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Masterlist
Haikyuu
Retired Prodigy
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Dad!Oikawa mini series
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Socks and Sneakers
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A Study in Human Bonds
Albedo x Reader | Angst | One- Shot
A Path Still Walked
Tighnari x Reader /Canon-divergent / Slow Burn / Hurt–Comfort / Angst
Part 1
Part 2
When no one is watching
Diluc x reader/Angst/emotional neglect
Part 1
Part 2
When no one is watching (2/2)
-Diluc x reader/Angst/emotional neglect
You are engaged.
You are in love.
And yet-he won’t hold your hand when someone might see.
✦word count | ~3.1 k words
✦Diluc x reader
✦Crossposted on AO3
⚠️Warnings
Emotional neglect, Public vs. private relationship conflict, Angst / emotional hurt, Argument between partner, Unhealthy relationship dynamics
“You do realize there’s no alcohol in your drink, right?“
You groan and drop your head against the wooden table. Once. Twice. Thrice. The surface is cold, yet somehow sticky.
When you look up again, Diona’s expression has shifted from annoyed to concerned.
“What?“
She tries to whisper— not successfully.
“What happened?“
You open your mouth. You want to answer. You really do. But your mind won’t let go of the moment.
“I—“
Your voice wobbles.
“I think I ruined my relationship. He won’t marry me anymore.“
The words spill out at once. Fresh tears well up immediately, clinging to your lashes. Diana blinks, taken aback.
“Did you break up?“
She’s cautious with her words—at least she tries to be. You shake your head.
“He… he called me a child.“
Before you can stop yourself, you drop your head back onto the table. Your shoulders shake as the tears finally break loose. Humiliation and embarrassment shoot through your body.
Diona straightens, glancing around nervously , like she’s trying to figure out the correct protocol for this situation—or maybe just someone who takes over for her.
After a few moments, she steps closer and pats your shoulder—lightly, awkwardly.
“There, there.“
She pushes the glass of water closer to you, not letting go of your shoulder.
“It´ll get better soon.“
You sniffle.
“You really think so?“
She shrugs.
That does it. You burst into tears again.
Diona panics immediately—ears straight up, tail puffed. After a beat of helpless silence, only your muffled sobs being heard, she hesitantly reaches out and pats your head instead.
—
Diluc sets the glass down a little too hard on the counter.
Kaeya has been watching him for a while now. He’s unfocused. His jaw stays clenched, tension carved into his face. When spoken to, his replies are sharp—or he doesn’t answer at all.
Kaeya raises an eyebrow.
“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?“
Diluc head snaps toward him. Kaeya leans back on the barstool, like he’s bracing to get out of range—probably unnecessary. Master Diluc isn’t someone to get physical. Especially not at Angels Share.
“What kind of nonsense are you spouting?“
Kaeya shrugs.
“Well.“
His gaze flicks to Diluc´s hands. Since Kaeya sat down, three wine glasses have shattered.
“Just a guess.“
“If you’d like to avoid a ban from my establishment—“
Diluc returns to his task, his voice cold.
“You’ll stop pestering me with your idiotic assumptions.“
Silence settles between them. Kaeya takes a slow sip of wine, watching Diluc from the corner of his eye.
“So…“
He starts again, swinging his left leg over the other.
“Your darling fiancée didn’t show up at headquarters today.“
That gets Diluc´s attention.
He turns toward Kaeya, expression controlled—but there’s something underneath it. Something sharp and restless.
Kaeya only hums, swirling the wine in his glass.
“Oh, come on.“
Diluc snaps.
“Spit it out.“
Diluc leans forward over the counter, glare darkening. Kaeya chuckles softly and shrugs.
“I was actually planning to ask you.“
He takes another sip of his wine.
“But on my way here, I happened to run into someone who was crying her eyes out at Cat´s Tail.“
Kaeya sets his glass down and rests his chin on his folded hands.
Diluc recoils—like he got burned. Just for a second. Then he catches himself and resumes polishing the glass in his hand.
“It was a stupid argument.“
He shakes his head.
“Over something childish.“
Kaeya hums again.
“And if it was really that childish, why is the person who should matter most to you left standing alone in public?“
Diluc doesn’t look at him.
“Careful. You don’t know what you’re talking about.“
“I know that it isn’t easy for you.“
Kaeya empties his glass in one go and jumps from the barstool.
“But you found someone who wants to spend the rest of her life with you. And now she doesn’t even know how she’s allowed to exist without upsetting you.“
Diluc´s grip falters—yet, his jaw stays clenched.
—
“Okay! Apple red, or cherry red?“
You have no idea how you ended up here.
Just moments ago, you were crying—during the day, in public— and suddenly Diona was scolding you, insisting that this was no reason to mope around, and certainly no excuse to neglect your duties.
She more or less escorts you straight to the Knights of Favonius headquarters.
Lisa had already been worried when you didn’t show up— but when she takes in your red, swollen eyes, she quietly reassigns you. No library cleanup. Art lessons.
“Uh…“ You sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve.
“I think the lighter red looks better.“
Klee squints at you suspiciously. Then she looks at the drawing in front of her.
“Hmmm. But cherry red is pretty too.“
She frowns in concentration, holding the two crayons—she’s been waving around your face just now— at an arms length, comparing them like a professional.
“Okay! Then I’ll draw you an apple-red dress.“
She decides, setting the dark red crayon aside.
“And the cherry red for the lipstick!“
She immediately gets to work, sketching a triangular dress onto the figure she’s drawn. Crayons are scattered everywhere.
Originally, Klee wanted to go outside and play— but after noticing your trembling hands and your puffy eyes, she decides that you could join her drawing session.
“Are you…“
You hesitate, leaning closer to the table. Klee is kneeling on the ground between the couch and the table, completely absorbed with her task.
“Are you drawing me?“
She nods enthusiastically, tongue sticking out as she colors carefully.
“Yeah! It’s a present for you!“
Your heart stutters.
“That’s really sweet…“
You smile, leaning your head on your hand. You watch her finish the figure, absentmindedly. Then starts drawing a smaller figure right beside it.
“And Klee goes in the picture too!“
Without thinking, she connects the hands of the two drawn figures.
Your breath catches. Tears sting in your eyes. How embarrassing.
You never thought something as simple as holding hands— the image of holding hands- could hurt this much.
You look away from the paper and scan the room. Drawings are everywhere. Klee with her mother. With Albedo. With Kaeya. With Jean.
Every single one shows the figures touching hands.
You sigh.
Of course.
Maybe Diluc was right. Maybe it really is childish. Adults don’t need this kind of confirmation.
“—No.“
Your head snaps back toward Klee. She’s staring at you now, eyebrows knit together.
…Did you say that out loud?
“That means Klee loves people.“
Her voice is serious as she straightens up, dropping the crayon in her hand.
“And Klee is not scared to show that she loves them.“
She climbs onto the couch beside you, proudly holding her picture up.
You give her a wobbly smile, fighting tears again.
“So… It just means that I am not scared to show that someone is important to me, right?“
You clutch the drawing tightly. Klee nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Now let’s go fish blasting!“
—
By the time you return to Dawn Winery, it’s already dark. The sun settled hours ago, now the only light shining your way were the torches.
You look up. The light in the master bedroom is off.
Adelinde greets you with open arms. She’d clearly been worried when you didn’t come home with Diluc.
“Master Diluc has already gone to bed.“
She takes your coat from you and hangs it up near the dresser.
“Have you eaten? Shall I warm something up for you?“
You hesitate, staring past her at the wall. Speaking to her feels heavy. You feel guilty. She didn’t do anything to harm you.
“Adelinde…“
You swallow.
“Could you… just prepare a guest room for me?“
The thought of confronting Diluc makes your stomach twist— but pretending everything is fine feels impossible.
Unfortunately, you didn’t plan far enough ahead to arrange somewhere else to stay.
“What?“
Adelindes voice falters.
“But—why?“
“I—ah, it’s nothing serious.“
You force a laugh, rubbing your neck, cheeks heating up.
“Just a small disagreement. It’ll pass. I’d just…like to sleep alone today.“
She hesitates, then nods and agrees.
You can’t remember ever sleeping this badly.
The bed is cold. The room feels suffocating. You spend more time sighing than sleeping.
When sunlight finally filters through the window, it feels like a relief.
Diluc is already awake when you enter the entrance hall. He sits at his usual place at the giant table, eating breakfast, scanning a letter in his hand.
When he sets it atop the towering stack beside him, your eyes meet.
Your heart stutters—but you don’t falter.
You don’t smile. You only nod politely.
“Good morning.“
He doesn’t respond.
Without another glance, he reaches for the next letter.
You click your tongue. Your anger flares up to cover the hurt his actions cause. Stubborn idiot.
Behind you, Adelinde calls your name brightly and ushers you toward your usual seat.
“Sit, sit. I’ll make you breakfast. Did you sleep well?“
You shake your head.
“Don´t bother.“
You push the chair back to the table—maybe a little too forcefully.
“I won’t eat with someone who won’t even greet me.“ Diluc doesn’t react.
Not even when you leave for Mondstadt. Alone.
—
You remember nothing.
You try desperately to grasp a thought, but there is only darkness— empty and still.
Then the sensation slowly returns.
Your head throbs. Your shoulders feel unbearably heavy. Your legs burn, like the skin has been torn away.
Images flash through your mind.
A mission.
A sword in your hands.
A blonde woman shouting for you to watch out.
A monster moving toward you. Too fast.
You remember hunger.
Exhaustion.
Annoyance at yourself.
Pain. Endless pain.
Carefully—very carefully— you peel one eye open.
You’re staring at a wooden ceiling. An unfamiliar ceiling. Disorientation flares up.
The air smells minty. Sharp, like medicine.
The headache is so overwhelming you have to close your eyes again. Your body feels impossible heavy, like it isn’t yours.
There’s pressure on your right hand.
Slowly, gently, you turn your head.
A tall man sits beside the bed. Long red hair. A black coat.
Your hand is clenched tightly in his. He stares down at the blanket pulled up to your shoulders, lost in thought.
You watch him for a while. He only seems to notice when you let out a shaky breath.
His head snaps toward you. His bloody red eyes widen.
For a moment, he says nothing. Then he carefully leans forward to cup your cheek.
“How do you feel?“
His voice was raspy, like he hasn’t used it in a while. You try to answer, but your throat feels like it’s full of sand.
You manage a tiny nod. Your head still pounds.
“You didn’t wake up for several days.“
He takes a shaky breath.
“I thought… I thought…“
He swallows hard, his composure cracking. He leans in, pressing his forehead against your bare shoulder, breathing deeply.
After a couple of moments, he straightens again.
“We need to talk.“
You blink.
“…I’ll get you some water first.“
He squeezes your hand one last time, then gets up and leaves the room.
Your heart is racing.
You can only hope that water will soothe your throat—
—and that afterward, you’ll somehow be able to explain to him that you have no idea who he is.
Socks and Sneakers
-Oikawa x Reader | Dad! Oikawa
The socks are wrong.
The day of the week is a mystery.
Mama is barely alive.
✦Mini Fic|~600 words
✦Oikawa x Reader
✦Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ Warnings: Sick / nauseous reader (implied hangover / illness)
“What do you mean, your socks are wrong? They’re both pink. They match.“
“Noooooo!“
Big, dramatic tears streamed down her cheeks as his daughter collapsed onto the carpet, rolling across it, arms flailing and heels thumping against the floor.
“There’s a thread between my toes! The socks are wroooong!“
Oikawa pinched the bridge of his nose. This was familiar territory. She’d scream, she’d cry, she’d forget all about it in— he checked an imaginary watch— approximately thirty seconds.
Much more pressing was the real crisis of the morning.
“Sweetheart. Which backpack are you taking to kindergarten?“
She paused mid-roll and looked up at him, cheeks blotchy, eyelashes clumped together with tears.
“… Don´t know.“
“What do you mean, you don’t know?“
She shrugged, pushed herself to her feet— and just like that, the socks ceased to exist as a problem.
“Don´t know.“
Oikawa dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily. His gaze drifted to the baby bouncer by the wall, where his son was happily babbling at absolutely nothing, tiny fists waving like he had an important point to make.
“Alright. Then I guess I have to ask Mama.“
He crept toward the bedroom, moving as quietly as possible.
“Papa! I wanna wear this!“
He glanced over his shoulder. His daughter stood proudly in the doorway, clutching a glittery dress with an alarming amount of tulle.
“Absolutely not.“
“Wheeeeey?“
“You are not going to kindergarten dressed as a princess.“
—
Not a single coherent thought formed in your head. You’d been drifting in and out of half-sleep for hours, your body heavy, your skull pounding like it had its own heartbeat.
Every movement made the nausea swell unpleasantly.
The bedroom door creaked open.
“Sweetheart? Honey?“
You buried your face deeper into the pillow, the sliver of hallway light burning behind your eyelids.
“Sweetheart? Which backpack is fr kindergarten? The purple one or the pink one?“
You frowned faintly. The question took far too much effort.
“…Pink.“
Oikawa nodded, satisfied, and slipped back out of the room.
With a soft groan, you sank even further into the mattress. Breathing was a little harder with your face half-buried, but at least the nausea eased. That felt like a fair trade.
A good ten minutes passed before the door opened again.
“Sweetheart? Honey?“
You turned your head just enough to make a small noise, letting him know you were alive.
“Is she getting juice or water? She says juice, but I don’t trust her.“
He stood in the doorway, holding up a water bottle in one hand and a juice box in the other.
“Both.“
You coughed, voice much worse than earlier.
“She… she always takes both.“
“Oh… okay. Thanks. I’ll make you some tea in a bit.“
He throws a kiss in your direction.
“Mm-hm.“
Once the door closed, you slowly worked yourself onto your back. A shower would be nice. Eventually. Preferably after Tooru had left with the kids. The mental image of your daughter gleefully slamming into your legs made your headache throb in protest.
You’d barely managed to sit up when—
“Sweetheart?“
You shot Oikawa a glare sharp enough to kill.
“Does she need sneakers? When do they have gym class?“
“…Fridays.“
“And today is…?“
“Not Friday.“
“So?“
“Ugh, Tooru! No shoes!“
Summoning the last of your strength, you hurled a pillow at him.
It missed by an impressive margin.
—
“Papa, look! Shoes like this!“
His daughter beamed up at him, proudly displaying her Velcro straps fastened crisscrossed.
“I see. Very impressive.“
His son was strapped snugly against his chest in the baby carrier, head tipped back far enough to stare into Oikawa’s soul. The baby blinked once. Slowly.
“Alright, team.“
Oikawa reached for his keys.
“Are we ready?“
“Ready!“
She bounced toward the door, crooked ponytail swaying with each step. Oikawa wondered, not for the first time, how many of those glittery hair clips she’d be bringing back home today.
“Nngh.“
He froze.
That sound.
Oikawa looked down just in time to see his son’s eyes lose focus, tiny face turning pink.
“No. Buddy. Please. Not now.“
“Nngh!“
The baby’s face went red.
“NNNGH!“
When no one is watching (1/2)
- Diluc x reader/Angst/emotional neglect
You are engaged.
You are in love.
And yet—he won’t hold your hand when someone might see.
✦word count | ~3.1 k words
✦ Diluc x Reader
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ Warnings
Emotional neglect, Public vs. private relationship conflict, Angst / emotional hurt, Argument between partner, Unhealthy relationship dynamics
“…what?“
You blink. Albedo doesn’t.
Has he blinked at all during this conversation?
You shake your head, like you can physically reset your thoughts if you try hard enough.
“Huh?“
“I said,“
Albedo repeats, voice level, fingers steepled on the desk as if he’s dissecting an equation rather than your love-life,
“That holding hands as a couple is generally considered one of the earliest expressions of romantic intimacy. How have you not achieved that milestone yet is… curious. You are engaged.“
You stare at him a moment too long. Long enough for the words to sink in and bruise.
“Wow.“
You squint at him.
“Remind me to warn your partner of getting roped into a social experiment—if you ever get one.“
A soft, almost imperceptible huff of amusement escapes him. He reaches out and takes the top half of the stack of books in your arms without asking, lightening the weight like it’s nothing.
It’s a quiet afternoon in the Knights library. Sunlight spills through the tall window in lazy bands, catching dust motes that drift without urgency, like the world has decided to rest. You were supposed to help Lisa reorganize the shelves. Somewhere along the way, Lisa vanished—deliberately, you suspect— leaving you alone with Albedo.
He´d “volunteered“.
He had absolutely been roped into this.
You don’t mind.
“I don’t believe I’m the appropriate person to consult for relationship advice.“
You sigh, exaggerated and weary, and crouch to inspect a crooked stack of books.
“I didn’t ask for advice,“
You grumble into your knees.
“I told you about my problem.“
You tug a dusty tome free and squint at the title.
“I mean— what’s my other option? Kaeya?“
Albedo pauses. Then, slowly, he squints back at the book in his hands.
“If I may be honest.. he would not be my first choice for… this particular subject.“
You groan.
“Shut up.“
He kneels beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The contact is brief, incidental—yet grounding. When he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze, it’s careful, deliberate, like he’s testing a hypothesis.
“I may not understand romantic relationships,“
He says,
“But from a friendship standpoint, openly discussing your concerns would seem …reasonable.“
You drop your face into your hands.
“I‘m a coward. How am I supposed to ask for something so—so stupid?“
“Requesting not to be ignored in public is not stupid,“
Albedo replies at once.
“Especially given that you are engaged.“
He rises again, slotting books neatly into place with mechanical precision.
“Yeah.“
You swallow.
“But what if that’s…just how he is?“
A bitter chuckle escapes you.
“Maybe he’s just emotionally constipated.“
You nod to yourself, like that explanation might seal the crack forming in your chest.
Then it hits.
Hot. Sudden. A sick, rolling heat low in your stomach, like something finally boiling over.
“No,“
You blurt, straightening too fast.
“No—because that doesn’t make sense. He’s the cuddliest man alive when we’re alone, but the second someone else is around—“
Your voice breaks.
“He won’t even hold my hand. He pulls away like I burned him.“
You laugh, thin and brittle, scrubbing at your face.
“You don’t understand. It’s like I stop existing.“
For the first time, Albedo doesn’t answer immediately.
“…Then—“
“There you are!“ Lisa’s voice sings from between the shelves.
You flinch.
Albedo straightens, expression smooth and neutral once more, but the unfinished sentence hangs in the air between you. Unsaid. Unresolved.
—
The tavern is quiet by the time the door closes behind you.
Diluc doesn’t speak— he rarely does when it’s just the two of you. He exhales instead, slow and deep, and the tension leaves his shoulders like it never belonged to him in the first place.
You barely have time to set your things down before he’s there. Arms around your waist. Forehead resting against your temple.
“You’re cold.“
“I‘m fine.“
He hums, unconvinced, and pulls you closer.
You fit against him perfectly. You always do. Like this is the shape you were meant to take, and any other would be wrong.
His thumb traces slow, idle circles against your wrist. Familiar. Possessive. The kind of touch that makes promises without words.
Later, when you’re half-asleep and he’s still there—still warm, still holding you like you’re something precious— you think, stupidly, that maybe this is enough.
Maybe it has to be.
—
The morning air is sharp, crisp enough to sting your lungs as you walk toward Mondstadt. The road is quiet. Birds sing. The city hums faintly in the distance.
For once, there is no space between you.
His hand is in yours.
You don’t comment on it. You don’t smile too much. You’ve learned better. You just walk, matching his pace, pretending it’s normal. Pretending you’re allowed to have this.
Near the bridge, the chatter of people can be heard.
Diluc‘s hand snaps away from yours like it’s been burned.
Your fingers close around nothing.
You stop.
“…Why did you do that?“
He takes two more steps before realizing you aren’t beside him. When he turns, his expression is already different— calm, distant. Public.
“We’re close to the city.“
His voice sounds too harsh.
“Don‘t start.“
“I didn’t start anything!“
You clear your throat, trying to cover up the shakiness in your voice.
“I just want to know why you let go.“
“You know why.“
Hes halfway turned around again.
“There’s no need for this.“
“No need for what?“
You step closer again.
“Holding my hand? Or pretending you don’t know me?“
His eyes flick down the road again. Always checking.
“You’re reading too much into it.“
He squints.
“This isn’t appropriate behavior in public.“
Your chest tightens painfully.
“We were just walking.“
“And that’s all we are. Two people walking.“
The words sink slow and cruel.
“So last night didn’t happen?“
You clench your fists.
“The way you held me. The way you kissed me like you were afraid to let go. Was that inappropriate too?“
“That’s private!“
He snaps.
“So am I only allowed to exist when no one’s watching?“
His jaw tightens.
“You’re being dramatic.“
You laugh, broken and breathless.
“I just wanted you to keep holding my hand.“
Silence stretches between you, heavy enough to crush.
“You’re not a child. Why do you need that kind of reassurance?“
Your throat burns.
“Because it makes me feel like you’re ashamed of me.“
That finally gets him. He straightens, eyes sharp.
“I´m not ashamed.“
“Then act like it. Just once. Choose me when someone might see. People don’t believe me when I tell them we’re in a relationship.“
His gaze hardens.
“When people speculate… that is not my concern. I won’t indulge this.“
Something inside you gives way. Clean. Final.
“I‘m not asking you to indulge me. I’m asking you to care.“
Your voice is barely above a whisper.
He steps back, like the distance itself is a shield.
“You’re childish. It’s embarrassing.“
The words steal the air in your lungs.
Before you can stop yourself— before you can reach for him—he turns away.
He doesn’t look back.
You’re left standing alone on the road, the morning light suddenly too bright, your hand still curled like it’s holding onto his hand.
Morning Duties
- Oikawa Tooru| Dad!Oikawa| Slice of life
Midnight? Maybe. Three AM? Definitely.
You stumble in, dizzy and exhausted… and Oikawa is already there, patient, gentle, ready to take care of you.
Fast forward to early morning: chaos, tiny feet, and a household that never sleeps.
Can one tired parent survive the madness with coffee and love?
✦ Mini Fic |~900 words
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ Warnings / Content Notes: Mild alcohol consumption / hangover
By the time you finally open the apartment door, it’s long past midnight.
At least, you think it is. Midnight was the last time you remember checking the time— somewhere between one drink too many and someone insisting you stay just a little longer. One glance at your phone—far too bright, far too close— confirms it’s already three in the morning.
You exhale slowly.
The door clicks shut behind you. The quiet seems unreal. Your ears ring. The humming of the refrigerator seems unrealistically loud. Bag down.
You crouch to unlace your shoes.
Halfway down, the room tilts.
Your stomach lurches, your vision swims, and you barely have the time to brace yourself before you lose your balance and land on all fours, palms splayed against the cool floor.
“…Okay.“
You close your eyes.
Count your breaths.
Wait.
The spinning eases, but the nausea clings, stubborn and heavy. When you open your eyes again, you’re staring at the back of your hands, trying to calculate the safest way to stand up without redecorating the hallway.
“…Everything okay?“
You jolt at the sound of your husband’s voice. A second later, the hallway light flicks on— and pain blooms sharp and sudden behind your eyes.
“Ugh—sorry.“
Your forehead drops to the floor.
“Did I wake you?“
Your voice comes out rough, words dragging behind your thoughts. Footsteps approach, soft and familiar. Oikawa drops down beside you without hesitation, one hand immediately threading into your hair, fingers gentle against your scalp.
“No. I was up anyway.“
His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Just finished feeding the monster.“
There’s a tired smile in his voice. He helps you sit up, steadying you. Still half bent over, he slips your shoes off, fingers practiced unhurried.
The rest comes in fragments.
A full glass of water pressed into your hands. You had to drink it all. No arguing allowed.
You hissing when your skin catches in the zipper as he helps you out of your dress. Him murmuring apologies into your shoulder.
Your weak protests while he wipes makeup from your face, the cloth warm, patient, like he has all the time in the world.
You staring at your toothbrush for far too long.
You don’t remember lying down.
You’re gone before your head ever hits the pillow.
Just in case, Oikawa places a bucket beside the bed. He tucks the blanket around you, pauses long enough to make sure your breathing has evened out, the finally allows himself to relax as he slips in beside you.
—
Oikawa´s morning starts at five thirty.
His son begins to cry—not because he’s hungry, or needs a diaper change. No. He just decided that he needs an audience while he mourns his own existence.
“…Yeah.“
Oikawa rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh.
“I feel that.“
He shuffles into the nursery and scoops his son up with a practiced motion. The crying dissolves into a small, offended whimper the moment the baby recognizes him.
Oikawa starts rubbing slow circles on his back.
“Why are we awake so early, buddy?“
The baby blinks, still pouting.
Oikawa sighs.
Couch it is.
—
Around six thirty, he hears the soft patter of bare feet.
His son is snoring lightly against his chest, bottle empty and discarded somewhere nearby. Oikawa himself has drifted off between one half-remembered match replay and the next. He blinks awake just as a small figure appears in the doorway.
Wild curls.
A stuffed doll dragging along the floor behind her.
“Papa.“
Her voice is thick from sleep.
“I…wake up.“
Oikawa sits up carefully and looks her over.
“…Where are your pants?“
She blinks. Looks down at herself. Sleep shirt. Pull-up.
“Oh.“
She rubs her face harshly.
“Gone.“
She shrugs, entirely unbothered, and toddles closer—then freezes when she sees her brother.
“Mama…Mama not with baby?“
Oikawa nods, pulling her close with his free arm.
“Mama is still sleeping. She feels yucky.“
His daughter considers this with great seriousness. Then she nods.
Silence settles.
“No pee.“
Oikawa smiles, pulls her closer to kiss her hair.
“That’s very good. I‘m proud of you.“
“…But now pee. Papa. Come. Hurry. Toilet.“
Yeah. Sure.
—
An hour later, cartoons hum softly in the background. His daughter hops across the living room, full of boundless energy. Oikawa scrolls through his phone with one hand while his son clings to his bottle like he’s narrowly escaped starvation. Again.
The jam sandwich has two tiny bites taken out of it. The cocoa remains almost untouched.
“Papa. Hold this.“
His daughters stuffed doll is deposited into his lap with great authority. His son pulls away from the bottle, brows knitting as he stares at it with all the intensity he can muster.
She doesn’t even notice him.
“Papa watch baby.“
She declares, hands on her hips.
“I clean.“
Oikawa blinks. His son resumes drinking, though his eyes never leave his sister.
“…Okay. The Papa is on baby-watching duty today.“
He lifts the doll carefully, to position her upright.
„Papa!“
His daughter snaps, stomping her tiny foot—still barefoot, because slippers are optional— while pointing a finger at him.
“Careful! Baby is sleeping!“
She disappears into her room and returns moments later wielding her toy vacuum cleaner. Immediately, she gets to work, carefully covering every inch of the rug while humming to herself.
Oikawa watches her for a moment.
“Hey. Miss Clean. Your vacuum cleaner is not plugged in.“
She stops dead.
Looks down.
Then up at him.
Her face fills with pure, scandalized disbelief— like he’s just embarrassed her in public.
“Papa.“
Her voice is deep, like she’s about to say something really important.
“Is just play.“
“Oh…“
She returns to her task, shaking her head, like she can’t believe she had to explain that to him.
“…Right.“
A Path Still Walked (2/2)
-Tighnari x Reader/Canon-divergent / Slow Burn / Hurt–Comfort / Angst
The forest has always kept you alive — from the moment you were left in Gandharva Ville to the present, where every breath still feels borrowed.
Growing up alongside Tighnari means safety, care, and quiet devotion… but also fear.
When love turns into protection, and protection into control, something has to break.
✦ Tighnari x Reader
✦ Word Count: ~4,9k
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ chronic illness, medical themes, parental abandonment, emotional conflict, near-death experience, Withering-related injury
“No.“
The word lands between you like an arrow thunking into bark.
You stop mid-strap, fingers tightening around the leather of your gear. Slowly, you look up.
Tighnari stands in the doorway of the Ranger Station, arms crossed, tail bristled in a way that means he’s trying very hard not to shout. His ears are angled back- not aggressive. Anxious. Always anxious, when it comes to you
“I‘m on patrol today. Cyno approved the route.“
“I don’t care if the Akademiya itself approved it.“
He snaps.
“You’re not going into a Withering-adjacent zone. Not with your condition flaring like this.“
Your jaw clenches.
“I‘m fine.“
He laughs once, sharp and humorless.
“You coughed up blood two nights ago.“
“That doesn’t—“
“That absolutely counts as ´not fine´“
He cuts in, voice rising despite himself.
“You can do paperwork. Inventory reviews. Training reports. Light work.”
You turn back to your gear.
“So you want me behind a desk.”
“I want you alive.”
The words come out too fast. Too honest.
You freeze.
Silence stretches, thick and suffocating. You can feel the hum of elemental energy outside—the forest restless, Withering spores faint but present. You know the risk. You always do.
But hearing it like that—
You straighten slowly and face him fully.
“I am not fragile.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You don’t have to.“
You shoot back.
“You say it every time you look at me like that.”
His ears flick forward.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m already half-gone.”
That one hits.
Tighnari exhales sharply, hand coming up to rub his temple.
“That’s not fair.”
“No.“
You whisper.
“What’s not fair is being told I’m too sick to do my job.”
“I’m telling you you’re too important to throw yourself into danger just to prove a point!”
Your chest tightens—not the illness this time. Something worse.
“Is that what you think this is?”
You tilt your head.
“A point?”
He steps closer.
“You push yourself every time. You ignore the symptoms, you downplay the flare-ups, and then you act surprised when your body gives out. I’ve seen this pattern since we were children.”
“And I’m still here!“
You snap.
“Despite everything, I’m still here.”
“For now.“
That’s it.
Your hands curl into fists.
“So what? I just stop? I sit safely inside while everyone else risks their lives because my existence makes you nervous?”
His eyes widen.
“That’s not—”
“You don’t get to decide my worth based on how breakable I am.”
“I don’t think you’re breakable!”
His voice cracks, finally.
“I think you’re burning yourself out and I can’t—I can’t watch it happen again.”
Again.
The word lingers.
You swallow.
“You’re not my keeper, Tighnari.”
“I know.“
He says, softer now. Too soft.
“That’s the problem.”
Your breath stutters. You turn away before he can see it.
“I don’t want special treatment.“
You clench your fists.
“I don’t want to be the liability everyone tiptoes around.”
He takes another step, then stops himself.
“You’re not a liability.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Bruised.
Finally, he speaks—quiet, almost to himself.
“Every time you go out there…I feel like I’m waiting for a report that says your condition reacted badly. That the elements surged, that your lungs failed you, that—”
He swallows hard.
“That I was too late.”
You turn back, heart pounding.
“Tighnari…”
“I know it’s selfish!“
He continues, words tumbling now.
“I know it’s unfair and controlling and I hate that about myself, but I can’t stop thinking that if I just keep you inside, if I just limit the risks enough, then maybe—”
“Maybe what?“
Your voice is a whisper.
“Maybe you won’t leave.”
The confession lands wrong. Heavy. Like chains.
Your chest aches.
“So I’m a burden?“
You ask quietly.
“Something you have to manage.”
His face goes pale.
“That’s not—”
“Because that’s what it sounds like.”
You shoulder your pack, movements sharp, decisive. The familiar weight grounds you.
“I won’t live my life shrinking just so you feel less afraid.“
You inhale deeply.
“I refuse.”
He watches you, torn between anger and something dangerously close to panic.
“…If you walk out that door, and something happens—”
“That’s my choice.“
You cut in.
“Just like it’s your choice to see me as someone worth trusting.”
You move past him.
At the doorway, you pause—not turning back.
“I love you.“
You add, voice rough.
“But I won’t be caged by it.”
Then you leave.
Behind you, Tighnari stands alone, fists clenched at his sides, ears flattened as the sound of your footsteps fades—wondering when love turned into something that felt so much like fear.
—
The forest feels wrong before it looks wrong.
At first, it’s just quiet. Not the gentle, breathing quiet of the Avidya Forest, but something stretched thin—like sound itself is being held back. Your steps crunch too loudly against the soil. The leaves don’t answer.
You slow, hand brushing the strap of your bag.
Probably just tired, you think, and hate yourself a little for how often you think that.
The air is heavy.
Not humid. Not warm. Just… thick. Each breath feels like it stops halfway in, as though your lungs are hitting an invisible wall. You pause, frowning, and take a deeper breath to compensate.
It doesn’t help.
Your chest tightens—not sharply, not yet. Just enough to notice. Enough to make you swallow and roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the unease.
You’re fine, you tell yourself, stubborn as ever. You’ve handled worse.
You keep walking.
A few minutes pass. Or maybe seconds. Time is strange when your body starts keeping secrets from you.
Your breaths grow shorter. You don’t realize it at first—only notice that you’re counting your steps instead. Three strides in. Two out. That’s not right. You slow again, press a hand to your ribs.
The forest tilts, just slightly.
You laugh under your breath, shaky.
“Get a grip.“
You mutter, though the sound comes out thin. Wrong.
That’s when you smell it.
Not rot. Not smoke.
Something sharp. Metallic. Like rain that never falls.
Your vision blurs at the edges, the green bleeding into itself. You blink hard, once, twice, but the world doesn’t sharpen. Instead, it pulses—faintly, rhythmically—like the forest has a heartbeat and it’s out of sync with your own.
Withering.
The realization hits too late.
Your lungs seize.
It’s not like drowning. There’s no water, no panic rush. Just the awful certainty that the air you’re pulling in isn’t doing anything. Each breath is smaller than the last, shallow and useless, scraping against a chest that refuses to expand.
You stumble.
Your foot catches on a root you’ve walked past a hundred times, and suddenly the ground is rushing up to meet you. You barely manage to catch yourself on your hands and knees, palms sinking into damp soil.
“—Nari—”
You try.
Nothing comes out.
Your throat tightens, strangling the sound before it can form. You cough once, dry and painful, and the effort steals what little air you have left.
Your hands shake as you press one flat against the earth, the other clawing weakly at your chest like you can force it to work through sheer will.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But your body doesn’t listen.
The world narrows to sensation:
the ache in your ribs,
the burn behind your eyes,
the way the forest’s hum seems to vibrate straight through your skull.
You try again to call out. Your mouth opens. Your lips move.
Tighnari.
The name stays trapped inside you.
And then the thought comes—the cruel one, the one you don’t want but can’t stop.
He’s not coming.
Not after the way you left. Not after what you said.
Your chest tightens further, panic finally breaking through the fog. Your breathing turns erratic, each attempt worse than the last, like your lungs are folding in on themselves.
Your vision darkens at the edges, speckled with white.
I should have turned back, you think wildly. I should have listened.
You shift, trying to crawl, but your limbs feel distant, heavy. The strength drains out of your arms, and you slump onto your side, cheek pressed against the cool earth.
The forest looms above you, warped and swaying.
You focus on the ground, on a single leaf half-buried in the soil. If you can just stay awake. If you can just—
Your breath stutters.
Stops.
For one horrible second, there is nothing.
Then a weak, shuddering inhale drags itself into your lungs, sharp enough to make you gasp. Pain flares, bright and overwhelming, and you curl in on yourself instinctively, fingers digging into the dirt.
Tears blur your vision—not from fear. From frustration. From exhaustion.
“I’m sorry…“
You whisper, though you don’t know who it’s for.
Your eyes flutter.
The forest fades.
—
Sound returns first.
Not gently—suddenly. A crack like splitting wood. A sharp shout, distant but urgent.
“—back!”
Something explodes nearby. Heat washes over you, followed by the smell of scorched bark and ozone. Your body jolts at the shockwave, pain flaring as sensation rushes back too fast.
You gasp.
Air tears into your lungs, burning, ragged, but real. You cough violently, rolling onto your side as hands grab your shoulders—steady, but unmistakably panicked.
“Easy—don’t fight it—”
That voice.
Your vision swims. Gold and green bleed together until the shape above you sharpens, resolves.
“Nari—”
You croak.
Relief shatters something in his expression.
“I’ve got you.“
Tighnari says, too fast, too tight.
“You’re safe. Stay with me.”
Behind him, the forest is chaos.
The ground is scorched in a wide arc, vegetation blackened and smoking. Something writhes among the trees—an amorphous mass of corrupted growth, veins glowing sickly purple as it lashes out blindly. A Withering Zone core. Bigger than it should be.
Too close.
Cyno stands a short distance away, polearm crackling with restrained lightning as he keeps the creature at bay.
“Tighnari!“
He calls sharply.
“Now would be good.”
“I know.“
Tighnari snaps back.
He presses something cold and sharp-smelling beneath your nose. Instinct takes over; you inhale, choking, lungs spasming as the remedy forces them to open.
Pain. Then air.
“Again.”
He orders, voice steadier now, professional as a shield.
“Slow.”
You obey, clinging to the sound of him. To the pressure of his hand at your back, grounding you.
Your breathing evens out—ragged, but functional.
That’s all he needs.
He lowers you carefully to the ground, easing you against a tree, already moving before you can protest.
“Don’t move.“
This time it’s not a request.
“Don’t close your eyes.”
“I—”
You swallow.
“Be careful.”
His ears flick back. He doesn’t look at you.
“Always am.”
Then he turns.
The fight is brutal and fast.
Tighnari moves with lethal precision, every motion economical, controlled. Arrows fly in quick succession, each one tipped with reagents that hiss and burn on contact, disrupting the Withering’s core. Cyno strikes in tandem, lightning cleaving through corrupted growth, forcing the thing back.
It shrieks—a sound that vibrates in your bones.
You watch through half-lidded eyes, heart hammering, breath shallow but holding. Each impact sends tremors through the ground. Each second stretches thin.
Finally, with a sound like tearing wet cloth, the core ruptures.
Light flares.
Then silence.
The forest exhales.
The oppressive weight lifts all at once, like a hand finally released from your chest. You suck in a full breath—deep enough to make you cough again—and laugh weakly when it doesn’t hurt as much as you expect.
It’s over.
Tighnari is back at your side instantly, crouching, scanning your face with frightening intensity.
“Talk to me.“
He raises his hand to your face.
“How many fingers?”
You squint.
“You’re… hovering.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Three. Maybe four. You’re shaking.”
He stills.
Only then do you notice it—his hands trembling where they brace against your knees. His tail is rigid, ears pinned so flat they nearly disappear into his hair.
“You shouldn’t have been alone.”
“I know.”
“You should have turned back.”
“I know.”
His jaw tightens. For a moment, it looks like he might say something sharp. Something cruel. Something honest.
Instead, he exhales slowly, carefully, like he’s forcing himself not to break.
“I almost lost you.”
The words land heavier than any accusation.
Your fingers curl weakly into his sleeve.
“I’m still here…see?”
He closes his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then he nods—once, sharp and decisive—and shifts closer, careful as he supports your weight.
“Let’s get you home.“
His voice is softer now.
“We’ll argue later.”
You smile faintly, exhaustion dragging at your limbs.
“Okay.“
You agree.
The forest, restored and breathing around you, bears quiet witness as he lifts you into his arms and carries you back—this time, watching every step of the path.
A Path Still Walked (1/2)
-Tighnari x Reader/Canon-divergent / Slow Burn / Hurt–Comfort / Angst
The forest has always kept you alive — from the moment you were left in Gandharva Ville to the present, where every breath still feels borrowed.
Growing up alongside Tighnari means safety, care, and quiet devotion… but also fear.
When love turns into protection, and protection into control, something has to break.
✦ Tighnari x Reader
✦ Word Count: ~4,9k
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ chronic illness, medical themes, parental abandonment, emotional conflict, near-death experience, Withering-related injury
“The path is much easier to walk than it used to be.“
You don’t know why you say it. The thought slips out before you can stop it.
Collei glances at you, surprised.
“What? Why would you think that?“
You smile, small and almost embarrassed, you eyes drifting to the forest floor. Roots still break through the earth here and there, but they no longer feel like obstacles- just part of the ground.
“I don’t know.“
You shrug, nibbling on the inside of your cheek.
“I think… I might have come into the village this way. A long time ago.“
The idea settles strangely in your chest. Not sharp. Just heavy.
—
Back then, you could barely keep up.
The man walking ahead of you moves with long, purposeful strides, and you struggle to match them. Your gaze stayed fixed on the ground, afraid of tripping over exposed roots. Mud clinged to your shoes, the glossy leather already ruined.
Your nanny would have been furious.
You gathered the hem of your ruffled dress in both hands and dare to look up only briefly. The oversized sunhat slipped, held in place only by the ribbon tied under your chin. Two weeks. That’s how long it has been since your parents left you at the Akademiya in Sumeru.
For research purposes.
No.
They didn’t call it that.
“So you’ll feel better soon, little bird.“
Nicknames. Always nicknames. Your parents have many children and very little time. It has been forever, since they called you by your name. You’re certain they’ve forgotten your name- certain they’ve forgotten you’re gone at all.
“—Umph!“
You stumbled backwards when the man in the front of you stops abruptly, colliding with his back for a brief moment.
The village opens up before you.
Wooden huts built at varying heights, connected by narrow bridges. For someone who has spent her entire life in bright lit, sterile rooms, confined to a bed, it looked unreal- like the fairy villages from the storybooks you used to read in secret.
Your thoughts were interrupted as your companion greeted another man. He’d mention him on the way-his mentor from his Akademiya days.
The mans face was kind.
And then you noticed his ears.
Animal ears. Fox ears.
You frowned without meaning to, then quickly look away when his gaze lands on you. Your nanny’s voice echoed sharply in your mind. Staring is rude.
“This… this is the girl?“
The man asked, clearly surprised.
“From the reports, I assumed she’d be nearly grown.“
“She’s only eight.“
Your companion answered, gently pushing you forward.
“The advanced diagnosis caught us off guard. The Akademiya has… given up. Her body is not reacting to any treatment.“
Your head snapped up. That was new.
Given up?
You wanted to ask what that means, but the lump in your throat stole your voice.
“Based on her measurements and bloodwork, she reacts strongly to elemental fluctuations. Her condition improves when she’s surrounded by nature. So…“
Your companion glances down at you.
“If she could spend what time she has left here, without pain…“
You didn’t hear the rest of it.
Your vision blurred as tears flood your eyes. Your heartbeat roared in your ears, drowning out everything else. There’s a high, piercing ringing, and you tilted your head back, dizzy.
Remaining time?
You’re not allowed to go home?
Before your thoughts could spiral further, a hand settles gently on your shoulder.
The man kneeled in front of you, his ears angled forward with concern, but with a smile on his face.
“You don’t need to be afraid. What’s your name?“
You have to swallowed the lump in your throat before answering properly. He nodded, studying you carefully.
“You’re small for your age.“
He murmured, eyes not leaving you.
“But polite. My son could learn something from you. He’s just a bit older than you.“
Then he called over his shoulder.
“Tighnari!“
Boots thud against wood as someone approaches at a run. A boy rounds the corner with the same ears, his knees smeared with dirt. A bandaid sat on his nose and a sharp canine peeks over his lip.
“Dad! There was a red flower. Really red. Really, really red!“
“I know. They grow everywhere here.“
His father answered patiently, waving the son, Tighnari, closer.
“No. This one was different. Redder.“
The boy was breathless, arms flailing as he talks. Then his eyes landed on you.
He grinned. Crookedly. All teeth.
“Hi! I´m Tighnari! Who are you?“
He held out his hand.
Your own hands tightened in your dress.
You blushed.
“She’s a little shy. Be gentle.“
Tighanris father patted Tighnaris back comfortingly.
“She’ll be staying with us. Why don’t you take her with you and make her some tea?“
Tighnaris face lighted up.
“Oh! Come on. I’ll make chamomile tea-thats good for calming down. Unless you have a stomach ache-then peppermints better. Want me to tell you about all our herbs?“
He grabbed your hand without hesitation, tugging you toward the huts as he chattered on. His tail swayed happily behind him.
And for the first time in weeks, you smiled.
—
“Sometimes, I forget you’re not from this village originally.“
Collei laughs softly, embarrassed.
You nod. You do too, sometimes.
“Master Tighanri and you grew up together, right?“
You nod again.
“We spent everyday together. Except for when he went to study at the Akademiya.“
Collei eyes brighten.
“What was he like? As a child?“
A sound escapes you that might count as a laugh.
“As a child? Oh, he was loud. And bold. He ran everywhere and-“
Your voice softens.
“He was gentle. Only with me.“
—
You’ve read the letter five times.
When Tighanris father told you a letter from your parents has arrived, your heart nearly stopped. You retreated to the small room you´ve been given, curling up behind the door to read it alone.
You didn’t expect much. They’re busy. You should be grateful they remembered at all.
Grateful. Grateful. Grateful.
“What are you doing all the way over here?“
You flinched.
Tighnari stood in front of you, hands on his hips. His father lingered behind him, wearing an apron- probably here to call you for dinner.
“What’s that?“
Tighnari leaned down, curiosity written all over his face.
“What does it say? Dear- hey! That’s not even your name!“
He yanked the letter from your hand. His father scolded him immediately, but you interrupt.
“It’s my sisters name. They mix us up all the time.“
You laughed—thin and brittle—standing up while dusting your knees off.
“They just..hope I use my time well. That I behave and-“
Your voice breaked.
Tighnaris father stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Whatever restraint you had left dissolves instantly. You sobbed into his shoulder, shaking.
Tighnari stared at the letter in his hands, frowning. You’ve been with them for half a year already. How could that be all your parents had to say?
“That’s stupid.“
He muttered, letting go of the letter.
Then, he stepped closer, patting your leg- the only part of you he can reach, while his father is carrying you.
“If you want… you can have my pudding tonight. After dinner.“
It was the first—and last—time you ever heard from your parents.
—
“Where were you so long?“
Tighnari stands in the entrance hall with his arms crossed when you and Collei return.
“Huh?“
You glance at the clock.
“I was only gone for fifteen minutes! I picked up Collei from her patrol. Like I said I would.“
In truth, you’ve lingered. Tighnari insisted on checking your vitals. You insisted on a moment of quiet.
He waves it off.
“We still have data to review, and Collei needs to finish her report-“
His gaze sharpens as it shifts to her.
“Or… is your Eleazar flaring up again?“
“No, no!“
Collei shakes her head.
“I’m fine.“
You laugh.
Years have passed since then. Too many to count. The Akademiya. The forest. Examinations that declared you dead long before you were ready to be.
The forest keeps you alive. Leaving it hurts. So you stayed.
You became a ranger. You took a hut of your own. You learned to live within limits everyone else decided for you.
People whisper. Call you fragile. Useless. A burden.
So you kept your circle small.
Tighnari.
His friend, Cyno.
Some years later, Collei.
Tighnari. It’s always been Tighnari.
—
You’d been coughing all day.
The kind that makes your chest ache and your throat feel scratchy and raw. The kind that made adults frown and hover and bring you too many blankets. Tighnari’s father had been checking your temperature every hour, pressing a cool hand to your forehead, muttering worriedly while you tried very hard not to cough again.
Tighnari watched from the doorway.
He didn’t like the sound your cough made. Too loud for someone so small.
By the time night came, you were exhausted. Your room smelled faintly of herbs and warm water, the lantern turned low so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes. You lay curled on your side, clutching the blanket like it might keep your lungs from misbehaving if you held it tight enough.
You didn’t hear him come in.
You only noticed when the mattress dipped beside you.
“…Hey.“
Tighnari whispered.
You blinked blearily and turned your head. He was sitting stiffly at your side, tail tucked close, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there. His ears flicked when you coughed again, small hands balling into the fabric of his tunic.
“Sorry.“
You rasped automatically, trying to breathe steadily.
He frowned.
“You don’t have to say sorry.“
It sounded like he practiced this.
“You didn’t choose to cough.“
He knew that it was not a cold. He shuffled closer, careful, like you might break if he moved too fast. After a moment of intense thinking- his brows knit together so tightly it almost hurt to look at- he gently placed one hand on top of the blanket near your shoulder.
Not touching you directly. Just close.
“My dad says… when people are sick, it’s good when they’re not alone. So… I´m here.“
Your chest felt tight for a different reason now.
You coughed again, smaller this time, and he startled- but didn’t pull away. Instead, he awkwardly patted the blanket twice.
“There.“
He nods to himself.
“I think that helps.“
You smiled weakly.
“I think it does too.“
Encouraged, he scooted even closer until your shoulders almost touched. His tail brushed your arm, warm and fuzzy, and after a second he hesitated… then gently laid it over your wrist like a very strange, very soft bracelet.
“If it gets bad… you can squeeze it. The tail. Not too hard, though.“
You nod, eyes stinging a little.
“Okay.“
Silence settled in, broken only by your breathing. Tighnari swung his legs slowly.
“When I was sick once, I pretended to be a really strong tree.“
You turned your head toward him.
“A… tree?“
“Yeah. Trees don’t cough. They just stand there. So I stood very still and it went away.“
He explained with great confidence. You let out a tiny, breathy laugh that turned into a cough. He immediately looked stricken.
“Sorry! I shouldn’t have said something funny-“
“No.“
You catch your breath.
“It was nice.“
He relaxed again, ears dropping in relief.
“You could be a tree too. A small one. Trees can be small. And strong.“
That imagine- yourself as a stubborn little tree, roots dug deep, refusing to be knocked over- settled warmly in your chest.
You closed your eyes.
Tighnari stayed.
He counted your breaths. When your coughing finally eased, he carefully tugged the blanket higher around your shoulders.
“Dont worry. I’ll watch you.“
As sleep pulled you under, you felt his tail still resting agains your wrist.
Warm. Steady.
Like he meant it when he said you weren’t alone.
—
The room smells faintly of antiseptic and crushed leaves.
Tighnari stands at the table, flipping through your latest reports, tail swaying slowly behind him in a way you’ve learned not to stare at- though you fail more often than you’d like. His ears twitch as he reads, his brow furrowing deeper with every line.
You watch him instead of the wall, chin propped on your hand.
“You’re staring.“
He’s not even looking up.
“I´m waiting.“
You correct him.
He sighs and finally puts the papers down.
“Your bloodwork is inconsistent.“
You shrug.
“It usually is.“
“Not like this.“
He reaches for a small vial from the tray beside him, rolling it between his fingers. The glass catches the light.
“Your oxygen absorption has dropped again.“
You straighten a little.
“I feel fine.“
“That’s not the point.“
You smile faintly.
“You always say that.“
Tighnari turns toward you fully now, ears angling back in that way that means he’s trying very hard to stay calm. He steps closer-close enough that you can smell the familiar mix of forest air and medicine clinging to his clothes.
“That’s precisely the point. You don’t feel it until it’s already worse.“
Your heart kicks in your chest, traitor that it is.
“I´ve lived with this longer than you’ve treated it.“
Your voice is soft, because you know how close he is to snapping.
“I know my limits.“
He studies your face for a long moment. Not like a doctor.
Like someone who’s memorized the cracks.
“That’s what worries me.“
Silence stretches between you. Comfortable. Charged.
He clears his throat and gestures to the table.
“Sit.“
You obey without a comment, swinging yourself up and settling back against the the cool surface. You’ve done this a thousand times. That’s what makes the way his gaze lingers feel… different.
He pulls on his gloves. The soft snap of latex is absurdly loud.
“I´ve been working on a new remedy. It’s meant to stabilize your breathing when exposed to environmental shifts.“
Your breath hitches-just a little.
“Is this why you’ve been up so late?“
He pauses. Just for a fraction of a second.
“Yes.“
You smile to yourself. When he turns back, he’s holding a small tin, steam curling faintly from its surface. The scent is sharp and herbal, tinged with something warm beneath it.
“…I need to apply it directly. Over the sternum.“
Your fingers curl against the edge of the table.
His ears flick.
“If you’re uncomfortable-“
“I´m not.“
You answer too quickly.
“I trust you.“
That does it.
Something in his expression shifts—guard down, just for a moment. He steps closer, close enough that his knee brushes yours.
“Take off your shirt.“
His voice is steady. Professional.
You do. The air is cool against your skin, and you fight the urge to shiver. His gaze flicks away immediately, focusing on the tin in his hands. He scoops a small amount of the remedy onto his gloved fingers.
“Cold.“
He warns. You nod. His touch lands gently, right at the center of your chest.
You inhale sharply despite yourself.
He apologizes, though his pressure doesn’t change. His touch is careful, reverent, like you might shatter beneath it. He spreads the remedy slowly, methodically, avoiding everywhere he doesn’t need to touch.
It burns. Pleasant. Anchoring.
You’re painfully aware of how close he is. Of the way his breath ghosts across your collarbone. Of how his tail has gone still.
“You’re quiet.“
“Concentrating.“
His hand lingers. It shouldn’t.
The remedy has been applied, the tin sealed and set aside, but neither of you moves. The space between you shrinks without either of you leaning closer— like the air itself has decided to pull you together. You can see the gold flecks in his eyes now. Count the fine lines at the cornersyou´ve known since childhood. His breath is warm against your skin, uneven enough that you notice.
“Tighnari.“
He doesn’t answer.
His gaze drops— to your lips, just for a heartbeat. Long enough to be unmistakable. Long enough to make your chest ache where his hand had been moments ago.
Your fingers twitch at your sides.
You’re too close.
You know it. He knows it.
If either of you moved an inch—
The door flies open.
“Master Tighnari!“
Collei stumbles inside, bright and unbothered by concepts like knocking.
“Cyno is asking if you’ve seen the—“
Silence slams into the room.
Collei freezes.
Tighnari jerks back like he’s been shocked, ears flattening hard against his head. You scramble off the table at the same time, nearly knocking over the chai in your haste.
“I—“
Collei starts, eyes darting between you.
“Oh.. sorry. I didn’t realize—“
“OUT!“
Tighnari says, too loud, too fast.
Collei squeaks and retreats, slamming the door behind her with an apologetic thud.
The room is suddenly too quiet.
Too bright.
Too aware of itself.
Tighnari clears his throat and turns away, hands fisting briefly at his sides before he forces them still.
“You’re cleared. As I said. Light duties only.“
His voice is stiff. You smooth your shirt, heart racing, face warm.
“Right. Of course.“
Neither of you looks at the other.
You both pretend nothing almost happened.
No <3
— Oikawa Tooru | Dad!Oikawa | Slice of Life
Keeping toddlers alive and happy is a full-time job… even for Oikawa Tooru.
Between pebbles, bugs, and pudding lid catastrophes, today might be the longest walk ever.
✦ Mini Fic | ~1k words
✦ Dad!Oikawa
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ Fluff, toddler chaos, parenting Dad energy
Keeping a toddler walking was hard work.
Normally, when his wife was with them, she’d carry the baby or push the stroller, while Oikawa carried their daughter. Or she’d sit on his shoulders. She’d complain about hurting feet, or start babbling about everything that had happened in kindergarten the other day.
Today, Oikawa was facing this dilemma alone.
His son was still strapped into the carrier on his chest, tiny head thrown back to stare straight into Oikawa´s soul. Occasionally, little hands would try to grab onto something, ending up clutching his shirt. Every now and then, he made “oh“, “uh“, or “ah“ sounds, trying to communicate with his father.
Oikawa, tough, was busy.
“Papa!“
“Yes, sweetheart?“
His daughter had stopped a few steps behind him, squatting down.
“There’s a rock!“
He blinked. Looked down.
There was a rock. A completely unremarkable pebble, embedded in the sidewalk like it had always been there and always would be.
“…Okay.“
She squinted at it, like a mini detective investigating a crime scene.
“It’s shiny!“
“It is. Very shiny.“
The baby shifted against his chest, a tiny sigh puffing warm air through the fabric. Oikawa adjusted the carrier instinctively- one hand supporting the small back, the other hovering uselessly in toddler-emergency readiness.
“Can I bring it home?“
Oikawa hesitated. He knew how this would end. By the end of the week, pebbles would be lining every surface, because they can’t be lonely. By week two, she’d start putting them in her bed, because they should be comfy.
He’d see his wife handle those situations. Gently negotiate. Gently redirect. Gently escape.
However, he was not his wife.
“That rock has a family.“
He said solemnly.
“If you take it, Mother Rock will be devastated.“
His daughter froze.
“Rocks have mamas?“
“Yes.“
“Do they cry?“
“Constantly.“
Her expression shifted from confused to horrified. Carefully, she patted the pebble.
“Okay. Bye, rock!“
The walking resumed.
Four steps.
“Papa?“
Oikawa stopped again.
“…Yes?“
“There’s a bug!“
A ladybug crawled along the curb, minding its own business. His daughter squatted down again.
Oikawa sighed as the baby shifted again, this time complaining with an offended “eh!“
“Honey… your brother will get hungry soon. We have to go home.“
“But it’s lost!“
The ladybug continued walking in a straight, very confident line.
“…It looks pretty sure of itself.“
“It doesn’t know where its house is!“
Oikawa crouched as far as the carrier allowed.
“Listen. Bugs have built-in maps. Like Papa.“
“Papa. You don’t have maps.“
“That’s just because Papa refuses to admit that he’s lost.“
She considered this. Then nodded, satisfied.
“Okay.“
She stood-slowly, carefully- and reached for his free hand. Oikawa took it like it was sacred.
They walked again. Victory felt fragile.
Half a block later, her steps slowed.
Then dragged.
Oikawa felt it immediately- the shift in weight, the subtle lean.
“No… no, no, no.“
He whispered, clutching her hand tighter.
“Papa?“
His daughter looked up at him, speaking softly- the way she did when she was about to ask for something unreasonable.
“Dont say it.“
“My legs are tired.“
He looked down at her. Looked at the baby. Looked at the long, long stretch of sidewalk ahead.
“Your legs… you mean the same legs that survived a mortal injury fifteen minutes ago?“
“They’re very weak now.“
He pressed his lips together, thinking hard.
Normally, this was where he’d scoop her up, toss her onto his hip like it was nothing. Easy. Automatic.
But his son shifted again, warm and solid against his chest, and Oikawa knew he couldn’t do both. Not safely. Not without risking a headline he really didn’t want.
“Sweetheart… a little more?“
—
When his wife had been pregnant with their son, they’d moved into their new house. Back then, Oikawa praised the location. The playground was “only five minutes away.“
No one could have prepared him for a day when the walk took them half an hour.
By the time he finally maneuvered both children into the house, he was ready to call in sick for the next week. Maybe his coach would understand.
His son- now whining- clutched Oikawa’s shirt like a lifeline as he tried to put him into the baby bouncer.
“I know, buddy. I’ll get your bottle ready. I won’t leave, I promise.“
Apparently, Oikawa was an unreliable human being.
His son broke into sobs as soon as he was strapped in.
“I know, I know. You’re starving. You poor Victorian child who’s never seen food in his life…“
Oikawa shook the bottle to mix the formula, then turned the bottle warmer on.
“Alright, buddy. Three minutes. You can do it!“
He cheered.
His son stopped crying- only to stare at him with wobbly lips and red cheeks, fist clenched. In frustration or anger, Oikawa couldn’t tell.
“Papa?“
His daughter appeared in the kitchen, toddling over with exaggeratedly exhausted steps.
“Can I have a pudding?“
Oikawa exhaled. Finally- a task that wasn’t complicated.
He grabbed the pudding from the fridge and tore the lid off. All the way off.
“Here you go, sweetheart.“
His daughter blinked at him.
“Papa.“
“Yes?“
“You… broke it.“
“What? No, it’s all there. Look.“
He lifted the pudding, trying to prove it wasn’t broken or torn.
“Noooo-!“
She basically exploded into tears.
“I WANTED TO TAKE THE LID OFF!“
She hiccuped furiously, dramatically collapsing to the floor. Her brother- who had been peacefully watching the drama unfold while sucking on his fist- decided to show full solidarity.
Within seconds, both children were at risk of drowning in a pool of tears.
The bottle warmer beeped.
“Should I… put the lid back on the pudding?“
Suddenly, Oikawa felt like crying too.
“Noooo…“
She sobbed harder.
“It’s broken! Forever!“
Autonomy. He’d talked about his with his wife. You were supposed to take every need seriously. Especially food. Ask about preferences- including whether to peel the lid or not.
With both kids still crying, his phone pinged.
A message from his wife, asking if everything was going well.
Traitor.
She’d really gone out with her girls. After he’d told her to go out and relax. How could she trust him?
Both kids pitched their screaming, now crying in perfect sync.
Oikawa started typing, defeated smile on his lips and tears in his eyes.
“No<3“
Retired Prodigy
— Haikyuu | Seijoh | Manager!Reader
You don’t enjoy sports.
You’re just very, very good at them.
Aoba Johsai notices — eventually.
✦ One-Shot | ~1.6k words
✦ Seijoh ensemble focus
✦Crossposted on AO3
You squint at the clipboard in your hands, eyes blurring over columns of numbers you’ve already memorized twice over. What was Coach thinking-dumping all of this on you at once?
You sigh and tuck your chin into the collar of the oversized team jacket, fabric warm and faintly smelling like detergent and gym air. You volunteered for this. You knew that. Mostly.
When you’d signed up as a manager in first year, you’d been painfully aware of Aoba Johsai´s rule: everyone joins a club. Sports clubs were the popular choice- “to balance studying“, people said- but you’d been done with sports long before high school. Middle school had wrung that enjoyment dry.
You’d tried everything else. Literature club. Chess club. Debate. None of them stuck. Too quiet. Too loud. Way too much ego.
So you ended up here, with the volleyball club. Surprisingly, it worked.
First year had been easy. You’d gotten along with the other first years almost immediately. Oikawa, unfortunately, decided you were his person and dragged you into his orbit. You never really escaped. He and Iwaizumi kept landing in your class year after year, and somehow you were always there too- tagging along, clipboard in hand, pretending everything was normal.
The gym door creaks open as you slip inside. Sneakers squeal against polished floors. Voices bounce off the high ceiling as the boys warm up.
“Oikawa.“
You start, not even looking up.
“Stop stretching like that. You’re going to pull something.“
He startles like he’s been caught committing a crime.
“What?! I`m flexible!“
A volleyball smacks into the wall inches from his head. You raise the clipboard.
“Coach wants measurements while he’s sick. Sprints, vertical jumps-“
You flip the page.
“-and other things.“
“OTHER what?“
Oikawa yelps, scrambling back on to his feet.
“Because if this is another excuse to make me run-“
“Shut up and line up, Shittykawa.“
Iwaizumi snaps. You’re already back to writing.
“You’ll survive.“
“Debateable“
Hanamaki snorts. You sigh.
“Serve accuracy today. Receive drills tomorrow-“
„Um… Excuse me?“
The voice is careful. Polite.
You look up. A girl in a navy jacket stands just inside the gym doors, tennis bag slung over one shoulder like she hadn’t even had the time to set it down. Her posture is tight, stress settling heavy on her shoulders.
“Oh-sorry.“
She says quickly, straightening her posture.
“I’m from the tennis club. Captain, actually.“
The gym slows. Oikawa drifts closer, curiosity written all over his face. Mutsukawa and Hanamaki stop pretending not to listen. You adjust the grip on the clipboard.
“Yes? Can I help you?“
The girl lets her eyes wander around, staring at the guys, blushing a little.
“I’m looking for the volleyball manager.“
Oikawa- lurking over the girls shoulder- gasps and points at you.
“That’s her! She’s scary but nice.“
“I’m right here.“
You mutter, frowning at Oikawa.
The tennis captain smiles nervously.
“I´m so sorry to interrupt practice.“
“You’re fine. They’re not even through with the warm-up.“
The guys groan but hesitate to continue their tasks.
“What’s up?“
She hesitates, glancing at the players mid-stretch again.
“This might be a weird question.“
Dead silence.
“…Are you free this weekend?“
“WOW. Buy her dinner first.“
The tennis captain turns red.
“N-No! It´s… it’s not like that! It’s about a tournament.“
That gets your attention.
„One of our players got sick. The rules allow a substitute from another club if they’re registered, but it has to be today and we’re-“
She stops, inhales.
“… were short a player.“
You blink.
“And you want me to…?“
“Play. Just for the weekend.“
Behind her, the volleyball team stiffens.
“I know you’re not in a sports club…“
She starts again, fidgeting with her sleeve.
“But I heard you played before-“
Oikawas head snaps towards you.
“Played?“
You roll your eyes.
“People talk too much.“
The captain interrupts again.
“I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. We don’t need you to carry the team. Just…fill the spot.“
You look at your clipboard. Names. Numbers. Familiar order.
“I… I don’t really enjoy sports.“
You admit, suddenly feeling shy.
“That’s okay!“
The captain reaches to take your hand into hers.
“Low pressure! You can drop out right after!“
Low pressure. You consider it longer than anyone expects.
“…what time?“
Every head turns.
“Saturday. All day.“
You shrug.
“Sure. I’ll do it.“
The captain freezes.
“R-really?“
“Yeah. I’m free.“
Oikawa stares at you like you’ve volunteered for death.
“You don’t even know who you’re playing.“
“Does it matter?“
Iwaizumi doesn’t like the way you say it.
—
“What… what?“
You arrive at the tournament warmed up, focused- and immediately get surrounded.
Hanamaki and Matsukawa hoist a massive cardboard banner, your name written in glitter marker.
“We’re your cheerleaders!“
“We brought cookies.“
Oikawa steps forward confidently. It was clear that this was his idea.
“And tissues. And-“
He flexes.
“Manly shoulders to cry on.“
You squint at the for guys. You want to shoo them away, but you’ve been hanging around with them for three years already. That would be rude, wouldn’t it?
“You think I’ll lose?“
—
The first point end before anyone can blink.
“Fifteen- love.“
Oikawa frowns.
“That was a serve?“
You’re already resetting. The second rally lasts longer. Not because you struggle- but because you let it.
Thirty- love.
By forty, the chatter thins. Sneakers squeak. Someone laughs nervously.
“She’s not even nervous…“
Iwaizumi mutters, leaning against the fence.
On court, you step into the ball, smooth and unhurried. It lands just inside the line.
Game.
You don´t celebrate.
Two games in, the pattern in obvious.
You move late.
She moves early.
You never rush.
“This is bad…“
Hanamaki whispers over a half eaten cookie box.
“For who?“
Matsukawa asks, before snatching the box away.
3-0.
4-0.
The opponent swings harder. The ball flies long. You wait.
When the set ends-6-0- you sip water and glance toward the fence.
That’s when you notice your friends staring at you like you’ve committed a crime.
“What?“
You mouth.
Oikawa presses his hands to the fence.
“What do you mean, WHAT?“
—
The second set doesn’t start as clean.
Your opponent adjusts- starts aiming deeper, forcing you back instead of letting you camp at the baseline. The rallies stretch longer now. Sweat trickles down your spine, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
She takes the first game.
The stands exhale.
“There we go…“
Iwaizumi mutters.
“She is human.“
You don’t react. Just bounce the ball against your racket, eyes unfocused, breathing even.
The next game goes longer. Deuce. Advantage. Deuce again.
Your opponent grits her teeth, lunging for a drop shot.
You get there anyway.
Point.
When you finally take the game, there’s scattered applause. Not loud- just respectful.
Iwaizumi nods once.
“She’s adjusting.“
“So is the other girl.“
Matsukawa retorts.
They trade games after that. 1-1. 2-2.
The match settles into a rhythm- long rallies, measured footwork. You stop overpowering and start placing, forcing her to choose. The court feels smaller. Quieter.
At 4-3. Your opponent double faults.
She swears under her breath.
You don’t smile. You don’t gloat. You just turn, ready for the next point.
“She’s not trying to crush her. She’s… managing it.“
Hanamaki realizes.
Oikawa squints.
“Why does that sound familiar?“
The set ends 6-3.
When the final point lands, the cheer is louder this time. Not explosive-but warm. Earned. You shake hands at the net, polite and calm, like this was just another Saturday errand you checked off a list.
—
The tennis captain nearly tackles you.
“Thank you thank you thank you!“
She squishes you so hard you can’t breathe, before bowing repeatedly.
“You saved us!“
You smile, still breathless.
“You’re welcome.“
You grab your bag- and freeze.
The volleyball team is right there. Too close. Too quiet.
Oikawa looks at you like he’s solving a puzzle missing half its pieces.
“So… care to explain?“
He crosses his arms.
“Explain what?“
“That!“
Iwaizumi is gesturing vaguely to the tennis court.
“You don’t just accidentally play like that.“
You hesitate. And this is the part you always dodge. The part you usually summarize away with a joke.
You sigh.
“I used to do… a lot.“
They wait.
“Tennis. Obviously. Swimming. Ballet.“
Oikawa blinks.
“Ballet?“
You raise a finger.
„Dont.“
He immediately shuts up.
“And I quit them. One by one.“
“Why?“
Hanamakis question is nothing more than a whisper.
You think for a second, then decide not to soften it too much.
“I hated not being the best.“
You zip up your jacket.
“And I hated the pressure of trying to be.“
Silence.
“So… I stopped. Stopped before I could start resenting it.“
Oikawa tilts his head.
“So. If you couldn’t win, you didn’t want to play?“
You meet his eyes.
“Pretty much.“
A knot is forming in your stomach. You hoped to never feel this again. Pathetic.
But then, he grins.
“That’s very you.“
“…Is that supposed to be comforting?“
“Absolutely. You chose to not let it ruin you. That’s impressive.“
Iwaizumi nods.
“And you still help us. You didn’t run from everything.“
Matsukawa smirks.
“Plus, you still destroyed that much. So.“
Hanamakki lifts the banner again.
“Retired prodigy“
You groan.
“I hate all of you.“
They beam.
But when they wrap their arms around you and start herding you toward the exit, Oikawa leans down, voice lower-just for you.
“You don’t have to be the best. You’re more than enough. I promise.“
You look up at him, to catch a glimpse of his soft brown eyes-before mischief flickers back in.
“You just have to help me being the best. I’ll do the winning for the both of us.“
Iwaizumi slaps his head.
Mortally wounded
-Fluff | Dad!Oikawa | Humor
An afternoon at the playground turns dramatic when Oikawa Tooru’s daughter suffers a near-fatal encounter with a slide.
Fortunately, Doctor Oikawa is on duty.
✦ Mini Fic:~ 500 words
✦ Dad!Oikawa brainrot
✦ Crossposted on AO3
⚠️ No warnings, just fluff.
The playground smells like warm plastic and oranges, the kind someone‘s always peeling nearby. The late-afternoon sun drapes everything in gold, soft but insistent. Oikawa Tooru, internationally recognized volleyball player, shifts the baby in his carrier. His son, barely two months old, snores peacefully, oblivious to the outside world.
“Papa!“
The shrill cry cuts through the hum of kids and distant barking.
Oikawa looks up. His daughter, three, is perched at the top of the slide, one chubby hand clutching the edge, the other pressed to her knee. She stares at him like a tiny, tragic heroine.
“I‘m mortally wounded!“
She declares, lower lip wobbling. Oikawa freezes.
„Mortally?“
He repeats, voice pitching somewhere between awe and panic.
“Okay. Okay. That’s a…big word. Where did you learn that?“
She hiccups.
“TV.“
“Are we…talking about bones sticking out?“
She glances at her knee, suddenly unsure.
“…No.“
“Blood?“
“…No.“
“Internal injuries.“
Oikawa pronounces gravely, kneeling slightly, to convey the weight of the diagnosis.
“The deadliest, sneakiest kind.“
His daughter sniffles, new tears welling up.
“I…I slipped.“
He leans back slightly, scanning the playground like a coach analyzing an opponent.
“You attacked the slide too aggressively. You must respect your adversary.“
“I can never walk again…“
She whispers, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
Oikawa presses a hand to his forehead.
“Alright. Doctor Oikawa reporting for duty. I may not have a medical degree… but I have excellent hands!“
She studies him, not impressed.
“You’re not a doctor.“
“Yet.“
He scrunches his nose, shrugging dramatically.
“Also, I‘m braver than anyone else here.“
She considers this.
“Even braver than Uncle Iwa?“
Oikawa hesitates.
“Lets… not make promises we can’t keep“
The baby stirs, tiny fists curling against the fabric of the carrier. Oikawa shifts, careful not to jostle him.
“Oh, I‘m sorry Hijo. Your sister nearly died.“
The baby gurgles, unconcerned. Oikawa smiles down at him, sunlight catching on his wedding ring. Then, he turns back to the slide.
“Should I call an ambulance?“
His daughter gasps.
“NO! No wee-woo!“
He chuckles.
“Okay. Count to three, no funny business. On three, you fly into my arms- deal? I can’t climb up there to get you. Not with your brother right here.“
“…will it hurt?“
“I won’t let it.“
“One…two-”
She releases her grip with a squat of laughter, sliding down like a tiny hurricane. Oikawa catches her without breaking a sweat- or at least he pretends to stagger, collapsing onto his knees theatrically.
“Oof! That’s… wow. Strong impact.“
He gasps for the effect.
“Am I okay?“
She asks, hugging him.
“You’re perfect.“
He plants a kiss to her forehead.
“Strongest kid I know.“
She squeals, pushing herself up to flex her arms in a dramatic pose.
“Stronger than uncle Iwa?“
Oikawa grins.
“Maybe“
The baby blinks at them, finally fully awake, adjusting his eyes to the harsh sun, tiny arms flailing like he approves.
Oikawa gathers both children close.
“Alright. Let’s go home“
“Noooo! Papa, one more slide!“
“You almost died!“
A Study in Human Bonds
— Albedo x Reader | Angst | One-Shot
Recovering from a fever, you stumble into something you were never meant to see.
Albedo studies human bonds — and you are his most detailed case.
⚠️ Content Note: emotional manipulation, unhealthy relationship dynamics, angst
The cold touch on your forehead pulls you from sleep. You groan softly, scrunching your face as you roll onto your side and tug the blanket higher. A quiet chuckle reaches your ears.
“At least your fever‘s gone.“
You turn back toward your boyfriend, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day.
“Is it?“
You yawn, rubbing your eyes.
“My head still hurts.“
It’s been a few days since the Knights of Favonius fished you, Kaeya and Klee out of the river near Dragonspine. What should’ve been a normal commission turned into a disaster when Klee insisted on tagging along. Somewhere along the way, she lost one of her precious dodoco bombs - and no one noticed until it detonated and pulverized Kaeya´s ice bridge. One of his best, according to him.
Somehow, Klee was the only one who didn’t catch a cold. Probably because everyone rushed to take care of her, before even thinking about Kaeya and you. Not that you blame them. After all, you have your boyfriend taking care of you now. Albedo raises an eyebrow.
“It does? Is anything else hurting? Your throat?“
Nearly two years into your relationship, you’ve grown used to his monotone voice and matter-of-fact way of speaking. He usually makes up for it with plenty of skinship. Thinking about that, you shuffle closer, clearly aiming for your morning cuddles.
“Yes, my throat still hurts- and I’m so cold!“
You complain, stretching your arms dramatically towards him, making grabby hands.
“Come back and cuddle me!“
Instead, he takes one of your hands in his and absentmindedly strokes your thumb.
“I promised to check on Kaeya today. Barbara is having some trouble with him.“
You groan. You already know how Kaeya gets when he’s sick. The confident, teasing knight somehow turns into a needy, whiny mess who demands more attention than ever.
“I made you something to eat, and some tea with the herbs I brought yesterday.“
Albedo continues.
“Try to eat a little and rest. I’ll stop by my lab and see if I can find something for your headache.“
He leans down to kiss your forehead before leaving. With a sigh, you slowly drag yourself out of bed, trying to start your day.
—
A knock pulls you from your half-dream. You sit up, blinking as you check the time. Only an hour has passed since Albedo left. Did you fall asleep again?
Another knock follows. You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself and shuffle to the door.
You barely manage to open it before Sucrose slips inside. You yelp in surprise, unsure how to react.
“Mister Albedo?“
She calls out, clearly excited.
She doesn’t seem to notice you at first. When she realizes the living room is empty, she darts into the kitchen-only to return moments later with a disappointed look in her eyes.
You adore Sucrose, even if Kaeya loves teasing you about her. You’ve told him more than once that being jealous of her and Albedo working together is just as ridiculous as imagining Albedo being jealous of you and Kaeya. Besides, Sucrose was the one who helped bring the two of you together in the first place. Still, she sometimes acts strangely around you, like she is carrying guilt over something.
“He‘s not home?“
Normally, you’d laugh. Albedo is rarely home. But lately, with him taking time off, you’ve grown used to his constant presence.
“No“
You rub your temples as the headache flares up.
“He went to check on Kaeya. And after that… probably the lab“
Sucrose sighs, clearly debating something before looking at you again.
“Could you help me instead? Please?“
You hesitate. As much as you care about her, your patience is wearing thin.
“I don’t feel good, and I don’t know anything about alchemy. Can’t you just wait until Albedo gets back?“
You move past her toward the kitchen, grabbing your mug. The tea Albedo made has long since gone cold.
“It’s not about alchemy!“
She follows you.
“I just need an old document. I’ve figured out a few things about Regisvines and need to compare them with earlier records.“
You frown. He didn’t keep important documents here… did he? Maybe on the highest shelves. Or on his side of the closet. Either way, the thought makes you tired.
“I‘m really sorry, Sucrose, but I really don’t know where he’d keep them-“
“Oh! I do! I know!“
She interrupts, catching herself when she realizes that she raised her voice.
“Mister Albedo keeps them in his office.“
His office? You didn’t even know he had one.
“It’s just a spare room for his files.“
Sucrose adds quickly, as if she senses the unspoken questions.
“He keeps it locked so everything stays safe. No one else is allowed inside.“
You squint your eyes, then shrug while turning away.
“Well, then I guess I can’t help you.“
Sucrose rushes after you, blocking your path.
“What? But- why not?“
“You said no one is allowed in there. That includes me.“ “I‘m sure he’d be fine with you going in!“
Sucrose clasps her hands together.
“You’re careful. I only need one file.“
You close your eyes, breathing through the pounding in your head. Sucrose can be relentless. And honestly, the faster way to get rid of her is just to grab the file and be done with it - even if you already hate yourself for thinking about her as a nuisance.
“Fine.“
You sigh, looking down at your sleepwear.
“Let me get dressed first.“
—
Albedo leaves Dragonspine, greeting a few familiar faces at the camp as he passes. He absently turns the vials in his hands, hoping one of them will ease your headache and sore throat. You looked so miserable this morning. He should’ve prepared something sooner.
Suddenly, he stops.
Something feels wrong.
He turns back toward Dragonspine, frowning. Nothing is missing. Instead, a strange sense of unease settles in his chest. He tightens his grip on the vials and quickens his pace toward Mondstadt.
—
You push open the door to Albedos office with a quiet sigh. You struggled a little with the lock. Who would’ve guessed that the code would be Klees birthday? Sucrose announces she’ll run another errand and promises to meet you outside.
The room is neat - unsurprising - but packed with files.
“Regisvine…Regisvine…“
You scan the shelves.
Your eyes drift over folder marked with golden stickers- abandoned research, you assume. Blue stickers for ongoing projects. Green for finished once. He’d explained it once, when you were staying in his lab, exhausted and desperate for sleep. The memory makes you smile.
Finally, you spot it: a green sticker labeled Regisvine. You climb onto a chair to reach it- and freeze.
Right next to it sits another folder.
Relationships.
That’s…. Strange.
Albedo once told you he’d studied human emotions and bonds extensively. But this file is still marked with a blue sticker.
You hesitate, then tell yourself you’ll only glance at the first page.
Reports from others have proven insufficient. Sucrose suggested that certain emotions cannot be fully described-they must be experienced. This is inconvenient, as I would prefer to focus on other research. Nevertheless, I will begin searching for a test subject.
Your Stomach twists.
Test subject?
You turn the page.
Day 1: I have selected the newest citizen of Mondstadt. Formerly residing in Fontaine, she relocated in search of better work. Her friendship with Sucrose provides a convenient point of connection.
Your breath catches.
That’s you.
You flip through the pages faster now.
Day 38: First kiss.
Day 64: Initiated first sexual contact. Subject withdrew. Will attempt again.
Day 189: Subject moved in. Displays interest in dividing domestic labor evenly. I see no practical necessity, but will comply.
Day 291: Subject displayed elevated emotional response-yelling. Heart rate increased, face flushed. Attempted consoling failed. Observation: Anger manifests physically, yet reasoning remains intact.
Day 315: Subject exhibited discomfort and cramping. Energy levels decreased; tolerance for physical activity reduced. Will provide comfort measures and monitor physiological signs closely.
Your hands shake.
All this time… you weren’t his partner. You were his experiment. His test subject.
Heart racing, you flip through the final entry.
Day 561: Subject fell ill. I am interested in observing the effects of sickness on relationship dynamics.
The folder slips from your grasp, hitting the floor.
That was only a few days ago.
Your name is called. Through blurry, tear-filled vision, you look toward the doorway- until the silhouette sharpens into the person you trusted most.
✦ One-Shot
✦ 1.4k words
✦ Crossposted on AO3