⊹ ࣪ ˖ time woven into gold ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎

˚₊‧꒰ა why does life slumber? ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[cythiraeth]

✧ nice to meet you! ✶࿐

you can call me liv! i use she/her pronouns, and i'm 20. take note that english is not my first language and writing is just a hobby that allows me to express myself creatively (and indulge my love for fictional characters), as for daily, i'm a med student who loves to do anything just to not study ^^

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[cythiraeth]

circling back

i. e. a drunk, young varka one-shot

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: varka x gn!reader

✧ ─ ⌑ short description: varka comes back from another expedition, and you tell yourself you’re still angry with him for leaving. unfortunately, he knows you too well to let that last long.

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, varka is drunk and reader is also drinking, varka here is few years younger than in game so he may be ooc, fluff with some angst

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: hii, i'm back! studies have been much of pain lately so i didn't have time to write, but idea of this fanfic has been stuck in my mind for quite some time lately, and i finally finished it! i know it's supposed to be one shot, but honestly, i could totally think about a continuation if yall would like it ^^

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 5.5 k

☆ - link to my genshin impact masterlist

the evening had folded itself over mondstadt in soft gold and blue by the time you stepped into angel’s share, the tavern already humming with the kind of warmth that drew people in from the cooling streets like moths to a lantern. the heavy wooden door swung shut behind you with a muffled thud, sealing you inside a room thick with laughter, candle smoke and the sharp-sweet scent of wine that clung to every beam and tabletop. it was crowded tonight — far more than usual — and it took only a glance around to understand why.

a cluster of knights had nearly claimed the center of the room, tankards raised, voices spilling over one another in animated retellings of some expedition mishap that was undoubtedly growing more heroic with every retelling. boots scraped against the floorboards, chairs dragged, glasses clinked. somewhere near the bar, someone was already halfway through a drinking song.

and at the heart of it all, like the center of a storm that never quite settled, was varka. not grand master varka, not yet. just varka — the young knight everyone seemed to know by name, broad-shouldered and golden with life, with that easy, infuriating grin that made him look as though the whole world had been built purely for his amusement.

he was leaning back in his chair, one arm slung over the backrest and the other wrapped loosely around a half-empty tankard, while one of the knights beside him spoke so animatedly that he nearly spilled his drink. varka only laughed, slowly and unbotheredly, catching the tankard by instinct before it tipped over completely. his hair — longer now than the last time you’d seen him, you noticed with an irritating sting of unwanted fondness — fell in loose waves around a face flushed warm from wine and heat of the crowd.

you had barely taken two steps further into the tavern and started searching the crowd for the table where your friends had promised to save you a seat when his gaze caught you. 

it happened almost visibly — his attention pulling away from the conversation beside him mid-laugh, eyes finding yours through the noise and candlelight, and then he smiled. not the broad, careless grin he’d been wearing moments ago for the rest of the room, but something smaller and warmer.

“well, there you are,” he murmured, as though he’d been expecting you all evening.

annoyingly, your body reacted before your thoughts did — that familiar warmth spread in your chest almost instantly at the sound of his voice, at the sight of that softened smile directed at you and you alone, after weeks of hearing nothing about him except secondhand stories from other knights passing through the city.

you hated that it still happened. hated that some part of you had apparently memorised him well enough to respond automatically.

your gaze flicked briefly over him again despite yourself — the flushed skin, the loose strands of hair falling into his face, the tankard hanging lazily from his hand — before you forced your expression into something far more unimpressed than whatever had almost naturally surfaced.

“you say that like i’m late,” you replied dryly. “while actually, i’m perfectly on time to see the people i intended to see tonight” 

“that sounds cruel,” he murmured eventually, leaning back slightly in his chair with one hand still curled loosely around the neck of the tankard resting on the table. “especially after i spent all evening expecting you to join us.”

behind him, the tavern continued as before — laughter spilling over tables, someone calling for another round. it was the kind of celebration that had clearly been going on long before you arrived, and would continue long after this moment stopped mattering to anyone else. he tipped his head slightly towards it, as if trying to fold you into the same scene.

“they’re celebrating,” he said, his voice steadier now, no longer teasing, but low and matter-of-fact, as if he thought it was obvious. “you can’t look at me like that and then just walk past me when i’ve barely been back long enough to sit down. at least stay for a bit. just—”

“you’re celebrating,” you cut in, sharper than intended, before you could stop it, “the fact that you have no ties keeping you here, varka.”

for a moment, the sound around him didn’t fade, but something in the way he was sitting changed — subtle at first, as if the sentence had caught him mid-thought, making him forget what his hands were doing. the tankard stayed halfway lifted for a second too long before he set it down more carefully than necessary, as if the motion had to be recalculated.

only then did his gaze fully lift back to you, not offended, just slightly less effortless than before. a pause stretched, brief but noticeable. then, he exhaled slowly, leaning back into his chair again like he was trying to recover the shape of the conversation without letting it slip away from him completely.

 “you think very unkind things about me sometimes.” he murmured, but there was no bite in it. “and you always pick the worst possible interpretation first. it’s almost impressive” he added after a moment, lighter again, but less careless now.

“varka, i’m not in the mood for you games” you didn’t look directly into his eyes as you said it, quickly turning around and gathering all your strength to finally walk past him, even though a huge part of you was begging you to stay.

something in his expression flickered at that, as though your words had managed to slip through the haze of wine and celebration clearly enough that, for once, he couldn’t immediately smooth them over with another grin or some half-teasing remark meant to pull you back towards him.

you had barely taken a step before the sound of his chair scraping softly against the tavern floor reached your ears from behind you. and then warmth closed around your wrist.

not sudden enough to truly startle you, not rough or forceful — just certain enough to stop your movement before you could properly convince yourself to keep going. his fingers settled around your skin with a familiarity that felt too natural after so many weeks apart.

for a brief second, you hated how easily your body recognised him, how instinctively you froze at his touch, because some reckless part of you had apparently memorised things like this, too — the weight of his hand, its careless gentleness, the way he held on as if he expected you to stay, while giving you enough space to leave.

you could feel the hesitation in his grip, which somehow made it worse. because if he had stopped you thoughtlessly and playfully, with all the same effortless confidence with which he approached everything else, maybe you could have brushed it aside more easily. instead, there was something almost careful about the way his fingers rested on your wrist, as if he were aware, perhaps for the first time that evening, that pushing too hard might make you walk away.

“hey,” he said softly this time, not loud enough for the others at the table to hear over the noise spilling through the tavern, not shaped for the room around him the way all his earlier words had been.

slowly, against your better judgement, you turned your head back towards him, only enough to look at him over your shoulder at first — and immediately regretted it a little when you found him already watching you with an expression that made the warmth and noise of angel’s share suddenly feel far too close around you.

“don’t go yet,” he murmured, his thumb brushing absently against the inside of your wrist as though the motion had happened without him meaning to.

for a moment, you just stared at him, not because you were surprised by the request — of course you weren’t, this was varka, and varka had always moved through the world with the quiet assumption that people stayed when he asked them to — but because of the way he said it, stripped suddenly of all the easy charm and loose laughter he wore so naturally that seeing the absence of it felt strangely disorienting.

you couldn’t remember the last time he had been so careful with you, and maybe that was exactly why the tension threatening to knot too tightly in your chest loosened just enough for a short, breathy laugh to escape before you could stop it.

“you look strangely serious for someone who’s supposed to be celebrating,” you murmured, finally turning more fully towards him. his hand was still around your wrist, warm and steady, and neither of you seemed entirely aware of it anymore.

for a brief moment, something softer threatened to remain in his expression, but then he shrugged it away, the corner of his mouth curving into a grin that was far more familiar. “ah, there she is,” he sighed, as though genuinely relieved. “i was beginning to think you’d lost all affection for me entirely.” 

you let out another quiet laugh at that, despite yourself. you could already feel your resolve fraying in ways you had promised yourself it wouldn’t the moment you walked into the tavern tonight, and he noticed immediately. his grin widened with something almost triumphant, and he tipped his head towards the empty seat beside him, his posture relaxing back into that infuriating ease that seemed to belong only to him.

“c’mon,” he murmured, his voice lower but still teasingly. “sit down before i’m forced to start begging publicly. you know how embarrassing that would be for both of us.”

you should have walked away anyway; you knew that. but the warmth of his touch lingered stubbornly on your wrist. the exhaustion beneath his earlier softness sat unpleasantly heavily at the back of your mind. and worst of all, he was looking at you now with that familiar mixture of amusement and fondness which had always made it dangerously easy to forget yourself around him. 

so, with a quiet sigh that felt suspiciously close to surrender, you finally slipped into the empty chair beside him before your better judgement could stop you quickly enough, as his hand slipped away from your wrist. the satisfaction that crossed his face was immediate, though he at least had the decency not to comment on your decision aloud, but you noticed the way his shoulders relaxed once you sat down beside him. 

around you, angel's share continued to move to the same loud, glowing rhythm it always did on nights like this. somewhere deeper in the tavern, a group of knights had started to argue over whose version of an expedition story was true. their voices grew progressively louder with every tankard they emptied, and one of them nearly fell backwards in his chair to the amusement of everyone at the table.

varka watched the scene for a moment with poorly concealed amusement before leaning back in his chair and stretching in a way that made his exhaustion beneath all the wine and laughter painfully obvious.

“they’ve been doing this for hours,” he murmured, glancing sideways at you. “the story gets less accurate every time somebody orders another drink.”

“and yet you’re still encouraging them.”

“i’m a generous man.”

“you’re drunk.”

“that too.” the answer came easily, accompanied by the faintest hint of a smile as he reached for his drink again. his movements had gained the slight looseness of someone pleasantly past the point of sobriety, but not quite clumsy yet.

you watched him take a sip despite yourself, gaze catching briefly on the faint scrape near his jaw you hadn’t noticed before in candlelight.

“what happened there?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“hm?” his brows lifted slightly.

you gestured vaguely toward his face. “the cut.”

for a second, he looked almost surprised you’d noticed it at all, then he laughed quietly under his breath and brushed his fingers absentmindedly against the mark. 

“one of the recruits spooked a boar halfway through setting camp,” he said. “the animal disagreed violently with our presence.”

despite yourself, your expression tightened slightly.

 “it looks worse than it is,” he added, his voice softening as if reassurance had become instinct somewhere along the road between all those expeditions and returns home. “i’ve had worse.”

“that isn’t comforting.”

“wasn’t meant to be.” his grin returning faintly over the rim of the tankard. “well. maybe a little.” 

you rolled your eyes, though the irritation lacked any real sharpness now.

for a moment, silence settled between you — not awkward, not entirely comfortable either, just full of the strange familiarity that always seemed to return the second varka stepped back into your life after being gone too long. it irritated you how natural it still felt. like the weeks between seeing him properly had somehow collapsed into nothing the moment you sat down beside him.

your fingers traced idly against the condensation gathering along the untouched glass someone had placed in front of you while you’d been distracted.

“twelve weeks,” you said eventually, quieter this time.

varka glanced toward you immediately, like he’d known exactly what you meant before you even finished speaking.

“was it that long?”

you looked at him flatly, which said more than words could. 

ah,” he sighed, leaning back further into the chair. “that bad, then.”

“you left before sunrise,” you continued, ignoring the weak attempt at humor. “you didn’t say goodbye to anyone properly, and then suddenly i hear from half the city that you volunteered for another apparently dangerous expedition that had become tavern gossip before you even crossed the border.”

the warmth in his expression dimmed slightly around the edges, and he turned the tankard slowly between his hands before answering.

“if i’d come to see you before leaving,” he said after a moment, voice roughened faintly by drink and exhaustion alike, “you would’ve tried to convince me not to go.”

“and?” you let out a short breath through your nose.

his eyes lifted back to yours then, steadier than before despite the alcohol lingering warmly beneath them. for a second, it almost looked like he might answer honestly. instead, the corner of his mouth curved again into something lighter, though not quite enough to fully disguise whatever had briefly surfaced there.

“and you’re very persuasive when you’re angry at me.”

your eyes narrowed slightly at the lazy satisfaction trying to settle back into his expression, and for a second you considered getting up again purely out of spite, if only to wipe that faint, knowing curve from the corner of his mouth.

instead you reached for the untouched glass in front of you, taking a sip mostly to give yourself something else to focus on besides the way he was looking at you now.

“that’s a terrible excuse,” you muttered eventually.

“mm,” he hummed easily beside you. “probably.”

you glanced sideways at him in disbelief. “probably?”

“well, i’m drunk, so my judgment’s suffering a little tonight.”

the answer came far too quickly, clearly meant to drag the conversation back toward safer ground. he tipped the tankard slightly between his hands before speaking again, gaze drifting briefly toward the noise of the tavern instead of directly at you this time.

“truthfully,” he said after a moment, slower now, “i didn’t really trust myself to see you before leaving.”

you looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression, but he seemed suddenly very occupied with the drink in his hand. a quiet, almost self-aware laugh threatened to escape from somewhere deep in his throat.

“which,” he added quickly before you could answer, “sounds significantly more dramatic out loud than it did in my head.”

despite yourself, your brows pulled together slightly.  “varka—”

“i know, i know.” he waved a hand lightly before taking another drink, cutting you off before the conversation could sharpen into something too honest for either of you to comfortably sit inside. “terrible strategy, deeply flawed. but in my defense, i was very busy nearly getting trampled by wildlife and preventing grown men from freezing to death in the mountains.”

you stared at him for another second, still caught somewhere between irritation and the uncomfortable hope his earlier admission had left behind. 

i didn’t trust myself to see you before leaving.

he had said it so casually, like it wasn’t the sort of sentence capable of rearranging the atmosphere around the two of you entirely if either of you looked at it too closely.

and maybe he realised that, too, because the moment silence stretched on for a little too long, the corner of his mouth lifted into a lighter, easier smile, and he slipped deliberately back into his familiar charm before you could ask him another question. 

time blurred strangely after that.

somewhere between another round of drinks appearing at the table without either of you ordering them and one of the knights attempting — disastrously — to stand on a chair in order to re-enact part of a battle strategy, the sharpness you had carried into angel’s share began to fade away and became far more difficult to hold onto properly.

varka continued to talk, sometimes directly to you, sometimes to the rest of the table and sometimes to no one in particular, in that unfocused way that drunk people do. he spoke with his hands when he was in this state, you noticed — broad gestures and lazy movements, as if he could physically pull people into the story he was telling, with his fingers brushing against the air.

at one point, he spent almost five minutes passionately arguing that one of the knights should never be trusted with navigation again, having somehow led half the expedition in the wrong direction for two days.

“you’re exaggerating,” the accused knight complained from somewhere farther down the table.

“i’m being generous,” varka replied immediately, leaning back in his chair with the heavy confidence. “there were actual arguments with maps involved. i saw tears in at least one man’s eyes.”

“those were from the snow.”

“mm. tragic regardless.”

the table broke into laughter again, loud enough that several people nearby turned to look.

you felt yourself smiling into your drink before you realized it was happening and his eyes flicked toward you for only a second, but something in his expression loosened at the sight, satisfaction slipping quietly through the warmth already softened by wine.

and somehow that became the rhythm of the evening after that. you listening, despite yourself, while he spoke, occasionally interrupting only to call him insufferable under your breath when his stories became too exaggerated, him looking entirely too pleased every single time he managed to make you laugh anyway.

the dangerous part was how natural it all felt once you stopped resisting it.

later, when the room had grown warmer and louder and the candles burned lower against the tavern walls, you became aware of smaller things instead — the roughness of his sleeve brushing your arm every time he shifted beside you. the way his voice had grown slightly deeper with exhaustion as the night stretched on.  the fact that he kept turning instinctively toward you whenever something amused him, like your reaction had become part of the conversation without either of you acknowledging it.

and somewhere along the line, without really noticing when it happened, you stopped thinking about leaving. until—

“you’d better not disappear again before windblume this time.” the complaint came from farther down the table, thrown carelessly between rounds of cards and half-drunk laughter, but it cut through the warmth settled in your chest with cruel precision anyway.

you felt the shift before you even looked at him. varka tensed slightly in his chair, tankard hanging loosely from his fingers now while several of the other knights groaned in agreement around the table.

“last year was miserable,” someone added. “half the city was empty.”

“depends,” varka said after a moment, easy enough that nobody else would notice the hesitation buried underneath it. “there’s talk of another expedition east before spring properly settles in.”

your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your glass. beside you, varka glanced toward your hands for the briefest moment before looking away again just as quickly. 

the conversation around the table moved on quickly enough, swallowed again by cards and drinking songs and arguments over whose turn it had been several rounds ago, but something different settled between the two of you afterward, softer than the earlier tension yet somehow heavier too.

because now the reminder sat there openly between you. he would leave again. not tomorrow, not relatively soon, but he inevitably will. and somehow that made the warmth of his shoulder against yours feel almost unbearable for a few minutes.

still, you stayed. maybe because you were tired. maybe because the wine had softened your anger into something slower and sadder. or maybe because after twelve weeks of absence, the simple fact that he was here again outweighed your frustration just enough tonight for you to stop fighting it.

outside, mondstadt had gone quieter by the time the two of you finally stepped out of angel’s share together, the cold night air striking your face sharply after hours spent inside the tavern’s warmth. 

behind you, laughter still spilled faintly through the tavern doors before they shut again, muffling the sound and leaving only distant warmth and music. the city looked softer this late at night, lanternlight glowing gold against stone streets, the breeze cool enough now to sober you little by little with every step away from the tavern.

varka walked beside you quietly at first, his hands loosely shoved into the pockets of his coat. his earlier drunken energy had faded, and the exhaustion was beginning to settle into his movements. and he was still slightly drunk. you could tell from the way he kept drifting a little too close to you every now and then, before correcting himself by half a step like he’d only just noticed. 

eventually, without saying anything, he shrugged off his coat and draped it around your shoulders before you could properly protest. the fabric still carried warmth from his body. and faintly, beneath wine and cold air, you could smell cedarwood and smoke.

“i’m not cold,” you muttered automatically.

“mhm,” he hummed beside you, entirely unconcerned. “humor me anyway.”

you glanced sideways at him. the wind had pushed loose strands of hair across his face again, and without the loud warmth of angel’s share surrounding him, he suddenly looked more tired than he had all evening. not unhappy, just worn down in that quiet way people became after weeks spent surviving mostly on movement and responsibility and too little sleep.

when he noticed you looking, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“what?”

“nothing.”

“that’s usually a lie.”

“you’re drunk enough to deserve a little paranoia.” a soft laugh escaped him at that, lower than it had been earlier in the evening.

you turned a corner, the familiar outline of your street beginning to form in the distance — quieter than the rest of the city with lanterns spaced farther apart. 

and just like that, the walk lost its direction. you slowed without meaning to. he did too. the shift was small, almost imperceptible, but it changed everything around it — the way footsteps stopped aligning, the way conversation that had been drifting so easily suddenly had nowhere left to go. you came to a stop near the base of your steps.

varka stood where he was for a moment longer, then finally turned fully towards you, his hands still in his pockets. his coat still hung loosely over you as if it had already decided to stay there for the time being.

“keep it,” his gaze dropped briefly to your shoulders.

you frowned slightly. “i’ll return it.”

“i know,” he said, and there was something faintly amused in it again.

you adjusted it anyway, fingers brushing the collar absently as you looked at him.

for a second, it felt like he might say something else. but instead, he only tilted his head slightly and studied you in that quiet, unfocused way he got when alcohol and exhaustion were no longer fighting for control.

and then, as if the silence had become too comfortable for him to leave it alone, he exhaled through his nose — a sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh — and shifted his weight slightly where he stood.

“you know,” he began slowly, like he hadn’t meant to speak at all, like the words had only just caught up to whatever thought had been circling behind his eyes all evening, “it’s strange.”

he glanced away from you for a moment, toward the empty stretch of street behind you, where the lanternlight thinned and disappeared into darker stone.

“coming back, i mean.” a pause, softer now, almost careless on the surface if you didn’t listen too closely. “i always think i’ll just… return, rest, deal with whatever report someone is already waiting to shove into my hands.” his mouth tilted slightly, not quite a smile.

“but i always end up circling back here first.”

the sentence hung in the air between you, something he hadn’t realised he was letting slip. for a moment, you forgot to respond because there was nothing overt in it — nothing that could be held, challenged or softened. and yet it still pressed against something uncomfortably honest in your chest.

varka, meanwhile, seemed to notice the shift immediately. his expression changed first — not into regret, not into seriousness, but into that familiar half-step backward he always took when things got too real.

“that sounds more dramatic than it is,” he added lightly, as though he could file it back under jokes if he said it fast enough. but it didn’t fully reach his voice the way it usually did.

you looked at him then, standing there with your coat on your shoulders and his words still hanging between you like something neither of you had decided what to do with. and for a second, it was almost unbearable how familiar it felt — this pattern of him stepping closer without meaning to, and then immediately pretending he hadn’t.

you should have said something sharp. instead, your fingers tightened slightly on the edge of his coat, just once, before you let them loosen again.

“you should go,” you said quietly, averting your gaze, though it didn’t sound as firm as you intended.

something in him went briefly still in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol or exhaustion. his gaze flickered over you once, slow and unguarded, and for the first time that night, he didn’t try to make it anything other than what it was, no easy smile gathering at the corners of his mouth, just him looking at you as if he was trying to decide whether you meant it as gently as you said it.

“ah,” he murmured after a moment, his hand lifting slightly before stopping halfway to his face. it was as if he had intended to run his hand through his hair or rub the tension away from behind his eyes, but had forgotten why he had moved at all halfway through. instead, he let his hand fall back into his pocket.

“you say that like it’s simple,” he added, quieter, and there was something in the way his voice had changed that made you understand, suddenly and far too clearly, that he wasn’t just talking about tonight. 

the realisation hit so quickly that you forgot to breathe properly for a second. your eyes lifted to his instinctively, searching for a hint of teasing, some indication that he hadn’t meant the sentence to carry the weight it immediately took on in your chest — but there was nothing easy left in his expression now, nothing careless enough to hide behind.

and that terrified you a little more than it should have, because if you let the conversation continue like this, even for another minute, you weren’t entirely sure what the two of you would end up saying out loud. he looked away then — not fully or sharply, just enough to break the directness of it.

“you should go,” you repeated, and that was what did it. not the words themselves, but the second time.

his expression shifted — a small recalculation he hadn’t expected to have to make at your doorstep. he exhaled through his nose again, slower this time, like he was letting something settle rather than brushing it away.

“you always do that.” he said. then, slightly rougher, though still quiet “act like it’s just a matter of distance.”

the words lodged somewhere low in your chest with uncomfortable precision and you couldn't understand why he just wouldn't stop talking.

your throat tightened almost immediately, sudden enough that you had to look away from him for a second, gaze drifting instead toward the dim stretch of lanternlight spilling across the empty street beside you, anywhere except directly back at him while the meaning of the sentence unfolded too clearly in your head.

because the worst part was that he was right.

it had never really been about the weeks apart. or at least, not only that.

distance was simply easier to be angry at. easier to point toward whenever he disappeared again, easier to wrap your frustration around than everything else sitting underneath it.

the fact that he always came back. the fact that you always let him. the fact that neither of you seemed capable of leaving whatever this was alone long enough for it to disappear naturally.

and maybe, if you were being painfully honest with yourself, there was something almost unfair hidden inside your anger too.

because varka had never actually promised you anything. not devotion. not permanence. not even the certainty of staying.

the two of you were, technically, only friends. close enough to blur strangely at the edges sometimes, close enough that people occasionally looked at the two of you a second too long before pretending they hadn’t, but still — nothing defined, nothing spoken aloud, nothing you could reasonably hold against him every time he left mondstadt behind again.

and yet you always reacted like he was taking something with him anyway. like his departures were personal.

the realization burned unpleasantly beneath your ribs, sudden self-awareness curling together with embarrassment so quickly you almost wished he’d gone back to joking instead.

his eyes came back to you then. and there was something in them that didn’t quite match the looseness he’d carried all evening — not regret, not apology, not even frustration. just a kind of tired awareness, like he’d been circling the same thought for far too long and only now realized you could see it too.

the silence that followed lasted barely a few seconds. your lips parted slightly before you could stop yourself. “i didn’t—”

but the words stalled almost immediately. because what exactly were you supposed to say in your defense now?

that you didn’t mean to act that way? that you weren’t angry at him, not really? that every time he left, some irrational part of you reacted like it mattered far more than it had any right to? none of it sounded any less humiliating, so the sentence died unfinished between you, and you looked away first.

for a moment, varka only watched you quietly. the faint curve at the corner of his mouth never fully disappeared, but it changed into something tired in a way that made sudden guilt curl unpleasantly low in your stomach.

not tired of you, exactly. tired of this. of whatever invisible line the two of you kept walking back and forth across without ever deciding whether to cross it properly or finally leave it alone.

the wind shifted softly through the street between you, colder now than before, stirring the edges of the coat hanging around your shoulders.

for one brief, awful second, you thought he might say something else.

instead, he only exhaled quietly through his nose and stepped, the movement unhurried but final in a way the rest of the evening hadn’t been.

“goodnight,” he said. simple again. gentle, even. and somehow that almost made it worse after everything else.

you managed a small nod a second too late, fingers tightening unconsciously around the sleeve of his coat while he held your gaze for one last quiet moment before finally turning away.

you watched him go anyway. watched the slow shape of him disappear farther down the lanternlit street, hands shoved back into his pockets against the cold, shoulders broad beneath the uneven gold light spilling across the stone.

he didn’t look back. and maybe you were grateful for that, because you weren’t entirely sure what expression he would’ve found on your face if he had.

only after he disappeared fully around the corner did you finally let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, the night suddenly feeling much colder around you despite the coat still draped over your shoulders.

but fabric had already begun losing the warmth of his body.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 10.5.2026. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

Would you do the moment genshin men realise they've fallen for you with kaeya too? 👉🏽👈🏽🥹 Also with kaeya (feel free to add other characters of course!) what about the prompt where he's your secret admirer and you end up finding out is him eventually, wondering how that would be jejeheh

cupid's chokehold! pt. III

i.e the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x varka, kaeya, diluc

✧ ─ ⌑ short description: the exact moment and/or process which lead to it when genshin men realize they are head over heels for you!

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: fluff, written pre varka release, lowercase

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: hiya! i'm back with the third part of this series. today's the day of varka release, but i wrote it a few weeks ago so i labelled it as pre-release written :3 i haven't read all of his lore yet, but the leaks made me really interester already, so expect something more with him ^^ (also his banner quality is kinda ahh, sory for that but we just don't have any decent official art of him yet so i didn't have any art that would suit better..)

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 2k in total

+ link to my genshin impact masterlist

varka

the first letter was folded neatly and tucked into the inner pocket of his coat — kept there for convenience, or so he told himself.

expeditions were long, nights often colder than expected, and familiar words had a way of steadying his mind. your handwriting was easy to recognise even at a glance, the ink slightly darker where your pen had lingered. the contents were simple — updates from mondstadt, remarks about people he knew, small events that meant little on their own. he read it once by the campfire, then again before sleeping, and once more the following morning.

more letters accumulated gradually, folded and refolded until the creases softened, until the paper no longer sat flat against his palm. he told himself it was habit now, nothing more than a routine formed on the road. whenever the camp settled into silence, his hand would drift to his coat, fingers brushing the pocket without giving it a thought.

sometimes he read them fully. sometimes only parts.

what he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge was which lines he returned to most often.

not the mentions of meetings or minor changes in the city, not the names or dates — but the offhand details slipped in without importance. a sentence about what you had worn to a gathering, mentioned only because you found it amusing. a comment about your hair, how it had grown longer than you expected, how it kept getting in your way now.

he lingered over those lines longer than the rest, rereading them without quite understanding why, forming an image in his mind that felt strangely precise.

as the days passed, excuses followed.

he reached for his coat even when the air was mild, fingers brushing fabric that no longer held the chill of night. he unfolded a letter while standing watch, telling himself it helped him stay alert. when questioned, he spoke of updates, of responsibility, of staying informed.

none of it felt like a lie — and yet, it wasn’t entirely true.

the realisation came to him under a foreign sky. the camp was quiet, his armor lay set aside nearby, his coat folded at his side. he reached for it without thinking — and paused.

it wasn’t even cold.

the thought landed slowly, unmistakably clear in its simplicity —  he had been inventing reasons.

standing there, coat in hand, he became aware of how often his thoughts had returned not to the journey ahead, but to the words waiting in his pocket. how the most unremarkable letters had begun to shape his days, not because of what they said, but because of who they came from.

when mondstadt finally appeared on the horizon weeks later, he didn’t consciously register the moment his gaze began to search the crowd gathered near the gates — it happened instinctively, the same way his hand had learned the weight of your letters in his coat.

when he found you, standing among the others as if you had always been there, the tension he hadn’t realised he’d been carrying eased gradually, breath by breath. you looked the same, unchanged by the passing months, and yet seeing you again anchored him in a way the road never quite had.

for the first time since the expedition began, his thoughts did not drift forward to what awaited him next, but remained firmly where he stood — in that moment, in that place, with the quiet understanding that returning was no longer just an ending to a journey, but something that held meaning of its own.

kaeya

it started simply enough, with a drink paid for ahead of time at angel’s share, the mora slid across the polished wood of the counter with a silent nod to charles. kaeya didn’t linger to witness the moment you’d walk in, shaking the light rain from your cloak and finding your favourite drink already waiting at your preferred corner table. it was efficient, discreet, and spared you the discomfort of feeling as though you owed something in return. he thought of it as a favor for a friend.

after that, it became routine.

a bottle of fine wine delivered on an evening he knew you’d rather spend alone. information passed along at exactly the right moment, never framed as help, only coincidence. he took care to keep his presence absent from it all, arranging things quietly and stepping away before they could be traced back to him.

he’d always been good at that.

for a time, he didn’t question it. the gestures were small, practical and easy to justify. he’d done more for less reason before, and this felt no different. anonymity made it easy to dismiss — if you never knew, then it didn’t mean anything. if you never asked, then he wasn’t crossing a line.

then, he started paying attention in a way he hadn’t before. what unsettled him wasn’t the acts themselves, but the way they began to occupy space in his thoughts. he started noticing how your moods shifted. which days you lingered longer at the tavern, which evenings you preferred to leave early. he remembered the way your voice sounded when you were tired, the way your posture changed when you were thinking too much.

it was still easy to justify. he told himself he was observant by nature, that this was nothing more than pattern recognition, a skill sharpened by habit. but somewhere along the way, the patterns stopped being neutral.

he began to anticipate. not outcomes, not efficiency — but you.

before leaving anything behind, he caught himself pausing, wondering how you would react. whether you would laugh it off, whether you would frown in confusion, whether you would hesitate before accepting it at all. he imagined the brief crease between your brows when something surprised you, the way your shoulders eased once you understood.

he thought about timing differently then. not in terms of convenience, but in terms of you — whether it would reach you on a good day or a difficult one, whether it would feel like relief or intrusion. there were moments he chose not to act, not because it wasn’t possible, but because he decided you wouldn’t want it.

and somewhere between this careful consideration, standing in the cold night air outside the tavern, watching the light from the windows spill onto the cobblestones, he realized he wasn't just being helpful. this was no longer about discretion, or habit, or favors offered without obligation. he wasn’t thinking about what was useful, or appropriate, or easy to dismiss.

he was thinking about you.

he hadn’t been helping a friend. he had been choosing you, again and again, in ways that required no audience.

the thought didn’t unsettle him as much as it should have. instead, it fit — slipping neatly into place among all the unspoken decisions he’d already made. he didn’t change his behavior after that, didn’t stop, didn’t escalate. he simply knew now.

and for someone like kaeya, that knowledge — carried carefully, kept private — was more than enough.

diluc

diluc had never been careless with his time.

his days followed a rhythm shaped long before you became part of it — patrols at night, paperwork at dawn, the slow inspection of the winery as it stirred awake. and yet, you were there more often than most things he allowed to repeat.

not in a way that drew attention to itself. you didn’t arrive on a fixed day, didn’t announce yourself as part of his routine, but you always came with a reason — a delivery, a report, a question that could have been answered by someone else.

he found himself adjusting without remark. the documents he sorted were arranged so there was space at the table. the door to his office remained open longer than usual, even when the chill of dawn crept in through the halls. instructions were given more quietly when you were nearby, his voice kept low out of habit he didn’t remember forming.

you spoke when you felt like it, and when you didn’t, the silence was left intact. and he believed it should have ended there, as something ordinary and contained, no different from any other practical arrangement. diluc was good at drawing those lines, at keeping the things that mattered contained and distant, where they couldn’t interfere with the work that needed doing.

except he noticed when you weren’t there. his attention paused over small absences — the untouched cup, the empty chair angled toward the window, the fact that the morning seemed to move more slowly without interruption. he found himself finishing tasks sooner, then stopping, hands resting idly on the desk as if waiting for something he hadn’t scheduled.

when you returned, there was no greeting that acknowledged the gap. no question about where you’d been, or why the days hadn’t aligned. but his gaze lingered a fraction longer than before, following you as you crossed the room, taking in details he hadn’t needed to register.

one evening, your reason for stopping by was resolved quickly. the matter of inventory discrepancies had been clarified, the necessary figures confirmed. there was nothing left to add. you rose from the chair opposite his desk, smoothing your sleeve. “that should be everything,” you said. “i won’t keep you longer.”

he inclined his head. “very well.” as you turned toward the door and your hand had just reached the handle.

“you mentioned earlier,” he said, voice even, “that the road near windrise has grown uneven.” you paused, glancing back at him. “only slightly. it’s nothing serious.” he set his pen down with deliberate care “describe it.”.

you stepped away from the door. “it’s just the western stretch. the rain’s worn down the edge of the path. carts are forced closer to the slope.”

he listened without interrupting, gaze steady. “it’s manageable,” you added after a moment. “the knights will likely repair it before long.”

“likely,” he repeated.

you shifted your weight, then returned to the chair without being asked. 

“if the erosion continues,” he said, folding his hands loosely atop the desk, “it may affect transport from the southern vineyards. i’ll send someone to assess it tomorrow.”

you nodded. “that’s not necessary. it doesn’t concern the winery directly.”

“it does,” he replied. the conversation drifted from there — from road conditions to shipment schedules, from schedules to harvest projections. nothing urgent. nothing requiring immediate resolution. the lamp burned lower as the sky beyond the window deepened into night.

when you finally stood again, the hour had slipped further than intended. “i truly will leave you to your work this time,” you said, quieter now.

he did not move to stop you, but neither did he return immediately to his papers. the door closed softly behind you. the study returned to stillness.

for a moment, he remained where he stood, gaze resting on the wood as though expecting it to open again. the lamp flame flickered faintly in the draft you had left behind.

he turned back to his desk. the ledgers lay open exactly where he had left them. the figures had not changed. the hour, however, had.

he reached for his pen — and stopped. the page blurred, not from exhaustion, but from distraction. his thoughts did not return immediately to shipments or accounts. they lingered instead on the sound of your chair scraping lightly against the floor, on the way your voice had softened near the end of the evening.

it was inconvenient. he set the pen down again. the extension of the conversation replayed itself with uncomfortable clarity. there had been no urgency in his question. no necessity. he had spoken simply because you were leaving. and he had not wanted you to.

a quiet knock sounded the following night. not urgent. not hesitant. he did not look at the clock this time. he knew, with a clarity that left little room for argument, that today he had been anticipating the sound of that knock.

not the business you brought. not the conversation. just you.

he opened the door anyway.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 25.2.2026. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

Hi! I loved your writing for the Genshin males as Girl Dads 😊

May I ask how you think Anaxa or Sunday from Honkai Star Rail would be as Girl Dads?

I hope you have a good new year!

the achieve of gentle things

i.e honkai star rail men as girl-dads

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: fem!reader x aventurine, sunday, jing yuan, anaxa, mydei, phainon

✧ ─ ⌑ short description: how do they behave when they welcome their daughter into this world? how does she change them and their life?

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: fluff with angst, mentions of pregnancy, lowercase, not spoiler free

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: finally, my first work for honkai star rail men :33 i'm really glad that you made this request because i just looove this topic! as for more organizational stuff, as you can see, i made some changes to my profile, i hope you like the new theme ^^

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 5.5 k in total

+ link to my honkai star rail masterlist

aventurine

aventurine has always viewed love as a transaction, a calculated risk with the odds stacked against him. he loved his family, and the universe took them. he loved his home, and it was ground to dust. love, in his experience, is the ultimate marker for destruction. it is the signal that tells the world what to take from you next.

so when you tell him, he does not see a future. he sees a target. a bright, glowing bullseye painted on your body, on his own chest, on a life that hasn’t even begun yet. his smile, that brilliant, weaponized smile, doesn’t just fade — it shatters. he stares at you, and for a terrible, endless moment, he is not in the room. he is in the dark, the crushing, suffocating place that forged him, and he is calculating the exact probability of this new, precious thing being ripped away. it always comes out the same: one hundred percent. everything he loves is taken. so, for the first time, the "all or nothing" gambler wants to fold. he wants to take his winnings and run, far away from the ipc, far away from the gaze of any aeon, before his luck demands a price he can’t afford to pay.

he thinks about sigonia every single time he looks at your growing bump. he thinks about the mother whose face is already blurred in his memories and the sister he couldn't save. he wonders if he’s a fool for bringing a life into a universe that was so eager to snuff out his own. he spends hours in the middle of the night staring at the brand on his neck in the mirror, wondering if the universe already sees his daughter as just another avgin for the slaughter, or if she’ll inherit the same "luck" that leaves him standing while everyone else falls.

the first time he holds her, he is completely still. the man who is always in motion, always projecting energy, is frozen. but then she cries, a small, fragile sound, and whatever composure he has left collapses. his hands, usually so steady when he’s holding a winning hand, shake as he supports her head. ​”look at you,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “you’re the only sure thing i’ve ever had, aren't you?”

in the weeks that follow, he discovers a side of himself no one ever sees. he walks with her tucked against his shoulder when she won’t sleep. he memorizes the weight of her, the sound of her breathing, the way she curls her fingers. for all his talk of luck and odds, he starts building his days around the quiet ritual of keeping her calm, fed, and warm.

he wants her to believe the world is made of gold and silk, so he buys her everything he can afford and more — dresses from the finest boutiques in the cosmos, toys that glow with the light of distant stars. not because he’s vain, but because he wants her to never have to know what it’s like to be hungry or hunted, all the things he once knew too well for a child.

he lets her play with his expensive rings, tug at his gloves and "win" every game of hide and seek. he teaches her how to read people’s expressions, but only so she can tell when someone is being kind, not so she can survive a deal. he wants her to be soft. he wants her to be the version of kakavasha that never had to grow up.

there’s one moment that repeats itself often — she’ll reach for the high collar of his shirt, curious about what’s underneath. he always gently catches her hand, kissing her knuckles and distracting her with a coin trick. he doesn't want her to see the marking. he doesn't want her to know that her father was once a slave. he wants her to look at him and see a man who is complete, not a survivor stitched together by scars and luck.

until one night, when she is old enough to toddle but still too young to understand, she manages to slip her fingers beneath the edge of his collar. he freezes, instinct screaming. her touch is light and curious, nothing more than a child tracing the shape of something new. she doesn’t flinch. doesn’t stare. she doesn’t know what the writing says. after a second, she loses interest entirely, distracted by something else, already reaching for his hair. to her, it is nothing. just another part of him.

something inside him breaks then — not violently, but quietly. the old equation fails. the universe does not take her. she does not turn away.

maybe love is still a target. maybe it always will be. but in that moment, aventurine decides he will not fold. if the universe wants her, then he'll do what he's always been best at — he'll stack the odds and define fate itself. and if something comes for her, it won't find an easy win waiting.

sunday

sunday has always believed that love is something you guard, not something you indulge in. the world, as he knows it, is cruel to what is soft — and he learned early that anything precious must be hidden, preserved behind careful hands and quiet devotion.

when you tell him you’re pregnant, he goes very still. not because he doesn’t want it — but because something infinitely fragile has just been entrusted to him. he closes his eyes, not in doubt, but in a silent prayer. he isn’t praying for his own success — he is begging the harmony, or the order, it does not matter anymore, to let this child be normal. he has spent his life trying to protect broken things. now, there will be something completely dependent on him that has never been broken at all. so, with a crushing weight in his chest he wonders if he is capable of loving it without trying to control the very air it breathes.

he thinks about the small bird from his childhood constantly. the one that fell from its nest, the one he tried to nurse back to health, the one that died despite all his prayers. he looks at your growing belly and he doesn't see a "bundle of joy" — he sees a fragile wing that the world is waiting to break.

when he holds his daughter for the first time, his grip is sure, even though his heart races. she is warm, solid, real. her small weight against his chest feels like both a promise and a threat. he was the head of the oak family and the one who commanded the dream of penacony, but in this moment, he realizes he is completely at the mercy of this small, whining creature. "i will build a world where you never have to cry" he whispers into her hair, his voice trembling with a conviction that is both beautiful and frightening, even to himself.

he is the kind of father who values purity and grace. he teaches her how to sit still or how to speak with a softness and elegance. he spends hours braiding her hair, his long fingers moving gracefully. he uses ribbons that remind him of the color of robin’s eyes, a silent gesture to the other part of his family he cherishes, hoping that one day his sister and his beloved daughter will be able to meet.

the conflict in his heart arises when she begins to show a will of her own. the first time she pulls away from his hand to chase a butterfly, his heart stops. he doesn't just feel fear; he feels a deep, ideological betrayal. he doesn’t understand why she wants to run in the grass or catch insects — to him, the dirt of the world is a personal insult to her perfection. he realizes that no matter how many walls he builds, she will always look for a way to climb them. he struggles with the urge to clip her wings for her own safety — to keep her in the dream where nothing bad can happen.

he loves when she falls asleep in his embrace. he’ll stay in her bed for hours, refusing to move, even when his arm goes numb. he watches the rise and fall of her chest and he feels a desperate, aching desire to stop time. he hates that she is growing. he hates that every day brings her closer to a reality where he might not be able to protect her.

you have to be the one to remind him that she is a child, not a statue in a cathedral. you have to be the one to tell him that a scraped elbow is a part of growing up, not a tragedy to be mourned. he fears that he is becoming the very thing he once already fought — a jailer who calls himself a guardian. he sees the way she looks at the horizon with a curiosity that he cannot satisfy. he knows that one day, she will want to leave the dream he has built for her. she will see the cracks in it, the lies, the things he hid from her to keep her smiling. he knows she will want to feel the cold wind and the bite of the rain on her cheeks.

the thought terrifies him more than any punishment ever could. in the quiet hours of the night, he looks at his hands — the hands that tried to fix the wings of a bird, the hands that tried to hold a sister’s destiny, the hands that now cradle a future he cannot dictate — and he feels the weight of his own mortality. he wanted to merge with the power of an aeon just so no one would ever have to be hurt again, yet he is the one who brought her into a world where hurting is the only way to know you are awake.

and yet, despite the terror of it, he continues to braid her hair, to watch her steady breath. he resolves that if he cannot stop the rain, he will at least be the ground that catches her when she finally decides to jump. until that day comes, he will hold her close, shield her with every quiet prayer he knows. and if the world ever tries to take her from him, he will stand between it and her without hesitation.

jing yuan

since he’s been alive for centuries, before jing yuan met you, he thought of himself as someone who had already lived his life. battles fought. losses mourned. peace, finally earned. he never expected something as simple — and as terrifying — as a child to make him feel like he was starting all over again.

but when you tell him you’re pregnant, he doesn’t look surprised, he smiles first. not with the sharp smile of a general, but the relaxed, genuine one he rarely shows in public. his hand lingers at your waist as if he’s already memorizing a future he knows he will cherish more than any victory. he has spent so much of his life preparing for the end of things, that he finds a quiet, profound joy in finally preparing for a beginning. he is simply letting the reality of a new life — one that isn't cursed by mara or long-life species longevity — sink into his weary bones.

the first time he holds her, he is the gentlest version of himself. he is a large man, a warrior who has commanded legions, but he holds her with a surprising lightness. he laughs — a soft, breathless sound — because she is loud, red-faced, and stubbornly alive.

what concerns him, is her mortality. he has outlived his masters, his friends, and his enemies. he knows the luofu’s history is written in the blood of those who lived too long, but his daughter is a "short-life" soul. she is a blooming flower in a garden of ancient stones. he knows that one day, her hair will turn the color of his by age, not by genetics, and the bitter sweetness of that realization makes him hold her just a little bit closer every night.

he becomes the kind of father who spoils without guilt. she sits on his lap during long afternoons, tangled in his robes as he pretends to nap while very clearly staying awake in case she needs anything. he lets her play with his hair, unbraiding and rebraiding it crookedly, he brings her sweets from every corner of the luofu, feigning ignorance when she asks for more. “a general must know when to retreat,” he tells her solemnly — and then gives in immediately.

he never pushes her toward glory. he doesn’t speak of destiny or expectation. if she wants to sleep in late, he covers her with his cloak. if she wants to watch the clouds drift past the pavilions, he sits beside her and names their shapes. if she wants to run, to shout, to laugh too loudly — he lets her. he wants her childhood to be a collection of soft things and bright colors, a contrast to the iron and blood of his own history.

yet there are moments when the past creeps in. when she grows a little taller, speaks a little wiser, and he is struck by the cruel familiarity of it — another beloved soul moving faster through time than he ever could. some nights, he stares at the ceiling and counts the years silently, wondering how many sunsets he will be allowed to share with her.

he is incredibly patient with her curiosity. when she asks why he’s always "sleepy," he chuckles and tells her that he’s just saving up his energy for her. when she asks why he never gets older, he stays quiet for a beat too long, his golden eyes reflecting a hundreds years of loneliness. "i’m just waiting for you to catch up," he tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. it’s a lie, and they both know it, but it’s a kind one.

but he never lets that sorrow touch her — instead, he teaches her gentleness. he shows her how to care for animals, how to bow politely, how to choose kindness even when it would be easier to command. he tells her stories — not of war, but of friends long gone, of laughter shared over tea, of moments that mattered because they were fleeting. he wants her to understand that a peaceful life is not an empty one.

he spoils her with experiences rather than just objects. he takes her to see the master craftsmen, letting her play with scraps of wood and silk, watching with a soft smile as she tries to "build" things with her clumsy hands. he remembers a friend who used to craft masterpieces with that same look of focus, and for a moment, the grief that still sometimes lingers between his ribs feels less like a burden and more like a warm memory he can finally share.

despite the inevitable goodbye, he would choose this every time. he would trade every century of his long, decorated life for one afternoon of playing chess and drinking tea with her. he has seen everything, but through her eyes, he is seeing the world for the first time. and long after her footsteps fade, he will sit beneath the blooming trees, smiling softly — grateful that, for a while, time allowed him to be simply a father.

anaxa

anaxa has spent most of his life searching for the meaning of things. as a scholar of nousporism, he studies how existence emerged from chaos, how the mind takes shape, how something as vast as the universe can give rise to something as delicate as a heartbeat. he has always been more comfortable explaining why life exists and he never, in all his intellectual arrogance, believed he would be the one to actually give life to another.

so when you tell him you are pregnant, the moment hits him not as a personal shock, but rather a philosophical one. he does not react dramatically. he simply goes very still, eyes distant, as though revisiting every theory he has ever written. for years, he has contemplated life as a distant phenomenon — something observed, classified, and theorized. suddenly, it is no longer a concept. it is literal. langible.

what unsettles him is the idea of responsibility. not political or academical, but personal and intimate this time. something no studies have ever prepared him for.

when his daughter is born, anaxa is steady in a way that surprises even you. he does not freeze, does not tremble. instead, he studies her with a focus so intense it feels almost reverent. he notes the rise of her chest. he traces the shell of her ear and the tiny curve of her nose. “you’re quieter than i expected,” he murmurs, a faint amusement in his voice.

since the very beginning, he is a father defined less by attention and more by just presence. he is not overly demonstrative. he does not coo or use pet names. but he is always there — quietly, reliably, with an attention that never wavers.

he speaks to her as if she were a peer, explaining the mechanics of the world not to impress or confuse her, but because he believes her mind deserves the truth. he doesn't believe in simplifying things — he believes in clarity. when she asks why the rain falls or why the leaves turn brown, he explains to her the laws of physics and biology, his voice low and steady, treating her curiosity with a profound, quiet respect.

he is often found in his study, surrounded by the weight of the grove’s records, but there is always a small stool placed right next to his chair. he doesn't demand she stay quiet, but she usually is — absorbed in the rhythm of his breathing and the scratch of his pen. he likes the quiet companionship of it, the way she copies his posture, pretending to read scrolls that are far too large for her hands.

his protection is subtle and intellectual. he doesn't hover, but he is hyper-aware of her mental landscape. he teaches her how to categorize her thoughts, how to find the logic in her fears, and how to speak her mind with precision. he wants her to be a girl who cannot be easily confused or led astray. he values her autonomy above all else, watching from a distance as she navigates the world, stepping in only to offer a steadying hand or a piece of forgotten context. so when she trips over exposed roots, he does not rush to her side. he watches first, assessing whether she can steady herself. if she falls, he kneels calmly and offers his hand. “again,” he says simply. she learns balance quickly, not because she is sheltered, but because she is trusted.

one afternoon, she appears before him with a small bouquet of white flowers with glowing leaves, petals stuck in her hair and cheeks smudged with soil. anaxa watches her without comment at first — not amused, not indulgent, simply attentive in that sharp, steady way of his, as the light catches on the unapologetic pride in her face. beneath his ribs there is then a soft, unfamiliar sting — not grief nor longing, just something gentle and unexpected, because in that moment he knows, with quiet certainty, that if his sister were still alive, she would have adored this child immediately. they would have laughed at her messy gift of flowers, and she would have loved her cheerful personality. he kneels to her level, speaking to her in a tone warmer than usual, while she looks at him, completely unaware that she has brushed, however lightly, against a memory that no longer hurts.

he worries, in the way a man of logic always does, that he is too reserved. he wonders if she will one day mistake his silence for distance. but then, she’ll walk up to him while he’s working and simply lean against his arm, and he realizes she understands him perfectly. she doesn't need grand declarations of love — she needs the fact that he has never once looked away from her.

mydei

mydei has lived his entire life with the conviction that his bloodline should end with him. the whole legacy was never meant to be inherited again — the crown, the name, the expectations carved into bones — all of it was meant to die with him. that was the mercy he believed he could offer the future. no more kings raised on ruins. no more children shaped into symbols before they were allowed to be people.

so when you tell him you are pregnant, for a moment, something unsteady passes through him — not panic, not regret. it isn't that he doesn't love you, or even the idea of the child — it’s that he feels he has betrayed his promise to his people and that his life has shifted back to a path he thought was already finished.

but the first time he holds his daughter, he doesn't see a princess or an heir. he sees a breathing defiance of everything kremnos stands for. she is small, warm and mortal — everything he has never been. he holds her with a gentleness that seems impossible for a man who has spent his life preparing for war. his hands are capable of ending lives, yet when faced with such a simple task as holding a child, he can feel them becoming weak and trembling.

he does not remember a father’s guidance. he has no recollection of a mother’s warmth. there is only absence where those things should have been, a blank space he learned long ago to survive without questioning. now, with his daughter in his arms, that absence becomes suddenly relevant in a way it never was before. there is no inherited instinct he can name, no remembered gesture to copy.

he expects to be clumsy with her. expects hesitation and mistakes. instead, somehow, he does everything perfectly or learns to correct his mistakes really fast. he knows which cup she prefers, how long she can go without a nap before she grows irritable or which stories calm her down and which ones only make her more restless. he is patient with her in ways he has never been patient with himself. when she refuses to eat, he sits with her until she does. when she insists on doing things on her own, he lets her try, hovering close enough to catch her if she stumbles.

so, naturally, she adores him. she follows him wherever she can, small footsteps echoing behind his longer stride, completely unconcerned with the weight of the name he carries. she climbs into his lap without invitation, presses her face into the solid line of his chest, and sighs as if she has found exactly where she belongs. she helps him, not knowing at all, too. the conflict in his heart softens every time she laughs. he used to think that the kremnoan blood in her veins was more of a curse, but when he sees her spirit — her kindness, curiosity and her lack of fear — he starts to wonder if he was wrong.

once, she climbs onto the chair behind him while he rests, tiny fingers clumsy but determined as she braids his hair, weaving in wildflowers she insists are important. he lets her, though a sharp, strange ache lances through his chest. “the son of gorgo will be crowned in blood.” and yet here he is, crowned in petals and crooked braids, behind him sitting probably the gentliest person in the history of their bloodline. he almost laughs at the bittersweet irony.

as she grows older, she becomes curious about kremnos in the way children become curious about things they are told not to touch. not really out of her own initiative, but because everyone else seems to be. the name follows her in half-whispers, in pauses that last a little too long. at school, the other children treat her differently, though none of them confronts her openly. they call her the crown prince’s daughter — some with wide eyes, as if expecting something impressive to happen, others with a careful distance, like she might be dangerous by association. she doesn’t understand what the title means beyond the way it changes their voices. she only knows that games stop when she joins them, that some children want to stand close to her while others keep their distance.

she comes home confused and a little hurt, unable to explain what went wrong, only that something did. when she asks him why they look at her like that, mydei kneels in front of her and he cups her face carefully, thumbs brushing away the frustration she hasn’t learned how to name yet. “there is nothing wrong with you,” he says, firm but gentle. “not your name. not where you come from. not the things people whisper when they’re afraid of what they don’t understand.” she hesitates, still small, still unsure, and he lowers his forehead to hers. “you haven’t done anything wrong,” he continues. “and you never need to make yourself any different so others feel at ease.” when she finally leans into his chest, reassured but worn thin by the day, he wraps his arms around her and holds her there. he does not rush her. he does not tell her to be strong. he simply stays, until the world settles back into something that feels normal again.

he still carries the weight of what he was meant to be, and he knows it will never leave him entirely. and despite his undying body, he has never trusted time to be kind to him. survival has never felt permanent. some nights, the thought that he might not be there for every moment of her life settles heavy in his chest.

but when he holds her like this, small and safe and trusting, it becomes clear what matters most. he cannot change where he comes from and what his legacy is, but he can decide what reaches her. she does not need to carry his history or his wars. she only needs to be a child — and however long he is given, he will spend every moment making sure she stays one for as long as possible.

phainon

phainon has never learned how to love quietly. everything he feels lives close to the surface, unguarded and sincere, even when the world gives him every reason to pull back. he has already learned what it means to lose a home, to carry grief that never truly leaves. he knows, better than most, how suddenly everything precious can be taken. and yet, he still believes in gentleness. still believes that loving something fully is worth the risk every single time.

when you tell him you’re expecting, he doesn’t try to hide his feelings. his breath catches, his hands come up to cover his mouth, and his eyes fill before he can stop them. he laughs through it, embarrassed and overwhelmed all at once, and pulls you into his arms like he’s afraid the moment might disappear if he lets go. he cries not because he’s afraid, but because the idea of new life feels almost impossibly hopeful after everything he’s seen.

his fear comes later, in quieter moments. when the night is too still, memories of aedes elysiae and the fields of his childhood creep back in. he remembers how fast everything fell apart. how the black tide did not care for prayers or good intentions. and sometimes, with your growing belly beneath his palm, he wonders if it’s cruel to love something so fiercely in a world that has proven itself so indifferent. but fear has never stopped phainon before. it has only ever given him something worth standing up for.

the day she is born is the most emotional day of his life. his hands are steady but his chest rises and falls with rapid, uneven breaths. as she lets out her first, indignant cry, he cries with her, his tears falling onto her swaddle. he holds her close, cradling her fragile body against his chest, fingers tracing the tiny curves of her face. “you’re here,” he breathes, over and over, as if he can’t believe it. “you’re really here.” he presses gentle kisses to the top of her head.

even while he holds her, a flicker of worry runs through him. he thinks about the things he might not be able to protect her from, the moments he could fail, the risks he hasn’t noticed yet. but he doesn’t let it stop him. instead, it makes him pay closer attention, notice details he might have overlooked before, plan just a little more carefully. every choice, every word is guided by that instinct to keep her safe. it’s a heavy responsibility, but it’s one he accepts fully.

when she learns how to walk, phainon is both delighted and terrified in equal measure. he laughs every time she wobbles toward him on unsteady legs, arms stretched out like she’s already learned that he will always catch her. he crouches down, claps, encourages her with a grin that makes her giggle — and then immediately reaches out the second she tilts too far. he tells himself he’s letting her explore. in reality, he never lets her get more than a step beyond his reach.

he lifts her onto his shoulders with effortless ease, hands steady at her calves as if she weighs nothing at all. from up there, she can see farther than she ever has before, and she squeals, gripping his hair in delight while he laughs and tells her to hold on. he lets her hold onto his fingers as she climbs, trusting his arms to catch her every time she jumps. when she throws soft toys at him, he plays along, letting them bounce harmlessly off his chest before pretending they’ve struck him down, lowering himself to the floor. everything he does is controlled, deliberate. he has the power to break things, to fight — but with her, all of that strength is repurposed into something quieter. he is gentle in a way that feels natural, his body knows exactly how much strength to hold back with her.

he introduces her to swordplay the way he introduces her to everything else — gently, without pressure or expectation. the blade he gives her is small and dull, meant only to teach weight and balance, not harm. he shows her how to stand and how to hold it steady. he praises effort more than success, laughs when she loses focus and spins instead of striking. there is no talk of duty or strength, no speeches about the future. it’s just a game between them, one that happens to involve footwork and wooden swords. then, a moment later, without any sense of contradiction, he sits on the floor with her dolls when she asks. cross-legged, patient, letting her assign him roles that make no sense and rules that change mid-game. he commits fully to whatever story she decides they’re telling that day. sometimes he’s a knight, sometimes a princess. sometimes he’s just there to hold a doll still while she fixes its crooked clothes.

what surprises him is how easily those moments sit together. he never feels the need to choose between them, never worries that one will cancel out the other. he wants her to know how to protect herself — but more than that, he wants her to know joy, imagination and above all, choice. he wants her to grow up believing she is allowed to like many things at once, and that he will support her no matter what path she chooses to walk in her life.

but sometimes, when she runs ahead of him through tall grass or laughs at the way the wind tugs at her clothes, something tightens in his chest. he thinks of aedes elysiae — of open fields, of sunlight stretching long and warm across the land, of a childhood that once felt endless before it was taken. he can picture her there so clearly it almost hurts. her laughter carrying across the plains. her curiosity finding every hidden path. he knows she would have loved it. knows she would have belonged there in a way that feels achingly obvious.

he doesn’t say it out loud. not yet. he keeps those thoughts to himself, a quiet grief folded carefully away. instead, he walks beside her where they are now, matching her pace, watching the way she experiences the world with fresh eyes. he can’t give her the place he lost — but he can give her space to grow, to explore, to feel safe enough to be herself. and for phainon, that feels like the most beautiful kind of home.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 25.1.2026. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

✧ request rules ✶࿐

𐔌 i write fluff, angst, literally anything except nsfw works! the best i can do is to make things suggestive

𐔌 my works can contain romantic and platonic relationships with genshin impact and honkai star rail both men and women, but of course i won't write anything romantic with child characters (klee, tribbie etc.)

𐔌 this is a reader insert blog, so only reader x character work (i could write oc insert tho i don't think anyone would read it… i just have so many oc's i spend a lot of time making!)

𐔌 i can write for both fem!reader or gn!reader and unless it's stated otherwise in the request, most likely i'll use gn!reader

𐔌 you can ask for up to 4 characters in one request, because i almost always add some on my own to the work!

𐔌 time it takes for me to complete the request varies depending on the number of characters, type of work, the topic and on whether i have any important exams upcoming T-T however i always try to finish it in 3 to 4 weeks!

✧ more about me & my blog ✶࿐

𐔌 i'm a certified yapper and veteran player for both genshin and honkai (started respectively 1.5 and 1.0). i'm a skirk and phainon main ^^ if anyone wants to add me in game, feel free to ask for my uid in dm's! (eu server)

𐔌 i love when you comment or reblog my works <3 interacting with you and seeing how my works make you feel is really a pleasure to me

𐔌 i'm heavily sleep deprived so as you can see, i'm mainly active during late night hours

𐔌 english is not my first language so please forgive me for any grammar or spelling mistakes! this blog is a place where i try to improve my english skills :3

[cythiraeth]

hii! can i request genshin men as girl-dads? specifically dain and childe <3 ty!

the achieve of gentle things - i. e. genshin men as girl-dads!

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: fem!reader x childe, al-haitham, kaeya, diluc, ayato, dainsleif (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short description: how do they behave when they welcome their daughter into this world? how does she change them and their life?

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: of course fluff, but also angst (in all parts except for al-haitham), mentions of pregnancy, lowercase

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: hiya! thank you so much for this request, i loved the idea and genuinely reached flow state when i was writing. i am so sorry if you wanted to see only fluff but i just couldn't stop myself from also mentioning the less pleasant parts of their past and how it alters their views on fatherhood! i hope you like it <3

link to my genshin impact masterlist ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 2.9 k in total

childe

he always believed he would have a family one day — a loud and warm house, a return to the chaos of his own childhood. he just never expected how completely it would disarm him when it finally happens.

when you tell him you're pregnant, he laughs, breathless and stunned. when the reality settles in, he pulls you into his arms, holding you a little too tightly, as if he could press the two of you into a single, safe, unbreakable form. his voice, when it finally comes, is rough against your hair i won't let anything happen to you. neither of you. it's a vow, not just to you, but to entire universe.

he talks about her long before she's born, when he still doesn't know if it's even her or him. he talks to anyone who is willing to listen and many who don't. his siblings receive daily updates, he debates potential names with the northland bank stoic receptionist. she becomes a central figure for his every daydream, woven into the future he now aches to live long enough to see.

the first time he holds her, he freezes — not from fear, but from awe. she's lighter than any weapon he's ever carried, warmer than the snow he grew up in, and he realises he has never held something that mattered more.

he becomes openly and unapologetically devoted. he carries her everywhere. lets her tug at his scarf and steal his gloves. laughs when she uses him as a climbing frame. he finds it very ironic that his physique, engineered for war, finds its truest purpose as her playground.

he brings her gifts from everywhere he goes — luminescent seashells from liyue, a hand-carved finch from mondstadt, a beautiful, bladeless practice sword from inazuma. he never minds when she breaks them. it's the part of the fun, after all.

he wants her strong and fearless, just the way he is. he teaches her how to stand her ground, how to throw a punch (long, long before you think it's appropriate. teucer absolutely encourages it. you absolutely don't) how to get fall in the snow and get up laughing. but he also teaches her the counterpoint to that strength — how to recognize when she is tired, how to ask for help, and that in his arms, she never has to be brave. you can always come back to me he tells her once, soothing her after a nightmare. no matter how far you go, this spot is always yours.

there is a shadow that visits him, sometimes. the crushing darkness of the abyss, the gnawing terror, the thing he became down there. a cold fear, sharper than any blade, grips him. he thinks of that darkness touching her, even for a second, and something violent rises in his chest. he would rather die than let that happen to her, of this he is certain.

to the world, he remains a harbinger — sharp and dangerous, a weapon of beautiful destruction. but with her, the edge softens. his voice warms, singing a snezhnayan lullaby. his grin loses its bite, becoming simply bright. there is no performance here, only sincerity, him being completely undone by her.

at night, reads her stories with full theatrical commitment, voicing dragons, heroes and silly sidekicks until she falls asleep against his chest. he will sit there for a long, long time, just listening to her breathe.

he still leaves. he still fights. but now, every departure has an anchor, and every wound is worth it, if it means he is one step closer to coming home. he fights not just for the tsaritsa's dream, but for the dream of tomorrow where he can walk through the door, drop his bags, and be climbed upon by a small, fierce hurricane. every time he comes back, he comes back to her. and every time, it feels like the only victory that truly matters.

al-haitham

he never planned to become a father. not because he disliked the idea, but because it never fit into the careful balance of his life. children are variable. unpredictable. logically unnecessary.

when you tell him the news, he doesn’t react outwardly. he files the information, considers logistics. and later, quietly, he realises the weight of what it means — not the responsibility, but the permanence of someone depending on him.

he reads extensively. about child development, sleep cycles, emotional regulation. he treats preparation like a problem to be solved, running every scenario in his mind before he realises that some things cannot be calculated.

when he holds his daughter for the first time, he is unexpectedly still. she’s warm, heavier than he anticipated, and utterly dependent. he thinks, distantly, that this is the most responsibility he has ever accepted without hesitation — and also the first task he doesn't want to approach with detachment.

he is awkward with affection at first. unsure of where to place his hands. too embarrassed to talk to her. every touch feels experimental, every word is measured.

she grows accustomed to his presence anyway. sitting beside him while he reads. playing with the ends of his hair. falling asleep to the sound of pages turning. he always allows her to accompany him long after the optimal bedtime (he set himself) has passed.

when he finally convinces himself it's completely normal to talk to children, he does so carefully, patiently, like teaching a colleague a new method. he explains the ‘why’ of things, answers her “what is that” with factual depth thoughts, and only pauses when he notices her attention drifting.

he claims he values efficiency, yet he allows her to disrupt it constantly. misplaced books. interrupted thoughts. questions that have nothing to do with his work. none of it bothers him as much as he expected. the unpredictable data she provides is often the most valuable.

others say he’s distant. reserved. but in private, he makes sure she knows better. she knows the way his hand rests on her back when she’s tired. the way his voice softens when he says her name.

he understands, quietly, that he would shift the entirety of his life for her. not as an obligation, but as something necessary and utterly logical. and for the first time, he sees that some variables — the ones you cannot calculate — are worth every misstep.

kaeya

he always thought he's good with children — charming, easy, effortless. he also believed that he'd be the fun parent. he never exected how deeply he'd actually care, or how easily someone so small could become the thing he's most afraid of losing.

when you tell him you're pregnant, his smile comes quickly, naturally. only later does the weight of it settle in, heavy and quiet, where he keeps the things he doesn't know how to say out loud.

when he holds her for the first time, she stares at him with wide, unfocused eyes, and something in his chest tightens painfully. he doesn't joke then, he doesn't look away. for once, there's nothing he wants to soften or hide behind a smile.

he fills your house with laughter, stories and gentle teasing, determined that his daughter will never feel like love is something conditional or fragile.

she grows up laughing freely, trusting easily. and sometimes, when she looks at him with that specific curiosity in her eyes, he sees the boy he was before he learned that secrets have weight and honesty has a price.

she loves his stories. he tells her fairy tales, legends of mondstadt, his voice a smooth melody. some stories — his stories — he alters. pauses them before the bitter ending. some truths are for later. some, he desperately hopes, she will never need to know at all.

he is more observant than people realise. he notices when she's quieter than usual, when her smile doesn't reach her eyes. he learned long ago what it means to hide, and he wants to teach her that she never has to do that — especially not with him.

during nights, when she sleeps curled against him, he wonders: is this what it would have felt like? if the home never burned and warmth had been allowed to stay with him?

diluc

he never thought fatherhood would feel like walking back into a house he once burned down. not because he hated it — but because it held too many memories he didn't know how to carry anymore, and he isn't sure what scares him more: remembering them, or failing to protect something new.

when you tell him you're expecting, his first instinct is preparation. schedules. safety. if he builds something solid enough, maybe the world won't break it so easily.it doesn't calm his nerves completely — he still worries about failure. not the loud kind, but the quiet one. the kind where a child grows up feeling alone despite being loved, because he never learned how to show warmth without fearing its cost.

when he holds his daughter for the first time, she quiets almost immediately. small fingers curl into his sleeve, warm and trusting, and for a moment, the past loosens its grip on him.

he is careful with affection at first. restrained. afraid that too much warmth might make the loss unbearable if it ever comes — and afraid, too, that if he withholds it, she might feel the distance he never meant to pass on.

he teaches her structure early. how to put things back where they belong. how to keep her hands clean. how to always be polite, to listen to others before she speaks. it’s only later that he realises he’s teaching her the things he once learned too quickly, and unlearned even faster.

she follows him around the winery as soon as she learns how to walk. small steps echoing beside him. she asks him questions while he works — endless, curious, innocent ones. he answers every single one, even when it slows him down.

sometimes, she laughs too loudly, too freely, and it startles him. the sound lingers in the air long after it fades, familiar in a way he can’t quite place. she reminds him of a time when warmth came easily, before silence learned how to settle between people.

when she scrapes her knee for the first time, she cries quietly, trying not to make a fuss. it unsettles him more than the blood. he kneels in front of her immediately, voice gentler than he’s used in years, and tells her it’s all right to hurt where he can see it.

he knows one day she will grow old enough to notice the things he avoids. the way certain names never leave his mouth. the way his expression stills at unexpected moments. when that day comes, he promises himself he won’t turn away.

for now, he lets himself have this — small hands in his, laughter in familiar, sun-dappled halls, a future that hasn’t been broken yet. and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t look away from the light.

ayato

he always considered fatherhood not as a feeling, but as a duty. as the next logical step to ensure the kamisato legacy. he expects to approach it like any other responsibility — with calculation and flawless execution.

when you tell him, his first reaction is a calm, measured nod, perfectly practiced once. later, alone, he places a hand over his own chest, as if checking for a heartbeat he fears has gone silent from the sheer weight of it all.

he holds her for the first time during a quiet afternoon, sunlight streaming through the shoji screens. he is impeccably dressed, as always, posture perfect. but the moment her small head rests in the crook of his arm, his entire world narrows to that single point of contact.

he does not become softer — not outwardly. he remains the composed commissioner, the elegant head of the clan. but the calculations change. every negotiation, every delicate political move is now measured against a new variable — her safety, her future, her peace.

and yet, for all his farmed foresight, she is the one variable he cannot — and, secretly, does not wish to — fully factor. he prepares for the unexpected, but not for the way she will run, breathless and grass-stained, into his study, with a naku weed flower clutched in her fist, disrupting an important meeting about trade tariffs. he allocates time for family, but not for the way hours can dissolve simply watching her attempt to fold an origami crane.

he teaches her about duty early, but differently. not as a burden, but as a form of care. he shows her how to pour tea with steady hands or how to listen to meaning behind words. he wants her to inherit his strength, but not his sacrifice.

he still hosts parties, still navigates the intricate dance of inazuman politics. but now, sometimes, he excuses himself a little earlier. he slips away to sit by her bedside, to listen to her recount her day in simple, earnest sentences. he files away each one with more care than any state secret.

when she gets older, she will understand the chessboard he navigates daily. for now, she knows only that his sleeves are the perfect hiding place during thunderstorms, that his laugh is a low, warm sound reserved for home. for ayato, she becomes the one audience for which he doesn't have to perform at all. in her, the duty and the love finally, quietly, become the same thing.

sometimes, in the quietest moments, the past visits. watching her sleep, he is ambushed by memories — the crushing silence of the estate after his parents were gone. a fierce, cold fear grips him then — the fear of history repeating itself. he wonders, with a pain that is always fresh, if his own father felt this same terrifying love, this same desperate need to build a world safe enough for a child to remain soft in.

dainsleif

even in his wildest dreams, dainsleif never thought he'd be a father. least of all in a world that keeps taking everything from him.

when you tell him about pregnancy, he doesn't speak at first. not because he doesn't care, but because for the first time in five hundred years, the ancient, familiar guilt is outweighed by sharp and startling fear.

what he thinks about a lot is time. about the cruel arithmetic of your mortal span against his cursed eternity. the bitter unfairness of it lodges in his throat constantly.

when he takes her into his arms for the first time, his hands start shaking uncontrollably, and he believes it's pathetic. these hands, made for wielding blade, feel utterly unfit for holding something so fragile and pure.

then, her tiny fingers wrap around one of his. instinctive. trusting. his grip stills immediately. in that moment, he knows that despite all his self-loathing, he's the one she will be relying on for the rest of her life, and he can’t fail her. he won't.

he never calls her mine at first. only our daughter. as if claiming her too strongly might draw the gaze of the fate that delights in stripping him bare. he is a man who has learned that to love something is to paint a target on its back, and so, he loves her in whispers, in the empty spaces between words.

slowly, he learns how to cradle her, how to steady her back, how to hold her hand without being afraid she might just shatter because of his touch. with her, he’s gentle in ways no one else ever sees. his voice lowers automatically when he speaks to her, his movements soften.

he's overprotective, but with good intentions. he teaches her how to walk on uneven ground, how to recognise danger, how to listen to the world's whispers, but he would never ever let her touch any weapon. to him, its sharpness alone feels like a corruption of her purity, a reminder of the violence etched into his own soul.

he learns how to braid her hair, how to put pretty ribbons in it. he doesn’t entirely understand the purpose of it, but her smile when he finished his first, clumsy braid ever, was just enough to make it their daily ritual. a small defiance — he, who has known for a long time only decay, can create something beautiful.

only one fear lingers in his mind, endless and cold. the day she notices her mother's hair greys, while his remains unchanged, that your smile gains lines his face will never know. how will he explain to his beloved daughter the cruelty of this world? of the world he brought her into? something he can't destroy, no matter how hard he tries?

he teaches her the names of the dead and of extinct flowers, stories of homeland that is long nothing but a dust. he gives her history he cannot return to, because it is the only legacy they now share. she listens with wide, solemn eyes, too young to grasp the tragedy but old enough to sense its weight. and then, she will pluck a common dandelion from the grass and present it to him with a smile that holds no ghosts. in that moment he understands — she will not inherit his ruins. she will build her own world on them, and he will be a silent guardian at its foundation.

after all and despite everything — the curse, the guilt, the fear of inevitable loss — he would choose her again and again. every time.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 2.1.2026. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

come back and haunt me pt. II - i. e. genshin men missing you after your death

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x kaveh, al-haitham, lyney (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: how will they cope (or not) with losing you? what do they feel and think?

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, angst, A LOT of angst, mentions of character death and self-destructive behavior/thoughts (especially in kaveh part)

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: i'm in a really angsty mood and the work is going smoothly so today i have the pleasure to present you the second part of this series! gosh, i feel like i tortured kaveh too much but idk man i actually love him, writing for him is always the easiest for me. i wish to torture my fave characters further so expect part III for sure ^^

link to my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

and link to the first part: ☆ (featuring dainsleif, xiao, childe)

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 2.5k in total

kaveh

kaveh does not let you go quietly.

he tries. at first. tells himself he has survived worse — failure, ruin, debt, the slow erosion of dreams. tells himself he knows how to lose things. tells himself this is just another collapse he will learn to live inside.

his body disagrees.

grief hits him in waves so strong they make him physically sick. it starts with his chest — tight, constricting, like something is sitting on him, crushing the air from his lungs. breathing becomes work. his hands shake so badly he drops things, fingers refusing to obey. sometimes the pain settles behind his eyes, sharp and blinding, and he presses his palms there like he can hold himself together by force.

he throws up the first time he realizes you are truly gone.

his body bends over the sink and rejects the idea violently, like it cannot metabolize it. like grief is a toxin and he is failing to purge it fast enough.

he hates himself for that.

hates that it’s ugly. hates that it’s undignified. hates that even this — even his own body — he cannot control.

kaveh cries until his throat is raw.

he cries so hard it aches. sobs that wrench through him, that leave his ribs sore the next day. he cries into pillows, into his hands, into empty rooms that still feel like they’re shaped around you.

alone, he screams.

he screams until his voice breaks, until his body folds in on itself, until he’s curled on the floor with his nails digging into his arms just to feel something solid. he calls your name until it stops sounding like a word. until it becomes nothing but pain.there is nothing you can do to help him now.

that realization hurts almost as much as losing you.

because loving you taught him that pain could be shared, eased, softened. that there was always someone who would sit beside him, rub his back, tell him to breathe, and help him carry the weight.

now there is no one.

now there is only the echo of what used to be there.

what makes it worse is that the world does not stop.

people still talk. still laugh. still walk beside him like his heart isn’t splitting open with every step.

he tries to keep functioning. he goes out, meets friends. they drag him into conversations, into cafés, into places that smell like life continuing. he laughs too loudly at the wrong moments. drinks too much wine because the burn in the throat is easier to endure than the ache in his chest.

once, he shows them a project he somehow managed to finish. he is almost able to pretend. almost.

until someone says it — careless, unthinking, cruel without meaning to be.

yeah, it's a really great piece, y/n would have loved it.

it feels like being stabbed.

the sound of your name cuts straight through him, precise and merciless. the name lodges in his chest and detonates. he laughs first — a sharp, broken sound that doesn’t belong to him — and then the breath leaves his lungs all at once.

his vision blurs. his hands curl into fists so tight his nails bite into his palms, but it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

he shakes his head, mutters something incoherent, and then he’s standing up too fast, chair scraping loudly against the floor. people stare. someone reaches for him. someone asks if he’s okay.

he isn’t.

tears spill over before he can stop them, hot and humiliating. his breathing stutters, chest hitching like it forgot how to work. he presses a hand to his mouth, but the sound escapes anyway — a strangled sob that makes the room go painfully quiet.

he apologizes between gasps. sorry, sorry, i just— like grief is something he’s doing wrong.

later, alone again, it’s worse.

he collapses against the wall, slides down to the floor, and cries until his throat burns. he hits the ground with his fist, once, twice, again, because the anger has nowhere else to go. he screams your name into the empty air and hates that it echoes back at him, because he doesn't want to hear it anymore.

everything reminds him of you.

arches you would have admired. light you would have chased. every unfinished project. every sketch left half-done. every ridiculous, hopeful idea that once made sense because you were there to believe in it with him. your absence makes the world feel structurally unsound, like a building missing a critical support.you were woven into everything, and now, every reminder feels like tearing something out of his chest again and again and again.

he hates himself for being alive.

for waking up every morning when you don’t.

for still thinking about buildings and designs and stupid, beautiful ideas when you’ll never see them.

he cannot stop replaying the last moments.

what he said. what he didn’t. how sure he was there would be more time.

he thinks about all the futures with you he designed in his head — carefully, lovingly, with rooms for love, warmth, laughter and shared mornings — and realizes they are all uninhabitable now.

kaveh takes your death personally, of course he does.

he tells himself this is his fault. that loving him was a burden, that he was too much for you. that if you hadn’t had to carry his dreams and concerns alongside your own, maybe you would still be here. maybe you would have lived longer.

he lives in the memories of you — choking on them, bleeding from them, screaming until there is nothing left in him but the echo of your name and the unbearable knowledge that there is nothing he can do to bring you back.

al-haitham

al-haitham understands death.

he understands it biologically, statistically, historically. he understands what happens to the body, what ceases, what remains. he has read enough to know that grief is a neurological response, that attachment alters cognition, that loss disrupts routine and perception.

when you die, he accepts it immediately. there is no denial. no bargaining. no frantic search for meaning. he listens to the facts, asks the necessary questions, commits the details to memory. cause. timing. circumstances. he does not need comfort. he does not raise his voice.

people mistake this for strength, or worse — indifference. they assume this means he did not love you deeply.

he does not correct them. there is no utility in doing so.

he tells himself that emotions are transient. that the mind adapts. that the brain, given time, will recalibrate to the absence of a stimulus.

you were a stimulus. therefore, you can be removed.

this logic holds for about six days.

on the seventh, he realizes his routines are malfunctioning.

he reaches for his book and pauses, distracted by the absence of your weight against his side. he prepares two cups of tea before noticing only one of you is still alive. he finds himself mentally composing arguments to thoughts you will never voice again.

the errors are small. persistent. irritating.

he tells himself this is normal.

he does not cry. crying is inefficient. he does not scream. screaming solves nothing. instead, his grief manifests as friction — between thought and feeling, logic and reality.

he cannot stop replaying conversations, not because he misses them, but because his mind insists on finding the moment where something could have been altered. a different choice. a different word. a variable adjusted.

there is none, and it bothers him more than it should.

he keeps your belongings exactly where they were. not out of sentimentality — he dislikes clutter — but because removing them would require acknowledging permanence, and he is not ready to formalize that conclusion.

he tells himself he will deal with it later. later does not come.

instead, you linger in negative space. in the silence between pages. in the chair across from him that remains unused. in the way his thoughts drift, unprompted, toward how you would have responded to something mundane.

he does not miss you in the way people expect. he misses your interference. the way you disrupted his solitude without exhausting him. the way you challenged him emotionally, not intellectually — something he never mastered how to respond to. the way you looked at him like he was more than a collection of habits and conclusions.

you used to comment on his habits. the way he read while eating. the way he forgot to sleep. the way he pretended not to listen while memorizing everything you said anyway. you would sit beside him, sometimes doing nothing at all, and he would allow it — a rare exception to his preference for solitude.

he never thanked you for that.

that is the thought that keeps resurfacing.

al-haitham does not romanticize the dead. he refuses to soften you into memory. he remembers you accurately — alive, flawed, occasionally irritating, deeply real. that makes it worse. because it means you are not an idea he can revisit at will. you were a presence. a constant input. and now the system has lost a critical function.

his sleep deteriorates. not from nightmares — his mind is not imaginative in that way — but from overanalysis. he lies awake cataloguing the changes in himself, detached enough to observe them, not detached enough to stop them.

he notices that his tolerance for inefficiency decreases. that he snaps more easily. that his patience — already limited — erodes further.

he recognizes this as grief.

he does not know what to do with that information.

people expect him to move on quickly. they expect rationality to shield him. they expect his composure to mean closure. they are wrong. acceptance would require him to concede that something irreplaceable existed in his life. something that cannot be replicated, substituted, or optimized.

this conflicts with everything he believes about the world.

so instead, he exists in suspension. he does not say he loved you. not because it isn’t true, but because saying it would force the sentence into the past tense. he avoids that grammatical finality with the same precision he avoids emotional exposure.

sometimes, he catches himself forming a thought meant for you and stops halfway through.

sometimes, he doesn’t stop. sometimes, he speaks it aloud, quietly, to an empty room, just to test whether hearing his own voice say it makes the absence easier to accept — it doesn’t.

he continues forward, efficient, composed, untouched on the surface — carrying a loss he understands perfectly in theory, and not at all in practice.

and sometimes, in moments of unguarded stillness, he wonders — with mild, unfamiliar bitterness — whether this is what people mean when they say intelligence does not protect you from grief.

only from showing it.

lyney

lyney knows how to smile through anything, that has always been his talent.

applause rises, lights warm his skin, the familiar rhythm of performance settles into his bones. he bows at the right moments, hits every cue, lets wonder bloom exactly where it’s meant to. to the audience, nothing has changed. he is still charming. still dazzling. still magic made human.

from the outside, nothing seems wrong.

but lyney knows the difference between performing for an audience and performing for you.

when you were alive, performing felt like sharing a secret. every trick, every flourish carried the quiet knowledge that you were out there somewhere — watching, smiling, seeing him, not the illusion. your eyes would find his instinctively, like a thread pulled tight between the stage and the dark.

now, the seats blur together, and the stage lights feel harsher.

he goes through the motions because that’s what he’s good at. because stopping would invite questions he has no intention of answering. because grief, to him, is not something to be shared.

he still performs flawlessly, but the joy has thinned. where excitement used to flutter in his chest, there is now a hollow patience. after performances, people congratulate him. they say he was wonderful. that he seemed radiant. that the magic felt especially real tonight. he thanks them politely.

they don’t know that the magic feels thinner now. that without you watching, every illusion collapses a little faster.

when he’s alone, the mask slips. not dramatically. not all at once.

he stays in dressing rooms long after everyone else has left, staring at his reflection with a neutrality that borders on exhaustion. makeup smudged. smile gone. the silence pressing in around him like a held breath.

he thinks about how you used to watch him prepare.

how you’d comment on the details — the gloves, the cards, the careful precision of his hands. how you’d tell him he looked confident even when he felt anything but.

you believed in him in a way that felt grounding. anchoring.

now, there is no one to confirm that he is still real when the curtain falls.

sometimes he sits on the edge of his bed, costume half-unbuttoned, and stares at his hands like they might explain something he missed. sometimes he presses his fingers into his palms just to feel something solid, something undeniably real.

he thinks of the way you used to watch him rehearse. how you would sit cross-legged on the floor, chin in your hands, offering commentary he pretended not to care about and secretly treasured. how you always noticed the small changes — a sleight done cleaner, a pause held longer. how you clapped even when no one else was there.

you were his favorite audience.

he does not allow himself to imagine you watching now.

that would be cruel.

he keeps your things tucked away, not hidden, just… set aside. like props from an old act he hasn’t decided whether to retire. touching them hurts too much. leaving them untouched feels worse.

sometimes, before a performance, he catches himself thinking, you would like this one.

the thought lands wrong. heavy. final.

because you will never see it.

the realization arrives fresh each time, sharp as a misdirected blade. no matter how many shows he performs, no matter how many nights he stands beneath the lights, there will never again be that familiar weight of being seen by the one person who mattered most.

he does not talk about you much. people assume he has moved on easily — he laughs, he jokes, he performs. he looks whole. grief, to them, should be obvious. loud. disruptive.

lyney has never grieved that way.

his grief waits until the door closes. until the lights go out. until there is no one left to impress. then, it slips through the cracks.

a quiet ache. a soft, relentless understanding that every performance now ends the same way — with applause fading into silence, and you not there to meet him afterward.

the show goes on. he still bows. still smiles. still lets the magic sparkle.

but somewhere deep inside, the part of him that performed for you has gone very still.

and no trick he knows can bring that back.

telling himself otherwise would have been simply a deception. and magic was never about deception to him.

it was about sharing wonder. about being seen.

and now, he is left only with the unbearable certainty that the one person he wanted to amaze the most will never watch him again.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 27.12.2025. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

come back and haunt me pt. I - i. e. genshin men missing you after your death

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x dainsleif, xiao, childe (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: how will they cope with losing you? what do they feel and think?

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, angst, A LOT of angst, mentions of character death and self-destructive behavior

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: i am going insane, this is like the third time i try to post this because tumblr is not cooperating and the first two times i tried to publish this post it just dissappeared T-T i hope everything works well this time because otherwise i might explode. HOWEVER i wish you a pleasant read ;3 (i hope yall suffer reading this just much as i suffered writing this) (and stay tuned for part II hehe)

link to my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

and link to part two: ☆ (featuring kaveh, al-haitham and lyney)

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1.8 k in total

dainsleif

he does not cry — he remembers. and that is worse.

you died long ago — or yesterday. he can no longer recall. time has long since stopped meaning anything for him, and loss is always present tense.

he tells himself you are gone. he has buried people before you — family, friends, an entire nation. he knows the shape of grief too well to mistake it for anything else. there is no clean edge to it — no beginning, no end — only a slow, grinding erosion.

death, to him, has always been a concept stretched thin by time — nations fall, people vanish, memories rot. but you were never meant to become one of those things. you were never supposed to be filed away with khaenri’ah and all the other losses he catalogues.

he survives you, and this is the cruelest part.

not because survival means strength, but because his curse does not allow him the mercy of following you. you die, the world continues its slow decay, and he remains. always remains.

dainsleif does not speak of you in the past tense, he cannot. his words do not obey him.

you are still there — in the pause before he reaches for his sword, fingers hovering where your warmth used to steady him, in the way he turns as if expecting footsteps that will never come, in the half-formed sentences he abandons because they were meant for you.

and when he speaks aloud, rarely, it's not prayers. only apologies.

for not being faster.

for not being wiser.

for being what he is.

some nights, he wonders if the ache in his chest is guilt or longing. he wonders if there is a difference.

he has lived through the end of a nation. he has watched friends become monsters and ideals turn to ash. he has carried grief for centuries — but this grief is different. this grief does not dull. it does not settle into the bones. he does not accept your death because accepting it would mean acknowledging that even now — even after everything — the world still has the power to take what he loves.

there are moments — rare, treacherous moments — when he forgets. when the curse loosens its grip just enough for hope to slip through, thin and dangerous. he will turn, ready to speak, ready to share something small and unimportant, and for one heartbeat he expects you to be there.

the realization hits harder every time.

he does not cry. he does not rage. his grief is quieter than that — a constant, suffocating pressure beneath his ribs. a knowledge that there is no version of eternity where this pain resolves.

you would have told him to rest.

you would have told him that carrying everything alone was never bravery.

but now, you are the wound he keeps open to remember that he once loved something warm and living.

and sometimes, when the night is too quiet and the ruins press in too close, he wonders — not for the first time — whether this is what his curse was always meant to be.

xiao

xiao tells himself this is what always happens — mortals die, and he survives.

knowing that doesn't make the ache any smaller.

the world is too loud without you — too sharp, too cruel. demons fall beneath his spear, but each victory tastes like ash because there is no one waiting for him afterward. no quiet presence. no soft voice telling him he did well, that he can rest now.

he tells himself this is punishment. karma, finally collecting its due.

xiao survives your death the way he survives everything else — by swallowing it whole and pretending it doesn’t tear him apart.

at first, he tells himself it’s better this way. you are safe now. unreachable. untouchable by the corruption that stains everything he protects.

that lie holds for exactly three nights.

after that, the emptiness in his chest starts to scream. he grows restless, more volatile. hunts demons until his hands shake lets wounds linger longer than they should. the adepti notice, but no one says anything. everyone knows xiao does not accept comfort.

your name lodges itself somewhere between his ribs, sharp and immovable.

he stops returning to the places you used to sit beside him. he stops letting anyone stand too close.

there are nights when the karmic debt grows loud, when the world feels sharp and hostile and his body trembles with the effort of restraint. in those moments, he almost wishes the pain would consume him entirely. oblivion would be easier. oblivion would be quiet.

there's no-one to stop him anymore, so he falls deeper into this quiet despair. he stops eating properly. stops resting. throws himself into slaughter with a desperation that borders on self-destruction. anything to quiet the ache that lives where your warmth used to be.

he does not know how to grieve without turning it into punishment.

he remembers the small things against his will.

the way you said his name — carefully, like it might shatter if handled wrong. the quiet patience you had with his silences. the way you never looked at him like he was something to endure.

you had told him, once, that he didn’t need to be alone forever.

he wonders now if that was the moment he doomed you.

xiao does not accept your death. he carries it like a sentence — one more debt added to an already endless ledger. he does not believe there is forgiveness for this, not from the world, not from the heavens, and certainly not from himself.

you were once proof that something gentle could survive beside him.

now, six feet underground, you are proof that it cannot.

childe

childe laughs when they tell him you’re gone.

not because it’s funny — because it’s absurd. because death has always been something that happens around him, not something that affects him specifically. he’s fought it too many times, crawled back from too many edges, watched people fall only to stand again later. death, to him, has always been negotiable.

so he shakes his head, grin sharp and defiant, and says, you’re messing with me.

and when no one laughs back, something inside him splinters.

he gets reckless, drinks more. if he can’t have you back, then he’ll give the world hell for taking you. he throws himself into battles he doesn’t need to fight. if he comes back bloodied, bruised, shaking — good. at least it proves he’s still alive. anything to keep moving, because standing still means remembering the way your hand fit into his like it was always meant to be there.

there are nights he stares at the ceiling, breath uneven, mind racing with all the futures you never got to live. he hates that he survived. hates that the world kept spinning without you.

you were supposed to watch him win.

you were supposed to tell him when to stop.

he doesn’t talk about you properly. doesn’t say i loved them. doesn’t say i miss them. those words feel too final, too neat. like admitting something ended.

instead, he speaks to you in fragments.

out loud. under his breath. while sharpening weapons, while staring into dark water, while nursing wounds that didn’t need to happen. he tells you about fights you’d have liked. complains when things go wrong. brags when they go well, like you’re just out of sight, waiting to hear it.

sometimes he gets angry at you.

you promised you’d keep up.

you said you’d be fine.

you don’t get to leave first — do you hear me?

that anger scares him more than the sadness, because it means part of him still expects an answer.

on rare nights, when exhaustion finally drags him under, he dreams of you alive. not dramatic, not tragic — just there. laughing. arguing. touching him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he wakes up furious.

because for a few seconds, it felt real. because his body remembers you even when the world insists you’re gone, and his arm reaches for you in the haze of the morning, only to be met with the coldness of the sheets that once belonged to you. because some part of him still believes that if he fights hard enough, long enough, death will get bored and give you back.

he never lets himself say goodbye, because goodbyes mean acceptance.

and ajax has never been good at knowing when to stop fighting.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 25.12.2025. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

cupid's chokehold! pt. II - i. e. the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x lyney, kaveh, childe (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: the exact moment (or process which lead to it) when genshin men knew that they are head over heels in love with you!

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff for lyney, more angst for kaveh and kinda angst for childe, not proof-read i think

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: hi guys! i know it's been LONG since i posted the first part of this series but hey better late than never! i actually wrote it some time ago but i kind of forgot to post it, so i don't remember if it's proof-read or not (i hope it is) lolol enjoy and until the next time! also reminding you that my requests are open <3

link to first part: ☆ (featuring al-haitham, cyno, xiao)

and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 2.2 k in total

lyney

when you looked at him with such an amazement in your eyes and it was all about his magical performances. when you listened really carefully to what he told you and watched closely what he showed you. of course, thousands of people would come and watch his performances and give him compliments but the feeling they gave him was nowhere near the feeling your words made him feel

the lights of the stage were dimming, the theater still buzzing with the energy of lyney’s latest magical performance. applause echoed in the grand hall, a thunderous acknowledgment of the magician's mastery. 

there were so many people there, so why were his eyes searching for you? why wouldn't it matter to him if the whole room emptied and you were the only one left there?

it was just that… he kind of felt like no-one shared those passionate feelings with him. a lot of people came to watch, they were laughing and looking impressed by his tricks, but still, something was lacking

he felt like the impression he left on the audience was rather… temporary. he couldn't do anything but watch them leave a few minutes after the performance ended without asking any questions and already talking about what they are going to have for lunch today.

after the performance, when the crowd had dispersed, and the theater was silent, he found you lingering near the edge of the stage. he was still in his performance attire, his hat tucked under his arm, his smile as dazzling as ever.

“enjoyed the show?” he asked, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt.

you looked up at him, your face lighting up in a way that made his breath catch. “enjoyed? lyney, that was incredible! how do you even come up with these tricks? the floating cards, the disappearing rabbits… it’s like you’re weaving a dream right in front of everyone’s eyes.”

you always seemed so interested in everything he showed you, you always asked questions, it was just purely visible that you cared about everything he's got to tell you

and it was actually really… hot to him

yeah, he knows, it sounds kind of pathetic but hear him out

it just felt so good when he saw those sparkles of amazement in your eyes, he was so proud of himself that he made you this excited so it was a win-win situation

“look, y/n, you see this rose, right?” he once showed you a beautiful red rose that laid on his palm

“yes, of course” you giggled, focusing your eyes on him so as not to miss any of his movements

“but what about now?” he asked, quickly turning his hand over and hiding it behind his back

“well, now i certainly don’t” you rolled your eyes but there was still a smile dancing on your lips and a bit of laughter in your voice. you cheeks were slightly blushed, probably because of the temperature that was rather high that day (or perhaps because of how close his body was to yours, definitely closer than it was needed to perform a magic trick)

then, he showed you his hands again, but this time there was no flower 

“easy, you just hid it behind you back…” you explained to him his own magic trick, what made him chuckle a little

“well, if i were you i wouldn’t be so sure about that” he almost whispered into your ear, leaning closer

your heart skipped a beat because you had no idea what his intentions were, but before you’ve got to say anything he returned to his place and gently touched a bit of your hair, just above you ear

(you were almost blushing, giggling and kicking your feet at that point) (AND SO WAS HE)

you too touched this spot when he withdrew his hand, only to find the red rose, fixed behind your ear

“THAT WAS AMAZING, LYNEY!” you gasped out loud, visibly excited and his heart was just about to melt for a moment. “i’ll never understand how you do all of this!”

“that’s the point, dear y/n” he said softly. “magic is meant to be felt, not understood. and i have to admit, it’s much more fun for a magician when there’s someone like you watching.”

“someone like me?” you tilted your head

“someone who doesn’t just watch,” he explained, his smile softening. “you listen, you try to understand the story behind the tricks, and you look at it all with such wonder. It’s… different.”

you flushed at his words, glancing away shyly. “well, your performances deserve that kind of attention. they’re not just tricks; they’re art. and i want to know every detail of it!”

“a great magician never reveals all of his secrets to the audience, y/n” he winked at you

though, a part of him wanted to tell you everything you wished to hear, since you were starting to definitely be more than just an ordinary audience member to him…

kaveh

when you comforted him once after an argument with al-haitham. you were so kind and understanding to him that he literally nearly cried, because never in his life had he felt so cared of and important to. he almost immediately knew that you were the right person to spend the rest of his life with.

when you’ve heard a loud knock at your door in the early evening, you certainly did not expect that when you open the door, the person standing in front of you would be the renowned sumeru architect himself

“kaveh? what brings you here?” you questioned and stepped aside immediately, motioning for him to come in.

it turned out that he and your other friend, who both had thought that living together would be a great idea (it wasn’t), had another fierce argument

kaveh stormed out of the shared house, his heart pounding and his mind clouded with frustration. he couldn’t even remember what had started the fight - just that it had spiraled into something ugly, leaving him feeling small and unheard, as it always did.

“just… another fight with, you know, him” he sighed, running a hand through his hair “not like it’s something new. but-” his voice cracked for a second “it feels like no matter what i say, he doesn’t care. he doesn’t even take into consideration anything i say!”

you were stunned by how eager he was to share all those thoughts with you, but you didn’t say anything - in fact, you were quite fond of this. it meant that he felt comfortable around you, enough to entrust you with his sincere feelings.

“it leaves me feeling like none of what i say matters. like i don’t matter” he added and your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. you sat down beside him, your hand hovering for a moment before gently resting on his. 

“you do matter, kaveh!” you said firmly “to your friends, to me and many others. i understand that al-haitham is often difficult to handle, but it doesn’t make you any less important!”

he rose his head and looked at you with those crimson eyes, and for a moment you swore that you saw them watering up a little bit 

“do you really think so?” he asked carefully

“i don’t think so, i know it” you replied, squeezing his hand to comfort him. “your passion, talent, personality - i assure you, it inspires a lot of people. and don’t even try to think otherwise because of some stupid al-haitham and his humours”

it almost caught him in this moment - a really unfamiliar feeling hidden somewhere deep down his chest. he was unable to say a word for a moment, his eyes started watering again and he tried to look away. 

so when you added a simple “you don’t need to hide your feelings when you’re with me. it’s normal to feel hurt, and to cry. you’re not alone in this world.” 

it hit him there

he always prided himself on his independence, with dealing with life's problems on his own. although in truth he often felt alone in this, he never let it show. it was only now, when you were sitting right next to him, focusing your gaze only on him, that he wished he could always feel this way - cared for and important.

a tear trickled slowly down his cheek, and when you wiped it away with your thumb, he knew. at that moment he already knew. that no one had ever made him feel so special, so safe. for the first time in a years, he allowed himself to hope for something more, for better days to come. with you, by his side.

childe

when he was injured and you took care of him. he thought he was fine, since minor injuries happened to him all the time, but you were extremely concerned about his state. and that was the thing that moved him - he could count the people that show their genuine care for him on his fingers, and he didn't expect you to be one of them. of course it was rather a pleasant surprise, after all

the smell of herbs filled the room as you rummaged through your first aid supplies, your hands moving with precision despite the concern etched on your face. childe sat on a chair nearby, his usual confident smirk replaced by an awkward expression.

“hey, y/n, i told you it’s not a big deal.” he said, trying to downplay the wound on his arm. “i’ve had worse”

you gave him a sharp look, from which he trembled slightly. “not a big deal? childe, you are literally bleeding.” you replied in a frustrated voice.

“i've already told you that i’ve had far worse injuries on the battlefield”.

“so what?” you snarled at him, pouring disinfectant over the wound. “that doesn't mean you should ignore all the smaller ones.”

for a moment, he wanted to spit something back, but gave up when he noticed the determination in your eyes. if he were to be honest, he wouldn't have expected it from you.

he sighed, looking around the room. at this point he looked more like a bullied child than the capable warrior he had always made himself out to be. 

he didn't fall silent because of the pain, of course not. he fell silent because of your gaze - full of concern and the aforementioned determination. there was also something gentle in it, you weren't angry with him after all. you just wanted him to finally take care of himself, and if he didn't want to do it himself, he should at least let you do it.

of course, his family often worried about him and sent letters asking if he was all right, but he had long since got used to reassuring them that he was fine.

his fatui comrades, on the other hand, treated injuries like badges of honour  - a true warrior should not be concerned about scratches.

and here you were, completely different from them all. you weren't angry at him for getting hurt or trying to play it down. you tried to help him not because you had to, but because you wanted to.

when he realised this, a pleasant feeling wrapped around him like a warm blanket, unfamiliar yet still comforting.

“done,” you said after a while, tying the bandage tightly. ‘it should be enough for now, but you’ll need to rest so it heals properly’.

“rest?” he chuckled, his voice softer than usual “this definitely does not belong in my job description”

you folded your arms and furrowed your brow, looking at him “well, it's definitely a part of my job description to make sure you don't do something stupid when you're injured. so don't think to yourself that if i needed to, i wouldn’t tie you to this chair”

your words really amused him, his eyes started shining despite the obvious fatigue on his face. “really, y/n, sometimes you amaze me”

“i’'m serious,” you countered, despite the small smile on your lips. “you need to take care of yourself, childe. you can't act as if everything doesn't matter, especially when it concerns you.” your tone has become softer “a lot of people care about you. don’t forget that.”

his breathing stopped for a moment, and your words hit him harder than any blow he had ever received in battle. in that moment, he realised how rarely someone looked at him the way you did - with genuine concern, not for his strength or skill, but for him.

“i didn't know you were that concerned about it,” he admitted in a quieter voice.

you looked at him tilting your head “why wouldn't i care? you mean a lot to me, childe”

and just like that, everything clicked into place.

the faster beat of his heart when you were next to him? the warmth in his chest caused by your words? that strange feeling of peace that your presence brought to him? 

deep down, he knows

and maybe, just maybe, he hopes that you do too

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 28.02.2025. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

beneath soft pillows and wool pt. II ─ i. e. you are struggling to sleep but your genshin lover is there for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x xiao, ganyu, ayato, yelan (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: while you are having troubles with sleeping, your lover tries to find a way to comfort you! let's find out what would they do, if they found you not sleeping late into the night

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, reader overworking themselves

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: as i promised, i present to you second part of this small series! i hope you enjoy it, as always <3 stay tuned for my next works!

+ link to first part ☆ (featuring al-haitham lyney, neuvilette)

and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 2.8 k in total

they would find you not sleeping by an accident, and would put you back to sleep themselves — yelan, xiao

yelan

the night was cool and still, the faint hum of liyue harbour in the distance mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. you leaned against the balcony railing of your room, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city below. sleep had eluded you tonight, your mind restless despite the hour.

the sound of a faint, almost imperceptible footstep behind you broke the silence. you whirled around, your heart leaping to your throat, only to see a familiar figure emerge from the shadows.

"yelan?" you blurted out, your voice a mixture of surprise and confusion. "what are you doing here?" she crossed her arms, one brow arched in a way that was both amused and mildly reproachful. "'no,'" she countered softly, her tone sharp yet playful. "what are you doing here?"

for a moment, you were at a loss for words. "i... couldn't sleep," you finally admitted, gesturing vaguely at the cityscape. "i thought some fresh air might help clear my head." yelan stepped closer, her movements as fluid and deliberate as ever, still dressed in her usual attire - dark and smooth, perfect for blending into the night - but her expression was softer than usual.

"you know," she said, her voice low and tinged with concern, "roaming around at this hour isn't exactly the best way to deal with insomnia, especially on a balcony where you could catch a cold." you rolled your eyes slightly and leaned back against the railing. "i wasn't exactly 'roaming', yelan. and besides, what are the odds of you showing up here of all places? were you spying on me or something?"

she grinned and tilted her head. "i wasn't spying, no. but let's just say i have my ways of knowing when someone i care about is up to something they shouldn't be.” even though her words made you feel a little warmer out in this cold night, you couldn't help but tease her back. "so, what, you decided to come and give me a lecture about bedtime?"

yelan chuckled, the sound deep and melodic. "something like that. though," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly, "i didn't expect to find you brooding out here in the cold. what's on your mind?"

you hesitated, the weight of her attention making you feel both comforted and exposed. "just... couldn't stop thinking about things. nothing specific, really. it's like my brain refuses to turn off."

she nodded thoughtfully, moving closer until she was standing next to you. "i know the feeling," she said softly, her voice losing its teasing edge. "but staying up all night won't help. trust me." you turned to look at her, her face lit by the moonlight, her sharp, confident demeanour seeming softer for the moment, her usual air of mystery replaced by genuine concern.

"i suppose you're right," you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"i usually am," she said, smirking again, though it lacked her usual sharpness, and then, without warning, she reached out and took your hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "come. let's get you back into bed."

you blinked, startled by the sudden contact. "you're going to put me to bed now?"

"someone has to," she quipped, her grin widening. "and you obviously can't be trusted to do it yourself."

despite her playful tone, there was something undeniably tender about the way she led you back to your room, not letting go of your hand until you were sitting on the edge of your bed, her presence somehow both reassuring and commanding.

as you settled under the covers, she pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, her gaze steady and unwavering. "now close your eyes," she said, her voice softer than before.

"you're staying?" you asked, surprised. "just until you fall asleep," she replied, leaning back in the chair with a faint smile. "i have to make sure you don't sneak back out on the balcony."

you couldn't help but smile at her persistence, your heart swelling with affection for the woman who could so easily command a room - or your restless mind - with just a few words. 

"thank you, yelan," you murmured, your eyes growing heavy under her watchful gaze.

"anytime," she replied softly, and for the first time that night, you felt truly at ease.

her presence was so comforting that it wasn't long before your eyes began to close uncontrollably and yelan's silhouette began to blur.

"don't forget to close the door," was the only thing you whispered to your friend, half asleep. the little smirk on her face went unnoticed, unlike the wide-open door that was the first thing you saw in the morning with a runny nose.

hey, after all, they say it's better to sleep in a cold room, right?

xiao

the air was crisp on the terrace of the wangshu inn, the faint hum of nocturnal creatures filling the silence of the night. the inn was quiet, its usual bustle replaced by the stillness that only comes in the early hours. you sat on the edge of the terrace, your legs dangling over the side as you gazed out at the moonlit expanse of the dihua marsh.

the night had always felt peaceful to you, a time to think and breathe without the weight of the day pressing down on you. but tonight, that peace eluded you. your thoughts were restless, keeping you from the sleep you so desperately needed.

a faint gust of wind blew past you, and a familiar presence settled behind you, and you didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"xiao," you said softly, your voice carrying easily in the still night.

"what are you doing here?" his voice came, sharp but tinged with concern. you turned to see him standing a few paces away, his golden eyes fixed on you with that intense gaze he always seemed to carry.

you sighed and turned back to the view of the marsh. "i couldn't sleep, i don't know why exactly," you sighed, "i guess it's just a human thing."

xiao's footsteps were almost silent as he approached, stopping just behind you. he remained quiet for a moment, the silence stretching between you. then his voice came again, softer this time. "the night is not meant for mortals to linger, it is when dangers arise, even here."

you glanced over your shoulder at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "i think I'll be fine with the mighty conqueror of demons around."

he frowned, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at humour. "i’m serious," he said, his tone firm but lacking his usual edge. "your body needs rest. staying awake like this is... unwise."

you sighed again, your shoulders slumping slightly. "i know, but i just can't. it's like the more i try, the harder it gets."

xiao's frown deepened, but instead of reacting, he came closer, lowering himself to sit beside you on the edge of the terrace. his presence was grounding, a quiet strength that seemed to calm your racing thoughts.

"mortals and their endless worries," he murmured, almost to himself. "you carry so much, even when you don't need to."

you looked at him, surprised at the softness in his tone. "it's not like i can help it," you admitted. "it's just... life, i guess."

he was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the marsh below, then he spoke again, his voice low and almost hesitant. "if it helps... you're not alone. even if i'm not around, i'm watching."

the weight of his words settled over you, a warmth blooming in your chest. xiao was not one to offer comfort lightly, and his presence alone spoke volumes.

"thank you, xiao," you said softly, leaning a little closer to him. he turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes catching the moonlight. for a moment he said nothing, but the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat.

"come," he said finally, standing up and offering you his hand. "you need the rest." you hesitated, glancing at the railing as if debating whether to stay. but the gentle insistence in his eyes left little room for argument. you took his hand, his grip firm and steady as he helped you to your feet.

back in your room, xiao lingered by the window, his back to you as you settled into bed. his presence was a silent reassurance that you weren't alone. "will you stay?" you asked softly, the words slipping out before you could question them.

he turned to look at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment you thought he might refuse, but then he gave a small nod. "i'll stay until you sleep."

you smiled and closed your eyes as the sounds of the night filled the room, and as sleep finally claimed you, you felt safe, knowing that he was there, watching over you like the ever-dedicated guardian he was.

they would stay up with you for a little longer — ganyu, ayato

ganyu

the soft glow of a lantern illuminated the desk in your study, casting flickering shadows across the neatly stacked papers and open books. the night was deep, its silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind against the windows. you leaned over your work, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids, but unable to outweigh the sheer volume of tasks that still demanded your attention.

just as you reached for your quill again, the faint sound of footsteps caught your attention. turning towards the doorway, you found ganyu standing there, her soft blue hair illuminated by the dim light. she looked at you with a mixture of surprise and concern.

"you're still awake?" she asked quietly, stepping into the room.

you smiled, trying to sound more awake than you felt. "i could say the same about you."

she chuckled softly, closing the distance between you. "you know, i tend to overwork myself sometimes, but you... i didn't expect to find you burning the midnight oil."

"i have a lot to finish," you admitted, gesturing to the scattered papers on the desk. "i thought i could get it all done before tomorrow, but... well, here i am."

ganyu's eyes swept over the desk, taking in the clutter with a practiced eye. her expression softened, and she reached out to place a hand on your shoulder. "you've been working too hard, you should rest.”

"i know," you said with a sigh. "but if i don't finish this tonight, i'll be even further behind tomorrow. i'll sleep when i'm done, i promise."

her lips pressed into a thin line, her concern evident, and then, after a moment, she nodded, though her hand remained on your shoulder. "if you're determined to finish this tonight," she said gently, "then let me help you."

you blinked, startled. "no, you don't have to..."

"but i want to," she interrupted, her voice firm yet kind. "i know what it's like to feel overwhelmed by work. sometimes it's easier if someone is there to share the burden."

her words fell like a warm blanket over you, and for a moment all you could do was stare at her. ganyu's dedication had always been one of the things you admired most about her, but her willingness to extend that dedication to you - to stay up late and help you simply because she cared - made your chest tighten with affection.

"then thank you, ganyu," you said quietly.

she offered you a small smile, one that carried more warmth than the entire room. "where should i start?"

you quickly organized the papers, explaining what needed to be done. ganyu took a seat beside you, her delicate fingers moving deftly as she worked through the tasks. her presence was calming, her quiet focus making it easier for you to concentrate.

for a while, the two of you worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional shuffling of documents. you glanced at her every now and then, marveling at how serene she looked even in the midst of tedious work.

finally, you leaned back in your chair and stretched your arms over your head. "i think that's the last of it," you said with a tired but satisfied sigh.

ganyu looked up from her own pile of papers, a hint of relief in her expression.   "i’m glad we could finish it together," she said quietly, putting down her pen.

you smiled at her, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "i don't know what i’d do without you."

a faint blush rose to her cheeks and she looked away shyly. "i haven't done much," she murmured.

"you've done more than enough," you insisted, reaching out to take her hand. "you stayed with me when you didn't have to. that means everything to me.”

she hesitated for a moment, then squeezed your hand gently, her eyes meeting yours. "you mean a lot to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "i just want to make sure you take care of yourself."

your heart swelled at her words, and you gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "i'll try. as long as you promise to do the same."

she smiled, the kind of smile that lit up her whole face, and nodded. "i promise."

as the first rays of dawn began to creep through the window, you and ganyu made your way to the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to both of you. she stayed close, her warmth a comforting presence as you drifted off to sleep. and in that quiet moment, with her by your side, you knew you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

ayato

the inkwell was nearly empty, and the paper under your hand was beginning to blur from the strain in your tired eyes. the silence of the night wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, broken only by the occasional rustling of papers or the faint scratching of your pen. you knew you should be in bed, but there was so much to do, and the hours slipped away before you realized how late it was.

you didn't hear ayato's footsteps at first. his movements were as graceful and quiet as ever, the only warning of his presence being the soft rustle of his robes as he approached. you looked up, startled, to see his gentle smile framed by the warm light of the lantern he carried.

"you are still awake," he said softly, his tone a mixture of curiosity and concern. "what could require so much of your attention at this hour?"

you sighed, putting down the quill and rubbing at your temples. "there's just too much to do, ayato. i couldn't sleep knowing this was unfinished."

his eyes flickered to the papers spread across the desk, then back to you. his smile didn't falter, but there was a knowing look in his eyes that made you feel both cared for and slightly scolded. "and i thought i was the workaholic in this relationship," he teased lightly.

you gave him a tired laugh, and his expression softened further. without another word, he put down the lantern and pulled up a chair beside you. "then i’ll help you," he said simply, taking one of the documents from the pile.

"ayato, you don't have to..."

"i insist," he interrupted smoothly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "if you're determined to stay awake, i'll make sure you don't have to shoulder this alone. besides," he added with a playful touch, "i’m quite efficient, you know."

and he was! as you worked, ayato's sharp mind and quick hands proved invaluable, easing your burden more than you thought possible. but more than his help, it was his presence that soothed you - the soft hum of his voice as he made the occasional comment, the comforting weight of his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned over to hand you something.

time seemed to pass differently with him there, and before you knew it, the last of the work was done. you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion settling in, but the relief was palpable.

ayato looked at you, his smile tinged with satisfaction. "there, you see? together we can do anything.”

you laughed softly and shook your head. "thank you, ayato. really."

he stood and offered you his hand with a flourish. "my pleasure. but now, my dear, there is one more task we must complete tonight."

you raised an eyebrow and took his hand. "and what's that?"

"to make sure you get the rest you deserve," he said, his voice warm as he led you to the bed.

he pulled back the covers for you, waiting until you were comfortably tucked in before sliding in next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. "next time, let me know if you're overwhelmed," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead. "i’d rather spend the night by your side than let you face it alone."

you nodded sleepily, the weight of his words and the warmth of his embrace lulling you into a peaceful haze. with ayato holding you close, sleep came easily, and you drifted off with the soft hum of his voice still echoing in your mind.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 14.01.2025 please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

beneath soft pillows and wool pt. I - i.e. you are struggling to sleep but your genshin lover is there for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x al-haitham, lyney, neuvilette (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: while you are having troubles with sleeping, your lover tries to find a way to comfort you! let's find out what would they do, if they found you not sleeping late into the night

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, reader overworking themselves

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: i'm back to life! the christmas mood really got me into working - on the contorary to the reader who finally gets some sleep in this one, i certainly did not get any for the two previous nights while i was finishing this up lolol anyway, enjoy! and remember that my requests are open, so feel free to messege me!

+ link to second part ☆ (featuring xiao, ganyu, ayato, yelan)

and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1.5 k in total

they would give you a lecture about why sleeping at night is essential for your health, but then still put you back to sleep — al-haitham, lyney

al-haitham

the moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the bustling streets of the sumeru city. you, however, were not admiring the night's beauty. you were hunched over your desk, a mountain of scrolls and research papers threatening to topple over. 

the faint scent of jasmine tea, long since chilled, lingered in the air. you had been at it for hours, absorbed in deciphering the intricate workings of a newly discovered artefact. suddenly a tall shadow fell over your work. you looked up in alarm to see al-haitham standing in the doorway, his expression a mixture of annoyance and concern.

"you should be asleep by now," he said, his voice a low rumble. you sighed, pushing a stray strand of hair back from your face. "i’m almost done," you murmured, your eyes glued to the complex diagrams before you.

"you've been saying that for the last three hours," he countered, his gaze unwavering. "you know that chronic sleep deprivation can lead to a wide range of health problems, from reduced cognitive function to an increased risk of chronic disease." you rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. he could talk for hours about the importance of a good night's sleep, citing scientific studies and ancient wisdom with equal fervor.

"i know, i know," you admitted, finally putting down your quill. "but this artefact is so fascinating, i just couldn't put it down."

al-haitham shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "you're impossible," he murmured, but his voice was soft, almost tender. "come, i'll put you to bed." 

"oh?" you let out a small sigh of surprise, for it wasn't often that he made such offers.

"just so i know you have finally fallen asleep," he quickly explained himself. he reached out and gently took your hand, leading you out of the study and down the hallway. you allowed him to lead you, your body tired from lack of sleep, but your mind still buzzing with excitement over the artefact.

as he tucked you into bed, you felt a wave of drowsiness wash over you. the warmth of his touch, the scent of his sandalwood cologne and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he sat beside you all conspired to lull you into a state of peaceful slumber.

"rest," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "you deserve it."

you closed your eyes, a contented sigh escaping your lips. al-haitham's lectures might be long and detailed, but his concern for you was undeniable. even if he didn't want to admit it out loud…

lyney

the soft glow of the moon painted the room silver, illuminating the piles of books and papers scattered across your desk. you were lost in a world of lore and legends, your fingers tracing the intricate script of a forgotten text. the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ancient magic, and you were lost in the story unfolding before you.

suddenly, a playful voice broke your concentration, "ahh, my dear, still up at this ungodly hour?" you looked up to see lyney leaning against the door, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"just finishing some research," you replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"research? at this hour? you'll burn yourself out, my dear. fascinating as it is," he arched his brow, flipping the book in his hands to examine the cover "it won't be half as interesting if you're too tired to remember any of it tomorrow," he chided, his voice laced with concern. "don't you know that sleep is the key to unlocking the full potential of your magical abilities? i once stayed up all night trying to master a new illusion and the results were disastrous! i ended up turning myself into a giant purple squirrel." he chuckled, and you couldn't help but smile despite his theatrics.

“picture, or it didn’t happen…” you murmured quietly under your breath, so he wouldn't hear what you just said

“see? you’re too tired to even talk! you must go to bed immediately!” he chuckled, theatrically rushing you with his hand.

you opened your mouth to protest, but lyney raised a gloved finger to silence you, his expression softening as he bent down to meet your gaze. "listen," he began, "i know how tempting it is to squeeze every moment out of the night, but it's not worth sacrificing your health. sleep is not just for rest - it's when your mind processes everything. all those tricks you've seen me do? they wouldn't be half as good if i didn't get enough sleep to sharpen my focus."

"alright, alright, i get it," you said, putting down your quill. "i'll try to get some rest."

lyney raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "try? my dear, you don't try, you just do. come, i’ll put you to bed. i promise the book will still be here tomorrow."

he held out his hand, his fingers brushing yours, and you reluctantly put yours in his. he pulled you up with a flourish, like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. "there you go. now let's make this a little more magical."

with a flick of his wrist, lyney conjured a small flurry of glittering lights that floated around you like fireflies. "a little enchantment to light the way," he said, his voice soft.

"oh, lyney, they are so beautiful!" you whispered, seeing the reflections of those lights in his shining eyes.

without realising it, the weight of his lecture and the soothing glow of his conjured lights had lulled you into a haze of drowsiness, so that when he tucked you in to sleep in your room, your eyes were already closing

"sleep well, my dear," he whispered, his voice soft and soothing. "and remember, a well-rested mind is a powerful mind."

they would be very concerned and would come to the bed with you — neuvilette

neuvilette

the moonlight streamed into your shared bedroom, painting the walls a silvery hue. the clock ticked softly, a persistent reminder that the hour was far past for reasonable wakefulness. you sat on the edge of the bed, knees drawn to your chest as you stared out the window, the world outside quiet, but your mind anything but. the nightmares had come again - visceral, inescapable shadows that lingered even in wakefulness.

you hadn't intended to wake him. neuvillette deserved his rest, especially with the burdens he carried as fontaine's chief justice. but despite your quiet movements, the subtle change in the rhythm of your breathing must have alerted him. his voice, low and concerned, broke the silence. "why are you awake, mon trésor?” you jumped slightly as you turned to find his pale lavender eyes soft with concern. he was already sitting up, his silken hair falling in gentle waves over his shoulders, illuminated by the moonlight.

"it's nothing," you murmured, trying to sound reassuring. "go back to sleep, neuvillette."

but he wasn't convinced. you should have known better; neuvillette had always been perceptive, especially when it came to you. he moved closer, his hands reaching out to gently cradle yours. his touch was warm, grounding.

"you have been troubled for several nights now," he said, his voice a soothing rumble. "and now you won't even try to rest. please, tell me what's wrong.”

you hesitated, the words caught in your throat. it felt silly, almost childish, to admit that nightmares had kept you awake, but the intensity in his gaze told you he wouldn't let it go. finally you whispered, "the nightmares... i keep seeing things i can't escape. and when i wake up, it feels like they're still there."

his expression softened further, and without a word, he pulled you into his arms. you melted into his embrace, his steady heartbeat a balm to your frayed nerves. "you should have told me," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "you don't have to bear this alone."

neuvillette rose from the bed and gently guided you to lie down. he slid under the covers with you, making sure you were wrapped in warmth. his arms circled around you tightly, and he rested his chin lightly on your head.

"close your eyes," he said softly. "i will stay with you until you fall asleep. should the nightmares return, i will chase them away."

"but you need to rest too," you protested weakly, though the comfort of his presence was already easing the tension in your body.

"i rest best when you are at peace," he replied, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "so let me be here for you.”

with neuvillette's steady presence and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath, the grip of the nightmares began to loosen. for the first time in days, you felt the edges of sleep pull you under - not with fear, but with a sense of safety. and as your eyelids grew heavy, you thought you heard him whisper:

"i will always be here to protect you, no matter the hour.”

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 25.12.2024. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

honkai star rail masterlist

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 the achieve of gentle things — i.e. honkai star rail men as girl dads (featuring aventurine, sunday, jing yuan, anaxa, mydei, phainon)

and more to come!

last updated: 25.01.2026

[cythiraeth]

genshin impact masterlist

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 come back and haunt me ─ i. e. genshin men missing you after your death

part I (featuring: dainsleif, xiao, childe)

part II (featuring: kaveh, al-haitham, lyney)

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 the achieve of gentle things ─ i. e. genshin men as girl-dads (featuring: childe, al-haitham, kaeya, diluc, ayato, dainsleif)

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 cupid's chokehold! ─ i.e. the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you

part I (featuring: al-haitham, cyno, xiao)

part II (featuring: lyney, kaveh, childe)

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 beneath soft pillows and wool ─ i.e. you are struggling to sleep but your genshin lover is there for you

part I (featuring: al-haitham, lyney, neuvilette)

part II (featuring: xiao, ganyu, ayato, yelan)

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 weather forecast ─ i.e. what genshin men kisses feel like

part I (featuring: xiao, itto, scaramouche, thoma, kaveh)

part II (featuring: childe, kazuha, venti, dainsleif)

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 circling back ─ i.e. a drunk, young varka one-shot

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 slept tight? ─ i.e. mornings with genshin women (featuring: kokomi, ayaka)

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 jealousy is sometimes good for both of you! ─ i.e you being jealous of kaveh

last updated: 10.5.2026

[cythiraeth]

cupid's chokehold! - i. e. the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x al-haitham, cyno, xiao (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: the exact moment (or process which lead to it) when genshin men knew that they are head over heels in love with you!

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, not proof-read, lighter (?) and more free form of the work this time!

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: ehe, long time no see! i'm back to life and posting, so to start i picked something that was easier to write and is slightly in a different form than my previous works, however, i hope you'll like it :> also, i'm still waiting for any work requests, so if you have any idea, feel free to messege me!!

+ link to second part :☆ (featuring lyney, kaveh, childe)

and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1.5 k in total

 al-haitham

seeing you in a pretty, elegant outfit, probably some kind of dress or suit, maybe showing your collarbones or it just being mesmerizing,  it's up to you how you imagine a perfect fit ;) he is just PHYSICALLY UNABLE to take his eyes off you! the usually calm and collected al-haitham forgets how to use the ability to speak for a brief second.

the moment you left the room in which you were getting ready as he was waiting outside, he almost gasped out loud

i mean literally, this man's brain stopped working for a second

you two were supposed to attend tighnari's birthday party, and while he didn't consider it a occasion to wear something elegant, you did the opposite 

that's why he was left so speechless. because he was caught by surprise! he thought you would wear your casual clothes just as he did…

but it happened, you wore one of your favorite outfits for special occasions, and he was flabbergasted 

of course it's not like your look was the only reason he has fallen for you! he was definitely considering it many times before this happened, but he was living in denial.

"no, i don't actually have feelings for them. they make me feel comfortable, i crave hearing their voice or laugh and i care about them a lot, but no, we're just friends" - probably al-haitham to himself at some point in his life.

but this time, he couldn't explain his feelings in any rational way known to man. you were so stunning that his eyes shined uncontrollably when he laid them on you. he was so busy studying your silhouette, your face and your hair that he didn't even hear your first question, which was:

"and? how do i look?" you asked, opening the door but still keeping your hands on the doorframe and leaning on it. you were slightly blushed because it was quite embarrassing to let him see you like this, but if you were to be honest, you were also a little bit excited to see his reaction

so when he didn't even answer you and remained indifferent on the outside, the slightly raised corners of your mouth drooped

you just weren't aware of what he's been experiencing on the inside…

because his heart started pounding a little bit faster and he was ashamed of it but on the other hand you looked gorgeous and he couldn't stop himself from thinking about what would he do if you were in relationship

(he had such a strong urge to kiss your hand like a gentleman for some reason)

"what? do i really look that bad?" you asked after you have swallowed the bitterness of your first impression

"sorry?" he said, blinking, your words drawing him out of his reverie, "did you say something?" 

you snorted, annoyed by his behavior, assuming that he probably couldn't care less about your look at the moment, but at least he should try to pretend he does 

but oh, how wrong you were…

when you repeated the question he only murmured something under his breath in response, so you decided to let him be

you noticed he got sweaty all of sudden, it was probably too hot for him inside, you thought, so you took the last things and you two left the house.

in reality, he wasn't feeling hot because of the temperature of course, but he was just as surprised by his own actions as you were. surprised in a slightly different way though….

cyno

talking with tighnari... he found all his confidence to talk to him about his possible feelings for you, that he could not recognize and tighnari was left speechless because of how innocent and lost in his feeling cyno looked

he was probably hanging out with tighnari someday, maybe they went out for a dinner, and somehow the topic of conversation has come down to you

for a long time he was hesitant to talk about his feeling towards you out loud but today he decided he'd try discussing it with his friend

because if not tighnari then who would be a suitable person? surely not you 

also, don't think that he was aware of what he's feeling. HAHA, no. he would never 

"what in your opinion y/n thinks of me…?" was his first question. he tried to choose the words carefully and say it in his normal tone but even a small sign of arousal in his voice was enough for tighnari to notice that something is up

"and why are you asking?" he wanted to make sure that his interpretation is right

"no reason in particular," his answer was quick, those words escaped his lips uncontrollably, so he had to add something "i just consider them a close friend and i want to know if they do too."

tignari almost started laughing out loud, but he controlled himself.

close friend? oh man, he is so clueless…

"are you sure that they are a "close friend?"" he was actually having some fun but at the same time he just wanted to smack himself on the forehead, he couldn't decide 

"well, definitely not a "distant friend"" 

that's it, that's the moment when tighnari smacked his forehead 

"i'll pretend i didn't hear that," he tried to be serious, but it wasn't easy. "listen, you look at them like they are your entire world. that's the kind of look people give to their lovers, not close friends!" he finally said it out loud

cyno had to blink twice to process what was just said.

he. in love. with you? 

maybe? i mean, he always cared about your opinion about his jokes the most and he wanted to spend as much time as possible with you… but he thought that it's normal for friends to feel this way. and to steal glances at you person when you aren't looking, and to read every book you recommend him…

"you say so?" he finally asked, resting his chin on his hands "then maybe you're right," he admitted out loud

"FINALLY" tighnari couldn't hold it any longer… he was SO relieved that his friend won't be acting like he is running around in the fog anymore… right?

"and why are you so emotional about it?" cyno was genuinely confused (pls help this man he is often so clueless)

"because by now even collei knew"

xiao

 when you kept coming back after all of his attempts to push you away. he wanted to protect you, protect you from him, because for a human it would be better to stay away from his karmic debt, right? but when you remained determined to get closer to him no matter how many times he tried to disencourage you, he slowly realized that maybe, just maybe he can let you get closer to his heart than he ever let anyone to be.

in his case, there wasn't any particular situation that made him realize his feelings, it was rather a complex and long process (not really a chokehold then but shh…)

he knew you for several months despite of his numerous attempts of cutting any ties he had with you

it was just that… you were stubborn. but not in a regular way, no. your stubbornness was much less invasive and annoying, and it manifested in your constant willingness to get closer to him

however, you never imposed yourself nor did you try convincing him! you were just visiting wangshu inn regularly, maybe tried striking up a conversation a few times, even just sitting in silence was enough for you

and because of all those actions he never felt overwhelmed by your presence! actually, after some time, he just got used to it and secretly started liking it

however, there was always this silent voice in the back of his head that he shouldn't be doing this and that he's forgetting himself

so definitely, when he slowly started thinking of you in that way at the very beginning he was IN SUCH A BIG DENIAL that it's almost unbelievable 

alright, he admitted it to himself, but swore to N E V E R talk to anyone about it, especially and above all, to you.

he just decided to act as if those feelings didn't exist, that's all. and it went like that for quite a long time unfortunately… (at least you can be sure that he keeps his promises at all costs!!)

and after some time, when he was surprised that they didn't just go away, a certain thought crossed his mind…

he started thinking about what ifs and imagining what could happen if he theoretically decided to tell you about his feelings 

(he spent another few months on that though)

at some point he just couldn't look at you without seeing you both holding hands in his mind or stand next to you without the urge to put his hand on your shoulder (of course only in private, he would never do pda…)

but still, his karmic debt… 

he was so torn between those two thoughts (there were two wolves inside of him)

but as you expect, after months of his internal struggling, and your consistency in getting closer to him and encouraging him to open up, he let his feelings win for once in his long life

(take good care of him because he deserves it)

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 23.11.2023. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

Hello, how are you? 😁 May I please request "mornings with them" ficlets with Kokomi and Ayaka? (Gn!reader, pls)

slept tight? - i. e. mornings with genshin women

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x ayaka, kokomi (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: a description and an example of mornings with our lovely girls! how do they wake you up or behave after sleep? let's find out!

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, established relationships

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: hi anon, thank you so much for this request, it was a lot of fun to write and i hope that you will like it! i'm doing well recently and i'm definitely looking forward to any new requests if anyone comes up with them ;3 have a nice day!

link to my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 1 k in total

sangonimiya kokomi

most of the time she gets out of bed much earlier than you do, due to her work and the daily routine she usually follows. she kisses you on the forehead, covers you with a blanket if you have messed up the bedding in your sleep and quietly leaves the room, leaving you to get as much sleep as you need. but there are days when things are a little different!

the quiet rustle of silky fabric was the first sound to greet your ears in the morning. with your eyes closed, covered by a soft blanket, you mumbled uncertain words, still caught somewhere between dreams and reality. 

"'oh, i woke you? excuse me," kokomi's voice was sleepy and a little hoarse, but even with your eyes closed you could sense that she wasn't lying next to you in bed.

"wait, what time is it?" you lifted your head and blinked quickly to clear your blurred vision. kokomi had already gotten up from the bed and was in the middle of making up her part of your shared bed. her body was barely visible due to the lack of sunlight in the room, so it must have been early, but you could see the outline of her messy hair, a truly extraordinary sight considering her usually immaculate appearance. but in your eyes, in this state, she looked even more beautiful, more real and natural. 

she chuckled softly at your sleepy posture and covered her mouth with her hand, but she answered your question, "it's 6 am, as usual when i wake up".

"no, no, no, not today!" you laughed and crawled wobbly to her side of the bed. she was still standing close enough for you to grab her arm with your hand and pull her closer, "today is your day off, i won't let you out of bed until at least ten!" 

she fell onto the bed, almost on top of you as you both started to giggle, your arms tangled and all the bedding she had just fixed was a complete mess again. you really wanted her to rest more, as lately it seemed that she was overworking herself... being a divine priestess was certainly a demanding job, and even a person as qualified as kokomi deserved a few more hours of sleep from time to time! In this sequence of mornings that had been rather quick, with only a few kisses between the two of you, you just had to steal one that was slower and more tender. 

you held her close to your chest, stroking her hair and untangling it with your fingers. although she was a little hesitant at first, she soon realised that this way of starting her day could be much better and more pleasant than she could have expected. the chirping of the birds outside the window, accompanied by your soft breathing and your gentle touch, made her loosen up and close her eyes.

she wrapped her arms around you and nestled her face against your neck as you planted a kiss on the top of her head, her soft hair touching your lips. 

"maybe you were right this time," she murmured into your neck with a smile, "this has made my morning much better.”

kamisato ayaka

ayaka is also usually the first to wake up but unlike kokomi, she loves to wake you up herself! she loves the thought of being the first and the last thing you see throughout the day. sometimes when she's in a more playful mood she'll pull your blanket and tease you a little, sometimes she'll slowly kiss your neck and peck your jaw before reaching your lips, sometimes you'll be woken by a tempting smell of breakfast she's got from thoma. you never know!

"good morning, my love," ayaka whispered into your ear as she hovered over you. her blue, loose hair fell down on either side of her head, tickling your cheeks. a lovely smile that adorned her lips made you smile too, unconsciously, even if you only opened your eyes. 

"mornin-" you couldn't finish because of the yawn that escaped your lips. ayaka chuckled at the sound and put her hand lightly on your lips until you stopped yawning. 

"i've let you sleep a little longer today, my sleeper," she said, shifting her position to lay on her side next to you, "but it's time to wake up," she added in a softer voice, reaching out with her warm hand to stroke your cheek. 

you closed your eyes again, enjoying her gentle touch. you were still not fully awake, so you barely understood what she was saying, but just hearing her voice was enough to make you feel relaxed. her actions did not quite fulfil their original purpose of waking you up, but they had the opposite effect. her voice was so calming, how could you not want to fall asleep again in her arms?

"hey! you're not sleeping, are you?" she asked after noticing that you had drifted away a little too far, resting her chin on her hand to get a better view of you. you just smiled, not opening your eyes, but quickly wrapping your arms around her chest and pulling her closer to you, locking her in a tight embrace. 

"oh no, we definitely are sleeping," you mumbled, curling up and moving your head closer to her neck, taking in the scent of shampoo that was all over her hair. she sighed softly, not in annoyance but more in something like amusement. maybe she had planned this all along? you didn't really waste your time with that thought, because what was more important was that she finally stopped resisting and returned the hug.

"okay, but just a few more minutes..." she giggled as you subtly brushed your lips against her skin, catching it several times with your teeth before properly kissing her neck "be careful not to leave any marks there, please," she whispered in response to your more eager kisses, but you weren't sure if this was a request that could be granted...

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 31.08.2023. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

weather forecast pt. II - i. e. what genshin men kisses feel like

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x childe, kazuha, venti, dainsleif (separate)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: a brief descriptions of genshin men kisses, using comparsion to the nature, followed by a longer scenario depicting such kiss :)

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, established relationships, slightly suggestive (childe), mentions of alcohol (childe) and consumption of alcohol (venti)

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: sorry to keep you waiting guys! i really struggled with some parts and i'm not completely satisfied with them, but finally it's done! there will probably be a third (and final) part, but maybe i'll post something else first, we'll see :v again, sorry if any of them feel ooc,… anyway, enjoy!

(link to first part: ☆ featuring xiao, itto, scaramouche, thoma and kaveh)

and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 5.2 k in total

childe - storms

they are always different. never in the same place, never at the same time. sometimes predictable, sometimes unexpected. messy or collected, the only thing they have in common is the remarkable effect they have on you, the extraordinary but desired feeling they reward you with.

knocking on your door in the middle of the night wasn't something you would consider expectable, especially when there was a storm outside and any rational person would have stayed indoors to avoid getting wet, or worse, hurt.

however, you knew very well that childe wasn't someone who obeyed the rules of so-called society.

"are you actually insane?!" was the first thing that came out of your mouth when you saw him. the rain rumbled in your ears and fell on the stones directly behind him, while lightning flashes somewhere in the distance outlined his tall silhouette in a truly fairytale fashion.

"is this now that you find out?" he asked in his innocent tone, and that was what let you know that he wasn't going to leave the threshold of your house anytime soon. he was wet. and wet was probably not enough to describe his state at that moment. he was soaked to the skin, there wasn't a millimetre of dry cloth on his body, not to mention his hair, which was dripping with water. 

in silence, you rolled your eyes at his comment and moved aside to allow him to enter. you gritted your teeth and tried your best not to care about the mess he was making on your floor with his muddy boots. he was kind enough to take them off halfway to your kitchen, but there was still a trail of water droplets on your panels that marked the path he took.

his red hair disappeared behind the door frame as you finished locking the main door and followed him into the kitchen, your eyes fixed on the water covering the floor. you could still hear the sound of the falling rain through an open window, which also allowed some fresh air into the room. he leaned against your table, waiting for you to enter before he could begin to speak. his eyes were lazily scanning the kitchen counters in front of him as he finally caught sight of your silhouette leaning against one of the counters. you noticed that he had removed his black gloves, which were now lying on the table beside him.

"so what brings you to my house?" you asked before he had a chance to speak, crossing your arms and tilting your head. " you are not happy to see me?" he inquired, avoiding your question, his face taking on the look of a wounded dog. you sighed, but deep down you found his actions somehow funny, and you had to admit that the small smile that formed on your lips was genuine, even if you tried to hide it. "you are not answering my question," you said in a less harsh tone than before, and he noticed, taking it as a sign to push himself away from the table and slowly walk towards you. "'neither are you,” he replied with a twinkle in his eye and you almost lost your temper. his good humour was getting to you and he was more than happy about it. 

"what's gotten into you today..." you muttered, looking into his sapphire eyes as he approached you. when he finally stopped half a metre in front of you, you were actually surprised that you didn't smell alcohol on him, because you were about to accuse him of being drunk. but no, this man was definitely not being served alcohol today. "you're not drunk, are you?" you asked, just to be sure.

“now you are insulting me! i wanted to have some dandelion wine, but no, i haven’t touched any alcohol today,” he explained with a sigh. " so now you have two choices," he said, taking a strand of your hair in his bare fingers, "do you want me to be romantic or honest?" he added, playing with the strand. you narrowed your eyes a little and mumbled, trying to think of the best option. "'be romantic today, i want to see what you're capable of making up when you're flirting with someone," you announced, and a flirtatious smile slid across his lips as if he ignored the second part of your statement.

“so, y/n, i came here, lured to this oasis of love and warmth, also known as your house, by an unbearable desire to bless my eyes with just a glimpse of your astonishing fa-” 

"oh holy morax, enough!" you shouted before bursting out laughing. you closed your eyes and hid your face in your hands, still trembling, as he also started to giggle. uncontrollably, you felt your cheeks getting warmer, unsure if it was from laughing or maybe his statement made you feel something more than embarrassment. "don't ever do that again," you said indistinctly because of the hands covering your face, so to hear you better he gently pulled them away from your face by your wrists, you coughed once to clear your throat and added, louder this time, "so maybe we'll move on to the honest option?" he was still holding your wrists in his warm hands, and as you spoke he moved them to your palm, intertwining your fingers with his. " If you wish," he replied, still playing with your hands, stroking your right palm with his index finger. "i just wanted to see you," he leaned down and whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin.

It was a simple answer, but he meant a lot by it. he wanted you to know that you weren't just crossing his mind during the day, but that you never left it. that he couldn't go a day without imagining what you were doing, and that ever since you kissed him the last time, the idea of you kissing him again had been stuck in his head. in and out of his dreams, his mind was occupied with you.

but childe was a man who valued action more than corny words. because words can lie, can't they? they can be honeyed, dripping with deceit and falsehood. you can never be sure of their author's true intentions. that's why, instead of telling you everything, he decided to demonstrate his own feelings towards you.

you can't even remember how it started, nor how it ended, but you do remember how it went. his slightly dry lips on yours, your fingers in his ginger locks, him lifting you up to sit on the kitchen counter. a trail his hands followed down your waist and back, squeezing your skin as if they wanted more and more, a few broken cups thrown off the counter, your warm breaths mixed with the fresh rainy air. his presence was like a storm that broke into your house and refused to leave, even after it had stolen everything you had to offer, even after it had torn your skin like an orange peel and exposed your deepest desires.

and you were like an alcohol to him, the only dandelion wine he wanted to ever taste.

kazuha - warm breeze

do i need to explain? they are just so, so gentle and loving, his lips on your lips make you feel like a soft, lukewarm breeze is caressing your cheeks and playing with your hair. you always know, guided by this breeze, where to find him.

this morning was no different from any other morning in ritou for almost everyone. karpillia was offering the mondstadt liquors to the people and inviting them to the sailing breeze; yegor was eating at miss ryouko's stall again, smiling and looking at her in a certain way, blushing almost imperceptibly, only at the tips of his ears; tingting and sasano were wandering the streets together with a worried look on their faces. a day like any other, would say everyone except you. the days when kazuha came back to you were never like any other.

from the moment you opened your eyes on such a day, even the air felt different to you. vibrating and clear, like after the rain, it motivated you to work and kept you in a good mood. these days were almost sacred; nothing was allowed to break your sweet routine of anticipation.

walking through the sun-drenched streets of ritou, life felt incredibly easy and pleasant. you admired the leaves blowing on the concrete, you waved to xixi and said good morning to nakano, the kanjou commission officer you often found at the docks, to the point where you actually befriended him (you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you, due to his somewhat grumpy attitude, but he was able to hold a conversation with you, so you considered it a friendship). even the food you ate at miss ryouko's stall tasted better than usual, but when you told her about it, she just laughed and said, "that's because all my food is made with love". 

you spent most of the day at the docks, sitting on the bridge, but you weren't bored. you watched the fish swimming near the surface of the water, oblivious to the fisherman getting ready to catch them. you had some conversations with nakano about the beautiful sunset that was visible today and the nostalgia it brought. but in the end, when the time almost came, you were left alone, sitting on some crates, playing with an old fishing net in your fingers. 

the ship arrived at noon. you could see it on the horizon long before it sailed any closer, its brown colour standing out against the blue and wide sky. the time you had to spend waiting, looking at the ship, was always the worst. it was so close, yet so far away, and you could do nothing but wait. so you did, impatiently, swinging your legs and tying bows with ropes just to pass the time. 

even when the ship docked and the people began to disembark, you sat still, waiting for the hustle and bustle to die down. you saw him twice from a distance, carrying some crates off the ship, but he hadn't noticed you yet. it wasn't until most of the people had left to explore the streets of ritou or to do some business with the international trade association that you finally jumped down from the wooden boxes that had been your best friends for the past few hours and shook the dust from your clothes. 

kazuha was finishing some last things at the entrance of the ship, but he noticed you immediately and couldn't help smiling. he was almost as impatient as you were, but he finished everything he had to do before he ran up to you and embraced you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, not saying a word as you gently stroked his hair. "welcome home, kazuha," you whispered close to his ear, and in return he planted a quick kiss on your neck.

"it tickles!" you giggled before he finally let go of you and you were able to see his face clearly for the first time in weeks; he hadn't changed at all; still the same soft platinum hair with the red highlight, ruffled by the wind, and the red glowing eyes that looked at you with almost obvious love. "it is hard to put into words how much i have missed you," he said for the first time, and the sound of his voice, heard after such a long separation, was like the most beautiful music to your ears. he took your hands in his, the silky fabric of his gloves contrasting with the rather rough bandage on his right hand.

"there's no need for words now," you assured him, squeezing his hands, "i just want your presence. "then i think i can provide you with that," he replied.

the sea splashed against the pier and finches sang charmingly as kazuha kissed you, his lips warmer than you'd expected, but the kiss was as wonderful as ever. after the unreliable time of waiting, you finally felt at home, and so did kazuha; he had come back, he was here with you, and for now, you were the one who drew all his attention. so he put his sincere feelings into the way his lips touched yours again and again, and his hands wandered down your neck, tangling in your hair. 

you could feel him smiling against your lips, widely and honestly as always, and you just had to smile too. everything was fine with him by your side, and the world seemed to understand that. a happy chirping of birds and a soft purr of a cat, accompanied by the calm sounds of the sea.... even the breeze, which was usually colder here by the sea than in the city, was noticeably warmer today, and the feeling of it on your face was almost pleasant. for when kazuha smiled, the whole world smiled with him.

venti - wind

his kisses feel... ephemeral. almost like something slipping through your fingers that you desperately need to catch before it's too late. you always try to get as much of them as possible, knowing it's impossible. you try to persuade him to stay just a minute longer, just a second, but he often disappears in the blink of an eye, leaving you unsatisfied.

it was hard to catch up with the archon of the wind, often associated with freedom and change. nothing was ever the same with him, he was constantly changing like the wind itself, carrying memories far away and valuing what was here and now more. perhaps the line between him and his element was now so blurred that it was hard for him to keep up with his own feelings too. the only static thing in his life at the moment was your presence, and no matter what he might have said or done, he wanted you to stay as long as possible, to be the anchor to balance the effects of his carefree personality.

"isn't that some kind of a blasphemy?" you asked, looking down at the paving stones beneath your legs. 

"blasphemy? to whom?" said the bard, sitting by your side with his legs crossed. "i'm the one who dragged you here, after all."

you thought for a moment, biting your lips. "it is a good philosophical problem, you know? is it blasphemy to sit on a statue of the god, but the said god is also sitting here with you? can the god desecrate his own statue?" you asked, lifting your eyes to look at the sleepy mondstadt, lit only by the moonlight and a few street lamps. the windblume festival was in full swing, but by 1am most of the city had decided to rest and come back tomorrow, making it easier for the two of you to climb the giant statue of the anemo god.

"i don't think so," he replied, shaking the bottle of dandelion wine in his hand. "i would have to feel offended if we were to call it blasphemy, and i don't."

"you have a point," you said before a quick yawn escaped your lips. "i think it's already my time... the late hour is not good for me," even if you usually stayed up late, spending a whole day at the windblume festival would be tiring for everyone, especially after a week of helping with the preparations.

the bard glanced at you as he took a sip of wine straight from the bottle. the wind played with his braids, but also with the flower in his hair, and you tried to understand how it still managed to stay in place. "then I guess i'll have to take you home," he said with an expression that was hard to interpret, but a second later he started to chuckle, as if the alcohol he had just consumed had taken some time to get to his head. 

"but let's stay a little longer, shall we? i don't know when i'll get another chance to sit here, in the hands of the largest statue in mondstadt, with a real god by my side," you giggled too, at how ridiculous it sounded when you said it out loud. but you were glad he brought you here. you'd never seen the city from this perspective before, and it was more breathtaking than you'd expected. 

"i can bring you here every day if that's your wish," he whispered almost in your ear, resting his head on your shoulder. you already had to sit close together to fit in here, but now he was even closer, your legs and arms touching, and with his head on your shoulder you could feel his wine-scented breath. 

you were already giggling before he said that, but after he did, you started laughing out loud, "venti, we don't even see each other every day, so what are we talking about? i think you should stop drinking, here, give me the bottle," you almost ripped the bottle from his hands, and it surprised you how little alcohol was in it. "don't tell me you drank it all on your own..." you whined, bringing the bottle closer to your nose, the characteristic smell of alcohol hitting you immediately, and you almost squirmed at the smell. 

"but you never drink," he said quietly, not moving his head nor protesting as you took the bottle. "never with you doesn't mean never at all," you replied and quickly took a long sip of the alcohol to empty the bottle. it tasted just as you expected, bitter with a honey-like sweetness, so you grimaced only a little, uncontrollably. you started to roll the empty bottle in your hands and asked, "what if someone catches us sitting here? a nun, maybe?" 

"haha, they won't," he replied shortly, "but if you're afraid, then we can get going."

his directness surprised you, but you only nodded in response, which caused him to slowly stand up and help you do the same.

the process of getting down was even harder than getting up, and the empty bottle didn't make it any easier. you had to protect it from falling, because it would make a terrible noise if it broke, and all the nuns would be here in a flash. but after a few minutes of irritated hissing and ouching, guided by your lover's hands, you managed to get your foot on solid ground.

the wind was less here than on the statue, but still noticeable. venti was unusually quiet today, and you were quite alarmed, but perhaps that was the effect of the alcohol, so you decided not to worry for now. "I think I can reach my home alone, you can go," you said, still holding the empty bottle in your hands, while his hands were busy holding your waist. "just don't let anyone catch you," he giggled again, spinning you around by your waist as if you were both dancing, "i wonder how you would explain yourself.”

"do you want me to tell the truth?" you laughed, now spinning on your own and reaching out to him, he took your fingers and then your whole hand in his, so you had to stop for a moment and put the bottle down to be completely free. "they wouldn't believe you," he said with a wink.

he placed one of his hands on your waist, one of yours on his shoulder, while the other two were intertwined, and swept you away in a whirlwind of dancing. well, "dancing" is probably too strong a term, as there was no music, no sense of rhythm, and your feet kept getting tangled up (what else would you expect from dancing with a drunk boy?), but you also laughed more sincerely than you have ever laughed in your life. this activity felt incredibly... bonding. dancing with a drunk anemo archon in the middle of the night under his own statue? you would replay it in your head countless times and still never get bored. 

however, nothing good lasts forever, does it? your forever was interrupted by the sound of a broken glass bottle being kicked by venti. you stopped him immediately, your eyes widening and for a moment he thought you were going to shout at him, but instead you burst out laughing. you were still in a position to dance, but your head was now thrown away and your voice could be heard across the square, its echo bouncing off the walls and into the night sky. it was so ironic you couldn't help it.

venti accompanied you with his laughter, but not for long. when you finally calmed down a bit, he unexpectedly closed your mouth with his. the bittersweet taste of dandelion wine hit your lips again, but it was only a small part of the feelings that this kiss brought. desire along with many unspoken words and unfinished affairs rumbled loudly in your head, you felt as if you were drunk as well. placing your hands on his cheeks and leaning in to deepen the kiss were the last things you remembered before you opened your eyes and saw nothing. an empty square, an empty bottle of dandelion wine and empty wind blowing through your hair were the only things left. if it wasn't for your burning cheeks and the voice heard from afar, probably that of a nun, you would say it was all a dream, that you made it up. he left as quickly as he had come, with many feelings bottled up inside you and many things you couldn't tell him today. 

so when barbara lectured you, pulling her hair out of her head because of your stupidity, all you could do, with the wind in your face, was smile and think of him. he'd be back soon, you were sure of it. you tied his soul to the ground too tightly for him to resist the temptation to come back into your loving arms.

dainsleif - solar eclipse

you often find yourself confused by thinking of them. by how to feel about them. with all you know about him and his past, you just feel... unsure? it leaves you with more questions than answers, and usually you are afraid of what they might bring. but as soon as you kiss him, all your worries disappear and you are no longer confused. you just want to be able to draw everything he offers you and get lost in the feeling.

"so you still don't know where you're heading after you leave mondstadt?" you asked, rolling a stem of windwheel aster in your hands. it was a habit of yours, developed unconsciously, to keep your hands busy with something when you were talking to dainsleif.

he was walking there and back behind your back, as you were sitting on the edge of an old, decaying road that led through the stromterror’s lair. it was a windy but clear day, and he had taken you there to spend some time with him before he departed for the archons only knew how long. he often had places to be, and even if you knew about it, and agreed to it, it still sometimes made you feel upset. this lifestyle was hard on you, and dainsleif was aware of this, but he always tried his best to make it easier for you, even if it didn't always work. you were grateful for his concern, for you knew very well that showing affection and deep care was not something that came easily to him, and that he was still learning.

"no, i don't know yet," he answered calmly. you were no longer able to hear his footsteps as he stood right behind you, looking at the flower you were holding in your hands. "but i promise i will come back as soon as i can," he added, noticing how your shoulders slumped slightly at his first words.

you turned around and looked up at him, still squeezing the flower in your hands, trying your best to make your smile look natural, but he must have seen through your lie. he didn't say anything though, just a small sigh of disappointment mixed with resignation escaped his lips and he gave you a questioning look. "i’m not angry," you announced, answering the question he hadn't yet asked, "just give me some time to think about this situation.”

he nodded quietly and crouched down beside you. "i know you're not angry," he murmured in a soothing voice close to your ear, "but it's also hard for me to see you so... worried." he gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you noticed how unsure he was about this act. the touch was almost imperceptible, as if he didn't want to frighten you (or perhaps himself), but in the end, he didn't withdraw his hand. 

you turned your head away from the gaze of his azure eyes, but you could still feel it on your hands and on the cinnabar windwheel aster between your fingers. you scanned the unusually calm surface beneath your legs. it seemed as if all living species had disappeared from stormterror's lair, for not a single normal animal was visible in your field of vision, only a few sleepy hilichurls could be spotted out of the corner of your eye, wandering pointlessly through the wind-swept tall grasses. saddened by the landscape your eyes encountered, you raised them to the sky, hoping for a more optimistic view. 

so, when you looked up and your eyeballs encountered a slow but noticeable darkening of the sky, you definitely took it as a bad sign. "dain, what's going on?" you asked, sure that he had also noticed this strange phenomenon. "look at the sun," he replied simply, and by following the direction he was pointing with his chin, you understood what he meant. the sun was in its place, but something was on its way to cover it. you fixed your gaze on the sun, stunned by what was happening, before you felt dainsleif's hand on your chin, gently but firmly moving your head so that you were now looking directly into his eyes. "i forgot to tell you not to stare for too long," he explained as you furrowed your brow in confusion. "it can be harmful," he added, letting go of your chin. you nodded in understanding and scanned the sky with your eyes instead, bypassing the sun. it was definitely getting darker by the second and, what surprised you most, the stars were becoming clearly visible on his indigo body. "don't worry, it will pass," he said, somehow aware of your fear. you glanced at his face, and although his expression remained calm, you could see the admiration in his eyes. he seemed excited by this event, but you could tell he was trying to hide it by the way his lips were slightly curled at the corners, forming a barely visible smile.

in the meantime, the sun was half obscured by the object, and it occurred to you that it was probably the moon. you recalled shreds of a memory in which you were reading a book about geography, specifically the part about a phenomenon called a solar eclipse. you understood that you were probably experiencing it and that there was nothing to be afraid of, so you let out a short sigh of relief and smiled to yourself. dainsleif's hand was still squeezing your shoulder, as if he wanted to show you some support without words. it worked to a certain extent, but you still longed for something more from his side. he shifted his attention from the sun to you, and for a moment your eyes met. his were filled with something more like excitement, while yours showed a slight concern, they weren't as sparkling as he always remembered them to be. he furrowed his brow and exhaled. he moved his hand down your arm, slowly, before reaching your palm. he didn't really move it, just covered it with his own hand and gave you a squeeze. your other hand was still holding the aster when he intertwined his fingers with yours. the material of his gloves wasn't particularly soft, but you didn't complain. he almost never took his gloves off and you got used to it after a while. 

"y/n, you surely are worried," he almost whispered, or maybe his words disappeared somewhere, torn by the wind. all his admiration for the sun and the moon was gone now, replaced by concern for you. "i don't know what else i can do to make you feel better, but it bothers me to see you acting like this," he added. your response was quicker than he had expected, and certainly bolder. "just kiss me," you looked at him without any particular expression on your face, which puzzled him a little. his pupils dilated at first, but only for a moment. a second later he even smiled, almost unnoticeably, but he did.

“you could’ve told me if that’s what you wanted from the beginning…” his voice was breathy, as he leaned closer to you and there wasn’t much space between your faces anymore. he just kept looking at you without saying anything, while you felt a little intimidated by your own words. the moon was now completely blocking out the sun, and it was getting so dark that it was hard to see dain's face clearly. it was easier to locate him by the sound and feel of his breath on your own face. he moved closer and closer to you until you felt his nose brush against yours. you giggled a little before resting your forehead against his. you closed your eyes almost at the exact moment his lips landed on yours. it was again a gentle touch, his way of showing you that he was often afraid of hurting you in any way. he wanted to protect you from anything bad that might happen, even if it meant keeping you away from him, always keeping his distance. your head was definitely full of more positive thoughts than his at that moment, and you finally felt some inner peace and allowed yourself to let down your guard. he was here for now, and that's what matters, isn't it? when he kissed you, it felt like he was here now, as he always had been and will be even in a hundred years. 

he kissed you twice, or perhaps thrice, before moving his face, and it was at that moment that the sky began to return to its former colour. no words were needed; he included everything he wanted in the kiss and the quick peck on the forehead he gave you as he stood up. he held out his hand to help you to your feet as well, and you took it, throwing away the windwheel aster. it fell, spinning majestically in the air until it finally reached the ground, unharmed.

perhaps you too will survive his absence.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 08.08.2023. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝

[cythiraeth]

weather forecast pt. I - i. e. what genshin men kisses feel like

✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x xiao, itto, scaramouche, thoma, kaveh (of course all separate!)

✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: a brief descriptions of genshin men kisses, using comparsion to the nature, followed by a longer scenario depicting such kiss :)

✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff, established relationships, slightly suggestive (kaveh), reader being shorter than thoma and also reader working for yashiro commission (only mentioned, also in thoma part)

✧ ─ ⌑ notes: it's not always weather because i'd run out of weather phenomenons if i tried to pick one for every boy, but i kept it in one concept, which is nature-related things! also, i had to put scaramouche here instead of just wanderer, due to the fact that the weather i picked for him only occurs in snezhnaya... if that's a problem, you can always read it as if he's wanderer and you two are casually travelling in winterland! in advance, i'm sorry if some of them are ooc, i really tried

+ link to second part: ☆ (featuring childe, venti, kazuha and dainsleif)

and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆

✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 5.9 k in total

xiao - sunrises

shy at first, unsure, but then passionate. when your lips meet in the beginning, it always feels like a warm ray of sun is tickling your skin. then, as time goes by, they flood your whole body with pleasure until you are almost completely satisfied, but they still leave you wanting more, just like beautiful sunrises leave you hoping for a sunny day.

your bare feet met the cold desks of the wangshu inn's highest terrace as you began to yawn. the coldness that spread from your feet to your legs and then through your entire body was refreshing and woke you up almost immediately. the sky was still dark, shining in its intense blue colour, but you could already see some brighter highlights, announcing that the sunrise was getting closer by the minute. the moon had already finished its stroll through the night sky and the terrace was bathed in moonlight for a few last minutes.

you approached the balustrade on the right and leaned against it. a couple of crimson finches were also sitting on it, a few centimetres from your hand, busily cleaning their feathers. you smiled at them, glad that this time they hadn't flown away as usual. they had built a nest on the roof, which xiao had shown you once when you had begged him to take you to an unusual place where the two of you could spend some peaceful time together. 

as you thought of xiao, as if he were reading your mind, you could feel him appearing right behind you on the terrace. "you've come back," you said, turning to see his face and marvelling at the way the moonlight made his skin glow, as if he was some kind of ethereal creature. "demons would not defeat themselves," he replied briefly before joining you near the balustrade, adding, "they are mostly active at night. i had to go."

"of course you had to, i know." you reassured him, gazing at the horizon as a light breeze began to ruffle your already dishevelled hair. it was getting brighter by the minute, and you could now hear the birds singing behind your back on the roof.

xiao almost always disappeared after you fell asleep in his room at the wangshu inn, usually coming back just before you woke up. he didn't really sleep himself - you only found him sleeping about 3 or 4 times, and it was always a short nap. he explained to you that he didn't need to do that, but that didn't stop you from worrying that he was overworking himself. the two of you had talked about it enough, so you didn't want to bring it up again today, as the atmosphere and surroundings were becoming more beautiful by the moment.

your quiet moments with him were surprisingly comfortable, it wasn't the awkward kind of silence, but the kind that happens between two people who understand each other without words. the mere fact that he is there for you, ready to protect you and always come back to you, made your life a little brighter every time you thought about it.

the first light of the day was already visible as a soft glow appeared over the foothills of dragonspine mountain. it grew, slowly becoming visible over the higher parts of the mountain. "i've never seen a sunrise from here, xiao," you whispered, stunned by the view. he looked at you slightly surprised, as if it was a common experience for everyone to be at the top of the wangshu inn at 6am. "sunrises seen from here are truly beautiful," he replied quietly, "wait until you see a sunset with a clear sky. it's even better," he suggested, leaning over the balustrade. you moved closer to him, unsure if he would move away, but he didn't. so now, almost touching his shoulder with yours, with a slight smile on your face, you said, "watching the sunrise is enough for me if i can do it with you." 

for a moment he froze at your words, but quickly an almost invisible blush appeared on his cheeks and he fixed his eyes on the mountain, narrowing them slightly. your smile widened even further at his reaction and you continued to study his face with your eyes, as you had done so many times before. you were impressed by his clear complexion, his long, dark eyelashes, and oh, those amber eyes you used to get lost in almost every day. and at the moment when the first rays of sunlight found their way over the mountain's body to lick his pale skin and face, you couldn't hold back any longer.

"i want you to know how beautiful you are, xiao," you said softly, somehow managing to look at his face as you said it. he felt even more embarrassed after hearing this, but he turned around and looked into your eyes. "oh, that was... unexpected. but thank you," he replied, not sure how to react to such a confession.

you felt your cheeks grow warm as he said this, but you were still encouraged enough to ask, "may i... may i kiss you now?" he looked at you with a calm expression, and without answering, surrounded by the sunlight and the chirping of birds, he gently cupped your chin with one hand and pulled you into a kiss. 

the kiss was definitely soft, maybe even shy at first. his lips didn't really push into yours, it was more of a delicate touch, as if you were something fragile and he was desperately trying not to hurt you. his cold hand caressed your cheek alongside the warm sunlight that landed on it. after a short pause for breath, you tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him closer this time to show him that he needn't be so afraid of touching you. it resulted in a more passionate kiss this time, and some bold hand movements as his palm moved to your neck and then lower down your spine.

once, between kisses, you murmured into his lips, "i hope the rest of the day is just as wonderful as the beginning.

itto - lightnings

often unexpected but deep. he would never do anything against your will though! he accepts all your boundaries and if you tell him that you are uncomfortable with it, he will stop. he just can't resist the urge to pull you into a deep kiss sometimes, especially when he is happy and wants to express and share his emotions.

"have you found anything?"

"no, still looking!"

you were all on all fours, covered in dust and dirt, shouting back to itto as you continued to comb the bushes in front of you.

a few days before these events, he came up with the truly brilliant idea of... looking for new onikabutos to fight with. when he first told you about it, you thought he meant just casually checking some trees and under random rocks near inazuma city, maybe further out on narukami island, but you certainly didn't expect him to plan an entire excursion for the two of you. he explained that he needed to "check out all the best places he's heard of" and "bring some fresh air into his career as an onikabuto fighter" (whatever he meant by that).

so here you were on seirai island, searching through the bushes at your lover's request, and to be honest, you were perfectly fine with it. 

itto often had his... extraordinary ideas, but that was one of the things that made you fall in love with him. how could you complain when he planned everything (he was probably doing something properly for the first time in his life) and seemed so excited about the onikabutos you were both looking for! you already had a few bruises and cuts on your hands because some of the bushes had thorns, and every time itto saw a new one, he would run over and kiss your wound. it made you giggle, but deep down you found this act extremely heartwarming.

when you felt another thorn scratch your left palm, you hissed softly and left the thicket. they were shining in all shades of blue and purple, just like everything else on seirai island, and you couldn't take your eyes off them. the atmosphere, all those vibrant colours and strange animals amazed you. it really was a wonderful place... maybe except for all those angry purple lightning bolts that sliced across the sky one by one in the centre of the island.

"are you injured again?" itto asked, looking over your shoulder. you jumped a little - he scared you, because you hadn't noticed him approaching you when you were busy admiring the plants.

"no, it's nothing! it's not even bleeding," you said, turning to him. he looked really worried, as if something serious had happened, when in fact it was just a small cut. you smiled gently at him and repeated again, but in a softer voice, while showing him your hand, "look, nothing serious." he looked at your hand for a second, before grabbing it anyway and kissing it quickly, right on the injury. you couldn't help but smile and say, "oh, thank you. that's much better now!" he gave you that proud smile of his and said, "haha, i knew it! my medical skills are just as awesome as my onikabuto fighting skills!" you giggled, keeping what was on the tip of your tongue to yourself, not wanting to insult itto if he didn't get the joke. "maybe we can take a short break from searching? i don't think there are any onikabutos around... at least not now. let's give them some time to get back into the bushes after all the noise we made," you suggested, almost 100% sure that itto scared off all the onikabutos within a 5 kilometre radius with his animated expression every time he found an interesting rock or lizard (he had to show you every single one, of course).

"sure! if you need to rest, you can just tell me... the onikabutos can wait, we'll get them anyway!" he replied, as loud as ever, accompanied by the roar of thunder in the distance. you grabbed his hand, noticing that it was rougher than usual, and dragged him to the nearest pile of rocks you could see.

he fell onto the stone and sighed as you sat next to him. the stone was under a beautiful violet tree, its branches crumpled under the weight of some dark purple fruits. as itto closed his eyes and leaned his head against the trunk, you tried to reach out and grab one of the fruits with your hand. you had to move a few branches because the largest one was hidden between some leaves. when you did, the sight brought a broad smile to your face. "itto! look!" he immediately opened his eyes and stepped down from the rock, unconsciously reaching for his claymore with one hand. "w-what happened?!" he hissed, still very confused about his situation. "nobody's attacking us, calm down!" you reassured him, slightly amused by his reaction. it took him a moment to realise what you had just said, but eventually he relaxed and looked at the branch you were holding.

on a thick branch, next to the fruit you were trying to reach, was a huge, probably one of the biggest you'd ever seen, plum-coloured onikabuto. its horns looked like small, branched knives, and its carapace was dotted with a few white spots. itto's eyes immediately widened, and you could see little sparkles dancing in them. he actually drooled violently into the onikabuto, his mouth formed into a large 'o'.

"y/n! love of my life!" he shouted, a second before running to you and pulling you into a tight hug. the way he squeezed and lifted you made you giggle, but you wrapped your hands around his neck to keep from falling off. "it's perfect!" he said enthusiastically. behind him you could see dark, pink and sometimes purple flashes of lightning, and your ears were full of the sounds of roaring thunder that complemented his voice. unexpectedly, a moment later, you felt his lips on yours. it surprised you at first, but it only took a few seconds for you to adjust and lock your hands in his hair. the kiss was astonishingly deep, as if itto wanted to share all his happiness with you. you tilted your head to the right as the kiss continued, but in the end you both needed a break, so when you turned your head, he laid his forehead against yours for a moment. you were fully aware that your cheeks were flushed and you probably didn't want to look at your reflection right now, but honestly, you didn't care. "with this one as my fighter, i will be unstoppable!" itto added as he set you down on the ground. you looked at him, at his messy hair and his happy expression, and smiled again. making him happy was just enough to make you happy too.

scaramouche - blizzard

they may often occur harsh. when you two kiss, your senses usually just shut down as you get lost in his kisses like in a blizzard, they almost make you feel like you are drunk. but deep inside, you always feel that you have a certain someone who will guide you safely back home.

"remind me why i agreed to do this?" you asked, snorting as your legs began to refuse to move. even with all the coats on your back, you could still feel an unimaginable cold crawling up your skin and into your muscles.

scaramouche looked at you almost with contempt, but he was still stomping through the snow, not slowing down a bit. "because you insisted on following me on my way to inazuma. you brought this upon yourself," he finally answered your question and turned away. he looked unaffected by the bitter cold that made every inch of your skin shiver. you snapped at him, knowing very well that you were not the only one who enjoyed the idea of you travelling with him, but you resisted the temptation to remind him. he was just too proud to admit it out loud, and you were too exhausted to waste energy arguing with him.

you looked around only to see the same landscape you had seen for the last few hours. at first, you would have found the snow-covered slopes and trees very pretty, but after feeling as if you hadn't moved at all for so long, looking at them only gave you a headache. you left admiring snezhnayan nature and landscape for another time, also considering that your vision was blurred by the heavily falling snow.

you tried to keep up with the scaramouche's pace of footsteps, but as you did so, you tripped over a few stones that you could promise did not exist. you cursed under your breath as you fell to your knees, almost covering your face in snow. he stopped and turned around, startled by the sound, but when he realised the state he had found you in, instead of helping you, he just started laughing casually.

"hey! that's no laughing matter!" you shouted to make sure he could hear you in this blizzard, but you didn't get a proper response. he just enjoyed the moment, throwing his head back and laughing until he had to cover his mouth with his hand. you looked at him, still buried in the snow, because it was almost impossible to free yourself alone, due to the fact that every time you tried to move, a new pile of snow would fall on your limbs and into your eyes. you furrowed your brow and crawled close enough to him to pull at the edge of his white harbinger’s cloak. and you didn't miss the opportunity to do so. so one moment scaramouche was definitely having fun up there, but a second later he found himself buried in the snow next to you, your cloaks tangled with each other and with your legs, making it even harder to move.

it took him a moment to realise what had happened, and when he did, he moved his head so that he was now facing you, lying on your back in the snow, and you could feel his breath on your skin, so warm compared to the icy air that surrounded you. "it's so unlike you to be in such a good mood," you said, surprised at the amount of laughter he had blessed you with in the last few minutes, "not that i am complaining of course," you added quickly when you noticed he had closed his mouth.

"don't think that i enjoy spending time with you, y/n, but i must admit that sometimes you can be so pathetic that i can't help but laugh." he cut you off, but his tone wasn't as dangerous as it usually was. so you seized the opportunity and quickly pulled him into a kiss, tucking one of your hands into his snowy hair. you could tell you had caught him off guard by the way his body tensed, and you thought he would break the kiss at first, but surprisingly he did the opposite, pushing your face further into the snow and deepening the kiss.

at that moment all you could feel was his warm lips against yours, contrasting with the snowflakes that were falling all over your cheeks and his hair. it was quite aggressive, but in a way that gave you butterflies in your stomach, and you didn't complain. the kiss also spread warmth over your face, chest and limbs, so you weren't freezing anymore. after a few seconds, when he was probably running out of air just as you were, he pulled his lips away, breathing heavily and lowering his face to your ear, he whispered "that was terrible" and you were just about to say something mean before he added "now do it again".

thoma - rainbow

they are like sparkles of joy that light up your life every time they happen. you enjoy them the most when they are unexpected, but even when they are not, they never fail to amaze you and make you both smile.

you were halfway from inazuma city to kamisato estate when you finally realised that it might have been a better idea to wait for the rain to stop. you were supposed to deliver some documents to the yashiro commission, and even though it wasn't anything urgent, you wanted to get it done as soon as possible. so here you were, standing in the middle of nowhere in the rain. you had already thanked the archons several times that the documents were packed in some waterproof material, because otherwise you would probably go crazy.

your clothes were getting uncomfortably wet and clinging to your body like honey, not to mention your hair, which was in even worse shape, all tangled up and getting in your face. not even birds were singing, and the only creatures that seemed to enjoy this weather were all the vibrant plants, which, under the effect of the rain, came to life and spread their leaves, looking watered and healthy.

it was still warm, because before the rain started, the weather had been completely normal, sunny and pleasant, so no one expected such a drastic change, and with a clear sky, it wasn't even predictable.

so, as you walked across the muddy fields of narukami island, the last thing you expected was to bump into someone or something. it wasn't a violent collision, so it didn't affect you in any way, but it still took you by surprise. as you raised your head to look at the unfortunate person who happened to be in the same situation as you, you took back your words. because of all the things you didn't expect to see that day, seeing thoma's smiley face in the middle of a downpour in some forgotten by archons place was definitely at the top of the list.

"thoma?!" you let out, still shocked by his appearance "what, for the sake of the archons, are you doing here?" he raised his eyebrows slightly at your reaction and laughed briefly. you scanned his silhouette and besides his wet blonde hair and soaked clothes, you also noticed a red umbrella in his hand. what confused you even more was the fact that the umbrella was... closed. why didn't he use it on the way here?

"i knew you were supposed to bring some documents to the estate and when i noticed it was raining, i wanted to get you an umbrella," he explained calmly, as it was something anyone would do for their lover. you still looked at him, so moved by his act that your eyes watered a little, but it wasn't noticeable due to the streams of water running down your face.

thoma often surprised you with his kindness and good heart, but today he topped it all. you had such a terrible humour because of this incident, but just spending a moment with him made you feel so much better. what amazed you even more about him was the fact that he did it all so... effortlessly. it was as if filling your days with laughter and being your biggest support was something that came naturally to him and he didn't even have to try. sometimes you thought you weren't giving back enough, but he never wanted anything in return. you often came to a conclusion that he is such a unique person to be found.

"you... you didn't have to," you said, unsure, a little overwhelmed by all these thoughts. "no, i did have to," he gave you that charming smile and that was the moment when all your negative feelings vanished. "i can't thank you enough, but my dear, you could have at least used the umbrella..." you giggled, taking it from his hand and unfolding it. "what would i do without someone like you?" you asked, holding the umbrella over both of your heads and he silently took it from you, as he was taller and it was easier for him to hold it.

"you would probably have a very terrible day?" he asked casually, still concentrating on your eyes. "i would probably have a very terrible life," you corrected him with a wink. he chuckled, and you noticed small wrinkles appearing at the corners of his green eyes.

"that is a very pessimistic possibility..." he commented with a grin and linked his free arm with yours. "shall we go, my lady?" 

you nodded enthusiastically and leaned against his shoulder, feeling all the layers of wet fabric covering you both. he began to lead you through the mud and puddles, and it must have looked hilarious, two people soaked to the skin walking like on a ball in the rain, but those were the moments you treasured most. 

*****

it took you a while to reach the chinju forest, but in the meantime the rain had stopped and thoma folded the umbrella, no longer needing it.

"oh, look, we're finally getting closer!" you announced, slipping out of his grip and climbing a small hill with a better view. the wet clothes and hair didn't bother you anymore as your humour improved and you spent some quality time with your partner. he followed you to the hill and stood next to you, but after a moment you felt something fall on your shoulders. it was thoma's red jacket, wrapped around you. you looked at him and smiled softly, and that was your silent thank you. he definitely understood and wrapped his arm around your waist for a moment, as you looked around, the fog already disappearing and the first rays of sunlight landing on the surface. 

"oh, y/n, look!" he exclaimed, pointing to something in the sky to your right. you followed his finger, and the view your eyes met was stunning. a wide, colourful rainbow stretched over inazuma city, shining in all vibrant hues. " i haven’t seen a rainbow in such a long time, you know?" you asked, looking at the phenomenon for a while before turning to thoma. you expected him to be busy looking at it, but surprisingly, his eyes were still on you. "do i have something on my face?" you asked, intimidated by his gaze. "no, i just love looking at you when you are so happy and passionate about something," he replied in an admiring tone. "how is it so natural for you to say such lovely things?" you said, "i don't even know how to answer..." "you don't have to, i just can't keep all the things that come to my mind to myself when they make you so happy." you still couldn't find the right words for what you wanted to say, so to express it, you stepped closer to him and, standing on your fingertips, quickly kissed him on the lips. 

his reaction was rather quick, for the moment you returned to your previous position, he leaned forward to kiss you properly, placing both his hands on your waist in a way that made you feel butterflies in your stomach. he kissed you many, many times then, and it was almost physically painful to break away from it, because of the way you always ached to be close to him, and to the feeling of specialness that he gave you.

kaveh - sunsets

when you're waiting for them, it feels like an eternity. but the act alone, though beautiful and breathtaking, always seems too short. you can't get enough of them, they always leave you wanting more, waiting impatiently for the next time you can feel all those wonderful feelings. and waiting is always worth it. his kisses are sweet, deep and dense, but in a good way.

you let out another long sigh as you continued to wriggle around on the teal sofa that adorned the living room of kaveh and al-haitham's apartment. you had been waiting for your lover to get home for a couple of hours now, as he had promised to take you out tonight, and the boredom was starting to become unbearable. kaveh had recently been busy with a new project he was working on, and although you were eminently happy for him, you couldn't help but feel rather lonely whenever he left for work.

you've already swept the floor three times, washed the dishes to a shine and made his bed. you've even tried to go into al-haitham's room to see if there was anything to clean, but unfortunately (depending on who you ask) the door was locked. the only thing keeping you sane at the moment was the ticking of the clock, which you followed with your eyes, painfully aware of the rule that when you look at the clock, time passes more slowly than when you don't.

you were about to get up from the couch and check for the sixth time today if any dishes had magically appeared in the empty sink, when you heard the distinctive click of the lock on the front door. 

your face lit up instantly and uncontrollably at the sound and your eyes wandered to the doorframe to see the soft smile that kaveh always gave you when he entered the house. and, oh, the disappointment you felt when your eyes met al-haitham's blue pupils was almost indescribable.

"kav- what are you doing here?" you asked impulsively, realising your harsh tone a few seconds too late.

"living," he replied briefly, taking a bag off his shoulder.

the moment he spoke, you felt your cheeks blush with embarrassment and immediately regretted speaking to him.

"um, i know," you whispered, unsure if he had heard you, looking down at the floor. your lover's roommate was not the easiest person to get along with, but you always tried to stay on good terms with him. "sorry, i was expecting kaveh," you explained shortly.

he didn't add anything, you just heard his soft footsteps telling you that he was probably going to his room, but when you heard him put the key in the lock, he spoke.

"i took his keys with me, so i thought i'd come back earlier to open the door for him. seems it wasn't necessary," he looked at you, but you didn't really understand what he meant. not waiting for a proper answer, he quickly opened the door and slipped into the room.

you sighed again, and still a little puzzled, you lay down on the couch and closed your eyes. it was definitely the time for kaveh to come home... maybe something had stopped him? an accident? you shivered at the thought, shaking your head to reassure yourself that it couldn't be. it was only after you had been lying there for a moment that you felt how tired you really were after all that work. you thought to yourself that surely you won't fall asleep, just one more minute of rest and you will get up. 

spoiler: you did fall asleep.

so when you opened your eyes and saw kaveh's confused face leaning over you, you had no idea what was happening or what year it was. then, as you analysed your surroundings and it clicked in your brain, you started to remember what happened before your unplanned nap.

"kaveh! oh, im so sorry, i had to fall asleep," you lifted your head and looked around. you could tell it was getting late by the way the room was lit up in the warm amber sunlight that usually accompanied a sunset, "we were supposed to hang out today, im so-"

"no, no, don't worry," he said, sitting on the sofa right next to you. "it's my fault, i didn't have the heart to wake you. we can always go tomorrow, sumeru city won’t disappear at night," he added quietly, looking at you. after his explanation, you felt a little better, but still a small amount of disappointment itched at your heart. you moved your eyes to his face and nodded gently. his blond hair looked almost like honey in that amber sunlight, and you wondered how a person could look so effortlessly beautiful after a whole day of work.

"hey, really, don't get upset," he murmured, noticing that you still weren't sure that nothing had happened. "i know, it's just not that easy. i've waited all day for this, only to fall asleep at the end," you replied before shifting your body so that you were sitting and touching his leg with yours. you hid your face in your hands, but kaveh quickly grabbed your wrists and gently pulled your hands away. "everyone deserves to rest sometimes, especially you."

his words instantly made you feel better and a small smile adorned your lips. when he noticed, he smiled as well. "you look better with a smile on your face, but I think i know a way to cheer you up even more," he announced with a chuckle.

for a moment you had no idea what he meant, but then his soft and warm lips landed on yours. the feeling alone was enough to make you melt, but combined with the mellow sunshine that touched both of your faces, it was magnificent. he cupped your cheek delicately with one of his hands as you continued to kiss, becoming more intense with each passing moment. his second hand moved to your waist as he pushed your face down, almost to the point where you lay completely on the sofa, and even then he didn't stop. In fact, the kisses were passionate and you began to hook his lips with your teeth, only to be returned with a soft moan that escaped him. you could feel your heart beating so fast that you felt it in your chest almost painfully. 

he probably wouldn't have stopped for a long time if it wasn't for the loud, long grunt you both heard behind you. in an instant, kaveh dismounted from you and looked at the source of the sound.

"i knew you were shameless, but i wouldn't even accuse you of such blatant behaviour." you didn't need to turn around to know exactly who those words belonged to, but you did. you glanced at al-haitham, who was standing just behind the couch with his arms crossed, staring into kaveh's shining eyes.

“go and mind your own business, al-haitham," kaveh hissed, and when you noticed how dishevelled his hair was and how red his lips were, you blushed violently, thinking only what al-haitham might have been thinking.

"i’m trying, but it's hard when two lovebirds are making out on my own couch." "it's not your couch! it's common property in this house!" kaveh was getting angrier by the second, while the grey-haired man looked like he actually enjoyed teasing him, so you decided to intervene.

"we're sorry, al-haitham, it won't happen again," you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking with emotion as you put your hand on kaveh's leg to calm him down a little.

"i hold you to your word," he added before turning away as if nothing had happened and leaving the house. kaveh was left speechless while you could only burst out laughing. he looked at you with his crimson eyes and tilted his head slightly. "what's so funny about him?" you replied after you had calmed down a bit, "it's just the way he gets so angry for no apparent reason and looks at us like a disappointed teacher to me. we shouldn't really care what he says. in the end he probably enjoys it more than we think."

kaveh thought for a moment before he said, "you might be right..." and his expression almost returned to normal. "sometimes he gets on my nerves so much that i can't talk to him without getting emotional," he sighed, wiping his face with his hand to calm himself down completely. "but today he won't bother us anymore. where did we stop?" he asked with a silvery voice, looking at you once more. his face was again bathed in the golden light of the sun, and many unruly strands of hair surrounded his face, but he still managed to look mesmerising. you thought to yourself that you probably found yourself admiring him too often, but in the end, why shouldn't you? 

without answering his question, you leaned in closer and pecked the corner of his lips, that unusual place you always wanted to kiss. "you know what? It just occurred to me that you look like a sunset." 

he didn't know what to say, stunned by the compliment, and he could feel his cheeks growing warmer. "if you find any more compliments like that, i don't think i'll be able to let you go today," he finally murmured, before he kissed your lips again, surprisingly deep and causing you to fall against the back of the sofa.

it would be better for al-haitham if he didn't come home soon.

⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 23.06.2023. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝