. You envisioned him to be bedridden in pain or maybe lethargic in his movements. The Lord Noy standing in front of you right now is anything but that. He’s perfectly fine. Visibly joyed at the sight of his sole bloodbag, actually.
You don’t want to overstep your place, so you keep your inquiries to yourself as you begin unbuttoning your high collar, fully exposing your still sore neck to his blood red eyes. He sucks in a sharp breath a second later, and you watch him advance toward you as if in a trance.
Indeed, the answer is far simpler.
Watching him feast and groan at the taste of your blood, you understand that he’s growing greedy. Both with your blood and body, and most especially your heart.
LOVE IS THERE AT FIRST SIGHT. (MITYA)
The books you’ve been planning to borrow from the royal library were all borrowed by someone else first. It wouldn’t upset you at all if it were going to be returned next week, but it’s been three months now and the librarian is growing tired of your constant pestering. To throw you a bone, she gave you the address of the person who has your planned books and told you to: “Pay him a visit if you’re so desperate!”
Not the most moral thing to do, but you’re now standing outside the house (hut?) from the address given to you, seconds away from knocking on the door. He’s read all those books surely, so he’ll give it to you, right?
You knock. “Hello? Anyone there?”
A muffled, “Uhh, busy!” answers you.
Busy, huh? “That’s okay! I’m just here to retrieve the books you borrowed from the royal library. An approximate quantity of twelve books, if I may recall correctly.”
A faint gasp. “Already!?” What does he mean by already? It’s been three months. “Hold on! Extend it a bit, please!”
“Absolutely not.” You snap, “I need to read ‘I’m reborn as an evil scientist so here’s a guide to quantum physics.’ and ‘why it’s not crazy to say teyvat is upside down: a dissertation.’ now. You had your chance to read it!”
He shuts up for one second before bursting out laughing, “It’s good that I can just… not hand it over to you then! How did you find my address in the first place?”
You turn rabid. Gentle, polite knocks are now fists angrily banging on wood. “The librarian gave it to me! Open the door or else I’m invading your house!”
“Go for it! You can try!”
“By the Tsaritsa’s benevolence, I will!”
Ten minutes later, the thick wooden door collapses from your anger, and you see the source of your ire for the past three months in the middle of the room, surrounded by countless stacks of books, looking at you in complete shock. Ugh, What a greedy hoarder! He’s probably a poser!
“Give me the books!”
He mumbles something indecipherable.
“What?”
You wish you hadn’t asked him that.
“I said... I think I’m in love with you.”
LOVE IS PASSIONATE. (DANICA)
The bed is made, dinner is cooked, the rooms are cleaned, your nightwear is laid out on your bed, the curtains are drawn, and the small garden outside is already watered – all to the courtesy of Danica, of course. Her dedication to take care of every aspect of your life is commendable, but you don’t see the point in chastising her.
It’s because of her dedication that you can get away with being an utter brat.
“My liege, I’m back.”
You come rounding the corner eagerly greeting her, “Did you do it? Did you poison my father, Danica?”
She smiles at your demeanor, her uncaring and formal exterior always nowhere to be found in the face of her master. “Yes, the deed is done. He collapsed thirty minutes ago.”
You hug her in thanks, “And the body? Did you search the body?”
Her arms hold you in a tight grip, unwilling to let go. Melting into your embrace, you feel her lips move around the nape of your neck, “I have.”
Danica knows you like the back of her hand and her loyalty is unfaltering. The ugliness of your soul can never chase her away, for she loves you dearly and undoubtedly.
“What did you find?”
She shakes her head in disappointment. “Nothing.”
You pull away, ignoring the pleading eyes she sends you. “How unfortunate… Then it seems we have to look for the key elsewhere. You cleaned up the evidence, right? Oh, and prepare some tea for me, please.”
“My liege…”
Patting her head and watching her lean into it, you tut, “Danica, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at that dead bastard. The Tsaritsa’s plan needed his research, and he chose to keep it from us. Could you believe him? Serves him right.”
“So please don’t worry, my dearest maid. You have never disappointed me, and you won’t be doing so anytime soon.”
LOVE IS A CRUSH. (VESNA)
“You!”
You hold in your sigh, and instead brace yourself for the telltale sound of fae wings fluttering in your direction. It’s the third time this week, and the nth time this year that you’re stopped and humiliated in the middle of Snezhnograd, all at the amusement of a certain fae officer. A high-ranking one too, unfortunately.
The sound of her heels dropping down to the ground makes you look at her. You say nothing, she seems pleased by this.
“Good, you knew you were the offender right away.”
She swivels and takes flight once more, “What are you standing around there for? Come with me! You need to fill out your violation form in the office.”
That makes you sputter, “But I don’t even know what I did wrong? You just stopped me and–”
“You think just because you possess a stellar linchpin means you’re free to run your mouth? Might I remind you that I impose the will of the Tsaritsa on you humans?” Vesna’s always been cuckoo to you, but this is…
You bite your tongue, watching the other faes squirm around in discomfort.
“Nevermind. I’ll follow you.”
Like a switch flipped, she proudly nodded in approval. “Very well. Off we go now.”
From behind, you hear the fae officers whisper to one another that: “She’s incapable of wooing her crush. Let’s leave her be; she can always make them give their name to her.”
...What a horrible week.
LOVE IS UNCONDITIONAL. (PANTALONE)
Centuries ago, the name Feofan was inconsequential to the citizens of Snezhnaya, for the bearer of that name was nothing more than a struggling young man living paycheck to paycheck as a bank clerk. He meant nothing to the grand picture of the nation, but at that time, Feofan was your closest friend.
As the bank clerk slotted after his shift, you formed a friendship with him that way. During the brief window of time as his shift ended and yours was about to begin, conversations were made, and hangouts were formed. Good friends save up their salaries to go see an anticipated Opera that day. Good friends didn’t care that their friend wasn’t the epitome of wealth.
When Feofan asked you if you wanted more in life; wanted more from him, you shook your head no. What else is there to want? You had good friends and a decent job. But his expression was unreadable when he asked a following question if you’d like to have more wealth.
…It’d be nice, definitely. But I’m fine with my life right now, maybe in the future I’ll want more, just not now.
Believing that it’s the only way to repay you for loving a worthless man like him, he took that as the signal to pursue his years-long obsession with money. After quitting his job, he disappeared from your life for a few years, and he began pursuing a business. You thought he had moved to a neighboring nation at some point until he showed up on your doorstep one day.
Your bank clerk friend, now turned Fatui Harbinger, insisted then and there that you drank the vial he held in his hands. You trust him, yet…
“Why?”
“I want us to live forever.”
To love a worthless man… surely you would love him more now that he had something to his name.
when you take off your wedding ring during an argument [genshin men]
⋗ ft. alhaitham, ayato, baizhu, dottore, kaveh, pantalone, zhongli
⋗ ~0.6k | fluffy angst | gn!reader
Alhaitham
“-what does that have to do with the issue at hand?” Alhaitham breaks off his sentence in the middle, his eyes narrowing. And right now, you have half a mind to believe it’s only because he’s mad he didn’t finish his thought.
The ring sits heavy in your palm; the weight of the promises it symbolizes. The memories of you and him. He stares at the band in your hand, his thumb touching the matching ring on his own finger. For a moment you feel like he might take it off too, despite how out of character that would be for him, and your heart feels like it’s gonna crumble on itself. You bite your lip.
“Do you need a moment?” he asks in a tone much softer. For the first time since you began fighting his voice isn’t the same as it always is.
“Yeah,” you admit. More words form and die on your tongue. You don’t even know where to begin - to spill your arguments now that you have the chance, or apologize? Part of you just wants to scream and cry.
Alhaitham gives you space. You can hear him in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water, while you sit down in the armchair and stare at the ring still in your palm. You forgot what it looks like removed from your finger. It looks so foreign, and not in a good way. You slowly slip it back on your finger. There’s guilt gnawing at your conscience. You shouldn’t have done that.
And so you stand up and join him in the kitchen. Before you can speak, he slides a glass of water towards you. Maybe the fight was pointless. Just a little bit. You drink the whole thing.
“Better now?” he asks, voice still careful. You nod. The lump in your throat only dissolves when you see the ring securely on his finger. It seems he looks for yours too. “Do you want to continue discussing that?”
You need to remind yourself that this is Alhaitham. He’s only asking. He’s not mocking you, not blaming you.
“No,” you shake your head. You put the glass back on the table, rounding it to stand closer to him.
“I explained my side,” he says, but he doesn’t push, “It’s more productive if you tell me what you think now.”
You suppose it would be. You know it would be. He’s right like he always is.
“Can we revisit it later?” you suggest, “It… I feel tired.”
It’s almost hesitant, the way he nods and opens his arms for you to walk into. Still you do, without question. The longer he holds you, the more you think about whether the fight was worth it. Was this really that important to you? Was he so mean that you had to do that?
Your thoughts are brought to a standstill by a hand prying yours away from his chest. Unsurprisingly, it’s just him. Just Alhaitham taking your hand, intertwining your fingers and resting your hands above his beating heart. Your rings press against each other. It’s not much of a difference, but you feel him relax. His eyes reflect on the shiny surface of the rings. You’ve never seen him look so relieved, and you don’t think it’s the metal distorting the image.
After a brief hesitation, you look up. Nothing changes, Alhaitham looks exactly like his reflection on the silver mirror. His thumb strokes the side of your hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you say quietly.
“I’m not letting you,” he smiles, careful. But the smile can’t hide how serious he is - not that you’d want it any other way.
Ayato
How can he just stand there? Calm, impassive, as if this was just another diplomatic negotiation. Perhaps it is, perhaps you should think about it that way too but-
“I’d think about that some more,” Ayato’s voice raises, “If I were you.”
You should. You definitely should. But him pointing it out makes you not want to, gets on your last nerve and so your fingers wrap around the band on your finger and tug- Try to.
There’s a patient hand, though really not so patient now, preventing you from moving. His touch isn’t rough, but it certainly isn’t the gentle, reverent touch you’re used to. How did he get to you so fast, you have no idea, or why it feels like there’s nothing you can do to break free from his touch. The candlelight paints shadows that make it feel like he’s towering over you.
“I know you’re upset, my love,” he speaks slowly, not much of a difference from how he’s been talking the whole night but there is a barely noticeable strain to his voice that makes you reel in any attempts at pulling your hand away from him, “But what you’re about to do is playing dirty. And you know I’m more than capable of stooping to that level too.”
You swallow. Of course he is. And he’s not threatening you, you know, not yet. He only reminds you, you think, of the previous times where he didn’t play fair in way less serious situations, where even playful teasing ended up hurting you. Though naturally, it wounds him too to cause you pain. You don’t want to force his hand.
“I’m sorry,” you say, then quickly add - albeit softer: “For this, I mean.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t get the wrong idea,” he chuckles. Before he frees your hand, he brings it to his lips to kiss just above the ring.
Yet he doesn’t let you go. Instead of your hand, he now holds your waist. It’s grounding, both his embrace and his proximity. Maybe this whole argument getting so severe could be avoided if you talked like this. You can dream.
“It seems to me we won’t reach an agreement,” Ayato sighs.
“No,” you admit as much as you don’t wish to. Unresolved conflict only means repetition later on, in some form. “Not with the way things are.”
You let him wind his arm around your waist and bring you closer. You, too, embrace him, resting your head on his shoulder. The argument exhausted you.
“Then we both need to put in more work,” he hums, “And continue at a later time.”
Maybe. It’s the only thing you can do, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it. Perhaps you should go pray, there must be someone who could grant you both what you want without the other losing their chance. He’d laugh if you suggested it, though.
“I hate how efficient you are,” you let go of your final grievance for the night, making him chuckle.
“Years of experience, darling,” he reminds you, “With higher stakes - which of course doesn’t mean I’m calling our marriage insignificant.”
You only roll your eyes but nod. You know that’s not his intention. He’s right anyway, and to some extent you’re glad he can remain stable and unshakeable like this. Being able to always depend on him, that’s one of the reasons you married him in the first place, after all.
“But I must say,” he murmurs into your hair, “I’ve never been threatened so violently before.”
You laugh and shake your head.
“No sword, no polearm or a bow is as scary as seeing you without your ring, my dear,” he whispers, “Believe it or not.”
Baizhu
“What are you doing?” his voice cuts through the air. Amber eyes staring at you, wide and afraid, eyebrows furrowed and his lips twisted downwards.
You hold the ring in your palm, your gaze dropping to the band like you need to make sure you really did that. But you did and now Baizhu is crossing the room to cradle your hands in his.
“What do you mean by this?” his chest is still heaving but at least his voice drops into something softer again.
“We should stop,” you lick your lips, your attention is split between the warm ring and his cold hands, “We’re just talking in circles.”
He takes a deep breath, lets it go again. His touch is so careful, even though he keeps distance between you. His gaze slowly seems to be warming up too the longer you silently stare at each other.
“Life’s too fragile to keep fighting,” Baizhu murmurs. Tension still holds his body in its grip. At the same time he looks like he really wants to let go.
“But this is really important to both of us,” you remind him, “Or we’d be better at making a compromise.”
He seems torn. Stuck between wanting to argue his point and dismissing the argument. It’d be easier to pretend nothing happened, but the core of the issue would just loom over your heads. He doesn’t come closer but his thumbs stroke the sides of your hands.
“We shouldn’t be together right now,” he sighs eventually. You nod. The pain in his eyes reflects your own.
“Stay here,” he suggests, cautiously, “I’ll go - but I’ll come back, okay?”
And so it’s agreed. You sit by the open window for the most part, taking deep breaths of the cool air in hopes it’ll clear your mind - it does. What it doesn’t do is magically give you a revelation as to what would be the perfect solution in this situation. Your anger ebbs and flows, even though it’s no longer directed primarily at your husband, more so at the circumstances.
And by the looks of it, Baizhu fares no better than you. He looks disheveled, as if he ran his hand through his hair the whole time he was out. Even his braid looks horrible, clearly having taken the most abuse.
Baizhu kneels next to your chair, easily intertwining your hands once more when you offer. With his other hand he reaches up to cup your face. You’re tired, you’re angry and you’re sad. You let him touch you, leaning into the familiar comfort.
“I’m gonna take the couch today,” you inform him. There’s no malice in your voice, only the silent understanding passes between you - you both still need time.
“I should be the one-”
“Let me,” you shake your head. You push some of his hair away from his face. “You take the bed and I’ll put the ring back on.”
He huffs, incredulous, before his lips settle on a softer smile.
“That’s a strong bargaining chip, are you sure you want to use it this way?” his thumb strokes your cheek.
“Mhm,” you give him a weak smile too, “You already know I’m yours.”
He nods. His eyes fall to your lips before he, sadly, looks away. Now it’s your turn to make him face you with a gentle touch to his jaw. Your lips meet slowly, first a hesitant brush, then they melt together like it’s the first time. Baizhu soaks up the contact, drinking the reassurance from your lips. You think you could be convinced to forget everything, if only for the night.
“We’ll figure this out,” he promises, then he adds after some hesitation: “Together.”
And really, that’s all you’re asking. So you let him take your hand and guide you to the bedroom. Then you let him slide the ring back onto your finger.
Dottore
The ring slips off your finger to the very last digit, as if giving you time to reconsider. Dottore watches the action intently. Nonetheless, his words only stop once he’s finished his sentence - that, too, as if it was your chance at redemption. Despite the mask shielding his eyes, you can feel his gaze on you and swallow heavily. As passionate as he was about presenting his arguments, the energy is gone now, turned into cold tension.
You hesitate, the ring still gingerly held between the fingers of your other hand. Dottore doesn’t move, tense and silent, observing your next step. He doesn’t say a word. And in the wordless face off, you understand - he would let you make this choice. He won’t say he wants you to stay and put the ring back on. Sometimes you have to do the work for both of you. Your ego is not more important than him.
It takes effort to make a step forward. The fists at his side clench but he makes no move to stop you, his silence remains deafeningly loud. You walk on until you stand before him and offer him your hand, ring dangling on the tip of your finger. The mask allows him a lot of anonymity. He tilts his head, the lower half of his face offers no hints as to what’s going on inside his head.
“That was very irrational,” you admit quietly, “A lapse of judgement.”
“What do you want me to do about it?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. You don’t pull your hand back. “I have no use for an unwilling partner. I believe I made myself clear about only giving one chance.”
He waves you off, disinterested. Even so, he purposefully moves in a way that won’t remove the ring barely balanced at the tip of your finger.
“Did I catch you off guard, doctor?” you ask, “Do we have no further use for each other? Is that what this is about?”
Dottore bristles. Perhaps it’s pointless, as he warned you it is, to attempt to persuade him that a relationship can work even if the parties have no vital need for each other.
“I need you,” you whisper, little more than a breath, “Why stall? If you had no need for me at all, you would take the ring back already.”
It might be a trick of the light, the moment it seems like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, he grabs your hand rather roughly and shoves the ring back down your finger. He doesn’t let go.
“So stubborn,” he growls, “Inefficient. If you just-”
“You don’t need me for the experiment to progress,” you sigh, “Why get upset with me beyond the way in which I wronged you?”
His grip tightens. His jaw is set, which is about all you can read in his face. From the tilt of his mask and his fingers lingering by the band now securely around your finger, however, you can guess where he’s looking.
“Have you never doubted your decision? I should be allowed to make the same mistake,” you reason. He scoffs.
“Mistake?” he mocks, then he huffs, “Perhaps.”
He swipes his thumb over the ring. His own rest hidden inside his breastpocket for safety. Not that it matters - it’s more important that his claim on you is clear for all to see. Above all - for him, Dottore himself, to see. As if the intricacies binding you together were not enough.
“I should find a more permanent way of branding you,” he mutters. No attempt to hide it. No need for the mask either - now you know well that’s looking at you, studying you.
You just smile.
Kaveh
You can barely see what you’re doing but you feel the empty space immediately, and perhaps more so the painful void inside your chest than the cold air on your finger.
The room goes deadly silent. Kaveh stares at you, speechless. His mouth opens and closes like fish out of water. A thousand different emotions flash across his face before they settle on anger.
“Fine,” he scoffs, “Fine, go on then!”
He’s supposed to be furious. Why does he look like a cornered dog? Too scared to see through his fears. You blink and the anger turns into hurt, as if he wore nothing else on his face before. It breaks something inside of you. He’s not fully sober, he’s not thinking rationally, the whole fight got blown out of proportion-
You jump when something lands somewhere in front of you and rolls away. His own ring.
“I won’t hold you back!” he keeps screaming even as he falls to his knees. He looks like he can’t believe what he’s done, what he said. Your heart breaks but… this is just too much. And you’re in the wrong too, you have no right to be upset with him - you took off your ring first. But it’s too much.
So you ignore him when he starts crawling forward to look for his ring. And because you’re hurting and emotions are high, you drop your ring too. The search should entertain him for long enough that you both cool down, you could take a walk-
You don’t get the chance. And maybe you should’ve expected it.
“Kaveh…” you sigh.
Looking down, you see exactly what you thought you would. It doesn’t matter, your heart still clenches painfully. His eyes glisten with unshed moisture, his cheeks burn red. His face is twisted in agony, suffering which only you may free him from. He’s holding onto your leg like a lifeline, clawing at your clothes to make you stay.
With another long exhale, your frustration dissipates into nothingness. Your hand falls to the top of his head, pushing his hair away from his face. He leans into your touch like a cat.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking much more sober now, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t go.”
Words would be pointless. They’re cheap and without substance Kaveh could latch onto. He rests his head against your thigh while you slowly keep combing your fingers through his hair.
“Let’s look for them together, hm?” you suggest eventually as you get down on the floor with him. He furiously nods his head.
It’s easier than you thought it’d be, with the light catching on the metal and guiding you to the discarded bands like the stars guide ships at the sea. Even so, Kaveh keeps looking your way as if still scared you’ll leave. The fear remains despite both rings resting in his palm, it lingers after you put them back on with shaky hands. Not long after you find yourself looking up at the ceiling.
“Please don’t leave,” Kaveh mumbles into the crook of your neck, lying on top of you after tackling you to the ground, “I’m sorry, I’m-”
“I’m sorry too,” you stop him from the inevitable self-depreciating rant. You hold him closer. “Let’s talk about it again after we get some sleep.”
It’s so easy to get him to agree. He always insisted that the bed you share is his only safe space, a sacred space he never brings work to. He sinks into the mattress with you, more like a snake than you ever imagined was possible for a human being. Sleep evades you. Kaveh holds you so tight it’s hard to breathe. You can’t say you mind, though.
Pantalone
The world narrows down to this moment - his office, his biting remarks, your voice hoarse after hours of this. Nothing else exists. Nothing beyond this room. And then Pantalone says another hurtful thing and you’ve just about had it. The ring tries to stick to your finger, truly it does. But you’re stubborn.
And then the click of safety being dislodged, the pull of a trigger - not enough to make the gun aimed in your direction shoot but close - rings through the room in the sudden deep silence.
You freeze, staring at him not quite in disbelief, but in cold clarity of what happened, the whole sequence of events. His usual mask is already back in place.
“Now now, be careful with that ring,” he says smiling. That calm, deceptive smile that fools nobody that ever made the mistake at displeasing him. Your palms start to sweat, goosebumps rise over your body. You think your body starts trembling. “It might be your only chance at survival should you leave, to sell it.”
Pantalone comes closer, quiet, slow strides. His hand cups your jaw to tilt your face towards him, holding you in place. Apparently, he needs to work on his temper and you need to work on your survival instinct.
“No pawnshop will buy it,” you argue. Because what else are you supposed to do than submit to him fully, to admit his full control over your life. You messed up, and Feofan is not a man easily placated. “And anyone foolish enough to want to buy it won’t have enough mora to do so.”
He smiles, looking almost proud as he leans closer to you. “And why is that?”
“Because only the smart survive, get rich and stay in business,” you answer, “And because they’re smart, they’ll recognize the ring. And they’ll know that you’d come for it. And that you’d make sure the word doesn’t get out and that there’s no witness.”
Pantalone looks most pleased, closing the distance between you to rub your noses together.
“Very good,” he murmurs, “So how about you make sure the ring is safe on your finger, hm?”
You don’t acknowledge the threat to you. That was only to be expected. You wounded him, or at least upset him, destabilized a favourable situation that is your relationship; naturally he’d lash out. You know better than most. The ring feels heavy on your finger. Less like a ball and chain locked around your ankle, more like a heavy winter coat around your shoulder.
Feofan can be incredibly sweet and attentive to those he cares for. He is. Unless given a reason not to be.
“There we go,” he whispers. Some of his smile is genuine, which is a relief.
He’s about to pull away but you’re quicker. It doesn’t matter much, whether he stays or not is entirely up to him. For a moment you don’t think he will, considering how coldly he regards your hand tugging on his sleeve. Then he indulges you, allowing you to even put his hands on your waist.
“I hurt you with my words,” he states, licking his lips. The haze of the argument must’ve left his mind. “I apologize.”
“I also apologize,” you sigh, “I shouldn’t have done that. You know how to be incredibly infuriating and I never know how to stop you and then act out of line.”
He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “Yet you’re forgiven. A benevolent lover, am I not?”
You agree, with reluctance that remains privy only to you. Feofan knows how to be very benevolent, yet unapologetically cruel at the same time. You, at least, are protected by his fondness for you. Still you think you’d rather pamper him for a while, to make him forget your mistake.
Zhongli
You’d maybe prefer if Zhongli showed his emotions more. You’d perhaps appreciate more if he looked as worked up as you. This is going nowhere and it’s frustrating, he’s frustrating-
“Do it and you’ll have to face punishment,” he says, sternly, impatiently. Exactly the way you hoped he’d talk ever since your blood started boiling. Yet now you completely disregard his tone for sake of what he’s saying, or rather - those words with that tone make you forget what you were doing in the first place.
He closes the distance between you swiftly and you all but shiver when he takes your hand into his. However, his mood changes rapidly the moment his fingers brush the ring halfway down your finger. Zhongli’s very good at hiding his emotions, but when he lets them show, they’re painfully clear. And now the remorse consumes him completely.
“I didn’t mean to upset you so,” he murmurs, stroking over the ring now safely in its usual place, “I apologize.”
You take a deep breath, exhale slowly. He means it, of course he does, sometimes your tempers just don’t match well.
“I’m sorry too,” you mumble, then you swallow, “What did you mean earlier though, by the punishment…?”
You know better than to genuinely think Zhongli was suggesting what your body clearly seems to think, or maybe even hope for.
“We signed the certificates,” he says, slowly, almost carefully, the tone you know well because that’s how he always says what he’s half-certain might be upsetting to you without fully comprehending why, “Marriage is basically a contr-”
“Zhongli, I swear, if you call our marriage a contract I am resigning from it,” you sigh. Exhausted by the revelation so much that you can’t even get mad, let alone think about what you were fighting about in the first place, you let your forehead fall against his shoulder. He freezes for a moment in a silent contemplation.
“I don’t think of our relationship as a contractual obligation-”
“Zhongli, I know you think that’s comforting but please be quiet,” you stop him before he can get the rest of the explanation out.
“I love you,” he chuckles, settling for the safe option.
“I love you too,” you accept, a small smile blooming on your lips, “But don’t ever call our marriage that.”
He nods against your head, his arms wrapping around your waist. He holds you closer, rubbing circles into the small of your back. How easily does he undo you with his words - how easily you undo a god. With nothing but a simple mistake in the heights of emotion.
“I wasn’t planning to leave,” you mumble into his shoulder, “I was just so frustrated.”
He makes a small noise of acknowledgement. The longer he holds you, the more you feel like you’ve both calmed down. The golden light of the late afternoon casts a warm glow around the room.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he says, slowly, as if each word was hard to spell out, “I don’t like the idea of you leaving… our home, and me.”
His hand finds yours, squeezing, tracing the ring again. You have to appreciate he made the effort to not say breaking the contract. You reward him with a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“I don’t plan to,” you pull away enough to meet his eyes, “We swore until death do us apart, didn’t we? I’m keeping that promise.”
Zhongli cups your face, his thumb strokes your cheek. You close your eyes when he leans in. The kiss is enough, the tenderness of his touch. The god of contracts made his vow to you, he wouldn’t dream of breaking it.
You set their soul on fire. They burn for you and would burn everything else for you. To them, you are their ultimate end and the reason they keep going. They would protect you from among the shadows, never letting any danger come near you. If you bore hatred towards them, they would love you ten times more. Men who are full of secrets and will push you far away but pull you so close over and over again.
“May we meet again in this and every other universe my dearest.”
They see you in everything ethereal and beautiful. They admire you, observe you, all from afar. Your touch is like gold. They're afraid of that gold because nothing is permanent. One might lose even gold. As years go by, they realize loving you is so easy but they would never get to fully know that love. Sacrifices are to be made, you're too precious to be lost to them forever with time. So they long for you. Even when they are striding along their own path, they reminisce their moments with you and the thought of you is long etched inside their heart.
“Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories.”
