syd :3

"But dear Senku, aren't you worried you might be left behind in survivability progress?" Gen hummed, stirring his tea with a spoon, letting the warmth dissipate into the air. After a few seconds, he lifted the cup and took a small sip, delighted with the sweet floral taste. He should get more of this variation.

Senku scoffed at that. What is the mentalist trying to say here? Survivability progress, really? "Your point is?"

"Chrome and Ruri are about to welcome their second child, and even Xeno has adopted more than 6. Not to mention Ryusui with his third, while you…" Gen smiled slightly, tilting his head in a pretence mock. "You know, single and available." He took another sip of his tea, perfectly warm and lovely.

Chrome, who was turned down earlier, puffed his chest proudly, thanking Gen for backing him up. He's a happy man, especially at the mention of his wife. He could name all the things he loved about her, and it would probably end after a few weeks of nonstop yap. To be loved is to be seen, they said.

"It was never a competition, mentalist. Besides, I have far more important things to worry about than to dabble in a love quarry." He retorted. Quickly finishing his bento to get his butt to work as soon as possible. He had a list of stuff that needed to be done before evening, and couldn't afford to waste his time on idle chatter.

The lunch continued with Gen adding some workplace gossip, while Chrome would tell about his struggle in handling his family, with Ruri being extra clingy at home. Meanwhile, Senku would occasionally nod his head and mutter a few yeses and mock reassurances here and there. Once everyone had finished their food, the three went to their separate sections of the lab.

The day blends into calculations, meetings, and 10 minutes nap every few hours. Senku may be a great scientist, but he is also a human; that means he was not excluded from normal human needs such as food, rest and perhaps even desire. And as if the world is on his side, he received a call from a certain someone not so far from his workplace. He holds the mobile in one hand while the other is busy calibrating the titration curve.

"You're not resting? It's your evening nap hour, isn't it?"

He shoots, no warm greetings whatsoever. Well, he doesn't need to; those questions alone are warm enough for you. He could hear your amused giggle at the end of the line, so he smiled at that. The sound of you laughing somehow soothes him. He sets down the apparatus to shift his focus to you completely. It's not like he could calculate with his mind in the cloud.

"I tried, but your daughter won't stop kicking." You huffed, partially annoyed, but your hand unconsciously moved to gently rub your growing belly. The due date is around the corner, and you're no different from Pinocchio if you said you're not afraid; your nose would surely grow a meter at every word spoken.

"She has been particularly active these days, hasn't she?" He hummed, checking the watch on his wrist. It's almost time to punch out. He picks all the important documents and keeps them in the drawer before sliding his bag around his shoulder. "I'll be home in 20 minutes. Crave anything?"

You thought about his question for a moment. You're not particularly hungry, nor are you full either. This is hard. "Maybe something light? Preferably from the Nanami's. Their chef made the best food." You added. After another quick convo, he ended the call to leave the building. The drive home was quiet, save for the car wheezing like an old man at every bumper.

Senku stops by Nanami's and gets himself — well, gets you — an ice cream and hash browns. Thankfully, he doesn't bump into the owner, or else he might invite him for a drink, and he would definitely need to decline the man's offer. Ryusui was never the type to back out easily. With the food in hand, he returned to the car and proceeded to drive home.

Right turn, left turn, a roundabout, a highway, left turn, and finally, he's home. He parked the car and went inside using a key he had duplicated months ago. You always told him to just let you open the door for him, but he insisted on having his own key, so that you don't have to get up from wherever you are in the house just to open the door for him.

"You're home." You waddled to him from the kitchen, a mug of chrysanthemum tea in hand. He takes off his shoes and coat, then hang it by the door before approaching your slow figure. He engulfed you in a hug, to which you were about to return when the baby kicked again. "Ah!"

He let go of you after hearing your pained wince. "Has this been going on all day?" He holds your face in his hand, as you nod.

He handed over the paper bag of food to you to get on his knees. He then patted your belly with his hand, "You got one hell of a kick, kid. Don't bully your mother too much. That's my job." He chuckles to himself.

You pout. What a meanie. Unbothered by the consequences, you tug his hair in rebellion. If he's going to play devil tonight, who are you not to fight back? You're no saint, and he knows that. Should've thought this through when he decided to come inside months ago. Whose fault was it? His, obviously. Plus, you were at the laboratory to work under Xeno once again, not to mother this man's child.

But that was long ago, and he thankfully owned up to it and courted you not long after the incident. Some may wonder: how the hell did Xeno's junior from before the petrification even end up with THE Senku Ishigami? Well, you two met at one of the conferences and were paired for a research project. Yada yada, since millennials had passed while you were petrified, the younger man somehow went from Byakuya's adoptive son to your senior. Such unfairness.

Not like you have ever bothered to know either guy before the Medusa event. The name Ishigami was never in your dictionary until he pounded into you on the lab table that night. Uh, crazy lore.

"You want it?" He suddenly asked, way too nonchalant to your liking.

The thing was, you two hadn't been active since the pregnancy due to his worrying that he might strain you further. For someone who had never cared about anyone — especially during manual labour — he is somewhat gentler when it comes to you. But it's not like you don't want to do it; rather, he had just come home from an 11-hour shift, and he surely needs a rest after such a long day.

You scrunch your face at his question, and he blinks at your reaction. Did he say something wrong? The two of you made it clear that hair tugging means sex, so why act disgusted now?

"What?" He stood up, arms wrapped around your waist. "Besides, it offers benefits. An intercourse could help reduce the potential of going past 37 weeks—"

You shut him up with a kiss. There it is, no more science talk. Senku melts instantly and holds the back of your neck while the other remain on your back. Now he went tongue-to-tongue, fighting for dominance. Just because he always lets you have your way doesn't mean he'll give up easily, especially now. So he guides you slowly until your back hits the dining table, then with that twig strength, he lifts you to sit on the table surface as he takes his space between your legs.

Deliberately, his fingers crawl their way under your nightgown until his forefinger reaches your undergarment. You hummed softly between the kisses, urging him to go further. He smiled against your lips and bite it, earning himself a gasp from you.

"Ouch… you're mean." You whined, pulling away from the kiss. He chuckles under his breath, going in for another kiss when suddenly, his phone vibrates from inside his work bag. You turned your head to the sound coming from the living room. "You're not going to answer it?"

He sighed and let go of you before striding to get his phone. Who could possibly call him right after work? He made it clear that no work call is allowed after he punched out, especially on the day before the weekend. Without much thought, he answered it.

"Ishigami's here."

"SENKU!!!! IT'S ME, TAIJU!! MANNN I FINALLY GOT YOUR NEW NUMBER!"

Yeah. Great, big Oaf doesn't really listen, does he? There's a reason why he changed his number, and this is one of them. No use dwelling on it now, better to get this conversation over with, quickly.

"Yo, what is it that ya need, big oaf?" He said in disinterest, pinky subconsciously picking on his ear, rubbing that one spot to calm his nerves.

"YUZU—" But then, he heard Taiju's shouting was cut off by Yuzuriha's more gentle voice.

"Hello, Senku. We are planning to do a gender reveal party in 2 weeks and were hoping you could make it. Are you free that day? Chrome said your schedule has been rather packed lately."

Senku thought about it for a moment. Your due date is approaching, and he has requested a week off for an unrevealed reason from Xeno. That unrevealed reason is being by your side to welcome your child. If he were not to attend Taiju's important day, would it rise suspicous? They were the best of friends since childhood, and to randomly not attend is definitely not a wise choice.

"I'll check it with my assistant after the weekend. No promise, though." He answered. This might be the best excuse he could come up with. Yuzuriha thanked him and ended the call. Senku rubbed his face, sighing softly. This is the con of having a secret partner.

The good thing is, he got to protect you from being surrounded by those who see him as a god for rebuilding humanity, or those who wouldn't stop obsessing over everything he did in his life. Yet, that means he needs to lie even to his closest circle. He can't have all the good parts of life, can he? Curse his bad luck.

"Is everything alright?" You called from the dining table, getting down slowly to waddle to him.

"Just Yuzuriha and Taiju. They're doing a gender reveal party soon, and I don't think I'll be attending." He holds your arms to stabilise you and guide you to sit on the nearby couch.

"Couldn't you tell them about us? I'm sure they won't do anything funny about it." You tried to assure him, but he shook his head. His hand found your belly, gently caressing it.

"I trust them, yes. But I know Taiju; he's not going to be discreet about me having a partner or being a father. Plus, I don't want to burden Yuzuriha with information that carries so much weight." He explained, pulling your head to rest on his shoulder.

"Then, how long will this be a secret?" You hummed softly, to which Senku shook his head.

"We'll let them know after our daughter is born, and once you're stable. I thought about possible post-partum depression, and planning to hire someone to care for you and the baby while I'm away for work. Though they need to go home before I return, to not cross paths." He nodded to himself, drafting his schedule in his mind.

Your finger traces his chest as he mumbles, not really listening to him. As if realising he's losing your attention, he stands up abruptly; that caught you off guard. He turned to you for a moment without saying anything before leaving to take the food he bought earlier. Then he returned to his seat next to you.

The two of you began to eat your snack. He dipped the hash brown into some chilli sauce and fed you. Second bite, dip, third bite, dip, fourth bite; but out of nowhere, he accidentally smudges some sauce on your chin. You were going to wipe it with a tissue when he leaned in and stuck his tongue out.

The wet organ then glided over your chin suggestively before he captured your lips into a slightly spicy kiss, thanks to the sauce. He held the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his tongue mines its way into your mouth like a miner, touching every surface he could reach. He hummed into the kiss, loving the warmth of your skin.

He gently pushed your shoulder against the backseat, then he slowly slid you to your side to lie you down on the couch instead. Caging you under him as he got on all four above you. He needed to be quick with whatever he had planned, not wanting to put too much pressure on your back. Using his knee, he spread your legs apart without breaking the kiss.

He broke the kiss to take a deep breath, then dived in without giving you a chance to dominate him like you usually do. He feels like handling you today; besides, he shouldn't tire you too much, so yeah.

His hands made their exploration, mapping every patch of your skin with his fingertips. It's not unfamiliar, as he had long memorised every single coordinate. But every experience feels different to him, as if no matter how many times he mapped you, he'll never feel truly satisfied. Like a thirsty scientist in search of water in the middle of a desert.

With his left hand, he slid it under your sleepwear, letting it climb over the soft, bouncy hills. While his right hand continue it's dive until it reaches the first obstacle, a patch of cloth with an obvious wet spot in the middle of it. Hm, curioso?

His index finger pushed the undie open like a curtain and slid in a middle finger, followed by his ring finger. He slid them in till the base of his fingers so easily, thanks to the lubrication from the kiss alone. Who would have thought a simple kiss could get you all wet? Maybe you were sexually frustrated over the past few months of not getting anything.

The hand that was previously fondling your breasts made its escape through your collar. He gripped your chin, holding your face before pulling out of the long kiss. Trails of saliva that connected you two dripped onto your chin. He then used his thumb to smudge the fluid over your lips; a flushed smirk on his face at the sight of you so… drunk of kisses.

After seeing that you were ready, he started pulling his fingers in and out of your… pussy lips. Wet squelches filled the room as he plunged his fingers into you rhythmically while his thumb continued to rub in circles. You were squeezing him like a vice, it's tempting him to go faster, just to see how fast he could make you—

"Mhm—!"

Before you could gasp out in pleasure, he swallowed your moans with another round of kisses. Gushes of arousal fluid squirted out of you, wetting the couch, yet Senku's hand remained steadfast in its pace. Instead of slowing down, he somehow went faster, increasing his speed. His palm was basically clapping your clit like he was giving it a round of half an applause. Get it?

You squirmed, overstimulated by his fingers alone. The fact that he was relentless didn't help. You gripped his shirt, unsure of what to do with yourself. On one hand, you want him to continue, yet on the other hand, you want him to keep going, to make you feel good. Decisions, decisions.

Before Senku could pull his fingers out, another gush of fluid popped out of you, but this one is a lot thinner than your first orgasm. Confused, he inches his fingers to his nose, sniffing them. It smelled different; he had a hunch what it could be, but he couldn't confirm it without a taste test. With that, he suckled his fluid-stained fingers.

And instead of tasting like lactic acid like usual, this fluid tasted… sweet, mineral-like. His eyes widened in surprise as panic began to set in. He looked at your half-conscious state from being overstimulated and quickly adjusted your nightwear to cover you properly, and rushed to your shared bedroom to pick up your bags of clothes in case of emergencies.

After throwing the bags into the car, he went back in, picked you up and ran out of the house. If one was wondering what got him so worked up, your water just broke, thanks to his aid. Orgasms truly are the best support when it comes to labour, aren't they?

In the morning of the next day, Yuzuriha and Taiju were going home from a prenatal check when they saw a familiar leek head walking into the maternity ward. In his hands were bags of food and beverages. What is Senku doing in the hospital? Could he be visiting a friend? Though, isn't maternity wards usually don't allow visitors?

"That's weird." Taiju rubbed his chin in confusion. He couldn't comprehend seeing Senku in here. He'd never seen the guy coming here before during Yuzuriha's prenatal checkups.

"Hey, do you think what I'm thinking, love?" Yuzuriha smiled at Taiju. She had some ideas in her head, but rather not voiced it outloud until the scientist told them himself. Maybe he had his reason for keeping this a secret, and she respected it.

"Senku must have really loved children, or he's helping around!" Taiju laughed proudly. Happy at the thought of his friend being a very kind person. Yuzuriha nodded in reply, not denying or agreeing with his statement. Time will tell, anyway. There's no need to think about it too much.

Meanwhile, with Senku, he set the food and beverage on the bedside table. You were nursing your daughter. Though sometimes she would randomly unlatch and cry, which was stressful, but Senku was always there to calm you down or handle her. He sat at the edge of the bed, hands rubbing your arm softly,

"I think I saw Yuzuriha on my way here." He muttered, not too loud to disturb other mothers, but loud enough for you to hear him. You hummed, blinking sleepily at him. He understood the sign and picked the baby from latching to your breast. Then, he set her in the baby incubator.

After that, he helped you sit up properly before explaining, "I bought some sushi. They should be safe. I made sure to ask Francois to make it specifically for you and told them to keep it a secret."

"Thank you, darling." You smiled at him, to which he let out an unamused cough into his palm as his ears began to change colour. There's a reason why you two rarely use pet names. Either way, as long as you were happy, he would let this slide.

It's not like this marriage will remain a secret any longer, so he'd better get used to it. Especially when being called in public places. The great Senku Ishigami may look nonchalant to the public's eyes, but only you, his wife, know what was hidden beneath that calm exterior.

© asuna-luino 2026

masterlist

It rained that night.

The faint pitter-patter of rain drops against your roof— what was left of the warmth from the forest lingered onto your skin as the cold wormed into the crevices of your home. Despite the loud shower from the skies, dripping through the leaves of the Divine Tree, you had a quiet meal; sitting alone on your dinner table, whilst you held a book in one hand, glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose.

Though it was a calm, soothing night, you remain restless, alike the rest of the Akademiya students. While you weren't a student yourself—you were a professor, and this upcoming week was their impending doom; finals exams. You weren't one to make things harder for your students, education is meant to nourish, not condition eager learners that their curiosity and passion will be punished with horrific grades that will not define who they want to be as they grow older… But alas, it is merely part of the curriculum, and you were not paid to make the test so simple that even those who struggled, passes.

Yes, your wonderful Sage has threatened you upfront that your job was on the line if you keep making exceptions to your dear students. As much as you wanted to fight it… You really needed the money to support your lifestyle and the family you have left behind in the desert. Teaching was the only job you'd ever find yourself doing, as well, given that you have only ever wanted to teach.

But you're backed up, and you're not sure if you are able to meet your students in the eye once their souls get crushed over failing an exam.

You sigh as you scratched your cheek, staring at the blocks of text on your book. Whatever, you'll just warn the students about their exams the next time you see them.

While you continued to read, you heard a silent thump outside of your door. Strange. It was still raining outside when you peeked through your window. It was not like they were knocking at your door either, since it was only one little noise— then silence overtook it's place once more.

Oh, was it the small, pregnant cat you've been feeding recently? She must be hungry, now you think about it. You've been so absorbed in your book that your food has gone cold on your plate, half finished, the rest still awaiting to be eaten. You sigh again, deeper and more tired this time, as you stood from your seat, the wood scraping loudly against the floor.

Grabbing a bowl from your shelves, you crack open a small container of prepared meals you've saved for the cat, spreading them out evenly on the bowl, before taking out some dried fish that bought from the store a few days ago. Finishing it with a few cups of water to balance out the dry food, you grab the bowl and made your way to the door. It was still raining pretty hard outside, so you grab a couple towels to help dry off her fur, in case she was wet.

Now, it was almost midnight by the time you started eating dinner, so you naturally assumed that no one would outside of their homes at these godless hours. What you hadn't expected when you opened the door, was to find a small kid with the cat you've been caring for, sitting at your front porch, water dripping from his hair. He was absolutely drenched, shivering lightly from the cold, but he held the cat in his hands, letting her lick at his face while she purred.

"Hey…"

The boy jolted from where he sat, head whipping straight at you with wide, bleary eyes. The first thing you noticed from him was his glaring, crimson eyes—brighter that shimmering rubies, and the big, defensive snarl on his lips, sharp teeth bared and ready to bite.

…Not much different from a feral kitten facing an unfamiliar scent.

"Woah woah, easy now!" You lowered the tone of your voice, getting down on your knee to get on his level, with the softest smile you could muster, "Hey, it's okay! Not here to hurt you or anything… Just, uh, curious as to why you're here, kiddo…" Glancing down at his soaked clothing, you surmised that he was a student of the Akademiya—but what was he doing out here so late? He looked fairly young too; where were his parents?

A cat mewling at you pulled you out of your thoughts, soft, slightly damp fur rubbing at your legs, tail tickling your skin. You chuckle lightly, your free hand reaching to scratch beneath her chin, "Sorry there, mama, I got too busy with work."

The child's eyes glanced between you and the cat rubbing against you, purring loudly and paws swatting at the hand that held her food. He seemed to have slightly relaxed at your sudden presence, tenseness on his shoulder simmer down, now eyeing you cautiously.

You look back at the boy, offering him a smile as you jerk your head towards your warm home, inviting him in. "You're drenched; let me get you all warmed up, if that's okay with you." He visibly hesitated at your words, unsure whether to trust a complete stranger for his well-being, but when he saw the cat walking inside your home as if she had owned the place, he bit his bottom lip, glancing back out in the rain. "Don't worry, you don't have to go back out there if you don't want to. It's pretty late now, anyways."

He knew that he couldn't fight it, not when it was still storming pretty hard outside, not when he looked absolutely pathetic—wet hair, dripping clothes, and puffy eyes. The boy sighed weakly as he stood from where he sat, grabbing the books and papers he had put beside him, laid on the dry area of your porch. You followed suit, opening the door wide for him to enter, and you watched him waddle into your house, huddling in himself with his head down.

"Here, dry yourself off with this towel, I'll see if I have some clothes you can wear…" You hum to yourself as you hand him the towel in your hand, before walking to the kitchen to place the bowl of food down for the cat to eat. Rushing towards your room, you rummage through your clothes, seeking for anything small enough to fit the small kid's stature. He was quite scrawny for his age, much more than an average kid, which was… concerning.

After spending a few minutes searching, you finally found something, "Hmm, this should be good enough…" Though it was two sizes bigger than him, it would suffice, as he was only staying temporarily—at least until the rain stops.

Walking outside of your room, you give the set of clothes to the kid and offered for him to use the bathroom, to wish he had graciously accepted without much complaints. He quickly snagged the clothes off your hands and rushed towards the bathroom, not after asking if you have any hot water for him to use.

It was quite the mystery why he was out there in the first place, especially in the rain. He was lucky that you found him outside your home, you weren't sure if anyone would be willing to take in some random kid into their home, especially it was so late at night. Taking your half eaten plate, you decided to heat it up once again, and cooking the left overs you had that you were planning to take as lunch for later.

The smell wafting from the kitchen must've gotten his attention, seeing him peek from the corners of your eyes and watching you cook. You smile to yourself as the cat meowed at him, curling around his toes, while the boy's guard remained high, eyeing you as if you were about to jump at him and hurt him. You didn't blame him, after all, you were an adult, while he seemed to be a young teenager.

"Have you eaten yet?" You ask in a gentle voice, your head turning to him slightly and still smiling as to not to alarm him, "I still have some left overs, if you'd like." But all you could hear was the boy huffing—turning his head away as if you had just offended him. "You don't have to eat if you don't want to, was just worried—"

Grroooammm…

You hold back a snort, "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

The boy clicked his tongue, stomping towards the dinner table and taking a seat, arms crossed and cheeks puffed out in a small pout. You didn't comment on it, though you were trying your best not to laugh at the poor boy's expense, and set him down a plate. "It's just some Biryani I made for myself; you can eat as much as you'd like." You smile as you take the seat across him, and start eating the rest of your heated up leftovers.

When you look back up at him, you saw him stuffing his face with food, chewing onto the meat with sparkling eyes, rice all over his cheeks. "Woah, kid, slow down! No one's taking it from you…" You laugh lightly as you hand him a glass of water, to which he grabbed and gulped down, panting a little to catch his breath.

But that did rise some concern from you, though. "Geez, it's like you haven't eaten in days."

That made the boy pause, swallowing down the food in his mouth, before setting his gaze at you with something unreadable, guarded, before pursing his lips in contemplation. "…It's been my first proper meal after a while." He says slowly, as if he was struggling to get the words out of his mouth.

"Can I have more…?" Sliding his cleaned out plate towards you, he didn't give you time to react to his statement; you could only nod and take the plate from him, piling more of the leftover Biryani just for him.

"I see…" You watch him stuff himself again, though at a much slower pace since you were eyeing him down, watching him eat carefully, silently. The boy didn't seem to mind it, mostly just enjoying the food he was given.

You feel the cat rub against your legs, purring and licking you fondly after she has finished all of her food. "I noticed you're a student from the Akademiya," You decided to strike up a conversation rather than asking a set of questions, getting his attention and letting him become comfortable should lead him to opening up to you.

He glanced down at you with an accusing stare, as if he was questioning why you were pointing that out, among all things. "I'm a professor at the Akademiya, and I can't help but be curious at the papers you had with you… I hope they weren't soaked from the rain."

"Why do you care?" Was his quick, defensive response, before pressing his lips down into a tight line, forgetting the fact that you were a professor, not just some random adult.

"Well, it is in our nature to be curious, is it not?" You smile at him fondly, "Students usually struggle with their proposals because they do not have anyone with more experience to confide in—other professors can be… a tad stricter when it comes to their policies." Rubbing the back of your neck, you remember the constant complaints of your students about your peers, and the worst of it all; the comparison that would always grinds your coworker's gears, saying you were a saint, compared to the demons they were. "Of course, I am not forcing you to show me, I am merely giving you an opportunity."

The boy looked conflicted, unsure whether to listen to you, or keep hiding whatever he had written on those papers. On one hand, he is more willing to talk about his findings and ideas to another person, especially his superiors, and make them believe his ideas are worth of notice, and deserving of praise. Yet he remained hesitant, nervous, as if he merely expected rejection from the start, no matter how brilliant his idea was.

In the end, he gave in. How could he not? It was such a good opportunity to pass up! And… If you weren't so quick to judge, then perhaps he could actually hear constructive criticism from you, rather than insults and harsh assumptions of his character.

He passed you his papers, fingers fiddling with each other as your hands got ahold of his slightly damp documents.

Zandik. That was his name, written on the very first page of the papers.

You immediately frown.

That was quite an odd name for a child. Why would they name their child an insult like that? You shake your head and regain your focus, deciding to avoid in your discussion. It was probably not something the boy wanted to talk about, anyways.

Thankfully, the ink hasn't been washed away, so you took your time to read through every single word carefully, finger tapping onto the wooden table, as you always would when it comes to grading your students' papers. You furrowed your brow and you absorbed every line with a sort of carefulness only professionals would have.

Zandik finds himself restless, bouncing his leg as he watched you intently read his research. You didn't show any emotion that Zandik could easily read—face blank, thoroughly focused and only nodding along to whatever part you were reading. He didn't want to show it, he really didn't, he wanted to appear strong, calm and nonchalant, but he couldn't help it, his heart was pounding so hard it was becoming sickening.

Then, you finally spoke, meeting Zandik's hopeful gaze with your soothing one's, holding his papers with such care and consideration. "I find this quite enlightening, Zandik. It is certainly something me and my peers have not considered about, especially your methods… I must say, this is something it'd want to conduct more research on." You truthfully admit, rechecking each page again and again, seeing if you've missed any vital information.

Zandik was practically breathless by the time you've finished speaking, a hand on his chest and heat rising to his cheeks, "R-really…?"

His voice—it sounded so weak, so fragile, it was almost regrettable with the words you were about to say.

"Unfortunately, I can't approve this."

And just like that, his heart breaks more than you could ever have known.

"B-but you just said—!" The chair scrapes against the floor, and it startles that cat sleeping on your feet, making her jump as Zandik casts an unforgiving gaze upon you, lips curled, teeth bared. He was furious, hurt, and aching. "Did you just say that to make fun of me!? To get my hopes up!? I knew I shouldn't—I never should've have! I'm so stu-"

"Not another word." You say sternly, setting your hands down onto the table with a very serious expression on your face; the kind of look every professor he's had would make when they're about to tell him that he has done something wrong.

He will not call himself stupid. Zandik is far from it.

The boy feels his eyes sting, fists clenched beside him as he sits back down.

"Zandik, your methods are out of reach, mostly by the Akademiya's standards. It is not something the we, as researchers of Sumeru, has explored just yet, therefore, it is a territory not many would try to understand." You speak to him softly, pouring not only the truth, but utter comfort to his obviously despairing heart. You should have probably considered to let him down a bit more gently, considering he was younger than your students… You are used to talking to your college students, rather than teenagers, "It is not within the Akademiya's rules, and I'm sure you know this."

"But it's something that could be a breakthrough if I am correct!" He angrily argues, slamming his palm onto the table and making your plates rattle. "Then what? By the time that the Akademiya changes their mind, someone else would make this discovery when I found it first!"

It was the harsh reality of the Akademiya—strict rules, close minded ways, and biased opinions; it was something you have suffered in this environment as well. What you once thought a place of nourishment for budding curiosities, merely squashed with hundreds of rules that only shackles those who remains with an imagination full of wonder. It favors those who are already well-known for their previous researches, while those who are unheard of suffers.

Although, it doesn't mean it was the end for Zandik. Not yet.

"I know it sounds a bit bleak, and I believe you must've been rejected multiple times now… But just because the system is flawed, doesn't mean you should give up."

Zandik blinks at you, a frown tugging at his lips as his eyes searched for yours, seeing if you were making him hope for nothing again, that you were just toying with him. "What… do you mean?"

"There are loop holes, ways for for you to achieve such greatness despite the restrictions," Tilting your head, you reach his papers back at him, only for him to see your signature at the bottom right corner, solid proof of your refutable acknowledgement. He sucked in a breath.

"And isn't that more thrilling? To challenge their beliefs to the point they can't do anything but change the system they have curated for so long?" You've got his full attention now, eyes wide as he stared at you, hugging his papers to his chest with a sparkle you haven't seen early in his eyes. "If you have to follow the rules for them to listen, then fine; show them what you could do, and how they are unjust they are."

It seems like you got through him, his fingers trembling as he chocked back a small sob, eyes cast down to the ground as he nodded. "I-I think I can do that…"

You smile at him, reaching out to him to lend him your hand. He stared at it for a moment, and decided to accept it, holding yours, squeezing your fingers as if it was his lifeline. "I'll be here to help you, if you'll ever need it."

The boy sniffled, nodding vigorously. "Okay." He says simply, before curling into himself more, still holding your hand and clinging onto the faint warmth. "…Thank you."

Laughing wholeheartedly at his response, you offer him a massive grin, "Don't mention it, kid. I have a soft spot for my students, even including those who doesn't attend my classes." You gently pat his shoulder as he looked up at you, your heart squeezing at how adorable he was. "I know how tough the Akademiya can be, and I try to ease the weight of it all as much as I can."

Standing from your seat, you see Zandik doing the same thing, grabbing his dirty dishes and rushing towards the sink and putting them at the kitchen counter top. It seems like he wanted to clean his own mess, but you wouldn't allow that, not with your guest! Though, when you told him to go rest in your bedroom (you'll be sleeping on your couch), while you finish cleaning up, he refused— sitting back down on his seat with a pout on his lips.

So, you decided to conversate.

You asked him why he was outside of his dorm so late.

He responded in a low, monotone voice, as if he was trying to not let it bother him. Zandik said that he was merely looking for his papers, ones that his classmates hid from him. Immediately, you felt a headache forming within your cranium— bullying is not uncommon within the walls of the Akademiya, but it's proving itself to be a growing, unresolved problem.

In exchange for every information Zandik tells you about himself, though as little as they may be, you share bits of yourself to the boy. How your researched changed the system, although only holding an effect so little than you'd like.

"…Do you really think I can do that too?"

And you'd simply chuckle at him, "Of course you can, you have bright ideas. I think I may have heard you once or twice from other professors, and I'll say, your grades are outstanding. Don't let anyone let you believe otherwise."

And before you knew it, he his head was laid within his arms, softly snoring into the night, with his papers still in his arms. You take the papers away from him, making sure they remained neat and uncrumbled, and carried the small boy in your arms, walking as carefully and silently as you could to your bedroom. There, you laid him on your bed, letting the soft cushions engulf him into a deeper slumber.

Taking off the Akasha System from his ear and putting it on your side table, you tuck him in with your blankets, watching the boy fade into a peaceful sleep. You have no idea what this kid has been through, or what he did to deserve all of these things— you've noticed long before, the bruises on his skin that he tries to cover, the faint scars that tells stories unbeknownst to you.

But that wasn't your concern for now; what you needed to do was be there until he feels better, and as a professor for the Akademiya, you are cheering him on, and awaiting for the time he will become your pupil. After all, it seemed like he was in the same Darshan you mostly teach your classes on.

The cat you've been caring for hopped onto your best, much to your surprise, and settling onto Zandik's stomach. He looked disturbed by this, face scrunching as the cat purred on him—she was quite heavy. But he didn't move to push her away, only putting a hand on top of her as they slept.

You sigh as you walked out of the room, and tapped into your Akasha System. You have to message your superiors that you can't clock in tomorrow, stating you had… family emergencies, then excuse Zandik to his teachers.

You'll do what you could to help the kid out, as little as it can be.

It felt like the right thing to do.

"See? It worked exactly as expected.." 18 dusted off his robes, pushing away a laughing 8.

You tried to pay the squabbling boys no mind, instead placing yourself in the original's lap and pressing a kiss to his cheek to mitigate the annoyance already present in his expression. Being awoken by that many people surely didn't sit well with someone claiming to never have impromptu naps before bed.

"Ah ah, before you get cranky," you briefly pressed your lips to his to further pacify him, "they have something they want to say." You looked expectantly at the assembled group of fidgeting segments. Everyone except 35 who had been sent to take care of a meeting. They all looked equally uncomfortable. "Right boys?"

18 sneered and looked away. 65 chuckled.

"Happy father's day" Despite practicing, they sounded terribly out of sync.

Zandik sat in stunned silence, his fingers tightening around the armrests before he instead moved his hands to rub at his eyes.

"Am I dreaming? Or dead?"

You shook your head and laughed at the collective groan from the segments.

8 was the first to step forward, nearly tossing a little plush into Zandik's arms. It vaguely resembled an aranara, if aranara were made from mismatched fabric scraps and had bolts instead of eyes.

The child seemed to have opened the floodgates and both 18 and 25 approached in rapid succession with their own 'offerings'. A piece of knafeh in a box quite a bit smaller than the batch you knew the segment had made, and a new chain for his monocle.

45 had been reluctant to participate at all and decided to once more air out his thoughts on the matter by sighing loudly as he approached the stunned Zandik. A bottle of wine was placed neatly into his lap.

65 hummed while he approached. By now, Zandik had somewhat recovered from the initial shock and had taken to inspecting each item with disbelief, gently setting them aside onto the nearby coffee table.

"This," 65 began with something akin to glee in his hushed voice, "is in my humble opinion the best gift any 'father' could wish for." A small bundle of paper slips changed hands before the masked segment backed away. "Each ticket is good for one use, spend them wisely."

"You'll go to gatherings for me?" Zandik's brow furrowed as he thumbed through the handwritten tickets.

"Oh heavens no, but I'll make one of the others do it on your behalf." 65 chuckled as the other segments froze in disbelief.

You had to bury your face against Zandik's neck to stifle your laughter as 65 began herding the segments out as their arguing grew louder.

"Happy father's day."

Zandik huffed in disbelief as the door closed, the segments' angry shouting gradually growing more distant as they went down the hall. He set aside the last gift, ruffling your hair with a deep sigh.

"And what about you? Nothing for me for my effort in 'raising' them?"

You snorted, bringing up a hand to cup his cheek.

"The effort of convincing them to do this was quite enough effort on my part don't you think? Or are you so greedy that you want more?"

Zandik smiled fondly and adjusted you in his lap. "My dear, when would I ever say no to more of your affection? But first, I want to know exactly what you said to get them to agree, spare me no detail."

From his perch against the southern bookcases, Lohen watched you with his arms crossed over his chest. In his right hand, he held his favorite blade, twirling it around his finger until the hilt pressed into his palm, then twirling it around again. The soft sound of his knife hitting the fabric of his glove was quick to fill the space around him, which had returned to near silence yet again after Theodore’s departure.

You walked past him with a stack of books in your hands, giving him a glance. “Can you put that away, please?”

He sighed through his nose. Slotting his dagger back into its sheath, he pouted dejectedly at your back. You didn’t pay him a shred of attention, instead focusing on your duties of restocking the bookshelves and rearranging any misplaced codices.

Lohen sighed aloud. When you still didn’t turn around, he sighed yet again. Sighing so hard and so repetitively that he was nearly going dizzy from it, you eventually turned around with a smile that didn’t match the glare in your eyes.

“What is it, Lohen?”

Lohen. It was always ‘Lohen’ with you. But with Theodore, it was ‘Theo’.

“Nothing,” he said, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Nothing at all.”

You stared at him for a moment, then eventually frowned. Your voice was gentle. “You look upset.”

“Upset? I’m not upset.” Lohen shrugged again, glaring down at the wood floor. “What would make you think I’m upset?”

Your hands directed his face to yours. He ignored the flush of warmth that it sent through his cheeks, and tried further to ignore the sudden thrill in his chest. When you smiled, he swallowed his nerves.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

“N-nothing,” he answered, his hands rising to your wrists. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”

“If you were fine you would have been using your cryo-infused hand to scare me when my back was turned,” you laughed. Softening your voice, you said, “Please, just talk to me. I don’t want you to be upset, Lohen.”

The way your thumbs brushed over his cheeks felt all too tender. Smiling rather awkwardly, he squeezed your wrists between his fingers.

“We started at ‘Vice Captain’,” he said, “and then we got to ‘Lohen’. But we never got much farther past that.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Theodore. Theodore is ‘Theo’. But me? I’m ‘Lohen’.”

“Well, that’s your—...oh,” you said inquisitively, your eyes widening. “I see what you mean. You want me to give you a nickname?”

“It doesn’t…have to be a nickname,” he babbled, feeling oddly out of his element as he did. “I mean, I call you Bun and Princess. But you only ever call me ‘Lohen’, even though I know you call other people shorter names and stuff.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want me to, Lohen. How does handsome sound?”

Your arms looped around his neck, and as you smiled with those half-lidded eyes of yours, Lohen’s nervous laughter burst from his lips. Staring at you with wide eyes and a face so hot, he was convinced his vision had flipped to pyro, he quickly said, “That’s a lot more embarrassing than I thought it would be.”

“Hm?” You tilted your head, staring down at his mouth as you grinned. “What, you don’t like that, sweetheart?”

“Fuck,” Lohen stammered, his eyes shifting around the library. “Bun, quit.”

“But honey,” you purred, the heat of your breath tickling his upper lip. “You’re the one who wanted me to call you something different. You mean you don’t like it?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” he answered, his grin hurting his face. “Stop it.”

“Oh, but, baby. You look like you like it.”

“Let’s just…let’s just go back to Lohen.”

You laughed, and with a chaste press of your mouth to his, he laughed back. He glanced around once more, ensuring the library was as empty as ever before throwing his arms around your hips. Backing you into the bookshelf, his grinning lips pressed against yours before he gave you a playful little nibble.

“I’m working,” you laughed.

“Take a five minute break,” he crooned.

“Vice Captain,” you murmured. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Oh, yeah? That so, Library Girl?”

The way you giggled tickled his ears. He pressed his lips to your cheek, peppering kisses against the corner of your mouth as you laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Lohen,” you said, ever so dearly. “You know I just like the sound of your name, right?”

He cracked a smile.

“You know, whenever you say it, Bun…I like the sound of it too.”

Omega grabbed you by the hair, ignoring Zandik's words of protest. If you wanted the old man's cock that bad, he'd make you take it the way you deserved. His hands moved down to grab you by the hips, his gloves cold against your skin.

The segment pulled you up and down with reckless abandon, trying not to laugh at the strained look on Zandik's face, or how you were louder than before. "Look at this, Zandik. It seems you can't even get your wife to orgasm without assistance." Your hand blindly reached for the segment, but it didn't matter much, as ignored your pitiful attempts of resistance.

Zandik squirmed underneath you, the harsh pace was too much for his frail body. "Omega, you wretched rat! You... you're so..." You felt his cock twitching inside you as he came, his head thrown back as a few pained groans escaped him. Omega grabbed you off of him, shoving you face first on the mattress. "Tsk, tsk. Do not worry Zandik, I shall take over. Might as well show our dear wife how much fun she'll be having with me while you rot in the ground."

The sounds of your shared grunts and moans did bring in some uninvited visitors. Omega forgot to close the door properly, or perhaps he did it on purpose? He wanted the original to feel humiliated, fucking you in front of an audience, with the old bastard not being able to do anything but watch as he took you in ways he could only dream of.

"Dude, he's pounding her while the geezer is watching! And they didn't invite me! How is this fair??" Webttore stomped his foot on the ground like a child, and if it wasn't for 18 dragging him away, he would've marched in there and demanded to join in.

Omega had you right where he wanted to. He made eye contact with Zandik, before grabbing your face with his hand and spitting in your mouth. "Swallow it all up. There we go. Show your husband how much you love it."

"After school is okay, right?" His brow briefly arched in concern, misreading your fluster for something else entirely. Were you busy with something afterschool? What were you busy with? Another guy? The unpleasant thought immediately pulled a frown out of him, filling him with more distaste than he’d like to admit. That, was a variable he didn’t account for… No, it could be something else. Maybe it was the weather? The forecast did say it would rain today, but he had his umbrella, and he was more than willing to let you use it. Sharing an umbrella with your beloved under the rain was commonly known to be romantic, was it not?

Senku cupped his chin in deep ponder as he considered every case scenario. Or was it because the sun set rather early this season? No issue there, he was planning to walk you home from the very beginning anyway, well, if you would let him…. Or was it something else? Dammit, what the hell am I missing? Should he have waited to say something on White Day instead like common customs? But then that was an extra month he had to wait. It was inefficient. Ah, but couldn’t he just confess today, on Valentine's, and then do it again on White day? Matter of fact, he could just say he's fond of you everyday after today's confession onward, no?

"Um- sure?" You answered unsurely, still dazed from what you heard come out of his mouth.

He snapped out of his train of thoughts the moment your meek response reached his ears. "Be prepared then."

"Okay…" Cheeks flushing with embarrassment, you complied pathetically under his relentlessness. How could you possibly put up a fight against the persistence that was him?

"Why is your face so flushed?" He pointed out shamelessly, abruptly pressing his rough hand on your forehead to check your temperature as if his oblivious nature wasn't the very cause of your malfunction. "Do you have a fever or something? Why come to school if you're unwell? Dumbass."

"No! It's just… this is— well, you basically already confessed…" Shoulders sagging with defeat at his denseness, you finally addressed the elephant in the room.

"…."

A deafening silence ensued between the two of you, so deafening you debated whether you could really hear the beat of the man's heart before you or if it was imagination's cruel delusion playing tricks on you.

The realisation of his stupidity finally dawned upon him. His ears flushed a comical red, you watched with enamour as he rubbed the back of his neck with once-in-a-blue-moon kind of fluster. Senku’s attempt to hide behind his face framing strands was undeniably pathetic, so much so you couldn’t help the titter that left you.

"Damn it... A brain clouded by love really is the most irrational kind..."

a/n: first dcst fic! it’s lowkey a slightly altered version of a rin/sae fic that i wrote but i thought it fit Senku sm so i just had to 😭 comment below if u have any dcst fic requests! most of all, i hope you enjoyed!

dcst! masterlist

When Senku said that he would be reviving someone crucial to their plan of bringing back all humans from stone, everyone from the Kingdom of Science developed their own image in their head.

Chrome imagined another genius like Senku, someone who can help create things that seemed like magic.

Kohaku expected an athlete, meant to do the heavy lifting that she normally found herself doing for Senku and his experiments.

Ginro shook at the thought of a leader, commanding and terrifying and ready to rule over the Kingdom of Science with an iron fist.

Obviously, Senku thought it was unnecessary to explain who he was actually planning on reviving and what they were like, because no one expected him to emerge from the thickness of the forest with someone like... you.

You, who looked as normal as could be, save for the cracks etched upon your skin from the de-petrification process.

"Senku... who is this?" Kohaku asked. Typical of her, one of the only ones who had the guts to openly question the scientist's judgement.

Senku grinned like he had just uncovered diamonds (and to him, maybe he did). "This, ladies and gentlemen of the stone world, is the capable apothecary back from the modern world."

You had smiled and nodded at them, introducing yourself. "Nice to meet you all. I look forward to working with you."

Gen was the only one who was actually wary of you — you, who did not seem fazed at all when you came out of the petrification to find yourself in a world that has descended into over three thousand years without a single human soul from the modern world.

From his experience, the only ones who had that kind of reaction to this new age were the ones that had a couple of screws loose in their brains, much like Senku.

If only he had followed his gut.

After you had explained to the rest of the Kingdom of Science what an apothecary was, little Suika was eager to learn form you as you wandered through the forest together in search for herbs. Senku had your own clinic constructed beside his lab, where you kept various leaves and plants that you thought would be useful.

It took a few weeks for you to properly settle in and get used to the difficult simplicity of things, but once you did, Senku knew that he had to keep a tighter leash on you.

"Kinro, Ginro," he had told them one day when you were holed up in your clinic. "While you're guarding the village, make sure that the apothecary doesn't leave the area."

Ginro had tilted his head, confused. You kept to yourself most of the time, sure, but you seemed harmless to him. "Why?"

Senku shook his head. "Trust me, you do not want to see what would happen if they're left unsupervised."

Nonetheless, Kinro and Ginro nodded. It was part of the rules to be wary of outsiders anyway, so Kinro had no problem keeping an eye on you.

But of course, even the strict Kinro could sometimes slip, especially with someone as sneaky as you under their watch.

They didn't even notice you were gone until Gen went into the clinic one day to bother you, only to find it empty.

He thought that bringing it up with Senku would be no big deal, and that he would probably know where you were.

Until his news of your sudden disappearance caused Senku to look up from his messy science-y notes so fast Gen knew that man had to have gotten whiplash.

"Get Suika, Kohaku, and Chrome and tell them to search the forest," he barked, storming out of his lab like a man on a mission.

Gen stumbled to keep up with him, eyebrows pinching together. Why was Senku, the normally logical, overall detached scientist, act like you not being here was a war crime?

Gen began to question how much you really meant to the scientist. Obviously you were something to him, seeing as you didn't have extraordinary skills, and yet you were still one of the very few people that Senku decided to revive.

Either way, this level of overprotectiveness is crazy! Gen thought.

"Wha — What are you gonna do?!" The mentalist sputtered.

"I'm gonna have a word with the bodyguards," Senku grumbled, and he didn't wait to see if Gen left to do what he was told (he did leave — no way did he want to deal with an angry Senku) before he approached Kinro and Ginro at the end of the bridge.

"I thought I told you to watch the apothecary!" He said, his voice shaky and maniacal, the way it always sounded when he was stressed about something. "They're gone!"

Kinro was the first to speak up this time. "I apologize for losing sight of them, but guarding the village is our number one priority. If they leave the Kingdom of Science, which is not technically part of the village, then it is not really our concern."

"They could be anywhere doing gods know what!" Senku threw his hands up, one raking through his hair.

"They — They couldn't have gone that far," Ginro reassured, but his hands were shaking the spear that he held. "They're probably still around the area, gathering their herbs or something!"

The statement was meant to reassure Senku.

It did not.

"Shit, what if they come across...?" Senku began mumbling to himself, walking away as he dived deep into his thoughts.

In the end, it was Kohaku that found you.

In a not so good condition.

"They're unconscious!" Kohaku called out as she came out into the clearing of the Kingdom of Science with you in her arms. "There are weird, soapy things coming out of their mouth."

Senku almost tripped over himself to get a better look at you. There was foam on the corners of your purple lips. Your skin was deathly pale, and your chest was barely rising.

But you were alive, that was the good thing. Keeping you alive would be a different challenge.

"You stupid apothecary," Senku laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

Despite his... less superior strength, he took you out of Kohaku's arms and brought you to your clinic, laying you on the stretcher on the ground as he rummaged through your shelves of remedies and herbs.

"This is why you can never leave my sight," he said, more to himself than you. "Who knows what you find in this forest? The plants are different from how they were three thousand years ago, of course you'd be curious of its properties. Of course you'd test it on yourself."

He found a bottle you had labeled "generic antidote" and snatched that one.

He pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought the lid of the bottle to your lips.

"No."

He paused his movements when he heard you. Your words were more air than voice, but he had heard you nonetheless due to your proximity.

"Your lips are purple, you're foaming at the mouth, you're deathly pale, and you're barely breathing," Senku listed down. "That's the generic effects of poison. What's wrong with the generic antidote?"

Your eyes cracked open, and Senku almost recoiled in shock.

"Your eyes are black."

Sure enough, even the part of your eyes that were supposed to be white were almost fully coated in black, like you had put on contacts.

"Different... poison..." you muttered, like speaking was the hardest thing you ever did in your life. "White petals, salt... the green paste in the small bottle. Grind 'n boil 'em 'until 'til they bubble."

"Is there enough time for that?" Senku asked, but he was already reaching for the ingredients. His hands moved with lightning speed, determined to give you the antidote.

"Yeah... got lots of time..." you had started to fade into unconsciousness, but Senku was quick to lightly slap your cheek.

"Oi, stay awake, stupid apothecary," he commanded.

"Yessir," you slurred slightly, a weak grin on your face.

The preparation took forever, when in reality it only took around twenty minutes until he had a strange concoction in a bowl, ready for consumption.

He knelt beside you, pushing you up into a sitting position so the antidote would travel around your body faster.

With one hand behind your back and the other holding the bowl, he brought the antidote to your lips. "Open up."

You drank obediently, your face faintly scrunching up at the expectedly awful taste, but you had finished everything in the bowl.

"Good." Senku laid you back down. "Now you can rest."

He didn't even need to tell you that; you were already knocked out the moment you had drank the last of the antidote.

—————

Throughout the rest of the day, various people came to check in on you, asking Senku how you were doing and if you were alive.

He was quick to snap at all of them, telling them that you would recover faster if it was quiet. Obviously that wouldn't really change anything, but they don't need to know that.

You woke up late at night, your head feeling like a balloon and your body feeling like lead.

Senku perked up from his seat on the side of the clinic when he heard you groan, immediately standing up and kneeling by your side.

"You good, apothecary?" He hated how worried his voice sounded; a scientist like him shouldn't be chained down by emotions.

But you literally just poisoned yourself, so could you really blame him?

"I..." It took you so long to finish your answer that Senku was convinced that you had fallen asleep again, until you bolted upright with the widest grin on your mouth. The contrast of your bright smile with your pale face and bloodshot eyes made you look like a character straight out of a horror game. "I feel great!"

Senku blinked. "Huh?"

"Did you get the flower that I ate?" You started rambling, pulling at your sleeves to examine your skin, as if looking for residual poison. "I knew that there would be new kinds of natural poison around here since it's been a couple hundred years, but wow! That flower was unlike anything I've ever tested —"

Your eyes suddenly snapped to Senku's. "Did you record how long it took for me to pass out? How long it took for the antidote to take effect? My symptoms? How close I was to death?"

Senku was in disbelief, to put it lightly. He knew from the moment that he met you that you were as passionate about poisons as he was about science, but he forgot how actually insane you were.

"It took you eight hours to recover, but that doesn't include the time from when the poison started to take effect to the time that Kohaku found you," Senku replied, not to answer your question, but to scold you. "What have I told you about trying poisons out without telling anyone?! What would have happened if I didn't tell the Kingdom of Science to look for you?!"

You waved his concern away like it was unnecessary (it was very much necessary). "My heartbeat would have been slow enough to not even be detected by a machine, my chest would barely rise, but I was confident that I wouldn't die. I'm immune to most poisons."

"Well, obviously not this one!" Senku groaned. He felt like pulling his hair out. "You could have died!"

You put your hand to your chin, suddenly deep in thought. "What if the flower gives you the effects of death, but in reality, it doesn't actually kill you? Or what if it does kill you, but giving an antidote can basically revive you?" You muttered.

It was like Senku wasn't even there!

He slapped the back of your head, hard enough to pull you out of your brain but not hard enough to actually hurt you. "Stop that! Stop plotting ways to commit suicide! You're grounded until further notice!"

"But Senku!" You whined, clutching the front of his shirt like you were begging for your life rather than freedom to roam through the forest and find more lethal poisons. "This is the pinnacle of poison discovery! I'm the only one alive that has true experience with poison, and I could find new ones that'll be named after me and carry my legacy for generations!"

"I understand that discovery comes with risk, but this is neither necessary nor calculated risk on your part!" Senku retorted, flicking your hand away. "Kohaku was already caught off guard when you were surrounded by strange, purple flowers!"

The silence made Senku sweat. He should not have said that.

Before he could react, you were already out of the cot, dashing out of the clinic. The fire in front of Chrome's storage facility was still alive, which meant that there were still people awake in the Kingdom of Science.

You spotted a familiar head of blonde hair. "Kohaku!" You called, dragging her name out as you ran towards her, your smile as maniacal as your laugh as you evaded Senku, who was shouting at you to get back to bed.

You slid on the ground, stopping right beside Kohaku. You grabbed her shoulders and made you face her. "Do you remember where you found me? Did you get any of the flowers that you found me with? Do you —"

"Do not answer any of their questions!" Senku interrupted, wrapping his arms around your waist and hauling you up. "It'll only encourage them to test stuff on themself!"

The rest of the people surrounding the campfire — old man Kaseki, Chrome, and Gen — stared at you in horror. You thrashed around in Senku's arms, but ultimately gave up when his hold on you never faltered. For a scientist who normally lacked physical strength, he sure was good at keeping you in place.

"I knew there was something wrong with you," Gen muttered, a scared smile spreading on his lips.

"This is bad," Chrome moaned, clutching the sides of his head like he just found a live bomb. "I thought the apothecary was tamer and more mature than Senku. Turns out they're just as bad!"

"No," Kohaku shook her head, watching Senku drag you back to the clinic where he would undoubtedly imprison you until you were fully recovered and properly confined within the Kingdom grounds. "They're worse."

Kaseki sighed, tending to the fire. "At least young Senku is there to keep them in line. It seems he cares about them very much."

Gen nodded. He may have missed you being a complete suicidal maniac, but that's one thing he was sure of: despite your tendencies, Senku was always there to make sure you never actually "step into the light", so to speak.

And he's pretty certain that will not change any time soon, not even in the stone world.

You took it upon yourself to sit him down and hammer it into his ‘pretty blond head’ (your words, not his) that if he wanted to keep hunting down the Abyss order, then sure, he could go ahead, you’d even gladly assist him, but you two would be taking breaks from time to time.

The word 'vacation' wasn't in his vocabulary? Now it was, and you’d make sure to spell it out to him. 

You had too little time to deal with the enemy? Dear, you both were literally cursed to keep living for eternity, and Teyvat was too big and you were just two people, cut yourself some slack.

Mora? More commissions!

He had no desire to converse with strangers for too long and spend more than one day among them? Alright, you’d do the talking, he’d do the scary dog privileges. And you could change inns every night, when money allowed.

People could recognize your heritage by the clothes and the shape of your irises and ask too many questions? …well, he was an idiot for not thinking about using different clothes for disguise in the past (how was his uniform even still intact??). As for the eyes… You’d figure it out along the way!

Any complaints? Pff, should’ve thought about it before he married you.

Dainsleif glances at the ring on his finger - a simple silver band wrapped around the base of his digit has long left an indent on his skin. In your homeland it was customary for spouses to wear the silver bracelets with all kinds of meaningful ornaments, but Khaenri’ah is gone, and the vast majority of Teyvat population use rings to demonstrate the bond; you opted to adjust.

And adjust you did, too well actually, as the man doesn’t find you in the small cozy house you rented for your stay in the Masters’ of the Night-Wind tribe. Knowing you, - and over the course of at least two centuries staying inseparable he came to know you too well, - you took another invitation to feast with the locals, to ‘shape your image of a regular couple through conversation’, as you called it.

Your husband sighs, adjusting the long glove on his arm that is hiding the darkened flesh and unnaturally bluish veins, getting ready to go and search for you. He trusts you, of course, but the residents of this tribe can be– how should he put it… well, weird (like it wasn’t the main reason why you chose the very tribe in the first place - you’d stand out even less). Their ‘shamans’ sometimes could see what’s concealed and even look into the foggy future, and it gave him an inexplicable ick.

He feels he’d be less agitated if he was close to where you are.

A burst of laughter catches his attention just as Dainsleif leaves the house. Looks like you didn’t go far (yes, he is certain that you are the cause of this unseen merit), just to one of your neighbours. Good, easier for him. Checking on his glove again, tugging the short sleeve of a local tunic lower and brushing some locks over his mask, the blond takes off in the sound’s direction.

The first thing he sees is the gleam of metal - the sunray that gets caught on your own wedding band, as you are using your hands expressively to gesticulate along the words you say. Four–no, five women are seated at the table together with you, some still giggling, some taking sips from their drinks, but all are listening attentively. He too stops in the shadow of the house to listen to you, leaning his shoulder on the wall with crossed arms.

“Soooo,” you lock your fingers together with a grin and mischief swirling in your eyes (Dainsleif can’t help but tilt his head with a ghost of a smile at the sight), “funny story, we actually agreed to get married at some point in the future if none of us would be settled by that time! Guess who’d been waiting for me~”

Another fit of giggles and coos erupts; someone whistles even, raising her glass to cheer, and everyone follows suit - you included. And your husband - the one you were undoubtedly telling these women about - closes his eyes for a moment, mulling over your ‘image-shaping’ words.

You aren’t even lying - for the first part of your claim, that is. Such a promise was indeed made half a millennium ago between two Khaenri’ahns, who couldn’t have known that they wouldn’t be reaching a point in age above their twenties. Not in a normal sense, at least.

A promise that he was reminded of a couple decades into your shared journey. It was the evening and the sun was setting at the horizon, as Dainsleif was gazing at the vast water surface surrounding the city of Fontaine. From the top of a cliff on Beryl Island, where you set your camp for the last night of that trip to the Hydro region, the view was truly breathtaking, and you didn’t even complain about not staying at the inn.

Soon he understood why.

“What is it?”

“Open and find out.”

The man stared up at the small velvet box resting on your open palm. It was square-shaped and looked new, so he quickly abandoned thoughts of some kind of treasure you’d found in the ruins nearby. Had you bought some kind of trinket for yourself? No, you wouldn’t have kept it closed then. In that case, a present?

He was still skeptical about gifts - be it giving or receiving, and yet he reached for the mysterious object. Cradling the box in his big palm, he, subconsciously, waited a few heartbeats until you lowered onto the grass and settled next to him. He noted that you were acting weird: your eyes either watched him intensely or averted with an almost shy purse of your lips; your hands were twitching, no matter how hard you were trying to press them against your thighs, and your overall posture was quite tense. If he hadn’t known better, hadn’t known you better, he would’ve found that whole situation quite concerning and suspicious.

Nevertheless, he trusted you to know that whatever was in that box - it was harmless. So he opened it.

“A…ring?”

Confused, Dainslef stared at the simple silver band with several dark blue stones. Just like his eyes.

“Well…” You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders a little in attempts to put on a brave face. “Remember how we agreed to get married, if by the time we turned thirty we were still single? I know it’s very much overdue, but since we’ve never gotten to do that…and we are both still single…”

After that you started rambling. About rings being more common than bracelets up there and how you thought it was more proper to propose with one. About the commission you’d placed at the blacksmith’s the first time you visited the main city, and how worried you’d been about its timely completion. About the perks of getting married and stuff alike.

Somewhere halfway through your speech, Dainsleif finally tore his eyes from the ring and looked at you - truly looked at you. At the way the gentle wind played with your hair, at the gleam of vividness in your eyes he always admired, at your smile he caught himself staring at these days (and, admittedly, back then too), at the hands that always moved with familiar animosity.

He could not believe this was really happening. For a moment his brain shut down.

“...old people love young married couples! Imagine how many benefits we could–”

“But we can always pretend to be married?”

Yes, his stupid brain chose the worst time to stop functioning the way he needed it to.

“…” He saw your smile falter. Slowly, starting with the corners of your mouth lowering, it crumbled. The spark in your eyes faded, and you blinked, holding his gaze for just a moment longer and then averting yours altogether. Dainsleif immediately wanted to punch himself.

“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to. It’s fine. It’s fine!” How could it be fine when you said it twice? “It really is overdue, it’s been many lifetimes ago. We were what, fifteen?”

“I was seventeen,” he suddenly corrected you, startling and effectively crashing another of your incipient ramblings, “and you were fifteen. We actually argued immediately on whose 30th birthday we should consider the point of this promise’s implementation.”

“Oh…yes, I do remember that,” your words were careful, but he managed to hear the slight astonishment in your tone. You were definitely surprised he had any recollection of that. But how could he not? You were always very dear to him.

Yes, maybe he did not think you’d ever breach the ‘friendship’ line, but at that very moment, with a velvet box still held firmly in his hand, Dainsleif came to realize - he did not mind putting a more definite label to your relationship.

“If you truly mean it,” his voice was softer when he spoke to you again, “then I’d be honored to accept this ring.”

Your eyes brightened up immediately and your shoulders relaxed with an exhale of relief. And suddenly you were on your back on the grass, pressing your palms to your face and smiling stupidly, overwhelmed with emotions.

“Oh, whoever is listening, thank you.”

The continuation of that evening was a little bit chaotic. Eventually you calmed down, asked him again (and again, and again) if he was really sure, and after the tenth answered ‘yes’, you finally reached for the box, and he let you take a hold of his free hand and slide the cool metal band around his finger (it was surprisingly fitting, he noted with fondness). You talked: about the past, the present and the future. 

You admitted you’d liked him for a long time, but he had been so busy as a royal guard and had no time for any kind of romantic relationship… Waiting till your 30s had seemed like your safest option, though maybe kind of a potentially futile one.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and brought you closer, murmuring into your hair how grateful he was for your patience. And swore to never betray it.

Plans on the wedding - where? when? how? - brought you back to the tent, and you fell asleep with a sweet giggle and another life-changing suggestion.

“Since you are unable to come up with a fake name instead of your own to save your life… Once we get married…we can call each other ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ in front of strangers… Hehe, I like the sound of it…” 

He quickly grew to like it too.

“...band! Husband!”

He’s shaken from his thoughts by your voice, nearly scraping his shoulder on the house’s outer wall in attempts to steady his slackened body. Did he doze off?

Blinking owlishly a few times, Dainsleif turns his head and finds six pairs of eyes staring at him: some curiously, some creased from a giggle, and only yours are gazing at him with adoration. Looks like you noticed him ‘watching’ you from the shadow of the trees and tried to call him over albeit in vain. No wonder that upon finally getting a reaction from him, you slide on a mask of pretense indignation at his previous lack of attention.

“Oh, look at that, my dear husband finally heard me,” you huff, leaning your cheek on a fisted hand, but the smile that fights its way to your face betrays you. “Don’t just stand there, come here, join us!”

And you were telling these women that he used to be the one waiting?

The engagement ring is warm against the skin of his chest, hung there snugly on a chain, as Dainsleif removes himself from the wall and steps out of the shadows with a serene smile.

“Of course, my dear wife.”

Dottore

Despite your unique predicament, you find amusement in being the Doctor’s wife. 

Sure, you are not human, rather an engineering marvel, running on self-learning programs which teach you the way of life and emotion. You are the creation of the Seventh Harbinger - a project to test her own ability to implement the things that should be foreign to her artificial being into the ‘machine’ of her making. And for her, you turned out to be perfect - her magnum opus.

Which was stolen by the colleague of hers in the most ridiculous way possible - claimed by the right of ownership through the marriage.

You still remember the rage Sandrone overcame with, her face twisted in pure hatred and mouth shooting out a seemingly never-ending flow of curses directed at your now husband, as she was working on the last update of your inner structures before everything would’ve been handed to Dottore on the plate with a silver lining. And though you didn’t quite understand the emotion, you still catalogued the visual of it carefully in that part of your processor that was dedicated to your creator.

Because you ‘loved’ her. As much as an artificial creation could love her artificial creator, who granted her the permission to study the world around without being in her presence 24/7.

Sadly, though the decision was beautiful and gracious - it was a mistake.

Sandrone gave you the freedom that was almost immediately stripped from you.

And so one manually created presence was replaced by the several synthetic entities, excluding your husband of flesh.

His clones are…all different. 

The younger segments are more huffy than the ones who came after, and seem to entirely consist of glares and snarly curls of their mouths, as if the entirety of the world humiliated them. But still, the excitement with which each of them would tell you about their research, should you express your interest, varies with their assigned age.

You enjoy the conversations with the young ones, they are interesting and productive - learning through them about trauma and searching for the way to comfort them so it would be paying off instead of sending one of them into further spiral. And they flush so adorably when they hear other segments call you ‘wife’ and mutter quietly this word when they want you to pay attention to them.

Then come the clones from the Doctor’s time when he first joined the ranks of the Fatui and was working there for quite a number of years. These seem more composed, but…in reality they are sharp-tongued, and the most irritated when distracted. At first, they acted like you were dirt under their shoes: their lack of desire to see the purpose of your existence in their world went so far that they were the only ones who addressed you by your model’s number, assigned by Sandrone a long time ago, while you were still in development.

Luckily, with their constant need to seek approval from the people above them, these clones are usually away on missions, and you rarely interact with them. You don’t think you lose a lot - being demeaned isn't something you fancy.

Moving forward on the age scale, there are the…crazy ones. They distinctly show the exact moment the original tasted the real power entrusted to him and was overjoyed with impunity and ability to bend the rules that came before that. Their facial expressions are the richest and the eyes are the wildest - you can spend hours watching one of them go off on a tangent, gesticulating with his whole body, eyes practically rotating in their sockets, while you’re memorising the expressive ways in which he operates.

You find pushing several of those into an argument entertaining. Especially when multiple pairs of ruby red eyes stare at you and each of them tries to outshout the other with the ‘I’m the one in the right, right?? Right, wife??’, which quickly transforms into the ‘She is not your wife, she is my wife, you, imbeciles! Mine! Mine! Mine!’

Later segments are calmer. Collected. All sharp toothy polished smiles and words that they seem to dig from the depths of the interlocutor’s own brain and feed right back to them. These ones’ minds are the closest to the original, so you have the most fun learning from them.

The most important thing is, however, that they are granted permission to fix you. Your physical form needs proper maintenance and they are quite nice at handling you. Sometimes though they offer you to participate in their experiments where you - are the test subject. And, being the curious dear one, you let them unscrew your limbs, or take all your senses but one away, or blow the whole room of dynamite with you inside, or…many other things you don’t really keep count of at this point.

But they are always careful and particular in bringing you back to the original state, making you giggle when many hands run all over your body, rearranging, screwing, soldering, polishing, wiping. Plus, their fingers stuck in your wires with content murmurs of ‘good wife, you’ve done wonderfully’ is probably the closest you’ve ever felt to the pleasure humans get through the raw connection of coitus.

It’s important to note, that in your day to day life, you’ve always been by the side of at least one of Dottore’s clones. Doing research, running tests, traveling to other regions for missions, even going to the Fatui functions together, especially with Omega. You know he loves driving Sandrone mad, bringing you closer to his body by grabbing at your waist and sweetly telling another of his colleagues how lucky he is that you are here too.

“I just can’t get enough of my wife.”

You never forget to wave at your creator with a small smile, wanting to apologize for the way he acts, but she always gives you a strange look - a long look, paired with her elegant eyebrows pinching together and teeth sinking into her lower lip, before she casts her eyes to the side and turns away entirely, ordering Pulonia to move somewhere else.

Pulonia… Maybe you too should’ve agreed to accept a name from Sandrone when she offered it to you?

Even though Dottore deemed it unnecessary.

Ah, Dottore… 

As much as you find your time with the segments quite enjoyable, the original to you…it’s complicated. At first, you were curious, seeking him out on your own, and being extremely pleased if you were paired with him for whatever. But something strange has been going on for a while. 

Despite your growing understanding of human emotions and ability to utilize them, your system is running on the rules of logic, on a prewritten algorithm which is supposed to collect, process and store away the information, and yet you are unable to find the piece of data in your memory that would describe why you sometimes find your husband…unsettling. It's as if the truth was locked out somewhere in your processor, like you don’t remember the occasion, but the reaction it sparked - remained.

So, you never told him. Nor the segments. During the check-ups on your internal systems - the procedure only the Prime had the rights to do - you always said that you assessed their work acceptable.

There shouldn't be anything wrong.

[ERROR: ’ZandikNoNegative’ is suspended]

[Initiate system reboot]

[Failed to start reboot: permission denied]

Nothing is wrong with you.

[ERROR: ’OrdersZandikOnly’ is suspended]

[Initiate system reboot]

[Failed to start reboot: permission denied]

And you didn’t find him tinkering with anything that made you - you, necessary. Neither with the data of your life experience, nor your feelings, nor your mind– 

[ERROR: ’DatabaseControlZandik’ is suspended]

[Initiate system reboot]

[Failed to start reboot: permission denied]

[ERROR]

[REBOOT]

[FAIL]

[ERROR]

[REBOOT]

[FAIL]

[ERROR]

[REBOOT]

[FAIL]

[ERROR]

[REBOOT]

[FAIL]

…then why is your head practically splitting?

[ERROR]

[REBOOT]

[FAIL]

The surface of the table you had to lean onto, on the verge of a processor meltdown, is cold under your palms, but you feel like it’s seconds away from heating up to your body’s temperature. You’ve gone into overload: all you see is red, all you hear is error-reboot-fail, all you can think of is the fact it’s getting harder with every passing second not to match the notifications in their screaming.

Should’ve left him there.

You almost wince when ‘OrdersZandikOnly’ tries to restart again, but will yourself to shut it down prematurely. 

It hurts, it hurts so much. These are not my programs.

‘DatabaseControlZandik’ is shut down before the reboot command could even pass through, along with several other ones. Damn it, since when there’s been so much trash in your head???

Trash…

You have to manually remove the ’ZandikNoNegative’ as it springs in your line of vision once more. Holy crap, it's so bad - you can hardly make out the surroundings of the barely lit base–lab? no one knows about, where you brought Dottore according to his instructions after he’d failed.

Right… you brought him here after he lost the battle that should've established his divine authority. The battle he’d been preparing for for so long, and you were the prime witness of it. After all, where else would you be if not by his side, since Omega removed the majority of the segments from existence?

To this day you've been mad at Zandik for letting him do it.

Now, as the crushing realization of the prior events finally overpowers the flashing lines of warning texts running through your mind, you can no longer ignore the foreign but such a correct feeling rising in your chest. Something you once saw on your creator’s face and, not quite understanding the full meaning behind it, catalogued the visual of it carefully in that part of your processor that was dedicated to her.

Rage.

And, overtaken by it, you are not sure what you are capable of.

“...and that harridan Sandrone,” the deep voice that usually sends chills down his subordinate’s backs and brings the test subjects to panic reaches you as if through the thick fog. Ah, right, here is your survivor of a husband. “I studied her, I know all about her self-centered, haughty character. I made sure to minimize the chance of her interference with my plans, yet there she was! Sacrificing herself for the sake of distracting me from her pile of junk. I should’ve gotten rid of her long–”

“Shut up.”

The silence is immediate. It takes you five seconds to understand that the strained voice that practically spat the two words out is yours.

“What. Did you. Just say.”

Slowly, curling your fingers into fists (and accidentally scraping the table in the process), you turn to look at the man over your shoulder. He is standing ten feet away from you, clearly having been abruptly stopped in his tracks. You can see the sharp teeth peeking, since his mouth has frozen in a scowl from his previous ranting. The striking blue of his disheveled hair is not a welcome change of color in your line of vision, but at the moment it is the least of your concerns.

His mask is off; back at you are peering two unblinking ruby eyes. And despite the dark circles under them that usually make the person look tired and weakened, the all-devouring fire blazing in the vibrant orbs alone empowers him tenfold.

“You better choose your next words very carefully, dear wife.”

Your systems block another attempt of ‘OrdersZandikOnly’ to restart, and this time it came easier.

You feel your lips stretch in a smile (what kind of it? you wonder).

“Oh? Is this an order? Zandik.”

Must be quite a sight, because for a moment he looks surprised, blinking at you. Then his eyes squint and mouth presses into a tight line, as he begins to observe you. Assessing, calculating, comparing to something in his head, probably trying to predict the turns the following conversation can take.

You stay quiet, glaring at him pointedly. You summon all your knowledge, modeling simulations of similar scenes in your head to run through all possible scenarios of your next actions and their outcomes. A quick analysis shows that it’s better to try and cool down first - or else you risk running headfirst into a huge mess.

Hah, like you aren’t in one already.

Finally, the Doctor comes to some sort of a conclusion, and he doesn't delay in letting you in on it. 

“So you managed to oppose my settings somehow. How rude - those were my honeymoon presents to you. But…” he grins widely, “no less fascinating - must’ve been a strong shock. I wonder what could’ve triggered you– Ah, of course! Must be her death.”

…*beep* the cooling down. You are so much angrier now.

And it must’ve shown on your face, because Zandik lets out a raspy menacing laugh .

“There it is!” He says in triumph. “And here I thought I’ve already looked into every possible corner of you, and nothing would ever amaze me. Yet, you manage to prove me wrong - haven’t felt that in a while,” he sighs with a shake of his head. Then, pushing his fingers through the messy locks and brushing the bangs back, Dottore peers at you with those red eyes again. As if he wants to pin you down like a poor bug and take you apart limb by limb.

“I admit, I never conjectured that a machine like you could’ve established such a strong connection with my now-’deceased’ colleague and maintain it even after all those restrictions I made sure to perfect you with. Hm, Sandrone’s claims of her genius weren’t unfounded; such a pity we didn’t share views on many things. Alas, what a loss for the ranks of the Fatui–”

You lost it the moment he showed air quotes around ‘deceased’. Like he wasn’t the one to blame for her demise, like he cared so little - better would’ve been said that not at all. You can’t bear to hear it, somehow it’s so much worse than the wails of the warnings that bothered you greatly just minutes ago. Rage, betrayal and an understanding that everything happening around isn’t just a glitch in your cognitive module - all twist into a terrible knot, making your body vibrate with a heat so raw, that when you grab the front of his tattered coat and slam his back into the table, keeping him down with your weight, you wickedly hope it’ll scald him badly.

But he doesn’t give you the reaction you wanted, needed. He barely winces from the impact, but the slight discomfort is quickly replaced by annoyance on his face.

And then he rolls his eyes.

“Oh, Tsaritsa…how disappointing. I need to upload stronger protocols once I lay my hands on proper equipment.”

Ignoring multiple windows of ’ZandikNoNegative’ trying to slam into action, your hand reaches for his throat.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh,” he muses and croaks out a chuckle, not avoiding your gaze and catching your hand before it can shut off oxygen access,” but I will. Don’t forget, dear wife,” his gloved fingers slide between your, locking onto your palm, “I own you. ”

You try to pull it away, but his grip is terrifyingly strong. Fine, you have some things to tell him!

“My creator owned me first!”

“Hm? The one you did nothing to save?”

You halt. What is he– It’s because of him you could do nothing! It was his order! How dares he even–

“The one you didn’t even get a name from? Specifically refusing it to her face?”

What!? It was him who forbade you to do so!

“You are being a hypocrite here, love. You are no better than I am.”

Liar. Liar, liar, liar, liar!

He doesn’t have a right to compare you two! Or call you ‘love’, when it means nothing to him! He knows nothing about the feeling, and you are so much better than him because you, for one, actually cared for his segments.

Right. Another fit of rage. You cared for his segments.

“You let the clones be erased!” 

One more attempt to free your hand is met with a yank of his own, so powerful, that you tumble forward, hovering directly over him. And he gives you the most condescending smile you’ve ever seen on someone’s face.

“Oh, you miss them? How adorable. And a pity that you don’t have a slither of this softness towards your actual husband. Now, tell me this, the wife of mine,” his other hand snakes around your waist, pressing you closer, and now you begin to doubt that it’s still you pinning him down and not the other way around,” has it ever occurred to you that every single one of them simply played their assigned roles, so they could chain you to them? To me?”

…impossible. No human can fake a blush so accurately - and you remember vividly the redness of the younger segments’ cheeks. The crazy ones… Yeah, they sought you out for attention constantly, but what if… what if their fights over said attention were carefully set up akin to a performance? And…and the older ones…the closest to him…

No, you don’t want to believe it.

Clearly entertained by your silence, Dottore taps his fingers against the small of your back, and then slowly drags the pads up the spine.

“I admit, it certainly pleases me to know that you’ve grown to care for many versions of myself, despite the clear fact that I’ve never been a good person in the eyes of others. You truly are a special one, dear wife.” 

Wife. Dear wife. The wife of mine. You are so sick of this term.

“You have no right to call me that,” you hiss through the clenched jaws, cursing him for knowing perfectly the placements of all of your sensors. “A man who considers himself a husband wouldn’t sink so low to flirt with another.”

You realize too late how pathetic you sound. Grown sparse of arguments and so quickly that you have to resort to something that sounds like jealousy?

You probably deserve the violent laughter that boomed across the room the very moment the words left your mouth.

And that’s the last thought that manages to run through your head, because the next second his hand reaches the back of your neck. A soft click drowns in the sound of his cruel merit, and your body, grown slack, slumps onto him like a motionless pile.

“Ha-ha, don’t worry, my dearest, I’ll save you the embarrassment,” carefully Dottore shifts your switched-off body to the side, which allows him to sit up. “I intend to delete this whole conversation from your memory - the less you know, the less you oppose me, after all. I plan to keep you by my side for much longer, and to achieve that you have to be a good wife.”

That’s all that should matter to you.

Kinich

“Y/n, pass me that bag, please. Yeah, the one on the bench over there.”

“Ajaw, stop bothering Y/n with your nonsensical questions about your greatness, or I’ll put you into a timeout for a week.”

“*sigh* Yes, Mualani, Y/n and I will attend your party. She’d be ecstatic.”

“Gotcha. Not that I mind you stumbling into my arms, but I don’t want you to get hurt. You gotta be more careful, Y/n.”

“...I’ve gotten a commission that’ll take up to two weeks. Plan to begin in a couple of days, so don’t wait up on me, Y/n–”

“Can you please not?”

Kinich freezes, with the hem of his jet-black shirt gripped tightly in his hands, having dragged it almost to his chin. Paired with the lifted eyebrows, his half-green half-amber eyes peer inquiringly at you, settled on the bed cross-legged.

“Er, do you not want me to take the commission that’ll bring in a sufficient amount of mora, or keep undressing so I could prepare for bed?”

This question seems to confuse you in turn. You bat your lashes at him once, skim your gaze over his form, and, realizing that your strange unspecified request is in the way of his nightly routine, hurry to wave both your arms.

“No, no, it’s neither! Please go ahead and keep undressing– don’t give me that smirk, you know what I mean!”

“Do I?” He snorts, dragging the shirt over the head. Accidentally, his signature bandana gets caught in the process, but he doesn’t look bothered when his bangs fall back down to frame his face messily.

Unbelievable, you are trying to be righteously mad at him here (though it’s more like you’re just pouting), and he manages to effortlessly make your thoughts stray and resolve crumble by just being so damn handsome and playful, and homely cozy within the walls of your bedroom.

How did you even manage to bag all that, unwrap the emotionally tangled knot, and eventually have him as your husband?

Right, husband, marriage. Back on the track! Focus!

“What I meant was: could you please stop, or at least tone down a notch addressing me as ‘Y/n’?”

Okay, maybe you should stop dropping one gobsmacking sentence after another on your beloved. This time he halts with his thumbs hooked into the sides of his jumpsuit pants, giving you a look. A very long and eyes-not-blinking look.

“...explain.”

“Um, well… It’s just– you just call me that often…” you trail off. It occurs to you only in this moment, as the words are out and hanging in the air between you, that the notion behind them is…not as solid as it seemed to be in your head.

Well, no coming back now.

“But it’s your name..?” He squints, letting go of his pants and putting both hands on his hips instead. His whole face seems to be saying: ‘girl, what in the abyss are you talking about? Isn’t it too late for whatever personality crisis you’re having?’

To that you cast your gaze to the ceiling in a half-roll of your eyes, and then back at him with a more prominent pout. ‘The crisis, my arse, you caused it!’

“Yes, trust me, I know it’s my name. Just like probably half of the Natlan’s population does.”

“Okaaay, clearly there’s some problem, and you are not communicating it clearly. You know, that thing you used to tell me is important in a healthy relationship,” mentally reconciling to the fact that his undressing and shower have to be postponed, Kinich walks closer to you. Squatting down, he waits for you to turn to him fully, lowering your feet onto the floor, so he can rest his forearms onto your thighs and look up at you more comfortably. 

“Alright, let’s unroll it. Do you have beef with the name your parents gave you all of a sudden? Or me specifically saying it? Or, for some reason, it’s now a secret and you haven’t told me about it?”

“What?? No!” Eyes wide, you shake your head. “I definitely don’t ‘have beef’ with my name. And I like when you say it, your voice is very soothing to me,” your hand reaches out to pat his hair, but he catches it, murmuring ‘no, later, it’s dirty’. “And don’t be silly, why would I want you to keep me a secret?”

“I never said anything about keeping you a secret.”

Oops.

“Do you feel like that?” He leans back, but doesn’t release your hand, giving you a firm squeeze. You sigh, hanging your head low.

“Well, it’s not that…” you focus on the back of his palm, on the many times beaten and healed knuckles and the veins, bulging whenever his strong arm flexes. Anything but to meet his eyes.

You know he is not going to judge you. Yes, he can, and to anyone else he’d be quite blunt if not sometimes brutal, but he’d never tell you a single mean word fully intending to pass through the meaning it contains. No, he’d be playful about it, sometimes annoyed, definitely deadpanned, but never with an ill purpose.

Because you are his wife, and he cherishes you greatly.

“I don’t want it to sound like an accusation, okay? I’m aware you are not a big fan of petnames, and I don’t want to force you to alter a thing about yourself, but always being simply a ‘Y/n’...seems like nothing really changed after we got married, y’know?”

That’s it, you’ve laid it out to him - the thing that’s been bothering you for a while. Elders and scrolls always told you that marriage is a huge step, and the bond that is established by taking it is the deepest between the people who are not related by blood. You agree, because you feel it, and your husband doesn’t give you a chance to doubt it.

But outside of the life you share together, your husband is a man wearing mostly a neutral face, having few words to offer (sometimes even when dealing with business or in the tight circle of friends), still learning how to properly show PDA and receive it from you and, regrettably, not using any cute petname when talking about you.

And who wouldn't want to be perceived as special in the eyes of others through the words of their partner?

“As much as I want to believe nothing changed much, at least for the worst, after we secured our bond officially - nor our feelings for each other, nor our view on the future, nor, basically, us - that’s not what you are trying to say. It’s the way we are viewed by others, yeah?”

Oh, he’s also very attentive and insightful - must’ve come from his work as a saurian hunter.

“Yeah, that too… But I also just think it’d be nice to hear something else that is not my name.”

He hums in thought, running his thumb over your knuckles. The silence that temporarily settles isn’t uncomfortable, which makes you exhale in relief. Wayob is your witness - ruining the evening, especially one before his two-week-long absence, is the last thing you’d like to do.

“Alright,” Kinich says after several heartbeats of yours, “I’ll think of something that’ll please both of us. Because I know you - if I just start producing one term of endearment after another, you’ll feel guilty for, allegedly, ‘forcing me’ to do so and will start worrying that fellow tribesmen won’t believe in my sincerity, because ‘it’s not like me at all’.”

With that he presses his palms onto his knees and straightens up to his full height, barely escaping the light halfhearted swat you wanted to land on his forehead for being so cocky and calling you out like this.

“Fine, but it better be a great solution, because you charge twenty whole kisses whenever I need something beyond my abilities!”

“I meant to fulfill this commission for free, but if you are offering…”

“You–! Go take your shower, ‘nich!”

And just like that, half an hour later, on such a peaceful evening, in the warmth of the bedroom with your hands busy drying his hair with a towel, ten kisses (you compromised!) seal the deal.

And your fate, full of happiness walking hand in hand with second-hand embarrassment.

It all begins on the third day of his commission’s trip.

“I am here to drop off something from Kinich for, and I quote, ‘my lovely wife’. Is that you?”

Stunned, you stop brushing your yumkasaurus’ fur, much to the cutie’s chagrin, and turn to glance at an energetic friend of yours. 

“Oh, hi, Mualani.”

“Hey, giiiirl!” She sing-songs, animatedly waving her free arm. The other is occupied with a pretty big basket with all sorts of carefully wrapped snacks and drinks in corked ceramic bottles - the wonderful cuisine her tribe has to offer. Plus you can see your favorite flowers be carefully tucked in-between.

“Woah, what is all of this?” You put the brush aside, grabbing the wet cloth to get rid of the stray green and yellow furs stuck to your hands.

“As I said! Ahem, ‘the delivery for my lovely wife’ from Malipo Kinich!” she repeats, albeit this time taking a serious pose and adding some pathos to her speech. It makes you giggle. “So, is that you?”

“You ask like you weren’t at the wedding ceremony,” you scoff playfully, walking up to her and reaching out for the basket. “Of course it’s me, I am Kinich’s wife.”

To your surprise, Mualani is quick to dash to the side, making you miss both the basket and her.

“Hmmmmm, no, that won’t do. I was specifically told to pass it to his ‘lovely wife’, so try again!”

You feel your cheeks heat up. From the corner of your eye you start noticing that others, who just like you came here to tend to their saurians, start paying attention to your conversation, obviously drawn by Mualani’s distinctive, loud, cheerful voice and the commotion as a whole. Two girls, not so far, make a sound of joy and emotion, immediately jumping to discussing how tooth-rottingly adorable it is that you are so cared for.

And Kinich! The ‘I don’t usually show my soft side’ Kinich!! Phrasing his request in such a way!!!

Wow, that’s all the ego boost you really needed.

“Yes, it’s me, Kinich’s lovely wife,” you finally confirm, and Mualani, grinning from ear to ear, gleefully hands you the basket. Then she leans closer, switching to whispering conspiratorially.

“I don’t know the details, but I’m still telling you this, just so you are mentally prepared: your husband placed several orders for you for the time he’d be away, and, from what I heard from Kachina, who heard it from Xilonen, who was told by– agh, doesn’t matter! All you need to know is that there is a high chance it’s far from the last time you’ll hear the ‘wife’ part!”

And oh, she wasn’t exaggerating.

Apparently, those ‘couple of days’ Kinich reserved for preparations were not only for the upcoming commission; as the week progresses, once every two-three days there is some sort of delivery for you from every single tribe.

The first is the snack a.k.a picnic a.k.a for-every-possible-event basket Mualani brought you from the People of the Springs. Which, among being cute and thoughtful, was special, because later you noticed several coupons for the hot spring self-care days tucked among the goods.

Then there was the meaningful engraving on your and his weapons, which were delivered to your doorstep by a blacksmith’s apprentice from the Children of Echoes. You remember Kinich saying he’d leave your spare ones there for a maintenance check and care - and he didn’t lie. He just strategically left unsaid the part about adding matching sets of oaths. ‘So me and my wife always have something on us to remind us of each other’.

To your joy he also took care of all the necessary meds and Ifa’s personal visit from the Flower-Feather Clan to check on your saurian friend, because the hunter made note of ‘his wife’s worry for the health of her saurian baby’ (Cacucu was not shutting up with the ‘wife worries, wife worries!’ the whole time, which, most likely, was heard by everyone nearby).

Next there were the best-quality fabrics from the Masters of the Night-Wind. Sadly you can hardly recall what your beloved's reasoning was this time, because the deliverer was Ororon, and he spooked you in the middle of the night. However he immediately apologized to you with a crate of vegetables from his own garden and showed you the magical glow of several fabrics’ patterns in the dark.

Along with the vegetables you barely managed to store away all the provisions from the Collective of Plenty, which Kinich ordered to ‘keep his wife well-fed and healthy’ and because ‘he can’t wait to taste her wonderful cooking’.

And… Apparently, the Scions of the Canopy’s surprise was supposed to be presented to you by him himself.

Awaiting his return, you can’t help but reflect on the last two weeks. They were…eventful, to say the least! Admittedly, you were considerably shocked - not by this whole campaign your husband deployed or that he even did something like this, but by how right it sounded. 

“Hi, I’m Y/n–”

“Oh! You must be Kinich’s wife! You know, the last time he came here, he was telling me all about your favorite–”

You feel like a teenage girl, smiling silly and giggling inwardly. Embarrassment was short-lived, and you quickly started to enjoy such a new form of recognition. Just how did he manage to do it in a couple of days!?

The answer is actually quite simple: Malipo Kinich really is among the best who provides all kinds of services - for the right payment he fulfills the tasks correspondingly. Well…with the exception of you - only you get to utilize huge discounts and receive more than what you agreed on.

But this is beyond your expectations.

“WHAT IS THIS???”

Yeah, you squeal. And what? What would anyone else do, if their husband came home, promised to kiss and hug them after cleaning up, went to the bathroom…

…and emerged cleaned up, fresh and wearing this.

“A shirt that says ‘I love my wife’, can’t you read?”

“No, no, I obviously can read, it’s just– you– I’m– where did you– Oh Wayob.”

And, watching your growing shyness with softness in his summer-colored eyes, he indeed hugs and kisses you (paying thorough attention to your flaming cheeks), and instead of telling you about his commission, sits on your bed, facing you and listening all about the things that occurred in his absence.

The portion of which was of his doing.

Easing!?

“It makes me glad you’ve enjoyed the presents I ordered for you, though my main goal was through them easing others into the future instances when I’m going to be calling you ‘wife’.”

“Well, we have different definitions of ‘easing’...” you murmur under your breath, still eyeing one of his signature tight black shirts. You can’t help it, when the words are literally staring at you!

“Maybe,” he shrugs. You miss the small smile that appears when he notices your gaze and where it’s directed. “But I meant it when I said I plan to call you ‘wife’ in public more often. I like the sound of it - not cheesy, but sincere and truthful.”

Aaaaand there goes your heart - speeding its rate and slamming against your ribcage.

“...do they also make shirts that say ‘I love my husband’? No, even better: ‘My husband is the best and I love him to the sun and back’?”

“Heh, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Then…” you scoot closer, settling against his side, and smile, when his arm readily wraps around you, pressing you into him, “...can I call you ‘husband’ too when we are out?”

Kinich chuckles quietly, leaning back to flop onto the mattress horizontally, tugging you to follow suit. Turning onto his side, he secures an arm around your middle, burying his face into your neck, and gently murmurs: 

“Never minded it, wife.”

Xiao

You never liked seclusion. Although you couldn’t call yourself the most sociable specimen ever, among the other illuminated beasts you were one of the few who didn’t see themselves above the mortals and even chose to wear the form resembling them. It was not a secret you dwelled among the humans and even gifted them your humble craft of stitching.

Embroidery is an art; it takes shapes and runs in marvellous patterns, laid by a thread and a needle with an addition of precious stones. However, you never thought that when Celestia plunged the world into the despair of the Archon War, the Lord of Geo would be summoning you as one of his adepti, offering the people you took care for the protection of his alliance.

The tales of your craftsmanship had reached Morax before, and he had an opportunity to appreciate it; but what he was more interested in was your other ability. To weave threads from any material and utilize them to lay out a path for luck, protection, recovery and many more with your patterns. He saw use in it, and though you had your doubts, before long your embroidery decorated the clothes of many: the Milleliths, the fellow adepti and others who fought tirelessly.

You, on the other hand, were no warrior, and you would’ve liked to wish your only purpose was to save: to make embroidered charms for soldiers, to stitch together broken bridges for mortals to flee, to create obstacles to delay the woe, to spread out your threads like a net for communication… But with time your skill started to grow, and threads were strengthening as well, with new materials at your disposal.

Soon you learnt to make them so sharp they could cut enemies’ armor and flesh.

The war was cruel. At least your fellow adepti were always there to shoulder the burden of witnessing and bringing death.

They were also there, when the horrors of it were at last over. When your sleeves and the hem of the robe were long drenched in blood beyond saving, fingers punctured and scarred, the eyesight worsened from sleepless nights and intense staring at the patterns to make them right, because you then knew your craft served a greater purpose, and you couldn’t allow yourself to let anyone down.

You were exhausted, your form grew weak, you needed rest like nobody else. And after another strategic meeting Rex-Lapis held, where several of your companions expressed their concern about your condition, not wishing to lose another of them, it was decided that Streetward Rambler would lull you into slumber with one of her melodies.

It was a long, dreamless slumber - a blessing, really.

Decades later you were awoken to the changed world: adepti settled down in the mountains of the vast land, many established their own domains (Cloud Retainer immediately urged you to do the same, and helped you quite a lot, surprisingly); battle-planning meetings transformed into friendly gatherings, slowly but surely filling with laughter, music, heated arguments, the smell of tea or wine and mouth-watering steam from lavish dishes one of your companions came up with this time. The Liyue Harbor was thriving, mortals safe and happy, glorifying Rex-Lapis and adepti in their tales, your title, the Fortune Weaver, along with everything you’d done for the people, were proudly presented in their folklore among the others…

…and then Alatus was brought to you.

Physical injuries treated, but mind and soul burdened with the karmic debt, the frowning Yaksha was trying his best not to show the state he was in. If not for the fact he was visibly torn between denying he needed any help and defying his god’s order to stay with you and get better, you bet you’d have missed out the signs (you really needed to do something with your eyesight).

Morax asked for your assistance once more: your stitched charms and embroidered clothes did wonders during the war, maybe they could help his disciple heal.

And after you learned what had happened to the other Yakshas? How could you possibly say ‘no’?

Helping him, however, was easier as a concept than an actual action. Yes, Alatus promised to stay in your domain and attempt to heal. He also swore not to cause you any harm, which brought you to a problem: he was avoiding you, not letting you get quite close. You understood it was caused by his fear to attack you accidentally under the influence of his mind’s corruption, so you let him be for the time being, busying your hands with adding extra protective patterns to your robes (for the peace of his mind more than yours), and, since above everything you’ve been determined to help, weaving him a huge blanket.

…Xiao always recalls it in embarrassment, but you did have to chase him with it like a wild cat all over your domain eventually. Was he hissing and glaring his huge golden eyes with slitted pupils at you at some point? 

…yes.

Did you, once fed up (and you were oh so patient for the longest time, he admits it himself), actually use your threads to capture and tie him up?

…is he allowed not to answer this one?

So the more flabbergasted your fellow adepti were when decades later, during one of the friendly meetings everyone grew fond of, you and the vigilant Yaksha brought exciting news: you were going to tie the knot!

Metaphorically and literally.

Xiao glances at the bow tied on his ring finger. The red string of fate - a tale of true love and a firm belief of the people of Liyue in soulmates. A concept he never gave thought to, couldn’t dare to dream of, yet one you turned into reality with your own two hands. To make your union special. To give him a reminder that he is no longer alone, that he is loved, that there is a person who sincerely worries for him and cares enough to drop everything and appear next to him the moment he needs you. This was what you promised him when you tied the knot on his finger, and, by wrapping the other end around yours, he swore to repay you in kind (even though in his heart he knew he would’ve paid it tenfold for everything you’ve ever done for him).

Through this bond - invisible to anyone but you and him - he could easily sense you wherever you are, no matter how far. For example, for the past couple of months you’ve been away, in another nation, visiting your dear disciple and her partner, and the Yaksha could still lightly tug on the thread, and receive a gentle tug in response. And, as you began your journey back, the distance to which the string had stretched started to shorten.

Come to think of it… You are on your way home. That’s a fact, he considered it a simple fact. But after that training a week ago when Ganyu caught him staring at his finger and sweetly asked if he was excited for his wife’s return… He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You’ve been away for two months. That’s not long for immortal beings such as yourselves. Yet here he is, wrapped in a realization that he misses his wife, her caring smile, her slight squint, the quiet evenings together filled with walks across the vast rocky land or staying inside her domain doing whatever, and so much more things that makes his life whole. And that he has been staring at the cute bow tied with her own hands every spare moment he had, like it could tell him the exact day and time he’d see her.

Just like now, sitting at the table on the top balcony at the Wangshu Inn with the adepti and their disciples, - something about Ganyu treating everyone, he was too caught up in his thoughts when Shenhe came to retrieve him, that he didn’t listen attentively, - Xiao keeps glancing at the thread every couple of minutes. He knows you are close to the Liyue harbour, the connection is growing stronger and steadier, and he finds himself restless, despite the neutral expression plastered on his face as usual.

Which he doesn’t realize until Rex-Lapis– No, Zhongli takes notice.

“Is everything alright, Xiao? I don’t mean to shame you, but you are fidgeting, and it worries me. Is the chair uncomfortable? Should we ask to replace it?”

The Yaksha whips his head up, tearing his gaze from his hand, and finds everyone at the table staring at him: some with curiosity, some with concern, and the elders - hiding their knowing smiles behind the cups of tea or food.

Blood rushes to his pale cheeks.

“N-no, I am fine. Thank you for your concern–and I deeply apologize.”

“Someone can’t wait to see his beloved wife and is tormented by the yearning,” the Cloud Retainer declares bluntly and fixes her glasses giving Xiao a look - not of disapproval, but of hardly veiled merit. “One means to say it’s admirable - loving your partner so resolutely and wholeheartedly.”

“Now, now, let’s not tease our friend, Xianyun,” Madame Ping says softly, turning to the said friend, whose blush has spread all the way to his ears. “Is she close?”

Fighting the inner demons that urge him to flee the scene (Xiao, these are just your thoughts, your inner demons are gnawing at the stitched protective patterns on your clothes), he glances at his hand again and then gives a small nod.

“Must disembark soon…”

Huh, now leaving and rushing to meet you half way doesn’t sound so bad anymore.

Suddenly Ganyu perks up.

“Do you think she’ll hear you if you call for her? It’ll be nice if she joins us!”

“She will,” this time he nods firmly, “if you don’t mind."

Words of reassurance immediately pour in from all sides, full of ‘can’t wait to hear the stories from her travel’ and ‘how can we deny two loving souls their reunion’, chairs scrape against the floor to make some space next to him, dishes clink quietly, being rearranged too. Shenhe stands up to go and grab an extra chair, Ganyu runs off to warn the inn’s staff of a possible incoming order, and Yao Yao turns to her mentor with questions.

Amidst this little chaotic scene Xiao exhales - with attention redirected from him he can gather his so easily shattered resolve and force the heat and flush off his face - he doubts he’ll survive if you join in with the teasing, and he is not passing up an opportunity to see you now.

Bringing his hand to his lips, he exhales again and kisses the bow.

“I need you, wife.”

In a moment he hears the familiar swish of teleportation, and then two arms enter his field of view, wrapping around his shoulders. Something lightly hits his chest (he’ll later realize it’s your enchanted bead-embroidered handbag), and familiar weight presses to his back. Warm breath fans against his cheek, and a gentle, adoring murmur caresses his ear, making his heart languish.

“I am here, husband.”

Oh.

…oh no, he is not going to survive this after all.

Just in time Shenhe is back with the chair and Ganyu on her tail, serving as a distraction, and Morax knows how much Xiao needs that (oh, he indeed does, watching the interaction and savoring his tea). You lean back, letting him out of your loving embrace, and the man is immediately torn between the prior need to compose himself and missing your arms and wanting them to return. 

But before he can make any decision for his next action, you sit down and reach for his hand under the table.

The mental tossing halts. Right, you are here, you are back - that’s what is important.

And when you smile at him warmly and mouth a quiet ‘I missed you’ and ‘can’t wait to go home with you later’, he lets his lips stretch into a small smile too and links your pinkies together.

‘Yeah, me too.’

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