#venti x reader

ALBEDO

You spend a lot of time in Albedo's lab. You're not entirely sure when it started becoming routine, but somewhere between him seeking your presence and you deciding to stay longer than necessary, it just... happened. You'd sit in the corner with a book or just watch him work, the way he moves through his experiments with methodical precision. 

Today, though, you're in the Favonius library instead. Albedo needed to research something specific, and you went along with him without question. You're sitting at one of the tables while he browses the shelves, pulling down various tomes with focused precision.

Lisa is at the front desk when Albedo brings his stack of books to check them out. You're waiting nearby, and she glances between the two of you with that knowing smile of hers.

"My, my, someone's been spending a lot of time with our dear Chief Alchemist," she says to you, her voice sweet as honey. She's already flipping through the first book. "Taking quite the interest in his work, are we?"

"Just curious," you say, suddenly very aware of how close Albedo is standing.

"Mm, how thoughtful of you." She continues scanning, her eyes flickering up to Albedo for just a moment. "Your lover must appreciate having someone so interested in what he does."

She says it so casually, so mixed in with the mundane task of checking out books, that it takes a moment for the words to actually register. By the time they do, she's already moving on to the next book, completely unbothered.

Albedo pauses. You notice it immediately—his hand stills on the counter, and there's a moment where he seems to be processing something. His gaze drifts to the side, not quite looking at Lisa, not quite looking at you. He's just... considering. Turning the words over in his mind the way he does with everything else. 

Then, just as quietly as the pause came, he seems to release it. He doesn't correct her. Doesn't say anything at all. Just sets down the remaining books on the counter in that careful way of his.

“Oh, uhm,” You begin, looking over at Albedo. “We, uh, aren’t together.”

Lisa glances up, catches something in his expression, and her smile widens slightly. But she says nothing more.

Later, when you're back at the library and Albedo is focused on his research, you find yourself thinking about what Lisa said.

"Do you think I'm a distraction?" you ask casually, not looking up from your book.

Albedo doesn't pause in his work. "No." The answer is immediate. Certain. You turn a page.

"Lisa thinks we're together," you say.

He sets down the vial he held with careful precision. Turns to look at you fully, and for a long moment, he doesn't say anything. His soft, analytical gaze is fixed on you, and the silence stretches out—long enough that you start to feel uncomfortable, long enough that you begin to wonder if you've said something wrong.

And then, as though he had reached a conclusion so simple and obvious, "Would that be so strange?"

You realise you don't have an answer for that. And more importantly, that perhaps, no, it would not be so strange after all. 

AYATO

The Kamisato clan commissioner rarely ventured into the markets. Usually, he would have sent either Thoma or one of his other myriad helpers to fetch whatever it was he or Ayaka needed. But, today, perhaps as a change of environment—away from the towering paperwork he had to fill—Ayato decided to accompany you in your shopping. He always had a peculiar habit of trailing behind you, even when it was unnecessary. You had gotten used to his presence in your life. A shadow. An extremely coy and teasing shadow, that is. 

Besides, perhaps the presence of the commissioner would snag you a couple of good deals while out and about. 

You curled a bolt of silk green fabric around your wrist. Pretty, smooth. Ayato peeked over your shoulder, scrutinising the item in so much more detail than you were at all. 

You turned back to look at him and huffed, a sound of amusement, “What, is it not to your liking, Ayato?”

“Well,” he seemed to draw out, catching your eyes. “I hardly think it’s your shade.”

Not your shade? Just as a retort bubbled up in your throat, you were interrupted by the sound of the vendor. “Ah, commissioner!” He said. “Interested in imported silks, are you?”

The man seemed to be pulling out more cloth, shades of different colours—silver, lavender, pink, blue. His hands moved with practiced efficiency as he laid out the fabrics over the counter. He seemed to be going on and on about where each piece was imported from—this one from Liyue, the other a local craftsman from Inazuma, the other cultivated in the meadows of Mondstadt. 

But then he picked out a specific piece and looked over to Ayato. “I’m sure your lover would look stunning in the deeper blues,” he said. “Does the lady have a preference, or should we let the commissioner decide?”

You tensed. 

Lover? And the man had said it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You felt your cheeks warm and suddenly you seemed to become all too aware of the little distance between you and Ayato. As though hypersensory, you could feel the way Ayato’s hands stilled, resting for a moment at your hip. You looked over at him. 

And yet, there was no change in his expression. If anything, the small smile he had on his face had stretched a fractional amount. His head tilted to the side. 

“I think she would look rather beautiful,” Ayato said. Simple and casual, his eyes snagging on you for half a second. It was like he hadn’t even heard the former part of the sentence. Or, scratch that, like he hadn’t heard anything the vendor had just said. 

The vendor was simply ecstatic to have sold something to the commissioner, and—apparently—his “lover,” and had left to wrap the item. 

You paused for a second, before turning to the man next to you. “What was that?” 

Ayato hummed non-commitally as he looked at you. “What was what?” He feigned ignorance, that smug idiot. He never missed a single thing. Once you had changed the scent of your perfume from Sakura Bloom to Naku Weed, and he had caught it the moment you stepped into his office; there was no way he hadn’t heard that. 

“He just called me your lover!” You pressed. 

Ayato just tilted his head, his fingers tapping against the wooden counter. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t correct him.”

“No.”

The heat in your face seemed to rise in temperature. Just what exactly was he playing at? Why was he staring at you like this was the most normal thing ever? Was he not bothered? And the way the merchant had said it, too, it was like everyone in the entirety of Inazuma knew about this except for you!

“Why not?” You asked, growing more shifty by the second. 

Ayato let out a laugh, a sweet, melodic little sound, “You didn't seem eager to correct him yourself.”

You opened your mouth to argue, and then closed it again. “W-Well, I was just about—but then, I…” Any and all justification that rose in your throat withered away. Especially when Ayato was staring at you like that. Like he was challenging you to question that assumption, daring you to change it. 

That day, the two of you walked away having bought an expensive indigo fabric. Matching the Kamisato insignia.

CHILDE

The training grounds were empty except for the two of you. You'd been sparring with Childe for the better part of an hour, and he was still grinning like he was having the time of his life—which, knowing him, he probably was.

"Your footwork's off," he called out, circling you with that predatory grace he had when he was actually engaged. "You're telegraphing your next move."

"Maybe I want you to know what I'm doing," you shot back, lunging. He sidestepped easily, but you'd anticipated that, spinning to catch him off-guard with a follow-up strike. He blocked it, and the impact sent a jolt up your arm. "Or maybe you're just slow today."

"Slow?" He laughed, and there was an edge to it now—the kind that meant he'd stopped holding back. He came at you with a series of quick strikes, testing your reflexes, and you matched him, parry for parry. 

Your muscles were already burning from the previous rounds, but you pushed anyway because he'd give you that look of approval when you did, that slight nod like you'd passed some invisible test. "You're the one who's slowing down. Your last five moves have been predictable."

"Only because you're boring me," you said, breathing harder now. You twisted away from his next strike, used his momentum against him, and nearly got him off-balance. Nearly. He recovered with infuriating ease, but you caught the flash of something in his expression—genuine interest now, not just amusement.

The sparring continued, and at one point, you overextended on a strike. His hand came out to steady you, gripping your arm just above the elbow. It was meant to be instructional—a correction of your form—but he held it for a moment, his thumb brushing against your skin before he released you. Neither of you acknowledged it. He just stepped back and said, "Again. Better this time."

You came at him again, and somewhere in the middle of it, there was a moment where he caught your wrist mid-strike. His hand was warm, his grip firm but not painful. He could have thrown you. Instead, he held it for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and you were close enough to see the slight raise in his eyebrow—a challenge. You twisted your arm, trying to break free, and he let you go with a grin.

"Getting better," he said.

"I've always been good. You're just finally noticing," you replied, and charged at him again.

By the time you both called it, you were both breathing hard. Sweat dripped down your temple, and your arms felt like lead. Childe was still smiling though, that infuriating, easy smile of his that suggested he could do this all day. He grabbed his water bottle, tossed you one, and you caught it easily. The cold water was a relief as you drank, trying to catch your breath.

You were leaning against the nearby pillar, still catching your breath, when you heard voices approaching. Not close yet, but getting closer. You recognized one of them immediately—Paimon's high-pitched chatter, and underneath it, Lumine's quieter responses. You didn't think much of it. They were probably just passing through the training grounds on their way somewhere else.

Childe was standing a few feet away from you, already looking refreshed despite the exertion. He had that energy about him, the kind that didn't seem to deplete no matter how hard he pushed himself. He caught you looking at him and raised an eyebrow.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" he asked, already moving toward you.

"Just wondering how you're not completely dead," you said. "Normal people need recovery time."

"I'm not normal people." He stopped beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. Without any real thought to it, he reached over and fixed a strand of your hair that had come loose during the sparring, tucking it back behind your ear. It was such a casual gesture, the kind of thing he did without thinking. Your breath caught slightly, but he was already pulling his hand back, already grinning at you like he hadn't just done something that made your heart rate pick up for reasons that had nothing to do with the exercise.

"Definitely not normal," you muttered, looking away.

"Hey, Childe! Lumine and I were just—oh!"

You looked up to see Paimon floating toward you both, her expression shifting to something almost knowing as she took in the sight of you two standing close together, both flushed and breathing hard. Lumine followed behind her, her eyes flickering between you and Childe with that quiet observation of hers.

"We were just heading to the Adventurers' Guild," Paimon continued, but there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But wow, looks like you two have been going at it pretty hard. I'm just glad Childe's finally found his special someone! But sheesh, do you have to go that hard on her?"

There was a beat. You opened your mouth to correct her, to clarify whatever assumption she'd just made, but Childe moved first. His arm came around you without hesitation, pulling you against his side in one smooth motion. It was the kind of casual contact you two shared all the time, except it wasn't casual now. Not the way he was looking at Paimon, not the way his hand rested at your hip like it belonged there.

"Yeah, well," he said, his voice easy and warm, "took me long enough to find someone worth the effort."

Lumine's lips curved into the faintest smile. "That's one way to put it," she said, and there was definitely something knowing in her tone.

You felt your face flush. You pushed against his chest, your hand flat against the fabric of his shirt.

"You're insane," you said, but you were already laughing despite yourself, despite the way your heart was doing backflips.

Paimon giggled, seeming satisfied with whatever she thought she'd figured out, and Lumine gave you both a small wave before they continued on their way. You watched them go, still half-pressed against Childe's side, and the moment they were out of earshot, you pushed away from him properly.

"You want to enlighten me on what you were implying there?" you asked, turning to face him.

Childe's grin was still there, but something underneath it had shifted. He wasn't quite looking at you directly, was instead focused on something past your shoulder, his expression caught between amusement and something you couldn't quite read.

"Was I implying something?" he said, but there was no real teasing in it now.

"You just told them we're together."

He finally looked at you then, and his expression was softer than you'd expected. Still smiling, but there was something real behind it—something that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the sparring.

"And?" he said softly. "I wasn't lying though, was I?"

KAEYA

You'd been coming to the tavern with Kaeya for weeks now. It started innocuously enough—he'd asked if you wanted a drink after a particularly grueling shift, and you'd said yes mostly because you were too tired to say no. Somewhere along the way, it became routine. Every few nights you'd find yourself at the counter with him, and he'd order for you without asking. He always got it right, which was irritating in its own way.

Tonight was like any other night. You were sitting at your usual spot, the one that had somehow become your spot, when someone approached. One of the regulars—a member of the Adventurer’s Guild—someone you'd seen around enough times to recognize but not enough to know by name.

"Kaeya," the man slurred, leaning against the bar. "Your girlfriend's looking particularly radiant tonight."

You felt your spine stiffen slightly. Girlfriend. The word hung there for a moment, waiting to be corrected. 

You looked over at Kaeya, waiting for him to say something, to clarify, to do whatever it was he normally did when people made assumptions. But he just smiled. That easy, lazy smile of his. 

"Isn't she always?" he said, and the man laughed like it was the most charming thing he'd ever heard, and walked away.

You stared at your drink. The ice was melting slowly, diluting the amber liquid into something weaker.

"You could've corrected him," you said, looking over at him with barely concealed flustered confusion.

"Could have," Kaeya agreed. He wasn't looking at you, was instead focused on something across the bar with that detached amusement he wore like a second skin. "Didn't seem worth the effort."

You let it go. It was small enough, harmless enough. Kaeya was always like this—playing into characters, scenarios, whatever amused him in the moment. And besides, this was the tavern. People were drunk, made assumptions, barely thought twice about anything. Everything Kaeya said carried that thin veneer of humor, that deliberate lightness that suggested nothing he did was ever meant to be taken seriously. This must have been yet another attempt at his particular brand of entertainment, or maybe an effort to fluster you. Which you weren't falling for. Obviously.

But a few days later, he suggested dinner at Good Hunter's. You'd gone, mostly because you were hungry and he was there. Sara smiled when she saw you two sit down underneath the parasol. 

“Maybe the both of you would like a seat that’s more private instead?” She had suggested. Your face erupted into flames when she suggested that. And although you tried to correct it, Kaeya had already confirmed, and you found yourself in a shaded area to the side. The kind of area that everyone implicitly agreed was for honeymooning couples. 

You sat across from him, irritated, and tried to focus on your food. Kaeya, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered. He ate with deliberate slowness, and at one point he leaned across the table, his eye catching yours with a particular brand of teasing softness.

"You're scowling," he said, like it was an observation about the weather.

"I'm not scowling."

"You are." He reached over and tapped your forehead with one finger. "Right here."

You pulled back, but he'd already retreated, that infuriating smile still in place.

By the time you were walking back through the city, your irritation had crystallized into something sharper. Something that demanded to be addressed.

"What are you doing?" you asked, stopping abruptly in the middle of the street.

"Walking," Kaeya said simply. "Same as you."

"Don't be difficult. Everyone keeps thinking we're together and you're not correcting them. You're actually—" you gestured vaguely at the space between you, "—playing into it."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed, that low, warm sound that always seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest. When he looked at you, there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place. Something that felt almost like he'd been waiting for you to notice.

"I think you like it more than you're willing to admit," he said softly. His eye was half-lidded, that familiar amusement still there, but underneath it was something else. Something that made your chest feel tight.  "The question is whether I should keep pretending not to notice."

He was already walking ahead, already moving past you with that lazy stride of his, and you were left standing there, flushed and furious and unable to quite articulate why his assumption felt less like teasing and more like he'd read something in you that you weren't ready to show him.

Damn Kaeya.

LOHEN

The training grounds were filled with apprentice knights, all watching intently as you explained the formation they'd be running through. Lohen stood beside you, arms crossed, and you could already feel the restlessness radiating off him like heat.

"This is boring," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Just let them fight something real."

"They need to understand positioning first," you replied firmly, not even looking at him. "We're not sending them into the field unprepared."

"Unprepared is half the fun," he said, and you heard the grin in his voice.

You turned to face him. "You know what? Not everyone gets a thrill from almost dying."

"Their loss," he said, and there was something playful in his eyes, something that suggested he enjoyed getting a rise out of you. One of the younger apprentices nudged their friend, both of them watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement.

"This is why we have strategy," you continued, turning back to the group. "Lohen charges in and—"

"And it works," he interjected.

"And you get lucky," you corrected.

He laughed, "Lucky. Right. That's what we're calling it."

The training started smoothly enough. The apprentices moved through the formations you'd drilled into them, and you were positioned to observe and correct. Lohen was supposed to be doing the same, but his attention kept drifting, his foot tapping with barely contained energy. You could see him watching the apprentices with the kind of hunger that meant he was already bored. At one point, you caught him staring at you instead of the recruits, and when you raised an eyebrow in question, he just grinned wider.

After about an hour, one of the younger recruits approached as you and Lohen were standing together reviewing the performance. The recruit was still catching their breath, clearly impressed by how well the formation had held.

"It's lucky that the two of you are paired together," they said, glancing between you both. There was genuine respect in their voice. "Aren't the two of you together?"

The moment those words left the apprentice’s mouth, you could see something wicked shine in Lohen’s eyes. You opened your mouth to clarify, but Lohen moved before you could. He crossed the distance between you in a few strides and pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around your waist like it had always belonged there. Your face went hot immediately, but he was looking at you with that chaotic grin of his, like he'd just been handed the best entertainment of his day.

"And she's the only person who could ever keep up with me," he said, loud and theatrical, and you could tell he was leaning into it now, performing for the apprentices. You felt your cheeks burn as you realized what he was doing, deliberately making a show of it, spinning this into something bigger just to see you get flustered. The manic energy was at full throttle, and he was clearly enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

Your face went hotter. One of the apprentices bit their lip to keep from smiling, while another looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the display. But most of them were watching with interest, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Lohen—" you started, trying to extract yourself, but he didn't let go. His grip on your waist was firm, not painful, just insistent.

"And she's brilliant," he continued, spinning you slightly so he could look at you properly. His hand was still on your back, and he was looking at you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "Everything I'm not. Everything that keeps me from getting killed in a ditch somewhere." There was something underneath the chaos when he said it, something that suggested he meant it more than he was letting on.  A few of the recruits exchanged glances, and one of them smiled knowingly.

"You'd be lost without her," one of the bolder apprentices called out, earning a few quiet laughs from the others.

"Completely lost," Lohen agreed, but there was something in the way he said it that wasn't entirely joking. For just a moment, the manic energy seemed to settle, and he looked at you like you were the only thing in the training grounds that mattered. "Actually, yeah. I would be."

Then he released you, and the chaos returned. He was already moving away, already tossing some comments to the apprentices about formation angles, leaving you standing there flustered and hyperaware of every eye on you.

The rest of the training passed in a blur of corrections and positioning. By the time you finally dismissed the apprentices, your face had only just stopped burning. Lohen was already collecting his things, and you found yourself watching him move with that restless energy of his, wondering what he'd actually meant in that moment when everything had seemed to pause.

THOMA

You were sitting in one of the Kamisato estate's quieter rooms, mending a tear in one of the ceremonial clothes when Thoma appeared with tea. He set it down beside you without asking and settled into the seat across from you.

"That's going to take forever," he said, watching you work the needle through the delicate fabric.

"Only if I rush," you replied, concentrating on your stitching. "You taught me that."

He smiled at that, leaning back and watching you work. It was comfortable, the kind of silence that didn't need filling. You'd been coming to this room more often lately, always finding some reason to be here. Mending. Reading. Just sitting. And somehow Thoma always seemed to find his way in.

After a while, he got up and moved to sit beside you instead. He didn't ask permission. He just shifted closer until his shoulder nearly touched yours. He picked up a different piece that needed mending and started working on it without preamble.

"You're still doing that stitch wrong," he said after a while, no judgment in his voice.

"I know," you said, not bothering to correct yourself. "But you always fix it for me anyway."

He smiled, and you swore you could see the pupils of his green eyes dilate a fractional amount. His hand came over yours, guiding the needle through the proper motion. His fingers were warm, and he moved slowly, making sure you understood. When he pulled back, you found yourself missing the contact.

You worked like that for a long time. Sometimes he'd hum something soft under his breath. Sometimes you'd ask him about his day, and he'd answer while still focused on the mending. At one point, you reached for more thread at the same moment he did, and your hands brushed. Neither of you moved away.  You both just continued working, shoulders close, existing together in the quiet of the afternoon.

"You're thinking too hard," he said once, glancing at your face.

"How can you tell?"

"You get this little crease," he said, reaching over and smoothing it away with his thumb. It was such a gentle gesture that you forgot to breathe for a moment.

You were so focused on the mending that you didn't notice when Ayaka appeared in the doorway. She had a few attendants with her, but she stopped when she saw the two of you sitting close together, heads bent over the work, your shoulders nearly touching.

"Oh, there you two are," she said warmly. "I've been meaning to mention something." Thoma looked up, and you followed his gaze.

"There's a couples' festival coming up at the end of the month," Ayaka continued, her tone genuinely kind. 

"I thought perhaps you two might enjoy attending together. It would be nice for you to have some time away from the estate."

You felt your face warm. Thoma's reaction was immediate. His entire face flushed a deep red, from his neck all the way to his ears. He set down the cloth quickly, maybe too quickly, like he needed something to do with his hands.

"Oh, we're—" he started, his voice slightly strained. He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, he was trying for his usual politeness, but the fluster was unmistakable. "We're not actually together, Lady Ayaka. We just spend a lot of time together because of work, that's all."

The correction was gentle, the way everything Thoma did was gentle. But there was something in the way his hands gripped the cloth a little too tightly, the way he wouldn't quite meet Ayaka's eyes, that made your chest tighten. One of the attendants looked faintly disappointed.

Ayaka's expression softened with understanding, and she nodded. "I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding." She excused herself politely, and the moment she left, the room felt smaller somehow.

You picked up your mending again, but your hands felt clumsy. Thoma did the same, but neither of you were really focused on the work anymore. The ease you'd had before was gone, replaced by something tense and uncertain. The afternoon light filtered through the screens, and the silence stretched between you, heavy with things unsaid.

When the sun started to set and you finally set down your work, Thoma was already moving. You said something soft to break the tension, just to ease it.

"That was kind of awkward," you said quietly, not quite looking at him.

He paused, his hand lingering on the cloth. You could see him turn it over in his mind, searching for something.

"I didn't mean to be rude," he said, finally meeting your eyes. "She was just... it caught me off guard."

"I know," you said, offering him a small smile. "It's fine. These things happen."

He looked at you for a long moment, and there was something in his expression that made your breath catch. Something that looked like regret, like he was reconsidering something he'd just said.

"Actually," he said, and his voice was steadier now, "about that festival."

You looked at him, waiting.

"It might not be a bad idea," he continued, and there was a careful consideration to his words, like he was choosing each one deliberately. "For us to attend together, I mean. Not because anyone thinks we should. But because..." He paused, searching for the right words. "Because I'd like to spend that evening with you. If you'd want to."

Your breath caught slightly. There was nothing casual about the way he said it, despite how carefully he was choosing his words. There was intention there, and something that looked a lot like hope.

"Yeah," you said softly. "I'd like that."

VENTI

Venti had dragged you out to yet another performance. You weren't sure why he felt the need to do this—invite you specifically, stand you in a particular spot in the crowd where he could see you, like your presence mattered to the mechanics of him playing. But he'd shown up at your door this morning with his elfish smile and asked if you were busy. A pointless question, really. He would have begged and whined until you relented had you said no. 

On the way to the fountain, he'd been insufferable. He kept humming fragments of melodies, stopping abruptly to ask your opinion on them, then laughing at your answers like you'd said something hilarious when you were just trying to be helpful. At one point he'd grabbed your wrist and spun you around on the street for no reason, just to see your expression, probably.

"You're going to make me dizzy," you laugh, pulling your hand back.

"Is that a complaint, windblume?" he asked, and there was something in his tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

"Yes," you lied.

He had just smiled like he could see right through you.

Now, standing near the fountain while he set up, you watched him adjust his lyre with great care; the kind of care reserved for especially special things in one’s life. Which, for Venti, was music and—you were noticing more and more—you. 

He kept glancing over at you, making sure you were in the right spot, making sure you could see him properly. You found it funny, it was almost like a nervous tick. A flick of his gaze to you every few seconds to make especially sure that you had your eyes on him. It was unnecessary. Of course you could see him. You were always looking at him anyway.

Another bard approached as Venti was finishing his setup—someone you recognized vaguely from around the city. They exchanged greetings, the kind of easy familiarity that suggested they knew each other from the musician's circles. You turned your attention back to the fountain, not really listening until the other bard said something that made you tune back in.

"Your recent stuff has been different," he was saying to Venti. "All of it sounds like it's about the same person."

You felt something shift in your chest. His recent stuff? You hadn't really paid that much attention, if you were being honest. But now that it was being pointed out, you found yourself wondering if that was true. 

You'd been hearing him play new things lately, pieces you hadn't heard before, and now you were suddenly wondering who they were about.

The bard glanced over at you, then back at Venti, and you watched something click into place behind his expression.

"That your muse?" he asked, gesturing vaguely in your direction.

Venti laughed. It was the kind of laugh that made people turn their heads, that seemed to move through the air like something physical. He spun—actually spun, his coat catching the light—and when he looked at you, there was something deliberate in the movement.

"The best one I've ever had," he said, and he was looking directly at you when he said it.

Your face went hot. The other bard laughed too, charmed, and the conversation continued between them, but you weren't really listening anymore. You were stuck on that phrase, on the way Venti had said it, on the realization that apparently his recent compositions had been about you and you'd been too oblivious to notice.

An hour later, after the performance was over and you'd managed to slip away, you found yourself at the tavern. You were nursing a drink when Venti sat down beside you. He waved a hand to the bartender, and Charles just sighed—a routine. And then Venti’s gaze was fixed on you.

"You've been thinking about what I said," he observes.

"I haven't," you say, which is a lie and you both know it.

"Mm." He's amused. You can hear it in his voice. "That's exactly why you’ve been zoning out since my  performance?” He had that teasing lilt in his voice. You wanted to puncture his voice box. 

"You can't just say something like that and expect me not to—" you start, then stop because you're not actually sure what you're going to say. Expect you not to what? Wonder if he meant it? Wonder what it means? Wonder if you're reading too much into it?

"Not to what?" Venti prompts, and there's that tilt of his head again, that soft amusement in his expression.

"You know what," you snap, trying not to sound flustered. 

Venti, all he does is laugh. You really want to puncture his voice box. 

thanks so much for reading!!

“bad day?” you didn’t have to reply for him to see the tremor in your shoulders. venti sadly pouts, draping a hand-quilted blanket over you. “it’s all right, darling. you’re home now, in my arms where you belong.” but when he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head, you rolled away.

strange.

now, he would normally let the matter drop. sometimes you just had those days where all you wanted was the company and not the expectation of reciprocation. but when he caught glimpse of that damned grin on your cheek as you pretended to huddle into a pillow? all his sympathy blew into a simple shake of his head.

“oh you are absolutely wicked, windblume! here i am, your devoted husband, trying to comfort my wilted flower and you decided to be a menace!” bold of him to say so, but hypocrisy was lost on him as he suddenly tackled you. crawling over your scrunched body to begin peppering your face with kisses.

he giggled, kissing at your palms when they raised to stop the ticklish onslaught. “mm, are you too tired now, windblume? cheeky thing, remind me to not trust that cute kicked-puppy look of yours so quickly!”

AYATO — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖

ʚ oh so you’ve decided to play this game have you?

ʚ ayato is as petty as he is powerful in status, don’t think because you’re wed he won’t be going out of his way to make you regret teasing him in such a cruel way.

two months. it’s been two months since he’s seen your face, and the times he has mainly rely on his subconscious dreams—which, in fact, do not help with the yearning. weeks upon weeks of smelling the fresh scent of your perfume lingering within every folded piece of parchment. wistfully staring at the dribbles of rain on curved liyue windows.

so, of course, when the ship docked at inazuma’s port—he couldn’t help but hurry his paces. completely ignoring the struggling thoma as he stumbled over the boxes of souvenirs from his trip.

as usual, you greeted him at the front gate of his estate. home, finally. ayato could finally breathe when his head nuzzled to the crook of your neck, searching for the scent he smelt faintly in the dim nights of solitude.

“my dear love, no letter could hold up to how much i’ve missed seeing you. come, let me take a look at your face.” though when he leaned up straight you know what was coming—and purposefully dodged. his lips landing off to the side of your face.

“twitchy today, aren’t you? no matter.” he tried again. and again. till he cupped your cheeks in his large, cold hands to keep you still. “really, dear, it’s like you enjoy making a fool of a man who spoils you rotten, is this a new torture tactic of yours?”

“whatever could you be talking about, ayato?” you grin, and he quirks a brow.

dipping your chin to force your wandering eyes to fully meet his own. “i haven’t seen my spouse in two months, i would best advice for you to not tease me till i’ve had my fill of you.”

“all right, all right—i apologise!” you chuckle, dragging him by the edges of his kimono for a proper kiss. bittersweet and still laced with a longing he couldn’t replace in just one night.

“perfect,” he smiled, tucking your arm with his to lead you home. “now, i hope you don’t think i am satisfied with just that, my dear. you owe me extra loving for that stunt alone.”

A. ITTO — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖

ʚ NOOOOO WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM ╭(╯^╰)╮

ʚ he’s already kind of awkward when it comes to showing you affection in public—he looks loud and proud sure (because he is) but there are just some things that are hard to hide behind an exaggerated grin.

ʚ but yeah pffft of course you were joking! he knew that! of course he did! he totally did not think that you no longer wanted to be associated with someone like him! or that you ate beans recently and could kill him! no way!

the battle was fierce. eyes sharp and focused, slimmed to slits like a kitsune perking in the cover of shadows. it was life or death.

“GO ITTO[NAME] GO! YOU CAN DO IT LITTLE BUDDY!” itto cheered without shame, prodding at the fearsome onikabuto as it charged against its opponent. your beetle. though it was the usual friendly competition, you couldn’t help feel like itto was getting a little too into it. you weren’t going to comment, however.

while distracted with the charming grin on his beaming face, it was too late for you to notice the way your beetle had rolled over in defeat. well, damn.

“WOOO! let’s go!! another peak performance from our bug baby!” gross, but so endearing.

“congrats on the win.” yes you couldn’t stop yourself from being petty with a hand on your hip, so what?

“soooooo, for my reward, ehem,” itto coughed awkwardly into his hand, smile somehow getting brighter as his eyes darted from your lips to the twitching beetle.

he shuffled closer, settling a warm palm over the curve of your back to help draw you in. you complied, just to give him the get go—before immediately turning away when he leaned in to kiss you. itto straightened, shaking his head in absolute bewilderment.

“huh—? did i…” he pointed at himself then at you. did he miss your lips or something? because he could’ve sworn he felt nothing just then. he tried again, and was met with the same dry taste of cold air on his tongue. all right then, clearly he was the problem here.

turning away from you, itto began fussing over himself. heaving out a breath to check the scent, he could’ve sworn he was watching what he was eating before meeting you, flexing his muscles to ensure there’s no dirt or clinging mud stuck to his skin, staring at his reflection in the shade of the onikabuto…and nothing.

“babyyy…” he pouted, finally facing forward with his hands on his hips. “are you seriously upset over losing? i swear i didn’t cheat or anything, i’m just that good! i-i’ll let you win next time! we can go another round and i promise you’ll emerge victorious! sooo, please?”

no one can resist itto’s dangerous puppy-eyes for too long.

CHARLOTTE — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖

ʚ so you’ve chosen to have your face publicly humiliated in the daily fontaine newspaper? is that it? because don’t think she won’t sneak it in or poorly plaster wanted posters of you around town! you’re seriously tempting her with all these awful jokes.

charlotte was about to head of to an interview with the traveler, packing her stuff swiftly before glancing over at you cheerfully, expecting her usual routine of a kiss on the cheek as established early on the relationship; before every interview, you’d give her a kiss.

however, what came from you was pure silence as you stayed entranced by a piece of literature in your hands. she glares at you. shuffling some material as she searches for something until shortly, several bright lights flash all over your form, the sound of a camera fluttering working in tandem as charlotte begins taking a plethora of photos of you.

“what are you doing?” you ask her, still not paying any attention to her antics, which just makes her pout in frustration.

“taking pictures of a villainous culprit for the papers, the headline will be; “[name], the absolute embodiment of cruelty, doesn’t kiss girlfriend after she politely waits for them to do so.”

you stifle a chuckle. “i don’t think that’s particularly against the law.”

she guffaws, the camera nearly dropping to the floor. “how preposterous! it is a serious crime here in fontaine, don’t believe me? look here—“ charlotte grumbles, taking out a piece of paper to write down ‘MUST KISS PARTNER, OR JAIL TIME WILL BE 3-5 YEARS.’

“you’re so dramatic,” you sigh, finally deciding to cave in and plant a kiss to her soft lips. she relaxes, pinching at your cheek as if to punish you for the delay.

ARLECCHINO — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖

“[name], i’ve returned.” arlecchino’s mellow voice rang out, her claws scraping on ebony wood and ashy marble.

“welcome back! how was the trip? no issues?” she shook her head, brushing back some flyaway hairs drifting from your head right behind your ear.

“none. i bought you a gift, like always.” shifting through something within her back pocket, she pulls out a necklace. crimson rubies beading through silver that dangle like spilled blood from her fingertip.

you beam, examining piece more intimately by tracing the dazzled gem. its colours fragmenting like shards on the ceiling. “it’s beautiful! you always know how to pick these, don’t you?”the praise does wonders for her ego (and also sweetens her touch later in the day when you’re cuddled together).

she doesn’t have to say anything, she never does. only leans down in arrogant expectation. it was the standard routine. a gift for a kiss, your loyalty and submission for her protection and luxury.

so did you somehow forget those things when charmed by her souvenir? or are were you deliberately attempting to push her buttons?

she closed her eyes like a fool, and no one, not even you are allowed to do such a thing. snatching your chin to keep your head from looking away in shame, her tone rumbled in your ear. “do you enjoy being a brat? or do you trust my lenience toward you will ease the punishment you’ll receive for such a stunt?”

K. C. FLINS — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖

ʚ i’m going to speak on behalf of us slavics/baltics, we’re not really known for our PDA or affection. rather contrarily, we’re more known for being cold and stone-faced to strangers while privately intimate and warm to our friends/family. so, honestly i don’t think flins would necessarily care that much

ʚ he’s also a very polite gentleman, he wouldn’t push it if he sees you recline from a kiss. maybe he’s a little hurt, but it’s not like it’s the end of the world.

after a particularly rough and arduous fight with the wild hunt, you had managed to get knocked back. some sort of polearm scratching a non-lethal wound across your cheek, just about avoiding your eye. flins wasted absolutely no time in attempting to patch you up. hands resting respectfully on your waist as he propped you carefully on a nearby cave wall.

“are you sure you’re all right? you do not need to lie to me, i don’t wish for you to suffer alone.” his hands fiddled with a handkerchief you had knit him ages ago, using a damp edge to wipe at the crusted crimson pooling down your cheek.

“no, it’s all good. just stings a little, but that’s to be expected.” you nodded in confirmation, wincing with a hiss as his fingers creep higher to the deeper damage.

“sorry, love.” he muttered apologetically, brows furrowing at even the slight notice of your discomfort. “i should have been quicker, next time i’ll ensure that your safety takes priority. but for the meanwhile…” cold fingertips curl over the side of your face, and you can’t help but subtly chuckle at the charmingly nervous way his eyes glanced down at your lips.

he leaned closer, the faint smell of moss and rain clinging to his inky cloak mingling with the scent of antiseptic. it made you dizzy. but not dizzy enough to feel like teasing him. what’s one more fright for the night?

instead of meeting the soft curve of your jaw or slope of your nose—he’s met nearly immediately with freezing rock. you hide your giggling tremors behind the back of your palm. that was…certainly unexpected.

thinking maybe the drowsiness made him falter for the moment, he straightens back up—only just about noticing the shit-eating grin on your face. he smiles, beginning to pinch at your nose in response.

“let’s just get you to bed.”

VARKA — ⊹ . ݁♡ ˖

ʚ that man has several adopted kids in various ages, believe me he’s used to the wincing. granted sometimes it’s due to his scratchy beard (HE HAS A BEARD. I DONT CARE ABOUT THE CANON RAAAHH) itching skin uncomfortably, but he knows when you’re whinging from his touch just to be a brat.

ʚ you will not escape the clutches of this man, you wanna pry more attention from him? you’re free to have it so long as you can handle it.

not only did he dare come home smelling exceedingly of poorly poured alcohol, he managed to mangle his dripping blood onto your fresh carpet. sitting up straight like a hunting barn owl, arms tightly closed across your chest—you simply stared at him.

“come on, mein schätzelein. it ain’t that big a deal! if anything, this is the most lenient i’ve home since—“ the twitch in your eye certainly didn’t make him feel particularly superb. huffing, he stoops down on his knees to look up at you, attempting to seem as docile as possible. difficult for a man of his size, but the sentiment was rather endearing.

“look, i said i’m sorry. it won’t happen again, all right? can’t have my dear thinking i’m a terrible husband.” he doesn’t really ask so much so as he smiles and takes the twitch in your lips as confirmation. picking you up effortlessly, he holds you up like a treasure vault. hopefully filled with a bit of love left for his pathetic cooing.

when he lowers you specifically for a kiss, you quickly turn to the side and squirm in his embrace. “mn. quit it. i’m still pissed at you.”

“oh, really? so why are you grinning so hard? don’t think i can’t see it.” he chuckles, the sound vibrating warmly through your chest as he cradles you closer. his lips attempt to find any portion of your skin to kiss. mouth dragging over air as you just about manage to knock your head to the side each time.

you huff, hiding a laugh with a feigned sniffle. “i’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“pure lies, and you know it. now c’mere.”this time, with how impossibly close you were to his tight grip? there was no escape from his rightful kissing onslaught.