kazuharem

[kazuharem]

HIII HOW ARE YOU <333

HELLLO NONNY💖

I am doing well, how about you?

#mail from anon #answered ask #omg this is like the first mail I’ve gotten in like 2 years oop

[kazuharem]

“Quatervois” ↠ Childe

"Hold me tight just a little longer, I don't want the night to be over"

Part I: "Hiraeth"

Characters: Childe x GN!Reader (You)

Genre: Angst with a hopeful ending! (･ω<;)☆

Word Count: 5,326

A/N: I got it down so bad for this man, it's not even funny anymore (⋟﹏⋞) Definitely recommend reading Part I first because there are some references to it. Finally back after like 2 years hehe~

Inspired by this prompt:

"You're upset one night and in need of comfort. You subconsciously show up at your enemy's house, but as they open the door, confused as to why you're here. You backtrack, saying it was a mistake, and that you shouldn't be here. You start walking away, but your enemy calls your name, telling you to come inside and 'We can go back to hating each other tomorrow.'"

Zhongli is a ChildexReader shipper

A03 Link: here

Reblogs are much appreciated! 🙏🏼

QUATERVOIS: FR. (n.) a cross roads; a critical decision or turning point in one's life

What happens when it's over When we've breathed our last breath And we've loved each other to death Can you tell me what happens?

Raindrops hit the marbled cobblestones, dyeing them gray. It mutes the world and all its noises, save for the incessant patter. Childe eyes the humble, little cottage where you had taken up residence and he breathes out, the puff of air momentarily parting the rain in front of him. He ducks out from the shelter of the tree, ignoring how the rain drenches him instantaneously as he makes his way towards the door.

He’s not supposed to be here, not supposed to see how you were doing. But he gave into the growing curiosity that was consuming him and now his fist is mere inches from meeting the wood of your door. Childe hesitates, a sharp pain at his side makes him hiss, but he ignores it in favor of attempting to knock again.

“…Childe?” The voice he would know from anywhere sounds behind him; his name tinged with disbelief. Childe pauses before turning slightly to meet you. A bewildered look passes over your face before it settles into one of caution.

“Hey…” he exhales, brain scrambling frantically to come up with a response. “I was just-”

“What are you doing here?” You interrupt as you approach him slowly, your actions clearly defensive.

Good question. What was he doing here?

“I’m…just leaving,” he offers a faint smile, “I was worried-I didn’t mean-” his words tumble over themselves in their hurry to exit. It makes your eyebrows crease in further confusion. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have come here,” he finally admits quietly in defeat. He makes to walk away when you notice dark crimson staining the gray of his uniform and your eyes widen.

“Wait!” You grab his arm, wrenching him to face you fully, the movement causes him to wince. “You’re bleeding,” Your tone is accusatory as your eyes narrow, trying to figure out how deep the wound is.

“Ah…” Childe coughs, “It’s nothing, I’ll be going now.”

“Like hell you are!” The blatant curse makes Childe stop, a smile appearing unknowingly on his face as he stares at you. You deflate visibly under his gaze as you mutter, “Come inside, you’re hurt.” You note his apprehension. “We can go back to being enemies tomorrow,” You add against your better judgment, but an innate urge to stem the maroon blotch that has been steadily growing overrules all rational thought.

Childe starts to shake his head, “I’ve troubled you enough, I shouldn’t have come.”

What should’ve ended with Childe walking away turns downhill in an instant as Childe stumbles and you catch him reflexively when he pitches forward. “Childe?”

“I’m sorry…I-” It is all Childe gets out before you feel his head land squarely on your shoulders.

“Childe!” You gasp in panic when you feel searing heat throughout his entire body. From the looks of it, he was running a fever. And a high one at that. “What troubles have you gotten into?” The words slip unannounced out of your mouth. You frown at yourself, but even you couldn’t leave him out in the rain. Struggling under his weight, you manage to unlock your door and drag his limp body over to the couch. You waste no time taking off his gray jacket and unbuttoning his shirt to assess his injuries. Scrutinizing eyes rake over countless scars across the expanse of his chest and stomach before they settle on the culprit, and you curse softly to yourself. There is a deep gash on his abdomen, putrid purple smoke oozing slowly from within. It’s undoubtedly the work of a Rifthound. “Why were you in Inazuma?” You scold the silent man, leaning back on your heels to wrack your brain. You had no medicine for treating Rifthound wounds in your house. That much, you knew. There was no other option, you had to get to Bubu Pharmacy for the herbs that could stave off Rifthound poison. Hesitatingly, you glance down at the russet haired man, unconscious on your couch. Bubu Pharmacy, thankfully, wasn’t far from your humble abode. Surely he would be fine for a few minutes? You reason to yourself as you stand up with a sigh. He’s a Harbinger, after all. A voice pipes up, and you’re reminded of a hydro blade aimed at your throat, crackling lightning hurling towards your head.

I wonder where the love goes When pleasure turns to pain When the memories fade away Can you tell me what happens?

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the memory as you start towards the door. A last look at the sleeping soldier before the door closes behind you with a soft snap. What matters now is he’s hurt, and you have to heal him. You tell yourself as you set off in the rain. It’s not the time to dwell in memories.

The trek to Bubu Pharmacy did not take long and soon enough, Herbalist Gui hands you a paper wrapped package with the necessary herbs needed to make a salve for Rifthound poison. Thanking the herbalist, you take care to tuck the herbs on your person as you prepare to set off.

“Hm, so it was Rifthounds,” a deep voice, rich in timber, rumbles above your head and you look up to see Zhongli holding an umbrella out for you. “Allow me to escort you home,” he invites with a wave of his hand.

“Zhongli,” you nod in greeting as you accept his offer. Zhongli follows you, his steps in tandem with yours, both of you navigating through the once bustling streets of Liyue. The rain is coming down harder and no sane Liyuean would be caught out and about.

“The rascal did come to see you,” Zhongli muses, a chuckle emerges. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You...knew?” You pause to look at the ex-Archon, who simply nods at your question.

“Childe came to see me mere moments before I saw you at Bubu Pharmacy. I had presumed he was going to go find you. I told him to get his wound taken care of first. But it seems that he went against my better judgement.” The former God smiles ruefully. “I am surprised, however, that you came alone. Surely, he would’ve asked to come along.”

Exhaling slowly, you tell the funeral parlor consultant that the Harbinger is currently unconscious. The man nods sagely beside you. The two of you start on the little mountain path that leads out of Liyue. “Why would he come to see me?” The question is asked, more to yourself. You meant it to be rhetorical, but Zhongli answers you anyway.

“Why indeed?” He echoes you, helping you up the stone steps. “You should ask him. Why would he, whilst hurt and injured, rush from Inazuma in search of you? Why would he refuse to get his wounds treated beforehand, only to faint in front of you? You know him well. Tartaglia, the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, would never allow anyone to see him in this weak state, and yet-” Zhongli trails off to look at you, his gaze unwavering and knowing. He didn’t need to finish speaking. The implication of his words hangs low in the air, and you swallow hard.

“We’re enemies,” the conviction in your voice is weak. “We have nothing to do with each other anymore.” Zhongli’s brow raises, challenging. “I-I just don’t want him to die on my doorstep, that’s it.” You rush before he can speak. You are sure that you are the only one who believes the words, and even then, you’re not quite sure you believe even yourself.

There is a small smile playing at the edge of former Archon’s mouth. “Hm,” he acquiesces gently, stooping low to fit under the wooden beam that hangs in front of your door. “He talks a lot about you,” the sudden admission makes you falter, trembling hand unable to fit the key into the lock. “Well, he wants to talk about you,” Zhongli corrects himself with a soft sigh. “Every time he stops himself. I see it in his eyes. Whenever we would have our chats…he’s bursting to ask me about you.”

You stare down at your shaking hand. “I wasn’t aware the two of you kept contact after…” your voice trails off, an inescapable bitterness seeping into your words.

The God of Geo hums, “I consider Childe a good friend. I treasure our conversations.”

More like his mora, you add, a bit vitriolic, in your mind, but you offer Zhongli a blank, polite smile.

The next thing Zhongli says knocks the wind out of you, “The contract I forged was between the Tsarista and I. Not with Childe. The contract made was decided a very long time-”

“Stop,” you cut him off, feeling faint. You’re supposed to be enemies. Childe betrayed you. You got betrayed. He used you to follow the orders of the Tsaritsa, you chant in your head. You’re supposed to be enemies.

You knew you were looking for something, no-someone to blame. And if Childe didn’t betray you… Your teeth ground together.

But he did. He kept secrets from you. He tried to kill you. He betrayed you.

“My apologies,” the former Archon murmurs softly, sensing your inner turmoil. He watches as you compose yourself and finally insert the key into the lock. “It’s just-” Zhongli stops himself. Golden eyes that held centuries worth of wisdom crinkle into a small smile, surveying you. You feel seen. Your eyes skip away from his. “Patch him up nicely, won’t you? I’d miss my conversation companion dearly if he dies.”

“Sure…” your voice is hoarse. “I’ll dump him on your doorstep afterwards.”

Zhongli nods sagely, “Much appreciated. Then I shall take my leave. Have a good night.”

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“That’s why I love you!” An exhilarated laugh bursts from his throat, as he sprawls, breathless on the ground, hydro blades dissipating. You stutter to a halt, staring hard at him. You stand over him, the tip of your sword shakes slightly above his throat before it clatters on the ground next to him. He stills once he realizes what he said, mirth quickly disappearing in a slight panic. The two of you stare at each other in shock and you wait, not letting a single breath out. You expect him to refute, to say it was a joke, to laugh it off, but he does nothing of the sort as light-pink colors his cheeks. You think to yourself, had the situation been different, you would’ve teased him about the way the Harbinger looks. He was supposed to be the vanguard of the Tsaritsa, and yet he lays before you, nervous. Nervous at the thought that you, could reject him. Tartaglia, battle hungry warrior, nervous. Tartaglia, whom you’ve just defeated mere seconds ago. Tartaglia, who looks way too happy for someone who just got bested in battle. Tartaglia, who just confessed he loves you.

“…Childe?” A hoarse echo of his name escapes your lips. You’re supposed to be drinking in your victory over your practice duel, supposed to be pestering him to pay for all your meals in the next week as is customary when one wins a duel against the Harbinger.

“I’m not going to take it back, Comrade,” Azure eyes glance up at yours before quickly darting away, “I…didn’t mean to confess like this,” he laughs nervously, “…But my feelings for you are sincere.”

You throw yourself down with a huff next to him. “So,” you drawl, and he hears the laughter in your voice. You’re beaming at him. “You love me, huh?”

He hums in agreement, still red in the face, “Absolutely, Comrade, you held a sword to my throat. That’s true love in my book.”

You roll over to clamber on top of him. His hands settling to grasp your hips naturally, as if they belonged there. This kind of physical touch was natural between the two of you. “I’ve been told I’m very lovable,” you start conspiratorially.

Childe is looking at you and he’s smiling, “I can see that,” his words are hushed. You lean down closer to him, and you can see the bobble of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Childe. Tartaglia,” you begin slowly, “Ajax…” you whisper his real name, and his hands tighten on your hips. “I am going to kiss you now.”

He’s grinning as the two of you get closer. You can hear his heart drumming a frantic beat. It matches yours. “Thank Archons, are you sure I lost our duel?”

Laughter flows unrestrained when your lips meet his.

That had been the first time you swore you saw a light shining within those deadened pupils. The very same eyes that had witnessed countless horrors in the abyss, the very same that had turned a frightened fourteen-year-old boy into a bloodthirsty warrior, adrenaline fueling his veins, the penchant to fight bubbling below the surface. And you’ve only witnessed that look when he’s looking at you.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

Idly, you wonder to yourself, if that moment was fake. After all, good actors never break character. You can’t help your thoughts, but you grit your teeth as you wring out another cool rag, moving to switch the one on his forehead. You lift the bundle of bandages and herbs as you check his wound, making a soft pleased sound when you no longer can see the purple smoke steaming. Sitting back on your heels with a sigh, as you let your eyes roam over his sleeping figure. Childe sleeps, unaware of his audience. His eyelashes flutter softly with each breath, and you allow yourself to admire each little freckle that dots his face and chest.

Maybe I'm the one that we should blame For never thinking we'd end up this way I don't need answers I need you to stay

“What am I doing?” The question is hushed, depraved. You sigh softly and you move to stand up when a warm hand wraps loosely around your wrist.

“Stay…” Childe whispers hoarsely, eyes still closed. “Don’t go…”

It’s the fever talking, you try to reason with yourself. He’s delirious.

The next word is what makes you utter defeat.

“…Please…”

Your resolve crumbles like the sandcastles you and Childe built so long ago, washing away from the waves as you settle back down on the floor, gazing up at the sleeping figure. Childe’s fingers trail down your hand and grasps yours, interjecting his fingers between the slots of yours.

It’s muscle memory, you try to ignore the sudden spike of your beating heart. But you were fighting a losing battle, and you knew it.

“…Stay…” he mumbles, turning ever so slightly towards you. You resign yourself to your fate, resting your cheek against the sofa, intent to study his features. It’s times like this that you are reminded of the way you would admire his sleeping face on the rare occasions in which you awoke first. Childe would always wake before you, so the moments where you can look down on his sleeping face were fleeting at best.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

“Enjoying the view?” Childe murmurs sleepily and you startle, hastily lifting your finger where it had been tracing indecipherable shapes on his cheek.

You’re about to refute when he yawns and opens his eyes fully to meet yours, cupping his hand against your runaway hand, trapping it close to his cheek. “Hi,” he smiles, eyes crinkling softly at the corners as he nuzzles into your palm. Like a cat, you think, allowing him to do so. Childe turns his head and presses a kiss to the ring glinting on your pinky. It sends a tingle through your body, warm and pleasant. An indescribable feeling wells up inside you, but you don’t mind it.

I love you, you want to say.

“Hi,” you reply instead, “Sleep well?” You think he already knows the words you wanted to say. How could he not, with the way he looks upon you, like you’re the sun and the stars and the only light in his life? Surely he knows. He must.

Childe nods, sleep still etched in the lines of his face. “Were you writing something?” He’s smiling roguishly, the sight never fails to make your heart race and you crack a small grin.

“Yeah,” you admit, cheeks coloring gently, admitting defeat. Your lips curl in amusement.

The russet-haired male raises an eyebrow, silently questioning as he continues to gaze at you, the fondness in his eyes is innumerable.

You gently remove your hand from his grasp and place it back onto his cheek. “M-I-N-E,” you spell out, mapping out the curves of each letter on his cheek. “Mine,” you breathe out with finality, settling back on your heels as you await his judgement.

A grin unfurls and you think to yourself that there is finally a light that shines within those azure pupils. It’s a sight you knew you’d treasure forever. He reaches up for you then and you meet him halfway. “Yours,” he murmurs a promise, so sure you had no choice but to believe in it. “I’m yours,” he says again when his lips finally meet yours.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

Please don't let this love die young If I'm gonna lose someone Don't let it be you

You blink. Instead of the morning light throwing sunbeams across Childe’s face, you’re met with the dark shadows of candlelight. You cast another glance at your unconscious patient and can’t help but think of those times when the two of you whispered honeyed promises to each other. Unconsciously, your gaze flits to his gloved hand and your throat tightens. There is a silver band on his pinky finger. Why does he still wear it? You ask yourself. Wasn’t our relationship a front for him to carry out the Tsaritsa’s plans? Your gaze wanders to your own hand where his fingers are still wrapped tightly. The line on your finger is still there, shades lighter than the rest of your skin, where it was once covered by a similar band to Childe. What does it mean? You want someone to answer these burning questions, but internally, you think you should already know the answers.

Maybe…Maybe… Poisonous thoughts whispers traitorously along your spine, breathing out small flickers of hope.

You had promised him that the next time the two of you met, you would meet each other as foes rather than lovers.

Enemies don’t let each other sleep on their couches, a voice chimes in your head, they certainly don’t patch up huge wounds on each other and save them from potential death.

“Shut up,” you exhale a sigh. Setting your head against the rough fabric of the couch, swirling thoughts of old makes your head spin. You watch Childe’s chest rise and fall steadily. It hits you when you realize how vulnerable a position he is in. You could strike him dead. You were supposed to be enemies. And yet, here you sit, letting your hand be held by the one who you’re supposed to cross blades with.

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, would never allow anyone to see him in this weak state…” the ghost of Zhongli’s previous words dances down your spine. Your mouth sets in a thin line. Your thoughts betray you yet again, forcing you to reminisce of the memories that plagued you ever since you split. Ever since, Childe stood forlorn in front of you as you hurled a silver ring at him.

What if he keeps the promise? A tiny voice speaks up, a tiny light of hope. Why else would he still wear the ring?

Your memories pull up a russet-haired little boy, a striking resemblance to his big brother, smiling at you as he divulged with you a sacred chant, a Snezhnayan nursery rhyme, a pinky promise.

“My big brother is the best! He always keeps his promises!” He beams at you, the smile on his face stretches from ear to ear. “He always brings me the best toys!”

And you think of the promise uttered under the moonlight, with the stars as the witness.

“I promise, I promise I’ll take you to Snezhnaya, to meet my family.”

Those words murmured so fervently against the silver of the rings marked a vow. It went beyond the simple notion of visiting the frost fallen country. It was a promise that the both of you understood to be something that was supposed to last. In any other cultures, it would have acted as an engagement.

A tear traces its way down your cheek. The sting of the betrayal is still as fresh as ever even after all this time. But those feelings that you buried so deep within erupt, sparking tiny bursts of fires. They alight together, bringing with them the warm sensation of all the memories you had spent with him. Careless, carefree, no Gnosis, just a couple in love. Love. You were lovers. A quiet sob breaks from your throat. As hard as you had tried, you were still, undeniably in love with this man who had held a blade to your throat. You knew within your heart, the man who tried to drown Liyue took no pleasure in the act. It was a means to enact the Tsarista’s plans. Though he yearns for battle, there were sides you had been privy to witness that no one has ever seen. The doting big brother who would rather put himself in danger to protect an innocent child’s dream. The filial son who brought his family a good life. The gentle mischievous lover who alighted your veins and molded himself to your core. And you knew no one would ever set your heart aflame as he had.

Exhaustion catches up to you, the lateness of the night determined by the tiny stub of candle still burning fiercely away. You feel the tendrils of sleep prick at your eyes, and you unwillingly succumb, memories of him accompanying you to dreamland.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

In my dreams we're growing older But I wake up to the truth That I'm scared we're gonna lose Tell me it won't happen

Childe wakes with a start, looking around wildly before his senses alert him he was not in danger. The pink glow from the window tells him that dawn is approaching. Gingerly, he sits up with a groan, wincing at the flash of pain from the movement. He quickly notes the neatly wrapped bandages on his chest. Childe raises a hand to his temples but is stopped by a sudden weight and he peers over to see you kneeling on the floor, head leaning against the sofa, your hand still in his grasp.

The Harbinger blinks slowly as he tries to make sense of the events. The last thing he remembers is the rain and the complicated expression on your face as you gaze up at him. Childe swallows and deduces that he must’ve passed out after that. Dammit, he curses internally. He wasn’t supposed to come see you and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be lying on your couch. Using his free hand, he examines the bandages. It was undoubtedly your work. No one else would be bothered to wrap wounds with such patience and precision after all. Why did you take him in and patch him up, instead of leaving him at your doorstep? He wonders. The answer to that was obvious. It’s your very nature that you try to help everyone you come across, friend or foe be damned. Childe swallows hard and glances at you again. Did you over exhaust yourself taking care of him? The floor couldn’t be comfortable, he thinks to himself as he swings his legs over the edge of the couch. He carefully untangles his hand from yours and he stands shakily, breaths coming out slightly labored, but he ignores that in favor of reaching for you. Bile rises in his throat when he notices dried tear tracks down your cheeks and his chest twists unpleasantly. Did he cause that?

What was the reason for your tears? He couldn’t help but wonder.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers an apology as he hoists you up. You don’t stir and he places you gently on the couch. A hand hovers above your cheek hesitatingly, but Childe retracts his fingers with a sigh. He had no right to do that anymore. He is no longer the man who can wipe away your tears for you, especially when he is the cause of them.

A quiet sigh escapes your mouth as you slumber, your brows scrunch up, as if experiencing something unpleasant. Before he even realizes it, his hand is cupping your cheek tenderly. Even in your unconscious, you seek his warmth, nuzzling into his palm.

“Starlight…” your past endearment slips out, unbidden. “Do you invite all your enemies into your house like this?” There’s no ounce of derision, only a fond helplessness heavy in Childe’s voice. His thumb trace gently on your cheek. “You were so determined in calling me your foe and yet you drag me in and patched me up.”

In the faint light of the morning sun, a man confesses quietly to his sleeping lover.

“You have always been the better half of me…”

Childe sighs. He should go before you wake. He’s overstayed his welcome. After all, what kind of enemies spend the night with each other? Unwillingly, he parts from you and you frown.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs another apology. It seems that all he ever does is apologize. He hunts around your house quietly for a blanket, draping it over you, before gazing down at you one last time. He commits the image of you slumbering to memory. It should be enough for him. After all, he no longer has the privilege of looking at you with the gaze of a lover. Childe stands up noiselessly. It’s time for him to leave. He makes his way to the door, before stopping slightly and pulls a letter from his pocket. The man leaves it on the table and places a silver ring on top. With one last glance at you, he exits, taking great care to shut the door as gently as he can. And just like that, the Harbinger vanishes into the soft morning light.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

So before it's really over Can we have a little faith Baby say it ain't too late It's all that I'm asking

Sunlight is hitting your face. You squint, annoyed and confused as to why sunbeams are blinding you. Last you recall, your bedroom did not face the window. So then why? Grumbling, you open your eyes as you stretch. You freeze when your legs fall off the edge of the couch and you realize you are in your living room. There is a blanket wrapped around you.

“What-” You shoot up as the sudden realization hits. Childe came to see you last night. Childe was hurt. Childe was here.

“Childe?” Warily, you look around. There were the medical supplies on the ground next to you, the very ones you had used to nurse Childe’s wounds, but there was no sign of the russet-haired man anywhere. You frown. He had been in bad condition last night, surely he couldn’t have healed that quickly? Your teeth sink into your lips. “Why should I worry about him?” With a sigh, you stand up and start to get ready for your day, trying to put the thoughts of the Harbinger away.

It doesn’t take you long to spot the letter sitting on your table.

To my dearest enemy,

How have your travels been? Have you been enjoying your adventures?

Those are all the words I wanted to say, but no longer hold the privilege of asking, as you are more than happy to call us enemies. It was my fault, I admit. But on the idle days when I am not tracking the whereabouts of my colleagues, I often find myself and my thoughts drifting to you. Please forgive my impertinence, my dear Comrade. Someone like you is rather hard to forget, after all.

I wanted to take this opportunity to formally apologize to you. Whether you’ll hear me out or not, I’ll leave that up to you. Just allowing me the chance to get it off my chest, is one I would be forever indebted to.

It’s true I was after Rex Lapis’ Gnosis. It’s true I betrayed your trust. But this is where all the truths end. My mission was to obtain the Gnosis. But as you know, both you and I were unaware of the plot behind the scenes, in which Rex Lapis already promised his Gnosis to the Tsarista via a contract. But my mission was to obtain the Gnosis. Whatever happened along the way was not dictated by Her Royal Highness, the Tsarista. And yes, that includes, naturally, us. You were someone I greatly enjoyed sparring with. I spoke the truth when I told Teucer that if I would travel the world with you if I could leave my job behind. Had I not blurted my confession that fateful day when you beat me…perhaps I would still be holding onto these sacred feelings to myself.

I’ll tell you, dearest Comrade, you were never my mission. You could never be my mission. You are the brightest star in the sky, the one I trust the most, the better half of me. My missive was never you, but I am forever grateful to have met you, to have crossed blades with you. I am forever honored to have loved you.

My dearest Starlight, if you’re still reading this letter (and I thank you), everything that I have felt for you, every one of my actions towards you, were genuinely me. You asked who was the person who stood in front of you. I will answer you now. I am just Ajax, a simple man who dreams of being an adventurer and had the greatest honor of being able to love you. I made you a promise. I have always kept my promises. I’d hate the first one I’d break be to you. The ring is yours. I am returning it to its rightful owner. Allow me to fulfill my promises to you. When the world falls at my feet, there is no one else I want by my side than you.

If you still wish to view us as enemies, then I thank you for the time we spent. They truly were the greatest moments of my life. But…if you choose to believe me, I’ll be waiting for you. You know where I’ll be.

I always keep my promises, Starlight. Pinky promise.

I love you.

Yours,

Ajax

You swallow hard, tears threatening to spill over as you clutch Childe’s letter. The contents repeat themselves in your head. You were never my mission. You are the brightest star. I always keep my promises. I love you.

The Cryo Archon had already obtained the Gnosis. There was no reason for Childe to lie to you. Your relationship was not his mission. His feelings were not an act.

You could never be my mission.

My missive was never you.

And deep in your heart, you knew his words to be true. Maybe you’ve always known. But that sliver of doubt had kept you wary, made you cautious.

You were never my mission.

Slowly and surely, you grasp the silver ring and carefully, you slip it onto your pinky finger, where it sits, still the perfect size. You walk numbly to your door, open it slowly, and you step outside.

I’ll be waiting. You know where to find me.

I love you

Please don't let this love die young If I'm gonna love someone Then let it be you

FIN.

Tagging:

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[kazuharem]

Hey hey so I would like to announce my gradual return to writing! 🫡 I missed you all… so if I’m not busy streaming, sleeping, working, I’ll be working on my fics. First up: an Alhaitham A/B/O verse hehe and then all the other ones I’ve been putting off for so long soooo yeah

#go sleep Ela #IM MAKING A COME BACK #ALHAITHAM HAS CONSUMED ME SO MUCH I HAVE TO #genshin impact

[kazuharem]

ONLY FOOLS FALL FOR YOU. ( alhaitham x reader )

╰┈➤ some feelings came to haunt you after ten years since the last time you saw him.

pairings — alhaitham x fem!reader.

warnings — rivals / enemies to lover ish, slow burn, reader and alhaitham are in their middle twenties, reader has a pyro vision and is also a dancer and actress, reader is also the daughter of a genshin character, angst and a bit of fluff (happy ending of course but they're idiots in love).

word count — 8.1k

notes — june is back with another long fic for genshin! this one was supposed to be posted ages ago but i only had the time to do it now. i hope you guys will enjoy! reblogs and feedbacks are appreacited <3

lesser lord kusanali was a forbidden matter in your house, but you were sure she was the one who pushed you to be what you were today. 

being the daughter of the newest sage in sumeru had its perks, but you hated it. you hated the expectations everyone put on yourself, of how you should follow in your father’s footsteps and join the akademiya — everyone was sure you already had your vacancy there, with how important your father became in such a few moments after his promotion as a sage. but you never cared for scholar subjects, not in the way your two childhood friends did. 

alhaitham and kaveh had different interests, but they could enroll in the akademiya with no problem, because their line of study was actually respected by the sages and other scholars. yours, on the other hand, was looked down on and made fun of by every single one of your father’s, and him too, friends. as much as you tried not to look crestfallen when you heard them talking about the performers of the grand bazaar, alhaitham’s hand always managed to find yours when he was present in such gatherings — and you hoped that, when he wasn’t around, nobody would notice the change in your behavior. 

the arts were what called you: music, dancing, acting.

you could see yourself becoming a performer at the grand bazaar, dancing and acting for the honor of the dendro archon. the applause and excited screams of the audience were what you wanted to pursue, and not false wishes and the quietness of the akademiya. you thrived when alhaitham and kaveh, albeit forced by you, watched your makeshift plays about the archons and the dances you created in your head. you were aware they pitied you — kaveh with his dreams of being an architect and alhaitham’s love for all kinds of knowledge were much more suitable for sumeru city than your passions for the arts. 

that’s why you never expected them to support you in your decision of going against your father’s wishes to join the akademiya, and running away to the grand bazaar to join a theater troupe at the age of fifteen, inspired by a dream you had with the archon of your nation. 

it has been almost ten years, but you still remembered your father’s harsh words as if it had happened just yesterday — of how much of a disappointment you were for the family, how he would be able to explain to his peers and your future master that you decided to throw away the bright future it has been given to you, how ungrateful you were and how other people wished they were on your shoes. your mother remained quiet the whole time, but you never expected her support, too. she always agreed with everything your father used to say, almost brainwashed by the luxuries he displayed in front of her. in a way, she was, and the disappointed looks on their faces weren’t hurtful or a surprise for you. 

although, what hurt the most was alhaitham’s reaction. 

you had feelings from him ever since you knew what romantic love was, but they could never blossom into something more now, that you planned to run away from your home and probably never see your friends and family again. 

kaveh was aware of this too, being your confidant and best friend, trying to persuade you to not give up on everything — alhaitham and the akademiya, but you couldn’t pretend happiness in doing something you hated just because of feelings you didn’t even know if it was reciprocated. if alhaitham really liked you, he would respect your wishes and want your happiness before anything else.

it seemed like he didn’t, having the same reaction as your father — but his words were the ones who brought you to tears, his voice harsher and colder than you’ve ever heard growing up at his side, breaking your heart and cutting your skin like the blade he used to train. you almost gave up on your convictions and stayed in your home and went to the akademiya like your father wished, just to see him looking down at you with anything but the hatred dancing in his eyes. 

but you could not. not when lesser lord kusanali appeared to you in a dream, only to tell you to follow your dreams. you could not turn your back against your god and not do what she wished — she was the god of wisdom, and you trusted her judgment. 

and that’s why you turned your back to him, running away from your feelings for him and burying them in the deepest part of your heart. though, from time to time, you wondered what happened to him — did he and kaveh become scholars and follow their dreams just like yourself? how was the akademiya treating them? were they happy? had alhaitham found someone he loved more than his books? 

you knew such an answer would break your heart even more, but the agony of not knowing was much more worse. 

the grand bazaar welcomed you as if you were a lost daughter returning home after many years, and the zubayr theater became your new family. you were finally at the place you were destined to be, doing what you loved — captivating the audience with your movements and expression, bringing the toughest of men to his knees in broken sobs by your performances. the stage for you was like the library to the scholars of the akademiya, and you learned more and more every day you performed. 

you weren't alone there, having the company of nilou, your fellow dancer and actress who shared the same passion for the arts and love for the dendro archon, and, despite the age difference between the both of you, you two become fast friends — more than friends you came to notice one day, because the younger girl became like a little sister to you in just a few months of knowing each other. and you couldn’t be happier by following the words of lesser lord kusanali, thanking her every day for whispering her wisdom for you in your dreams. 

your days were spent rehearsing and performing, sometimes helping the merchants in the grand bazaar and planning more and more plays with your peers of the zubayr theater. it was like an act of resistance, almost, the performances you did — the people of sumeru were fond of the troupe’s plays, especially the children, and seeing the disapproval looks of the scholars were your fuel to not stop. 

it was supposed to be one of those days for you. a dance performance was scheduled in the treasures street, always buzzing with people due to its stalls and merchants, but today was different — you received the intel that a bunch of scholars would be wandering the area, probably for a case study of whatever the akademiya was planning. it was the perfect opportunity to show those arrogant scholars at least a glimpse of the wonders of the performing arts, and you couldn’t help but dress like greater lord rukkhadevata was described in the records you remembered reading as a child, just to spite the scholars even more.

probably for a case study of whatever the akademiya was planning. it was the perfect opportunity to show those arrogant scholars at least a glimpse of the wonders of the performing arts, and you couldn’t help but dress like greater lord rukkhadevata was described in the records you remembered reading as a child, just to spite the scholars even more. 

you winked at your musician, a teenage boy who held the same spite for the akademiya you did, starting your movements as soon as the sounds of the flute reached your ears. the flowing white sleeves and your long white and green skirt created a beautiful sight alongside the choreography nilou helped you to come up with, and the crowd’s cheers and boos didn’t reach your ears. whenever you were dancing, the outside world was shut down, your senses completely enveloped by the surrounding music. you moved as if you were made of water, a delicacy never seen before in the way your body spins. 

your eyes were kept close, as you didn’t wish for an unpleasant view to take your focus away. performing in the open was more difficult than in the grand bazaar — people there, at least, were also enjoyers of the arts. however, you couldn’t just ignore the call to show more people how the arts were a form of wisdom, too. 

the music ended, as well as your dance, and you bowed gracefully while opening your eyes to scan the crowd, the boos louder than anything else. but what was supposed to be a swift escape from the scholars and a few guards your vision managed to spot, was cut by a strong hold in your arm, dragging you away from your makeshift stage. too shocked to do anything else, you let yourself be pulled away from the crowd of scholars, their screams now louder that you were in the middle of them.

“take away this scum from our city, scribe!” 

your eyes, that were cast down to your feet, widened at such words. scribe was the title your father had before he became a sage, and, even though it didn’t make sense being him the one who was dragging you, your heart still raced with fear. though, when you had enough courage to look properly at your captor when you were a few meters away from the scholars, it was someone who you never thought of seeing again. 

those blue eyes, shining with the same rage it shone years ago, still haunted your dreams whenever you closed your eyes. 

“let go of me, alhaitham!” you managed to say, besides the lump in your throat. 

it was strange to see him, almost ten years after you left your house. alhaitham changed, of course — he was taller and more muscular, and his face was more sharp than it was before, now the face of an adult rather than a teenager’s one. his hair remained the same almost, only a bit shorter, but his eyes were still the ones you remembered from your childhood. you never forgot the exact shade of blue of them, of how the colors merged to create his pupils. they were mesmerizing, but it seemed that they would never look down at you with love on them once more.

“what were you thinking, y/n?” his voice was quiet but demanding, yet he didn't lose his composure, acting as if the rage in his words was nothing. “dancing in front of a crowd of people who hate the arts?” his grip on your arm tightened, and you couldn't find the same comfort you did as a teenager in his presence. 

you were angry, far angrier than you originally thought you would be if you saw him again, and sad — even though your heart still beat only for him. “i would have escaped, scribe. like i always did.” venom laced his new title, something so familiar yet foreign. it didn't suit him. he wasn't supposed to follow in your father's footsteps, as if he had replaced his own daughter with her friend. “i had a plan that was ruined by you.”

if the bitterness in your voice affected him, he didn't let it show on his face — but his grip around your arms softened, and you took that as your cue to get away from his touch. his presence alone was too intoxicating, clouding your senses and messing with your better judgment. 

little did you know, but you had the same effect on him. 

his closed fists weren't because of his rage, but from his urge to hold you between his arms once more — to feel your skin against his fingertips, to run his fingers in your hair and kiss your forehead, to hold you against his chest and tell you how many nights he was kept awake thinking about you. alhaitham was a coward and he was aware of it, knowing you were residing at the grand bazaar and not setting foot in the place, afraid of seeing you in the arms of another with no thought of yours being about him, like all of his were about you. 

“and what were you going to do? run away from all those scholars who were clearly offended by your choice of clothing?” he barked back, watching your eyes roll and your arms crossing on your chest. you were beautiful, wearing what the scholars believed were greater lord rukkhadevata's clothes back when she was alive. the color complimented your skin, and the flowing sleeves and skirts made your movements more graceful than alhaitham remembered them to be.

you scoffed. he was just like all the scholars you grew up to hate, arrogant and too confident in his abilities, and it hurt your heart to reach such a conclusion — that your first love was an akademiya scum. “i will not tell you.” you turned your back to him, starting to walk back to where you were, hoping that alhaitham would leave you alone to return home. but, the heavy sounds of his boots were your clue that he wouldn't leave you to your own company. “just let me return home.” you voice was quiet and full of hurt, small, just like alhaitham remembered it to be when your father would scold you. 

and he hated the fact that he was the one making you feel like that. 

however, he couldn't say sorry not leave you alone — he finally saw you after years of earning for such a meeting to happen and, even though he'd never admit that, he wanted to spend more time with you and know everything that happened in the years you were apart. he could always rely on the akasha to know such information, but things appearing on his mind would never have the same effect as hearing your voice. “you're defenseless. if your father knows that i didn't protect you, i'm a dead man by tomorrow morning.”

his words took you by surprise. “he made you promise this years ago. i'm sure that now he will be delighted if something happens to me.” you bit the inside of your cheeks to prevent the tears in your lashes from falling down, your head turned to the side so he couldn't see them. talking about your father was still a delicate subject for you — as much as you wanted to hate him for all the wrongs he said for you when you were fifteen, the loving and caring father that he was until that day arrived still plagued your thoughts. 

alhaitham shrugged. “i don’t care about him, i care about the promise i made, and i will not go back on my word.” you didn’t notice when you both stopped walking, but the gloved hand on your face, wiping the tears away while obligating you to look directly at his eyes, made your body be plagued by shivers and your cheeks to flush in a bright red color. 

he was the same alhaitham of your memories, wasn't he? the caring and kind, sometimes a bit too blunt, boy that you met alongside kaveh when you two were exploring the forest — his eyes were still the same, and even though they were now with different emotions than in the last time you saw them, his words still had the same painful effect they did once. did he still think that of you? that you were useless and a fool, that you had thrown away the brightest of futures to a life that wasn't worth it. your brows furrowed, and you got away from his grasp, missing the way his eyes shone with hurt at your rejection of his affection. 

but he would fight for you and he would gain your trust again, and alhaitham didn't care for the time this would take. he just wanted you back where you belonged — between his arms and in his life. 

— 

he stayed true to his word, even if you didn't know about them. all you knew was that he became a constant presence in all your performances, whenever they would be. he was the first person you saw when you opened your eyes after dancing in the honor of the dendro archon, the first person that congratulated you or the person who led you to safety when you decided to perform in front of scholars. 

it was annoying, at the beginning. alhaitham always had a critic to say, either being something about the music or the lighting — or even your partners in the performance, especially if they were men, saying that they didn't let you shine like he knew you could alone — but you knew that was his way of complimenting you. he has always been like that, too logical to know how to say a kind word instead of what you should do to make your performance better in the next time. it was almost endearing how he noticed the small details about your dance, like the way your hands moved or the sound your bracelets made when you clapped your hands. 

you both were from different words, but different words that completed each other in ways you never thought it would. the arts and the runes were almost like oil and water, but you and alhaitham made them mix it perfectly.

he also always made sure he was the one who left you at your room's door, perhaps to know that you were indeed safe, and you made the mistake of asking alhaitham if he wanted to come inside the third time he did that. 

it was already late in the night when your performance ended, that time at the the neighborhood with nilou, and you tried to argue with him that you didn't need his protection — everyone in the neighborhood knew who you are, and you knew how to fight and knew how to use your pyro vision to burn those who tried to harass you. and as much as he knew that, being the first victim of your vision, he still wanted you at his side. the question left your lips before you could think of it, the gossip that such an action would bring in the inn and in the grand bazaar long gone in your head. just like he wanted to make sure of your safety, you also wanted to make sure of his, too. 

you only had one bed, of course, you room enough only to fit one person living there. and as much as he tried to argue with you to let him sleep on the floor, you almost tied his wrists to your bed frame so he could sleep there, knowing that he wasn’t someone who slept much due to the nature of his job in the akademiya. but it seemed that your warmth was enough to make the akademiya's scribe to give up — you both fell asleep with a pillow between your bodies, but you woke up with his strong arms caging you to his chest and his face nuzzled in your neck. 

you didn’t dare to move, of course. you couldn’t know how alhaitham’s reaction to such an outcome would be, and the shallow breaths leaving his nostrils were proof enough that he was indeed awake, probably enjoying the few minutes of peace you and your house were granting him. you just nuzzled back on him, hearing him sighing and a pair of lips ghosting your cheek before his warmth left your bed. you only opened your eyes when you heard him moving around your small home. a few words were shared before he left to do his job, a small sandwich in his hands and the promise of seeing you again — though it took one week before that, in a setting that you wished was just a nightmare. 

—

zubayr theater had a performance scheduled in the grand bazaar, something that was proposed by you and nilou to bring attention to the place and help the merchants — every time a performance was announced in the city, all the eyes were directed to where it would be. children and women were always more open to the job you and your peers did, always enchanted by the dance moves and theatrics your troupe had to offer, while men and members of the akademiya always looked down with frowns whenever they attended one. you were still warming nilou to the fact that whenever the akademiya members didn’t like it, it meant you were in the right way. 

though, however, you never expected to see your father in the crowd. 

alhaitham stood proud at his side, though you could see that he was rather uncomfortable — in the short months you spent in his company again since you ran away, you learned what his lack of expression meant. it was just a mask you knew he developed in the years of studying in the akademiya, meant to deceive his peers into thinking that he was above them all, but you could see just by the way his eyes flicked to your form now and then that he wished he was anywhere but near your father. you didn’t know what prompted him to feel such discomfort, wondering if your father was now something more than just a sage in the akademiya, but you knew that you would never know.

you didn’t want to know. 

you just trying to ignore his presence in the crowd, his clothes as a sage almost in discrepancy inside the grand bazaar, focusing on the character you needed to portray — as always, the role of greater lord rukkhadevata belonged to you, while nilou was the goddess of flowers. it was a play about the birth of lesser lord kusanali, something that had always been wrapped in mystery to the common folk, and a great source for writers to romanticize and actors to give life to their plays. you were glad you were able to raise curiosity in the hearts of people about the birth of their god, though many of them were still disappointed with the new dendro archon’s lack of great doings. 

the performance ended with a round of applause by those who enjoyed it, and some looks of disapproval by those who did not. your eyes scanned the crowd until they found alhaitham’s, but the familiar soft and warm gaze he gave you whenever you ended a play wasn’t there — instead, you were met with cold and calculating eyes, and you didn’t know if he was behaving like that because of your father’s presence or if he finally was persuaded into seeing that you both were from different worlds and how bad it was. 

you tried not to be disappointed, nor make the pain in your heart be known by your colleagues, brushing nilou’s worried words with anxiousness — you gave a quick explanation about your father being in the crowd, and she seemed to buy it being the reason for the sadness in your eyes. 

after speaking with a few of your admirers, you excused yourself, feigning a bit of tiredness due to the preparations for the performance, smiling at the sight of the merchant’s tents filled with people — they weren’t many, but it was more than you were used to seeing every day. it was such small actions that made everything worthy of it, from running away from the safety of your family and the future your father chose for you to joining a theater troupe and changing your life in a way you only used to dream about, because you were sure you would never be able to help people if you were in the akademiya. 

you sighed, hearing rushed voices near your home. you didn’t want to spy on them, but as you recognized the voices to belong to your father and alhaitham, your curiosity took the best of you, hiding between a tree and some brushes. 

“i hope you are pleased with my job, grand sage.” 

that piqued your interest, hearing alhaitham calling your father by such a title, though your heart fell to your stomach. as much as you wanted to stay there and listen, something inside you told you to just run away and be ignorant — after all, ignorance was a blessing — because if you stayed, you would be heartbroken. 

the voice inside you proved to be right, alongside your father’s words.

“i am, indeed, pleased with your job, scribe alhaitham.” azar’s voice was just exactly how you remember it to be when you were growing up, authoritative and unkind. “it is good to get data about those performancers.” they weren’t so close but not too far, and you feared that if you did any abrupt movement your hiding spot would be found — but your fists clenched anyway, anger boiling in your blood by hearing such words. “especially my daughter. i do not want her to disturb any of the students with her foolish ideals. now, because of your help, we can stop her whenever she tries anything.” 

you tried not to let the tears that were pooling in your eyes to fall and give them the joy of making you cry after such knowledge, but the sadness inside you was stronger than any other resolution you had. alhaitham was just using you? all the time you two spent together, laughing and rebuilding your friendship, all the soft glances during late nights when he had accompanied you home, and hands brushing your cheek whenever he put a strand behind your ear while whispering goodnight — everything was just a lie for him? just a way for him to gather information about you and your peers to put on that damned akasha, for azar and the other sages to use against you and the other artists? 

and you had fallen for it like a puppy. 

you thought your childhood crush was something reciprocated, you really did, opening yourself to him like you did to no other man in your life. 

“i just did it to protect you.” 

his voice took you from your thoughts, your fists still clenched and your nails now draining blood from your palms. how could he? how could he lie so bluntly to you, feigning concern about you? “don’t try to excuse yourself, scribe.” you turned around to meet his eyes, finding them not like you thought they would be — emotionless and even with a bit of mockery shining on them, but they were hurt. 

because alhaitham never saw you looking so hurt and angry, not at himself. 

“i do not want to see you ever again.” 

you left him in the middle of the street with those words, his eyes following your shaking form until you were inside the safety of your house. alhaitham knew that you wouldn’t take his actions well, but he hoped you would never find out what he was doing — because he was, indeed, protecting you. if you did another performance near the akademiya, or near students that would report back to the sages, you would be exiled to the desert just like an insane scholar, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything to save you from such a horrible fate. 

he sighed, starting to walk back in the familiar way to the akademiya, his heart the heaviest since you left him when you were teenagers. 

maybe he just needed to give you some time for yourself, while he pondered what he could do to make you forgive him. 

—

one month. 

one month since you last saw alhaitham, and you wished you could say that his actions made you hate him — but it didn’t. 

it took you a few days to be able to dance and act again, though your eyes always scanned the crowd in search of him. he was never there, and as much as you were the one who said you didn’t want to see him again, you were disappointed. if he did have feelings for you, would he really give up on you like that? it was beyond frustrating what you were feeling, because you couldn’t understand him or his actions — he really thought you would be fine with him using you to gather information for the akademiya, even if it was to protect yourself from the archons’ know what? 

and now he just gave up. why wasn't he fighting for you? 

or maybe you were wrong, again. maybe he didn’t have feelings for you like you thought he did, and he was really just using you and all the little signals were just a play. if that was the truth, he was a better actor than most people you knew — better than yourself. you would never be able to pretend to have feelings for someone if it wasn’t in a play and you weren’t a character. 

as much as you tried to not let your feelings interfere with your everyday life, almost everyone in the grand bazaar noticed that something was wrong. nilou was the first one, the first to notice how puffy and red your eyes were from crying the whole night after the incident with your father and him. though you didn't have the courage to tell her what happened — after all, the dreamy eyes she had whenever you and alhaitham were around, perhaps imagining having a lover like him, didn't pass unnoticed by you — she still knew something happened between the two of you, always offering her support when you needed it. the others were mostly like her, though not as close to you to express their worry verbally. 

you lived your life the same it was before you met alhaitham after all those years, though it was harder now. before, his rejection to your young love was just a ghost, something that you would never know — now, however, it was a tangible thing, a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you still searched for his presence in your crowds. 

you would never learn that oil and water would never mix perfectly, just like you would never learn you and alhaitham would never have meant to be. 

that was what kept your shattered heart together, the glue holding all the pieces as thin as the air, and such a fact you came to know when kaveh visited you on a rainy day. you weren't expecting his visit, of course, the day uneventful due to the weather. you were teaching a bunch of little girls some of your favorite dance moves after they came to you when you spotted a tuft of blonde hair adorned with a blue feather and a pair of red eyes that you would always remember as warm. 

though kaveh's reappearance didn't shake you up like alhaitham's, his words were far more worrisome.

after a long awaited shared hug between two old friends and some pleasantries coming from both of your mouths, kaveh broke the news, his red eyes shining with a worry you never saw before in them — in fact, you did, on the day you ran away from your father. “i know something happened between you and alhaitham.” he started, his hands on your shoulders holding you at your place.

“kaveh…” you tried, not wanting to hear anything about him. what was kaveh going to say to you? that he was miserable and not himself, because of something he did? it wasn’t fair to you. 

he sighed, already in tune with your mannerisms again — you always said you two were platonic soulmates, knowing everything about each other from the top to bottom, being able to communicate with just your eyes. “i’m not here to play his advocate, far from it. i do not know what happened, as he did not tell me, but,” his grip on your shoulders tightened a bit, as if he was trying to prepare you for what was coming. “he was assigned a mission by the sages almost a month ago. a very dangerous one that i was against him going, you see, but the whole situation with you probably made him more prone to accept it. and…” 

“...and?” you heart was beating fast inside your rib cage, faster than you ever remembered it beating. a lot of scenarios were playing in your head, and all of them were worse than the other. 

“and he was severely injured.” the world around you was spinning, as if the air wasn’t enough to make the blood go to your lungs, making everything dizzy — but you could see the worry on his face. as much as kaveh pretended to hate alhaitham, you knew that deep down he cared about him, and vice-versa. “he is alright now, y/n, he’s being treated in the akademiya’s infirmary now.” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, tears now glossing kaveh’s handsome features. 

“why are you telling me this?” such a question was eating you alive. you knew kaveh’s nature wasn’t a cruel one, but what he wanted to achieve with giving you this acknowledgement? 

“you’re still so impatient.” he chuckled, though it wasn’t filled with mirth like you remembered it to be. “alhaitham was probably going through some fever illusions and he… he kept calling in your name. in a pained way, saying that he couldn’t die before seeing you again.” you heart skipped a beat at your friend’s confession, even more tears glossing your vision now. alhaitham didn’t have this right, the right to break your heart and transform into dust and then made it whole again. 

you felt kaveh’s soft fingers caressing your cheeks, wiping the tears away, the beating of your heart more erratic than ever. “can i see him?” the question left your lips before you could think twice, the idea of him dying hurting more than your broken heart. 

kaveh laughed. “i was going to ask you that.” 

—

in the way to the akademiya, kaveh told you what happened. 

he narrated how he noticed something was off with alhaitham a day when he came back unexpectedly earlier to their house. he was used to finding his roommate with a permanent scowl on his face, but he seemed defeated — his scowl wasn’t the arrogant one that alhaitham always displayed on his face, but something akin to sadness and frustration. kaveh didn’t dare to ask what happened, already knowing what his friend was going to say, so he left the matter behind, deeming it to be problems in his job. during the week, alhaitham closed himself off in the house of daena, as if the books could cure whatever was making him so strange, until he came back home one day, gathering his essential things in a small bag and leaving for a confidential mission for the grand sage. 

kaveh only heard about alhaitham again two days ago, when he returned to their home bloodied and weak, and he took him to the infirmary — his wounds were more severely than kaveh thought they were, and while he was in the room to watch the amurta students taking care of him, he heard him muttering your name. 

“y/n… i can’t die… her… love… sorry… y/n…” those were the words kaveh told you alhaitham had whispered while he was in agony, probably delirious from either pain or fever. your heart broke even more knowing about this, your feet almost running straight to the infirmary, even though you didn’t know the way there — it wasn’t easy to sneak you in the akademiya, but the raining day meant that a lot of scholars weren’t lurking around, ready to see one of them with a performer from the grand bazaar, and you managed to infiltrate the place where all wisdom was created. 

kaveh led you to alhaitham’s room, in a wing full of patients who were labeled as having delicate cases, and you wondered what was the mission alhaitham agreed to go. did he went on it because he wanted, or because he was pressured to go? or he used this opportunity to forget about you, risking his life in the process? you couldn’t bear the idea of being the reason why he accepted such a dangerous mission and risked his life for nothing. 

but alhaitham was stubborn, and even if you asked, he would never tell you. 

parting ways with kaveh with a hug, you slowly entered the room your childhood friend was being treated in, careful to not make so much noise and awake him — kaveh told you he had been unconscious since he arrived, but you didn’t want to disturb him. what if he hated you now? what if he saw you as the culprit of the state he was in, and now was the one who didn’t want to see you? though his feverish words said otherwise, you were still nervous, like you felt whenever you were about to start a performance. 

the room was beautiful, just like everything in the akademiya, with a big window that you thought was supposed to make sunlight fill the room, and some medical instruments around it. but it was plain too, with white and green walls and a bed and some nightstand and a loveseat near the bed, probably for a companion. 

you made your way to the bed, your steps as light as a feather falling in the ground, afraid that you could awaken him and disturb his recovery. you just wanted to see him, see if he was well, and then leave — you didn’t know how your reaction would be if you saw him with open eyes, probably too overwhelming to see who just got away from lady death’s grasp.

alhiatham looked peaceful, you noticed as soon as you sat on the bed. 

he had no frown adorning his features, and he looked much more healthy than you thought he would — he wasn’t pale and his skin was glowing, even if his face had some small bruises which were decorating his handsome face with a tint of purple. he looked so young, just like the boy you had fallen in love while growing up, and it hurt. it hurt to see him like this and to think what your relationship became just because of the prejudice of your father and the scholars. 

you wanted nothing more than to caress his face and kiss his pain away and, before you could think straight, your fingers were already ghosting his cheekbones, going down to his lips and his bruises, feeling his warm skin underneath your fingertips and sighing contently feeling his breath tickling your skin. it was good to know that he was alive and well, and after making sure of that, you retracted your hand back to rest in your lap and knew you were ready to go back to the grand bazaar — would he come after you after his recovery? would he tell you what he was whispering in his agony? 

though, before you could leave his bed and the room, alhaitham’s hand grabbed yours, making a surprised gasp to leave your lips. 

“don’t go…” his voice was rough and raw, strange on his body after two days of not using it. “i do not know if this is a fever dream or not,” he opened his eyes, blinking it to make sure you weren’t a hallucination. “but don’t leave me again, y/n.” 

you smiled, a few tears going down on your cheeks. “i promise, alhaitham.” the hand that wasn’t intertwined with his cupped his cheek, and you leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead. “go back to sleep, alright? i will be here when you wake up again.” 

he nodded, like a small child, closing his eyes again. 

—

alhaitham knew people from sumeru couldn’t dream, but why did your lips on his forehead felt so real? 

he groaned, the pain on his chest more than just a physical pain. it hurt to know that his brain and heart craved your presence so much that he dreamed about you — was the dendro archon giving him a bit of solace before he came to face the consequences of his actions? he knew he wasn’t supposed to fight a machine monster all by himself, even though he was strong enough to do so, but such a mechanical being wasn’t like the ones he faced before, and he needed to get that capsule of divine knowledge back. 

alhaitham thought that perhaps he could redeem himself in your eyes, if he managed to help sumeru and its people somehow.

he got the capsule back, but almost lost himself to it. he didn’t understand how he managed to arrive at his house before collapsing in pain and loss of blood, the journey home being filled with fever dreams of you and what could’ve happened between you both if he was more open about his feelings, if he wasn’t a coward and had fought for you. 

but now the past was in the past, and alhaitham couldn’t do anything to change. he could only bask in what his imagination could give him — the softness of your fingers on his face, the sweetest kiss of your lips and its warmth on his skin, the honey laced promise you made him. it would hurt more than any of his bruises the fact that he would wake up alone in such a cold room, with you being so far away from him. 

though the sound of footsteps gave him the idea he wasn’t alone. “close the curtains, kaveh, for the archon’s sake.” he muttered, turning around to not be graced with the sun rays on his face. 

the sound of a feminine giggle made him furrow his eyebrows, a sound so sweet that he was sure he was still in a fever dream — the last time he heard your giggles was a day before you discovered what he was doing, laughing at his complaints about kaveh. your smile and your laugh were his fuel to keep fighting that mechanical being, the idea of seeing you happy again enough for him to keep going. 

“if you want me to call kaveh, just say it.” you voice was laced with mirth, and a bit of concern, totally different from the cold and filled with rage tone you used the last time alhaitham saw you. it was almost comforting the way you seemed more at ease at his presence, though he knew he owed you an apology. 

he scoffed. “never.” he turned around once again, opening his eyes to find you sitting on the love seat near his bed. “hi.” he whispered while he watched you walking towards him, all the words dying on his throat at the sight of you. 

it was funny how he always had a witty remark to anything said to him, but never to you. your presence made his brain foggy and disoriented, all his thoughts revolving around you. he was just a useless star that couldn’t help but be attracted and circle around you, the sun, that gave warmth to everyone else. 

“hi.” you whispered back, your hands fumbling in your lap, as if you didn’t know what to do with them. “how are you feeling?” your voice had a tenderness that alhaitham knew he didn’t deserve coming from you. he’d never deserve your love or your kindness, something so pure and beautiful, even though you might think otherwise. 

he tried to chuckle, trying to ease the worry in your brow. “i’ve seen better days.” as much as he wanted to ask why and how you were there, alhaitham wasn’t brave enough to break the blissful bubble you both were in. he was afraid that his words would turn a switch inside you, that you would graze your eyes upon him with the same rage it was filled in the last time he saw you, that your fists would shake and your lip tremble with unshed tears — the love struck and kind look your eyes had was so much better than the fresh of you in his mind.

“i can imagine.” tentatively, you cupped his bruised cheek, fingers gently caressing his skin. he leaned into your touch, a relieved sigh leaving his lips at your display of affection — he was undeserving yes, but alhaitham was selfish and arrogant, and he would never back away from it. yet, the shadow of what happened and the questions from both of your hearts hovered above your forms. “i…” you seemed braver than him, trying to get the acknowledged that would soothe or break your heart even more, but alhaitham couldn’t let you be the one to start — he cut you by trying to get up, indulging your smaller hand on his, the bandages preventing your skin to touch, much to his chagrin. 

“let me speak first, y/n. i was the one at fault in the first place.” he watched as you nodded, body coming closer to him, your smell clouding his senses and the only thought in his head was kissing your lips until they were red and raw, seeing you beneath him with red cheeks and disheveled hair. “i know you do not believe me, but i was protecting you when giving information about your troupe to your father.” at the mention of the grand sage, your face became sour — though now more hurt than angered, and alhaitham knew such a change of feeling was good. “you were going to be exiled to the desert, my love.” the term of endearment didn’t go unnoticed by you, your cheeks becoming hot at the possessive form before it. 

you were his. 

“i was desperate. i had only found you after being an incognito in my life for almost ten years.” his grip on your hand tightened, and alhaitham sighed. “i’m not asking you to forgive me so easily, but do not look at me with that rage again.” he pleaded, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing your knuckles, his warm lips caressing your skin as if he was worshiping a goddess. “my heart is yours to do whatever you want, and i will endure it, but don’t deny me seeing the love in your eyes be corrupted by such a horrible feeling.” 

alhaitham closed his eyes, taking your hand to rest over his chest, ready for your rejection. 

“why did you accept this mission?” your voice was quiet, and your words totally different from what his mind told him what they were going to be. “i thought… i thought you had only used me, alhaitham.” your reveal wasn’t a total surprise for him, because he knew his actions were misleading. 

“i guess i just wanted to forget what i made you feel.” he admitted, arms coming to wrap around you and bring your body to rest on his chest. it hurt, because his wounds were still fresh, but that was where you belonged. you fitted perfectly between his arms, your face hid in the warmth of his neck and his head resting above yours, your bodies almost melting into each other and becoming one. 

his arms tightened around your form when he felt your body shake and his neck wet by your tears. he didn’t try to pry, though his heart ached with your quiet sobs, but he knew you would talk when you were ready — the only thing he could offer now was physical comfort, and even though alhaitham thought he was the worst person to give any kind of comfort, but it was you. you always made his best traits to shine, and the worst ones to become less bad.

after some time, your sobs quieted down and your body stopped to shake, and your voice filled his ears. “you really hurt me, alhaitham.” you were using a scolding tone, as if he had done something bad but something redeemable. “i’ve been in love with you since we were children, and you doing that…” 

“you were in love with me since we were children?” his shocked voice made you giggle, your body adjusting so you were straddling him, hands cupping his cheeks and noses touching. alhaitham’s cheek were tinted with red, a sight that you never saw before but something so mesmerizing that you wanted it belonged to eternity — his eyes were lidded, pupils wide with a mix of love and lust, his hand gripping your hips to bring you even closer to you. 

another giggle left your lips when he kissed a spot near your lips. “for being the akademiya’s scribe, you’re a bit stupid, my beloved.” you managed to say before his lips were attacking yours, in a kiss that — even though it was delayed for ten years — was the testimony of his endless love for you. 

#on the floor throwing up puking tears #this was absolutely beautiful thank you for writing #god i love this man so much #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham angst #alhaitham #genshin impact #not my writing

[kazuharem]

It's hilarious to think back at the start of the Sumeru Archon quest and remember all the theories on Alhaitham. He's the former dendro Archon, he's the Scarlet King, he has ulterior motives...

...and the truth was that he was just a nerd that looks like a gymrat who decided to help us because that seemed more conductive to keeping his job simple and easy.

#and this is why I love him #Ela is simping #alhaitham #genshin impact

[kazuharem]

Same to you for the first 6 chapters of the quarry 😔✊🏼

having someone watch u play video games is an underrated form of companionship

[kazuharem]

THE ONE KARMA I REALLY WANT AND ITS HERE FINALLY 😭😭😭😭 RAINY NIGHT I FINALLY HAVE YOU OMFG

For those of you who don’t know, Rainy Night was the start of my very first MLQC fic… I spent weeks transcribing this date, researching the characterization of Lucien to write a monster of a fic that is this 😭

This is a very big deal for me 😭

#go sleep Ela #Lucien #MLQC #rainy night #MY ONE TRUE

[kazuharem]

Hihi!! I remember your old username and I remember when you wrote for mlqc it was like that rich Mc headcannon I think? Did you write it and delete it or I’m mistaking you for another blog^^ just checking in hope ur doing well lol

Hello Anon!

I did write for MLQC, and my old username was “Lucult.” I’m not completely sure about the rich MC headcanon since the only HCs I wrote were about going on a date with the characters? I used to write mainly Lucien x Reader and angst 😀, so I might not be the blog you’re looking for, but thank you for dropping by anyway! I hope you’re having a great day as well!

#mail from anon

[kazuharem]

drawing our moments

“ i fill memories that only i will know with you. “

prompt: events leading up to your blossoming relationship in an arranged marriage with kamisato ayato. 

pairing: ayato x gn!reader

type: fluff / suspense / comfort / slight angst

wc: 7595

cw: arranged marriage!au, spoilers of inazuma’s canon storyline leading up to the irodori festival including ayato’s story quest, spoilers of ayato (and ayaka’s) family history, mutual pining, reader has some backstory, reader gets chased by samurai, unconventional relationship buildup, mutual pining, reader is implied to be shorter than ayato

as relaxed as he portrayed himself to be on the exterior, kamisato ayato truthfully took on many roles that the ordinary man wouldn’t even begin to fathom, all at once nonetheless. ayato wasn’t just ordinary, after all.

he is the head of the kamisato clan, the esteemed yashiro commissioner– and to those within his circle, the overseer of the shuumatsuban.

ayato would be the last person in teyvat to downplay his position in inazuman society. the weight of so many people’s expectations was a tough burden to carry.

still, he didn’t let this deter him in the slightest. ayato was groomed for exactly this, and he took it in stride. he learned the tricks of the trade; how to detect corruption and who exhibited mole behavior, organizing festivals and keeping an eye out for saboteurs, spending what free time he had training with his blade and hydro vision.

it is a very busy lifestyle to live, and he truthfully preferred behind-the-scenes work of the yashiro commission away from prying eyes, anyway. for this reason, ayato unintentionally portrayed a rather reclusive persona to many inazumans. this did not exclude you.

because while ayato took on the role of many things, he took the mantle of something else, too. something no one else would ever be able to take the role of. 

kamisato ayato is your husband. 

Keep reading

#I’m absolutely frothing at the mouth rn #this was so good #urghshdjckjjhhhhhhgh #I’m so glad I found this #superb job OP #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #kamisato ayato #ayato #not my writing

[kazuharem]

#who is the prettiest and why is it kamisato ayato #ela is simping #kamisato ayato #ayato

[kazuharem]

It’s my one year anniversary of playing Genshin 😭🥹

Honestly, this game saved me from crippling depression (if I’m being dramatic) and I’ve met so many friends through this game

I’ve spent so much money and time creating content on this game and I don’t regret it one bit 🥰🫣

#brb sobbing #one year anniversary #one year of genshin #genshin impact #genshin #go sleep ela

[kazuharem]

anyways be sure to tell ur fave content creators that u enjoy what they do since almost all of my writer friends feel underappreciated on this site !

#hey so I know I’ve been ded and absent but I really do appreciate every comment I read on my fic #so help a girlie out #every comment puts a smile on my face I’m serious #rb #life as a cc is hard #go sleep ela

[kazuharem]

In Life and Death / 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

♡ read the prologue here :D

♡ When everything you know is shrouded in light, it’s often hard to remember to peek into the darkness. Your family has long since been a part of those who avoid it, choosing to hide comfortably amongst the high ranks of Mondstadt’s nobility. Your father, the King, has fought hard to keep it that way, especially following the Queen's unfortunate death. However, with a sudden push from the Fatui, certain old wounds are quickly reopened.

It's why upon tragedy striking, you aren’t alone in the assumption that the foreign nation is to blame. But when unseen circumstances quickly push the question of the culprit's identity over to you, you find that the situation is much deeper than meets the eye. Between the mysterious nature of an unknown killer, familial doubts, and the 11th Harbinger launching himself into the scene by making an attempt on your life, you think you're completely in over your head.

Even if Childe claims you have the picture all wrong.

And so, in a gruesome twist of events, you're faced with a choice -- trust Childe's convenient involvement and get to the bottom of everything together, or risk becoming victims yourselves.

♡ warnings: violence, mentions of choking, blood, and knives.

♡ word count: 7.3k

You had long learned to never trust a man who is no more than his glare, because even the most innocent of dogs will still bear their teeth. And inside the walls of Mondstadt’s gates, this ideology very well may be known to many -- because from the darkened alleyways to busy courtrooms, there will always be those who show more than they are ready to give.

Unfortunately, the same can often be said of the king. 

You are as much of a stranger to his dealings as he is, though the difference in you lies in your capability of being disappointed. The King is extremely lucrative when he can be, handling his power in a way where those around him are left in a constant state of wondering, when will he strike next, and how? The answers are often underwhelming.

Of course, you know better than them. Each side-eyed glance and nuance of a threat is always held, but sometimes you suspect that behind your father's guarded eyes, there's nothing more than a man paralysed with fear. It's why your first reaction is to write him off when you get to thinking about the person you'd lost -- however much you want to blame him for it. His inherent innocence is the entire reason that the concept of a murder on the royal grounds terrifies you so much. 

You hadn't ever been extremely close to the Chamberlain, but news of her death shook you like it would anyone. Because she had been a pleasant young woman, certainly no one that deserved to meet their end in such a way.

This does not mean Mondstadt is crime-free, of course. Pickpockets and murderers alike dwell in the deepest corners and behind closed doors, but none have ever dared to show themselves in such a fashion. Though, a sizable bit of the population in these parts do tend to include fatui agents from outside the nation, perhaps entrenched in the only ways they know how. 

Someone other than the king had dealt a life-ending blow to someone of no consequence -- bearing their teeth, so to say. It was done as if they had known they could get away with it. The offence was haughty, too confident to be considered a crime of the usual degree. Hence, in your opinion, the large possibility of a fatui agent testing the waters.

But with nothing being confirmed, the question of the sudden nature of events remains. And despite the warning bells in your head, despite any disapproval the king may have, you would be better suited trying to uncover the mystery with everyone else than just sitting around. In fact, that's exactly how you managed to see the effects of the situation in the first place.

It was more difficult than usual to sneak around, but upon arriving at the ugly leftover scene under the guise of a maid, you almost change your mind. 

There was no major evidence left behind, no trace of a second person besides a ring of purple around her neck, the indentation of thick fingers settled heavy in her skin. Apparently mere choking had not been enough to subdue the woman, too — the main offender is much more striking.

An injection had ultimately done her in, the pin-prick small but only noticeable thanks to the crystallised blood surrounding the wound. Much like the odd suit of frost covering her skin, it was unusually cold to the touch.

But, you had been discovered and ushered out of the room before you could unearth much more. As much as you’d like to do something with the information you’d snuck by, other clues are not so readily available. You'd expected as much, but to be shunned so quickly? It was almost too odd to overlook the convenience of it.

Left with nothing to process, you are steadfast in your blaming of the foreign Snezhnayan officers. But whether any truly useful information exists or not, you hadn't been allowed around long enough to find out. 

Grave events such as this one are debilitating, they shake normal life in a way usual events do not. But just as the king is well aware of the fear that envelops the royal court, he is also in tune with the mechanics of the city he rules. He will take all means necessary to confine the circumstances, to avoid pressure from Snezhnayan diplomats if nothing else. 

 So, you know well that the lack of information provided is entirely intentional.

The Chamberlain's death had occurred three whole days ago, and you still haven't heard a thing. Not even the town gossips are aware of the turmoil that drenches the castle, and the maids are equally tight-lipped. 

Tapping a pen against the mahogany of the wooden desk, you sigh. The writer’s callus on your dominant hand is tinged with blue ink, darker in the low light of the library only you populate. The usually bustling halls have been noticeably empty within the past few days. However, it is a good side effect -- with less to see your actions, the more freedom to investigate you are given. 

Though, any so-called ‘investigations’ you’ve completed thus far have been nothing more than quick brainstorming sessions, wherein the same vague points are turned over and over again in your head. Sighing at the blank sheet of paper in front of you, you slump in your seat. 

It frustrates you to know that in these moments, you are often royalty in title alone. You are a woman of title, a person of royal blood, are you not? Yet, because of a single wave of the king’s hand, you are kept in the dark just as every courtier and servant is, inevitably leaving one amongst you vulnerable to repeat the same unfortunate mistakes the chamberlain had. 

However, you are not a courtier. Not a servant. So, why dangle such information above your head, why withhold any greater power your status holds? The reason, your father will likely never share, but your lack of knowledge in any event is undoubtedly purposeful

It may just be for your protection, though his intentions are never so simple; he thinks like a king, not a father. 

But, albeit his strange tendencies, bits and pieces of the father you want to see remain in every stroke of his lacquered pen. He is the puppet behind only your menial troubles, and it would be unfair to pin much more than a daughter’s bitterness on him. Perhaps this is just his out of touch way of protecting you -- like you need it.

“My lady,”

A soft yet firm voice bids for your attention. There is an immediate regret that blooms in your chest as you stand up abruptly, feet pushing you out of your chair only to meet the patient eyes of a maid. You offer her an apologetic smile as you will your heart to slow.

It’s not your place to be jumpy, not when there are those who work soundlessly to ensure your protection.

Perhaps they’re a bit too soundless, though. 

“My apologies.” The old woman bows her head slightly, leaning a careful hand on your shoulder. “You startle very easily lately, are you feeling well?”

You nod, gaze anywhere but her as you search for an escape. “Yes, yes, of course. Just nervous, is all.”

The maid watches you as you gather your things, eyes lingering a moment too long on the shaking hands you fail to conceal. You clutch the notebook and pen to your chest, offering her an awkward smile.

“Everything will be alright,” She assures you, gesturing to the rest of the empty library. “Extreme measures are being taken to protect anyone else in the castle from succumbing to a similar fate.”

As you nod wordlessly, the calmness in her voice does not dissipate. You feel almost scrutinised under her polished gaze — it is gentle, but concerned nonetheless. Your fears are merely surface level affairs to the familiar woman, despite how deeply you attempt to hide them. 

Offering her a nod as you duck past her, you mumble a quiet goodbye. The maid’s eyes remain stuck to your back as you begin to walk away, patient.

“I had tea prepared not long ago.” You stop at the doorway, hand coming up to ghost over the wooden frame as your head turns back. The same unwavering smile adorns your sight. “Enjoy your night, my lady.”

You respond with a quick smile, fastening your grip on your belongings as you hurry from the room. The particular woman’s kindness truly runs deep, though you can’t help the discomfort you experience under her weighted gaze -- she studies you as if you are translucent, hungry eyes searching for fears to quell.

As your shoes click on the hard floor, you grimace. Of course, her intentions are nothing more than those of a dedicated caretaker, and guilt pokes at your inside unnervingly for pushing her innocent concern off. There is a part of you that wants to confide in someone, whether it is a maid or someone entirely different -- but, for reasons unknown to even you, it’s not something you’re willing to do. 

On your worst days, you fear someone will attempt to face your emotions head-on, regardless of your wishes. And while such a person is bound to appear, it’s instances like these that you learn to stave off those indulgent enough to get too close. It is only practical, after all, as a member of the royal family to keep your troubles close.

Your mother had been a wonderful example of what compassion could do to someone of your status. Evident in every generation, in every string of events, there will always be someone looking to take advantage of such raw trust. So, while cowardly, it is a caution that no one can fault you for.

It is a truly vile way of thinking, yet in this walk of life, it is unfortunately necessary.

You have long stopped wondering what others think of your fears, though simultaneously, you have recently found it harder to maintain a cooler composure. No action seems just right, no demeanour enough to please everyone. Your honest desperation is heartbreakingly truthful, and you can only hope it's enough to excuse the way you act. 

The low evening sun passes over your face through the windows of the hall, decorating your body in an array of warmth. And whether the world sees fit to tease you or not, you don’t mistake the oddly timed shiver that runs through your body. Shaking your head, you wish tiredly for nothing more than everything to be over. 

The crystalline doorknob to your personal chambers is slippery beneath your clammy grip, exhaustion seeping through your veins as you stand there without luck. The tiny inconvenience tests your patience extremely closely. Luckily, the halls are empty around you, void of anything but yourself and guards stationed some ways away. 

Offhandedly, you wonder if you could get away with sneaking off. Perhaps it’s an action you may need to take eventually, but with the steady droop of your eyelids, you surmise it can wait. Even your tired mind can discern that there is little you can do in your state.

Moments later, you find yourself sitting on your bed, the tricky doorknob locked shut behind you. You have little desire to do anything but to crawl under your covers and move on to the next day. But, the commentary-scribbled notebook still weighs lightly in your hand. 

With a narrowed gaze, you consider stuffing it into your pillow case -- what could be a better hiding place than directly beneath you? Your eyes are heavy as you carry out the action. The process isn’t meticulous by any means, but you decide it will work well enough for now. 

Still in your day clothes, you let your body fall on top of the comforter. You’re briefly freed of your anxieties as you will your mind to go blank. You forget about the murder, about your deathly curiosity, even about the mug of tea that continues to go cold on your nightside table.  

Your worries may encompass dire things, they may not. But at the end of the day, they can only be worries.

“I don’t understand.”

The spring air is sweet in your nose, but for all that it’s worth, it’s easily outshined by the distinctly rotten taste that grows in your mouth. Mornings in the castle are usually filled by the former; golden sunlight within the deserted halls, the chirping of bluebirds heard from beyond the cracked windows, bowls of fresh fruit carried by passing servants -- but today, you find these peaceful things to be stifled.

You’d been called on during the early hours of the morning, long before you normally even rise. Perhaps it was a precautionary action, perhaps the particular subject just made your father restless, yet in any case, the first hour of your day is spent moderately.

“This is by no means a complicated thing to ask of you.” Your father says this, and while he may be right, he should be one of the last to consider giving you such an order.

You shake your head slowly, trying not to let your distress shine through. “No, it’s not, but it’s not necessary, is it? Someone is dead. I’m only expressing discomfort in my own way.”

“...Your coping mechanisms seem awfully dangerous.”

Avoiding his eye, you yawn into the back of your hand. Call it what you like, but coping mechanism be damned if it’s the one thing that makes you feel secure living as you do. 

“I don’t see how trying to figure out what happened is dangerous,” You say, taking in your father’s demeanour. It’s an early morning for him as well, but you know better than to push his limits on purpose. “Please. It’s only a personal reassurement. I’ll be sure not to take it too far.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not concerned about you taking things too far, because I know you’ll do that regardless of what we agree on today.”

You’re silent at that.

“I just don’t need you getting hurt because someone chooses to see you as a threat, not when there are more capable people to be assessing this situation.”

Your lips and patience both simultaneously thin. “If there are more capable people available, then where are they? I would be more than happy to hand things over to them.”

Your father’s head tilts slightly, voice raising an octave or so. “I'm in the process of gathering help. Are you questioning me?"

Dread begins to ferment in your stomach as you shake your head, words heavy in your mouth. “No. I only urge you to take this more seriously. I think it would be the better choice, knowing what has happened when we let our guard down in the past.”

His eyes narrow as you turn your head away, avoiding his eye as casually as possible even while your heart thumps loudly in your chest. There is not a day that goes by wherein your father does not honour your late mother in some way. But, you do not understand the reason he chooses to push aside an event so similar to the one that has affected him so greatly now.

“I recommend that you visit the tavern this afternoon.” If your jab has ignited anything in him, it’s lost in the moment he turns to take a thin binder into his hand. You accept it warily as he continues. “The sister celebrations are quickly approaching. Despite the unfortunate events that have taken place recently, we must prepare as if on a normal schedule."

You quirk a curious brow. “Aren’t we on one already?”

“Yes, as of now.” Your father sizes up your expression before hesitantly continuing. “But, if things do get worse, I’m afraid we might have to postpone the events.”

Eyes widening, you stand up.

“There’s such a thing on the line, and still no one is investigating anything yet?!”

He says your name in a tone of warning, voice stern. “I'm handling it, but you must understand that there is not much to work with. I’m sure you know this as well.”

You try to meet his eyes, but they never quite meet yours; they follow his actions behind his desk, your fidgeting, but never anything else. You do not take it as a truthful promise, yet under his attention, all you can do is nod and believe that he will do as he says -- hope that he will listen to the concerns of the only family he has left. 

You move to leave, keeping careful note of the binder in your hand as you grumble a muffled goodbye. You can only guess its contents, but aren’t too keen on stopping to read it under the stifling atmosphere you’ve created. At the door, you pause as he calls your name. 

“Do not mention your mother to me again.”

His words settle with you as you disappear into the morning haze, the inkling of a frown pushing at your lips. The King had said that he was in the process of gathering help, but given his past, you aren't too inclined to believe him.

The conversation gets you thinking -- in the reality that he does end up finding someone to handle the situation, would you give up so easily? You aren't quite sure you know the answer. Especially not if the sister celebrations are in jeopardy.

It's why, when the afternoon comes, you are more than willing to pay the tavern a visit. As you’d discovered on your meandering walk back to your chambers, the binder your father had handed you is composed of nothing but numbers -- all necessary information for the numerous courses set to be available at the day of Ludi Harpastum and its most beloved partner, titled Dies Luctus.

A commemorative event by title alone, Dies Luctus is a masquerade that takes place yearly that exists to pay respects to those who have passed -- though in recent years, it has become more of a prologue for later festivities to the unseasoned eye.

Small details here and there exist to remind you of its history, in the dark masks that are given to attending patrons, or the waves of silence that occasionally pass over the crowd, even the single flowers provided as offerings to those who have lost someone. The most menacing of these signs, however, remains to be the empty throne at the king’s side. 

Your hands are clammy as you trek to the tavern. Be it a masquerade or a way to respect the dead, you will sooner be a part of those honoured than let a petty murder be the reason the world is not reminded of your mother’s existence once again. 

Angel’s Share’s bell chimes from high above as you enter, but no one looks in your direction even as the door slams shut behind you -- at least, save for the bartender. Trained vermillion eyes find yours in an instant, surprise melting through the depths as he beckons you over with the rag in his hand.

You can’t help your smile as you slip onto the stool in front of him.

The bar is polished finely, though maybe even more so than usual due to the presence of Master Diluc. His appearance at the bar is rare these days because of the looming dates of Dies Luctus and Ludi Harpastum -- but since the unfortunate passing of his father five years ago, the responsibility of coordinating the technicalities of the two events has since been passed to him. 

You know firsthand that it’s a lot of work, but there is no one you feel safer leaving the job to than the man in front of you. He has proved time and time again that he is steadfast in all he does. 

“Look who’s finally decided to show themselves.” Diluc nearly puts down the glass that he’s cleaning to ridicule you, a sure sign of his irritation. “I’d almost forgotten what you look like.”

Exhaling a light laugh, you shrug. “You know it’s busy up there. I barely have time for myself anymore, much less to come here.”

He shakes his head as if the explanation is so-so.

“You were never bad at sneaking out here before.” He quirks a brow, trading in the dry glass for another. 

“That was before someone was murdered in the place I’m sneaking out from.” You point out, taking gratification in the way Diluc lets out a resigned sigh. “Of course, it hindered me a bit.”

You place the notebook on the counter as you speak, not missing the way Diluc’s eyes land on it briefly.

“Right.” He nods thoughtfully, lips thinning. “I hope you’re doing well. In that case, it’s better to stay where you can’t be hurt.”

“Glad I have your approval.” You nod, eyes trailing back to the menu board behind him. There is a good reason why the Dawn Winery is widely regarded as the finest winery in Teyvat -- Angel’s Share’s menu has remained consistent with classic favourites that have served multiple generations well. 

“Here,” He nudges your usual order to you, and in a haze, you realise you must have spaced out. Mumbling a soft apology, you take the cold glass in your hands. 

Diluc releases a quiet sigh, nudging the notebook with his knuckle. “Is something wrong? Do you need my help?”

“Kind of.” You admit, shrugging. He opens the binder with a curious hand. “It’s the catering needed for the sister celebrations coming up. It was given to me this morning.”

Diluc skims the pages silently, but you get the feeling he’d finished doing so long beforehand. He has always been so reserved, so thoughtful, even when you were children. His perseverance after the death of his father was something that you could never accomplish on your side of things, not even with time. Even as you stumbled behind, he grew capable -- capable of returning to see that you went in step with him, to the end. 

“I… had assumed the festivities would be postponed at the very least, concerning the recent events.” He admits, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “Is that not the case?”

“What?” You scoff, gesturing to the book. “Of course not. The king probably gave me that to deliver because he’s sure to have a solution by the time it comes around. He wouldn’t dare miss it.”

“Do you believe that?”

It’s a harmless question with a simple answer, but it stops you short. To see Diluc, such a powerful man, so unsure sometimes leaves your hopes exceedingly low. You train your eyes on the wall of alcohol behind him in hopes that he will not notice your hesitance. 

“...Fine. I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Continuing quietly, you’re suddenly acutely aware of the patrons near you. “I know that the longer it’s covered up, the worse it will get. But the issue will be gone by the time Dies Luctus starts, even if I have to make sure of it myself.”

“We’ve had problems before, but we’ve never missed it. And we won’t this time either.”

Diluc nods silently, your unspoken message reaching him clearly. Since your mother, the queen’s, murder almost six years ago, you have not once missed Dies Luctus -- the event is a memorial for the dead, but it is much more to you. Out of the three hundred and sixty five days a year, it is the only one your father will ever acknowledge that the queen is gone. 

“Then I’ll do what I can to help.” Diluc leans down on the counter on one elbow, all so that he can come closer to your face. It’s as if he believes your distance will affect how clearly you remember his threatening concern. “You need to tell me if anything else happens, okay?”

You can’t help a smile, leaning back. “So you will accept my request this time, Master Diluc?”

He shakes his head, fighting a smile. The jab of sudden formality is something that you will never let go of, even if he refuses to use your own title in return.

“I hope I won’t have to.”

You fear many things. darkness, the unspeakable acts spoken of in rumours that reach the castle’s halls, occasionally you even let your imagination fill in the blanks -- but not even the stormiest nights can compare to the dread that ferments deep in your bones in this moment. 

A cold sweat breaks out over your neck as you lay still, waiting, praying for the movement outside your door to still. There are two guards stationed outside your door on a typical night, and you have learned their schedules and how to recognise their gaits gradually over the hours of sleepless nights. Such an abundance of interruption is definitely rare. 

They are ordered to stay still so as not to disturb you, but the sounds that reach your ear are distinctly unnatural, and unnervingly close. Surely, you're just paranoid. You can only hope.

The curtains are drawn halfway shut across the room, letting the only source of light in through tiny gaps and slivers. It paints a suspenseful image as muffled noises come to a stuttering stop outside your door. Your breath catches as you’re shocked back into attention by a large thump against the wood. Abruptly, you sit up, clutching the sheets in a grip that has your knuckles turning white. Something is wrong.

Suddenly, someone steps carefully into your room. You eye the man warily. Because your guards rotate in shifts that change in the early morning, you cannot recall ever seeing the faces of the men who guard you while you rest. 

Breath stumbling, you ask, “…What’s going on?”

The guard shakes his head silently, face hidden beneath the haze of the night that blankets the room. You swallow thickly.

“You aren’t my guard, are you?” You say quietly.

A thousand thoughts run through your head. Is this perhaps your karma for pursuing the killer? It may only be your luck that has brought them to you, a harbinger of death is certainly a disposition that would find you eventually. But no amount of self pity or regret could overtake the fear that seizes you. 

“Clever.” When the fake finally responds, his voice is deeper than you had expected it to be. “I was told that you weren’t able to recognise your guards. Though, I presume that isn’t completely true, am I right, Your Highness?”

The man is quick and virtually soundless as he crosses the floor, all but for the way his boots occasionally clink together. Your heart sinks as his supposed plan comes together in your head.

“Don’t.” You order him sternly, putting out a shaking palm that betrays your voice. “How- how close do you think my other guards are?  I presume you weren’t told how quick their rounds are?”

It’s a complete and utter lie — no matter how close any patrolling guards are, the ones you mention are hours away from arriving. But you notice it when his body stills for a moment anyway. In slight panic, you throw your covers back and stand in a helpless attempt to gain leverage. 

“Don’t move.” He warns, putting out an empty hand. “You have the choice to make this a lot easier for the both of us.”

You scoff quietly, the sound broken. “...And let you kill me?”

You frown, trembling hand reaching for the abandoned cup of tea on the nightstand with a vengeance. But the man follows your movements too quickly, coming close and tearing the ceramic from your grip. The cold liquid splashes harmlessly back onto him.

He is faster than you in every sense. The late hour muddles more than just your mind, leaving ample opportunity for his hand to wrap around your collar and bring you closer. You half expect to see a creature of nightmares -- a mangled face, soulless eyes, but instead you’re met with the blank canvas of a black masquerade mask. Not even his eyes are visible through the tiny gaps. 

The cold edge of his knife presses into the skin of your neck, the same wide hand pulling your back to his chest. Your eyes grow wide at what little patience the man seems to have. 

“...Who are you?” You breathe, grimacing as the blade presses farther into your skin. It’s cleverly positioned, deep enough to draw blood yet still shallow enough to lift most of the pressure from your voice. No words pass between you as he looks over you from the depths of his mask, silent and patient. 

“Did you take the chamberlain’s life like this, too?” You choke, gasping for air as you begin to feel the gash on your neck slide open further with each word. “Or were you kinder to her?”

A small groan of pain leaves your mouth hanging open as he jolts the metal -- it’s not enough to hurt you a large amount, but it quiets you nonetheless. You wince when he says, 

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve killed no one yet.” He says, breath hot against your ear. “You should worry about yourself.”

Unwelcome shock ripples through your chest. Of course, he must be bluffing, but you can’t quiet your mind long enough to focus on the implications of his words. It’s fairly obvious due to the burlesque way he holds onto you, but you suspect if the man put any amount of his normal strength forward, you would stand no chance. 

Brashly, you hiss, “Are you dragging this out on purpose?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he speaks. “Only if you’d like me to, Princess.”

“…You say pointless things.” You grumble, trembling hand shooting up to latch onto his clothed wrist. Most of your willpower goes into keeping your voice still, but any semblance of control you attempt to fake is lost on your body. Though, he pays no mind to you. 

You’re even almost certain he mirrors your look of irritation as he finally dares to make a calculated slash across your neck. Gasping in pain, your legs falter. It is exceedingly thin, barely noticeable for all but the way you bleed. The wound that opens across your neck meets the cold air all too fast, hot blood ghosting across the mess of hands at your collar.

He seems to think his warning will convince you to secede. 

Hesitantly, you speak, nearly gagging at the sensation of blood that drags down your throat. “Do you enjoy holding my life in your hands?”

Your captor doesn’t respond, circling you to your front cautiously. He keeps the knife to your throat as a precaution before finally allowing the mask he wears to slip over the bridge of his nose. Chilling blue eyes stare back at you, clean and free of emotion. For a moment, these eyes seem hauntingly familiar -- but you force yourself to quit dwelling on the man that holds a knife to your throat. 

“And if I do?”

The challenging words ignite a sense of desperation in you. You have little ability to fight back, fearing your delicate wound opening into something more; your blood already makes a mess of anything it can reach, and you doubt you can withstand it for much longer. 

“Then,” You’re breathing heavily as his eyes narrow. “Try your best.”

You had first learned how to hold a dagger beneath the shade of a grapevine on your thirteenth birthday -- it had been a drab thing, metal worn and rusted from years of disuse. Yet, Diluc had sworn to you that it was as good as any. With his skills, maybe that was true, but as you took the handle like you would a kitchen knife, you knew immediately that you would have a different experience. 

The concept was at first no more than a way to have fun, intended for an impossibly different future. Though, you’ve always had a sneaking suspicion that Diluc took his role as a teacher seriously -- he almost embodied the position as he guided you, solidifying your once meagre skills.

Then Diluc received a vision. 

Pyro and matching his once upbeat personality, the fifteen year old that had received it was delighted. Quickly, he lost the need to know how to throw a knife, and how to utelise it as an effective weapon. He had many other things at his disposal that were much more interesting, after all. 

And yet, he stayed with you. He continued to teach you everything he knew, even as he began to forget it himself. You make a mental note to never admit that you’re the same, that most of his words from back then are lost to time. But, as frustrated tears well up in your eyes, you’re suddenly unsure if you’ll ever get the opportunity to see him again. 

Because in truth, you are more human than you give yourself credit for. You pale in the face of danger just as anyone else would, losing your reason just as fast as you may lose your blood -- but the difference in you, is that you will seldom let people say they have bested you. 

With a staggering breath, you back away suddenly, wincing at the slight grit of metal releasing skin as you move. There are no easy countermeasures to take, no hidden weapons tucked away for situations like these. The man points his weapon at you easily, threats materialising in his gaze as he takes a step forward. You take a step back in return.

“If you come quietly, I’ll make it hurt less”

The same dreaded pattern continues until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“And if I don’t? You’ve had ample opportunity to take my life, and yet you haven’t.” You say bitterly, hiding the way your hands shake behind your back. The knife he holds still shines red with the tint of your blood. “If you’re trying to hold me for ransom, I’d save your breath.”

He seems amused, but there’s a flicker of genuine interest over his face. Thumbing the knife in his grip, he asks quietly,

“And why is that, Your Highness?”

You don’t respond. Turning quickly to slip the notebook from beneath your pillow, the weighted canvas is heavy in your hand. His eyes widen as you swing it over him directly, and though it misses the target you had intended, you’re able to knock the dagger from his unsuspecting hands. 

But, you’re too sloppy as you dive for it. The man catches up to you easily, taking the window you struggle to pull you back into his chest as the knife clatters to the floor. You cry out as he forces your neck upwards, tears rushing to your eyes.

“Not so fast.'' He clenches his jaw, grip tightening over your throat as tears rush to your eyes. “I’ve heard how good you are with a knife.”

Fighting the darkness that threatens to invade your vision, you croak and claw at his arms. “If- if you didn’t kill the chamberlain, why are you here?”

“Cooperate, then I'll tell you.” The man grits. You let out a desperate groan.

In a hopeless attempt to gain leverage, you jump – he’d made the easy mistake of letting your feet touch the ground, giving your flailing limbs enough time to push into him. The nauseating sound of bone hitting bone suddenly resounds in the quiet room, though it’s moderately covered by the obstinate curses of the man behind you. He releases his grip on you reflexively. Coughing furiously, you shove your weight back into him with all of your might.

When he staggers, you take the opportunity to tackle him down, forcing your weight on top of him before he can counter. Now, as your legs straddle him, you hold the knife to his throat with one hand, the other holding one of his arms above his head.

Your captor’s body is completely relaxed, and though you know it’s a plot to get under your skin, it still scares you. 

“Name your price,” You rasp, voice still weak from being briefly cut off. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

The man says nothing, hair mussed and breathing heavy. His reason for breaking in must be so clouded that it blinds his own reasoning. In your mutual struggle, his mask has started to slip further beneath his eyes, though it saddens you slightly to know you have no free hand to reveal the man’s identity completely.

Your jaw locks as you push the blade into his skin. It catches you off guard when you notice his face shifting into an incredulous smile.

“I would never take the money of a fake King."

You push him into the ground, taking note of the way he grunts in response. “Be quiet.”

The man’s short laugh splits the air, the beginning of a bruise blooming on the underside of his chin. 

A beat of uncomfortable silence passes between you. But, before the man can goad you any further, a shaking hand brings the knife away from his throat. In the most simple way, your thoughts are a jumble of wires – the shells of countless new plans that will never be anything more than inklings. 

Consequently, you barely think anything of it when you decide to turn away, nothing more guiding your panicked aim than your wildly beating heart. 

Even the man below you seems confused at your thought process. But as soon as the decorative vase sitting by the door shatters over the hard tile, he is competent enough to know that despite your compromising position, you are the only one of you who believes that you are fighting for your life. 

You half expect the noise to set him off. But, the incoming danger does nothing more than make him attempt to break away from you. 

You shout for anyone nearby before mustering the courage necessary to push him further into the tiled floor, cementing your palm into the nook of his wrists until he grimaces. A glimmer of something close to understanding rushes through his eyes.

“If you wanted to be close to me so bad, you could’ve said so.” He teases, though the fear in his voice is raw. It almost manages to catch you off guard.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.” You spit, voice shaking as he attempts to fight back. Though you want to pride yourself in your ability to keep him down, something seems suspicious about it --  he had no problem overpowering you before, so a simple change in position shouldn’t be as important.

By now, you’ve certainly noticed the cerulean vision strapped to his hip, signifying his power threshold. Though, you’re unsure of whether his disuse of it frightens or relieves you more – he has certainly only been delaying the inevitable, but why?

It’s as if something had flipped in his mind. He’d certainly thought of something in his time since entering the room, but whether it was previous plans or an entirely new one, you don’t know.

Swallowing your doubts, you push more of your weight onto his arms. The man grunts.

“I don’t know what you want,” You breathe, force evident in your voice. “But you won’t get it.”

He conveniently manages to break out of your grip just as the door to your chambers slams open, a group of masked guards rushing in unhindered. You fall back onto the ground hard. But, as the man searches for a viable route of escape, one of the braver guards rushes forward to your side and yanks you out of harm’s way.

In their grip, you’re nothing but a bag of bones being strung along, stunned into silence. 

The criminal’s mask has since been adjusted back to its normal position, and yet, you still feel the depths of his sheathed gaze when it finds yours. A frown is evident on his face. 

“You’re going to regret this.” He speaks to you as if you’re still the only two in the room, focus inconveniently centred even as the guards in front of you begin to crowd him. A heavy hand comes up to ghost over the afflictions on your neck. The pain is fresh, blood adorning the shallow slit as well as a tightness that rests in the skin he had grabbed you. It will likely bruise. 

But, you can’t find it in you to take pleasure in the way that he fends off the guards – he seems a decent match for them, an excellent fighter in his own right, but he plays the same wretched game and only you are aware of it. The man’s punches are too sloppy to be natural, his footwork too elementary to belong to someone who had quietly replaced a guard without issue. 

Much to your chagrin, he’s soon placed in handcuffs. A jumble of threats courses through the room on the account of both parties. Though, you have to admit: however fake they may be, the man’s promises are certainly creative. 

But most of all, you take great pleasure in seeing the guards at last pull back his mask, revealing his face to the full extent.

You gut twists as stunning sapphire eyes meet yours in full capacity for the first time. You can’t help but shudder at the sense of familiarity his appearance lends you, despite his plain clothes and foul mouth. Even more surprising, though, is the way he immediately seems to recognise your train of thought – his gaze cuts deep into you even without the handicap of a physical blade.

However, the words he attempts to convey are lost on you. And rather than feel dejected, you find comfort in your inability to understand. Because when you see the scratches up his arms, and the bruise that blooms dark on his chin, you don’t let yourself forget that in the end, he has lost. 

He merely lets himself be pulled upright. Even if his eyes allude to pain, the man makes no effort to resist, nor to even elaborate as his form disappears beyond the doorway. He leaves almost entirely unscathed as you stand rigid in the scrapping he’d left behind.

You release a throaty cough, finally allowing yourself to sit up straighter from your tense position on the floor. There is very little you can do beyond touch the skin on your neck gingerly as the silence of the night begins to fade in. 

It’s only now that you notice the guard that had originally caught you has hung back, silently waiting for the right moment to act -- a patient approach, but unfortunately, not a helpful one. Your lips thin in a strained frown as tears finally begin to spill over your cheeks. 

The knight reaches out an armoured hand, concerned but mechanical -- this is merely his duty, not his want. You turn it down shakily, reeling back from his worry even if you want nothing more than for someone to be brave enough to look past your fear. 

“My lady--”

“Find Master Diluc. Now.” You choke out, gaze turning on him as you stand shakily. “I- I will make my way to the infirmary--”

They reach out a hand once again, but this time, when you see it coming, you freeze. 

The floor is hard against your body, and so, so unbearably real. You are not the farthest from death that you’ve ever been, but remembering the feeling of cool steel against your skin, you can’t help but wonder if it was closest. The gravity of the situation hits you all at once as the adrenaline drains from your blood.

The guard’s voice is distant as a mindful hand finally makes the jump to support you. Yet, as you choke on blood that you can’t touch, as desperation rises to your eyes, you realise you don’t have it in you to respond. You can do nothing but turn your painful gaze on them before you come so close to losing everything once again.

© tartaglicious 2022, please do not repost 

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #childe x reader #childe #gi childe #genshin impact fanfics #genshin x reader #enemies to lovers #not my writing #tartaglia #Ajax

[kazuharem]

In Life and Death / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

♡ When everything you know is shrouded in light, it’s often hard to remember to peek into the darkness. Your family has long since been a part of those who avoid it, choosing to hide comfortably amongst the high ranks of Mondstadt’s nobility. Your father, the King, has fought hard to keep it that way, especially following the Queen's unfortunate death. However, with a sudden push from the Fatui, certain old wounds are quickly reopened.

It's why upon tragedy striking, you aren’t alone in the assumption that the foreign nation is to blame. But when unseen circumstances quickly push the question of the culprit's identity over to you, you find that the situation is much deeper than meets the eye. Between the mysterious nature of an unknown killer, familial doubts, and the 11th Harbinger launching himself into the scene by making an attempt on your life, you think you're completely in over your head.

Even if Childe claims you have the picture all wrong.

And so, in a gruesome twist of events, you're faced with a choice -- trust Childe's convenient involvement and get to the bottom of everything together, or risk becoming victims yourselves.

♡ FAQ: Hello again! After so long, I’ve finally collected myself and have finished putting together this project! Thank you to anyone who’s been waiting around, and to those seeing this for the first time, I sincerely hope you enjoy this story as much as I do <3 

-> Updates for this work will come every two weeks. 

-> WARNINGS + TAGS: fem reader, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mentions of death, gore, and potential 18+ content, honestly this reads like a diluc x reader in the beginning oops, can be viewed as love triangle if u so wish. suitable chapters will be marked upon release!

In Teyvat, not even one of the seven nations is like another. Mondstadt has its rolling green hills, Inazuma its festivals, Liyue its variety of cuisine – and though Snezhnaya is similar in that mundane things make up the very threads of the nation people walk on, what sets the country apart doesn’t lie in such simplicity. 

What sets Snezhnaya apart from the rest of the world lies within the haze of thick snow, hidden deep in a fortress in the mountains. What sets Snezhnaya apart sharpens a blade in the light of a candle, a deep-rooted boredom sitting beneath ocean blue eyes. Though he knows it not, the man’s second thought alone is enough to shake the foundation of nations. 

And that’s exactly what he does when he hears of his newest mission. Childe thinks. He thinks, and thinks, and thinks, until all he can see is the light reflecting off of the metal in his hand. The others around him seem to find no issue with the orders, perfectly content with the parts they have to play. Slowly, his brow crumples in confusion as he says, 

“Why involve anyone else when we’re only scoping out the situation?”

Yet when bringing up such a thought, his colleague merely smiles – a cruelly fashioned turn of her painted lips that never ceases to lie. 

“Your heart is soft, Tartaglia.” She pierces his resolve with one point of her long black nails. “No one is truly innocent, she is surely guilty of something.”

“It’s so like you to give in to your conscience this quickly.” Another of his colleagues croons, though Childe pays them hardly any mind.

For a moment, he assumes they must be right. While every Harbinger has a past, over and over again, he is the only one who refuses to let go of his own. But, Childe desperately dreads the consequences of forgetting who he is – something the others are clearly not bothered by. It’s why he frowns to himself before twisting the blade in his hand, letting the light hit it from a different angle. 

Perhaps the knife would never be as sharp as his doubt. 

After all, you did not choose to be born into the family you were, and it should not be you that is forced to pay the price for someone else’s actions. Of course, given your rank in society, it’s likely that his colleague is correct – you are certainly not free of blood on your hands. But, does that mean you deserve the fate he has been ordered to deal you? 

Just for a moment, he imagines your places switched. You, doomed to fail from the moment you’d stumbled into the abyssal chasm. You, masking your unsurety of the world in ceaseless bloodshed that never feels like enough. He would have appreciated someone sparing him a second look.

So, if you really are guilty, he is not qualified to be your judge.

And perhaps you ought to thank him for feeling obligated to make such a decision. Because as he stares at you in the low light, though the bars of his holding cell obstruct his view slightly, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

Childe’s voice comes out smaller than intended as he addresses your dripping form – you’re wet from the rain that pelts the stone from outside, no doubt. Though all things considered, he questions why you had decided to visit him at all. 

“I was wondering when you’d wander back in here.”

You merely smile at him. And for one weak moment, he swears that stars had once been plucked from the sky just to make you.

“Is that interest I hear?” You taunt him quietly, to which he shrugs casually. 

“...Nothing of the sort.”

#cant wait 🫣 #will I get to beta or not that is the question #anyways yall rb my wifey’s baby or I will take your toenails #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe #childe x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fanfic #not my writing #tartaglia

[kazuharem]

˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

#if anything happens to this kazuha I will kill everyone #genshin impact #kazuha #HE IS SO CUTE #I LOVE HIM 🥺🥺 #go sleep Ela

[kazuharem]

#memes #i felt this on a spiritual level #go sleep Ela #other

[kazuharem]

maybe while childe chases scaramouche around teyvat they both stop by the tavern

#ahahahaha poor bby #childe #scaramouche #genshin art