Damn Same

Damn same

me too Smoliv

-ˋˏ✄— Fallen Harbinger

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Tartaglia x Reader [ Reversed + Streamer AU ! ]

Pronouns: they/them

"Farewell, Fallen Harbinger."

CW: Angst! Death! Mentions of blood!

.navigation. // .genshin impact masterlist.

Ong Helo Again, I Want To Req Reverse Streamer Au W Childe When The Reader Acc Dies At The Golden House

'Go to the Golden House,' the quest read.

It had just been another regular day for Childe. Wake up, do his morning chores, then do his regular, messily scheduled streaming.

And, as per usual, he had been streaming Genshin Impact, a well known game in the streaming community.

"The Golden House? Uh, okay then..."

He stole a glance at his chat, who were telling each other to shut up, while some only asked what would happen in confusion. Spoilers were probably deleted by his mods.

"Chat, you're scaring me, chat. What the hell is going to happen? No, no, don't tell me, I don't think I want to know yet."

Something in his head screamd at him, as a cutscene played. His chosen traveller looked around the Golden House before stepping closer to the Exurvia of the former Geo Archon.

And then, in stepped familiar h/c hair, their e/c eyes devoid of light despite the golden mora shining within the Golden House.

"Hey! The lil skrunkly!" He whispered, low enough to not desturb the cutscene.

They conversed for a bit, before the cutscene ended and a battle began.

"Surreder is a valid option, I promise I'll be gentle."

Childe swallowed his saliva, laughing quietly to himself.

"Oh I am going to have fun. Maybe."

─𖠄࿐

The fight ended, and Childe was shaking in his seat. He had barely finished phase 3, getting disracted many times.

Another cutscene played, revealing a tired, worn out traveller. But Y/n was no better, not even on his level.

Standing across the traveller, now out of their Foul Legacy form, was same old Y/n, shaking in their place as scratches and bruises littered their skin.

"Hah, you've bested me. How... intriguing. You truely are...as strong as they say."

Childe, having a chill run up his spine, stared intelty at his screen, deathly quiet.

"La Signora has even praised you for your strength, even if she had not faught you herself, yet. Hah, to get a Harbinger's attention and praise... You sure are a special one, huh?"

─𖠄࿐

Having none of their energy remaining, Y/n collapsed to the floor, on their knees. They could see the traveller hesitate to approach them, but they spoke before he could move.

"Well? What are you waiting for? I may have overused Foul Legacy, and it wont be too long."

They spared a glance at the traveller, and even in their weakest moment, a competetive and mischievous glint shone in their once dull eyes.

"Go on. Aren't you going to kill me?"

The traveller's breath hitched, before they chuckled once again.

"Haha, only joking... Unless you're up to it, of course. I'm not quite a fan of dying to Foul Legacy, but after a fight with the oh so great traveller? It was a fight worth dying for, I guess."

Coughing, blood trickled down their chin, and they wiped it off with the back of their hand.

"May I be able to hope to see you again? To have another battle? Perhaps in the far future, perhaps never again at all..."

Taking a step forward, the traveller ceased his motion as the Harbinger raised a hand.

"No need. Whatever healing you might try to do would not work. Foul Legacy takes my energy, decreasing my life span. Perhaps I wasn't meant to live long, perhaps my only purpose was to serve the Tsaritsa."

A chuckle, breathy and tired and solemn and...happy.

Happy to have someone to pass one last message for them.

"Before you leave," they spoke. "You'll probably be able to find one or two of the Harbingers here. One of them would be summoning a god banished to the depths below. You cannot stop them. Or maybe you can. But, before you leave."

They looked up, and despite the scratches and blood on their face, their half lidded eyes shined a thousand times brighter than all the mora in the Golden House.

"My siblings... My mother, my father... Everyone..."

They smiled, brighter than their eyes. It was soft and kind and solemn and genuine and sad.

A million words spoke through that smile. A million messages, a million apologies, a million grateful thank yous. Directed to their family, their parents, their siblings.

A million farewells. Directed to everyone.

Directed to the traveller. To Childe.

"Give them one last goodbye for me, will you? A hug, for everyone. A kiss on the cheek, for mum and dad."

A smile, solemn and bright. But never remorseful, never faux.

"Tell Teucer I'm sorry."

Falling to their side, they collapsed on the ground with a thud, and the Golden House was deathly quiet.

─𖠄࿐

Childe stared at the screen. Eyes wide, mouth agape. If you looked close enough, you could see his shaking form as the cutscene ended.

Another quest popped up.

'Bid Y/n L/n a final goodbye.'

And he wailed in his seat.

Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he made it seem more dramatic to make people assume he wasn't really badly affected by their death.

"I— what— NO! My skrunkly! My little meow meow!"

He moved his character to stand in front of Y/n, an interact button popping up.

'Bid your farewells.'

He did so, seeing his character change to the traveller, who kneeled down beside Y/n. Paimon floated down to the ground, placing a hand on their head.

"...We promise you, Y/n. Your family will be alright."

Taking a flower, a Cecilia from Mondstadt, the traveller gingerly placed it atop their head.

"...We'll be going now, Y/n." He said, and stood up.

Childe had been quiet the whole time, and he could see his chat going wild on the corner of his eyes, all screaming 'NO' or 'o7' or anything alike.

"What the fuck!?" He exclaimed, not touching the game. Rolling his chair backwards a bit, he turned his head to chat, hands intertwined in front of his face, covering his mouth.

He wiped his teary eyes and wet cheeks, trying to find his voice.

"That was too early! I thought I could ignore the death flags until further!!" He exclaimed, staring directly at his face cam. Running a hand through his hair, he dramatically slouched on his chair, groaning loudly.

"Nooo! I would have protected them!"

Suddenly springing up from his seat, he wailed even louder.

"THEIR FAMILY!! THEY'RE GOING TO BE FUCKING DEVASTATED! And— and— their siblings! TEUCER!" He exclaimed.

"I'm sueing Mihoyo Hoyoverse what the fuck."

─𖠄࿐

@Tartaglia Tweeted!

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT WHY I— NOOOO

@ScaryMouche Tweeted!

@Tartaglia do u know how loud u are wailing up there??

@Tartaglia Tweeted!

THEY KILLED THEM SCARA THEY KILLED Y/N

@ScaryMouche Tweeted!

WE KNOW YOUVE BEEN FUKIN CRYING ABOUT IT FOR THE PAST HOUR

@ScaryMouche Tweeted!

Honestly if u didnt pay most of the rent Dottore probably would have kicked u out before you lasted an hour in this house

@Tartaglia Tweeted!

Guys who wants to come with me lets make a personal shrine for Y/n in our backyard

@IlDottore Tweeted!

@Tartaglia Do that and I will burn you and the shrine.

—PATCHWRK !

501 notes View Post

xevrq

2 years ago

Anw anon, i reread the first draf pf part 2 i did and it doesn't fit to my liking so i'll try to redo it (i swear if i got burnout again)

when is ‘the street performer i met today’2 coming up? :)

no pressure!

AGSHAHHA NONNIE SO SORRY I FROGOT, bro this past week i've been busy asf. But dw i'll try to finish it asap 😞👍

1 note View Post

xevrq

3 years ago

## GETTING HANMA’S TATTOOS AFTER HE DIED

tw: angst, death, mentions of needles, smoking

you remember talking about getting matching tattoos with hanma at least once, your lover joking that if you wanted ones on the back of your hands like his he’d have to knock you out while they did it in your sleep but there you were, in the tattoo parlor alone and gritting your teeth while the needle dug into the skin of your hand.

what hurt more than the pain of getting the tattoo was daydreaming about how he would react to seeing you like this, a wide cocky grin while your free hand held his to brace the pain. he’d make fun of you to distract himself from how hard you were holding him while you curse at him, yell even, not caring that you were in a public place. hanma was a piece of shit, but he was your piece of shit and god did you miss him.

sometimes you think getting the tattoos were a bad idea ‘cause with every passing day, your hands would look more and more like his. you’d hold a cigarette in between your fingers even though you didn’t smoke, trying to remember what he looked like smoking right next to you and waving the cigarette around as he talked.

there was always a whiff of tobacco whenever he’d touch your face, so you’d crush it in between your fingertips to get the smell to stick. his hands were rough like sandpaper too, so you’d scratch them, rub them up against a rough surface to dry them out.

now you realize getting the tattoos were a bad idea. you came to that conclusion when you’d look in the mirror and touch your face, crossing one hand over the other so your left palm touched the right side of your face and vice versa. with the smell of tobacco, the roughness, and the tattoos to complete it all, it almost felt like he was holding you.

you’d do it often, your left hand cupping your right cheek and stroking it with your thumb.

but no matter how many times you closed your eyes, how hard you imagined it, how many cigarettes you’ve smoked, hanma wasn’t coming back.

250 notes View Post

xevrq

2 years ago

Things I Wish I Could Say Out Loud...

¬ Not beta read

Lee x Commandant/Reader

Summary:

There are many things that Lee has documented into his data library. However, lately he has been taking a different method of documentation. This time it's with a voice recorder.

Tags: bittersweet, one-shot, potential spoilers for affection lvl.

"XX of XX, year 21XX, Construct: Lee. Location: Babylonia...... Recording session no. 108 of things I wish I could say out loud..."

*******

It was a small gift from Murray.

Lee took a look at it in his hand.

"What is this for?" the construct asked.

Murray smiled. However, Lee didn't find his own question funny.

"It's something I think you would like. You can record anything you want with it." the man said.

Inspecting the device, the construct only kept a neutral face before replying, "It's not necessary for constructs like me to have these things. My data recording mechanics works just as perfect, if not, it yields 30% more effective than of devices such as these. Output quality, file formating, and sound mixing are all put in consideration when you buy products like this. Constructs have many built in functionality, rendering these thing useless to them..."

Lee's voice faded as he spoke. A dead silence settled between them. The harsh words that Lee put forward didn't seem to hit Murray in anyway, a smile was still kept drawn on his face.

The silence, however, gave Lee an uncomfortable feeling. His synthetic skin mimicked goosebumps. He should say something to ease the silence. That's when he added, "... I don't need this, Murray."

He handed the device to his brother.

Murray shifted and a small laugh escaped his lips.

"I know it's useless, in a technical stand point. But," Murray gently pushed the device back into Lee's hand, "I ought to think that maybe, as useless as it may be, this is exactly what you need."

Lee, after thinking about it, decided to accept the gift out of courtesy. "Very well..." He replied and pocketed the gift.

After receiving the device, Lee gave it a go and tried it out a few times. He didn't like it, and was planning to disassemble the gadget instead.

However, he went against it due to a small talk when he bumped into Murray one day. Who, asked him about the gift, and Lee felt a reluctance to treat the device as it was intented.

He began finding use for the voice recorder. Using it, as a means to record logs or data, however, he found no joy in doing that.

During his weekly frame maintenance check, Lee spotted Asimov, owning the same model of voice recorder on his office desk. In fact there were two.

There was an urge to ask about it, seeing it was a coincidence. Asimov, his look as sour as ever, reply with a sarcastic flare, "One," he held up the left one, "is to document research logs. The other," he held up the right one, "is to collect all my disagreements and complaints against everyone here, hoping that one day I would drop this and have Hassen or someone pick it up and listen to it."

Disputes between departments in the council wasn't unheard of. However, Lee was interested at Asimov's latter use of a voice recorder. It wasn't a bad idea.

Sure, Lee himself has disagreements and verbal fights; especially towards Kamui. But, there were times he restricted his tougne for the sake of his Commandant.

So, when he returned to his quarters, he took the recorder and began to spew his complaints.

*******

"... I dislike the way you always put others before yourself..."

*******

The notification in Lee's system alerted him it was time for a special mission debriefing. The Grey Raven Squard were called in by Celica. Lee left his resting quarters as he headed out to the meeting room. There the rest of his team were waiting for him.

Celica came in last and placed a pile of paperwork on the table. Without hesitation, she began working on the control panel.

Lee noted that this usually means this particular mission is either important or it has a special status in the Babylonia database.

The lights dimmed. Images and information were projected up for everyone to see.

"Operation Underground..." Celica handed out her report file to you, "President Hassen wants the Grey Ravens to be dispatched as soon as possible, " she said.

"After some consideration and thorough analysis, it was concluded an archaic type of memory data is located under this ruin civilisation," the slide show propped up an image of a satelite map, "It was thought, back then, people had been toying about the concept of creating Constructs. Maybe that's why there are so many traces of memory data found there."

"you mean, memory data from the golden age?" you asked.

"Technology -wise yes, but the data... It could be a span ranging way before the golden age. The Science council had send teams to conduct excavation in the ruins, but through out the years corrupted levels are getting higher in that area," Celica said.

"Let me guess, Nikola wants us to investigate the area on the Science Council's behalf?" Lee asked.

"Actually, the main objective isn't to investigate the ruins , more so, President Hassen requested you guys to retrieve an archaic memory data. During the last excavation, the team found a Supercomputer, it was believe it stores the raw data. " she replied.

"but the supercomputers are so old, would the data even been salvageable upon retrieving?" Lucia asked, "As we know, technology back then has a higher probability of crashing and produce incomplete data."

"As long as the data is stored in a super computer, the percentage of data lost during extraction is small, compare to a data chip or a transferring port. Normally, supercomputers have two to four back up drive. If one drive or server courrpts, the other drive will immediately download the data. So extracting straight from a super computer is much safer. But, it's best if data loss can remain below 1.273%." Lee spoke.

Impressed by Lee's analysis, you closed the file and stood up. There was no time to waste in this operation.

"We will look into the details during our descent, Grey Ravens, move out." you ordered and your constructs followed.

As you all walked out of the meeting room, Celica said, "Oh, I almost forgot, this ruin is consider a danger zone, so please do not hesitate to retreat when necessary."

*******

"... I always do my best to serve you, even if my logic and words may make it sound the opposite. Please know, all that I am doing is all for your best interest as well as your future. You have to live, Commandant. At all cost... "

*******

He had been waiting for three hours, twenty four minutes and forty five seconds.

The door in the emergency wards was still closed. Lee could only sit in the waiting seat as his other teams mates were also rushed to the repair room.

He, himself, was considered lucky to have taken minimal damage, in comparison. His arm was ripped off and was given a temporary one for the time being. Although, it was advise to return to the Science department as soon as possible to replenish his vital fluids.

The door automatically slid open and the medical team, along with Asimov came out.

Lee turned his head and waited for the news Asimov had to deliver.

"Calm down, Lee, your Commandant is fine," Asimov huffed, he seems a little exhausted.

"I see, what's the condition?" Lee asked.

"You really need to look out for that Commandant of yours. "Brain damage" might sound a little too harsh, but that's the non techincal diagnosis." Asimov waved his hand, " a much techinal term would be, minor brain scarring."

Lee did not reacted.

"Don't worry about it too much. Your Commandant's condition is consider minor, the situation has been stablize. All that is left to do is to rest and recover."

"May I see Commandant?" Lee questioned.

"..." Asimov heasitated, "... Normally, I don't advise visitation, but, I guess I will let it slide this time." the man narrow his eyes a little.

"... But, I want you out in five minutes, understood?"

*******

"I am doing all this is because..."

*******

"Commandant..." Lee spoke in a small voice. You were asleep on the bed. Monitors and devices all plugged up to you as you slumber in the dimly lit room.

Seeing there was no response emitted from you, Lee spoke once more, "Really, Commandant, why do you have to push yourself again? How many times have you visited the medical bay this month? You know it worries us greatly..." He paused.

He was glad he went against your orders this time. If he hadn't called for Babylonia's retreat plan, you would end up in a much serious condition. Linking with the M. I. N. D beacon for an overwhelming amount of time, is not wise.

For sure, he knew you would get a little annoyed by that, and he played a fake scenario in his head that you were actually awake.

Talking to him, asking him why did he went against your orders, to retreat and not push through. He will agree everyone is close, so close to retrieve the data.

But monitoring the linking time, as well as, asking Liv to scan your physical condition once every 15 minutes. Lee can predict you won't last.

And, his prediction was right, and he should call for retreat much sooner. As soon as you arrived back at the base, you collapse on the floor. You nose bleed as you were rushed to the emergency ward.

His answer would have been the same as of Lucia's and Liv's. To protect your well being is a duty of a construct. However, he wasn't satisfied with that anwser.

There's more he wanted to say.

He knows he's not good with words, often making blunt jabs and spilling out harsh realities. Often times, he felt a little misunderstood because of it.

However, he tries. He really does. And, to be alone with the Commandant, in which, you were in a comatose state, might made it easier for the construct to say something.

Say something that he always wanted to say out loud.

He opened his mouth, lips forming shapes that helps projects words, yet no sound came out from his bionic voice.

He immediately gave up and went out of the emergency ward. That five minutes was over anyway.

*******

"... I want to be with you, be by your side for as long as humanly possible. I don't want to lose you, Commandant... "

*******

After a long break, you peak your head into the Grey Raven's Common room.

There, you saw your constructs resting together as usual. Putting up a big smile you playfully jumped out and reveal yourself at the door.

"I am here!"

"Commandant!" Lucia was surprised and quickly rush towards you Liv followed, happy to see you healthy and well.

As both constructs bombarded you with questions on your well being. Lee only approached and stood with a bit of distance.

"Lee?" you looked at him.

As usual, Palefire wore his signature scowl and crossed his arms, "... I see you are alive and well," he cleared his throat, "Welcome back, Commandant."

"Thank you, Lee."

*******

" Commandant, I...I... Humph..."

**Recording ended**

------------------------------------

Author's note

Hi, I like Lee a lot :)

BTW, the I. T stuff are all based on my limited knowledge of backing up my drawing files. Lol.

©Punishing-eden

271 notes View Post

xevrq

3 years ago

Hey, can i request a scenario with kazutora where the reader comforts him after he have a nightmare?

Thank you! Have a very nice day

★—𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 ;; 𝗄𝖺𝗓𝗎𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗒𝖺

Hey, Can I Request A Scenario With Kazutora Where The Reader Comforts Him After He Have A Nightmare?

# pairing :: kazutora hanemiya x gn! reader

# genre :: slight angst, fluff, really half assed and rushed so, apologies 🙁

# warnings :: mentions of nightmares, MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS

# xander’s notes :: i’m so sorry that this came out so late >.< but i hope you enjoy!

requests are open! rules are here!

kazutora wasn’t someone who was fond of pity. but every so called “dream” he had was always the same. . .

about that night. . .

the night he killed shinchiro sano. . .

he couldn’t bare to think that it was his fault, that it was his fault manjirou didn’t have anybody to call family now. with izana and emma gone, manjirou was alone.

and kazutora had to live with those thoughts that had come to haunt him in his dreams.

he woke up with a startle, his eyes wide in fear as heavy pants left his lips, his forehead slick with sweat.

“kazu? what’s wrong? you ok?” you got up from your sleeping position as you rubbed your eyes.

“y-yeah i’m fine. go back to sleep.” he stuttered as he rubbed his forehead.

“you’ve been like this for over a week, kazu. what’s wrong?” you mumble as you lay your head on his shoulder.

kazutora had told you of his past. how he went to jail at just 15 years old after killing manjirou’s brother, how he was in a gang, how he technically killed baji, you knew it all.

but you never knew the nightmares he was having because of it.

“i. . .” his voice trailed off as tears began to well up in his eyes. “i know mikey. . . said he forgave me.” he said before biting his lip in hopes of stopping the hot tears from rolling down his face. “but i can’t help but know that i killed his brother. . . he’s all alone because of me.”

your eyes were filled with sympathy, along with the sad smile on your face. “manjirou isn’t alone kazu. . . he has you, and ken, takashi, takemichi, chifuyu, he still has family.” you said as you stroked your lovers cheek as tears rolled down his face. “it may not be izana, emma or shinchiro, but he still has you guys.”

“but i—”

“but nothing. stop being so hard on yourself kazu. manjirou forgave you.” you said as you wiped the tears from his eyes. “you’re not alone in this, ok?”

he nodded before you smiled and leaned in to kiss his lips. you knew how hard shinchiro’s death affected him, and you had wished you could’ve been there for him more than you were.

“how about we go downstairs? i’ll make some tea.” you ask as you stroke his cheek lovingly. he nods his head as you wiped the rest of his tears away and kissed his cheek.

212 notes View Post

xevrq

3 years ago

keep living

featuring — hanemiya kazutora

genre — fluff

author’s note — yes, i’m totally late for the party and its not even fashionable in any way. but i still want to celebrate it because hanemiya kazutora deserves the world. (@walhalla i’m gonna need a spare brain, mine is still fried)

there are times when you’d notice your boyfriend spacing out. considering how overwhelming his life has been, kazutora cant help but feel lost sometimes, in life and thought. so when he leaves your shared bed in the middle of the night for a long ride, you dont question his action at all. you’d wait for his return, fully aware of his search for a sense of peace you’re unable to provide.

one of the times when his aimless wanders would go further than any others is the night before his birthday. you’ve been together for years, but on every morning of 16th july, you’d find his side of the bed cold, as if he’d never been there at all. he’d then come home with a fake smile plastered on his face, and your heart broke into pieces.

when the next 15th july rolled around, you prepared yourself yet again. except it didnt happen like you’ve expected. that night, kazutora held your hand in his slightly trembling one, eyes dancing with a mixture of emotion, ‘come with me?’. you didnt even bother to change out of your night dress.

and as the memory of the wind howling alongside blinding headlights, roads and sceneries gradually became unfamiliar and fast beating of your boyfriend’s heart underneath your embrace burned to your mind, you felt like you’ve entered a fragment of his world that he had kept hidden away.

'we’re here’, he said as you scanned the unknown land. the 'here’ in front of you presented itself in the form of a vast grassy field on a cliff overlooking the sea. the stars above accompanied your long, silent night of waiting. and if he didnt caress your fingers with his callous ones, you’d thought that he had forgotten that you’re there at all. before long, the world faded away as you drown in the sound of his heartbeat next to your ear.

morning greeted you with feathery kisses by the salty breeze and warmth of your boyfriend’s jacket that had shielded you from the chill of the previous night. 'good morning’, you sat up, expecting nothing in return. only to feel his lips connected to yours in a long, delicate kiss, it left you breathless.

'another year for me to live’, kazutora sighed softly, a familiar emptiness in his eyes. a silent 'another year i dont deserve’ left unuttered. caressing your fingers for a few moments, he continued, 'i’m sorry i made you wait for so long. i-’. you captured his lips in a desperate kiss, wanting him to stop thinking, needed him to.

'i’ll wait for you forever. as long as you need, i’ll be there for you’. your eyes met his in a pool of tears. 'so dont ever apologize!’, your voice broke, and his own tears that he had been holding back spilled down his cheeks in a steady, unstoppable flow.

'is it really okay for me to keep living?’. instantly, he’s in a tight embrace you’ve pulled him into, whispering, 'more than okay’. you kept holding him close as he wailed his heart out until he’s reduced to a delicate, sniffling mess.

on your laps, his eyes were puffy from crying for too long, dried tears on his red cheeks. but there’s a soft smile on his lips as he gazed up at you. 'you can say it now’.

his smile widened to the sound of your sweet laughter that makes his heart flutter every time. leaning down to place a kiss on the tip of his nose, you felt your own heart skipping a beat. 'happy birthday, my love. thank you for being in my life for another year’.

kazutora caressed your chin with his thumb, intertwining your fingers with his in another hand. 'no. thank you for being in my life at all’. connecting your lips with his once again, he’s finally found his peace.

137 notes View Post

xevrq

3 years ago

This is too good seriously too good holy shit....

put a ring on it.

premise. snippets of daily life between a humble servant and an increasingly clingy master.

word count. 5.2k

note. reader full of snark + dumbass in love ayato = gratuitous amount of banter. i have to say that ayato never goes out of line though, and you're not actually bothered by his advances; you're just a massive tsundere.

“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”

“Is that so?”

The noncommittal response pointedly marks the end of his acknowledgement as Ayato makes no effort to sit up, remaining slumped against your frame. His head rests upon your shoulder, a ticklish sensation blooming where the junction between your neck and chin meet. Pale blue hair trail prickling heat where it grazes your skin, an itch you can't quite scratch away.

Even so, the discomfort doesn't reflect on your face, frigid expression carefully layered with blankness. His sinking weight fails to impede your immaculate posture, refined poise a great disparity from his leisurely disposition. It paints an odd picture, the ordinarily faultless heir lacking decorum. Though granted the freedom to do as he wishes in the private confines of his room, it is a mystery why a servant such as you is... graciously permitted to bask in his exclusive company. In the private confines of his room. You feel the need to emphasize that detail.

In his hands lays a scroll concerning governmental affairs, urgent matters that demand his attention, so you can't begin to comprehend why he insists on using this time to harass reward a lowly servant with his valuable presence when there is business to attend to.

He leans more of his weight to your side, and he—you nearly sputter indignantly—mimics an action that can almost be described as nuzzling. “Mhm. This is convenient for me, since I've hardly found the time to rest today. Do you find it intolerable?”

Ignoring the last bit, you advise, “Perhaps it would be more effective if you were to rest in your chambers. I will come call when the Kanjou Commission asks for you.”

He pretends to consider it for a moment, the silence filled with the quiet jingle of wind chimes. Predictably, the corners of his mouth hook up to a smile. “I would prefer to stay, if you don't mind?”

Resigned to your fate, you can only say, “Of course not, my lord.”

For reasons you cannot fathom, the head of the Kamisato household harbors a strong attachment to you.

In normal circumstances, this fact would be taken as great news; presently, you are little more than puzzled and unfeeling. Rather than delight, dread stirs in your stomach whenever he calls your name in a volume louder than necessary—a conscious decision, you presume, since he seems to interact with other servants just fine. Curt and polite, keeping his words concise, preventing further delay from addressing his responsibilities.

Had you not known better, you wouldn't be able to identify him as the same man who indulges in trivialities when he invites you to share snacks, engaging in frivolous chatter over tea and pastries. With increasing frequency nonetheless, and with varying refreshments each time to boot, ranging from an assortment of wagashi. Strawberry daifuku on one tea break, mizu-yokan on the next, sakura mochi on the day after that... You've been serving him for a considerable amount of time, but he's never been much of a sweet tooth until as of late.

Ayato hums thoughtfully, savoring the sweet taste on his tongue. “The mild flavor is pleasant. I believe it might be to your liking.”

He offers you a cup, steam curling above the warm brew. The pink beverage glistens beneath the sunlight, rippling with movement when you take it into your hands. It doesn't require much thinking to conclude the tea leaves must've cost a fortune, but it leaves you plenty of questions just as well. Why would a benefactor give you a taste of luxury?

But you would be a fool not to appreciate it while it lasts, so you lift the cup for a sip.

The flavor of spring bursts in your mouth, fragrant and tasting of sweet nectar. Your frosty guise wavers under the bribery, bliss crossing your face before your lips quirk up to a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Deeming your elated reaction satisfactory, Ayato nudges the plate of confections towards your side of the table. “Eat. They pair well with the tea.”

Who are you to say no to your lord? Therefore, the correct choice must be to gratefully accept his gifts!

(Distracted by desserts, you fail to see his amusement in the way you stuff your cheeks full adorably like a chipmunk.

But he's aware it's not the right time yet, so he suppresses the urge to pinch your face.)

Kamisato Ayato is often praised for his intellect and cunning mind, but sometimes you wonder if he'd finally gone stupid after all that overthinking.

“My hand feels cold,” he laments, as if he hadn't chucked away his gloves ten seconds prior. “Can I hold yours for a moment?”

Ayaka, for her part, looks ashamed on her brother's behalf. With a graceful flick of her wrist, her fan snaps open and obscures the mortified expression on her face. Thoma's bottom lip quivers, valiantly repressing his bubbling laughter though he turns quite ugly in the process.

Sending a prayer to the heavens, you hope your face looks as unreadable as you think it to be. “...I'll fetch you a pair of gloves,” you say, side-stepping the pair he just abandoned on the floor.

“Mhm. That won't be necessary,” he counters, tugging on the edge of your sleeve. “You see, I heard those granted Pyro Visions have warmer body temperature...”

That is undoubtedly a lie he conjures up on the spot.

“...So I was hoping to sate my curiosity today,” he finishes, looking far too pleased with himself. Ayaka avoids your gaze when your eyes sweep past her (she absolutely knows it's an idiotic idea because going by that logic, she should have a colder temperature... but that is obviously not the case), and Thoma is blatantly ignoring your requests for assistance, whistling an awkward tune.

You have half a mind to shift the duty to another retainer similarly bearing a Pyro Vision, who is currently trying his hardest to stifle his pained grunts when you pinch his forearm admonishingly, but there's really no way out of this. Ayato would undoubtedly craft another bullshit reason to coax you anyway. (A part of you thinks it might be fun to keep up the charade just to hear what he'd say next.)

“Right.” You hold up your hand, and Ayato's eyes flicker with mischief. His slender fingers wrap around your wrist, brushing over the jut of your bone. He marvels at the size of it, dwarfed by his large hands, and he curls his fingers tighter.

...He doesn't seem to be assessing your temperature.

But you are mindful of his, a searing heat devouring your senses. His light touches settle heavily on your skin, a prominent warmth amidst the cold gale. Where his fingers rest leave imprints of fire, trails of scorched ash in his wake.

Experimentally, his thumb rubs circles on your palm, tracing over the lines. He rolls the soft flesh, staring at the small cuts and calluses with an attentive eye. Burning the image into his mind. Fiddling with the shape of your fingers. Then, following a brief hitch of his breath, he fits his own in the spaces between yours.

His hand is soft, you think to yourself. Without the presence of leather, it is fully bare, pale and dusted with pink. His knuckles are pronounced, palm surprisingly unscarred in spite of vigorous sword practice, but a writer's callus lay on his ring finger. It is easy to imagine his frame hunched over his desk, pen between his fingers, ink running dry from writing back to missives and signing endless contracts.

(And responding to engagement offers. You would know. They clutter his workspace, scented letters branded by wax seals of a distinguished family's emblem.

He barely throws a cursory glance at them before giving his never changing answer.)

When he gives your hand a squeeze, you finally ask, “Is it warm?”

“Yes.” He sounds somewhat strangled, there, less confident than he was before he took your hand. “Very warm.”

He reluctantly parts with it, stepping back to reduce your close proximity. Ayaka fans herself as she scrutinizes his reddening complexion, and Thoma—partial to the lord, you see, even though he wasn't very eager to lend you a hand before—makes some excuse about a meeting he has to attend to (some beetle fight with Itto, most likely) and if you'd kindly excuse their presence.

“...Please pardon my brother's strange behavior,” Ayaka murmurs when only the both of you remain in the room. “He could be quite straightforward when his curiosity is piqued. He doesn't have weird intentions, really.”

She doesn't appear to believe it herself, but you appreciate her attempts to clean up Ayato's mess.

“It's no trouble, milady.” You flash a placating smile for good measure, reaching down to collect the discarded gloves Thoma nearly tripped on in his way out. “But I'm afraid I'll have to take my leave now as well...”

“Yes, of course! You may go.”

Following her affirmation, you scramble to take a duster and retreat to clean the library.

Mercifully, she doesn't comment on your flushed cheeks and colored ears. (There's only so much composure you can exhaust within one day.)

For all that you (privately) complain about the extensive list of chores to tackle in the Kamisato Estate, you find tending to the garden fairly enjoyable. Alas, you can't exactly spend the whole day pruning the shrubbery; the smile on your face drops immediately when you're sent to go on a shopping trip. Worse still, with no one to assist you in carrying the groceries. Thoma had already promised to accompany Ayaka for a mission, and everyone else is busy preparing for the Kamisato head's upcoming business trip.

Said Kamisato head is apparently “free” and “has the spare time to help” despite being the one who should be busy holing himself up in his office.

Regardless of your protests, Ayato insisted on tagging along to the market. Which brings you to your current situation, your employer dutifully carrying bundles of cloth and a basket of radishes and carrots with an easygoing smile, while your hands remain empty. He is... considerate, if you were to speak in flowery words. He is stubborn, if you were to be blunt.

However, he is relatively obedient, save for the handful of times he rushes off to chase something that caught his eye. As a result, he keeps purchasing cheap trinkets he'll probably have no use for and his pocket is brimming of candy he sometimes stuffs your mouth with when you have something to scold him for. (To be fair, it's very effective for shutting you up.)

“Please don't interrupt me from speaking,” your words are partly muffled, mouth still chewing on the confection. Ayato smiles innocently, pressing another piece of sugar to your lips.

“Where are we headed next?” He questions, looking around the bustling streets as he tucks the jar of konpeito in his sleeve. “Do you still have vegetables you need to buy?”

You shake your head. “No, the cook said he's only missing radishes and carrots in particular. I've also gotten the materials needed to mend clothes Thoma asked for.”

He deflates at that, disappointment painting his expression. “I suppose we're returning, then?”

You purse your lips, considering your options. It wasn't like you were told to come back an appointed time, and you could always blame Ayato for your tardiness... “Does my lord wish to visit anywhere specifically?”

The river of stars in his eyes twinkle ever so slightly, flashing a thinly-veiled childish gleam. “Not anything I could think of at the top of my head. Do you have any recommendations in mind?”

“Recommendations?”

“Places you like to visit.”

During your free time, you usually look around to shop for clothing or accessories... but they're nowhere near the quality befitting of nobles. The yukata isn't tailored to your size, made from cheaper cloth of cotton, and aren't as decorative to what your lord is used to; it's what makes it affordable. Whereas Ayato is often dressed in luxurious silks, embellished with golden thread and customized to his liking.

“It's no harm to bring you there... I guess.” you scratch your cheek. “Though I can't guarantee you'll like it.”

“Nonsense.” He smiles amicably. He reaches for the basket before you can grab it, gesturing for you to start walking. “I'm sure I'll have a good time regardless where it is.”

And... he does. He marvels at the extravagant brocades displayed at boutiques, wondering how one could possibly wear so many heavy layers. Though he doesn't buy clothes for himself, he decides to buy a cute purse he thinks his sister would appreciate.

Ayato expresses interest in ornaments and cosmetics as well, to which the shop owner proceeds to happily introduce her entire catalogue for a man she knows has deep pockets. He doesn't disappoint.

“You don't want anything?” He asks when you only answer his questions pertaining to Ayaka's preferences, two steps behind, never taking the opportunity to roam and search for potential additions in your wardrobe.

It's not that you haven't seen anything you'd like to take home, per se. More like everything is too expensive for your pocket money in this high-end portion of town. “No,” you say instead, because it's easier to explain that way.

He tilts his head inquisitively, but doesn't push the topic. “Help me choose a hair pin then. You know what fits Ayaka best.”

He leads you to the display case housing rows of hair ornaments, each one more remarkable than the next. The last one, undoubtedly the most costly whose price would make you weep, teeters on the edge of gaudy. Adorned with silver butterflies, tear drop sapphires, gems delicately shaped like dewy petals and white pearls sitting atop carved gold, they almost blind your eyes.

“...She'd look beautiful in everything,” is the conclusion you come to, because you speak nothing but the truth. “But please don't buy everything. She will get mad at you.”

“I know,” he sighs. “That's why I needed your help picking one.”

You almost drill holes to the items with how hard you're staring at them, but you eventually point at the pin with pink blossoms. “This would contrast nicely with her hair.”

“Mhm. If you say so,” he hums approvingly, tracing the sculpted leaves.

“Then if that's all, I'll go pay...”

“Ah, which reminds me.” He spins on his heel to face you, lips shaped into an apologetic smile. “I'm nearly running out of parchment paper. Could you stop by the stationery store up front? I'll handle things from here and meet you by the entrance.”

“Of course, my lord.”

On your way outside, you resolutely do not allow your curious gaze to steer towards the tables of sparkling jewelry.

The trip back to the estate is uneventful, and the rest of the afternoon passes like any other.

Perhaps the only inconsistency in your repetitive days is the accidental nap you fall into, blanketed in warm rays of sunshine and caressed by the refreshing breeze slipping past ajar doors, your cheek resting on the surface of the table you were supposed to be cleaning. How uncouth of me, you think as you wipe your mouth to check for signs of drool. Your only respite is not having anyone witness you in such a state, otherwise you would've long been rudely awakened and received an earful of chastising.

...Is what you think, until you spot a foreign ring you definitely do not recall putting on.

It curls around your finger, dotted with crystals in a hue of blue you're all too familiar with. You see it everyday, gleaming in mischief, darkening with intrigue. Framed by long, long lashes, crinkling at the corners when filled with mirth. Crashing waves turned to frost at the slighest hint of displeasure, yet inexplicably gentle the moment it meets your eyes.

(You wonder if this is why he insisted on touching your hands so much, just to roughly measure your ring size.)

“I hope you fare well during my absence. Fear not, I will do my best not to prolong my leave.”

The way his words sound so self-assured and full of conviction doesn't sit well with you, and the genuine pity reflected in his irises almost makes your eyebrow twitch. You hadn't even spoken a word before he began his theatrics.

“Take as long as you need,” you reassure him. “My lord mustn't rush his work.”

He wilts, but he perks right back up, “No need to put up a front. I'll come back for you.”

Incorrigible.

“Then I await your safe return.” You bow deeply as you swallow back a sigh of defeat, the other servants lined up on either side of the street moving accordingly.

“Please be careful,” Ayaka bids when she walks in front of him. “I've heard of bandits intercepting carriages to steal... I don't mean to undermine your abilities, but you should still be vigilant of trouble.”

Ayato laughs at that. “You don't have to worry, Ayaka. They'll sooner surrender before they lay a single scratch on me.” Glancing at the luggage being loaded on his carriage, he grimaces. “I better get going. I'll see you all in three weeks.”

He climbs to the interior, giving you a final smile before closing the door. You stare at the carriage until it fully disappears, the trotting of horses out of earshot. When Thoma begins to walk back to the estate, you fall into step with him, matching his strides.

“The lord hasn't left for this long in a while,” he comments, to which you hum in agreement. “Think you'll miss him?”

“Three weeks is hardly a long time,” you retort back, complacent for the rare period of peace to follow the next month. “He'll return in no time, as if he'd never been gone in the first place.”

Thoma eyes you strangely at that, but says no more. “If you say so.”

The first day is bliss. No disruptions in your work, no unwanted conversation partner as a distraction, no midnight snacks needed to be prepared for the clan head a weird mix between workaholic and slacker.

The second day proves to be the same. No incessant chatter in your ear as you sweep the floor, no complaints for a stack of paperwork to be done within the day, no sudden requests of a shoulder massage for a job well done deserving of a reward.

The third day, you feel like your schedule is lacking, blank spots of free time sprinkled in between.

Ah, right. The tea breaks.

You tell yourself you only miss the fragrant tea, the selection of treats given to you by the young master's generosity. Not his thoughtful commentary for the taste, the chuckles spilling from his lips when you respond to his quips, the brief moments of eye contact before you resume your respective duties.

The fourth day, you're sent to hang the laundry. You tell yourself you don't miss a certain someone's abrupt appearance, poking a head through the sheets to startle you, huffing bright peals of laughter when he attains his desired reaction.

The fifth day, the cook requests your help to prep dinner. My lord doesn't like this dish, the sentence almost leaves your tongue as your eyes track down the recipe when you remember right, he's not here, and milady likes this dish, so it's one of the few chances she gets to eat it.

The sixth day, you clean his office. You organize the account books, restock his collection of pens and paper, and shuffle through his mail to sort them by category (definitely not noting down the number of letters asking for his hand in marriage). Your face flushes slightly when an unassuming bookmark falls out of a book you pick up from the floor, familiar flowers pressed thinly to fit between the pages. (You had only given those flowers on a whim, plucking fresh blossoms from plants you grew outside the Kamisato's garden. You didn't think he'd keep it around; they're not nearly as fancy as what his family owns.)

By the seventh day, you check the calendar and determine time is a social construct. There is no way it's only been seven days.

“How do I look?”

“Positively charming,” you say dryly.

“You're not looking.”

Your eyes flit to Thoma's attire. “I am.”

He shakes his head, taking off the robes he'd been trying on. “You're always daydreaming nowadays. What are you thinking about?”

Reminiscing the last time you visited this clothing store, which is when you brought the young master in your shopping trip. But he doesn't need to know that. “It's nothing. Are you buying it?”

“Since you kindly gave an approving opinion, sure.” His tone drips with sarcasm as he takes out his money pouch, paying for the clothes. “I think I don't need the answer from you, actually. I'm confident I have an accurate guess.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean by that?”

“Who else would linger in your mind?” Thoma sighs in dramatic fashion, stepping out of the premises with you not far behind. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder, after all.”

Bristling, you vehemently refute, “I'm not thinking inappropriately of the lord, if that's what you're implying.”

“I didn't mention any names.”

“But you clearly meant him.”

He holds up his hands. “If that's what you want to believe, suit yourself.”

His gaze drops to the ring wrapped around your finger. The ring had been a topic of interest for the gossip mongers within the estate, wondering who you could've received it from; what other implications can wearing a ring have? Your cold exterior is no secret, your heart guarded with thorns, so who was able to sweep you off your feet in the end?

Thoma only needed one look at the shade of blue to make a correct guess.

“...I'm sure at this point, you know of his intentions,” Thoma says slowly. “And I have plenty of reasons to believe his affections aren't entirely unrequited.”

If they were, you would have brushed off Ayato already, just like you always do with the others. He may be persistent, but he knows how to back off. Yet the most you do is sigh and spoil him, albeit in (fond) exasperation.

“Even if they aren't...” you fidget with the hem of your shirt, averting your gaze from his blazing eyes, “...it doesn't mean we'll work. I'm certain he has better prospects for a spouse, anyway.”

“You mean those daughters from noble families?” He snorts. “He'd barely give them the time of day before running back to you. You should know that by now. Don't you remember when he faked being sick in that lunch meeting so you could take care of him?”

Of course you do. He had pretended to be in a dizzy spell, collapsing on your shoulder and making furtive hand signals asking for your help to get the lovesick maiden off his back. There really is no way to reject people like her without offending his business associate, so he tended to evade confrontations in roundabout ways.

You could excuse his clingy behavior out of necessity; it would be disgraceful to collapse on the floor, after all. The problem lies with the aftermath where you had already steered clear of the trouble but he insists on requiring treatment, body calculatively feeble as he gives you woeful pleas.

In another world, perhaps this would've been a heart-rending experience: a cold man who didn't share his burdens with others asking help from you specifically, because you were special and he trusted you the most.

In this world though, the act is only deserving of a derisive snort. He'd pulled off this plot for who knows how many times. How would holding your hand help with his throbbing headache anyway?

(You ignore the fact you indulge him each time regardless.)

“In any case, the lord is returning in a week. Not much time left for you to mope,” he laughs, even as you elbow his side.

A week.

(That is one week too long.)

When Ayato returns five days short of three weeks, you aren't there to greet him.

Instead, you are sick in bed, bundled in a pile of blankets, and suffering from a stuffy nose.

Ah, and delirious from fever. Very much so.

So when Ayato miraculously appears in your bedroom earlier than scheduled, you only sniffed in response and brushed him off as a hallucination.

But of course, your dismissive attitude isn't enough to discourage him from pestering you and running his mouth. He hovers by your bedside, noting with glee that you keep his ring on a nightstand closeby. “This is rare. I don't think I've ever seen you ill.”

But you've seen him plenty, frail and weak after days straight of sleepless nights. He doesn't look too pretty in such a mood, quick-tempered and sharp-tongued at the slightest annoyance. He only ever softens when your expression flits to dismay for a fraction of a second before offering him prescribed medicine from the family's physician.

“How are you this annoying even in my dreams...”

As it turns out, you're even more of a worse case than he is.

“Mhm. Your filter is completely shut down when you're sick, huh.” Ayato laughs, amused at the surprising revelation. He doesn't get to be the receiving end of your blunt words very often. “Alright. How bad do you feel right now?”

“Terrible, since it's the ass crack of dawn.”

It is not the ass crack of dawn, but you wouldn't know any better with the curtains drawn. “Do you have an appetite? I'll have a servant bring a meal.” Then, he slyly adds, “I can feed you, if you want me to.”

He doesn't know which part of that statement appeals to you the most but you sit up straight, attentive.

Interesting.

Though Ayato had meant it in jest, he has no complaints scooping spoonfuls of porridge to bring to your lips. He patiently coaxes you into drinking the bitter medicine after, quickly soothing you with bite-sized cut fruit to wash away the acrid taste.

“Good job,” he compliments, chuckling when you glow at the praise. Your lips are shiny with juice, trickling from the corner of your mouth.

Absent-mindedly, his hand lifts to caress your cheek, the pad of his thumb wiping it away. You jolt, a startled sound escaping you, and you hasten to clamp a hand over his mouth.

He blinks at you owlishly, dumbfounded.

“Don't,” you speak, your face decorated with a lovely pink. “You'll... you'll get sick.”

Ayato takes an embarrassing amount of time to process what that means. However, when he does, you can feel him grin beneath your fingers. He takes your hand, his huff of laughter tickling your palm.

“I thought we were in a dream? You don't get sick from kisses in dreams,” he teases, pressing a light kiss to your wrist. Your heart stutters in bewilderment but you make no move to pull away, only twitching when he kisses your fingertips.

“It's better to be careful...” your brows knit together, and he kisses the crease away too.

“Okay. Let's do it next time then, when you're truly awake.” He gently pushes you to your back, fluffing up the pillows for your comfort and tucking you in the blankets. Then, indulgently, he presses a final kiss to the crown of your head. “Rest well so I can get that kiss sooner, hm?”

“That's a stupid reason to recover...” you murmur defiantly, stubbornly blinking your drooping eyes open.

In the end, you fall asleep to the sound of his laughter, the fingers combing through your hair, and the rhythmic beat in his chest.

When you wake up, you admonish yourself for having such a shameless subconscious, but you acknowledge that you had a good dream.

Then your eyes land on a pair of discarded gloves on your nightstand, one that you remember Ayato putting away before he began to spoonfeed you your meal.

...Fuck.

“With all due respect, I don't believe being your headrest is part of my duty, my lord.”

A thoughtful hum answers you, preceded by a curious glance at your expression. Your legs are folded underneath you, back straight and eyes overlooking the garden instead of the weight resting on your lap. You can feel him shift, turning over where he faces against the porch, his robes wrinkling where it lay below.

“Are you suddenly becoming shy because a maidservant passed by?” He places down the novel in his hands on the wooden floorboards, watching your face burn in embarrassment. “I doubt this is the first time she's seen us, though.”

“My apologies. I'm not as thick-skinned as you are.”

“I'd prefer the term 'proud,'” he pokes the sash around your waist, smiling cheekily. “Who wouldn't want to show off their lover?”

He feels you stiffen, sees the flush of pink crawling outwards to the tips of your ears. “It's inappropriate. We're in a public setting.”

“That's only because you refuse to enter my chambers,” Ayato sighs and you look positively mortified. “I wouldn't ravage you, if that's what you're worried about?”

“My lord, please be reasonable. Whether you do or not, I will still be seen as your bed warmer. Did milady not advise us to be discreet? Inazuma would be in an uproar if they learned you were... you were...” you purse your lips, unable to spit the last word.

“Wedded.”

“I'm afraid we haven't gone that far, my lord,” you deadpan.

“So will you consider it?”

“My lord.”

“What?”

You give him a look, and he sighs in acquiescence. But he turns to face the opposite direction, expression hidden fron view. You can practically hear the pout in his voice, “I see. [Name] only sees me as a fling. My heart breaks to know this bliss is short-lived, but I will cherish our remaining time together.”

He's begun his theatrics again, you think tiredly, accustomed to his stunts. “In any case, we must be careful. We never know who has loose lips around here...”

He's still not facing you, resolutely looking away.

...Is he sulking for real? Was that a genuine marriage proposal?

“My lord?” You call out softly, in a lover's tender voice. He doesn't respond. Quieter, you whisper to his ear, “Ayato?” yet that doesn't earn a reaction either.

You start to panic, wondering if you were acting too indifferently. The change in your relationship had been a recent one, and you're still settling in a period of adjustment; even if you wanted to properly flirt with him like normal lovers do, bickering came more naturally to you.

You reach for his shoulder, hoping to turn him over and see his face. But then he catches your wrist, and you only have a second to catch a glimpse of his triumphant smirk before he captures your lips in a chaste kiss.

“Mhm, I see. So you're more considerate towards me when we're dating,” he cheerfully notes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as if he can't see the way your shocked gaze morphs into a cold glare. “I truly am privileged.”

“Incorrigible.” The word drips with poison, but he laughs and kisses you again, thumbing at the ring around your finger.

“Too bad you're stuck with me forever, huh?”

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