#but you're snezhnayan

[butterplss]

“He’s the best big brother ever!”

[evoblue]

@abyssalriptide / continued from here

“H-huh?!” To her credit, she manages to catch the divine object in her cupped hands without fumbling it. Really? His vision? This guy is insane… though she has to admit, as far as insurance, she can’t think of anything better he could possibly offer her.

She chooses to disregard the girlie comment and takes a moment to examine the sparkling hydro vision ; the style of it is unmistakably Snezhnayan. Is that where this guy’s from? She’s perhaps right in being so wary of him after all.

“Fair enough,” she finally replies, fastening the vision to her waist and taking care to conceal it beneath the hem of her jacket. While the outlander somehow found it in himself to be arrogantly careless, she can’t afford to be caught with it on display.

Begrudgingly, she follows after him. Just because she’s planning on upholding her end of the bargain doesn’t mean she has to be wholly enthusiastic about it. Also, is the girlie nickname truly necessary? Ugh…

She jogs up to catch to him ; curse his long strides. “Fine, fine. Clearly, you’re in a hurry. There’s a good street stand near the Komore Tea House ; they might be small, but they make the best ramen around. I’ll take you there.”

[crypticallylies]

Some color swatches of my little genshin oc, Aerid. It’s not fully accurate anymore, but most of it still checks out.

he’s ~10, and a Little Bit Fucked Up. Travels Teyvat like a BOSS. male child model hoyoverse please electro/polearm

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, and border-line shitpost energy.

It is common knowledge that Lord Scaramouche, Sixth Harbinger of the Snezhnayan Fatui, the nationally acclaimed and universally feared Balladeer, does not like to share his toys.

The timeline of your relationship should be proof enough of that -courted after only a handful of chance encounters during his time in your humble village, married as quickly as he could find an alter and an officiant willing to misinterpret your frantic sobbing as an 'I do', hastily locked away in an estate populated solely by masked guards and servants under strict instruction not to speak a word to you - but, if there was a soul in Teyvat who dared to ask for more evidence, you would happily point them towards the smoldering remains the book that you'd been too caught up in to keep track of one of his frequent one-sided rants, the patch of sand and stone that had once been the flower garden you lavished with all of the love and attention you'd withheld from him. He's as savage as he is predictable. His precious things, from his vast collection of porcelain dolls to the ancient sword that he keeps hidden in a velvet-lined box in his study, are safely stowed away, while yours are swiftly and mercilessly destroyed.

If there's something you'd like to keep, it has to be bargained for. You'll spend weeks singing his praises and cuddling up to his side, cooking all his favorite meals by hand (much to the distress of his small legion of private chefs) and letting him speak at length about the bloody, visceral vengeance he plans to rain down upon his countless enemies. It's only when you have him content and assured of your love for him that you pounce.

His lips purse, eyes narrowing. "No."

"Please, my lord." You lean forward, clasping your hands over your lap. "Won't you at least try to consider it?"

"Absolutely not." His tone is surprisingly haughty, especially considering his current position; head resting on your thighs, gaze pointed at some indistinguishable point on the far wall as you rake your fingers through his hair. "You expect me to strain my staff and myself just so you can... what? Visit your sister for a few boring days?"

"Her son is turning five, and she just had her first daughter. I thought it might be nice to see how she's doing and lend her a hand."

He scoffs. "You expect me to be so patient with you and yet, here you are, practically begging me to let you run off to the countryside just to see another man."

"Surely, you aren't denying my request because you're jealous of an infant."

"No. Whatever. Be quiet." If you didn't know better, you would think he's pouting. "My answer hasn't changed. I can't afford to spare that much thought on such a petty errand, not with the Tsaritsa as demanding as she is."

You hum, letting your head lull to the side. "You know," A weighted pause, your nails scraping against his scalp. "Her home isn't as... accommodating as yours. Her only spare room was converted into a nursery some years back, so we'd have to stay at an inn."

His lips quirk downward, unimpressed. "And?"

"And, there's only one in my village. It's quite a meager thing, too. Even this time of year, there's only going to be a few rooms available." Your touch lingers near the nape of his neck. "I know I usually insist on separate bedrooms, but given the circumstances, there's a good chance neither of us will be able to be so selfish."

There was a beat of silence, then another. You think, for a moment, that Scaramouche might be holding his breath, but you quickly remember that he doesn't breathe at all.

Finally, he responds. "A few days would make for a pathetic visit. Tell her that we'll be staying for a month."

As savage as he is predictable. That's all you could expect from your husband, wasn't it?

You lean down, pressing a fleeting kiss into his temple. "As you wish, my lord."

[fatuismooches]

Your fluff writing is soo good! Thank you so much for making this blog.

Can I request headcanons for Dotorre, Pantalone, and Capitano with a reader who's not used to the cold? I just moved from my extremely warm country to a really cold place, and am sniffling, shivering, and miserable 🥲🥲 If only there's someone to cover me in a boyfriend jacket and hold hands with something to keep me warm 😔😔

Dottore once went through the same thing, moving from Sumeru to Snezhnaya definitely affected him in the beginning. His younger self grumbled throughout his experiments as he was bogged down with the heavy winter coat (that Pierro so generously provided) while the native Snezhnayans felt pity for him, but dared not to look at him with that feeling. It was really a hindrance in the beginning, not even gloves could keep his fingers from stiffening. A big disappointment since he needed steady hands. However, a couple of centuries and body modifications later, make it so the cold is nothing special to him or his segments. It really doesn’t affect them much anymore.

So for once, Dottore can actually understand what you’re feeling. And even more surprisingly he can handle the situation in a relatively normal way! You look kind of ridiculous with the amount of layers he's made you wear, but he insists that this method will work. You'll build up resistance eventually! But you're probably not satisfied with this turn of events (you wanted cuddles, didn't you?) so just head on over to his segments. As long as they're not busy, feel free to take their artificially heated-up hands and move them around your body. It will feel very nice. Lucky you, who needs expensive heaters when you have the segments! But honestly, no matter how cold you are, don't give too much attention to them and neglect the original Dottore! Would he turn off the lab's heating and assign tasks to the segments to make you crawl back to him begging for warmth? Well, that's up to you.

Pantalone will not hear of your shivering and sniffling, no, not on his watch. What did you expect, that he'd let his beloved suffer like this when he has all the remedies at his fingertips? There's not much to say really. Thick, cozy blankets. A delicious hot beverage of your choice and hearty soup by the fireplace. Only the finest heaters in Teyvat. Warm, comfortable clothing. A seat on his lap if you prefer rather than the bed. The amount of things he does for you may have you feeling a little too hot, not just from the number of heat sources but his willingness to do all these things for you. (But please don't overheat.) He won't stop until your hands stop being two blocks of ice. And yes, you can steal his coat if you so desire. He has a lot more, don't worry about it. Hell, steal two or three if you like... one to wear, one to place over you, and one to... hold? Doesn't matter, Pantalone encourages it. And although he doesn't like seeing you cold, of course, he thinks you're just far too cute when you give him the puppy eyes for much-needed warmth and attention.

A part of it also stems from how many days and nights he spent cold and alone as a child, with nothing and no one to keep him warm. Often becoming sick from the conditions. So he knows exactly how it feels to be trembling and miserable. Which is why he will never let you suffer similarly, Pantalone cares for you far too much for you to ever endure anything related to that. He will make sure to keep your hands warm, as long as you keep his heart warm too.

Capitano feels quite glum, even though you can't exactly see that from his expression, you manage to read his general body language quite well, not to mention the stare you get when you sniffle for even a second. He himself doesn't feel the cold much either, being the very strong man he is. But Capitano wants to help you, he really does - he has led troops through all kinds of weather, including the biting cold - so he is aware of methods used to retain as much warmth as possible. So yes, he will make sure your closet has much warm clothing, although he has to awkwardly clear his throat when asking for your sizes. He will get confused as to why you steal his massively oversized clothing instead. He will make sure that soup is nutritious enough to keep your strength up (even though you're not a soldier...) Of course, the bed will be your cozy warm haven, the blankets are very nice and big considering how tall Capitano is.

Considering how Capitano isn't all that versed in things like this or taking care of people, you would thank him for all he's done for you. Except that he's forgotten one thing, you'd tease. Externally he looks the same as always. Internally he wonders if he's messed up and if he's upset you. Was he wrong to apply the logic of being a captain to his relationship with you? No, it's merely the fact that he has yet to cuddle you. Oh. That's all? But wouldn't all these blankets and sheets be better at warming you, your husband questions? Nope, you'd shush him before making yourself right at home and his lap. You are very strange, Capitano thinks.

Also just imagine them with their Harbinger coats, and you're inside of it! Stealing the warmth! Your head popping out as they give you kisses! <3

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ Honey and Violetgrass

Pantalone with an innocent reader, who is an adventurer but strong in their own regard. Still gets spoiled by him. 

Tw: none, pure silly fluff. 

The richest man of Teyvat requires no introduction. He is a man of affluent taste, be it the most exquisite fashion to most daily commodities - his gaze sojourns only on the highest of qualities. He is the 9th of the Fatui Harbingers, after all, hence being the face of business and the Snezhnayan economy itself. Therefore, it is natural for the public to assume that his inclination in people is as wealthy as his spacious manor, correct? He is young, he is powerful and his looks are as influential as his status. If The Regrator has a significant other, surely they must be a dream partner, basked in expensive perfumes and working as a high-class model? 

So imagine the people’s bewilderment when Pantalone’s darling, who casually bursts into his office, is some adventurer…? A person of common status, with bruises adorning their knuckles from climbing and fighting the wildlife. And yet the moment you waltz into his office, whatever important business matter was at hand is now completely forgotten by the Harbinger. In fact, Pantalone’s whole exhibition of demeanor switches in an instant. 

“Oh, honey bunny! My little gem, you're finally back!” - Pantalone stood up from his desk, completely disregarding his Fatui subordinates who remained seated. With a concerned expression, he rushed to you and cupped your cheeks. “How was your expedition? You’re back later than usual… I was worried about you.” 

“Sorry! Just had a little mishap, but I am back.” - you replied with the brightest of smiles, your face beaming despite the scratches and messy hair locks. “Ah, I’m sorry, Pantalone. Did I interrupt a business meeting?” 

The Regrator froze and ceased his check-up. He remembered that some of his business associates were still in the office. He glanced at them, then glanced back at you. 

“Oh, sweetie, nonsense!” - The Harbinger let out a haughty laugh and clasped his hands together. All it took was a single stern look towards his subordinates to convey: ‘This meeting is over. Leave.’ 

The poor associates were left to their confusion, as they were silently dismissed. Now all alone in his office, your dear Harbinger helped you brush the dust of your clothes, gently sliding your coat out of your smaller form. “Where were you anyway, dear?”   

“So I was on my way to find something… But I stumbled upon a Pyro Abyss mage!” 

“Oh!” - Pantalone’s face contorted into concern behind his glasses.

“But don’t worry, because the abyss mage was stuck on a rock in the middle of a lake. They couldn’t attack me, so instead I helped the abyss mage cross the lake without drowning.” 

“Oh,” - Now the man smiled, relieved at your kind gesture towards the most boorish creatures. 

“But the abyss mage got so scared when I carried him out of the lake that a massive Lawachurl heard us and came to attack!” 

“Oh!” - that look of panic was back. 

“Turns out there was a small camp of hilichurls nearby… So I tried to convince them I meant no harm. I guess they saw what I did, and didn’t attack me.” 

“Oh…” 

“Instead I asked them to take me to the top of a cliff and help me gather some local herbs! And they surprisingly understood because that’s what we did!” 

Silence. In the past few minutes that you conveyed your story, the 9th’s face changed into an array of emotional rollercoasters. The man adjusted his glasses, and wrapped his arms around you: 

“Dear, my honey, my little heart. You know I love you but please don’t make me have a heart attack…! You must exercise caution when you’re out there exploring the wild. And on high terrain cliffs?! Just what was so important that you had to ask some… brutish hilichurls to help you?” 

You smiled at him - that bright and sunny little smile that erased any of his trouble and melted the Harbinger’s heart. You pulled out of his warm embrace, reaching somewhere in your bag to bring something carefully wrapped in cloth. You held it close and unwrapped it before Pantalone. 

“Fresh Violetgrass, Pantalone. I know they are your favorite, but you hate store-bought ones. They’re hard to acquire since they only grow on high-rise cliffs in Jueyun Karst… So it took me a while to hike and find them. Sorry to make you wait.” 

You clarified delicately, standing there with your vibrant batch of Violentgrass, as if afraid that Pantalone might scold you for such a reckless expedition. But how could he be mad at you? How could he do anything but melt and be flustered at your adorable disposition? His little dear, so bravely hiking all the way to Liyue just to get his favorite flora as a gift? 

“O-oh, dear my. All this, just to bring it to me?” - The Regrator gasped, his arms instantly reaching to embrace you as if you were his favorite plush, smothering you with tight squeezes. “My honey bunny, you shouldn’t! These flowers look precious in full bloom; as precious as you.” 

“Ah! Pantalone, you’ll squish me… And the flowers.”  

Thus, the lovely Violetgrass flowers were now rightfully placed in a vase back home. Their purple petals emit a fragrant aroma throughout the bedroom where you and Pantalone now rest. That’s how your relationship with The Regrator was; the richest man of Teyvat who could easily buy the entire world with a single glance, was actually the one swooning over your innocent yet loving gestures. Maybe it was your sincerity, or perhaps your adventurous nature. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop the Harbinger from sitting all day and daydreaming of your experienced arms carrying him bridal style. Even if he was technically taller than you, you possessed some lovely muscles from your years of adventuring. And they certainly enticed him further. 

Most amusingly, you’d know he’s having those silly little thoughts whenever he sat silently with an endearing grin on his face. You stepped out of the bathroom, refreshed and dressed in comfortable loungewear. So you decided to ask him: “Hm? What’re you thinking about?”

“Nothing important, my dear.” - he chuckled, beckoning you to hop into bed with him for some well-earned cuddles. “Just thinking about how your arms would look gorgeous while carrying me. And I’ll instead spoil you with anything you want in the world as a reward.” 

You bury yourself against his lean chest and mumble with a smile “You want me to carry you like a princess?” 

“Anyway you deem fit - and you’ll have me at your feet, my sweet. Say, how should I reward you for your gift today? Should we go on a shopping spree? I’ll commission the best tailors of Snezhnaya to sew all the garments you dream of. Oh, or perhaps I should spoil you with newly bought cosmetics?” 

Pantalone mused to himself, all while caressing your hair. You shook your head: “No, no. You know I don’t like when you spoil me too much. I feel guilty when you spend money on me. Besides, I’ve got everything I want.”

“Don’t be too humble, my dear. If you asked me to bathe you in a honeyed milk bath and drape you with silk, you know I’d drop every Mora to do so in an instance.” - he kissed the top of your head and whispered in your ear. “Unless you wish me to bathe with you in such sweet waters, instead.” 

Pantalone expected a reaction, but instead, you quickly asked him: “Put your glasses away for a moment, please.” 

He obliged, “...Yes? -Ah!” 

Your response was slapping him with a pillow across his face. At least you were considerate with his glasses. 

“Preposterous. Can't a man feel proud at the prospect of spoiling his beloved with luxuries?”

“Pantaloons, I warn you.” - you said threateningly, though your act of bravery looked more endearing as you clutched the pillows for another attack. 

Pantalone furrowed his eyebrow “Don't start me with those nicknames, honey.”

You grinned “... Pantyhose.”

“Dear.”

“Mr… Panties.”

“That's it, you come here!” 

Not heeding his warning, the man enveloped you in ticklish embraces so you wouldn't escape. Your giggles of help and mercy were left unheard as you were pinned to the soft batch of pillows. His lips sought your own to silence those ridiculous nicknames that kept testing his patience. And undoubtedly, your kisses tasted sweeter than honey and violetgrass. 

A small illustration for this fic is here! I don't know how else to portray 'reader' without it looking awkward, so instead I drew the Traveler in it. Hope no one minds!

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Childe isn't from Fontaine. unlike some of his coworkers, he was born and raised in Snezhnaya, his homeland, and would proudly serve it until his death. because of this, he's rather nonplussed about the prophecy in Fontaine- in the absolute worst-case scenario, he's an excellent swimmer, and will be able to get to safety with no fear of being dissolved, unlike the people of the Nation of Justice. so the Eleventh Harbinger doesn't pay much thought to all the rumors he keeps hearing during his trip to the Court- not that he could if he wanted to, though, with distant whale song and Foul Legacy's quiet growls filling his head at all times. it gives Childe horrible headaches, enough to not care about an entire city being flooded. the people of Fontaine are surrounded by water, they can take care of themselves, he reasons, and ignores his surroundings.

but then he meets you, and his whole world gets flipped upside down.

if Childe, being Snezhnayan, embodies ice and snow, then you certainly embody water and rain. you meet him when you're both out for a hot drink in the morning, recommending your favorite blend of tea to him, and the Harbinger is immediately enamored with your kindness and go-with-the-flow demeanor, so he immediately takes the opportunity when you extend a hand and ask to show him around the Court. it winds up being the most fun Childe, and Foul Legacy, by extension, have had in months, running around the grand city with you and trying various different foods and treats, and at the end you both promise to meet again, leaving Childe with a sappy smile on his face. Foul Legacy adores you, chittering and chirping with delight inside Childe's mind, and Childe can't even bring himself to tell his Abyssal half to be quiet because he likes you, too.

and as you promised, you continue to meet day after day, your tour extending outside of the Court and to the rest of Fontaine to spend more time together. Childe often drags you into more dangerous situations, always protecting you and emerging with rain in his hair and a triumphant smile on his face, which only grows wider when you praise him. and when he trusts you enough, he introduces you to Foul Legacy, and oh, how the moth-like monster loves you. he sweeps you into his arms and stares adoringly into your eyes, nuzzling his forehead against yours with a trill- that's how half of your walks with Childe become walks with Foul Legacy.

sometimes Childe wishes he'd never met you, wishes that your paths had never crossed. but then he despairs, knowing that his world would have been so much darker without the time you had together. and yet... perhaps, if you never met, he and Foul Legacy would not have to endure heartbreak. they wouldn't have had to watch, Childe screaming from inside their shared body as Foul Legacy howled and grasped for you, your body slipping through his claws and disintegrating into a curious pool of starry water you had come across by chance.

and the Fontaine prophecy claimed another life.

[phantombstone]

Begging for dottore x reader that loves dottore's scent and literally always wants to hug him to smell it but dottore finds out abt that Obsession :>

AMBROSIAL | DOTTORE X READER

His perfume is captivating, and you can't help but want to hug him just to fill your nostrils with it. At first he doesn't get it, but once he does...

Genre: Fluff.

TW: Spoilers of the character of Dottore (his real name).

WC: 498.

Hi Anon, thank you for you request! Hope you like it :).

Hugging him, or physically interacting with him in any way was pure bliss.

The fragrance he used alone was really good, but it was even better when he put it on and it melted with his natural scent.

You loved it and when he was around - with his perfume on him - you were always a little more affectionate.

"Are you done?", he said, huffing, as you hugged him from behind, your cheek and ear pressed against his back. If you listened carefully enough, you could hear his heartbeat.

He was standing, half bent on a table, frozen in place - the first part of his reaction to your affection. Most of the times, once the surprise was metabolized, he even reciprocated your hugs or kisses, or anything else.

"Not yet", you responded, and he huffed again.

"I'm working and you're interrupting me".

"I'm also working".

"You're at work, but you're not working. There's a difference".

You ignored him and hugged him a little bit stronger. With every little move he made, you could feel your nostrils being filled with his scent. You took a deep breath and secretly smiled, hiding the expression he already couldn't see between his shoulder blades.

"I'm cold", you tried, a sly idea popping in your mind.

"Run and warm up". Mission half failed.

"I'm too cold for that. Could you borrow me your coat?".

He turned partially towards you with a cocked eyebrow, his mask off. His perfume came back and met with your senses again.

"Really?", he said, pointing with his eyes at the coat you were already wearing. Maybe it wasn't really a smart idea.

"Yeah". You didn't want to give up at all.

"Sure".

You broke away from the hug for a second and slid under his arm, then wrapped your arms back around his torso, under the warm fur of his coat, resting your head on his chest. If he didn't want to indulge you, you would still obtain what you wanted.

He gave in and hugged you back, resting his left arm on your shoulders. A shiver of pleasure ran down your spine as you smelled his scent again, even stronger in the neck area.

"You've been doing this for a while, do you like sniffing me so much?". You could feel a slight tip of cockiness in his inquisitive tone.

"Me? Nah, not at all", you visibly lied. There wasn't even point in trying to cover your mania.

"Not at all", he repeated slowly, the curve of his lips curled into a smirk.

He took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, over the coat you were already wearing. It smelled of him, and you were internally ecstatic.

"Happy?".

"Yes".

"Good. Now let me finish what I started".

"I need another hug".

He rolled his crimson eyes and shook his head in disapproval, his blue locks dancing in the cold atmosphere of the Snezhnayan building, but fulfilled your request anyway.

"Five minutes, then back to work".

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[edgeray]

Vixen

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

A/N: Last Arlecchino post before I go back to classes. 😿This is a hybrid au! blurb from my poll, and it's likely I won't make a oneshot out of this idea. It's still a really cute concept, so maybe I'll make another blurb of this concept or another hybrid au! idea. concept. Shoutout to @megistusdiary for this adorable idea of Artic Fox Arlecchino! (Love you CEO of Arlecchino!) For those of you guys that weren't entirely... pleased with my 'Arlecchino is not a person' blurb I offer this piece in favor of having my life spared. Content Warning: Pretty OOC for Arlecchino, mentioned but not graphic injury, 2.2k words

Arlecchino is as beautiful as snow.

It's the first thing you've noticed when your eyes laid upon the hybrid Harbinger. Beneath the silky snow-white fur and graceful, cordial appearance, you recognize that a predator laid underneath her exterior; a feral fox ready to lash at anything that so much as touches what was deemed hers. You don't let her sleek, fluffy coat distract you from her red-crossed eyes or her black claws.

Still, it is futile to deny her beauty.

You recall your first meeting with her in Snezhnaya, trudging through its frosty forests in nearly knee-deep snow. You don't quite remember what your purpose for being there was, though you ventured out to the wilderness behind your home often with no real purpose. Snow crunching underneath your boots, you admire the pristine, white landscape that no other place in Teyvat could display.

Here, your sight is met with a frost-covered plane, a frozen river cutting between you and a forest, the silhouette of a grand mountain behind the conifers. The sun hangs low, just above the peaks of the mountain, painting the sky as a gradient of topaz oranges and honey yellows. The only noise that fills the air is the whispers of the occasional winter breeze, blowing through your hair and making you shiver. Captivated by this picturesque scene, you simply stand and observe what's around you, your stare unbreaking.

That is until your ears pick up on a noise, a soft whine in the distance. You can tell it's not human-like, more like a cry that a puppy would make, but nonetheless, you're curious. There's another similar sound, this one more faint, but you let your ears guide you to the source of the noise until you near the edge of another wooded area of the wilderness.

What your eyes set on shocks you. A relatively large white blob sits amongst red patches of snow around. Is that blood? Approaching closer, you realize it's a rather large animal with white fur, and you assume that it's a Snezhnayan Snow Wolf from its size, though it's hard to tell with its back turned away. It's struggling to stand up fully; one of its hind legs appears to be injured given how it's not putting as much weight on it when it limps through the snow. You watch it struggle a little, wary of approaching a wild animal especially one of that size before you witness it collapse. Not intent on just observing the poor creature, you walks towards it, making your presence known so as to not startle it abruptly.

It whips its head and locks eyes with you. It is then, you chillingly discern, that this is no ordinary Teyvat creature. It's bigger than what wolves can grow up to, and its ears and tails don't match that of a wolf. Its ears are shorter in height and more triangular and its tail is much thicker than the average wolf's. Notably, on its legs, the fur darkens from white to pitch black, the color encompassing its feet entirely. This is something unseen in any snow creature you've come across. But most striking of all is its gaze. Red pupils with ebony eyes matching its feet, it watches you calculatingly.

You expect it to growl or snarl or make any sort of noise a wild, cornered creature would, but you get nothing besides continued staring. It's unsettling, but it should be a good thing that it hasn't perceived you as a threat yet, right. Regardless though, you still try to verbally communicate with it.

"Hey, I'm just here to help okay? I won't hurt you. If I do, you can, I don't know, bite my face off or something?" You awkwardly reassure it as you kneel beside the animal. It simply tilts its head to lock eye contact, and you half-expect it to bite you without warning.

Although it feels pointless to talk to a wild animal, you ask, "Can I touch you?" Expectedly, there's no response, but you take it as permission. You place a tentative hand over its fur, brushing your hand through its fur. It's incredibly soft, almost like how you'd imagine what touching a cloud feels like. It's a light and immaculate coat. But you didn't come here just to pet it.

"You have a really pretty coat," you compliment the fox(? Let's stick with that for now), before your fingers trail down to where the blood originated. It's a clean, deep laceration across the length of its back leg. What could have injured it like this? There's no other marks on the leg, so it can't be a claw from another animal. This was a precise cut, something that only a human can do.

"Did someone do this to you?" You wonder out loud in a sorrowful tone. What kind of human could harm such a beautiful creature? Unbeknownst to you, its ears twitched in response.

You get to work treating the wound with the emergency equipment you always carried when you ventured. There's no resistance or protest from canine, and you question if this is really an animal you're treating. How it hadn't budged one bit as you cleaned its wound, you're not sure, but you're just glad it hasn't shown one sign of aggression towards you. If you clean it and allow the skin to heal, the cut will likely heal independently. Once you've wrapped the final bandage around its leg, you glance at the fox's eyes again.

Not even once did it stop watching you.

You try to comfort yourself from the disturbing fact by observing how cute it is and imagining what it would be like to snuggle with it. It's when you notice the sun was setting, and dusk is approaching quickly. This typically wouldn't be a problem, but as you increasingly grew worried, a distinct problem struck out. You're lost.

"Well, shit."

Guess you have to set up camp. You hate the thought of having to spend the night out here, but you have no choice. You won't be able to make out anything soon from how dark this place gets. It's not your first time doing so, but you hate it still. With the remaining minutes of sun you have left, you gather as many sticks and branches as possible before you light them with a match, creating a campfire. You lay a little close to the fox, which seems to have also decided to make the campfire its resting place for now.

You cocoon yourself with a thick blanket.

"You'll keep me safe, right...?" You ask of the fox. No response. How very assuring.

Despite the bundles of fabric purposed for helping with extreme temperatures, you find yourself still shivering. You're cold, not to the point of frostbite, but your form can't stop trembling, your teeth chattering.

"It's too fucking cold for this shit," you groan, hugging yourself for extra warmth and curling into a fetal position. As you curse yourself for getting lost, you hear a shuffle, and the crunch of snow. Before you can even search for the origins of the sound, you feel a warm, large weight against your back--it's something soft. You look over your shoulder to see white fur and then look back to where the fox was originally: it's no longer there. Instead, it's pressed against you, sharing its body warmth with you.

"Mmm... good kit," you tiredly drawl as you absorb its heat greedily, enjoying the texture of its coat. It makes falling asleep easy.

Before you drift to sleep, you swore you heard a human, feminine voice purr from behind you.

"Annoying little vixen."

When you wake up, you expect to be met with white--white snow and fur. You are only met with one of those. Your eyes adjust to the pricking sunlight that stab into your vision. Surprisingly, you're warm even with the chill that you feel cascade against your cheeks. Memories of the night prior start piecing together. You still feel the fox's presence, though, strangely, the weight behind you doesn't seem nearly as soft or large as you remember. And something is draped around your midsection. You look down, expecting to a fur-covered limb.

Instead, it's a human arm that is wraps around your form, holding flushed against a person and your heart skids to a stop. The forearm is black with gold and ebony markings on its surface, but the dark color fades into pale skin. Is this person even human? A humanoid? A hybrid? With your rising panic, you become increasingly more aware of the presence that has you encaged in their embrace. You can't turn to look who is behind you in fear of waking them up--you don't know what they'll do to you once they're awake.

The soft snoring behind your ear and the warm breath brushing against your nape makes you shiver. However, what you do notice is how warm their body is; they exude a body heat that's abnormal. Do they produce their own heat from within? You know of very little creatures that can do that, let alone humans. Maybe an external source? Like a vision?

Then a sudden thought comes to you. Has this person been... sleeping with you to keep you warm? Is this person somehow the fox you helped? Deciding to risk it, you twist your head to look over your shoulder.

Red-crossed pupils glare back at you and your entire form freezes. Faced with perhaps the most gorgeous woman ever, a pale, unblemished face framed by ivory hair and some ebony strands appear before you.

"You're awake," her gruff voice comes out and the tips of your ears burn from being caught awake.

"Y-yes," you stammer out, still trying to recover from the shock. "Thank you for keeping me warm."

She hums in response before unfurling her arm from your body and standing up. Immediately, your body misses her warmth and you shudder, wrapping the blanket around you tighter. You sit up with her and it's then that you realize that she is indeed a hybrid. The same ears from the fox last night matches those on her head, and there's a tail that swishes lightly from behind her.

You take the time to admire her clothes, the question of where she got them slipping from your mind. She dons a marble white and slate gray jacket over a corset-type shirt with black and a matching gray and wears black pants. Her outfit reminds you of similar attire to Snezynayan nobles. What is someone of her status out here? Something about her seems vaguely familiar, though you don't quite know why.

"You're the... fox from last night," you dumbly state.

"Correct."

"But you're a human now."

"Astute observation," she huffed with a bit of mockery in her voice and you chuck snow in her direction.

"I've never seen a hybrid before, cut me some slack!" You snap back in faux anger. You let out a sigh, before you flick your attention to her leg. You can't see the wound because of her leggings, but you presume that it's still there.

"Who hurt you before?" You rasp out, corner eminent in your words and expression.

"That's not of your concern," she answers in a curt manner, making you wince.

You bite your bottom lip, a bit frustrated from the quick shut refusal, but you know she shouldn't pry. For as beautiful as she is, both in her human and fox form, you know just from the unsettling... sensation she emitted that she was dangerous, not to be disturbed or poked to much. You figure you should probing her on what led to this situation.

"Can I know who you are?" You question instead.

The fox hybrid steeps in silence for a few moments. Her facial muscles softening just the bit, the red flare in her eyes glowing. Then, a crack in her hardened expression, a small smile graces her lips.

"Arlecchino."

Bonus (Content Warning: VERY Suggestive. Like the closest thing to a smut I'll get.)

"Arlecchino."

"Mmh?"

"I need to get up."

"Just a little longer, kit."

"Arle, I love you, but I will kick you."

"With what functioning legs?"

"Is this why you wanted to dick me down? So you can harass me with no consequences?"

"Exactly."

You grit your teeth, trying to peel her arms off of your bare form, but the fox hybrid persists, keeping you glued to her as she nibbles gently on the skin of your nape. To emphasize her hold, her tail curls around one of your legs, its grasp tight and ensuring you can't go anywhere.

"Annoying little vixen," you groan, pulling the covers off of the two of you.

Arlecchino purrs into your shoulder, and her hands trail from your midsection down to your hips. Her tail caresses your inner thigh and you shudder.

"Again?" You gasp in dulled surprise as you feel her rise and she flips your body over to be beneath her. One blackened claw hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers with hers and pressing your hand into the mattress behind you. The other hooks underneath one of your legs, raising the leg over her shoulder.

"Of course. After all, I need to ensure you take my kits."

[yzashaven]

✰ ━━━ how they show affection for you <3

FEATURING scaramouche, tartaglia, xiao, albedo, thoma, kazuha, alhaitham, cyno x gn!reader

WARNINGS some are prob ooc 😭

NOTE (omfg these images are so low quality LMAO) on my past blogs, i usually only write nsfw so this is like... a change of pace? sort of... anyways hope you enjoy, likes and rbs are ofc appreciated! also, referring to wanderer as scaramouche since his name is player dependant

okay so hear me out when i say he seems like the type to take you to places with the prettiest views (shout out to his birthday voiceline) whether it be views of the sunset, a flower field, an ocean or beach view... as long as it's a pretty site to see, he'll take you there! scaramouche loves the way the places give him a peaceful feeling, and the way that it's just the two of you there? he's in paradise and heaven combined.

a bit similar to scara, tartaglia would take you to places. and by places i mean his homeland, snezhnaya, for the snow and to see his family. his little brother, teucer is certainly very fond of you, and tartaglia loves to watch you spend time with his siblings. he's such a family oriented guy... another thing he'd do is cook delicious meals for you! ranging from simple snacks to your personal favorites, and definitely some snezhnayan delicacies~

xiao is sweet to his lover, no doubt. but that doesn't mean he'll ignore his duties as an adeptus and focus on them. he expresses his love by protecting you... and maybe sharing his almond tofu. need his help? call out for him and he'll be there in an instant. also this whole love thing is very new to xiao, soo he's not used to things like hugging and kissing, yk those kinda stuff but he'll get used to it eventually. he does really like your company though, brings a smile to his face.

we all know albedo is a very amazing alchemist, he can make basically anything within a few hours or even minutes. he'd use his skill and powers to give you sentimental itemsㅡ such as a bouquet of flowers that never wither or ones that glow in your favorite color. If you don't really like flowers, don't worry, he can make whatever it is that you want! oh you want a dragon? he'll try and will come back to you with a small, cute, non-hostile looking one that protects you <3

he is sometimes busy due to work for the kamisato clan and being the "fixer" in inazuma, but he never forgets to make time for you! his love language is definitely quality time as he loves to just relax and accompany you wherever. another way thoma shows affection is through doing errands and other things for you such as cooking, cleaning around in your teapot realm, curing for your wounds if you ever get hurt, and maybe doing a commission or two of yours!

kaedehara kazuha... he's such a romantic man when it comes to his lover. he'll write you a poem literally every single day and compliment you every minute. kazuha also likes to run his hands through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear while you watch the sun set together at the best vantage point in wherever it is you're traveling at. he also definitely introduced you to his mom(beidou) so he takes you with him on the crux for fun adventures together! or just taking naps as the boat sets sail.

as the akademiya's scribe, alhaitham is often busy attending to those missions along with his personal investigations and other matters. so to prevent any lost time, he takes you with him. you're quite the strong fighter yourself so there won't be any problems, right? and if something bad does happen, he's your savior. despite talking sharply at times about how you weren't being careful or being reckless, he still loves you and will be happy that you're safe. alhaitham would reassure you about that too. also you study together at the akademiya library sometimes, he really likes having you around :3

cyno is a man of few words but reassures you about how much he loves you and would quite literally tear apart, limb from limb anyone that tries to harm you. cyno keeps a close eye on you especially when he senses danger is near, he wouldn't even wish for anything bad to happen to you. as the general mahamatra, fighting is practically his specialty which is why he uses that fighting experience and knowledge to protect you even if you tell him that you can handle yourself, he insists as he doesn't want to risk losing you like that.

[yestrday]

I think requests are still open?

i feel like we've gone too long without talking about ajax. SO. IF U HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OF HIM TO SHARE - ANY AT ALL, LIKE, HOUSEHUSBAND, ACADEMY, HYBRID, STANDALONE - I'LL DEVOUR THEM EAGERLY. I'LL GET ON MY HANDS AND KNEES AND EAT WHATEVER YOU GIVE US. I am so desperate for a slice of that pathetic ginger loser <3

💍 househusband! ajax

you know what? i haven't done this for the househusband au! may ajax be the first!

sadly, ajax is actually a poser :(( he is not just your handsome malewife fully devoted to looking after the house and cooking you delicious food. he makes money (big money) on the side involved in some syndicate.

so be careful of the hands that feed you! they're drenched in blood and ajax isn't even the slightest bit guilty.

i like to think that his darling knows but just likes to feign ignorance. in a 'if i can't see it, it doesn't exist' because they do love their darling ajax a lot

he's less active than before he married you though, so don't worry!

your backyard's a bit wild because he doesn't actually know how to take care of it. morespoke's always been cold and snowy. the most greenery they had there was some wildberries here and there!

if he's out for a "appointment," he makes sure to come home before you do. of course, sometimes he really just can't make it, and it often leads to some amusing shenanigans.

"Shit, shit, shit," Ajax mutters as he rummages through his pocket to find his house keys. "I didn't cook dinner tonight! Oh fuck, they're going to starve and I just— Where are those fucking keys?!"

"Ajax?" He freezes. "Oh gosh, is that you? Hold on, I'll open it up for you!"

He hears your footsteps scurrying over to the door, his trembling eyes on the hand that finally had his keys. But those hands were bloodied, stained with the remains of the last man that he had slit his throat. And shit, he can hear you turning the doorknob when he's still scrambling to rub off the red specks on his cheek—

"Ajax, you were so late! Where were you? It's past nine, darling, you had me so—!"

You freeze. He freezes. The two of you watch each other with bated breath. The dried blood itches his cheek. Fuck, how was he gonna explain this to you? Oh, right, Snezhnayans like to hunt. But you're not in Snezhnaya! You were smack dab in a suburban neighborhood! Maybe he can slip in a drug to make you forget—

"Soooo worried!" Your face breaks out into a wide grin as you usher him back into the comfort of your home. "You could have at least texted me, you know? Oh! And don't worry about dinner. My boss gave me these coupons for a job well done and I bought take out and I thiiink you'll like them! They're not as good as you, but, well, nothing's really as good as you, you know?" You smile cheerfully at him, hooking his (bloodied) jacket beside the door and taking off his (again, bloodied) scarf. He stares dumbly at you. "... Ajax?"

He blinks a few times, before laughing loudly and giving you a loud kiss on your cheek. "Of course, nothing's good as me, babe. But we can always settle for second best for today."

You roll your eyes but giggle at his confidence. "You narcissist. C'mon, I'm hungry. Let's eat."

"I'll wash the dishes babe, you just wash up and wait for me in bed." He sends a disgustingly exaggerated kiss your way, to which you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue at. His fond face is the last you see before you slam the bathroom door shut.

A-ahh...

That was blood, wasn't it?! That was real, actual blood! On his cheek, on his hand, under his fingernails, on his jacket, on his scarf! You slide down the door and hide your head in your hands. That gut-wrenching smell of iron...

Well, actually! It could just be... oil! Right! You heard that some rust can turn engine oil into the red like that. He probably ran into a malfunction with his motorcycle and was on a rush to go back home that he forgot to clean himself up! That must be it!

"A– Ahahaha... Right! I'm so stupid!" You jump up and stare at your reflection— frantic, anxious, paranoid— and put on your most convincing smile. "It's just oil. You know how Ajax can get busy at sometimes! You're just overthinking!"

"Just overthinking..." You mutter, hopping into a cold shower. "Maybe I should take some pills before I go to sleep."

[yandere-daydreams]

How would childe respond to a happily married and pregnant darling

the only issue is that the darling isint married to him quiet yet

He just needs to love the problem of their soon to be former spouse first

hnnnnnn i'm usually one to avoid pregnant readers at all costs, but there is something about the idea of being deep into your third trimester, so heavy can barely walk and looking forward to your long-awaited first child with your beloved spouse, when one of the most powerful men in your nation shows up on your doorstep with a small legion of armed soldiers, insisting that he's your husband and fawning over your bump like you're carrying his child. he refuses to acknowledge your attempts to mind your distance, to ask why a harbinger is in your cottage - fussing over you and insisting that the hormones are starting to get to your head, instead, completely ignoring the soldiers swarming your meager home. you hold out hope that your spouse will be able to talk some sense into him when they get back, but as the hours tick by, as the sun starts to step and the Snezhnayan winter turns from inhospitable to freezing, you start to worry about their safety, start to notice the specs of crimson on childe's coat, the look of muted dread in his soldiers' eyes.

you start to wonder if childe's trying to supplant a position already well-occupied, or fill a role that he ensured the vacancy of himself.

[throwaway-yandere]

Dendro NA: 101 (Yandere!Alhaitham/Reader)

a/n: “ansy weren’t you going to write faceless!ayato and music composer!tighnari” well yes but things happened so now here we are. I’m dedicating this fic to crying anon since they’re the person that gave me an idea of an "what if Alhaitham had an elf!darling?" after this fic. The beginning reads like an enemies-to-lovers fic with a slice of crack where nothing goes wrong but trust me it’s not lmao

unreliable synopsis: After Alhaitham forged your signature, you're now forced to become the Acting Grand Sage’s assistant. It's even more annoying when he nearly visited your house all drugged up. Seriously, when will he learn to respect his seniors?

CW: yandere themes, noncon touching, aphrodisiacs, possessiveness, so much bickering, and the reader slanders dendro for plot reasons. 

Pulcinella, The Rooster, came to visit early in the morning.

“Pups, please… Stop turning my apartment upside down and just tell me what you want.”

It was unexpected how the old man barged into your “unconquerable mess of an apartment” with the intent to celebrate your newfound job at the Haravatat. Mayor Pulcinella isn’t your direct grandfather, but he is your grandfather’s brother. The fact that you are connected to him is a well-known secret (as absurd an oxymoron as that may sound) in the College of Engineering and Technology at the Akademiya. Because of the collectivist mentality that characterized your family, every last pointy-eared relative you are aware of is blatantly nosy and annoying. The "mayor" is much more so.

Pulcinella did come to extend his congratulations, with a generous batch of cookies even, but he had an objective in mind. His way of showing that he cares is usually in the form of letters but he stands right in front of you now. You can only imagine how difficult it is for someone in his position to take a leave of absence this far since Port Ormos is so far away from home and it takes days for mail to arrive here.

Your grandfather is obstinate. Terrifying so since you recognize that expression on his face all too well. Although you are unsure of what he needs from you, you do know that you want him out. Immediately.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone, child.” He scowled, jabbing your briefcases with his wooden cane. “I’m not leaving until I find it.”

That "Rooster" moniker belongs to him without a doubt. Your belongings were seized by the elf-like a bird's beak. He prodded the dreadful equation-filled sheets hanging on your wall and snatched a few trinkets on your work table. Good lord. Pulcinella made so much noise that if you weren’t already planning on starting your day, you would’ve been incredibly cranky when he knocked on your door.

“For Her Majesty’s sake– just what are you trying to find, grandpups?”

He turned to look at you.

Not mad, but disappointed– sad, even.

“An engagement ring. Evidence that you’re dating that fool, Alhaitham.”

You groaned.

“Him again?! Motherf—”

Pulcinella quirked his eyebrow at your outburst, “hmm?”

You chuckled nervously, “ah, sorry, I just… It’s nothing.”

No, it was not “nothing.” That bastard ruined a lot of things for you, including your vision. You didn’t want a dendro vision. You were praying for Rex Lapis every night even after his death but somehow being involved with Alhaitham strayed your path to gaining the “grass fertilizer tool” as you loved to call it. Sure, there’s little evidence that he’s the reason behind the fact that you got a dendro vision instead of geo but that doesn’t change the fact that you want to crush him between your palms like a writhe scarab. Especially after he enlisted you as his scribe-disciple without your consent. What a complete scumbag.

Oh, to quit the Akademiya only to be forced to go back again…

But of course, your grandpups don’t know anything about this and you have ZERO intentions of letting him in on your business. If he knows, then ALL of Snezhnayan elves know.

“I’ve heard from your mother that you’ve gone lovesick and left the Akademiya,” Pulcinella spoke in a slow somber tone. “And falling recklessly in love and gaining a dendro vision does not sound like you at all.”

Eww. Lovesick? Hell no.

If it weren’t for this man, you would’ve graduated as a fully pledged civil engineer next year. If he wasn’t such a great scribe, no, forger, your signature wouldn’t be on that damn contract.

That man seriously has no respect for his seniors.

Nevertheless, it was too late to do anything. You just have to accept the consequences of your inaction. Additionally, if you're going to take this "new job," you might as well act as if you adore it.

Hooray! Don’t you love working for Alhaitham? Isn’t it fun to discard your 4 years of studying? Oh, what joy! You definitely did not burn your eyebrows out trying to ace FIFTY Kshahrewar mock tests!!!–

“Talk to me, poppet.” He continued, eyebrows knitted. His wrinkly hands reached to gently hold yours. Suddenly, you remembered that he is still family. That this was the same old major that your young self boasted their miniature construction toys to.

“I’m worried that something might’ve happened. And my dear, health is not the absence of disease or infirmity, it is also–”

“The complete state of physical, mental, AND social wellbeing. Yes. I know, Pups. You nearly forced me to study medicine.” You groaned and palmed your forehead, weak but playful.

He chuckled heartily.

The old man’s rather soft with you compared to his other grandchildren. If he wasn’t, you’d likely find yourself as Il Dottore’s new assistant.

Although most people would find working for a harbinger, especially The Doctor, to be a complete nightmare, you concluded that being Alhaitham's slave was the epitome of "overrated garbage," and you despise the scribe so much you can't even remember his appearance. Sure, Layla’s jealous that you’re essentially set for life by being a scribe assistant but at least Dottore gives his assistants a hefty pay (discounting his crimes against humanity…)

You’re not proud to call Alhaitham your boss. That stupid #093c0d face doesn’t make your 2 million mora salary worth the trouble. He needs to pay for your mental health insurance–

“Are you alright, poppet? You’re looking at me like you would with one of your test slimes.”

You exhaled deeply, “sorry, I suddenly thought of a hex code #093c0d person.”

Pulcinella closed his eyes.

“A dark green shade?”

“That’s right.”

“...”

With an unreadable yet deliberate face, Pulcinella fixed his gaze on you. Your unique perspective on others didn't seem to disturb your grandpups the way it did your parents. He is one of the select few who is aware of how you assign people's personalities through colors. Pulcinella raised his glasses further up before giving a sage-like nod. The moment he crossed his arms, you knew he understood what you were trying to express.

“So it’s a lover’s quarrel.”

“Yes, exactly.”

…

“Wait, what– NO!!! Pups, please stop assuming shit– things!!!”

Never mind— he is SO far off.

Why is he convinced that you’re dating that prick? What the hell did your mom tell him?!

“I heard that, poppet. And do not misunderstand, I think this is a good thing.”

Your uncle-grandfather cupped your cheeks and squished them between his fingers. Perhaps this is what people consider a wholesome grandpa-grandchild dynamic– but social norms should’ve also labeled this as domestic violence. His pinching hurts. Your clipped groans made him grin wider.

“After all, this means that you have seen his flaws and true character. What better way to break a couple up than a genuine argument?”

“PWUUUPS!!!”

Pulcinella pulled his hands away.

“I felt distraught when I heard you have given up your pursuit of civil engineering and chose a career in the Haravatat,” he sighed and took off his hat, holding it against his chest. “I was rooting for you, dear. I had faith in your aspirations. Even Lord Capitano found it upsetting to learn that the future engineer I frequently boasted about had become a lesser Lord Kusanali underling.”

You squirmed and rubbed your cheeks, staring at the ground.

Lord Capitano was not someone you often interacted with, but you knew that he had an eye for talent– and he sought after yours. Perhaps this is your ego talking, but it felt like even he believed you’re best suited for an engineering course too. Other than your grandpups and subsequently his recruit, Ajax, Lord Capitano was one of the Fatuis you respected.

Alhaitham truly crushed your dreams.

“I know, Pups…”

“You know what to do, right?”

You nodded solemnly, before looking him dead in the eye. Pulcinella can see your determination clear as day.

You breathed in.

“I’m going to commit arson.”

He patted your back, smiling.

“That’s my grandchild!”

Pulcinella tip-toed and ruffled your hair.

“Alright, this old man had given up. Just show grandpups where the ring is.”

“Her majesty the Tsaritsa’s sake– I already told you Pups– ALHAITHAM AND I ARE NOT DATING!!!”

It was an exceptionally hot evening in Sumeru City despite being far from the desert. You should be inside your apartment right now, studying the Dendro Vision book Alhaitham gave you but you’d rather be where you are now. It’s about to get warmer, yet you’d dare argue that both you and master architect Kaveh’s headache can compete with its 38°C average temperature.

“C’mon, please?”

“No, I’m not helping you burn Alhaitham’s house down.”

“What?! Why not?!”

“Damnit, (Y/n)– BECAUSE I LIVE THERE!!!”

“Oh, right.”

You flopped back to your seat, eyes rolling back, deflated.

Kaveh cried out in pain while lowering his head to the table. He somewhat resembled a dried-out raisin. He had a drinking binge the night before, so this isn't because he's not a morning person. Although you expressed regret for knocking on his (Alhaitham's) door, the architect never misses a chance to rant about his housemate. Kaveh's pain wasn't even close to how much he detested Alhaitham. Now here you both are, sitting outside Lambad’s Tavern like morons because you both forgot to bring your wallets.

Not a sight you’d expect from a master-of-all-trades (ex-)engineering student and a genius architect.

“Damn it…” You whined. “What else am I supposed to do now?”

“Await until Focalors passes her judgment,” he answered hoarsely.

In other words: curl up and die, probably.

“Yeah… Yeah, that sounds viable. Let me just go to Fontaine real quick– oh wait, I can’t, because some dumbass scribe paid the corps to keep me from reaching the borders.”

Kaveh chuckled, still caressing his headache, not caring how his messy and unwashed locks covered his eyes. You’d be surprised if he told you he didn’t just get out of bed. He appeared like he was ready to sleep for all eternity, or more accurately, Kaveh’s starting to look eerily similar to Layla. In terms of colors though, he’d still be a #ffda29 and not a #003153.

He sneered, “did the sun always look this bright, powerful, and oh-so hateful?”

“It wouldn’t look like that if you didn’t down the pitcher I left on the table last night, Kaveh.”

You both turned to look at the voice– rather, the abyss. Alhaitham stood behind you. Or at least, you think it’s him.

Okay, here’s the deal: you hate remembering his face.

You handle your memory much like a student would a personal bookshelf– you’ll occasionally take out the information you no longer wish to retain in favor of more useful and relevant ones. As a creature with longevity, an elf should be picky when it comes to memories. You believe your approach is in the same vein as Pulcinella disposing of “less valuable assets’' without hesitation. If there’s no point in having it, why carry the baggage? But there are at least two facts that you can easily recall about Alhaitham: it’s his voice and the color #093c0d.

In other words, he’s just a talking dark green slime in your eyes.

Which he considers a major step up, by the way. You went from ignoring him to recognizing his voice, to associating him with one color. That’s quite a development. A pathetically slow progression, but still a positive one.

“THERE YOU ARE, ALHAITHAM, YOU PRI–”

The man swiftly dodged his slap by crouching down. He honestly didn’t have to put in the effort when Kaveh’s attacks were sluggish.

“–CK! WHY’D YOU LABEL THE ALCOHOL AS WATER?!”

Tons of passersby stared at Kaveh as he flailed around, but they were quick to look away. It’s no longer a secret that he lives with the scribe. Everyone in Sumeru City knows about his tactless antics and none are deaf when it comes to his loud gripes about his housemate. Even so, you went up to him to soothe his worries and restore his reputation because not everyone understands he's not a bad person.

Alhaitham scoffed, glaring.

“I didn’t. The label said "Fire-Water.””

“WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES THAT MAKE?!”

“Fire-water? Oh.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you connected the two dots.

That beverage from Snezhnaya is notorious for having a high alcohol content and is only known in Mondstadt as the drink Master Ragnvindr forbade exports of. As a quote-unquote "wine connoisseur," you were invited to one of his parties. Fortunately, you were able to warn Diluc of how potent it is firsthand– Kaveh? Not so much.

You snorted.

“Yeah, Kaveh, I hate to take Alhaitham’s side on this but this one is on you, friend.”

The blonde’s eyes widened, betrayed.

“HAH?!”

“Need I remind you that fire-water is an alcoholic beverage, Kaveh.” Alhaitham waved his hand, emphasizing his condescending tone. “Maybe if you listened to me instead of ranting about my work ethic, you would’ve known that I received it as a gift from a Fatui Harbinger.”

Your ears perked up. “From a Harbinger?”

Alhaitham smirked but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Hmm. I’m certain that you know him, assistant (L/n). His name is Pulcinella,” the scribe said. “He left me a note. He said he wishes that I drink to my heart’s content as a thank-you gift for hiring his grandchild. I wasn’t aware you have a kind grandfather.”

You smiled back, crookedly.

No. No, your uncle-grandfather DEFINITELY wanted to see Alhaitham in pain. He didn’t even bother giving him a bottle– he gave him a fucking leftover pitcher.

Alhaitham took your arm. Unfortunately, he’s taller than you with muscle strength you can’t compete with. You squirmed but resistance was futile. Doesn’t mean you can’t bite his arm off–

“Assistant (L/n)–”

You gritted your teeth. “Don’t touch me, sir.”

Alhaitham paused, processing how much emphasis you put into pronouncing the word “sir.”

“–I’ll be taking you away now.” He looked down on your friend and scoffed. “Kaveh, do try your best to not be a burden to Mx. (L/n) again.”

Kaveh clutched his head, still in pain.

Sorry, Kaveh. That drink and beating headache were not meant for you in the slightest. You made a mental note to make it up to him, but not today. You have a lot on your plate right now.

“Idiot. They’re the one that invited me here!”

“True–”

“I quite frankly don’t care,” Alhaitham spat coldly.

“From now on, refrain from having conversations with my assistant. Unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

“Do you remember the approximate damage multipliers an aggravate reaction causes?”

“Nope.”

“Tch. I just discussed this, I can’t believe you already forgot.”

“You think I forgot? Haha, hell no. I didn’t forget, I just wasn’t paying any attention.”

Alhaitham dragged you down a secluded area in the rainforests with a sword in hand. Quite frankly, you hoped he brought his weapon to kill you, but you’re well aware of what this is about.

This is a lesson straight out of a page of “Dendro Vision Qualifications 101: Normal Attack Patterns.” The Acting Grand Sage thinks that you should have at least enough fighting proficiency for you to start formally working for him. As for you? You think this whole charade is utterly meaningless.

Sometimes, you truly do wish you were born as a rock instead. Maybe then you would be able to perform the “gray-rock method” whenever Alhaitham starts his drivel about dendro visions. You bet you’d make a pretty good tombstone for your dead childhood friend if you were a rock. Being a rock is probably the nicest thing to be. You get to be something created from the Geo element– the element and vision you desired. And not dendro.

Anything but lame old dendro.

This is so stupid. You wanted a geo vision, damn it. What on earth did you do to make Rex Lapis spite you, and what kinda breakthrough did you accomplish to gain the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s favor instead?!

If only you got something that isn’t the same as Alhaitham’s vision. Maybe if you got an electro vision you’d be learning how to brandish a lance with the General Mahamatra instead. Unlike most people, you enjoy being in his prolonged company and dry jokes. You’ve exchanged letters with Cyno multiple times– but your friend’s on-the-spot puns are 10x funnier than the things he writes down. Of course, that’s only because his earnest delivery sells it.

“In this fighting stance, you can perform up to 4 consecutive attacks, dishing out dendro damage approximately every 2 seconds interval–”

You held up your Eye of Perception.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll use this vision.”

“–charge attacks on the other hand require a hefty amount of stami–”

You yawned, halting Alhaitham in the middle of his “lecture.”

There’s a reason why you chose an Eye of Perception, and that’s because, unlike most catalysts, it procures physical damage as well. With someone as petty as you, it’s only natural that you’d brandish a weapon that doesn’t rely too much on dendro reactions.

“Yeah, I’ll just hit the enemy with my catalyst. Like, aim and shoot, or maybe I’ll just go with blunt force. This eye of perception looks like it’s made of metal, it can probably dish out some physical damage–”

Alhaitham shifted forward. Your gentle yet insouciant voice forced him out of his momentum.

“(Y/n).”

“...Yes, sir?”

His gaze sharpened.

“Pay attention.”

You snorted. Was he trying to intimidate you?

You, an elf who lived longer than him? How arrogant. It was becoming clearer why Alhaitham never once had a girlfriend or boyfriend. Or maybe a genuine friend in general. His senior who happens to also be his housemate does not count.

“No thanks.” You laughed to yourself, barely containing your amusement. “I think I’m doing fine.”

“What do you expect will happen if you don’t listen to my instructions? Your unfailing indifference sickens me.” He sheathed his sword back. “Do I have to spell everything out? You’ll get injured in combat. You won’t be able to defend yourself from fungi, eremites, and other enemies on the prowl. All for what? Useless pride? Grow up. Accept that you got a dendro vision and be done with it.”

“Tch…” You know how you feel, but you do not have the strength to say it out loud.

What an impossible task. He’s telling you– the most stubborn person you know– to give up on your goals? Inconceivable. You bet he sees the mediocre majority as nothing more than defective pawns, and you’re well aware you belong in that lowly category.

To him, grief may as well be easy as breathing. For you, years had gone by and you could still hear their voice. The scribe knows nothing about tributes for the dead. 

Your old childhood friend beckons you back to the chasm. His voice comes once the dark rears in, reverbing his desperate pleas for a fitting grave. It’s a voice that twists around your chest like a knife. You can’t get their faces out of your memetic bookshelf, but it’s not as if you’re willing to dispose of them.

You didn’t want a dendro vision. 

You wanted a geo vision to construct mausoleums for your dead friends.

Alhaitham scowled.

“Fine. We’ll resume our lesson next week.”

He bumped into your shoulder as he walked by. For a split second, you’re reminded that your superior had longer eyelashes than you do. And it made the gesture more annoying.

Strange. 

Alhaitham wouldn’t normally let you off so easily…

Maybe he’s busy?

“If you’re so insistent on only utilizing physical attacks, be my guest. Next time, I will not back down a single step.” Alhaitham walked away with heavy feet, stamping the dirt with his heels.

The consequences of your actions began to sink in. You may have lived longer than Alhaitham, but needless to say, he had more experience in combat.

Admittedly, you may have done yourself a disservice by acting out… You huffed.

No, no way.

“What could possibly go wrong? He’s just a feeble scholar!”

Unsurprisingly, Alhaitham was not, in fact, a feeble scholar.

Thankfully you have the Eye of Perception at your disposal because the moment he found you walking towards Devantaka Mountain the following week, the bastard went for your jugular.

“What the fuck, Alhaitham?!”

You fired a single shot, aimed higher this time knowing that he would attempt to evade. Much like his actions with Kaveh last time, Alhaitham was quick to dodge that projectile. His timing is impeccable as he activated his vision.

#ff0e0e starts blaring in your line of sight. You’ve always trusted these colors— your instincts.

You’re in danger.

“Tch!”

You almost didn’t recognize that it was him. If he wasn’t breathing heavily, you would've mistaken him for an assassin. Alhaitham never made any unnecessary movements. His slashes were not done with the intent of harming you, but shepherding you to an appropriate trap. Your knee scraped against the grass and minuscule rocks. Prioritizing distance over attacks was a wrong move– he’s faster than anticipated. You gasped sharply as the scribe pinned you against a tree trunk–

… His scent caught your attention.

“A cicin mage’s perfume…?” You mumbled, eyes wide.

That didn’t seem right. Their perfume usually doesn’t smell this unpleasant and metallic.

Your ears drooped down as you realized this Alhaitham did not attack because he’s a lunatic, no. That malodorous stench was akin to a grandmother’s bittersweet husk.

This Alhaitham was under the influence of aphrodisiacs, and it is not something you can fault him for.

“What– What on earth happened?”

He twisted your arm slightly, not enough that’ll make you scream but just rough for a tiny yelp–

and that’s how he boldly claimed your lips.

You froze in horror, letting him take advantage of your plight. Alhaitham pulled away, panting slightly.

“F-Fuck…”

Alhaitham moaned as he slipped his tongue back inside. You tried to stop him but you yelped the moment his hand groped your thigh. His breath fanned your flustered skin as he moved to slither his arms around your waist, closing the already small distance between you two.

You weakly pulled back. The rainforest had never felt this humid before.

Something is truly off about his scent.

“L-Let go!!!” You hissed and punched his chest, completely forgetting your catalyst in your panic. “What the hell is wrong with you?!?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

He didn’t listen despite your physical protests. Alhaitham disgustingly crooned down and sloppily dabbed wet kisses down your neck. His saliva dripped over his shoulder, coating you in hopes that it would leave his trace.

It felt wrong. You felt dirty– like you were kissing an actual #093c0d slime.

“P-Please…” He whispered, his voice dropping dangerously weak and vulnerable. “H-Help me, (Y/n)…”

Your face flushed as you wiped the saliva that connected you both from your lips.

You’ve never heard Alhaitham beg before.

Is this really him?

His fistful grip on your clothes grew taut as desperation colored his knuckles white. You had never seen Alhaitham lose his cool the way he does now, and the broken sight in his eyes made you uneasy and uncertain.

He looked pathetic.

“Haitham, your…” your hand supported his neck and he hungrily leaned in to feel your touch. “Your heartbeat is loud.”

“I know,” he whimpered.

You bit your lip. You could sense his pulse going faster.

This isn’t the first time you’ve been kissed– or first anything. You’ve had your fair share of “soulmates” and “flings”, but those happened decades ago. Before you were mastering engineering, you were a freelance artist who’d had many affairs with humans and elves alike out of the undiagnosed emptiness that was grief. Up until Faruzan made you start a new leaf, you indulged in numerous vices, including wine and one-night stands. She was the closest a human could hope to understand the loneliness an elf would have.

Both your appearance give the illusion of youth, but your bones are held together by flesh older than this man. She would undoubtedly be angry with you as soon as she learns that you enabled Alhaitham's small rendezvous.

“Alhaitham, I’m more than a decade years older than you–” you squirmed.

“But I want you,” he groaned.

Those words felt so different when he was the one who said them. Nearly sinister.

“I know,” you said, but your voice doesn’t match the confidence you were meant to exude. “But this isn’t you, this is your hormones doing the talking. Where did the cicin mage attack you?”

“Between Pardis Dhyai and Yashna Monument”

“Between WHAT?!” You gawked. “That’s miles away from here!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does!!!”

You yanked his shirt. It’s thin, yet surprisingly durable. The strength of the fabric is not what made you unnerved, but his stare.

He gazed at you as if you were his lifeline— as if you were the only thing that allowed him to breathe. Alhaitham’s hot breaths were shallow, fanning your face as you took note of how red his face, neck, and ears were. You noticed how he struggled to gulp— struggled to keep his composure. His bedroom eyes had not once diverted their attention away from you.

“It doesn't matter how far I ran. You were the one I wanted to see. You were the face that came to mind after getting poisoned."

You pretended not to hear that.

“Alhaitham, we need to get you to Tighnari.”

“He can’t help me.”

“The forest watcher can most certainly help you more than me.”

“You don’t know that.”

You don't want to hear him talk anymore, to be honest. You're horrified by how weak and inaudible his voice sounded.

“Why did you come to Avidya Forest all the way from there? Why not head straight to the city?”

“So many questions…” He irritably spat. “Just stop talking and kis–”

“I refuse,” you glared. “Why were you heading towards Port Ormos? Did you think I was going to help you get over this mess out of the goodness of my heart?”

Did he forget how much you loathe him?

“No. No, of course not.”

He chuckled, full of self-loathing.

“I know you hate me, (Y/n). I would hate myself too.”

You raised an eyebrow. Of course, he’s self-aware— you just didn’t expect him to say that out loud.

Alhaitham continued, “but I’m not the one at fault here.”

Defeated, he rested his head on your shoulder. To avoid having you look at his expression, Alhaitham cupped your back, running fingers through your scalp so that you may only look forward. His body pressed against yours firmly. There’s no possible way for you not to be wholly aware of how warm he was and how fast his heart was beating. 

It was distracting to know how much the poison affected someone like Alhaitham, whom you thought was damn near untouchable.

Awkwardly, you returned the favor and played with his hair. Alhaitham gasped softly, making you shiver as you realized how sensitive you are to his breathing from this position.

“And who would that be?” You asked quietly. “If your pride won’t let you seek Tighnari’s aid then since you’re here you might as well tell me everything, starting from the very beginning.”

“T-That won’t be necessary.”

“If we want to rule out who your true assailant is, then yes it is,” you answered. “I think this is what you call the process of elimination.”

Suddenly, he pulled away from you with his arms stretched out. Alhaitham still kept you pinned on the tree, but there’s more space for you now to move and see his face. 

Ah, you’ve nearly forgotten again.

Alhaitham has green-orange eyes.

“No need.”

He clicked his tongue.

“It was Pulcinella. Your grandfather sent a cicin mage in an attempt to seduce and assassinate me.”

… Oh.

You should’ve guessed. You really should’ve guessed that he was behind all this.

Instinctively, you tried to cover your mouth from shock, but he quickly grabbed them and pressed them back to the tree behind you again. He tightened his hold once more, making you wince.

“I didn’t mind at first because your grandfather reminded me of my own grandmother,” Alhaitham gritted his teeth. “Pulcinella—”

He bit his bottom lip, his seafoam eyes looking unstable and royally pissed.

“He’s not after me because of my position as the Acting Grand Sage. H-He was merely looking after you. His expression was one I recognized. It's a grandfather's love. I may not show empathy as frequently as my housemate would like, but at least I am conscious of how important family is. I don’t want you to have to arrange your grandparent’s funeral like I did.”

You’re not unaware of who Alhaitham’s grandmother was. At one point, you had befriended her back when she was out on a mission to acquire 1,000 books. To think that you’ll meet her grandson for the first time in college and that you’ll end up in a situation like this… you’re sure she would’ve never condoned any of this. She wouldn’t appreciate that her grandson was trying to fuck the elf that helped her build her small library.

This is wrong. 

Everything about this is wrong. From the age gap to the work power distance– it’s vile– 

You want to vomit.

“So— s-so what did you do?”

“I didn’t want to kill your grandfather in retaliation.”

“Yes, you’ve established that. You don’t usually beat around the bush— go back to being the Alhaitham I know and just get straight to the point, damn it!”

“I ended up tracking all of his people in Sumeru down.”

He chuckled lowly.

Your heart started racing as well. 

If his heart was beating out of excitement, yours were out of a rational fear that you wouldn’t get out of this unscathed and mentally sound.

“It’s laughable how his lackeys were so incompetent. If they listened to my lectures at all, they would’ve known how to defend themselves.”

“What… What the hell are you talking about?” 

There was nowhere to run. You’re trapped unless Alhaitham lets go of both your wrists. Your dilated eyes surveyed the woodland, but you weren't confident that, should the occasion arise, your shaky knees could put some distance between you and the scribe.

“Didn’t you notice? They were stalking us from the moment I was teaching you how to use your vision last week, and likely even before that.”

His face drew near and you strained your neck to hopefully maintain at least a hair of distance between both of your lips.

Alhaitham closed his eyes.

“Did you honestly think I’d postpone our practice due to your mild complaining? Don’t you understand how excruciating it is to be away from you for a week?”

He pressed his forehead against yours.

“But I had to do it. For us.”

“Where… Where were you when you were gone? What did you do to them?”

You didn’t want to ask.

You already know the answer. 

“When will you start thinking before you speak?”

With fears renewed, your body felt small underneath his gaze. He’s not even looking at you— his piercing green eyes weren’t even looking directly at your soul. You turned away and gazed at his left shoulder— shrieking.

Never in your 100+ years of life did you feel so stupid. Only now did you realize that it wasn’t just a cicin mage’s perfume you smelled earlier.

There was blood all over his coat.

“Stop screaming, (Y/n). I’ve finished the job and it’s high time you reward me, wouldn’t you agree?”

[cloudshuffle]

an arrow, a spark. yan!childe

index / next / beta reader @malewifeharem

When they assign you to a new division in the Fatui, you think nothing much of it. People were always being moved around in the organisation, people disappeared under mysterious circumstances, new recruits were popping up out of nowhere.

What was strange, however, was whose division you were assigned to. Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, all the way in Liyue, no less - or Ajax, as you knew him better.

“I'll be sorry to see you go,” Signora says from behind you.

You jump, nearly dropping the stack of papers in your hands. She stands in the doorway, imposing as always, yet the air she gives off implies she's left off a “darling” at the end of her sentence.

Madame Signora's always been fond of you for reasons you've never known, though that often meant being stuck in dull, dull meetings and organising her paperwork for her.

You salute her, then laugh nervously. In the midst of your packing, your office looks like a hurricane hit it, stacks of books and papers scattered everywhere. Not the best look to put forward to your boss.

“So, Liyue.” She takes a step, placing her right inside the threshold of your office. Behind her, her new bodyguard slash secretary shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Quite a ways from home, yes?”

“It is.” The land of the Geo Archon, Morax, but most importantly his creation of mora. A warm place by far, considering Snezhnaya's standards, but its trade sector was coldly competitive.

“How do you feel about it?”

How did you feel? The question catches you by surprise, much like her appearance in your office. Never before had you been asked your personal opinion on anything before, least of all by a harbinger.

It’s just work.

“It’s a great opportunity to expand my horizons and learn about another culture, ma’am.”

She chuckles elegantly. “A textbook answer. Good. It’d be useful if you kept those same wits around Tartaglia.”

You blink, a cloud of dust distracting you briefly from what she’d just said. “...Tartaglia, ma’am?”

“Oh, yes.” Her red lips curve into a wry smile. “He requested for you specifically. He’s been pestering me, in fact, to let him have you.”

You remain silent, unsure of how to respond.

“But look at me, holding you up. I do hope you have fun while in Liyue - it can be quite the interesting place, after all.”

────────────

You don’t quite know what all the fuss about Tartaglia is about till lunch, when you venture into the mess hall with Nadia.

She doesn't even wait for the two of you to sit down before broaching the topic. “Did you know the eleventh is back is Snezhnaya?”

“He is?” You stab at your potatoes with your fork, eyeing her cheekily. “And I don't suppose you're in the market for a partner at the same time, are you?”

“Oh, not a harbinger.” She laughs. “That’s way too high profile for me.”

You eye the raised platform at the front of the hall where a long table’s been set. It’s more for show than anything else, seeing as how the harbingers have never once found themselves privy to dining with you common soldiers. There are twelve high-backed, intricately carved mahogany chairs, and one in the middle, larger than the rest, gilded with gold and complete with red velvet cushions. The Tsaritsa’s. Yet another reminder of who you all served.

Nadia's chatter washes over you like a soothing wave. You're grateful to have a friend when you go abroad, if only for distractions like this if nothing else.

She wants to marry and settle down already - a noble sentiment for a young Snezhnayan lady. You think any man would be lucky to have her.

For yourself, you're not so sure.

“Ooh!” She nudges you. “Don't look, but Vlad's over there. Isn't he cute?”

Against her wishes, you turn your head. He looks like any regular Snezhnayan man to you, blonde and with an angular face that could’ve been carved from the frozen earth itself. “Well, I guess. He looks kind.”

“And he's coming to Liyue too!” Nadia stage whispers.

“Exciting.” You raise an eyebrow.

You excuse yourself from your meal after a while, leaving the mess hall alone. Nadia's conversation was entertaining but exhausting, provided one could keep up with her endless stream of news and gossip from various sources.

But it's from this river of information that you sift out a tiny gold nugget: that Harbinger Tartaglia would be in the archery fields if he weren't busy preparing for his return to Liyue with his new crew.

Perhaps it's curiosity, or pure boredom that drives you outside into the cold.

The walk is familiar, ice crunching under your boots. It was admittedly difficult to walk on snow and ice - if you were anything but Snezhnayan, born and raised.

Your fingertips tingle with the phantom itch to hold a bow. It'd been a while…

You follow the path, rounding the building to a frozen field. A number of wooden targets and straw dummies are lined up, some in varying states of disrepair. A small hangover, an incline, really, provides minimal coverage against the wind like a very tiny rock against a great river.

As expected, there’s no one there. You feel a small sense of relief at having missed that chance encounter.

The new recruits train elsewhere. It’s a place only for those who want to exercise the muscles you rarely get to use, being cooped up in front of a desk all day.

You take up position at the edge of the field, summoning your bow and fixing three arrows to it.

They arc in a graceful, shining line, each landing perfectly in the middle of its respective target board.

You affix another arrow to the shelf, taking a deep breath. The world narrows to the point of your arrow and the fletching on the arrow you landed.

Dimly, you’re aware of the shuffling of feet behind you, quickly hushed. Probably just another of your fellow soldiers who wanted to get out of the noise of the mess hall. You pay them no mind.

You release the arrow, reload, release, reload. Three arrows land in rapid succession, splitting each of the previous arrows neatly down the shaft.

You exhale, and your senses return to you. The cold embraces you again, and you shake the tension out of your shoulders, putting your bow away. You can almost feel its sigh, already impatient for the next occasion it could perform.

Slow clapping. “An impressive show, soldier.”

You spin on your heel.

Tartaglia stands at the top of the incline, flanked by two bodyguards. As if he needed them within the walls of the Fatui stronghold, the youngest of all the harbingers, who single-handedly dug his fingers into the fabric of Liyue to get the Tsaritsa a foothold.

It’s been quite a while since you last saw him, you realise. He looks a little sharper, a little leaner, his gaze perhaps a little more complex, as if he were thinking of the future while simultaneously discerning all your secrets. The hydro vision on his belt winks at you in the cold light.

Standing on the incline, he looks like a conqueror, surveying his land. It's a good look for a harbinger to have.

“My lord.” You salute him smartly, tamping down your embarrassment at noticing them late. “My apologies for taking up your time.”

“Oh, no need for all that, padruga.” He comes down the slope, the bodyguards following a respectful distance behind. “It's always a delight to watch you in action.”

What had Madame Signora said? “He requested for you specifically”?

Ajax- no, Tartaglia, is a good head taller than you, maybe more. As he approaches, you have to incline your head to meet the unfamiliar gleam in his blue eyes. Whatever could he want from you?

“You've been well, I trust?” He summons his bow, and you take the cue to move a step backward, leaving him room to shoot.

“Well enough, may the Tsaritsa continue to watch over me.”

To your surprise, he snorts a laugh, loosing his arrow. It strikes deep into the wood, igniting a spark as it scrapes against yours. “A devotary? Some things certainly have changed around here.”

One of the bodyguards shifts his feet. You glance back at him, then at Tartaglia. “Is a harbinger not also subservient to her majesty?”

He chuckles. “Of course he is. I’m just… surprised.” Another arrow, another target. “You never struck me as the type to believe.”

You remain silent as the last arrow hits its mark. All just to the right of your own arrows, pressed so close they seem on the verge of falling off.

“Excellent marksmanship, my lord.” The impersonal compliment comes easily to your lips. You clasp your hands behind your back.

A gentle breeze begins to blow (the kind that might have killed a man in lesser clothing), unsettling his already unruly ginger hair. The bodyguards adjust their stances, as if roused by the cold wind.

“Certainly.” He grins, a self-assured smile, unhidden by a mask. You’re grateful for yours in that regard - no need to hide your emotions or expressions too well when all Fatui are shrouded in uniform secrecy. “Nothing but the best to serve her majesty.”

Somewhere deep within the halls, a bell begins to toll.

You snap to a salute. “Thank you for your time, my lord,” you say, as if he hadn’t been the one to seek you out for conversation first. “I must be taking my leave now.”

padruga: friend (female) according to google

— word count: 1598. thank you for reading!

[genshinluvr]

Sick Days 2

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: The men are sick, and it's your duty to nurse them back to their healthy selves. Yes, the men are sick— all twenty-seven of them are ill, and you're the only one who's taking care of them. Some of them made it easier for you, but others made it complicated for you. It's a good thing you don't have emetophobia.

Note: This is highly requested by either three people or one person. Either way, I'm surprised someone wanted part two of the previous mini-fic because I felt iffy about the first part. Anyway, I am back from my vacation! That means we can finally get back to the longer fics because this upcoming week will be a villain!isekai'd!reader fic because it won the voting on Tumblr and Discord :> I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: The men are sick, and some of them are vomiting

Word Count: 3.5k

This is part two of Sick Days.

RING!

“Onikabuto booboo bear! I’m hungryyy!”

You run to the left side of the room with a tray of food in your hands. “Coming!”

RING!

“Sweetheart? Can you get me water? My throat is feeling parched.”

You run to the nearest water pitcher, grab a glass cup and fill it with water. “Give me a moment!” You holler. After filling the cup with water, you run to the right side of the room, making sure not to spill any water on the wooden floor.

RING RING!

“Snookums!!!! I’m cold! Can you get me an extra blanket and maybe cuddle with me?”

You run toward the piles of blankets on the table and search for the softest blanket you can find. The thicker and softer the blanket, the better it is. You don’t want any of them to be cold and feel uncomfortable while ill. You know how your boyfriends are—when they’re feeling unwell and sick, they need your attention around the clock. While searching through the mountain of blankets, you hear someone cough loudly.

Without looking, you announce over your shoulders, “Make sure to cough into your elbows and keep your masks on. You guys wouldn’t want to get me sick, now, do you?”

“No,” Aether mutters before sniffling under his face mask.

Zhongli sighs, rubbing his throbbing temples. “Apologies, dearest.”

“Childe, you can’t just ask [Y/N] to cuddle with you. You’ll get them sick, and if they get sick—”

Diluc was interrupted by Childe coughing loudly into his elbows, causing the redhead to roll his eyes and scoot toward the edge of his bed. Childe drops his arm to his side and narrows his eyes at Diluc before snuggling into his blanket, shivering like a chihuahua.

After what feels like forever, you finally found the perfect blanket for the poor, shivering Snezhnayan. You pull the blanket from the pile and walk to Childe’s bed. Childe’s eyes light up, and he sits on the bed, making grabby motions as you get closer to his bed. You decided to have the men stay in the infirmary at the estate instead of their bedrooms because, to you, it’d be easier to tend to each person if they were all in the same room instead of scattered around the estate. 

Well, at least that’s what you assumed. Now look at you— running from each side of the room to tend to each person’s needs, from getting water, cooking, and feeding your sickly boyfriends to getting them extra pillows and blankets if they’re in need, and so much more. It’s safe to say that you’re getting your daily exercise.

“I think I found the perfect blanket for you, Childe. It’s warm and really soft,” you say proudly, tossing the blanket over his shivering body.

Childe smiles at you beneath his face mask before grabbing you by the wrist while you adjust the blanket over him. You pause and look at the ginger Harbinger curiously. For someone who’s sick, Childe still has his strength because he somehow managed to pull you onto his bed. You stumble forward, making sure not to crush him when you land on his bed. Childe wraps his muscular arms around your neck and his legs around your thighs.

“Well, hello to you too,” you mumble, head resting against the crook of Childe’s neck.

Childe doesn’t reply. Instead, he sighs with contentment before rolling over to his side, bringing you with him. You snort and run your hands through his unruly, ginger hair. You pause and squeeze your eyes shut after feeling Childe’s damp hair. Oh, dear Archons. You pull your hands from Childe’s hair and wipe your hand on your shirt. Childe doesn’t seem to notice your slight change of behavior as he continues to nuzzle against you, sighing with contentment. You hear a disgruntled sigh coming from the small infirmary bed beside Childe’s bed. You peek from Childe’s neck to see Diluc and Al Haitham glaring holes into the back of Childe’s head. 

Al Haitham sniffles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Childe, you shouldn’t cuddle with [Y/N], or else you’ll get them sick too,” Al Haitham grumbles, continuing to glare at the ginger Snezhnayan.

“How are you freezing when you’re from Snezhnaya? Aren’t you used to the cold?” Venti asks from the other side of the room.

You chuckle. “Just because Childe is Snezhnayan doesn’t mean he’s used to the cold. Besides, Childe freezing due to being sick and being in a cold environment are two different things,” you say.

You pat Childe’s head and roll off the infirmary bed. Childe whines with protest, grabbing the hem of your shirt and attempting to pull you back to his bed, only for the hem of your shirt to slip through his fingers. Childe pouts and remains in bed, gazing at you with puppy dog eyes. You walk to the person closest to the medicine cart and adjust the pillow under his head.

“How are you feeling, Baizhu? You’re usually the one caring for us all and giving us medication, but today you and I switched spots,” you say, grabbing the medicine bottle with his name on the bottle and uncapping it.

Out of every sick man in the infirmary, you’re worried about Baizhu the most. Baizhu’s health is more at risk, and he’s prone to catching illnesses quickly out of the twenty-seven men. You’re grateful to have Baizhu give you some pointers on what medication to give each man in the infirmary, how much they need to take their medicine, and how often they need to take them.

Baizhu coughs into his elbow, wincing when he feels a sharp pain in his chest. “I could be worse, but with your assistance, I should be okay,” Baizhu wheezes.

You take out two pill tablets for Baizhu and hand them to the green-haired man. Baizhu takes his face mask off, throws the two pills into his mouth, and grabs the cup of water from your hands before downing the water to wash down the pills. Baizhu hands you the cup before lying on the bed. Changsheng, on the other hand, is perched on Baizhu’s lap, slowly slithering up to the green-haired man’s chest and staying there.

“How did we all get sick simultaneously? This sucks,” Kaveh sniffles from the other side of the infirmary, rubbing his red and irritated nose.

Just when Kaveh’s about to say more, his cheeks suddenly puff up, and he covers his mouth with his hands. Everyone stares at Kaveh, watching his pale, sickly skin gradually turn light green. Oh no. You recognize the expression. You rush to the trash can, grab it, and run to the other side of the infirmary to give Kaveh the trash can before he can spew bile all over the place.

Kaveh whimpers a ‘thank you’ before dry heaving into the trash bin. The others close their eyes and cover their ears while you look away, rubbing Kaveh’s back as he vomits into the trash can. After a few minutes, Kaveh wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you take the vomit-filled trash can from his hands.

“I think you should go brush your teeth, Kaveh. Wouldn’t want to have vomit breath, now, do you?” Scaramouche asks, his nose scrunching up with disgust. 

Kaveh sighs and shoots a glare toward Scaramouche. Kaveh tosses the blanket off his body before getting up from the bed and going to the nearest bathroom. Scaramouche chuckles before quickly pulling up his face mask and coughing into his elbows. You sigh and dispose of the vomit-filled trash bin.

After changing the trash bin, you walk into the room and grab a pill bottle for Xiao. You didn’t think it was possible for Archons and Adeptis to get sick, but you were wrong. You stand beside Xiao’s bed and nudge him lightly while he remains on the infirmary bed with the blanket over his head. Xiao groans and curls into a little ball.

“Xiao, I have your medicine. You should take it before you sleep,” you say, nudging the Yaksha lightly.

“Adeptis don’t need sleep,” Xiao grumbles, his voice nasally due to his stuffy nose.

You sigh, grab the edge of the blanket, and yank it off his head. Xiao grumbles and squints at you. Xiao sighs and rolls over on his back, rubbing his eyes. Poor Xiao looks miserable— the tip of his nose is red, and he is constantly sniffling. Xiao wipes his nose with the tissue you hand to him while you uncap the pill bottle to give him his medication.

You hold out the two pill tablets to Xiao. “I know you don’t need sleep, but you should get some sleep regardless. If you don’t rest, then you won’t be healthy. If you’re not healthy, then that means I can’t give you kisses,” you say.

Xiao stares at you before reluctantly grabbing the tablets from your hands, throwing them into his mouth, and swallowing the pills dry. You gaped at Xiao. Xiao points at his head while you stare at him with your mouth agape. 

“What is he doing?” Cyno mutters, hugging his knees to his chest.

Kazuha wraps himself up in the blanket before falling over on the bed. “I think he’s asking for a forehead kiss from [Y/N] as a reward for taking his medicine,” Kazuha replies.

“So… are we not going to talk about how Xiao swallowed those pills without needing water?” Heizou asks, blowing his nose into the tissue.

You and Xiao continue to stare at each other in silence. You chuckle to yourself before leaning toward Xiao and kissing his forehead. Xiao closes his eyes, heat rushing to his cheeks. When you pull away, you notice Xiao’s cheeks are bright pink. You’re not sure if it’s because of his fever or if he’s blushing. Either way, Xiao looks adorable.

“Get some rest now, okay?” You stroke Xiao’s hair.

Xiao nods wordlessly before lying on his back while you tuck him into bed. Xiao closes his eyes when you lean in to kiss his forehead before leaving him to let him sleep. You walk to the next person to check on them, only to see Kaeya knocked out cold. Kaeya’s not wearing his eyepatch as it lays above his pillow. You press your hand against his forehead after brushing his bangs from his forehead. He still has a high fever, and he’s been sick for a few days— luckily, his fever isn’t nearly as bad as the first day.

Kaeya cracks his eyes open when you wipe the sweat from his forehead with a rag. Kaeya clears his throat, wincing when he feels how dry his throat is. “Oh? Is it my turn to be taken care of by nurse bunny?” Kaeya teases.

You snort. “Yes, it’s your turn to be taken care of by me, Kaeya,” you reply. “Try sitting for me, okay? You need to take your medicine.”

Kaeya sighs and sits up, grabbing the eyepatch from above the pillow and putting them on while you grab his medicine bottle. Why would the men need their own prescription if they have the same illness? Well, some are allergic to certain ingredients in the medication, and others are not. Some need stronger doses than others. People’s bodies react to medication differently, and you sure as hell do not want your boyfriends to have a negative reaction to their medication. Especially when they’re sick— some sicker than others.

You take two tablets from the pill bottle, handing them to the Cavalry Captain. Kaeya smiles at you, taking the pills from your hands before swallowing them with the help of water. After downing the medication, Kaeya places the cup on the nightstand between his and Tighnari’s bed, resting his head on your lower abdomen, and closes his eyes.

“Get some rest, alright? I only bothered you awake so you can take your medication,” you murmur, running your hands through his hair.

Kaeya nods before lying on the bed and closing his eyes. You turn to look at Tighnari, whose staring at you with a faraway look. His hair is pulled up in a half ponytail, there are dark circles underneath his eyes, and he’s shaking his head. 

Tighnari clears his throat. “Before you say anything, I already took my medication,” Tighnari rasps.

You blink at him. “When? I didn’t even notice you getting up to take your medication,” you say incredulously.

“He took his medication while you were occupied with Kaveh,” Thoma interjects, snuggling up against the body pillow and closing his eyes.

You sigh. “At least it’s one less person to worry about,” you murmur, running your hands through your hair. “You should get some rest now. Since you took your medication already.”

Tighnari stares at you before pointing at his forehead. You playfully roll your eyes and lean down, kissing his forehead. Tighnari silently cheers before taking his hair out of the half ponytail and lying down. You were about to go over and check on Gorou and Albedo, but the two men were also knocked out cold.

Gorou cracks his eyes open and rubs his eye. “Can I take my medication later? ‘M tired,” Gorou mumbles, rolling over on his stomach, and slowly falls asleep.

“Sorry, Gorou, but I can’t let you skip out on your medication. There’s a time slot, remember?” You poke Gorou’s cheek lightly.

On the bed, one foot from Gorou’s bed, Albedo raises his hand. “I also took my medication earlier as well,” Albedo comments.

You stare at Albedo as the Chief Alchemist gets comfortable in his bed. Well, at least the ones that took their medication are somewhat making it easier for you. You walk to Dainsleif’s bed and sit across from him. The blond man cracks his eyes open and gazes at you with bleary eyes, slowly rubbing his eyes as he sits on the bed. You pull his medicine bottle out from the small basket and hand him the bottle. Dainsleif uncaps the bottle, takes two pill tablets from the bottle, and pops the pills into his mouth before downing the water from his water bottle.

“I didn’t know you could get sick,” you murmur, hugging your knees to your chest.

Dainsleif hands the bottle back to you. “I’m immortal, not immune to diseases and sicknesses,” Dainsleif replies, wiping the droplet of water from the corner of his lips.

You stand and hand him the eyemask. “It looks like not even Archons are immune to diseases and illnesses. I’m going to let you rest now, alright? I’m going to check on the others,” you say, stroking Dainsleif’s hair before walking to the next person.

What amazes you is how Capitano continues to wear his helmet despite being sick. When you hand him his medication, Capitano gets up from his bed and leaves the room for a brief moment before returning.

“You didn’t throw the medicine away, did you?” you ask, gazing at the tall Harbinger skeptically.

Capitano’s shoulders bounce as he sits on his bed and shakes his head. “Just because I took my medication out of sight does not mean I threw them away. You needn’t worry,” says Capitano as he pats your head before lying down.

You sigh in relief and smile at Capitano before turning over to the other three Harbingers. You pass the medicine bottles to each man and fill their cups with water from the water pitcher. You hand the cups to the men, trading the cups of water for the medicine bottles. The three men take their medication before remaining sitting on their beds.

“Is there anything else you three need before I check up on Neuvillette and Wriothesley?” you ask, putting their prescription bottles back into the tray.

Pantalone sighs, takes his glasses off, and puts them on the nightstand. “When can we start cuddling again?” asks the black-haired Harbinger.

“When you’re not sick anymore, Captain Obvious. Do you want [Y/N] to get sick all because you wanted a cuddle session?” Dottore asks, glaring at the black-haired Harbinger.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Even though the two men are sick, they still bicker with one another. Pierro clears his throat and motions for you to come close. You walk to Pierro and stand at the foot of his bed. You grab an extra blanket for Pierro and drape it over him. Pierro grabs your hand and pulls you toward him.

You stand beside Pierro’s bed, and he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach. You run your hands through his hair, untangling the small knots in his hair as Pierro rubs your back with his thumb. You press the back of your hand against his forehead, sighing in relief.

“It looks like your fever is going down faster than the others! That’s great news,” you say, patting his head.

Pierro clears his throat. “It’s all thanks to you, little one. If it weren’t for you, my fever wouldn’t have gone down,” Pierro replies.

“Hey! Stop giving the old man attention because we’re dying over here!” A nasally voice hollers from the other side of the infirmary.

Pierro reluctantly releases you as you turn to where the other two men are lying. Wriothesley looks like a mess, but you can’t blame him since the poor man has emptied his stomach four times so far. Wriothesley sniffles pitifully, hugging the trash can to his chest as he wipes the snot from his nose with the back of his hand. You hand the medication to him, only for Wriothesley to shake his head and place a hand over his stomach.

“I don’t want to take it right now, my dear. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down if I were to take the medication,” Wriothesley says, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Wriothesley’s face turns bright green before shoving his face into the trash bin and retching and emptying his stomach for the fifth time. You sigh, rubbing his back as he continues to spew into the almost full trash bin. While Wriothesley is retching and whimpering into the white trash can, you turn to Neuvillette.

“Did you take your medication?” You ask, shaking the prescription bottle lightly before him.

Neuvillette shakes his head. “I just woke up. Waking up to your face and the sound of your voice is something I would prefer over the sounds of Wriothesley heaving and whimpering into the trash can,” Neuvillette sighs, brushing his hair away from his face.

You run your fingers through Neuvillette’s hair, smiling at the silver-haired man. “Maybe next time when you’re not sick. After all, you and Wriothesley arrived at the estate not long ago, and look at you two… sick just like the others,” you sigh.

Poor Neuvillette and Wriothesley. The two men have moved into the estate not long ago, and yet both of them end up getting the virus that was going around the abode. The first person that caught the virus was Kaveh, and it passed around to everyone in the abode except for little ole’ you. This was strange because you get sick easily— you don’t have a weak immune system per se, but you have lived with children in the past back in your world, and those children would get you sick whenever they were sick.

“Here’s your medicine. Get some rest after, alright? I know you have a headache right now,” you murmur, handing Neuvillette his medication.

Neuvillette grabs the medication from your hands, and you turn to Wriothesley, who places the trash bin beside his bed and gazes at you with bleary eyes. You prop one hand on your hip, looking at Wriothesley curiously.

“Are you done throwing up?” You ask.

Wriothesley nods.

You tap your fingers on your hips. “Do you think you can take your medications now? If not, I can give them to you later when you don’t feel like you have to throw up again,” you suggest.

Wriothesley shakes his head wordlessly and extends his hand, the palm of his hand facing up as he waits for you to hand the pill tablets to him. You sigh and place the two pill tablets on the palm of his hands, and watch the black-haired man shove the pills into his mouth before chugging the water.

“Wriothesley, please don’t chug the water. You might make yourself throw up again if you do that,” you chide.

Wriothesley places the cup back on the nightstand between his and Neuvillette’s bed, wiping the water droplets from his lips with the back of his hand. You pat his head while he smiles, pressing his head against your stomach. After a few minutes of petting Wriothesley’s hair, you grab the trash can beside Wriothesley’s bed and walk out of the room to empty the trash can, only to stop in your tracks when you hear someone retch and a collective groan.

“[Y/N]! You have more trash cans to empty!”

You sigh, shoulders slumping. Whatever this virus is, you sure hope it stops floating around because you don’t know how much longer you can deal with having to change out trash bags. Especially when you’re not a huge fan of vomiting. It’s a good thing you don’t have emetophobia— that would render you useless if you had it. As long as you’re not the one that’s vomiting, you’re okay with cleaning up after someone else’s vomit since it’s not your first rodeo.

Note: Not gonna lie, as I got closer to completing this mini-fic, I started getting nauseous out of nowhere. But I am okay-ish now! The Gatorade kind of helped me feel better. But yes, this upcoming week is the somewhat lengthier fic of villain!isekai'd!reader since it did win the Tumblr and Discord polls. Speaking of Discord, for those who want to join my Discord server, here is the temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]. Please make sure to read the server rules to save yourself from getting in trouble (if you like the server, you can stay, chat, and lurk. If not, you can leave if you don't vibe with it ^^). I didn't post a new link last week due to being away on vacation, and I didn't want my mods to feel overwhelmed with new members while I was away. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @chirikoheina, @yoru-trash, @kaoyamamegami, @deartoru, @luminarymoonlight, @toobytub, @ins4nebish, @bokuto-kinnie, @jadedist, @mompt2, @chalksdreams, @thelost-in-time, @ventisweetheart, @hispasian-otaku, @juuuuuj101010, @samarill, @testsubject0012, @irisxiel, @kazuhaprnt, @lunarapple, @emilymikado, @mabie, @vinnie-w, @n8mareee, @heyimkay, @eliciana, @blesstosuisen, @goldeneclipsedragon, @jjvr4yxc, @sovermike-21-blog, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @faeryminnyx, @simpcreator, @lucifarts-boxers, @thelovebuggs, @urlocalheizousimp, @sunlightstarr (Accounts that I was unable to tag have been removed. Those who don't want to be tagged in certain stories are not tagged in this particular post. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

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