#tiredz writes!

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Might be a little rb heavy this week, I’m on my half-break and I am SPENT.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

𝘎𝘌𝘕𝘚𝘏𝘐𝘕 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘈𝘓 𝘏𝘊

Small about Liyue, Mondstat, and Fatui men as parents

𝘔𝘖𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘋𝘛 :

𝘋𝘪𝘭𝘶𝘤 𝘙𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘳

Diluc is the epitome of “I never want you to go through what I had.” 

He’s over protective: hiring a governess that was trained by Adelide and instructed by Elzer since his child was born; a personal teacher that would only give lessons that he had reviewed within the house; and still overseeing every miniscule detail that his child makes from the clothes, food, favorite toys and play time. All this without making them feel constricted, lest his worst nightmare becomes real: his only flesh and blood hating him and deciding to keep him away. 

A part of him feels guilty for his own actions sometimes, deep into the night or when someone speaks soundly about how children shouldn’t be so coddled and that they should be able to freely experience pain as well as the happiness of interacting with others their own age. Those are the few moments that he slips and lets the child roam Mondstat, with a trusted guard and caretaker in tow; of course after he’s done with his round of checking for monsters or suspicious people lurking around their path. 

He wants his child to have a happy childhood, the way he reminisces about them, but at the end of the day he reasons that he does everything to keep his beloved safe and sound, to retain their innocence as long as he could help it. 

One thing that definitely changed was the way he handled his secret missions. Having been on the path of danger and travelling Teyvat to uncover its truths, then safeguarding the city of freedom with how he deem “incomptent the knights” are, Diluc isn’t a stranger to near death but when his child had entered the picture his combat choices have become a lot more careful, plans meticulous leaving no stone unturned and possibilities unexplored. 

Because Diluc can’t die and leave his child alone in this world, like his did, but he also can’t stop whatever he is doing to secure a safer world that they can grow up in. 

𝘒𝘢𝘦𝘺𝘢 𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩

With the way Kaeya handles Klee, he is no doubt great with kids!

But if you’d take the time to observe the man with how he softly talks, a loving smile carved on his visage and always listening, crouched so his child knows that he wants to hear their thoughts and they can look him in the eyes, a hand always ruffling his kid’s hair you’d know that “I don’t want you to grow up like me,” speaks volumes. 

Kaeya is the peak description of present as he never wants his child to feel abandoned, he wants to be included in everything that they do; even if it was as small as the school’s show and tell, his kid wanting to boast about his eye patch or sword that he couldn’t possibly just hand over so he’s decided to show up, or parent board meetings flocked with mothers and he is one of the few men, though he may be the only one actively participating, despite his already tight schedule with the knights. 

The public is split in two different opinions of Kaeya being a parent; half of them believing him to be soft and wrapped around the child’s grubby hands, weird for they know him as cunning and manipulative man; and the other half would describe him as having loose parenting methods that’s like his own child is his sibling, with how he is indulging and encouraging harmless pranks and talk backs towards adults as long as they know what they stood for was right. But what did their opinion really amount to? When he knows he is his child’s favorite, with how he’s the one they run to after doing something that could get them into trouble.

Like Diluc, Kaeya never forgot the bliss and happiness of childhood that he experienced in that mansion, so that’s one thing he wants them to experience too without it being tainted and soured by tragedy. 

There’s also an inner turmoil to his parenthood, something that he reserves when he’s alone: the conflict of how he was trusted with the burden of his nation, Khanreah, that he now has to share with his own child as much as he doesn’t want to. “It’s their birthright,” his mind will speak but his heart wants them to be free, to never have his kid come to a day where they’d have to make that choice like he did.

𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘥�� 𝘒𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘻

Albedo is far from the usual loving parent, he didn’t know that he could reproduce at all so having a child was a surprise. 

His thoughts are filled with how one cares for their own child? So he’ll read books about child growth, parenting and might even consider the possibility of interviewing parents in regards to their experience. He had Klee but she was already a bit grown up when he began taking care of her and his role was more like an older brother. 

His parenting is methodological, like observing a science experiment that he is fixated on. He notes every development, progress and even changes; his child's health is ingrained in his mind down to a T; and even the slightest change will be accounted for. Though it is odd, this is the way he loves. 

Albedo tries to balance work and taking care of his own child, the trips to Dragonspine are less in their earlier years as they couldn’t possibly handle the cold but he’ll work through that by bringing them every now and then until they get used to a little cold air and their brains can understand not to touch anything but the toys and books that he brought. But some days he becomes too engrossed in an experiment that he has to be reminded by his own child’s cries or someone else.

𝘝𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪

It’s hard for Venti to adjust as a father because he isn’t used to so much responsibility, having a hands off approach with his own nation, but he cherishes his child very much. The anemo archon is the type to nurture his child’s sense of imagination, he’s the father who indulges in his child’s plays and budding creativity, while instilling morals at the same time which you will find he is very good at! 

Though not showing favor in any talent because he fears that his child will only do something to earn his attention, he is very proud of whatever his child chooses to do. 

Venti wants his child to grow as an independent individual, free and unafraid to be whoever they want to be. 

He may not show it because when his child asks if they can play, even in the forest, and he lets them, Venti is a bit over protective. He’s lost too many people, though he knows that a scrape in the knee and getting hurt is part of growing up, he feels his heart break every time that his child is in pain but he’ll bite his cheeks and soldier on, set in having them grow strong, especially if there ever comes a day that even he has to go back to the thousand winds.

𝘓𝘐𝘠𝘜𝘌:

𝘟𝘪𝘢𝘰

Xiao finds it hard to be a father, he’s physically absent, opting to be a silent protector who watches his child from afar because he is afraid of putting them in danger or worse, tainting them with his karma. 

Somedays, he wonders how could something as pure and innocent could come from him? He’s afraid of touching his own child, but wouldn’t push tiny little hands away when they initiate it nor could he deny carrying them when they ask, albeit it will fill him with anxiety and confusion. Although clumsy and afraid, no one dare doubt that Xiao loves his child so much.

Xiao wants his kid to live a peaceful and safe life, unlike what he had to go through or even the burden of slaying demons for eternity, so he’ll do anything that keeps them having that.  

𝘡𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪

A patient father, he’s experienced being around children before but was never the parent so every moment is new and treasured. 

Zhongli teaches them early about the culture and history of Liyue, telling it so like a bedtime story for them to understand easily, as it is their birthright being the child of the former geo archon, then retelling it when they’re older with more details; providing books, letting them see preserved artifacts or even taking them to the different places in Liyue despite it taking days of journey. 

He teaches them the severity of words and worth of contracts and alongside this, he instills a strong sense of responsibility to his child, that every action has their consequences, wanting them to grow as a fine person, full of wisdom and love without having to deal with the war that he has gone through.  

The man will be proud of whatever that his child chooses to be.

Zhongli fears the day that his child’s immortality will catch up to them, losing friends and lovers to time, especially the first will be heartbreaking for him to watch, but he will be present. He will be there to support and be a shoulder to cry on for his darling child.

𝘍𝘈𝘛𝘜𝘐:

𝘚𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦

Scaramouche wasn’t interested nor thought of having a child of his own, he isn’t soft nor would he change when it comes. Though he will never cast his own flesh and blood away, like his creator did to him. 

He knows that his child’s image is a reflection of his, an investment if he played his cards right, so he’s a father that’s hard to have, cold and unloving. Scaramouche has certain expectations that aren’t outright spoken: be the best (whatever he deems the best) in everything that he wants them to learn, from etiquette, language and combat. He’s hired the best professionals, so he won’t even bother to watch, he only needs to know the results.

He knows that his child will grow resentful with the way he acts, so maybe some days he’ll throw them a reward, acknowledging their efforts, giving them food that they wished for or letting them accompany him on a mission which works as a lesson on how they should rule like him. 

If anything, Scaramouche takes pride in the way that his child looks up and wants to be like him.

𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦 - 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘢

An absent father who tries, try being the key word. He wants to stay home and be a father that he’s always idealized or like his own, but work keeps him moving from place to place giving no time for permanence that he knows will hinder his child’s growth, on top of the Fatui is no place for a kid at all. He has no choice but to leave his child at home in Snezhnaya with his wife. 

To compensate for his absence, Childe is prone to giving his child everything that they ask and more: letters about his adventures, toys from different nations, packages filled with food that he imagines sharing with them. He can just hope that they’re not growing up like a spoiled brat and his wife/caretaker is teaching them properly. 

His biggest fear is coming home and his child doesn’t even remember his face or know him at all. But if that ever happens, Childe is patient and loving, people are prone to befriending him with his character and no doubt children do the same. He is good with kids, especially if you even take a look at the way his siblings adore him.

If his child clings to him as he is deployed somewhere again, the goodbye would be heartbreaking.

He dreads the day that his child may grow resentful with how he’s always missing out on important life events, and one day the way he bribes them with sweets and toys. 

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hiya!!! Could you write a scenario where jean gets in another dumb fight with Eren and the readers patches him up and scolds him for getting in a fight cuz it makes them worried and they confess their feelings at the end?? Thank you and no worries if you don’t wanna write this ❤️ also please tag me if you do write this

Omg I live writing requests like this one bc Jean doesn't get enough love. Thanks for requesting and sorry it took so long! @two-rolls-of-tape

Warnings: none I guess this is just fluffy, but it does involve a minor description of reader patching up Jean but since I'm squimish my self I've kept it on the low

__

"I can't believe you!"

"aw come on pretty please y/n, Sasha is going to beat me to death it's the third time this week!"

"that's exactly what I'm saying!"

For anyone, it would be normal to assume that Jean's and Eren's bickering would eventually stop after everything that they had been through together as comrades. For some it's a given fact that after something as traumatic as these boys went through happens you kind of stop being fifteen an feisty. But hormones are hormones and puberty ones hit you as hard as it gets. Everyone is awfully aware of that.

Although teenage hormones and newly rushes of testosterine are not an excuse for this constant bickering, not anymore that is according to the Captain, you can't help but bite into it and help Jean. He's always got that like a mantra at the tip of his tongue 'it's not my fault' 'i can't help it' 'he gets on my nerves', some of the few lines he pops up every time he has Sasha stich him up. You're always there, always helping, but you never actually stitch him up, one because you're also sixteen and as any typical teenager you have a crush and two because you crush is him.

Jean's eyes are glimmering with plea as he stares at you, signaling you to let him in in an unspoken way. And you do as his eyes tell you mostly because you don't feel like having to deal with seconds thoughts after that. You are soldier after all, this comes higher in hierarchy than being a teenager.

You sit him down on the wooden floor by the edge of your dorm bed, your supplies neatly sitting next to you in an old medical box. Momentarily, you make a note to yourself to clean any rust on it once the morning sun crept in your window.

Jean is stiff as he takes a look at your candle lit illuminated face. You have a few superficial scars here and there, but as far as he knows, puberty is going to eliminate them before you manage to make new ones. With titans not in the picture anymore you won't have to wound yourself for sometime.

"care to tell me what happened this time?" You ask with a tiny pinch of salt that Jean catches a soon as it leaves your mouth.

"Eren said something that I didn't like." He briefly looks away, embarrassed in the tiniest bit.

"Let me guess. Mikasa said something about being devoted to him and you got super mad and you told Eren off and then he spoke with the worst remark on the history and you got mad."

He flinches, suddenly as you toss him your shirt.

"here, bite this"

"your shirt?"

"Jean I ready don't have anything else"

He flinches once again when the needle pierces his forearm. He knows he eventually has to bite onto that cloth but he's embarrassed since it smells like you and also since your face is so close to his.

" If you come any closer I might-" Why does he even feel a need to ruin this.

" shut up, Jean boy"

" I'll get boogers"

"you really are something right, your brain is like on another level of thinking." You're proud of your remark until it hits you that you're no better than him for trying to tease him. Especially when he's not into you. You focus on the opening on his arm for now. It's obvious Eren threw him at the edge of a table by the way it's opened up so you make sure to check for any more splinters as you go.

It doesn't really take much time for you to finish patching him as a matter of fact, but you really enjoy that blushed look on his face.

"you shouldn't get into these fights. It's childish, and it makes me worried about you."

This isn't something he expect you to mouth with such ease.

"well I won't if you tell your sweet Eren to stop getting on my nerves."

"my sweet Eren?" This is confusing to say at least, but you can't not think superficially at the moment. Teenage hormones should be your excuse for once too. "Weren't you like super in love with Mikasa?"

" yeah b-but no. Eren said you two kissed."

"Jean this is not a reason to get into a fight with him"

"so you're not denying it"

"of course I didn't kiss Eren. You should have known better than to believe him. He's a friend but he keeps hurting you when I've told him to be patient with you."

"you've told Eren to be patient with me?" Jean can feel his blood boil at the hearing of that. He doesn't need Eren to show him any pity.

"yes, because seriously we're all drained an tiredz so be patient with him too, please? For me?"

He avoids looking at you and your semi sassy tone because his ego is hurt and because if he looks at you he will snap. You on the other hand keep pushing him to speak as you start to take a better mental grip of this whole new level of information you've got.

"don't take Eren's side when as you said he lied about kissing you."

"I'm not, he does that to get on my nerves. And if Mikasa isn't mad about it then she's in it as well."

Coming to think of it, Mikasa didn't even bat an eye when Eren spoke those words. How could he have not seen it earlier. He's still confused about why this had happened, though.

"wait why? Why would he want to get on your nerves if he doesn't like you."

You sigh, deeply, in despair. He definitely has shit for brains, the captain is right. He really has never noticed your liking in him.

" because, Jean boy." You squat before him and ruffle his hair in a way you know he hates. "I like you. And the guys are always on my ass teasing me about it."

Jean shakes his head in disbelief as you get up from your squatting position. His hand is on yours, stopping you in your track before you know it. How can you be so casual about this, when he can already feel his cheeks glow red and his heart trying to escape from between his ribs.

"So you didn't kiss Eren?"At this point it's only fair that you bang your head against the wall, but you're not as thick skulled as Jean.

"Jean for the last time i-"

Before you know it he's up and his hands are on the sides of your face, pulling them with a somewhat painful force. It takes a moment for you to realise that Jean, is in fact kissing you, not just shoving his face into yours to bump his forehead against yours.

"thank you"

"Did she seriously say thank you?"

"they're a lost cause I'm telling ya"

You easily recognize Mikasa's and Sasha's voices from outside of the room but you can't even master up the courage to form a right sentence in front of Jean right now, so you'll have to deal with their eavesdropping later.

[imalwaystiredzzzz]

#sleepy.txt - answers asks about me, just talking to everyone

#exhausting.rant - writing ramblings/rants + progress updates on fics

#best bed time stories - best and recommended stories that I’ve read

#tiredz writes! - all of my works compiled, including asks/replies that I’ve written with plot

[imalwaystiredzzz]

Yan dad Diluc please “ Daddy what’s a whore? That Donna lady called mommy that.”

NOTE: This is much shorter than I expected but it fits Diluc and how he thinks as a yandere, of course if he's in a loving relationship with his wife he wouldn't let them know that "sacrifices" that he makes and he wouldn't let the knights catch him at all. Diluc too smart for that.

“That’s not a word for babies, sweetheart.” Gloved hands ruffled soft hair, hoping that it was enough distraction for his child from the topic. Such nasty words to come upon their innocent ears, he doesn’t know who to fault: his inability to take account that that woman would dare say anything like that to his child or that he had let his child out to Mondstat, around those people at all?

What was her escort and caretaker even doing to let that word be heard by his child? He’d need to have a talk with them later, even if his mind screams that their incompetence had brought this up.

It’s a good thing that his impassive face isn’t something new to his child, or they’d have noted how his eyes had darkened with the thought of crimson flowing from his hands. Red has always been the Ragnvindr’s color after all. Red the color of flames that purge; he needs to purge all that endangers Mondstadt and his loved ones, but not now. Diluc needs to be patient, lest he drags his name into it. He knows that the knights, Jean, Kaeya and Lisa to be exact aren't beyond suspecting him if they knew about this incident, he needs to be careful in disposing trash.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

I’ve been having thoughts! Yan Venti x Reader 

You’re a devoted nun, a sister to Barbara and Rosaria, always praying to Barbatos for the goodness of Mondstat and thanking him for the freedom that he had given from the bottom of your heart; a do gooder to the point that some of the older one’s told you that you were someone to be looked up to by the younger ones (despite you telling them that you have so much to learn and improve in.) 

Venti’s always heard all the prayers and secret whispered in the wind, but he doesn’t know what pulls him to yours, like a favorite hymn that he can’t help but repeat until he knows it word per word, speak it on the same beat that your lips open, and yet listen to it even more. He loves your holiness, the devotion, not for him but for his beloved land; but most of all he loves the way you love it more - with all your heart and happiness. To his eyes you were perfect, ideal and heavenly, someone that he had long to touched, to have, to keep, as selfish as that maybe. 

So he times it, when you were praying late into the darkness of the night, singing a hymn on your knees with hands clasped in prayer. Venti appears before you, not as the drunk bard from the tavern but as Barbatos, the god of freedom. 

Oh you were just so willing, so pliant, the sparkle in your eyes betrays no emotion that it was easy for him to make you do things despite the question in your head: “Isn’t this inappropriate?” 

“I’m your god, shouldn’t I be the one who can better tell which ?” he’d say it with that familiar laugh, before continuing to kiss you, forcing his tongue in yours till he could taste you, sweeter than any drink he’s had before. Hands roaming the clothes that cover your skin, until he’s felt for the buttons, undoing them one by one despite your protest. “Will you really deny me?” 

Of course you wouldn't, how could you ever deny him in this form? When he’s the one that you’ve prayed to almost all your life, it felt wrong, felt like a violation but you kept your lips shut, going along with what he had wanted.

Could this be called desecrating a god within his cathedral or a woman of the cloth? Venti wouldn’t know, doesn’t care to, as he kiss your skin until it’s marked that you’re his territory, every inch of your skin touched by his hands,  tracing every curve before it settled on your cunt, dripping just from his ministration so doesn’t this mean that you’re enjoying this too? Does it bring your joy to be chosen by your god? 

His thoughts fly out the window, a single objective in mind: to breed, to fill you with his seed till you’re overflowing and painted inside out. You’d be exalted, carrying your god’s child, being chosen by him. 

[imalwaystiredzzz]

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 [𝘠𝘢𝘯!𝘟𝘪𝘢𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳]

Synopsis: Xiao will have you thinking of him, looking at him, one way or another. 

TW: Noncon, stalking, yandere behavior

Words:1217

When Xiao first transferred to your school, everyone gushed over him and his handsome looks; how smart and mysterious he was with how quiet he is -  treated like a headline for a week dissecting his every move, every word like an animal set on the science table; until his ugly past came to light that became the new topic:  gang fights, a disgusting origin and how he’s adopted, whispered and passed around the halls like a secret, as they stare at his back with a wicked smile, thinking: ‘his past is so dirty so he must be dirty too.’ Admiration oh so easily turns to jealousy, corrupting it till there’s none left but all the bullying that he’s had to deal with.

But then there’s you, and maybe you didn’t care or maybe you’re the same as him, because you’re the only one who didn’t treat him differently since he first came, the odd one of this hellish noisy place. You who had bags under your eyes with reading those stories, turning pages with delicate fingers and lips, quirked up silently when you’ve read something amusing; sleeping when you can and not talking to anyone, not even him the other loner of the class, unless it was necessary for a project; rushing home as soon as the bell rings despite being invited by your other classmates to hang out.

It's selfish, this idea of you that he holds in his head the more he observes you from afar but you fascinate him so, to a point that he wants to talk to you, a deep yearning to get to know you as a friend or more if you would permit. Xiao wants to be near and learn what makes you tick, what story made you sad and what whisper made you chuckle; what secrets do you hold that you’d only consider to share with the closest friend. 

Maybe it was heaven’s answer, a blessing, or a god finally hearing his prayer because you were partnered for a project just before graduation. Giddy, his impassive face doesn’t show it but he’s so excited to finally have the chance to interact with you. 

“Let’s just do this in the library,” your tone was neutral, barely glancing at him as you packed your things, books and pen scattered on the table into your bag and proceeding to walk away barely glancing if he had followed. Did you expect Xiao to follow like a silent mut? His frown deepens but the interaction barely began, this is the first time that he’s been this near you so he lets it slide. Maybe...maybe you’re just as awkward as he is, with how aloof you both are in class. 

But you didn’t talk nor initiate conversation like you would to the few people when they’d greet you in the halls, accompanying you to class, not even an offered smile; letting the silent air hang in the middle like an ever growing space that threatens to choke him. As you sit on the library table, 

barely any student around and the librarian glancing at your pair every now and then, he’d hoped that you’d say something, anything, but you’d speak only of the project, the topic and the shared work; turning him down when he offered to continue at his house or at a coffee shop, simply because you want to go home as soon as possible.

Can’t you see him try? How hard and awkward this is for him too, yet he’s giving it his all? Xiao was never good with words, couldn’t control his stone cold expression and tone, but he was making an effort so you wouldn’t flutter away - wouldn’t be scared of him. He’d expected, at least that you would understand him, this aloof and loneliness that hangs about his shoulders because he’s seen this in yours too; when you think no one is looking as you walk alone in the sidewalk or staring at the wall in the back of the class. He’d wanted you to be his friend. 

Anger festers, rooted from the thought that you’re no better than everyone else; like shattered glass, so does his illusion of you. Or was it betrayal? Betrayal because you were willing to act all nice and kind to everyone but him, so cold and distant, you barely even look at him while you write down on papers, unaware of the sour taste that poisons his tongue, intrusive thoughts of spitting it down your throat, his hands on your neck as he commands for you to gulp it down before tightening his hold and choking until you could only babble like the whore you are.

Xiao would flip you then, face on the table, arms in your back so you wouldn’t thrash around as he has his way, pants down on your thighs as he admires that ass that he’s looked at one too many times in the past, before sliding down his dick on your tight pussy; gasping and begging him to stop as you finally look at him clouding his mind until his pants felt constricting. 

It’s been a week since then, the project ending without much of note and graduation looming within months, thinking that you’re ready to move on from this page of your life; all’s well ends well except that you felt like you’ve painted a target on your head, as Xiao glares when you think you’re not looking. 

The afterthought of you, being his friend or the crush that he’s begrudgingly admitted to himself warping to something deprived - porn that could only be described as degenerate morphing to your face and figure as he relieves himself in the darkness of his room, not even an inch of guilt after. Wouldn’t he love to put you in your place, under him being submissive and looking only at him, even if that was filled with rage and fear? To have your mind bothered and filled only with the thoughts of him, like you do to his? 

 Xiao’s demeanor turns cold as the mountains when he has to even be an arm’s length, his voice dripping sarcasm and venom as they speak sarcastic words whispered under his breath, if he was rough around the edges then, he’s be all thorns and spikes now with how he’d changed under the little time. People who used to bully him are steering clear and almost every one doesn’t want to be associated with him, now; fully delving him to the path of being the school’s quiet loner kid. Did you do something wrong? A question that you couldn’t answer because you don’t even remember interacting with him that much, school years and memories passing you by without much thought; for sure this too would be no different. 

You don’t even expect to meet anyone from your past in your new college, having enrolled somewhere your acquaintances haven’t even thought of going, but there he was: Xiao sitting in one of your class, without turning to you, you know his golden eyes look at you from the corner, a triumphant smirk on his face.

Triumphant because he knows you remember him and that this time, it will be different. He’ll have you thinking of him, looking at him, one way or another. 

[imalwaystiredzzz]

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦. [𝘠𝘢𝘯! 𝘚𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳]

𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘛𝘞: 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘦

══════ ∘◦ 𝘏𝘺𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘦  ◦∘ ══════

“Marry me.” 

The words aren’t spoken with the softness of a lover asking for his partner’s heart; to be the half of his life, a ring on his hand and down on one knee before her, no.

Scaramouche’s words are more like a command waiting to be obeyed, an announcement that you will marry him, giving no place for your rejection or thoughts on the matter. The man poised like a young lord with his fine regalia and posture that doesn’t doubt power; the bells on his hat chiming like the tolling of death’s bell, a signal for the end. Despite knowing this you gape, unsure where this or he had come from so suddenly, materializing on your front door like a haunting ghost from the past that you’ve long abandoned.

Although irritated with how you’ve reacted, like a deer caught in the head light, as if you’ve forgotten his promise when he was nothing but a meek and powerless man named Kunikuzushi, he patiently waits with electric eyes staring down on your form akin to a god’s judgement; appraising and burning your image in his mind: hair tied in nothing but a simple ornament that could never compare to your days of glory; donning on a kimono that the rags the maid used in his estate are better in his taste. His scowl deepens, oh how low you’ve fallen without him.

“Kunikuzushi…” You begin, earning a glare signaling that you’ve made a mistake. Your hands calloused with hard labor, curl to a fist on your lap, eyes averting and mind frazzled. You felt the cold sweat bead and oh so slowly trail down your back, like claws pressuring you to speak anything, anything to get him out.  

“Scaramouche.” He corrects with a sharp tongue, once is all he needs for you not to repeat,  though he notes that he has much to correct in you, much to teach so that you may fit to be his wife. He was only thankful that he had his soldier wait outside as it would be additional work for him if he had to kill them because they had heard his name come from your lips, a name only you had the privilege to know and to utter with that alluring voice that he had come to love so much.

“No.” Your answer was hardened, your posture poised like your younger years as is the confidence and composure that you’ve suddenly emitted. You look at him, straight in his eyes to let him know that this is your answer, whilst they glint with mirth in return. His eyebrow raised, sparks flying in the air that makes your skin tingle with the danger that looms, a storm brewing in the sky as he was a beast ready to pounce on his helpless prey; with a tone of disbelief and filled with challenge, daring you to repeat your word, “No?” 

The man couldn’t even begin to comprehend why you even chose this place, why you won’t accept his proposal to take you away, it’s no more than what he can only begin to describe as a desolated dump, a far cry of what you once had in those fragile hands that never seemed to know the toiling of the soil. You bit your tongue, swallowing the snarky remark that dared to escape in favor of getting him out and away while also fearful of what he could do and of the soldiers that he brought. You weren’t ignorant of the Fatui and their dealings, no one is that stupid to not have heard of their notorious reputation. 

The man opens his mouth, a snake coiling and ready to strike you with the venom of his words before wrapping itself on your body, dragging you kicking and screaming if he has to, when the knock on the wooden door interrupts him, saving you in the process. Slowly and carefully opened, the wood creaks as do his temper flares, the soldier now under the scrutiny of his superior lowering their head as they speak: “My lord, apologies for the interruption but this child wouldn’t leave.”

And so do the brooding storm hits the land, its whirlwind sucks the breath in your lungs as you felt as if the very foundation of your house had been swept into the sky as you turned to observe him when said child, mannerless and clumsy in her short legs ran from the soldier’s side making a beeline towards you. “Mom, who are these people? What are they doing here?” hiding in your skirt, her voice was small, so innocent and filled with confusion as she looked at the visitors, unwelcomed even to her eyes with how tensed you are; no doubt your tremble was missed. 

Scaramouche looks at her in shock, dissecting her in his mind no doubt, every strand of hair and twitch of a finger that grasp your cloth before turning to you with a nasty glare that taste like poison and promised retribution, a thunderstorm worst than what Seirai has ever had, if you didn’t give him an explanation. Swallowing the fear, like rocks lodging in your throat and all you want to do is vomit, you put out an arm that hides the child from him, away from his attention and on to you and your clear defiance. 

“It’s nothing, they’re just about to leave.” You push her towards the bedroom and like an obedient child, she follows, looking back only once to make sure that you wouldn’t disappear and silently asking for a reassurance that you give with a nod. With a smile as fake as his kindness in his soft voice, like a silly game and you are a child throwing a tantrum, he stands saying: “think about my offer, (y/n),” before walking out without much of a fight; leaving you to finally breathe for now because you know that the worst is yet to come.

══════

It’s been days then, yet every waking moment felt more like torture, like you were a sitting duck on a pond filled with predators ready to drag you down, deeper and deeper under the waters. A waiting game of tragedy on your door steps the moment he had arrived. Sleep evades you, every noise - footsteps and crickets, day or night - sends your senses on overdrive as your mind conjures horrors that he had no doubt planned for you. 

Fear, he strikes fear in your heart that you know this is how he’s come to rule. You know him, or knew him before he was Scaramouche, and if he was as arrogant as he was then then he could only be more so now with all that power and position laid on his palms.

You didn’t expect him to come through with his promise, dismissing it as something that he would forget or death grasping you before him; but in full honesty with your life, you didn’t expect your predicament either: a single woman taking care of a child.  

Stealing your nerves, deciding that attempting an escape was better than nothing at all, you’ve gone through your day normally as to not alert any eyes that may have been on your back. Not even the wind knew of your plan, no clothes nor food packed in bags, only a measly mora in a small pouch tucked in your pocket.

It was getting dark, the setting sun a signal for your run, and yet your child still wasn't home. Nausea made its home in the pits of your stomach, one that you felt before thunder struck the land, as you wondered where she could have gotten herself into. Opening the door to begin your search, you’re greeted by the elderly neighbor running towards your home in haste as if the dogs were at his heels. 

“The treasure hoarders! They took your child,” he shouts with a hoarse voice, phating and pointing at where this had occurred. You supposed that it was your mistake, you should’ve been more decisive and ran for it the moment that Scaramouche had come knocking at your door; should’ve sent your child away to an old friend to at least secure her safety but your mind was clouded with anger. How dare they take what was precious to you? It roars with promise of vengeance, as you clutch your vision that was once hidden under layers of cloth in the cabinet. 

You run and run and run like a hunter to a prey, tracking them with the plants that answer to your call and butterflies that whisper of their move but it’s been days - or was it weeks, now? - you didn’t know. Wasn’t sure. The anger within you had dwindled to frustration, your resolve as strong even when you’ve lost their track as you come upon the coast that only a boat could be used.

The realization of hopelessness was so bitter, salty tears streaming down hollowed cheeks from days of barely eating when you cry to the heavens and the archons for taking everything from you.  Defeated you walk home on bare foot, grime clinging like second skin no doubt makes you look like a mad woman from losing her child. 

But like a star in the darkest of nights or was it like a devil in your times of desperation? Scaramouche stood before your door with a triumphant smile, like he had won a game that you were the prize to be beheld.

“Yes.” There’s a certain tone for defeat that he relishes, that he finds amusing, the kind that weakens a person to the knee, willing to grovel at his feet like he was some god that one should pray to - beg to. 

“Yes?” He had a questioning smirk, an amusement in his face as if he knew you’d make demands and daring you to do so despite your position but also the happiness in your willing agreement. 

“Yes but...you find her.” Though a spark, your fight was not over, for love is a war and you loved her so to the point that if there was hell, you’d be willing to burn and sell your soul to the devil if only to see her safe and sound.

“That’s quite demanding for someone in your place”

“Then I won’t.” A challenge makes his brows raise, the smile that he’d been wearing turning sour as you relish in it, because if you couldn’t have that what makes you happy then he couldn’t have even a drop of it from you. 

“What makes you think I won’t drag you through the mud, force you to do as I say?” A challenge in return, the two of you speaking on equal ground though he’ll never admit it because he has to listen to you and you have to listen to him. 

“Then death will part us before I can even say a single word of my vows,” you laughed then, completely mad in enjoyment with how his anger had flared, a bolt of electricity sticking the very ground that you stood next to, leaving a black spot. A threat. The bells in his hat rings, shoulders shaking as he covers his eyes and laughs too. Oh how the two of you are so much alike, that there was an irony in Scaramouche loving you and you hating him. 

“Of course, anything for my wife, after all that child’s the only thing you have left from your beloved sister.” And you knew then that you have signed your doom. 

[imalwaystiredzzz]

Hello 👋 dad Diluc please ~”Daddy when I grow up I wanna marry Elzer.”

NOTE: Anon are you a genius? THIS omfg I'm thriving. I'm alive. Diluc would burn the whole winery down himself if his kid even pretends to marry someone else because "aren't kids supposed to want to marry their favorite parent because they want to stay with them forever?"

The world is ending, Diluc is sure of that, or at least it’s about to end for the man in front of him.

Elzer felt the heat of hell, coiling its hands in his ankle, ready to drag him to its fiery depths as the master of the house outwardly glared at him from the table, while the child that had chucked him to this state sat on their father’s thighs busy with doing their assignment. Blissfully unaware.

“Why do you want to marry Elzer?” The words are spoken slowly, a question to his child sitting and a threat to the man who stood before him like a sinner about to be trialed for his atrocities. Because of course it wasn’t the child’s fault, even in a thousand different universes it could never be his child’s fault, that they dared to utter such words and so there was only one conclusion, this man whom he trusted, made an advisor of and kept by his side, had bribed his kid with sweets.

The kid pouts, turning to look at him with a quirk of their brow that seemed to say: ‘are you really asking me that?’ before returning to the papers and colorful pen laid on the mahogany, short fingers grabbing the red that they’ve decided matched the hair of father. “Teacher said I can’t marry daddy because he’s already married to mommy,” they said, focusing on finishing the drawing then showing it to Diluc. A stickman that represented him holding hands with another, their mother wearing a white dress filled with flowers, while a smaller one by their side was holding a basket and appeared to be scattering petals like a flower girl.

“Is that so?” The o was drawn out, distracted with the presented portrait as gloved hands receive it, no doubt that it will be put somewhere in the house where everyone could view. Deeming their work done, the child hops off running out of the room with a smile on their face.

Elzer seemed to finally breathe, the blame shifting to someone else and though that meant throwing someone under the bus, he would rather do that sooner than die by the owner of the Dawn winery’s hands. His child has always been a bit of a sensitive topic, hell knows no name when they come of age and everyone can only pray for the poor sod who even catches the child’s eyes no matter what age.

But that was a problem for another day, years away thankfully for everyone’s lives and Diluc’s chagrin.

Added the tag Dadluc so everyone can just view it easier!

[imalwaystiredzzz]

ᴛʜᴇ sᴜɴ. [ʏᴀɴ!ᴀʟʙᴇᴅᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs: sᴄɪᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛʀʏ, ʜɪɢʜ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ: ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs sᴜᴍ ᴜᴘ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴇs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ. ᴀʟʙᴇᴅᴏ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜᴇʀ - ʜᴇ ɪs sᴛɪʟʟ ᴀ ᴛᴇᴀᴄʜᴇʀ - ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ғᴀᴄᴛ, ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟsᴇ.  ᴛᴡ:  ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ, ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 𝟹𝟹𝟻𝟶

You turn the cartoon milk to read the label, the news in low volume from the TV blurred as background noise with Albedo, sitting in front of you; on his side: a cup of steaming coffee and sandwich barely touched in favor of the open book, though you doubt that’s where his attention really is. Taking a spoon full of the cereal, you relish in the sweetness and crunch it makes in your mouth and to anyone else in the world, this would seem like any normal morning - too normal and peaceful like a set in a sitcom opening before the corny jokes and fake laughs resound through the walls, with you wait for the punchline.

“I’ll be going now.” You don’t grace him with a reply nor a look, his lips turn downcast, the only indication that he was displeased with the smallest struggle that you could offer, but makes no comment on it any further. You’ve been here long enough to pick apart the smallest things that give away his emotions despite that impassive face and monotonous voice: his eyes would brighten when he discovers something, the smallest quirk in the corner of his lips; his brows scrunch when he reads an essay that will definitely be getting the red marker; or the way his fingers twitch and face turns cold as ice, before you’re within his tight grasp.

Albedo rose from his seat, chair soundless against tiled floors, to walk towards the front door with his bag in hand. He always moved like that: silent, graceful, the only sound being the click of every lock. Click. Click. Click. It goes, a reminder that you’re locked inside, a secret kept with the skeletons in his closet. Click. Click. Click. Like the hands of the clock that hangs in the wall, another one that tells how long you’ll be here, alone again without company, watering the loneliness that makes you look forward to his return, because the hate that burns like acid in your stomach is better than the void that grows in your mind. 

Today the door is open a bit wider, it makes you turn to look past him, whether this is something he’d done purposely or not to get a reaction is brushed aside for the blessing of a glimpse on those familiar asphalt streets, green grass and warm sunlight that momentarily seeps in. 

Eyes finally turning to him, you know that he knows what you were thinking so you avert it, never missing that look: the one he’s used when his experiment needs more time, needs more revisions, before going back to staring down the empty bowl and pretending he wasn’t there. He sighs, before closing the door shut, locking you in once more to go to his job. 

Science, chemistry, highschool: those things sum up what he does in the daylight, where people look up to him. Albedo was a teacher - he is still a teacher - yours to be in fact, before he was something else, a monster that parents used to warn you about, prowling around the play ground for children stupid enough to accept free candy. 

No one really knows why he chose to be one, in your school of all places, a nowhere humble place. He could’ve gone to some prestigious college in the city with all his degrees and achievements; they call him a genius of the century, a prodigy, that he shone like a star till his spotlight had blinded people of the darkness that he hid despite the obvious eccentricities. 

It was ironic in all honesty, laughable, if only you weren’t the naive girl you were back then because you should’ve known. Hours and hours pondering, replaying the past like a broken record of where you had gone wrong and what you could’ve done to prevent this, if only you could go back in time; that the way his hands linger on your shoulder, squeezing in what you once thought was reassurance was something else, his eyes following you in the halls as you gossip with your pears, or that friendly smile that made you feel special, heart thrumming, as he talks to you after class. It was no secret that teacher Albedo was a campus crush, with that aloofness and handsome face. Albedo Kreideprinz, it rolls off your tongue like the names in romance novels that you’ve read.

But most importantly, the reddest of them all: the way he would tend to his garden of roses, just below your bedroom window, that you now understood wasn’t actually because he cared for them. He told you once that he liked to draw, that his garden was where he felt more relaxed, and you assumed that it was the flowers, never that it was you who was the subject.

You once, on the first day, wallowed in the despair and misery setting in your heart - at this grand scheme, in the darkness of the basement with no windows nor his eyes chilling you down to the bone, halfway losing your mind.

“How could I be so stupid?” you’d cry, hoping that they find you - find him - but even that was diluted after hours had turned to days. They say that after 48 hours, a kidnapped person was more likely to turn out dead, but you weren’t, although buried under the soil that he had watered, just next to the house that you had grown up in. 

Despair turns to anger. Click. Click. Click. The locks are opened and you are graced with light that surrounds him like a halo, as if his opened arms were salvation. You blinked a few times, pinched yourself to make sure that you hadn’t gone mad and this wasn’t an illusion nor a dream. Light, it felt so utterly foreign and warm. You see a light and maybe like so there was an end to this tunnel, consumed by emotions that burst like fireworks against the night sky and the black ichor in your heart that beat with adrenaline. His eyes flickered with an exhale of frustration as you snarled and tried to attack him no more than a dog.

He wasn’t disappointed then, expecting such a reaction as he held you in his arms. No, it was cold disdain and something else in those blue iris. “Sleep,” commanded his voice with the needle on your skin. 

Just like that, the flames in your nerves was snuffed, freezing you with fear as your face fell, when you felt your sight being consumed by the darkness once more. No, you don’t want to go back, you want to shout like a child, trying to shrink away from him, from it. 

The next time you woke was on the soft mattress of the second floor bed, cotton sheets against your now clean skin as you felt his presence by your side - cold blue eyes watching your every move, heightened when you had stared back at them openly.  In your petulant attempt of resistance, you look away and tried not to acknowledge him at all, even as he leans forward, settling on to the side of the bed as he runs his fingers on your hair, leaning down to kiss your crown with so much affection, it might as well poison the very air you breath.  

“Why? Why? Why?” You pleaded to any god that might hear you, struggling to process what had happened, hoping that your beloved teacher had a good reason for committing these atrocities so you could just brush it under the carpet like nothing had ever happened. 

“Please let me go, I won’t tell anyone,” you tried to bargain with your broken voice, the silence giving way to melt everything else but tears of desperation that finally streamed down flushed cheeks. You never got an answer as he simply helps you drink a cool glass of water, satisfied in your compliance as he sets it down, or was it because you reacted in the way that he had expected, playing into a script that he wrote long ago when he had studied you from afar? 

“You should rest, I’m sure the past few days have been stressful,” he said with a monotone, like a doctor telling his patient to simply drink this medicine to relieve a headache; as if he wasn’t the whole reason why you’ve been through hell. Bursting, you slapped his hand away, disgusted with his touch. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says looking down on you, like you were an impudent child to be reprimanded. 

“No! Take me back you monster! Do you think my parents, the cops, would let you get away with this?!” You shout with all the frustration, throwing the pillows and anything you could reach at him with full force, until it was the glass of unfinished water soaking his clothes and shattering at the impact. Eyes blown in anger, he pins you to the bed, tight grip bruising against frail arms. 

“Don’t…” said through gritted teeth, a threat, as he breathed deeply to calm himself. “No one’s going to find you. No one’s going to know.” His voice was back to how it was, flat and sure of every word as if what he had said was the simple truth, without joy nor guilt, not even a tinge of fear as he reaches out to cup your cheeks, that it stirs the nausea further finds its home in your stomach till you could feel it in your throat let out as whimpers and hiccups between a jumble of words tumbling out of your lips, wanting to deny your position.

“Even then, no one would think to suspect me.” His lips were almost touching the shell of your ear, hot breath making your hair stand on its ends. You wanted to cave on yourself, to cry and shout, anything else rather than the settling hopelessness that grimly but surely nails you in place as he leans further and further into you, pressing you down on the bed.

“You are a monster,” you said the words, slowly, hoping that it would sink in his head of what he’d become, of what he’d done. “Don’t pretend you aren’t,” your eyes twitch, emotions melting all together as you scrape them one by one, spinning your head even more with how fast and how much events have transpired. You were a pendulum, swinging around endlessly from fear that makes you whimper and want to hide to full blown anger, consequences be damned so that it would further feed your fire to fight, to push him away. 

With sigh, exhaustion at the thought of his  future work and struggles with you forming in his head when he observes your reaction, he finally says: “You’ll be happy, too, someday. You’ll be okay.” You guessed it was meant for reassurance, though not for him because he clearly knows what he’s doing. “You’re scared, soon you won’t be.” He takes your hand, kissing them with promise as his eyes look intensely unto yours. 

Today, you turn the cartoon of milk to read the label, the ugly outdated picture missing picture on its side annoying you while your name flashed in the corner of the news in the turned down TV blurred in the background. You eat your cereal with Albedo, sitting in front of you, his side a steaming cup of coffee and sandwich barely touched in favor of the open book, though you feel his eyes observing you, drinking in everything before him, and to the both of you in this small house, this is just any normal day - too normal and peaceful. 

“Happy anniversary.” A flower and a wrapped gift was placed in front of you, you cringe with the way you’ve become excited to know what was under the colorful paper tied together by a nice blue ribbon - much less to happily receive anything from him but it was dull, like a throbbing old wound that was starting to heal; sometimes itchy and painful, others you can barely feel at all.

“I can assume that you won’t be going out today?” You guess that what they say about couples, if you two could even be considered that in your situation, was true: that they’ll begin to absorb and resemble each other, with how monotonous the words on your lips had become; amongst all things that you’ve adapted to with how long you were with him. 

“Today is dedicated to you,” was his only reply, continuing the routine of the morning and leaving you under fear mixed with excitement on the anticipation of what that entailed. 

Tonight you felt the familiar dip of the bed, wood creaking under the shifting weight as he settled by your side. Gentle, he’s always been oh so gentle with his touch in here, that it was devastatingly cruel how he’d be the complete opposite in the one below; there was a funny symbolism there, so simple that you wanted to laugh when jokingly realize: when you were bad, disobeyed him, you’d be put back under ground that resembled hell, tortured and held with all his rough edges, used to satisfy only his need, but if you were good, he’d put you here, on the second floor where it was heaven. A soft mattress and night lamp on the bedside, he’d make love to you here; holding you softly, carefully, as he makes sure to do what brings you pleasure too. 

You turn to him, as he reaches for your shoulders to pull you close, silently nestling his nose in your hair to be surrounded by your scent; while you do the same on his chest. Comforting, he was the warmth that you’ve long learned to never push away, opting to hold it close despite how wrong it first felt. You guess you were supposed to sob, to cry in despair, a year had passed today and that’s exactly what you do when he whispers: “Happy birthday,” in your ears.

A year ago it was supposed to be a special day, a happy day, your parents leaving for work earlier so that they’d be home waiting for you with warm food and cake on the table, wearing those funny hats with colorful balloons littering the place; while you friends were ready with gifts on their bag as they wait for you in class. You shouldn’t have looked at the flowers with amazement if you knew you were the flower to be added when you’d come across him on your way to school then, “Happy birthday,” he’d greet in the morning as he was finished tending to them, and offered you a ride to school. “As a treat for the birthday girl.” 

You shouldn’t have accepted his offer. 

The memories that flood through you was overwhelming, and like the first night you’re too exhausted to hold it in, to hold anything in; you fill the air with your whimpers and whines, each breath with desperation for air as if you were sinking further and further underwater without relief; if your tear drops could have been bottled there'd be an ocean worth. You soaked through his shirt, the pillows and stained your cheeks, no doubt you looked like a mess but you didn’t care, even as your fingers clutched the fabric that you could almost rip it. You clung to him as if he was the only one who could save you,

You felt his attempt at comfort, hands rubbing your back without a word. “Please let me go, I won’t tell anyone,” you tried to bargain with the same words that you’ve once said, hoping against all hope that somewhere in him there was a heart that empathized with your pain - to be understood. 

“You know I can’t.” A kiss to your forehead, he cups your cheeks and makes you look at him through blurry eyes. “My love for you is wrong,” a kiss on your cheeks, lingering as if he savored the taste of your tears. “I’ve accepted that, long before.” A kiss to your lips, sealing a promise to never let you go, his words spoken without a hint of sadness, as if he was stating an answer from exams and the grip you’ve held onto him tightens even more as another cry wrecks itself in your system, shoulders shaking as you broke down one last time.

And he doesn’t miss it, the hope dying in your eyes, the acceptance that settles in your heart. Albedo supposed this is another thing for celebration, today really is a special day; “This is good,” his hands continue to rub your back, up and down, despite your cries finally dying down leaving you cold and numb and empty.

���I thought this day was for me.” “I know, I’m sorry. I just can't hold myself back anymore.” He breathed, unable to hide that chuckle that bubbled in his chest, and you felt the rumble of his chest, happiness apparent that you didn’t need to know what would happen next.

You don’t protest when he opens your shirt, fingers slowly undoing button per button, making sure that you feel everything, completely preventing you from dissociating; pinning you to this momentous event, to be remembered for years to come. 

“So soft,” he’d compliment, holding a breast in his palms, massaging it sensually, as he blew on the other perked nipple before opening his lips to suck on, fixated on bringing out your moans. Successfully so, as he knew your body like the back of his hand, days spent in memorizing your curves and what brings you to the height of pleasure and pain, or even in between.

Though that would only last for a moment, before he was onto your underwear sliding them down and forcing your legs apart so he could settle between like it was his home. 

He stops, he always does, to stare down at you like this: blushing wet mess, underneath him as you should be, he could never get enough of your beauty, though he had an album of photographs already tucked safely for his eyes only, used as he pumped his dick though that could never compare to your hole.

Once, he tried to paint you like this, but soon found that he could never really replicate it, never fully bring it to be on par nor give it life - never give you justice. He runs a finger on your dripping cunt before inserting one, savoring how it swallowed his digit, body all too used to his ministration from all the effort that he’s made to condition it so.

Did the body follow the mind or the mind follow the body? That’s for him to know, because you couldn’t even begin to understand your own head at this point anymore, only following the needs of your body. 

Removing his clothes with a shuffle, he pushes into your hole with a hiss, warmth engulfing his dick and sucking him in. You guess this too, fits him all too much. Yes, he’d take time to admire, to memorize and picture like an artist but he was a scientist, first and foremost, that his habits were carried into the bedroom.

What was loving to him was methodological, precise, giving the utmost heights of pleasure to both parties, or at least to him and pain to yours in some cases; all the other things that most couple would consider as romance: kisses and loving words whispered to each other, sensual and slow build up of foreplay was never even considered or they were “unnecessary,” as he calls it. 

Come morning, you throw the empty carton of milk in the trash, mindlessly noting how you have to remind him that supplies are running low and another grocery run is in order; you turn the TV off, opting for the peaceful chirps of the bird perched by the tree by the side of the window. “What a lovely morning,” you say to yourself, as you prepare breakfast.

In this small house, this is just any normal day - too normal and peaceful.  

[imalwaystiredzzz]

YAN!Childe x Reader : Blue eyes

TW: Implied body mutillation, yandere behavior, kidnaping Words: 8480 Note: No edit I got lazy. I wanted to use Ajax as his true name but went with Childe instead, Idk what made me choose the difference. Not edited properly, it's so long and I’m so lazy. 

Snow crunches beneath your boots as you exit the carriage, old cobble steps lay before you while the familiar gloomy Snezhnaya weather looms; the freezing snow has yet to fall but it’s already so cold that had you not brought the jacket on your back you’d be frozen from where you stood, not that’s anything new in here. ‘If you don’t keep moving you’ll freeze,’ they always say yet from here, you could see Tonia on your temporary home’s porch, hands on her back and feet swaying back and forth a s she waited, and you could only hope that she hadn't been in this weather long - you’ve definitely stated not to in your last letter.  

“Another one?” A soft curious voice, the woman with long braided purple hair whispers under her breath, seeming to have come from shopping if you were to look at the paper bag in her hands; youthful face blank but violet eyes fill with curiosity as she memorizes your image in her head, studying your from head to toe. 

“Good morning, Ei! Hi (Y’N)!” Tonia finally greets turning towards you with a little skip; blue eyes twinkling like stars that crinkle with the warmth of her welcoming smile, cheeks flush like fresh apples and long ginger hair bouncing at her excitement. 

“Good morning, Tonia. I told you not to do this.” There's a scolding tone in your voice, hands put dramatically in your waist while she simply laughs it off, soft giggles bouncing in your ears that was hard not to go along with. You should’ve expected this, you guess patting her head covered with a fluffy hat that you once sent as a gift, after all she’s always been a little rebellious since she was a child that always insisted to follow you everywhere, still slowly growing responsible with age, the fire of stubbornness that couldn’t be doused burning within. 

Maybe it was a lovable, as much as it was a headache for the adults, trait that the family shares. You like to think so with a smile as old keys jingle like bells in your hand when you open the door with a creek in its hinges.

“Don’t worry about her, Ei’s just not used to people.” There’s an apologetic expression on her face, shaking hands up to her chest as you simply accept it with a nod, not that you expected kindly neighbors or the same face since you’ve left and had only just come back. You simply nod, hoping that she wasn’t saying so because of the momentary solemn look that falls on your visage,  “are you going to come in?” You finally ask, gesturing with your hand while you put your bag down. 

“Uhh no, I just wanted to see you first! I’ll let you settle in,” she answers, once again with the shake of her hands, but still appreciative and thankful for your kindness while there was a dash of embarrassment in her reddening ears, no doubt from the admission of what she thinks is a childish act.  Tonia moves to walk away, steps thumping down on the hardwood while you watch her back not yet ready to close the door; she turns before taking the last step on the small stairs of the porch, a cheeky grin, one that you have missed from the long absence of traveling around Snezhnaya, as she says: “By the way, welcome home.” 

You wave at her as she sprints, not quite ladylike with what she was wearing: a long coat that seemed like a dress, but probably too excited to care as she wants to brag to her siblings of the news. Reluctant to lose sight of the child, your mind begins to wonder if you would’ve stayed and wouldn’t have worked traveling around if you had siblings like her.

“If Childe was here, would things have been different?” You whisper to yourself taking a look at the sudden snowfall that prompts you to finally close the door lest you invite the cold before you could even start the fire and inspect your temporary home, though looking through all the empty rooms filled with dust and furniture covered with fabrics there wasn’t much to see. 

Beginning to unpack and clean through it, you could only smile in nostalgia as you sweep the mantel of the lit fireplace in the living room, up until you’ve come to the blues door with a strange matching painted key. Not that you would judge the owner, they did choose to color the house blue as well, as if it was their favorite and that it matched with the winter wonderland. You’d at least expect something stranger, remembering this particular one in childhood where no windows looked into the room that made you imagine all sorts of hidden treasure inside and yet coming up with a brick wall that must have been done when dividing the house for it to be rented like they do now. ‘Well there goes my magical childhood fantasy,’ you thought with a chuckle at the same time that a knock could be heard from the front door. 

Opening it you were greeted with a little boy who was jumping with happiness at the first sight of you, “Big sister Tonia said you’re back and I wanted to see you again!” Teucer’s childish voice had been a break from the silence that hangs in the space since the other’s departure, without any word you invite him in, which he takes without hesitation unlike his sister. Childish blue eyes marveling in awe as he begins to explore the rooms while you prepare him hot chocolate. 

You wonder why you thought this place magical once, like he does now, dreaming to live in the big blue house up on the hill that wasn’t like those at the bottom that you had grew up in; you and Childe used to sneak here everyday, to simply look through uncleaned windows and point at all the corners where you would put the furniture or play with his siblings. Maybe it was a childish sense of wonder for something different or was it that this was your epitome of rich?

“Are you really going to stay here?” You don’t answer as you sit him in one of the cleaned chairs, taking off his hat and ruffling orange hair before giving him the warm cup that he happily drinks; distracting him from the question and topic all together, he was afterall the one to cry and beg when you’ve began to travel around and you couldn’t really blame him, having been present since he was an infant and clinging to your hip like he did to all his sibling, he’d already told everyone that you’re part of their family long before anyone could properly correct him. 

Chubby cheeks still there and that familiar boyish smile, there was the warmth like he was a little sun to anyone who would talk to him like he do now, recounting stories of all the adventures that he has gone through; all the words that his siblings scold him with, probably expecting you to defend him; and all the events that you have missed when you were out. 

The sun was already setting when he was finished, more like you’d reminded him so he had to finish, his face crumpling to sadness like that of a pleading puppy that you once found hard to reject but alas, he had to be home before he worried his parents to their early grave. Helping him put on his scarf, he gains a look that he has remembered something important as he fishes his pockets for a small box. “Big brother Childe told me to give this to you,” he said with expectant eyes waiting for you to open the gift, curiosity plastered all over his gesture. Granting him this one, you open it gingerly and come upon a ring embed with a blue stone. 

“He said he wanted you to have it, visit us soon big sister!” Teucer waves goodbye as you fit it in your finger, a proud smile on his face as he looks at it before running out and on to the cobblestones, disappearing before you could shout at him to be careful unless he wants to slip. 

That night you lay in bed, dreaming about snow and a red scarf that was around a ginger boy’s neck, dreaming about a long night where you listen to hushed conversations that you shouldn’t have heard. “He hasn’t been home since yesterday,” his father came knocking on your home, asking for people’s help while the other could only hope that you weren’t awake, unaware that you’ve already opened your door to peek on who it was. 

You dream of a long night, waiting in your bed beside yourself with worry and looking out the window where you could barely see as the storm rages on, your father’s return seeming to take longer and longer as is the news of your childhood friend. You wait and wait, even as the possibilities became slimmer and everyone loses hope, the news becoming grim: scraps of his clothes and a red scarf by the old well behind the forest of that blue house that you usually play in. 

In your dreams you stare at that deep dark hole that snatched your friend, calling out your name with a voice laced with fear, frantic as he shouts for help; the water at the bottom splashing as he trashes around for a gulps of air as it fills his lungs. You try to reach out, hands outstretched and almost falling if you haven’t been disturbed by the paws in your nose that woke you before you could succumb further into the nightmare. The black cat jumps away from your chest, towards the bedroom door as soon as it sees your eyes open, panting as if you were the one who was drowning. 

Staring and wondering where it could’ve gotten in from as you were sure that all the windows and door were closed, you slowly get up, head still hazy with sleep as you follow it towards the living room where it enters that bricked door, left slightly ajar despite you closing it earlier if you could recall. 

Confused and wondering if you were still in a dream, you gingerly follow, opening it and stumbling on another living room that was a mirror to your own, only that this one was fully furnished: decorated with plush carpets soft to the feet, a table filled with trinkets, sofas with a blanket and pillows, and even pictures that hang in the wall. Astonished, you look around whispering to yourself, “This is definitely a dream.” After all, how could it ever be as perfect as the one you used to imagine it to be? 

Walking in further, there was a hum in the kitchen, the sizzle of a pan, a thud of something being chopped and the clanging of metals as if there was someone cooking, that lured you in. 

“Who are you?” Fearful, you stand in the entrance daring not to enter any further lest the man was dangerous, eyes darting everywhere that you can grab and use as a weapon before it finally settles on him. 

“I’m hurt you don’t remember who I am?” Dead blue eyes, dull and deep as the ocean that seemed to pull you further and further into them, he frowns with a pout and wonders if you’d really forgotten him when he turns around to face you.  

“Childe?” You don’t hide the shock that falls on your face, the breathless and wide eyes that stare at him as he opens his arms, probably expecting an embrace almost like welcoming you home in them. In your thoughts, the man standing before you is exactly what you’ve expected and yet not at all; grown up and taller, he’s clipped his orange hair with an odd looking mask and still wearing that signature red scarf.

“You haven’t had dinner yet, right? Sit down, I’m almost finished cooking.” He smiles, voice cheerful and excited as he ushers you to sit on the chair, once he realized that you weren’t going to come to his embrace anytime soon. That’s okay, he has all the time in the world he thinks as he moved back to the stove, continuing to cook like this was normal. 

The heat of the kitchen warms your cheeks and confuses you even more, if this was a dream it was too realistic and perfect, something that you haven’t had the luxury of in a while, so you welcome the small reprieve with open arms; settling down and leaning your head to the hand that you’ve propped on the table, as you study his back that moves as he flips the pan. 

“If you stare at me like that I’ll blush.” The cheekiness in his voice is the same as what you’ve used to hear, he doesn’t have to turn and look at you to know that you’ve seen his red ear despite the messy long hair. You’ve always had this effect on him but brushing that aside he puts the food on a plate, serving it on the table as he sits himself by your side. 

“Did you like my gift?” Confused, you raise a brow as he doesn’t reply, looking at the ring that you wore in your finger and though he doesn’t say it, Childe admits that he likes the way you chose to wear it and how it looks there, fitting comfortably.  

“Ah yeah…thanks,” your eyes trail off to it, showing an emotion that he couldn’t read, melancholia or nostalgia? He wasn’t sure but didn’t like, changing the subject he reminds you of the dinner that he worked so hard to prepare, never missing a moment to brag about his cooking skills that you never could quite reach and he was blessed with the way you looked amazed when you take that first bite: eyes dazzling with happiness as you look down on the plate, smile growing genuine and blush returning to your cheeks as you dig in. 

“Welcome home.” He couldn’t help but whisper under his breath, despite that he was sure that you haven’t heard it at all. Dinner was nice, talking to Childe about the childhood that you both shared and telling him about his siblings, a part of you wished this was real...that when you wake up this was what you’ll see and that it never ends. 

“Hey remember that promise when we were kids…” Like a signal to the end, a time to wake up, the grandfather’s clock rings at midnight as he smiles fondly, the ends of his eyes crinkling with a tinge of sadness that seems to say goodbye despite that you don’t want to wake from it at all. 

“You should get to bed, sleep is important,” He whispers in your ears, holding your hand and leading you up to your room without letting you say a word of protest. Same as the others below, unpacked and tidy, ready to be occupied. You get on the bed, his hand still holding yours, “I’ll be here until you sleep,” he sits by the chair that was on the bedside and you smile grateful and wishing that all your dreams could give you this warm feeling instead of fear and regret. 

══════ ∘◦☾◦∘ ══════

You wake to your room, the same as you left it before you slept, bare and shelves empty of any of your stuff yet still somewhat decorated with your favorite blankets and pillow, a family picture by your bedside and your closet finally unpacked. You’re sure that people would begin to wonder if you truly live here at all with how desolated it looks at first glance, and you guess it’s only a fitting reflection of what you truly felt. Staring at the ceiling, you recount the dreams and the feeling of everything in it against your skin, hand closing and trying to grasp onto its memory lest you forget, before you decide to stand up and start the day. 

Checking the blue door, you open it once more to find it bricked, leaving you with a sigh; not sure what you were really expecting as you held your head when a light pounding in it began to form. ‘I better take some medicine,’ you note walking towards the porch, expecting some mail only to find a package wrongly sent.

Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to help even a little bit, you change to your normal attire and take a jacket, your other hand bringing the hot coffee that you plan to drink before taking the medicine when you get back. Climbing the metal stairs installed on the side the house, you knock on Ei’s door only to be greeted by the woman who held the epitome of the silent beauty, pale skin that doesn’t have a speck of blemish and pink lips neutral while electric eyes gazes at you with curiosity. Even as she only wore a robe that looked to be the first thing that she had gotten her hands onto, she seemed to be unbothered by the cold morning breeze. 

“Our package got mixed up, this is yours.” There was a stutter in your words, was it an embarrassment for staring at her too long? You weren’t sure, only that there was something about being under her eyes that made you shy, wanting to shrink away from her attention. Handing her the small box, you give her a kind smile as you offer the coffee that you haven’t got the chance to take a sip, yet. She stares confused at the offer, but gratefully accepts, delicate fingers wrapping around the warm mug as she gingerly takes a sip. “It’s bitter...thanks,” she utters with a small voice.

Without expecting anything more, you turn to leave, stepping down the stairs once more to begin your descent back to your warm abode when she suddenly says: “Hey! this might sound weird, the crows said ``don't believe that blue eyes.”

Opening your lips to reply, you didn’t get the chance to even get a word before her door was shut leaving you with nothing more.

Shrugging it away and yet confused by the weird events that happened so far, you’re back on your porch trying to open the door when a young man with a green hat and braided hair comes running to you with an energetic smile on his face, waving his arms around like a flapping bird as he climbs the stairs from the rented space below. 

“Zhongli said to say hi to you and that you’re invited for a cup of tea!” He’s out of breath when he does catch up, hands on his oddly thin clothed thighs bending over and struggling with the giggles that he couldn’t control at the same time. 

“Uhh I don’t…” Reluctant, you look around thinking of an excuse to say no. Sensing this, his green eyes turn pleading, inching closer with hands clasped together like a prayer,  “Please!” He prolongs the word, head nodding as if that would make you accept the invitation. Pushy and stubborn, you could only sigh as you finally agreed, knowing that you couldn’t deny people like him who, one way or another, knew how to worm through people to accept what they asked for...in this case annoying you early in the morning, if it’s to be judged how the young man timed it so. 

“Also it seems like Ei likes you so we can invite her too, I’m Venti by the way” Outstretched hands wait for you to take them, deciding that there was no harm in making acquaintances despite being here temporarily you reach out and shake it, unable to contain your giggle from the way he beamed happily that reminded you too much of a bouncing sunshine that doesn’t seem to fit in the Shneznahyan winter. 

“Nice to meet you Venti” He giggles too, melodious like the twinkle of wind chimes on warmer summer air, happy to see his neighbor happy.

“Nice to meet you too, only stopped by to say hi, ehe!” He waves once more in farewell, his green coat hanging loosely on his shoulders and hat falling askew in doing so, walking towards the metal gate while you could only return it shyly. 

Finally entering the house, you sigh with the exhaustion that’s slowly creeps in your bones and wish that you could just go back to bed but you remind yourself that you had paperwork to finish and send before the end of the month, lest you endanger your chances of being transferred to Liyue or Mondstat, not that you’re picky. Anywhere but here, you mutter to yourself, anywhere but where the wind is frigid and there’s only ice, somewhere where the sun shines and warm, away from everything that reminds you of the people that departed. 

Eyes heavy and back aching, you slump on your desk careful not to crumple the files as you slowly drift off to sleep, so do your thoughts: Teucer will be sad, but that’s nothing new, Tonia and Anthon will miss you but they’re old enough to understand. “I could always send the letters and packages, visits on holidays,” you mutter to yourself, consoling that pang of guilt that tingles your heart at the sense that in some way you were abandoning them.

Disturbed and awakened by a black cat rubbing against your feet, you try to pick it up but evades your hands as soon as it senses your movement. ‘Am I dreaming again?’ you question yourself following it through that familiar blue door that oddly wasn’t bricked.

“You really shouldn’t sleep while working, you know, it’s bad for your back.” Childe reprimands without turning, as soon as you enter the kitchen. Smiling to himself, he flips the fish to its side, cooking a lot more from the previous dinner as he’s expecting visitors, not that you were aware of any as it was his own little surprise after all. You sit yourself at the table, indulging the pleasant dream once more, “I had papers to finish.” 

“Still, you should take care of your body first! How could you ever get anything done if you’re not in perfect health.” The tsk he makes are reminiscent of his mother’s, lips turned down into a frown and hands on his hips, while you cover your mouth trying to hide the laugh and staring at him incredulously. 

Unamused by your reaction he tries to chide you even more, only eliciting the giggles that burst out, unable to stop it any longer; not that it’s what he was expecting but a welcomed one nonetheless, with how relaxed you looked: shoulders shaking seeming to shed all the burden it carried, your eyes were closed brimming with tears, laugh were like music to his ears; halting when the doorbell rang and you’ve turned to look at the direction confused and eyebrows raised at him.

“You should get the door.” He dons a warm smile, that oddly doesn’t reach his dull eyes, and yet the same way he does when he used to present you gifts of flowers and odd rocks when you were children. Choosing to indulge him (or was it the dream?) further, you get up from your seat, his gaze following your back like a hawk as you walk out to the hallway and unto the front door, startled by a knock.  No more like a thud, heavy and hammering against concrete, just down the opposite end of the door where the large mirror hangs on the wall despite it remaining empty as you turn to inspect. Not a shadow nor another sound, you ignore the other oddities that came with this surreal dream, thinking that it was quite rude to leave the people waiting outside with the snow.

You are greeted with Tonia and Treucer, Childe’s siblings, well they are, but also not with the way their blue eyes seem to be the same as his, dull and dead, no shine nor twinkle that usually gives away their emotions that you’ve come to love; the younger one running up to you with a hug, ‘hasn’t he become younger?’ you internally question picking him up, while the young lady was exactly as she was when you’ve last seen her. 

‘They act the same,’ you watched as the youngest clung to Childe, getting out of your hold, as soon as he saw him, laughing and regalling him with stories of adventure and toys that he wanted to get; the other taking over the kitchen while you began to set the table. The three of them talk about something that you could barely process, head too preoccupied with comparing reality and this, whatever you may even begin to call it. 

“Are you okay?” Childe whispers in your ear, a hand placing itself in the small of your back as you finish placing the plates and Teucer finally sits at the table. “Yeah...just a light headache,” your smile was apologetic, eyes looking at the scene before you filled with nostalgia as your brain replays memories of better times from childhood: those rare nights your father would let you stay over, sharing meals with his family with no quiet moment, everyone having something to say, and always oh so lively. 

“They’re just the same old siblings, remember?” He reassures, leading you gently to the seat at the head of the table, the chair already pulled while everyone looks intently at the both of you as the man assists you into it. Cooing at the affection, Tonia begins her tale of woes about finding love like that of a charming prince, while Teucer could only show his disgust and Childe laughs at their antics, followed by you blushing profusely in embarrassment trying to deny the implications of such romantic affections. 

“Can we have hot chocolates after!”

“Not until you’ve finished your slice” Tonia stands from her seat, taking something out of the oven that you haven’t even realized was there since the beginning; the oldest following after as he stood behind you, hands on your shoulders preventing you to move while they served the cake already properly decorated, a “Welcome home” written on top with blue frosting, candles lit as dull eyes looks at you expectantly blow them out; to accept the dessert.

Pressured, the hand on you tightening with every second that you don’t respond, you shakily lean putting the fire out with a single breath and with doing so, it’s as if the veil of happiness descends upon once again. Except now, your eyes were trained at the hand that had let you go and gripping a knife as he expertly slices the cake, clean and without a crumb falling out of place he placed your plate in front of you, dead blue eyes staring and drinking your every move.

“I wish it could always be like this,” high pitched and obviously childish, Teucer declares so before putting a large portion into his mouth, bits staining his chubby cheeks that held a blush that never seemed to fade.

“It can be if you wish for it.” Childe sat again by your side, inched closer and knees touching, you swore you could choke, the air tense as you were sure he was expecting an answer once more but stealing your nerves, unable to admit your grim reality even in your dreams, this was your perfect dream, idealized, so you don’t grace them with a reply afraid of tainting it with the truth.

Thankfully he doesn’t push further, quietly going to the counter to prepare the drink that the child has asked for. “Where’s Anthon?” The question slips from your tongue and like so everything seemed to pause: the snow on the window felt suspended, the leaves mid movement, the others looking at you in shock. 

“Uhh...He couldn’t come, he had work.” Tonia’s voice was shaky, as if the excuse was made with all she could scrape in her mind; the man with the red scarf doesn’t turn, appearing busy and yet shoulders tensed with the way he stood by the kettle. 

“Work? Couldn’t make time for a family dinner?” Awkward silence settles, the growing pit in your stomach makes itself known, telling you that something feels wrong. Something feels weird.

“I want to go to bed now! I’m sleepy.” Teucer stands on his chair, an exaggerated yawn as he pulls on his sister’s arms to the second floor, the girl confused and reluctant to go. Childe smiles, putting down the mug and killing the fire as he says: “I guess it’s time for bed too.” The snow continues to fall when you follow his gaze to the window, the pause a distant imagination of yours brought about by confusion. 

Closing the curtains, you sit on the bed waiting for him to speak. He knew that you knew him all too well and at the same time a mere stranger conjured by your mind, but he also knew that you weren’t stupid. No, you weren't a rabbit waiting for a predator to pounce, like a seasoned prey your instincts flare at the slightest twitch of a finger or movement of his hair.

“You should’ve told him something instead,” he begins, turning to look at you as he settles himself on the chair by your bedside, a familiar space, an arm’s length. Close that you couldn’t run and yet not close enough for his taste.

 “I don’t want to answer that question.” Stubborn. You were always so stubborn and that’s what he likes about you, the things that make you tick and the fire that couldn’t be doused. 

“You can stay here as long as you want, you know.” He says so but it’s ignored, opting to settle into bed wanting the confrontation to end and to simply wake up to reality once more, this dream becoming unbearable because Snezhnaya wasn’t the country you wanted to stay in.

You didn’t want to stay under the blanket of cloudy skies, never properly seeing nor feeling the warmth of the sun against your skin; you wanted to see pastures of grass, leaves moist and green under your fingertips as you run along the land with a fabric that flows with the summer wind; you wanted to feel sand on your feet, an ocean that wasn’t frozen, before your eyes; mountains and cliffs ascending as tall as the heavens. No, Snezhnaya wasn’t the land you wish to be bound to. 

“But I don’t want to stay here forever…” you whisper before drifting to sleep.

══════ ∘◦☾◦∘ ══════

Stirring oddly in your bed tucked in and warm with no memory, before your dream, of how you got here; an ache in your limbs and exhaustion like you haven’t slept a wink crawls under your skin, makes you wish you could stay under the covers all day. ‘If I hadn’t accepted that invite,’ you dread, putting a hand on your face to cover the light that peaks through the curtains. 

Deciding to finally get up, your back seemed to creak as old as the hinges of the doors, chains wrapping itself on your person enticing to lay down longer, a few minutes, a few hours or the whole day.

Sigh, you seem to heave too many breaths these days, was it the dropping temperature or was it an oncoming cold? You don’t want to think, the headache worsens when you trouble yourself, the only reprieve being that ‘this isn’t forever, just a bit more,’ spoken like a mantra as you stare in disdain at the snow that fell just outside the window, as you went down for the kitchen, a cup or two of coffee becoming an absolute necessity before you go out trudging for groceries. As much as you would like to refute, Childe’s words seem to echo in your mind; he’s right, living like this: canned goods and the bare minimum isn’t very good for your health, especially if you really want to be in top shape for your future travel.

Walking towards a nearest bakery, a bell ringing as you open their humble oak door and proceed to browse through their displayed pastries, when you find that your tongue could distinctly remember the taste of the cake: not too sweet, the frosting soft in texture and the bread underneath fluffy as the clouds, just perfectly made to cater your palette. Fingers touching your lips that felt chapped, you wonder if Childe would have made a cake like that if he was real. 

“Are you the new tenant in that blue house?” Train of thought broken and startled, you look up to find the employee, long blonde hair and eyes as pretty as molten gold, staring at you with curiosity waiting for an answer.

“Ahh, I guess this is for Mr. Zhongli and Venti then,” he continues with a smile on his visage, glee as he studies your reaction confirming his statement, “I recommend Chili-Mince Cornbread Buns, it’s a specialty from Liyue.” Looking down at the food that he was pointing at, round buns with bear paws around fried array ingredients laid in the middle; definite at the information as that you haven’t seen such exotic looking food in your life in the blizzard before. 

“I guess, I’ll take that then, thanks Aether.” He doesn’t need to reply then, simply nodding before going to the back to prepare the order while you stand in wait at the cashier, unaware, as your mind wanders back to the warmth of your bed, that another one has come out to stand before you, writing down numbers on the receipt. 

“I’m surprised that you choose to stay in that house, you know with the ghost stories and all?” Startled, you put a hand on your chest as she laughs amused, hand on her lips and eyes closed.

Confused, “ghost stories?” You question, staring and assuming that she was the sibling of the other with all their similar features, the only difference being that she had short hair and feminine features, eyes sharper as she finally opens them to blatantly stare back. “Yeah, nobody really stays long in there, people say it’s cursed and that it eats children after that kid, Teucer, and some more went missing.” Was her only reply, you wanted to ask more, mouth open to speak but was interrupted by the Aether finally handling you your order in a paper bag, warm and scent scrumptious. 

“I’d bring some apples too, for Venti, good luck with the tea party!” They say as you shake your head, dismissing the conversation as another hearsay. This is a small town and they talk, scientific as it may be or not, they'll believe any explanation of the unknown; finally out of the shop, the cold urging you to hurry your steps, you could only hope that you weren’t late. ‘Archons know that groceries take so long to do alone,’ you grumble under chattering teeth. 

By the time that you’ve arrived, you weren’t sure if you felt the fingers that held the bag or if they were bitten of by the frost, thankfully Venti had opened the door welcoming you to their warm abode at just one knock - exited as he seemed to be waiting by it all this time. Curious, you look around as you enter deeper, at the array of their mix matched items scattered around as what you could only describe as an organized mess of Mondstat and Liyue, green and gold clashing and working together at the same time. “You shouldn’t have,” was the small man’s words as he took your offering, plating them at the small table where a tall brunette of eyes deep as that of quality core lapis sat already drinking tea.

Mr. Zhongli was welcoming, voice deep and soothing that you could only enjoy his stories of Liyue, while Venti would quip here and there, annoying the man if the twitch of his brows and that fake cough is an indication; and you find yourself enjoying their company, especially after telling that you weren’t here for long as you plan to migrate at either of their home land, both of them trying to give you places to definitely visit, cultures to read on and try, as they not so subtly advertise them for your chosen new home. 

It was already dark, not that you could properly see with their small windows, when you told the two that you ought to be back. Venti gives a small whine as he wants to talk more, complaining that Zhongli never listens to him, nevertheless leading you out and waiting at the door as you put on your coat. You’re about to thank them one more time, bowing slightly when Zhongli hands you a bag of tea. “It helps you sleep and relax,” he says and you wonder if you looked as haggard as you felt, cringing at the thought of what you must look like to them.  

Exhausted and wearied down to the bone, you didn’t need the tea to fall asleep on the bed as soon as you were home; hoping that tonight would be a dreamless rest but alas! It seems that even that wasn’t granted as the cursed black cat was once again pawing at your nose. 

Trying to swat it away was hopeless, as it would only return once your arm tire out and be put down on your side, the one that made you stand on the other hand was when it finally decided to push the family picture, effectively breaking it. “That’s it!” You shout as it meows, running with you on its heels. 

“What are you doing?” Childe asks, appearing at the hallway without the sound of his footsteps, looking at you confused and that amused smile on his face, infuriating you further to the point that he was sure steam was about to blow from your ears. 

You huff, refraining from shouting and stomping your feet like a child, glaring everywhere that the animal could’ve hidden in, “That cat!” 

“My cat?” 

“Yes! That cat that keeps waking me up!”

“Ahh…” 

The subject of your irritation instantly shifts, arms crossed over your chest as you walk slowly towards the tall man; he, on the other hand, puts on an apologetic face with hands up gesturing surrender. “I’ll tell it to stop bothering you, Mr. Cyclops surely doesn’t mean it. Anyway, the neighbors invited us out! You should change, I already prepared you something to wear in your room.” He looks at you from head to toe, like a predator appraising a prey, studying every curve of that oversized sleep shirt and pajamas hanging on your body. 

Embarrassed and the heat from your anger dissipating to embarrassment at his gaze, you try to cover yourself, arms on your shoulders before opting to run up the stairs and hoping to remove those dull eyes on your body. “I’ll be waiting on the porch,” he shouts from below as you finally come upon the dress laid on the bed, red matching with the color of his scarf, embedded with the finest silvers and diamonds ornaments that your eyes had seen. ‘Doesn’t he like to spoil?’ you think so yourself as you fit it into your body, the perfect size hugging your curves yet covering skin, making you look more of a woman than you thought you were capable of, with all the layers that cover you daily hiding your figure. 

Slipping on the shoes that it was accompanied it, you finally walk down, a knock from that damned mirror halting you from opening the door once more and just as you were about to turn, to take a look at where that odd sound came from, Childe comes in catching you in the act with a disappointment on his face at what you were about to do. Coughing into his hand, he settles on a smile drinking your image and embedding it into his memory before offering his hand and walking you towards the garden. 

“Odd, the snow isn’t cold.” Snowflakes fall on the palm of your hands, melting at the warmth but you felt none of its bite. You come upon the table placed under the gazebo, that was deserted in your reality as no one would have the right mind to use such a place with the cold winds, but here it was pristine and white, covered in fascinating decorations and filled with people: Mr. Zhongli conversing with Ei who was already munching on the sweets, Venti drinking in the corner and waving when the both of you finally come into view.

The tea was warm, never getting cold as the food, you could almost enjoy the company if it wasn’t for the way you couldn’t avert your eyes from them as they speak. Mr. Zhongli was speaking about something, everyone attentively listening except you, mesmerized unsure if it was fear or confusion creeping in your head as you stare at his eyes now like Childe’s, deep as the frozen ocean, never able to decipher its true depth until you’ve finally drowned.

“Are you okay?” The whisper becomes repetitive, but even then you’re unsure with how to respond with the way his hands settle at the curve of your back. 

“Yes, I just need a second,” you finally reply after much thought, standing from your seat to walk deeper into the garden where the plants have grown green as if there was sun to nourish them and the trees are tall as the forest that you’ve once read about Liyue. Glazed lilies, another one of those blue things that you’ve grown to distaste stands in your way, blooming under the moonlight. 

“I told you not to believe in those blue eyes.” You turn to the young man, short in stature, much like Venti as his electric eyes squint at you in disdain like you were a bug that had offended him. Inspecting closer, you find that he looked similarly to Ei had she been a male. Does she even have a younger brother? You wonder gaping at him as he walks farther away, the sound of crows squawking scares you and your mind shouting to follow. 

“Are you okay?” The voice is urgent, worried, as opposed to the gloved hand that holds your arm back from moving any more. You look at him afraid, pale and disheveled, staring at Childe.  “Maybe we should go home.” He guides you, no he pulls you into his embrace without listening to your protest, patting your hair before leading you back to the house. He doesn’t say a word of what happened to the party or if he had informed them at all, and to be frank you were too exhausted to care. 

══════ ∘◦☾◦∘ ══════

Waking in bed, you headaches like there was a thrumming drum in the beat of its pounding, body so exhausted that you felt as if there was something heavy filling your chest and you could barely lift a finger; you long to sleep once more closing your eyes and hoping that you drift but you find that you couldn’t, mind and imagination running around with thoughts that you could barely hold nor understand with how frazzled it is. Frustration builds, unable to comprehend why you’re feeling like so, until there was a knock on your front door that made you heave a sigh, willing you to calm yourself while getting up despite the protest of your muscles and the creak in your bones. 

Anthon stood there as his face fell when he saw how you look, horrible no doubt like a walking corpse, with your pale skin and dark bags under your eyes, unkempt hair and donning on the nearest robe and jacket that you could get your hands on. You want to invite him in, but no words leave your lips, vision blurring and mind, that tries to comprehend what he was saying, hazy. 

Every sudden move, the wind chimes and the falling snow, the sway of the trees and even the leaves makes you want to hurl if you had something in your stomach; you could only grip the doorknob for support, wishing that you don’t faint in front of him. Sensing the state you’re in, Anthon enters and assists you to the sofa in the living room. “Do you need anything?” He asks, voice laced with worry as is his expression, calm hands that hold your shoulder, but all you can see with your mind’s eyes was the way did so and your heart starts thumping, further aggravating your condition.

“It’s nothing.” You try to brush it off, maybe you were just going down with a cold in tandem with the coming winter. Taking your word for it, he nods but gets up to leave, returning with a blanket and warm tea. You smile, as best as you could, as you say thank him. “I’ll leave when you fall asleep,” he reassures, sitting down on a chair that he had dragged almost like he was your big brother and you were his little sister. 

“You remind me of him...the Childe, in my dreams,” you tell him. It’s supposed to calm you down, supposed to remind you that the dream was just nothing more, but every sleep becomes unnerving and you fear that this is another. Did you even wake up to begin with?

“You know, when Teucer was younger, he would go near this place a lot.” His eyes weren't dead, at least that stills you enough to drink the offered tea, as he recounts the memory.

“That seems like him, he used to follow us around when he was a kid.”

“Yeah...some days he comes home telling us about Childe, we weren’t even sure if he’d remember his big brother after you know...we lost him when he was really young, but he does and he talks about him a lot. Then one day he didn’t come home, and we feared the worst...Father boarded that well, you know after so he was sure that Teucer wouldn’t fall too but there was no sign of him at all. Tonia was...she was inconsolable, then one day that kid just showed up and won’t tell us what happened no matter what.” He stops, apologetically looking from under his lashes, afraid that he might scare with the silly ghost story. 

“Maybe this house is haunted...I don’t like any of my siblings going here and I didn’t like you staying here, but you made a promise and well I couldn’t really stop you, it was his dream to you know.” He did say his protest in the letters when you’ve announced it so, and now you could only lament that you didn’t listen to them, brushing it aside as irrational fear of the place that almost took 2 of his family.

But a rational side of yours, something that wouldn’t listen speaks: “or maybe the house just reminded you of a loved one long gone and the work is finally catching up.” You sigh, trying to put the baggage on your shoulders down for a single second as you recite your mantra like a prayer to the archon that doesn’t listen, hoping that the transfer would come sooner. If you sleep will you wake up with the awaited approval?

When you fell asleep and opened your eyes, it was already dark, a blizzard raging outside made the old woods creek and any lights vanish from outside the glass windows, but the fire was lit and warm. Childe sits where Anthon was, standing to carry you in his arms as soon as he notice that you’re awake. 

“Odd, there’s no cat.” You mutter, voice muffled as he sits you down on his lap on the plush carpet floor, his embrace caging you against his chest and warm blanket shared between two. This was supposed to be nice, romantic even; a couple in each other’s arms, but all you could feel was the bile that rise to your throat, wanting to push him away if it weren’t for your arms that were so weak you couldn’t even lift. His arms that once was comfort felt like the tendrils of a spider spinning you tighter and tighter to his webs until you could only choke.

You heart felt like it was in your throat as you think: this is wrong. Wrong. Wake up. I want to wake up. Whatever this man was, he wasn’t Childe, no he was more like an imitation of him luring you, his victim to this perfected bait of an idealized world. 

You avoid looking at him, the only protest that you could manage, opting to look at the fire that blaze and you wonder if you’ll survive if you pushed him in it the way that Hansel and Gretel did to the witch in their story. His grip tightens then, as if he read your mind, nose inhaling your intoxicating scent and going for the curve of your neck, will he drink your blood and feast on your flesh? 

“You realized, don't you...what I’ve become? I can feel it, the shake of your body and your heart beat. I’ve waited for you...all this time, I almost thought that you forgot your promise.” His voice was muffled too, teeth barely biting skin as he speaks and hair brushing against your face. He hides his face, afraid in the moment of vulnerability but wasn’t shying away from showing it to you. This was you, his childhood friend, surely you’d understand him; he turns you around, hands on your cheeks forcing you to look at him, look at his eyes as he says: “I was so lonely in here, I almost took Teucer. If it wasn’t for Tonia crying out for him, then he would’ve stayed here too.”

His kiss was clumsy, hurried like a thirsty man on a dessert coming upon water. It was sad and there was nothing else to describe the act, had he not been forcing you were sure that you could cry but that’s all gone even in your heart. Horror only remains as he parts for breath, a smile reflecting his desperation that finally reaches those ugly eyes when he says: “Stay here with me, like you promised.”

The box that he puts on your lap wasn’t small, it didn’t contain a ring that would hold marriage vows, but even then it’s what he considered a gift. Injection filled with blue ink, he takes it out, reassuring you that the needle was so sharp it wouldn’t hurt as it closes in on your eyes. 

[imalwaystiredzzz]

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘋𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 [𝘠𝘢𝘯!𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘰 𝘹 𝘍!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳]

𝘚𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴:  𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘈𝘭𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰. 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘛𝘞: 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭,  𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Professor Albedo Kreideprinz from Biology and Chemistry is a campus crush. Because seriously who wouldn’t swoon over the young aloof genius with a handsome face? Girls and boys would fall in love even with just his voice during lectures, so there was no shame in admitting that you had eyed him, maybe one too many times.

The reality of it however? He’s a workaholic under a lot of stress, you two maybe close in age as he had graduated much too early, worked his way to balancing his job and mastery, and now already on his way towards a PhD. They called him a prodigy. 

He does actually have porn but it's not a list. Okay, maybe he has a list, but it's to conserve time from trying to scroll through bullshit and find something worth jacking off to. He's not some computer nerd who spends his time in the dark burning their eyes and all their time just to search for something to masturbate to, he’s a busy man with things to do. 

So sex? It’s just a stress reliever and he knows how you or most students on campus eyed him like a piece of meat, he’s not as oblivious as others would think that he is.

And you? You're just so willing to give yourself away like that, so cute and trusting of him like a little puppy just because he gave you a little attention, the perfect fit to be his ideal bed warmer.

If you asked why he wanted nude pictures of you, he’ll tell you that it is a reference for that painting he's working on, art is his hobby, the only thing that doesn’t directly tie him down to science, but couldn't finish coz he keeps pumping his dick off to it. He's THAT stressed

Albedo rationalized his degeneracy. He's smart and above it all! He has a life, if you even call talking with his student assistant Sucrose at least once a day that; or will get a life after he’s achieved his goals - what can you do, he’s ambitious just like his parent had taught him. “Your skills would be wasted if you bother with unnecessary things, don’t go around making a mistake,” they once said to him. 

Maybe that’s why this man has commitment issues towards human relationships, thinking that attachments will only hinder him. No cuddles and romance, as he doesn't have time for that because he’s too busy with the lectures, exams and his thesis. THIS MAN IS COLD AS THE MOUNTAINS. If you ever want to kiss without the sex? He's pushing you off and calling you an annoyance, just be a good pet and sit on dick to warm it while he works on the papers, out of his way until he needs his dick milked with your bouncing when his mind becomes too cluttered. 

Albedo is “Gaslight. Manipulate. Mansplain”

The main problem with him is his nasty kinks, he looks at you like you're some lab rat he wants to dissect. He's into a lot that gives their partner pain or pleasure because he wants to observe you. “I’m fascinated with the human reaction, you’re the only partner I trust.” Is the only explanation you’ll get from him and the words he’ll say to make you agree. Later on you’ll realize it by yourself: that this is just full blown turning him on. He probably has a knife play kink but will do minimal aftercare, don't expect him to give reassurance in words, take a hint and don’t be delusional that he actually loves you beyond the experiments. 

This wasn’t how it actually began though, he used to be so sweet and caring, but you guess that was only to get your trust. To make you agree in “experimenting,” new things with him. Now if he needs a hole to stick his dick into, like Xiao sucks to be you but wake up, it doesn't matter if you're busy on projects too, it's a small simple project that your tiny brain will never be able to comprehend, his PhD is more important and harder so he needs you to be a cum dump.

He might have used the power dynamic of him being your professor but IT'S YOUR FAULT for agreeing to it in the first place, for never rejecting his small advances when he asks you to grade papers with him or stay after class so he can talk to you. You're just such a bitch, throwing yourself like that onto him, so why do you keep whining about wanting cuddles, romance or dates? He doesn't have time for stupid shit like that.

When Albedo gets attached he'll manipulate you even more. Probably the one who baby traps you or puts out word that you're actively seducing him. 

Who would believe you if you defend yourself? You, just another student on the campus or him, the highly respected professor that girls have a crush on and is well known to be focused on his job? They'll think you're another student who shamelessly just wants higher grades without working hard for it like the others.

If he baby traps you, oh the shame, again you're some whore sleeping with their professor! Worst of all, you got yourself knocked up and made a scandal. Albedo might get some back lash but the way he's so calm about it, saying he'll take responsibility and wouldn't leave you, they just have to forgive him. He's still a valuable asset, a good professor and holds a lot of titles under his name, so they can’t let him go. 

Work? Haha funny. Graduate? What do you need that for, his pay is more than enough to keep you at home and just be a cute wife who waits on her husband at home.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

Venti please "Venti your such a gremlin."

[ 100 FOLLOWERS EVENT ]

TW: Yandere behavior/thoughts

NOTE: Hi anon! I really love this one and it took me some time thinking "How could I make this into a yandere?" Venti is one of my fav characters and YES! He is a gremlin (◕‿◕✿) I hope I get more yandere asks as I enjoy them as much as I enjoy the dad!Diluc

You squish his cheeks between warm palms, red from the alcohol while he lets out a giggle.

“Am I now?” He taunts with a hiccup to sell his lie, the night is young and he’s already had a number of drinks during his earlier performances letting anyone but Diluc behind the bar think he’s drunk.

“Yes, you are!” You reply, delighted and carefree, a smile gracing your lips that had tasted one too many drinks yourself, offered by the bard. This wasn’t new for the both of you, and to anyone at least it had become a common occurrence to those who would ask, because Venti made sure of that. Made sure that everyone in Barbatos’ city knew that the drunkard of a bard and the florist were drinking the nights away - well at least he was always drinking, he thinks as you more or less just stuck on a corner like a wallflower, dragged at this tavern to watch another one of his performance and deal with his antics after.

If anyone in the vicinity had been seeing straight and turned their head on that lonely table up on the darker corner of the second floor, Venti was sure you’d look like the perfect couple having a nice date. “But am I your cute gremlin?” The bard asks, cutely leaning unto your figure until he was close, close enough for his breath to fan against the skin that trailed with goosebumps, warm against his that came into contact while hands trailed on your waist until you were caged in his embrace.

You didn’t answer, petting his dark tresses between fingers that would make him hum like the birds and simply letting him hold you like so, because of course you would, how could you deny him when he’d shown such vulnerability? The way his eyes turned down with sadness looking at anything but you and his shoulders that seemed to have become heavy, shedding the masks that he dons in daylight and made sure that it wasn’t something that you’d miss.

Because of course you would, and it’s one of the things that made him love you so: the blurred line of your obliviousness and godly kindness, never seeming to know where it began or end. Helping out Kaeya when he’d become too drunk as sat on a lone bench in the streets, hands trying to touch what wasn’t his until Diluc or a knight had finally come to pick the man up, Rosaria who would shower you with too much with compliments on innocence when you would offer her a snack after roaming at night, and even a stranger that you hadn’t know the name that simply asked looked to be in need of help, the way you did to him.

But these privileges were something that he would never miss the chance to take, like a thirsty man on an endless dessert, Venti was set to keep your overflowing oasis to himself, always asking for more and marking the days of you handing them out like candy on your shop’s counter were over, the moment you had offered them to him. ‘I just want to be selfish with this one,’ he thinks, the embrace growing firm as if he was scared that you too would float away like the dandelions when blown on.

‘I have set everything free, let me keep this one for myself.’ A silent prayer in the crevice of your neck, unheard by anyone but him, and yet the hands on his hair halt their action. Uncomfort to his forward affection making itself known.

But even through his selfishness, he doesn’t have the heart to keep you hidden under lock and key, as much as he would like to do so. He couldn’t bear the thought of you never walking on the stone paths of his beloved city, admiring all that it could present, nor enjoy the summer breeze, hair bouncing and a smile rivaling the prettiest of flowers that was offered to his name.

And thus he couldn’t stop the ways everyone else would be enchanted by you, too. You who had the god of freedom, himself, corrupt his head and heart with an ichor of selfishness enough to say: that you had him bewitched, enticed and all the lovely words that he strings together in songs and poems, performed for everyone to hear, that could describe how the days of his happiness relied on your existence.

“Let’s get you home,” you say after a moment to avoid giving an answer. He knows just what you did, what you always do, turning mute and letting a façade of a smile, a far cry to the lovely ones he prefers, be donned like a mask, a plea to stop. The word “your” always had this effect, a catalyst that made your hands retreat from their playful touch and become too self conscious of your every action, no doubt rewinding every memory of tonight to mark what led him so.

Pulling away a second too long, touch lingering, he whines grumbling about the night being too young and he didn't have his fill as he follows you through the door without having to be dragged; he swore he hears the red head sigh in relief as he does so.

The winds tonight are cold and your hold on his hand is warm, leading him through the darkness of the street, every turn and stone memorized. Venti smiles softly, lovingly, as he thinks: It’s okay, you don’t have to worry as he won’t force you. The heart, much like the wind, could never be forced, albeit it could be owned the way you do to his, as much as you’d like to deny it.

He is patient, having all the time in this peaceful world with no hunger nor war that you were born unto, and love could be learned, nurtured, much like the great tree that stood strong and tall in Windrise that was once nothing but a simple plant.

Venti is patient, Barbatos resolves, clutching the hand that held him as he intertwined them, your home coming into view just a few steps away.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

"Breakfast in bed for the best Dad in the world!" For Dad Diluc please and thank you!

Gotta admit you got me hooked on domestic scenarios ngl😂 and I really like your writing!! ❤️

Congratulations on your milestone!! 🎉���

NOTE: Anon I'm hooked with writing the dad!Diluc too! he's so soft and warm towards his kid because he wants to give them the childhood that he had but better. Because of this I'm tagging it as Dad!Diluc. Also thankyou for liking my writing hehe

Dishealved, there was nothing else that could describe him when Diluc’s child suddenly barges in on his room at what could only be called an ungodly hour of the day: the sun couldn’t even be seen in the horizon, air still cold and stars still hanging on the dark sky. He subtly glares at Adelinde who was standing by the door, an apologetic smile on her face and the equally haggard look, for this event as a child should be fast asleep on their bed.

“Oh thank you darling,” he’ll say it in the softest tone, a genuine smile carving itself on his visage as he combs through long red locks with his bare hands, before opening them to invite his beloved to the bed by his side. The aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread wafts through the room making him salivate, there's a growl of his empty stomach as another stressful night filled with secret patrols and doing the work that the inefficient knights couldn’t that could be heard and made little giggles erupt from his child, going up to his mid for an embrace trying to listen in more.

Patting their head and going for the drink first, the headache and stress on his body is slightly relieved; had anyone asked Diluc would say that it was a magical elixir filled with mystery and magic that could cure any of his illness, well at least anything that his child made him do that. Then taking the bread he says, “ahh” to the little one putting a piece on their pink lips and delight courses through his very veins with the reaction he’s rewarded.

Maybe mornings weren’t so bad, afterall, if he could be greeted by this everyday.

“I asked Ms. Adelaide for soooo long but she wouldn’t relent! So I never gave up until she relented.” Huffing with chest filled with pride, Diluc felt a little bit sorry for his child’s actions, she can be a little too stubborn, a character that they shared too much with their mother. Still, his heart swells grateful for the new found cherished memory.

His voice is gruff, coughing into his hand to clear it. “Ahh did you say thank you?”

“I DID! She even told me what to prepare but I had to stay up really really late because you always wake up so early!” He pinches the cheeks that were puffed into a pout, before the child finally yawns, settling by his side. Sleep crawls on the little body, eyes droopy as it slowly closes while Diluc continues to consume the offered breakfast at the same time laying a comforting hand on their form to lull his beloved kid to dreamland like he did so when they were a baby.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

For Diluc again sorry, "Daddy look *holds up a baby mitachurl* Isn't he cute? I named him Chonky".

[ 100 FOLLOWERS EVENT ]

NOTE: Halo sorry it was so late! As everyone knows Genshin updated and I just had to play until I got everything done (￣▽￣*)ゞ I really do enjoy writing for Dad!Diluc and this had been sitting on my draft for a day now.

“Where did you get that?!” Diluc couldn’t prevent the raise of his voice and the worry the washes over his face, he was seconds close to snatching it from his child’s hand and throwing it meters away to be burned, only prevented by their small eyes and the sadness on his child’s face seeming as if they were a kicked puppy and he was the perpetrator.

“Did I do something bad?” The voice is small with uncertain fear, hiccups threatening to escape from pouting lips, and the man’s hardened heart sways. The helpers within eye shot gave him a silent look that said: how could you make your beloved child cry? Before turning away in disappointment. Putting a gloved hand up in silent surrender, Diluc formulates all the ways he can make his sweetheart let that...abomination go.

“No, sweetie, it’s just that where did you pick it up?” He finally asks, with the softest voice that he could muster, squatting down to their height as to properly converse.

“In the wilds while you were busy talking with mister!” The childish beam is back, all smiles and upbeat like a little sunshine, Diluc couldn’t really blame that curiosity to wander and explore; he’d expected them to pick odd berries and flowers even to show him like they’re doing now and yet as if the archon’s have no mercy his child had to pick of all things THAT.

“We can’t keep it, who knows what disease it carries?” Once, he’d seen a parent do this on the streets on Mond when a child held a stray kitten in their hands and begged their mother to let them take it back home, and with all his heart the man hoped that it would work. Had it been a cat or dog, even a lizard would do, he would permit afterall he was one who had kept a pet himself once around that age.

“But we can have the doctor check for it, can’t we?”

The pleading puppy dog eyes that child used on him was immaculate, his heart melting as if it was the final blow to his walls, how could he disappoint and say no? But he fastens his nerves, hardening his resolve, and ready for the water works even if he has to deal with a pouting child for a week, knowing how vindictive as their uncle Kaeya they could be. ‘I really need to lessen the time they spend together,’ he internally notes with a sigh to the upcoming headache.

“Darling, we can’t domesticate wild things, remember? There are wild animals that live in?” One last try, Diluc resumes, hoping that this subject had already been taught by their governess or that it may become a lesson for future.

“The forest!” Thankfully his child was smart, exceptional even if you’d ask their father, but wasn’t every parent like that to begin with?

“And pets are those who lives in?”

“The household…”

“And where do you think it lives?” The child doesn’t answer, looking down and dejected, hugging the small mitachurl tighter to their chest until it squeaks surprising them enough to let go. Upon hitting the ground, it ran faster and faster as it got near the line of trees.

“See? it probably wants to go home to its parents now!” He pats their head, as small hands wave goodbye in the direction it went sniffing. ‘I really should get them a pet,’ Diluc could only pull their small form in his embrace, carrying them up in his arms and rubbing their back.

‘I really need to make the estate more secure,’ He further notes, going back inside the mansion.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

“Love... I don’t think we should sleep together tonight. I think I might be sick. It’ll be awful to pass it to you.” For Zhongli. Thank you and congratulations for hitting 100 followers!

[ 100 FOLLOWERS EVENT ]

Note: Anon this is so sweet and thank you so much! I'm advertising Zhongli as one of the best husband material, trust me I'm a Zhongli main! This man will care and protect you, was tempted to make it yandere-ish but let's go for fluff as he's so warm in this ask.

“Do you think a simple inconvenience as such could keep me away from you?” He’d chuckle, finding amusement in your flushed cheeks whether from your oncoming fever or his statement. All manner of protest dies down your throat as he puts his forehead unto yours, cool and steady, “Hmm it seems like you’ll have a cold, no wonder as the weather’s been volatile as of late.” Eyes gold as cor lapis, stares straight to your eyes; staying for a second longer before moving away to push the covers up to your chest.

“I’ll make you something to eat tonight, then take some medicine just in case.” He walks towards the kitchen, leaving you to bed, eyes closed and listening to the utensils move - the clang of metal as he picks a ladle, the thud of the knife when cutting and even the stirring of the pot. Soon enough, the aroma crawls to the room and though you don’t have much appetite it made your stomach grumble and tempted enough to eat.

Zhongli presents the soup on your bed, despite your insistence that you eat it on the table. The soup cooled down, plating intricate and designed as if it was served to be judged by a connoisseur, while the ingredients were cooked to your taste, and the medicine by its side.

When you are done he once more pushes the cover to your chest, tucking a stray hair from your face. “Rest, I will be here. Should you feel any discomfort tell me and I will cater to it,” he says walking away with the bowl, the lamps are blown out and darkness engulfs the room as you finally close your eyes slowly being lulled to sleep.

You’re unaware how long it's been, mind drowsy from rest being interrupted, as you felt the bid dip. Strong arms gathering you up to your lover’s embrace, put against his warm and comforting chest, a small kiss on your crown before finally going back to rest.