Or how they act, when you're freezing your ass off
Feat.: Albedo, Flins, Scaramouche
Based on this lovely request by @cchiiwinkle
Albedo
Mondstadt’s usual lush nature has been switched out with shimmering lights and garlands adorning the bare branches of the trees and bushes. The hustle of people around the plaza and bards performing their best winter tunes only add to the festive atmosphere, while snowflakes dance quietly between the lights.
But no matter how beautiful it might seem, just standing around for the last half an hour sure has reminded you of your mortal shortcomings regarding bodily temperature.
It’s freezing cold out here.
Even Sansa had decided to end her show earlier than usual and left not too long ago.
Albedo sure takes his sweet time, you think, while pulling your woollen hat even deeper down your ears.
Just as you’re about to debate the moral rights and wrongs of returning into the warmth of a nearby store instead of waiting any longer, the gates to the Favonius headquarters open and finally, finally, familiar blond hair comes into vision.
The second Albedo spots you from afar, he falls into a light jog.
“Apologies for the delay,” he says once he’s close enough. “Jean has gotten concerned about Klee’s growing stash of experimental devices. We had to make sure they were of no particular safety hazard.”
Your hands slip out of your coat, and instinctively, Albedo reaches for them, holding them in his own.
“All explosives, I assume?” you ask with an amused smile.
“You know Klee and her tendencies…,” Albedo murmurs fondly. But then an expression of guilt enters his pretty features, and his hands move up along your arms, rubbing them gently. “You shouldn’t have stayed that long out here in the cold. You know I would’ve found you regardless.”
“It wasn’t that long,” you argue. “And I wanted to watch the first snowfall of the year.”
That promptly earns you a displeased sigh. “You’re not dressed appropriately for that weather, love,” he taunts softly while slipping off his cloak. “Here, I do not get cold as easily.”
Immediately, you take a step back. “No, please.” Seeing him only wearing his button-up shirt already sends a shiver down your spine. “No, seriously, my cardigan will be just fine until we reach the restaurant.”
But Albedo doesn’t budge. “Please,” he says, voice gentle but firm. “Allow me. As a way to make amends for letting you wait that long.”
For a few moments, your eyes remained interlocked in a silent battle. But as soon as you resign, Albedo steps around you and helps you slip into his cloak.
It smells of him, passes your mind.And a hint of sulphur as well, but you’re quick to ignore that.
Albedo’s focused eyes wander along your features and examine the way his cloak sits on you, verifying that it fits and actually keeps you warm now.
“Here you go,” he muses while reaching out to pull the hood over your head as well. “This will keep the warmth more concentrated.”
You look up and catch his gaze, already searching for yours.
“I like your hat,” he then states simply. “It suits your features.”
Not trusting your voice, you clear your throat. “Thank you”, you manage to croak and push your hands back into the pockets of the cloak.
As if sensing your slight distress, Albedo chuckles lightly. “Anytime.”
Flins
“The number of abyssal attacks has drastically decreased recently. At least in this part of the island.”
Listening to Flins’ serious assessments, being able to hear his voice again, especially after so many weeks apart, sure does some things to you. But you try to keep your excitement at bay.
You pull your coat a notch tighter and follow Flins up the hill. “While I was in Sumeru, I barely ran into any creatures from the Abyss either. Do you assume they’re planning something grander?”
Flins nods, a pensive expression on his face. “Indeed,” he grumbles and offers one hand to help you step over some slippery rocks. “I have considered moving further north-east for my patrols.”
That causes a small lurch in your stomach. He’s leaving already? After just reuniting some days ago, you don’t particularly fancy getting separated once again and especially not so soon.
Still, for now, you accept his outstretched hand and hike further along the steps. The warmth of his skin against your own sets a high contrast to the cold air around. Oh, how you start missing the warm temperatures of Sumeru, the sun, the lovely breeze. But even there, you had been longing to have some quality time with Flins again, and joining him on his patrol tonight was the ideal opportunity.
Therefore, you keep your focus on Flins, on the conversation, his voice. “So, you want to get closer towards the border then?”, you conclude.
Flins meets your eyes for a second. “Precisely. Something about that region has stirred my curiosity. The tales I’ve been hearing have been quite peculiar as well.”
“When do you intend to leave?”
“Soon, I assume,” he answers. He still hasn’t let go of your hand again. “But not today. And certainly not while you’re still visiting Nasha Town. I want to enjoy the shared time frame we have right now.”
Then he comes to a sudden halt. “But it would be more enjoyable for you once you stop pretending not to be freezing just for my sake.”
You blink surprised, feeling caught. “It’s not that-”
Flin’s voice softens. “My light, your fingers are trembling even underneath those pretty gloves you’re wearing. How about this for now-”
Before you could protest, Flins has already removed his scarf and is now gently wrapping it around your neck, making sure it is comfortable and provides you with enough warmth.
It does. But the warm feeling inside you surely doesn’t stem from the scarf alone. “Thank you,” you murmur, to which he offers you a fond smile.
“We can drop by a tavern, and I can finally treat you to some Snezhnayan firewater. It will have you warmed up in mere seconds. Does that sound alright to you?”
Scaramouche
The flames are already about to tickle your skin, and yet the bonfire doesn’t manage to provide you with any sufficient amount of warmth.
In all honesty, the coat you’re wearing appears rather meek in comparison to some of the thick, insulated and padded ones some of the other Fatui soldiers have on.
Annoyed, you take another bite of the somewhat warm bread in your hands, praying that this mission won’t take much longer.
“The chatter of your teeth will alarm the enemy before we even have the chance to reach them,” a familiar voice calls out to you.
There’s no need for you to turn around; the disparaging tone is enough to paint a perfect picture of what Scaramouche’s disdainful expression looks like.
“Must you always be so dramatic?” you reply unbothered, your focus remaining on the food. The cold is already hard enough to deal with aynway.
But what actually takes you by surprise is the heavy blanket that’s being draped over your shoulders.
Immediately, you straighten your back and look up to where Scaramouche appears on your side.
Yet, he pointedly ignores your gaze and settles down on a log of his own; further away from the fire, but closer to where you’re sitting.
You refrain from commenting on his actions and instead huddle yourself closer into the warmth of the cotton wool. Now, that’s what life is about.
A scoff pulls you out of your comfy state. “I can’t believe one of my most trusted soldiers is incapable of defying the weather conditions,” he snickers, his eyes observing you with a scrutinising look. “Tell me, are humans truly that fragile?”
He’s taunting you. There we go again. “Not everyone here is able to rely on superhuman body heat as you do, you know?”
His smirk widens. “That’s because I’m far from human.”
“And yet you’re wearing that thick coat,” you retort while eyeing the fancy harbinger attire, bearing the seal of the Fatui. “Why is that, I wonder? Fearing that your skin will dry out?”
That earns you quite the cold glare. “Don’t be stupid. It’s a symbol of status,” he explains, voice dripping with arrogance, “and of power. Go ahead, you can admit you like it.”
“Oh, of course. Don’t mind me then.” You avert your head back towards the fire, mainly to hide the amused smile on your face.
Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. “Are you mocking me?”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Tsk. Is that the gratitude I earn for providing you with appropriate covers? Something to prevent you from turning into a human icicle?”
He keeps on doing that. Dropping random acts of kindness and then being all high and haughty about it. So, you decide to tease him a bit more. You tilt your head, eyes searching his. “I mean, there are always other ways you could provide me with warmth.”
He stares back at you with a deadpanned expression.
Then one of his eyebrows twitches.
And finally with an exasperated sigh, he lifts his hand and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Y/n, I swear-”
You maintain the serene smile on your lips and deflect the subject. “Indeed, the bonfire should be somewhat bigger so it can actually provide a sufficient amount of warmth, no?”
Scaramouche grumbles something incoherent under his breath, then in one swift movement, he stands up. “Precisely, this bonfire is pretty pathetic.” He adjusts his coat, casting a look around the campsite. “I’ll tell my men to take care of it. And you.” His piercing eyes settle on you once more. “Better get yourself some more fitting clothes. You’re lucky this isn’t Snezhnaya yet.”
*1 The title is from "White Nights" by Fyodor Dostoevsky
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Whatever Scaramouche desires is already lost, before his fingers even brush it.
Every single thing he touches is sure to turn into ash.
Regardless of what he longs for, it is already doomed by simply existing in his vicinity.
So he can’t help but wonder, how much time is left; just how long will the heavens continue their sickening, sadistic enjoyments before their condemning verdict reaches you as well?
Every day that this world grants him to wake up to, he wonders if today the hourglass will finally drain and all will be over.
The sky is a faux, and the gods have long forsaken him, but this world was not entirely rotten because of some force, it still has you. And through whichever power you landed in his life – if you’re his salvation or his next demise – in his eyes, he’s already doomed you either way.
Yet his dying grip and bloodied knuckles cannot let go, refuse to set free.
Are you accepting requests? If not ignore this lol, but if you do. Can I ask for some contents (you can add other characters too, though preferably albedo pls😋!) about them handling their s/O that's easily affected with cold weather. The air has been quiet chilly here where I'm from.. That's all! Have a wonderful day ❤
Hii!
Ahh yes, that sounds adorable. I’ll get to work and I’ll tag you when I post it.
This man will not even bat an eye at anything you’re saying if you dare to address him in such an… unceremonious manner.
“No, you don’t get it, dude. The plaza was filled with birds. Entirely filled; you could barely make out the ground beneath!” you exclaim, arms dramatically spread to visualise your experience in Port Ormos today,
But when he doesn’t react at all, you hesitate. With furrowed eyebrows, you tilt your head in confusion. “Alhaitham?”
Nothing
You walk closer to where he was sitting on his beloved couch, immersed in a book, which you could’ve sworn wasn’t there a second ago.
“Love, are you alright?”
A low hum is heard, but his eyes remain glued to the pages.
Huh. No matter how deeply his literary affinity is rooted, Alhaitham always made sure to pay you his entire attention when both of you were talking.
Well then.
You circle him so you’re facing the back of his head from where he’s sitting on the couch. Then you lower your chin on top of his shoulder. “Are you somehow upset?”
Alhaitham visibly stiffens at the sudden proximity, the way your breath cradles his neck. “No. Mildly… displeased perhaps.”
Ah. Of course he is.
“Because of the ‘dude’?” you infer.
Of course, you’d catch on rather quickly. There is a reason, after all, why Alhaitham is drawn to you. But you also know how to recognise bullshit and the best way to settle the matter.
“I’m sorry, love.” You smile sweetly and draw back to catch his eyes. “Forgive me, darling?” you continue, a sing-song lilt in your tone. “Love of my life?”
Alhaitham’s eyes shift and settle finally on you.
“Passable effort,” he mutters, but the quick manner in which he closes the book tells an entirely different story...
Tartaglia
Drama queen straight out of a fairy tale.
Just one slip up by your loose lips and trust, you’ve brought hell onto his world (and ergo your own as well)
“What? Babe!” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you slightly, eyes wide in dramatic flair. “I’m not your ‘bro’!”
Mind you, this will go on for quite a while, even if you already took back your words long ago.
Like you’re sitting on the couch and the next moment Childe plops down on your thighs, staring up at you with a heartbroken expression.
“What happened to ‘sweetheart’, ‘my starlight’ and ‘my one and only’? Or even better, ‘absolute love of your life?”
Childe sighs and clutches his invisible pearls. “I thought what we had was special. Here I was getting ready to marry you, and now this! Oh my, just what will I tell Tona? She will be heartbroken.”
“Y/N, can’t we fix this? Can’t we fix us? I promise I will do better.”
In the meantime, you can’t decide whether you should laugh at his antics or consider seriously breaking up with this man.
Before he could talk himself further into a rage, you are quick to capture his face and guide him to meet your eyes, all the while trying to put on a stern expression. “For heaven’s sake, Childe.”
“Please, don’t break up with me.”
You’re about to let loose of some colourful collocations, when you recall his previous words and your stomach churns.
“...Say that again?”
He blinks. “Don’t break up with me, love. I can make great Borscht, you know you can’t live without-”
Your grip on him tightens a fraction. “You want to marry me?”
Childe blinks, as if just realising his slip (?) of words. Then he draws back and puts on his usual cocky front. “Why, obviously that’s not gonna work out now any more. What a tragedy, really.”
But your eyes stay locked on him, not letting him go that easily. “Love-”
“Ah, no no no. You can’t just try to sugar talk me back with those pet names anymore.”
And then he has the nerve to just cross his arms in front of him and pout like a petulant child(e).
The exasperated sigh that leaves you is deep enough to reach the abyss, but you draw back as well. Knowing Tartaglia, he won’t budge any more for the moment. Yet you can’t help but throw the next best pillow straight into his face.
Surprisingly, he doesn't even try to catch it.
“Ow, what’s that for now? Shouldn’t I be the offended one?”
“You’re insufferable. Perhaps some Borscht would lighten up your spirits.”
Xiao
Xiao will frown in confusion but won’t say anything at first.
He’ll probably take it as another custom, mortals follow to show affection.
And yet he will keep pondering all day long about just why that word bothered him so much.
You called him ‘mate’. You’ve never done that before.
Then again, you use tons of different names for him; Xiao has learnt to discern them as words of affection, at least when you use them.
But once he’s back on the rooftop of Wangshu Inn, his gears will start turning while he tries to get his thoughts in order.
You find him at his usual spot there, overseeing Liyue’s landscape and the various travellers passing by.
“Hey,” you start softly, “will you join us for dinner?”
“Yes, I gave my word earlier. I’ll be right there,” he replies, glancing at you for a moment before turning his eyes back towards the setting sun.
But you sense that something is amiss, more than usual at least. “Is there something troubling you?”
At first, he grumbles something incoherent, so you take it as a sign to just wait patiently.
The railing is still warm from the last rays of sunshine as you join his side at the edge of the roof.
Then he finally speaks again.
“You called me something earlier.”
“Mhm,” you muse. “I was wondering if you’d comment on that one. I take it then, it wasn’t to your liking?”
“I don’t exactly... care what you call me. I will reach you either way,” he explains, but his eyes stay averted, brows furrowed. “Although… I’d prefer it if you don’t call me that specific word.”
You have to suppress the affectionate smile that threatens to stretch on your lips while the list of all the usual nicknames you use for him passes in review.
“So you don’t mind the previous names then?” You ask with a slight tease in your tone.
He senses it, of course and scoffs.
One moment later, he clears his throat. And one more, his golden eyes finally shift to meet yours. “As I said – I don’t care what name you call me. If it’s you, I will find you whenever you need me.”
A gentle smile flickers on your lips as you step closer and reach for his right hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
He lets you.
“And aside from when I call you for help? When it’s not related to immediate danger, and you don’t have to be a yaksha for some moments. What name shall I use then?”
Xiao holds your gaze, although you take note of the shred of hesitation, of allowing himself to imagine that specific scenario.
“Even then,” he replies quietly, lifting your hand close to his chest. “I’m yours to call whatever you desire.”
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He would know what you meant, but can and will tease you regardless.
A peculiar apprehension has been filling the air on Dragon Spine for a while now.
One single crack is heard. And then -
“Oh, Archons… that’s it! Bro, those are incredible results!”
You couldn’t stop the utter excitement flowing through your bones at the sight of this awful experiment that finally, finally succeeded after so many trials and errors preceding it.
And yet, Albedo manages to remain his usual calm and focused manner, only the small tug on his lips shows his mild relief.
“Indeed, these results are quite remarkable,” he muses while examining the golden shimmering substance on the desk.
Then he drags his eyes slowly upwards until they settle on yours. “Although,” he starts, with a voice as smooth as silk, “I was under the previous impression that our relationship surpasses that of ‘bros’, no?”
The way Albedos acknowledged your casual address just now causes a sheepish smile to stretch on your lips.
At this, his expression turns visibly softer, and he leans closer to you. “Haven’t numerous occasions proven that fact already? Or do I have reasons for concern?”
You can’t help the amused chuckle escaping you, his formal address of such a trivial topic is simply infatuating.
So, you lift both your arms, crossing them behind Albedo’s neck and in a teasing tone, you murmur, “My dear, you are the last man in Teyvat that has to worry about anything of that matter.”
Kazuha
He wouldn't take it to heart the first time. But he could be inclined to think you’re somehow upset, and this is your subtle way of showing.
But as a devoted man of healthy communication skills, he won’t keep on pondering very long before addressing the matter at hand.
The approaching steps cause you to turn your gaze away from the calm waves below the Alcor. In their stead, you’re greeted by the contemplating, if not even serious expression, on Kazuha’s pretty features.
“It is not my intention to make heavy weather of a possible peaceful breeze,” his voice is laced with a softness that is in sharp contrast with the unease in his eyes.
“But did perhaps something happen recently, whether by my own hand or other forces, that was reason to upset you with me in any way?”
Instantly, you turn wholly around to face him. “Upset me?” you echo his words, blinking in surprise. ”I’d be curious about just how you, out of all people, would manage to upset me, that is.”
His expression softens at your words, but it doesn’t quite erase the entire concern in his eyes.
“Are you certain, dove? I want to make sure there are no clouds that are darkening your mind. Or heart,” he adds. “If you wished for me to act accordingly, like reducing my names of affection for the time being, I will make-”
“No.”
Immediate guilt. Guilt and shame, and a mean knot in your stomach caused solely by the look on his face right now.
“No…?”
You shake your head vehemently, anything to lessen these absurd thoughts in his precious mind. “No, of course I’m not upset with you in any way, and I absolutely adore the names you use for me. You know that.”
You didn’t think the use of some more casual names would hit him that heavily. As if on instinct, your fingers reach out for his, interlocking them gently. He squeezes back immediately.
“I hadn’t imagined you’d be so troubled by my slip earlier. I admit, it was merely in jest. Forgive me?”
“Ah.” Kazuha smiles. “Very well then. There’s nothing to forgive, so long as my heart is now free of any doubts. Thank you, dove.”
Scaramouche
It simply slips out of your mouth in the heat of the moment.
But Scaramouche isn’t having any of that.
Only the two of you are left in the war room while discussing the next strategic course of action. Perhaps that is why you felt more at ease that day and didn’t watch your tongue as you’d usually do in headquarters.
“The divisions will meet up here,” Scaramouche explains, his finger pointing towards a lone island in the middle of Inazuma. “Beforehand, I want you and your division to be stationed on Seirai Island until the mission’s final act.”
But as soon as that name leaves his lips, you recoil immediately.
“No way, bro, am I taking a single step on that cursed island ever again. Never.”
Obviously, that response isn’t exactly appreciated by Scaramouche. One set of sharp, violet eyes settles on you before he speaks with a dangerously calm tone.
“Let’s put aside the fact that you just denied a direct order for a moment…”
“I stand my ground,” you persist. He is well enough aware of the fact that you despised that island with your entire being; he saw what that place consisted of.
But for now, Scaramouche dismisses your complaint and takes one deliberate step closer. “Did you just call me ‘bro’?”
Your brows curl upwards, but you don’t draw back. “That is what you focus on?”
“Oh, believe me, y/n, that’s precisely what we’re focusing on now.”
“I’m not calling you ‘my lord’. We’re alone.”
Scaramouche scoffs and places two fingers beneath your chin, lifting it so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Then riddle me why ‘bro’ was the first thing you went along with?”
“That’s what two well familiar people do sometimes, you know?” you continue your game, with a teasing tone. ”Didn’t think it would bruise your ego that much.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches, while his eyes flicker across your features. “You seem to overestimate yourself.”
“And you seem to underestimate just how much it bothers you when I’m not showering you in affection.”
Another derisive scoff. “I don’t need affection, y/n. What I need is order.”
You cross your arms, well aware of the fact that he’d be on the verge of pouting if his pride wasn’t that thick. “So, ‘my lord’ it is then?”
Scaramouche’s voice sounds from the entrance of your office, laced with his usual disdain. As if your running nose and agonising headache are a direct and personal insult to him.
That’s precisely why you don’t even bother looking up from the reports in front of you.
“Seems like someone is particularly charming today,” you muse and turn to the next page of the document. “What happened, did someone die?”
A derisive scoff, then his steps draw closer until they stop right in front of your desk, and you finally look up, meeting his piercing glare. “Not yet.”
You manage to suppress the sniffle that threatens to escape your treacherous nose and calmly place both your hands beneath your chin, like there’s no force to be reckoned with staring right down at you. With a serene smile on your lips you ask, “What brings me the honour of your visit, my lord?”
To your jocose satisfaction, Scaramouche’s jaw visibly twitches. “Don’t call me that.”
He steps even closer, leaning his hand against the hardwood of the desk. “I had hoped you had enough sanity left somewhere in that brain of yours to understand you’re acting utterly ridiculous right now.”
With a sigh, you lean back in your seat and regard him with a raised eyebrow. “If you’re merely here to insult me, there’s plenty of time for that outside of work hours. Unlike you, my dear harbinger, I can’t afford slacking off.”
“Slacking off?” Scaramouche’s face darkens at the audacity taht dared to leave your mouth. “If you had returned right on time last mission, you wouldn’t have been stranded in the soaking rainforest. Now you’re here suffering your own idiotic consequences, and I have to waste my time with this.”
“No one forces you to be here and waste your oh-so-precious time.”
But your words only add more fuel to his already angered demeanour. The obvious lack of energy and your unnatural pale complexion are somehow annoying him to no end. “We’re being sent to Sumeru next week, y/n,” he emphasises with a warning tone. “You’re no use to me in that condition.”
You scoff with indignation. “I am perfectly capable of doing my job as usual. Don’t pretend- ” as if the universe wanted to prove a point, another forceful sneezer escapes you, shooting a sharp pain to your head and already aching limbs.
In turn, Scaramouche raises one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows, and the glare he sends your way somehow adds more damage to your pride than any of his words were able to.
You press your hands to your eyes, letting out yet another groan. This time not out of pain but embarrassment, and more over, frustration. “To hell with this shit.”
The next thing you feel is his cold hand against your feverish forehead. Instinctively, you find yourself leaning closer, enjoying the few familiar intimate seconds in which the pain subsides and Scaramouche doesn’t act like the cockroach he is.
“Stupid idiot.” He clicks his tongue once, but as you open your eyes, Scaramouche is already retracting his hand and his expression is schooled back to the usual aloof and annoyed one.
“You mortals truly are awfully helpless and vulnerable." Scaramouche lets out a long-suffering sigh, as if bored by this entire situation. “I nearly pity you.”
With your pride already wounded, you don’t hesitate to send the nearest pen flying, aiming for his shamelessly pretty and disparaging face. “Get a hobby.”
He catches the pen effortlessly and even has the guts to smile in faux amusement. “Yes, anthropology truly is a beguiling area.”
Not long after Scaramouche has left, the door to your office opens up once more, and Helen enters with a hasty incline of her head. In her hands, she carries a tray with a bowl of hot, delicious smelling soup and a fresh loaf of bread, both of which she places on your desk. Then she leaves again with a quiet 'good evening'.
Attached to the tray, you find a note with a familiar, neat handwriting that immediately catches your eye.
“Your schedule for this week is cleared. If I spot you at headquarters any time soon, you’re gonna wish you’d stayed in that rainforest.”
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