I Headcannon That When Scaramouche Is Drunk Or REALLY Angry He Starts Speaking Japanese (inazumian Idk)

— 𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐘.

❝𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥.❞

SUMMARY. refers to a behaviour or way of thought peculiar to an individual; but in this case, it’s something that they do around you and only you.

CHARACTERS. tighnari, alhaitham, cyno.

GENRE. fluff, a moderate amount of crack, established relationship.

CW. mentions of cute aggression and affectionate bullying (in tighnari’s part), the reader is down bad for alhaitham and he knows it, one dad joke about cryo slimes (in cyno’s part).

THOUGHTS. finally managed to finish this draft while i was on my mini vacay >:) this is my first time writing sumeru men, so feel free to lmk what you think! <3

✰ masterlist.

TIGHNARI … likes to knock you on the head, very softly and lovingly.

No, no, don’t you go around thinking that you can escape his long and stern lectures just because the two of you are an item. Others may think that you’re the only one that has a privilege they don’t, but they can’t be more wrong.

Asking dumb questions? Flirting with him shamelessly? Want a kiss? You’d get a soft bonk to the head personally delivered by Tighnari himself first, if that even counts as a privilege.

Rest assured that Tighnari’s intent is never to hurt you, nor does it actually hurt when he does so. To him, it’s an effective way of hushing you nonverbally and it also, may or may not, be his extremely unique love language. Why?

Well, Tighnari kind of… and he stresses, just kind of likes how you scrunch your nose every time he flicks your forehead, how you would complain so adorably and how you would— ahem. Actually, he has some work to do right now, bye.

Keep reading

not proofread dumb little drabble

-

scaramouche used to shove you around a lot

mentally, physically, he’d do anything he could to convince you to leave your rank among the harbingers, to convince you that you were better off seen as a traitor than part of them.

he’d hurt you whenever he got the chance, urging you to stay away from him or he’d do it again.

he hated the way the wind picked up your hair sometimes

how you were so fragile and weak, and how you looked ashamed every time he struck you.

the way your eyes still widened and you cowered away with every “GET AWAY FROM ME!” he could muster out of his venomous lips.

he hated the way childe let you sleep on his shoulder, and the way he’d play with your hair as he whispered praises to you

and the way that a recent mission had gone

you’d made it to mondstadt only for the knights to find you, drug you, and use whatever methods they could to pry information from you.

by the time scaramouche had arrived to you (only because he couldn’t allow a fellow harbinger to die), you were already drugged out of your mind.

he found the fact you could barely walk incredibly amusing

but oh he hated the way you just suddenly, in your foggy mind, had the idea to kiss him.

and the way you did it so tenderly

if he didn’t know better he may have thought you weren’t drugged at all, the way your kiss was so controlled, almost loving

he hated the way it didn’t taste like alcohol or odd substances, but instead sweet and heartfelt.

he hated the way… that he kissed you back, that he melted into you like salt into water.

the way that you avoided childe once you had finally arrived back at goth grand hotel, your shivering body opting to scaramouche instead, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you

you smelled so nice, intoxicating almost, finally laying down in the bed, next to him, allowing him to wrap himself around you so you wouldn’t be cold or feel unsafe while you were so vulnerable

vulnerable enough for him to kill you

he’d thought about it, even gone as far as to bring his knives up to your throat, it would take one slash.

yet every time, he seemed to catch sight of your lips, the way your face seemed to be disturbed and afraid even in your sleep.

“s-scara…” you’d whimper through tears, even though you weren’t awake. the 4th time you’d cried in your sleep tonight, the 4th nightmare of the night.

the way you called out his name in fear but also desperation, “master scaramouche please…” you spoke in a way that drove knives into his heart and tore it open like paper “please don’t i…. im sorry sir” he watched you shift around and plead until you eventually jolted awake, sweat dripping from your forehead and tears running down your face.

he looked at you with wide eyes. shock and something else you couldn’t quite identify filled them. you turned away quickly, apologizing profusely.

“y/n.” he spoke sternly but almost calmly “look at me when i speak to you”

you looked at him without hesitation, expecting another slap or punishment for looking away from him when you weren’t supposed to, you flinched when his hand reached out to you but never met your skin, but instead met the back of your head as he pulled you into his chest before letting go and wrapping his arms around you.

a “hug” he had seen others call it. touch. touch in an affectionate way was unfamiliar to him, only leaving him room for combat and battle, but never to understand how your skin felt or the warmth it radiated, the feeling of your heart, the feeling of you beginning to sob against him.

“master scaramouche……..what did i do wrong?” your voice seemed to break more with every word, your fear of him rising with every breath you took and tear you cried. you tried to pull away, afraid you’d get a single teardrop on his clothing and he’d make you scrub it off relentlessly, but he pulled you back in, caressing your hair.

“kunikuzushi” he spoke softly, causing you to gaze up at him with glossy eyes and skin that burned red from tears. “my name is kunikuzushi”

he looked at you again, laying his forehead on top of your forehead, doing what you did to him, placing a kiss on your lips as if they were made of the thinnest glass.

“tell me what they did to you.”

“they tied me down, and asked me questions, and hit me and gave me some… pills i think they were… it hurt kunikuzushi, it hurt so much.”

whatever softness you had seen in him mere moments ago was gone. fire reignited in his eyes and lightning touched at his soul.

“i’m just… so tired..so cold”

“rest then, suppose i should rest too”

he watched you try to lay on the ground instead of the bed, being your usual submissive and selfless personality and allowing him to have the bed, but he grabbed your wrist gently and patted the space next to him

“i will deal with our little mondstadt issue tomorrow, okay?”

you nodded your head lightly

“however your cold issue can only be solved by… becoming warm?”

you nodded again, confused this time.

“forget it. come here.”

and you found your back pressed to his chest under the covers again, warmth almost immediately consuming you

thus you gained your name

12th of the Fatui Harbingers, The Puppeteer

Cozy pixel library for Kaveh and Haitham :)

marigold promises

pairing: albedo x gn!reader

genre: social media au, modern/college au, childhood friends to academic rivals to lovers, slow burn

summary: it was evident that you and albedo have changed in the five years you’ve spent apart, but you know better than to view him through the lens of nostalgia. with one goal on your mind – graduate valedictorian – who better to stand in your way than the studious, intelligent, ice-cold albedo? one thing’s for sure: he’s going down.

warnings: swearing, crack, light angst

status: ongoing

author’s notes:

my first smau hehe. i’ve been working on this for a while so i’m really excited! updates will be sporadic but i’ll do my best to update often.

the timestamps don’t matter unless i say they do!

written chapters are marked with (☕︎)

profiles:

coffee addicts ([name]’s friends)

donut disco (albedo’s friends)

act i —whetheri likeit or not... || playlist

01. finally, a worthy opponent!

02. why pay for netflix?

03. if looks could kill

04. impromptu cramming session

05. enigma (☕︎)

tba

act ii — it’s always been you || playlist

tba

taglist:@fvkkyu @mintreen@edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx@aiikalvr@yaefics @ch35hir3 @aequha @alch3myy@lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den@moriiartt @theother-victoria@sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns

— the taglist is currently open! if you’d like to be added feel free to reply or send in an ask! – if your blog isn’t highlighted it means i can’t tag you.

hellooo!! could i request like a scara x gn reader, but reader is sick and scaramouche is taking care of them? Like scara is mean at first but when he realise how sick reader is he warms up and becomes very nice with a bit of fluff c: tysm!

this was so cute how scara goes from being so mean to sweet ik he actually cares abt ppl but loves to hide it,, i took a little bit of a diff approach with this bc i tried so many ideas before that didn't work so instead of the reader just being sick they're kinda freezing too lol but i hope u like it in the end, thank u sm for requesting this! if this wasn't to your liking you can always request again!

what happens...

synopsis: you and your boss scara get trapped in a snow storm and he helps you while you're really cold and sick

warnings: scara is degrading, you almost get hypothermia

characters: scaramouche (the balladeer) x reader

notes: i rewrote this like five times. dont talk to me.

•┈୨♡୧┈•

harsh winds singing a desperate chorus as it whirled around you, it claimed all the land in white. bounding everyone to their homes, unlucky for you, you were caught out in the storm. in other circumstances, this sight would have been beautiful to you as all of snezhnaya was, if only you weren't walking in the middle of it. you'd say you were happy when a small wooden hut appeared, it didn't look warm from the outside but it was shelter, except you had to go in with your boss.

scaramouche slammed the wooden door to the hut, blocking most of the blundering storm outside. the cabin was rotten down, boards coroading away, who ever lived here hadn't been around in probabaly years. it was stopping most of the wind, but the freezing tempature was still seeping in. he grimmaced at the situation, he'd been seperated from the rest of the fatui agents while out carrying a mission for the tsaritsa, simply on their way to catch debt from clients. this was only a minor setback, but a damn awful one. who knows how long he'd be stuck here. especially stuck with you.

you were in a corner of the house, curled into yourself to retain warmth. your thick black coat was keeping some sort of coziness but you were only human and some cloth could only do so much. damn your immune system, you'd only been curled up in here for a couple of minutes and were already sneezing uncontrollably, nose tingling and your skin in a bitter pain because of the frost. "look at you cowering away." your boss crossed his arms, glaring down at you. "we're stuck in this snow storm because of you giving us the wrong direactions. who even allowed you to join the fatui? you're obviously unfit to serve the tsarista." you who fed at his frigid words. "i bet it was that bobbleheaded childe, huh? pathetic." you knew never to show weakness infront of him, the balladeer was known to be so cruel to those who showed fear. yet in this snow storm, you couldn't care to even respond to him or say sorry about your incompetence. you swore if you stayed like this, you'd freeze over into a popsicle.

"…i'm so damn cold." you mumbled. scara pondered you with a scouring look. "oh, you're cold? well you're in snezhnaya its going to be a little chilly" his stupid sarcasm was not what you needed. you hands sting through your gloves, throat itchy and eyes watering. you tried to fight back the tears, you could not cry in front of him no matter how sick and cold you were. his eyes widened watching you shudder in the corner. he shuffled around a bit, looking to you and fro, cheeks a little flush. he hadn't expect you to seriously cry. he sighed, watching his breath swirl the air then trugded over to you.

with his hand nearing your face, you flinched at it thinking he was going to reprimand you for being so weak. yet he simply was pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, you were icy to the touch, eyes puffy and red. a tear rolled down your cheek as you sniffled, he took his thumb and wiped it away with a pout on his lip. "don't cry..." he mumbled. you weren't really sad just your body reacting to the uncomfortable reality you were in. "let me see your hand…" you lifted you arm to him and he pulled one of your gloves off, revealing your discolored fingers, a sign of hyperthermia.

the balladeer was no mother goose, he had no nurturing bone in his body. if he wanted to, he'd leave you here to freeze and would carry out the rest of his mission without batting an eye. instead, he gloved your hand again and held them between his. it wouldn't do him any good to let you die, he supposed. he couldn't warm you up much himself considering his...condition, he knew you were going to catch an even worse cold if he didn't do anything. so, he did the unthinkable. he sat against the wall, pulling you towards him by the waist, you were between his legs, and he curled you into his chest. it wasn't a lot of warmth, but it was enough. it was reassuring that you would be okay, you're allergies were getting to you but atleast you weren't alone in this storm.

in other circumstances, being coddled in your boss' arms would make you vomit at the thought but he was suprsingly cozy. "…tell anyone about this and i'll let you freeze in the lake." scaramouche pulled you tighter to his chest trying to get you warmer. "i'm only doing this because if you die i wont hear the end of it." "…of course, balladeer." you held back a little giggle. "i wouldn't dream of it"

maybe the balladeer was more than he seemed. maybe he cared underneath his empty heartless shell. don't tell anyone though, what happens at the hut, stays at the hut.

•┈୨♡୧┈•

dw when you guys got somewhere safe he made you tea as long as u didn't tell anyone what happened at the hut (esp childe)

- your birthday with scaramouche

- a/n: i saw scara's birthday voice line and was inspired plz i love him so much. i wrote this very late so sorry if theres any mistakes. but i pulled c1 scara tomight and got his weapon so im very excited !! may all scara wanters be scara havers.

- fluff fluff so much fluff, kinda pining from both sides

"take my hand."

if any sane person were to be offered the hand of the wanderer, they would most definitely say no. after all, the amount of atrocities he's committed was too many to be counted on both hands, and even though he may have left the fatui he's still not the most trustworthy type.

"there's no need to be nervous," he says, but with him staring directly into your soul it's hard not to be.

today was your birthday, your friends in sumeru had thrown you a lavish party with cake and music and a special performance by nilou herself at the grand bazaar. though it was very fun, indeed, anyone would need a break after something as exciting as that, so you decided to step out into the streets of sumeru for some air.

it was here that the wanderer, or scaramouche, emerged from the alleys, offering his hand to you with the most innocent smile he can muster on his face.

"I'm just taking you to vantage point. isn't that a normal birthday activity?"

reluctantly, you place your hand in his outstretched one and he grips it tight, beginning to lead you down the many winding streets of sumeru city. his hand, despite it being cold, spread a warmth through your body. it was late in the afternoon, the sun would be setting soon, and you had to admit that in this lighting he did look quite pretty, though you'd never say that out loud.

he seemed to sense your gaze on him, sparing a glance behind him quickly.

"stop staring at me."

it was a somewhat long walk, but where you ended up was on the balcony in front of the sanctuary of suransthana. finally, he released you hand here while you wandered towards the railing, staring at the sight in front of you.

in the time it took for you to get here, the sun had begun to set over the horizon, painting a pinkish hue over the vast lands of the deserts and forests of sumeru while the branches of the great tree framed the sight perfectly. scaramouche found himself mimicking you, with his hands on the railing, almost touching your own, the only distance between your bodies caused by his hat.

"how is it?" he asks, cocking his head towards you. a smug smile laid on his face as if he already knew your answer. "the scenery here should be quite breathtaking."

"it is, very much so," you whisper back, too in awe of the view in front of you to notice just how much he's staring at you.

you, still in your party outfit, hair blowing in the breeze that comes from being so high up, the light gracing your features. while scaramouche has never been one to appreciate the sights before, he can still admit you do look quite nice in this very moment.

still staring ahead of you, you begin to speak once again. "thank you, really, this means a lot to me."

"there's no need to thank me - i see little point in it," he sighs, eyes leaving you for the first time since you got up here.

"this really isn't much to be thanked for, especially compared to the party thrown in you honor."

he sounds disinterested saying this, you almost thought bringing you up here was something he was forced to do, but the fact that he can't meet your eyes tells you otherwise.

"i don't care about how much someone has done for me on my birthday, all the matters is that i spend time with them. like right now, for example."

it's silent for a few seconds, your words processing in his mind.

"i understand," he hums, and he truly thinks he does, because he wouldn't mind coming up here again to spend some time with you in the future.

the 7-eleven diaries

albedo, alhaitham, childe, scaramouche, venti x gn!reader

your job isn’t the best one out there, but it’s easy and keeps you from drowning in tuition fees and rent. working at a 7-eleven on a midnight shift was supposed to be peaceful, so why is it that you constantly find yourself being bothered by weird customers? (modern au)

fluff, comedy, crack, cashier employee reader, modern au, written for fluffvember!

ALBEDO

It’s difficult not to take notice of the perpetually tired college student (much like yourself) who always comes at the latest hours to order a cup of black coffee and a can of beer. The first time you saw him order that drink was a memorable one, if only because of the way your eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets when you saw him mix the two drinks in a large, empty slurpee cup and proceed to drink it all in a matter of seconds.

Another memorable time was when he came in with only enough money to buy a bottle of water, then took a seat at a table near the counter and took out a box full of what you initially presumed were cookies. It was a traumatizing memory you look back on with a shudder as you remember the way he crunched down on it like it was a piece of biscuit instead of a motherfucking spider.

“They’re surprisingly nutritional, full of protein and fibre. It leaves a strange aftertaste, but it’s a good substitute for dinner.”

Since then, you’ve made sure to keep some food ready in the microwave for him, free of charge. He just looked so pitiful sitting by himself with dark under-eyes and greasy hair — the very image of a normal college student — that you couldn’t help yourself from taking money out of your own pocket to help a fellow comrade.

One day, he came to the store with blown pupils and a sort of dazed look in his eyes, words slurring together as he tried to explain to you how he’s finally created an edible liquid that can keep sleep at bay for at least 120 hours…with some small side-effects, but it’ll wear off with time. That’s when you found out he was a bio-chemistry student well on his way to getting a PhD at his young age.

When questioned why he drank the liquid instead of having someone else do it, his response was, “To experience it firsthand, of course. The basis of research is accuracy and precision, how could I be remiss as to leave such an important experiment to someone who could, in their ignorance, fail to mention an important detail that their mind might have labeled as useless.”

You’re not quite sure how he’s still alive by this point.

But his weirdness aside, you resolve to take care of him in your own way, from a fellow tired college student to another. You remind him to get some sleep, steering him away from eating spiders and encouraging him to eat more meat.

“But I am eating meat?”

“Albedo, that’s a spider.”

“And are you saying that spiders do not possess meat?”

“Oh, for the love of—just eat the goddamn sandwich.”

You think he appreciates it, if the way he dedicated his latest thesis to you is any indication.

ALHAITHAM

You were in the middle of answering a math problem your professor assigned that morning, papers sprawled over the counter with you hunched over it, hand in your hair and trying not to pull at it in frustration over how difficult the problem was. And then he’d come in like an angel, all perfectly shiny hair and a no-nonsense look on his face, took one look at you and the papers scattered across the counter and said one sentence that saved your grade in math.

“You forgot to put a negative sign right there.”

That was the moment you decided that he must be an angel sent from heaven. He always grunts whenever you call him that, though whether it’s from amusement or annoyance remains to be seen.

He doesn’t visit the convenience store much, but when he does, he always spares the time to help you out with whatever assignment you were working on, sometimes even taking the initiative of asking if you need his assistance in answering a problem — though he says this on a much less nicer tone.

“Are you gonna make me do your homework again?”

“My professer didn’t assign me one today, surprisingly enough, so no.”

He seemed strangely disappointed when you told him no, but you chalked it up to him being some sort of math wiz who gets riled up by equations and the like. Seems like kind of guy too, what with all the times he’s made a subtle jab at your intelligence — or lack, thereof.

“How could you possibly need a paper to calculate the answer to four-hundred and thirty-two times fifty-eight?”

“Not all of us are smarter than Rukkhadevata like you.”

“Who?”

He’s not bad company, though that opinion stems solely from the fact that he helps you (solves it for you, more like) with all your homework. Not without making comments about you lazing about on the job and letting your customer answer your assignment for you. You respond in a mature way by making fun of him.

“I’ve never seen you without those earphones. Are you hiding a pair of large ears or something?”

“No.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject.

Sometimes you give him a drink, usually cola or juice, as thanks for helping you out. He takes it without question, taking sips from it as he tutors you about this and that, occasionally commenting about your job and how you’re only making yourself suffer by taking on midnight shifts. You don’t see why he cares. For all that you jokingly call him an angel, you know he’s far from actually being one.

You once saw him on campus reading a book by the library. It’s easy enough to come up to him and make conversation, handing him an unopened drink you just bought from a vending machine. It just feels wrong not to, more of a habit by this point.

It’s then that someone decides to dramatically drop his books to the ground and point at you and Alhaitham. The blonde guy gapes and asks how in the world Alhaitham managed not to scare you away. His eyes zero in on the can of grape juice on Alhaitham’s hand, and then he proceeds to laugh, asking Alhaitham since when did he decide to start drinking what he once called was an unhealthy drink composed of sugar and artificial flavoring.

You made a mental note of that response, and later that night, you decide to hand him a packaged biscuit. Nothing unhealthy there. Technically.

“Good. I was beginning to wonder if I should start taking medicine in case my stomach burst from the amount of cola you hand me.”

“You could’ve just not accepted, you know.”

“It was given to me. Not accepting would be considered rude.”

“Didn’t Kaveh say you threw a bottle of orange juice to his face after he gave you one?”

“I did.”

He refuses to elaborate more on the subject, but you’ve since resolved to only give him the healthiest thing you could find on the store—which isn’t much considering this is a 7-eleven, but hey, microwaved salad is still salad, right?

He grumbles about the radiation but eats the salad anyway. Another win for you, you suppose.

CHILDE

He came in near the end of your shift, lips busted and an eye swollen shut, blood splattered all over his clothes. The grin of his face should’ve hinted you at his lunacy, but you’ve always been blind to warnings and the like, so you went over the counter and helped him up from where he’s slumped over the chips and candies isle.

Aether, your co-worker and the one who’s about to take over from your shift, only looked at you with tired eyes, “It’s too early for this shit.” That was, of course, Aether’s way of basically saying, you’re on your own.

So you picked up the ginger lying on the linoleum floors, heaving his arm over your shoulder to drag him to the nearest pharmacy — never let it be said that you were just a bystander. He groaned as the movement bothered whatever injuries he may have, but he still looked at you with wide, strangely lightless eyes, as if only now registering your presence, and said, “Holy shit, you’re hot.”

After you finished dumping him on the pharmacy and leaving the people there baffled at what to do with an injured guy, he grabbed your wrist and, with a bloody smile he probably thought was charming, handed you a piece of paper containing his number.

You never text him. Or call.

He comes back to the store a week later with faint yellow bruises across his face and a far too bright grin for someone who’s visiting a 7-eleven at two in the morning. He pouts about not getting a single text from you, but before you can respond, he’s moving on to another topic, mindlessly picking up a box of tampons by the side and setting it on the counter.

He only seems to realize what he’s done when you give him a strange look.

“Tampons are, uh, great for bloody noses!”

“…Right.”

You weren’t convinced at all, but you decided to let it slide. He seemed like a genuine guy, if a bit too enthusiastic sometimes. His mouth never shuts ups, always going on about this and that, asking all sorts of questions that would’ve normally had most normal people backing away. But your brain isn’t exactly at its best condition and being sleep deprived for the better part of your life has made it less of a brain and more of an organ that just helps you get through the day.

You don’t know exactly why he stays to chat with you, buying ridiculous amounts of stuff that were frankly far too expensive just to have an excuse to talk to you. You don’t mind it much, especially when he’s a great deterrent for any unwanted petty thieves or middle school delinquents trying to rob your store every week or so.

Apparently, he’s got a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie and being willing to fight anything and everything that breathes. And apparently, word’s gotten out that he’s into you, like, really into you, so most guys who have less-than-well intentions have decided that robbing the local 7-eleven isn’t worth the trouble if it means having to deal with Ajax.

“Actually, it’s Tartaglia.”

“Tarantula?”

“No, Tartaglia. It’s my street name! Ajax just doesn’t inspire the same fear into other people’s hearts the same way Tartaglia does.”

“Whatever you say, Tortilla.”

“It’s Tartaglia!”

He never brings up the fact that you never call or text him back, even when he’s somehow gotten ahold of your number and started sending you memes and updates about his day. When asked, he just shrugs and says he’ll win you over eventually.

SCARAMOUCHE

It wasn’t intentional, and you’ll admit it was completely your fault, but did he have to be such an asshole about you dozing off on the counter?

“Have the standards really fallen so low that employees are now afforded to sleep on the job?”

Here was this guy at two in the morning, bemoaning society’s failure in raising the new generation to have a proper work ethic at a 7-eleven store. The guy had a rolex watch and clothes that looked like they were worth more than your monthly salary — you’re not one to judge other people’s appearances, but he’s the very image of nepotism. And frankly speaking, you’re of the opinion that rich people shouldn’t be entitled to an opinion on what the working class decides do with their life, like falling asleep on the job.

…And oh, you just said that out loud, didn’t you?

Oh well, your manager will understand.

The guy with a bowl cut leaves fuming, but not before slapping a wad of cash down the counter to pay for his stupidly expensive noodles, snarling at you to keep the change since you clearly need it more than him.

You do, in fact, keep the change. Money is money, whether it’s from your salary or a rich boy throwing a tantrum.

The next day in class, a bag slams down the seat beside you, and you’re met with the same rich boy from last night, a scowl painting his rather pretty face as he hisses lowly about how he’s surprised you can afford to go to college. Talk about holding a grudge, you would’ve forgotten all about him from last night if he hadn’t given you his change.

He fumes even more when you don’t give him any sort of reaction, merely nodding your head at him and turning back to the board to listen to your professor drone on about this and that. It’s rather difficult to focus, however, when he keeps muttering sarcastic comments and barbs to the teacher beneath his breath.

“If you even had an iota of charm about you, perhaps your wife wouldn’t have filed for a divorce.”

You choked on a laugh, hand coming up muffle the sound, but he clearly noticed, judging by the way he snaps his head to you, eyes wide and seemingly surprised you found it funny. You only smile at him, an amused little thing, but he quickly looked away and murmured something unintelligible beneath his breath, his fists clenched and the tips of his ears curiously pink.

He comes back to visit your job that night, still with that air of haughtiness about him but a bit toned down. Even more surprising was the fact he didn’t immediately leave the moment he handed you his money.

“Do you want the change?”

“Are you so desperate for money that you’d go begging a total stranger for some spare coin?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

“Tch, fine. You can have it.”

He never fails to come back every night, always giving you the change for his bill, even when the amount is more than the items he paid for. Sometimes, he’ll even take out a snack or a drink from the bag and slide them over to you, cheeks suspiciously red as he did so.

“Don’t think this means anything. I’m only giving this to you because I know you can’t afford it.”

“It’s literally worth ten mora.”

“Would it kill you to at least give me a thank you?”

“Thank you, Kunikuzushi. I’ll be sure to treasure this can of cola that I would’ve never been able to afford without your help.”

“Shut up.”

He buys you a tub of ice cream the next night, the ridiculously expensive kind, to prove a point. The two of you eat it together at one of the tables, him grumbling about the stain on the table and the overall lack of quality and taste — at a 7-eleven — and you laughing whatever he says.

Well, you suppose he’s not as much of an asshole as you initially assumed.

VENTI

He’s a bit popular in campus, in the sense that nearly everyone is friends with him, which makes it impossible not to have heard about that one guy who’s really great at singing. You were, unfortunately, one of the few that aren’t well acquainted with him — aren’t acquainted with him at all.

So when he comes up to the counter, all boyish grin and ridiculously short shorts and a cute little pink hair clip keeping his bangs away from his face, holding an entire household’s worth of vodka and wine, you do what any rational semi-adult would do and look at him with a blank face.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

He laughs at you like this is a common occurrence he faces on the daily before slapping down his ID on the counter. And huh, would you look at that, he’s even older than you are.

He then lights up once he gets a good look at you. “Hey, you’re Albedo’s friend, aren’t you?” He abandons his alcohol at the counter in favor of looking around your quaint little convenient store. “So this is that 7-eleven he keeps talking about…”

You’re not exactly sure what he’s going on about, but you do know he must be a friend of Albedo’s, which makes you ease up around him. He’s nice. Sort of. If you ignore the teasing and the jokes and the way he keeps asking you to give him a student discount. For alcohol. You’d given him what you hoped was your best imitation of Kunikuzushi’s stink eye. You think you got it on point, if the way he deflates is any indication.

He comes around the store every weekend, saying he’s here to get a little treat for the awful weekday he’s had. You never fail to remind him that he has class every Sunday, to which he responds by opening a can of beer (which he hasn’t paid for yet) and sitting on the counter, bemoaning the injustice of putting classes during the weekends.

You once asked him why he keeps hanging around this store when there’s a perfectly good bar right around the corner, owned by that popular red-haired business major from your university. Venti just laughed and said he prefers the quietness here — and the company, he added with a wag of his eyebrows. He always teases you, sometimes borderline flirting, but it’s easy enough to wave it away.

The day you discovered he was actually well known in campus was when your university hosted a local event. There’d been stalls and booths set up everywhere and even a little mock-stage put up near the center for any band or singer to perform in. It’d been nice to have a break from the monotonous routine of going to class and studying then working at your job and getting less than ideal sleep.

And then you heard your name booming out from the speakers, and you turn your head to see Venti on the stage with that little lyre he sometimes carries with him to the store, saying he’d like your opinion on a song or two he composed.

He dedicates the song to to you in front of the entire student body, then proceeds to sing the cheesiest, most gut-wrenching and cringiest love song of all time.

“Why did you have to pick that song?”

“Because it’s fun and cute!”

“I sometimes question your ability to distinguish cute from horrifyingly monstrous.”

There’s a mortified look on your face, but amidst the embarrassment and the teasing remarks of his friends, there’s a smile on your face that you can’t bring yourself to wipe away.

i’ll be doing a part two on this but with diluc, dottore, kazuha, xiao, and zhongli!

@maehemthemisfit @sonder-paradise @96jnie @komiyaa @scaramouchenumber1fan @linn-a-a @wisteriaflowersss @ineriris @yesntforno @serramii @shadowmist0706 @jmgrule @imeanwatever @c00kie-cat @serramii @xtodorokismistressx @ieathairs @endlessmari @strawberryclumsy @serenity-ren-bliss @scarasbaby

---

ᵔᴗᵔ . . 𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗼𝗳𝘁 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂 !

ᴖ.ᴖ . . fem!reader ⁝ wc. 895 ⁝ reblog

𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗲 [𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗿]

it was only a matter of time before he got a taste of his own medicine. many yearned for this fateful day to happen, however, no one predicted it to occur with his lover. it was a curveball to discover the former harbinger had been hiding a sweet woman from the public and his colleagues for years now.

aether, for one, was still in shock no matter how much time passed since the two of you asked to join him on his return to mondstadt after the fiasco in sumeru. in the present circumstances, you three—four, counting paimon—were by mingyun village when nightfall arrived. seeking shelter in a small cave, he left you two alone to pick a few jueyun chillis to prepare the famous wanmin meal for dinner. 

though, apparently ignorant of the topic of your discussion, he can tell you were begging with your lover based on your body language. if he were to guess what, it must have been to gather firewood like he previously urges scaramouche to do and the young man refused because it was “beneath his status to do basic labor.”

your gentle demeanor might not say it outright but the glint in your eyes did. you are going to get what you want despite of the methods.

“please?”

“no way.” he turns his back on you and crosses his arms. he wasn’t going to fall for your schemes, he inwardly scoffs at you, his sudden change of heart didn’t mean he’s gone soft. your place as his lover won’t warrant any special treatment.

sniffle.

his shoulders tense. no. nope. he’s encountered your petty act one too many times. he knows far better than most how conniving you can be regardless of your deceitful appearance. he scoffed, and people call him manipulative…

sniffle.

“stop it,” he snaps with a hard frown, rolling his eyes, “that is not going to work on me.”

sniffle.

“ugh, when will you learn that i consider such theatrics from you tacky…” he turns around, intending to give you a proper scolding when he sees the visible tears streaking down your cheeks. “no,” he whispers, cupping your face.

his thumb tenderly caresses your cheeks, wiping them away as best as he can. “no. no, no. don’t cry,” he mutters, “i’m…” stopping himself before he can say the next word.

he was conflicted. half of him was sick at the slight pleasure he felt over your misty eyes. you were always a pretty thing. the other part of him aches over the giant realization he was the reason you were upset. his fault.

“alright!” he growls, as if it stings him to utter every syllable. “i’ll go fetch the damn fire wood, ‘just quit your crying.”

wiping away the tears, you wrap your arms around him. he was taken aback by the sudden show of affection but does return it nonetheless. his embrace warm, holding you tight against his chest. 

your eyes trail around your surroundings and eventually find aether’s. it didn’t take much for the traveler to grow uncomfortable after he got caught stumbling upon the very intimate exchange. you stay silent, playfully winking at him in the end.

aether gasps, archons, were you evil.

𝗰𝘆𝗻𝗼 [𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗮𝗵𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗮]

he was not an easily impressed young man, some might call him ‘difficult to please.’ it wasn’t hard to imagine. a member of the academe could make a revolutionary discovery and all they could receive is a short hum of approval. the closest to verbal praise might’ve been when tighnari briefed him on collei’s progress.

any situation beyond that? none. for you? more to count on both hands. it was the most amusing yet exasperating thing to see! you doing the bare minimum permits more applause from him than all of their efforts combined.

to be fair, it was difficult to call out these signs of favoritism when it gets him in a good mood in exchange. nobody needed to point it out, everyone can see he has ‘heart-eyes’ for you. in a matter of seconds, he was reduced to a simple-minded loverboy in your company.

today was unlike other days, the scholars were subjected to a front row seat of your relationship. it was utterly bizarre to see the general mahamatra grinning softly, sort of.

“cyno, my love! you promised!” you whine, pouting. he was unbelievable! you thought to yourself. downright ridiculous. he swore to make time for you and accompany you on your visit to the city.

“i know, but plans change, darling. i have urgent matters to attend, my love,” he dismisses. all lies. he’s aware you would think to stop and greet your friends as well. to be frank, he’d rather avoid them and their side remarks about him and your relationship.

you didn’t respond, simply choosing to sport your infamous puppy eyes instead. he sighs to himself, oh… not this again. you were a crafty young woman, using his weakness for you against him.

he was standing strong at first yet in less than ten seconds; he breaks a wisp of a grin, one that results in your audience turning wide-eyed, and closes the space between you.

“c’mere, silly girl.” he beckons for you to draw nearer to him, and you instantly follow to glide your arms around his waist. “allow me to finish reading through this last stack and we can go.”

i think about this a lot

savior amidst snowstorms.

# — pairing: snow prince!albedo x gn!reader

# — characters: snow prince!albedo, gender neutral reader

# — summary: moments before it all ends, a figure comes to your rescue.

# — warnings: mentions of blood, death, near-death experience (reader)

# — tags: first meetings, implied violence, unspecified injuries, introduction to au piece, angst (??), reader is in LOTS of pain and wishes for death but no MCD

# — notes: SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGSSSS I FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING I LIKE ABOUT SNOW PRINCE!ALBEDO AAAAA I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE MORE! reblogs and reactions are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoy this (and are curious about it, too!)

wanna join the tag list?

✧ — ❄️ + 🌼 — ✧

i'm going to die here.

that is all you can think as you watch the lawachurl shamble towards you. you did all you could. you put up one hell of a fight; originally you were faced with at least ten hilichurls, all of which you managed to defeat. you didn't escape from that confrontation unscathed, but they were dead, and you were still breathing. unfortunately all the commotion lured the attention of a lawachurl in the distance, and now you were staring down the cause of your inevitable demise. the hilichurls you faced earlier left you cut up and bruised, so you're in no state to take this thing on.

like hell i'd be able to anyway, you think as it lumbers closer. even in the cold, you can smell the stench of raw death wafting off of this hulking creature. how many adventurers has it feasted on? how many unfortunate souls have fallen to this thing? whatever the number is, you know in your heart that you're about to add onto it. a sharp sting of pain shoots up your leg as you try to step back and gain some distance from it. a hilichurl arrow pierced your thigh deeply, the point of which is still firmly lodged in there. only now, when the adrenaline has started to make way for fear, do you feel the acute agony of it all. all of your injuries seem to weigh on you now, the time when you need it the least.

boom. the snow-covered ground seems to rattle under your feet as the lawachurl comes closer. about ten paces away now. it's a miracle the thing hasn't lunged at you, else you'd have made a fine dinner by now.

boom. nine paces. it's almost tame in its demeanor. in its eyes, you see nothing but a predatory hunger. blood from your wounds hits the fresh snow with a soft plip-! and though you can't see its nostrils, you're prety sure they must've flared at the smell.

boom. boom. seven paces. dragonspine is about to become your icy grave. what did you even come here for, anyway? what could have possibly been so important that you'd put your life on the line like this? was it some silly commission? some old adventurer's tale? what does it even matter? nothing matters in the face of death.

boom. boom. five paces. this is it. you let your grip on your sword slacken and you hear the metal collide with the snowy floor. what use is it to you at this point, anyway? the lawachurl reaches out. you let your eyes slip shut and brace for a painful death.

but it never comes.

you count each breath you take expecting the next one to be your last. after the fifth one though, you hesitate to take a sixth as you're curious as to why you're still breathing. by now, the lawachurl should have you in its frosty grip, crushing your ribs. why are you still alive?

you open one eye and are surprised to see the lawachurl not even facing you. its back is to you and it's down on one knee with its head lowered. even with such a hazy mind, you recognize that posture. it's one of servitude, of submission. another surge of fear grips you by the throat. is there something that even a beast like this would bow its head to? what could possibly possess more strength than this creature on this icy hellscape? you hobble to the side to get a glimpse of the new arrival.

there's... nothing there. great. not only are there abominations on this mountain, but it would appear that it's haunted, too. you have half a mind to scream. how much longer will the universe dangle death in front of you? you don't like being teased, much less with your own safety. a frigid gust of wind nearly knocks you over, forcing your eyes shut. the blood that leaks from your head seems to crystallize, making it hard for you to open your eyes. you manage to pry one of them open to peer out into the distance; surely, you're imagining things. the mountain is many things, but haunted couldn't possibly be one of them... right?

the way forward is almost misty, the gusty snow obscuring the view of what's ahead. but through it all, you make out a figure of something. a silhouette of a person walking your way.

a person? that can't be right. a cryo lawachurl wouldn't be bowing to a human. you squint and try to focus, a part of you hoping that the figure turns out to be that of another, potentially more horrifying, monster. yet the silhouette remains the same. it's clearer now that it's closer. it's that of a man — his stride seems smooth, his body seemingly unbothered by the chaotic snow whirling around him. he appears untouched by the elements, almost.

you gulp. maybe you shouldn't rule out a haunting just yet.

you can't run, so you're forced to watch as the man comes closer and closer still. when he breaks through the mist, you take notice of how ethereal he looks amidst the snowstorm. his hair is a pale blond and reflects what little sunlight comes through the clouds. it reaches just below his shoulders and is almost neatly pulled into a braided half ponytail. his skin is pale and his eyes are a sharp teal that cut through the whiteness of your surroundings. his white coat bears navy blue and gold embellishments and his hands are gloved. he extends one to the monster and you see his lips move, though you can't hear his words over the whirlwind of snow. only when the hulking beast beside you moves do you realize what he said.

"arise."

you yelp and, for the first time in minutes, your body moves. you crash into the snow beneath you unceremoniously and with a loud groan. everything hurts. you're truly defeated. the man's lips move once more and the lawachurl approaches him with a bowed head. to your horror, it looks as though he's speaking to it — even worse is that it appears to understand him. if he were to give the order, that thing would tear you limb from limb. you don't know if you should waste your last breath begging for your life, or if you should just go back to accepting your demise with open arms.

neither of those choices are correct, apparently, because when the lawachurl faces you once more, gone is the intense bloodlust you'd felt moments earlier. it approaches you again, this time seeming calm. the man behind it comes closer, allowing you to see it better. maybe you're delirious with pain, but you notice that he's extremely attractive. there's a certain elegance to his features, his cold, calculating stare making you want to bow your own head in submission.

yeah. definitely delirium. you're losing your mind.

"if you're going to kill me," you say, your throat lined with needles, "then please, don't let me suffer. make it quick. i'm in enough pain as is."

those teal eyes regard you closely. there isn't a lick of emotion on his face. "do you need assistance?" he asks. his voice, too, is devoid of emotion.

you blink your one eye slowly and notice dark spots in your vision. it won't be long before you lose consciousness. and hopefully, your life, too. look at you; so badly damaged that you're wishing for death. the man before you doesn't move an inch as he awaits your response. you spit blood onto the icy ground away from you. "just... kill me." you rasp. "please."

"i do not wish to see you dead." his crystalline lashes seem to flutter. if you didn't know any better, you'd think him an angel. it's a shame there's no wings protruding from his back. "i wish to aid you. will you allow me to do so?"

you stagger. "please." you beg. "just..." the dark spots grow suddenly, consuming your world. you plummet into darkness before you can finish your sentence and collapse into the snow, never to see the sun again.

...or so you'd think.

you awake with a start, your body screaming at you with every frantic breath you take. you pat yourself down despite the aching of your wounds. all of your flesh is relatively intact — did you seriously survive that encounter? what the hell was all of that? the hilichurls, the monster, the weird angel-man—

wait a minute.

once more, you pat yourself down. you feel bandages in various places, each one meticulously wrapped around your appendages. you look down at your legs and find them buried beneath luxurious cream-colored silk sheets. come to think of it, the mattress supporting your weight feels like it's curving to meet your body — where the hell are you?!

you do a quick sweep of the room and an unknown emotion makes itself present. you're not sure whether to feel awe, fear, or curiosity. the room is fit for royalty: its floor-to-ceiling windows are crystal clear, allowing for a perfect view of the snowy mountain outside, the floors are marbled and polished, the furniture seems antiquated, yet grand all the same, the silvers and golds either woven through the cushions or embedded in the harder surfaces. this place, imposing and majestic as it might be, seems frozen in time — no one has touched this place in ages, yet it seems well-cared for. your head feels ready to explode. who in the archons' name would—?

"you've awoken."

you're not proud of the shriek that rips past your lips at the sound of the voice. (you're even less proud of the fact that you can hear it echoing off of the walls. was it really that quiet in here?) you turn to see the man from outside standing in your doorway, his features less illuminated, yet still regal in the dim lighting.

"i'm not going to harm you." his face remains as passive as ever. "please, don't shout."

"wh-why wouldn't i?" you retort. you break into a fit of hacking coughs. how did you not feel this ill a second ago? adrenaline sure works in strange ways. only now do you feel how flushed and clammy your skin is, how the banging in your head rivals that of a swordsmith forging a weapon, how painful it is just to take a breath. you ease yourself back into a lying position. you can't defend yourself like this. "you were communicating—" you pause to cough again— "with that monster outside! you could have killed me."

the man is at your side in the blink of an eye. an icy hand rests on your forehead and you feel a near instant relief. your eyes slip shut against your will. "you're running a high grade fever," he points out. "but i do not understand why you think me to be a threat when i saved your life. is gratitude lost on people in modern times?"

though spoken so evenly, such a biting response doesn't fit your image of this guy. who does he think he is? "you should have let me die." your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper. "let me die in peace." you partially mean it. the brief moments of clarity are nothing in comparison to the agony you're in. hell, you may as well be dead already. perhaps this is just what was waiting for you after you crossed over.

the man moves and you hear some shuffling. "i... don't want you to." he's whispering. it's almost like he's speaking to himself. "allow me to help you. please."

you can't make heads or tails of anything anymore. "water," you plead. your body is truly on its last legs. you're begging, though if you were of clear mind, you wouldn't reasonably ask this man for a thing; survival instincts have kicked in, and you're only trying to use what's been given to you. "give me water, please."

instead of the cold water you expected, you feel your head being propped up and hot water (tea?) slides down your throat instead. it's infinitely better than the ice water you had imagined — the relief is instant, and the spikes in your throat seem to clear almost immediately. before you can ask for more, some more is already being offered at your lips, and you drink eagerly, like a dying man in a desert. once you've had your fill, you're being eased back down, your body feeling just a touch better than before. words of gratitude don't make it out of you, so you settle for a sigh. you feel your consciousness slipping once more. dimly, you think there must have been a sedative in that drink. must be medicinal, you think, seeing as your throat doesn't hurt much anymore.

"the medicine will act faster if you rest." the man's voice seems so far away. "when you wake, please allow me the honor of knowing your name."

with the last of your energy, you breathe your own name in a whisper. you can almost hear the smile in the man's voice as you tread back into darkness.

"my name is albedo," he says. "it'll be my pleasure to greet you when you're fully conscious. get some sleep, now."

like you need to be told twice. almost on command, you fall into a deep, restful, dreamless sleep.

✦ oh my god. OH MY GOD??? SNOW PRINCE!ALBEDO INTRODUCTION??? WHEN'S THE FIC ZUZU???

✦ i actually am VERY proud of this. it's not the intro that i've been dreaming about for... what, a year? but i like the setup. i can't wait to build this au again.