☆*:.｡Genshin Playlist Oneshots

In the Riptide | Tartaglia

(GreatDain, you're my lifeline atm)

"You're a bold one, waltzing into Liyue after trying to drown our people."

As a member of the Qixing, you waltz into the interrogation room owned by Ningguang dressed in the finest of silks that compliment your beauty in the most graceful yet sharp way possible. You sit yourself in a chair, lined with red plush, and cross one leg over the other.

"Well, it was worth it if I'm blessed with this view." The man kneeling before you, arms secured behind his back by the guards behind him. Your icy expression fails to thaw from the boyish yet charming he shoots you. You laugh, trying your best to establish your superiority by being physically situated above him and by looking down at him with the most powerful stare you can muster.

"Oh? Seeing you kneeling like the rat you are is my favourite view." And honestly, it wasn't a complete lie just to jab at his words. His hair is the hue of mature blood oranges freshly picked from some of the trees in Sumeru's tropical forests, and it elegantly falls to frame his handsome face. Tartaglia's gaze is fierce in public, not a hint of any emotion other than callous bloodlust resides  in his eyes, but here he looks up at you with a rather sneering yet saccharine stare. He opens his mouth to speak but you quickly use the tip of your fan and tap at his lips, glossy with the light drizzle in the evening. "Now, enough. How did you get the Sigils of Permission, Tartaglia? I expect you to answer me quickly."

"You stand so tall for someone I could just pin against the wall, comrade. I could fight off these guards, my darling, but you're just too interesting. I think you should thank me for not killing you all." Ah, intimidation. Of course he's going to use that, especially when he's getting cuffed as you speak. Fear slides down your back like droplets of rain, and you stand up straight. You excuse the guards, making sure they don't get hurt in case his threat is a promise.

"Aww, now we're alone. That's always fun." His tone is teasing. The cadence of voice is naturally mid-range, but with you he raises it an octave or two  as if he is talking to an animal. The shame of it makes the tips of your ear bloom with boiling rage. He looks up at you, and a lazy smile graces his face. You try to keep your expression neutral but you know that he's caught onto the blush of humiliation on your body.

"Where did you get the Sigils of Permission from, Tartaglia?" You urge, and accidentally allow the harsh anger to seep into your words and corrupt their intention. You're supposed to intimidate him, but he knows he's got you.

"Those are pretty silks, from the Qixing's Yuheng, right?" Childe's eyes wander up and down your body, a surge of boiling hot waves make you feel factitious under his heavy stare. You heat up more, the jab at your position making you realise he's reminding you that your status as the member of the Qixing is useless against him.

Fury licks your entire being and you have the urge to shoot back that the air tastes like electricity. You open your mouth to speak, but he interrupts you with a hushed whisper, "Shh..."

You can't help but shut your mouth, the intimidating presence of the well spoken 11th Harbinger making you understand that although he's the lowest ranked, he is a man of authority all the same. He orders Skirmishers, Vanguards, and Archers, all as powerful as some of the guards, how could you win against him?

"Good, you've got a smart head on you, seeing as you know when to be silent." But the electricity impulses overpower you and a sudden crack across his face makes him stop talking. He grunts and laughs at your composure, the beautiful fabric that decorates your figure slipping off your shoulder and revealing much of your collarbone. You hiss at the cryo from your vision blossoming across your fingertips, and the ice locks his wrists even further.

You look just as unruly as him, but with the blush on your face, he can't help but fantasise you would looked, ravaged and helpless. "Oh, so I guess you're not just in the Qixing as a pretty face. You can hand out slaps, but can you take them? I know a nice place to leave handprints on that body of yours. We've done it before, darling, why not submit to me again? It'll be just like old times."

"That was before I knew you were a Harbinger. And also before you tried to drown us!"

"I'm just a pawn, a pet. I would never hurt you, sweetheart. Here, why don't you join the Fatui? You'll get all of the pretty outfits you want, and I'll free you from your mountain of paperwork. I know you're tired, I know you can only take so much work before you collapse. If you join us, all you need to do is sit all pretty on my lap." He cooes at you gently and you slap him, backhanded, on the other cheek.

"How dare you?" You hiss as he snarls at you, his cheeks red from the cryo infused smacks you dealt him. He tilts his head to the side with faux confusion.

"Oh, you want a position, right? I suppose someone as smart as you needs something to keep themselves busy. Hmm, you can be my secretary. You'll earn three times the mora you earn here." His offer wraps around your caution and squeezes like a snake slithering up your legs and strangling your throat. "Come on, comrade, you can be so much more than a doll, wasting away in piles of paperwork..." There's a hint of warning in your voice, but you disregard it to express your disgust:

"Never. Don't ever bring it up again, I'm never joining you and your ragtag bunch of criminals." You growl. He raises a brow, a fox-like grin exposing all of his pearly whites under the light of the moon, and you sense irritation rumble and crackle. To your horror, the binds that secured the beast are on the floor, and Tartaglia stands up. His taller frame simply walks towards you but the heat and power activate your fight, flight or freeze response. The harbour should be cold during the summer nights, the sea absorbing the radiation from the sun to release during the winter. But all reason in your head is molten as you feel yourself backed up into your hair, a heeled dress shoe gently pressing your thigh to keep you subdued. A gloved finger traces down your nose whilst the other cages you in by resting on the arms of the golden chair you used to try and make him feel small with. The scent of light, musty yet floral cologne overwhelms your nostrils and you sink into the plush of your chair.

"Ragtag? Oh dear, Princess, it seems like you haven't been well educated on my homeland and their army. Seems like a little history lesson is in order, you'll sit down and listen, right?" Eyes the hue of the night-dyed sky, but not a hint of stars gleaming in them make you silent.

"Good, now, let me interrogate you on what you already know about history. An intelligent individual such as yourself will enlighten me for a long time, I'm sure..."