hihihihihi just want to add that i love ur fics <3
i get scared when doing requests bc im never fully sure but here i go
Aventurine, Raito and maybe lyney or venti (separately) with a reader whos very heat sensitive, like the moment it gets even the smallest bit warm reader is affected badly by it, and when its super warm reader is basically always out of it and passes out a lot, yet despite this the reader always forgets to stay hydrated and drink water (basically always dehydrated) and also always goes out in the heat without wearing a hat or staying in the shade, and the character notices this bad habit and maybe tries to discreetly help reader or straight up just calls reader out on this
(definitely not self projection)
“Drink, Rest, Stay — I’ll Handle the Sun”
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Venti x Reader, Romantic/Affectionate Undertones, Concerned Characters, Protective Behavior, Heat Sensitivity, Dehydration, Forgetting Sun Protection, Gentle Scolding, Caring Acts, Banter And Teasing, Subtle Vulnerability, Fluff With Hints Of Serious Concern.
Warnings: Mentions Of Heat Exhaustion And Dehydration Symptoms, Brief Mentions Of Fainting/Collapse Risk, Characters Physically Supporting Reader, Slightly Possessive/Protective Tone In Aventurine’s Part, Lightly Critical Or Blunt Dialogue From Dr. Ratio.
A/N: Thank you and take care of yourself! 🙏💖
The sun above Penacony was merciless that afternoon, its golden light turning the air into a shimmering haze. The streets bustled with color and sound, but your vision wavered in the heat. Every step felt heavier, each breath drier. You’d left without a hat, without water, without thinking — again.
A familiar, honeyed voice slid into your ear.
“Darling, you’re walking like you’ve just lost the house in a bad hand.”
You turn to see Aventurine, all peacock-feather poise and infuriating ease. Even in the swelter, not a single strand of his sandy-blond hair seemed out of place. His rose-tinted glasses glinted as he looked you over, gaze sharp enough to cut through your daze.
“I’m fine,” you manage, though your voice feels scratchy in your throat.
“Mmh. And I’m a philanthropist who’s never conned a soul,” he drawled. His magenta and cyan eyes narrow. “You’re flushed, swaying, and your lips are practically cracking. Tell me, what part of that says ‘fine’?
You try to wave him off, but he’s already stepping closer, his coat’s fur trim brushing your arm. “Let me guess… no hat, no shade, no water?” His tone is teasing, but there’s a thread of steel underneath.
“I forgot,” you mutter.
“Forgot,” he repeats, lips curling. “You’ve forgotten three times this week alone. At this point, I’m beginning to think you enjoy collapsing dramatically in public.”
Before you can protest, he presses a chilled metal flask into your hand. You blink at it. “Where did you—”
“Trade secret,” he cuts in with a wink. “Drink. And not just a dainty sip. All of it.”
You take a cautious mouthful, the cool water reviving you instantly. He watches you closely, leaning in just enough that his voice drops low. “You’re no good to me if you pass out halfway through a stroll. Bad odds.”
Your brows furrow. “Bad odds?”
“Exactly. If you’re betting your health against the sun without so much as a decent ante, the house always wins.” He tilts his head. “And I’m the house, sweetheart. I intend to win — which means you don’t get to lose.”
The firmness in his tone catches you off guard. You’ve seen Aventurine banter, bluff, manipulate — but this is different. This is him staking a claim, a line he won’t let you cross.
You drain the flask, and he takes it back, satisfied. Without asking, he slides his own wide-brimmed hat off his head and settles it on yours. “Looks better on you,” he says smoothly, though you catch the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Won’t you need it?” you ask.
He shrugs, already steering you toward the shade of a nearby colonnade. “I’ll manage. Unlike you, I can remember the basics of survival in warm weather.”
You roll your eyes, but the shadow feels like a blessing. Aventurine’s hand stays light on your back, guiding without pushing. “Next time,” he says, “you’ll wear the hat, you’ll carry water, and you’ll stay in the shade.”
“Or what?” you challenge.
“Or,” he says with a slow grin, “I’ll have to escort you personally everywhere you go. And trust me, darling — that’s a gamble you won’t win.”
The marketplace was stifling — not because of its crowd, but because the midday heat radiated off every surface. You’d been browsing aimlessly, half-aware of the dizziness creeping in, when a voice cut through the haze.
“You’re dehydrated,” Ratio said flatly, appearing beside you like a verdict.
You startle. “What—?”
“Your skin tone is warmer than usual, your gait is uneven, and your pupils are sluggish. The diagnosis isn’t difficult.” His eyes hold you still as if daring you to deny it.
“I’m fine,” you say weakly.
His gaze sharpens. “You’re not. And before you attempt some feeble argument — yes, I noticed you’ve been out here for hours without water, shade, or any reasonable head covering. Again.”
You wince under the precision of his words. Ratio doesn’t raise his voice, but the weight of his logic is more than enough.
“Why does it matter?” you mumble.
“It matters,” he says, “because watching someone disregard such basic preventative measures offends me on two levels — intellectual and personal.” He pulls a small, capped bottle from a satchel slung over his shoulder and places it firmly into your palm.
“I can get my own water—”
“You had three hours to do so. You didn’t.” His tone is clipped, efficient. “Drink. Slowly. Otherwise you’ll shock your system.”
You obey, sipping while his gaze lingers on you — not impatient, but assessing. “You have a pattern,” he continues. “You underestimate the consequences of heat. You forget hydration. And when the predictable symptoms manifest, you brush them aside.”
You stare down at the bottle. “…It’s not like I do it on purpose.”
“I never said you did. But willful neglect and habitual oversight lead to the same result.” His bluntness should sting, but there’s an undercurrent there — a genuine frustration born of concern.
Once you finish the water, Ratio takes the empty bottle and tucks it away. “If you can’t remember, I’ll remember for you,” he says simply. “From now on, if you leave without adequate hydration or sun protection, I’ll be there.”
You blink. “…Like a chaperone?”
“A preventative measure,” he corrects. “I’d rather expend my time ensuring your well-being than waste it reviving you after a collapse.”
Despite the matter-of-fact delivery, you catch the faintest curve of his mouth. It’s not quite a smile, but it softens the edges of his precision. “Besides,” he adds, “the logic is sound — I am the more heat-tolerant of us, and you are… impulsive.”
You snort. “That’s your polite way of saying I’m reckless, isn’t it?”
“I don’t believe in politeness when accuracy will do.” He starts walking toward a shaded side street. “Come. We’ll discuss better strategies for future excursions. And you will listen, because unlike your current approach, mine will not end with you unconscious in a public square.”
The summer breeze was nowhere to be found. Instead, Mondstadt’s plaza baked under a glaring sun, the cobblestones shimmering. You sat on the fountain’s edge, fanning yourself half-heartedly, head light and thoughts sluggish.
A shadow fell across you. “Well, well… the sun claims another victim,” a lilting voice teased.
You look up to see Venti, smiling down at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief — and something softer. “What are you doing out here, windblume? You look ready to melt into the stones.”
“I was… walking,” you say, though the word feels like an overstatement.
“In this heat? With no hat? No water?” He tuts, perching beside you. “Tsk tsk, you’re making it far too easy for the sun to win.”
“It’s not that bad—”
He leans in close, his braids brushing your arm. “You’re flushed, swaying, and your lips are dry. That’s bad enough to make even a carefree bard worry.” His tone is still playful, but the concern is real.
From somewhere under his cape, he produces a skin of cool water and presses it into your hands. “Drink, my dear. Before you faint and I have to compose a dramatic rescue ballad — though I admit, that could be fun.”
You take a long drink, the coolness a relief. Venti watches, humming a cheerful tune under his breath. When you finish, he plucks his hat from his head and sets it on yours. It droops a little over your eyes.
“There,” he says brightly. “Now you’re dressed for survival! And fashion. Two birds, one stone.”
You smile faintly. “Won’t you get too hot without it?”
He shakes his head, the wind catching the ends of his hair. “The wind and I are old friends — it looks after me. You, however, seem to forget to look after yourself.”
“I don’t mean to,” you murmur.
“I know.” He leans back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. “That’s why you have friends like me. I’ll be the breeze at your back, nudging you toward the shade, the water, the little things that keep you standing.”
There’s a softness in his voice now, a note beneath the melody. You glance at him, catching the faraway look in his eyes — the kind that comes when he remembers things older than the city itself.
He catches your gaze and grins again, the moment folding back into lightness. “So, deal? I keep you from boiling under the sun, and you promise not to give me inspiration for a tragic heatstroke ballad?”
You laugh, nodding. “Deal.”
“Good!” He hops up and offers his hand. “Come on, windblume. Let’s find some shade — I know a spot with the best breeze in all Mondstadt.”
When you take his hand, his grip is warm but steady, and the moment you step into the cool shadow of the cathedral’s archway, you feel your head clear. Venti hums again, as if already weaving this into a song — not of tragedy, but of gentle rescue.
Hello!! I was wondering if you could do dr ratio, aventurine, blade, and boothill x reader who works with char but also has a verrrryy concerning amount of part time jobs that char finds out about.
Like bumping into reader at a restaurant, bathhouse, bar, cafe, delivery, on the street giving flyers, spotting reader running around doing errands for people, etc. (omg I'm rambling so bad)
So sorry if this comes out as demanding!! 😓 Feel free to alter anything! Thank you ❤️❤️
“I Didn’t Expect to See You… Again”
Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Blade x Reader, Slice of Life, Fluff, Mild Humor, Established (?)/Slow Burn Relationships, Reader Works Everywhere, Overworked Reader, Domestic-ish Moments, Soft Angst (Mild), Hurt/Comfort (Light), Reader Doing Too Much, Surprise Encounters, Concerned Characters, Slight Possessiveness/Protective Behavior, Light Whump (Emotional Exhaustion).
Warnings: Mentions of Burnout/Overwork, Mild Language , Light Implications of Unhealthy Work-Life Balance, Emotional Exhaustion/Fatigue, Mild Possessiveness (Aventurine and Blade, subtly), Slight Angst (Blade’s & Boothill’s backstories referenced), Aventurine’s manipulative tendencies hinted at (softened for comfort fic tone), Minor injury mention (Boothill’s cyborg elements, not graphic), Mild existential themes (Dr. Ratio's & Blade's part), Protective behavior bordering on confrontational.
A/N: I had fun writing this lmao dw <33
"You're everywhere," Ratio says, brows raised as he stares at you in the café uniform, espresso in one hand and a tray of mille-feuilles in the other.
You freeze. "...Fancy seeing you here, Dr. Ratio."
"I saw you twelve minutes ago handing out flyers by the fountain," he says flatly. "And two hours prior taking inventory in the archive warehouse."
"Just a side hustle or ten," you laugh nervously.
Ratio narrows his eyes, pushing his alabaster mask to rest atop his head. “I find it highly improbable — bordering on statistically absurd — that anyone could maintain this workload without synthetic assistance.”
“Is this your way of asking if I’m a cyborg?”
“It’s my way of asking if you’ve completely lost your mind.”
You grin, placing the tray on a customer’s table. “I like being useful.”
Ratio watches you juggle orders, soothe a crying child, and passively correct someone’s incorrect philosophical quote while balancing three plates. When you return to refill his tea, he’s silent for a long moment.
Then:
“If you collapse, I will not revive you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So you are worried.”
“I’m simply preserving my investment.” He sips his tea, then mutters under his breath. “Though if you must work absurd hours, you’ll allow me to assist — intellectually, not physically. I’m allergic to minimum wage.”
“Darlin’, you tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”
You whip around, tray of cocktails in hand, to see Aventurine leaning against the casino bar — in full velvet glory, rose-tinted glasses low on his nose and a bewildered smile playing on his lips.
“…Oh. You found job #7.”
“Found?” he chuckles. “Sweetheart, I just watched you dash outta a laundromat carrying three lunch boxes before handing off packages to an old woman, then sprinting into this casino in a new outfit. You’ve unlocked a side quest tree even I wouldn’t gamble on.”
You shrug sheepishly. “Gotta pay for the Trailblazer’s tab somehow.”
Aventurine lets out a soft laugh — but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He watches you from behind his glasses, gaze lingering as you smile at a guest and disappear behind velvet curtains. His fingers tap against his whiskey glass.
When you return, he leans in.
“You ever think of consolidating?” he murmurs. “Y’know — risk less, live more?”
“From you, that sounds like a trap.”
He smirks. “Maybe. But if you’re gonna bet everything on exhaustion, at least let me back your odds. I’m rich, honey. And very, very persuasive.”
You blink. “Are you… offering me a sugar daddy deal?”
He chuckles, tilting his head. “Tempted, aren’t you?”
He’s joking — mostly. But there's something in his voice. A worry. A hope. A gamble.
And you, breath caught in your throat, aren’t sure who’s risking more.
You’re delivering medicine up a long stairwell when a dark figure appears at the top step — sword strapped across his back, hair tousled by wind.
“...Blade?”
He doesn’t speak. Just stares.
You sigh, adjusting the delivery pack. “Look, I know what you’re going to say. I’ve been working too many shifts again, and—”
“I saw you at the bathhouse this morning,” he interrupts. “Then patching up a broken vending machine. Now this.”
You smile tiredly. “Medicine courier. Temporary.”
He walks down a few steps, gaze shadowed. “You’re falling apart.”
You laugh. “You of all people can’t say that.”
He halts in front of you. “I don’t want you to be like me.”
The words hang in the air. For someone so tied to pain, Blade’s voice is quiet. Almost... afraid.
You offer him a weary grin. “I’m not. I’m just working hard.”
He tilts his head. “Even cracked blades shatter eventually.”
You blink, startled by the tenderness beneath the steel.
Then Blade exhales. Slowly. Hands ghosting over your arm.
“…Let me carry that.”
You hand him the medicine satchel in silence.
He doesn’t speak again, but he walks beside you the whole way.
“Howdy, sweetheart,” comes a smooth Southern drawl behind you.
You pause mid-flyer. “No.”
“C’mon now,” Boothill laughs, leaning over your shoulder to read your poster. “‘Pet groomer special, half price for Galaxy Rangers’? That you?”
“It’s job #9.”
Boothill whistles. “You a whole durn syndicate, ain’t ya?”
You frown, brushing sweat from your forehead. “Bills don’t pay themselves.”
He snorts. “Darlin’, you could make a cyborg’s cooling unit short out with all this hustle. When do ya sleep?”
“...Do micro-naps count?”
Boothill's playful smile falters. His mechanical fingers twitch at his hip like he’s reaching for a gun he doesn’t want to draw.
“Y’ain’t gotta prove nothin’ to nobody,” he says softly. “Not even me.”
You pause. Surprised.
“I been runnin’ my whole life too, sugar,” he murmurs. “But don’t burn your boots just ‘cause the trail’s long. I like seein’ you upright.”
“…Are you flirting or giving me life advice?”
He grins. “Bit’a both.”
You laugh.
And as he takes the flyers from your hands and starts stapling them to poles himself, you realize — even gunslingers want to save someone from dying on their feet.
