chxrrybitez

[chxrrybitez]

ZAMN! can scara turn around and arch in that dress next 👉 👈 okay yeah bye

..oh!

(he can. he can also kneel in it, and purposefully manipulate wind to teasingly blow it up marilyn monroe style. he knows he's a pretty princess and will weaponize it. don't ask)

[chxrrybitez]

idk if i should be sad or bricked at scara calling us a mutt…

why not both? 😘

[chxrrybitez]

GENSHIN X READER

(What if their lover is childish, what is their reactions?) Childe, Xiao, Cyno, Kaeya, Albedo, Ayato, Diluc, Kaveh, Zhongli, Kazuha, Thoma, Itto

okay this may not be perfect

Dark twist ver

Childe (Tartaglia)

Loves it. Enables it.

“You wanna be carried? Sure, hop on.” He spoils you without shame and finds your pouty demands adorable. Your clinginess feeds his ego. You whine? He chuckles and gives in. You cry? Someone’s getting hurt.

You're sitting on his lap sideways, arms crossed, refusing to look at him. “What’s wrong this time, snowflake?” he asks, grin already forming. You mumble, “You were gone too long.” He just laughs and pulls you closer, one hand sliding up your back. “I told you it was a mission,” he coos, kissing your cheek, “You missed me that bad, huh?” You nod with the smallest whimper. “Alright, alright. Tonight’s just us. I’ll even let you sleep on top of me like a weighted blanket, deal?” You brighten immediately. He smirks — mission successful. His brat is happy again.

Xiao

Internally panics. He doesn’t get it, but he tries. You pull on his sleeve, demand attention, and he freezes.

“What… are you doing?” Eventually, he just accepts it with a quiet sigh and softening gaze. You’re strange — but somehow, you ease his pain.

You cling to his arm while he meditates. At first, he pretends to ignore you. “Xiaooo,” you drawl, tugging. “I’m concentrating.” “I’m lonely.” He finally opens his eyes and looks at you — not angry, just tired. “What do you want me to do?” You point to the ground next to you: “Sit here. Just… exist next to me.” He hesitates, then moves without a word. When your head ends up on his lap, he tenses — but doesn’t move. “…You’re annoying,” he mutters. You grin. He didn’t push you away. You won

Cyno

Surprisingly patient — but confused. He stares blankly when you whine over something small.

“That’s… not how logic works.” But over time, he adjusts. He brings you plushies “for stress regulation” and lets you cling to him without question. Secretly thinks it’s cute.

You dramatically flop onto his paperwork pile. “Nooo one loves me~” “I do,” he says instantly, without looking up. “Then why are you ignoring me?” “I’m not. I’m finishing this report to protect you, so you don’t get arrested for tax evasion.” You blink. “Wait—what taxes?” He gives you a deadpan look. “Exactly. That’s why I do the paperwork.” Then he pulls you into his lap like a sack of rice, continuing to write. “You can sit here. But behave. Or I’ll tickle you to death.”

Kaeya

Completely entertained.

“Aw, poor thing~ do you need a kiss or three?” He feeds your drama like it’s gourmet. Teases you, carries you, even talks to you like a spoiled brat on purpose just to see your tantrums. Loves every second.

You pout at him during a fancy event. “You’re not paying attention to me.” He smirks. “Sweetheart, I’m hosting a diplomatic banquet.” “Don’t care.” He raises a brow, then excuses himself mid-conversation to walk over. ��What do you want me to do?” “Hold my hand. Right now.” He chuckles, kisses your knuckles, and slides an arm around your waist. “Demanding, dramatic, and dangerously adorable,” he whispers. “Just my type.”

Albedo

Gently indulgent.

He doesn’t react dramatically, but he notices everything. He adjusts his tone, softens his words, and gives you space to be childish — while subtly guiding you with logic.

“You can throw your tantrum first. Then we’ll talk.”

You tug on the end of his coat like a child. “Albedo, I’m bored. Entertain me.” “Hmm.” He puts down his quill. “You wish to be stimulated… intellectually or emotionally?” You stare at him blankly. “Emotionally!” you say. “With cuddles.” He sighs softly, amused. Then he lifts you into his lap with mechanical ease. “Let’s explore this emotional attachment then,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Ayato

Amused, but strategic.

“Are you pouting again? Shall I cancel your dessert?” He sees it as part of your charm and manages you like he manages diplomats — with luxury and light threats. He lets you be childish… as long as you're still his.

You lay dramatically across his office couch, groaning. “No one appreciates me~” He glances up from his tea, entirely unbothered. “That’s incorrect. I provide you with daily adoration, three gifts a week, and imported mochi.” “But not enough attention!” He sets the cup down, approaches, and scoops you into his arms effortlessly. “You want attention? Fine. I’ll cancel everything today — for you.” He pauses. “But you better earn it. By feeding me those strawberry candies you hoard.”

Diluc

Internally screaming, but outwardly calm. You cling to him like a koala, and he just sighs softly.

“You’re impossible… but fine.” He’s not used to it, but secretly likes how open you are. He pretends to be annoyed — he’s not.

You throw yourself at him while he’s dressing for a formal event. “Don’t goooo.” “I’ll be gone an hour,” he murmurs. “Just an hour.” “Too long. I’ll die of boredom.” He lets out a tired breath and holds you close, hand stroking your hair. “You’re impossible.” “I’m cute.” He gives the ghost of a smile. “Yes… you’re ridiculously cute.” Then he hands you a book. “Read this until I return. Highlight every word you like. I’ll read them back to you later.” You perk up immediately. He's got you wrapped around his finger. So why does he look more flustered? AHHH HE'S JUST ""CHEF'S KISS"

Kaveh

Matches your energy. Dramatically.

“Oh? You’re upset? I’m upset! I just broke another cup!” You pout — he pouts louder. You cry — he throws a pillow. It becomes chaotic. Everyone hates it. You two love it. Drama royalty x2.

You cry because you dropped your donut. He cries with you. “This world is so cruel! That donut had potential!” You throw yourself dramatically on the floor. “Everything’s ruined!” He joins you. “We deserve better!” Alhaitham walks in. Sees both of you fake sobbing over a pastry. Leaves without a word. Kaveh turns to you. “Let’s go buy five more. And then you can sit on my lap while I file building permits.” “Deal.”

Zhongli

Patient beyond mortal comprehension. You throw a tantrum in Liyue Harbor and he doesn’t blink.

“Are you done, my love? Now let us proceed.” He talks to you like a king calming a royal baby. You cling to him — he lets you. You whine — he brews tea.

You whine at him mid-conversation with Ningguang. “Zhoooongliiii~ I’m sleepy~” He nods politely to her and excuses himself. He kneels before you. “Shall I carry you home, or would you prefer a tea break first?” You pout. “Carry.” “As you wish.” He carries you through the harbor bridal-style like it’s nothing. Everyone stares. He’s unfazed. “Being childish is not a flaw,” he says gently. “It is a mark of innocence still alive in this world.”

Kazuha

Soft, poetic understanding. You jump on his back? He carries you like the wind.

“Even the childlike spirit is a treasure the world needs.” He smiles, writes a haiku about your pout, and sings lullabies. Absolute comfort zone.

You yank his sleeve as he plays his flute. “I’m boooored.” “Ah,” he smiles, “Shall I compose something just for you?” “No. I want snacks. And a poem.” “Both, then.” He carries you to a shady tree, gives you dango, and rests your head on his shoulder. “A flower pouts / Demanding sweet attention / I offer peace.” You blink. “Did you just haiku me into submission?” He grins. “Always.”

Thoma

King of pampering.

“Oh no, are you sleepy already? Come here, I’ll carry you home.” He packs snacks, band-aids, and tissues in case you cry or scrape your knee. Cooks your comfort food and wraps you in blankets. Gives piggyback rides everywhere.

You fake cry. Loudly. “I stubbed my toe! I’ll never walk again!” He immediately runs over, scoops you up like a baby, and kisses your forehead. “You poor thing! Do you need medical attention? A warm bath? A mochi emergency?” You blink. “I was joking.” He gives you a serious look. “In this house, we treat stubbed toes like war wounds.” Then he tucks you in, gives you hot chocolate, and kisses your toes. “For healing.” You may never leave his arms again.

Itto

Even MORE childish. You pout? He pouts louder. You want candy? He’s already running to buy it.

“Wanna ride on my shoulders while we yell at birds? YEAH?? LET’S GO!!” Together, you two are an unstoppable force of chaos. Everyone else suffers. You two are thriving.

“Hey!” you yell, pointing at the sky. “That cloud looked at me funny!” “WHAT? WHICH ONE??” He runs outside swinging his club. “YOU WANNA FIGHT, FLUFF PUFF??” You laugh so hard you can’t breathe. He stomps back in. “Don’t worry, babe. I scared it off.” Then he scoops you up and spins you. “You’re my favorite little bean, y’know that?” He spoils you rotten and matches your energy tenfold. Chaos? Yes. Love? Absolute

A follow would be nice too

UMM CHAT AM I DOING IT RIGHT YEA? CURRENTLY TRYING TO HUSTLE BUT IS IT GOOD ENOUGH????

[chxrrybitez]

“could you be seen with me and still act proud?”

➢ Jing Yuan, Argenti, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Blade, Xiao, Childe, Wanderer, Zhongli

➢ Star Rail / Genshin x [GN] Reader

➥ (their answer + reaction to this question)

➥ (comfort / fluff)

✧ - JING YUAN

“Why, of course. I would hold your hand up for the whole of the Xianzhou to see.”

This was pretty expected of the sly general. However, what was unexpected was the way he took you in his arms and lifted you up—bridal style. You begged him to put you down as he opened the doors of his and your room, now making his way outside to remind the whole Xianzhou that you're his and he's yours.

✧ - ARGENTI

“Dearest love—of course, I would be so proud to have the chance to take the hand of mortal beauty itself, and, if it were chivalrous, I would boast about your beauty everywhere I go.”

Ever so poetic, Argenti pulls your heart strings again with his creative (yet cheesy) lines. He loves you; that's a fact that nobody can deny, and he believes that you were sent down by Idrila herself with how attractive you are. Without a hesitant thought, he backs away and offers you his hand—will you accept the offer in which he takes you from place to place, hand in hand, to show the whole world that your his love?

✧ - AVENTURINE

“You wanna take a bet? Here, I'll take you out to dinner if you guess my answer correctly—get it wrong, and I decide on what I'll do with you.”

With a wink and a smile turning into a smirk, it's always hard to guess what Aventurine is thinking, but with the clock ticking, you hardly get time to really think, and so you curiously answer with “no.” A smile grows on his face, and he leans in close, holding your arms. He whispers in your ear, “I guess that means you have to do what I tell you tonight.”

✧ - DAN HENG

“Of course. I do... I do love you, after all.”

His sentences are kept short and simple (with a little bit of blush), just like how they always are. Now, unlike most people on this list, he isn't bringing you outside to let the world know that you're dating, but he would feel and does absolutely feel proud to have you as his love. He reassures you that he would never feel embarrassed or feel the need to hide his love for you, no matter the crowd he's surrounded by.

✧ - BLADE

“Yes. Nobody's taking you, and nobody's taking me. Everyone had better know that you're mine, and the same goes for me.”

His response was rather threatening, but that's typical with Blade. His words are as sharp as his sword, but they're also as meaningful as sharp; his intent is nowhere near ill towards you, and he only means that he's dedicated himself to you already, and it's a dedication that he would never feel embarrassed or guilty for. Now, take his hand—he'll promise the world that you're his tonight.

✧ - XIAO

“Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

In Adeptus Xiao language, he means, “yes, of course I would. Archons, holding your hand is a blessing itself.” And, though he doesn't admit it, he still feels it. You are his first and only love in several millennia. You, of every person to ever set foot in Liyue, managed to capture his heart when nobody else could. Xiao loves you, and he feels that he will forever, so he prays you'd banish him if he ever hurts you or hides his love away for something trivial because that means the karma got to him and that he's gone mad.

✧ - CHILDE

“Of course, babe! You know what? Let's go on a date right now— everything's on me!”

And that's simply Childe. Without a word, he disappears and reappears with your favorite outfit in hand, and has you put it on (in private as he waits outside the bedroom door), and when you're done, he's suddenly dressed nicely with roses in hand, and he takes you out on a date. How? No clue, but know that he's letting the whole region know that you're his right here and right now.

✧ - WANDERER

“Huh? That's a stupid question. Why are you asking me, anyway?”

Yes. He means yes in every way possible. His sharp tongue speaks the opposite, but Wanderer truly means that he would show you off to the world if he had to. If he has to, mainly because he finds the concept of love in its entirety as stupid, but he also loves you too much to let you leave him, let alone have someone else think that you're some vacant partner just waiting to be taken. Now, hold both of his hands. He'll glide you above Sumeru City and show everyone there that you're his if you're still thinking about the question.

✧ - ZHONGLI

“Well, of course. Would you like to take a walk around the harbor for me to prove that?”

Zhongli senses your insecurity, and he wishes to alleviate your worries, so he takes you to a popular teahouse by a bridge. It's not that grand or special, but he keeps you close to him as you both sip away at your tea and embrace the company of one another.

yes, this was a heathers reference.

[chxrrybitez]

"Between Shadows and Light"

fluff

The first time you confessed, Xiao didn’t even look at you.

Your voice was fragile against the silence of Wangshu Inn’s balcony. “I like you.”

The night swallowed it whole. He stood motionless, back to you, amber eyes fixed on the horizon like if he dared acknowledge you, the stars themselves might fall.

He didn’t move. He didn’t answer. He didn’t even breathe.

And yet, you felt it—the tension in the air, the violent stillness in his body. His silence was sharper than a blade.

“Xiao,” you whispered again, fragile, hopeful.

His reply came like a dagger to the chest. “Don’t.”

Just one word. But it was enough to break you.

Your smile cracked. “...Alright.”

You left.

And he stayed. Alone. Watching the moonlight reflect against the inn’s railing, pretending the echo of your voice didn’t linger like an open wound.

Xiao told himself it was necessary. It had to be.

Because if he let you stay, if he let himself want— It would destroy you.

He had seen what love did. To mortals. To gods. To yakshas.

It consumed. It corrupted. It killed.

Better to cut the thread before it strangled you both.

And yet… why did it feel like he’d ripped out his own heart when he let you go?

Nights blurred together. Battles, slaughter, blood on his hands. All the same. But this time, something was missing.

You.

You weren’t waiting on the balcony anymore. You weren’t smiling at him when he returned, worn and bruised. You weren’t reaching for him with hands so gentle they almost convinced him he was more than a weapon.

The silence of Wangshu Inn had never bothered him before. Now, it suffocated.

“Why does it hurt?” he muttered to the empty night, clutching his chest as though he could tear the feeling out. His hands trembled—hands that had slain gods, now shaking at the thought of you not being there.

It was unbearable.

Because pushing you away hadn’t freed him. It had chained him. And every night, he wondered if you were somewhere, hurting too. If you hated him now. If you had given up.

And still, he hoped. He hoped you hadn’t.

The next time he saw you, it was raining.

You were standing outside the inn, arms wrapped around yourself, soaked to the bone. You looked tired. Defeated. Like the storm had seeped into your bones.

Xiao’s first instinct was to turn away. To vanish.

But the sight of you rooted him. The ache in his chest screamed at him to move.

“…You’ll get sick,” he muttered, the words harsh from his throat but trembling at the edges.

You blinked at him, wide-eyed, as if you couldn’t believe he was really there. Then you gave a sad, almost bitter smile.

“Why do you care?”

The question split him open. Why? Why did he care?

Because you were the first person who ever reached for him without fear. Because you said his name like it wasn’t cursed. Because every time he pushed you away, it felt like he was tearing his soul in half.

And because he loved you.

He dropped his gaze, fists clenching as his voice cracked. “…Because it’s you.”

Your breath hitched. “Xiao—”

“I told myself I didn’t need it. That I didn’t need you. That love was only a curse.” He trembled, voice raw, breaking under centuries of silence. “But when you left… when I couldn’t feel you near me anymore… it was worse than any wound I’ve ever carried.”

His mask shattered. You saw it—the centuries of loneliness, guilt, and fear etched into every line of his face.

“I was wrong.”

The rain poured harder, blurring his vision, but he didn’t care. His voice was a desperate whisper now, pleading, broken.

“Please… don’t leave me again.”

And when you stepped forward, tears mixing with rain, when your hand slipped into his—he didn’t pull away this time.

He held on.

As if letting go would kill him.

🌙 From the shadows, Xiao finally found his light. And it was you.

[chxrrybitez]

Dearest darling, I'm home!

Prompt; My take on how they would act, with your newly found relationship, returning from their first long mission apart from you.

Pairings; GN!Reader x Childe, GN!Reader x Scaramouche, GN!Reader x Capitano. (Bonus X lyney at the end :3.)

a/n; I loveee the idea of this sm. Um may have gone off the deep end and gave childe freckles ... they so should have put on his model originally. As always, please let me know if i misgender the reader !

- sub note, please correct me if that endearment in childes part isnt... well, an endearment 😭 i know like the barest of minimums when it comes to russian.

Warnings; Touchy touchy touchy (Mainly childes and scaramouche's). Fluff,,,,, though there are mentions of scars and blood. Anddd just a wee bit suggestive at certain parts (if u count lovey dovey kisses as suggestive). Established relationship reader!!!

Enjoy !

It trudged open, the handle heavy in his palm, and immediately the warmth of your living room you so graciously made his own enveloped his weary body.

Childe.

Ragged, blood caking his arms, though his or his opponents was a question he himself couldn't answer at the moment.

The floor creaked, announcing his arrival, paired with the soft click of the door behind him.

He peeled his stained gloves off, the dark fabric making the smell of metal on them the only indicator there was blood seeped into each seam.

He couldn't possibly soil your skin with streaks of crimson that still lingered on them, so, he carelessly tossed them aside amongst the array of items strewn about the entryway table, then made a brisk stride to your room.

Your door was slitted, as if awaiting him.

Creaked open just enough for him to make out your form sprawled across your bed.

His knees buckled at the sight, the exhaustion finally taking a toll on his body the very second he began to relax, giving way just as he made it next to your bed.

A long and shaky sigh passed through his nose, his trembling hand coming to your features, smooth and lax. He couldn't help but want to feel your skin, warmth under his palm. His body ached for it. So, his thumb carefully dragged along the apex of your cheek, taking in your peaceful expression a moment longer, before cupping your jaw.

"Дорогая, 'm home."

His voice came out ragged from disuse.

A wide goofy smile stretched across his cheeks, his bottom lip noticeably busted, as you slowly stirred awake.

First in your view came lightly freckled skin, a purplish bruise swelling just under one of his barren blue eyes. Soon, you groggily sat up, kicking your legs over the side of the bed. To which, he so conveniently took advantage of. His palms slid up your thighs, cold, even through the fabric of your pants.

"Gosh, Ajax... how many time's have I said to tone it down.. You're all bruised."

He didn't listen, tried, sure. But your raspy voice fell on deaf ears as your hands cupped his cheeks, the warmth of them a stark contrast to his skin, of which, had been in the frosty cold for hours if not more; he couldn't help but gaze adoringly up at you. You, who had the prettiest eyes, gleaming, dazzling, maybe even reflecting a bit of light into his own. Who when scolding him would so vaguely crease your eyebrows together, pinched with equal parts frustration and worry, the small wrinkle he'd kiss away.

His fingers drummed idly on your thighs, restless, despite how sleep gnawed at his very being. Despite the nasty bruise swelling along his ribs under his clothing.

It had been days without your presence, and while he admired you fretting over him, he simply wanted to lose himself in your warmth. His slender fingers wrapped around one of your hands that were on his cheek, tilting it to press a kiss to each tip before planting a lingering kiss to the pulse of your wrist.

A lopsided smile tugging at his freckled cheeks, making the bruise under his eye sting a bit. Dully. Much more so compared to your hand in his.

A long sigh passed through your nose, and a dizzy blush crept up the back of your neck as you shifted back along the bed, inviting him in wordlessly.

You didn't have to tell him twice, or rather... at all. He shrugged off his stained shirt, a heap on the floor, before clambering into bed with you.

Ignoring the slitted glare you gave at the sight of the purplish welt smeared across his torso, and instead tucking his head against your neck, nose pressed to your thrumming pulse. And a smile you could, in the most literal sense, feel against your skin.

Your hands slid along his back, trailing up his skin, half trying to feel for any other wounds he happened to not didn't mention; and half eager to just feel him. It wasn't heated, no, it was reverent in a way that coaxed a shaky quiet sigh from his chapped lips and fanned over your neck.

Then your palm slid up his nape, tracing the dip of his spine all the way until the pads of your fingers raked through his scalp. Twirling, threading through, separating the ginger strands idly as he laxed against you.

He'd balk if anyone were to ask about you.

Completely pliant, arms wrapped flush around your waist. As he so easily fell asleep under the coaxing of your delicate touch, and the steady beat of your heart.

Scaramouche.

A ghastly glare, a threat here and there, even more so when they questioned why he spent so much time in your presence.

How could they dare question him? Of all people? Further more, insinuate he needed your presence. Your laugh. Your gaze upon him. Your hand so tenderly lacing with his as if he were fragile. Made of porcelain... No. He didn't need that. His actions often contradicted his words, however.

In a way where it made him feel soft, weak, a feeling he disdains immensely. In a way where he would find any means for contact, grasping your jaw when you turn your head from him while he's talking. "Pay attention." He'd scold. When really, he wanted you to derail, simply so he could dig the tips of his fingers into your cheek; sometimes roughly but not nearly enough to hurt, so he could see your eyes fixate on his own again.

The past two weeks without you by his side, without your heart thrumming or breaths simply filling the air... to say the new recruits were battered and bruised is an understatement.

Tsaritsas orders. A harbinger must give new recruits a speech, to make them say their undying devotion to the cryo archon, jargon is what it seemed like to him. His frustrations were spiking, and his mind, granted it wasnt uncommon, was a mess.

Each time he had thought of you, a slip up; of your pursed lips when you'd glare right back at him, of your narrowed eyes, of your dizzying smile.. the more he'd deny how those feeble shows of emotions were endearing to him.

He'd loved humans once, held them dear to whatever heart of his he had.

He wouldn't dare make that mistake again.

... is what he had said to himself.

Now, with his head plopped in your lap, his hat carefully next to you on the plush cushions of the couch, a tainted color bloomed on his cheeks. One he feared didn't belong, didn't look right on synthetic skin. Even so, your digits dragged almost exploratory across them, brushing oh so carefully.

His brows were scrunched, always furrowed in some way, though this showed something akin to confusion.

His palm slowly wrapped around your wrist, thumb, with odd tenderness, brushed along your pulse; his slender pale fingers dug into your skin, trying desperately to ground himself in the maelstrom of emotions you brought with something as simple as a passing glance, much less such gentle touches.

"I have no Idea what pleasure you find in this."

He loathed how soft his voice came out, quiet, a tremble bleeding through the seams. His dark veil of lashes brushed along his dusted cheeks, slipping closed in a last-ditch attempt to conceal something. Something of which, he was barely familiar with himself.

Doting, the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, as you gazed down at him. Your palm cupped his jaw, tilting his head back ever so slightly, himself complying, of course. As your thumb ran along smoothly, tracing the contours and curves of his features.

For a man with nothing but sharp edges, both inside and out, feared across the lands- and voices scrambling one over the other, desperately trying to be heard, all in his head...

Sitting together in a rare silence, basking in each other's gaze.

Capitano.

He so dearly missed you.

Each time he had to leave your side, your palms sliding over the fabrics that seemed melded to his body, the warmth seeping through the seams- because he simply couldn't bare for you to see his decaying flesh, the evidence of failures and losses long ago, that lay beneath. Each time you were even out of his sight his whole withered body filled with such dread, an aching insecurity unbefitting of a man of his stature.

Yet it was undeniably there, the crave to get back to his beloved. The only one who seemed to quell, steady his thoughts- others thoughts -even if just a little.

Heavy boots crunched the snow in a quick fashion, all the more eager to be in your embrace when your shared abode came into view with nothing but the front door as a barrier between you two. He made quick work of it, pushing it open and welcoming in a harrowing cold gust of wind, which, had made the lit fireplace cackle at his haste. Snickering with its embers as he made his way to you, draped across the couch, passing time as you would- with a welcoming smile on your cheeks.

Oh, the way you gazed at him. He wishes he could return it. Show you what lay beneath his armor, figurative or literal, and bare his raw emotions for you. This morbid heart of his firmly pumping for but one person alone.

His hand reached out, carefully grasping your jaw and tilting your head as he had leaned down- nudging his helmet against you, delicately pressing the cold metal to your forehead. " Hello, my dear... I trust you've been well while I was away." He had murmured, as if afraid speaking to loudly would alarm you. His voice wavered, giving way to his frayed nerves no matter how sultry or ragged his tone was.

But when you murmur how you had missed him, or even voice concern over him- how his journey had been, how he had faired, simply made him adore you all the more. For this foolish man was lovesick beyond all repair, wanting nothing more than to swaddle you with affections. He couldn't help but have times when he pondered what could have been were you to have met in khaenri'ahs golden days, where he could have freely touched you, kissed you... the thought quickly perished, however, when he realized you might have been subjected to the same fate as him if that were the case.

The couch sunk next to you under his weight, creaking softly, as his arm naturally wrapped around your middle- tugging you greedily closer and enjoying the warmth you brought to his weary bones. The fire continued cackling, keeling over and swaying with no wind's guidance and more so humor at his weakness.

Perhaps one day you'll find what was hidden beneath all of his ornate armor, the corpse of a man he once was.

His gloved hand nervously twirled a rainbow rose between his digits, worrying the poor petals. Yet his gaze wasn't on it- it was on you. A distance apart but you always stuck out to him, in the most beautiful sense, a way which always made him giddy with a mere glance.

Lyney. (Bonus!)

Scrounging his usual bravado, he had sauntered towards you, his shoes clacking softly atop the stoned roads, confident and oh so eager. A hand to his heart as he presented the rose most ardently, a flashy pose that spoke volumes of his character.

"Apologies for the long wait, dearest. Im sure you must have been terribly board with no befitting entertainment! Not to worry, though, I have quite the captivating evening planned for us."

His words were spoken with love, honey dripping off his tongue, if not for the slight teasing oozing out towards the end of it. Once you had reached for the flower, the tint of your cheeks reflecting his own had merely darkened. A gloved hand clasped yours before it could grasp the stem, carefully drawing it to his lips instead and placing a feathery peck to the back of it. Never once has his gaze left your own, reverent and clear, baring just a little of his insecurities and wants despite his flamboyant acts.

Smoothing his thumb cautiously over your knuckles, feeling all the more gratified in his actions when you laced your digits within his own, he tugged you along. The flower already in your hair, though you didn't ask how, knowing what answer you'd be met with.

It was quite clear he was happy to be back, what with the colorful tint to his cheeks and the sincere curve of his lips he couldnt mask had he tried to.

[chxrrybitez]

genshin boys reach for the same item as you (part 2)

premise. fate doesn’t always strike like lightning; sometimes, it brushes your fingers against someone else’s. when you and a certain someone meet by reaching for the same thing at the same time, you both realize you might’ve found something you didn’t know you were looking for.

features. itto, diluc, tighnari, childe, ayato, alhaitham, neuvillette, bonus heizou

part 1. read here [cyno, kaeya, albedo, kazuha, heizou, wanderer, xiao]

itto

The prize is ridiculous—nearly the size of a small child and shaped like a giant, sparkly Onikabuto with a smug little face. You spot it at a summer festival in Inazuma City, sitting on the highest shelf of a street vendor’s prize rack. It’s the sort of thing no reasonable person actually needs…which means you want it instantly.

You step up to the counter and reach for it just as a much larger hand—warm, calloused, and tanned from the sun—knocks against yours.

“Whoa-ho-ho. Hey there, festival rookie,” a voice says, full of cocky amusement. “That there’s my Onikabro. Been keepin’ my eye on him all evening, bonding from afar. You can’t just swoop in and steal a man’s destiny like that.”

You turn your head and find yourself looking up—way up—into the grinning face of a horned man with wild white hair and an energy that practically vibrates in the air.

“Your destiny is a plush beetle?” you ask dryly.

He gasps like you’ve insulted his entire bloodline. “Not just a plush beetle! That’s the Shiny Supreme Super Onikabro. And he’s been calling to me—‘Itto, my dude, win me, take me home, we’ll eat sweet sakura mochi together.’ You know, stuff like that.”

You raise a brow in challenge. “Funny, he’s been whispering the same thing to me. How about we see who actually wins him?”

His grin widens. “Ooh, I like you. You’ve got guts. Alright, lil’ challenger, we’ll make it a ring toss showdown. First to five rings takes Onikabro home. Loser…” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a playful drawl. “…has to buy the winner dango milk.”

The match draws a small crowd, mostly thanks to his running commentary about how you’re “surprisingly scrappy” and “not bad for a newbie,” which makes you throw even harder just to make him eat his words.

When you land your fifth ring before he can get his fourth, he goes completely still. “No way... No. Way.”

You take the beetle from the vendor and hug it to your chest. “Looks like you’re buying the dango milk.”

He recovers quickly, flashing a grin. “Alright, alright, you win this time, lil’ beetle champ. But next festival? I’m winning you—uh, I mean, winning against you. Yeah.”

You smirk and walk away with your prize, feeling his eyes on your back. Something tells you this won’t be the last time you cross paths…or the last time he tries to rope you into another “totally fair” competition.

diluc

You had never been to Angel’s Share before. The tavern’s glow was always something you passed by from the street—too loud, too crowded, too full of people who seem to belong. But today had been unbearable, and against your better judgment, you push open the door and step inside.

The noise of conversation presses in, the air thick with alcohol and laughter. You slump onto a stool at the bar, keeping your head low, and order the first drink that comes to mind. The glass sits mostly untouched in front of you as you stare down into it, hoping the warmth of the tavern will dull the day. It doesn’t. Instead, your vision blurs, and you realize with horror that tears threaten to spill over. You try to blink them away, pressing your lips tight. You are a stranger here. No one will care, but no one should see.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a plain wooden box of tissues sitting at the far edge of the counter, the kind kept there for careless wine spills. You reach for it quickly, desperate to hide the crack in your composure. At the same moment, a gloved hand slides it toward you.

You freeze, your fingers brushing the edge of the box just as his do, warm fabric against your skin for the briefest instant.

The bartender clears his throat quietly and lets go first. “Here,” he says, low-voiced, as if speaking too loudly might draw more attention than you want.

You mutter a thank you, pressing a tissue to your eyes. The silence that follows isn’t the oppressive kind anymore but something gentler. Still, it unsettles you how steady his gaze feels even when you refuse to meet it.

“Rough day?” he asks finally.

You give a watery laugh. “Something like that.”

He nods once, as if that answer is enough. Then, in his hesitant way, he reaches behind the counter. A moment later, a small plate of pastries appears in front of you. “On the house. It…helps sometimes.”

You look up, startled. There is no trace of teasing in his expression, only a quiet sincerity that somehow makes your throat ache more than before. And for the first time all day, you feel a little less alone.

tighnari

It’s the last packet of flowering true indigo seeds in the Grand Bazaar’s apothecary stall, destined to unfurl into delicate, spindly stems crowned with clusters of dusky pink blossoms that thrive in dappled forest shade and enrich the soil. You’ve been hunting for them for weeks. Your fingers brush the paper just as another hand reaches in.

“Ah, pardon me,” a man says, voice even but polite. “I’ve been looking for these for a specific restoration plot in Avidya Forest.”

You look up and immediately recognize his uniform, the Forest Watcher insignia at his shoulder, the green scent of rain-damp foliage that clings to him. “You’re a Forest Watcher.”

His ears twitch, and he inclines his head. “Tighnari. And yes.”

You hesitate only a second before sliding your hand back. “Then you should have them. You’re out there taking care of the forest every day, making sure it even has plants like these. I can wait.”

His hazel eyes soften in clear surprise. “That’s…rare. Most people would argue their case. Especially if they’ve been looking as long as you have, judging from the way you lit up when you saw them.”

You laugh faintly. “I just figure you’ll make better use of them. I care about nature, but you’re actually protecting it.”

He takes the packet, then sets it back on the stall counter. “Then I’ll propose something better. There’s a small grove near Gandharva Ville where these seeds will do the most good, but I can spare a section for cultivation training. If you want to help plant them, you’ll get more than you would from a garden plot here in the city.”

Your eyebrows rise. “You’d let me help?”

“Only if you listen to instructions,” he says, but the edge of his mouth tilts upward. “And if you can handle the trek. It’s humid, there are fungi everywhere, and I might quiz you on leaf identification along the way.”

You smile. “Sounds fair.”

He pays for the seeds, tucking them into a pouch at his waist. “Meet me at the eastern bridge to Gandharva Ville tomorrow morning. We’ll see if you still think so then.”

You walk away feeling oddly light, already wondering what other rare plants might grow in that grove and what it might be like to see the forest through his eyes.

childe

You’re killing time in a small tea house on the quieter side of Liyue Harbor, savoring a cup of jasmine tea and watching the harbor cranes swing against the setting sun. At the next table, a man in civilian clothes lounges with an easy posture, idly tapping his fingers against his porcelain cup. His reddish hair catches the light, and though he is dressed simply, there is a strange sharpness to the way his gaze tracks people coming and going.

You don’t have long to wonder about him before the front doors bang open. Four Treasure Hoarders storm in, weapons drawn. 

“Empty your tills and hand over the lockbox,” one snarls at the shop owner. “Now.”

The room tenses. You scan the room for something—anything—you can use to defend yourself and maybe help the poor owner. Your eyes fall on a sturdy wooden serving tray leaning against the counter.

You lunge for it at the exact same moment the redhead does. Your fingers collide, the wood trapped between you. He looks at you with a flash of surprise that quickly melts into a crooked grin.

“Oh? Didn’t think anyone else here was about to join the fun.” Before you can answer, he pushes the tray into your hands. “You take this. I’m better up close.”

The Hoarders are already moving. You swing the tray at the nearest one, smacking his weapon clean from his grip. The redhead—who clearly hadn’t been bluffing—is suddenly a blur of motion, driving an elbow into another’s stomach and sweeping his legs out from under him. One lunges at you from the side, but the redhead intercepts, twisting the attacker’s arm until he drops his blade. The last one tries to make a break for it, but a well-aimed kick from your newfound battle companion sends him sprawling.

When the dust settles, the four groan on the floor. The tea house owner peeks out from behind the counter, wide-eyed. The redhead saunters up to you, brushing a fleck of dust off his sleeve. 

“You fight well. Not bad for a first-time tag team.” His tone is light, but there’s appraisal in his eyes.

You smile faintly. “Thanks for the assist. Though I’m starting to think you didn’t actually need me.”

He chuckles. “Maybe. But it was more fun this way.”

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small calling card, sliding it across the table to you. The name reads simply: Tartaglia.

“Next time you see trouble,” he says with a wink, “save me a seat at your table.”

ayato

The garden lanterns glow warm against the evening, casting shifting shadows over the polished stones of the Inazuman noble’s estate. Guests stand in neat clusters, voices low and careful. Every laugh is measured, every smile calculated. You aren’t here for the wine or the polite conversation; you are here to listen. Rumors say negotiations between several noble houses have soured, and something is about to give.

The sharp chime of porcelain breaking cuts through the air. Several guests turn in time to see the host’s wife gasp, one hand rising to her elaborate coiffure. A delicate hairpin—a slim, antique piece inlaid with mother-of-pearl cranes—has tumbled loose, glinting as it spins across the stone. You step forward instinctively, only to realize someone else has moved at the exact same moment. Your hands reach the hairpin together. His touch is cool and precise, withdrawing just enough to let you grasp it first.

But the instant your fingers close around it, you feel something wrong: a sliver of metal beneath the decorative head, sharper than it should be. It is a narrow blade, spring-loaded into place, with the faintest trace of an oily sheen along its edge. Not a hairpin—a weapon.

Your eyes flick to the man beside you. His expression is unreadable, but the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth suggests amusement, or perhaps warning. Without a word, he extends his hand. You hesitate before placing the hairpin into his palm. His fingers close over it smoothly, concealing the dangerous edge from view.

“I’ll see it returned to the lady,” he says in a voice pitched but carrying the weight of one accustomed to obedience. Then, with a polite bow, he slips back toward the host’s wife.

You expect him to hand it over immediately. Instead, you notice, just barely, that he palms the hairpin into the wide sleeve of his kimono before producing a different, harmless ornament from somewhere else and presenting that to her instead. Her relieved smile suggests she has no idea.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of cautious conversation, but when you glance toward him again, he is gone. It isn’t until you are leaving that you find him waiting at the outer gate, hands folded loosely behind his back.

“I suspect,” he says lightly, “that someone as observant as you won’t be able to resist wondering why the host’s wife was wearing an assassin’s blade in her hair.”

You open your mouth, but he steps closer, lowering his voice until only you can hear. 

“If you’d like an answer,” he says, “come to the Kamisato estate tomorrow at noon. If not…” He steps back, the faintest ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Then I’ll assume our paths will simply cross again…in less favorable circumstances.”

And with that, he turns and vanishes into the night, leaving you with a choice and the unsettling certainty that you’ve already made it.

alhaitham

You slip quietly through the towering shelves of the House of Daena, hand trailing a row of paper spines with a purpose not entirely scholarly; today, you weren’t hunting knowledge but a book thick enough to press a handful of blossoms you’d collected earlier on your morning walk. Nothing fancy—just a practical volume you could carry back to your desk without attracting attention. At last, you spot it. A slender, unassuming book, tucked neatly among tomes of far heavier consequence. Your fingers graze the spine just as another hand closes over it from the other side. You glance sideways. 

Tall. Sharp eyes. Slate-green hair catching the light from the library’s stained-glass windows. His Akademiya uniform is immaculate, and something about his composed presence makes him stand out even here. 

For one fleeting moment, your brain rehearses the polite, academic response: Oh, you can have it. You hadn’t needed this book specifically, after all. But then the stranger tilts his head, assessing you with the faintly dismissive air of a scribe cataloguing a particularly unremarkable footnote, and states, “I’ll be needing that.”

Any civilized instinct you had vanishes. You tighten your grip on the spine. “I got here first.”

A flicker of surprise crosses his face, almost imperceptible. The silence stretches, charged, his eyes locking with yours in a quiet battle of wills until, at last, you relent with a huff. 

“Fine, take it. See if I care.”

He slips the book free with disarming ease. “Wise choice,” he murmurs, not smug so much as matter-of-fact.

You’d just managed to convince yourself to brush it off and search for another suitable book when his gaze snags on the flowers peeking from your satchel. One blossom slips loose, tumbling soundlessly to the floor. His brow creases. 

“Botanical specimens. You intended to compare them against the taxonomy in this volume?”

You stoop quickly, plucking the flower back into your palm. “Not exactly.” Then, because honesty had always been your downfall: “I was going to press them with it.”

The effect of your admission is immediate. His composure cracks for a single, glorious second, eyes widening, mouth parting as though you had announced an intent to burn the Akademiya’s archives for kindling. Shock, disbelief, and something that might even be personal offense wage battle across his face.

“You…were going to use an Akademiya manuscript as a botanical press?” His voice, usually so steady, pitches upward. “Do you even realize—”  He cuts himself off, drawing in a slow breath as though the act of restraint costs him dearly.

The corner of your mouth twitches. “What? It’s heavy. Flat. Reliable.”

He blinks at you like he’s visibly recalibrating his entire worldview. For someone so famously composed, the disbelief written across his features is nothing short of priceless, and for reasons he probably doesn’t care to examine, he’s just a little intrigued.

neuvillette

It rains the way only Fontaine can: fine mist one moment, sudden downpour the next, the whole city glistening as if it has been dipped in glass. You are not sure why the weather turns so suddenly; the sky was clear just an hour ago.

You duck into a small, book-lined shop, shaking water from your coat. The place smells faintly of ink and salt air, and at the very back, tucked high on a shelf, is exactly what you are looking for: a rare, illustrated compilation of Fontaine’s aquatic folklore. You reach up just as another hand—graceful, long-fingered, and gloved—extends from beside you. Your eyes follow the sleeve of his dark coat up to a tall man with silver hair that catches the lamplight like rainwater. His gaze lowers to you, unreadable but courteous.

“Ah,” he says softly, as if the word is an exhale. “It seems we have similar tastes.”

“Looks like it,” you reply, fingers still touching the book’s spine. “First come, first served?”

His lips curve in the faintest ghost of a smile. “Ordinarily, perhaps. But this particular volume is not for casual reading.”

You tilt your head. “You think I’m a casual reader?”

“Only that most people,” he says with deliberate slowness, “don’t seek out myths of the sea unless they’re…invested.” His eyes flick toward the rain-smeared window. “Or, unless they understand the weight of what’s in them.”

Without thinking, you remark, “Sometimes the rain feels like it’s crying for you.” It isn’t something you mean to speak aloud—just a passing thought you’ve had on days like this, when the downpour seemed almost sentient.

His gaze widens, the faintest ripple of surprise breaking through his composure.

You let go of the book, curiosity outweighing your claim. “Did I get it wrong?”

“...No,” he says at last, his voice quieter now. “It’s not often I hear someone phrase it that way.”

When you step back, he takes the volume, but after a moment’s thought, opens it to a page adorned with a watercolor of a great dragon weeping over an endless ocean.

“This one,” he says quietly, as if speaking of something personal, “tells of a guardian who watched over the waters for centuries, unseen and unthanked. The people forgot his name. They say when he mourned, the skies mourned with him, and the rain fell until his sorrow eased.”

A soft, almost imperceptible note of sadness lingers in his voice. Outside, the rain continues, steady and unrelenting.

He glances at you. “If you’re willing to walk with me to the Court when the weather calms, we can read the rest together. I believe the discussion will be enlightening.”

Something tells you this won’t be a quick exchange of trivia over tea. It will be the kind of conversation that stays with you, the kind that might explain, one day, why the rain sometimes feels like it is falling for someone.

heizou (bonus version)

The busy chatter of Ritou’s morning market fades beneath the thud of something hitting the cobblestones. A cream paper envelope sealed in red wax skids to a halt between your boots. You bend at the same time as a stranger on your right, nearly knocking foreheads. He catches himself with a grin, quick as a fox.

“After you,” he says, though his gaze is already dissecting the envelope.

You pick it up, turning it in your hands. Thick paper, expensive; no address, no name, just an embossed Windwheel emblem in one corner.

“Not Inazuman,” you murmur.

“Foreign import,” he agrees instantly. “Probably Mondstadt. But see the faint smudge of salt on the wax? It’s been carried by sea recently.”

You nod. “And the faint citrus scent means it spent some time in a crate with fruit, probably to mask whatever else was in the shipment. Which suggests…”

“The sender wanted it to pass customs without inspection,” he finishes, his brows rising slightly.

The merchant who had dropped it is now halfway down the pier, walking with a subtle limp.

“Right shoe sole is worn more than the left,” you note aloud, “and the knees of his trousers are dusty. Either he kneels a lot, or—”

“—he’s been prying open crates,” your new associate supplies. “The ink on his fingers wasn’t from bookkeeping, then.”

You hand him the envelope, but instead of pocketing it, he tilts his head at you. “You’re good at this.”

“And you’re wasting time,” you return, already stepping toward the pier.

His grin widens as he follows. “What’s your name, partner?”

You don't answer—partly because you aren’t sure why you're getting involved, and partly because you enjoy the spark of curiosity that flickers in his eyes when you keep him guessing.

[chxrrybitez]

[chxrrybitez]

[chxrrybitez]

↳ ❝ [Calling them husband while you're on a date] ¡! ❞

pt.1, pt.2, pt.3.

synopsis; the title.

warnings; suggestive (?)

contains; freminiet, wriothesley, lyney, kinich, capitano, pantalone, scaramouche (not wanderer).

[chxrrybitez]

hello?? omg i really enjoyed your genshin headcanons (one with nicknames and "husbands") and i thought you are someone with like tons of them and an old account but these are NEW??? you are so cool omg

TYSM!! I'm glad you enjoyed them, I'm still getting used to the app I use lol

[chxrrybitez]

feel like zoey would post shit like this

[chxrrybitez]

I introduce you... Matching! <3

Original artists: @fool_rith and @Ickyeddie (twt/x)

[chxrrybitez]

↳ ❝ [Calling them husband while you're on a date] ¡! ❞

synopsis: the title.

warnings: none.

pt.1, pt.2, pt.3.

contains; gaming, itto, ayato, thoma, kazuha, heizou, gorou, cyno, tighnari, wanderer, alhaitham, kaveh.

a/n: enjoy :D (kinda pisses me off that it's uneven but oh well)

[chxrrybitez]

“𝐎𝐧𝐞, 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.”

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: geto x fem!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: you are geto’s cute girlfriend, and therefore, he’ll do anything to make sure you get whatever you want, no matter what it is.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: sfw/fluff || geto threatens concession stand workers with curses.

➙ 𝐚/𝐧: this is so silly & cute to me!

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

Geto was a different man. The cult leader’s outrageous beliefs and interesting habits were drastically different compared to his old personality — the personality belonging to the Geto you grew up with. The Geto you fell in love with.

Sometimes, you even found yourself wondering why you never failed to stand by his side. Perhaps, it was because some things about him stayed the same.

Such as the fact that he’d do anything for you.

Just like he did today.

You and Geto walked side by side through the big and exciting amusement park, the sunset resembling a beautiful work of art with the orange and pink colors it created across the sky. Funky music played gently in the background, drowned out only by the sound of chatter and excited screams from people riding on the nearby roller coasters you just hopped off yourself.

Suddenly, you caught a whiff of something sweet. The tantalizing aroma made you whip your head to the side, and there it was.

A funnel cake concession stand.

Although the smell nearly drove you crazy, you didn’t say a word, nor did you stop walking. You only stared at the swirly dessert, dusted with powdered sugar, being given to grinning customers in line.

Having one would have been the perfect way to end your day.

Perhaps, you would have hopped in line, but just as quickly as your excitement was ignited, it was extinguished, as the worker handing out the funnel cakes suddenly pulled out a “SOLD OUT” sign.

“See something you’d like?” Geto suddenly asked, catching your attention.

“Huh?” You mumbled, snapping out of your daze. “Oh, no. It’s nothing.”

Geto suddenly came to a halt.

“Why’d you stop? What’s wrong?” Coming to a stop yourself, you tried to tug on Geto’s hand, urging him to keep walking.

Instead, he looked around at the nearby concession stands and game booths, furrowing his brows as he tried to discover which one you were staring at.

The funnel cake one, of course. You adored sweets like that.

“You wanted a funnel cake, right?” Looking back at you, he blinked plainly.

“I did, but they’re sold out.” As you spoke, a frown appeared across your face, and that was enough to make Geto turn right around.

“Hey, what are you doing?” You paused, following him. “They don’t have any left.”

“Of course they do, love.” The dark-haired man flashed a smile of false innocence your way.

Before you could ask him what exactly he meant, he was already approaching the red and yellow stand, that fake smile of his never leaving his face. Not once.

“Excuse me,” he said kindly, grabbing the attention of a male who was chatting with his coworker, who had a funnel cake of her own.

“What is it? We’re closed,” the guy said, frowning at Geto with his thick, dark eyebrows.

“I see that, and I apologize,” Geto tilted his head a bit. “It’s just that my girlfriend would really like a funnel cake. Is it possible for you to make one more?”

The worker scoffed. After working for hours upon hours in the hot sun, surrounded by enough screaming to drive him wild, he was simply tired of being nice. “Buddy, the sign says that we’re sold out. Sold out means that we don’t have any left. Come back tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Let’s go, Geto,” once again, you tried to tug on his hand, but he wouldn’t budge. He simply ignored you.

“I know you’re exhausted, sir, and you’re probably ready to go home and get some peace and quiet, but I know you aren’t sold out just yet. You pull the sign out once there is only enough batter to make about two or three more funnel cakes because you and your coworkers intend to eat the last of them yourselves.” Geto’s smile slowly grew wider. “I’m asking you kindly to give her one.”

The other worker — who ate her funnel cake silently as she observed the interaction — suddenly chuckled, nearly coughing up her funnel cake as she did so.

“Something funny?” Geto asked plainly.

“Well, yeah,” she smirked amusingly, trying to dust powdered sugar out of her blonde side ponytail, which coated her hair during her small laughing fit. “She’s not a child. I think she’ll be okay if she doesn’t get a damn funnel cake.”

“Yeah,” the male worker looked you up and down. “Grow up, alright? No means no, now get lost.”

That was when Geto sighed.

And you knew exactly what that sigh meant, which was why it absolutely didn’t surprise you when two monstrous curses appeared at Geto’s side. They went completely unseen by anyone who wasn’t you, Geto, and the two frightened workers.

“You pathetic non-sorcerers can only see curses when your life is in danger, and you’re about to die horrifically, so I’ve heard,” Geto spoke calmly. “Now, I will ask you one last time. Will you please make my girlfriend a funnel cake?”

“L-Lisa,” the male worker — whose legs trembled violently, along with his voice, — called out to his coworker. “Go turn the fucking fryer back on. Hurry up!”

The girl scurried off, dropping her own funnel cake in the process.

“Any…Any toppings?” The terrified man gulped. “We h-have strawberries, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar, cara-”

Geto suddenly put his hand up, and the man instantly shut his mouth.

Looking down at you with a smile, Geto asked, “what toppings would you like, sweetheart?”

“Hm,” looking at the worker, you grinned politely. “I’ll take powdered sugar on the funnel cake itself, but can I get strawberries and chocolate syrup in a separate cup, please?”

Instantly, the sweaty man turned around and shouted, “she said she wants powdered sugar on the funnel cake, but the strawberries and chocolate syrup in a separate cup! You got that?! And don’t put them in a goddamn cup together, but two separate cups!”

The two curses hovered around you protectively. Soon enough, Lisa returned with a beautiful funnel cake, along with all of your desired toppings, prepared exactly how you wanted it. The man handed you plenty of napkins and a fork.

“Thank you,” you beamed. “It looks great!”

“Now,” smiling your way, Geto questioned you rather casually. “Would you like me to kill them for you?”

You glanced between the curses, the funnel cake, and the workers, who both looked like they would die from the horrific anticipation alone.

“No,” you said. “It’s fine. I’m not upset or anything.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind. I’d prefer to do it, in fact.”

“I’m very happy, Geto, so there’s no need. It looks amazing!”

“Alright,” Geto squeezed your hand for a moment, and his curses vanished, appearing to melt into the ground. Geto pulled out his wallet.

“And how much for the funnel cake?”

The man simply blinked with utter confusion.

“Well, I’m going to pay you, of course,” Geto spoke again, as if it was totally obvious that a man who was willing to introduce them to a terrorizing, premature death would be willing to pay for his meal.

“Ten…Ten dollars,” The worker nervously adjusted his hat.

Handing him the money, along with a tip, the two of you politely thanked the traumatized employees.

Geto grinned happily as he watched you take your first bite out of the messy, delicious funnel cake, and when you hummed and smiled, his heart melted.

“Wanna try some?” You broke off a piece, holding it up to Geto, who bit into it curiously.

“It’s delicious. Looks like they even made some fresh batter for you. How kind of them,” Geto said.

You playfully rolled your eyes. Placing his fingers underneath your chin, Geto gently turned your head towards him. He kissed your sweet lips and smiled softly at the taste of powdered sugar upon them.

Soon after you both pulled away, you and your lover continued to make your way through the bustling amusement park, and you devoured what was, perhaps, the best funnel cake you had ever tasted.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

[chxrrybitez]

doodles from last night, happy super late father's day ig

[chxrrybitez]