♥︎ modern au Diluc who is insanely rich but you are completely unaware for awhile - he's rather quiet, sweetly intentional, a gentleman and of course pays for all of your dates, drives a nice but modest enough car, nothing that really starts to raise your suspicions about his financial situation...
You'd met him at a bar — Angels Share, a classic and classy style establishment where you enjoyed a drink but nothing too frivolous, hopping off the bar stool and headed to the bathroom when a patron who was singing too loudly had accidentally knocked into you, and you fell against a sturdy figure that caught you at the shoulders. Diluc on his name tag and his hair a firey mane of red tied up in a ponytail that only accentuated his sharp jawline and gentle eyes. You'd only thought him an employee, black dress shirt sleeves rolled up past his forearms and a white vest that pulled at his waist, the uniform for the other workers there that was familiar. You apologized for such an embarrassing run in to the man, and in time you found that you had caught his attention, and he caught yours in return.
You weren't much of a bar person to be honest, and not really a drinker, so your visits to the establishment where Diluc worked was really to see him. He'd lean over the bar and hand you something new he'd been working on, glittering drinks of blue with fresh sunsettia slices on the rim, to a creamy pink smoothie with a dazzling swirl of whipped cream piled on top that left a mustache on your top lip, and Diluc swallowing softly when you'd licked it away in delight with your tongue. You murmured in curiosity if his boss would add the drinks to the menu, not catching Dilucs hum and the slight lift to the corners of his lips when he replied,
"I'm sure he wont mind at all."
But in any case, you and this man that you met at a bar, Diluc Ragnvindr, had exchanged phone numbers and now dates were being had (ones that he planned and always picked you up, much to your surprise) bouquets of your favorite flowers were being brought up to your tiny apartment just outside of town (because it's all you could afford), and your hand had grown familiar with the feeling of holding his bicep as he escorted you to yet another dinner at some cozy restaurant where you watched him across the candlelight on your table. His eyes would flicker like the flame before you when he reached out to hold your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.
"I'm very, very fond of you. Do you know that?" he admitted. Lowering his gaze to where your fingers squeezed his. You tried to fight a wider grin than the one you were already sporting.
"I really like you too, Diluc." you replied softly, and you saw a bigger smile from him than you had ever seen before. It made your heart race wildly and before your entrees were brought out, he lifted your hand to his lips and placed a kiss there, and you couldn't move for a second. As if you were a little rabbit caught under the stare of a falcon, but still, your blood grew hot under the heat of his lips on your skin, and you smiled again.
After walking you to his car, and before he opened the door for you to get in he slid an arm around your waist and pressed his forehead to yours. You felt his breath on your face you felt the elation in your chest, knowing that your first kiss with him was coming. Yet after a moment, Diluc took a small step back.
"If we are going to be together, I must admit something to you." he uttered almost woefully, taking your hand and giving you a long glance.
Your heart still thundered at the fact he wanted to be with you, wanted it to be official, but the way he spoke did give you a slight wobble. You nodded and he helped you into the car.
"Would you like to come home with me?" Diluc asked quietly, a flush on his cheeks that you were so endeared by any time he was being a sweetheart to you (which was often) and placed his wide, warm palm on your thigh. You chewed your bottom lip while placing your hand atop of his, and told him yes.
The car ride was long, taking you outside of town and under the stars, the wind making the trees dance and your senses heightened the longer Diluc drove. His hand stayed on your thigh, the other driving and his face set in a neutral line.
He wasn't an axe murderer, right?
Your heart roared in your ears as you peered ahead to what could only be described as a dream. A mansion came into view, surrounded by endless rows of vineyards. The property was vast, the home itself a picture of class and deep wealth, the high peaks of the building giving the illusion of it almost being castle - like. Something fit for royalty. Getting closer to the entrance of the great home, your eyes sparkled at the fat grapes hanging on the vines to the sight of the glimmering lake only a short ways away, to the cobblestone that made up the walkway.
The car came to a stop, and as Diluc came around to retrieve you, your lips pulled into a curious pout.
"What was your big secret, that you were taking me to a vineyard? How romantic Diluc." you swooned and curled yourself into his side. You knew Diluc did not favor drinking, but also was keen on his inherent romantic side that wanted to spoil you. So a place like this felt natural to enjoy with him for a surprise.
He laughed softly at that, shaking his head.
"This...is my home." he replied. He glanced up at the grand house before you and you exhaled, face falling.
"Diluc...you can't be serious. You work at a bar, and not even full time!" you say with a laugh of disbelief.
"To tell you the truth, I own that bar. The Angels Share." he corrects, clearing his throat when your eyes widen and your mouth gapes. Here you are, in a shoebox apartment that has barely working heat, and the guy you're falling in love with is what? A millionaire?
"Are you a millionaire?" the question slips out before you can stop yourself and your palm flies to your mouth. You sound like a gold digger. Diluc chuckles softly, pulling you to him and your heels clack on the cobblestone as you blink up at him.
"I am, well I'm very comfortable." he nods.
"In short, I run my late father's business and it's very successful. We have clients that run 50 years with our wines and spirits. All over the place."
Your head feels hot and your knees nearly buckle. He sounds so...elegant as he speaks. Moreso than his usual manner of speaking that makes you think of the victorian era movies you like so much. He's rich rich. You also gave pause to the fact he'd mentioned his late father. It made your chest hurt. Your eyes waver from his gaze and he cranes his neck, leaning down to make you look at him.
"You're frightened." he murmurs. Letting you go. Giving you space.
"I'm not. I'm just.....scared." you breathe.
"Is that not the same as frightened?" Diluc laughs.
You press a cool hand to your cheek. He places his hands in his pockets. You wonder how much his watch is worth.
"Tell me what you're thinking." he asks, voice low.
After a breath -
"I don't want you to think I'm a gold digger. Or that I'm insincere about you." you all but whine. Shuffling your feet a little and coming closer to the redhead who exhales through his nose, giving you a humored look.
"I could never think that about you. Ever." he promises.
"But..?"
"But, I would hope you could understand why I withheld this.....information. If I can be honest, I'm quite nervous myself. I don't want to lose you." he replies. Honest, shoulders straight and he almost looks....businesslike. You snort.
"I'm just glad you're not an axe murderer."
"I beg your pardon?" he raises an eyebrow and you laugh, letting him pull you close once again. "Diluc, you won't lose me. I am of course...very surprised by all this. But I'm really happy that...well that you trust me. I like you so much." you smile up at him and he sighs with relief. The glow from his mansion casts a gentle light across his face as he lowers his head, easily finding your lips.
You hand comes up to cup his jaw, the warmth of his mouth engulfing yours as you make a soft noise of delight as he kisses you gently, and then like he was afraid you would disappear from his grasp. The petal softness of your lips dissolved Dilucs heart, and he wound his arms tighter around you as you melted into each other. He kissed you and you ached for him, parting for a moment to catch his half lidded eyes like a flame, and the spit slick pale pink of his lips and he groaned your name, pulling you to him again for another fierce kiss that you nearly collapsed into.
He let you catch your breath, squeezing your waist and kissing at your heated cheeks while the pale moon beamed down at you as he held your hand and led you around the property for a special tour. You were in wonder, laughing in loud disbelief when you rounded a corner with him to an impressive garage, a few of the vehicles parked there putting to shame his little sedan he tends to pick you up in.
He'd led you into the vineyards where you ate a grape from his fingers that he plucked for you, kissing away the juicy purple from your bottom lip. Then to the stables, Diluc promising to let you ride his favorite stallion on another day (and also promising that his horse would adore you as much as he does), and finally your shoes were kicked off on the shore as you waded in the clear waters of the lake that resided on the vast property, heart still racing at how unreal all of this felt.
"I think I'm in a dream." you sigh, glancing back at Diluc who had rolled his pants up and was slowly walking towards you, the water around you gently lapping at your legs.
"Are you now?" he asks with a bemused lilt, hugging your waist from behind. He kissed your neck under the moon and you shivered, leaning back into his touch.
"I am. But not necessarily because of....all of this. I hope you believe me." you say thoughtfully, hopefully. Diluc kisses your neck again, before pressing his cheek to yours.
"I do. I can assure you. However, I am curious as to know why you would think you're in a dream. I would not want to wake up from such a moment with you if I can be so bold." Diluc murmurs beside you.
"I guess it feels like a dream because of you, Diluc.
It's simple. Someone like you, falling for me? When you clearly could have anything, anyone that you want." you turn in his hold and you're nose to nose.
He kisses it, and then tilts his head to kiss your lips.
"Well arent I lucky then? That in all the world of anything and anyone, I found you?" he whispered, his voice husky. Your eyes then stung, lips parting with a gasp at his words, and he kissed you again with opportunity, squeezing you tightly against his chest.
The water lapped at your ankles as you stood with him under the stars, promising to take you home soon but wanting to hold you just a bit longer. Your eyes fluttered shut and your head rested against his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his figure in contrast to the cool breeze. You felt his lips on your temple and hummed. Perhaps it felt like a dream but you were truly glad it wasn't.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯: a bit half-assed, i didnt lock in as much as I'd like for this to look well writen LMAO
Pampered
Diluc (Genshin Impact) × Reader
To which you pampered a tired man who just so happens to be your husband
──── ୨୧ ────
It's a rare occurrence for you to wake up right before Diluc does. 4:00AM in the morning, when the not even one of the sun's many rays graces the sky. It's you, and the lovely silence of Dawn Winery.
Now, of course, there is a reason why you decided to wake up earlier than Diluc. This man, fast asleep right beside you, has always been the love of your life; hard-working, affectionate, and sweet amidst the cold front he puts up with people. You pride yourself in reaching that point in your relationship where he could find solace, where he could always write your name as an emergency contact, or when he needs to vent out his frustrations.
Recently, this poor man is reaching the dreaded end-quarter deadlines. Nod-krai merchants applying to be resellers especially as the knights expedition have ended (The Grandmaster is in no doubt, the trendsetter to this), and staying on top of the shipping dates. When you have a business as big as that, your deliverables upscale so much that it becomes harder to operate. With dawn winery being a well-known company that ships all across Teyvat, your poor husband, owner of the legacy business has to work very hard. As a doting and loving wife, who hates to see their husband losing sleep (and attention because she misses him just as much), you've conjured up a routine for one day of the week that's taxing but rewarding: waking up before Diluc to make breakfast in bed. Despite having servants that cater to both the manor and the wine business, there's something about cooking for your husband that makes you giddy; acts of service and all that. You manage to leave the bed silently, moving like a mouse until your destination: the kitchen.
Adelinde smiles as she watches you work. Your cooking was always a delight, and your help in the kitchen made the servants at ease. You'd make breakfast that fits the size of both servants and the head of the house. Today, it was toasted home-made sourdough, with a nice spread of avocado with lemon, a bit of rock salt, and sunny-side ups (You made mental notes, the first time on the maids' preferences on eggs beforehand, which made them very happy). For you and Diluc, you've added cold-smoked salmon on the bed of avocado, a squeeze of lemon, with a pinch of dill on a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs. Lastly a warm cup of coffee from your trusty moka pot. Before you could think about putting in a tray, you feel warmth on your back, and a head perched on your shoulder.
"Morning, love," you mused, wrapping your arm around his head and patting his hair. Instantly, he breathes you in and sighs in content, caging you in a soft hug.
"You got up too early," Diluc mumbled, and you laugh whole-heartedly. "I wanted to make you breakfast in bed, but since you're here, breakfast is ready."
Diluc would have wanted you to stay in bed and let the servants make breakfast, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel very giddy about being cooked breakfast. He loves your cooking, very much. When he digs in, he is hit with lovely flavors; light salmon, the sweetness of avocado, the subtle herby taste of dill, made merry by lemon. Your scrambled eggs are also no joke, fluffy with a dash of milk and a subtle hit of cheese made for an egg that works both as a standalone and as a side dish for your sandwich. Diluc couldn't help but close his eyes in content.
"How is it?" You didn't need to ask, especially when his face is saying everything, but that look when he opens his eyes and it's full of adoration, as he smiles so softly, it's worth asking over and over again.
"I love you so much."
Now, of course, work must continue. Being the spouse of the Radvindr meant that you manage certain parts of the winery. Diluc insisted you don't, but with how overworked he is, you wanted to help out. Lunch rolls by, and the maids prepare a Sweet Madame. Adelinde's Madame Chicken is no joke, surpassing even Good Hunter's (you'll never admit it to Sara, though).
The day goes into its normal course; helping Diluc on some of the paperwork, observing the vineyard, and quality-checking the fermentation. It's smooth-sailing, as it should be with the hydrometer reports being normal. Once it was around 3:00PM, you go back to the kitchen for snacks, and it's crackers with a dip of greek yogurt, dill, dehydrated onions and garlic (This is onion and garlic powder to anyone making said dish), and a hint of Worcestershire sauce. You make your own version of a nice glass of grape juice, with sparkling water, a small squeeze of lemon and mint. Now, it's delivering it to your husband and sitting around in his office now that your tasks are complete.
You do two knocks, and a muffled come in comes from within mahogany doors. You enter your husband's office, and there he is, a stack of papers one side, and a smaller stack on the other. It makes for a good frame for a picture, especially when the light from outside the room spills into the study. "I brought smacks, and grape fizz." You set it on a tea table, and sat down on the couch in his office. Diluc, slowly stood up, and walked over to where you sat, sitting beside you, and smothering his face on your shoulder. His hair tickles your neck, and you can't help but coo as you pat his head.
"Tough day?" He groans, hands circled around your waist.
"My back is killing me," He mumbles, and you feel sorry for him. He's been cooped up in the office, for a while now, signing paperwork. "Want a massage later?" His arms tighten around you. "That would be nice..."
The two of you stay like this, until he had to reluctantly let go from his stomach grumbling. His face remains red, and you chuckle at his embarrassment.
He takes a bite and his eyes widened. "It's good." A few chews. "Is this yogurt?" You puffed out your chest with pride. "With dill and Worcestershire sauce! I've been experimenting with your kitchen for a while now." The moment he drinks the grape fizz, he's amused with how well you've paired the grape and the crackers.
"You could make Angel Share's tavern dishes with this," he mused, taking another bite. "You sure, you don't wanna gate keep it?" Diluc looks at you confused.
"Gate keep?"
"You know..." You wave your hands, thinking of a synonym for this word. "Like, keep it to yourself, monopolize it?"
"Is that what kids are saying these days?" You laugh, sipping on your own fizzy drink.
"Maybe? I learned it from Bennet." You stay like this for a while, until you have to send the plates back to the kitchen, and Diluc has to come back to work.
Once the sun sets, it's time for your well-awaited rest. Luckily, Diluc does not have a shift at Angel's Share that day, meaning you get to pamper the tired man. You've set up your workspace, from the bath tub being filled with warm water and bubbles, the scent of lavender in the air. Your vanity, storing your toners, serums, and moisturizers lay perfectly, as if you're ready to fight every microscopic grime and bump on you and your husband's face. Another drawer is also opened, revealing massage oils. You are the pamperer 3000 with all of these laid out. Diluc, who had seen the status of your shared room is pleasantly surprised to the fact that you still have enough energy to do an entire self-care night routine, but also to take care of him as well. Warmth and adoration pools in his heart, and he's back to hugging you close with just how much you're willing to spend time with him.
You bring him into the bathroom, and strip him off his clothes. His vest and his button down. He also helps you with your clothes, insisting that you shower with him. Bathing with him is relaxing and fun, especially when it comes to his hair, slightly wavy, and a bit frizzy from neglect. Massaging the sandalwood-scented shampoo makes him hum in content, and his eyes close with how your hands carefully lessen the mini headaches he sported throughout the day. Next was the conditioner, which smelled the same as the shampoo. You spread the white soapy liquid and lather them in his hair, brushing out little tangles with your fingers.
Diluc then took hold of a shampoo, your shampoo, with your favorite scent, insisting he pampers you too. You let him, and you were glad you did because his hands could easily massage your head. You're sitting in front of him, his chest flushed against your back, and he's asking if he's doing it right.
"You're so good at this."
"I am?"
"Mhm. I feel so relaxed already." This puts a small smile on his face.
Once the two of you were done, you take him to bed, sitting him in front of the vanity to dry his hair and do your little routine on him. His hair was put up in a headband, and you lovingly doted on your husband as you caressed his skin. Toner, then serum, then a nice moisturizer to top it all off. By now, your man is groggy, and saving the massage for last rounded off the sharp edges of today. You do the skincare on your face, and you are aware of just how observant Diluc is... by that I mean, he watches you pamper yourself with a rare softness in his glassy red eyes.
"Why're you looking at me like that?" You asked oh so sweetly.
"I'm adoring the love of my life," He'd reply, dazed, and half-lidded.
Finally, you are ready to fight the cold knots in his back. It starts off with lathering his skin with oil before pressing deep with your thumbs, looking out for discomfort. What you hear instead are sighs of content. Sometimes, Diluc would moan, and he'd be embarrassed right after when you'd giggle at the sound. Once you're done, you clean up your station as Diluc rested. You give yourself a pat on the back once you saw just how soft Diluc looks. It is when you finally enter the comfort of your bed did you feel your efforts pay off. Diluc immediately engulfs you in a warm embrace.
"I had fun. Thank you for pampering me today, love," He says, eyes closed. You tuck away a piece of his hair, and reply, caressing his cheek down to his neck. "No worries. You worked so hard today. You deserve it," you whispered so sweetly as the two of you silently entered dreamland, holding each other as the day ends lavishly.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯: [LOTS OF CURSING] I watched an ig reel, got pissed off, made this
Say it to my face!
Lohen (Genshin Impact) × Reader
If a bitch-ass incel ruins a perfectly good day by bad-mouthing your boyfriend, show everyone exactly why he fell for you... by punching a bitch!
──── ୨୧ ────
You and Lohen are a force to be reckoned with. You, the epitome of sweet, and him, chaos incarnate. You're a simple baker in the outskirts of Mondstadt, living in a dainty house, slightly near the port. He's the vice captain of the fifth company, and a deranged one at that. It leaves certain men thinking: how did this lunatic score a baddie, much less someone as sweet as you. What everyone else doesn't know, however, was that while you are in fact soft and sweet, there was a reason why Lohen is head over heels for you.
"You see that baker? Yeah. She's so fucking sexy." You have been scowling for the past ten minutes over this very annoying man, who looked like he doesn't shower for days, the kind that sat on his ass while shit talking heroes that did more good this day than he ever did his whole life. The customer in front of you smiles apologetically, telling you just how annoying the man outside is. You could only nod. "Such a shame she's so in love with that fuckass murder twink. I don't understand what she sees in him." You hear him say, and your blood boils. "I could definitely one-up him in a fight. It just takes one swing and boom. No more boyfriend." You excuse yourself, and from your station, you exclaimed,
"How about you say it to my face!" The hullaballoo came to a stop as you walk over to the incel. He's scared shitless. Why do you sound not sweet and soft?? Hello?
"What? You scared now? You've come so far! Why now are you pulling on my dick?"
"My god, chill. It's just a fun little joke. Women are so sensitive these days." He pulls up his hands in feigned surrender.
You 'tsk'ed, crossing your arms. "Yeah even your joke's bigger than your dick."
"Excuse me?!"
"You heard me! Your brain is like a drop of slime condensate, I've never seen one so small and so smooth. Genuienly, the fuck kind of clown are you? You act like I'd leave Lohen for you, when Barbatos knows I'd rather jump from his cathedral statue than be in a relationship with you."
"Yo chill. You won't know until you try real manly dic-" The sound of skin-to-skin contact echoed. You had punched the living daylights out of this creep, shocking both other customers, and your boyfriend, Lohen, who had drop by from his little patrol around the port. He's amused, lovestruck even. The bitch laid unmoving, actually unconscious on the ground. You eye one of your co-waiters, leaning at the counter with a heavy scowl.
"Please take him outside before I tie weights on his legs and drown him by the lake." You rub tour temples, extremely annoyed. He seemed to just throw the guy out, scared out of his mind.
"Actually. Do exactly just that. I doubt anyone would miss him here, he's so fucking annoying." You cleared your throat, and smiled apologetically to the customers. "Sorry ya'll had the see that. How about a free taste test, hm?" You pull out a tray of mini pastries from one of the displays. "Just to take our minds off that." The customers continued talking, some standing to enjoy free food. They give you a weary smile, your loyal customers sweat dropping, and your new ones absolutely traumatized. No one was used to seeing you all riled up and pissed off in that manner. Usually, it's little clicks from your tongue. This time, it's a whole storm. For Lohen, however, it's just the way he likes it: unadulteratedly you.
Suddenly, arms wrap around you, and you feel your boyfriend's warm breath on your neck.
"You should... maybe punch me next, hm?" You sigh, patting his head,
"I swear some of the men in Teyvat need to die." Lohen giggles, nuzzling his head by the space between your shoulder and your neck. "I love it when you're so pissed to the point you punch the living daylights out of a man. Wish it was me."
"Girl, shut the fuck up. Also, that guy has been annoying this bakery for a while. Some of my girl customers would have probably killed him in the dead of night if he continued running his mouth."
"I would."
"Count me in. We'll bury him alive til he dies of suffocation."
hhhh i need more fandoms to enjoy, my interests are getting too outdated (aka im getting out of the loop w a lot of them and idk what franchise i can obsess over)
and i desperately want a mobile game to play that's not slop like wvery other ad i've seen. I haven't played LADS in like 4 months and I've been putting off reinstalling shooting games because apex mobile ruined every other shooting game for me 😔
synopsis. in which you purchase the new tomodachi life game, and your significant others have.. varying opinions and approaches.
genre. fluff + crack
ft. ashveil, blade, sunday, dottore, alhaitham, kaveh
gn!reader.
➫ 𝓐𝗦𝗛𝗩𝗘𝗜𝗟 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ he loves the animals that you can have as pets if you gift a mii a treasure — they’re just these silly realistic ass pngs that can’t do much other than bounce or make noise but he’s there for it
⌗ his mii is dripped the fuck out on your account, he made SURE of it, and the same goes for your adorable mii. although, you go broke — often, because of the refreshes of clothing every at where and wear that he can’t help but want.
⌗ adding onto the former, ashveil gets immense cuteness aggression over your mii, he just wants to pluck your little self and squeeze you to death with all the love he has for you aughhh
⌗ lives for the drama with the confessions he sees while you play ( thankful not of your mii and his ), where SEVERAL mfers pull up to the confession, either at the other table, in the bush outside ( in the case of tomoria ), or from under the mii wheel seats — LIKE BRO, that shit got him gasping and cracking up
⌗ has beef with the late night market for scamming him with only three items rather than five — what the hell do you need multiple garages for ( yes he has received one every single day in a row )
⌗ while you’re asleep he picks up your console to play for himself, to which the miis always seem to comment on him being a night owl or how he’s up late ( god forbid a man has insomnia )
➫ 𝓑𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ silver wolf put you on a new game, and there goes being able to spend time with you when elio is not sending him off following the script. he doesn’t want to feel a type of way but it’s definitely cutting between the time you spend together..
⌗ he’d be cooking or cleaning up while you’re giggling away from the sofa at the confession scenes or weddings and of course the miis having their talks about obscene topics, trying his best to tune out the bitterness he feels.. until he sees himself on the screen — with you
⌗ now he’s not interested, but also.. well, you do look cute following him around- going out on dates, so he.. can’t quite help but turn off the faucet to watch a little bit, if only to see your relationship progress
⌗ he doesn’t play himself, but he likes to hold you while you play the game, and just watches absently while you tend to the island and your very-in-love miis.
⌗ rlly domestic of blade, but he looks forward to the market refreshes everyday; he’ll subtly ask what you got at the supermarket today or the limited markets throughout the morning, afternoon and night — just to see what food you got and if it was ever something that you might want him to cook for you<3
⌗ his mii is incredibly existential, and if he ever has just some random thing to tell you guys- he can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed of how spot on the comments are. ‘the sun will explode one day, what will you enjoy then?’ like bro CHILL
➫ 𝓢𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗬 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ he first caught you playing the game when giggling could be heard from your room.. and then the parlor car.. and then in march’s room.. and then the trailblazer’s room — literally everywhere you went, even outside the express.
⌗ when he finally gives into curiosity and checks for himself what the hype is about, sunday finds himself.. greatly invested. it’s an island that is entirely customizable, with people that rely on his guidance to find love, make choices, eat, define themselves- everything.
⌗ you offer at some point to let him try, noting how his aurum eyes seemed to shimmer with interest.. and you haven’t really gotten your device back since giving it to him. it was no trouble- in fact it was rather cute how invested he had been.
⌗ at the very least the island is in good hands, sunday knows what he’s doing and he’s very much tending to the miis needs with immense enthusiasm — feeling inclined to do everything in his power for them all to be happy and living the dream, as the title suggests.
⌗ he also stresses to get your mii and his mii married and moved in — very important to him and the subliminal messaging he’d like to send to you..
⌗ i will say though, his patience is being greatly tested with the amount of requests miis have been making to put vending machines on the shoreline. he wants to satisfy the needs of his ( your ) residents, but at the cost of sullying the island’s beauty? debatable.
➫ 𝓓𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ he started to hear from you less and less one week into the spring, and although he was ever the busy man with his work.. it became progressively more prevalent in his mind, to which he felt implored to actually see what was keeping you from visiting him.. and low and behold, you were glued to this game.
⌗ it was a curious thing for him, watching how you were so invested in the lives of characters you had designed — including yourself and some segments of him. he wanted to try for himself and run his own.. experiments, for lack of better wording ( they’re harmless )
⌗ for the most part it was just testing which segment of him would win your heart first; can def envision almost everybody pulling up to the function to confess only for you to reject all of them
⌗ which isn’t actually that big of a problem considering how deeply he dotes on your mii; honestly, i think he’s happier to gatekeep your mii, where they even refer to him as beloved and say lovey dovey shit — and he just snickers away at it.
⌗ other than that he mostly observes you while you play, resting his chin on your shoulder and allowing his eyes to roam the screen and controls, then tests the game out for himself along with all the different mechanics
⌗ don’t tell anyone but he really likes the greenery in the game — he made this pretty flower garden for you to log on and see when you would play again<3
➫ 𝓐𝗟𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗠 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ don’t tell anyone but he really likes the music — especially the track used in the palette house. he doesn’t do much designing- it’s not something he’s particularly good at, but he wanted to unlock the treasure room so he had to do some things here and there.
⌗ i’m not sure how interested he actually is in the game, it’s more kaveh’s speed or yours- but i think a tiny part of him just really liked the idea of being able to put everyone he’s ever cared for in one space, even if it’s not real.
⌗ he has a fun time designing books in the game and coming up with dialogue combinations for all of the wrong things because why are these miis saying the most egregiously academic shit known to mankind..
⌗ he visits your mii. often. i would argue your mii is the most pampered by him, constantly plucked up, visited, dressed up, fed; anything to make you happy, it’s actually quite cute.
⌗ even while none of you are playing the game, he occasionally hums the music — which you could either point out or hum along to instead ( i hum along if i hear it lol )
⌗ somehow always gets good shit from the late night market — ALWAYS GETTING FIVE ITEMS, which kaveh wants for strangle him over because why is he always getting three and the stupidest shit.
➫ 𝓚𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗛 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗
⌗ you’ve been clicking away at a gaming console for who knows how long, and it’s beginning to get on his nerves with how little you paid him any mind.. just what happened to basic decency, certainly at the dinner table?
⌗ finally when he says something, you innocently reveal the game that has been occupying your time, and when he sees the island builder mechanics- that you were essentially working on designing your island.. let’s just say his ire lessened.
⌗ you were somewhat taking interest in his craft, wanting to compose a beautiful island layout — and that made him quite happy to see! even if it’s just a fictional thing on a screen, it was appreciated nonetheless.
⌗ you let him try the game, of course, and- well.. let’s just say most of the hours went into not only building- but DESIGNING buildings using the palette house — so kaveh was.. there for awhile, but your island looks very beautiful!
⌗ for whatever reason he finds out that his mii lives with alhaitham, and instead of you two moving in together when you finally get into a relationship — you just end up moving in with him AND alhaitham. so he feels a type of way..
⌗ like sunday, but intensified, he’s a bit of a crashout when miis ask for vending machines, sprinklers, streetlights and lanterns in the worst possible spaces. additionally when they ask for clothes or items and don’t appreciate what he gives them, he also feels offended! like dude he put all that effort in and for what? to get a ‘doesn’t think it’s a good match’?
notes. i took a little longer w this — originally i was gonna add more characters but i ran out of ideas since i didn’t bring my switch to visit my friends this weekend akakaka but anyway i hope these hcs were ok! for simplicity, the genshin ones are in a modern au!
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
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A/N: I think sometimes my brain naturally gravitates toward Varka whenever I need something grounding again. I felt a bit stuck in my own thoughts lately, so writing this ended up untangling my brain more than I expected.
Also yes, this is another case of me disappearing into unexpected Varka missing hours. Some things never change. :D Hope you’ll enjoy! :) 💙
Tags: Fluff. Mutual Pining. Shy Reader. Reader Still Makes Advances. Knights of Favonius Reader (Logistics). Soft Varka. Handwritten Notes. Light Humor. Tiny Acts of Care. Reader Is Down Bad. Varka Is Oblivious Until He’s Not. Gentle Romance.
Word count: 2190
⋆ ✦ ⋆
The first time Varka speaks to you properly, you’re halfway inside a supply shelf.
One arm is buried behind a stack of crates while you glare into darkness with the concentrated fury of someone who has absolutely put an inventory ledger somewhere sensible and is now being punished for their own optimism.
“It was here,” you mutter. “I know it was here.”
A deep voice behind you says, amused: “Should I ask what crime that shelf committed?”
You jerk upright too fast and immediately hit your head on the underside of the shelf.
“Oh for—”
Strong hands catch your shoulders before you can stumble backward completely. “Easy there.”
You freeze.
Varka stands behind you, broad and unfairly warm-looking. His hand is still steady at your shoulder. Concern flickers over his face for approximately half a second before amusement returns.
“You alive?”
“Yes,” you say immediately. “Barely.”
That gets a laugh out of him. “Well,” he says, “that’s good news for the Logistics Company.”
Your brain stops functioning for a moment. Because of course you know who he is.
Everyone knows Varka.
The Grand Master walks through headquarters like sunlight with boots on. He is loud when he wants to be, gentle when he chooses to be, somehow capable of making exhausted knights straighten instinctively just by looking at them.
You’ve watched it happen from a safe distance for months: the way rooms shift when he enters, the way people gravitate toward him without quite meaning to.
You have always watched from a safe distance. Because up close, apparently, you lose the ability to form sentences.
“Here,” he says easily. “What’re you missing?”
“You don’t have to help,” you blurt out immediately.
“Mm.” He leans down to peer into the shelf. “Too late. I’m emotionally invested now.”
You stare at the side of his face while he reaches into the back of the shelf with absurd ease: arm disappearing almost to the elbow between the crates like this is a perfectly normal way for the Grand Master to spend an afternoon.
“You reorganized these recently?”
“…Yes?”
“Hm. Good system. Bad luck. Bit philosophical for a storage room, actually.” A pause. “Aha.”
He straightens with your missing ledger in hand.
You could cry. “You found it.”
“Well,” Varka says modestly, “I am heroic when I need to be.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself. His expression changes into something warm. “There it is,” he says softly, handing you the ledger. “Worth the rescue mission.”
Your face heats instantly. “Oh. Um. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He steps aside, still smiling. “Though next time I’d recommend less aggressive negotiations with the shelves.”
And then he just leaves.
Meanwhile you stand there clutching the ledger to your chest while your heart attempts to physically exit your body.
You’re aware it’s ridiculous.
You see him regularly. He’s the Grand Master and a person who is, objectively speaking, very busy and very important and almost certainly not spending any time thinking about a logistics person who hit their head on a shelf.
You’re aware of all of this. It doesn’t help. Because now you notice things.
The way he stops to talk to everyone: the younger knights waiting nervously for assignments, the people who pass him in corridors, the guards at the gate who straighten when they see him coming. He remembers names. He asks after people. He laughs easily and means it.
He gives everyone that warm, unhurried attention.
Everyone.
You notice someone come back from his office practically glowing. You watch the new recruits light up when he claps them on the shoulder. You watch another knight smile at something he says from across the room.
And you think: Right. That’s just who he is. That’s just how he treats everyone. There’s nothing special about a man who’s genuinely kind to literally every person he encounters.
You think this very rationally. And then he passes you in the corridor, glances over, says “Good afternoon” with that smile—
And you walk directly into a door frame.
So that’s where you are with this.
The first note is accidental. At least that’s what you tell yourself.
You’re delivering paperwork to Varka’s office late in the afternoon, arms full of reports and requests and three separate forms requiring signatures in entirely different places.
Varka isn’t there yet. You set the stack down carefully. And then you notice the open window behind his desk.
The weather really is nice today. Bright skies, good wind, warm enough that people are lingering outside instead of rushing home. And Varka has been in meetings since morning. You know because you walked past his office three times on errands and heard voices each time.
Before you can overthink it, you tear a corner from your spare paper and scribble quickly:
The weather is unusually nice today. You should probably enjoy it before someone traps you in another meeting.
Then you sign it with your intitial.
You stare at it, then immediately try to grab it back. At that exact moment the office door opens.
You nearly launch yourself into the ceiling. Varka pauses in the doorway. You stand frozen beside his desk like a thief interrupted mid-robbery, fingers still hovering over the note.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asks carefully.
“No.” Too fast.
His eyebrows lift. You feel heat climbing all the way to your ears.
“I was just delivering paperwork,” you say, trying very hard to sound like a functional person. “The forms. For signing. Which are here. On your desk. Which is where I put them. Because that’s my job.”
A pause follows.
“Right,” he says slowly.
“Mm.”
His eyes flick briefly to the note, then back to you. Something amused flickers there. “Well,” he says easily, setting his coat aside, “that seems significantly less illegal than your expression suggested.”
You make a sound somewhere between a cough and a failed prayer.
Varka smiles wider. “Thank you,” he adds, quieter. “For the paperwork.”
“Of course.” You are already moving toward the door. “I’ll—yes. Goodbye.”
You leave with as much dignity as you can salvage. Which is not very much.
Varka doesn’t mention the note the next time he sees you. Neither do you. So you do it again.
The second note comes three days later:
The Sunsettia are particularly good this week. In case you haven’t had a chance to eat properly today. (Rumors suggest you haven’t.)
You cringe for approximately three hours after leaving it, again with your initial. Then you spend another two hours convincing yourself it’s fine. It’s just a note. People are thoughtful. This is normal.
The next morning there’s a Sunsettia sitting on top of the outgoing paperwork in your tray. No note. Just the fruit.
You stare at it for a very long time.
The notes continue. You tell yourself each one will be the last.
Two knights came back from patrol today. They looked tired but proud. I thought you’d want to know they made it back without trouble.
━━
There’s an herb growing near Springvale that’s been blooming unusually late this season.
The smell is quite something. Warm and a bit sharp, the kind that clears your head.
I thought maybe it would help you with the long days.
━━
I heard the meeting ran long again. I hope it was at least interesting.
If not: the pigeons near the bridge have been having a very dramatic morning. That’s free, and arguably more entertaining.
━━
I am going to perish, you think. But you keep writing them anyway.
━━
Varka finds himself looking for them.
He notices the slight lift when he sits down at his desk and spots a folded corner tucked beneath the official stack. Then he sets aside the reports that need immediate attention and reads the small square of paper first.
It’s such a small thing. Observations, mostly. Small careful kindnesses wrapped in your handwriting.
He doesn’t know what to make of it.
He knows the initial, knows who it is. He remembers the storage room, the head-bump, the laugh he didn’t expect to enjoy quite so much. He has seen you since: brief appearances to deliver forms, the occasional corridor crossing where you turn slightly pink and find something very interesting to look at on the floor.
Sincere in a way that’s oddly refreshing. Clearly not used to being looked at directly.
He finds himself making sure not to look too directly. It feels important not to make you uncomfortable.
Surely you don’t mean anything by it, he thinks, setting down a note about particularly good bread. Just a kind person. Thoughtful. Nothing more.
He almost convinces himself.
The in-between visits are the part that get him. You come by his office on ordinary business: forms, updates, once a misdirected delivery that required an apology and a very long explanation.
Each time you knock carefully, state your purpose clearly, hand over whatever needs handing, and then say something genuine and slightly unexpected that throws the whole exchange sideways.
“I reorganized the archives,” you tell him during one visit, while he’s signing forms. “I thought—the expedition records were hard to cross-reference. It made more sense to sort differently.”
He glances up. “Did you run that past Hertha?”
“I asked her first.”
“Good,” he says softly.
“Also,” you add, “I noticed the supply requisitions have been delayed two weeks. It might be the routing. I fixed it.”
Varka sets his pen down. “Just like that?”
“It wasn’t complicated. Just overlooked.” A pause. “I didn’t want the knights waiting longer than necessary.”
He looks at you for a moment. You immediately find something fascinating on the wall beside his head.
“Thank you,” he says. He means it more than the words cover.
You nod, gather your folders, and leave with the specific energy of someone trying very hard not to run.
Just a kind person, he thinks again but quieter this time.
The note that does it is the last one.
It comes on an unremarkable Tuesday, tucked beneath an ordinary report:
I know the meeting is tomorrow. I don’t know what it’s about but I imagine it’s the kind that makes the day feel longer than it is.
I hope it goes well. I hope you get to sleep at a reasonable hour.
I hope you will—
(Sorry. That got away from me.)
Varka reads it twice, then sits back in his chair.
I hope.
Such a small word to carry so much in it.
He thinks about the Sunsettia left without explanation. The herb that clears your head. The pigeons having a dramatic morning. Two knights making it home.
He thinks about the way you find the wall beside his head extremely interesting whenever he says something kind. The way you said I didn’t want the knights waiting longer than necessary like it was obvious.
He’s been telling himself not to assume. He has been doing it so carefully, so deliberately, that he somehow forgot to pay attention to the actual evidence.
He picks up a pen.
You’re in the middle of reconciling three separate inventory counts that absolutely should agree and absolutely do not, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” you say, mostly to the ledger.
“Hm.”
You look up. Varka is leaning in the doorway.
Your brain does the thing it always does, which is briefly stop working. “Grand Master,” you manage.
“You’re busy,” he observes.
“A little.” You look down at the ledger. “The numbers are—they’re not agreeing.”
“They rarely do.” He steps inside, which is unusual. He doesn’t usually come here. You go to him.
You become very interested in your ledger.
“I got your note,” he says.
“I—yes.” Your pen is doing something strange in your hand. “I apologize if it was—”
“Don’t.”
You look up.
He’s watching you with a warm expression. “I got all of them,” Varka says. “I’ve been reading them since the first one.”
“I know. I mean—I assumed. I didn’t expect—” You take a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know that people notice. What you do. And that it matters.” You’re staring very hard at your desk. “That’s all it was.”
“Was it?”
“…Mostly,” you admit.
The silence is extremely long.
“Have dinner with me.”
Your head comes up fast.
Varka looks back at you steadily, waiting, genuinely, for your answer.
“I—” Your voice does something embarrassing. “Yes. I’d—yes. I’d like that.”
Something in his face settles. “Good.” He straightens, already turning toward the door. Then he pauses and pulls a folded piece of paper from his coat. He writes something else on the bottom, grinning to himself.
You squint your eyes but don’t comment.
He sets the note on your desk, then leaves.
You stare at it for a long moment before you unfold it:
The view from the Statue of the Seven is particularly good this week.
You should probably see it before the season changes.
Tomorrow evening, if you’re free.
—V.
P.S. The numbers in column four are transposed. That’s why they’re not agreeing.
You look at column four.
He’s right.
You put your face in your hands and smile so hard it hurts.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
The late spring breeze of Mondstadt was always gentle, but unfortunately, it showed absolutely no mercy to you.
It all started on a morning that couldn't have been more ordinary. You only intended to trim your bangs a little bit for a fresh change. "A little bit" — that was the original plan. And the actual result? Your bangs were chopped down to a stubble, way above your eyebrows, jagged and uneven, looking no different from being bitten half off by a Slime.
You sat frozen in front of the mirror, thinking to yourself: “Well, my life is officially over.”
To make matters worse, Mondstadt’s weather had been incredibly moody these past few days, causing your sensitive skin to immediately go on strike, gifting you with a few bright red pimples right in the middle of your cheek. Bad hair on one side, breakouts on the other. It was a combo so perfect that you just wanted to dig a hole at the foot of Stormterror's Lair and bury yourself away from the world.
The real horror struck when you remembered: You had a date with Venti today.
Looking at the clock, looking at the mirror, then looking at the clock again... You decisively turned off the lights and pulled the blanket over your head. No more dating, nothing!
Receiving your text saying, "Sorry, I’m feeling a bit under the weather today," the green-haired bard didn't think much of it at first. Everyone needs their own space sometimes.
But by the second day: "Sorry, I'm still not feeling very well."
Third day: "I want to be alone."
By the fourth day, you started playing a full-scale game of hide-and-seek. The moment you caught a glimpse of that hat adorned with a Cecilia flower from across the plaza, you would immediately veer off in another direction. Once, you even threw your dignity out the window and jumped behind a cargo cart just to hide.
Venti stood in the middle of the street, tilting his head in confusion as he looked around: "Strange... why do I keep feeling like I just saw them?"
By the fifth day, the Anemo Archon fell into a state of total crisis. Sitting in the Angel's Share, he rested his chin on his hand, staring dismally at the glass of apple juice in front of him.
"Could it be... did I do something wrong?"
"Who knows," Kaeya replied nonchalantly, swirling his wine glass.
"Tell me, where did I go wrong?"
"Beat me."
"You really don't know?"
"If I knew, I wouldn't be sitting here drinking with you." Kaeya looked at Venti's rare, serious expression and clicked his tongue: "Is the situation really that dire?"
Venti slumped his head onto the table, his voice completely distorted with misery: "It's been five days. They won't even look at me."
Hearing this, Kaeya burst out laughing and patted his drinking buddy on the shoulder: "Sounds like you got dumped, my friend."
"Don't say such terrifying things!"
That afternoon, almost the entirety of Mondstadt was thrown into a frenzy because the wandering bard was searching for his lover. He wandered from the plaza, into the library, out to the city gates, and then dropped by Flora's flower shop. People even saw him climbing all the way to the top of a windmill to frantically look around. The more he couldn't find you, the more anxious his face became.
Late at night, while you were curled up like a hedgehog in your room, a familiar knock echoed at the door.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"My love?"
"..."
"I know you're inside."
"..."
"Open the door for me, please. I'm going to sit right here until you do."
You hugged your pillow tightly, your heart pounding to the rhythm of each knock. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, then thirty minutes passed. The voice outside grew softer, carrying a hint of choked-back sorrow:
"Did I do something to make you sad? Or did I say something wrong? If I did, you can scold me... just don't ignore me like this."
Hearing that pitiful tone, your nose suddenly stung with tears. Unable to help yourself, you gently cracked the door open just a sliver. Venti’s bright teal eyes immediately lit up, but before he could get a clear look, you quickly pulled the door back to hide your face.
"Don't look!"
"Huh? Why?"
"Don't look at me!" you sniffled, crouching down behind the door. "I look so ugly right now."
The space fell silent for a few seconds. Then, from outside the door came a: "...Huh?"
Your face flushed red, and you snapped gently: "You're not allowed to laugh!"
"I'm not laughing."
"You clearly are!"
"I'm just... a bit surprised, that's all." Venti finally couldn't hold it in anymore and let out a chuckle.
"See! You're laughing at me!" Embarrassed and frustrated, you wished you could vanish into thin air.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry." His voice softened, carrying a sweet, coaxing warmth. "Can you let me admire you for just a bit?"
"No."
"Just a tiny bit."
"No."
"Then how about looking with just one eye?"
"..."
Ultimately, you still couldn't win against the bard's persistence. When the door opened fully, you mumbled with your head down, your hands gripping the hem of your shirt: "My bangs are ruined... and I have pimples on my face. It's ugly, don't look."
Venti fell silent. He gently stepped forward, using his warm hands to cup and raise your face, which was trying desperately to look away.
Those teal eyes, clear as the sky of Mondstadt, gazed at you intently. There wasn't a single trace of criticism or disappointment in them; instead, they were filled with an infinite sense of relief, as if he had just found his most precious treasure after days of losing it.
"I thought you didn't like me anymore..." Venti let out a long sigh of relief. "I've been worried sick these past few days, imagining all sorts of scary scenarios in my head."
You were stunned: "You worried that much just because of a hair disaster?"
"Just?" He laughed, his slender fingers gently brushing aside your short, stubby bangs. "To me, you disappearing for five days is a massive crisis. Besides... you look adorable like this."
"You're lying to yourself."
"I am not."
"You're fibbing."
"I swear it upon the winds of Mondstadt!"
Seeing you still looking at him with suspicion, Venti chuckled and leaned down, placing a feather-light kiss on your forehead.
"The pimples are adorable, these silly bangs are adorable, and your behavior of hiding in your house for five days is even more adorable."
Your face burned bright red, and you quickly covered his mouth with your hand: "Stop talking! This is embarrassing to death!"
Venti's clear, bell-like laughter echoed throughout the room. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, pulling you into his chest—a tight hug meant to make up for all the anxious days he had just endured.
"Let's go out for a walk with me tomorrow, okay?"
"...No, I'm not going anywhere. I still look ugly."
"It doesn't matter."
"My hair hasn't even grown back yet."
"I think it looks even prettier this way."
"The pimples aren't gone either."
"Then I'll adopt the pimples for you."
You looked up at him: "Are you serious?"
Venti smiled tenderly, his eyes reflecting your complete reflection, whether at your most radiant or your most clumsy.
"Do you really think I love you for a perfect hairstyle or flawless skin?"
The night breeze gently drifted through the window, caressing both of your hairs.
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯: Writer's block happened so I'm migrating one of my ao3 works here
Beaten Acre of Skin
Wanderer (Genshin Impact) × Reader
Your hands were not the softest when he touched them. It was rough, as if it carries the weight of Teyvat. He still loves holding them, though, and that’s what he’ll do.
──── ୨୧ ────
It was a fine Liyuen day.
The asphalt was bright enough that it hurts your eyes, and the heat of the dishes you’ve eaten contributes to the sweat of your forehead.
In a fine Liyuen day like this, it still amazes you how they put lots of Jueyun chilis in their dishes, that it even exists as an ice cream topping.
As you think about the strong heat resistance the citizens have against the sun, you were also thinking of your companion, who had been staring at you for quite some time.
His stares are intent, locking on a part of you as if it was the most interesting thing he has ever seen. The way his gaze glides over your skin, recognizing the texture of your skin, some spots soft and unblemished, other spots carrying the story of a healing scar, and he invested his time to look hard on your tired palms.
Your palms are an acre of skin beaten to wield lances and swords.
Your hands were not the softest when he touched them. It was rough, as if it carries the weight of Teyvat. The calluses on the base of your fingers only told him that you were strong, hardworking, and an adventurer with experience. There were many more people who had better hands than yours, people who manicured their nails prettily, because they had nothing to worry about, but even if he had touched the softest and most cared of hands, he would always go back to yours.
There’s something about yours that fills his newfound heart with warmth, a strange emotion that only gets overwhelmed when you hold him. He hates admitting it, but he craves your touch, even if he has made the most absurd excuses to keep sounding like the Wanderer you knew and loved— well, even though you had visited the side of him that discards his own avarice.
You could see that side, even now, as you notice his intent gaze.
When you catch his eyes, you follow his gaze to your hands. “What’s… making you look so intently at my hand?” You asked, smiling gently like you’ve always done when you talk to him. You hear him choke on his words, his prideful self finding excuse # 24 in a book of excuses hidden in his brain, when you face him.
“Don’t think about that too much,” He looks away, arms crossed, hiding his flushed face from your eyes, “I was simply spaced out, and it just so happened that your hand is there.” You only let out a soft laugh, one innocent giggle that made his heart pulse with warmth and adoration. “Come, give me your hand.” You place a hand on his arm, coaxing him. It’s funny hearing you say that, when he usually asks for yours. Nonetheless, he obeyed.
Your hands glided to touch, palm-to-palm, soft-to-rough. You intertwine your fingers together, like jigsaw puzzles that make sense. You see him, indigo eyes widened, flinching at the ticklish way you glide your fingertips to seize the spaces of his own fingers. He remains agaped, until his lips mellowed, the blush on his face never leaving, as he hides his face with his free hand. What was a lot more embarrassing was hearing your voice echoing in his mind, spoiling him, compliment after compliment, sweet nothings that— he couldn’t even call ‘nothings’ with the effect it had on him.
God, you are going to kill him like this someday.
When you pull away, you notice his face turn to face you, with the most dramatic expression on his face.
“Did I say you could stop holding hands?”
The way he pouts when you laugh, though he’s more focused on the way you wipe your hands. “I have pretty sweaty hands, that might have been disgusting, since…” He takes a hold of your hand again, and you trailed off, watching the way he squeezes your hand.
“Yeah, you’re so sweaty. Can you really not handle Jueyun chili??”
It was his turn to wipe his hands on his shorts, and you snorted, giggling as you apologised. “Maybe we should just head back to your teapot or something, the sun is getting a little hotter,” He suggested, and you nodded almost instantly. As the two of you left the bench, of course, you feel his hand, sliding back to yours as if it was involuntary movement. You held him firm, yet gentle, as the two of you walked around the fine Liyuen day, albeit flushed yet happy.
Winter in Snezhnaya always carries a very strange nuance. It isn't quite the pure, pristine white of snow, nor is it the dreary gray of stormy days. It is faded and melancholic, much like the color of old letters whose ink has been washed away by time, or like a freezing embrace that still tries to cling to the last fleeting traces of warmth deep within one's chest.
You sat with your knees tucked to your chest on the living room sofa, listening to the patter of snow against the glass windowpane. The only light in the vast room came from a single small, warm yellow lamp in the corner. On the table, your phone lay face down, its screen dark and silent.
Childe hadn't replied to your message since last night.
"Where are you?" — just a single line, and the system showed he had read it three hours ago.
You bit your lip, pulling the thick blanket up over your knees. Your chest felt so suffocatingly tight that you couldn't focus on a single page of your book. Glancing at the mug of cocoa on the table, you noticed it had gone cold long ago.
Lately, he had been so strange.
Childe was never the type to hide things. He loved hugging you from behind while you were busy in the kitchen, loved kissing your hair amidst random, everyday conversations, and always grinned from ear to ear whenever you caught him sneaking the last piece of cake. He was like a winter sun — freezing yet always so radiant that no one could ever ignore him.
But recently, that sun had begun to pull away. He changed his phone password and always flipped the screen down whenever it rang. In the dead of night, if a call came through, he would quietly take his phone out to the balcony and talk for a long time.
And sometimes, he lied.
"I'm meeting a colleague." — But a strange perfume lingered on his coat.
"I'm late because of an emergency mission." — But the ribbon from a gift shop was still tied around his wrist, forgotten.
All those tiny, trivial details, piece by piece, seeped in like rainwater through the cracks of a door. At first, it was just a few freezing drops, but by the time you finally snapped out of it, the room inside your heart had already been drenched. You didn't want to doubt him; you truly didn't. But when in love, people are often far too good at making up scenarios just to hurt themselves.
You reached for your phone, mindlessly opening your chat log and scrolling up to your old messages.
"I bought grilled fish for you."
"Don't stay up late anymore, okay?"
"I miss you so much today."
"Come open the door for me."
The sentences were laughably short, yet reading them again still made your heart soften. You hated your current self—hated sitting in a corner waiting for a man, hated how your mind was in absolute turmoil over a few petty secrets. But what made you feel the most helpless was that no matter how hurt you felt, you still missed him terribly.
Click.
The sound of the door unlocking broke the absolute silence. Startled, you looked up to see Childe walking in, bringing with him a rush of cold wind and the night snow still clinging to his shoulders.
"I'm home—" His voice cut off mid-sentence.
Seeing the silent tears streaming down your cheeks, soaking the sleeves wrapped tightly around your chest, the smile on Childe's lips completely vanished.
"Hey… what’s wrong, love?" He panicked, rushing over to you.
But you flinched away from his outstretched hand. In that instant, Childe’s face froze, a look of profound hurt flashing across his eyes.
"Don't touch me," your voice trembled, choked with tears. "I'm tired. You… you don't love me anymore, do you?"
The room fell into a dead silence. Outside the window, the snow continued to fall steadily. Childe stood frozen for a few seconds, and then, he suddenly let out a laugh — not his usual playful, teasing laugh, but a helpless, wry chuckle.
"Good grief..." He rubbed his temples. "Have you been sitting here crying all night because you thought I don't love you anymore?"
"You even changed your phone password," you sobbed, your voice breaking. "And you’ve been secretly texting someone, and then..."
"I've been preparing to propose to you."
His words made you choke on your tears mid-sentence. The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly as the two of you just stared at each other in silence.
After a long pause, you blinked in utter bewilderment: "...What?"
Childe let out a heavy sigh and knelt down in front of you. His orange hair fell loosely, and his ocean-blue eyes, usually so confident, were now filled with sheer fluster. "I wanted to wait a few more days for everything to be perfect, but it looks like if I don't say it now, you’re going to flood the house with your tears."
With that, he fished around in his coat pocket and pulled out a dark blue velvet box. When the lid clicked open, the brilliant silver gleam of a wedding ring caught the yellow lamplight, so beautiful it made your eyes sting even more.
"I had to ask Mr. Zhongli to help me pick it out, and then I secretly texted Tonia to ask about your ring size. I changed my password because my phone is full of wedding ring designs," he offered a crooked smile. "I should have known this little head of yours would start overthinking things."
You stared blankly at the ring, then back at him. And then, for some reason, you burst into even louder tears than before.
"Oh, come on, why are you crying again?!" Childe frantically pulled you into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. I'm sorry, alright?"
"It's not that..." You sobbed, burying your face into his chest. "I just thought... I thought you didn't want me anymore..."
Your voice was barely a whisper, almost dissolving into the cold air, but Childe heard it loud and clear. His heart wrenched with ache. He tightened his arms around you, resting his forehead against your hair. "You silly girl. I'd have to be out of my mind to not want you."
After crying yourself to exhaustion, you were lifted onto his lap, held gently like a child being comforted. Childe patiently wiped away the remaining tears with his fingers, pressing soft, lingering kisses onto your eyelids, your cheeks, and the corners of your lips.
"So..." you asked, your voice still raspy. "Are you still going to propose?"
Childe chuckled, his deep blue eyes looking at you as gently as a calm sea after a storm. "What do you think? I originally planned to make it much grander — with flowers, candles, and a two-page speech. But now..."
He gently took your hand, caressing your ring finger. "Will you marry me?"
Outside, the snow fell lazily. Inside the small room, there was only the frantic beating of hearts and the intertwined warmth of two people. You looked at the man in front of you — the one who had just made you cry until your eyes were swollen, but also the only one who gave you the feeling of being unconditionally loved.
You let out a laugh through your yet-undried tears: "...I do."
The ring was slid onto your finger on a winter night without flowers, without music, and without any perfect script. There was only Childe, you, and a love that, though a little foolish, was entirely whole and sincere.
Winter in Snezhnaya always carries a very strange nuance. It isn't quite the pure, pristine white of snow, nor is it the dreary gray of stormy days. It is faded and melancholic, much like the color of old letters whose ink has been washed away by time, or like a freezing embrace that still tries to cling to the last fleeting traces of warmth deep within one's chest.
You sat with your knees tucked to your chest on the living room sofa, listening to the patter of snow against the glass windowpane. The only light in the vast room came from a single small, warm yellow lamp in the corner. On the table, your phone lay face down, its screen dark and silent.
Childe hadn't replied to your message since last night.
"Where are you?" — just a single line, and the system showed he had read it three hours ago.
You bit your lip, pulling the thick blanket up over your knees. Your chest felt so suffocatingly tight that you couldn't focus on a single page of your book. Glancing at the mug of cocoa on the table, you noticed it had gone cold long ago.
Lately, he had been so strange.
Childe was never the type to hide things. He loved hugging you from behind while you were busy in the kitchen, loved kissing your hair amidst random, everyday conversations, and always grinned from ear to ear whenever you caught him sneaking the last piece of cake. He was like a winter sun — freezing yet always so radiant that no one could ever ignore him.
But recently, that sun had begun to pull away. He changed his phone password and always flipped the screen down whenever it rang. In the dead of night, if a call came through, he would quietly take his phone out to the balcony and talk for a long time.
And sometimes, he lied.
"I'm meeting a colleague." — But a strange perfume lingered on his coat.
"I'm late because of an emergency mission." — But the ribbon from a gift shop was still tied around his wrist, forgotten.
All those tiny, trivial details, piece by piece, seeped in like rainwater through the cracks of a door. At first, it was just a few freezing drops, but by the time you finally snapped out of it, the room inside your heart had already been drenched. You didn't want to doubt him; you truly didn't. But when in love, people are often far too good at making up scenarios just to hurt themselves.
You reached for your phone, mindlessly opening your chat log and scrolling up to your old messages.
"I bought grilled fish for you."
"Don't stay up late anymore, okay?"
"I miss you so much today."
"Come open the door for me."
The sentences were laughably short, yet reading them again still made your heart soften. You hated your current self—hated sitting in a corner waiting for a man, hated how your mind was in absolute turmoil over a few petty secrets. But what made you feel the most helpless was that no matter how hurt you felt, you still missed him terribly.
Click.
The sound of the door unlocking broke the absolute silence. Startled, you looked up to see Childe walking in, bringing with him a rush of cold wind and the night snow still clinging to his shoulders.
"I'm home—" His voice cut off mid-sentence.
Seeing the silent tears streaming down your cheeks, soaking the sleeves wrapped tightly around your chest, the smile on Childe's lips completely vanished.
"Hey… what’s wrong, love?" He panicked, rushing over to you.
But you flinched away from his outstretched hand. In that instant, Childe’s face froze, a look of profound hurt flashing across his eyes.
"Don't touch me," your voice trembled, choked with tears. "I'm tired. You… you don't love me anymore, do you?"
The room fell into a dead silence. Outside the window, the snow continued to fall steadily. Childe stood frozen for a few seconds, and then, he suddenly let out a laugh — not his usual playful, teasing laugh, but a helpless, wry chuckle.
"Good grief..." He rubbed his temples. "Have you been sitting here crying all night because you thought I don't love you anymore?"
"You even changed your phone password," you sobbed, your voice breaking. "And you’ve been secretly texting someone, and then..."
"I've been preparing to propose to you."
His words made you choke on your tears mid-sentence. The air in the room seemed to freeze instantly as the two of you just stared at each other in silence.
After a long pause, you blinked in utter bewilderment: "...What?"
Childe let out a heavy sigh and knelt down in front of you. His orange hair fell loosely, and his ocean-blue eyes, usually so confident, were now filled with sheer fluster. "I wanted to wait a few more days for everything to be perfect, but it looks like if I don't say it now, you’re going to flood the house with your tears."
With that, he fished around in his coat pocket and pulled out a dark blue velvet box. When the lid clicked open, the brilliant silver gleam of a wedding ring caught the yellow lamplight, so beautiful it made your eyes sting even more.
"I had to ask Mr. Zhongli to help me pick it out, and then I secretly texted Tonia to ask about your ring size. I changed my password because my phone is full of wedding ring designs," he offered a crooked smile. "I should have known this little head of yours would start overthinking things."
You stared blankly at the ring, then back at him. And then, for some reason, you burst into even louder tears than before.
"Oh, come on, why are you crying again?!" Childe frantically pulled you into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. I'm sorry, alright?"
"It's not that..." You sobbed, burying your face into his chest. "I just thought... I thought you didn't want me anymore..."
Your voice was barely a whisper, almost dissolving into the cold air, but Childe heard it loud and clear. His heart wrenched with ache. He tightened his arms around you, resting his forehead against your hair. "You silly girl. I'd have to be out of my mind to not want you."
After crying yourself to exhaustion, you were lifted onto his lap, held gently like a child being comforted. Childe patiently wiped away the remaining tears with his fingers, pressing soft, lingering kisses onto your eyelids, your cheeks, and the corners of your lips.
"So..." you asked, your voice still raspy. "Are you still going to propose?"
Childe chuckled, his deep blue eyes looking at you as gently as a calm sea after a storm. "What do you think? I originally planned to make it much grander — with flowers, candles, and a two-page speech. But now..."
He gently took your hand, caressing your ring finger. "Will you marry me?"
Outside, the snow fell lazily. Inside the small room, there was only the frantic beating of hearts and the intertwined warmth of two people. You looked at the man in front of you — the one who had just made you cry until your eyes were swollen, but also the only one who gave you the feeling of being unconditionally loved.
You let out a laugh through your yet-undried tears: "...I do."
The ring was slid onto your finger on a winter night without flowers, without music, and without any perfect script. There was only Childe, you, and a love that, though a little foolish, was entirely whole and sincere.
A continuation of this post. This will detail the relationship between the old man Zandik and the Reader.
The days spent with Zandik, the original, were mostly silent. He just wasn't quite as talkative as he once was, but he somehow had a lot to say.
You wake in the morning, getting something to drink for the two of you, ran some errands, and ended up at his doorstep at around 11 on a good day. Technically, your work hours were from 1-9, but it wasn't like you had much going on in your life. Just tasks for the Fatui.
Intelligence was something you could easily accumulate, remember, but the trouble is getting people who can explain it all from before even the first step. If you were to be asked to cook an egg, you'd end up asking if the pan was metal, and what type of metal it was. Per the metal, what temperature was optimal? Per the temperature, what's the length of the handle? Per the length of the handle, how large should the flame be? Things like this.
It was just instinct. You were curious about the fundamentals of everything, and the bigger picture was often swallowed.
Likely, this was the reason you came to like Zandik. He wasn't a heretic or mad man to you, he was just a crazy smart scholar with worries about human things like life. He was reduced to a basic, human, man.
As for the segments, you had different thoughts. You didn't see anything to gain from digging into the hearts of sub-human clones. They didn't have all these complex human emotions to you that you could boil down, they were just frozen in time.
People forget, even though you were a bottom of the barrel scholar, you are still a scholar.
Complex pieces have been written by you, for personal use, about how Zandik developed, as observed through segments and conversation.
The younger you go, the more intense they are. The youngest could be pardoned as just childish, but behind that forced composure and effort to match his colleagues (himself), was a child in constant tantrum over all the unfair treatment he endured. To want to capture such a rough time for him… you didn't get it.
Wisdom came to the old, at least, as the more years Zandik got, he was able to reflect more. His cruelty had time to seep into his head as I realized that perhaps the reason he was this terrible was because his hatred was vastly complicated. Obviously, he'd already known this, but the idea that he didnt actually like harming others was… foreign.
Refraining from intruding on his thoughts, you had furiously written something regarding this in your essays.
How could anyone in this world expect to give when they themselves have never been given anything? Part of being kind is doing so because personal experience reveals that receiving kindness feels good. Spreading positivity, or whatever the hell. Zandik knew that something was missing, but he mistook the missing parts for an abject belief that he was just horrible. He must've known in his older years that what he was missing was environment. Kindness.
Evenly spread, the worst segment was definitely 35. Young enough to be sardonic and cocky, old enough to recognize he's being a douche. The worst one, by far.
Optimism is your thing though, and people are just paintings, each brush stroke is a day. The earlier layers being stained in red means less to you in face of the current Zandik’s efforts in self improvement. It was an investment you found worthy. He knows, you know he knows.
Papers on people weren't the only things you wrote. Currently, you were rather invested in early to mid-tyvat development. Geography wise, not historical. You didn't know much history, truthfully.
Zandik was old. You knew you didn't have much time and it hurt. He was… a friend, you believed. Yet, his hands weren't like yours, nor his eyes, nor his speech. Despite issues with the brain as one ages, Zandik has done well to fight off such problems.
Yet when you see he holds his pen differently to alleviate the pains in his hands, you get worried. Ocular vision has degredated to a surely aggravating degree as well. On rare occasion, Zandik will hand you things to read aloud for him. When he asks, his speech is more melded than his segments, what with their youthful articulation.
Zandik is facing old age, and both you and he knew it. It was a fact of life, but facts are often pushed to the brink by scientists.
“This essay… you've been thinking of some dark things haven't you?”
Zandik expressed his opinion on your latest piece, using the deceased and artificial wombs to renew a person body, with a tired concern. You loved that concern.
Death was the worst of it, but witnessing Zandik change like this was the payoff you were looking for, in a way. He seemed worried about you. The same as you worried about him.
You mentioned it at the beginning of the essay, you relay, but most of your biological works ought to just be science fiction. Blame it on inexperience, but you were unable to see a reality where such work came to fruition. You just didn't have the wits.
“It’s possible. Elixirs for life rely on finer pieces, but starting the body from scratch would be effective too. You do realize that no one would comply with this study, though?”
Letting the conversation fall for a moment, you went silent.
…
It would depend on the person, you reply. A mother would do it for her child, a spouse for a spouse… a friend for a friend.
At that, Zandik fell silent too.
Recent years has produced a more reserved Zandik, but even he was still just as curious as his younger years.
“I see… and what of a person's ambitions? Everyone has things they wish to do.”
Catching in between the lines, you smiled gently, keeping your eyes on your work. Zandik has never cared of other peoples ambitions, but he wasn't talking about other people, was he? He was asking you directly.
Perhaps, you reply. If you were in the shoes of one such sacrifice, you say, you'd just ask the recipient to do a few things. Plant a few trees, donate to charity. Some bullshit like that.
“And what if it didn't work? The deaths would have been for nothing.”
Correction, your death would have been for nothing.
You didn't see it that way, you spoke. Plus… the person you have in mind is definitely going to hell. The procedure takes two of the deceased, so if it came to it, you’d be willing to take the life of another if it meant you'd stay with them when they inevitably died.
“Hmph… a real wolf in sheep's clothing, you…”
Short laughter and a smile was the only response you could muster.
“So, what sort of person would it take for you to do such a thing?”
Zandik had turned in his rotating chair to ask you, he was being direct, and in you'd repay the favor.
Meeting him face to face, you gave your response.
A really great friend…
For a brief moment, there was a light in Zandik’s eyes. Following it…
“Too bad you have none of those!” before whipping around to face his desk once again.
You burst into laughter, no, you insisted, don't be like that!!
Zandik was just so shy, you had the giggles for almost an hour. He almost kicked you out!
This was the kind of man Zandik was. His many years left him quite some time to reflect on his life. With this reflection came a more gentle heart. Perhaps it went from obsidian to granite, still a hard rock, but you were proud of him regardless.
All in creation deserves to be loved, and there was no one person more deprived of any affections than Zandik himself.
Even if you never got him to say it back… you loved Zandik, and hoped full heartedly that he understood that in his final moments…
A little authors note, all the comments on my previous post made me so joyous. I like being reminded and encouraged, since I have pretty bad memory loss issues. I only lock in when I’m really happy, so I was quite pleased.
There will be writing for all the segments as well, if I retain my head for that long.
What is it like dating the second Fatui Harbinger?
Synopsis - People pity you the moment they hear you are dating the Il Dottore. How terrible it must be! Little do they know, Dottore treated you like you hung the damn stars
Tags - OOC Dottore/ Golden retriever energy/ lots of praise/ Dottore and his clones are obsessed with you/ Obsessive Dottore/ But not gross obsessive
Eli note! Dottore is SUPER ooc in this, not cannon at all, so don't come for me!! This is because I played the new Archon quest...no spoilers but im sobbing. ENJOY
People feared Il Dottore.
No — fear wasn’t a strong enough word for it.
People dreaded him.
The Second Harbinger carried a reputation soaked in blood and whispered rumors, spoken carefully behind closed doors and only in hushed voices.
Mad scientist. Monster. Inhuman.
A man so brilliant that even fellow scholars regarded him with unease.
The kind of man mothers warned their children about.
The kind of man soldiers straightened for the second his footsteps echoed down a hall.
And somehow—She was dating him.
Not trapped.
Not threatened.
Dating.
The realization alone always earned the same reactions from people unfortunate enough to learn about it.
Wide eyes.
Careful sympathy.
Concern disguised as politeness.
“Oh…”
“That must be difficult.”
“Are you…safe with him?”
As if she were some poor thing being held captive in his laboratory.
If only they knew.
If only they saw the way Dottore looked at her when nobody else was around.
The way his sharp crimson eyes softened the second she entered a room.
The way his gloved fingers immediately sought her waist, her hand, the sleeve of her shirt—anything to establish contact.
The way his voice lost that cold clinical edge and melted into something quieter.
Warmer.
Possessive, yes.
Obsessive, absolutely.
But cruel?
Never.
Not with her.
The first time she’d visited one of his laboratories, she’d expected something intimidating.
Complicated machinery.
Guards.
Security measures she wouldn’t understand.
Instead, Dottore had calmly taken her hand and pressed it against a glowing mechanism near the entrance.
The machine whirred softly.
“Biometric authorization accepted.”
She blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he answered smoothly, “you may enter any of my laboratories whenever you please.”
“…Any?”
“Yes.”
“And everyone else?”
Dottore tilted his head slightly.
“If an unauthorized individual attempts entry, the defense system will eliminate them.”
Silence.
Then—“
You said that *way* too casually.”
“I fail to see the issue.”
“Zandik.”
His lips twitched beneath the edge of his mask at the sound of his real name.
That stupid, tiny reaction nearly always happened when she used it.
A terrifying Harbinger capable of unspeakable things, and his composure still cracked over hearing his name from her mouth.
“It is important that you are protected,” he said simply, as though he hadn’t just informed her his laboratory would kill intruders on sight. “You will never be denied access to anything that belongs to me.”
And that was the problem, really.
Dottore cherished her with the same frightening intensity he applied to everything else in his life.
Every emotion he possessed existed in extremes.
His ambition.
His anger.
His curiosity.
His devotion.
Especially his devotion.
It manifested constantly in little things that left her flustered beyond belief.
A passing comment about cold hands resulted in him redesigning the lining of her gloves himself.
One mention of struggling to sleep earned her an entire absurdly expensive mattress specifically engineered for “optimal spinal support and temperature regulation.”
When she admired a dress in passing, he bought it before she’d even finished the sentence.
And the praise—Archons, the praise.
It never ended.
Sometimes she genuinely suspected he enjoyed embarrassing her.
She’d stepped out wearing a new dress once, smoothing down the fabric nervously.
The silence from Dottore had been immediate.
Intense.
His gaze traveled over her so slowly she could physically feel herself heating up.
“…What?” she’d asked cautiously.
He approached without a word, resting both hands on her waist before turning her gently.
“Again.”
“What?”
“Turn again.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“And you are beautiful. Humor me.”
Her face burned, but she spun once more anyway.
Dottore watched her with undisguised fascination, like she was the most extraordinary thing he’d ever seen.
“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”
She groaned and covered her face while he leaned down, clearly delighted, pressing kisses against her knuckles despite her complaints.
Another time, she’d made the mistake of criticizing herself aloud after a particularly exhausting day.
“I look awful.”
Dottore had gone still.
Slowly, dangerously still.
“What,” he asked carefully, “did you just say?”
She immediately regretted it.
“It’s not a big deal—”
“You,” he interrupted, stepping closer, “are attempting to call my partner ugly.”
“…Maybe a little?”
His expression turned almost offended.
“Absurd.”
“Zandik—”
“No. Absolutely not.” He cupped her face firmly in both hands, forcing her to look at him. “Do you have any idea how frequently I am distracted by you?”
She stared at him.
He continued without hesitation.
“You are beautiful when you wake up. Beautiful when you are angry. Beautiful when you are speaking. Beautiful when you are silent.” His thumbs brushed warmly over her cheeks. “You are quite possibly the loveliest creature I have ever encountered, and I am growing increasingly irritated by your inability to comprehend this.”
By the end of it, she could barely form coherent thoughts.
Which, unfortunately, seemed to amuse him greatly.
“There,” Dottore murmured, smug satisfaction bleeding into his voice as he watched her turn red. “Much better.”
------
There was one major problem with dating Il Dottore.
Actually, several problems.
But the *main* one?
The segments.
At first, she’d assumed they would ignore her.
Perhaps tolerate her at best.
After all, each segment possessed different objectives, personalities, and levels of patience. They were all Dottore, technically, but fragmented into different versions of himself across various ages and mindsets.
Which meant, unfortunately for her—Every single one of them inherited the obsession.
The moment she stepped into the laboratory halls, it began.
Every.
Single.
Time.
The heavy laboratory doors hissed open, and instantly heads turned.
Conversation stopped.
Pens paused.
Mechanical limbs froze mid-adjustment.
And then—
“There she is.”
“Good afternoon, beautiful.”
“You visited later than usual today.”
“She braided her hair differently.”
“Oh, she did.”
“It suits you.”
“Very pretty.”
Heat flooded her face instantly.
“Oh no,” she muttered under her breath.
One of the younger segments leaned halfway over a worktable just to wave enthusiastically at her.
Another abandoned whatever horrifying experiment he’d been working on entirely.
The eldest among them merely looked up from his notes, eyes narrowing thoughtfully before speaking in that calm, intelligent voice that somehow made everything worse.
“You appear fatigued. Did you sleep poorly again?”
“She definitely slept poorly,” another chimed in immediately. “Look at her eyes.”
“She is still adorable.”
“Agreed.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“Would you all stop—”
But they never did.
That was the problem.
Dottore’s mind, regardless of age or fragmentation, apparently reached the collective conclusion that she was the most fascinating creature alive.
Which meant traversing the laboratory hallways felt less like walking and more like enduring an onslaught of affection from dangerously intelligent men who all shared one consciousness.
“You should stay longer today.”
“You smell nice.”
“That color is pleasing on you.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Your heartbeat increased the second we noticed you.”
“Oh, don’t tell her that. You’re embarrassing her.”
“I believe she’s already embarrassed.”
She kept her head down and walked faster.
Which only made them more entertained.
“There she goes again.”
“She’s hiding her face.”
“Her ears turned red first.”
“Cute.”
“Extremely.”
By the time she finally reached the main laboratory, she was fully flustered beyond recovery.
Dottore himself barely had time to look up before she marched directly toward him and buried her burning face into his chest.
Silence.
Then his hand settled automatically against the back of her head.
“…What did they say this time?” he asked, sounding entirely too unsurprised.
She groaned.
“That does not answer the question.”
“They’re horrible.”
A pause.
“They are technically me.”
“You know what I mean.”
She could feel the faint vibration of amusement in his chest.
Traitor.
“They seem fond of you,” he said smoothly.
“‘Fond’ is not the word I’d use.”
Dottore hummed thoughtfully while stroking a hand slowly through her hair.
“They *are* behaving more tolerably than usual today.”
Her head snapped upward in disbelief.
“More tolerably?!”
“Yes.”
“Zandik, one of them analyzed my heartbeat!”
“That narrows it down very little.”
“Another one told me I smelled nice!”
“That was likely an observational statement rather than flirtation.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
Then, slowly—The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
“You’re enjoying this.” She huffed.
“A little.”
“Unbelievable.”
Truthfully, though?
She suspected he liked seeing her flustered because he caused it just as often himself.
Especially whenever he made things for her.
Dottore approached care with terrifying thoroughness.
Nothing involving her was ever rushed.
A passing complaint about restless sleep had resulted in nearly three straight weeks of research.
Not because he wanted to sedate her.
Quite the opposite.
He refused to make anything habit-forming or harmful.
“It would be irresponsible,” he’d said flatly when she suggested ordinary sleep medication. “Most solutions merely force unconsciousness rather than improving sleep quality itself. Inefficient.”
So naturally, he made his own.
When she arrived at the lab that evening, he was already waiting near his desk holding a small glass vial filled with pale lavender liquid.
“I have completed it,” he announced.
She immediately reached for it.
Dottore lifted it slightly out of reach.
“Before you drink unidentified substances, perhaps allow me to explain what they are.”
“You wouldn’t poison me.”
“Correct. But your confidence remains concerning.”
She held out her hand expectantly instead.
Without missing a beat, Dottore glanced around the laboratory.
Then, with complete seriousness, opened a drawer and retrieved a glass straw.
He handed it over like this was a perfectly normal interaction.
Which, unfortunately, for them?
It was.
Satisfied, she took the vial back and waited patiently while he adjusted his gloves and picked up a notebook.
“It should encourage natural sleep onset by calming excessive neural activity,” he explained, already slipping into lecture mode. “Non-addictive. Mild herbal base. No dependency formation during trials.”
She took a sip through the straw.
“…Sour.”
Dottore stopped speaking immediately.
“Sour?”
“Mhm.”
He picked up his pen instantly.
“Noted.”
“It’s fine.”
“You dislike sour flavors.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“The formulation can be improved.”
“Zandik.”
He was already writing.
“Reduced acidity. Possible floral sweetener addition—”
She laughed softly, reaching over to push the notebook down slightly.
“You do not have to optimize every single thing for me.”
Dottore looked genuinely confused by that statement.
“Why would I not?”
“Because normal people don’t completely redesign medicine over flavor.”
“I am not normal people.”
“…Fair point.”
He looked oddly pleased by her concession.
Then his gaze flicked toward the vial still in her hands.
“Continue drinking it.”
“Yes, doctor.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You are mocking me.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Hm.”
Despite the dry response, he stepped closer anyway, one hand settling against her waist while he watched carefully for any sign of discomfort.
Not clinical.
Not detached.
Just attentive.
Careful.Like every tiny reaction she had mattered.
-----
I hope you guys enjoyed!! I made a little book on Ao3 with my upcoming Dottore oneshots! You can commission or request stories there!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/85298991?view_full_work=true
i go back to the province because dentist appointment
then suddenly there's a fuck ton of side quests on top of that dentist appointment
What was supposed to be 2 hours of being outside became an entire day
I was supposed to help out on work and academic stuff, and I didn't have enough data to last the entire say.
I'm so pissed, this is the second week it has happened, where I want to dedicate the entire day to working on something or resting instead of getting dragged everywhere
The worst part is the next day, I'm going back to my dorm and that's even more annoying when the things im supposed to do the day before i have to do within the day, then I go back to class or work without having a proper weekend (whoever thought of saturday classes, you will stub your toe and drive to insane traffic in 2 hours fuck you)
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
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snowghoul
2087
dededos
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