SYNOPSIS. Another mishap had happend during potionology class that turned them into an animal..! You're not expecting them to do a courting ritual in this form though;;
TAGS. Fluff, pre-established relationship, mutual pinning, kind of crack(?), not proofread
WORD COUNT. 1 051
RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS
This tiny, spiny mammal HATED anyone who lays a finger on him. Whoever gets an inch near is enough to rise his quills and ready to poke them like its needles. Ace being the first victim, his hand was bleeding all over the place when he tried to pet the little Queen;;
Everyone thought he'll be like his usual diligent, behaving, rule-biding self and stay put in the makeshift bed made for him, but the moment their eyes is elsewhereāhe ran off without anyone noticing him!
The Entire Heartslabyul dorm turned upside down trying to find their Housewarden, the panicked cries of the Queen's card soldiers as they're frantic, looking everywhere to search for the missing hedgehog
āAll while the Queen-turned-mammal was found by you and living the best time of his life engulfed in the warmth of your palms, being showered in kisses and affection. You're the only one who's got the privilege to hold him. He nuzzles closer and even encourages you to pet him with no quills pointed at you
Any Heartslabyul residents who witnessed the scene sighs in relief that their Dormleader was safe,, ānot Ace though, he was the only one whose hand was injured from all this mess and finds the obvious favoritism unfair
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR
He's wasn't too thrilled but didn't complain vocally, though he ignores almost everyone and only follows you around the entire campus... Not even a staff or the Headmage can pry the lion prince away from you so you have no choice but to tag him along the whole day.
You'd be in class with a huge lion beside you and refusing to leave. It's embarrassing, especially how territorial he is; he growls and might possibly bite anyone he thinks is a rival for your affection.
This made everyone aware of his fondness for you. They've taken the hint and now everyone avoids you like a plague so they wouldn't be bitten by your furry bodyguard..
After a long day, you lay down in the comfort of your sofa but was tackled by a heavy feline causing you to fall off. You physically can not move at all! This cat-wannabe refuses to move up.
You love him and all,, he's cuddly, soft, warm ābut too clingy..!! He doesn't move an atom and just lays on top of you like a pillow! You swore the ground is swallowing you whole since you were being pressed to the ground because of this giant, clingy lion..
FLOYD LEECH
Floyd was set inside the Dorm's pool to keep hydrated. āDue to his absence from work, Azul and Jade's work was increased, and only you were left to watch over your eel friend, which you didn't mind.
Curious and intrigued about how eel's textures feel like, You wanted to give it a little pat, you walked to the cement surface of the pool and leaned closer to the water. Eel-Floyd swam so fast to get to you, his tails motions and grabs ahold of your arm, a bit tight that it made it hard to break free,,
He doesn't sway far from you and only stays by your side. You find it cute, he sometimes does little tricks too to keep you entertained,
He's also being extra affectionate in this form, way more than usual... He kept gaping his mouth wide, and you swore his tail forms a little heart at times.. You thought nothing of it but were a bit puzzled by the exchange. When Jade passed by, he took notice and mentions how his brother was trying to court you.
āCourting?? What courting?? ...Was the gestures Floyd making a courting ritual for eels? ... I guess that explains how extra clingy he is, he doesn't even let his tail loose around your arm;;
MALLEUS DRACONIA
You were walking around the hallway with a friend when suddenly they had a petrified look that made you notice the entire hall started to loom an ominous dark shadow. You turned around to see a scarily, dark dragon looking directly at you and you froze from fear. āMaybe you should've ran away, because now its scaley hands were wrapped around you and flew away for who-knows-where...
They landed in a cave full of gold and rare artifacts. They were was showering you with gold, pieces of jewellery, and treasures.. Again, you were dumbfounded, but that wasn't the weirdest of all āThis humongous dragon was all over you..! It rubs its face around you that you have no choice but to pet it like it's a dog...
Surprisingly gentle with you, like it's scared they might hurt you if they were being too pushy...
You were soon rescued by some Diasomnia members, their Vice-leader had to apologise for their Housewarden's actions, they even explain to you the whole situation and why he was acting all,, affectionate..
āWait... What does he mean Malleus was trying to court you..?!
LILIA VANROUGE
You were in the middle of class, taking notes and paying attention āwhen a little bat got inside unnoticed and hovered around you that diverted your attention from the board.
At first, you ignored it, it's probably some random bat that flee from Lilia's colony of bats. But you notice this one was a bit different... You can't pinpoint what it was though...
Maybe because it was really affectionate. It nuzzles onto you, your cheeks, hands, head āanywhere it can fly into and it's disrupting you from your studies. You can't detach it away from you, especially when it's wings were wrapped around you and refusing to let go.
At some time, it flew away from you for a moment and soon returned holding a flower in its foot, handing it to you as a gift. It was a cute gesture, you even pinned it in your ears and thank the little guy; to your surprise, it gave you a little kiss on the cheeks āThis bat was being all cheeky, almost like a certain Fae you know...
The more you look into it, you can notice a strand of pink streak on its head..
It kept you company the entire lesson and you were a bit sad when it flew away again, this time not returning.. Oh well, you can always ask Lilia if he can see the little bat again.
childe x reader
summary: with a job like yours, it was easy living. after all, it wasn't as if writing letters got you involved with the fatui... or would it?
notes: fluff, 2.5k
masterlist
The sign above your table says LETTERS WRITTEN, ALL LANGUAGES, FAIR RATES, and beneath it, smaller, added after your first month in Liyue Harbor taught you what the work actually was: DISCRETION INCLUDED.
Sailors, mostly. Men who never learned their characters or learned them in some northern script the harbor has no patience for. Dockworkers sending mora home with a line or two of proof they're alive. Once, memorably, a Millelith sergeant dictating a love poem so bad you charged him half price out of pity. You write what people say. You do not improve it unless asked. You have learned that the errors are usually the point ā that a wife in Qingce readingĀ the food here is grateĀ hears her husband's voice in the misspelling, and would not thank you for correcting him out of the letter.
He arrives on a Tuesday in the ninth month, when the harbor smells like rain that hasn't decided yet. Two fingers of his right hand splinted together, the wrapping clean and professional, the kind of clean that means Bubu Pharmacy and money. Fatui greatcoat, worn open. Ginger hair, and a face that has decided in advance to be pleasant.
"You write letters," he says.
"The sign is fairly honest."
"Snezhnayan?"
"Among others."
He sits down across from you without being invited, which you will come to understand is simply how he enters spaces, and lays his splinted hand flat on your table like a passport.
"Occupational thing," he says. "Should be a few weeks. I write my family every week and my handwriting with the left looks like a chicken died on the page. Can you do today?"
You take out paper. You uncap the ink. Around you the harbor goes on shouting at itself, cargo and gulls and someone's argument about salt fish, and he watches your hands settle into position with an attention that feels less like curiosity and more like assessment, like he's checking your grip the way you'd check a stranger's knife.
"Whenever you're ready," you say.
He starts talking.
The first letter is to a brother. Teucer. Aged somewhere in the single digits, going by content, which concerns a toy salesman, a promise about a whale, and an extended lie about how boring the work is here.Ā Nothing happens all day,Ā he dictates, cheerful, one boot hooked around the leg of his chair.Ā I sit at a desk and stamp papers. Yesterday I stamped forty papers. Pray for me.
You write it exactly. You do not look up. There is a bruise coming through at his collar, older than the fingers, yellow-green, and you writeĀ I sit at a deskĀ in your best hand and let it lie there on the page being untrue.
"You didn't ask," he says, when you're blotting it.
"Ask what?"
"Anything." He's tipped back on the chair's rear legs now, balancing, testing. "Most people ask. Fatui walks up, everyone's got a question. You just wrote it down."
"You paid for a letter. Questions cost extra."
He laughs ā a real one, short, surprised out of him ā and pays for the letter, and overpays, and is gone into the crowd before you can make change.
He comes back the next Tuesday. And the next.
The letters map a family the way a coastline maps a country: edges first. Tonia, who is owed a dress from Fontaine and reminds him of it, apparently, in every letter she sends. Anthon, who broke something and blamed the dog, and the dog, whose innocence Ajax argues for at dictation length. His mother, to whom the letters are shorter and gentler and never once contain the wordĀ cold, though it's October now and you know what his home country is in October. His father gets a single line most weeks, and the line is always sturdy, weight-bearing, the way you'd speak across a fence to a man you respect and cannot talk to.
He never says the word Fatui in a letter. You never write it. The work stays offstage, a scuffed boot, a new cut across the knuckles of the good hand, a week where he shows up with his voice sanded down to something quieter and dictates three sentences and stares at the water while you write them.
You learn him the way you learn anyone whose mail you carry ā sideways, in negative space, from what gets left out. You know a dozen men on this dock who lie to their families. His lies are better made. He builds his mother a version of her son who is safe and bored, builds it fresh every week, plank by plank, and pays you to hold the boards straight while he nails them.
"You want to know what I actually did this week?" he asks once, catching you catching the bandage on his forearm.
"No," you say.
"Liar."
"Discretion included. It's on the sign."
He looks at the sign. Then at you, longer.
"Everyone in this city wants to sell me something," he says, almost to himself. "You won't even sell me your curiosity."
In November he starts asking your opinion.
Small things at first. WhetherĀ miss youĀ reads better at the top of a letter or the bottom. Whether Teucer will notice that the harbor festival he described happened, in reality, to be four months ago. Whether his mother can tell, in someone else's handwriting, when he's lying.
"She can tell in your handwriting?" you ask.
"She can tell in my breathing. From across an ocean." He says it with the helpless pride of a man describing a natural disaster he happens to love. "But letters, yeah. She says my loops go tight when I'm hiding something. Started ignoring anything I wrote below a certain size."
"And in mine?"
"In yours, everything comes out even." He watches you square the page. "You'd have made a good forger."
"I'd have made a rich forger."
"So why letters?"
You could give him the practiced answer, the one about steady work and honest coin. Instead ā and later you will not be able to say why, except that the rain had finally decided and was coming down soft on the awning, and the harbor had gone quiet the way it only does under rain ā you tell him something true. That you like being the room where other people's tenderness happens. That most people are braver on paper than anywhere else, and you get to sit in the blast radius of it all day, and it ruins you a little, and that the ruination, their trueness is something you've decided to keep.
He doesn't say anything for a while. The rain works on the awning.
"Blast radius," he repeats, finally, like he's turning it over for flaws and not finding one. "Yeah. All right."
He pays for the letter. He doesn't overpay this time, which somehow feels like a greater intimacy which unnerves you ā as if the transaction has stopped being a performance and become just the ordinary cost of a thing he needs.
The splints come off sometime in late November. You know this because you notice everything about his hands by now, which is your own confession, though you try and keep it under discretion. The two fingers move stiff for a week, then less stiff, and by the first snow that doesn't stick he is flexing them absently while he talks, cracking the knuckles, drumming the table, a hand entirely returned to service.
He keeps coming.
You say nothing for three Tuesdays. On the fourth, watching him spin the pen you have never once seen him need across the back of those healed fingers, coin-trick smooth, you set down a blank page and don't pick up your own pen at all.
"Your hand's fine," you say.
The pen stops.
"It's been fine for a month. You've been paying me to transcribe letters you could write yourself." You keep your voice level, fair rates, all languages. "I don't mind the money. But I improve errors when asked, and this looks like an error."
He looks at you across the table. Behind the pleasantness there's a rapid analysis going on ā you can see it, you've watched him do sums on people all autumn ā and then, remarkably, you watch him decide to stop doing it. The pleasantness doesn't drop so much as it opens, a door left unlocked from the inside.
"She writes back more," he says.
You wait.
"My mother. Since it's been your hand. Longer letters, more of them." He turns the pen over once, sets it down. "Took me a while to work out why. Then I got it. My handwriting, she reads on guard. Looking for the tight loops. Waiting for the lie. Yours, she just ā reads. Believes the boring desk. Sleeps at night." He shrugs with one shoulder, a gesture that wants to be light and isn't. "Turns out the best thing I ever did for my mother's peace of mind was break two fingers."
The rain awning drips. Somewhere down the pier, a bell.
"So no," he says. "The hand's fine. The letters aren't. They're better here."
There are perhaps four things you could say to that, and you consider all of them, and what comes out instead is:
"You could just tell her the truth."
"I could," he agrees, easy, terrible. "She'd carry it the rest of her life. She'd carry it into her sleep and her cooking and her other kids." His eyes come up to yours, and there's no pleasantness in them at all now, only the accounting, turned inward this time. "I'm not buying handwriting. I'm buying her a son who stamps papers. That's the whole product. You're just the only vendor."
You pick up your pen.
"Same time next week," you say, and something in his shoulders comes down half an inch, and you pretend not to have seen it, and he pretends not to know you're pretending, and this, you understand later, is the exact moment the ground shifted, though at the time it only felt like Tuesday.
Winter arrives at Liyue Harbor the way a rumor does, secondhand and diluted, nothing like the real thing. He tells you about the real thing. Not in letters ā between them, after them, in the ten and then twenty and then forty minutes that have attached themselves to the transaction like barnacles. Snow that erases fences. Silence you can stand inside. A porch with amber lights his mother has kept lit so long the whole family navigates home by them without thinking of it as navigation.
You tell him things back. You're not sure when that started either. The village you came from and won't return to. The three languages you dream in, unevenly. The Millelith sergeant's poem, recited from memory, which does to him what it did to you and leaves him wheezing against the table with his forehead on his sleeve.
He starts bringing tea. Two cups, from the place near Feiyun Slope, always the same order for you, which means at some point he watched you order and kept it.
You are not a fool. You write love letters for a living; you know the genre; you can read the tropes at a distance in any of several languages. You know what it is when a man memorizes your tea. You also know who employs him and what the coat means and that men like him are a lease, not a purchase ā the Tsaritsa's first, the mission's second, the family's third, and whatever's left over after that wouldn't fill a teacup. You have done this arithmetic. You do it again every Tuesday. The number never improves and you keep, every week, arriving anyway, setting out the good paper anyway, learning his order back.
The last Tuesday in the twelfth month, he sits down and doesn't start talking.
This is new. He always knows the first line before the chair takes his weight ā you've teased him about it, said he must draft on the walk over, and he'd grinned and not denied it. Today he sits with his elbows on your table and his healed hands folded and looks at them like a man about to bet more than he brought.
"Letter to my mother," he says.
You get out the good paper. You uncap the ink.
"Ready."
He starts slow.Ā Mama. The weather here doesn't know how to be winter, you'd laugh at it.Ā The usual bones ā Teucer's whale, Tonia's dress, the desk, the papers, forty of them, pray for him. Your pen goes along, even and believed. And then, without any change in his voice at all, without so much as a breath's worth of warning:
"There's someone I should tell you about."
Your pen writes it. Your pen is more professional than you are.
"She writes letters for a living,"Ā he goes on, eyes on the middle distance, voice at dictation pace, level, unhurried, as if this were the salt-fish argument and not āĀ "here in the harbor. It's her handwriting you've been reading since autumn, you've probably noticed, your eyes are better than mine. I broke my fingers in September, which was the second luckiest thing that ever happened to me."
The pen keeps going. It has to. That's the work ā you write what people say, you don't improve it, the errors are the point, and this letter is arriving through your own wrist one clause at a time, in your own even hand, on your own good paper, and you have to keep your loops from tightening.
"She knows what I do. Not the details ā she's never once asked, which you'd like about her, she's discreet the way you're discreet, it's on her sign but it's also just true. She lets me be the boring man at the desk. Every week she helps me build him. I don't think she knows"Ā ā and here he pauses, the first pause, and you feel him look at you and do not look up, cannot, the ink would betray you āĀ "that he's the man I'd rather be. That an hour at her table is the only hour all week I'm anything like him."
The harbor makes its sounds. The bell down the pier. Your pen at the bottom of the page, waiting.
"You can stop writing," he says quietly. "That part wasn't for her."
You set the pen down. You look up.
He's watching you with everything unlocked, no accounting, no product, just Ajax ā the name from the top of the letters, the one the world hasn't gotten to yet ā and his hands flat on your table like that first Tuesday, a passport, offered.
"I'll finish it left-handed," he says. "Chicken and all. She should read that part on guard."
You look at the page. At your own even hand carrying his voice, all the way down to the last honest line of it.
"No," you hear yourself say, and pick the pen back up. "I'll write it. She'll believe it in mine."
And it lands the way the rain did that day in November, soft, decided, both of you in the same small dry space while outside the harbor goes on shouting ā his laugh coming out low and stunned and real, his hand crossing the table, and your pen already moving, even, believed, writing you both down.
What its like dating the Second Harbinger (Through his eyes)
Part one
Synopsis - Love? Such an odd concept. Caring for oneself? Such a waste of time...curiously enough...This woman has completely changed my view on such things
Tags - OOC Dottore/ First person Dottores pov/ Dottore doesn't take care of himself/ Hes smitten yall/ He loves this woman/ Lowkey a simp/Suggestive/ Talk of sex/ No graphic sex/ I love him with all my heart.
Eli note! Ah my birthday is May 29th! I've made way too many posts about that on my Hazbin blog, but I'm excited! Might post a little genshin thing for my birthday. Not sure with who though...I think I've been giving Dottore lots of attention (he deserves it tho)
Loving another person is an extraordinarily inconvenient phenomenon.
Objectively speaking.
Attachment compromises judgment. It alters priorities, weakens objectivity, introduces irrationality into otherwise efficient thought processes. History itself repeatedly demonstrates the catastrophic consequences of emotional interference.
Which is precisely why I had never intended to experience it myself.
Unfortunately, intention has proven largely irrelevant where she is concerned.
What I find considerably more baffling than loving her, however, is the realization that she appears to love me in return.
Not the Harbinger.
Not the reputation.
Me.
An utterly absurd development.
Prior to her involvement in my life, self-preservation occupied a rather insignificant position among my concerns.
Food was forgettable.
Sleep was inefficient.
Physical safety remained largely negotiable.If an experiment endangered me, so be it. If a mission carried lethal risk, irrelevant. Segments existed for a reason. Replacement had already been solved as a concept long ago.
I saw little value in preserving a body that merely housed a mind.
Then she arrived and began treating my continued existence as though it mattered.
Deeply.
Annoyingly deeply.
The first major disruption manifested in my eating habits.
Or ratherāthe lack thereof.
Apparently, consuming nothing except tea and the occasional nutrient supplement for multiple days is considered āunacceptable.ā
I learned this after she discovered I had skipped breakfast and dinner consecutively.
āYou didnāt eat again.ā
āI was occupied.ā
āThat isnāt an answer.ā
āIt is a perfectly sufficient answer.ā
āItās a stupid answer.ā
I recall blinking at her briefly after that statement.
Not because of the insult itself. Others have called me considerably worse things.
Noāthe surprising part was the genuine frustration in her voice.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Concern.
For me.
āYou cannot continue functioning this way,ā she had continued, hands planted firmly on her hips. āYouāre a person, Zandik, not a machine.ā
Debatable.
Regardless, from that point onward, she apparently appointed herself guardian of my physical well-being.
Every morning, breakfast appeared.
Every afternoon, lunch was forcibly inserted into my schedule.
Every evening, she personally verified whether I had eaten dinner.
Disturbingly thorough behavior.
At first, I attempted avoidance.I failed quickly.
She began appearing at the laboratory unexpectedly.
One moment I would be working peacefully, the nextā
āOpen the door.ā
āNo.ā
āI know youāre in there.ā
āI am busy.ā
āAnd I brought your lunch.ā
Silence.
Then, inevitably, the sound of the door unlocking.
Humiliating.
Even worse, the entire laboratory became aware of this dynamic.
The segments, traitorous by nature, immediately began assisting her.
āShe asked whether you ate.ā
āYou should answer honestly.ā
āYou skipped breakfast again.ā
āDisappointing performance.ā
I considered dismantling several of them for insubordination.
I did not.
Mostly because she would become upset.
An increasingly influential factor in my decision-making process.
The truly irritating part is that her efforts have been objectively successful.
I possess more energy.
My concentration has improved.
Several chronic headaches disappeared entirely.
Embarrassingly enough, I suspect I may have gained weight.
When I mentioned this observation aloud, she looked up from her book and smiled instead of reacting with appropriate concern.
āThatās good.ā
āIt is unnecessary.ā
āYou were basically a corpse six months ago.ā
āA dramatic exaggeration.ā
āYou fell asleep sitting upright in a chair.ā
āIn fairness, the chair was comfortable.ā
āIt was a wooden stool.ā
A pause.
āā¦A moderately comfortable stool.ā
She laughed for nearly two full minutes.
An excessive reaction.
The sleep issue proved considerably more difficult to resolve.
For most of my life, sleep served little purpose beyond temporary maintenance.
Two or three hours was sufficient.
Anything more felt wasteful.
She disagreed immediately.
Violently.
At approximately ten each evening, she begins searching for me.
The location is irrelevant.
Laboratory.
Office.
Workshop.
She always finds me.
And despite my repeated objections, the outcome remains identical every time.
āI am in the middle of something important.ā
āYou said that yesterday.ā
āBecause I was.ā
āAnd you still are today somehow?ā
āYes.ā
āBed.ā
āI refuse.ā
Then she kisses me.
An underhanded tactic.
Entirely unfair.
Worse, it works with humiliating consistency.
The moment her hands slide up beneath my mask and her mouth brushes mine, coherent resistance becomes significantly more difficult to maintain.
Manipulative creature.
Afterward, she removes my mask herself.
Carefully.
Then the coat.
The gloves.
By the time she finishes dismantling my work attire piece by piece, I find myself substantially less interested in returning to the laboratory.
Another deeply concerning development.
Once she gets me into bed, escape becomes nearly impossible.
Not because she physically restrains me.
Because she curls herself around me with such casual affection that leaving feelsā¦Unpleasant.
I remain uncertain when exactly I became accustomed to sleeping beside another person.
Or when I began sleeping through entire nights instead of brief unconscious intervals.
Yet now, whenever I wake during the early hours and find her pressed against my chest, still breathing softly against my throat, I discover I no longer possess any desire to leave.
Objectively speaking, the effects have been beneficial.
My cognitive processing has improved noticeably with proper rest.
Memory retention has sharpened.
Problem-solving efficiency increased by nearly eighteen percent.
When I informed her of this discovery, she looked unbearably smug.
āWow,ā she said. āItās almost like humans need sleep.ā
I disliked her tone immensely.
Primarily because she was correct.
Again.
An unfortunate pattern.
Stillā¦When she sleepily reaches for me each night without waking fullyāfingers curling instinctively into my shirt as though ensuring I remain thereāI experience something deeply irrational in my chest.
Something warm.
Dangerous.
Human.
And despite every logical instinct warning otherwise, I find myself allowing it to stay.
----
Obsession is a fascinating thing.
I spent years studying it in others.
The scholars obsessed with forbidden knowledge.
The researchers obsessed with recognition.
The gods obsessed with control.
I understood the phenomenon academically long before I experienced it personally.
I simply failed to anticipate how pleasant it would feel.
Because yesāI am obsessed with her.
The admission should disturb me more than it does.
Instead I find myself almost amused by the severity of it.
She occupies my thoughts with alarming consistency. During meetings. During experiments. During surgery. I will pause midway through calculations only to realize my mind has wandered toward entirely irrelevant things.
The sound of her laugh.
The softness of her hands.
The way she squints slightly while reading.
The little pleased hum she makes when tasting something sweet.
Utterly useless information.
I remember all of it anyway.
At night, when sleep finally claims me beside her, I dream of her often enough that the distinction between memory and fantasy occasionally blurs by morning. My subconscious appears just as compromised as the rest of me.
Pathetic.
And yetāI have never felt more alive.
That is perhaps the cruelest part.
Before her, existence wasā¦ flat. Efficient. Purposeful, certainly, but lacking texture. There was ambition, curiosity, progress. But joy? Anticipation? Warmth?
No.
Then she arrived and suddenly every day became structured around one simple desire:
Return to her.
I finish missions faster.
End meetings earlier.
Abandon experiments midway through observation because she mentioned wanting dinner together hours beforehand.
I once left a negotiation involving diplomatic catastrophe because one of the segments informed me she had fallen asleep waiting for me on the couch.
The diplomat was deeply offended.
I did not care.
Because she had fallen asleep waiting for me.
Even now, the thought settles strangely beneath my ribs.
There are moments when I watch her moving through our homeāhalf-dressed and sleepy in the mornings, humming quietly to herself while preparing teaāand I experience something dangerously close to awe.
How did something so gentle choose me?
More importantlyāHow long until she realizes her mistake?
There it is.
The rot beneath everything else.
Fear.
A thoroughly unpleasant emotion.
I did not recognize it initially because it manifests differently than expected. Not sudden panic. Not immediate terror.
No.
It lingers.
Quiet.
Persistent.
What if she gets hurt?
The thought alone is enough to make my stomach twist unpleasantly.
What if someone targets her because of me?Because they will.
Eventually.
I am not naive enough to believe otherwise.
I have enemies. Many of them. Intelligent enemies. Vindictive enemies.
People willing to carve out my organs slowly if given sufficient opportunity.
And sheāShe is soft in all the ways I never allowed myself to be.
The idea of someone touching that softness with cruel intent makes something vicious rise inside me instantly.
Then comes the worse thought.
The unbearable one.
What if she dies?
I cannot linger on that possibility for long.
The few times I have attempted to imagine it fully, I found myself physically ill afterward. Genuine nausea. Tremors in my hands. An inability to focus for hours.
Curious.
The human body reacts quite violently to grief even before grief technically occurs.
And then, of course, comes the final fear.
The one I never voice aloud.
What if she leaves?
What if one morning she finally sees me clearly?
Not the softened version she kisses half-asleep. Not the man who cooks beside her or lets her drag him to bed or folds himself around her at night like something starved for affection.
But the real thing beneath it all.
The monster.
The scientist.
The Harbinger.
What if she eventually decides love cannot survive that reality?
The possibility infects my thoughts more often than I care to admit.
Particularly after arguments.
We do not fight frequently, but when we do, I find myself unraveling internally with humiliating speed.
She becomes quiet.
Distant.
And suddenly my mind begins generating catastrophic conclusions immediately.
She is reconsidering.
She regrets this.
She will leave.
Absurd behavior.
Especially because I always apologize afterward.
Not because I enjoy admitting fault.
Because I cannot tolerate the sight of genuine hurt in her expression.
The first time I apologized sincerely, she stared at me as though I had grown another head.
āYouāre apologizing?ā
āYes.ā
āā¦Voluntarily?ā
āYou are becoming irritating.ā
She laughed then kissed me immediately afterward, and the relief I experienced in that moment was so overwhelming it nearly angered me.
Now I have become embarrassingly attentive to maintaining her happiness.
I kiss her constantly.
Touch her constantly.
Praise her constantly.
I learn every sound she makes, every reaction, every tiny thing that pleases her.
I devote myself to her pleasure with the same intensity I once reserved solely for research because watching her come apart beneath my hands is one of the few experiences powerful enough to quiet my mind entirely.
When she clings to me afterward, trembling and breathless and trusting, I feel complete in ways I cannot rationally explain.
Surely that is enough.
Surely she would not leave a man who worships her this thoroughly.
No.
She loves me.
I know she does.
Stillā¦On particularly bad nights, when paranoia crawls beneath my skin and refuses to leave, darker thoughts emerge.
Dangerous thoughts.
If she ever attempted to leave, I do not know if I could permit it.
An alarming realization.
I imagine her walking away and immediately feel something primal and ugly tighten around my lungs.
No.
Unacceptable.
She belongs with me.
With me.
The thought should horrify me more than it does.
Instead I find myself rationalizing it with frightening ease.
I keep her safe.
I care for her.
I would give her anything she desires.
I would destroy entire nations for her without hesitation.
Surely remaining with me is the preferable outcome.
And if she cried? If she pleaded? If she hated me briefly for it?
The discomfort would pass eventually.
I could be patient.
The realization settles over me slowly.
Calmly
.Like poison entering blood.
Ah.
So this is what love does to men like me.
-----
Um so...Yandere Dottore anyone..? Just me? Okay...ANYWAY- I hope everyone enjoyed, definitely giving Zandik way too much attention lately...but I can't help it. The archon quest left me devastated. Yk, I actually used to hate Dottore, like I told myself id never like him...um...here's the 5th fic about him...I think I might like him gng
åē„ ā the moment they realize theyāve fallen in love ! ft. Lohen, Childe, & Wanderer . . . wc: ~1.4k words each
ā Reader drinks wine and champagne and gets drunk lol, Childe is called āAjax,ā reader is lowkey bitchin at hat guy ngl ā¦ buts its all g, soft wanderer awwww
Authorās Notes : I was listening to āIt Might Be Youā by Stephen Bishop and I had this idea hehe
į²š¼ ā Lohen
It had been a few hours since the captain and vice-captain of the 5th company had been forcefully listening to Varka yap about his days before he became the Grand Master. You opted to drink your wine over and over in an attempt to make time go faster, and also to maybe drown out his voice. It hadnāt caught up to you that it had been your fourth bottle straight, and that a certain vice-captainās focus shifted onto his captain, wanting to see what a very drunk, very dazed boss would do (and a red-haired bartender was beginning to get concerned, too!).
āWould you even believe that I failed those stupid prep exams!? I should get rid of those. Can I even? Jean might get mad at me, thoughā¦ā Varka talked and talked, not realizing the captain of the 5th company was a red, hot mess.
You held your head with your hand, trying to keep sitting up straight, barely. āMmm..? Maybe, I dunnoā¦ā you slurred your speech, not at all listening to him at this point. You stood up from your seat, your steps wobbly. āIām gonna get some fresh airā¦ā You announced to the two. Lohen knew that was code for āI feel like Iām gonna puke and I donāt wanna do it in front of my boss.ā
Lohen followed your figure as it went outside of Angelās Share, the door shutting behind you. He couldnāt deny that he was so, so curious to see you in this state. He made up some half-assed excuse to Varka, saying that he was āworriedā and that he should ācheck up on you.ā
Varka smiled at Lohenās poor excuse, knowing full well why he wanted to go out to you, even when Lohen wasnāt aware of himself.
Lohen stood up and went out, only to find you leaning back on the wall of the building, your eyes closed while holding onto your stomach, trying very hard to hold it in. Your flushed cheeks were noticeable in the moonlight, as well as your dizzy expression. Lohen found it absolutely adorable, especially the way you were so vulnerable at this moment.
Wait, what?
Lohen shook his head before going over to you, leaning beside you as he peeked at your face.
āCaaaap, donāt you look great?ā Lohen teased you, making you open your eyes and meet with his. You sighed as you heard his tease, your head going back against the wall.
āNot right now, Lohenā¦ā You mumbled to him, your hand going through your hair to soothe your headache. āWhyād you leave Varka? Heās gonna complain later..ā
āVarkaās a grown man, he can handle being by himself for a few minutes. Besides, I think heād just find another unlucky knight to listen to his stories,ā he said, earning a small smile from you. āAnd I think a little bartender inside is starting to get worried, you know.ā
āMaster Diluc?ā You uttered under your breath, trying to straighten out your thoughts.
āMmmhm. He looked like he was five seconds away from snatching your wine,ā he told you with lilt in his voice, playful in his nature. āYou look like you wouldāve defended that bottle with your life, given how bored you were. Thatās rude, yāknow?ā
You were startled that he caught on to your boredomā but then again, this was Lohen you were talking about. It was annoying how perceptive he was. You couldnāt get a momentās peace with him at all.
āI donāt think Varka noticedā¦ Did he?ā You doubted yourself, looking at him. Then, you let out a breath that smelled of wine, your hand combing through your hair. āUgh, I feel sickā¦ā You complained, your eyebrows furrowed.
"Wouldn't you want to sit down if youāre feeling dizzy, Captain? I must say, you have less survival instinct than me, and thatās saying a lot,ā Lohen said, going to see if there was an available chair from one of the tables set up outside the tavern.
āNo thanks, I feel better standingā¦ā
āThatās stupid, Cap.ā
āLohenāā He didnāt listen to you, grabbing your wrist to make you sit on the chair, not noticing how your face grew significantly redder at his boldness.
āRudeā¦ā You said, immediately leaning on the table for support. He sat right beside you, undeniably close, just in case you needed some support. Just in case.
āYouāre sooo red,ā he said playfully, a smile on his face as he stared at yours, watching your face become flustered. āAre you sure youāre alriiiight?ā He knew you were, but he couldnāt help but tease you. It was basically second nature to him.
Although, your reaction was far from his expectations.
In your drunken stupor, you chuckled at his attempt at a joke, leaning back on your chair, a small smile on your face. He watched your expression as you laughed, the same light from the moon that highlighted your flushed face also making you seem so ethereal right now. He couldnāt help but smile too. He didnāt realize his face became red as well.
Your head landed on the corner of his chair, unbearably close to his shoulder. He wondered why you hadnāt just rested your head there. It was much more comfortable, heād say.
āShould we go back inside?ā You said softly, looking up at the sky from your position. āI feel like heās going to tease us when we go back in, though,ā Lohen laughed at your comment, inconspicuously moving closer so your head was on his shoulder.
āSounds like him. Do you want to go in? I quite like the breeze right now,ā he couldnāt be any more obvious that he wanted to stay there, even for a little while longer, with you. He thanked the archons above that you were drunk beyond saving.
āMmmā¦ No, not yetā¦ I like it here,ā you said, slurring your words as you got comfortable on Lohenās shoulder. If he werenāt flustered already, now he was malfunctioning. Lohen sighed, leaning his head on top of yours with his face buried in your hair, savoring your presence.
āYeah? You like it riiight here? With me?ā He tried to get more out of you, that mischievous smirk back on his face like it was a permanent feature on him.
āDonāt flatter yourself, Lohen,ā you said, smacking the back of his head with your free hand, the other resting on the table. He laughed at your action, smoothing over the place where you had hit him.
āIs this how a captain disciplines their officers?ā He muttered almost flirtatiously in your hair.
āDonāt phrase it like that!ā He laughed at your words, his fingers subconsciously going through your hair. It felt almost relaxing.
āAlright, alright! Calm dooown, wonāt you? Youāre already drunk out of your mind, do you wanna make it worse?ā
āShut up, Lohenā¦ā Your reprimanding tone earned another chuckle from him, going quiet. He lifted his head from yours, looking down at your face. He didnāt realize heād been staring for too long, not until you looked up at him and caught his gaze.
āā¦What?ā You asked, confused on why he was staring at you. He looked away just as quickly, his face crimson.
āā¦Nothing.ā
āLiar.ā
āIām serious, cap! Wonāt you believe me?ā
āWhy would I ever?" You both laughed, completely forgetting about the Grand Master inside the tavern, probably chatting up the uninterested bartender. He watched your face, at how you just looked so comfortable with him.
You chatted like that for a while, not noticing the time pass by as the stars in Teyvatās sky seemed to shine a little bit brighter, your laughter filling up the empty streets as your feeling of sickness started to subside.
He had a feeling then, that he wanted to feel like this every day, and that he wanted to feel it with you.
ą§»źŖ ā Childe
The Fatuiās gala always included very powerful figures from all over the nation, which would become useful in the Fatuiās future plans.
Childe was dressed to the nines in a suit that was tailored just for this occasion, a charming smile on his face as he entertained the guests on behalf of the Tsaritsa. He was easy to trust. With his charisma, you wouldnāt even guess that he was a harbinger, it didnāt match him at all.
You watched from afar, drinking the champagne that the servers had given you, not wanting to mingle in with the crowd yourself. You merely observed them, seeing faƧade after faƧade of the most powerful people of Snezhnaya. It was clear how uninterested you were, almost wanting to sneak out and enjoy your solace instead.
Childe finished his conversation with a duke from another nation, excusing himself as he saw you, looking too good for his own liking. He walked over to where you were, your eyes following his tall figure.
āHow are you enjoying this, comrade? Up to your standards?ā He asked you, getting a glass of wine from the tray of the server.
āIt could be better,ā you said, not trying to hide how utterly bored you were. You swirled your champagne around on your glass, looking through the crowd.
āNot liking it much, are you now?ā
āI didnāt say that.ā
āYou didnāt, but your face tells me all I need to know,ā he saw a server holding some pastries he knew you liked, calling them over and getting two. āEat up, comrade. Or is this not to your liking too?ā
You huffed a smile at his words, eating the food in small quantities. āDemanding as always, Childe?ā he hummed at your question, eating his own.
āNo āAjaxā today? I can never get used to you calling me that, comrade,ā he commented on your use of his title, a smile on his face. You set down your glass, looking up at him.
āOfficial business means official titles. I canāt be caught being unprofessional with the Tsaritsaās weapon of war now, can I?ā You flashed him a smile, mirroring his own.
āYou do have a point there, comrade,ā he agreed, setting down his food on the plate. He thought for a bit, a hand on his chin. āThen why donāt we get out of here? What do you say?ā
You thought about it for a moment, like you were even considering staying here. You nodded after a few seconds, letting Childe drag you into a private part of Zapolyarny palace where guests werenāt allowed. Heād make an exception for you.
The wind from the palace terrace made you feel at ease despite Snezhnayaās harsh weather, glad to be away from the stifling crowd of masks and elegant gowns and suits. You and Childe leaned against the railing, taking in the scenery from high above.
āSoā¦ā Childe started. āStill calling me my title or what?ā
You looked at him, his hair blowing in the direction of the wind, messing up its style.
āDo you dislike it that much?ā
āNot at all! Iām just not used to hearing it from you, thatās all,ā he explained to you, scratching the back of his head. He sighed, admiring the sight of the cityā¦ and you. He stared at you for a moment, your outfit perfectly fitting you and matching the theme of the gala. Safe to say, he was absolutely enamored by you.
āStaring is rude, Ajax,ā your soft voice snapped him out of his trance, returning to his charming persona. You chuckled at his sudden shift. You said his name with such familiarity and warmth, it made him feel something he shouldnāt. You looked back at the city below.
āCan you blame me when you look radiant this evening, comrade?ā Childe had a bad habit of buttering you up every chance he got. Yet, every time, it makes you blush and look away. It was one of the things you could never get used to with him.
āYou flatter me.ā
āIs it flattery if itās the truth?ā You thought he was joking, almost laughing before you properly looked at him, stopping yourself when you saw how serious he was.
āā¦Not technically, no,ā you said, feeling hot all of the sudden, despite the cold. Since when was he like this?
He noticed your flushed out face, furrowing his eyebrows. āAre you okay? Is it too cold out here?ā He asked, pressing the back of his palm to your forehead to check your temperature. You blushed even harder, turning away to avoid his gaze as you nodded.
He shrugged off the coat of his suit, wrapping it around your frame to somehow shield you from the cold.
āLetās go over there. Itās warmer,ā he said, catching your wrist as he pulled you under the shade of the palace. āBetter?ā
āYeah, thanks, Ajax,ā you said, looking up at him. Only then did he see how his coat fit you and how you looked so comfortable in it. Wow, you looked soā¦
He didnāt continue his thoughts as he shook his head, watching as you let the coat hang off your shoulders.
āWhat are you thinking of right now?ā You saw how he kept on zoning out when he looked at you, thinking deeplyā or maybe not thinking at all.
āā¦That you look beautiful today,ā he said suddenly, in such a tender and meek wayā unexpected from that of a harbingerā catching the both of you by surprise. His eyes widened as he processed what he just said, smiling to cover up his embarrassment. āAh, I meanā uhmā¦ā He stumbled on his words, looking away.
āThank you, Ajax,ā You chuckled as he fumbled, seeing him cover his face with his gloved hands. āYou donāt look too bad yourself.ā
āYou say that like youāre being forced to,ā he said, a small pout forming on his lips.
āIām serious! You look good tonight,ā you reassure him, a lighthearted smile on your face. āNot that you havenāt heard that today, anyway,ā you added, adjusting his coat on your shoulders.
āI like hearing it from you better than those people. They just want something, most of the time,ā he quietly says. You hummed. Being a powerful figure in Snezhnaya yourself, you understood where he was coming from.
āSome of the maidens inside seemed pretty interested, Ajax. You really donāt want to test your chances?ā
āHowever interested they are, comrade, Iām even less interested. Besides, Iām too busy for that,ā Childe clarified, his head leaning back on the wall.
Just then, from inside the palace, the music for the cotillion portion of the dance started.
āAre you sure youāre still not interested?ā You asked him teasingly, looking at the window that could overlook the hall of the gala. āThey look like theyāre looking for you,ā you said, seeing several damsels look around the hall for a ginger-haired harbinger.
āā¦Well, maybe I am a little bit interested in dancing with one person,ā Childe mumbled, not looking at the window, but rather at you. You saw in the reflection of his gaze, tearing your eyes away from the gala and looking up at him. A sudden realization dawned upon you, but you didnāt comment on it.
āYou should ask them to dance, then, no? Itās a waste of a good night,ā You said.
āHmm, okayā¦ā He turned to you, offering his hand. āMay I have this dance, then, comrade?ā He asked you, his eyes shining in the night, a smile on his face. He looked relaxed and composed, but if you knew him more than the mask he wears, youād know how nervous he was right now.
But all his thoughts went away when you smiled at him, putting your hand on top of his. āYouāre quite the sweetheart, arenāt you, Ajax?ā You said it like you expected him to ask you. How could you be so calm right now?
He pulled you closer into a dance, his hand on your waist, while his other supported yours. He started to sway you around, following the beat of the music that leaked from inside. In that moment, he couldnāt deny how enchanted he was by you.
Thirty minutes passed since you started dancing, your head rested on his chest as your steps began to become more minimal. Childe was basically hugging you at this point, his hand on your waist keeping you close. His chin rested on top of your head, the hands that held each other dropped to your sides, yet still enclosed. It all felt too natural for two people who worked with each other.
āWhy not dance with people with actual influence, Ajax? I feel like youād benefit from that better,ā you said quietly.
āInfluence on what?ā
āYāknow, the Fatuiā¦ Connections and stuff like that,ā you explained, looking up at him. He looked down to see you. He hummed in thought, his hand on your waist moving to tuck your hair behind your ear.
āā¦Well, what about the one who has an influence on me?ā He questioned softly, spinning you around when the music called for it. Just then, you landed close to his face, and you saw him look at your lips, and back to your eyes. Childe sighed then, pulling you closer to hug you, trapping you in his arms as he hides his faceā which was currently blushing profuselyā into the crook of your neck.
āWhatās wrong, Ajax?ā You asked gently, hugging him back in an attempt to comfort him.
I think I love you.
He was so, so tempted to just tell you, to risk your companionship, to risk you.
But, he didnāt. As much as he claimed to love you, he couldnāt, in a thousand years, imagine his life with you if he chose to risk it all.
āā¦Nothing,ā he mumbled into your neck, letting himself savor your presence. Yeah. This was fine. This was enough for him.
įƽ ā Wanderer
Nahida had assigned him on an important paired assignment a few months back, with his very willing partnerā you.
You and Wanderer were complete opposites. He had a permanent scowl on his face and an aura that could scare away scholars from his mere glance. While you were one of the few people that grew to know how caring he was really like.
Recently though, your research paper with him was going downhill faster than the fall of a certain fatui harbinger, previous scholar! (Not that he cares.)
You were stressed to a tee, and it wasnāt helping that your partner had a habit of cramming like a maniac and getting things done right before the deadline. The results of your research didnāt match your hypothesis at all! Nothing also aligned with the papers youāve already seen with similar topics. Your professor was really going to fail you nowā¦
You were hunched back on the table, books, quills, and parchment paper placed in an organized mess that covered the entire table. Your hands were dirty with ink and papercuts were a common sight to you now. Meanwhile, a certain puppet calmly wrote on a scratch, looking as composed as ever.
While youā¦ How could he even begin to describe you? You looked like you hadnāt slept in daysā in this case, was trueā and your hair stuck out from all directions because of how much your hand went through it in habit.
āCalm down, wonāt you? Before you get permanent wrinkles on your face. You donāt wanna look worse than you already are, do you?ā He said to you arrogantly, putting down his quill and turning his attention to your form.
You sighed, fixing your posture, your head in your hands.
āJust ācause youāre a puppet doesnāt mean you can say that about humans, yāknow,ā you commented halfheartedly, not in the mood to argue with him and his annoyingly pretty face.
āIām just saying it like it is.ā
āMaybe try focusing on the paper more than me, huh?ā
āHow canāt I focus on you when you look like an absolute mess?ā He crossed his hands as he leaned back on the chair.
Maybe it was the late hour getting to you, or maybe it was the fact you were months into this and you were nowhere near finishing it, but you just couldnāt deal with him!
āLook, if youāre just gonna stay and bitch around, just leave. I can do more by myself and with you hanging around and doing nothing,ā you couldnāt deny that the stress was definitely affecting your words and actions, but you felt unapologetic then, hyper-focused on the project that was due in a month.
Wanderer sighed. He wasnāt a stranger to the moments when youād lash out on him, knowing it wasnāt really him you were angry with. He knew there was no use trying to get you to calm down when you were upset.
āFine. But when I come back, you better have cooled off,ā he said, standing up and leaving you in the library. Ugh, how annoying could he get?
You continued to work for a while, still stuck on the same thing.
You stayed silent, suddenly feeling very bad about what you said to him earlier. He didnāt respond, watching as you drank the coffee, then sighing.
āNext time you do that, Iām dropping you as my partner,ā he threatened, grabbing the paper you were working on before he arrived. You didnāt think much of his threat, seeing as heās said several times before and yet, here you were. Still there.
āSureā¦ā
āIām serious.ā
āUh-huh,ā you said, leaning back on your chair, sighing deeply.
āStop that,ā he said suddenly, reading through what you wrote. He annotated on it, correcting your mistakes and adding his suggestions.
āStop what?ā You looked at him, now eating the food heād gotten you. It was only now did you realize that you hadnāt eaten anything that day, and it was already late.
āThat sighing. Youāre so stressed, itās getting bothersome.ā
āItās not my fault that this paper just canāt seem to cooperate!ā You defended yourself, a frown on your lips.
āYouāre not going to be able to control what the outcome of this study is. Thatās why itās research, you study it and see why itās that way. So stop stressing your pretty little head and calm yourself before you break down,ā he said.
āā¦You suck at comforting people, Hat Guy,ā you mumbled, covering your face with your hands again, before taking a deep breath.
āIām just telling it like it is. Itās not like you're going to fail because of that. I wonāt let it happen,ā you hummed at his words, finally looking at him.
āā¦Thanks.ā
āFor what? Not letting you fail? We share a grade, you know. If you fail, I fail,ā he explained, crossing his arms.
āFor dealing with me. I know I can be too much sometimes,ā you admitted, your fingers fidgeting on the paper cup of your coffee.
āSometimes?ā He said mockingly, raising his eyebrow.
āFine, all the time. Stop interrupting me,ā you couldnāt hide the exasperation in your voice, your hand going through your hair once more.
āContinue then, Your Majesty,ā little shit.
āNever miiind,ā you said, taking back your words of appreciation. Your smile still held a certain weight that you tried to hide from him, that his words and actions still werenāt enough to calm the storm.
You both continued to work on it, yet the pressure was getting to you. You couldnāt solve the issues in your study, and when you did, you would find another problem that was hard to figure out. It was exhausting you, both mentally and physically.
Wanderer saw how the stress was building up again, evident in your frown and your overall state. By now, the library was almost empty, save for the few scholars who were also working on their own research papers.
You were so, so close to breaking down, and Wanderer noticed it before you did.
In your stress, you didnāt realize you had started tearing up, the tears dropping onto the parchment you were writing on, smudging the ink of what you wrote.
āUgh, shit..ā you exclaimed quietly, wiping your eyes. It proved to be useless, seeing as your paper quickly became stained with tears.
āHey, hey, hey, whatās wrong? Whatās bringing this on, huh?ā Wanderer exclaimed in a surprisingly soft tone, wanting to reach out but not knowing if should. Carefully, he guides you to lean back on your chair, his hand on the back of your chair as he went closer to you, observing the way you avoided his gaze.
āI justā¦ I donāt understand what Iām doing wrongā¦ Itās so annoyingā¦ā You said through your tears, desperately trying to cover yourself in embarrassment. Wanderer pulls your hand hide away from your face, wiping your wet cheeks with a spare handkerchief he had.
āItās okay. Just let it all out,ā he says with such an unfamiliar tone, you couldnāt believe you were talking to the same person.
You quickly tried to compose yourself, your deep breaths turning into shaky sighs. Wanderer whispered comforting words to you in the quiet of the night like it was second nature to come to your aid.
āItāll get better, okay? Donāt let it consume you whole. Itāll be okay, I promise,ā he mumbled to you, waiting patiently for you as your tears finally dried, leaving you exhausted.
āFuck, Iām sorry.ā
āDonāt apologize. Itās not your fault,ā he said with such kindness. You wouldnāt expect it from the ice-cold scholar from the Vahumana Darshan. No one would.
He talked tender words to you for a few minutes, warmth blossoming in his chest. It was ironic that he could feel that way. But it reminded him of how human it made him.
It surprised himself that he didnāt think twice to comfort you and make you feel better. He knew that he wouldnāt do that for anyone else. No way.
You were the only exception.
As you two spent some minutes in comfortable silence, he realized one thing. He liked making you feel better. He always wanted you to feel good, even at the expense of his own convenience. It wasnāt like him at all.
āFeel better?ā He asked you, rubbing your back to sooth you.
You nodded in response, still sniffling. āYeah, Iām sorry againāā
āDonāt. Donāt say anything. Just feel better,ā he realized then, that when the words came out before he could process it, that he felt something different with you.
He wouldnāt feel this warm feeling if comforted anyone else. He was sure of it. He knew he wouldnāt feel the need to ease their worries like he did with you.
He didnāt know what this feeling was. He should consult Nahida with it.
SYNOPSIS | spiderman!lohen au | lohen should leave you a five star review for cleaning the bloodstains on his suit. if only it wasn't his spiderman suit. he should kill you after.
NOTE | look at me posting an hour after i said my writer's block is horrible.
1,536 | WARNINGS: lohen.
spiderman!lohen didn't know whether to commend you for your skills or to tie you to a chair and question what you knew about him.
well, you don't exactly know him, per se.
but he's been a customer of your laundry shop since he's moved to your neighborhood. every sunday, he would come and do his laundry in peace. it was a lovely chore; getting your clothes washed, being surrounded by lovely smelling fabric conditioners, soaking upon the warmth of the dryer after, and organizing your freshly cleaned clothes. it felt good to wear newly washed clothes. there's also a coffee machine and snack area that he can help himself with while listening to the lofi music that's always player in the background.
the silence and tranquility of the laundry shop was a plus.
most customers would come and ask for cleaning service, leaving behind their clothes and lohen to his comfy lonesome. if they do stick around, they don't strike up a conversation with him. after all, your regular customers were tired people wanting to relax while waiting for their clothes. they're simply tired busy people, all minding their own business. some of them tend to sleep on the waiting areas too.
it's been a couple of relaxing weeks, with a few run-ins with burglars and good-for-nothing nobody's.
until a thief decided to smash your glass window and demand for money in the middle of the night.
lohen was merely passing by after dealing with a group of criminals, suit bloodied and a few tears on the fabric, when his spidey senses began to tingle and his webs led him to his favorite laundry shop.
āhand me the money, now!ā
was the first and last thing he heard before he came barreling through the broken window. both of his feet met the side of the man's head, his unconscious body flying across the room and into one of your machines.
āoops.ā lohen scratches his head awkwardly. he didn't intend to hit one of your washing machines.
āsorry about that!ā
weirdly enough, you look unbothered as you are. the clothes behind you on the tabletop are a disarray, a pile of clothes in plastic sacks piled over each other and the items on the reception counter from where you stood are thrown to the side. your face blankly stares at him, cash in hand, before your shoulders slump forward with a relieved sigh.
āwere you really going to hand that over?ā
āwere you expecting me to choose death over compliance?ā your response was dry as the clothes freshly taken out of the drying machine.
āwell, normally, people would put up a fight.ā
āi hardly call a sudden burglary incident a normal encounter for a lot of people.ā threat unconscious and nowhere threatening, you carefully place the stack of cash back into the cashier. āit's just money, i hardly think my life is worthā¦ a few dollars of cash.ā
āoh wow, that'sā¦ optimistic of you.ā
you don't look optimistic at all. in all the times he's been here, you only ever have a bored look on your face whilst folding the laundry, never looking too pleased or too annoyed.
just a balance of neutrality and boredom.
but with lohenās current predicament, neutrality is barely a choice. he's been pushing himself beyond his limit lately; over fatigued body walking here and there in the police station he works at, dragging himself after his shift to swing across cities at night. he barely gets any rest when he gets home. he can manage two to three hours of sleep before he jumps back to his feet for work. it's how he came to the decision to avail your cleaning service for his laundry.
and how he came to his predicament as of now.
lohen's spiderman suit and his bloodied uniform is nowhere to be seen.
the adrenaline of losing one of the evidence of his late night activities kept him on high alert. varka had half the mind to send him home in the middle of his shift with how many times he'd snapped at the junior officers at the station and mindlessly stared off in the air, conclusions upon conclusion of where he'd left his suit building up in his mind.
one of those conclusions is that he had thrown the suit and uniform in his laundry basket while half asleep.
the same laundry basket he's about to retrieve from your laundry shop.
the same laundry basket you handed over without so much as a reaction, just your usual bored look while you resume to tend to your other customers. you barely bat an eyelid when he had asked if you had come across his bloodied police uniform, leaving out the part of his bloodied suit.
āsorry, i don't pay enough attention to remember what each of your clothes look like. if you want, you can recount the number of clothes if it matches the ones you've sent to me. if you're missing one, just let me know.ā you said, before you turned away from him.
the same basket that contained clothes the poured into his bed in search of the said suit and uniform (he grimaced when he noticed the straight folded lines of the ones you had ironed and folded, efforts wasted in vain).
the same basket that indeed had the same suit and uniform.
only difference is that both of the offending clothes are spotless and squeaky clean, almost good as new. you even sewed some of the tears in his suit.
there was no way you hadn't paid attention like you said. he doesn't even know how to clean up those bloodstains without scrubbing the hell out of them, and even then there will still be some dark spots left after drying them up. he would've left you a five star review for the amazing work you did, but all that clouded his mind is that you've seen his suit.
now, lohen stands in front of your shop once more, a laundry basket in sweaty hands.
āgood evening,ā you come running from the back of the shop, a stack of clothes in your hands. āoh, welcome back.ā
lohen forces a smile on his face (varka always said to smile before confrontations) rocking back and forth on his heels. he feels antsy, the question screaming in the back of his mind feels heavy. the oncoming migraines are a pain in the ass.
āyup, got some cleaning to do! it's sunday, after all.ā he looks around the shop, relieved to see that there's only two washing machines running but no people in sight.
lohen should kill you while he still has the chance.
āyou don't seem to have many customers tonight.ā
āmost of them left a little earlier.ā you approach the counter, where he stands in anticipation. after a few clicks on your keyboard, one of your washing machines beeps in response. āyou can take those to number five.ā
āthanks!ā
lohen needs to find the perfect moment to pose his question, watching you work from the corner of his eyes. the buzz of the machines around him was deafening, it kind of represents the way his mind is spinning; confused and anxious with the way you're nonchalantly doing your work without addressing the laundry he sent last week.
all of the sudden, your voice rang across the shop.
āare you a cosplayer or something?ā
āwhat?ā
lohen turns to look at you fully, though you haven't spared him a look. you seem content folding the clothes on your side of the shop.
āyour costume.ā you repeat, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
lohen thought you've figured him out. that he was the spiderman, beating and killing criminals left right and center. but no, instead of thinking the obvious, you thought he was merely an imposter. a cosplayer.
lohen couldn't stop the snort that escaped his mouth.
āah, so you did saw the suit!ā
perhaps playing along with you is the safest solution.
āi did.ā you turn to him this time, and he doesn't fail to catch the interested glint in your eyes. āthe fabric was spandex, but it's more sturdy than your usual type of spandex.ā
he listens to you go on and on about the suit, the way the texture of the fabric felt beneath your finger and the way it stretched when you pulled just a bit. lohen admits, he hasn't heard you speak this long. he could count the number of words he's heard you repeat before tonight and right now was reaching a world record. and your eyes, gosh, why do they look so sparkly all of the sudden? you make it look like the stars outside in the night sky are a shame and lohen's spent countless nights gazing up at the sky when he's all but spent from the adrenaline after a fight.
lohen should model the suit for you. only if you ask though. he wouldn't mind. he should tell you though. maybe.
āyou seem to know a lot about fabrics.ā he approaches the counter, resting his chin on a palm.
NOTES. I have been fantasising about this for a while. No explicit infidelity but boy, will some of these men certainly try.
Childe
This man does NOT care in the slightest. If anything, heās excited by it.
Childe finds the whole situation entertaining in a way that's almost endearing if it weren't so utterly disrespectful. He doesn't see your wedding ring as a stop sign. For him, it makes things more interesting because now there's an added layer of complexity, an actual obstacle. And Childe has never backed down from a challenge in his life.
Heāll send you lots and lots and lots of gifts. Intricate bouquets of flowers, expensive jewellery, and little notes with cheeky messages that make your face burn. It's infuriating because he's not even subtle about it. He knows you know. You know he knows. And somehow that makes it worse, or better, depending on how you look at it. Childe is utterly shameless, so good luck reeling him back.Ā
When your spouse is around, Childe shifts into a different gear entirely. He becomes aggressively polite in a way that's more insulting than rudeness. He'll compliment your spouse's choice in you with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. And Childe is petty, so heāll be extra condescending to your partner: āWow, they must have been feeling pretty generous when they chose you, huh?ā Your spouse is sitting there fuming, but what are they gonna do? Challenge a Fatui Harbinger? Lol, good luck.
Childe will touch your shoulder when passing by. He'll remember small details about you that your spouse has forgotten. He'll show up at your favorite places and act surprised to see you, like the universe just keeps throwing you together. And through it all, that infuriating smile never wavers, because Childe knows exactly what he's doing and he's having far too much fun to care about the consequences.
"Hey gorgeous, married life treating you right? Because I could do better."
Lohen
Married? That's hilarious. Lohen finds out you're married and his first reaction is genuine, unrestrained laughter. Like you've just told him the best joke he's heard in weeks. A challenge. An actual obstacle. This is the most fun he's had in ages. He doesn't see your wedding ring as a boundary; he sees it as the opening move in a game he's about to play.
He shows up everywhere after that. And there is absolutely no subtlety in it. He does not even pretend to try that he is not courting you. He'll find you during your day with that sharp grin, pull you into dangerous situations for the sheer thrill of it, and act genuinely hurt when you try to push him away. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?" He reads people too easily to miss how conflicted you are, and that just makes it more entertaining to him. Aw, did you just blush when he pulled you close? Thatās just more ammunition for him to continue.
When your spouse is around, Lohen doesn't bother with politeness. He's openly dismissive in that sharp way of his, looking at them like they're a minor obstacle. He'll call out the weaknesses in their stance, mock their choices, make it abundantly clear he thinks they're beneath him. "You picked them?" he'll say to you, gesturing at your spouse with barely concealed disdain. "That's disappointing."
He challenges your spouse to duels constantly, Actual calls to prove themselves. "Come on, show me what you've got. Or are you too scared?" There's no pretense of friendliness, just that chaotic grin and the very real threat underneath it. He wants to test them, wants to prove he's stronger, faster, better in every way. And when your spouse declines or hesitates, Lohen laughs like they've just confirmed what he already knew. That they're not worthy of you.
And if they accept? Yeah, that fight is anything but clean. Surely, you donāt mind if he hurts them only a little bit, right? Theyāll recoverā¦ in a couple weeks. You can spend that time with him!
"Married to someone that dull? Lucky for you I'm around to make things interesting."
Pantalone
Your marriage is a curiosity to him, nothing more.Ā
Pantalone hears you're married and it barely registers as information worth filing away. He's made it abundantly clear through his entire existence that social conventions are for people who can't afford to ignore them. He has money, taste, and a level of charm that makes your marital status seem almost quaint by comparison. Why would he care about a contract that costs nothing and binds you to someone ordinary when he can offer you everything?
He pursues you methodically, the way he pursues everything worth having. Invitations arrive on expensive paperāto galas, private auctions, exclusive dinners at restaurants. He sends you jewelry that's clearly meant to be worn, flowers that bloom in impossible colors, bottles of wine older than most towns. Each gift is calculated to make you feel like you belong in his world, because in Pantalone's mind, you already do.
When you decline his invitations, he smiles like you've said something amusing. "Oh, a pity. I was so looking forward to it." He pauses, studying you with that sharp gaze. "Though I suspect you'll change your mind eventually. People usually do when they realize what they're missing."
When he meets your spouse, there's no acknowledgment of the relationship at all. He treats them like furniture. Polite enough, but utterly unremarkable. He'll talk past them, direct his attention entirely to you, and make it abundantly clear through sheer indifference that your spouse's existence is beneath consideration. He isnāt cruel, per se, but the stone cold apathy is shocking. But I mean, what else did you expect from the Regrator?
He'll invite you to exclusive events, knowing full well you're married. He'll compliment you in ways that are technically innocent but absolutely not. He'll make you feel like the most interesting person in every room while your spouse fades into background noise. And he does it all with such practiced elegance that it's hard to even be angry about it. And Pantalone doesn't acknowledge obstacles he doesn't consider obstacles.
"Darling, there's an exhibition opening tomorrow. Quite exclusive. Pity you felt obligated to refuse."
Varka
The moment he finds out you're married, Varka accepts it with genuine respect that comes from someone with actual principles. Itās to be expected of course, from the Grandmaster of the Knights. He backs off immediatelyāno flirting, no lingering touches, nothing that crosses a line. He means it too. His sense of responsibility is too strong to entertain anything else. You're off-limits. He respects that.
Except he's absolutely terrible at actually following through on it.
He'll catch himself mid-conversation laughing at something you said, and the laugh is too warm, too genuine, like you've just said the funniest thing he's heard in weeks. He volunteers for patrols he doesn't need to go on if he knows you'll be there. He flexes his muscles without thinking about itālifting heavy things with one hand, rolling up his sleeves when you walk by, that casual display of strength that he tells himself has nothing to do with you being present. He's just proud of his physique. It has nothing to do with wanting you to notice. Definitely not. And yeah, so what if Varka tries to be the funniest person in the room whenever you walk in? Heās just naturally charming, thatās all.
When your spouse is around, Varka shifts into his easygoing charm. He's genuinely friendly, treats them like any other person he gets along with, makes jokes and offers drinks like there's no tension at all. But then you'll say something, and for just a moment his eyes linger on you a little too long. He'll compliment you in a way that sounds casual but carries weight underneath it. He catches himself doing it and looks away quickly, uncomfortable with his own slip-up.
You notice it every time. The way his shoulders straighten when you walk into a room. How he unconsciously positions himself so he can see you better. The split second where his mask drops and you catch something genuine underneath before he remembers himself and shifts back into friendly, easygoing Varka. He's trying so hard to be respectful, and that effort itself is what makes it obvious that he's fighting something. You see the conflict, the way he's wrestling with his own nature, and somehow that makes it worse.
It's not intentional. That's the thing about Varkaāhis pride in himself, his easy confidence, his strengthāit all comes out around you whether he wants it to or not. He's trying to be respectful. He really is. But his nature keeps betraying him in small, unguarded moments.
"That's great, really. You picked someone solid. Still, if you ever need anything, I'm around."
Zhongli
Being the God of contracts, he accepts your marriage to be a fact set in stone. But that doesnāt necessarily mean that stone canāt be moved, is it?
Zhongli will curb his overt courting rituals, like asking you out to dinner or kissing your hand upon greeting. But his more gentleman-ly side is always evident when it comes to you. He walks you home in the evenings. And sure, heāll keep a respectful distance but all it takes is one particularly strong gust of wind or a merchantās cart veering too close to you for his hand to come up to your side and pull you near him. Heās so kind about it too that you arenāt sure if this is meant to be anything at all.
He invites you over for tea (alone, just with him). Zhongli knows exactly how you make your tea, the amount of sugar you like, and the type of brew he should prepare. And so what if the tea takes four hours to make? You and him are just having polite conversation. Itās not as though your spouse knows the way you take your tea either, so this is really just a way for you to relax!!
When your partner is around, Zhongli simply smiles. Heās seen many relationships in his time, and to be frank with you, he does not exactly see what is so special about your partner lol. Nevertheless, he would not cross any lines, but he is just an extra bit nicer, a tad bit more courteous, his words just a little sweeter with you when they are around. He really wants to show your partner what true devotion looks like.Ā
āMarried? I see. Well, contracts can be renegotiated, given the right circumstances. Until then, consider me a reminder of what else might have been possible.ā
Blade has fallen in love with crafting again, which is beautiful. Every chance he gets, heāll make you something he thinks youāll like, and heās very open to taking requests as well. But sometimes, it feels like heās trying to show off to you. Just a teeny little bit.
Youād asked him for something that might help you locate things youād lost in the house, knowing how you can sometimes be clumsy and forgetful about things. It should be impossible to create something for this problem, right?
Wrong. Blade makes you a round, Roomba-like dowsing machine of sorts. All you have to do is press your palm onto its surface and think about the object youāve lost, and the Roomba will read your vibrations to parse your subconscious memory and locate it for you. (Youāve retrieved so many old bits and bobs you thought youād lost for good.)
Ah, and it also cleans your house for you everyday, and brings back any objects it finds that you never knew you lost. Like a magical Roomba.
Once, you asked him for some bath bombs with nice scents you wonāt commonly find at shops. So Blade gifts you a lovely set of hand-crafted bath bombs all carved with intricate red-and-gold Zhuming designs that betray nothing about the scent they hold, only revealing it the moment you actually use them.
So you try one to startāand oh Aeons. The scent that permeates is a rich blend of herbal teas, honeyed sticky buns, and evenāthe familiarity of weathered pages? And in the water forms an image of Aurum Alleyās most famous storyteller and tea shop, hued in soft violet starlight.
And thatās not all. Faint music hums through the particles of water, the kind of nostalgic ambient tunes one would normally hear from the street players on weekend evenings at Aurum Alley. Your beloved Bladie proudly puffs his chest out as he watches you in that tub, your jaw too slack for words.
Youād tentatively asked him for a new knife to chop your veggies with, considering your old one has gotten chipped and dull. Because of the simple nature of your request, you expect that, at most, Bladieās method of helpful overkill would be to forge you a brand-new full set of knives of different sizes, or a machine that dices at different settings.
But no. The next day, Blade proudly wheels in the Roomba from beforeāno, it can hardly be called a Roomba anymore. The rotund machine stands at thrice the height on two stubby legs and has the stance of a swordsman, and should it be given hair and accessories it would likely look like Bladie if he were a friendly metal beetle.
āThis fellow will cut and prepare all the food you want without you needing to lift even a finger,ā Blade tells you with a smug smirk of triumph. āHe has different settings for dowsing, cleaning, and for cooking now. I understand you have your recipe preferences, so all you have to do is instruct him as per your wish by pressing your palm against his back, and he will follow, down to the tiniest detail. He will also remember for next time.ā
If Blade had a tail, it would probably be wagging right about now.
"your sister's heart would break seeing you like this."
; siscon lohen (stepcest)
varka shakes his head disapprovingly. split lip, black eye, bleeding cut on the left cheek, and tattered clothes... he wouldn't be surprised if you came knocking on the knight of favonius' doors tomorrow, demanding that your angel of a brother gets wrapped up in the softest fabrics and kept outside of the battlefield.
lohen only cackles in response, haphazardly wiping off the ribbons of blood on his face, "i know -- guess i won't be seeing her until i fully heal."
the grandmaster sighs, "that makes it worse -- go home, lohen. what'd you even fight this time? you never let it get this bad."
his spear is thrown to the side, cape following suit as lohen sits down on the ground, bearing no real concern for the gashes he currently sports, nor the cut on his lips when he grins up at the sun, "her pops beat me down to a pulp today, something about me being a sick bastard, haha!"
ah. that explains it. "well. he's not wrong."
it's not every day varka sees someone be so open with their feelings for their adoptive sibling -- but lohen takes it a mile above and as high as the heavens when it comes to you. you two are assumed to be a couple more than siblings, and your old man of a father... he's not fond of his decision to take lohen in, to say the least. a tale of romeo and juliet or a sick incestuous relationship? he's not sure either.
all he knows is that lohen performs excellently as the vice captain, purely because he saves his wages to save you from your home family.
"i wanna be with her without that old man breathing down our necks! hah... either i kill him in his sleep or old age takes hold of him first. that sounds good, too."
and varka never claimed to be holier-than-thou when he looks away and lets lohen be.
some hyper famous artists like Van Gogh transcend overratedness and become underrated because they're so normalized. Like I'll look at a van Gogh and I'm like wait this really is amazing you guys don't get it
Summary : In which, you find a poisoned meal at your doorstep every morning. And so, you make it your life's motto to savor it and provide your thoughts.
Much to Lohen's dismay, you never seemed particularly impressed by any of his carefully crafted poisons.
While most love stories begin with flowers, yours began with poison.
Most people reacted poorly to poison. They cried, screamed, and maybe even succumbed to death.
You, apparently smiled.
Lohen had first heard the rumor by accident.
"Apparently the new medic (Y/N) has a strange fascination with toxins," a knight muttered over drinks.
He hadnāt meant to care. He really hadnāt. But something about the word 'fascination' lodged itself under his skin like a splinter that refused to be ignored.
So, naturally, he did what any reasonable man with too much curiosity and too little restraint would doāhe investigated.
Two alchemists confirmed it later, whispering that you had once voluntarily tasted diluted snake venom just to observe its effects.
That further piqued his curiosity.
And what better way to find out the truth than test the rumor himself?
After a day of locking himself in his house, he had come up with his very own poison. Made from the remains of a dendro slime, mixed with a few crushed petals of Dendrobium, and a generous splash of expired alcohol stolen from the Catās Tail.
He didn't know if it was truly toxic. In fact, he just mixed random ingredients he found revolting.
He wasn't planning on truly poisoning you after all. In its current concentration, it would merely cause temporary numbness (maybe).
And so he placed a cute little package in front of your house (he stole the documents that held information of those working under the Grand Master to find your address). Inside the package was a plate of Hash Brown he had cooked himself.
Of course, the poison was sprinkled on top as well.
He knocked on the door to your house and hid in a bush nearby.
He watched the door open, a shiver of excitement going down his spine.
But when you stepped out, his eyes widened. You werenāt what he had imagined. Not old, not bitter, not hunched over with tired eyes and stained robes.
You looked... young and composed. Normal in fact.
You glanced at the package, shrugged, and brought it inside.
The next day, he had half hoped there would be some commotion. Instead, nothing happened.
Lohen found that significantly more unsettling than if you had screamed.
Did you not open it?
Did you die?
Worse, did you throw it away?
By the second day, irritation curdled into curiosity again, and curiosity dragged him back to your house.
He hadnāt even reached the door when something stopped him.
A box.
His box.
He stared at it, then at the note pinned neatly on top.
It read-
---
Observation Log
Possible dendro slime derivative.
Taste profile:
Slight bitterness.
Floral aftertaste.
Perhaps traces of alcohol.
Symptoms:
Tingling lips.
Mild numbness in fingers.
Onset approximately twenty-five seconds.
Conclusion:
Sloppily made poison.
---
He stared at the handwriting. The faint smell of alcohol lingering on the hastily ripped paper.
'..... Sloppy?' he scoffed, annoyance creeping up into his face. He crumbled the paper, staring at the door with a sadistic smile.
"Fine then. I'll show you real poison."
The next morning, another box appeared at your doorstep.
Like last time, you took it into your home. You had no idea who was delivering these, but the last package being drenched in a mild toxin made it interesting enough for you to open.
You tore open the box.
This time, it was a plate of mushroom pizza.
"Oh, that looks delicious." you muttered to yourself, noticing the unusual purple coloring on the crust.
You reached and held a piece of the pizza near your mouth. And without a care, you took a huge bite from the area where the coloring was the brightest.
The following day, Lohen returned to find another note on your doorstep. This time it was more detailed than the last.
---
Observation Log
Low concentration of Aconitum.
Taste profile:
Initial sweet-bitter note.
Followed by burning sensation.
Symptoms:
Numbness.
Dizziness.
Loss of strength.
Conclusion:
Good posion. Easily countered.
Although, I liked the taste of the pizza.
(attached are my other observations)
---
There were six pages attached.
Six.
Lohen stared, flipping through the pages with a smile. "God. She's insane."
This started the exchange of poisons and paper notes.
The next package that Lohen put on your doorstep had a small note of his own.
---
To the Medic
Firstly, fuck you.
Secondly, you missed a secondary ingredient. (Hint : It was Naku weed)
Thirdly, thank you for complimenting the pizza.
I made it myself.
---
Your response appeared the next morning.
---
To the Poisoner
1. Rude.
2. I did not miss the ingredient. Naku weed has no toxic properties. Just color.
3. The posion on the crust was obvious. Are you perhaps new to this poisoning thing?
---
Your responses pissed the Vice captain even more. Because how dare a lowly medic like you have the audacity to critic his cooking?!
He tried even harder after that.
More precise blends. Better masking. Controlled dosages. Carefully calibrated ingredients. Tried perfecting the recipe so you couldn't find any faults.
Everything.
After making sure everything was perfect, he delivered the next package. A plate of Northern Apple Stew.
The reply next day was written in a crumbled paper with messy handwriting.
---
Rules for Future Poisoning
1. No explosive diarrhea.
2. No permanent injury.
3. No organ damage.
4. No blindness.
5. No poisoning children.
6. Food should remain edible
---
Lohen rolled his eyes at the rules. "Killjoy." To him these rules just were unnecessary boundaries that ruined his fun.
But he never wanted to stop this exchange between the two of you. It was much too entertaining for him.
Unknown to him, that night ended with you locking yourself in your room. Having non stop diarrhea for hours.
Soon the notes became longer than the poisons themselves.
One morning, the package you opened had a plate of Cream Stew.
And this time the note attached had a list of ingredients used.
---
Current Theory
The toxin should produce localized muscle weakness.
Estimated duration:
Two hours.
Possible side effects:
Dizziness.
Drowsiness.
Complaining.
Will you be able to guess what I used (Y/N)? Ā°^Ā°?
---
Three days later Lohen received something he could only call a report.
A dossier.
Twenty-two pages which included diagrams, charts, annotated symptom timelines.
And corrections.
So many corrections.
---
Page 14: dosage error.
Page 17: please stop using kitchen spoons as lab tools.
Page 19: āDid you eyeball the concentration?ā
---
Unfortunately Lohen had. And he hated that you noticed.
Months passed and somehow it became a routine.
Your medic colleagues grew increasingly worried seeing you drowsy every other day.
"Do you know who keeps sending you poison?" one asked.
You shook your head. "No, not really."
"Shouldn't that concern you?"
You looked confused. "Why?"
"Because they're poisoning you...?"
You blinked. Honestly, if the person wanted to kill you, they could have used other deadly toxins. Yet, they always made sure to use small doses and non lethal ingredients.
You smiled to yourself. "They are very considerate actually."
"... Oh." the medic froze.
You tapped a finger on your cheek. "They also have lovely handwriting."
"..."
The medic walked away. Unable to continue the conversation.
Lohen, meanwhile, was also not doing well.
Varka had his suspicions when he first saw the crazed man laughing while tasting the exotic plants he had ordered.
One day, while Lohen was away on a mission, he broke the lock of his drawer and read through all the papers in there.
Papers about toxic plants. Possible ingredients. And of course, all the notes you had written to him.
He ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell is happening in Mondstadt?"
Varka immediately dragged Lohen by the collar and pushed him into the store you worked in to apologize.
You looked up from your desk and instantly recognized him as your mysterious poisoner.
Not by his face. But by his hands.
The stained fingertips. The chemical burns. The ink marks. The quiet proof of obsession.
"Oh," you smiled softly. "It's you."
Lohen blinked.
Varka shoved him forward. "Apologise to the lady Lohen."
Oh. So his name was Lohen.
The boy looked deeply offended. "I don't want to."
"Apologize." The Grand Master repeated, his gaze cold.
Lohen sighed dramatically. Then glanced toward you. "...Sorry for poisoning you."
You immediately shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. "There is so need for apologies. I should be thanking you actually."
Silence.
Even Varka froze.
You continued, brighter now. "The poisons were genuinely fascinating."
Varka looked horrified.
"I learned to make dozens of new antidote!"
Lohen stared. Mesmerized.
"Also the toxins were quite creative! Honestly, every morning became something to look forward to."
Varka took a breath, and turned his gaze to the ceiling, perhaps praying to Barbatos why they allowed these two people to exist.
"Also the notes were fun!" you added, opening your drawer and placing a the stack of notes you had carefully stapled.
Lohen wasn't even listening anymore.
Because you were smiling.
At him.
Because of him.
Because he had poisoned you.
It was a stupid conversation. The girl in front of him was grateful for poisoning her. It was reckless, idiotic and yet...
At that moment his heart made some several terrible decisions.
He realised.
With a lot of hesitation...
That-
'Oh.'
'Oh no.'
'You were kinda cute.'
He had known your name for months. Known where you worked. Known your habits. Your favorite medicinal herbs. The way your handwriting became messier when excited.
But seeing you in person? Actually talking to you?
He was finished.
Absolutely in love.
That night he didn't sleep. Instead he sat at his desk surrounded by herbs, powders, vials, and failed formulas, staring at his next experiment like it might hold divine answers.
Most men wrote poetry.
Most men gifted flowers.
Most men confessed.
But Lohen was not most men.
He lifted a vial of deep red liquid, watching it swirl under lamplight with a manic smile. "If she barely liked the last one... I'll just make one that is even better."
And thus began the greatest romantic pursuit in history.
Not through gifts or heartfelt letters.
But through an escalating series of increasingly sophisticated poisons.
Lohen's new life goal was simple.
Create a poison so fascinating, so beautiful so perfect....
That when you tasted itā
You'd fall hopelessly in love with its creator.
Unfortunately for him, the only thing you fell in love with was the chemical composition.
Fin
š š š I CANT WITH THIS GUY. I FEEL LIKE HE'S SOMEONE WHO'D GIFT YOU A BOMB CUZ HE LOVES YOU.
Some of the ingredients used r actually toxic while others r just bs. I tried making it as Canon as possible but I'm sure there r some mistakes. Sorry abt tht.
Anyway! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts.
18+ Big scary men who let you slap them during sex.
Heās massive beneath you ā broad chest, thick arms, powerful thighs that could easily pin you down if he wanted. But right now heās on his back, letting you ride him however you want. His hands rest on your hips, not guiding, just holding you steady as you sink down on him.
You lean forward, bracing one hand on his chest, and bring the other down hard across his cheek. The sound is sharp. His head snaps to the side with the force of it. A low, guttural groan rumbles out of his chest as he twitches hard inside you. āFuckā¦ do it again,ā he rasps, voice wrecked.
You slap him again, harder this time, watching the way his eyes flutter and his jaw clenches. His hips buck up sharply, driving deeper into you. The sting on his cheek blooms red against his flushed skin, but he doesnāt stop you. If anything, he looks drunk on it. āHarder, baby,ā he begs, voice hoarse. āI can take it.ā
You ride him faster, grinding down on him while you slap him again and again. Each hit makes him groan louder, his grip on your hips tightening as he lets you use him. His eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, dark and hazy with lust.
When you finally come, clenching hard around him, you slap him one last time, right as your orgasm hits. Thatās what breaks him. He groans deep and filthy, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, thick and hot, pulsing with every slap you land.
Afterward, heās breathing hard, cheek bright red, but he pulls you down against his chest and kisses you soft and attentively. His hand strokes your back gently, almost apologetically, like heās the one who should be sorry.
āAgain next time?ā he murmurs against your lips, voice still rough.
You smile and kiss the reddened mark on his cheek.
How genshin men would react to them falling in love with you after rejecting you
Assuming a year has past since your confession. They arenāt sure if you still like them.
Tries to win you over (Subtly)
He believes that if you liked him back then you can like him now. You havenāt got over him, have you? Itās only been a year. You have to still like them a little, right? He tried to reject you as respectfully as possible so all they can do is hope he didnāt break your heart. He goes full courting mode. He will subtly court you or even seduce you if he must. He definitely replays your confession in his head at night. How could he reject you out of all people. Anything you told him during your confession is 100% being used against you. Oh so you like how his gifts are always so considerate? Well now his gifts are extra considerate. Oh you like how strong he is? Well he just happens to show off when protecting you from some hilichurls. He catches one reaction. One small blush or longing look. Any sort of proof that you still like him and heās asking you out on the spot. He tries being subtle about it to hide his slight guilt for rejecting you then asking you out a year later. If you make him say it then heāll try to laugh it off. āI mean you did say you wanted to go out with me didnāt you?ā
Wriothesley, Heizou, Kaeya, Flins
Desperately Tries to win you over
Similar to the last one except heās a lot more embarrassed by what heās doing. He feels like a moron for rejecting you. He honestly canāt tell if you do or donāt still like him. Eventually he asks you out with the same amount of effort you put into asking him. āHey uh, is that offer for *blank* still open?ā Heāll ask while actively blushing.
Kaveh, Itto, Gorou,
Locks in
He is not going to fumble you twice. Heās going to make sure you love him again no matter what it takes. Youāll suddenly notice heās a lot more attentive. Heāll give you gifts and sometimes just look at you. You donāt know how to feel. Does he like you? He rejected you so you must be overthinking right? Eventually he asks you out as nonchalantly as he can though secretly his heart is beating the life out of his chest.
Kinich, Albedo, Alhaitham,
Plays off the rejection
Heās really hoping you donāt remember his rejection. Heās convinced he wasnāt in his right mind when he rejected you. Youāre literally perfect for him. He acts a little bit like a female high schooler with a crush. Overly laughs at your jokes, sits a little too close, stares at you whenever he thinks you arenāt paying attention. When he asks you out he plays it off as a spur of the moment type of thing but in truth heās been thinking about asking you out for a while. He really hopes that you 1: still like him and 2: that you donāt hold his rejection against him.
He feels upset about liking you. How could he have waited so long to fall in love with you. Heāll stare at his ceiling wondering how he could be so dumb. He wouldnāt confess to you. How could he? Itās been a year. There is no way you still love him. Heāll long for you from afar as if you were the one who rejected him.
Neuvillette, Xiao, Tighnari, Durin, Baizhu
Apologizes
Heāll confess to you but not without an apology. He will apologize for breaking your heart and ask for another chance with a bouquet or something else you like. He feels terrible for rejecting you but doesnāt beat himself too much over it. All he can do is hope you accept but understands why you might reject him.
Kazuha, Gaming, Diluc, Sethos,
Avoids you
He feels so dumb and doesnāt know how to deal with his feelings. His face heats up whenever you talk to him. When you first asked him out he had no interest in romantic relationships but now he wishes he had one with you. He avoids you so much youāre convinced he hates you. It takes intervention from one of his friends/siblings for you to understand what was going on.
The scenario is that you and your Genshin man of choice end up caught in a storm and seek refuge in a hotel where there's only one room with a single bed available. Pre-established relationship.
ā ļøLohen's part was written back when his only appearance was in Varka's quest, so he may be OOC here.
ā ļøFlin's part assumes you know his true identity.
šÆļø In truth, Flins doesnāt need the bed. He can simply retreat inside his lantern to rest, thus leaving the entire bed for you to use. However, the idea of sharing a bed with the woman he fancies is too enticing for him to pass up, so he turns to you and throws a teasing comment about this feeling like a honeymoon just to fluster you.
šÆļø Despite his curiosity in wanting to know what sharing a bed with the person one loves feels like, Flins wonāt force you to go through with it if youāre uncomfortable with that level of closeness. Heās nothing if not respectful of your boundaries, so he would never enforce his will upon you. If you show any apprehension or discomfort, he will comfort you by saying that heāll rest inside his lantern, so you need not worry about sharing the bed.
šÆļø In the event you donāt mind being that physically close to him, Flins will happily lie down on his back and keep a careful distance between you, closer than necessary but far enough to be acceptable. A precise distance that will allow him to remain close without overstepping boundaries.
šÆļø To take your mind off the awkwardness of the situation, he will engage you in conversation; either asking you things about yourself, or hearing you share interesting events from your life, or offering you stories of his own that draw you in and make you forget that youāre sharing a bed. Partway through the storytelling, he turns on his side to face you and get a better look at your face. Watching your expressions change in response to his tales or teasing comments is his favorite thing, so he wants to see what kind of faces you make. Besides, itās a rare opportunity where he can study your features up close and etch them into his memory so he can remember you when youāre no longer in this world.
šÆļø When Flins takes notice of your eyes starting to droop and your attention wavering due to the tug of sleep, he lets the conversation die off and tells you to get some sleep. Although he wishes to talk to you more, he understands that humans need rest to regain their energy. Because he doesnāt sleep as a human does, Flins will stay up and watch you for a while. He admires the way your features relax during sleep, how long your eyelashes are, and the way your lips part slightly. He even admires you when you drool or snore, finding those aspects of you both amusing and endearing since these are not things he typically deals with. Once heās certain that youāre asleep, heāll indulge his selfish desire to touch you by lightly brushing a lock of hair out of your face so it wonāt obscure your lovely visage.
šÆļø If you want him to rest as well, Flins will agree to retreat into his lantern and let you set it on a pillow next to you or even cuddle it if you wish, though he imagines it wouldnāt be very comfortable. Nevertheless, if you express an interest in having his lantern near you, he will feel honored that you want his company even in that form and will happily oblige. If by some chance you do end up hugging his lantern, he will cherish the memory of being held in his natural form by the woman he loves.
šÆļø When you wake up, it is to the sight of Flins gazing at you with endearment and a soft smile. He didnāt sleep, but he did pass the time in his own way while waiting for you to wake up, so he was ready to greet you as soon as he felt you stirring. He asks how you slept and lightly teases you for having drooled in your sleep or for having messy bedhead to get a rise out of you. As much as he likes the peaceful expression you wear in sleep, he much prefers seeing you look animated and alive. Plus, he simply adores the way you act flustered when he slowly combs his fingers through your hair to smooth it down.
Lohen
š· When the expedition squad decided to stay at a hotel in a nearby town to get out of the horrible storm, Lohen didnāt expect heād be paired up with you to share a bedroom. He preferred to sleep alone, but if you were to be his roommate, then he would do everything in his power to make you stay for this one night. The evening became even better when it turned out that you would have to sleep in the same bed. Despite his outward nonchalance, deep down, Lohen was alight with excitement and slight nerves at the prospect of being so intimate with his crush.
š· His first instinct is to tease you by asking if youāre brave enough to share a bed with a man who is not your lover. He hopes you will say yes, or at the very least rise to the challenge heās presenting you, but heāll take note if you say it makes you genuinely uncomfortable. If it were anyone else, Lohen wouldnāt have bothered going out of his way to accommodate their needs, especially for a single night. Heād just tell them to suck it up since itās not like heās all that eager to share a bed with another, either. With you, however, he feels inclined to respect your boundaries because he wants you to like him.
š· If youāre truly perturbed by the thought of sleeping in the same bed with him, Lohen will sigh and say that heāll take the floor. Heāll be a bit disappointed that you donāt want to be physically close with him, or perhaps donāt trust him to not do anything, but he understands that not everyone would be comfortable sharing a bed with someone theyāre not that close with. Heāll play it safe and let you have distance if it eases your mind, and hopes this will help him gain even a little more of your trust and good grace.
š· If you agree to sharing a bed, Lohen will try to play it cool but wonāt be able to hide the pleased grin spreading across his face. Once you both lie down to sleep, heāll annoy you by doing things like touching your legs with his cold toes or threatening to cuddle you in his sleep just to get a rise out of you. After all, how can he resist teasing his crush when youāre right there, a mere foot away from him? Your sweet scent and radiating warmth drive him crazy, and it's torture having you close enough to touch, but knowing he must resist the urge to wrap you up in his arms. So, he settles for pushing his luck by teasing you instead.
š· Lohen will be even more delighted if you retaliate. Even if you try to shove him off the bed or tell him heās being annoying, heāll soak it all in because heās just happy to have your attention, even if it's negative. It prompts him to continue and tease you further, and depending on your reaction, it could evolve into him verbally teasing you about putting your hands on him when youāre sharing a bed, or even result in him pinning you down with a maniacal gleam in his eye if you excite him too much (Though it wonāt lead to anything unless you express interest in going further. Lohen will just let you go and tell you to settle down and go to sleep, both for your sake and his, because he doesnāt want to go too far).
š· He isnāt completely insufferable, though. Lohen knows when to stop if heās pushed your patience too far and let you rest. Heāll turn to face away from you when you first settle in to sleep, but sleep wonāt come easily to him, no matter how much he wills it. His heart simply canāt calm down when he can feel the warmth of your body directly behind him. Once heās certain that youāre deeply asleep, Lohen slowly turns around to face you and just quietly admires your features. Your pretty features do weird things to his heart that he doesnāt like, but he also canāt stop himself from looking. He wants to reach out and touch your face, wrap an arm around your waist, and pull you close, or at least hold your hand, but he refrains because he doesnāt want to wake you and settles for only looking. You face ends up being the last thing he sees before sleep claims him.
š· In the morning, heās awake before you, so he uses the opportunity to admire you for a moment longer before waking you up. Heāll call your name and tell you to get up, but if you resist or remain asleep, heāll kick things up a notch by either pinching your nose or whispering a playful threat in your ear about waking you with a kiss like that one sleeping princess from a fairytale. He has no intentions of following through with the threat, of course, but seeing your eyes fly open in a panic is too amusing for him not to make it. If you say youād like him to kiss you or even press your lips somewhere on his face, Lohen will be caught off guard and will stare at you in surprise, his cheeks flushing a pretty pink before chasing after you for an explanation.
childe and zhongli are too different. they both like you - they both know the other likes you - they just can't figure it out. childe confesses first, of course. immediately, actually. repeatedly. zhongli never says it out loud, but everyone knows with the way he watches you, the way he softens when you enter the room.
it quickly becomes a game of one upping the other with increasingly outrageous gifts and actions.
it's starts simple - childe buys you flowers one evening, and the next day zhongli sends you a larger bouquet. and then all of the sudden you have a pure-bread horse, a summer home in natlan, and a million mora.
childe starts constantly trying to drag you on adventures, holding your hand tight as he practically sprints through the city to get to the outskirts - away from anywhere zhongli might find you.
in contrast, zhongli takes you out to tea or spends hours in the library reading either to or with you. he likes when you read the same book, with you hooking your chin over his shoulder to see the page - unfortunately, childe almost always finds you two when you're alone.
he'll walk into the room all casual - "hey, [name], you busy -" and then pause when he sees zhongli with an audible, "oh. it's you .." of course, he'd never miss the chance to sneer at zhongli over your shoulder as he guides you away.
in private, childe often challenges zhongli to a duel for you affection, to which zhongli vehemently denies.
"you know, [name]," childe says one day, walking you down the street with one reluctant zhongli on your other side, "if we went out, we'd probably be unstoppable. a sort of power couple. world-domination, and all of that."
he pauses to point at zhongli, "what would you even do with this old guy? read a dictionary and quiz each other about it? talk about boring .."
"the choice is, of course, yours." zhongli pipes up, his voice smooth as fine wine.
"coward." childe grits out.
"dolt." zhongli returns easily.
if you choose to go out with childe, he'll brag about it for the rest of his life. zhongli and childe remain friends, but the poor old dragon won't go a day without hearing about your relationship.
"yeah, we're doing pretty great. thinking about getting married, actually, can you believe it?" he says, casually sifting through a shop's ring collection.
if you'd rather go out with zhongli, he's not quite as much of a poor winner. childe may complain about it for months, but zhongli is polite enough to not rub anything in his face. instead, he may ask childe for advice where he feels inexperienced.
"what do you think? would they prefer red or white roses?"
diluc & kaeya
two brothers who already fight about everything. and now, they have another thing to fight over - you! congratulations, you've made their rivalry ten times worse.
the moment kaeya realizes diluc, of all people, has a thing for you, he makes it his own personal source of entertainment. kaeya's new goal is to flirt with you the most when diluc is in the room.
he'll give you his best lines and suggestive looks - "you look positively ravishing tonight, [name]." "do you want to dance, [name]?" "should we go somewhere a little more .. private, [name]?"
only when he leaves does diluc finally come over, "he's used that line before," he tells you, handing you a glass of your favorite drink, "twice. maybe three times."
kaeya keeps track of your interactions with diluc, especially if diluc is getting flustered with you. he'll come up to you later, all smug, like "you should have seen his face. almost passed out, huh?"
it gets a little more complicated, though, when kaeya realizes you're actually someone he likes, and not just another way to irritate his brother.
kaeya starts constantly trying to get you alone. diluc starts constantly interrupting with several mundane tasks he 'needs help' with.
they are definitely the type two glare at each other when you turn your back, and then go back to smiling innocently when you look at them.
if you need help carrying something, they're both on it right away. kaeya can carry it. diluc can carry it. kaeya can carry you. diluc might 'carry' kaeya into the nearest horse trough.
"allow me, i insist." kaeya says, reaching for your bag.
"don't you have something to do for the knights? you are the calvary captain, or have you forgotten?" diluc retorts, smacking kaeya's hand away.
"oh, please, what calvary? they'll be fine without me while i help our dear friend. here, darling -"
"get lost."
"ouch, so cold."
you slip away while they start another catfight.
if you choose to go out with kaeya, neither he nor diluc will forget. diluc will keep giving you free drinks, but he charges kaeya extra when you're out together.
"if you need to get away from him .." diluc mumbles one evening, nodding to kaeya, "just let me know."
"excuse me, what are you saying to my partner -"
if you decide to date diluc, kaeya will back off - stop flirting -, but he teases you and diluc mercilessly. to the point where you both make it a point to avoid being alone with him.
"having fun with him, hm?" kaeya always says, "i always thought he was rather boring, growing up, but maybe that's just me. oh, well, let bygones be bygones, i suppose!"
alhaitham and kaveh.
you've turned their shared apartment into a war zone - to say the least. they already argued before, but once they met you, no dinner table has known peace. and the worst part is - they don't even realize they're arguing over you. not at first, at least.
you start to find them in the hall, near shouting at one another. and once they notice you, they both pause -
"oh. hello."
"good afternoon."
- before going right back to their screaming match.
they invite you over for dinner some nights, and it quickly becomes a competition. kaveh is cleaning, alhaitham is cooking, they're talking over each other at the table, at some point kaveh storms out, and you just sit there trying not to make things worse.
"how dramatic." alhaitham drawls, watching kaveh go before returning his attention to you, "have you finished the novel i lent you?"
kaveh, of course, falls first and falls harder. he starts buying you little gifts and sketching doodles of you next to his architecture work. he glows when you compliment him and sulks when you acknowledge alhaitham.
alhaitham himself is more subtle when he realizes. he wishes he didn't care, but he absolutely does. he definitely memorizes every little detail about you. if you mention wanting a book, it'll somehow appear in your apartment a few days later. if you're struggling with something, he'll provide a solution before you're done complaining.
the problem is that kaveh is trying very hard. alhaitham is not. kaveh will spend three days planning the perfect outing for you and him, and meanwhile, alhaitham will have won you over with a simple "i'm going to the market. you can come if you would like."
this is exceedingly frustrating for kaveh.
most days involve you spending your morning and afternoon with kaveh - he shows you his favorite sights in the city and buys (haggles) all the best food for you. and then, come evening, you sit with alhaitham and pour over your studies. he won't hover, but he'll point out any mistakes you make and offer to finish things for you if you grow weary.
they won't confess. not because they're nervous (well, partially), mostly because they both refuse to lose to the other. kaveh is planning the perfect setting. alhaitham is waiting for the most logical moment.
"[name]," kaveh pipes up over dinner one day, "are you free tomorrow? there's this new restaurant opening, and -"
"life can't just be about studying!" kaveh slams his hands down on the table, making the silverware jump, "you need to see and experience things!"
"is that why you're failing your classes?"
if you want to date kaveh, he starts acting like he's just singlehandedly won the archon war. he brings it up in every argument like it's his secret weapon.
"well. [name] likes me, so .." he trails off, shrugging in that 'what can you do?' kinda way.
"remarkable." alhaitham scoffs, rolling his eyes, "is that your personality now?"
if you choose alhaitham, you doom all of kaveh's friends - they have to listen to his sulking for hours.
imagine this ; you kiss alhaitham hello, kaveh sees, sulks and walks out of the room, and you don't see him for the next 6 hours because he's telling everyone who will listen (which is close to nobody) about this 'horrible betrayal' and his 'fatal heartache'.
itto & wanderer.
oh, hello big and little. loud and quiet. nice and mean.
itto falls for you first. well, by first, i mean immediately. like, you smile at him and he's a goner. head over heels, that guy.
scaramouche doesn't fall for you - or doesn't realize he likes you - for a long time. and even then, it's not like he'll ever admit it. he'll just .. start forcibly pushing any other suitors away from you to keep you for himself. healthy coping mechanism.
itto will announce his crush to the entire nation - "oh, yeah, me and [name] go way back!" (you met three weeks ago) "we're practically inseparable!"
scaramouche would rather die. but it irritates him anyway, how itto acts like he has a claim on you. he doesn't understand what you see in itto - why you keep him around. he watched you laugh at one of itto's jokes and nearly went into psychosis because it didn't even make sense! it barely had a beginning, much less an end.
scaramouche knows he likes you. itto knows he likes you. scaramouche knows itto likes you. itto does NOT know scaramouche likes you.
itto genuinely likes scaramouche and thinks they're good pals - he doesn't think someone like scaramouche could ever be a threat. i mean, come on, he practically towers over the little guy!
so, itto's always trying to drag you and scaramouche out on adventures. it only works because all scaramouche wants to do is follow you around, and unfortunately, all itto wants to do is lead you around. they orbit you, to say the least.
"look at us!" itto exclaims, an arm slung around your shoulders and the other hand playfully jabbing at scaramouche's arm, "a couple of friends!"
"no." scaramouche says, slinking to your other side to try and drag you away.
"best friends!"
"no."
"family!"
"no!"
you might assume that scaramouche would verbally abuse itto. and, you're right. but itto is like a rubber ball. nothing sticks.
"stop bothering them." he tries one day, grasping your wrist to take you somewhere else. somewhere far away from itto, "you're like a fly."
"aw! thanks, buddy!"
"that wasn't a compliment."
that's not to say they don't both want to keep you for themselves.
like, itto might frown one day while walking with you and say, "that wanderer fella is kinda cold, huh? maybe we should just do something alone, today. just you and me, yeah?"
meanwhile, scaramouche will find you and say, "he's a loudmouthed dunce. you can do better."
if you choose to date itto, he is instantly the happiest man alive. it's always "my partner said -" this and "my partner thinks -" that.
scaramouche starts disappearing whenever itto enters a room, but he still lingers around you when you're alone. he doesn't badmouth itto as much anymore, but he won't ever stop shooting him dirty looks.
if you'd rather date scaramouche, he is so smug about it. not openly - that would require admitting he cares - but internally, he preens whenever you hold his hand or kiss his cheek in public, especially if itto is there to see it.
speaking of itto - he really, really tries to be supportive. he would never jeopardize your happiness. but he doesn't really get it, "him? you're dating him? isn't he kind of mean? not that i don't support you! of course i do!"
phainon the kinda guy to hack into your spotify and make a playlist titled "im horny i need you" and add careless whispers 33,550,336 times
phainon the type of guy to nice guy his way into earning your trust because he's spiritually "one of the girls" and "not like other boys" since he actually respects women. you trust him so much, you give him the keys to your apartment in case of emergencies, and he abuses this privilege because ermmmm... he's not like other guys! he's worse.
siscontalone(pantalone) younger brother plsšš this concept is jus so delicious to mešš
#THOSE model leaks made me remember siscontalone #bless
; stepcest, he's kind of atticwifing you.
ever since he's hauled both of you into this organization known as the fatui, your little brother has easily surpassed you in height. he's, as pulcinella kindly puts it, bastardly tall - towering over most of his subordinates and fellow harbingers. his shadow swallows you whole, and you strain your neck just to look up at him.
the days when you were the taller one are long gone, even the old life of juggling various jobs just to feed another mouth feels so distant now. your new life here in snezhnograd asks for no such thing; your little brother himself insists that you need not lift a single finger.
"dear sister," you remember his closed eyes curving further, "may you live a life of paradise from here on forth, it's my turn to take care of you."
but the sudden switch from overworking yourself day in and out to doing nothing at all leaves you restless. you constantly pace around the private land your little brother bought ('free from any pesky neighbors. wonderful, isn't it?' he subtly gloated), fingers itching for anything to busy themselves with. it feels wrong on his behalf that you leech around and survive off his money.
for this reason, you once tried to bring up the topic of going your separate ways - he with the fatui, and for you to go back to your old, humble life. unfortunately, you hadn't finished your first sentence before his temper reared its ugly head, exposing a side that's unknown to everyone but you: a clawing desperation that he can never fully kill off so long as you exist.
"do you not want me anymore? do you regret saving me from starving to death?" his hand shot up to hold you in place, afraid that you'd run away and escape even with the countless preventive measures that run amok in the estate.
"no- of course not," and you'd hate for him to think so. it rips apart your heart to see your brother torn at the needless thought that you would care so little for him - he's your pride and joy, the very man you nurtured with minimal mora and secondhand clothes. your only family you'd sacrifice countless hours of sleep for, over and over again.
"please don't think that way," you murmur his real name, your free hand tenderly playing with the rings adorned on his fingers, "i just hate to be a burden to you."
stubbornly, he shakes his head, "never."
as long as you're here in this estate, you can never be a burden to your little brother. but the same image again and again can be so debilitating. most days, you can almost feel each grain of sand fall in the never-ending passage of time. the stagnancy of your life leads you to occupy yourself with mundane tasks, even at the protest of the house servants.
chores, they help you pass the time while your brother is in the snezhnograd capital.
you're well acquainted with menial labor, having been a housekeeper several times for random people back in liyue. you know how to cook, clean, do laundry, change curtains, and bedsheets. such tasks are more than familiar to you - it's become muscle memory.
the first time your little brother came home to the sight of you dutifully plating your home-cooked meals around the dining table, the comment he made had changed your entire perception of him.
"sister, you remind me of a housewife welcoming her husband home."
he had the gall to laugh, finding his commentary to be the pinnacle of comedy.
