chusuuke

[chusuuke]

darknight disclosure

premise. While at the tavern with Kaeya and the Knights, you casually name-drop Diluc as the Darknight Hero, only to discover that none of the Knights actually know. Amid Kaeya’s amused smirk and Diluc’s exasperated denial, the mystery of the masked vigilante stays very much alive.

word count. 1.1k

The Angel’s Share was warm with the late-night hum of conversation, mugs clinking and laughter spilling into the air like bubbles from a fresh pour. Behind the counter, Diluc worked with his usual precision, filling glasses, sliding them across the bar, and exchanging the occasional polite word with a customer before turning away again. 

You sat with Kaeya and a handful of off-duty Knights at a table near the bar. The lot of them were already a drink or two past restraint, leaning toward one another as stories flowed faster than the ale.

“I’m telling you, I saw the Darknight Hero last week,” declared Swan, his voice carrying the awe of a man describing a folk legend. “He leapt from the rooftop right in front of me, flaming sword and all.”

“Oh, you’re lucky,” Huffman laughed. “Last time I caught sight of him, he was just a shadow slipping between alleys. But you hear the stories—Pyro vision, master swordsman, striking red hair…”

“That man can swing a claymore like it’s nothing,” chimed in another knight, thudding his mug down with emphasis.

You nodded along. “Well, of course. Diluc’s always been good with a claymore.”

The table stilled. Kaeya’s wineglass paused halfway to his lips. Behind you, a faint, startled cough echoed from the bar.

“…What?” Huffman asked.

You shrugged, unbothered. “You know, the youngest Cavalry Captain the Knights ever had? It’s hardly surprising he’s that good.”

Swan blinked. “We’re talking about the Darknight Hero.”

“Yes,” you replied easily. “I’m talking about Diluc.”

The knights traded baffled looks.

“Wait,” you said slowly, scanning their faces. “You mean you all don’t know?”

Kaeya’s expression remained steady, but the lazy half-smile he wore gained a little more calculation.

“Know what?” Huffman asked, now sounding uncertain.

“That they’re the same person?” You gestured vaguely toward the bar. “Same height, hair, build, Pyro vision—same everything. And the mask he wears covers, what, this much of his face?” You circled both hands around your eyes. “That’s barely even a disguise. I mean, it’s literally him in an owl mask and a cape.”

A couple of knights looked uneasy, glancing toward the bar. Huffman even squinted, like the picture might just be forming in his head.

Kaeya set his glass down with deliberate care. “Perhaps,” he drawled, “it is better not to pry into the affairs of our city’s mysterious protector.” His smile was easy, but his eyes flicked sharply toward you in warning. “I am sure our dear friend is only indulging in some harmless speculation.” 

The others mumbled agreement, most too far into their drinks to piece together your logic anyway. Kaeya guided the conversation to a safer subject, but you caught the way his gaze slid toward the bar, like he was watching for someone’s next move. You did not have to wait long.

“Excuse me,” came Diluc’s voice at your shoulder, perfectly polite but perfectly firm. “A moment of your time, please.” It was not a request.

Kaeya raised an eyebrow, his mouth curling as you stood. “Do enjoy yourself,” he murmured, the soft edge of amusement in his tone.

Diluc steered you toward the storeroom under the pretense of needing help with something, though the moment the door shut behind you, he fixed you with his steady, crimson-eyed stare. 

“So,” you began before he could speak, “this is about the whole ‘you being the Darknight Hero’ thing, right?”

“I am not—” He stopped, and his voice shifted to something cooler. “You should be more careful with your words.”

“Why?” you asked, incredulous. “Because no one else knows? Do you mean to tell me they seriously don’t recognize you?”

“You are mistaken.”

You folded your arms. “I’ve seen you in both outfits. You’re not even trying to change your stance. The owl mask is a nice touch, but it doesn’t fool anyone—”

“It is not an owl mask,” he interrupted, a little too quickly.

“It has feathers and a beak, Diluc.”

“That does not make it an owl.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “So you’re not denying that you’re him—you're just denying the owl part?”

“I am not admitting anything.”

“Right. Which is exactly what someone would say if they were trying to hide the fact that they run around at night in a cape and owl mask, setting things on fire.”

For a moment, something faintly exasperated and faintly embarrassed flickered across his face. “…You have quite the imagination.” He lifted a gloved fist to his lips and cleared his throat. “However, I am not the Darknight Hero.”

You arched a brow. “You vanish whenever he shows up. And seriously, you’re probably the only person in the entire nation with hair that red. Do you even realize how much you fight like yourself? I’m just saying, you’re awful at this whole secret identity thing.”

He exhaled slowly, muttering something under his breath that you were pretty sure was a regret about ever speaking to you.

“See?” you pointed out triumphantly. “That’s the face of a man who’s been caught.”

“That,” he said with great restraint, “is the face of a man who wishes to avoid having rumors spread about him in his own tavern.”

You smiled sweetly. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me…Mister Owl.”

His eyes closed briefly, like he was weighing the possibility of throwing you out the back door. “Go back to your table.”

When you returned, Kaeya’s smirk was already waiting. He didn’t say anything at first—just leaned back, watching you sit. Then, right when you thought you were safe, he let out a thoughtful hum.

“Mister Owl?” he said, voice carrying far too well over the table.

Somewhere behind you, a glass was set down on the bar a little harder than necessary.

You didn’t bother asking how he knew. You’d known Kaeya long enough to understand that he had a way of hearing things he had no business hearing, no matter how far away you said them.

“I have to say,” Kaeya continued, swirling his wine, “that’s…inspired. Though I’m not sure he’ll appreciate the nickname.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” you agreed, sipping your drink.

Kaeya’s grin sharpened. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make sure it catches on.”

From the bar came the annoyed snap of a cloth being shaken out for a wipe-down. You didn’t even need to turn around to know whose it was.

[chusuuke]

genshin boys overhear you talking to yourself

premise. sometimes, talking to yourself feels safer than facing the guy you can’t stop thinking about…until he walks in on you mid-spiral. from awkward blushes to unexpected confessions, here’s what happens when your most embarrassing moments become the genshin boys' favorite memories

features. kazuha, diluc, childe, wanderer, alhaitham, xiao, ayato, cyno, itto, kaeya, baizhu, dainsleif, tighnari, thoma, heizou, bennett, kaveh, zhongli

kazuha

You're crouched beside a broken cart wheel, half-hidden in tall grass, muttering furiously to yourself as you examine the splintered wood.

“Of course it had to break here, in the middle of nowhere. No signal flare left, and I let the boat crew leave without me. Brilliant. Great job, really stellar planning—”

“You’re being rather harsh on yourself.”

You startle so hard you nearly fall backward. Kazuha stands a few paces behind, hands tucked calmly into his sleeves, his eyes full of quiet amusement and concern.

“You were gone longer than expected,” he explains, seeing your confusion. “Beidou sent me to check if you’d lost your way—or started arguing with local wildlife.”

You flush. “No, I’m just…talking to myself. Thinking through how to fix it.”

He steps closer and knelt beside you, examining the wheel. “Hm. The axle’s intact. A proper wedge might hold long enough to get you back to the road.”

You blink. “Oh. You’re not going to tease me about earlier?”

“I speak to the wind as if it listens,” he says lightly. “Why would I judge you for speaking to yourself?”

You glance at him. “And does the wind ever answer?”

He smiles faintly. “Only when I’m quiet enough to hear it.”

And then, just like that, he gets to work, gathering branches, finding rope in your satchel, never once asking why you chose to be alone in the first place but just staying until the cart moves again. Maybe the wind hadn’t answered, but he had.

diluc

He walks into the tavern early in the morning, expecting silence. Instead, he hears your voice in a low, frantic whisper as you await his arrival: “Okay, you’ve got this. He’s just a man. A tall, brooding, red-haired, intimidatingly handsome man—Archons above, why am I like this?”

He freezes mid-step, but the tap of his boot on the tile is loud enough to betray him. You whirl around, mortified, and lock eyes with him like a deer caught in emotionally compromising headlights.

He blinks once. Slowly.

“…I assume that was about me,” he says, voice neutral, but his ears are visibly pink.

“I—No—I mean—kind of?” you squeak, visibly crumbling under the weight of your own existence.

He clears his throat and looks away, reaching for a mug that absolutely does not need his attention.

“Understood,” he mutters.

For the rest of the day, he’s overly polite, painfully formal, and avoids eye contact like it’s flammable. Later that evening, you find a cup of your favorite tea left out for you—steaming, perfectly steeped, and completely unsupervised. The mug has a folded note under it, consisting of just three words: “You’ve got this.”

childe

He’s passing by your room when he hears your voice, quiet but distinct, and increasingly unhinged: “Okay. Plan A: cry. Plan B: threaten to cry. Plan C: run away and never return.”

He pauses mid-step, then leans against the doorway with a lopsided grin. “Wow, those are some elite-level crisis strategies. You sure you’re not Fatui?”

You shriek in embarrassment. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough to know you’ve got potential,” he laughs, pushing off the doorframe and stepping inside.

You groan and hide your face. “I was joking. mostly.”

“Nah, I kinda like it,” he teases. “Plan A’s got emotional flair. Plan B? Classic drama. However, Plan C?” his voice softens just a bit. “If you ran, I’d just find you. You know that, right?”

You look up and find his smile stripped of mischief. It’s quiet and gentle in a way that makes your heart trip over itself.

“But…if you do need tissues, I’ve got plenty.”

Somehow, this ends with him dragging you to sit on the couch, arms slung around you, both of you buried under a blanket neither of you remembers pulling over your laps.

“New plan,” he says, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Plan D: stay right here.”

wanderer

He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. He'd simply been on his way when he found you pacing the courtyard, completely unaware of his presence.

“He probably doesn’t even notice when I smile at him. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just ignoring me. Ugh. I should just throw a rock at him.”

He replies instantly. “Try it. I’ll throw one back.”

You flinch so hard you nearly drop your bag. He’s already leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, unreadable as ever. His gaze flicks to you, sharp but dissolving into something strangely unguarded. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.

“I notice,” he tells you, quieter now. almost like it costs him something to admit. “More than you think.”

Then he’s gone, vanishing down the corridor before you can speak, like he never meant to say anything at all. But later, you find a small, perfectly smooth stone placed outside your windowsill. No note. No explanation. Just one rock, light enough to throw.

alhaitham

He’s walking past the study when he hears you, your voice sounding low, frantic, and clearly not meant for anyone else.

“Okay, if I just put the books back exactly the way he had them, maybe he won’t know I was here. Unless…he cataloged them by page wear. Oh archons—what if he did? Why does he have to be attractive and terrifying?”

His deadpan voice sounds right behind you. “For the record, I do catalog them by page wear.”

You jump, dropping the book you’re holding, but instead of hitting the floor, it lands effortlessly in his palm.

“Also, you’ve been muttering to yourself for three full minutes. You’re not exactly subtle.”

You open your mouth to explain, apologize, evaporate, anything, but he just walks past and plucks a book from your stack.

“You misaligned this one by 0.6 centimeters,” he remarks, tone neutral. “But I’ll let it slide.”

You’re still frozen, blinking at him.

Without looking at you, he adds almost offhandedly, “Next time you wish to come by, just ask. I’d rather see you here than not.”

And then he starts reorganizing beside you. He’s silent, efficient, and just close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.

xiao

You’re sitting alone on the quiet terrace just outside Wangshu Inn, knees pulled up to your chest as you mutter into the dusk. “Why did I say ‘sweet dreams’? Who says that to Xiao? He’s the vigilant yaksha, not some character from a bedtime story. He probably thinks I’m a sentimental weirdo—”

“I don’t.”

You whip around. He’s suddenly there, silent as ever, standing just behind you in the fading light.

“I don’t think you’re weird,” he repeats, voice soft and steady, though there’s the faintest crease in his brow like he’s wondering if he’s said too much.

You scramble to stand, completely flustered. “Wait, how long were you—?”

“I heard my name,” he says plainly, as if that explains everything.

The air feels charged with embarrassment. Yours. Maybe his, too. After a pause, he glances away toward the treetops. His voice is quieter now.

“No one’s said that to me before.”

You blink. “Said what?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes. “Sweet dreams.”

There’s something almost reverent in the way he says it, like the words feel too fragile in his mouth.

“I didn’t think those were something I could have.”

The breeze carries the scent of silk flowers, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without looking at you, he adds, “But I liked hearing it. From you.”

Your heart flips once, hard.

And before you can spiral all over again, he turns to go, but stops just long enough to murmur, “Goodnight. I hope…yours are sweet, too.”

ayato

He’s strolling through the estate gardens when he catches the faint tones of your voice, muffled but unmistakably dramatic. Curious, he peeks around a hedge and discovers you monologuing to a cluster of blue hydrangeas with passionate gestures.

“Lord Ayato, my dearest nemesis. Why must you smile like that? Why must your tea taste like heartbreak and fine politics?”

His brows lift in faint surprise. 

“And why did I tell him it was ‘transcendent’? That’s not normal person behavior. That’s the kind of thing a swooning diplomat says before fainting into their fan.”

Ayato brings a hand to his mouth, stifling the laugh that bubbles up. He knows he should announce himself—knows it's indecent to linger—but curiosity roots him in place. It’s rare to see you so unguarded, and rarer still to be the subject of such poetic vitriol.

You pace a few steps, oblivious. “He probably thinks I was flirting. Which I wasn’t. I think. Ugh.”

He waits just a second longer, watching as you sigh and press your fingertips to your forehead like a tragic heroine from a stage play, before stepping forward, his fan snapping closed with a soft click.

“I didn’t realize I’d been cast as the villain in your private soliloquy.”

You freeze. There is no mistaking his voice, nor the silk-smooth amusement threading through it. Slowly, you turn.

“I must say, your critique was…vivid,” he continues. His expression is polite, but his eyes betray him, bright with barely contained laughter. “And rather unfair to the tea, which I assure you is not culpable for your emotional distress.”

Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He tilts his head, as if considering something seriously.

“Though I do wonder what heartbreak tastes like to you.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

He inclines his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Next time, speak your grievances aloud to me instead. I assure you, I respond far better than flowers.”

cyno

He walks in on you muttering and pacing in circles.

“Okay, okay. Don’t laugh if he tells another joke. But also don’t not laugh, because then he’ll think you hate him. Ugh, why is this so complicated?”

He appears behind you with a perfectly straight face and says, “What do you call a fake noodle? an impasta.”

You shriek and nearly trip over a chair. He waits. You groan.

“That was…better than usual,” you admit.

He pauses as he appraises you. His lips twitch. “So. You’ve been rehearsing responses to my jokes?”

You blink, caught. “No. Definitely not.”

He steps closer, arms folded, head tilting in mock-serious thought. “Interesting. That implies you anticipated more. Which means…you’re expecting me.”

“…to keep telling them?”

He nods solemnly. “Correct. And now that I know you’re preparing, I’ll have to escalate.”

You groan again, this time into your hands, and he finally cracks a smile. Later, he’ll tell you a compliment disguised as a riddle. You’ll pretend not to swoon. He’ll pretend not to notice. Neither of you is very convincing.

itto

You’re standing in front of a mirror, hyping yourself up. “You’re brave. You’re bold. You can flirt with Itto today. Probably. Maybe. Okay, no, don’t flirt, just survive eye contact.”

A voice behind you booms, “Well hey, I think you’re already killin’ it!”

You scream and spin around so fast you almost knock over a stool. Itto’s standing in the doorway, grinning like a kid who just found candy and a beetle.

“Also, flirting’s totally encouraged. Ten outta ten, would recommend.”

You clutch your chest. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Since the part where you said you were bold and brave or whatever. Sounded super cool, so I figured I’d stay for the ending.”

You groan. He’s still grinning.

“But hey,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish laugh, “you don’t gotta overthink it. Just talk to me like normal! Or, y’know, you could flirt if that’s easier.”

You entertain the idea of feigning amnesia, knowing he’d probably fall for it. Instead, you mutter, “...I liked your hair today.”

He lights up like the sun. “See? You’re killin’ it!”

Somehow, this ends with him offering to coach you through flirting with him. The audacity.

kaeya

You were only meant to drop off a report. Nothing more. Just a quick visit to the Knights’ headquarters, a few signatures, and out. And yet here you are, lingering in an empty hallway, your forehead pressed lightly against a stone pillar as you mutter to yourself.

“Genius. Absolutely genius. ‘Nice weather, Kaeya.’ That’s what I went with. Might as well have added, ‘Hi, I’ve been harboring a wildly inconvenient crush on you since Stormterror was still a problem. Want to date and/or be the reason I start writing terrible poetry again?’”

A breath of laughter—not your own—cuts through the silence.

“I’d be open to both,” a familiar voice replies.

You freeze.

He’s there, lounging against the window alcove like he’s been there all along, elbow propped casually on the sill, head tilted with interest. His smile says he heard every word. His eyes say he enjoyed it.

Kaeya pushes off the ledge and strolls toward you, every step perfectly unhurried. “Next time you plan to deliver a monologue about me, perhaps wait until I’ve left the building. Unless,” he adds, voice dropping with playful weight, “you were hoping I’d hear it.”

You can feel the heat rise to your face like a sunrise.

“I was just thinking out loud,” you manage.

“So I gathered. And for the record”—he passes close enough that his cloak brushes your sleeve—“I find it flattering.”

You briefly consider flinging yourself out the nearest window.

At the end of the corridor, he glances back over his shoulder, smile curling just shy of sincere.

“If the weather stays this nice, do let me know if that wildly inconvenient crush turns into something more actionable.”

And then he’s gone.

A junior knight passing by gives you a puzzled look. “You, uh…look like you saw a ghost.”

You exhale, voice thin. “Worse.”

baizhu

You’re by yourself in the back room of Bubu Pharmacy, sorting herbs and muttering under your breath. It’s been a long day, and unfortunately, your brain has chosen to perseverate.

“If I faint in front of him again, I’m just going to say it was low blood sugar. Not the fact that he tucked my hair behind my ear like it was nothing.”

“Hmm. I’ll make a note to check your glucose levels...and perhaps develop a tincture for sudden-onset romantic distress?”

You whip around so fast that a handful of Qingxin spills onto the table. Baizhu stands in the doorway, serene as ever, holding a tray of tea like he didn’t just obliterate your self-esteem.

“It’s a surprisingly common condition,” he adds, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Often triggered by gentle gestures and poor coping mechanisms.”

Changsheng pokes her head out from behind his collar and lets out a tiny, delighted laugh. “Lovesick. Very contagious,” she stage-whispers.

You bury your face in your hands.

Baizhu sets the tea down beside you with quiet care. “I could prepare a cure, but I fear the malady is mutual—and, strangely, quite welcome.”

dainsleif

You think you’re alone, sitting quietly in a dim corner of the library and murmuring your frustrations to yourself. Dainsleif, combing the shelves for a particular volume, pauses when he hears the soft thread of your voice carry through the candlelight: “I bet he doesn’t even remember my name. I’m probably just a temporary footnote to him anyway. Someone who fades like shadows at dusk.”

His low voice answers from just beyond the glow of your lantern. “You are not a footnote.”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Dainsleif steps into view. The candlelight flickers across the lines of his face, which remains composed and unreadable but not unfeeling. He doesn’t speak gently, not exactly, but there’s a steadiness to his tone that seems to lessen the musty air.

“Names are more than words,” he says. “They are memory. History. Presence.”

He kneels slightly and locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing.

“I remember your name,” he continues. “Not only the shape of it. I remember the weight it carries when you speak it. I remember the careful way you said goodnight two nights ago, as if you weren’t sure I’d hear it, or hold it.”

You can’t breathe. You can’t look away.

“Don’t assume I forget the things that matter,” he says, rising to his full height again. His expression doesn’t shift, but something in his posture softens. And then, without waiting for a reply, he turns and disappears into the stacks. For a long moment, all you can hear is the echo of his footsteps and the pulse of your own heart—louder now, and somehow less alone.

tighnari

You’re elbow-deep in soil, half-focused on coaxing the withered pardisah into a new pot, when your frustration finally boils over.

“Okay, next time, just say thank you and walk away. Easy. Normal. Not, ‘Wow, your ears are so expressive today,’ like some feral maniac.” You groan and press your forehead to your palm. “He probably thinks I’m studying him like a botanical specimen. What is wrong with me?”

“To be fair,” a dry voice answers behind you, “most people don’t notice ear movement unless they’re watching very closely.”

You nearly send the pot flying as you whip around. Tighnari is leaning beside your bag of soil, arms folded, one brow arched in faint incredulity.

“You were there…the whole time,” you croak.

“Roughly since the ‘feral maniac’ part,” he amends, tail flicking with suspicious amusement. “You were a bit harsh on yourself, but entertaining.”

You cover your face. “I swear I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” he says gently, and then—surprisingly—smiles. “I didn’t mind the compliment. It was…oddly specific, but sincere. And clearly the result of long observation.”

He steps past you, crouching to inspect the flower you nearly murdered in your panic.

“Next time,” he adds, not looking up, “less spiraling, more speaking.”

His tone is neutral, but his ears betray him with the smallest, involuntary flick.

And then he mutters to himself, “They’re only expressive when you’re around, anyway.”

You pretend not to hear. For now.

thoma

You’re alone in the kitchen—or so you believe—flipping gyozas with intense concentration and muttering under your breath. “Okay, Thoma likes them crispy. Not burnt. Crispy, like his smile. No, wait, what? Focus!”

“Crispy like my smile, huh?”

You flinch. The spatula slips from your fingers and clatters to the stovetop. Thoma is casually leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and grinning like he definitely heard more than he should have.

“I’m flattered,” he says, stepping closer. “But now I’ve got questions. What, exactly, does a crispy smile look like?”

“I—I meant the gyoza, not your— Wait, no, I meant both—I mean—”

The oil hisses sharply, like even the pan can’t take it anymore. Smoke streams upward.

“No, the gyozas!”

Thoma is already by your side, grabbing the pan with practiced ease and sliding it off the stove.

“You know,” he says, grinning as he surveys the damage, “you didn’t have to set them on fire just to impress me.”

“I didn’t—!”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Means I get to help.” He tosses you a wink. “Teamwork, right?”

Somehow, you end up shoulder to shoulder, sleeves rolled up, hands floured, trying again as he gives teasing tips on “optimal gyoza symmetry.”

Later, as the final batch sizzles golden and perfect, he leans just close enough to murmur, “Still not sure what a crispy smile is, but if we’re talking about yours…I think I get it now.”

heizou

You march down the corridor, shoulders tense, voice pitched low but laced with despair.

“No, Heizou, I don’t need your help picking up the papers I dropped. I just need a convenient hole to bury the cadaver my dignity in, thank you very much—”

A hand suddenly lands on your shoulder.

“AAHH—” you scream mid-sentence, spinning on instinct and swinging your bag in self-defense.

Heizou barely ducks in time, a laugh tumbling out as he stumbles back, half-shielding himself. “Whoa, violent thoughts and airborne satchels? I should’ve brought a warrant first.”

You freeze, mortified. He’s already dusting off his sleeves like it’s just another day at the precinct.

“Really now, that’s the welcome I get?” he continues, far too amused for someone who was nearly concussed.

“You snuck up on me mid-spiral,” you retort, torn between embarrassment and residual adrenaline. “That’s reckless behavior, even for you.”

He raises a brow, utterly unbothered. “I prefer to think of it as instinct. I happen to have an uncanny sense for when people are saying my name behind my back. Or in this case, aloud. To themselves.”

Your eyes widen just enough to give you away. Heizou smiles like he’s just cracked another case.

“You know,” he adds, stepping just close enough for his voice to drop a tone, “talking to oneself is a perfectly natural response to emotional distress. Especially when that distress has, say…a face and a name?”

You groan and press a hand to your forehead. “You’re insufferable.”

He tilts his head. “And yet, I’m the one you keep muttering about.”

You try to come up with a retort. You fail.

“Don’t worry,” he continues smoothly, already turning on his heel, “your secrets are safe with me.”

“You are the secret,” you call after him.

“And still,” he says without looking back, “you can’t seem to stop confessing to it.”

bennett

“Okay, just be normal. If I trip, I’ll just play dead. He won’t even notice. He’s used to disasters,” you tell yourself as you pace in tight little circles outside the Adventurers’ Guild.

“Wait, was that about me?”

You nearly leap into the decorative flower box beside the stairs.

Bennett stands behind you, blinking wide-eyed, equal parts confused and concerned.

“No—I mean—kind of?” you stammer.

He scratches the back of his neck, flustered. “I mean, yeah, stuff does kinda explode around me sometimes, but…hey, you’re not gonna trip.”

He pauses, then adds quickly, “But if you do, I’ll totally catch you! Probably! I mean, I’ve got decent reflexes! Usually!”

He’s turning red now, voice rising an octave as he tries to dig himself out.

“Not that you’ll fall, or need catching! It’s just—If you did fall, hypothetically, I’d be there. Probably. Hopefully. Unless something explodes first.”

You both stare at each other in silence for a beat and then burst out laughing.

“So,” you say, grinning, “wanna grab lunch before something does explode?”

“Yes! Wait, are you asking me out?”

You hesitate. “…Would it make you trip if I said yes?”

“Most likely.”

“Then, I’ll give you ‘probably’ as my answer.”

“Perfect.”

kaveh

He hears your muffled voice through the wall.

“If I see his ridiculously pretty face one more time, I’m going to cry. Or combust. Or both. There is no middle ground anymore.”

A suspicious creak of the floorboard makes your soul exit your body. The door swings open slowly. Kaveh stands there with a tea tray and the most theatrical expression known to man.

“Well,” he says, in full dramatic cadence, “had I known my face was wreaking such havoc on your emotional equilibrium, I would’ve brewed peppermint for the nerves.”

You groan and throw a pillow at him.

“Ah! betrayed by the very person moved to tears by my beauty. So you’ve chosen emotional combustion. Noted.”

You peek between your fingers. “Kaveh, please go.”

He places the tea tray down very deliberately. “I’ll leave,” he says, moving toward the door, “but only after I point out that I’m flattered, deeply and profoundly.”

He stops in the doorway, looks back with a grin just slightly too genuine.

“By the way,” he adds, not quite looking at you, “it’s mutual. The whole…emotional-overload-in-each-other’s-presence thing.”

And with that, he leaves. The tea cools quickly. You do not.

zhongli

You’re standing outside Wánmín Restaurant, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and muttered self-advice as you wait for a certain funeral consultant to join you for lunch.

“You can’t just stare at him every time he talks. He’s not poetry. He’s a man. A terrifyingly wise, elegant man made of tea and regret.”

You pause, frowning at the phrase.

“Tea and regret?”

You jolt and whirl around. Zhongli is standing just behind you, his expression unreadable, as if weighing your words with the patience of centuries.

After a moment’s pause, a faint smile graces his lips. “I believe that’s a new metaphor.”

Then, with a quiet elegance, he gestures in the space between you.

“You may continue your soliloquy. I find it…endearing.”

You feel your composure unravel, cheeks flushing crimson as you try to meet his calm, knowing gaze. For a moment, the world narrows to the soft sound of your breathing and the quiet dignity of a man who understands more than he lets on, and you silently wonder if maybe, just maybe, he is poetry after all.

[chusuuke]

Xiao was not a man of many words. But with you, he supposed, he could spare a few more. 

[chusuuke]

dated

premise: a misunderstanding following your moment of honesty turns into a rift between you and your best friend aventurine. you thought you were choosing a new way to live. he thought you were choosing him. or, in other words, Aventurine mistakenly believes you’re dating while you still think you need to confess

your hearts were always off by a beat.

genres: angst, romance word count: 2.9k

note: it's been quite some time since i've been here... so with this fic i rise from the grave! hope you enjoy!

You and Aventurine have always been close—too close, maybe. You’re the kind of best friends who fall into step without thinking, who can read each other’s moods with just a glance, who share a connection so effortless that from the outside it always looks like you’re one step away from something more. Everyone else seems to see it: how naturally you fit together, how perfectly your laughter intertwines, how each silence feels full rather than empty. Yet, despite the current humming just beneath the surface, neither of you has ever dared to dive past the comfort of what you have.

Tonight, after a particularly draining day, the two of you find yourselves sharing lukewarm takeout on the rooftop you’ve claimed as yours. It’s a ritual you’ve fallen into countless times, a familiar refuge suspended above the city that sprawls endlessly beneath you, a distant, untouchable sea of flickering lights. Late-night conversations here always carry a different kind of honesty: softer, unguarded, as though the rest of the world has dissipated.

You gaze out over the city, your noodles turning cold as you stir them absently. “Do you ever feel like we spend too much time waiting for things to happen instead of just doing something?”

Aventurine glances at you. “What do you mean?”

“We hold ourselves back. We hesitate, overthink. And before we know it, the moment’s passed, and we never even tried.”

His chest tightens; he knows exactly how that feels. He’s felt it every day, waiting for you to notice what he never says.

“You’re talking about regrets,” he murmurs carefully.

You shake your head. “Not exactly. It’s more that... I don’t want us to keep letting things slip by just because we’re not sure enough to take the first step.”

Aventurine studies you closely, pulse quickening. There’s something in your voice—something unusually steady, clear, as if you’re stepping deliberately to the edge of something you’ve thought about for a long time. He hesitates, afraid to misinterpret, but even more afraid to miss the meaning lingering in your words.

“You’re talking about us.” It’s not quite a question, not fully a statement.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him a look soft with amusement but edged with mild surprise, as if the subject had always been obvious. “I suppose I am. You and I—maybe it’s time we stopped searching everywhere else for something that’s always been right here. Stop hesitating, stop overthinking, and just...see where we go.”

His breath catches, and suddenly the rooftop feels impossibly high.

“What do you think, Aventurine?” you prompt him, something unreadable yet inexplicably stirring in your expression. “Perhaps we’ve been overcomplicating something that’s been simple all along. Shouldn’t we take the chance that’s right in front of us?”

Aventurine’s world contracts—sound, motion, and thought all folding into the space between you. You’re saying it. You’re finally saying it. The city’s distant hum dissolves like a tide pulling back.

“Are you saying…you want to try?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I am. I do.”

He swallows, searching your expression for confirmation. “With me?”

“Of course with you,” you chuckle.

Aventurine exhales, the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Then, let’s do it,” he proposes, a slow, disbelieving smile breaking across his lips. “No more waiting.”

You smile back, holding his gaze steadily. “No more waiting.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. That rooftop moment becomes the one he has been waiting for. He and you don’t speak much more that night, but he walks you home, his heart lighter than it’s ever been. From that night on, he treats you as his partner—not dramatically, but with quiet, affectionate gestures he had always held back before. He texts you in the morning, calls you before bed, mentions you casually as his other half. He calls your name so sweetly, stays close when you walk, and assumes, with quiet certainty, that from now on, the two of you are a team.

You notice the change: the way he looks at you a little softer, the way his hand brushes yours more intentionally. It flusters you and makes you feel giddy in a way you’re not quite sure how to handle, but you don’t question it. You’re just beginning to sort through your feelings, trying to understand how deep they run, but you know you enjoy his presence, his care, and the way his warmth lingers when he sits beside you.

To you, that night on the rooftop was about something bigger than romance: it spoke of intention, of choosing to move forward in life with purpose rather than simply drifting. But Aventurine is part of your life, isn’t he? So even if you don’t fully grasp what’s unfolding between you and your best friend, you’re content to let it evolve naturally, to see where it leads. What you don’t realize, though, is the subtle misalignment between you two. Because for Aventurine, something major has shifted. To him, your relationship has entered new territory. So when you make even more space for other friendships, including time spent with other guys, a quiet unease begins to settle inside him.

At first, he brushes it off. She cares about me. She chose me. You’re just adjusting. It’s normal, he thinks, to feel uncertain at the start, to take things slowly. So slowly. You’re not used to this, maybe. He reminds himself that love is patience, that it’s okay to wait. He’ll give you time. He’s always waited.

But it keeps happening.

You bail on plans once, then again. He notices how casual your apologies are and how quickly you can reschedule him for later. You leave lunch early to meet up with Boothill—a name that’s come up more and more lately, someone whose humor you say reminds you of Aventurine’s, only “quirkier, a little more offbeat.” To you, it’s just friendly conversation, another face in your expanding circle. But to Aventurine, the words sting like subtle rejections, leaving him to wonder just how secure his place in your life truly is.

The disconnect doesn’t just linger; it grows. Each time you act like nothing has changed, like this new chapter isn’t as significant to you as it is to him, something inside him shifts. The joy in your connection becomes more transparent, more fragile, as if it could slip through his fingers at any moment.

Why is this so easy for her? he wonders. Didn’t she choose me?

And when you laugh with someone else, when you slip effortlessly into the comfort of others’ company, it feels less like a mutual choice and more like a decision that never really included him. With each passing day, the doubt gnaws at him, carving itself into the spaces between you both until, finally, it becomes too much.

It all comes to a head on an evening that’s supposed to be yours. You were meant to meet at your usual café, a small ritual set aside just for the two of you as proof that you were still trying. Or at least, that’s what he wanted to believe.

Instead, your last-minute text arrives: Hey, I forgot I promised to help Boothill with something! Rain check?

Aventurine stares at the message, his grip tightening on his phone. Again.

No worries, I haven’t left yet, he texts back, then sets his phone down and forces a smile at the waitress as she takes his order.

When you finally arrive, hours later, you still sport that easy smile, that natural warmth that flows so freely with everyone else, as if tonight is just another casual arrangement. He doesn’t know whether he feels more frustrated or exhausted, the tension in his chest coiling itself into something his coffee can’t help him swallow down.

“Hey,” you start cautiously, sensing something’s off. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs without looking at you, eyes on his long-cold drink. “I'm getting used to it.”

The bitterness in his tone catches you off guard. “Aventurine, are you okay?”

“Do you even care?” he asks suddenly.

You blink, genuinely confused. “What?”

“You said you wanted to try,” he says. His fingers curl around the handle of his mug. “But it feels like I’m the only one actually doing that.”

You frown. “Aventurine, I do care. Just because I’m also trying in other things doesn’t mean I’m not also present here.”

“Other things,” he echoes bitterly. “Right. You always have time for everyone else. But when it’s me, there’s always something more important.”

“That’s not fair. I have other friends too, you know,” you protest. “I can’t just drop everything in my life for you.”

His jaw tightens. You quickly shake your head, backtracking.

“I didn’t mean that. I'm sorry. I really appreciate you for being so flexible. You’ve always been really considerate.” You offer a small, grateful look. “It means a lot.”

The words land wrong. Instead of acting as reassurance, they twist like a knife. Aventurine is doing everything to make this work, but to you, he’s just being flexible. Considerate. Is that all this is to you? A dynamic where he just waits until you find the time?

“Glad I can be useful,” he scoffs.

Your smile falters. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what it feels like,” he counters. “I never asked you to drop everything. But I thought if we were—”

He stops abruptly, the words caught painfully in his throat. If we were together. But saying it out loud would be like pressing on a bruise.

Instead, he exhales shakily. “I thought I mattered more to you than just another appointment you could reschedule.”

“You do matter,” you insist earnestly, a flicker of hurt crossing your face. “Why are you acting like I don’t care?”

“Because it sure doesn’t feel like you do!” he snaps. “I thought we were doing this together, but I'm starting to get the feeling I’m in it alone.”

“You’re not alone,” you argue. “I told you—I am trying.”

Aventurine shakes his head scornfully. “Are you?”

“Yes! I’ve been doing my best to take life head-on. But you—” you falter, exasperated. “You’re expecting too much. Too fast.”

“All I expected was for you to mean it when you said you wanted to try.”

“I do mean it!”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?” he retorts, voice cracking despite himself. “Why do I always feel like the one left waiting?”

You gape at him, the rawness in his tone sending you reeling. You never meant for this to happen. You thought you both were moving forward together. But now, observing the pain on his face, you realize just how far apart you’ve actually been. Had you really been so blind?

“Why does it feel like I’m the only one thinking of you? Of us?” he whispers.

“I am thinking of you. I do think of us.” Unfiltered words tumble out in your desperation, forming a plea, an apology, and a truth you haven’t been ready to face. “I like you, Aventurine.”

A long silence stretches between you two. For a moment—a brief, fragile moment—relief flickers in his eyes. But just as quickly, it vanishes, swallowed by something cold and far-off.

“No,” he says flatly. “You don’t get to do this now.”

“Do what?” you exclaim. “Tell you how I feel?”

“Use me as some kind of safety net until you figure out what you really want,” he fires back scathingly.

A single car horn blares outside.

Aventurine continues. “You say that because you’re afraid of losing me, and you think it’ll fix things. Don’t make it about me just to ease your guilt.”

The accusation hits you with a hollow thud. You try in vain to smooth the trembling in your voice. “You really think that little of me?”

His glare doesn’t soften. “If you really meant it, if you really wanted this, then why did it take me walking away for you to say it?”

You freeze. There’s no answer. Because even though you’ve been living in separate versions of the same story, for one brief, painful moment, your narratives align. Maybe, deep down, you had always assumed there would be more time, that your best friend Aventurine would always wait while you caught up. But had you ever actually tried to catch him?

“You don’t get to decide how I feel,” you manage, hating how unsteady, how uncertain you sound.

His eyes lock onto yours and do not waver. “No. But I do get to decide when I’ve had enough.”

Your heart stumbles at his words. “Enough of what?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“Enough of waiting for you to care as much as I do,” he exclaims. “I kept telling myself you just needed time. That eventually, you'd get there too. But honestly, you were never going to, were you?”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His voice is level now, controlled in a way that feels almost unnatural. “You say you like me, but if you really did, you wouldn’t have treated me like an afterthought.”

You suck in a breath. “You’re twisting everything. I never meant to make you feel that way!”

“But you did.”

“I told you, I was trying—”

“No, you weren’t.” He lets out a hollow laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe you wanted to, maybe you thought you were. But in the end, you never really chose me. Not when it actually counted.”

The worst part isn’t his frustration. It is the way he sounds like he’s disappointed in you.

“I can’t believe I actually wanted to be with someone who would end everything over this,” you choke in disbelief.

His expression doesn’t even flicker. “And I can’t believe I thought you were someone who actually meant what they said.”

Silence.

Too heavy. Too final. Your fingers curl into your palms as you wait for him to take it back, for yourself to take it back—for one of you to bridge the gap before it grows too wide. However, before either of you decide to speak again, your phone buzzes, a text lighting up the screen. Aventurine’s gaze flicks briefly to it, catching Boothill’s name displayed clearly.

Thanks again for earlier—hope Aventurine wasn’t too upset. Couldn’t have done it without you as always!

His shoulders stiffen. You immediately flip your phone face down, but the damage is done.

He gives a short, humorless laugh, and something inside him shuts down completely. “Right. Should’ve figured.”

Your stomach drops. He doesn’t sound angry—it’s worse than anger. He sounds resigned.

“Aventurine,” you plead, desperation leaking into your voice. “Let me explain.”

“I don’t think there’s anything left to explain,” he says softly. He pushes his chair back, setting a few bills on the table. “I’m tired of being your afterthought.”

“Please, don’t go like this.”

Aventurine is already stepping away, shaking his head. “Forget it,” he says, his smile empty. “You don’t have to ‘try’ anymore.”

You move to follow—just one step—but your body refuses. Because the look in his eyes, the flatness in his voice, guarantees what you’ve been afraid to admit: it’s too late.

The café door jingles as it swings shut behind him.

You sink into your chair, staring numbly at the cash he left behind—enough to cover both of your expenses—a strangely neat, practical finality. Boothill’s message buzzes again, gently insistent, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

Outside the café window, the city lights flicker as indifferently as ever, illuminating a thousand separate stories, none of them yours. Aventurine’s silhouette melts into the distant tide of strangers. You watch until you can no longer tell him apart from the evening crowd, until you’re staring at an indistinct blur of passing lives in which he was somewhere among them, moving away from you faster than you realized was possible. Maybe he’s finally tired of standing still.

You hadn’t lied. You did mean it when you said you wanted to try.

But now you wonder bitterly if trying was ever enough.

Something twists painfully inside you—the ache of waking from a comforting dream, only to discover it has drifted away long before you opened your eyes. And in its absence, you understand that what you’ve lost isn’t just a friendship. It’s Aventurine. Kakavasha. All of him. Your best friend, your most beloved companion, the one who waited for you with quiet devotion until the waiting emptied him out. And how you wish he were still waiting.

But then, you think ruefully, wasn’t that exactly what you were trying to escape? A life spent endlessly postponing?

The irony tastes like seawater—sharp, briny, and impossible to swallow. You choke on the realization, eyes stinging with grief you can’t yet name. Outside, the world moves on, unaware that within this still café, something precious has ended. And in the hush that follows, you understand painfully that maybe some things, once broken, can’t be neatly fixed, or explained, or made right again. Maybe unmade choices leave the deepest, most enduring echoes.

You’re no longer sure if this is an ending or the moment you realize you’re no longer part of his story. But in the end, the distinction hardly matters: Aventurine isn’t waiting anymore. He’s already gone, slipped beneath the surface.

And a gemstone, once lost to the waves, is impossible to reclaim from an ever-moving sea.

[chusuuke]

genshin boys snowball fight with you (part 2)

premise: you ask the genshin boys (separate) to partake in a snowball fight with you! features: kaeya, childe, diluc, scaramouche notes: part 3 coming soon! possible future characters: chongyun, xingqiu, venti, zhongli, ayato, kazuha, or heizou!

kaeya

– you’d both been sent on a mission in dragonspine and had been trekking through the snow for hours 

– nothing overly eventful or out of the ordinary had occurred; you’d encountered a couple of small enemies but nothing of note, so naturally, you’re on edge

– kaeya, on the other hand, seems to lack care in the world. he strolls behind you, humming a tune, while you look around warily for traps

– you finally stop with a huff and wheel on him. “shouldn’t you be a little more cautious?” 

– “i’ll protect you, so don’t worry,” he replies playfully. “just relax—” 

– suddenly, kaeya freezes and points behind you

– “huh? what’s wrong?”

– “frostarm lawachurl,” he whispers urgently

– immediately your sword is drawn, and you whip around to scan the frozen trees around you. you don’t sense any threats, so you turn back around, confused. “i don’t see any—”

– whack! a snowball hits you in the face

– you stiffen. cold snow slowly slides down your face as kaeya keels over and laughs hysterically 

– when he catches your eye, however, he stops mid-laugh

– usually, you’re pretty gentle, but kaeya sees murderous intent 

– “kaeya,” you seethe, stalking towards him

– he scrambles backward, terrified. “woah, woah, woah, put the sword away first!”

– “remember, you started it,” you sing, skillfully spinning your sword by the hilt while advancing upon him

– his attempts to hinder you with more snowballs, but those are easily deflected with your sword

– less of a snowball fight and more of you terrorizing kaeya

– you finally corner him, cackling evilly. his pleas for you to show mercy fall on deaf ears as you raise a fistful of snow to stuff in his face. “any last words?”

– he begins to speak, but his expression changes when he looks past you. “i know this is incredibly ironic, but there is definitely a frostarm lawachurl approaching, though i don’t think it’s noticed us yet”

– “like i’m gonna fall for that again.” you roll your eyes, not bothering to turn around, then shout as loudly as possible, “hey! over here, lawlachurl!”

– “RRRRROAAARR”

– “...”

– “yeah, it’s definitely noticed us”

– fortunately, you both manage to survive and will laugh about the memory later

– the next time you encounter snow, kaeya will propose that you have another snowball fight: a fair one, this time

childe

– having grown up alongside the snow, he’s had plenty of snowball fights in his youth, not to mention four other siblings to join him!

– it’s a fond childhood memory for him, and he’s excited to share this pleasant experience with you

– he’s quite a snowball fight veteran, except now he’s a little more unhinged

– he doesn’t care about making snowballs and just throws plain handfuls of snow at people

– when necessary for projectile aerodynamics, though, he will shape them into spheres 

– watching him pull off impressive maneuvers and chuck snow with concerning speed, you’re glad he’s on your team

– with both close and long-range combat experience, it’s no surprise he excels in the art of dumping snow on people 

– he doesn’t often get hit, but when he does, the aggressor becomes the target of ten times the amount of snow they landed on him

– just wait until he finds a shovel or bucket

– he will literally launch pounds of snow at people whilst laughing maniacally

– every time yet another opponent is buried alive beneath the cold white, he turns to you with a mirthful grin

– “look~ we’ve almost won!”

– you pause, appraising the destruction, and sigh

– then a snowball splatters against your chest 

– childe is immediately at attention

– “don’t worry, i’ll protect you!” he proclaims, leaping toward your attacker

– safe to say they are now resting under a snow mountain 

diluc

– he has bad memories attached to rain, but you tell him there can be good kinds of rain 

– “snow is just rain when the weather in the sky is below freezing,” you say, smiling gently

– you’re one of the few he’s confided in about his past, so when you say you want to make more good memories of rain with him by having a snowball fight, he’s grateful that you care for him

– at first, he’s tentative while throwing them at you; he knows that snow is one of the safer types of projectiles, but he’d forever blame himself if he somehow hurt you

– with your coaxing and contagious enthusiasm, however, he eases into it

– unfortunately, you had overlooked one thing

– you had said that snow was below freezing rain, but what you failed to understand was that it was below freezing rain

– thus, it is only natural that after being hit several times by that very snow, you, too, feel below freezing 

– as the snowball fight was an impromptu idea, you also hadn’t prepared any gloves to keep your hands warm, so your fingers feel like popsicles

– diluc notices you shivering before you do

– his brow furrows ever so slightly. “let’s pause momentarily,” he suggests, dropping his snowball and beckoning you over. “if you’d please come here”

– puzzled, you slowly approach until you’re standing in front of him

– he slides off his jacket and delicately drapes it over your shoulders

– “you won’t be cold?” you worry

– “i won’t.” crimson glows at his waist as he partially activates his vision, and a burst of warmth ripples outward to thaw your frozen self

– “wow…i’m so lucky to have a portable heater with me” you giggle, palms out toward him as if you were warming them by a fireplace

– he offers you a small but soft smile that somehow warms you more effectively than his pyro abilities

– after sufficiently returning to room temperature, you and diluc continue the snowball fight

– he finds it endearing to watch you tromp around in the snow wearing his coat with a silly grin never leaving his face

– there really can be good kinds of rain, he thinks

scaramouche

– he is a monster 

– it doesn’t matter if he likes you or dislikes you; he has the most underhanded methods

– during a team fight, he approaches you and requests to use a couple of the snowballs from the pile you’d been manufacturing

– you’d been hoping to stockpile artillery to support your team, but giving away a few to teammates as you made them couldn’t hurt, right? ...right?

– haha no. it hurt. 

– a lot. 

– because it turns out he’s actually not on your team and he literally THREW THEM AT YOUR FACE AT POINT BANK RANGE, LIKE, SCARA WHAT ARE YOU THINKING 

– provoked and ready to jump him in retaliation, you hastily brush the snow off your face

– scara’s stifling his laughter, but as soon as he sees the tears in your eyes, he stops abruptly 

– you hastily make an excuse, embarrassed: sure, it stings, but you swear it doesn’t hurt enough to cry. you just got some snow in your eyes, is all

– nevertheless, he brusquely says he’ll switch to your team: after all, someone needs to make up for you being weak

– if you pay close attention, you’ll notice that his snowballs tend to attack those who were targeting you

– the underhanded tactics he utilized on you will be employed against the other team

– he rarely gets hit by snowballs, mostly because people are afraid of the wrath they will undergo if they hit him

– if scara gets hit, he’ll pause, sigh, then whip around and swiftly strike the poor soul who made the mistake of going for him

– smile and tell him you’re impressed and think he’s cool. he’ll scoff in response, but when you’re not looking, he’ll confusedly smack his chest to check if his heart is dysfunctional––if not, why did it skip a beat?

[part one] [part three - coming soon]

[chusuuke]

genshin boys snowball fight with you (part 2)

premise: you ask the genshin boys (separate) to partake in a snowball fight with you! features: kaeya, childe, diluc, scaramouche notes: part 3 coming soon! possible future characters: chongyun, xingqiu, venti, zhongli, ayato, kazuha, or heizou!

kaeya

– you’d both been sent on a mission in dragonspine and had been trekking through the snow for hours 

– nothing overly eventful or out of the ordinary had occurred; you’d encountered a couple of small enemies but nothing of note, so naturally, you’re on edge

– kaeya, on the other hand, seems to lack care in the world. he strolls behind you, humming a tune, while you look around warily for traps

– you finally stop with a huff and wheel on him. “shouldn’t you be a little more cautious?” 

– “i’ll protect you, so don’t worry,” he replies playfully. “just relax—” 

– suddenly, kaeya freezes and points behind you

– “huh? what’s wrong?”

– “frostarm lawachurl,” he whispers urgently

– immediately your sword is drawn, and you whip around to scan the frozen trees around you. you don’t sense any threats, so you turn back around, confused. “i don’t see any—”

– whack! a snowball hits you in the face

– you stiffen. cold snow slowly slides down your face as kaeya keels over and laughs hysterically 

– when he catches your eye, however, he stops mid-laugh

– usually, you’re pretty gentle, but kaeya sees murderous intent 

– “kaeya,” you seethe, stalking towards him

– he scrambles backward, terrified. “woah, woah, woah, put the sword away first!”

– “remember, you started it,” you sing, skillfully spinning your sword by the hilt while advancing upon him

– his attempts to hinder you with more snowballs, but those are easily deflected with your sword

– less of a snowball fight and more of you terrorizing kaeya

– you finally corner him, cackling evilly. his pleas for you to show mercy fall on deaf ears as you raise a fistful of snow to stuff in his face. “any last words?”

– he begins to speak, but his expression changes when he looks past you. “i know this is incredibly ironic, but there is definitely a frostarm lawachurl approaching, though i don’t think it’s noticed us yet”

– “like i’m gonna fall for that again.” you roll your eyes, not bothering to turn around, then shout as loudly as possible, “hey! over here, lawlachurl!”

– “RRRRROAAARR”

– “...”

– “yeah, it’s definitely noticed us”

– fortunately, you both manage to survive and will laugh about the memory later

– the next time you encounter snow, kaeya will propose that you have another snowball fight: a fair one, this time

childe

– having grown up alongside the snow, he’s had plenty of snowball fights in his youth, not to mention four other siblings to join him!

– it’s a fond childhood memory for him, and he’s excited to share this pleasant experience with you

– he’s quite a snowball fight veteran, except now he’s a little more unhinged

– he doesn’t care about making snowballs and just throws plain handfuls of snow at people

– when necessary for projectile aerodynamics, though, he will shape them into spheres 

– watching him pull off impressive maneuvers and chuck snow with concerning speed, you’re glad he’s on your team

– with both close and long-range combat experience, it’s no surprise he excels in the art of dumping snow on people 

– he doesn’t often get hit, but when he does, the aggressor becomes the target of ten times the amount of snow they landed on him

– just wait until he finds a shovel or bucket

– he will literally launch pounds of snow at people whilst laughing maniacally

– every time yet another opponent is buried alive beneath the cold white, he turns to you with a mirthful grin

– “look~ we’ve almost won!”

– you pause, appraising the destruction, and sigh

– then a snowball splatters against your chest 

– childe is immediately at attention

– “don’t worry, i’ll protect you!” he proclaims, leaping toward your attacker

– safe to say they are now resting under a snow mountain 

diluc

– he has bad memories attached to rain, but you tell him there can be good kinds of rain 

– “snow is just rain when the weather in the sky is below freezing,” you say, smiling gently

– you’re one of the few he’s confided in about his past, so when you say you want to make more good memories of rain with him by having a snowball fight, he’s grateful that you care for him

– at first, he’s tentative while throwing them at you; he knows that snow is one of the safer types of projectiles, but he’d forever blame himself if he somehow hurt you

– with your coaxing and contagious enthusiasm, however, he eases into it

– unfortunately, you had overlooked one thing

– you had said that snow was below freezing rain, but what you failed to understand was that it was below freezing rain

– thus, it is only natural that after being hit several times by that very snow, you, too, feel below freezing 

– as the snowball fight was an impromptu idea, you also hadn’t prepared any gloves to keep your hands warm, so your fingers feel like popsicles

– diluc notices you shivering before you do

– his brow furrows ever so slightly. “let’s pause momentarily,” he suggests, dropping his snowball and beckoning you over. “if you’d please come here”

– puzzled, you slowly approach until you’re standing in front of him

– he slides off his jacket and delicately drapes it over your shoulders

– “you won’t be cold?” you worry

– “i won’t.” crimson glows at his waist as he partially activates his vision, and a burst of warmth ripples outward to thaw your frozen self

– “wow…i’m so lucky to have a portable heater with me” you giggle, palms out toward him as if you were warming them by a fireplace

– he offers you a small but soft smile that somehow warms you more effectively than his pyro abilities

– after sufficiently returning to room temperature, you and diluc continue the snowball fight

– he finds it endearing to watch you tromp around in the snow wearing his coat with a silly grin never leaving his face

– there really can be good kinds of rain, he thinks

scaramouche

– he is a monster 

– it doesn’t matter if he likes you or dislikes you; he has the most underhanded methods

– during a team fight, he approaches you and requests to use a couple of the snowballs from the pile you’d been manufacturing

– you’d been hoping to stockpile artillery to support your team, but giving away a few to teammates as you made them couldn’t hurt, right? ...right?

– haha no. it hurt. 

– a lot. 

– because it turns out he’s actually not on your team and he literally THREW THEM AT YOUR FACE AT POINT BANK RANGE, LIKE, SCARA WHAT ARE YOU THINKING 

– provoked and ready to jump him in retaliation, you hastily brush the snow off your face

– scara’s stifling his laughter, but as soon as he sees the tears in your eyes, he stops abruptly 

– you hastily make an excuse, embarrassed: sure, it stings, but you swear it doesn’t hurt enough to cry. you just got some snow in your eyes, is all

– nevertheless, he brusquely says he’ll switch to your team: after all, someone needs to make up for you being weak

– if you pay close attention, you’ll notice that his snowballs tend to attack those who were targeting you

– the underhanded tactics he utilized on you will be employed against the other team

– he rarely gets hit by snowballs, mostly because people are afraid of the wrath they will undergo if they hit him

– if scara gets hit, he’ll pause, sigh, then whip around and swiftly strike the poor soul who made the mistake of going for him

– smile and tell him you’re impressed and think he’s cool. he’ll scoff in response, but when you’re not looking, he’ll confusedly smack his chest to check if his heart is dysfunctional––if not, why did it skip a beat?

[part one] [part three - coming soon]

[chusuuke]

genshin boys snowball fight with you

premise: you ask the genshin boys (separate) to partake in a snowball fight with you! features: itto, razor, thoma, gorou, bennett, albedo notes: part 2 coming soon. possible future characters: chongyun, xingqiu, venti, zhongli, ayato, kazuha, kaeya, diluc, scaramouche, childe, or heizou!

itto

– he loves snowball fights; he’s so excited

– you can expect the whole arataki gang to take part in extreme snowball warfare

– in the snow, itto becomes the experienced and strategic general, leading his troops to victory

– you’re under his command, of course (he just wouldn’t bear to see you on the enemy side)

– you and genta are crouched down behind a blockade of snow, but itto stands tall and seriously, looking down

– you chuckle as he addresses you and an invisible audience of several thousand nonexistent soldiers

– he sounds like a wizened warrior when he delivers an encouraging speech about making a last stand 

– then a snowball hits him in the shoulder

– he falls dramatically to his knees, clutching his shoulder and grimacing

– “c–captain!” akira wails, both of you shuffling over to him

– itto grits his teeth and smiles through the ‘pain’. “it’s just a scratch. the battle must go on.”

– he promptly jumps up and charges across the battlefield to the other team’s snow fort, dodging and swatting projectiles out of the air

– he bends down to scoop up handfuls of snow and hurls them at akira, mamoru, and shinobu in the other base, never breaking his stride

– you and genta follow him, laughing and hollering at the others cowering behind their snow barrier 

– oh how the turn tables

– suddenly you hear itto shouting to you, “look out, soldier!”

– before you can process it, itto’s outstretched, diving sideways in front of you and bellowing, “sacrificeeeee,” as a snowball hits him square in the chest

– he lands on the snow and immediately starts writhing

– “AAAAH IT’S SO COLD!”

– “itto!” you scold him, “this is why you can’t be half–nude in the snow!”

– “[n–name]! i mean—Soldier, help meeee~” 

– you help itto stand up and the fight continues

– later, everyone is unsurprised when itto comes down with a cold

razor 

– he hasn’t been in a snowball fight before, so you’ll have to explain it to him 

– at first, he just bats snowballs out of the air with his hands

– will confusedly throw handfuls of snow until you laugh and tell him no, razor, you’re supposed to make it into a ball!

– does his best to make snowballs but they end up varying in size and shape like a misshapen collection of white rocks 

– when he does make a successful snowball, he’ll turn towards you in excitement: his eyes will sparkle and he‘ll have the tiniest smile curving his lips

– if you praise his nicely shaped snowball, he’ll blush and smile wider

– by then it will have fallen apart and melted a bit so he’ll wilt with disappointment 

– but then you can just make one for him and he’ll treasure it until it also melts

– he’ll keep adding snow and packing it together to make it last longer

– when he makes more snowballs himself, he doesn’t want to throw them at you, so he just gives them to you

– when hit with a snowball, he’ll look down uncertainly at the snow on his clothes 

– but if he gets snow in his hair he’ll shake his head in a dog–like fashion

thoma

– he’s seen some rare snowball fights between ayaka and ayato in their youth, but even when they asked him to join he felt pretty hesitant; after all, they are the young master and missus of the kamisato household

– so when you ask him to join you in a snowball fight, he's a bit nervous but happy to oblige

– he’s tentative to throw them at first because he doesn’t want to hit you

– but he acquiesces when you insist, telling him you feel guilty pelting him with snow when he isn’t trying to do the same

– he’s careful not to throw them too hard, though

– and if there’s any semblance that you’ve hurt yourself, he’ll rush over to you and check if you’re okay

– at one point, your attempt at dodging leads you to fall backward into the snow

– thoma immediately drops his next snowball and hurries to your side

– “i’m so sorry! are you okay?” he asks worriedly. “let me help you up.”

– he leans forward and stretches out a hand 

– you startle him by pulling him down onto the snow beside you

– “let’s make snow angels,” you beam

– thoma just likes spending time with you, so as long as you have fun, he’s happy

– as he relaxes, he ends up having more fun than he thought

gorou

– he’s had a couple of snowball fights in his life, but never one as fun as that with you 

– he’s startlingly light on the snow which prevents him from sinking down as he steps

– it’s probably a dog thing

– as opposed to you, who’s knee–deep in the snow... for once, gorou looks tall (he looks offended when you tell him this)

– his weightlessness comes to his advantage. he agilely maneuvers around the snow, dodging the snowballs you throw at him

– he’ll dig holes in the snow to hide in and pitch snowballs long–distance at you

– it doesn't help that his weapon is a bow; expect him to throw with deadly accuracy

– he might even establish a whole tunnel system that runs beneath the snow: also probably a dog thing

– good luck finding him 

– (but if you’re on the same team, he‘ll lead you through the tunnels)

– when he gets hit, he’ll continue on as if nothing happens: a soldier always perseveres 

– unless, of course, the snow tickles his ears or he’s been hit too many times. in that case, he’ll squeeze his eyes shut and shake similarly to a wet dog 

– take this opportunity to touch his ears by brushing the snow off them!! of course, if you ask nicely normally he'd let you and only you touch them

– if he gets hot, he’ll eat the snow to cool down like the habit of sled dogs

– overall, he's like a doggo in the snow. a deadly doggo

bennett

– his vision may be pyro, but he loves snowball fights

– he's badgered kaeya in the past to make it snow for him, and you and the cryo user have had to explain that's not how it works

– so as soon as you two find snow, bennett immediately wants to have a snowball fight

– he might get so excited he accidentally starts melting the snow around him

– the best way to describe him is a wild snowball machine gun: he makes a huge pile of snowballs in 30 seconds then chucks them all in true machine gun fashion

– he will also throw other people’s snowballs if he sees them around, so if you have your own pile, you better watch out!

– or just make snowballs for him to throw—he’ll like that

– when he gets hit by a snowball he just laughs with glee and puts in more effort

– he will try to make the biggest snowball ever and gives it to you to play catch:

“[name]~ throw it here!” 

you eye the basketball–sized snowball which is already crumbling in your hands. “uh, bennett, i don’t think that’s gonna work.” 

“just try.” he gestures excitedly. 

“...if you say so.”

– it is safe to say that bennett is now completely covered in one basketball’s worth of snow 

albedo

– he works in the snowy mountains of dragonspine, yet he’s never had a snowball fight

– however, when klee visits him there and you’re also present, you sometimes have snowball fights with her

– so one day klee asks albedo to join you two in one of your snowball fights

– he ends up squatting down and working the whole time making one perfect snowball: perfectly shaped, compacted, weighted, and aerodynamic (albedo...snowballs aren’t meant to be perfect, you tell him)

– mumbles equations to himself with pinpoint focus on the snow in his hands, ignoring the snowballs whizzing past him as you and klee battle for your lives

– when you hit him, it’s an accident; you were aiming for klee, but your pitching trajectory was a bit too far down

– your snowball smacks him directly in the back of his head, and you and klee both gasp

– apologies flood from your mouth, and you brace yourself for his annoyance as his head slowly swivels around, still squatting 

– he merely offers you a small fond smile and holds up his snowball to show you his progress

– overall, he’s thankful that you are nice to klee, and he’s glad you both had fun

– he may even bring a sample of snow back to his lab because your snowball fight has given him an idea

[part two]

[chusuuke]

consulting kaeya

premise: if you consult kaeya before stealing the Holy Lyre der Himmel (traveler!reader) word count: 928 note: first post! i got this idea from kaeya's quote in his character story 2 that you get at friendship lv. 3. it just seemed to fit perfectly into this scene

“You want to steal the Holy Lyre?” you repeat, appalled. 

The teal-eyed bard before you immediately raises his index finger to his lips. 

“Keep it down!” He glances nervously at the other individuals in the cathedral to ensure they had not overheard. 

“Are you out of your mind?” you hiss. “Venti, we’re going to get arrested.”

“Not if we don’t get caught,” he assures, winking.

“We’re definitely going to get caught. Just look at Paimon. Do you think she can be sneaky?”

You both turn to look at your small fey friend floating beside you.

“That’s true,” Venti says.

“Hey!” she whines.

“How are we even going to sneak in? There are guards stationed at the only entrance.”

The three of you eye the two men standing on either side of the slightly ajar door beneath the chancel. 

Venti sighs. “I was just about to explain. Those guards are off-duty at nightfall. If we wait until after sunset, you can sneak in. Then, all you have to do to steal the lyre is avoid the people inside.”

“‘We’.”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘you’,” you correct, “but you meant ‘we’. We would have to sneak in and avoid the people inside.”

“Oh no,” he replies, waving his hands in front of him, “just you and maybe Paimon. I’m not going in.” 

“What?” Your jaw drops. You suddenly grab him by his collar and give him several shakes for good measure. “This is your plan and you’re trying to get me to steal the lyre?”

“Hey, it’s a one-person job. Two people will just make it more difficult. Plus, as the Knights of Favonius’ new superstar, you’re more likely to get away with it than I am.” He has a point, but you do not admit that aloud.

“Can’t we just get those signed documents from the Grand Master, Seneschal, and Community Representative?” inquires Paimon.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that.”

Stealing the Holy Lyre der Himmel might be the worst idea you have ever heard during your time in Teyvat, but as you stare at the bard, it seems like your only option. You and Paimon share a look. Paimon shrugs. 

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll meet you back here at nightfall.” 

❅

“You’re sure he’s serious about stealing the Holy Lyre?” asks Paimon, gliding beside you as you begin your return journey to the cathedral.

“He literally revealed to us that he’s Barbatos, Paimon,” you reply. “Considering his relationship with Dvalin, if he says it’s the only way, it is the only way.”

You had left the cathedral and burned the remaining hours of daylight visiting the stores around Mondstadt, the city you had arrived at not so long ago. Before you knew it, the comforting concatenation of sunset hues had rolled its way across the sky and painted a striking blue-orange ombre. 

Noticing this, Paimon nudges you. “It’s nearly nighttime. We should start making our way back to the cathedral if we’re gonna help Venti.”

“Right.” You still have yet to fully commit to stealing the Lyre, and the time for your final decision was approaching quickly. You begin to speak before glimpsing behind her a figure clad in blue coming your way. “I have to do something first. Can you start ahead?” 

Paimon fidgets and looks at you, unsure. 

“I’ll catch up, okay?”

“Alright. Don’t be late, though,” she acquiesces.

As she glides away, you approach the figure. 

“Hey, Kaeya,” you call out to him.

“Well if it isn’t our dear Traveler,” the man waves, striding up to you. “I was actually on my way to Angel’s Share. Care to join?”

“I appreciate your offer, but actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

Kaeya pauses, regarding you with new interest. “No problem. Ask away.”

“If you had the chance to help a lot of people—and even save lives—but the means to do so wasn’t exactly lawful, would you still do it?”

The Cavalry Captain considers. 

“Interesting question,” he muses as he brings a gloved hand up to his chin and levels a contemplative gaze at the ground, his smile dissolving into a more serious expression. “Justice is not an absolute principle but is the result of striking that fine balance between strength and strategy. As for the details of how it's done, don't worry yourself too much about that,” he responds. 

You are silent. Some moments pass as you appraise him, and you are surprised to sense his sincerity. 

Upon observing your quiet awe, Kaeya spreads out his hands and smiles. “Or at least, that’s what I once said to Grand Master Varka.”

You nod slowly. “That makes sense. So long as the end result is good, whether the method is legal or illegal makes no difference.”

“I mean...”

Suddenly, Paimon swoops in front of you, frazzled and panting slightly. “Hey, are you coming or not? The sun’s already gone down. We’re late!”

You finally register the change in lighting, the now indigo-shaded surroundings lit by the warm glow of streetlamps. Startled by the unexpected darkness of the sky, you snap out of your thoughtful reverie.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go now,” you apologize to Kaeya hurriedly.

He nods. “No worries. Let’s catch up later, yeah?”

You voice a word of hasty agreement as Paimon directs you in the direction of the cathedral. You begin to jog away but stop. “Thanks, Kaeya!” You call, tossing him a backward glance and giving a salute. “Off to commit high treason!”

Kaeya cracks a fond smile, watching you run off. Then realization abruptly hits. “Wait what?”