#illuga x reader

Lohen

“Oh?”

He watched as you hurled yourself towards his direction, intrigue and a hint of puzzlement sketched onto his face

Depending on the time of day, there's a 50% chance Lohen would open his arms and catch you so that the two of you would fall together, as well as another 50% chance that he'll wait right up until the moment you're almost in front of him, step aside and then catch you just as you were about to fall face first into the ground. What can he say? An eye for an eye, a surprise for a surprise.

Honestly, he finds your trust in him rather endearing. Even though you know that he has a million tricks up his sleeves, you still chose to run towards him at full speed with your arms wide open, not caring if he was in the mood to catch you or not. It made his heart sing with pride, knowing that you had such blind trust in him.

Fortunately for you, he decided to play nice today and catch you immediately. The moment he tosses everything away and your body hits his, one of his hands curls around the back of your head while his other arm slyly snakes around your waist, keeping you pressed as closely to him as possible even when his back hits the gravel below.

“Too bad. Such tricks just aren’t enough to catch me off guard, darling.”

He doesn't try to fight back the wolfish grin surfacing on his face, nor say a word back when you start complaining. Only when you start trying to lift yourself off of him does he make his move. In the blink of an eye, he rolls over and pins you down into the same patch of gravel he was once lying on top, trailing his hand slowly from the back of your head down the back of your neck, all the way to your collarbones.

“Next time, don't announce yourself before you start running— not like that would stop me from sensing your presence beforehand anyways~”

Xiao

“Absolutely, 100%” the sequel

Wouldn't even think before dropping everything to catch up to you. He would even take a few steps forward to lessen the amount of time it would take for you to reach him before patiently waiting for your arrival with his arms wide open, counting down the seconds until you found your way home

Just like the first time he caught you back at the Jade Chamber, his arms are firmly wrapped around yours. Only this time, instead of them being over your shoulders, they are pressed closely yet warmly against your back, gently pushing you to fall deeper into his arms until your head hits his chest

“Did you need me?”

He asks in a calm, steady voice, thinking that any matter that required you to run to his side with such urgency without calling his name was one of utmost importance. If you had called, he would've undoubtedly reached your side in a moment's notice, perhaps even before his name had fully even left your lips. Too quickly? Nonsense. In his eyes, that was the least he should do.

When you told him that you simply wanted to see if he would drop everything just to catch you, he would blink in surprise before letting out a scoff so soft that it couldn't be called anything but fondness.

“If you think our bond was that weak, you needn't test me. I wouldn’t have appeared before you if you didn't mean anything to me.”

After a flicker of hesitation passed his face, he lowered his face and awkwardly nuzzled his forehead against yours, suppressing the urge to look away in order to whisper against your lips.

“... Since you're here now, can you stay a little longer? There’s a plate of almond tofu here that I would like you to try… Who made it?... I… cannot say.”

Kinich

“Ajaw”

“???”

“Catch”

“！？！？ KINICH YOU @%£@%@£@%£@@%@%£@££@%@%%@£@”

Tosses everything to Ajaw and forces him to catch it all before opening his arms as wide as possible, readily bracing for your impact

Honestly, if he had more time to prepare, he would’ve preferred putting everything aside to make better preparations on how to catch you. However, since the things he was holding onto were needn't to complete a commission, he had no choice but to rely his closest companion (which unfortunately had to be Ajaw) and improvise on the spot

Luckily, all that time he spent carrying you around his house before had taught him all he needed to know. Before you had even reached him, he took a few steps forward and waited for you to skid to a stop. Once you did, he ceremoniously placed one arm behind your knee, one arm behind your back and BAM— a princess carry.

“... Should I ask?”

He raises a questioning brow, waiting for you to speak. Once you finish your explanation, he simply sighs before pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head, looking down at you with a mix of exasperation and affection.

“The price for scaring me doesn't come cheap. I hope you're ready to pay for that stunt you just pulled tonight.”

✧ VARKA.

The moment Varka realises he's in love with you, he goes quiet. Because he’s never quiet. He’s the guy who fills every silence with a boom of laughter, a clink of a glass, or a booming order. When a man who commands that much noise suddenly drops into total, uncharacteristic silence? That means something.

The table between you was strewn with the remnants of late-night work—spilled ink, burnt-out candle stubs, and an empty bottle of dandelion wine that Varka had finished an hour ago.

He was in the middle of a story, broad arms resting on the dark oak, spinning some utterly ridiculous tale about a northern bear that had allegedly tried to steal his boots during the expedition. He was leaning in, loud and animated, his laughter rumbling low in his chest like distant thunder, waiting for you to call him out on his obvious exaggeration. Instead, you just reached across the table.

You didn't say anything grand. You were just exhausted—eyelids heavy, voice soft—as you casually reached out, plucked the stray goose feather clinging to his lapel, and set it aside. Your fingers brushed the worn leather over his collarbone, trailing down for a split second to pull his askew cloak back over his broad shoulder so the draft from the window wouldn't catch him.

It was an entirely unconscious gesture. Instinctive, domestic. The action of someone who had simply gotten used to looking after him when he forgot to look after himself. And right in the middle of a syllable—Varka went dead silent. The sudden lack of his voice hit the room harder than a slammed door.

You blinked, looking up from his cloak, expecting to see him grinning or rolling his eyes. He wasn't. The lazy, theatrical warmth had entirely evaporated from his face. He sat completely motionless, his massive frame utterly still, blue eyes fixed on your hand where it still lingered near his collar.

"Varka?" you murmured, frowning a little. "Did I...?"

He didn't answer immediately. For three long seconds, the only sound in the office was the ticking of the grandfather clock and the howl of the wind outside the glass. In that quiet, you could practically see the gears turning behind those sharp eyes. The boisterous old lion was gone, replaced instantly by the seasoned commander—a man who had just recognized a massive, terrifying shift in the terrain and realized he was completely exposed. He wasn't scared; Varka didn't do fear. He was just... stunned by the absolute weight of it.

Ah, the thought struck him with the force of a broadsword. I’m done for.

Slowly, his chest rose as he let out a long, quiet exhale—no laugh, no joke attached to it. "No," Varka said softly, his voice dropping an octave, losing every drop of its usual performative flair. It was surprisingly rough, grounded, and entirely intimate. He reached up, his massive, calloused hand covering yours where it rested on his chest, gently trapping your fingers against the steady, thumping heat of his heart. He leaned back just an inch, his gaze locked onto yours with a terrifyingly clear, undivided focus.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, heavy circle over the back of your knuckles. A tiny, somewhat helpless curve touched the corner of his mouth—not his Grand Master grin, but something painfully real. "Just... stay right there for a second. Let me catch my breath."

✧ LOHEN

For a fighter used to sharp boundaries—someone enters your space, someone leaves your space—the concept of someone's presence remaining behind after their physical body has left is entirely foreign. It disrupts his internal logic.

The muffled rhythm of rain was tapping against the stained glass, casting long, fractured shadows across the stone floor of the archive. Lohen was leaning against the heavy oak table, arms crossed, trying his absolute best to look like the picture of composed authority. You were leaning over a spread of old maps, your shoulder brushing his sleeve every time you reached to trace a faded trade route.

"So," you said, not looking up, though the faint curve at the corner of your mouth gave you away. "If the shipment is delayed at the pass, your brilliant grand strategy collapses before the week is out."

"It won't be delayed," Lohen countered smoothly, though his eyes flicked down to where your hand rested on the parchment. "I sent the patrol out hours ago. Unlike some people, I don't leave my logistics to luck."

"Right. You leave them to terrifyingly precise planning and zero sleep." You finally looked up, turning toward him. You were standing entirely too close—close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in your eyes, close enough that the soft, warm scent of bergamot and rain swept right past his carefully maintained defenses. Lohen’s throat went dry. He opened his mouth to deliver a sharp, witty comeback, but the words completely dissolved on his tongue.

"What?" you asked, tilting your head, amused by his sudden silence.

"Nothing," he said, stepping back just half an inch—a defensive maneuver he’d never admit to. He cleared his throat, forcing his usual smugness back into his voice. "Just waiting for you to finish cluttering my desk so I can actually get some work done."

"Charming as always, Lohen." You laughed, a quiet, rich sound that seemed to hum right through the quiet archive. You rolled up the map, tucking it under your arm, and patted his shoulder as you passed. "I'm leaving. Try not to miss me too much."

"Don't hold your breath," he called after you, watching as you headed for the heavy arched doors.

"Goodnight, Lohen."

"Night."

The heavy oak door clicked shut with a soft, final thud, the latch catching in the frame. The sound echo-canceled the energy in the room, leaving behind a sudden, heavy stillness. Lohen didn't move. He stood by the oak table, intent on grabbing his coat and heading out. But as he stepped forward into the space where you had just been standing, the air felt different. Thicker. Warmer. He caught himself inhaling—a slow, deep breath he hadn't planned on taking—and the faint, unmistakable trace of bergamot washed over him.

Lohen froze mid-step. He stared at the empty space in front of him, his chest tightening unexpectedly. His body leaned in just a fraction—an instinctual, unbidden impulse to catch the tail end of the scent before the cool draft from the window swept it away entirely.

What are you doing?

The thought hit him like a splash of ice water. He straightened up abruptly, a sudden flush of heat crawling up the back of his neck. He was a knight, a tactician—he tracked movements, anticipated strikes, read battlelines in seconds. Yet here he was, standing completely alone in a silent room, leaning into the lingering perfume air like a fool, trying to hold onto someone who had already left. He covered his face with one hand, letting out a breath that was half-sigh, half-disbelieving laugh.

Gods above, he thought, his heart hammering a stupidly fast rhythm against his ribs. I am in so much trouble.

✧ ILLUGA

For Illuga, love isn't just a sweet feeling—it’s an existential crisis. His immediate instinct won't be to jump in; it'll be to keep a protective distance to keep you safe from his "curse.” Wanting to survive for you becomes his greatest hurdle and his greatest growth.

Illuga’s voice carried over the wind with the crisp, ringing clarity of a drawn blade. "Third squad, fall back to the treeline! Hold the perimeter, don't break formation!" ​Efficient. Absolute.

In the heat of an ambush, he moved like water and struck like iron, stepping smoothly between a bleeding scout and an incoming blow, his shield taking the brunt of the impact with a heavy thud. He didn't flinch, he never flinched. Taking the hit was second nature—a bill he paid willingly every time he brought his people home breathing. ​It was only after the dust settled, when the silence of the forest crept back in, that the exhaustion set in. ​

He was crouched by the supply crates, methodically wrapping a strip of linen around his bruised forearm, when you sat down beside him. You didn't ask permission. You just reached out, took the bandage from his hands, and began fixing the messy, hasty job he’d done on himself. ​

Illuga opened his mouth to tell you he was fine, that there were others who needed the medic’s kit more, but the words died in his throat. You weren't yelling. You weren't even scolding him. But the quiet, sharp tension in your jaw, the gentle precision of your hands as you worked... you were angry because he’d thrown himself into the line of fire again. You were hurt because he treated his own life like an acceptable loss. ​

"Illuga," you murmured, your voice low, almost a whisper over the rustle of the leaves. "Stop treating your life like a spare part."

His chest tightened—a sharp, sudden ache that had nothing to do with the combat. He looked at you, really looked at you, tracing the exhaustion line under your eyes, the dust on your cheek, the fierce, stubborn concern glowing in your gaze. For years, he’d believed his life belonged to the ghosts he left behind. He was a shield, and shields were meant to break eventually. ​But as your thumb brushed softly over the back of his hand, anchoring him to the present, the realization hit him like a physical weight: If I break, I shatter them. ​

"I'm sorry," Illuga said quietly, his voice losing its commander’s edge, softening into something raw, human, and deeply tender. He covered your hand with his own, his large, calloused palm warm against your skin. "I'll... I'll be more careful. I promise."

And for the first time in his life, he actually meant it. Not just to win the fight—but to make sure he came home to you.

✧ FLINS 

Flins uses death and his graveyard as punchlines. He’s the guy who teases you about having a plot picked out for you. The moment of realization hits when he tries to make one of those dark jokes about you—and suddenly finds the concept utterly revolting.

The air around the Final Night Cemetery was always biting, carrying the sharp scent of frost and turned earth. Flins walked with his usual measured, soundless grace, the azure light of his lantern casting long, eerie shadows against the gravestones.

You were walking beside him, bundled heavily against the Nod-Krai chill, complaining good-naturedly about the morbid route he’d chosen for your evening stroll. ​

"Come now," Flins purred, his voice a smooth, cultured hum as he tilted his head to look at you. His pupil-less yellow eyes caught the blue light of the flame. "It is perfectly peaceful. In fact, I was just admiring a spot under the weeping willows over there. It gets wonderful moonlight. I could reserve it for you, if you'd like?"

It was a standard line. A tease meant to draw out that exasperated little sigh he found so endlessly fascinating. You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly as a puff of white fog escaped your lips. "Keep it up, Flins, and I'll make sure you're the one who has to dig it." ​

He opened his mouth to deliver a perfectly timed, elegant retort—but the words died in his throat. ​The moonlight hit your face, illuminating the pink flush of the cold on your cheeks and the vibrant, undeniable warmth of your life against the frozen backdrop of his cemetery. ​Suddenly, the thought of you under the earth, cold and still beneath the willows, flashed through his mind. For a creature who had lived for centuries, who treated death like an old colleague, the imagery felt like a physical blow. The joke turned to ash. ​

The azure flame in his lantern violently hissed, flaring so bright it painted the snow in stark, electric blue. You blinked, startled by the sudden light, and looked up at him. "Flins? Are you alright?"

For a long, agonizing second, the Lightkeeper simply stared at you, his perfectly composed mask fracturing as an unfamiliar, suffocating possessiveness curled tight in his chest. He didn't want you as a memory. He didn't want you as one of the beautiful, tragic tales he told to travelers. ​"Yes," Flins finally murmured, his voice dropping an octave, entirely stripped of its usual teasing lilt.

He stepped closer, the graceful movement swift and almost predatory, until he was shielding you entirely from the biting wind. He reached out, his cold, gloved fingers gently but firmly adjusting the thick collar of your coat to cover your neck. ​"I just realized," he said softly, his golden eyes unblinking, "that I would very much prefer you stay above ground for a long, long time. Please... do not speak of digging graves tonight.”

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Now, his words are so absurd that you can’t help but laugh through the swirling frustration. The ring stays on your finger because you don’t even have the strength to remove it.

Cyno chuckles too, carefully putting his hand on the small of your back to guide you out of the house. You can’t protest, still laughing, as if that was the outlet for your emotions that you needed - too proud and fired up to cry instead. Or maybe it was the cool night air, quenching the fire in your lungs and chilling your heated skin.

“Better?” he asks. You realize he’s patting your back. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “Better.”

“Now, wanna tell me what that was about?” he asks, and honestly he’d be right to sound more irritated than he does. Because he just sounds confused and concerned instead of angry. 

“I was pissed off,” you admit, “And then you came and started talking about everything that already set me off earlier - and I still haven’t figured anything out. And then you argued back and- yeah.”

“Ah, I see,” he hums as he sits down, patting the space next to him for you to join him. You do. “You know you have a mouth, and you can tell me to shut up instead of starting a fight.”

Some part of you is set ablaze again, but you’ve run out of fuel.

“I know,” you sigh. You sway, drained both physically and emotionally, and lay your head on his shoulder. He just exhales with fond exasperation and leans his head against yours. Your feet dig into the cooling sand. 

“Never take off your ring again,” he tells, orders, you, “Not even when showering. You’ve lost your privileges.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you chuckle. He nudges your side with his elbow. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven - for now. Just tell me if something’s bothering you next time,” he chides again, “We’ve made a sacred promise to each other. Don’t break it.” 

Your hand settles atop his thigh, soon covered by his palm. The night is slowly growing chilly, but with your body pressed into his side it’s just what you need to let the tension uncoil where it lies waiting inside your body. And slowly you begin to talk as you should’ve done in the first place.

Cyno listens, he asks and leads when you’re getting too worked up and tangled in your own words. Like he promised, you figure it out together. And at the end of the day, when you finally doze off against his shoulder, he picks you up and carries you inside.

Flins

His words die in his throat, he raises his hand as if to stop you, but you’re too far to reach. Physically, at least, he hopes that the feeling of disconnect and distance between your hearts is only an illusion created by the argument that spiraled out of control.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet and calm, “Don’t leave me. Not you.”

You, too, stop. Fingers brush the ring on your finger as you consider what you were about to do. Flins comes closer, slowly, then circles his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You let him, your resolve to keep arguing your point broken upon hearing his voice.

“That’s not fair,” he murmurs into your hair, “That’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

You nod weakly, finally letting your arms fall and wrap around his shoulders too. He doesn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon, and you’re grateful. It doesn’t fix anything, not the sadness radiating off of him, not the mournful silence that settled over the room. Still, for now, to feel his chest expand and press against yours, your breaths syncing, feels healing.

“I’m sorry, Kyryll,” you whisper, turning your face towards his, “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“There was a time where I’d assume you are leaving me,” he confesses in a low voice, “Nothing would persuade me that you are not.”

You know it well. You’ve been there, after all, every step of the way - from how wary he was about getting close to you, then to at least being open to the idea but still reluctant, knowing he might not see you for weeks or months, all at the whim of the headquarters. But you never meant to stop him, accepting of the fact that duty comes first. And though you’ve pushed through the obstacles, you know well that arguments still take a toll on him, knowing he could be called to leave for a long time at any moment, even before you can make up.

“Let’s sleep on it, alright? We can talk over breakfast,” you suggest, “Or just shelf the argument. It’s not worth… this.”

“Can we do that?” he asks, unsure, “Is that allowed?”

You chuckle, and you think he must smile too, only briefly - the same way he only squeezes you tighter for a moment. 

“We make the rules, don’t we?” you think aloud.

“Then I suggest we make it a rule neither of us tries to take off our ring unless our life depends on it,” he pulls away, looking at you with a strangely serious expression that you didn’t expect, “I declare it a rule. As a compensation for what you’ve done.”

You smile, a little relieved. 

“Of course,” you agree, “So you forgive me? I promise I’ll obey your new rule perfectly.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. 

“Maybe I should confiscate it until I’m sure you’ve learned how to behave,” Flins considers, leaning against you with his full body weight as if lost deep in thought. You struggle to keep both of you upright. 

“People will talk,” you remind him gently, “If you need a public apology, I’m more than willing to give it to you without losing my ring and without being interrogated by every nosy old lady in our vicinity.”

He laughs into your hair but shakes his head. At least he can be reasonable. Finally he pulls away to look at you. The hurt on his face softened but its traces still linger. Somehow it feels reassuring that the centuries of his life have not stripped him of emotion, of care.

“I better hear what a wonderful husband you have next time they see me,” he smiles.

“I always tell them,” you promise, “No husband could compare.”

Illuga

“You don’t hurt people you love just because you get upset,” he whispers, yet somehow his voice sounds louder than it did the whole night. 

You look down, at the back of your hand, at the ring halfway down your finger, and open your mouth before realizing you have no idea what to say. What can you say? When you look up, Illuga looks heartbroken. Angry, too. You see the nervous twitch of his hands, the buzzing, anxious whirlwind of energy inside of him. So it’s not a surprise when he storms out into the night with nothing but his coat and his lantern. 

You sit down, the strength in your knees suddenly gone. Was it really worth it? You frown as you recount the events of the evening. Although you can’t say you’re being very efficient. Your mind stutters whenever you remember how calm he’s been through the whole thing, even though he must’ve been uncomfortable and upset too. You sigh. Hopefully he’ll return soon. As used to it as he is, as strong as he is, nothing is ever certain and the nights are long and dangerous. It hurts to remember how reverent Illuga acts whenever he has to leave on a mission, compared to the cold - although understandable - abandonment just now. 

It’s infuriating that you can’t even follow after him - where would you start your search? No, it’s better to just wait, although you can’t seem to be able to just sit and do nothing. And even walking to the window is better than doing nothing at all. Walking? Running. You see a flash of light. 

The flash is a glow of a lantern, circling, and you pace inside the house, running from window to window, one circle, second one, third - then you crack. 

You barely open the door an inch before Illuga’s there, scowling at you. “What are you doing?”

“Please come inside,” you sigh, “I’m sorry. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have done that.”

He hesitates, but his shoulders drop, the lantern hangs by his side. 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says.

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a gamble and reaching for his hand. He lets you, smiling softly at the spark of light that bounces off the bands on your intertwined fingers. “If you need air, I can handle it if you stay like this. But I’d love it if we could talk inside.”

He follows after you, even if he slowly pulls his hand back as you reach the kitchen. It hurts, but you suppose it’s fair. 

“I always think of you before every fight,” he confesses, nothing new, but it makes your heart ache, “Who would I return to if you left?”

“That’s not what- I’m sorry,” you sigh again. There’s a painful lump in your throat that you try to ignore. 

“Just remember that if you ever feel like doing it again,” Illuga begs, quietly. 

Of course you won’t. Finally he comes closer, if only because he puts some water on the stove to boil and needs to stand beside you to do so. He lingers even after the task is done, however. His fingers slowly intertwine with yours again despite the silence stretching on. 

You don’t know what to say or do next, all you do is look nervously at him, but he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk either. So you just help him make the tea and sit down with him to drink it before you retire to bed, together, facing each other, even if no words are exchanged, even if all you do is hold hands. Illuga gives you a small squeeze, a reassurance he’ll be okay, eventually. That’s good enough for you. 

Lohen

Your fingers only graze your ring. The briefest of touch of your fingertips against the band that you never manage to get a grip on. 

Lohen’s already snatched your wrist and is dragging you towards his desk. You’re no match for his strength. He pulls you along like a ragdoll with no regard for your panicked gasp or nails clawing at his glove. In all honesty, you think for a second that it only excites him further. 

He roughly shoves you against the desk, traps you between the surface and his body. His hand shoots out for something while his other holds the hand with your finger steady. Before you can collect yourself and resume protests, you feel the bite of a cold metal close around your skin. Your eyes fly towards what he’s doing. The device is familiar, you’ve seen it used before. You know it can cut through bone like a hot knife through butter.

“You’ve evened the odds,” you say, voice calmer than you feel.

It’s a lie, too. As much as you might value your finger, it’s not comparable to what he’d be losing.

“Do you think that’s what I’m doing?” he growls against your ear. His voice sounds frenzied, smirk loud in his every word. The blade doesn’t cut into your skin. Obviously he’s not being reckless.

“In part,” you hum. As if a bucket of cold water was poured over you, your earlier anger has all but dissipated.

“If I add sliiiightly more pressure you lose the finger-”

“And I’ll never take another husband,” you add with a small smile, “Yes.”

Utterly predictable. You feel him bristle. Naturally he wouldn’t say that, but what is Lohen if not a possessive lover?

“How could I after my first betrayed me in this way?” you continue, “After I was marked irreversibly for my mistake and yet still cast aside?”

Lohen falls silent. Calculating? Surely not. Poison might or might not still be coating his tongue, ready to lash out because after all, he’s been wronged. Perhaps more than you’ve been during your clash, perhaps less than you’re being slighted now. 

“I was about to act on emotions, and it was a disappointing reaction,” you continue, “I apologize. In the heat of the moment I forgot certain rituals are sacred to you as well.”

For a long moment, you’re stuck at an impasse. Eventually, though, he deflates behind you, his arms moving to wrap around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. 

“You’re no fun,” he grumbles, “And the safety is on.”

Safety? He demonstrates - no matter how strong he pushes, you don’t lose the finger.

“You’re full of surprises,” you sigh, leaning back into him, “I never thought you’d have any use for measures like that.”

He giggles, kissing your cheek. His arms remain tightly wound around you. “I didn’t before. But I have since acquired a liability that needs to be taught a lesson sometimes.”

“Liability? Ouch,” you scoff.

He just shrugs. Though you suppose he’s not exactly wrong - it goes both ways, after all. Liability to each other with your actions, liability to each other due to your position. Even if you doubt anyone would believe they’d get under Lohen’s skin through you or stupid enough to try to threaten his wellbeing to get back at you. 

“Next time, there will be no safety,” he warns suddenly. His voice dropped ten degrees since he last spoke. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“There will be no next time,” you promise, “Regardless of what you just said.”

“Good,” and he’s back to his cheerful self and pecks your cheek, “You learn quickly, that’s why you’re mine.”

You roll your eyes. You did know what you were getting into, though, so you suppose you have no right to complain anyway.

Neuvillette

And suddenly you could hear a pin drop. The world has stopped for a moment in your bedroom, yet it keeps turning without mercy. 

Neuvillette’s eyes are wide, and it’s not just them - his entire body betrays how shaken he feels. His entire line of sight has narrowed to where your ring is held between your fingers instead of being worn on one of them. 

“What does it mean?” he asks, his breathing trembling, voice quiet and unsteady, “What-”

He wants to take a step forward, it almost looks like he’ll fall forward but he doesn’t, instead he forces himself to stay in place. Although trembling, he chooses to stay as if the smallest of his actions might make you leave and leave the ring behind.

Watching him makes you forget your feelings, drained into nothingness. Your own hands start to shake, you, too, start to second guess yourself. More so when you take a step towards him and he draws back, as if he couldn’t fathom anything but a catastrophic scenario. 

“Love, it’s okay,” you whisper, trying to coax him into allowing you to approach him without fear. His eyes finally look up to search your face for something. The second, third, all the following steps are easier. By the time you’re within his reach, the ring is back on your finger, not like it changes anything.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, a pained whisper, “What did you want to say by it?”

You shake your head, slowly erasing the space between you, slotting yourself against his body, embracing him. 

“I’m sorry, mon amour,” you murmur into his shoulder. His hands hover over your body without quite touching you. “I just got so upset I couldn’t think straight.”

Finally - contact. Like you’re the one who needs comfort, and you do - just not as much as the Iudex shivering in your arms. 

“What happened?” he murmurs, “You’ve never done this. I thought we were just discussing an issue.”

You can only sigh fondly.

“This isn’t the court, Neuvillette,” you say, rubbing soothing circles on his back, “I need you to hear me out without evidence and without questioning me.”

“I didn’t realize I was upsetting you,” he admits as he pulls you closer, “Not to this extent.”

You know. The intricacies of intimate relationships are still a little lost on him, and that’s fine. That’s fine as long as you’re the one who goes briefly insane. You have no idea what you’d do to placate a dragon should he get stubborn. 

“Did you want to leave? And,” he hesitates, his voice breaking, “Dissolve our marriage?”

“I didn’t,” you reassure him, but you can’t look into his eyes - not with how stubbornly he refuses to let you put distance between you.

“I can’t lose you,” he confesses quietly, “Scream at me. Be angry with me. Talk to me.”

You chuckle. You can’t help it. To make up for the slight, you hug him tighter.

“How could I leave? I’d get soaked,” you mumble. Biting your tongue before you can laugh again, you listen to the indignant sound he makes.

“How can you joke now?” he grumbles. Still holding you a prisoner in his arms, still squeezing you with every single of your movements.

“It’s alright,” you try to reassure him, “I’m not going anywhere. We’re not arguing anymore.”

He hums while clearly not listening much to your words. Maybe your fears were justified, maybe you did bring out the draconic stubbornness in him. Which is fine. It’s fine as long as he wants you to stay instead of insisting you leave.

Tighnari

“Okay - pause, pause,” Tighnari’s demeanor switches in an instant. The moment you see his ears flatten against his head and his tail frozen stiff behind him, you can’t help but feel guilty. You might’ve overreacted, just a little bit. “I see you, I hear you, let’s take a step back.”

He offers you a careful half-smile as he guides you to sit down. For now, he avoids touching you, even though you see the nervous twitch of his fingers, the urge to do so and reassure himself you’re okay. He kneels on the floor in front of you, offering his hands for you to take. You hesitate for a bit, but eventually sigh and slip your hands into his.

“There we go,” he murmurs, “What was it?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. Because you truly don’t. Maybe it was everything - the late hour, your empty stomach, him making sense, him breathing wrong, just a cocktail for disaster. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think this far ahead.”

He pats your knee.

“I’m sorry too, I pushed too hard,” he sighs, “Still, I’m glad you changed your mind.”

You look down at the ring on your finger and then raise your eyes back to meet his. Giving him a careful smile, you squeeze his hands. You shared the silence, both relieved that your home is back to how it’s supposed to be. Although, some of the tension still remains woven into your shoulders. 

It was so rare, after all. Any kind of an argument with Tighnari, especially a heated one like this. You pull on his arm to make him get up and sit next to you, slipping easily into his hug when he sneaks an arm around your shoulders. He rocks you from side to side, gently, until your heartbeat finally settles. 

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” you finally say, “I don’t think I felt myself taking the ring off at all.”

“I want you to know there’s plenty of sources I could get a really sticky resin from,” he hums, “Don’t make me glue it to your finger.”

You have no idea if his intention was to sound threatening, all you know is that if so, he failed miserably. But that’s also good. Your Tighnari is gentle, after all. Scary only whenever you’re in danger, never towards you.

“Did you mean that?” you ask, “When you said that thing about-”

“No,” he shakes his head, almost as if he doesn’t want to hear his words repeated to him, “I just got a little frustrated too.”

“Hmm, that’s a first,” you joke, “And last, I hope.”

Tighnari laughs too, his ears finally slowly relaxing and unsticking themselves from his skull. His tail lands in your lap like a warm blanket, like yet another appendage that’s supposed to stop you from leaving. 

“But if that was your way of telling me you don’t like the ring-”

“Nari…” you groan, rolling your eyes when he bites his lip to stop himself from laughing again, “But if that’s your way of asking for a vow renewal, I’m not against it.”

“It wasn’t that big of a fight, was it?” he teases, but soon his smile softens, “We can do it - we should do it sometime in the future.”

You nod in agreement. It’s too soon now but just the thought of perhaps exchanging vows again, perhaps even adding another ring to seal those vows, makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. More than that, however, the thought of spending the years leading up to it with Tighnari, and years following after too. 

“I love you,” you whisper, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek.

“And I love you,” he returns the gesture. 

The look in his eyes betrays him. He was thinking the same.

Wriothesley

“-oh come on, please don’t do that,” he groans, running his hands over his face. Still, he steps back, giving you the space you needed, that you asked for. He backs himself into the wall, sliding against it until he sits on the floor. 

The room falls silent, safe for the sound of your breathing. You worry your lip between your teeth, allowing yourself time to calm down. Deep inhale, hold, deep exhale. A routine until you feel in control enough to not say anything you’d regret later.

“Wriothesley?” you call out to him. He still sits with his back against the wall, his face is still covered by his hands. “Baby? Look at me?” 

“I’m not looking until you put the ring back on,” he says, and he couldn’t sound more like a kicked dog if he was one.

“How about you put it on me, hm?” you try as you sit down in front of him, nudging your knee against his. 

Finally he lifts his head. You’ve never seen him more miserable than right now, looking at the ring in your palm. He takes your hand, brings it to his lips after picking up the ring and kisses your knuckles one by one. You can only sigh affectionately and run your hand through his hair.

It’s a quick, yet gentle affair, him putting the ring back on your finger. He keeps your other hand hostage, cradling it to his cheek.

“Just tell me next time,” he pleads, “Warn a guy. I don’t know, push me away if I don’t listen. Hit me.”

You sigh. You have a half a mind to take him up on that, just to shut him up before he can come up with any more stupid ideas. 

“I’m not gonna hit you, Wriothesley,” you inform him, “But I would like it if you could listen when I tell you I need space.”

“You were about to leave,” he pouts again, “We promised to never walk away when we’re mad.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” you admit.

“I should’ve listened anyway - we’re even?” he suggests, full of hope. You smile and nod.

“My offense was worse,” you tease, “I’m getting off lightly.”

“You know what, if you’re keeping that ring on your finger I think I can live with not putting you on trial,” Wriothesley leans closer and steals a kiss, “See how nice I am?”

“The nicest,” you roll your eyes. 

He grins, finally more relaxed. Yet you’re not allowed to pull your hand back, still cupping his cheek. He holds your hand there like his life depends on it, contrary to his carefree smile. So you huff and put your hand on his other cheek too, leaning over him when he parts his knees to make space for you.

Icy blue eyes watch you, tempt you to get closer, flicking down to your lips as if you needed more hints. You kiss him slowly, thumbs stroking his cheeks while his hand cups the back of your neck and holds you close, your foreheads resting against each other.

“I’m already in jail for my crime,” you remind him playfully, “Your domain. They won’t let me go without your permission.”

He chuckles too, capturing your lips one more time. He rubs your noses together.

“Not how this works but I could change that,” another kiss, “I should, maybe.”

“There’s no life without you,” you shrug, but you make sure he knows you mean it, not looking away even when the intensity in his gaze threatens to burn you alive. 

© kurapikapikachuu | Please do not feed any of my work into AI. Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3 lots of love, chuu!

Lohen:

HECK YEAH

Let's be fr rn. This masochistic psychicopath twink is into being put in his place.

He desperately wants to be stepped on.

Metaphorically and physically.

Be rough. Be mean. Be merciless. Give him colorful bruises. He adores it when you are unforgiving.

Would look at you with literally hearts in those dead dead eyes of his if you cause painful injuries<33

They don't have to be necessarily dangerous. Just something that gets his blood hot and running<3 (But then again, as long as he got a good fight out of it, he won't mind bleeding to his death by your hands<3 or taking his last breath in your arms knowing that you were the one to steal it from him—).

Sorry this is so unromantic and way too freaky BUT THIS MAN CANNOT BE NORMAL ABOUT IT.

You cannot convince me that he doesn't get off to getting beaten to a pulp by his partner.

This twink is getting destroyed, alright.

Literally.

Durin:

YES

Just look me in the eye and tell me he is not a switch.

You can't. Because he is one.

He gets SO subby whenever he bottoms for whatever reason though... always becoming such a drooling sobbing mess... eager to please like the obedient little thing he is.

It's just that you make him feel so so good he just can't help himself but be messy with it :(

He is usually more of the growly type, but take advantage of his sensitive parts and you'll get him to make the sweetest whines for you<33

Just make sure that he feels loved and cared for, and you'll be rewarded with unshakable his eternal devotion<3

Sorry he is just so cutehzgvjhdshjdg my sweet baby I want all the good things for him<3

Layla:

PLSPLSPLS

Do you really think she even has the energy to top?

No. The right answer is no.

I think she's generally very quiet, but she makes up for it by how easily flustered she is<3

Can barely handle much in her natural habitat (bottoming), so please don't try to make her top :(

She is so overwhelmed and too flustered by everything that is happening.

Will still do her best despite everything, because she is just that sweet<3

Until she realizes that she may have bitten more than she can chew.

Starts begging you to please please please switch over she really can't do this.

She is just so mhmdhlklf<3 I think she deserves a reward for being so good to you<33

I love her sm omg is this too obvious.

Albedo:

Yes.

Agrees way too fast when you ask, actually.

Not necessarily because he is a bottom but I think he loves expirementing— Also kinda saw it coming. It just so happens that you asked earlier than he anticipated you would.

I like to believe that the star mark on his neck is sensitive, so show it some love, would you<3

Not gonna lie, I think he'll be so into it.

Like he'll realize how much more reactive he is when you are topping and start asking you to top more often (For science!)

Prolly asks you to write your observations down for him to check on later (💀)

Come on he obviously can't do it himself with the state you leave him in (HECK YEAH DESTROY THAT TWINK—)

Anyways it is time to bring out the smut writer in you.

Sorry if this is ooc he's such a pretty princess in my head I want to bbg him so bad (😖)

— but I also wanna ruin him and that smart mouth of his untill he can't spew any scientific nonsense at me anymore<3

Kazuha:

No.

Just hear me out on this one.

The service dom in him cannot, in any way, let the love of his life do all the work when he is right there.

Unlike a lot of people in this list, however, he is just human, so you can always fight him for that position...

Gets caught so off guard when you manage to flip him down and start toying with him.

(Thinks it's kinda hot—)

Find that sensitive spot and suddenly, his words are not as flowery nor as eloquent anymore<3

Just make sure it stays that way for as long as possible, would you<3

Especially since he will always be on guard from now on, you'll have to be more clever with your tactics if you want him writhing under you<3

Wanderer:

Yes (HEAR ME OUT I HAVE CONVINCING ARGUMENTS TRUST)

Here's the thing. Sex for Wanderer is unnecessary; he doesn't need it and doesn't crave it. However, he will help his partner out if they want it.

I think it is a very intimate affair to him. As far as he understands it; it is a process of stripping himself bare of everything he ever used to hide in and serving what remains of his wretched soul to you on a silver platter for you to judge and see.

And he can't just do that with anyone now, can he?

It's kind of an all-in deal to him. If you are going to do this, then he won't do it unless he feels safe enough around you to trust you with EVERYTHING.

Would genuinely cry if you treat his body with care, ignoring all his encouragement to go all out and his "I can handle it" talk in favor of treating him like the precious thing he thinks he's not.

He is shaking the entire time, feeling so vulnerable and so so loved.

I love him so much sorry if the special boy treatment is showing.

Scaramouche:

Absolutely NOT.

He can take care of you just fine— in fact, I think he is so much more gentler with his beloved than one would assume him to be.

He's just... not ready to be as vulnerable yet. He wants to, he really does, but the thought of actually doing that makes his synthetic skin crawl.

He's also seen firsthand how fragile humans can be, and he's way too paranoid to let you do any physically exerting tasks on his watch. Especially if you were a non-combatant.

I think your only chance at catching him at his most vulnerable would be after an agonizingly long expedition in the Abyss. Where time flows much faster and days turn into weeks and weeks into months.

He's ways extremely clingy (more than he already is, anyways) after such ventures and weirdly pliant to all sorts of requests that he would've otherwise instantly dismissed.

Fights it at first. Then, let's it happen. You just need to use the right words (and actions)

And suddenly he just looks so soft and so gentle and so so unlike himself ughh.

You could almost see the Kabukimono in him, if not for the fact that he keeps hiding his face

Probably cries. Definitely cries. Soft Scara the things I'll do for you—

God he makes me sick (/affec)

Do not even DARE mentioning it to him later, though. Whatever happens in those moments STAYS in those moments.

Please for his sake just... Don't.

(He's growing on me and I HATE IT)

Kabukimono:

YES

VERY eager to please. Can take whatever position you want him to!

Just... make sure to show how him how first.

Extremely vocal; moaning, begging, gasping. Will cling to you desperately while doing it all.

Doesn't know how much it affects you, but archon knows it does and it affects you bad.

No wonder he always ends up being such a pretty mess after<3

Definitely insists on returning the favor at some point. He is such a sweetheart<3

A fast learner, would use all the techniques you used on him before and carefully watch how much you are affected by them.

Takes your noises as approval. Whenever he is being loud it means he likes it. Surely it is the same for you, right<3

Despite that, he is still a bit unsure sometimes

He is being such a sweet thing to you. Please assure him that he is doing good :(

Just the fact that he can see you getting physically affected by him is enough, really! But a bit of praise can go a long way with him<3

Just think of it as motivation! The same way his vocal nature encourages you to ruin him<3

Chiori:

No.

That's her position the fuck (🤨) She ain't bottoming to nobody.

Also she knows damn well you ain't lasting (💀)

I think she is very gentle, but ask for a chance to be the top and she'll give you the bIGGEST side eye.

If you try to undermine her during the act she can and WILL immediately destroy any attempt at that.

She is so sassy, brat taming is in her nature.

Puts lingerie on you and uses the fabric shears to pin you to the bed so you can't escape her.

Is very patient when it comes to her partner, and has no qualms about teasing you all day<3

Won't let you get that relief until you are begging and sobbing pretty for her<33

Can always be a tad bit kinder to you, though. Just be good and listen to her well next time. You can do that, right<3

Heizou:

Yes. But omg he will he give you hELL.

Lays on his back, his arms behind his head as a pillow and the most arrogant looking uwu face you can imagine.

Smug fuck (I will peg that twink)

Wind is strong. ANYWAYS.

Loud on purpose at first. Then ACTUALLY loud when you start learning more about his dos and don'ts.

If you are the type to give commands then be assured that he will not be following any<3

Even when completely ruined he still finds the energy to be such a brat.

Nothing that cannot be fixed by being a bit rougher though<3

Put him on a leash. Maybe add a pretty rope too. And see how fast his confident facade drops when he is so desperate for that sweet release :(

He is such a whore (/affec) I love him

Illuga:

No.

Another twink who refuses to let his partner do any of the heavy lifting.

This one, however, is much more easier to fluster than the other.

A hot breath behind his reddening ear, a teasing finger under his sleeveless turtleneck, and the once dependable captain is no longer capable of the most basic functions anymore<3

Bonus points if you put a possesive hand on that small waist of his as you guide him somewhere more... private.

It's for a super secret important thing, you swear! (He knows damn well that you are lying)

It's almost pathetic, really. The way he is so determined to pretend have any sort of control yet gives in the moment you take the lead.

Feels so guilty that he is "making" you pleasure him. But he also can't get himself to tell you to stop because you are just so good at what you do he loses all words<3

Becomes so clingy and emotional during times like these. Please give him the praise he deserves :(

Freminet:

I think we all already know the answer to this one (💀)

He is the bottomest bottom to ever bottom.

This is like one of three things the genshin fandom universally agrees on.

That twink is already getting destroyed.

I genuinely think he'll cry if you try to make him top you.

Combust on the spot, even.

He'll still try, of course, but the poor thing's hands would be shaking so hard he can barely unbutton your shirt or unbuckle your bottoms.

Stutters out multiple sorrys for each time his fingers slip as he fumbles with your clothes.

He's just so hard but he's also too freaking flustered to do anything about it (my shayla :( )

Will look at you with the saddest, most guilty and teary-eyed expression when he realizes that he has been unconciously humping your thigh the entire time

(He's so pathetic I love him)

Please stop bullying him, he really can't take it anymore :(

Shenhe:

Yes.

Let's be for real; you already top her most of the time.

Something something the red rope is there to keep her in check something something sexual intimacy is a very emotional affair that may or may not trigger her.

Although she is faring better now, Shenhe still fears having any sort of power over you, so she would rather just let you have any advantage she can give.

Not that it would matter much if she actually went on a rampage. But it's the thought that counts<3

I think she's a breather. No loud moans, no grunts or growling. Just soft, quiet breaths.

Would not mind if you are loud, though. The entire point from this is that everyone is at their most vulnerable, right?

If you ever made her top you then she'll be so sweet and attentive<3

Quietly asking for consent before touching anything and constantly checking if you are comfortable.

She is just trying her best, and god is she good.

Mavuika:

Yes.

Thinks you can't handle her (Smug Fuck x2)

You can't, but still—

Is very chill in general, but oh archons can she be such a tease when she wants to be.

Would go out of her way to hold her own reactions in. She just wants you to go all out on her<3

.. and maybe tire yourself out to the point you cannot continue anymore.

Can and will taunt you. Again, she is just encouraging you to reach your limits<3

Won't do it for much though because she knows when you are too exhausted and it's her duty now to take good care of you too<3

Can be very gentle when she wants to be.

You were doing your best just now. It's her turn to return the favor now<3

As always, this is written just for fun. Feel free to pile up your own thoughts on it :>