Your posts about Zani made me think of Zani as a big handsome ram who watches over your flock, and then you’re the funny sheep who always wanders off and gets into trouble, so she always keeps a careful eye on you 😭
Also rams are super protective so imagine Zani being super protective over you hehkajklajs
Big Horn, Big Problem (Art)
Satyr type of hybird (top human, bottom animal legs), GN!Reader, SELF INDULGE
A/N : I DO NOT DIVE DEEPLY INTO WUWA,keep in mind that any request of Wuwa has the high chance i will misinterpret or wrongly presenting character. This request is okay bcs i love Zani,teehee~
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Reader who is as clumsy as a newborn lamb. Zani thinks maybe you are just clumsy, or maybe you are a trouble maker who got bored easily, or you just want to have reason to bleats.
.
..
..
In few months, Rover comes to check the barn only to see lambs going around.
imagine being banged by both arlecchino and zani. zani would have white haired bush around her base while arle prefers to have hers shaven. while arle’s dick is on thinner side, it more than makes up for its length. i feel like arle’s tip would huge asf though. the type that would be caught in your entrance every time it goes in and out and its big enough to touch that one spot near your hole. zani’s girth would be thick and heavy and it doesn’t matter if she’s turned on or not, her dick always has veins popping and angry.
they’re both very stressed so any sexual intercourse with them is spicy to the t. the best position they like is of course any position they can be inside you at the same time. zani would pound your ass until its the shape of her dick while arle’s dick would be kissing your womb. sometimes they would feel each other throbbing and moving inside you. sometime’s zani would give your ass a few slap while arle pinches your clit from the front. sometimes arle would be biting your neck while zani fondles your breasts from behind.
they’d both have you on your knees as their cocks twitch in front your face. their mush covering your nostril and intoxicating you deeper each time you smell. both of them would slap your face with their cocks and have you thanking and worshipping their dicks the next moment. you’d kiss it lovingly while they smear their load on to your face, mixing with your tears and drool. they’d have you gagging and crying and screaming and you all would go at it for a whole night like animals in their heat. i mean thats what happens when you mate with two monsters.
drabble | f!reader x various f!characters | hurt/comfort | 2.1k
Thinking about the warmth that lingered the air after the bath, you both shared. She sat behind you on the plastic lid of the off-white, ceramic toilet, her gaze stuck to the wall between your frame and the mirror. A poor excuse from how her eyes begged to wander further down your form.
Grey smoke curled in the air as it chassed the ceiling, creating a particular blend of nicotine, humidity, and shampoo her senses knew already too well. This had become some sort of ritual. After any mission you both accomplished, you'd share a bath in your shared apartment. It was logical, after all. It saved on the water bill and avoided any of you staining some part of the house with blood while waiting for the other to finish. Besides, it was obvious that none of you cared about your scarred forms mirroring one another.
The water was long gone from the tub, leaving in its stead grime and dirt from both your bodies. She had followed the foaming trail of body wash that had trailed down the outside of your knee. Resisting the urge to touch, to feel your scarred skin beneath her fingertips. But now, all that remained on the white ceramic was a small poodle of bloody water and a mix of dust and dirt.
Today had been particularly rough, she sighed, her eyes finally falling on your half-naked form. Your hip was plopped against the sink, your frame dressed in only your matching black bra and panties. It wasn't anything extravagant, more practical than anything, really, a simple elastic band and stretchy fabric. No lace nor underwires for it had been picked in a hurry at a convenience store.
And to her, gone were the days when her cheeks flushed and heartbeat sped at the sight of your naked form. A sort of normalcy had settled, the domestic kind that could only bloom in a trusted environment, something she couldn't imagine without you. It was the kind of domesticity that only came from two women with scars rivaling one another. It only came from two humans with nothing left to lose, for every day might as well be their last.
She slowly brought the cigarette back to her lips, inhaling the smoke before blowing it in the opposite direction from you. She didn't normally smoke indoors, definitely not in your presence since you've made it quite clear that you despise its smell. But today hadn't been normal, and it seemed you shared the sentiment since you didn't say a word at the first flicker of her lighter.
Today's mission was supposed to be easy, the 'kill and go' kind of duty. However, things are never that simple. Especially in this line of work, and, especially with the feelings she felt for the woman 3 feet away from her. She flickered the ash in the drain of the bathtub, always letting the heat get closer than necessary to her fingertips. Today had been too fucking close. Your body before her proved of such.
The wounds had stopped bleeding after a while, but the limp in your movements was evident. Scratches traveled your legs, cuts littered your arms, interrupting the constellation of your moles. She'd seen you, meet the ground, and for one frightful second, she saw what she dreaded most, acceptance behind a wall of fear.
She'd saved you, naturally.
None of you had mentioned it ever since and you had remained silent for the better part of the day, but she wanted to talk about it, wanted to grip your shoulders and shake you until you understood how miserable she'd be if you left. She wanted you to feel how she felt ever since you walked into her life.
Not today, though, never today. Maybe tomorrow, if you even had one. If you both survived again.
It was silent but far from calm. Your wet hair from the previous bath often released one or two droplets of water that met the sink in a low 'plop'.
She watched as you racked your hands through it. It was darker than usual and already curling at the ends. You sighed, too focused on your predicament to notice her balant stating.
She took another hit, leaning against the backrest of the toilet as her eyes followed your hands, reaching for the straightener. It was a ritual she was familiar with. The pattern of your hair had always been too bothersome for you. 'It's too much work', you complained when she asked. Maybe that's one of the many things she loved about you, the routine. She loved how consistent, reliable, strong, you truly were. She never knew she needed that in her life until now.
"You know…" she started, her voice not a whisper, but not her usual tone either.
"You don't have to straighten it all the time, I like the way it curls."
She hummed, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin on one of her hands while the other twirled the burning nicotine.
She didn’t look away, her gaze traveling from the back of your head to the drain as she gently shook the ash off the cigarette. You scoffed, but it seemed softer.
"Please, you don't know what you're talking about. You've never seen it."
You were right, to some extent. No matter how damaging it, you always straightened your hair while still damp and sometimes even when it dripped with water.
You leaned towards the mirror, your back creating an arch she wished she could trace with the tip of her nail and watch as it caught on the ragged skin.
Your nakedness wasn't erotic, it never really was.
Finally, she allowed her eyes to wander. As if she hadn't memorized every single dip and shadow of your skin.
"I've seen it." She finally retorted, quiet. Smoke escaped her lips as it curled under the light of the mirror.
"That one time, when you fell asleep in the bathtub after that mission in the city center. Your hair was a mess, wet, wild."
A pause.
"I didn't wake you up on purpose." She added, plastering a smile on her lips in hopes to hide just how much she meant each word.
"It was beautiful."
She tapped the butt of the cigarette against the poodle of bloodied water, a faint scent of burnt paper briefly filling the room before slowly dissipating through the humid air.
She turned back to you, your mouth parting to release one of those bratty retorts you never run out of. Only for a loud curse to fend the air instead.
"Shit!'
It hit like a flare in the dark.
She halted for an instant, reaching for her weapon (which she stupidly came to realize had been thrown somewhere across the apartment). She quickly made her way to your side. But as her frame stood beside yours, all she noticed was the sharp hiss of water touching burning iron. That's when she saw it, the straightener, knocked over, contrasting over the white porcelain of the sink. Steam slowly rose from your forearm, where heat had kissed skin.
You squirmed, a string of charming words escaping your lips as your healthy hand instinctively tried to slap over the burn. She stopped it before you could worsen the situation.
"Damn it, stupid."
In one smooth motion, —without panic, she grabbed your wrist, pulling it under the freezing tap water even as you weakly tried to pull away.
"You always do this."
She murmured, watching as the burn became more prominent under clear water. She didn't let go.
"Always rush into things."
The statement hung heavier than the smoke that still lingered the air. This wasn't about burns, nor about hair. It was about everything.
You didn't answer, she didn't expect you to. The mark on your arm seemed to have settled on a proper Vermilion shade, and when you tried once more to break her grip, she didn't relent.
She could see the tension in your jaw. You were probably clenching your teeth so hard they could break, but you didn't even choke out a surprised noise. Through your pain, your healthy arm reached for support. Finding it in her cotton shirt, bunching up the fabric as you gripped it like a lifeline. Your face falling soon after in the crook of her neck.
It was more contact than usual. You both knew it. Especially her, she'd grown close enough to you to recognize the pattern drawing itself before her eyes. Maybe it was because of how easily you almost died today. Maybe it was everything altogether, but she knew you'd bottled up enough.
She let the tap run, the steam rise, adjusting her hold on your wrist with silent authority.
"No," she sighed, her gaze stuck on the wet strands of your hair. "You don't get to pull away." Her voice wasn't loud, it didn't need to be.
"You can clench your teeth from getting the living daylights punched out of you, walk home with a broken rib, and make yourself coffee as if nothing—" a pause, "but one burn? You fall apart."
She turned slightly, placing herself between you and the sink. Blocking the view of the mirror as if this moment couldn't even be witnessed by the two of you. She looked at you, really did.
"…I saw you today." There, she said it. And regretted it instantly when she felt your body tense. The words tumbled from her lips before she could stop it. "When you went down, when I thought you—"
She cut herself off, chewing on her bottom lip as her fingers slowly released their deathly hold over your wrist to softly trace over a cut from last week. Sliding her hands down your forearm, fingertips dancing off ragged wounds. One from last month, another from a few days ago. Some healed, others not quite but each painted in the canvas of her mind.
Nuzzled in her neck, you didn't answer. Your grip over her white cotton sleep shirt never relenting. For a moment, or perhaps longer, none of you spoke nor moved. Not until you shifted and slowly rose your head from where it rested moments before.
Your damp hair hung over your face, hiding half of it from her view. But it did little to hide the downturn of your lips and the tightness around your eyes. You didn't pull away yet, your burnt forearm having long given up resisting the freezing cold of the water.
After a beat, you breathed out. Your sigh slightly shaky, a mix between a scoff and a laugh. As if you, yourself, couldn't decide whether to shrug it off or finally snap. She didn't know which she wished for, either.
When you finally parted your lips, your voice was rough. She'd go as far as to say hoarse, but that would be too close to admitting how dampness had met her neck. Dampness she knew that wasn't from your hair.
"I hate this," you finally whispered out, never lifting your gaze to meet hers but staring at the mirror instead. "Hate how you… always see it."
The pause stretched as she waited for you to elaborate without her prompting your words forward. She'd learned to choose her words carefully so as not to frighten you away from opening up, akin to a wounded animal.
One breath, then another.
"I saw its face when it lunged at me, and I swear, just for a second, I wanted to let it take me." You swallowed, the grimace on your face making her wince. "Not because I was scared," she begged to differ, "Because, what if we're already ghosts? Awaiting fate's judgment? Just walking around pretending we'll live long enough to get old?"
Your gaze shifted, from your reflection in the mirror to the straightener on the side of the sink. Dancing across the wrinkles that had formed on her shoulder before finally meeting her eyes.
"And then you pulled me back," you croaked, your voice uncharacteristically small,"…like you always do."
A pause.
"Why do you keep on saving me if we already know how this ends?"
Her breath stopped. For a second, she felt the way your words carved themselves in her ribs. Not because they were new, but because she knew. Knew the shape of that truth like a blade in her own palm.
Suddenly, she moved. Almost foolishly, her hands rose, letting go of your wrist and waist to reach up, to tangle in the back of your hair and pull. Not enough to hurt, God knew you both had enough of that today, but to force eye contact. To stop your gaze from fleeting hers. Her voice became lower with something embarrassingly close to desperation.
"Because I don't care about how this ends."
A beat, her thumb brushing over your pulse point, leaning closer to your weary face, the scent of ash and smoke blending with your sweet body wash.
"I only care that you keep breathing until it does, and I'll save you over and over again, just to witness you bathe beside me."
HIMENO, Arlecchino, Acheron, Zani, Maki Zenin, SHOKO IEIRI, Trigger + any of your favs!
Zani, in all her yandere glory—time to study her character and break it down
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Yandere Drabble
Zani
Zani’s obsession with you would be like a slow burn, a steady flame that never wavers, always flickering in the background of her composed exterior, waiting for the right moment to consume everything.
Zani starts off distant, not cold, but reserved, overly formal because of the job. She’s professional to a fault, But the moment you tell her to drop the act? That she doesn’t need to keep pretending?
You unlock the gates to her inner world.
Her nonchalant demeanor, laced with curiosity, adds to it.
The best part, Zani's obsession starts with curiosity. She's The one who lets her obsession simmer under the surface until one day—boom—the obsession spills over with terrifying clarity.
She’s neither the type to obsess loudly nor the type to go full theatrical meltdown if someone flirts with you but You’ve noticed the way her tail twitches whenever that happens.
“I’ll walk you home.”
There’s a flicker of something deeper in her red eyes, as she adjusts her tie. A glint of obsession tempered by years of restraint, by a job that demands masks, balance and containment.
Zani is so good at handling people that her yandere side wouldn’t even look like a problem on the surface.
You’ll find her helping “just because she was in the area.” She’s already memorized your habits—how much sleep you get, when do you eat, how much do you eat, are you taking care of yourself, what are your hobbies—every single detail like it's her job to do so.
Zani’s love is not explosive. It’s steady, heavy and inescapable. The kind of love that buries itself into your day-to-day life until you don’t even realize you’ve been isolated, doted on, and protected into complete dependence.
Her obsession is dressed in sarcasm, care and carried on the shoulders of a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
Zani is known for her authenticity and adherence to her principles. She's not one to hide behind masks or play deceptive games. This unwavering commitment to her true self would shape her yandere tendencies in a unique way.
She'd openly express her feelings, making it clear that you are the center of her world. Her declarations wouldn't be flowery or exaggerated; they'd be sincere and direct.
"I don't need to pretend or play games. I love you, and I won't let anyone come between us."
She doesn't want to own your freedom.
She wants you to hand it over willingly.
She won’t say “you belong to me.” That’s too crude for her style. Instead, she makes you feel like she belongs to you.
She sacrifices sleep for you. Skips meals for you. Works overtime just to make sure you’re comfortable. And then—when you even think about pulling away—there’s this aching guilt, because look at her. So tired, so loyal, so devoted.
How dare you even think of leaving someone like her, someone who devotes so much of herself to you.
You wouldn’t dare leave, would you?
She doesn’t trap you with chains. She traps you with care.
That’s how you fall for her, darlin'.
Not with fireworks but With quiet, relentless consistency.
“I don’t like sharing. In case that wasn’t painfully obvious.”
Sometimes, you'd notice her tail coiling around your thigh or waist. If you asked her about it, she'd just say, "Huh... that again?" And if you tried to move away—"Don’t move. I like how it feels."
Zani doesn’t believe in gods, but she'd kneel for you.
Deliciously ironic, Isn't it?
She doesn’t use the Order’s terminology, doesn’t believe in divine protection. But she becomes your devotee in the most human way possible. Worship through acts of service. Love through protection. Faith not in heaven, but in you.
"I don't believe in gods, but if you told me to kneel... I wouldn’t hesitate.”
malereader x Jing Yuan/Zani/Gepard (separated), fluff;
Little Christmas special - maybe it's not entirely about traditions. More likely your "little things" during December
Merry Christmas!
Ps. Okay, these were supposed to be short stories with many characters. But I got carried away... If I hadn't slapped my hands, it would have turned into a completely separate posts [*] But I wanted to include all the information I had in my head and that's how it ended up... Though at least I included two characters you were interested in + Jing Yuan, who sparked this whole idea. I couldn't leave you without a Christmas present, right?
Jing Yuan
Jing Yuan loves Christmas. Why, you ask? Very simple. Because he can spend all his days with you! No interruptions. He shuts himself off from all matters and calls from Divine Foresight. Forbids all his subordinates from contacting him and categorically refuses to leave the house, ordering all his Christmas shopping with door-to-door delivery. Of course, you are also sent on mandatory vacation. It's not that Jing Yuan plans to let you out of his nest for even a moment.
No work, no troubles. Just you and him.
Who wouldn't be excited about full cuddly time with his favorite person?!
That's why when he sees that instead of giving him your undivided attention, you've been decorating Christmas tree for an hour, he launches to attack.
He approaches you from behind, wanting to be sly but you are not surprised. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lurking in the corner of a room for five minutes, clearly impatient. Jing Yuan doesn't get an expected shudder, but he doesn't let that discourage him. He folds his arms behind his back, rests his head gently on your shoulder and begins to murmur softly. He knows that's your weak spot.
-Aren't you tired yet, love?
He looks at you with expectation while vibrations passing through his body begin to affect you.
-I don't know-... Am I?
You ask without even looking at him. Jing Yuan wrinkles his nose in dissatisfaction.
Despite his closeness you try to resist his advances, which he clearly doesn't like at all.
He looks jealously as you gently grab a fir branch and slide a red trinket onto it. Stupid tree. How dare it take all your attention away from him. Next year he will order all these overgrown bushes in Xianzhou Luofu to be cut down.
You can't tear yourself away from him to reach for something new. You want to feel his closeness and don't want to startle him. But at the same time he sees as you reach for another decoration already hanging there, wanting to change its position.
He immediately activates his tail and skillfully wraps it around your forearm. Grip strong and firm. Despite your strength, you know it would be difficult to free yourself from it.
-I think that's enough, my love... You need a little break. Look, two baubles you hung right next to each other have glitter on them. You can't tell me that looks good
He is right and with his tail, which tickles your palm with its fluffy tip, Jing Yuan pulls you onto a couch.
-That's because you distracted me
-Nah- ah- I don't know what you're talking about
He admits proudly, pushing you onto a pile of pillows and sitting down next to you with a broad smile. He wants to snuggle up to you, but first he has to finish his work. So he covers you both with a blanket, reaches for a mug of hot chocolate, shoves it into your hands and brings his forehead close to your lips.
-Sometimes you can be really clueless - he complains when he doesn't feel what he wants.
You quickly reflect on this and kiss the top of his head in gratitude. A satisfied smirk automatically appears on Jing Yuan's face. Full of pride, he decides to leave your shoulder (even though those muscles are extremely tempting...) and settles on your lap in an almost sleeping position.
He feels twinkling lights on him and remembers how much joy these silly trees bring you. Maybe he won't cut them down just yet...
You look at it all with a sense of resignation. At how easily you let yourself be fooled. At how, due to your lack of assertiveness and inability to say no to your fiance, you both ended up on overly comfortable couch opposite the colorfully sparkling Christmas tree.
-But you know we still have to finish the other side, right?
-Yeah, yeah -Jing Yuan quickly brushes you off, closing his eyes. You're not even sure if he fully understands what you're saying- Later -he yawns widely, his mouth open like a roaring lion- First, a quick nap
And you already know that you won't be back to decorating until at least tomorrow morning...
Zani
Zani spends most of the holiday season in a kitchen. At first, this surprises you. She doesn't give off a vibe of a devoted housewife, feeling spirit of Christmas and happily baking gingerbread cookies. Colorful garlands, Christmas music and tacky woolen sweaters with reindeer? Nah, Zani is more like someone who comes home, drops onto the couch and forgets to switch calendar to December.
And indeed, Zani has her own style. Instead of colorful decorations, she chose cozy lights on windows... and on almost every free countertop or windowsill. She switched radio station from upbeat "howling" to more toned down carols with a calm and quiet melody. And she burns all Christmas clothes she gets in your fireplace.
However, you can't dismiss the fact that she tries very hard. Maybe she feels pressure from society? Maybe she wants to live up to expectations? Or is well aware that she isn't like other women. That she may not be as sweet and charming. That she is not able to show affection to her partner in the same way as other girls. That at first glance, she may not seem like the best "candidate for a wife."
Times are changing. And Zani isn't insecure. Since you've already put so much effort into winning her over, now you have to deal with what you've got. She never said it would be easy. She's not overly jealous either. She knows you're faithful and won't leave her for any first girl in pink dress with a squeaky voice. That's not your type. But she also can't let your coworkers make fun of you, wishing you luck on your way home and offering to take you in for Christmas dinner in case of starving to death.
Since you chose her, you'll have all the best in life. That's settled!
That's why the first thing she does after work is go to your kitchen. She didn't expect it herself, but cooking relaxes her a lot. And when it turns out that you like one of her new recipes? She feels so satisfied!
When she bakes, she forgets about her piled-up responsibilities and her aching muscles suddenly loosen up.
You find her at the stove. See her frowning with concentration while tasting the borscht she's cooking. Intensely contemplating whether it needs anything extra. It's adorable to watch her care so much about something.
Zani stirs the soup with a few deft movements and turns towards a counter where she left gingerbread dough. She is slightly surprised to see you, but tries to not get distracted. You don't want to disturb her either, so instead of rushing over for a warm welcome, you just sit down at the kitchen island. You rest your head on your bent elbow and admire your woman.
She is still wearing her work clothes. Including that extremely dangerous tight-fitting white shirt. Tie is thrown aside somewhere. Sleeves are rolled up so as to not get stained with beet juice. Top buttons are undone, threateningly revealing scraps of a lace bra. Woman is covered in flour. Starting with her tight black pants, ending with a skimpy pink apron with frills around the edges, which she is currently adjusting. She unties the knot and then pulls again on two ends of straps wrapped around her back. You can see how tightly they clasp her waist. How they cut into her flesh and emphasize her curves. Zani ties the front tightly.
A sudden wave of heat passes through a woman. Under the force of your intense gaze, she begins to blush slightly. She fixes a strand of hair behind her ear and immediately curses herself silently. It seems that she is beginning to understand all those foolish, naive teenagers.
-What are you looking at?
-Imagining how you would look with lights on your horns. It could be something, don't you think?
You reply casually and she gives you a death stare.
-Hey! I'm serious! - you insist, trying to hold back your laughter - Maybe we should dress you up as reindeer? Kids would finally stop being afraid of you
Zani rolls her eyes and puts the rolling pin aside. Someone should keep you in line.
You hear a click and see her suddenly lose a few inches. She gets rid of her uncomfortable high heels only to walk towards you almost barefoot. In tights, she gracefully takes futher step on a cold tiles. Bypasses island and lands right in front of you.
You can't help yourself. You grab her cheek with your free hand and lovingly wipe the excess flour off it.
-Oh, really? Watch out, cause I might put some horns on you*
Zani leans over you slowly, testing your patience. Then, with a cheeky smile, she plants a passionate kiss on your lips.
You won't be leaving this kitchen anytime soon...
*So, I got carried away with my writing and forgot that this saying may only exist in my country hah srry. To give your husband horns means to find someone else to flirt and etc without him knowing
Gepard
Your boyfriend goes nuts for Christmas trees. More specifically, for a family tradition that has been practiced in his home for several generations. Even if he doesn't keep in touch with his family very much. At least as far as you know...
He rarely talks about his parents. And when he does, it's more mechanical and limited to short comments. There's always a lack of warmth in it... However, he always shows them respect. As a well-behaved noble son should. You do feel that something might be going on. That maybe Gepard and his sister's childhood wasn't the happiest. But you try not to pry. You haven't known each other long enough. And you don't want to upset him. Inside he can be so delicate, even if he acts tough on the outside. At the same time, he never wants to disappoint you, so he would probably step out of his comfort zone specially for you.
Sometimes that's just the way it is. You have to respect your elders and follow the rules set by society. So you're not surprised when Gepard makes it a matter of honour to uphold old traditions. Especially since he seems to have particularly fond memories of this one...
You see, you don't pay much attention to Christmas trees. That means, maybe to decorating them, yes... but cutting them down? That's probably some hard level of Christmas preparations. All you feel to do is go to the local vendor. Walk down the alley for fifteen minutes with ready-made trees leaning against walls and fences. Choose one that has a few more branches than the rest and calmly go home. There are many more things to do that can tire you out.
However, when it comes to Gepard, situation appears to be quite different. Getting a Christmas tree is a whole ritual. And since you moved in together, you are also involved in it.
It starts with excitement...
The closer it gets to December 24, the more often Gepard asks you about your days off. He sits next to you on a couch, grabs your sleeve and with eyes as big and sparkling as coins, asks when you'll find some time to go with him to get a Christmas tree. Your heart breaks when you have to turn him down. Especially since his expression resembles that of an eager puppy.
-I'm sorry, babe, tomorrow I have to stay late at work. Maybe on Friday, yeah?
You stroke him behind an ear and give him a quick kiss on the lips. Warm touch satisfies him for a moment. But then he realizes that the wait will be prolonged and corners of his mouth instantly drop down. He buries his head in your arm as you go back to work on your laptop.
-S-sure... Don't worry about it! This can wait... - he mumbles under his nose.
It doesn't sound convincing at all, but there's nothing you can do about it. With a slight sting in your chest, you set yourself the goal of finding a free moment in your schedule as soon as possible.
But such situations only repeat themselves...
You come home and find Gepard heating up your dinner in a kitchen. He's feeling down. You worked late again and are probably too tired to go with him to get a tree. But he understands this and says nothing. Trying to appear unfazed, he places a plate of steaming casserole in front of you and sits down at the table himself.
However, when you casually suggest an evening trip to get a Christmas tree, he almost jumps out of his chair.
He is so excited!
He leaves a hundred little kisses on your face, and you laugh at his affection. He was really afraid that they would sell out all the nice trees!
Successively, you move on to realisation process...
You are no longer in a store, but in a forest nursery on an outskirts of the city. You decided to buy a tree from the same family that Landaus have always bought from.
At the sight of twinkling lights strung across a rustic fence, Gepard grabs you by the wrist and pulls you along.
It's cute to see him like this. So carefree, completely cut off from daily rules established in military work.
Fresh snow crunches under your feet, while Christmas music plays from speakers placed on top of a lampposts, right next to the hooks for lights.
This trip doesn't take fifteen minutes. It's at least an hour's walk in dark night, during which Gepard sends envious glances at the couples who are quicker than him in their choice and inspects each tree individually. That one is too thick, there won't be room for Christmas balls. This one is too shallow at the top. This one is too narrow. This one is too short. This one is almost perfect, but only on one side.
-We'll put ugly side against a wall, and no one will notice, right?
You ask, slightly tired from searching. Steam escapes from your mouth. You love to see Gepard smiling like that. But it's cold... You can feel your fingers freezing. Especially your right hand, which your boyfriend insists on holding.
Gepard gives you an offended look. How can you even suggest such a thing? His reaction sends shivers down your spine.
-It has to be perfect
He dismisses your stupid idea with a wave of his hand and moves on. Again, bouncing from foot to foot.
Wait.
He turns back and intertwines your hands again.
Now he can get back to work.
Finally, comes a moment of finalization...
After almost an hour and a half of wandering and debating all pros and cons, Gepard finally decides on a perfect tree. Even two! He knows that if it not for him, Serval will spend this Christmas without any spirit.
You thank owners for their kindness, while they bring you hot chocolate from a booth nearby. Old couple recognized Landau and your struggle. In the meantime, Gepard proudly grabs an axe, immediately bringing back childhood memories. He still remembers when his father let him take the first swing (with his help, of course). It was such an honorable role! Servants may have taken care of everything else, but cutting down a green tree was a pride of the head of family. A noble tradition.
That's why maybe you should cut it down... Gepard ponders this for a moment. You are stronger and you are in charge...
But he loves it so much!
He looks at you unsurely and you just give him a encouraging smile, not even realizing the battle that is taking place in his little head.
Okay! In that case, he'll take care of it! And he'll let you pull the back trees to a carriage.
And after it's all over, remorse set in...
After a job well done, Gepard brushes his hands off and props himself up on hips with a big grin.
Once he has achieved one goal, he automatically moves on to another. Truly a wife material...
-Brilliant! Tomorrow we have to come back and plant a new sapling in its place
Right... You hope that finding a spot for a new tree will take a little less time...
Can I get uhhhh..... Zani and Cantarella (separate) being married to a royal (like fifth in line for the throne) from a distant nation and Rover finding out when she meets the man himself when he comes to vist his wife. Like Ella is just flirtily with everyone but the moment her man is back she’s just... clingly. (That girl is touch starved you cannot convince me otherwise.)
The real shocker is Zani, because she catches Rover ‘flirting’ with the reader and the employee is suddenly very possessive in a classy but intimidating way. Commenting casually that the reader is her man and she’s not sharing so back the fuck-
“Between My Hands and No Other’s”
Tags: Zani x Reader, Cantarella x Reader, Male!Reader, Established Relationship, Secret Marriage Reveal, Protective Partner, Possessive Behavior (Classy But Intense), Touch-Starved Partner (Cantarella), Soft Domestic Moments, Public Display Of Affection (PDA), Subtle Power Dynamics, Fluff With A Side Of Tension, Mild Jealousy.
Warnings: Mild Possessiveness, Public Confrontation (Verbal), Intense Stares/Intimidating Behavior (Zani), Overt Physical Affection (Cantarella), Light Power Imbalance, Implied Authority/Power That Could Turn Dangerous, Minor Social Tension Between Characters.
Ragunna’s Averado Bank was built to intimidate—vaulted ceilings, marble floors, and the kind of silence that made footsteps echo like accusations. You stepped inside, accompanied by your retinue, the faint gleam of your signet ring catching in the light. Being fifth in line to a royal throne wasn’t a title that turned heads everywhere, but here, people noticed.
Zani noticed first.
She stood by the reception desk, immaculate as always—white shirt pressed to perfection, red ribbon tied with military precision, high-waisted black pants hugging her form, and that ever-present cape draping elegantly from her shoulders. Pale skin, dark red eyes, black horns curving upward… She looked every inch the Montelli family’s most formidable employee.
And, of course, your wife.
A fact no one here—not even Rover—knew.
Rover was leaning against one of the marble columns, chatting with a junior banker. She spotted you and brightened immediately, striding over with the easy grin of someone who had no idea what she was walking into.
“Well, well,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t expect to see royalty gracing the bank today. What’s the occasion? Missing me already?”
It was harmless teasing, the kind Rover threw at everyone. You chuckled, replying in kind, but before you could answer, the faint click of heels cut through the air.
Zani’s approach was slow, deliberate—the kind of pace that said she wasn’t in a rush, but you’d better be ready to listen. The shadow of her cape fell across you before she stopped at your side, her gloved hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder.
“Your Highness,” she greeted, voice smooth but edged with steel. “I wasn’t informed you’d be visiting today.”
“Surprise,” you said, smiling at her.
Her gaze didn’t linger on you, though. No—those crimson eyes locked onto Rover with the precision of a hawk sighting prey.
“Rover,” she said evenly, “I see you’ve met my husband.”
It was a casual enough sentence… until the weight of the last two words sank in. Rover froze.
“…Your husband?” she repeated slowly, looking between you and Zani as if trying to reconcile the idea with reality.
“Yes,” Zani replied, voice still perfectly polite, perfectly calm. “Mine. And I don’t share.”
The statement was delivered with such smooth finality that the room seemed to drop a degree in temperature. Zani’s hand tightened on your shoulder—not painfully, but enough to remind you that the grip could turn into an unbreakable hold if needed.
Rover blinked, mouth opening to explain that she’d just been joking, but Zani continued before she could.
“I’m sure you meant no harm,” she said, that faint smile not reaching her eyes, “but I would suggest exercising… care… with your words. Especially toward what belongs to me.”
The silence stretched just long enough for Rover to nod stiffly and mutter something about work before retreating.
When she was gone, Zani turned to you, the faintest flicker of softness replacing the intimidation in her eyes.
“You should have told me you were coming,” she murmured. “I would have met you at the gates.”
“Wouldn’t be a surprise then,” you teased.
Her lips curved ever so slightly. “Perhaps. But surprises invite misunderstandings… as you just saw.”
Still, she didn’t remove her hand from your shoulder. In fact, as she led you deeper into the bank, her other hand found yours—an uncharacteristic display of affection in public, but one she clearly wasn’t letting go of any time soon.
The Fisalia estate was a masterpiece of opulence and quiet menace—ornate gates twined with flowering vines, halls scented faintly of exotic blooms, and a lingering taste of salt in the air, as if the ocean itself had claimed the place.
You arrived on a bright afternoon, your carriage rolling to a stop at the front steps. Being fifth in line to a throne wasn’t a position that demanded constant attention, but when visiting another nation’s most infamous family, it came with an entourage and an announcement.
Rover, who’d been helping deliver a package to the estate, happened to be there when you stepped out. She blinked at you, then grinned.
“Well, if it isn’t royalty,” she said, leaning casually against the carriage doorframe. “Didn’t expect to see you in Fisalia territory. What brings you here? Sightseeing? Or maybe you’re here for the company—”
Before she could finish, a soft, melodic voice drifted down from the top of the steps.
“My dear.”
Cantarella Fisalia descended like the tide—graceful, deliberate, her lavender hair flowing with light blue streaks that caught the light like ripples over water. Her parasol twirled lazily in one hand, the sapphire at her throat catching the sun. Those vivid blue eyes locked onto you and seemed to glow with recognition.
Rover actually stepped back at the sudden change in atmosphere. Cantarella didn’t so much walk to you as she did drift, her presence as fluid and irresistible as the sea itself.
When she reached you, she didn’t hesitate. The parasol closed with a soft click and was hooked over her arm; then her hands found yours, fingers lacing together as if she’d been waiting years for this moment.
“You’re early,” she said softly, the faintest note of delight in her voice. “Were you too impatient to wait for me to visit you?”
You smiled. “Guilty.”
She leaned in, her forehead brushing against yours, voice dropping to a private murmur that somehow still carried to Rover’s ears. “Good. I’ve been drowning without you.”
Rover’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—hold on. You two are…?”
Cantarella turned her head slowly, regarding Rover with polite curiosity—as though only now realizing someone else was present. “Married,” she said simply. “To him. Did you not know?”
Rover’s mouth opened and closed. “I… no. I didn’t.”
Cantarella tilted her head, that ethereal smile curling at the edges. “Then you must forgive me. I am not usually so… forward… in front of strangers. But my husband has been far away, and I…” She trailed off, looking back at you with such raw adoration that it made the air feel warmer. “I miss him too much to pretend otherwise.”
Her hands slid up to cup your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. “Walk with me,” she urged, already steering you toward the gardens. “I’ve prepared tea. And I’ll not be letting go of you for the rest of the day.”
Rover stood frozen as the two of you disappeared into the estate, Cantarella’s parasol bobbing gently over her shoulder. She had seen Cantarella flirt before—light, airy, with strangers and allies alike. But this? This was something different. The dreamweaver of Fisalia clung to you as though you were her anchor in a world that constantly tried to pull her under.
By the time you reached the garden, Cantarella had looped her arm through yours, her body pressed close. She poured tea with one hand, refusing to release the other.
“You’ll stay the night,” she murmured as she set your cup down. “And the next. And the next, if I have my way. Your kingdom can do without you for a while.”
Her smile was sweet, but her grip on your hand was firm—a gentle chain you had no desire to escape.
Contains; possessive behavior, mild bondage (reader's hands are tied), oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), biting (reader receiving)
You should have known better than to try the window.
Zani doesn't slam it shut. She doesn't even raise her voice. She simply closes her hand around your wrist and pulls you back into the room with the unhurried certainty of someone who has never once lost a fight.
She was only a few minutes. I almost had it open. The thought dies pathetically in your head.
"Third floor," Zani says, conversationally, like she's telling you the weather. She leads you back to bed. Her red tie hangs loose around the collar of her sleep shirt, half-undone. She'd been awake. She's always awake. How inconvenient that she never sleeps. “Were you going to climb down the drainpipe, tesoro? In the dark?"
"I was-“
"Don't." She says it quietly, and somehow that's worse than shouting. She tilts her head, watching you with that flat, analytical gaze that strips you down to nothing. "I know exactly where you were going. And I know why." A pause. Her jaw tightens, just barely. "You're not leaving."
She pulls the tie free from her collar in one smooth motion.
Your breath catches.
"Hands."
“No.” You say stubbornly, and she tilts her head. Your hands move traitorously because some cowardly part of you remembers what happens when you make her ask twice. She loops the silk around your wrists with practiced efficiency, the knot firm but not cruel, and ties the other end to the iron headboard. The slack is enough to be comfortable. Not enough to escape. Deliberate. Everything Zani does is deliberate.
She pauses and looks at you. Something in her expression shifts, the careful professional mask cracking at the seams.
"I keep you safe," she says, almost to herself. "I protect you." Her fingers trace your jaw, your throat, your collarbone, and you shiver despite yourself. Her hand rests around your throat, and you can’t stop the whimper that catches in your throat. “And you run.”
She presses her forehead briefly to yours, eyes closed.
“It’s okay,” she tells you, as if she’s comforting you. “You don’t know any better. That’s why you need me.”
You bristle at that, open your mouth to retort, but then her hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, and you stop thinking altogether.
She strips your shirt up over your head without untying your wrists, bunches it around your arms. She works your underwear down your thighs with a calm efficiency, and then simply looks at you, spread out and flushed and already embarrassingly wet, for a long enough moment that heat crawls up your face.
"There you are," she murmurs, and there's something raw in it, something almost relieved. Mine. Finally, staying still.
Her thumb drags slowly across your lower lip, and when you open your mouth, she presses it down against your tongue.
“Good girl,” she murmurs, and the timbre of her voice makes you shiver. Her free hand splays flat across your sternum, feels your heartbeat hammering. “Your heart is racing.”
“I’m scared of you,” you bite out.
Zani tilts her head, and her other hand glides up your thigh. She slides two fingers through the slick heat between your thighs, and the noise you make is mortifying. She doesn't smile, but her eyes darken. “Are you?”
"Zani-“
"Shh." She parts you open, fingers exploring without urgency, and your hips chase the contact before you can stop them. "I'm not a patient woman by nature. I've had to learn it. Years of it." She circles your entrance, dips in just barely, retreats. You whine. "The work teaches you. You learn to wait for the right moment, the right opening." Another slow, barely-there push that has you straining against the tie. "I can be very patient when the prize is worth it."
She folds down over you, mouth finding your neck, your collarbone, the curve of your breast. When she closes her lips over your nipple and sucks, your back arches clean off the mattress. She pins your hips down with one forearm, effortless, without even looking up.
"Stop squirming."
"Then do something-“
"I am doing something." She bites you and sucks hard enough to mark, and you gasp. "I'm reminding you who you belong to." She works her way down your stomach with open-mouthed kisses, pausing every so often to suck a mark into your skin. Her fingers still tease at your entrance without pushing in. "Every time you try to leave, I have to remind you. It's inefficient." She exhales warm against your inner thigh. "I'd rather you just stayed." When her tongue finally finds your clit you choke on a sound that isn't language.
She's devastating. She works you up fast, two fingers curling inside you while her tongue moves in tight, relentless circles, and when you feel the orgasm building, she…
Stops.
You sob. Your hips buck, and she holds you down with a devastating ease.
"Zani, please-“
"Tell me you're not leaving." Her voice is muffled against your thigh, lips brushing skin as she speaks.
"That's not—that's not fair—"
"I don't care about fair." She presses a soft, almost tender kiss to your hip. "I care about you. Here. Safe." She looks up, and in the low lamplight her expression is something you can't quite name, something between ferocity and grief. "Tell me."
Your wrists strain against the tie. Your whole body is shaking.
"I'm not leaving," you breathe. The words feel like surrender. Maybe they are.
Something in her face goes quiet and still. Then she lowers her head again, and this time she doesn't stop.
She fucks you with her fingers deep and curling, mouth sealed over your clit, and the orgasm hits you like a wall. You cry out with your thighs locked around her head and your bound hands fisting helplessly in the tie. She works you through it, every aftershock, until you're twitching and oversensitive and whimpering for her to stop.
Later, she unties your wrists without comment, checks the skin carefully for marks, and presses her lips once against each pulse point. The tie is folded and set aside. She lies down beside you and pulls you against her chest, one arm locked around your waist. "Go to sleep."
The thought of you sitting on her lap, while she was just about to take a short rest. But then there's a sudden weight placed on her lap. She doesn't even need to open her eyes, she already know who it is.
From the scent. She recognised that perfume, the only one that wears this specific perfume is only you. "Do you need something from me?" She asked with a sleepy tone, curious as for why did you suddenly come to visit her. And, do.. this.
"Hm? ...Ah." She chuckled when she heard your response, and so her gloved hands went to your hips, giving them a squeeze before her eyes flutter open, revealing her piercing red irises. "I see." She gave you a small, knowing, smile.
